by Becky Tailweaver
Chapter 7: Spacer's Scrub
The crew of the Wyrkel's Fire was in an excited buzz the next morning over breakfast, especially after the announcement over the ship's intercomm. They would be arriving on Arinto at approximately oh-nine-hundred hours ship time, and everyone had better have their work done by then or shore leave was out. Trunks and Kalifer gave each other eager grins as they went their separate ways to report to their respective stations.
The landing went so smoothly that Trunks didn't even notice that they had stopped moving; he discovered the fact of their arrival when Nuriz ordered the engines put on standby and all Engineering personnel to report to Cargo for temporary reassignment. Apparently, Engineering was volunteered to help with the ship's load, as well as crewers from several other departments that were not essential while planetside.
According to Nuriz, Arinto was a little planet not very near any major dominions, but with enough connections to have several well-off spaceport-cities. It was a backwater little world with a small, strong commercial trade in several minerals and valuable fabrics, and while it was small, the spaceport-cities could be rather rough places, just like any seaport.
Trunks found Kalifer among the crewers redirected to Cargo. He followed his friend down to the bays, where the Cargo personnel were already at work, and the huge, broad ramps were already lowered. As the workers filed into the bay, Trunks bounded ahead, down the ramp, his feet almost touching the sun-baked concrete of the large, lowered landing pad.
From what he could see from lowered cargo ramp, the planet they'd landed on was teeming with citizenry and quite hot. The air was dry and warm, but he welcomed the heated breeze that ruffled his violet hair. After so long aboard ship, the bright desert sun nearly blinded him even though he stood in the shade of the massive freighter's underbelly, and his eyes took a few moments to adjust. The spaceport itself was quite busy, the loud noises of men and machinery, of vehicles and ships' engines filling the air. The city beyond, the taller buildings barely visible over the rim of the spaceport landing pit, beckoned him with sounds and smells and promises of adventure--
"Get your butt to work, Runt!" shouted Captain Carro from the top of the ramp, his voice impatient and commanding. "We don't sightsee, we unload! Move it!"
Gritting his teeth, Trunks broke off his eager perusal of the sights and stalked back up the ramp into the bay, heading for Kalifer. He passed Carro without looking at him, struggling to hold his temper. "What do I do?" he asked when he reached Kalifer's side.
The Saiyan grunted as he struggled to lift a huge barrel-like container. "You carry. The loader can't handle everything. Only the ton-weight packages can fit the clamp. These stupid barrels don't."
Just then, Hash drove by in the loader--a heavy machine that vaguely resembled a giant forklift with a large steel clamp in place of the tines. The big lizard waved at them, his yellow eyes twinkling merrily. Other crewers set about with flat carts and wheeled dollys, loading smaller boxes and crates aboard them and taking them down the ramp.
"Whew, it's hot here!" Trunks wiped a growing trickle of sweat from his brow. Sun-baked air from the planet's atmosphere blew into the bay from the open ramp, rapidly heating the metal interior. Watching Kalifer struggle with the big, unwieldy barrel, he cleared his throat. "Just how heavy are those things?" he asked, eyeing the next one on the stack.
"'Bout a ton, 1-G equivalent," the Saiyan growled. "Don't bother--go help the others with the little crates. You probably can't--can't--uh..."
Kalifer nearly dropped his own load in shock when Trunks, with a grunt, hoisted one of the huge barrels over his shoulder and turned to look at the bigger Saiyan, neatly balancing his load. "Where do I put it?"
Kalifer stared at him incredulously a moment longer. "Just...follow me." He strode down the loading ramp and placed his burden on the flatbed hovertruck that waited for them. Trunks did the same, earning a lot of surprised gazes. Crewers all around dropped their loads in surprise, staring in shock at the small violet-haired youth that could lift the massive containers almost more easily than the Saiyan could. Trunks grinned as he caught some of their startled murmurs, listening to them marvel amongst themselves. Yeah, that's right, he thought, almost contemptuously. The little runt can handle the loads you can't. Take a good look, you jerks.
"How'd you...?" Kalifer started, his voice a bit hoarse.
Trunks shrugged, turning back to him. "I told you--size doesn't count for much where I come from."
"Apparently. Could everyone on your planet do that?"
"No, just the--uh, Saiyans, and a couple of their friends."
"Hm." Kalifer gazed at him for a while. "Well, back to work, Karaikoro. We've got a lot of weight to haul, and it looks like we're the ones who have to do it. Heh. I'm actually glad you can lift these; it'll be nice to have some help for once."
