Chapter Text
In the thirty years since the first pig bombs dropped, humans have progressed more technologically than ever before! In an exclusive interview, the Director of Better Living Industries and Battery Station’s most eligible bachelor tells ALL. He spills everything, from the secret blessing of the Analog Wars to his turn ons and turn offs, you won’t want to miss this!
"Yeah, yeah. Is the Director gonna do anything to get me some decent fucking service in the Zones? Waiter!”
Gerard rolled his eyes and tucked the pen behind his ear. He took a moment to compose himself. Count one, two and all the other calming bullshit Mikey tried to teach him. Center himself. Ha, center himself. He could center himself with a frying pan in his hands swinging toward-
“I’ll be with you in a minute, hun.” He said, craning his head to address the dickhead at table 9.
“No, yeah, whenever it’s convenient for you. I’ll make myself at home here.” The man said with a shit eating grin. He leaned back in his chair and put his dirty boots up on the table. Ugh, Gerard would have to scrub the plastic laminate for the second time that shift.
Gerard turned back to the party he was currently serving. “So you’ve got two double patty vegan burgers, two cauliflower and mash platters one with no gravy, one stack of pancakes, one plate of waffles with extra syrup, three cobb salads, four cokes, two sparkling waters, an iced tea, and a strawberry swirl shake. Did I miss anything?”
“Did you get the no lemon request for my platter?.” Ugh, Moon dwellers. It’s like the sea of tranquility drained the personality from them.
“Lucky for you we don’t put lemon in the cauliflower platter.” Gerard shook his head at the stupid request. “I’ll put these into the kitchen.”
This was never his dream. He suspected working check to check at a failing diner and counting his Carbons was nobody’s dream, but it was especially not his.
To be completely fair, dreams were worth as much as grains of sand in the Zones. There were a hell of a lot of them and they all blended together after a while. Gerard suspected it was much like stars in the sky to the people living in the space colonies.
Gerard and his brother Mikey used to lay on their roof as kids and point up at them, trying to guess which was which. They talked about them like they’d be among them one day, living in the cities in the sky. Mikey always knew the names and the constellations. Gerard never did. A Betelguese or an Alpha Centauri - it was all the same to him. Another drop in the bucket. Another grain of sand. Another dream in some Zone kid’s head.
“Y’all got beef patties back yet?” The man with his feet planted on the table and his last nerve called out as Gerard passed.
“I said I’d be with you in a minute.” Gerard replied angrily.
The man took off his dirty, dollar store knock off Ray Bans, which revealed, unsurprisingly, more dirt. “It’s been about a minute. Besides, it’s a simple question.” The frying pan got more and more tempting with every aggravating word he spoke.
Gerard took a deep breath in before answering. He needed this job. Don’t forget, Gerard. You need this job. “No. The cattle shortage affects small town diners in the Zones, too. I can promise you the plant ones taste just the same.”
The guy shrugged. “Eh, I’ll just have a coffee.”
“Sure thing.” Gerard didn’t even pretend to write it down.
Outside the tiny restaurant, the sun began to rise over the horizon. And with it, another work day gone. Gerard just had to get these final assholes out of his diner and then he’d be done for the day.
He let himself stare out of the window for a second more before sending the tickets back to the cook droid. For all the shit the desert gave its inhabitants, it sure looked beautiful bathed in the iridescent colors of the sunrise. They never got this on the satellites or the Moon, with their artificial sleep-wake cycles. Sure, the days down on the mainland were hot - too hot to go out during the daytime without getting heat stroke or a nasty sunburn. But, they did have this. At least Gerard had this.
He’d give it a few more minutes before putting the sun shutters down. It hardly ever got too hot this early anyway.
With the rise of the sun, the stream of customers abruptly ended. The guys from the Moon and the asshole at table 9 were still there. He suspected that the group had no problem leaving midday, they probably had one of the fancy new cars BLI had just put out that block out sun rays in the cabin and had those self cooling engines. And the asshole, well he was a dick. At best, he was another wavehead that would try to sneak out the backdoor without paying when he thought Gerard wasn’t watching. And at worst, he could burn out in the heat when Gerard finally kicked him out. He didn’t really care which.
Gerard brought him his coffee - half decaf. It was Gerard’s favorite thing to do to people who annoyed him. The customers could always tell when they got decaf. But with half, they would feel the caffeine, but not enough, and they’d leave still tired. Unfortunately, Gerard’s meager existence meant it was the most fun he’d have that day. He’d go home to Mikey and bitch about the customers and the pay and Mikey would nod and stare off into the distance and pretend like he was even a little excited to sell his life away to the military instead of dealing with all that.
The guy didn’t complain. He just sat and drank his tainted coffee, long brown hair falling over his face. He closed his eyes, looking like he was savoring it, as if it might have been his first warm food that day. He caught Gerard staring, which was awkward since they’d been trading sarcasm and stink eyes the whole time. Gerard turned away quickly, pretending he hadn’t been considering the softness of his bottom lip.
The Moon crew got their food, with only one complaint even. After that, Gerard was prepared to wipe off some tables and wait for the shift to end. He started his closing duties, shuttering each window and hearing the metal latch click closed, keeping the worst of the heat out.
He got to the final window and took one last look out. The sun was getting higher in the sky and the brightness was starting to burn his eyes. But still, it would be the last view of anything besides the inside of the diner or his car that he’d gotten for hours.
Most days, he would speed home as fast as he could after his shift, lest his old car overheat and leave him stranded in the midday sun, never looking at much of anything around him. He’d go home, see his brother, bathe, get some rest, then lather, rinse, repeat all over again the next day.
He didn’t get to see much or do much. But he did like to daydream.
On that day, Gerard dreamed of excitement. He dreamt of seeing a ship fall from the sky and crash on the ground. It felt so real, like the ground actually shook with it. He imagined a man running out of the cloud of dust. He had a leather jacket like an old school biker and this wild, majestic mane of hair. Gerard imagined him laughing at the dramatic scene, running toward the diner, looking back every once in a while to see the aftermath of his antics once again. He imagined the man knocking on the backdoor, like he needed Gerard to save him. He imagined the knocks kept coming. The knocks kept coming.
It snapped Gerard out of his head. It was no daydream, no hallucination. There was a burning ship outside and a man, a criminal, knocking at the backdoor of his diner. Gerard frantically went to shut the final shutter and pretend he didn’t see any of that. But he did, and he heard the knocking continue. Fuck.
“Excuse me!” Gerard heard from the front of house. It was one of the Moon guys. Fuck times a million.
“Just a sec!” He called back, slowly backing away from the locked exit. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. It was a lazy end of shift. It was supposed to be easy now.
Gerard straightened his apron and yellow frock uniform, as if he had been the one dashing through the sand. He could feel his hands shaking as he did so.
“Anything I can do for you all?” He asked, managing to keep his voice from cracking.
“What was that loud noise?” One man asked. “And the shaking? Is that what an earthquake is?” Came from another, looking around him like he was in a museum.
“Yes, exactly.” Gerard assured them. “Just another ordinary earthquake. Happens all the time on the planet. Some of the abandoned buildings around here are so old, a simple shake will send a roof crumbling. That was the sound you heard, nothing to be worried about.” The men nodded amongst themselves, but didn’t look completely convinced. “It’s getting warmer, let me get you refills on those iced drinks, just a moment.”
Gerard rushed away from the table and back to the kitchen area. The knocks were getting quieter. Gerard couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or not.
His hand hovered over the door latch, unsure of whether or not his fingers would reach out and turn the lock. Selfishly, he wanted to. Not even because it would be a good thing to do, to help another person. But because he thought it would be interesting. It would be such a break from the monotony, getting to meet a real life criminal. God, he sounded like those creeps who mailed dirty panties to the BLI Dracs and Exterminators. Still, he was so curious. And maybe if he managed to turn the guy in, he could get a hefty reward. He didn’t add much to his Battery Station fund nowadays.
