Andrew Mackay - Pink Symphony

“It’s heavy. We’re not all built like brick houses like you.”

“True enough,” Jaycee grinned, enamored by the fact that Baldron’s Decapidisc fit perfectly under the rim of his helmet, “Still. Nothing to lose your head over, eh?”

Baldron knocked the edge of the disc with his gloved hand, “This is really going to get in my way while I try to work.”

“I’m sure you’ll live. Probably.”

The friendly female announcement whirled around the elevator, “Level Ten. Engine and Payload. Have a nice day,”

The doors slid apart, revealing the enormity of Engine & Payload. Zero gravity set in immediately, lifting the pair’s feet from the ground.

“Zero G?” Jaycee asked.

“Yeah. Gravity doesn’t help much when you’re dealing with ballistics or nuclear paraphernalia,” Baldron swung his arms around his canister. He planted the sole of his boot on the elevator wall and propelled himself forward, “Follow me.”

Jaycee’s boots levitated away from the floor. He enacted the same movement as Baldron and pushed himself into the chamber.

A dimly-lit arena resembling the inside of a set of vocal chords.

Thick, twenty-foot high columns provided an obstacle to the port panel on the far wall. Conversely, it helped the two men kick themselves toward their destination a lot quicker.

“Ugh,” Baldron said into his radio mic, “I hate the absence of gravity. It makes my stomach queasy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jaycee spat, indicating that he’d run out of rat’s asses to give, “Hey, here’s an idea.”

“What?”

“Why don’t you shut the hell up and do your job?”

Baldron pressed his boots against a column and pushed himself toward a gargantuan wall of lit-up rectangles. Thousands of them shone against both men’s visors on their approach.

“See those white columns over there?” Baldron pointed to the right of the wall.

“Yeah?”

“The hyper-thrusters,” Baldron continued. “Each one of them with enough nuclear energy to wipe out Florida.”

“Much like climate change then?”

“Yeah, you could say that. You Americans use nukes to get ahead in the second space race. It’s no wonder your country is eroding around the edges.”

“Hey, Russkie,” Jaycee kicked forward from another column and reached Baldron, “Shall we see if your organs can survive a nuclear blast?”

“What?”

“Keep that xenophobic talk going and I’ll shove your head in this canister.”

“We’re here. Kick down to section Zee . We’re looking for port loader number four, zero, niner.”

The numbers on each of the rectangles ran into the thousands. Jaycee used the locking bolt on a loader to push himself down and read out the numbers on each one.

“Four fifty-two… four twenty-eight…” Jaycee found the one they were looking for, “Here, it’s here. Four, zero, niner.”

“Good. I’m coming down,” Baldron hugged his nuke as he waded down past the loaders, “I gotta say, these things are much easier to carry in here.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Jaycee looked up. The butt of Baldron’s canister enveloped his visor quicker than anticipated.

“Hey, be careful!” Jaycee kicked back in defiance, “You nearly hit my visor.”

“Sorry.”

Baldron reached the lock on the panel and balanced the canister upright in the palm of his left hand, “Tor, this is Baldron. Do you read me?”

“Yes, Baldron. I read you,’ Tor’s static-laden voice bled into Baldron’s helmet, “Confirm Port Zee. Four, zero, niner.”

“Port Zee. Four, zero, niner. Confirmed.”

“Understood, standby.”

Jaycee scowled at Baldron and showed him his glove.

Tor spoke before the torment could continue, “On my command you will make contact with the lock. A countdown of three. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Reconciling nuclear engagement. Establish contact, please.”

The bolt on the lock shunted out, offering itself to Baldron. He grasped it in his hand and cleared his throat. “Contact established.”

“From three,” Tor’s advised. “Three, two, one… and engage.”

SHUNT-SWISH .

Baldron’s hand turned with the bolt, sliding the port door down.

Jaycee tilted his head to the side and took a look at the interior, “Ugh. That canister thing has seen better days, hasn’t it?”

“Yup,” Baldron grabbed the port edges and pulled himself inside. “Oh, damn. Can you grab my canister, please?”

Jaycee looked at the cylinder revolving gently in mid-air, “Idiot.”

“Sorry, it slipped,” Baldron stomped his feet to the ground within the port. The current canister had subsided in its housing. The blackened underside indicated something had gone wrong, “Okay, this is pretty straight forward.”

“Baldron,” Tor’s voice came through the mic, “Sit-rep on Zee four, zero, niner, please?”

“Defective canister. Manuel was right, this one is down. I will confirm on Yankee one, one, eight next.”

“Yeah, Yankee is about right,” Tor chuckled. “Speaking of which, how’s our ugly turd holding up?”

Jaycee threw Baldron a look of evil.

“Uh, he can hear you, Tor.”

“Damn,” Tor’s voice fizzled away into silence for a moment. “Uh, Jaycee?”

“Yes, Tor?”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to kill you the moment we get back. Nothing serious.”

“Yes,” Tor tried to make amends, “Joking aside, it might help if—”

“—Oh, I’m not joking,” Jaycee said, looking at the Yankee section of the loader ports. “I am going to kill you.”

“Jaycee, please. Listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

Jaycee watched Baldron hold the pinkie on his glove to the defective canister housing. The end whizzed around as he inserted it into the first of two bolts at the side of the damaged canister.

“What do you want?”

“We can expedite this event if you start on Yankee one, one, eight. The little finger on your glove will unscrew the housing. You simply remove the dud and clamp the fresh canister into place. Bring the used one back with you for recycle—”

“—You want me to do Baldron’s job for him?”

“Actually, yes . It would be helpful. Seeing as we’re low on oxygen.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Baldron peered out from the his loader port and held up his thumb, “Thanks, man.”

“It’s not a favor, you cretin. I’m doing it to save time.”

“Suits me,” Baldron winked back at Jaycee as he pushed off toward the Yankee section on the hunt for port 118.

Baldron felt much happier now that his captor had gone away and helped him with the task at hand. HE clamped the fresh canister into place and screwed it into the brackets.

“Baldron?” Tor’s voice came through the mic, “Do you read me?”

“Yes, I read you,” he said, screwing the new canister shut with his pinkie.

“Jaycee, do you read me?” Tor asked.

No response.

“I repeat, Jaycee. Do you read me?”

Baldron gripped the edge of the loader and watched Jaycee arrive at port Yankee 118, whistling to himself, “I don’t think he hears us.”

“Good, I changed the frequency. It’s just you and me, now,” Tor explained. “He’s going start talking at me. He’ll want the lock opened.”

“Yes, I expect so,” Baldron hushed into his helmet mic, “What’s this got to do with me?”

“Are you looking at him?”

“Yes, he’s nearly at the loader.”

“For heaven’s sake, get back in, stupid. You don’t want him looking at you.”

“Okay, okay,” Baldron slipped his head into the port and turned to the canister, “What’s going on?”