Precipice: The Beginning (9 page)

17

T
his just outright blew chunks. No positive spins or flowery way to look at it. Dasher had once again been screwed over and left to rot, story of his life. And bad luck just seemed to be out to get him. Now he was really screwed, locked in the Massachusetts Correctional Institution in Norfolk, awaiting trial for his failure to rob a bank. He must have looked like such an incompetent fool, running out of the vault with all that money, standing before over a dozen officers without a chance in the world. He’d read somewhere that Malcolm X had done a stretch in this very prison.

Dasher walked over to the small window and peeked out, watching the heavy rain run down the thick glass. A thin trail of black smoke rose in the distance, barely visible through the storm. Something about the thin stream of black smoke didn’t sit right. Dasher was terrible when it came to geography, but he knew what he could see. It looked as if it was smack dab in the center of Norfolk. At least it looked like a small fire, but everything looked small from his little window.

“This is such shit!”

Dasher let out a sigh of annoyance as he turned from the window, taking a seat on his bunk while his cellmate paced before the bars looking like the most pathetic lion you’d ever seen. Miles Kraft was in for a battery charge against his girlfriend. As hard as it was to believe such a thin piece of shit could have gotten violent, apparently he’d really worked her over. “Beat the whore for giving some dude the eye,” he’d told Dasher. Said he’d hit her with a belt ‘til she fell limp and cowered like a dog.

“Women are like dogs,” Miles had said, leaning against the bars four hours ago. “They need to be trained or they’ll piss all over you.” He absently tapped at his penis, getting off slightly at the display of dominance. “Beat them hard.”

He’d been calmer then, waking from a deep sleep and a heavy bout of snoring, looking at Dasher like he hadn’t seen him the other day. Now he’d gone hog wild, slapping at the bars while grunting. A deep noise within his throat that made him sound like a primate.

“Let me out of this fucking cage!”

Dasher just laced his hands behind his head and watched the show. Apparently Miles had completely forgotten he had a cellmate. Miles just ranted and raved, displaying the widest range of nervous ticks Dasher had ever seen. He shook his hands repeatedly, scratched under his eyes, and then his chin, hopped up and down, shook his head from side to side, grunted like a savage. Finally, Dasher’s all time favorite, he put his hand down his pants and played with himself. On one joyous occasion he’d actually let his pants drop to his ankles as he went to town. Dasher had done his best not to bust out in mocking laughter. He figured it wouldn’t keep their tight living arrangement nice and pleasant if he lay there, pointing and laughing at his little manhood. So Dasher had bit his lip and thanked God when a passing guard told him to pull them up or lose it.

“She’s lying!” Miles pressed his face to the bars, working his lips between them to maximize volume. “She told me she liked it rough.” Miles closed his eyes and hopped up and down, looking like a man waiting in line to pee. “A man is allowed to be a man.” Miles shifted gears, moving from the innocent man being set up to the guilty party with his rights being abused. “Ricky Ricardo used to slap that Lucy bitch around!”

Dasher shook his head. Watching Miles was fun and all, but even crazy got old after a while and he was tired. He didn’t sleep well on these hard bunks. Concrete and a thin misshapen thing they called a mattress just didn’t cut it for restful sleep. It was hard enough to be locked up in a small room with a total nut, but did they have to take his restful sleep away as well? Maybe he’d wronged Karma in another life? Odd how bad things seemed to happen to certain people all the time, as if some kind of allergy. But there was much about life that baffled him. It had nothing to do with his lack of education either, just observations on how the world seemed to operate. Like beanpole Miles for instance. How a scrawny waste of flesh like him could even get a girlfriend, let alone one he could torment and abuse, was well beyond him. Dasher racked his brain to see how any woman would find the man attractive. In the end he supposed some people were so desperate not to be alone they’d settle for anyone, or anything in this man’s case.

Dasher was one to talk of course. He himself had been incredibly lonely at times, often wishing he had cash for the women he sometimes passed on the street. An hour of pretend love was better than no love at all. But there had been moments in his life, long ago and now faded and cracked like an ancient photograph stored in a damp box, back when things had actually been rather pleasant. Lately he’d been so busy trying to survive that all his daily worries were piled on top of the few good memories he had, losing them in the shuffle. Dasher closed his eyes and remembered something worth digging out. A time when he’d been as happy as a boy in his situation could be.

