by Sarah Snyder
“Just because it was a deep space exploration ship, doesn’t mean it’s capable of it now,” Sawyer returned, mimicking Maverick’s defensive stance. “That piece of junk crashed here before the first settlements were built. It doesn’t even take fuel cells.”
“It does now.” Maverick smiled at the man beside him, a wide grin Sawyer saw far too infrequently of late.
Sawyer regarded the man beside his brother. In his late thirties, with dirt brown hair and eyes, the man’s pale, splotched skin hung from his too thin body. He shoved the black-rimmed, thick glasses back onto his nose and smiled up at Maverick over their edges. Sawyer held back the anxiety he felt at the relationship between his brother and the older man. Somewhere between genius and insane, one would find Carl Morgan.
Diagnosed with Alien disorder only a few days after his arrival on Flamouria, Carl proved the exception to the norm – veering toward illogical, eccentric, and disruptive rather than savage. Showing no signs of violence, he was released under his own care. Many felt sorry for the once brilliant scientist’s fall from sanity, allowing him to live in the abandoned storage building unbothered.
Sawyer crossed his arms and widened his stance before he addressed the defiant teenager. “You need to return the fuel cells.”
Maverick’s angst showed in his posture. “Why? They weren’t using them. They don’t care about having them; they just don’t want anyone else to have them.”
“To live a life of wait is a slow death; to live a life of purpose is a slower death.” Carl nodded with a smile, happy with his obscure line. “We gave them purpose.”
“It wasn’t your place to give them purpose,” Sawyer’s comment held more meaning than the usefulness of fuel cells.
“The kid’s right.” Wil’s earlier amusement faded into cynicism at the mention of the Administration. “They were never going to use them. They’ve been sitting there since they were dropped by the TSS months ago. The only reason they’re filing for them now, is so Earth will reimburse them for the loss. They get to file for a supply drop and Mav and Crazy Carl get to play with their ship. Win, win in my book.”
“Not helping,” Sawyer mumbled, his eyes flashing at his friend’s choice of sides in the argument.
“All I’m saying,” Wil claimed, raising his hands in defense and shrugging his shoulders. Sawyer didn’t fault his opinion; he knew Wil would be thrilled with the knowledge of Maverick breaking into Admin property for the fact it was his father who would be impacted by the event. Wil was the epitome of reluctant elite, his opinions and values conflicting – sometimes violently – with his Senior Administrator father’s materialist stance. It was one such violent encounter a year ago which landed a beaten and dejected Wil on Sawyer’s doorstep. After a sleepless night of conversation, their previously casual friendship developed into a deep respect and appreciation for each other. Sawyer considered the man his brother as much as Maverick.
“What are you doing?” Wil addressed Carl, who began moving restlessly around the table picking up and replacing parts while Sawyer’s thoughts rambled.
Carl moved around the room with increasingly hurried and unconnected movements, stacking his papers on the table before moving to a shelf unit next to the entrance and shuffling the items it contained. He moved to a pile of parts and tools, rifling through them with jerking movements. His hand shook, his steps stuttering across the cracked floor, clearly disoriented and anxious.
“Is he okay?” Wil questioned Maverick, nodding in Carl’s direction when his initial question received no response.
“He’s been like this all day,” Maverick attempted to hide his concern behind a shrug, but Sawyer saw through the façade.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Wil repeated the question with more inflection, gaining a moment of the frantic man’s attention.
“Something,” Carl blinked furiously, as if coming out of a trance, and opened the large, floor-to-ceiling door on the far wall.
A familiar, childish wonder filled Sawyer as the lights flickered on in the massive hangar Carl revealed. Larger than the shuttles high-class Admins used for personal travel and the transports the Terran Space Station sent with cargo and crew, the ship filled the five-story shelter in height and width. She showed her advanced age, deprived of the sleek lines and edges of modern crafts, but kept her skin well. When first discovered, scorch marks marred her belly, two broken fins paralyzed her back, and a crimson hue bloodied her hull. While her complexion hadn’t changed, the scorch marks were gone – replaced by the same red as the rest of her body – and her fins were smaller, upgraded prostheses. Two boosters sat at her hips, arching toward where he stood ogling her backside. A cannon adorned her head, gleaming black and dangerous against the matte covering the rest of her. The only other shine was across her nose – below the mirrored panels of the bridge – untouched by age or fade of the years she’d slept in the hangar: Anastasis.
