J Mauldin - Final Solution

I kept to my original task, now not just hurting but shaking. Doc gave me a handful of NSAID pain relivers. Child’s play. I still felt like shit. Maybe what I really needed was what César had had. Or, perhaps maybe just another Goddamned drink.

I made the sign of a cross over my heart and asked for forgiveness. It’s not safe to even think profanity like that. I might die on this journey, but I didn’t want to burn for all eternity just for speaking blasphemy.

After leaving Med 1 the earpiece tucked in my jumpsuit’s front pocket vibrated. I ducked behind a bulkhead and put it on. A wary crewmember strolled past my hiding spot, then abruptly spun on their heels and fled double time as soon as they spotted me.

“Hello?” I whispered and peered around the corner looking for eavesdroppers.

“David,” Liberty said. “How are you holding up?”

“Tired. Sore. Afraid for my life. The usual shit.”

“Sucks. Figure anything out?”

“Not really. But do you have to guess my first thought?”

“Ol’ Bushel britches?”

I rolled my eyes. Was that an ancient Disney movie reference? The sheriff from Robin Hood? Boy, had she paid attention in our classic film class. “Dour Face.”

“Ahh, that’s right. Need a break?”

“I’d love one. What do you have in mind? It’s too early to go sneaking off, and I doubt we’ll have another everyone sleeps at once night after what happened to me. Cap isn’t foolish.”

“Agreed. We can’t be caught together. Here, walk through the next section and pass by me. Then, go out into the hall, go to the following section, and cross over again, like a square wave on an oscilloscope.”

“Umm, why?”

“You’ll see.” A familiar mischief clung to her words. “You will see, good sir.”

I did as she asked and entered Crew 1. She met me in the center of the section, a hidden smile brightly shining in her eyes, slid something in my pocket and kept moving. I reached for it, not slowing for an instant, and put it to my lips. I pressed the button on the side and took a drag. It was more of that bomb, blueberry goodness she’d previously shared.

It took me a second to fully register just what she was doing going in and out of sections, but it was brilliant. Leave it to her to be brilliant. I entered the following section and slid past her, this time trying to mask my smile. I placed the tube in her side pocket. We did it again.

This went on for a while, crossing one another’s path before going back into the hall. As a result, no one saw us together for more than an instant, however, the two of us got the chance to look upon each other in a silent joke. Each time I saw her face it was all the more joyous, and not the result of natural green goodness. In fact, either this was the weakest hash oil I’d ever smoked, or it was just tobacco—and that’s fine by me.

We used to do things like this all the time back on Mars. Games, games, games. Sneaking around the market and hiding in clothes racks, see who could scream the word penis outside Brethren chapel the loudest without getting caught, spray temporary color down the backs of the Estate jerks’ coiffures who came to throw around their influence. The fun never ended when we were together. It was always a new adventure.

I passed her one last time in the cargo bay, sliding the atomizer tube back into her pocket while accidentally brushing her backside. I twisted my lips as if to apologize and she barked with mock contempt, swaying her hips the tiniest bit as she went back down the hall. I collapsed on a crate of food stuff and rested for a minute, limp. For the first time in a while my bruises didn’t hurt.

“O seven hundred. Channel five forty,” she said into the earpiece.

I piped up. “Won’t we get caught? Security, hell, even XO peruses the information network.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.”

“Alright, Lib, see you then.”

“David,” she growled. “ Again with that nickname. Cut the shit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

With the solar panels repaired and put back in place we made adjustments to get on course. It took two days longer than expected, but oddly, the Captain wasn’t worried. Not that he needed to be. Nav turned the ship at an oblique angle to our trajectory, and fired the ion thrusters at full with an additional thirty-minute burn from the emergency boosters. With a little coordination from the sequestered photon focusers and our Saturn based reactor beam, we were able to push the engines past design specifications.

Within a few hours we were tracking our new trajectory, patiently awaiting updated info from our sensor network to confirm our path as well as our enemy’s. This detour had only cost a few minutes when it was all said and done, though, a lot of precious fuel had been expended in the process. That was the physical cost aside from César’s life.

We were fast approaching the midpoint of our journey where the ship would turn around, pointing our main thrust ahead of us for the final approach a couple months from now. When traveling at speeds upwards of one hundred sixty kilometers per second, it takes a painfully long time to slow. If we failed to complete this maneuver we’d go hurtling past Mars to end up God knows where, maybe even as far as Jupiter. We could skim right past the red world and head for the enemy colonies on Europa. That sure would make things easy. Bomb the enemy and get it over with. Too bad it would cost the lives of everyone at home to see such a simple end to our conflict.

I floated around the engine room, watching the lights and panels flicker with a constant torrent of information. All I could do was think of César. His red handled combo torch was safely secured against the wall where he’d last left it. A tiny satchel of tools he’d brought from home were strapped beside it. Curiosity overcame my sense of privacy, and I glanced inside.

As expected, there were a set of aluminum spanners, multi headed screwdrivers, a tensiometer, collapsible torque wrench, and the like. The one exception was a collection of notes tucked into the interior pocket. I pulled one out to take a look. It was a white piece of lined paper folded in quarters; on the outside, a heart was penned in red beside the name Janie. I inspected it for a while and frowned. It wasn’t the same handwriting from the pill baggie. This was somehow bubblier, more feminine, lines thinner and tapering off at the ends. I returned the note to its place inside the bag with reverence, a memorial to César. I was going to catch whatever bastard had done this.

After recovering his corpse, Doc had done a full tox screen. César was positive for opiates, though what variety I didn’t know. The investigation was closed, deemed a regrettable accident the result of drug abuse. The Captain said a few choice words before the crew pertaining to César’s eternal soul and place among the cold wells of Mars, and his body was put into storage. Despite the fact that we believed our souls remained tethered to the body until it was made part of the whole, I knew it was just another empty vessel, a husk.

César’s soul was long gone.

“Into the cold well,” I mumbled to myself as the bag was zipped shut.

My watch went off: THE TARGET IS CLOSE. KEEP AN EYE OUT. ASK QUESTIONS DURING THE SHOW.

The Captain’s messages had become progressively vague, almost cryptic.

Another night of gripping TV rolled around and everyone gathered up. I bugged Kelly with even vaguer questions than I was given, to which he looked confused. Talked to Henry and Devins from agriculture and got nowhere. Rosaleigh was there too, busily chatting it up with the Smith, occasionally resting her hand on Smith’s leg. When Lank Hair passed through the section about mid-way through Demonio Primerio , Rosaleigh Head and Smith became startled, moving immediately to fresh seating arrangements across the room from one another. Curious.