"Well," I say, "what now?"
I look in front of me at the woman I think I love. I probably love her. I wouldn't be here if I didn't love her, right? Of course not. That would be silly.
I look at her deep blue eyes, wide and watery. I can make them out perfectly despite my being obscured by the red haze that separates us, despite the gale-force winds causing me to squint. Her short black hair is messier than ever, and slowly filling with flecks of red, a treasure trove of dust and debris. I imagine I am faring similarly. I can feel the sodium burrowing into my pores.
I am staring deep into her eyes because I do not want to look anywhere else. I do not want to see what her hands are doing. I do not want to know if they are reaching to her hip, grasping around the handle of her gun, aiming upwards, pulling the trigger. I continue to not be dead, so it is safe to assume this is not happening yet.
I try not to think about the fact that I will almost definitely be dead within the hour. Crap, I just thought about it.
"I don't know," she finally says, responding to my question.
She looks up towards the sky, and I follow her gaze. Max's drop-ship has disappeared entirely beyond the raging dust clouds. The monster of a man is no doubt reclining in his chair, kicking off his shoes, and uncorking a bottle of wine, cackling hysterically to himself as he made his way back to the Verona. Fucking Max.
"We should move," she says suddenly. I am startled out of my murderous daydreaming.
"What?" I say. "Why?"
"Because standing here is stupid," she responds. "Moving will help us not freak out."
"It will?" I ask skeptically. She simply rolls her eyes and begins moving.
I follow after her. Alexandria Naught - Alex, as she likes to be called. The woman I am almost definitely in love with. Like, at least 80% sure. Back on the Verona, when we'd hold each other on her bed, I felt very confident about it. One day we'd get out of the business, settle down in a nice peaceful colony somewhere, and live happily ever after. I probably even thought about a white picket fence at one point. Seriously, what a fucking mook I am.
I don't even bother wondering what she's thinking about now. Even in the best moments, when I was lost in a happy world with two kids and a dog, I never knew what she was thinking. I assumed it was the same thing. But really, who knows. She doesn't like to talk about that stuff much. I actually know very little about her, on the whole - I figure she came from one of the colonies where things didn't go so well, where murder and rape and theft and slavery ran rampant with little or no outside regulation. It's not uncommon, and the kids that these places churn out tend to be a bit moody.
Not me, though. I'm Gary Barclay, and before I joined Bartie's crew, I was an accountant. Technically I still am an accountant, insofar as lawless brigands have accountants.
The earth beneath my feet is cracked and dry, and more dust shoots up around the edges of my feet with every step downwards I take. Light indentations of two pairs of shoes trail behind us. Despite her shorter legs, Alex keeps up with me at a perfect pace without any difficulty. I look at her for a while, engrossed by her simple beauty. Maybe I'm 90% sure that I love her.
Eventually she sees me staring at her.
"Are you going to do it?" she says.
"Do what?" I ask.
"Play the game," she says.
I appear shocked. I am shocked. It hadn't even crossed my mind. Why would she ask that? Was she thinking of doing it?
"No," I say, but quickly add, "I don't know. Are you?"
"Do we have any other choice?" she responds.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
"But I don't know either," she adds.
Phew.
"Either one of us dies, or we both die. Seems stupid to not play when it's put like that. You know?" she explains. I look at her, trying to mask my horror and being fully aware at how badly I'm managing it. "But...it's hard to decide to kill you when your charming face is staring at me."
"I always knew my charming face would save me one day," I say, chuckling nervously. She laughs as well, and for a moment the tension fades.
"Maybe we should split up for a bit and do some real thinking about this," she says, her eyes not leaving mine. "This is arguably the most important decision we'll ever make."
"Sure," I say, nodding. Sounds reasonable enough. "I'll go check out the sights. I hear there's a great Dust and Wind Exhibition south of here, maybe you can go pop by the National Museum of More Dust and More Fucking Wind."
"Great," she grins at me. Red sand gets stuck in her teeth. We depart without so much as a 'I might shoot you to death when I next look at you.' That's Alex, alright.
But is it me?
Four months ago, I first stepped onto the Verona. Bartie was leading me through the dank metal corridors, chatting away excitedly. You never met anybody who loves his job more than Bartie loves his. 1000 years earlier and he would've gladly donned an eye patch and a peg leg. I swear he had to physically hold himself back from slipping out a 'yarr' every now and again.