Trunks wiped his face on his sleeve once again. It was uncomfortably hot on this planet! Back at the barrel stacks, Trunks took off his Capsule Corp jacket, leaving only the black tank-top he usually wore underneath. He dropped his jacket beside the barrel stack and prepared to hoist another.
For the first time, Kalifer got a good look at his smaller companion's compact, muscular physique. He was not tall by most standards, nor was he particularly large or brawny, but his muscles were well-developed, perfectly proportioned, and hard as steel. Kalifer was enough of a fighter to know how to guage the person he was looking at, and he knew that there was far more to this youth than met the eye. Despite the young man's small size, his sturdy, muscled frame warned of stone-crushing strength concealed just beneath the surface, and the balanced poise in the way he moved told of hidden skill and fighting prowess. Kalifer wondered again what race Karaikoro came from, and how that race had managed to produce a specimen like him, who was comparable to a Saiyan in both appearance and power.
"Why doesn't anyone else help with these?" Trunks asked, seeing Kalifer's contemplative look as they headed down the ramp once more.
"Hash is driving the loader, Taliquin's busy, and the captain doesn't feel like lifting," Kalifer growled. "Everyone else can't haul these things, so they see to the rest of the junk."
"You mean...you're stronger than everyone else on the ship?" The half-Saiyan almost couldn't believe his ears.
"Except the captain and Taliquin and maybe Hash, yeah."
"Then why do you let everyone push you around like that?"
Kalifer glanced at him shrewdly. "Same reason you do, I guess."
Trunks set his barrel on the flatbed. "So you're on to me, then."
"Karaikoro, I was on to you when you blew me over your first day aboard. There's more to you than everyone else thinks. And I bet they're starting to get the idea too." He jerked his head at the other crewers still lifting their piddly little crates onto the carts, glancing over their shoulders at the two Saiyans.
Trunks fidgeted nervously under his companion's steely gaze for a moment, then turned and scuttled back up the ramp for another load. Kalifer followed him after another few seconds.
* * * * *
Unloading the cargo and locking down the freighter took two more hours. By that time, Trunks was quite impatient and very tired of waiting for the captain to give the all-clear. Once Cargo declared that all their deliveries had been offloaded and Security reported no problems, the captain's voice came over the intercomm, declaring shore leave for all but essential personnel.
After the cargo had been unloaded, the two Saiyans had gone back to their quarters, where Kalifer instructed Trunks to gather all his clothes into the case he'd brought them in, and pack along his toiletries as well. The full-Saiyan did the same, clearing out his closet and stuffing his garments into a battered duffel. When Trunks asked the purpose of this activity, Kalifer explained that the first thing they were going to do was find a Scrub.
"What's a Scrub?" Trunks asked as the two pelted down the corridor after Carro's terse announcement.
Kalifer smirked at him. "You'll see."
At the ship's main hatch, crewers were lined up to receive their stipends and report their names for the list of those out on leave. The bored, harried officer taking names and handing out money merely wrote down the names given him and slapped a handful of what appeared to be cash into the two Saiyans' hands. "Be back by twenty-one hundred hours," he warned Kalifer tersely.
"No problem." With that, the Saiyan grabbed Trunks by the sleeve and hauled him down the gangplank ramp. "Hey, squirt, we're free for the night!"
Trunks stumbled down the bottom of the ramp, catching his balance after Kal's rough handling. "All right!" he exclaimed, clutching his case of clothes and the handful of currency. "Uh...now what?"
"Now you follow me." Kalifer turned, then paused, looking over his shoulder. "You can fly, can't you?"
Trunks blinked at him, taken aback. "Of course!"
The Saiyan grinned. "Great. It's faster this way."
Cutting through the milling throng of crewers scattering out of the landing area, Kalifer cleared the crowd and took to the air. Trunks followed easily, relishing the chance to release his ki. He hadn't flown in weeks! The late afternoon sun was scorchingly bright, and the air was hot as an oven, but the wind felt good whipping through his hair.
"Hey, settle down, Karaikoro!" Kalifer called after him with a short laugh. "Don't get too excited. Keep your speed low, squirt, there's air traffic over this city."
Not wanting to end up in a mid-air collision with someone's skycar, Trunks finished a barrel roll and pulled in beside Kal. "So where are we going?" he asked as they approached the denser portion of the city.