Her freight door was opened, taking up the first two stories of her hind end and acting as an access ramp to her cargo hold. Wires, tubes, boxes, and parts littered the inside of the storage area, creating a maze of materials only an unstable mind could navigate.
“Come on, brother, don’t you ever think about it anymore?” Maverick’s tone softened, his eyes glazed with possibilities. “Getting off this dead rock and starting over somewhere? Traveling through the Verse?”
“I don’t have time for fantasies anymore, Mav,” Sawyer’s response chilled the wonder in his brother’s expression – the same wonder Sawyer recognized in himself, but didn’t dare focus on. Sawyer didn’t relish denying Maverick’s innocent excitement, knowing he hated their birth planet and dreamed of escaping its atmosphere. Memory flooded his senses, reminding him of childish dreams and desires. Sawyer shared the same dream for years before finally accepting his station. Sawyer and Maverick were denied the same rights as transferred citizens; the restrictions of Earth and Flamouria’s governments on transfers between worlds didn’t allow natural born Flamourians many options.
Sawyer and Maverick met Anastasis while exploring the boundaries of Alpha Sect soon after their arrival, eight years earlier. They sat in her burned out boosters, fantasizing about sailing the stars and discovering new worlds like the first Earth explorers. Their fantastic utopia in deep space offered a reprieve from reality for several years until Carl’s relocation to the far edges of civilization. At their father’s warning, Sawyer avoided the storage building and the man who claimed it, but Maverick saw a chance to defy their distant guardian. Darren Hale’s death a year later affected each brother differently: Sawyer’s childhood ended as he claimed the role of Maverick’s caretaker and sole provider for their small family; Maverick saw an opportunity for a new beginning, the resurrection of the ship and the dreams he placed in her. As Carl’s mind faded, Sawyer worried of the day he might become like the others infected with the same blight, but Maverick’s faith never wavered.
“They came, they tried to tame, but their attempts went lame,” Carl preached as he moved around the large ship, tinkering with a few small, insignificant pieces of paneling in the cargo hold. “And fire will rain down – devouring and destroying all they built – leaving only ash. Ash is versatile, adaptable, moves with the freedom of the wind. They will not fall, they will not fail; they will fly. They will escape into the icy void beyond their burning world and the ash will settle.”
“It will never fly!” Sawyer shouted over his ranting, the man’s words watering a seed in his gut he didn’t dare nourish lest it consume him.
“Never is a definite term,” Carl halted his movements and stared seriously at Sawyer. “You should not use definite terms, especially when it was already proven false. The ship has flown before, therefore to say it never will again is irrational.”
“I’m the irrational one,” Sawyer stared at the man blankly.
Carl looked him, studying Sawyer as if he were the speck of dust on the former scientist’s lens. Eventually, the older man gave a
short nod with his answer; “yes.”
“Okay, enough of this,” Sawyer massaged the stress and exhaustion from his temples. “It’s late, I’m tired, and we will talk about this tomorrow; we’re leaving.”
“No, no, there’s no more time,” Carl spoke over his shoulder as he walked up the cargo ramp and disappeared into the ship.
“Let’s go,” Sawyer ignored Carl’s rhetorical ranting and Maverick’s protest as his tolerance for his brother’s mouth wore thin. He grabbed Maverick by the collar, pulling him toward the door amid his angry stuttering and Wil’s laughter. “This isn’t a democracy, little brother.”
The night greeted them with sifted tears, dampening their hair and clothes in moments. The sludge neared the toe of his boots – higher than when they’d approached the building – and Sawyer stumbled at the unexpected depth. Maverick took advantage of his momentary weakness, shifting his weight and kicking the back of Sawyer’s knee. Sawyer cursed as he met the mud, shaking one hand free as the other braced his fall. “What in hellfire was that for?”