"In here's the Engine Room, I'd let you in but that'd be like letting you nail my daughter! Nobody goes into the heart of ol' Verona but me." Bartie pauses for a moment, then says, "wait, that analogy got really weird. Hah!" He bursts into a fit of laughter, banging his fist against the wall and causing metallic echoes to reverberate all around us. I nervously laugh a few times as well.
"So, Gary!" he says as we continue onwards. "What kind of number crunching did you do, you know, before your breakdown?"
I flinch, really wishing he wouldn't throw the word 'breakdown' around so casually, though of course he's right. "I worked for a med firm," I respond. "AidKit. Heard of 'em?"
"Yeah, I think so," Bartie says with a shrug. "I take it not very satisfying work?"
"No," I say.
"Yarr," Bartie says, or maybe I'm just imagining that he did. "Hey! Here comes my Heavy Weapons Guy. Gary, meet Max."
I look up at Max. Then I continue looking up at the rest of Max. Here was a man hand crafted by God to be given the title "heavy weapons guy." He looked as heavy as a mountain. I wondered at the time if he was in charge of weapons or if he was the weapon.
"Gary?" he rumbles. "The fuck kind of name is that for a pirate?"
"Gary will be looking after our finances," Bartie explains cordially. "He is a terrific gentlemen and I expect he will be treated with the respect we treat all our crewmates, Max," he says, politely but firmly. "Yarr," he may or may not have added.
Max grunts. He stares down at me with obvious disdain. 'Max smash puny accountant,' he seems to be thinking. He appears to respect Bartie's wishes, however, and brushes off down the corridor away from us, not so subtly slamming my shoulder as he goes by.
Later that tour I met Alex. It was not love at first sight, because she would not look at me. She is the ship navigator, and thus is almost always preoccupied with her monitors, going from one to the next, checking altitude, monitoring fuel supplies, winning solitaire, monitoring frequencies. She grunted in acknowledgement a few times as Bartie attempted to introduce me. I gave the back of her head a meaningful nod, then we went to the mess hall for some introductory booze.
"It'sh a great crew," Bartie says jovially, slurring through his teeth. "They're all like fuckin' family to me, y'know? You do well by me, you'll be family to, y'know?"
I smile and nod, in a dull haze myself.
"But if you don't do well by me?" Bartie adds, his tone suddenly quite serious. "I'll fucking murder you."
There is a pause.
"Hah! Hahahahahaha!" Bartie laughs, nearly falling out of his chair.
Four months later, I grimace, fighting my way through dust and dirt, not even knowing where I'm going.
A sound rings out above the howling wind, unmistakably a gunshot. I jump in the air, grab my gun out of its holster and begin to wave it around furiously. I see nothing but red.
"Alex!" I call out. There is no response.
I begin to run.
There are no more sounds of gunfire, but I am panicked. My heart is beating hard enough to break my ribcage. My legs pound the asphalt, my lungs pump ash. She has done it. She has decided to kill me.
I begin to slow down. Perhaps it's reasonable. Perhaps - just perhaps - I love her enough to let her live. Either one dies, or we both die.
I stop running.
Two months ago, I found myself back in Alex's room. The first time we slept together, I tried not to think about it too much. For all I knew, she did that with every new crewmember. I grimace, the thought of her and Max entering my mind. Bile shoots into my throat instinctively. I manage to keep it down.
Now I was being invited back for another night, and begin to wonder if maybe there's something special about me. She laughs at my jokes, listens when I talk. She seems to genuinely like me.
"Max give you any trouble today?" she asks me as we sat up in her bed, arms wrapped around each other.
"I managed to avoid him," I say, sighing thankfully. "He was with Bartie all afternoon talking about the Darkshrine."
She nods, grimacing herself. The Darkshrine is a rival ship in the same area that the Verona operates in. Like good patriots, we hate the Darkshrine and everyone aboard it on principle. It was the only thing I'd ever seen put a crack in Bartie's perpetually good mood - other than the time, on my first day, he'd threatened to murder me if I didn't do right by him. But I'd since written that off as just a joke.
"I'm sorry he's such a douche to you," Alex continues to say about Max. "I don't know why he's got such a bug up his ass."
