Chapter 3
Stephen held his scanner out of the steel cage of his cockpit, pointing it at a small chunk of metal and pressing a worn-out button on the left. The device blinked its green light, and Stephen grabbed it with the manipulator, tossing it over his lifter's right shoulder toward the salvage area. He then stared across the debris field, looking for a new piece of scrap. His gaze rested on a dark silhouette against the bright blue of the distant Earth. The scrap looked fairly large. Stephen activated the lifter's verniers, propelling himself toward the mass.
As he neared the object, parts became recognizable as his searchlights illuminated them. Large sheets of olive drab metal, shredded bits of circuit board, strands of wires and hoses, and finally the mangled body of a mobile suit. It was definitely a dead Zaku. Its rounded head sat intact atop the scarred shoulders. The single camera that gave the impression of an eye had long since gone dark. Stephen felt himself breathing a little heavier. He looked around the suit, checking for weapons. The rifle was still clutched in its hand, but it was just as mangled as the rest of it. On its side skirt hung the remains of its battleaxe, the heat-hawk. Stephen shuddered as he gazed on the weapon. He remembered the way its edge would glow as it superheated itself, how it would slice through steel like a razor through jello. He pointed the scanner at it, noticing that his hands were shaking. He sat back in his seat, his left hand clutching his right as he tried to regain control of himself. His radio crackled to life in his ear.
"Hey, Steve. You ok, man? The sensor says you're almost out of oxygen already. Got a leak or something? Check your suit when you get back, but start heading here now."
Stephen exhaled slowly before replying. "Sure, Hal. Hey, I found a dead mobile suit out here. While I'm refitting you might want to have some guys start picking it apart. I'm placing a tracker on it..." he pulled a cone-shaped device out of a compartment in the cockpit and checked the number scratched into the metal. "Number 37. The thing's still got weapons on it. Don't know if the pilot's in it or not."
"Sure thing," said Hal. "Just hurry back before you suffocate, alright?"
"You got it." Stephen reached out of his cockpit and touched the base of the cone to the heat-hawk. The supermagnet inside attached the device firmly, and Stephen backed his lifter away from the wreck. He turned back in the hangar's direction and activated the verniers. He checked his oxygen level. It was pretty low. He must have been breathing even heavier than he thought. He shook his head. Why couldn't he just get over it? The fighting was all over, and it had been over a year since he had fought here. The memories shouldn't have been bothering him anymore. He thought about Arthurs. He had been through much worse than Stephen ever had. How could he stay so... normal? The thought made him grin in spite of himself. Arthurs? Normal? Those two words had never been associated like that before. That must be the reason. Arthurs had always been the bright spot. Nothing had ever phased him. Stephen's grin disappeared. Or perhaps Arthurs was fine because everyone was fine. Maybe he was the only one who couldn't move on. Perhaps he just needed to man up like everybody else. He sighed, shaking his head violently. Thinking like this was getting him nowhere. He wouldn't ever get any better pounding himself into the ground. Best to just ignore it all and keep working.
"Good work out there, Steve. Another one for the books." Hal slapped Stephen's shoulder.
"You know," Stephen responded, "I thought this was going to be a lot harder than it is. But the lifters are really easy to move."
"Yep. Smaller things tend to move easier in zero G. And there's no target system or weapons to monkey with so the interface can be streamlined. And you're doing pretty well for a guy with only a week's experience. Just watch your air and try to breathe lighter. The boss gets real miffed if we use too many tanks. Someone has to pay for all that air, so just make sure he doesn't take it out of your paycheck."
Stephen nodded. "I'll be more careful." He started to walk toward the break room door, but Hal grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey, listen. Before you head home, wanna go grab a bite to eat? I'm starving."
Stephen smiled. "Sure. What's good around here?"
Hal thought for a moment. "You know what I could really go for right now?" he said. "Burgers. There's a helluva burger joint on Cherrydale. Best damned burgers you ever tasted. Cheap, too."
"You know I've been trying not to let my military body go to waste," Stephen replied. "How much will I regret it later?"