"First things first," Kalifer replied, beginning a lazy stoop that carried him down to street level. Trunks close behind, he pulled in to land on a sidewalk corner, amid the bustling crowds of natives.
Landing lightly on the sandstone pavement, Trunks found himself in a run-down part of the city that was almost like a teeming shop area in Mexico back home. The streets were narrow and crowded with carts and vehicles, while market stalls jammed the available sidewalk area. Behind the stalls, shop-buildings rose rickety and sun-baked high above, shading most of the street in their shadows. There were people of all sorts walking the streets; the most common type appeared to be some brown-scaled lizard people, apparently the natives to the planet. Voices of hawkers, shopkeepers, customers, and other travelers raised into a babbling cacophony of several languages, and above them periodically rang the sharp sound of car horns as irate drivers honked at slow-moving animal-drawn carts.
"Holy cow..." Trunks breathed, staying close to Kalifer lest he lose him in the crowd.
Kalifer didn't respond, but instead began moving through the throng. Trunks followed close, taking advantage of the "slipstream" created by the big Saiyan's broad shoulders. Kal was large and intimidating enough that most people cleared out of his way without a fuss, whether or not they noticed the tail at his waist. Due to the lack of reaction, Trunks speculated that they didn't.
"We've each got thirty decas to spend," Kalifer explained over his shoulder as they pushed through the crowd. "And I've got fifty more saved up. I think between us we can afford to have a good time tonight!"
Trunks looked down at the bills in his hand; the almost plastic-like paper was marked with red and blue ink, bearing symbols both foreign and familiar. At least one of them had a recognizable symbol for "10" on it, and several others had "5" emblazoned on them. "So this is your money?"
Kalifer snorted. "Since the Cold Empire fell, this is the closest thing to a galactically recognized currency we've got. Some places still don't take it, but we do what we can."
"I see..."
They went on in silence for a while, and the first thing Kalifer did was stop at a couple of the market stalls along the road, the ones offering clothing. The vendors happily displayed their wares, showing off various outlandish outifits, but Kalifer shook his head and shoved Trunks in the shoulder.
"Hey, pick something. You'll need a fresh change of clothes where we're going."
Trunks gaped at him. "But...I've already got...!"
Kalifer glared. "Your clothes are going to be washed, and unless you want to stand about naked, buy something."
"Is that what a Scrub is?" Trunks asked, hesitantly stepping foward to peruse the selection, looking for something that might fit him in both size and shape.
"Sort of. Hurry up." Kalifer crossed his arms and stood back, waiting. He seemed a little edgy, his eyes darting back and forth as if nervous about something.
Watching his companion out of the corner of his eye, Trunks carefully selected a dark gray pair of pants and a black shirt, both of which bore a passing resemblance to his present garb. The pants were more denim-like, and a bit tighter, while the shirt was long-sleeved, loose and flowing, and made of a light material almost like silk, but it stretched. "Good enough?" he asked.
"Whatever." Kalifer turned to the shopkeeper and spoke to him, haltingly, in a language that Trunks didn't even begin to recognize. "You've got expensive taste. That's a nineteen-deca ensemble you've picked there, squirt."
"Nineteen?" Hesitantly, the half-Saiyan pulled out what he hoped was the correct number of bills, looking to Kalifer for confirmation. After receiving his change, the bigger Saiyan grabbed him by the arm again and dragged him off impatiently.
"You take forever to decide the simplest things," he grumbled, pulling the smaller youth after him. "You obsess over having juice or water every single morning--and you can't even grab a damn set of clothes without making a big deal of it."
"Lay off, all right?" Trunks snapped back, jerking himself free of Kal's grip to walk on his own. "I don't want to walk around looking like a buffoon."
"You already do, purple-hair," Kal muttered, stopping at the next street corner. "Damn, this place has changed a lot in four years..."
"Why don't you just ask for directions?"
Kalifer glared at him, and Trunks remembered that the concept of "ask" was not often found in a Saiyan's thought processes. However, the bigger youth rolled his eyes and turned to a passing lizard-being. "'Scuse me," he said gruffly. "Can you tell me where the nearest Scrub is?"
The lizard-man paused and blinked at him.
Kalifer sighed. "Vrei ik'laran?"
The native blinked again. "Awamu shahuram?"
"Crap..." Kalifer gritted his teeth. "He doesn't know Spachink."
Trunks' eyebrows went up. "Just how many languages do you know, anyway?"