"Doubt he'd notice a bug in that cavern he calls an anus," I retort. "Try, 'I don't know why he's got such a barnyard animal up his ass.'"
Alex laughs, her eyes sparkling at me as she does so. "A zoo exhibition up his ass?" she says.
"Yes, that's better," I nod. "He's such a massive douche, he's in serious danger of collapsing into a douche singularity."
Alex is rolling around with laughter. "I think we've just made a breakthrough in how black holes are formed!"
We both laugh, but it is swiftly cut off when there is a knock at the door. I sit up fully, unsure of what to do, as Alex quickly straightens her clothing, stands up, and goes over to answer it. She opens the door ever so slightly, glancing through the ajar opening to see who it is. Max shoots out a hand, and slams the door open completely, knocking her aside in the process. He stares into the room, his figure larger than the door frame. He points at me.
"Bartie wants to talk with you," he says. He glances at Alex, and adds, "alone."
I blink a few times, and then say, "Okay." I figure it's just something to do with the business. I stand up, and walk past Alex. She is looking incredibly perturbed, so I shoot her a quick smile, and make my way out the door past Max. He appears to be smirking at me, which is, admittedly, a tad disconcerting.
I make my way down the dimly lit corridors until I find myself in front of Bartie's cabin. I reach out with my right fist, hesitate for a moment, then knock. Almost immediately afterwards Bartie's voice calls out. "Come in!"
I open the door, and step inside - I have never seen the captain's cabin before. It is far less lavish than I expected. The only thing to really set it apart from the other living quarters is the large, filled bookcase, with works from Shakespeare to Aristotle to Nietzsche filling it from end to end. Bartie is sitting at a table, dressed in a nightgown that looks rather silly on the burly man. He has a book open in his hands, and when I inspect the cover, I see that it is Romeo and Juliet.
He continues to read for a moment, before gingerly placing the book down and turning to face me. "Gary!" he says. "How have you been enjoying things so far?"
"Wonderfully," I respond, and it's mostly true.
"Listen, hey," he says, standing up. He approaches me like a father getting ready to impart some life's wisdom upon his son. "I blame only myself for this, as I didn't specify with you when you got here, and for that I deeply apologize," he continues, "but there's no dating amongst crewmembers."
"What?" I respond, confused.
"Max has told me about your little fling with Alex," Bartie says, chuckling. "And hey! No harm in that, you had your fun, I understand. But it's now over. Understand?"
"Why?" I ask.
Bartie sits back down and picks his book back up. "You ever read Romeo and Juliet, Gary?"
"I...think so, back in High School," I respond nervously, rubbing the back of my head. English was never my best subject.
"It is frequently hailed as one of the best written and most beautifully depicted accounts of true love," Bartie says. He looks at the book with a true admiration in his eyes. "It really is. Even to this day it wrenches my heart when I read it. But you know what's really interesting about this love story, Gary?"
"No?" I mutter, trying to keep up.
"The death toll. Tybalt kills Mercutio, Romeo kills Tybalt, then he kills Paris, and at the end of the day none of it matters because he and Juliet both kill themselves. To the discerning reader, it would appear that love brings no gifts but an early grave."
I stare at Bartie, trying to figure his point.
"We are running a very meticulous operation here, Gary, and there are certain parties who would see us fail by any means necessary. Say the Darkshrine got its filthy hands on Alex. The last thing any of us need is for you to go doing something stupid like striking a deal for her safety. Understand?"
"I would never-" I begin to argue.
"Shut up," Bartie says, cutting me off, and for a moment his pleasant, fatherly demeanor is replaced by the hint of malice I have seen only once before. But a second later, it is gone. "Whether or not you think you would, it would be a gamble for me to put any trust in you. We run enough gambles as it is. Bang whoever you want when we've docked somewhere nice, but on this ship you keep your hands off my crew."
I nod, silently. Bartie grins at me. "I ain't gonna punish you for dipping your pen in the company ink. Alex knew better, and now you do too, so there won't be any more problems. Right?"
"Right," I say.
Two months later, I am waiting for my adrenaline rush to calm down, waiting for an opportunity to speak to Alex, hoping I can say my piece before she shoots at me again. I am breathing heavily, which I know is a bad idea - it will only bring my death from atmospheric poisoning that much sooner. But, really, in the grand scheme of things, who cares?
