Empty Space

by Alan Black

  Yesterday afternoon was surprising. A farm foreman assigned Fugget, a smallish boy and York as a crew of three. The small boy, Toby, drove the hay baler slowly, following rows of cut, raked, dry hay. The machine picked up the hay, formed it into bales, and dropped them into a container. The chute’s original design was to automatically maneuver and stack the bales neatly inside the container. Normally, Toby could have managed the whole operation. However, the equipment they used was old and faulty. Fugget manually wrestled the chute, trying to drop the bales into place. He failed miserably. The chute fought back as if it had a mind of its own, dropping bales into the container in a fashion described by Toby as cattywompus.

  York wasn’t sure what cattywompus meant. The word was an accurate description if it meant the bales just dropped into the container without any order. He volunteered to stand inside the container and restack the bales to make the most effective use of the storage space. The bales weighed around a hundred pounds standard, but Liberty’s gravity was at ninety percent standard. It would still have been a challenge if he had not been used to working out in almost one and a half gravities. Rather than wait for the bales to fall before picking them up and moving them, he began catching them in mid-air, dropping them into place.

  They laughed as the boy throttled the baler’s speed up, pushing forward quicker than any of the others could move. Their speed encouraged other teams and drivers to move faster and faster. Only one man ran the newest baler. It ran the slowest as the automatic’s design moved at little more than a snale’s pace. Several two-man teams tried to keep up with York, Fugget and Toby, but couldn’t.

  The rhythm of the machine was mind numbing, yet they ran out of bales long before York was ready to quit. It’d been a close race whether the sun would set first or they would run out of hay. The sun won, but not by much and they finished the job using floating overhead lights. It wasn’t any more tiring than a normal afternoon on the weight machines. The big surprise came when Altamont shook his hand, thanked him for his extra effort, and held his hand in the air in front of the rest of the workers as if he was the greatest champion hay baler of all time. Such praise was unexpected since he’d volunteered and helped just to be neighborly. He was also surprised to learn Toby was Altamont’s young son.

  Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, he rubbed a small corner of his quilt across his cheek. He had never given bedding a thought. It just was. However, this quilt was his and his alone. Yesterday morning he hadn’t owned any personal possessions since he’d burned his only set of civvie clothing the day before his aborted graduation ceremony. Everything he wore or kept in his B&B room was navy owned down to his underwear and the pillowcase. Now he had a quilt. No. He had a quilt and a rock.

  A shaft of light from the rising sun stabbed him in the eye just as he was trying to imagine what he else he might own before his liberty ended. He jumped out of bed with a start. The sun was coming up in the wrong direction. He knew he went to bed with the guest bedroom window facing planetary west. Glancing out the window as he dressed, he was shocked. The Altamont’s farm and the growing town were gone.

  SEVENTEEN

  Saorsa City had shifted and restructured itself around the newly arrived government road train. Retail businesses clustered together, guest dormitories and hotels scattered about as the mood struck the owners, and businesses catering to entertainment clustered near other such businesses: bars near other bars, restaurants near other restaurants, boat and canoe rentals by the lake with rafters along the incoming river, and fishing and bait supplies near the mouth of the lake’s effluent.

  The lake was sparkling with clear water fifty feet down. The water was cleaner than most of the recycled water in every floater’s storage tanks, generating a line of floaters emptying holding tanks at the lake’s out flowing river and moving to refill from the cool lake center. Snow covered mountains in the distance reflected across the lake’s shimmering silver surface. Huge fish breached the mirrored surface with increasing frequency as the rising sun warmed and awakened the area’s insect population. Wide beaches stretched away in every direction.

  A gentle breeze tickled the wind chimes hanging from the Wilson’s canopy, tinkling an irregular tune sounding like music for dancing fairies. The flags across the road flapped lazily in the morning air. A laughing child raced down the street, chased by her giggling little sister. The deep green forest’s smell behind the Fugget’s floater mixed gently with the cool dampness coming off the lake. A delicate waft of smoke drifted over from someone’s smoker with the odor of cooking sausage and bacon. Even York’s morning coffee smelled refreshing, more so than coffee ever had. Breakfasting on the front porch with the Fuggets was more like heaven than he’d ever imaged heaven to be.

