J Mauldin - Final Solution

“César, look,” I raised my hands as if he were pointing a gun at me, “Griffin’s a beautiful girl. I wish you the best, but she’s not who I’m after. I’m serious when I say this. Dead serious.”

He blinked. “ Que ? You serious?”

“What did I just say? Do you know me to be a liar?”

“No. Never. But if not her, then who?”

I lowered my voice and whispered, “Liberty Fryatt.”

César’s eyes widened. “Señor, if I might be so bold as to say, you are the dumbest NCO I’ve ever met. Not to mention the regs, but that’s the Captain’s freakin’ daughter.”

“Oh, and I agree, but there it is. I’ve known her for a long time and some flames never die. She’s the one that got away. How do you live with that? This is a second chance, so long as I’m smart.”

A moment passed in silence as César finished his work, jagged lines and all. The job was serviceable. It was merely my OCD wanting him to fix the blasted combo torch and make the lines neat. At least his soldering was done well.

César’s head snapped around and he put his ear to the bulkhead, nose scrunching up. He slid to a new spot, pausing, then farther aft. “You hear that?” He strained his senses, eyes narrow as slits.

“Hear what?”

He shook his head. “Like, someone’s singing? They’re in the wall.”

I listened hard as I could, but heard nothing. “All I hear are circulation fans. Sometimes Devins sings in the shower, but he’d be two sections up.”

“Weird, I’d swear I heard Vallenato. And I like him and all, kinda, but Devins couldn’t sing Vallenato if a gun were pressed to his head.” César began scratching his arm furiously, then grinned at his finished work. “I’m sorry, señor, for the way I acted.”

“Don’t be. We all have impulses. So, you and Jane?” I crossed my arms and rubbed my chin, the ship’s momentum just enough to push me into the wall with one shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said, coloring the least little bit. “Kissed her for the first time last week.”

“And I’m guessing from that shit eating grin it went well.”

“Always does,” he agreed. “But it’s hard to find privacy on this, what did you call it?”

“Coke can.”

“That’s right. What the hell is a Coke can anyways? And for that matter, what’s a Coke?” He began scratching his arm harder. It was getting red, as was a spot on the side of his neck. A second later he threw his hands down, forcing himself to stop. “Is it like Monarch Soda?”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s finish up and get back down.”

“Roger that, I’ve got a rendezvous with Janie in a couple hours anyways. I’d like to get a shower if we’re done early.”

I nodded and we pushed off towards the nearest exit. My hands paused on the ladder rungs as my watch buzzed again. It was a message.

“You okay?” César asked.

“Might wanna delay that date for a little while,” I hissed. “That was the Captain. He wants to see me right now.”

As I crossed the bridge I did my best not to make eye contact with Liberty. My palms were sweaty and slick, my leg twitchy. I knew looking at her would only make it worse. XO led me to an open door on the opposite side of the room, the bridge silent but for the soft chatter of Navigation and the Comm. I caught Liberty’s panicked look from the corner of my eye. XO knocked on the door and we waited.

“Did you catch the latest episode of Demonio Primario ?” Smith asked Liberty, excitement filling her husky voice. “Got bumped down from the Sol Net just in time. Thank God. Bunch of us met up and watched it over dinner last night, even had a few scrubs in there too.” She chewed for a moment at her bottom lip where a silver ring shot through it. It wasn’t her only piercing. Her ears were like chain armor, a half dozen silver ringlets and plugs starting at the lobe and working their way up. They weren’t regulation, but Captain Fryatt was selective in what statutes he followed, and to this he was oblivious.

Liberty turned her face in my direction, but before making eye contact, returned her attention to the workstation. “I’m sorry, Brandi. What did you say?”

“ Demonio . It was a good one. Jake got caught out at night heading to his sister’s place and almost got killed, a talon right through the Adam’s apple, but found he could sing to make the demons flee. That’s a new one. I thought only wards or salt lines did the trick.”

“Oh, yeah. I saw that this morning over lunch. I like Kevin Lawson, he’s a good actor. Goes well with Kate Franco. Nice pair.”

“Agreed. But like always, it got a little too sappy near the end for my taste. I prefer it when the show’s a little more gritty. Ya know? Not everything has to be all pretty. Except for when it comes to Staci Lennox. That girl is gorgeous, and so damn tough.”

“Rubbish. The whole program,” Lank Hair said from his place lurking in the corner, an empty crystal glass dangling from his fingers. He glared at me for a moment then turned to Liberty. “I prefer fiction that’s a bit more realistic. A good mystery. A chase.”

“You would,” Smith retorted. “You have zero imagination. Did your parents give you a Bible instead of a coloring book?”

“Think that if you will, but not everything has to be demons and magic. Reality is much more frightening than fantasy.”

The hatch before me swooshed open, forcing a swallow.

“Come in,” our Captain, William Mason Fryatt said, inviting me into his private quarters. It felt like a trap. His back was turned to me from a writing desk in the corner. He was dressed down, not in uniform, wearing grey sweats and a worn graphic tee with the Captain America shield upon it. I entered the room and took a silent gasp, hatch closing behind me, the bridge’s noise cut off. We were alone.

I’d dreamt of places like this before, but this was luxury. Unlike the rest of the ship, where there was hardly space to breathe, he had almost half a section just to himself, thirty-three by twenty-nine. The room was filled with prints of famous paintings from old Earth, most of which were colorful and abstract. I recognized one, Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh, fixed above the Captain’s silk draped, queen size bed. On the table beside it a crystal decanter of dark liquor sat, tempting my palate with the mere thought of its intoxicating essence. It wasn’t gin, but that was fine. And if that wasn’t all, beside this flagrant display of wealth and power were six cans of Coca-Cola. It was no myth that the rich drank whiskey and Coke. It had to be better than Monarch and bourbon.

In the corner of the room set an old easy chair, not something you’d normally see on a space craft. The floor was covered by a bearskin rug. Trophies of all sorts were displayed in a glass shadowbox down the left side of the room, some had tiny brass skimmers on top, others ancient rifle designs, and the remainder, athletic men or women with their hands thrust skyward in triumph. All had the number 1 accompanied by the name of either William Mason Fryatt, or Liberty Rae Fryatt, engraved on the base. The Captain’s love for his daughter—or at least her accomplishments—went deep, that was for sure. Her trophies alone took up over half the shadow box.

“Have a seat,” he said, and turned around, motioning to the chair beside his desk. In the low light he looked exhausted, furious eyes sunken with charcoal rings around them. “Would you like a drink?” He started pouring two crystal glasses. This suddenly felt like the awkward, you and my daughter conversation. If it was, I was screwed. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“No, thank you, sir.”

“Take the drink, Goddard.”