Grey's Syndrome was particularly nasty. It was essentially modern version of the old Earth Miner's disease, Black lung, only more crippling, debilitating and deadly. It was almost exclusively a disease to human miners of Q-40. Attacking the nervous system, it slowly crippled victims shutting off bodily functions and abilities one by one.
Due to the refinement process of Q-40, a lot of ultra-fine particulate is generated and it worked it's way into seams and items that get handled in the removing of the gear and absorbed into the skin.
Now they had various containment showers and air filtration locks to pass though to lessen the risk and remove nearly all the particulate, but in the early days of earth's Q-40 industry, when his father began, no one knew the risks and the techniques they used in the old days introduced toxic amounts into their systems. Thirty years ago the disease began to get notice, and only now where there any sort of medical treatments. Not that they did much other that prolong the inevitable. Many men afflicted chose to take their own lives once a diagnosis was given them. It was a fate worse than death.
Marcus often wondered if it would get him too. He rarely went into the mines, or to the other platform the Orbitbal refinery, and never without the most top-notch health precautions and procedures. The sad fact was the fine particulate off the ore worked its way into everything one way or another, no matter how many washes and vacuum lock you trod through before removing your suit you could never be totally rid of it. There could usually be found a fine sheen of a silvery powder over most the inhabitants platform surfaces. No amount of atmospheric scrubbers would ever be able to remove it, it was simply too fine to be filtered out completly.
That fine silt was a constant reminder of his family's proud - if not sometimes tragic - heritage. He came from a long and long line of Miners. Seven generations of coal miners in Great Britain and Wales, and 2 generations more in space. Unfortunately, it was never far from his thoughts that most died from it's occupational hazards - mine collapses, lung diseases, gas explosions or leaks… no, the life of a Cole man was not a long one normally. One reason he had tried so hard to escape.
The dream of all wishful young boys - To escape your fathers fate and not make the same choices or mistakes. To live truly on your own rules and by your own hand. Try as he might, He was growing evermore aware this would be his life as well.
Love had lured him away, duty had pulled him as far from here as one could get from this hellhole, but obligation had drawn him back. He owed his parents. It was his part in the family saga to continue the line, like it or not.
His father noticed him watching, "What'cha dreaming about there, boy?"
"Nothing. Just thinking, Da," he said softly digging a spoon in his bowl, uninterested in his cereal.
"Tha's not a look of thinkin' about nothin'." He smiled, his deep set eyes sparkling with a humor his father always seemed to endow now matter what. He sat down his cup. "You know, you boys been working awfully hard. I think you two should take that new XO-80 and spend a few days over on Centauri Prime. Might be good if you boys got a little sun on you."
Marcus was intrigued by this line of conversation for a mere moment until reality snapped him back, "Can't. We've got some big shipments to get out and we're short-handed in Containment."
"You know, it's uhm, Gunratto time over there," He tried to casually mention. "Could be fun." His father's eyebrows rose suggestively.
Marcus's jaw fell in abject dismay. "Dad!"
The spring breaks on Earth and Mars were nothing compared to the all out and debauchery of Gunratto. Young Centuari flooded the beaches of the southern provinces for a month long celebration of sex and indulgence the likes of which would probably remain unequaled for several more generations. Humans from as far as five jumps away, including Earth, had heard about the traditional month long festivities and began joining the party as well several years ago, it was THE party of the Allied worlds.
"Well, you're not going to meet any young women here god knows, and now that the Adams girl has run off…Well, you're a young man you should be taking advantage of that while you can."
"Dad!" he protested in disbelief.
"Just a suggestion. You're a good looking young man, you shouldn't be stuck out here in your prime. There's a whole galaxy out there son, life's too short to be stuck on this thing without seeing some of it first."
"I just got back from seeing far more than I liked."
"War's over, you should be celebratin' being alive. Not many can say that you know. You should do some living, take it from a dying man." He wagged his finger at him.
"Stop talking like that."
"Why? You think I don't know? Hell, if I was your age I'd go to Gunratto with you. You only live once you know."
"I'm not going to Gunratto!" The older son exasperated.
"Will ya at least go somewhere for a few days and relax?" he asked simply? "Life's not about work."
"Da." The younger Cole moaned.
"Markie, I'm asking, please, just take some time off, while you can. I don't want you wasting your best years. I know you, once I'm gone you won't find the time."