I see Alex approaching. She is walking calmly towards me from the direction I had been running in. Not the direction I had been running away from. Had I gotten turned around somewhere?
"What is it?" she asks me. Her gun is still at her hip.
"...Someone shot at me," I say, after a momentary pause.
She quickly draws her gun, but does not point it at me. She aims it around, squinting through the red haze, looking for any adversaries. I feel incredibly relieved. She did not want to kill me, not yet anyway. My love reaches at least 95%.
"Who else would be on this God-forsaken rock, though?" she asks, glancing at me as if I'd know the answer.
"I don't know," I tell her honestly. After a long moment of silence, I speak again. "Does it matter?"
"Does what matter?" she responds, a tad confused.
"I mean, we've got to play the game," I say, though I'm not sure why I'm saying it. "We've got to fight each other. Or else we both die anyway. When one of us is dead, Max will come back, and the other can make it to safety."
"You're really considering it," Alex says. She does not seem hurt or even surprised. She just states it, matter-of-fact.
"I don't want to," I say. "I'd rather die with you. But I won't force you to give up with me, and I won't make you shoot a man who isn't fighting back."
She smiles. Promising to go down in a valiant gunfight was surely the best way to warm her heart. The woman I love. 100%.
"How should we do this?" she asks, uncertainty creeping in on the edges of her voice.
"Western show-down style?" I suggest. "We back up twenty paces, turn, and shoot?"
She nods. We look at each other for what will likely be the last time. We say nothing, for nothing needs to be said. The look conveys it all. She knows I love her. I begin to back up, as she does the same. I try to swallow, but my throat has gone dry. My hand becomes clammy, my grip on my weapon weakens. I don't know I can do this.
I turn around, and see Alex do the same. She is backed up against a cropping of rocks. She holds up her weapon, takes another step backwards-
-And disappears entirely from sight.
"...Alex?" I call out uncertainly. I wait to see if this is some sort of trick, if a gunshot is on its way towards me at that very moment, but once again I am still alive. I step forwards a few times, and call out her name again. "Alex!" Still no response. I rush forwards, hit the rocks, and fall through them.
I am standing in front of a drop-ship. It has cloaked itself with fake images of rocky mountains in order to protect its location. On its side, emblazoned in bold black letters, is the word "Darkshrine."
Alex is standing next to it, staring at it, aghast. I step up beside her. My heart leaps in my chest. This is impossible. It's too good to be true.
"Do you know what this means?" Alex says.
"We can leave," I respond. Both of us, get off this planet alive. Go wherever we wanted. Never have to worry about Bartie or Max or anyone but ourselves and our children and our home ever again.
Yesterday, I am in the mess hall with Alex. We are sitting together, smiling and laughing as we usually are when we are off-duty and together.
"Seriously, whoever heard of a pirate named Gary?" I am saying. "It's such a non-threatening name."
"Well, you are an accountant, so it's sort of fitting," Alex responds, smirking at me.
"Now, Max," I begin to say. "For all his flaws, there was a man born with an appropriate name for the business."
"His parents probably thought he was a dog when they named him," Alex adds. "His middle name is probably Spot."
I laugh, until the devil spoken of appears in the archway behind her. Max smirks, again, and I can think of only one other time when he appeared so happy to see me.
"Bartie wants to talk to you," he says, and walks off before I can respond.
I gulp nervously. Alex and I have been very discrete about our relationship. No PDA, no sleeping over, no excessive moaning during sex. There was no way Bartie or Max could've found out, unless one of them had kept an ear close to our door. The thought of Max listening in on me during coitus makes me extremely uncomfortable.
"You should go see what he wants," Alex says, trying to look innocent and aloof, but concern is etched on her face. I nod, and once again make my way towards the captain's quarters.
At the door, I raise my hand to knock. It barely raps against the metal before Bartie shouts out, "IN."
I open the door. I am confronted with an image of pure hatred. Bartie's eyes glow red with anger. His limbs shake with force. He not so much speaks as he does emanate his feelings.
"There is one thing I really cannot abide on my ship, Barclay," he says, "and that is betrayal. I have been nothing but polite, nothing but gentlemanly, and when I give you one very simple order, you refuse to obey it. It is like a wad of spit shot straight from your mouth into my eye, and I will not stand here and take it."