Before he got the chance to make a decision, though, a voice spoke from behind him, making him jump.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
If he hadn’t been freaked out just then, his skin might have crawled from the pure assholery radiating from the voice. It was the annoying customer from earlier, here to ruin everything presumably.
“What the fuck are you doing back here? It’s employees only!” Gerard whisper-shouted pointing at the sign the man had clearly ignored.
“So? There was an explosion outside and now someone is knocking at the door and you were gonna let them in.” He said as if that were something ridiculous, which, now that he said it out loud, did sound a bit mad.
“How did you know that?” Gerard asked. His eyes drew down to the man’s faded shirt underneath his army green jacket. Supa Stinga Demolition. They were the company that was stripping the old, nearby coal mine for precious metals. That explained the dirt and also the concern.
“Doesn’t matter.” The man waved it off. “That wasn’t a detonated explosion and it definitely wasn’t an earthquake. It was almost like a crash.”
“Please.” Came a faint voice from the other side of the door. “I can hear you talking. It’s so hot. I’ll die out here.”
Gerard looked to the door, then to the man, and back again. None of the scene seemed to change.
“We have to let him in, what if he dies?” Gerard stressed, whispering to the stone faced asshole who decided to come and complicate the decision that much more.
“So what? He’s out there blowing shit up. We don’t need that kind of trouble.”
“Don’t you blow shit up?” Gerard asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
“I’m literally trying to help your ass here!”
Gerard stepped back until his body hit the door and it shook again behind him. His arm reached up and slowly but surely turned the latch on the lock.
“Well I didn’t ask for your help!”
And when he stepped forward, the door swung open to reveal the guy from Gerard’s hallucinations. But, this time he was definitely not in his head, he was stumbling into his diner about to brain himself on the industrial dishwasher.
“Are you okay?” Asked Gerard incredibly stupidly. As if it wasn’t obvious.
The man rested his forehead against the metal door of the walk-in. His face was splotchy and red and he wasn’t sweating. Gerard knew immediately what that meant. “Shh. God, my head is fucking spinning.”
Gerard was quick to move about the prep area of the kitchen, wetting a towel with some cold water and pouring some into a deli container for good measure. He brought it over to the man who took it without hesitation.
“Blowing shit up will do that to you.” The demolition asshole said to him.
“I didn’t blow anything up.” The heatstricken man explained, pouring some of the deli container water over himself. “It just caught on fire. In a spectacular fashion.”
“What did?” Gerard asked.
The man’s curls dripped precious water onto the floor as the man’s eyes flickered back and forth between him and the angry customer. He must’ve judged them to be worthy of explaining, or maybe he was just desperate, because he gave up the answer pretty quickly.
“Spaceship.”
The asshole cut in before he had the chance to process it. “You crashed a fucking ship?”
“Keep it down.” Gerard said, shushing them. “Who’s?”
The stranger shrugged. “Not sure, I found it.”
Gerard shuffled over to the delivery window and looked out. The food processing droid was almost done with the other patrons’ meals. He didn’t have much time.
“You found it?” He asked, quickly filling glasses with ice as if nothing nefarious and potentially illegal was going on around him. Tea, coke, sparkling water, shake, what else did they ask for? He found some lemonade that was on the not so disgusting side and poured a glass of that just in case.
“It was unlocked.” The man admitted.
“So you tried to fly it?” Demo guy still sounded surprised, but Gerard was grateful he was at least minding his volume this time.
The two guys started to argue. Gerard prepared a serving tray.
“I thought it would be simpler, like riding a bike.”
“That only works if you know how to ride a bike in the first place.”
“And I flew a spaceship once! In a movie. It was mostly special effects.”
A movie? Gerard teetered the tray on a counter beside him, only letting go when he was sure it wouldn’t fall. A movie.
For the first time, Gerard really looked at the intruder head on. Then it all clicked. He knew that face. Mikey and him used to watch the guy’s movies all the time. It was always action, motorcycles, lasers. He hadn’t seen any ads for the guy’s films in a while. Gerard might’ve wondered what happened to him if he didn’t spend every moment waiting for the other shoe to drop directly on his life and future plans.
“You’re Ray Toro. You were in Fly Hard before you even graduated high school.”
And then Ray Toro, action movie superstar tilted his head toward Gerard and gleamed his million-Carbon smile at him. It was still dazzling, but in this nothing, nowhere diner, it seemed a bit out of place. The guy was rich, surely. What series of misfortunes could’ve landed him here? Didn’t matter, he guessed. He ended up in the same, dusty backroom as the rest of them.
“Are they looking for you?” He asked.
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“Fuck.” Gerard propped the tray on his hip. “I should’ve never taken this shift. I hardly ever work past sunrise.” he turned to walk away then looked back and added, “Please behave.”
Gerard could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He was glad he had put his hair up in a ponytail before the shift began. The glasses audibly rattled as he walked. God, why couldn’t he just keep it cool. It wasn’t like anyone knew the guy was here. He just had to finish this shift, then it would all be over. Just one more shift.
It’s what he had to tell himself all the time. One more shift. One more month. One more paycheck. One more lottery ticket. He’d get his ticket to the satellites soon, he knew it. Hold on a little longer. Push through the year - and disappear as if he had never been there in the first place.
“Hey gentlemen, sorry about the wait.” Gerard greeted them. “Here are some refills. Food should be out in just a second.”
He was handing out the drinks when an alarm on one of the men’s cells started ringing. He couldn’t help it. He jumped and spilled a bit of soda over the table.
“Shit, sorry, let me get a towel.”
A hand landed on his arm and his breath caught. He followed it up to someone’s face.
“Are you alright there? Your face has gone white as Moondust.” The man asked.
Gerard opened his mouth, hoping some form of apology or explanation would magically find its way out, but he didn’t have to flail for long, because one of the other men at the table spoke up.
“What the fuck! It’s the ship’s security system.” No. Please no. “It’s gone. The ship is gone.”
His phone displayed a map of the surrounding area, with a line indicating the path of travel. The line ended about a mile out, a red dot blinking in the space where the ship should be, but wasn’t.
“You know what?” Gerard said. “You guys seem like you’re in a bit of a pickle. I’ll help you out. Don’t worry about the bill. Go find that ship of yours!” Gerard insisted, chills running down his spine.
They, of course, don’t take the bait.
“That’s very kind of you, but you’ll have to put up with our company a little longer. The Dracs should be here any moment.”
It was then Gerard finally noticed the logo on the man’s phone. And on another guy’s shirt pocket. And on another guy’s wallet. BLI.
They all worked for the Zones’ least favorite tech oligarchs. As much as the government pretended to control the planet, they lended all the real decision-making and enforcement to these guys. Not only did they control everything everyone saw, consumed, and bought, they also demanded everyone kiss their ass for it. People tolerated them, lest BLI call the Draculoids, their extrajudicial privatized police force, on your sorry ass. Everyone hated the patrol cops and everyone really hated the fucking military, but anyone would rather spend the night in a piss soaked jail cell then with whatever one of these guys could come up with.
And stealing some rich higher-up’s ship and crashing it into a deserted parking lot on the mainland? Yeah, that was asking for the worst of it.
“You can’t bring Dracs here.” Gerard blurts out.
The tallest man, the one with the logo on his phone and a scowl to match, stared curiously at Gerard. “And why would that be?”
Gerard felt a shiver run through his bones. “Orders from the owner.” Gerard giggled, trying his best to not sound suspicious and failing. “Makes the insurance rates go up like crazy.”