“I’m not a child anymore, Sawyer! You can’t boss me around like when we were kids!”
“While you’re underage, I’m responsible for you, and you will do as I say!”
“You aren’t dad, so stop trying to be like him!”
“No, I’m not dad, because if I was dad I’d feel bad about kicking your ass!”
“I’d like to see you try!” Maverick taunted smartly.
“Enough; we’re going home.” Sawyer stood and brushed at the mud on his slacks.
“This isn’t home, Sawyer! This was never home!” Maverick’s expression warped, his face dripping with acidic rain mixed with salted tears. “Our home is gone! It’s been gone for over eight years! It burned to the ground with the bodies of our mother and sister inside! The only reason we stayed on Flamouria is because Alpha Sect promised to protect us, and dad believed it! And the only reason we’re here now that he’s dead too, is because you believe it!”
“Maverick…”
“Don’t you dare call this home,” Maverick swiped at leaking eyes, his voice thick with unrestrained emotion. “Our home was nothing like this place. Our home had windows looking out over a stream; we cooled off in it when the sun got too hot. It had a box of soil out front Dad made so Ella could grow wildflowers, because she cried when dad said she couldn’t plant them with the rest of the crops. It smelled like the cinnamon bread mom made and the sweet water she used for our baths. You don’t remember; you don’t want to remember! Dad didn’t want to remember either, but I do; I won’t forget. I won’t ever forget!”
“I remember.”
“You don’t!”
“I remember everything!” Sawyer raised his tone to stop Maverick’s continuation of his tirade, but lowered it after he’d gained the boy’s attention. “I remember the song mom used to sing Ella to sleep. I remember the way mom’s eyes lit up whenever dad walked in the door; how he used to drop everything and wrap his arms around her. I remember it and you’re right; I don’t want to.”
Sawyer’s confession ignited a spark in Maverick; fire ignited in his flesh, exploding through his fist as it smacked hard into Sawyer’s jaw. Caught off guard at the attack, Sawyer reeled back, blinking in startled fascination at Maverick’s heaving, irate form. Before he could recover from his shock, Maverick was on top of him, the force of his impact sucking the air from Sawyer’s lungs and burying him flat into the marsh.
Maverick roared with the pent-up rage he’d suppressed for eight years, releasing the hate, misery, and darkness carved into his flesh. Sawyer raised his arms, blocking the fury of blows as best he could. Despite his defense, several blows left him reeling at the force behind his little brother’s rage. A left hook to his temple blurred his vision; a right jab to his jaw gnashed his teeth. Maverick slipped in the mud, his hesitation allowing Sawyer a moment to recover and flip his brother into the mud.
“Stop…” right to his cheekbone, “being…” left to his ribs, “an asshole!” Sawyer ended with a solid left to Maverick’s nose as his anger diminished with the physical exertion.
“I’m the asshole?” Maverick whined, holding his bleeding nose as his body heaved with mental, emotional, and physical exertion.
“I think we can safely assume you’re both assholes,” Wil chuckled pridefully at his dual insult, the metal of the building bowing to his presence against it.
“Think this is funny, Wil?” Sawyer raised his brow at Wil’s entertained posture.
“Yeah, I do.” Wil’s smug response shattered the remnants of temper between the brothers, who looked at each other meaningfully before moving as one toward Wil. His amused smile faded with the movement, holding out his hands pleadingly as they neared. “Don’t even think about it!”
“Too late!” Maverick launched at Wil, knocking them into the muck with Sawyer close behind.
Wil released a stream of curses, shoving the added weight pressing him deeper in the mud. Sawyer rolled away as water gurgled around them, but Maverick stayed long enough to smear slime through Wil’s golden hair. “Ugh, get off, turd!” Wil’s demand sparked a chuckle in Sawyer’s gut which quickly escalated into a bubbling laugh. Maverick and Wil stilled at his amusement, the sight of their wide eyes staring out from mud-encrusted faces striking Sawyer as hilarious.