Dasher had been seven years old when he’d met Paul Zuluaga, one of his mother’s frequent visitors. Unlike most of the gentleman callers his mother received day in and day out, Paul was a writer. At least that’s what he said he wanted to be. Most of the men that visited his mother came for drugs, shot up, snorted or ingested their treat, then asked Dasher for some sexual release. He’d been held down dozens of times, once while his mother sat across from them on the couch with a doped out grin, but they’d never managed to get into his pants. He’d been quick and always managed to slip out of their shaky grips. But Paul was a calm soul. He had heard of his mother’s house through a mutual strung out acquaintance, so he’d come by one night looking to score some blow. Two weeks passed and Dasher saw him again, sitting on the floor with his head back, eyes closed with a slight twitch. The next morning, Dasher had gone out into the living room to see if there was any food in the cupboards, usually he came up dry. Today there was half a box of soda crackers. Dasher couldn’t believe his eyes. He took the box and tucked it under his shirt, tiptoeing out of the kitchen to go back to his room.

“What do you have there?” Paul asked, sitting up from the couch.

Dashers first instinct was to bolt, take his food and hide in his room like a rat dodging a hungry cat. But there was something different here. Paul sat on the couch and looked like a poor guy out on his luck. Dasher pulled the box from his shirt and took it over to Paul, stepping over a passed out woman on the floor. Her skirt was pulled up, exposing her bare ass for the world to see.

“Got a name kid?” Paul asked, patting the cushion beside him.

“Harold,” Dasher said softly, not wanting to wake his mom in the next room.

“I’m Paul.” Paul shoved two crackers in his mouth, closing his eyes as he savored the only food he’d had in a day. “Thank you for this. Really.”

Dasher just nodded, not really sure what to say or how to act. He still wasn’t entirely certain this man wasn’t going to grab him. His heart was fluttering like a butterfly, keeping him in a readied state in case he needed to move. But despite the fear and uncertainty of this man’s intentions, Dasher had done as he’d instructed. Because in an environment such as his home, he’d become submissive. Bowing down and accepting all behavior because that’s all he knew. Every bit of kindness offered to him came with a price, some kind of request or forceful advance. So yes, he’d agreed to sit beside this man, but he knew the game. Fewer beatings if he went along with half of their request. When he’d been six, a man had told him to rub his feet like a good little bastard, and when he’d refused, the man threw an empty beer bottle. Striking Dasher above the right eyebrow and knocking him out. Now he lowered his head and obeyed, but there was something in this man’s face. A look that told Dasher he too had been put down and forced to live a life he didn’t want. Paul’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion.

“Do you live here?” Paul motioned about the stained couch and drug addicts passed out on the floor, looking like the world’s skuzziest sleepover.

“With my mom.” Dasher looked down to his lap, feeling small, as if he wasn’t supposed to admit that.

“Hey look, I’m sorry for this.” Paul subconsciously sniffed, rubbing his nose to hide his embarrassment. “I feel like an asshole, passing out on your couch and all.” Paul leaned his head to the left to catch a glimpse of the boy’s face. “Do you want to watch some TV or something?”

Dasher shook his head. “The TV doesn’t work.”

Paul nodded, feeling guilty for having this addiction before a child. “Can you read?”

“A little bit.”

“Well, I have a library card.” Paul pulled out his wallet and displayed the card proudly, happy to feel somewhat normal. “How about a short walk to get some fresh air.” Paul looked past Dasher to his unconscious mom in the other room. “Unless you think your mom would mind.”

“No, she won’t be up for hours.” Dasher looked up and smiled. A genuine smile too, something he hadn’t done in quite some time.

So he and Paul had taken a nice walk in the morning and read some books in the library. Paul showed him the young adult section where some of his favorite books from childhood were. Dasher could barely read the books Paul handed him, but it didn’t matter. The books themselves were like tangible acts of kindness, physical proof that a boy like him could hold something nice and normal between his grubby fingertips. He’d been so happy in this moment, stemming from a single act of pity from a man that felt guilty for his own pathetic life, seeing it reflected to him in this young boy’s eyes. Dasher had seen Paul a few more times, but then he’d disappeared. Like so many of the people that frequented their house, he just moved on. That one act meant more to him than all the miserable years before and after put together. Thinking about it now, laying on a hard prison cell bed with his cellmate grumbling over his situation, Dasher couldn’t help but feel depressed. That was the best he could do? One stupid act of kindness from some strung out fuck that was probably dead by his own vices?

