J Mauldin - Final Solution

I reached into my pocket and removed Liberty’s vibrating earpiece. I slipped it on and whispered, “Hello?”

“David?” Her voice was thin with a faint, dampened echo. She was in a bathroom stall . “You there?”

“I am. What do you want?” The words came out with an edge I hadn’t intended.

“Don’t sound so excited. What crawled up your ass?”

I sighed. “Look, I was asleep. I’ve been having bad dreams.”

“You too? Mine are horrible. Endless nightmares of alarms.”

“Well, dreams are dreams. At least they won’t kill—”

She cut me off . “Meet me somewhere. Please.”

“What? You serious?”

“When am I not serious? Meet me, David.” She sounded desperate and vulnerable, but still, I was kind of pissed. She’d not been so warm lately, and now that she needed comfort who did she call? Number two.

I knew whatever I said next would determine how things went with us from now on. Then again, it could also determine where I slept, and not in a good way. Meeting with her was dangerous. If we were caught fraternizing, the Captain would put me in the brig for sure, while she would get a tiny slap on the wrist, if that.

Sweat poured from my clasped palms like soaker hoses. I needed César to check the environmental controls. Something had to be broken. It was way too hot in here.

“Where?” I asked, being bold in spite of the marks against my record. To hell with it. Live for today, right? Tomorrow’s just false promises and fleeting hopes of resurrection.

“The arboretum. No one should be coming through for a while. Father told everyone to take the night off. He’s even taken a rest too. Only one security is on duty, and last time I checked, he was groggy.”

“Alright, see you in a minute.”

“Be quiet. Use the port hallway.”

“I will.”

“You better. I know you’re terrible at sneaking around.”

I slipped from under the sheets and reached for the drawer beneath my bunk. I used an extra set of pillows to form a series of lumps that might be mistaken for me in the dark, and then slipped on my shoes. At the sound of soft footfalls, a couple of crewmembers stirred, but only to readjust on their tiny bunks. No one opened their eyes. I held my breath the entire way, but upon reaching the exit, took a satisfactory inhalation. The hatch on the port side was already open. There was nothing to fumble with and make unwanted noise.

I tiptoed down the hall, keeping alert for any movement, hoping security was still lurking where Liberty had said. All I could hear was the drone of life support circulating and cleaning our air. I opened the hatch and stepped into the arboretum, moisture caressing my face. This part of the ship, far more than the rest, had to be kept closed at all times, its humidity remaining at specific levels so our plants could thrive and keep us alive.

It was warm inside like a greenhouse, forcing me to unzip my jumpsuit and tie the arms around my waist, leaving only a white t-shirt to cover my chest. As I pressed onward, thick leaves encompassed the trail leading into a small open area, where of all things, we had a trickling fountain at the center of an eight-foot green. The grass of our tiny plot was thick, and on occasion when no one was looking, I’d sunk my toes into its cool blades, transporting me back to the splendor of Arsia Mons’s agridomes.

“David,” a voice whispered from a darkened copse choked with drooping branches. “Over here.”

I pushed aside the leaves and found a hidden clearing just large enough for two. A single shaft of light shot through the topmost branches, lending a faint, reflective glow. Liberty was kicked back on the open dirt and mulch, legs outstretched, leaning against the trunk of a thick tree. She wasn’t wearing her uniform, but rather, a jumpsuit much like mine. The top half of her was unzipped and tied off at the middle, revealing a dark, bare stomach and stark white sports bra. A silver chain hung around her neck with something at its end, but was tucked away between her breasts. I sat down in front of her, wanting to smile at the treasures before me, but afraid if I did they might just vanish.

“How did I not know this was here?” I asked, detracting from the unspoken subject at hand, her bare—though not overtly sexual—midriff. A bead of sweat rolled down her neck and funneled between her breasts. I watched it vanished beneath her shirt and swallowed.

“Because I made it recently,” she replied, smirking. “I transplanted the brush just a little farther out so I could make a tiny get away. Everyone needs a hiding place, somewhere no one can find other than those they want to.”

I allowed myself to be swept away by the acute bliss of the moment. The smell of healthy, green plants and dirt, of Liberty’s clean body and the must of fertilizer. It was almost enough to convince me I was no longer in space hurdling at ever-increasing, breakneck speeds through a perilous vacuum to my potential death, but in a deep forest with a beautiful girl, hiding from her heavy-handed, overprotective father, hoping to steal a kiss before he had me put to the headman’s block.

I had no idea where this was going.

“I can’t remember the last time I had privacy without VR goggles or a stall door,” I said.

“That’s what you get for living on a warship.” She rolled her eyes. “Could have stayed back on Mars.”

“Wish someone had told me that sooner.”

“Hah. By the way, thanks for coming, David.”

I waved a hand. “Wouldn’t miss it for all the chits in the system, Lib.”

“Stop it. Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, fine, fine. What can I call you?”

“I already told you. Lieutenant Fryatt.”

“Alright then, Lieutenant Fryatt , where have you been?”

She raised a lazy shoulder. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Why not? Hmm?”

“Because I don’t want to, okay? Respect my wishes.”

“Come on, seriously? What did I do? I just don’t get it. I mean, I know it’s different here, but I was trying to reconnect with an old friend…”

She raised a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

“Okay. Then what? What do we talk about?”

“Whatever you want.” Her heavy eyes squinted as she patted my leg with her palm. Her skin was glistening with sweat. There were so many things I’d love to talk about, but anything to do with how she’d acted recently was clearly off limits. I was getting mixed signals, big time. What was her game? I had to push that all aside and try and find something neutral we could discuss.

“How much danger have we been in?” I asked.

Her eyebrows raised as she produced a bottle of water, looking almost disappointed while she took a sip. “Well, most shots come our way at about thirty percent hit probability, but by the time we do our course correction it falls to about five or six percent, sometimes less. Nothing to lose sleep over, I guess. But the alarms, those damn alarms. Next time I hear a bloody klaxon I might just punch my interface in half.”

“I know the feeling.” I chuckled mirthlessly and heard that very sound screaming from my imagination. I shivered. “Still, even at five percent they might can hit us. I mean, hot damn, do the math. One in twenty.”

“They will hit us,” she whispered, “eventually, or we’ll hit them. It’s a numbers game. War has always been this way. Shoot them before they shoot you, stop the enemy before they make it up the hill, build walls and stand behind them, wishing all the while they’ll just get bored and leave you alone. God, it’s bullshit.”

“I suppose.” I picked at the dirt with a lazy finger and made a tiny furrow. This dirt was a long way from home, just like me.