The man lifted one side of his mouth up in a smirk that sat at the pit of Gerard’s stomach. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a money clip. Slowly, he unflurled the wad and counted out ten, twenty, thirty, forty thousand Carbons. “Give your owner my regards.”
Gerard hesitantly took the bills and looked down at them. It wasn’t a huge bribe, forty thousand could probably pay for two months’ worth of gas and a desperately needed upgrade to his house’s cooling system. It was still money though, and given to him as if it were pocket change, he didn’t try to think too hard about it as he slipped them into his apron.
There was an itching at the back of his mind, though. He thought of movie star Ray Toro and the man covered in dirt arguing in his kitchen. He hadn’t even thought to ask for his name. Was he going to sell them out for Carbons? What were those slips of BLI issued paper really worth?
“And there’s no way you can call the Dracs off?” He insisted, giving it one more try.
The man, who had turned to converse with his associates, snapped around. “What makes you think I would care about the whims of some poor, Zoner waiter? I could get the Director’s office on the line in two ticks and have this crappy diner wiped off the map. Shut up and cooperate with the authorities when they get here, if you know what’s good for you.”
The Director. The first trillionaire in history. The head of BLI. He was a self made man, a genius. He developed tech that revolutionized the post-war landscape and united humanity. Where would the human race be without the space colonies? Many people worshipped him, others wanted to be him, Gerard just needed him. He needed to get to the Satellites. A bad word on him could lead to his application being blacklisted. Not now, not with how close he was.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered.
The doors burst open and men in masks poured in. It was easier to be above the law if no one could see your actual face. BLI had the Dracs doing horrific things. Anonymity made it easier to become that monster.
“Finally!” One of the men exclaimed. “Took you long enough.”
“Have you found the ship?” Another asked,
A Drac approached them robotically, “We did. I’m sorry sir, it’s a total loss.” He pulled a pad out and showed them an image. It was met with gasps. Gerard could only guess what it looked like. “BLI has a replacement incoming. We expect it to arrive at the location in 10 minutes.”
“And the suspect? Have they been neutralized?” It was the man who threatened Gerard speaking. He sounded assured, confident. It certainly wasn’t his first time having this conversation. He was speaking about death so casually.
“We’re still looking for suspects. Can’t have gone far.” The Drac turned to him. “Do you work here?” Gerard nodded. “Have you seen anyone suspicious pass through in the past hour?”
He felt lightheaded. Maybe he was going to be the one to pass out and brain himself on a dishwasher. “No. Just some regulars and the guys over there.” He pointed to the BLI crew.
A Drac looked around. “We’ll need to search the property.”
Gerard squeaked. “Is that really necessary? We don’t get many outsiders, just locals, since we’re off the main route.”
The Drac was unwaveringly still. “Ever the more reason for a criminal to hide here.” The Drac approached him and crowded him against a table. If he leaned forward just a bit more, he'd be able to feel how fast Gerard’s heart was beating. He could probably smell the fear on him. “Is there anything you’re not telling me? It’s not wise to withhold information from us. Better Living Industries is not… kind to those who do.”
He thought of telling them everything, of the demolition guy, of what Ray told him. He thought of silently pointing to the back room so the two back there wouldn’t even know what was coming. He had every reason to. But, he didn’t. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t. Instead, against all logic, he just shook his head and watched the Dracs walk away. Two of them inspected the dining area, but one headed towards the door leading to the kitchen.
“Wait!” Gerard called out. The air was thick and humid and silent for a few seconds. “Can I get any of you a cup of coffee?” His smile couldn’t have read anything other than terrified, but the person headed to the backroom paused and turned around, confused.
During the second in which the Drac decided what explicative to hurl Gerard’s way, multiple things happened.
First, the entire group of BLI employees rolled their eyes, almost in unison. Didn’t they have good customer service on the moon?
Then, Gerard felt his face grow hot like he was going to cry. Pretty pathetic, all things considered.
Finally, the door to the kitchen burst open. A foot came into view, then two bodies. One of them was Ray Toro, the fear of god in his eyes and a paring knife at his neck. Behind him was the customer, paring knife in his hands. He was so short, Gerard could see only the man’s eyes over Ray’s shoulder.
“I’ve got your guy right here officers.” He announced. Ray shook at the allegation.
“No, you’ve got it all wrong.” Ray tried to shake from the grip, to no avail. “It was him. He’s framing me. You’ve gotta believe me.”
There was nothing Gerard could do without dooming one or the other. If he told them it was Ray, he’d be dooming him. It was the truth but he had come to Gerard for help - he couldn’t do that. If he told them it was the other guy, then they’d take him away. That actually didn’t sound too bad since he was a dick. But it would be a lie and a pretty fucked up thing to do. If he did nothing, then, well…
“Shoot them both.” The Drac nearest to him said, pulling his blaster from his belt.
Gerard, for one second of existence, stopped thinking. He didn’t give himself time to overthink his decision. He just blurted out the first thing that came to his head.
“Isn’t that Ray Toro from Fly Hard?” All eyes turned to him, including the Drac next to him. Their attentions all wavered for a moment and in that moment, Gerard did the most stupid thing he’d ever done.
He elbowed the Drac in the abdomen, right in the solar plexus, like he’d seen in a movie once. The Drac groaned and keeled over. It was almost too easy to grab the blaster from the unsuspecting hand. He flipped it into his grip and spun around. Everyone was all too surprised, not expecting to see the scared little diner employee become a threat. They all looked so dumb as they reevaluated their options.
Gerard took advantage of this, he aimed a shot at another Drac’s chest, but missed, and caught him in the arm. Then, the shots started coming his way. He pushed over a metal table and hid behind it. Without looking, he pointed the gun their way and fired off some more blasts. Most hit nothing, but one hit a window and shattered it.
There were heavy stomps of someone approaching and he swerved the table to the direction they were coming. Gerard sent a few shots out and got him in the calf. He fell and his blaster with him. He looked behind him. No one in the doorway now. The two guys who started all this must have hid in the back room. Gerard kicked the blaster in the direction of the doorway, praying that hadn’t abandoned him.
It was a few seconds of Gerard and the final Drac exchanging fire before Gerard saw a hand reach out grab it. Two on his side. Better than one.
For a while, it was just a series of ducking, aiming, and shooting. He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Survive. All he had the mental capacity to consider was survival and what it would take to achieve that.
Then, “All available units! Attention, all available units!” There was the crackle of radio waves. “I’m sending out a GPS signal. We have three enemy combatants cornered in a diner. We are being fired at. Respond immediately!”
Shit. He could maybe handle this group if he was lucky, but multiple units of Dracs and Exterminators? He was a goner for sure. Mikey’d have to pick pieces of him up from the floor. No. That wouldn’t happen.
Gerard looked back and saw it. The few times the health inspectors came to his little diner, they always dinged them on it. "Improper storage of materials". It was such a bitch to deal with, the grease waste. They were supposed to take it to a dump and empty it every week, but no one ever wanted to. If Gerard had to guess, there was a month’s worth of leftover food grease in that bin. They’d made the big improvement of moving it away from the stove and ovens, but it ended up next to the gas pipe, which was probably equally as damning to safety codes.
Good thing safety codes were exactly what he was looking to break.
“Get inside the walk-in!” He shouted in the direction of the kitchen. He hoped they heard him, because the moment the Drac turned, he booked it to the back room.
Shots flew past his head. When Gerard turned, he saw the negative of a bright light bloom against his vision. One of the moon dwelling assholes has taken a picture of him. It doesn’t matter, if his plan worked, there wouldn’t be a camera to recover. He didn’t bother to shut the door behind him.
Both men were waiting with the freezer door open. It could probably barely fit them, but it was going to have to. As he ran, he angled the blaster towards the grease fire waiting to happen. With luck, the health inspectors’ warnings would be realized.
