Chapter Twelve

Mining is hard work. James knows the meaning of hard work, knows what if feels like to spend ten hours with your back screaming and your muscles aching, to come back at the end of the day with skinned knees and hands covered in grime. Working the ducts on Omega was never easy, but it feels like a lifetime ago now and, if he's honest with himself, James has to admit that he hasn't seen the inside of a gym in a long time. Ever, in fact.

James can feel the sweat running down his body in rivulets, making the ill-fitting suit even less comfortable. He shakes his head, trying to get the hair out of his eyes, but it's sticking to his eyelids and the bridge of his nose. I wonder if this is how Kal feels, he thinks. Kal had shown him how quarians bind their hair under their helmets, tied up with strips of cloth and secured at the nape of the neck. It reminded James of a picture he'd seen of ancient warriors back on Earth, scowling men with long, sharp knives and wooden armor.

Grunting with the effort, James hoists the drill over his shoulder yet again and squints down the shaft, aiming the tiny green laser at a glint of dully glowing blue. They've been hacking away at this vein for a few hours now while the mech trails the blasting team deeper down the jagged tunnel. Zael has been put on cart duty, leaving him mercifully little time alone with James. James's head is still swimming after the brief encounter in the tent. The quarian's behaviour left little doubt in James's mind about what he's after. And what am I supposed to do about it? Tell him I have someone already? Do I lie, and tell him I have a woman? James thinks back to the stories of the previous night. No, I can't lie that well. And they'll want to see pictures. Tell the truth, then, and tell him I have a man? With these people that would be a disaster. It'll get out, and I'll be miserable. James narrows his eyes, glaring at the vein of Element Zero as the drill pulverizes the grey stone around it. He's just a kid. This is his first time away from the fleet, of course this kind of thing is gonna happen. So what the hell do I do about it?

The commlink buzzes in his ear, McCormick's voice crackling through the speaker. "All crew, all crew, there's been an accident. First mate Rogers is in critical condition, can't be moved. We're camping in the mine shaft tonight. Work is over for the day, rendez-vous at my location." McCormick's voice is clipped and serious, the accented drawl barely present. "Zael, go back to the camp and load up everything we need to make camp. Vacuseals, lights, heaters, rations. James, help him. Bring the extra medical supplies too, we've got Rogers stabilized but we're gonna need the surgery kit." The commlink crackles off.

"Copy that," says James, deactivating his drill and clipping it onto his suit. He takes a deep breath, a little shaken by the news. The surgery kit … it must be pretty bad. He hasn't seen much of Rogers, and what he has seen has been mostly disagreeable, but he finds himself hoping that the man will be alright anyway.

James hikes back up the bumpy, cramped tunnel the blasting team carved earlier. When he finally emerges into the equally dim crater, he finds Zael crouched by a hover cart, buckling down a stack of supplies. "What else do we need?" he asks, trying to keep his tone polite and professional. Just keep cool and be the adult here.

Zael looks up, as if just noticing James. "Oh," he says airily. "I've got most of it loaded up already, but I could use some help disconnecting the power cells for the generator."

James nods. "Right, I'll get those."

"I'll come with you," says Zael, springing up. "I would have done it myself, but it's really a two-man job."

Alarm bells go off in James's head, but he has little choice. He nods again, striding across the crater floor with Zael on his heels. They reach the generator tent, passing through the airlock after the usual repressurization cycle. The two generators stand side by side, connected to the bank of power cells by a snake's nest of cables. "We probably only need five," remarks Zael with exaggerated carelessness. "If you hand me out a few I'll stack them on the cart."

Let's just get this over with and get back to the group, thinks James. He squeezes into the narrow space between the generators, working his way to the back and unscrewing a pair of cylindrical power cells from the bank. He turns, meaning to hand them to Zael, but the quarian is suddenly inches away, blocking the tight corridor. "Here are the, uh …" says James, holding the power cells like a shield between himself and Zael.

The young quarian isn't looking at the cells. His eyes are locked on James, two bright spots glowing a pale blue through his visor. "We don't have to bring those back right away," he says.

James feels the generators pressing against him from both sides, and when he tries to take a step back his heel hits the bank of power cells behind him. Trapped. "I, ah, I think that would be best," he says, his heart thumping in his chest. Shit! How do I get out of here?