"Sir-" I begin to say. I have never called him sir before, but now it is the only title that feels appropriate. I am cut off by his fist clenching around my throat and slamming me against one of the cold metal walls. His bookshelf shakes, and a few tomes tumble to the ground.
"I ought to gut you right now for this injustice," he snarls, barely audible. "You and Alex have turned away my generosity, and I can think of only one way for you to ever hope to get it back."
I try to ask how, but I can only gurgle.
Within the hour, Alex and I are rounded up and given the rules. Dropped on a planet with a toxic atmosphere. We'll have one hour before our essential life systems shut down completely. In that time, one of us must kill the other in order to get back on the ship. Either that, or we both die slowly and painfully of total asphyxiation. I wish for a plank I could walk instead.
We have one last night we get to spend together. We do nothing, say nothing. Lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, numb with shock.
The next day, I stand beside Alex, staring at our potential salvation.
Alex steps forwards, towards the ship, her expression still largely blank but hinting at horror. I begin to fear that perhaps we are not thinking the same thing.
"Why is this here?" she asks, as she steps onto the extended ramp and begins to make her way up, weapon extended. We stand silhouetted by the entrance for a moment, darkness in front of us, redness behind us. There does not appear to be anyone inside.
"This must be who shot at me," I say.
"How did they know we were here?" Alex asks, stepping inside and looking around. It is very similar in design to the Verona's own drop-ship.
"Maybe they didn't," I say. "It's probably a coincidence. None of it matters now!" I am elated. I grasp my beloved by the arms, stare into her eyes. "We can leave. We aren't at the mercy of Bartie and his sick games anymore. Aren't you excited?"
"There's a message," Alex says. She is looking over my shoulder, at the navigation board. Just like on our own ship, a red light is blinking on and off indicating a recent incoming frequency. I release Alex, and she walks over to play the last recording.
A gravelly voice comes from the machine. It is as if a warthog has gained the gift of speech. It is Max.
"I dropped both the saps off," he is saying. "The guy, Gary, he's a pushover. Just yell 'boo' at him and he'll be at your mercy. The chick though, Alex, she's a bit tougher. I've seen her do some pretty hardcore shit, so don't let your guard down around her. Bartie likes her a lot, too, and it's unlikely the Verona will ever find as good a navigator again." He snorts. "Verona. What a stupid fucking name. I better not have to let you kill too many others before I can move over to the Darkshrine. I can give you Bartie's head on a pike whenever you want it. Eh, whatever. You'll do fine. You've got an hour, so maybe have fun with it. Call me on the private channel when it's done."
We stand there, silently, in shock. As much as I hated him, I never would've expected Max to actually conspire against us, against Bartie. Had he orchestrated this all along? Had his goal from the very beginning been to see me dead?
"Come on," I say. "You're the flyer. Can we get this thing airborne?"
Alex is staring at me. More than ever I wish I could tell what she is thinking. Her expression is entirely blank, but perhaps it begins to dawn on me. Bartie would be very, very grateful if someone were to bring this recording back to him.
"Alex," I say slowly. "We don't need to worry about this. We don't need to please Bartie. We can just leave. No one will ever find us."
She says nothing.
"Alex, I love you," I say, and it is the first time I ever say it out loud. "I want to be with you forever. I want to settle down with you somewhere nice, and not worry about rival pirates, or jackass heavy weapons guys, or psychotic captains. I just want you."
Tears are in her eyes as she pulls out her gun. The first bullet plows through my right hip, makes a clean exit out the other side. I stumble backwards, pain flowing freely through my body. I slam into a wall behind me, crack the back of my head against it. My vision goes hazy.
"I'm sorry," she says, crying freely. She raises her gun again.
I am angry. I am furious. I have never been so furious in my entire life. I loved her. I was supposed to get away with her, live happily ever after. She took that away from me. How dare she. HOW DARE SHE.
Through the pain, I reach for my gun. I am faster than her. I aim up, and aim perfectly. My shot hits her square in the forehead. Her beautiful eyes become lifeless, her matted hair becomes coated with blood. She falls backwards, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Dust begins to settle on her body.
I slouch forwards. My legs are beginning to feel numb, so I crawl on my stomach, pull myself forwards with my arms alone. I do not want to die. Not here. Not like this.