He saw the tiniest flame rise up before crashing into a body and hearing the door slam shut.
Gerard counted ten breaths before hearing the woosh of flames engulfing the diner he hated. Only five breaths more before the explosion. The walk-in freezer shook, food falling from the shelves and knocking against the three huddled inside. Still, it didn’t breach. They were safe. They survived.
“What now?” He heard. It was Ray.
“You let me catch my breath a bit. Then maybe even say thank you.” Gerard said. “Then, we see if my car is still intact outside.”
“Thank you? What about thanking me? I was the one making up for your sorry aim.” That was the little one.
Gerard growled. “I only had to use my shitty aim because you started this shootout in the first place. So, yeah, thank you, asshole.”
“It’s Frank, actually.” He could hear the smarmy tone in Frank’s voice and wanted to smack it out of him.
“Hey, Frank?”
“Yeah?”
Gerard held his hand on the freezer’s door handle, ready to swing it open.
“Shut the fuck up and run.”
*
The lapels on his jacket weren’t even. Mikey had spent the better part of the last hour ironing his uniform, making sure the pleats would be straight and crisp. He didn’t see why it mattered so much, he’s sure the plasma guns fired the same whether or not he was following the Air Force mandated dress code. But they stressed the importance of appearance. Like he could find victory in the fabric’s threads.
He still had another week before he’d have to put it on, anyway.
Another week then another war. And then if he survived that, then probably some resource guarding in Greenland. A cycle of war and conflict and training until… something. He knew he’d probably die, all the Zone kids were expendable to them, but it was worth a shot. Because if he survived long enough, then he would be rewarded a place among the stars. At least, that’s what the recruiter had told him. That once he’d served his time, they’d grant him and his brother a cabin in Battery Station. Probably not the finest, but it would be a start and it would get him off the ground. It’s more than he was offered anywhere else.
Mikey sighed and tugged at the lapels one more time. At least they taught him how to fly.
He paused, his hand hovering over the fabric.
The first tip that something was off was the sound of the garage hatch alarm going off. His brother Gerard wasn’t off his shift for another hour. He was never home this early. Mikey’s hand drifted down to his hip. He ghosted the holster strapped to his right, not pulling it out, just letting his finger hover over it, ready to flip the switch and pull the trigger if needed.
He counted in his head, breathing along with it, just like the captains taught him. You wait, 1, 2. Listen, 3, 4. Analyze, 5, 6. Nothing. No more noise.
Probably just some wavehead trying to break in through the garage again. Mikey breathed out and let his hand fall from his hip. It was nothing.
He went into the kitchen for a water, clicking on the TV for the morning news. It droned on in the background.
He was tired, stressing about his departure, probably just imagining things. He needed to get some rest. He needed to accept the career path he chose. He needed one of those fucking BLI chill pills. They were probably the mind control devices all the conspiracy theorists said they were, but maybe that was exactly what he needed. Like a fucking ice pick to the eye. No, it was going to be fine. He was going to fly jets for a few years and maybe he’d lose an arm or an eye, but-
The door from the garage burst open and like a reflex, he pulled his ray gun from the holster and switched the plasma core on.
The gentle thrum of it vibrated through his hands, up his arm, and into his chest. Draw your power from it, they told him. He tried, but he couldn’t pretend the shake in his grip wasn’t from fear. What kind of soldier would he be?
Out from the door didn’t pop a wavehead, or an enemy combatant, it wasn’t even a BLI Scarecrow exterminator. It was his fucking brother, wild look in his eyes, still in his dirty yellow diner uniform.
“Mikey what the fuck, it’s just me!” Gerard shouted, staring down the barrel of Mikey’s gun, which he for some reason still hadn’t shut off.
“Shit, sorry.” Mikey apologized, finally clicking the damn thing off. “What are you doing back? It’s barely 8.” He said, exasperated.
“Well, that’s kind of a touchy subject.” Gerard said, approaching him, but still visibly on edge.
Mikey sat down at one of the bar stools and fell into his hands on the counter. “Genuinely, what the fuck does that mean, Gee?”
Gerard didn’t answer his question. “What are you watching? Turn that off.” He said, racing forward to try and turn the TV off using the touchpad, clearly failing.
“It’s just the news. I’m not even watching it.”
Gerard gave up on the pad and instead flailed his body out in front of the screen, looking absolutely ridiculous.
“What could possibly be on the news that is so bad?”
Mikey didn’t know why he asked. Because, there, right beside his brother’s panicked real-life face, was his brother’s panicked digital face. Except that face reflected in the TV’s light was on the news. On a wanted poster on the news, to be specific, with a big red X overlayed the top. His brother was a wanted criminal. And he was also in his kitchen, looking like a wanted criminal.
His attention was pulled to the headline, flashing with an update. Party Poisoned! it read, Criminals attack BLI execs at Zone 6 diner.
“What have you done, Gee?” It was then Mikey noticed the two people hidden behind Gerard in the wanted poster. Criminals, it said.
“Look,” Gerard said, arms out like he was trying to keep Mikey at a distance, “don’t freak out.”
This coincided with the sound of boots behind Mikey, which led to Mikey freaking out in the manner of flipping on his ray gun and aiming to kill in one swift movement.
Hands raised high, were the two men he saw next to Gerard on the poster, also in his kitchen. One looked like he’d just come down from a drug high, hair wild, and the corner of his mouth falling from a one sided grin. The other guy, shorter and dirtier, looked more annoyed than anything, like Mikey was the one in his way. His aim switched from one to the other and back again.
Gerard tiptoed from behind to join them. He didn’t put himself between them and Mikey, but took place beside the two.
“You all have about ten seconds to explain what is going on.”
In his head, he counted again. 1, 2, wait. 3, 4, listen.
“Uh, I can explain.” The curly haired criminal inhabiting his doorway started. “If I can figure out how to begin.”
Mikey rolled his eyes and turned to Gerard. He watched his brother’s mouth open to say something, then promptly close, as if the words just weren’t there. He let his hands fall back to his sides, but didn’t switch the weapon off. 5, 6, analyze.
“Start talking.”
*
“This is ridiculous.”
Frank pulled the star-spangled handkerchief down until it rested under his chin like a fabric neckbeard. There was less dust underground of 6, which meant he could finally breathe without eviscerating his lungs with sand. Ray didn’t agree.
“What the hell, man?” Ray asked, grabbing the mask and pulling it back up on his face. “We’re in hiding, remember?”
Frank didn’t pull it back down but he did roll his eyes. “We’re literally underground, I’m pretty sure there’s like ten lights in this whole place.”
“Can you two please shut up and hurry?” Mikey said, pretty far down the tunnel in front of them with Gerard.
He had half a mind to crawl back up the ladders and leave the other three down there. He was barely even in the photos that got published. He probably didn’t even have a warrant out for him like Gerard and Ray definitely did. And besides, even if they were looking for him, it wasn’t like they’d find him.
No one really knew Frank. He kept to himself mostly. He got up before sunset, took a cool shower, went to work, did his job, came home. Some days if the sun wasn’t too high by the time he got off, he’d stop by the old scrapyard and say hi to the junkyard dogs that hung out there, throw them some scraps or some water if he could. He didn’t talk to many people, didn’t see a point or care to.
If he was feeling particularly lonely, he’d stop by his favorite bar, Neo Pasadena, have as many ethanol bomb shots as he needed to get drunk and attempt to converse with the regulars. They were all normal people and it never went over well. Frank didn’t know the talking points, the latest tech news or scandal. And they never cared to learn about the intricacies of detonation. He always ended up going home disappointed.