He furrowed his brow watching his father's sincere face, "Alright, maybe. There's a new sector that been charted not too far from here. Looked interesting. Maybe I can go explore a couple of them. Might find new location to mine. Bet I can talk Will into it."
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go to Gunratto?"
He bent over the bowl and splashed off the stray hairs best he could with the tiny trickle of water from the faucet. His rose, patting his face and neck dry with a small towel. Running his hand over his freshly trimmed face he smoothed all the hairs back into place, jutting his jaw out to examine the results in the mirror as he did so.
He'd done this a thousand times, but this one gave him both a sense of familiar fear and dizzying exhilaration he'd long thought he'd abandoned. He was going on a date with Christine. Hell, just that fact he was going on a date at all was rather stupefying by itself.
Not a date he reminded himself, it was just a dinner to catch up some more from their brief reunion in the Zocalo earlier in the day. She'd invited him out and before he could think about saying no, the time and place were set. 1600 hours, Fresh Air.
He stared at the face in the mirror. So different than the last time he'd prepared for such an occasion, he almost thought he was seeing a stranger. He'd not LOOKED at himself in a very long time, now he knew why.
Other than the length of his hair and the fairly recent addition of the beard - he was thinner, paler, and most notably older than the last time he'd really looked at himself. His face becoming more angular, and haggard than he'd remembered it being just two years or so ago. His mother would called his look "world weary", he would have just said tired and beaten. How close to the truth was that? He'd seen and done too much to ever think he would ever look any differently again. Any wide eyed innocence of his youth was long since departed.
He wondered if his own mother would even recognize him now were she around. Chris certainly hadn't until she heard his voice. He wasn't sure he was even the same person anymore. So much darkness from then till now. So many things to change a man in so little time.
Off in the distance he heard a chime. He shook his head to bring him back to the present. He shut off the tap and walked into the living room, pulled his white undershirt he wore under his scratchy Minbari uniform back on to cover his bare chest and called for the door to open.
Stephen walked in carrying a handful of colorful shirts on hangers. "I'm not Mr. Blackwell, but I think one these might do the job."
"Jesus, Stephen how many did you bring?" He'd asked his friend to borrow a shirt for the occasion since he realized past a uniform and some workout fatigues he had nothing to wear, let alone anything suitable for Fresh Air. He always thought the Doctor always had a good sense of style when he would once in a blue moon see Stephen out of his scrubs. Marcus on the other hand freely admitted to himself had the fashion sense of a gnome. He wasn't too proud to ask for help when he knew he was over his head. "I only need one, you know."
"Well… I wasn't sure which one you'd like, so I brought a few," he held out a hand stopping Marcus's next protest. "Just bear with me, you did ask for professional help."
"I think you NEED professional help," He mumbled under his breath.
"I heard that. You asked me for help, I'm helping." The doctor laid out the assortment on the bed "Well go on. They might be big for you though."
"I don't exactly have time to go shopping - that's why you're here -remember?" No one will notice anyway, Marcus thought looking over the half dozen shirts, all in rather obnoxious bright colors. He had to wonder if Stephen was color blind. "Didn't have anything... uhm, darker?"
"You're not trying to blend in tonight. Trust me. Just pick one."
"Just dinner, how many times do I have to tell you?"
"Pick," He said looking unimpressed, pointing to the bed.
"Okay! Okay!" Marcus looking to the fanned out selection. He grimaced. "They're all so, I dunno..."
Stephen rolled his eyes. "Tick tock, tick tock! Do I need to remind you that you have ten minutes to get there?"
Marcus grabbed the green shirt. It was closest. "This one."
"My work here is done." He said scooping up the rest. "See you tomorrow at breakfast - hopefully not, if everything works out…" The doctor wagged his eyebrows slapping the Ranger on the back
He scowled to the ceiling, throwing his arms back. "It's just dinner!"
"Yeah. Right." Then he looked at Marcus and then the shirt he held with a frown. He grabbed the hanger with the green shirt and pushed a bold blue one in his grip. "Much better. Good luck." He said departing as quickly as he arrived.
Marcus stared after dumbfounded and then looked down at the cobalt blue shirt in his hand. After examining it hard he gave it a noncommittal shrug. It was a nicer color than the one he'd picked he guessed. He began to change.