by Ben Wolf
Great. Now I smell like rotten fish.
Groans and curses sounded from the dozens of others seated around them.
Keontae held his feet up. “You got lucky this time, bro.”
Justin scoffed. “If you say so.”
Keontae called down the row. “Hey, someone send a cleaning bot down here? I’m not putting my feet down ‘til this mess gets cleaned up.”
But a cleaning bot wouldn’t come so close to landing. They’d just have to deal with the smell, and Keontae would either have to keep his feet up or get them dirty.
Justin sighed, and when he inhaled again, a fresh wave of stomach-acid-salmon hit his nose.
Definitely should’ve just let it flow. He wiped his face with his other sleeve to try to transfer the smell from his face to his shirt, but it didn’t work.
He looked up at the trip stats displayed on the screen in electric blue lettering. They’d traveled nine and a half days from New Germania-7, the nearest hub to Ketarus-4, where he would begin his new life, separate from the travails he’d left behind at his old job.
When he looked, the countdown clock read 11:34, or “hEll” upside down. Then it ticked down to 11:33, then 11:32.
He shook his head and smirked. That number, 11:34, seemed to follow him everywhere. Here it was again. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him something.
Eleven minutes to landing. Then he could get cleaned up.
Their descent had leveled out, and Justin took in his surroundings for the trillionth time. Face-to-face rows of men and a few sporadic women lined the interior of the Nightingale-Class transport starship, all strapped in. Most of them glared at him, and some of them whispered and murmured to each other.
But what was he supposed to do? He’d requested a spot near the back of the ship for this exact reason. At least he’d tried to make things easier on everyone else.
As the minutes passed, most of them looked away, but one guy—a big, bulky dude with a bald head and arched eyebrows—maintained his bitter, brown-eyed stare the whole time. He sat about five seats away from Justin and Keontae.
One of the big guy’s buddies leaned in and muttered something indiscernible, and a faint smile curled the corners of the big guy’s lips. Justin watched him mouth the word “pussy” to his friend, and they shared a chuckle.
Justin scowled at him. He couldn’t help his vertigo.
But it didn’t faze big guy. One of the benefits of being huge: less fear of everyone else.
“We’ve begun our final descent into K-4 Station. Please remain in your seats until the captain has deactivated the ‘fasten harness’ sign,” a female voice said over the ship’s comms. “For those of you with connecting flights or local transport, please refer to the screens inside the terminal when we land.”
The big guy eyed Justin all through the landing and as the ship taxied along the runway.
Keontae, who’d managed to keep his feet out of Justin’s vomit for the remainder of the flight, nudged him from across the aisle. “Bro, why’s that bald dude staring at you?”
Justin shook his head. “I don’t know, but it’s pissing me off.”
Keontae shook his head. “You think he wants to brawl?”
“He’d better not.”
“If he does, I got your back.”
“I know you do, Key. Thanks.”
The ship came to a stop, and a tone chimed. The harness icon on the screen above blacked out, and Justin unfastened the clasps across his chest and waist.
Down the row, the big guy did as well, and when he stood to his full height, he had to duck under the ceiling. He had to be close to seven feet tall and all muscle.
“Day-um.” Keontae hadn’t bothered to unfasten himself. “That’s a large man. You might be on your own after all, JB.”
Justin shifted his scowl to Keontae. “Thanks.”
“C’mon, man. You know I’m playin’.” Keontae nudged his shoulder. “Besides, the bigger they are…”
“The more children they eat?” Justin finished Keontae’s prompt.
Keontae laughed. “You’re crazy.”
Justin smiled, even though everything still reeked of salmon barf. “I know.”
“Thank you for flying MetaFlight Space Transport,” the comms said. “We wish you all the best and hope you’ll travel with us again in the future.”
Only if I have to.
Minutes later, after everyone else left, Justin grabbed his pack from the overhead compartment and filed out of the ship. Keontae maneuvered around the vomit and followed him out with his own pack slung over his shoulder.