Then he’d go to sleep and do it all again the next day. He had no problem blowing up dead mountains while hungover. The dynamite still worked if you were dizzy. The bombs still blew if you were sad. He never had to make small talk with the boxes of chemicals or the heavy machinery.
Frank didn’t remember why he had gone to the diner after his shift. He was happy to have a bowl of instant potatoes or even microwave some dinner-in-a-can if he was feeling fancy. He made enough money to where he never had to resort to eating dog food. So why did he take a right instead of a left? Why did he walk into the restaurant and sit down? Coffee was just going to keep him from sleeping and he didn’t even like real meat burgers that much. The few times he had bone fide bovine meat, his stomach rejected it and he spent hours on the toilet.
He didn’t know. But it was pretty fucked up that stupid choice led him to sloshing his good boots through the stagnat tunnel water.
“Whatever.” He muttered and followed the brothers into the market.
The Tunnel Market was not your Sunday morning farmer’s market. It wasn’t really a shopping mall either. It was like the destitute combination of a flea market and back alley drug deal. They had clothes (most of which were stolen from space tourists), cheap food (that wasn’t that bad so long as you didn’t ask what was inside it), drugs (most of which were BLI standard issue pills mixed with other substances), along with art, trinkets, vintage items, handwritten novels, homeopathic remedies, fortune tellers, and even a tattoo shop.
When Better Living Industries started building the tunnels years ago, it was promised as a solution to traffic and a more efficient method of travel. Then commercialized space travel was invented and the Analog and Helium Wars came and went and the rich fled to the skies, leaving their tunnels unfinished and unwanted. The people of Zones 6 were all too happy to take control of them.
It was also a very good place to go without being surveilled. Which was the exact kind of environment they needed right then.
“Blue or white?” Gerard said, holding up the two jackets.
Frank sighed. He never liked shopping, even with his parents. It just seemed like a waste of time. And as he was clearly experiencing, it was.
“Who gives a shit?” Frank responded. “Just hurry up and pick one.”
The rest of the guys ignored him. They had all picked something up so far. Stuff to disguise their identities. Mostly hair dye, sunglasses, masks, and clothing they wouldn’t normally wear. Like a costume but for criminals on the run from the law. Frank was holding an off-color Frankenstein mask he got for a few Carbons. He didn’t get the point of the fanfare. It was fucking BLI, they probably already knew their names, dates of birth, family histories, likes, dislikes, and mild to severe allergies. It was what they did and they were good at it. It was how they sold you stuff and kept you under their hand.
“You’re going with the red hair dye right?” Mikey asked, looking inquisitively at the two garments.
Gerard nodded. “I’m kind of leaning to the white one.” He was holding up a white blazer in front of his torso.
Frank couldn’t think of a worse way to spend their time when they could be strategizing an escape plan.
“Ugh, no.” Mikey replied. “It has, I don’t know how to describe it. Poser energy? Try on the blue one.”
Gerard tentatively tossed the blazer back in the bin and shrugged on the blue motorcycle jacket. Dead Pegasus. Frank hadn’t heard about them in years, since back when all the oil and gas companies went bankrupt the first time. Dressing like someone was still stuck living two decades ago was certainly a way to disguise yourself.
“It fits.” Gerard mused.
It did. In more ways than one. Frank saw him from behind as he analyzed the garment in the mirror shard. He looked awkward, out of place, like he didn’t fit it rather than it not fitting him. But there was something about the way it hugged him tight, the way it flashed. It was so very different from the hand-me-down waitress uniform he had first been wearing. He didn’t look like a desert rat anymore. He looked like a comic book superhero.
Frank took a moment to watch Gerard’s eyes comb over himself in the leather jacket, like he, too, was wondering the same thing. It was perfect for the guy in the wanted ads, but was that who Gerard wanted to be?
He would never get to decide for himself one way or another. Because then someone was shouting in their direction. “There he is! The ‘party poisoned’ dude!”
A quick glance in the direction of the voice revealed a small group that gathered to watch, one of them pointing directly at them. The three tall guys in the back growled audibly, which would have been concerning on its own, but then they pulled out three identical Dracula masks and pulled them over their heads.
“Fuck! Dracs!” The shop owner shouted. “Shut it down!”
“Run.” Whispered Mikey and in tandem, the four of them shot down the tunnel in the other direction.
On their sides, merchants quickly stuffed stolen items and illegal contraband and money into safes, behind shutters and gates, into their pants and shoes. Frank was tiny, shorter than the other boys, so he wasn’t that fast. Mikey was way ahead, his military training showing. Following neck-and-neck were Gerard and Ray, keeping pace. He worked in demolition, it was a profession that didn’t require much endurance. And right then, he was kind of regretting that.
Frank turned back, the Dracs were getting closer. And to be honest, he didn’t quite know where he was running. Down in the tunnels, everything looked the same after a while and the few lights that were up were being shut off to preserve the merchandise.
It got to the point where he couldn’t see Mikey any more, he was too far up. And then Ray and Gerard were fading from his vision as well. His lungs were burning, like all the oxygen in the world couldn’t have filled them. He considered slowing down, giving up. He was as good as caught. He was going to die there, in dirty tunnels under Zone 6. And no one would even notice, nothing would change in the slightest without him.
He didn’t fret all that much. He knew better than to believe in a future that wasn’t shit, even for himself. It was better this way. He almost gave himself false hope.
And then a hand reached out and grabbed him, pulling him to the side. He closed his eyes and prepared for a shot of plasma to the head.
He didn’t get one. Instead there was a hand clamping over his mouth and shoving him against a hard concrete wall.
“Don’t say a fucking word.” It was Gerard’s voice, barely a whisper, and maybe for the first time in the few hours they’d known each other, Frank was relieved to hear it.
He nodded frantically. He sucked in as much air as he could through his nose, trying to be quiet about his asphyxiation but failing.
To his right, the sounds of boots hitting the ground passed. He opened his eyes, finally beginning to adjust to the dim light and saw the outline of Gerard’s face inches from his. The passageway they were hidden in wasn’t that big and Frank could feel Gerard’s boots pressed up against his. When he took a particularly deep breath he could feel the stiffness of the leather jacket Gerard was wearing push back against his ribcage.
His superhero jacket, Frank remembered. He had just saved Frank. Maybe the jacket was a perfect fit, then.
The noise of the Dracs and even the market goers faded to silence and all they could hear was each other’s breathing. Gerard released his hand from in front of Frank’s mouth and inched out of the hiding spot. Frank stumbled out after him, falling to his knees and gasping loudly for air.
“I didn’t think they’d find us so quickly.” Mikey said. “It’s like they were looking for us.”
“There’s probably a bounty on us, you know. Those were Dracs.”
They were. And if the allied governments and BLI themselves weren’t aware of Frank’s presence before, they certainly were now. It was over. His life as he knew it, that is.
“Frank.” Gerard said. Frank just looked up at his figure, a mere shadow in the darkness of the tunnel. He probably looked pathetic, spit hanging from his mouth as he dry heaved, still not able to catch his breath.
He crouched down to be eye level with him. “Frank.” He repeated, more stern this time.
“What?” Frank croaked out.
“Do you know where to get us guns?” Gerard asked, voice trembling a bit.
He spit one final time onto the ground and nodded. Guns? If that was where they were at, he should probably start taking it all a little more seriously.
“I can do you a lot better than guns.”
*
Ray and Mikey had already gone to sleep. It had been a long day and they were all beat. Why be awake if you didn’t have to, especially with the sun rising again.
They four of them were hiding out in an old crew dry shack from a mining site Frank had worked with a year or two ago. It was long abandoned, after they’d stripped the ground of anything it had to offer there was no use in sticking around. But BLI wouldn’t look for them there. Or if they did, it wouldn’t be where they stopped first. They’d take as much extra time as they could get.