"Just a bunch of trade planet tongues, and some spacers' pigdin." Kalifer concentrated, thinking. "Uh... Pi-ku mati...tin ka-yo?"
The lizard's beak split into a smile. "Umu! Unn... Mati...trika-kin...pu-ka." One scaly hand pointed down the way and across the street.
Kalifer looked immensely relieved. "Yo-ku."
As the lizard-man went on his way, Trunks trotted after Kalifer, alight with curiosity. "What was that?" he all but demanded. "I thought you said he didn't know...whatever that was."
"He didn't know Spachink--that's the local spacer's pigdin in this region of space. The merchant knew it." Kalifer followed the native's directions, crossing the busy street and pushing his way down the other sidewalk. "But he did know some Karamati, probably more than I do."
"When do we eat?" Trunks asked when Kal finished speaking. "I'm starved."
"Soon enough. Well, what do you know! I did ask the right thing. The Scrub's right here." Kalifer gestured to the flaking old building with a sign painted in bright red letters in some unknown tongue. However, when they stopped before the door, Trunks noted a smaller sign nailed to the peeling wood which read, "Wash-house, low price services," in twisted but recognizable Standard letters. Kalifer pushed open the door, and Trunks followed him into the darker interior.
Inside, the room was well-lit and smelled of soap. There was a lizard native working the counter, while across the room were several banks of what appeared to be washing machines. "This place..." Trunks glanced around at the folk sitting in chairs waiting. "This is a laundromat?" he demanded incredulously.
Kalifer snorted, heading for the counter. "Feh! It's more than that, stupid. Shut up and pay attention." He banged on the counter, getting the clerk's attention. "Please tell me you speak Standard, lady."
"Shtandard I shpeak fine, shir," the lizard-woman replied, a bit miffed, with a slight lisp through her reptillian tongue. "You wish sherfishes?"
"That's right. Two sets of clothes, two wash-ups."
"Currenshy?"
"You folks still take decas in these parts?"
"Two each for laundry. Fife each for wash-up, double if sheparate."
"Great." Kalifer glanced over his shoulder. "Pay the lady for your share, Karaikoro."
After the correct amount of cash was handed over, the lizard woman presented them each with a small key, which presumably gave them access to one of the washing machines, and handed Kalifer a larger key with a number card attached to it. "Pleash leaf no mesh in the room."
"We'll be tidy," Kalifer replied. "Come on, squirt, let's go."
They went through the door in the rear of the room, carrying their belongings with them. A double hallway waited in back, rather narrow, but Kalifer led the way and stopped at the room which matched the number on the key they'd been given. Inside, the floor was made of tile in quaint but unimaginitive colors. There was a counter with several sinks and mirrors, a long plank bench across from it, and at the back of the room was an area tiled on all three walls with a rim around the floor. Several shower heads pointed down from water pipes leading along the wall.
"This is it?" Trunks asked softly.
"One of the nicer places I've been in, actually," Kalifer said, looking pleased. "Look here--fresh soap and towels and everything. Definitely worth five decas."
Trunks looked about hesitantly. The washroom seemed sanitary enough. There were no unpleasant smells and it appeared to have been cleaned recently. There was a large stack of white towels and a small dish that contained what looked laughably similar to little individually-wrapped bars of hotel soap. There were even little squeeze bags of shampoo for their free use.
"Let's get cleaned up, squirt!" Kalifer announced, cuffing him in the shoulder. "This is what's known as a Spacer's Scrub--the best place to get washed up, usually a whole hell of a lot better than a gray-water dry shower shipboard. Use it while you can!" With that, the bigger Saiyan unceremoniously began stripping out of his smudged coveralls and underclothes. Tail lashing at the thought of a fresh shower, he snatched a large towel, a washcloth, a handful of soaps and shampoos, and strode to the shower area, completely unashamed.
Trunks hesitated, a little embarassed; he'd never liked public showers, not even at home. The few times he had shared a washroom with others, his physical differences had earned him odd looks and made him self-conscious about his Saiyan heritage.
"Come on, Karaikoro, we haven't got all day," Kalifer called from the showers, turning up one of the spigots. "We're going to eat right after this, and I don't want to smell you during my first good meal in a month!"
The thought of good food in the near future finally prodded Trunks into action. Turning away, he reluctantly stripped down and grabbed some supplies and a towel, heading into the shower area after his friend. He was forced to leave the towel on the wall hook, however, or risk getting it soaked in the shower. So he steeled himself, strode furtively up to a shower head, and cranked on the water.