They followed the few hundred people exiting the spacecraft through the sealed walkway and into the space station.
They hit the restroom first so Justin could clean up, and he changed his shirt while he was at it. He emerged from the stall wearing a cleaner version of the denim shirt he’d worn the last day of the flight.
“Grown-ass man, and you puke all over everything when you fly.” Keontae shook his head. “What am I gonna do with you?”
“How about you shut up, and we get our bags and find our transport to the mine?”
“Oh-ho, so that’s how it is? Alright. I’m following you, Columbus.”
Justin gave himself a quick once-over in the mirror and ran his fingers through his disheveled brown hair. He leaned forward and sighed. Space travel sucked. Only twenty-four years old, and dark lines already rimmed the skin under his blue eyes.
He led Keontae out of the restroom and promptly collided with someone. She dropped her bag, and he managed to knock over her red rolling suitcase, too.
“Oh, gosh—I’m sorry.” Justin bent over to pick up the suitcase, but she snatched it away before he could get ahold of it. He looked up at her and froze.
“It’s fine,” she said.
Blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Dark green eyes the color of the only forest he’d ever seen. High cheekbones accentuated her beauty, and her thin, curvy body sent a tremor through Justin’s legs.
He gawked at her, still half-hunched over, unable to say anything.
She rolled her eyes and plodded down the concourse away from them.
“Lookout, boy,” Keontae said. “You just got struck by pink lightning.”
Justin turned. “Huh?”
Keontae laughed.
“What?”
“That girl. She got you, bro. Got you good.”
“What? No—I, uh—”
“Yeah, okay. C’mon, now. We’re friends. Tell the truth.”
Justin opened his mouth again, but no words came out.
Keontae gave a perfect, white smile. “Told you.”
Justin’s brow furrowed. “Whatever, man. I can’t help it she’s beautiful.”
Keontae shrugged. “She’s alright.”
“Alright?” Justin led them down the concourse in the same direction the blonde woman had gone. “She’s gorgeous. You saw what she did to me.”
“Oh, I saw it.”
“Really, really gorgeous.”
“Yeah, sure. Not enough booty for me, though.”
“You have a one-track mind.”
“Nah, bro. I’m a diversified, intelligent black man. It’s not all about that ass for me.” Keontae elbowed Justin’s arm. “But it doesn’t hurt, either.”
They passed the typical spaceport shops and restaurants, all of them a fraction of the size and far fewer in number than those Justin had seen back on New Germania-7, and followed the directions on the screens to baggage claim and ground transport.
On the way there, they passed an office for the Planetary Security Forces and a sign that indicated the direction of the nearby Inter-Planetary Marine Corps base. A trio of tall guys in blue camouflage fatigues, black boots, and towing black bags behind them turned toward the base. Justin and Keontae kept going straight.
They passed through the spaceport’s modest security outflow and waited to collect their bags. As they stood there, a series of loud, a
ngry comments sounded from an office behind them.
Justin turned back and peered through the glass at the scene.
Some guy in a red jacket was practically shouting at the baggage clerk behind the desk. A handful of large bags and suitcases, some sleek and smooth and others ragged and worn, lined the office’s walls.
The red jacket guy shouted again, and the clerk held up his hands in appeasement. The sight stirred Justin’s emotions.
“Leave it alone, JB,” Keontae muttered.
“Leave what alone?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“That clerk’s just trying to do his job.” Justin shook his head. “Getting yelled at sucks, no matter the circumstance.”
“Not your problem, bro,” Keontae said. “We don’t need a repeat of what happened at our last job.”
The red jacket guy smacked his palms against the clerk’s desk and began shouting obscenities at him.
Justin glanced around, but security was nowhere to be found. That clerk was on his own, unless…
He turned to Keontae. “Good thing we don’t work here, then.”
“JB…”
“I’ll be right back.”
