Dark & Stormy
That thing’s older than the sun of Archidamos.
My eyes drifted from the instruments, hands off the flight stick. If the station’s claw hadn’t caught my ship’s nose, I’d have gone spinning into that junker. An artifact just a little over a hundred years young. Vanity paint, clean panels, and wings to stretch into next century. Engine peeking out of the snout, sprayed to look half-matted. Four bulbous skulls hand painted along the shaft. A starfighter from a war they don’t even teach anymore.
I was laughing that kind of hiss-laugh, the one you muster when nothing’s all that funny. I caught one last look at that dust-bunny of a DH-4 Freedom Starfighter. Clanking treads under my ship docked me into a slim cubby. Snapped out of the trance, and the pit around me faded back into view. I unstrapped my legs, brushed the crud off my shore-pack, and hit the cockpit’s disengage function. Zero-gravity took hold. I floated up into that backwater station like I had nowhere else to go.
The kid waiting at the platform was half-asleep when he saw me. He seemed small for his age. Shrunken. A bonafide station baby born out of gravity. The buzz-cut little scrapper punched my bill into his hand console.
“That’s 20.30cs for twelve hours. If you’re staying longer, I can double it.” The kid squinted at me, showing me the numbers as if I wouldn’t believe him.
“Nah, just a refuel when you get a chance. Send the bill to the ship’s box.” I fished around in my flight suit for a tip. A few wrappers swam out into the air. The kid didn’t even notice, watching my fingers with a glint in his eye.
“Sure. Hey, did you see that DH?” He looked at me for the first time since talking to me. We shared a quick smile of excitement at the ship’s mention. Hobbies are important in times like these.
“Couldn’t believe it myself. Glad to know I didn’t dream it. Anywhere I can get a drink?” I’d kicked myself into the hallway before he could answer. All those Waystations are the same. Whatever he said got drowned out by the hiss of air conditioners.
The watering hole wasn’t anything to write home about, just a few ancient bottles of liquor and a sea of prefab tables. Dark as a cave. The lamps looked almost like real fire, kicking a warm glow onto the bartender’s face. An older woman, eyes creased under the bulbs of station lighting. She grinned a little too wide.
“Well, is that so… haven’t seen many off-station folk in a while. What brings you all the way out here?” She took a rocks glass from the nitrogen fridge, let it float by her side for a while.
“Sightseeing, maybe. En route to Archidamos and fresh out of fuel.” I pulled myself into a seat at the little faux-wood bar, the rest of the room fading into shadow. “Two fingers of rum and some ginger spritz, if you’ve got it.”
The woman chuckled to herself, spinning the caramel rum off the top shelf and down into her hand. She flicked open the spray nozzle and blasted the liquor against the glass. I’d been without an on-world drink for three weeks. Something about seeing the sad ritual of zero gravity bartending was a real twist of the knife.
“What’s the matter?” I ventured, smiling.
“Oh, nothing. Ordering a Dark & Stormy’s about as rare as seeing an off-station lad. Now I’ve got two of both in one day.” She dug out a straw from under the counter, spearing the bubble of sugar and rum. Those squinting eyes of hers kept darting over my shoulder. I even got a little nervous.
I spun around, snatching the drink from the woman’s hand. A man some ten years my senior sat in the bar’s corner. He was peering out the window, gazing into endless night. His flight suit was a rusty shade of green, his cap a sort of bone-tweed. A scarf was wrapped around his neck and tucked into his suit, patterned with something like ocean spray. He even looked the part… the pilot of that DH-4 Freedom!
“If he’s drinking these, put his next one on me,” I spat. She laughed in the way that old timers do. This time it woke the pilot out of his trance. He was just in time to see me floating his way.
“I take it that’s your DH out there. Incredible machine. Where’d you find it?”
The surprise on his face didn’t last long, washing into smooth recognition. Strong chin, bushy eyebrows, a few strands of chestnut hair pressed against his scalp. Maybe I was going vain, but I couldn’t help but feel he looked a little like myself. 35 or so, well onto his next chapter. Still, just a hair from being my older cousin.
He beamed, sitting in silence for almost a second too long. His voice was like an echo in a hangar.