  The only jarring note to this idyllic morning was a group of navy enlisted ratings, still drunk from last night, howling in manic alcohol-fueled merriment, splashing in the lake, running along the beach and vomiting in the bushes. York wondered if anyone would notice if he drowned a few. Surely, the navy wouldn’t miss them. He understood their almost panicked frenzy. Military life, especially for the lower ratings and ranks wasn’t the pleasant life they’d been led to believe by navy recruiters. Day after day, duty on a spacecraft was confining. Leave and liberty were rare between habitable planets. Trying to cram as much fun in as a person could possibly fit into those sporadic times was almost a self-defeating activity leaving the reveler more worn and frazzled than when he started. Just because he understood it, didn’t mean he wanted them to do it where he had to watch and listen.

  Fugget laughed as three enlisted women picked up a fourth young girl. Running across the sand, they threw her into the lake to come up sputtering and swearing. York wondered how the man could find any enjoyment at such behavior. It was a quiet serene morning and the navy folks were ruining it.

  Mimi looked at York over the lip of her coffee cup. “You don’t approve?” She pointed toward the beach.

  York said, “I understand it.”

  “That isn’t what I asked.”

  York nodded, “Yes, ma’am. I don’t think I approve. It isn’t their fault. I imagine they’ve been caged for so long any taste of freedom is intoxicating.”

  Fugget laughed, “Hence the reason why the navy calls going ashore ‘liberty’.”

  Mimi said, “I like them this way. It sounds like money to me. They’re happy and happy people spend cash. After they settle down, have a little breakfast, maybe drink a little hair of the dog, they’ll walk along this road. My plan is for them all to go back aboard ship with empty pockets carrying more Liberty goods than they have room to store.”

  Fugget said, “Such a mercenary heart. Is there any wonder why I love you?”

  Mimi replied, “Well, you obviously didn’t marry me for my looks.”

  Fugget laughed, “Yep, hideous old crone!”

  York was shocked. Mimi was more than pretty. The more he looked, the more attractive she became. How could a husband say such thinks about his wife? How could a smile and a laugh take the sting out of such words? Mimi’s reply wrapped his wonder in a blanket of surprise.

  Mimi snorted. Setting her coffee cup down, she moved to sit in her husband’s lap, punctuating her insults with tiny kisses all over his face. “A little runt of a man like you is lucky I even deigned to go out with you in the first place. I don’t know why I bothered to marry such a little man. I guess I had to marry you out of pity since there wasn’t another woman on the planet who would take you.”

  York wasn’t sure he understood. Fugget wasn’t small by anyone’s definition, but the man didn’t seem to be insulted or embarrassed, so York smiled and continued watching.

  Fugget looked thoughtful and said, “Well, I do remember a young girl named Sandy Watchman. She was kind of cute. We did date a few times.”

  “Kind of cute?” Mimi tapped him lightly on the forehead. “You moron. She won the Miss Liberty Beauty Pageant. I only took first runner up.”

  Fug
get shook his head. “The competition was rigged. You beat her hands down.”

  Mimi nuzzled his ear and said, “What about MaryBeth, um what-was-her-name?”

  Fugget shook his head, “Nah. She had buck teeth.”

  “Gail Holmes?”

  “Too tall for me.”

  “Yoyo Teller?”

  “Tits too big,” Fugget said. “See, I had to marry you to save the other men from temptation so they’d all quit comparing other women to you.”

  Mimi kissed him long and hard, then poked him in the middle of his chest with a stiff finger. “Twenty years of marriage and you’re still full of shit.” She looked over at York. “Do you have a girlfriend somewhere?”

  York shook his head. Kenna Altamont had been on his mind more often than not. Thinking about it, he wasn’t sure he wanted a girlfriend or a boyfriend for that matter. The thought of being intimate with any human, female or male, twisted his stomach into knots. He didn’t like people touching him and sitting as close as the Fuggets were to each other would have be extremely upsetting.