“JB, our bags are coming out,” Keontae protested. “I see them now.”
But Justin had already started toward the office. Over his shoulder, he called, “Grab mine for me, will you? This won’t take long.”
He didn’t hear Keontae’s response, but he imagined it wasn’t favorable.
As Justin approached the baggage office, the glass door slid open, and the man’s shouting tripled in volume, but he stopped and looked back once Justin stepped inside.
The door shut behind Justin, closing him inside with the man and the clerk.
The man turned back to face the clerk.
“Sir, I’m very sorry that your bags are not here,” the clerk said, probably for the tenth time. He held up a handscreen. “I am authorized to contact you when they arrive, likely later this week. In the meantime, I need you to fill out the required forms so that we may contact you when we know more. This process also aids in the tracking of your bags and with the potential for reimbursement if—”
“I don’t want to fill out a damned form!” the man yelled. “I want my damned bags, and I want them now! Are we crystal on that?”
“Sir, as I’ve already explained multiple times, your bags did not arrive today because you were late to board your flight from Yovado-2. As I just said, another flight is due to arrive later this week, and—”
“Unacceptable. Totally unacceptable.” The man slammed his palms against the desk again, and the clerk, who was much smaller in size, jumped in response.
“Hey,” Justin said from behind, his voice stern.
The man looked back, over his shoulder.
“I-I-I’ll be right with you, sir,” the clerk stammered.
“No, it’s fine.” Justin nodded toward the man in the red jacket. “I was talking to him.”
Now the man turned to face him entirely. “What the hell do you want?”
“Why don’t you to cut this guy some slack?” Justin glanced at the clerk. “It’s not his fault your bags are missing. He’s trying to help you, and you’re shouting at him.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “It’s piss-poor service! He’s got me jumping through all these hoops just to get my bags. Meanwhile, I’ve got meetings tomorrow morning, and half of my samples are in my luggage. How am I supposed to make a sale if I can’t show the damned product?”
Justin held his hands up. “Look, I get that. That’s terrible luck. But this guy didn’t make any of that happen. He’s trying to make it right for you. He’s just trying to do his job, and you’re yelling at him about something he can’t control. Do you get that?”
The man started to say something, but then he stopped. He glanced down at the floor, then he sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me.” Justin pointed to the clerk again.
The man turned halfway back toward the clerk and said, “I’m sorry. I’m… I’m under a lot of stress at work.”
“I hear you. We’re all trying to make a credit or two where we can,” Justin said. “Including him.”
The man nodded. “Thank you. I’m sorry if I caused a scene.”
Justin held up his hand. “You’re good. Just let him help you, alright? I’m sure he’s good at it if you let him do what he needs to do.”
The man nodded again. “Okay. Thank you.”
He turned back and resumed his conversation with the clerk, who gave Justin a slight nod. Justin lingered for a moment to make sure things didn’t get out of hand again, and then he turned back and left the office.
Keontae was waiting for him with their bags. “How’d that go?”
“Better than I expected, actually.”
“Justin Barclay, bane of injustice.” Keontae scoffed with a smile.
“I don’t like it when people are unfair to each other.”
“I know you don’t. It’s one of the reasons I respect you as much as I do,” Keontae said. “But remember that we had to get new jobs because of that part of your personality.”
“You didn’t have to side with me.”
“Yes, I did. You’re like my little brother, and you were right. That’s all the reason I needed. Doing the right thing ain’t always easy, and it doesn’t always make sense to everybody, but that doesn’t make it any less right.” Keontae rolled Justin’s ragged old bag toward him. “But I’m not a good enough friend to keep hauling this around for you, so take it.”
Justin smiled back and took it from him.
With their bags in hand, they left for the ground transport area. When they arrived, they found a group of at least a hundred people, mostly men, gathered around a post.