Hal smiled real big. "Oh, you'll have so many regrets. Gas, heartburn, fat, you name it."
Stephen laughed. "Sounds perfect. Lead the way, man."
"Right." Hal walked out the door, flinging it wide open. "You're buying!" he called over his shoulder before trotting down the hall.
Stephen ran after him. "Hey, now wait just a minute!"
Lucie ran to pick up the ringing telephone, hastily wrapping herself with a towel. She picked up the receiver, fumbling it with her soapy hands. "Hello? Carson residence." Mrs. Carson came flying in from the kitchen.
"Oh, Lucie!" she said. "I could've gotten that! Look! You're dripping all over the floor!"
Lucie made a shushing gesture in her mother's direction, not bothering to look at her. She focused entirely on the phone call. "Hey, Steve. How was work today?... Yeah?... Ok... Uh..." She glanced at Mrs. Carson. "We were, but we haven't started yet... Hal did?... Baby, you're an adult. You don't need my permission... It's no problem at all. Go have fun with the boys. Lord knows it might do you some good... Sure... Ok, have fun... I love you too, babe." She hung up the phone and turned to her mother.
"Let me guess," she said. "He's not coming back for dinner. After all those ingredients I took out, too."
Lucie gave her a look of sarcastic shock. "Oh, horrors! Now we have to put everything back even though we would have done that anyway! Please, spare me!"
Mrs. Carson laughed. "Ok, now, Miss Wisebritches. Off with you. Get that water back in the shower where it belongs while I clean up this mess you've made. Honestly. Never have kids; they aren't worth the aggravation."
Lucie stuck out her tongue as she walked back to the bathroom. "Just try and stop me." She unwrapped the towel from around her body and swiftly dressed herself, wrapping the towel around her hair and vigorously rubbing it around her head. Mrs. Carson came to the door and peeked in.
"So that means it's just the two of us tonight," she said. "What do you want to do? Go out? Rent a movie?"
Lucie stopped drying her hair and thought for a minute. "The girls and I were out the other day and we found a nice place over on Victor Street. It's a cafe and library. You get out a book and read it with your cup of coffee. I've been wanting to try it out."
"Is the coffee any good, or are they still burning through their surplus rations?"
"Don't know," Lucie replied, gazing at her reflection in the mirror. "Susan went there a few days ago and she liked it. Hey, do you think Steve would mind if I wore that perfume Paul bought for me?"
Mrs. Carson rolled her eyes. "You mean that creepy mailman? Honestly I don't know why you even accepted it in the first place."
"I know, and I normally wouldn't have, but it just smelled so nice and it's expensive stuff. I didn't keep the letter that came with it, though. I can tell you that much!"
Mrs. Carson shrugged. "You know Steve better than me, honey. Go for it if you want. And it's not like he'll be smelling it anyway since he won't be with us when we go out."
Lucie laughed. "Who said anything about when I go out? This is for when I get back. He's not going to be gone all night long." She winked and her mother rolled her eyes.
"You two behave yourselves. You may be engaged, but you're still under my roof. I'm not as young as I once was and I need my sleep, which I won't get with you squealing all night."
Lucie put her hands on her hips. "Mom, I am not a squealer!"
Mrs. Carson burst out laughing. "Oh, yes you are! You just don't notice." Lucie sputtered, unable to think of an answer. Mrs. Carson walked away, smiling to herself. "It's not like it's surprising. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, after all! So what's he up to, anyway?"
Lucie sighed, following her mother into the kitchen. "A few of the boys invited him out to dinner. Weekend and all that. Normally I'd try to convince him to come home, but he sounded like he really wanted to go. I'll admit I'm still a little worried, but I don't want to box him in."
Mrs. Carson raised an eyebrow. "What's to worry about? He's a grown man, you know."