Zael lifts a finger, poking James gently in the chest. "You're so serious," he says, somehow managing to get even closer. "I know this is a serious job, but that doesn't mean there isn't time for … other things." He lets the invitation hang, staring into James's eyes.

James shakes his head, trying to think of a diplomatic way to get the hell out of there, but the cramped quarters and the fatigue of the day are fogging his brain over. "Look, Zael," he begins, as kindly as possible. "I-"

"You don't have to explain anything to me," murmurs Zael, flattening his hand against James's chest. "I can feel it here."

James opens his mouth to explain that his heart rate has more to do with the fact that he's extremely uncomfortable right now and that he thinks it would be best if they just packed up the damn power cells and forgot about this, but Zael's hand slides down to his side and before James can get a word out, the quarian is pressing himself up against him.

"See?" says Zael, his chest, and other parts, rubbing up against James's. "My heart's been racing, too. Ever since the first time I saw you, I had the feeling we were connected, James. At first I thought it was bad luck, to get stuck on a ship like this one for my pilgrimage. Now I see it was fate."

"No!" says James, much louder than he'd intended. He pushes Zael back and the quarian stumbles, looking up at James with confusion in his eyes. James realizes he's shaking, adrenaline and nerves and rebellious hormones pouring into his veins like some designer drug. "I'm sorry, Zael," he says, more softly. He takes a breath, suddenly feeling as if his suit isn't giving him enough air. "It's not you. I don't have anything against you, really, I think you're a great technician, and I'd really like to be your friend."

Zael shakes his head, still sounding confused. "I don't understand. I thought, that night, you didn't … you like females?"

James sighs, looking at the ground for a moment. Better come clean and face the consequences. He looks back up at the quarian, meeting his eyes. "No, it's not that. I have someone already, Zael."

Zael crosses his arms, raising his chin in an attitude that's recognizable even with the visor between them. "Oh. You have someone, back on the Citadel. And I guess they're just sitting there, waiting for you to come back."

James doesn't like the sound of that. "What are you saying? Of course he's waiting for me."

"Right," says Zael. There's something brittle about his voice. "Sure he is. We're out here a long time, James. I hope your 'someone' cares as much as you think they do."

Zael turns abruptly and walks away, leaving James standing alone between the generators with the power cells in his hands and a churning feeling in his stomach.

…

"Th' mech's drill went right through his arm at th' shoulder. Bone's broken into splinters, as ye can see, it's a mess. We sedated him, gave him a double dose of medi-gel, but …" McCormick runs a hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly. With the vacuseals set up over the mouth of the tunnel and the filters steadily churning away, the crew have taken off their helmets. Their bubble of clean air extends only a few meters in either direction, a miniature cave dug by the blasting team with narrow tunnels leading away at either end. Sleeping pallets have been thrown down across the jagged rock floor, and it's over one of these that the first mate is now sprawled.

The remaining crew is gathered around in a tight circle: McCormick, Jocelyn Tyler, the aging ex-priest Andre, and the boy Anderson, along with Zael and James. James averts his eyes from the bloody pulp of Rogers's right arm, looking around instead at the faces of his crewmates. McCormick's golden hair is hanging in a sweaty haystack, the lines under his eyes making him look haggard and worn down. At his left the woman Jocelyn Tyler is looking down at Rogers, her face hard and blank as slate. Andre watches too, with pursed lips and a grim face. His eyes flick occasionally up to Jocelyn, searching her for something.

"Alright," says McCormick at last, distaste souring his voice. "It's got to come off."

"What does?" asks Zael. "His suit?"

McCormick shakes his head. "No. His arm. Give me th' surgery kit. I'll need th' laser saw, tourniquet, disinfectant, clotting agent, cauterizer, and plenty of pads. Now!" he snaps, looking up at Zael.

The quarian seems physically stunned. "You're cutting off his arm …?" he says, his voice vacant.

"Jesus Christ, would somebody get me the fucking surgery kit?!" screams McCormick. There's a wild look in his eyes, like he might snap at any second.

"I'll get it," says James quickly. He strides over to the pile of supplies, rummaging for a moment and coming up with the big white box full of medical supplies. He crosses back to McCormick, kneeling down next to Rogers. "Ready?" he asks, looking up at McCormick.