“I’ll teach you!” Miles grunted.

Dasher opened his eyes and looked toward the bars, but Miles had moved into the far corner of the cell, standing with his back to him. Mile’s posture told him exactly what he was about to do. Hands pulled in toward his crotch, his shoulders bent forward with his head touching the wall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dasher barked, shaking his head.

“Ha!” Miles bounced on the balls of his feet.

“Don’t you even think about it.” Dasher sprang from his bed, crossing the room in a single motion.

Dasher grabbed Miles by the back of his pants and pulled him away from the wall, angry by the puddle on the floor. He pushed Miles into the bars with a heavy thud.

“Help! Rape!” Miles screamed like a woman, his voice cracking.

Dasher brought a hard blow into the man’s right kidney, silencing the screams as if hitting the off button. Miles coughed harshly as he fell onto his back, crying and thrashing. Unable to tolerate his cellmate’s behavior another minute, Dasher dropped to his knees and punched the scrawny freak hard across the face. Miles let out a single moan before passing out. With a grimace, Dasher gripped the waistband of his pants and pulled them up, covering his limp penis.

“Did you hit that fool?” The man in the next cell called out.

“Yes.” Dashed stood, wiping his hands on his legs.

“Thank you!” The man said with a laugh.

The good humor was infection, spreading to the corners of Dasher’s mouth. He looked down at Miles Kraft and wished the man’s girlfriend could have been present for this. Lord knows she must have wanted to smack his annoying ass for years, or however long they’d been together. How any woman could put up with such a tool was nothing short of amazing.

“That’s what you get,” Dasher told Miles, nodding as if he’d ended a lesson and dismissed the class.

Now their cell had taken on the unmistakable musk of urine. Not that it smelled like a flower shop before, but it least it had been less pungent. Dasher laughed with the formation of a plan, feeling giddy like a child at a sleepover about to play their first prank. He knelt down and grabbed Mile’s by the wrist, careful not to touch his hands while remembering one of his nervous ticks. Dasher dragged him along the floor and dropped him to rest over the puddle of urine.

“Next time use a toilet,” Dasher laughed, turning his back on the sad excuse of a man.

Dasher approached the window, wondering how long the rain could keep falling. For days it had been nothing but continual rain, pounding down without mercy. He didn’t need to squint this time to see the thin line of smoke in the distance. Definitely from a fire, looking as black as it did. Even with all this rain the world could still burn.

18

T
ravis loaded the last crate onto the transporter. It had taken four hours to load the entire shipment of four hundred and eighty one crates between him and the two security officers. With a very steady hand, Travis maneuvered the robotic exoskeleton onto the transporter, lifting one heavy foot onto the center, holding a moment to make sure he was balanced, then stepping up. The giant arms and shoulders slouched with a mechanical whine as he powered down the systems, looking as if he’d depressed the machine with a bout of verbal abuse. Travis unbuckled the harness and slipped to his feet, landing with a heavy thud. Both legs are tingling and sore, half asleep from four hours of being stationary. The back of his uniform was soaked with sweat, sticking to his skin and starting to itch. What he wouldn’t give to be back on Earth and have Annie wash this bastard with some fabric softener.

“You guys really need to train some more people on these bitches.” Travis took a seat on the transporter.

“Then what would we need you for?” Alvin asked.

“This place would be pure hell without me here and you know it.”

“It must be so nice to live in a world of pure delusion.” Alvin got behind the wheel of the cart and powered up the fuel cells.

Alvin put the small lever into drive and turned the long transporter in a giant circle, leading them out through a long hallway that led to the main train station. This hallway was built for this purpose in mind, creating the shortest route between the supply ship and the train to disperse supplies. Travis slouched down until his head rested on the cool metal of the transporter, looking up at the lights overhead as they passed by. This wasn’t so bad. Compared to solitary this was paradise. A part of him was feeling guilty. Here he was lying back on a transporter while his entire unit dwelled beneath the surface with heavy equipment and stale air fogging up their facemasks. Every second of comfort made him feel guilty for the choices he’d made. Luckily, only Sean felt the way he did. When he’d presented the decision to his unit it had been met with open mouths and shock. There was anger, fear, excitement. But those feelings all washed away with acceptance. Only Sean stewed on raw hatred, boiling over like a stew left on the stove with the heat turned up.