The orange-and-teal Andridge Copalion Mines logo glowed on a black screen mounted about eight feet up the post. At the far ends of the holding area, pressurized doors opened and closed as transports of all sizes hovered in and out. Huge turbines whirred high overhead, circulating good air and filtering out the bad.
A prerecorded female voice sounded over the spaceport comms. “Transportation to the Andridge Copalion Mine will arrive shortly. Please refrain from venturing outside of the spaceport without the proper breathing equipment.”
“I think I see your girlfriend.” Keontae pointed.
Justin started to turn his head, but Keontae jerked him back.
“Don’t look at her, stupid,” Keontae hissed. “Don’t you know anything?”
Justin shook him off. “I know we’re not in junior high anymore. As you said, I’m a grown-ass man.”
“Barely,” Keontae mumbled.
When Justin looked, his gaze met hers, and he froze again. The blonde woman rolled her eyes again, shook her head, and looked away. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but like him, she wore a blue denim shirt, denim pants, and boots—standard miner garb.
A fellow rockhound?
“Told you.”
“Shut up, Key.”
Keontae huffed. “Whatever, man.”
A large figure beyond the blonde woman turned toward Justin, and he froze again, but this time for a different reason. It was the big bald guy.
“Damn.”
“What?” Keontae asked.
“The big guy from the ship is here too.”
“Don’t worry about it. This mine’s huge, from what I heard. You’ll probably never see him after today.”
“We’re all arriving at the same time. I’m not hopeful.”
“And I’m hopeful you won’t puke on the transport to the mine.”
Justin shot him a glare. “Heights, flying, and space travel. Those are the only times I get sick. If it’s a hovercraft or ground transport, I’m fine.” Justin paused. “And hovercoasters. Those make me sick too.”
When Justin looked back at the big guy, they made eye contact again. Then Justin noticed five others staring at him a
s well. They weren’t as large as the big guy, but they looked just as pissed.
Great. Already making friends.
A long, gunmetal-gray hovercraft hummed into the enclosure and set down near the post. The orange-and-teal ACM logo adorned its side. Three doors on each side opened, and the workers filed inside.
The inside of the hovercraft resembled that of the starship they’d just left, except that instead of multiple rows and columns of seats, the hovercraft sat people in pairs with a small aisle between the two columns of black seats, like a train or a smaller starship. Justin took the aisle seat, and Keontae took the one near the hovercraft’s inner wall.
Everyone boarded, took their seats, and strapped in, and then the hovercraft disembarked. The initial lift from the platform sent a wobble through Justin’s stomach, but it subsided quickly.
He’d tried to watch where the blonde woman entered and where she’d sat, but in the commotion to board the hovercraft, he lost sight of her. On the plus side, he’d lost sight of the big guy as well.
“Could you be more obvious?” Keontae muttered as he stared at the small screen embedded in the back of the seat in front of him. The ACM logo glowed in the screen’s center.
“What?”
“You look like a chump who lost his puppy. Quit lookin’ around for her. You’ll probably see her again at the mine.” Keontae leaned back in his chair with his hands tucked behind his head, elbows out.
On Justin’s screen, the ACM logo swiveled and shrank to the lower right-hand corner, and a three-toned sequence chimed. A woman’s voice said, “Andridge Copalion Mines. Excavating efficient energy for fifty years.”
“More like ‘Mining mountains of money’ for fifty years,” Keontae muttered.
“Welcome to Ketarus-4, site of Andridge Copalion Mine 1134. We’re excited that you’ve joined our mission to fuel the galaxy’s energy needs,” the voice continued.
1134. There it was again. Justin smirked. Easily the most annoying coincidence he’d ever encountered—and continued to encounter. But he had to laugh at it. He doubted anyone else would’ve ever noticed such a thing.
The screen showed a view of the blue planet from space, then it zoomed in on an orange icon denoting the mine’s location. A green icon denoted the location of some other factory or another industrial complex, labeled with the words Embivold Gewächshaus, and a blue icon showed the location of the spaceport they’d just left.