The shower was lukewarm, but at least the water was fresh. Trunks actually sighed, relieved at how good it felt to scrub down thoroughly. From what he'd seen in the washroom's mirrors, his hair was definitely in need of a good cleaning, and his arms and hands were smudged with grease and grime from working in Engineering. It felt so wonderful that he even forgot his impatient stomach for a while.
Then he noticed Kalifer chuckling at him. "What?" he demanded crossly, still scrubbing his hair.
"Oh, nothing." The Saiyan smirked. "Just noticed you're a natural purple."
Trunks stared at him blankly for a moment before comprehension struck and his face flamed. "Shut up, jerk!" he snapped, turning away. "You've got a lot of room to talk! That tail makes you a natural monkey!"
"Hey, come on!" Kalifer flicked his tail, showering him with drops of shampoo from the damp fur. "Don't take it so personally, squirt. You can't help the color you were born with."
Trunks gritted his teeth and scrubbed with a vengeance, ducking under the flow of water to rinse. "So leave me alone about it, alright?" he growled. "I get enough stares back home."
Kalifer raised an eyebrow, still looking far too amused for Trunks' taste. "So purple isn't a common coloring where you come from?"
"No, dammit. Now lay off." Unless you want to see a really uncommon coloring, he mentally snarled. Slamming off the shower, he stomped over to the towel hook, hearing Kalifer finish washing behind him. He snatched one of the towels, not caring whether or not it was the one he brought, and secured it firmly about his waist, turning just in time to see the Saiyan shaking out his shaggy mane like a dog.
Kalifer followed suit with the remaining towel, stepping out of the shower area alongside him. "Say, where'd you get a scar like that?"
Grabbing a second towel to dry with, Trunks paused, looking at him in puzzlement. "Scar? I don't have any..."
"On your backside." The Saiyan snorted. "Somebody shoot you?"
For a few moments more, Trunks' face scrunched up, perplexed. Scar...? What...? When realization finally came, his face went slack in half-panicked surprise. Aw, crap! The only scar I got that never disappeared would just have to be that! The damn tail-scar on my butt! Oh, great, I hope he doesn't put it together...!
"Uh, jeeze..." he stammered, trying to think fast. "I...I...you know, I don't even remember it..." Well, at least that's the truth...mostly.
Kalifer shot him an odd look. "Seriously? Must have been one hell of a wound. I didn't see another mark on you. Unless you're not really a fighter and it was just an accident."
Trying to divert the Saiyan's attention from the incriminating scar, Trunks quickly changed the subject as he finished drying and began to dress. "So, what kinds of foods do they serve here?"
Kalifer dug fresh clothes out of his duffel bag. "Spicy ones," he replied shortly. "Whatever you do, don't eat the pickled vegetables. The things are hotter than a full ki blast."
"I'll keep that in mind." Trunks finished dressing in his new ensemble, pleased that he didn't look like too much of "buffoon" when he checked himself in the mirror. In fact, the dark clothing made his paler complexion and striking violet hair stand out, and he actually cut a rather handsome figure. Glad that Kalifer had insisted he bring his bathroom supplies, he fished out his comb and toothbrush and headed to the sinks to get to work.
Kalifer actually dressed in something other than ship's coveralls. Instead, he wore dark, loose pants and a blue mid-sleeved shirt. Once he was finished pulling on his clothes, he shook out his hair again.
Trunks, finished with his hair and moved on to his teeth, held out his comb to his friend. "Need this?"
"Naw, I don't usually bother," Kalifer replied, bringing out his own toothbrush. "You know a little about Saiyans, don't you? Comb or not, my hair'll never change."
"I...I guess not." Trunks stared at the small object in Kalifer's hand, then suddenly smiled. Unable to hold back, he began to chuckle.
"What's so funny now?" Kalifer demanded.
Trunks held up his own recently-used tool. "I guess toothbrushes are pretty much the same no matter where you come from."
One eyebrow raised, Kalifer looked from one toothbrush to the other for a moment before he broke out in a chuckle as well. Pretty soon, the two youths were laughing uproarously, unable to contain their mirth. The shared amusement broke what little tension remained between them, putting darker subjects far from their minds and allowing them to relax. Even if neither of them knew what was so humorous about the similarity of toothbrushes used in different galactic cultures.
Outside, the clerk walking down the hall past the door with a fresh bundle of towels wondered what in the Nine Rings could be so funny about a simple washroom.
To be continued...