They had only passed by Mikey and Gerard’s old house, not stepping inside. It was clear to them that it had already been broken & entered, though. Probably bugged, too. So, they sucked in their breaths and kept driving.
Guns. Frank told them there were probably quite a few plasma cores and maybe even some metal cases that were left there, too. BLI had an abundance of everything, so there wasn’t a need to keep track. Most people didn’t hang around abandoned strip mines. They were dangerous holes in the Earth and not worth the trouble.
It was just as Frank suspected. There were only three cases, but that was fine, because Mikey had his own, standard military issue and everything. One of the cases was a little banged up, but it shot fine, if a little off straight. Frank took that one. He was hoping he’d never have to fire it anyway.
Mikey was napping on the old comm chair, where the dispatch person had sat. The chair was worn and wobbly, but if the snoring was any judge of comfort level, it was just fine to Mikey. His newly bleached hair was still drying and the dampness had it sticking to his face.
Ray was underneath the lunch table, using old safety vests and demo blueprints as a blanket and pillows. Not the luxury cabins he was used to, but good enough for the night.
Gerard was still in the single stall restroom, finishing up with his own hair dye. Frank had gotten bored of pacing the halls he once knew. They were always filled with workers and engineers staring at rock specimens while debating whether the area was well and truly void of worth. BLI didn’t care. Time was money, so if it was too much work, it was time to say goodbye. Don’t bother cleaning up or gathering your things. It was easier to abandon in place.
Now, it was liminal and creepy. Like a horror game, which all of it was at this point. With how tired he was, it was almost like a dream. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and everything would be normal again. In a weird way, the thought of it was almost disappointing, but perhaps that was a good thing.
Frank didn’t knock before pushing open the bathroom door. Gerard was standing over the sink, hair soaked, red water dripping into the basin below. Not the first choice for a person to talk to, but any port in a storm. It wasn’t like he was still flashing back to hiding from the Dracs, Gerard’s hand pressing against his mouth, only a breath away from him. It wasn’t like he couldn’t look at his loose, black, raggedy, tee without thinking about how it felt against his chest. He just needed another person in his presence. An awake one. That was all.
Besides, he hated the guy for getting them into this situation in the first place. But if he was going to interrupt Gerard’s transformation session, he was at least going to hand him a towel to dry his hair off.
“Thanks.” Gerard said dubiously, like he couldn’t figure out what Frank was doing there. Surprise, Frank didn’t completely know either.
“Yeah.” Frank responded, not wanting to be too familial. He kind of hated him still. “Do you like it?”
Gerard toweled off the dripping bits, looking at the color in the mirror. It certainly was bright.
“I don’t know. I don’t hate it. But it doesn’t really feel like me.”
Kind of like the jacket, Frank thought. He hadn’t known Gerard for long, so the stark black hair never cemented its place in Frank’s mind. It wasn’t his mind’s eye image of him. When he thought about Gerard, he didn’t think of hair. He thought of the pattern of his breath, the taste his fingers left on his lips.
“I think it looks pretty rad.” He said to break the silence. “Whether you care or not.”
Frank wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at his own boots. But, he could feel the man’s gaze pointing at him through the mirror.
“Thanks.” He said again, more sure this time. “You look the same.”
Frank just shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t turn myself into a strawberry. I just cut the sleeves off my jacket and dyed my hair a little darker.” It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t trying to become a new person overnight.
“That’s what I mean.” Gerard responded.
Frank had no clue what Gerard meant. He almost never did. “Don’t see the problem.”
Gerard pushed himself up from the sink to face him. Red water dripped down onto the dirty bathroom floor. “Do you want to go?”
“What?” Frank asked, taken aback.
“I appreciate your help, Frank. And thanks for showing us this place. But if you want to go, you can.” Gerard gestured toward the open bathroom door, but he didn’t just mean the bunker’s room. He meant this, whatever mess it was they found themselves in. This group they found themselves in.
Frank just shrugged. “And go where, Gerard? My face was right next to yours on the wanted poster.”
“You found this place. I’m sure you know of others. You’ve made it quite clear you want to be anywhere but with us. It’s fine, I don’t take it personally. We don’t have to be a team or anything.”
Frank was bad at teams. He went from place to place, demolition site to demolition site, all while considering very little about the people and places in his life. It worked well for him. He was good at it. He shouldn’t have expected this merry band of criminals to work.
“You think I want to leave you just because I won’t cut my hair or wear some stupid clothes?”
But that didn’t mean he didn’t want it to .
“I could give a fuck what you wear, Frank. But, you’re obviously still clinging to your old life. So, I don’t know. Go. Make a new life somewhere else. People on the news will forget you soon enough. BLI too, probably.”
Gerard tossed the stained towel on the ground and pushed past him. Frank didn’t move an inch.
“And you?” He didn’t want to sound desperate. He wasn’t. He wasn’t.
“I don’t think I have a choice about that anymore.” Gerard looked so different, so distant. Maybe the hair and clothes wasn’t just meant to fool those on the outside.
Another thing about always keeping to himself, he never had to come up with the right thing to say.
“Do you believe in Better Living?” Gerard finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Like what, that they exist?” Frank leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, trying to understand why Gerard was asking, but coming up blank.
“Do you trust them? To control every aspect of your life. Do you believe that they’ll give us the better future they promise?” He sounded sincere. It was sad. Even after being forced into hiding, Frank could tell he was still clutching to that little sliver of hope.
Unfortunately, his own had been taken long ago. Now, he woke up in the morning and went to his job and came back home, not putting too much thought into it. He mined the few minerals still left in the ground and collected his check at the end of the week.
The good stuff - the expensive metals - got sent up to the satellites and the moon to maintain their standard of living. And the dirt? He’d seen the shit quality of the stuff that BLI put in the goods sold to everyone down on Earth. He’d bought it right back a hundred times over, he guessed.
“I think putting your trust in anything but yourself is shit. No hope in them. But, there’s no hope in putting your trust in anything else either.”
“That’s a depressing way to think.”
“It’s the truth. You all can dress up and and drive around in your little car like runaways, but it’ll catch up to you sooner or later. That's the reality of the Zones.”
Frank had seen it. He’d seen people come and go. He’d seen dreams come and go. It all blurred together in the end. Sure, hope was colorful, but you couldn’t splash a bunch of colors together and call it anything but a mess. You couldn’t smash your hope together and call it anything but a myth.
Gerard turned to leave, not looking Frank in the eye. “Look, whatever. Stay, leave, I don’t give a shit. But, I don’t want to die out here. My brother and I are going to make it to the satellites. So if you’re with us, you’re with us. But if you’re not, it was nice knowing you.”
*
Fittingly, the four boys’ hope for normalcy ended not with a whimper, but with a bang.
Gerard, fucked by the curse of being a light sleeper, was up before the end of the first boom. He saw the others slowly dragging themselves up from where they laid out of the corner of his eyes. But, he was moving, moving towards the bay of windows on one side of the complex. Once used by managers and supervisors to oversee the demolition site, it was oddly appropriate to watch a mushroom cloud of smoke blossom in the distance.
Then there was another. Then another. The bright cloud of flame seared Gerard’s vision. He could practically feel his pupils straining at the light. But, he couldn’t turn away.
It was so far from where he was then. Still, maybe it was just in his head, but he could’ve sworn he saw the tall neon sign of the old diner in the distance. And with a blast, it fell like a plant to a boot.
He lived there. He lived his entire life in those few square miles that were now a pile of rubble and ash. How quickly it all changed. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have blood red hair and a shiny gun under his pillow, he should be there, destroyed.
But, for some strange reason, he wasn’t. He was being forced to watch it all instead.
“What the fuck are you doing? Get down!” It was his brother, pulling him down. He hit the ground half a moment before the glass shattered from the sonic boom.