  He reached down and ran his fingers through Vesper’s dark hair. “I think I’ll stick with this girlfriend for a while.”

  Mimi said, “I know a half a dozen girls … and even a few boys, who would be hair pulling, nail scratching, and biting just for a chance to date a hunk of man-meat like you. I could set you—”

  Fugget squeezed Mimi to interrupt her. “Leave the guy alone.”

  “I’m just asking—”

  “No. You’re just starting to do a little matchmaking. Your matchmaking never turns out right and you know it. Leave it alone.”

  Mimi laughed, “So, I ain’t any good at matchmaking. Not being good at something doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep trying. It only has to work once.”

  Fugget shook his head, “No. Your brussel sprouts are horrible. That doesn’t mean you should keep making them just in case you get them right once. He’s young, give him a chance to be free first.”

  York said, “Thank you for your concern, but I’m quite content without a girlfriend.”

  Mimi laughed. “That’s because I haven’t found you the right one—”

  She was interrupted by a noise like the sound of a feral cat being shoved through a wood chipper. It screeched and yowled for a few moments and then quit, followed by the sound of a drum roll. York was on his feet in an instant. He didn’t know which way to turn, whether to run or fight. Picking up Mimi, Fugget stood slowly, turned, and sat her in his chair. He stretched. “There’s the pipe and drums. I guess the games are getting ready to begin.”

  York untensed his muscles. If the Fuggets weren’t worried about the noise, then he wouldn’t be either. “Games?”

  Fugget nodded, “Sure. The Altamont’s always put on some games when we get together at their place.”

  “The Altamont’s own this place?”

  “Yep, we’re still on their land. Mimi, are you coming?”

  Mimi nodded, “Missus Wilson is going to keep an eye on my goods.” She stepped into their floater, calling all the dogs inside. Vesper didn’t want to leave York, yet she followed the other dogs at his urging. Mimi came back out and handed Fugget a huge double-bladed war axe and a heavy pair of work boots with nine inch blades poking out the front of the soles. She had a six-shot revolver strapped to her waist and carried a lever action carbine.

  York was practically unarmed. All he had with him was the thin-bladed knife he carried in his boot, the wire garrote threaded from his left shoulder to his left wrist, and the retractable ice pick in the special sheath at his neck. “Do we need guns where we’re going?” He didn’t know what type of game called for deadly weapons, though whatever is was, he was all for it.

  Mimi’s face was blank as she dropped a barrier over the dog door, trapping the pack inside the floater. “What guns? Guns are illegal here.”

  Fugget nodded. “No guns here. Why, do you want one?”

  York said, “I scored pretty high on the pistol range back at the academy. Do I need one?”

  Mimi stepped back inside, quickly returning with a small knapsack and a holstered pistol. She handed them to York. “Be careful. It might be loaded.”

  York strapped the holster to his waist. The gun was a Walther PPK. It’s great, great granddaddy had been James Bond’s favorite. He’d fantasized about shooting one ever since he’d read Goldfinger by Ian Fleming. This was the first one he’d ever seen. Checking its receiver and magazine, he noted it operated like the pistols he had trained with on the Yard’s sim range. The magazine was loaded and there was no cartridge in the chamber. The knapsack contained a small box of cartridges, ear and eye protectors, and a shooting glove. He grinned. To borrow such a thing, to wear it, to pretend the gun was his was better than his souvenir rock. Still, the small handgun wasn’t as good as his new quilt. On the other hand, holding a lethal weapon was more than delightful, sending an electrical charge dancing along his spine.

  Fugget said, “You better be better than proficient with that thing if you enter any shooting competition at the games.”

  The three trailed along the road until they reached a wide grass-covered field. There were streamers, balloons and booths of all kinds set up around the edge of the field. Fugget led them over to a table. York was pleased to see Kenna and her younger brother Toby sitting behind the table. She looked as good as his morning coffee had smelled.

