Nathan Lowell - Quarter Share

I tossed what few things remained into the disposer, and shouldered the nearly empty duffel bag. At the door, I stopped and looked back before flipping the light switch. I could feel a lump start to harden in my throat and my eyes water. This apartment had been home for most of my life and I was walking away forever-the connections severed cleanly, surgically. I looked around, smiling at the memories and listening for the echoes of our time in the flat. In the end, I heard nothing except the soft whooshing of the environmentals. I flipped off the lights and locked the door behind me for the last time.

When I got to the Union Hall, it was a madhouse. For the first time I saw somebody there besides O’Rourke or the Assistant Hall Manager, a mousy man named Fredericks who didn’t talk much. People filled the hall. They queued up in lines to use the data ports or waited to see O’Rourke or Fredericks. All of them talked loudly to each other and their accumulated voices made the huge, echoing space almost unbearable.

Shrugging off the sensory assault, I got into O’Rourke’s line and arrived at the counter in a surprisingly short time. She smiled when she saw me. “You ready to go, kid? There’s no backin’ out once yer under Articles.”

I nodded. I knew the drill from The Handbook . Once I signed, I would be committing to serve for two stanyers. It wasn’t quite the military, but it was close and I had no other options. This door opened on a new future. My tongue stuck to the inside of my mouth and my stomach cramped. “Yeah, I’m as sure as I can be. Thanks for everything, Ms. O’Rourke.”

She smiled wider at that. “Good to go then, lad.” She pressed the buzzer that opened the counter and nodded toward a door. “Through there. Captain Giggone will want to talk to ya. Pass the interview and we can get ya processed.” She winked. “I put in a good word for ya so don’t make me look bad.”

Swallowing hard, I pushed through the gate and into the office. A harried-looking, gray-haired woman sat behind the desk. She appeared older than Mom but somehow more energetic. I stood at attention and waited for her to acknowledge my presence. The captain examined me for a few heartbeats while I did my best not to shake. “Sound off!” she barked.

“Wang, Ishmael. Unrated. Applying for an available quarter share berth, sar.” O’Rourke had coached me in the appropriate responses. She had me practice the drill several times on my last visit so I knew what to do. The Handbook also provided instructions on how to address various officers under different circumstances. The book covered this precise scenario, complete with a sample script.

“Why do you want to ship out?” she asked.

“I need to leave before the Neris Company kicks me off-planet. I don’t have enough creds to buy passage.” Belatedly, I remembered to add, “Captain.”

“You know this is going to be difficult, don’t you, Wang?”

I nodded.

“Excuse me, Wang? Did you say something?” she barked.

“Um, yes, sar, that is, no, sar. That is. I know it’s going to be difficult, Captain.” Gods, I sounded like such a jerk.

She stood up and looked at me. “Ms. O’Rourke says you’re good people. Why would she say that, Mr. Wang?” She asked the question with a softer tone to her voice.

The fact that she didn’t follow the script caught me off guard and I blinked in confusion. “I-I don’t know, Captain. I’ve only met her a couple times. She’s been very helpful.”

After a moment’s pause she resumed her previous tone. “You need to know I run a tight ship and don’t put up with crap. You’ll be the lowest of the low, and work your backside off for the next two stanyers. The work will be boring, difficult, and unrelenting. Your shipmates will taunt you, and the living conditions will be challenging to somebody used to having his own room on a nice, quiet planet. In short, your ass is mine and will be until I say it’s not, or your contract expires, whichever comes first. Can you deal with that, land rat?”

I paused for a second, or perhaps two, before answering her. She summed it up succinctly and brutally. I had no idea which quarter share berth I might get. It really didn’t matter. I needed to get off the rock and had few choices. “Honestly, I don’t know, Captain. But I’d like to give it my best shot.”

She smiled warmly then. “Good answer, Mr. Wang. Welcome aboard.” She stuck out her hand and I shook it. “You’ll get a standard contract, steward attendant pay plus quarter share. Do well and I’ve always got a slot open. Now, go get your contract signed and your shipsuit on. Most of the little band we call crew will be off the ship, and we can get you settled in without a crowd of hecklers to help.” She grinned and I saw a twinkle in her eye.

“Thank you, Captain,” I told her and meant it.

Time shifted to an accelerated pace. I thumbed my contract and was officially under Articles, employed by Federated Freight, the Lois McKendrick’s owner company. Fredericks, the Assistant Hall Manager, punched through the paperwork, sending the notifications to Neris Company and snipping off the few dangling threads of my old life. He showed me to a changing room. O’Rourke had taken my measurements earlier and already selected the right sized shipsuit and boots in Federated Freight colors of green and gold. The suit fit my meter and a half perfectly and the shipboots molded to my size twelves as if they had grown there.

As I packed my shore leave clothes into the duffel, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. A stranger stared back at me from what I realized was a mirror. He looked me over from the sandy mop on my head, down the tailored shipsuit, to my new boots. I was thin after three weeks of eating my own cooking but Mom had always said I was wiry. That was apparently a good thing. The stranger smiled and I found myself smiling back. He straightened up and shouldered his duffel. I gave him a kind of salute and headed out the “Crew Only” doors to find the shuttle.

The hallway beyond the doors led to a security checkpoint and an entry tube. Mom and I had taken trips up to the orbital before. It was a popular tourist destination for residents as it was technically Confederation space and not owned by NerisCo. The exotic shops and restaurants provided variety from the largely homogeneous life on a company planet. This trip, however, was much different. The stark behind-the-scenes entry had no decorative panels or padding. The floors, ceiling, and even the walls, had a certain gritty look-a kind of utilitarian plainness that felt disconcerting at first. Stenciled labels stood out on exposed pipes, electrical runs, and hydraulic lines. After the passenger port’s careful, pastel decor, the crew tube felt strange but refreshingly more real.

All this splashed across my brain in a surreal time warp where everything progressed at light-speed around me, but where I moved in a kind of paradoxical slow motion. In the next blink, I stowed my duffel in the overhead and strapped down on a well-worn shuttle seat. Again, the shuttle felt at once familiar and strange, like the difference between a passenger flitter and a cargo crawler. Even the seat belts were unfamiliar, with a cross-the-chest X harness instead of the single shoulder strap I normally used. It was easy enough to figure out, just different. This was going to take some getting used to. My eyes kept trying to focus, but the starkness of my surroundings made everything blur together.

The shuttle pilot came through the cabin smiling and nodding professionally as he examined the craft. “We’ll be up to the station in just a few ticks,” he said. “No time for beverage service and if you need to use the head, I’d do it now.” This was apparently some kind of joke because he chuckled.