Shards rained down on them. Books and equipment and dust fell from the shelves, crashing to the floor.
Gerard remembered experiencing it, but not being a part of it. It was something that was happening around him but not necessarily to him.
There was screaming. Ray saying something about getting the fuck out. Frank was giving directions on where to go. His body rose and his feet moved. He blinked and all that was left of his worldly possessions was in a bag he was clutching tight.
Then he was in a car and they were driving. He didn’t know where but he supposed none of them did.
Was he still dreaming? Was all of it one bad dream?
He’d wake soon enough. His alarm, letting him know he only had an hour left until his shift serving pancakes and coffee at some forgettable diner in some insignificant part of the Zones. He’d snooze it a few times. Then, he’d force himself into that uniform once again and spend his eight hours thinking of satellites in orbit.
No, this was real.
BLI bombed his home. He had assumed they’d put a hunt out on their group, but why spend the effort when the lives there meant nothing to a corporation in the first place. If a Zone kid dies and no one from the skies is around to see it, did they ever exist in the first place? They covered their bases - with a fiery tarp.
But, they didn’t get them. Against all logic, they didn’t get them.
If this was the start of something, then it was the perfect tactical advantage. The enemy doesn’t expect a fight from someone who is dead.
He supposes the Director must be happy with the success of the bombs. At the very least, indifferent. Perhaps it was something that wouldn’t even make tomorrow’s daily BLI briefing. Another town gone. Another drop in the bucket. He would be so disappointed when he found out that the carpet of explosions he ordered didn’t even work.
Gerard watched the sun rise in the distance and pushed the pedal further to the floor of the Trans Am. He was used to being an endless stream of bad news. It usually sucked, but he suspected that this one time, he wouldn’t mind being a killjoy.
*
“Are you fucking serious?” The car sputtered to a halt, the fuel gauge lying about having any gas left in the tank. Gerard had figured 10ish more miles, 12 if they were lucky. The Trans Am figured 10 feet, take it or leave it.
“Now what?” He heard from the backseat.
Gerard sighed and wiped the tiredness from his eyes. “We get out and push.”
“I’m not pushing this car for miles. I’m not pushing this car for more than 5 minutes.” That was Frank.
The original plan was to head two towns over to a different Zone. That one was home to an old military manufacturing plant. BLI had long since left. The weapons, however, didn’t. They needed blasters and maybe even something bigger, if they wanted to survive.
Didn’t look like that was going to be happening.
It was a long drive through a nigh-uninhabited section of desert. No one was going to find them, no one with good intentions, anyway. Ugh, at least the sun was going down.
“Not to the town dumbass, over under that tree or something. We’re in the middle of the fucking road.” He corrected.
“Fine.” He heard the angry creak of the rusted door being shoved open.
They were all sweaty and even worse smelling by the time they were done. And so, so tired.
“Now what?” Mikey asked again.
Gerard was pretty sick of being the question guy. He searched the bright orange desert skyline for answers. “I don’t know, Mikey. I don’t know.”
Frank got back into the car and crossed his arms like a child having a tantrum. He glared at nothing in particular, maybe nothing at all.
Mikey popped open the trunk, searching for spare gas or food or anything at all that could help him. He drew nothing but blanks.
Ray fumbled with the CommPad he’d grabbed from the ship he’d stolen. In theory, it could call the ship over, if it had survived the crash and then the blast.
Gerard just kept staring into the distance, hoping any sort of miracle would pop out at him. Some saving grace. Even a crumb of something.
Then something did.
“Woah, guys. What is that?”
He pointed to the valley in the distance, way off to the right of the road. It would be maybe an hour walk. Less if they ran. It was a small shiny bump of sand. Sand wasn’t shiny. It could’ve been a mirage, his mind playing a cruel joke on him. Or maybe it wasn’t. What are the chances?
But to Gerard it looked like, “A camouflaged ship.”
“Shit, I see it.” Came from Ray next to him. “Yeah, someone probably parked it there.”
Mikey nodded. “I know that model. The Air Force had been testing the camo tech for some of our fighter jets.”
Ray beamed. “Well what are we waiting for?”
“Seriously? Am I the only one who remembers how we got into this mess?” Frank shouted.
They were quiet on the walk over. Well, except for Frank, who seemed to be designed specifically to get on Gerard’s nerves. He stomped and groaned and tsked constantly. Gerard spent a better part of the hour with his mind yo-yoing between whether he could get away with telling him to leave again and remembering the past few days. He seemed conflicted when he wasn’t filling air time with bitching. He covered him while BLI shot at him.
He couldn’t figure Frank out, and maybe that pissed him off the most.
It was a pretty stupid idea, after all. None of them had a good track record on stealing ships at this point. Even if it was unoccupied, could they get it very far at all? Now they had Mikey, who did know how to fly things. And Ray, who knew how to break into them. They even had Frank, who knew how to grumble and blow things up.
And then there was Gerard. No real skills. He knew how to pour coffee and not completely pissed customers off. He’d deescalated a few near brawls in the diner in his time. Not that any of that was transferable to being on the run from a massive, militarized corporation.
He was kinda dead weight. And it was all kinda partially his fault that they were stuck in the situation. But he couldn’t let Ray die out there. And he couldn’t leave without Mikey. And despite his frustration, Frank was loyal, and he couldn’t betray that.
Not to mention that BLI had flattened every chance of ever going back to normal. He thought of the heat of the bombs, the numbness he felt watching his home being torn apart.
This had to work. He had to lead them to safety. Then, they could think about how to strike back.
The ship was silent when they got to it. Maybe it all was just as it appeared - completely empty and ripe for the taking.
“Can you pop the door on this thing?” Gerard whispered. Ray nodded.
They could never dream of being so lucky.
The ramp slid down and reached the ground with a dusty poof. By then, the sun had set and the ship had faded into the deep darkness of the desert. Inside, the lights were completely off, save for the floor guidance strip. That means the power was off and no one was home. Jackpot.
Frank aimed a flashlight down the corridor and approached the entrance. He looked around then beckoned them in.
The place didn’t just look empty, it looked abandoned. There seemed to be no signs of life whatsoever. The tables and consoles were dusty, with no fingerprints. There were clothes untouched on the floor. As they passed by a bedroom, there was even a sandwich that appeared to have gotten moldy and then shriveled into a rock. The rotten smell of it wafted their way as they passed.
Clearly, nobody was here. And, nobody else had found it. So, it might as well just be theirs.
The ship wasn’t too big, so they quickly made it into the heart of the ship.
“Ray, does that Pad work for this one, too?” Mikey whispered.
Ray pulled it out and the LED glow shined throughout the cabin. “Give me a second.”
Gerard watched him rattle about the controls, looking for something. He pressed a few buttons to no avail. Then, suddenly, their vision was bathed in white.
They all had to shield their eyes from the intensity of the ship powering on and the interior lighting up. But, when they pulled their arms down, all they could say was, “ woah. ”
It was amazing. He’d seen pictures of ships like this, but never with his own eyes. It all looked so new and advanced. Gerard was scared he’d bump something and send them shooting off in some direction.
Ray and Mikey seemed to know their way around, with Ray tapping furiously on his pad and Mikey manning the captain’s post. Frank seemed equally as confused as him oddly enough. The tentative nature he showed while inspecting the area was oddly endearing.
“Looks like we have just under a quarter of a tank of fuel left, that should take us twenty thousand miles.” Mikey announced.
Twenty thousand miles. They could go anywhere - on the mainland that is. Still, that was more than they ever could have asked for. They could go north. There was allegedly still some forest if you went far enough. Or they could fly across an ocean and find themselves somewhere completely different. Maybe there was even a place where BLI was just a joke or a distant memory.