“Coronago Base on Skoll Three. You got good eyes, kid.” He waved a gloved hand. I cursed my etiquette. Could’ve waited for an invitation. I pulled myself into the seat anyway, performing the zero-gravity motion without a speck of grace.
“You’re kidding! That’s probably where the damn thing was based in the Andromeda days!” I couldn’t contain my excitement. Another indulgent laugh rippled through me. I even slapped the metal table. I was like a kid again, and he wasn’t much better. There was a twinkle in his eye like the sheen of a polished wing.
“And you know your history. That’s right on target. Are you a teacher?” He took a sip of his drink, the same one in my hand.
“Bartender. Used to work at the dry dock’s wet bar on Axis Six. You were in the service, right? Operation Triskele, or maybe the Seventh Sortie?” He didn’t look old enough to have seen any real action, but who knows.
“Bartending’s a hell of a service too, but yes… I was a pilot. Hardly matters now. How come you know so much about my ship?” He finished the last bubbles of his Dark & Storm, hiding his smirk behind the straw.
“My dad used to tell me stories. Old ones. My great-grandfather flew in the Andromeda War in a DH-4. They thought he went up in flames at the Battle of Hades Gulf only for him to turn up on my great-grandmother’s doorstep two years later.”
I couldn’t stop myself once I got going on a story. Especially not a family one. The pilot leaned back in his booth, crossed the arms of his stressed flight suit. Pangs of embarrassment rippled through my blood.
“Sorry to ramble. It’s a—”
“By all means,” he interrupted. “What happened next?” He was smiling like he genuinely cared. Maybe someday I’ll understand the caring of strangers.
“She’d remarried. My great-grandfather couldn’t believe it. Kept insisting Hades Gulf was only yesterday! He said he’d been caught in a wormhole! Old spaceman tales. Ghost stories. Cast through time, he hollered, pleading for her to understand. Her husband went to get the gun. He probably just got knocked out at the helm and spun out of the battle to safety. But he insisted, again and again. The rest of the story comes from my grandfather. He was a toddler then. He could still hear the words… just didn’t know how crazy they were.”
“There’s crazier words out there…” the pilot muttered. His eyes had lost their shine. Bored to death.
“Next thing he knew, my grandfather was swept up in his raving dad’s arms. The authorities had already been called. A picture of the local arbiter’s craft on the lawn made the social column for weeks. They had to pry my grandfather out of his dad’s arms.”
“Both crying, I imagine.” The pilot looked up at me. He was enthralled.
“Sure. That’s how the story goes. My great-grandfather shoved the arbiters off him and made a break for his ship. He’d nearly crashed it in the bay near the house, but that hunk of steel was a nimble thing. Those DH-4s go damn fast in a pinch, you know. He’d hopped in and gotten off the ground before they could get a hold on him. My grandfather only caught a glimpse of his dad vanishing into the clouds. Nothing after.”
“Nothing? Ever?” He was on the edge of his seat, but somehow his question didn’t sound quite real.
“Never. That was ninety-seven years ago.”
He scoffed like it was a joke. The barroom got cold out of nowhere, and I got real jealous of that airman’s scarf. He pulled himself to his feet. Before I knew it, I was scrambling to stand myself. The woman at the bar offered him that Dark & Stormy. He waved it away.
It was quiet for a few breaths. Just the tinkle of a broken speaker and the distant boom of machinery. The pilot turned to me slow.
“And your grandfather?” There was concern on his face. Real worry.
“He passed away a little over a year ago. Peaceful. Sketching the ships over the colony till his last day.”
The old pilot’s head lowered. He took the cap off with one hand, patted me on the shoulder with another. I could swear I saw him shudder. I was so surprised I almost laughed.
“I’m sorry for your loss. You’ll be alright. You’ve got good eyes, kid.” His were quivering in their sockets. Sure, it was a sad story… but I’d never fancied myself the kind of yarn-spinner to make a stranger cry.
“Thank you, but… I never really knew him. Never got the chance.”
He smiled at me, folded his lips like a closing book. Nodded once and tossed that cap into my hands. Then he was off. The old spaceman was gliding over the steel on the way back to his relic of a starfighter. The echo of his words lingered even after he’d vanished from sight.