“First floor, ladies apparel.” Alvin announced over his shoulder as he slowed the transporter, waiting with the engine idling as the heavy security door slid into the wall.

Alvin drove the whisper quiet transporter up a slight incline and turned toward the train’s platform. He exited the transporter and handed transit papers with invoices to the train operator.

“Taking supplies to Facility Three, the scientific sector,” Alvin stated.

The operator took the papers and looked them over thoroughly, looking up for a brief second to give Travis the once over. Travis shot him a friendly wave. The operator signed the transit papers and handed them back to Alvin.

“Bringing the train into the station, stand clear of the tracks.” The operator spoke in a flat tone.

“I don’t think this is what he wanted to do with his life.” Travis hooked a thumb over his shoulder to the operator.

Alvin held a finger to his lips and turned his eyes to the left, motioning toward Andrews standing stiff and alert against the wall. Alvin looked to Andrews and nodded, but received no response. Only the usual heated stare. Travis kept his eyes low as the train approached, knowing that Andrews was not the kind of man to toy with. He’d been the sole reason his stay in solitary had been extended and he did not want to go back. But why the animosity? He’d never said two words to the man, nor had he been the direct cause of any trouble. Yet there was such anger toward him. Toward all those stationed there. Best not to pour gasoline on a dangerous situation. Travis looked out of the corner of his eye as Alvin drove the transporter carefully into the back of the train. Travis hopped off once inside and stood behind the long cart, waving his hands for Alvin to secure it into position. The thick wheels rolled into the four grooves and metal clamps locked the transporter into place.

“Train leaving main station. Take your seats and secure your helmets.” The operator’s voice filled the train through the overhead speakers.

Travis grabbed a helmet out from a compartment in the back, turning it slowly until he felt the rush of air. The back compartment had eight suits and helmets to match, but usually no more than four people went out on the train at one time. He took a second helmet and handed it to Alvin. They both made their way through the four cars and took a seat in the front where the windows were the biggest. The train began to move, entered the dark waiting tunnel for the airlock doors to close, then the slight incline and a bright light. It was like a rebirth, springing from the darkness toward the light at the end of the tunnel. Emerging into a new world.

“Sorry for the silent treatment.” Alvin looked out the window at the red soil and distant mountains. “Andrews is just being a real asshole lately.”

“Lately? I had just assumed he was born that way.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

“Don’t sweat it. Technically it’s your job to keep us quiet and in line.”

“It’s not my job.” Alvin shook his head, turning in his seat to face Travis. “I’m not here to be some prick ass prison guard.”

“Why are you here?”

Alvin held out his hands, motioning to the world about them. “Look at this, Travis. We’re on Mars. Travelling along the surface of a distant planet, working toward making a breathable atmosphere.” Alvin had a distance in his eyes. “How could I pass up the opportunity to be a part of something so important in the survival of our species?” Alvin brought himself back to the present and looked to Travis. “To make a new home for children such as Logan.”

“Well I must say you’ve put a much better spin on our situation. I always focused on the negative. Like I couldn’t bring myself to really look further than the punishment to see the grand scope of things.”

“Don’t feel too bad about it. Most people can’t see but two inches before their own noses,” Alvin smiled. “Take our mutual friend Andrews and his tight bunch of security numbskulls.”

“You’re one of those numbskulls too you know,” Travis interrupted.

“Don’t go lumping me in with those assholes or you’ll find yourself floating home.” Alvin gave a serious nod, enjoying the conversation. It had been a few weeks since his last chat with Travis and he’d wanted to catch up, but Andrews had strict regulations on fraternization with the workers. He felt that close relationships or good terms could lead to an unsafe feeling of comfort, one that could be exploited. “Anyway, back to Captain Asshole. Now there’s one pessimistic son of a bitch.” Alvin shook his head. “He’s under the impression that he’s the last thing standing between colonization and mutiny.”

“I think Andrews is long overdue for a psych evaluation.”

“He has them as often as you or I do, so I guess he’s not that psychotic…or he’s very smart.”

“The insane usually are.” It was disturbing to think their safety and overall existence on the facility might rest in the hands of an unstable man. Especially when that man already didn’t care much for him. “At least we’re in this together.”

“Until the transport ship heads back at least.” Alvin looked to his lap and nodded. “Yep, I’m being transferred out.”