"I know, but still... I've seen his case before. People who come home from the war are often... unstable. It's different for every person, but some can lash out without warning, getting violent out of nowhere. Back when we were flooded with wounded the day the colony fell, it was everywhere. Some of them wouldn't eat, some refused to speak, and others..." she shuddered. "Others attacked us, thinking we were enemies. Steve's case is... well at least it seems to be less severe. But after what happened last night, I..." Lucie suddenly felt her throat tighten, remembering the terror in Stephen's eyes as he had looked at her. It was a primal fear, like a rabbit caught in a trap, the type of fear that triggers the instinct to run... or the instinct to kill. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she swiftly wiped them away. "I'm just worried about him," she managed to choke out. Her mother was beside her in an instant, throwing her arm around her daughter. Lucie faked a smile and shrugged her off. "I'm all right, Mom. I'm an adult too." She half ran to the porch door, desperate for privacy.
Stephen took a long swig from his glass. He had forgotten just how good a soda could taste. Root beer had always been his favorite, and this place produced their own. Sure, it was pricey, but the quality was well worth the cost. He smiled to himself as he drained the last drop and looked over at Hal. He was seated a few seats away at the bar, flirting with the pretty blonde bartender behind the counter. It seemed to be going well for him. She would listen to him talk and laugh, giving him a sweet smile, and even slapping his arm on occasion. Stephen looked around the room. A band sat in the fancily illuminated corner, merrily playing blues. It was a sad song, with a subtle beat and a wailing trumpet. A middle aged woman stood in front of them, singing the melancholy words with all of her soul.
"Oh, how I've missed you!
But now you've come home!
After all this time, I have you back,
But I'm still alone.
Where did you go, boy?
And what did you do?
Why are you different?
Why aren't you you?"
Stephen sat back in his seat, looking across the table at Arthurs, who was nursing a tall mug of some orange-brown frothy drink. Stephen nodded at it.
"I thought you gave up drinking."
Arthurs grinned. "I thought about it, but I'm no quitter. Besides, the way I see it, if I can survive a war that wiped out two-thirds of humanity, then a little liver problem won't do me in. I'm a survivor." As if to demonstrate his point, he tipped up his cup and took a large gulp.
Stephen shrugged. "Well, it's your life, I guess. But when you pass out and someone throws you into the fountain outside, don't come crying to me. But wait, I thought you gave it up for Hellen. What happened with her?"
Arthurs stopped drinking and scowled at him. "Why do you think I started back in again? While I was gone she went and hooked up with some jackass from the base. So much for forever, right?" He took another lengthy drag from his mug. "What about you?" he asked. "How are things with you and Lucie?"
Stephen smiled sympathetically. "I'm really sorry, man. It probably doesn't help that things are just about perfect between us. It's a little hard to relate. But hey, if she had the nerve to do that to you, then she wasn't worth your time. Nothing's worse than a cheater."
Arthurs looked blankly into the distance for a minute. At length he said, "Yeah, I guess you're right."
Stephen patted his arm. "Hey, cheer up. Look around you. You're in a friendly place surrounded by attractive women. You're a bachelor. Why not go have some fun? Chicks dig pilots, bro."
Arthurs shrugged. "I don't know. My heart's just not in it, you know? Besides, I'm not totally sane after... everything we saw. Who would want a damaged guy like me?"
Stephen felt the words pierce his soul like daggers. He shook off as much of the pain as he could, faking a laugh. "Come on, now. Since when have you ever been sane? You're not broken. You're just you. You'll never get anywhere by just moping around. Look at Hal. He's got the right idea."
Arthurs looked over at the bar. Hal was writing something down on a napkin as the bartender dictated to him. Arthurs couldn't help but grin as he watched. "That slick dog. I've never seen a guy with so much game, especially at his age. Barely fifteen minutes and he's already got her number."
Stephen lightly punched his shoulder. "You've got game too, you know. Lucie used to have a crush on you, remember? Back before she met me?"
Arthurs smiled distantly. "Yeah. Yeah, I remember." He grinned weakly at Stephen. "Shoulda moved when I had the chance."
"Hey, now," Stephen chuckled. "But I'm awful glad you didn't."
"Me too. You guys always looked good together. I know I've talked crap about it, but I honestly wish you two the best."