They couldn’t make it to the satellites, not in a stolen ship, which sucked. But Gerard was starting to feel like maybe they could make it out of all this alive.
Ray docked his pad and pulled up a hologram map of the globe for them all to view. “Where to, boys?”
Gerard’s mind was spinning a thousand miles a minute, he found it hard to settle on just one idea or form a cohesive plan. But, they had a ship now, damn it! The world was at their fingertips. And with everyone assuming they were all burnt and crispy, there was no one to stop them.
“Who the fuck are you?” A strange female voice yelled in their direction. Behind him, Gerard could hear the noise of a blaster charging up. “And what the fuck are you doing on our ship?”
*
If Ray learned nothing else during that incredibly confusing moment, it was that he still really wasn’t into being tied up.
He’d tried it once or twice before. Because he had the time and the offers and was never in any real danger, he thought. Why not? It simply really didn’t do anything for him. Sure he came, he saw, he came. But that was despite it all.
Now, after being tied up by a furious-looking android and some sort of sentient beeping golf ball, he was so sure he never liked this even a little bit.
Gerard was on his second explanation of events when he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Can you please, for the love of god, shut up?” Ray shouted, and the others fell silent. “Are you going to shoot us?” He pointed the question at the droid.
She raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t decided.”
“Well, hurry up and decide. Because I’m going to have to take a piss soon.” Ray sighed.
The problem with droids, especially sex droids, was that they pretended to like you, but you could never actually charm them. He remembered Red’s model, though its bob was usually colored platinum blonde or pitch black. They always had them hanging around at the parties he went to. They were all kept on a tight leash and had their memories wiped pretty often, but it’s hard to forget that sculpted face.
He never bothered with them before. He was Ray Toro, a star. He never needed help with that kind of thing. He could always find the real deal. There was one post-premiere party where he struck up a conversation with one. She flirted back with him, but it was powdered with insincerity.
So, Ray couldn’t simply bat his long eyelashes to get them out of this situation. What else did he know? Well, he could act like a motherfucker. And right then, he was remembering every climactic hostage scene he ever filmed.
There was the brute force option, but that wasn’t going to work against someone made of metal. Also, those scenes were highly choreographed and filmed in fifty takes.
That left negotiating. These things could process information at a hundred times the speed of a human. They could infer more about a situation in a single blink than the four of them could in an hour. Which is why Ray was curious. They were jailbroken AIs in defensible armor. Why tie them up?
“I don’t think you’re going to shoot me, much as you want to.” Ray repeated the line he’d used in a spy thriller. “But, I don’t think you’re a coward either, girl.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the other guys looking at him weirdly. That certainly wasn’t a timeless classic film, but it was fairly popular. And they said they were fans.
“You want something from us, what is it?”
The red haired droid stared him down. It was a fight he knew he couldn’t win. So he didn’t try. What would the character do in this situation? Probably something cool and suave. Unfortunately, he’d have to settle for quick-thinking and not terrified right then.
He looked around. There was always a gun on the table, waiting to make its appearance before the scene’s conclusion. There wasn’t much to go off of, with how abandoned the ship had been when they got in. But maybe that was a clue in itself.
The droid wasn’t doing any upkeep. Part of that was probably because they didn’t have much in terms of bodily needs. But, it wasn’t just empty, it was untouched. They weren’t actively using the ship. Either because they didn’t want to - or because they couldn’t.
“You can’t fly this thing.” It was a statement. He saw Mikey perk up at the revelation.
“I assure you we very much can.” She looked at the flying orb again and it beeped back at her.
“So, do it, prove me wrong.” Ray challenged, falling into the old character easily.
A light flickered on her flying friend. She approached him, metal clanging against the floor panels and shaking him in his seat. The blaster tip was lifted and placed on his forehead, right between his eyes.
Calling someone’s bluff on film was easy. You had a script telling you what would happen if you did. But having to do it blind, that was something else entirely. If he ever made it on a film screen again, he was going to have so much material to pull from.
Ray remembered being in an audition room for the first time. He used to perform skits for his parents and his brother when he was a kid. Classic actor story. When he was thirteen, he got shoved into an audition room. He had never been so scared.
Between the trip to the Moon for his audition and his brother’s schooling, his parents had to take out a second mortgage on their fancy suite in one of the better satellites. He couldn’t fuck it up. So, he took a breath, remembered his lines, and for a few minutes in front of the stone-faced casting executives, he was exactly who he needed to be.
The droid’s arm fell to her side.
“The ship’s owner had an android firewall installed. We can’t pilot it.” She smiled sorrowfully at her companion. “I’m Red, this droid is Blue, she’s my partner.” Blue beeped in confirmation. “If you can help us, we promise to let you live.”
The droid named Red sliced through the plastic ties holding Ray’s arms to the chair. She stuck her hand out, offering it to Ray to shake.
Ray took it and breathed a sigh of relief. “I think we can all help each other out here.” End scene.
*
The Director sat in his lonely chair in his lonely office in his lonely ship.
It was what happened when you surrounded yourself with technology instead of people, he supposed. He never had many real friends, just allies. He had a family, on paper at least. When he was a child, their money was around more often than they were. But, they always called when he had a new invention or founded a new company. The years when he first took over Better Living were the closest they'd been to his parents in his whole life.
He wasn’t sensitive about it. He had his rebellious phase when he was a teenager. Never really grew out of it to be honest. At some point he got over being mad at other people or at society. He started being mad at time, at space. It was all so limiting. He wanted to go higher, further, faster, he wanted to innovate. It just all happened so damn slowly.
Progress was exhausting. It should be easier, it shouldn’t be hard at all. They had the technology. And if they didn’t, he would make it so they did. Not directly, but with his influence.
A robot, a computer, a line of code, a human. It was all the same to him. It was a means to an end. It was a means to the next step.
Thinking of an end goal, an end date was so limiting. That was the thing about innovation. It never had to end. But to say there wasn’t one big problem he was trying to get to the end of would be a lie. He looked at it every day.
Mars. So beautiful. So hostile. So unfit for human life. Or so everyone insisted. Uninhabitable? Not if he could help it.
He’d conquered Earth. He left it. He conquered space and the moon. He colonized it. He conquered humanity. He knew the ways to twist them around his finger like twine, bending to further his own desires without knowing it.
And they did it with Better Living Industries issued products.
The rebellious phase ended up paying off way more than he anticipated. The tattoos, the piercings, the devil-may-care attitude and style. People went nuts for it. They thought he was fucking cool. Even better, his army of fans would go to war for him, both physical and virtual, if the posts on News-A-Go-Go were anything to go by. Didn’t matter. The site was his, whether he owned it or not, and so were the users. They would each get him further along the timeline of progress.
They’d get him to the base on Mars. Sooner than later, if he could help it.
Then came the Killjoys, or whatever they were calling themselves these days. At first, he paid them no mind. They were just another headline. Like all things, they’d pass. But for some reason, these four boys didn’t. These four boys found what stuck, things that only he himself thought himself capable of. They gave people inspiration .
He was an inventor, a genius really, so he wasn’t against inspiration. But the kind of inspiration they founded only caused trouble. It wasted time.
He was so close. He could almost feel the Martian ground beneath him.
His helper droid rolled over with a tray of calcium slurry. He nodded, throwing the chalky mixture back in one go, cringing.
“Have the Mars reports come back yet?” He asked it before it could leave.
The droid made a few beeping noises as it downloaded the information. “Only preliminary results. I’ll have them loaded into your account right away.” It answered.
He felt a stirring in his stomach. Not from the drink, but from the anticipation. Results; he was one step closer. This was humanity’s destiny.
“Anything else I can help you with, Sir?” The droid asked.
He gritted his teeth. “Nothing you can give me.”