McCormick takes a deep breath, steadying himself. He kneels down next to James, nodding in gratitude. "Yeah. Thank you, James. I'm glad someone has sense around here. Pass me the tourniquet."

There's nowhere to go inside the tiny cave, nowhere to go to escape this grisly show. The crew stays gathered around, watching mutely as James and McCormick go about their business. The silence is filled only by the whirring of the air filters and the steady string of monotone commands which James follows one after the other. Scissors. Alcohol pads. Saw. As the laser begins its cut through Rogers's flesh James hears somebody above him wretch. His own stomach is strangely calm, and he watches carefully as McCormick completes the cut, the saw's beam shearing through muscle and bone like a knife through butter. He passes McCormick the cauterizer and the jar of clotting agent, and soon the bleeding slows to a trickle. James helps McCormick bind up the wound. Where the arm once was, now only a stump a few inches long remains.

McCormick sits back on his haunches, taking a look at their handiwork. "They'll need te do a proper job at th' hospital at our next port," he says, "but not so bad for a couple of amateurs." He looks at James, extending a bloody hand. "Ye impressed me, Mikaelson. Ye sure ye never worked as any kind o' medic before?"

James accepts the hand, giving it a firm shake. "No, just as a repairman and a pirate."

McCormick tosses his head back and lets out a hearty laugh. The sound seems to awaken the rest of the crew and they stir, blinking and stretching. James wonders how long they've all been staring at Rogers. "He'll wake some time tonight," says McCormick, rising slowly and wincing as his knees crack. "We may have te give him another dose then, for shock. Until then, get yerselves some shuteye. Ye've earned it."

James finds himself a pallet, unclipping the drill from his back and collapsing, a wave of relief washing over his weary body. He finds himself thinking about Rogers, about the arm, the flesh shredded to red and orange ribbons with white splinters poking through. At first he had thought he was going to be sick, but he remembered the days he spent in the forest with the pirates, and later, as Kal's prisoner. He remembered the body they had found, torn apart by an unseen monster. He remembered too walking through the pirates' camp, after the serum had turned Kal into the same monster, made his body ripple and shift and turn into something that looked half wolf, half quarian. He remembered the bodies as Kal's rage had left them, heads torn off, limbs ripped apart. James remembered all of that, and suddenly a simple operation hadn't seemed so bad.

I wonder if I could be doctor, he thinks, looking up at the shadowy rock ceiling. That's the kind of thing I used to think about back home, before. A job, a career, a future. I haven't thought about any of that in years. I've just been trying to survive the week, and then the next one. With a bit of a twisting feeling, James realizes that that's how he has been with Kal, too. How much did we really try to get to know each-other in that week? he thinks. How much of a future did we allow ourselves? Did we even think it would last that long?

Back on the unnamed backwater planet where James and Kal had crash-landed, survival to the next day had never been certain. He and Kal had been thrown into countless fires, barely scraping out with their lives. James remembers the night in the cave on the side of the cliff, remembers the rain pouring down outside and the words Kal spoke, for the first time. I don't want you to go, James. Not now, not after we get out of this hellhole. They had slept in each-other's arms that night, both too exhausted and drained to want to do anything but sleep. James remembers the feeling of Kal next to him that night, breathing softly, big and strong and covered in dried blood yet somehow incredibly fragile. He remembers thinking if I die tomorrow, at least I had tonight. Most of his time with Kal had been like that, fleeting moments too sweet to be real, always with the feeling that everything would come crashing down soon enough. What if this is it? thinks James. What if that week, those nights, were all I get? And then, with a tightening in his gut, Did I ever expect anything different? Did I ever truly expect things could go on like that?

We're out here a long time, James. I hope your "someone" cares as much as you think they do. The words ring in James's head, and suddenly he feels like a fool. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. Of course you knew it couldn't last. And he knew it, too. You really thought he would come back to your place on the Citadel after his tour was up? Did you really think this was anything other than what it was? He won't be back. He has people, a home, maybe even a family. He probably expected me to realize that. Was I really so drunk on happiness that I forgot?

James rolls over on his side, a sharp bit of rock poking him in the ribs. He closes his eyes, clamping his lips together. Stupid, stupid, he thinks, and keeps the tears in for as long as he can.