Stephen raised a facetious eyebrow. "What's up with you? Jimmy Arthurs talking like a mature adult? The world must be ending!"
Arthurs rolled his eyes. "Oh, har-dee-har-har," he said sarcastically. "Because you're so much more mature yourself."
Stephen winked. "Well I should hope so. Someone has to look after you. Hey, you see that girl over there with the dark hair?"
Arthurs followed Stephen's gaze. Near the band sat a young woman, intently listening to the performance. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her eyes were closed, a smile hovering around her bright red lips. Her face was pretty and seemed to give an air of welcome. Her hair was long and fell straight to her shoulders with curls at the ends. Arthurs looked back at Stephen with wide eyes. "What? You want me to talk to her? Don't be retarded! She's easily the prettiest chick here. I wouldn't have a shot."
Stephen frowned at him sternly. "Now where's that brash confidence I always hated about you when I need it? Go on. Don't be a baby. Just walk up, sit with her, and talk about the music. She's clearly a music lover, just like you. Bore her to death with your Beethoven nonsense. I'll bet she's into that."
Arthurs opened his mouth, then closed it again. He stammered for a couple minutes before Stephen kicked him under the table. Finally he shrugged. "Ah, what the hell," he said. "Why not? I've got nothing to lose." He stood and walked over to the lady's table, silently taking a seat in front of her. His mouth went dry as he looked at her. She really was gorgeous. What was he supposed to say to her? Her eyes were still closed. She hadn't noticed him sitting down. He took the opportunity to get his thoughts together. The music played through his subconscious, triggering a memory. He knew this song. Obscure, but beloved by those who knew it. It was perfect. He grinned to himself. "Nothing like a little Morty Jenson to chase the sorrows away, huh?"
The girl's eyes flew open in surprise. She looked Arthurs up and down with a hint of a grin on her face. He had expected her to ask why the hell he was at her table. Her answer surprised him. "You know Morty Jenson?"
Arthurs' grin got wider. "Yep! I can't say his stuff is my favorite, but nothing picks me up out of a funk quite like his tunes." He gazed at the band for a couple minutes before looking back at her. "Sorry. Didn't mean to spook you or anything. You just looked like you were enjoying yourself. Thought you might be a fan."
The girl smiled. "I am. A huge fan, actually. That's funny, most people haven't ever heard of him. It's rare to find someone who actually knows him by name. Pretty obscure, you know?"
Arthurs pointed at her. "Exactly! I hate it whenever music comes up and all anyone wants to talk about is the latest All Directions song, or Jared Beaner's new hit. That pop music is ridiculously overrated." He paused, then held out his hand. "Sorry again. I should probably introduce myself now that I've invaded your table. I'm Jim. Jim Arthurs. And you are?"
The girl looked him up and down again, this time with just a faint tint of suspicion. After a moment she smiled, took his hand, and shook it. "Kate. Kate Princeton."
Stephen watched happily as the two began to chat. He looked down at his empty glass and the bill sitting unsigned on the table. He grinned mischievously as an idea came to him. He looked over at Hal. He was still absorbed in his conversation. Stephen picked up the check and walked up to him. He made eye contact with the bartender and winked, holding a finger up to his lips. She nodded at him with a grin and started staring intently at Hal, keeping his attention fixed on her. Stephen subtly slipped the check beside Hal's elbow and tiptoed away, mouthing 'thank you' to the bartender. She waved as he turned around and walked briskly out the door. Hal turned to see who she was waving at just in time to see him disappear into the parking lot.
"So, ready to pay up and call it a night?" asked the bartender. "You look like you could use some rest. Especially if you decide to call me tonight." She winked at him, giving him the cutest smile she could muster. Hal laughed.
"Nah, my buddy over there said he'd pay."
She giggled at him, pointing at the check. "Oh, really? Then what's that?"
Hal frowned, looking down at the counter. His gaze shot up, sweeping around the restaurant. Stephen was nowhere to be seen, and Arthurs was busy at another table with some dark haired cutie. He sputtered. "Hey, now wait just a minute!"