“No, you can’t…” Carl’s frantic shout from the doorway trailed off as he noticed their situation. His mouth remained opened, but no words emerged for several moments as he blinked in confused wonder. “What are you doing?”
“Being assholes,” Wil threw a handful of mud at Maverick’s fleeing form, his voice only mimicking anger as his lips quivered in hidden amusement.
“And, I’m the one they call crazy,” Carl muttered lucidly as he shook his head at their antics.
Maverick moved toward the building, but Sawyer stopped him before he took a full step. “I’m wet, dirty, and exhausted. We’re going back before the flats become impassable. I want a shower.”
“I’m going to second that one,” Wil raised one hand to vote as the other uselessly brushed at the mud on his jacket. “Come on, kid. This has been fun and all, but we stink like swamp and I’m starting to chafe.”
“Gross,” Maverick sneered.
“Yes, shower,” Carl waved an arm at them to come with him, “in the lockers.”
“The lockers? This place has running water?” Sawyer asked dubiously.
“Water materialization system for long-term sustainment,” Maverick answered with a nod. “They planned these old buildings for long-term sustainability in case there wasn’t easily accessible water on the surface.”
“Water is everywhere; the air we breathe, the fluid we sweat, the particles of matter too small to see,” Carl shifted anxiously, his eyes scanning the night.
“Yeah, I get it,” Sawyer stopped the man’s ranting as he became increasingly fidgety. Leaning toward Maverick, he whispered in a tone too low for Carl to hear from his distance, “what’s wrong with him?”
“You mean besides the obvious?” Wil mumbled in response before Maverick could answer.
“He doesn’t like the dark,” Maverick shared the information, taking a step toward Carl.
“Mav,” Sawyer crossed his arms over his mud-coated chest.
“What?” Maverick questioned with a half-smile and raised brow. “We have everything we need right here. Showers, beds, water, food, even clothes; what else do we need?”
“You have all that here?” Wil asked dubiously.
“Yeah, on the ship. We’ve been stocking her for months. Whatever I can grab.”
“Why?” Wil blinked at Maverick’s information.
“We don’t know what’s out there; if there are other stations, or planets. We wanted to be prepared for every possibility,” Maverick explained as if speaking to a child, insinuating Wil should know the answer already.
“We aren’t leaving Flamouria,” Sawyer’s anger surged through his discomfort.
“Man, you know I’m all for the comforts of our quarters,” Wil looked down at his feet as they sunk in the puddles their physical altercation formed. “But, I think we may need to consider that whole ‘impassable’ thing.”
Sawyer looked around him, confident they could make the trek back to the dwellings without too much impedance. “We’ll be fine.”
“Granted, but we are cold, wet, and covered in mud,” Wil held up a hand in placation as he formed his argument. “All I’m saying is, the turd says we have showers and clothes here. It would be a much easier walk back if we weren’t dragging all of this extra mud with us.”
Sawyer opened his mouth, seeking an argument against Wil’s logic but finding none. While they were physically capable of making the journey as they were, the addition of their heavy, damp clothing would make for a slow, miserable experience. Looking toward the distant lit heart of Alpha Sect, Sawyer accepted the democracy he’d previously denied. “Where are the extra clothes?” Sawyer asked Maverick with a sigh, shaking mud from his arms as he stepped toward the building.
“I’ll get them,” Maverick’s face lit up at his brother’s acquiescence. “This will be great! We can stay on the ship. We have the sleeping quarters made up already.”
“We’re not staying the night, Mav. We’re just cleaning up and going home.” Sawyer’s words halted Maverick’s steps, his back looking strained as if weighted down by a large burden.
“Why?” The thickness of Maverick’s tone held remnants of emotional strain, making it clear to Sawyer he wasn’t asking for an explanation of his choice. “Why don’t you want to remember?” The question clung to the humid air they drew into their lungs, saturating every fiber of their beings and vibrating the tension between them.
“When you think of all those things, you feel better; it makes the bad memories easier. It doesn’t do that for me. For me, it just,” Sawyer swallowed the ball of acid in his throat, “it hurts.”
