J Mauldin - Final Solution

“Son, keep telling yourself you did what you had to,” the voice said, but I didn’t look up. “You know you wanted to see that asshole die for what he did. You enjoyed it. And when you did it, you knew it might kill him. No one can survive that, but you did it anyways, that’s right, you did it. Come on, David, you’re not afraid of a little blood. It doesn’t make you an evil person, you did what you had to in order to survive. We all did. We all do.”

“Shut up!” I shouted. “Shut the fuck up!” The soil was dark and sticky, dim light shimmering across its wet surface. “I never wanted to, he forced me. He forced me!” I slammed my fists against the puddle of blackened blood again and again and again, praying it would vanish.

“He forced you,” the voice agreed.

Something warm folded around me. I scrambled back out of reflex, slapping at the air with eyes squeezed shut. I was so bad off that invisible things were touching me. I dared for an instant to let my glassy vision return and saw a concerned Liberty through the murk. She threw her arms around me, drawing me in.

“I killed him,” I whispered, pleading for forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No you didn’t. César made his own choices.”

The gasket on my right ring finger suddenly felt heavy as a neutron star. “No, I killed him, Harrison’s thug.”

Liberty’s soothing hands paused. “What, David? What are you talking about?”

Words I never dared speak outside of family spewed out of me, the emergency pressure valve of my psyche having reached its critical limit. “They beat me half to death after I crashed the skimmer and left me naked in the streets. That’s why we never met up the week after. But it wasn’t the end of it, they would find me once every few days and take my rations, boots, anything they could to make me suffer. This burn on my chest was from where they put out their cigars while pouring liquor down my throat.” I paused, fingers rubbing across a divot in my right thigh. “Once, they held me down and cut a lump from my thigh with a filet knife, only to box it up and mail it back to me on a bed of flowers. I was terrified, but then one day, coming back from helping dad repair a PV array I—on the path home I ran into Harrison’s lead thug, Brice.

“We were outside the city wearing environmental suits in a bad dust storm. Brice threatened me, threatened me and mom and dad if I didn’t do what he asked. And I was tired of it. I couldn’t take any more abuse. I was being tortured for a mistake I made by living life to the fullest. But I knew in my bones he was never going to stop. Brice would never let up, unless I replaced that damned skimmer or died trying. Shit, maybe not even then. He was a sadistic son of a bitch.

“I swung my toolbox as hard as I could, cracking him in the visor. He rolled off the cliff beside us, hitting a sharp rock face first twenty feet down. I didn’t try to help as he flailed about, didn’t try to save him as he reached for my aid. I just ran, ran as fast as I could until I wasn’t afraid anymore. Trouble was, he followed me all the way. In here.” I tapped my right temple.

“Then, César came along and I thought maybe, just maybe I could save him from himself. Teach him skills and a better way to live. Maybe I could tip the scales, make things even again.” I glanced down at my hands and found them clean. The blood hadn’t been real. I was losing my shit double fast.

Liberty squeezed me so hard I almost couldn’t breathe, but said nothing. It was more than enough. The way she cradled my head and kissed it said she understood everything. Still, I felt a need for forgiveness beyond hers. Could my hands ever really be clean? What if we used this ship to destroy entire colonies as the Axis intended to do? How could that ever be set right? How could mutually assured destruction be the only answer to our problem? An eye for an eye leaves everyone blind. There has to be a better solution.

Red lights bathed the gently swaying leaves and palm branches that encircled us. The alarms roared again, dull as they passed through the flora’s dense organic mass.

“Shit,” Liberty spat, and took off, leaving me alone. “Sorry, David.”

“Go. Do what you have to.” I fought to stand upright, my hands and knees shaking as if afflicted by crashing blood sugar. I had to remind myself to keep it together. Keep it together. This too shall pass.

“She can’t save you,” the voice told me. “You know it’s true, son. You know it’s true. She’s only human. God will decide.”

I wiped my eyes clean, stumbling out through the fog of our red alert in search of Griffin. She was sitting in the hall beside Officer 1, clasping her knees and rocking gently. Strands of her blonde pixie hair were swept to the side, revealing blotchy pink and white skin.

“Come on,” I said, hardly audible over the howls of alarms. “We have work to do.” I couldn’t let a thing like a panic attack stop me, mine or hers.

She glared up at me, shocked. “During an alert? I don’t know, Goddard, I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much. I just want to go home. I should have never signed up.”

“Alert? What alert?” I looked up and down the hall with arms wide, hands outstretched. “It’s just bright red lights and loud noises. We have work to do.” I told her this for as much my benefit as hers. I wasn’t the only one who wanted to go home, and we were well on our way. “Cap’ll want to fire back immediately.” I extended a hand and she firmly took hold, rising to her feet.

The alarms ceased and Griffin gasped. “How do you know?” I could see the fear of another alert looming just behind her. She was composed at present, but brittle as chalk.

I raised a finger and pointed to the wall. It immediately shifted from white to yellow as if on cue, following my careful mental instructions.

“Firing solution eminent,” the intercom blared. “Crew, standby.”

“We’ll be firing more than once,” I sighed. “This might be a long day.” My right hand was still trembling, the gasket ring a blur of motion. I stuffed it in my pocket and made a ball of the jumpsuit’s fabric. A warm breath touched the back of my neck. I pivoted my head to see. Nothing. It was nothing.

We walked past Med 1 where Harold Devins and Jack Lake, his second, were tying up in the hall. Griffin and I eased around their fist fight, narrowly escaping an errant punch or three. Harold’s head was thrown against the bulkhead with a bang, but it only made him madder. He threw himself at Lake with a flurry of fists, one landing in the shoulder, another in the breast. Griffin drew up her arms in defense.

Doc shot out the Med 1 hatch screaming, “That’s enough! No fighting on board.”

Lake decided to shift his attention and took a swing at Doc. Doc dipped out of the way and raised his hands like a boxer. He blocked the punch and countered with a solid right hook. It caught Lake square on the jaw, sending him stumbling back into the bulkhead, grasping for purchase. He slid onto the floor in a daze, then coughed blood into his hand. His teeth must have clamped down when Doc’s knuckles landed. Devins edged away, his anger having evaporated, revealing nothing more than desperate fear and shame.

Dour Face approached from the other side, stun stick in hand sweeping side to side. “Don’t make me use it, hot heads. I’m citing both of you for this infraction. Good work, Doc.”

He nodded and popped his knuckles. “Two time Arsia heavyweight Champ. Undefeated.”

Dour Face grinned. “No shit.” And he swung his stun stick, catching Lake, who was attempting to stand and fight, on the arm.

Griffin was fixed on the spectacle. “I’ve never. It’s just. What’s wrong with everyone?”