  Toby nodded to him and went back to talking to a couple of men York recognized from baling hay. Suddenly, Kenna jumped up, bolting around the table. She wrapped him in a hug. “York. I’d heard you were here. I wondered if you were going to find me or if I was going to have to hunt you down.”

  She’d never called him anything other than Ensign Sixteen before. He realized the rules must be different on the planet than up on the station. He almost saluted her and then settled for the hug. The close contact made him nervous. He wanted to both push her away and hug her closer. He smiled, “It’s good to see you, Kenna. I’d have hunted you down quicker if I’d thought you’d be so pleased to see me.”

  Kenna laughed, “I should’ve known he was talking about you when Toby said some monster navy guy spent all afternoon throwing hundred pound hay bales around like they were ten pound sacks of flowers.” She looked at the Fuggets. “Are you signing into the games?”

  Mimi nodded, “I’m for the cowboy shooting, freestyle wrestling and the tracker’s challenge.”

  York didn’t know what any of those games were. He understood shooting and freestyle. The rest of the words left him feeling ignorant and confused. He would just have to swallow his embarrassment and ask what they were saying. Fugget signed up to do axe throwing, hammer throw and something called a caber toss. He understood those games better, but only a little bit.

  Finally, Kenna turned to him, “You’re next, York. What do you want—?”

  A voice coming from behind York interrupted her. “It doesn’t matter what you sign the budger up for, he’ll come in last. Always does, so you might as well move to the back of the line, Sixteen.”

  York turned slowly. Blade Balderano laughed like he was joking, but York could see the man’s eyes weren’t laughing. Balderano wasn’t in uniform and a small cluster of Gambion FAC pilots, including York’s favorite, Lieutenant Junior Grade Bartol Samdon, surrounded him. The dog pack clique had managed shore leave en mass. None of them were laughing. More than one was already drunk and still drinking. Samdon was barely able to stand. York nodded and stepped to the side, gesturing the crowd forward. He saluted each person he recognized as a higher-ranking officer.

  Fugget started to protest, but York waved him down. “I do have some questions anyway before I sign up. Might as well let them go ahead.” Dressed in his black utility uniform, he was required to allow any higher-ranking officer to cut the line in front of him. Even though Samdon, Balderano, and their companions were in civvies, he knew them to be higher-ranked. Moving to the back of the line was of little consequence to him o
ther than interrupting his conversation with Kenna. He would still have his chance to talk to her when he reached the front of the line. Besides, he’d rather have Samdon and Balderano in front of him than behind him, even in public.

  Mimi asked, “The boy who spoke is a handsome lad, York. Is he a friend of yours?”

  York shook his head. “Not friends exactly. We knew each other at the Yards and the Gambion is the ship that brought me to the station. We’ve known each other for a while.”

  York glanced at the FAC pilots. Balderano was flirting with Kenna, laughing and joking with an ease York had ever felt with anyone. Kenna was laughing heartily at something Balderano said, enjoying the attention. She flipped her long hair away from her face and gripped his bicep, giving it a little squeeze. He couldn’t hear her, but she laughed again and signed Balderano up for some competition or other. York remembered her chastising him on the station about rich, slick officers playing up to local girls. He wondered if her stricture applied just to the women under her command, if she practiced what she preached, or if it was just him she had objections to. Still, her greeting this morning had seemed genuine, but at polar opposites to their first meeting on Em.T-Sp8s.

  He turned back to the Fuggets. “I’m not sure what to sign up for. I know shooting, but what is cowboy shooting?”

  Mimi said, “It’s using both a revolver and a rifle, moving around a range shooting at random targets popping up and dropping away at various distances. Sometimes you have to use a pistol and sometimes you have to use a rifle. I’d be doing mounted shooting if this cheap bastard I married would let me buy a horse. You’d best stay with either pistol speed-draw or accuracy if you’re not used to switching guns in mid-shoot.”

  York nodded, “I think I understand freestyle wrestling, but what is the tracker’s challenge?”