“Your request?”

“It could be worded like that.” Alvin looked up with anger in his eyes. “Andrews has encouraged me to return to the home office. His formal report states that I am acting in an unprofessional manner and am thus creating a dangerous work environment. The home office has too much invested to take a single cautious step, so it’s just easier to ship me out and replace me with a mindless thug,” Alvin sighed.

“Is there any way you can fight this?”

“Andrews has gone to HR dozens of times with reports of improper conduct, little violations here and there. By themselves they’re nothing more than a slap on the wrist, but he’s created a very impressive paper trail. The man’s methodical.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, don’t think it’s a total bad thing. I get to go home to warm showers, pizza, green trees…”

“Fast food, television, hotdogs and baseball.” Travis closed his eyes, sharing a laugh. “Seriously though, this bites the big nasty. It’s going to be pure hell once you’re gone. At least you bring a voice of reason into the security office. Without you, he’s probably going to work us day and night.”

“That can’t happen.” Alvin shook his head. “Home office monitors the psych evaluations and the HR reports very closely. They’ll know if there’s a change in the worker’s moral. Besides, they always have your special reports to fall back on.”

Travis fell silent, feeling as if he’d been caught stealing or lying. “You know about that?”

“I do. I read it while going through your file.”

“Oh great. Wait till Andrews finds out about this.” Travis knew this meant trouble. No telling what he might do if discovered one of his grunts was an informant. It went against every fiber of his being to be a little snitch in the first place, but it did provide all those that lived there a little security. “He’ll have me killed.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alvin smiled. “I’ve removed the mention of it within the overview. Plus we don’t have access to your psych sessions. Others might, but he doesn’t.”

“How did you know about that?”

“I snuck a peek through the files during my last session. Dr. Hoffman had to leave the session to answer an important call from off-world. Sorry, I was just curious.”

“I still think –” Travis was cut off by the train’s overhead speaker.

“Shutting down transportation. Debris covering track twenty-three meters ahead. Please be patient as sweepers are dispatched.”

“What the hell?” Travis asked as the train gave a final lurch, jarring enough to pull them from their seats. Travis took hold of the metal handrail and steadied himself. “Please tell me we haven’t broken down out here? I don’t think we can call for a tow.”

“This is actually quite common.” Alvin gripped the handrail and lifted himself up, peaking out the front window as the trains grill pulled apart. “Watch this.”

A miniature train car came out from within the train and sailed ahead down the track, moving with purpose. It looked to Travis like something he might buy his son to drive around in. It came to an abrupt stop and sat motionless for a full minute.

“Deploying sweeping units,” the automated voice informed them.

The small train rose up in the front as a high-powered air blower lowered itself to the track, looking like a mechanical elephant. It slowly crept forward, blowing high-powered air at the large mound of dirt that had accumulated over the track.

“Every so often the dust storms leave a generous helping of dirt and rocks on the tracks.” Alvin pointed out the window. “The train could probably just plow through, but if it happened to go off track…well, would you really want to be the one out here when that happened?”

“Yeah, it’s a long walk back,” Travis agreed.

“Track has been cleared of all debris.” The train stated a moment later.

They watched the small train lower as the air blower pulled back inside, and then it zoomed toward the train, disappearing within. The grill lowered and closed with a loud clank of metal.

“Resuming transport. Please be seated,” the train warned a second before it took off down the track.

Travis and Alvin both fell into their seats, looking at each other with the same expression of surprise. Travis yawned, shaking his head to push out the exhaustion.

“You won’t hurt my feelings if you want to get in a good nap.” Alvin looked up at the small visual display showing their location on the track. “You have about four hours ‘til we get there.”

“I’m just afraid you’ll try and have your way with me or something.”

“Oh please. You’re not my type.”

Travis let out a single laugh as he leaned his head against the wall. He felt like a goldfish inside an empty fishbowl with his head bobbing about inside the helmet. He could take it off and be fine, but there was always that fear in the back of his mind, a sudden break in the glass or a tear in the hull. He’d spent too many hours watching the briefing videos to take a chance on that. All that footage of “what would happen.” So Travis put aside the pain in his neck and closed his eyes, pulling his focus off the pain in the small of his back or the dry taste in his mouth left from the recycled air. Exhaustion took hold and pulled hard. He let go and fell into a well-deserved sleep.