Water in the Desert [Empire's Legacy]
The summer sun beat down on Meridani, making metal burn to the touch and drying sweat as soon as it formed on the skin. A momentary breeze swept across the road, tossing up dust in the faces of the team of horses toiling up the incline. The driver glanced down at the uniformed man walking beside the team, his lips pinching together.
"I can't take them much further," he said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Not hauling that."
The man squinted up at him, shading his eyes with his hand. "How much farther is it to this mechanic of yours?"
"Not far," the driver said, pointing with his chin. "Just over the rise."
"Can they take it that far?"
The driver settled back in his seat. "You gonna pay me if the horses drop dead?"
The man shrugged, stepping over a pothole. "Suppose so."
The team continued its laborious way up the incline, pulling behind it a space-to-dirt hopper pod on rollers. The man walked beside it, his military jacket slung over his shoulder and his shirt soaked through with sweat.
The farm, when they reached it, did not inspire the man with confidence. The house was a small, ramshackle building clearly patched with whatever materials had come to hand. Smoke curled out of a chimney that appeared to have been made out of conduit pipe. Instead of animal-related paraphernalia, bits and pieces of dismantled equipment lay scattered about the yard; through the barn doors the sound of a drill could be heard.
"There you go," the driver said, releasing the clamps and letting the hopper slide from the rollers onto the cracked dirt. "Best mechanic in town. Good luck."
The man watched as his ride disappeared down the road at a considerably faster pace than he'd arrived and then turned his attention to the barn. Shifting his jacket to the other shoulder, he ventured through the doors and spotted a pair of well-worn boots poking out from beneath a battered skimmer. He nudged one of the boots with his own. The sound of the drill stopped.
"Theodore Dekker?" he called.
The boots shifted and then shot out from under the skimmer, followed by a long, gangly body topped by a surprisingly young face and mussed hair. "Everybody calls me Taz," the boy said, rubbing grease-smudged hands on his trousers. His eyes took in the man's uniform and the jacket over his shoulder. "Who're you?"
"Lieutenant Seamus Brenner," he said. Sweat dripped from his chin.
"You're Commission," Taz said. His voice was neutral. "What's a Commie doing all the way out here?"
"My hopper cut out on me just past town and while I can do patchwork repairs I've got a long flight ahead of me. I don't want her cutting out again mid-flight." Brenner looked Taz up and down, frowning slightly. "I was told you're the best mechanic around."
"Yeah," Taz said. "Got a problem with that?"
"How old are you, son?"
Taz hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Does it matter if I can sort out your flight problem?"
"I suppose not."
"Then let's see this bird of yours."
Taz followed Brenner out of the barn and whistled when he saw the hopper, hulking on the rise of the road. "She always look like that?" he asked, circling around the crumbled front end.
"I had to crash her when the engines cut out. Can you fix her?"
Taz dropped to the ground and peered up under the engine casings. "What is she, a Gen. II double-barrel engine?"
Brenner's eyebrows rose. "You know much about Commissioner equipment?"
Taz shot him a withering look. "I'm a mechanic. I take them apart and put them back together again. Yeah. I know a lot about ships and equipment, Commissioner and otherwise." Pulling a rag out of his pocket, he wrapped it around his hand to protect it from the hot metal and flipped open the engine mounts. After a few minutes, he pushed himself out and back up to his feet. "I should be able to fix her," he said, dusting off his trousers. "At least, she'll fly and keep flying. You'll want to take her in for a proper servicing once you're back with your fleet though, somewhere that has the regular parts you need." He scratched his head. "I'll have to cobble something together for you." Seeing Brenner's look of consternation, he added, "I know what I'm doing, Lieutenant. Don't worry about it. As for the rest of her..." He walked back around to the hopper's bow and crouched to examine the damage.
"Once I'm out of the atmosphere it won't be an issue, but that kind of damage is going to cause serious problems in the air," Brenner said. "And I've got to get off-dirt here and I've got to get back dirtside on Idylla."
"I can fix her," Taz said. "But it'll cost you." He looked up at Brenner. "I've got most of the stuff in the barn to fix the engines, but to fix the hull I'll pretty much need to strip her down and rebuild her. I don't have the materials to do that." His mouth twisted, and he said, slowly, "It'll take a few days. If you don't want to wait, you'd be better off getting the ground transport from town to Neradi. There's a twice-daily transport there to the spaceport from city central."
"I'll wait," Brenner said. "There's more forms to fill out if I leave her than if I wait and have her repaired."
"Right then. We'll have to go into town to pick up the metal." He bit his lip, and for the first time since he'd appeared from under the skinner, he looked anxious and very, very young. Brenner watched him silently, curious.
"Just how much is this going to cost me?" Brenner asked.
Taz stood up. "No more than it should, Lieutenant," he said. "You don't trust me, okay. Go someplace else. But ask anyone - I'm the best there is. And I don't do it for me. It's my ma I'm doing it for. And - "
"Easy, son. No need to fire up. I don't know you, remember?" Brenner glanced around. "You got an easy way into town?"
Easy was a relative term, Brenner thought as the wagon jolted over another rut in the road. He glanced sideways at Taz, who was driving the pair of horses; both looked to Brenner as though they ought to be taken out into a field and shot in the name of mercy.
"So it's just you and your mother, then?" he asked.
Taz shrugged. "Dad's long gone."
"No siblings?"
The boy stared straight ahead, his mouth set. "Guess not," he said at last.
"Your mother must be very fond of you."
"Guess so. You got any family, Lieutenant?"
"Two kids," he said, the corner of his mouth turning up. "Annieka and Camryn. Younger than you. They make it all worthwhile." A fleeting look of pain passed over his face. "Whether they know it or not."
Taz glanced sideways at Brenner as he turned the horses into a scrapyard on the edge of town. "This is it," he said, sliding down from the seat and tying the reins around a post. "Yo, Midge! Customer!"
A heavy-set man with a tattooed neck appeared from between the piles of junk. His eyes narrowed when he saw them and he spat in the dirt at Taz's feet. "You still owe me for those cables, Taz," he said.
"I told you," Taz said. "Not my fault if Ryan didn't pay up. Send the hounds after him and leave me alone."
Midge growled something under his breath and looked at Brenner. "What'll it be?"
They were just strapping the last sheet of metal onto the back of the wagon when a cacophony of shrieks and hollers broke out down the street. Taz's head came up as Brenner completed his knot and turned around.
"What the hell is that?" Brenner asked.
"Gang," Taz said. "West Street Scraps."
A beat-up Geo skimmer rattled down the street, so battered and abused that it was by the sheer will of God that it continued to skim at all. Six young men were crammed into it, their arms and heads hanging out the sides; several more young men trotted alongside, banging on the dented metal sides with their pistols. Halfway along the street one of the men started singing and was joined by his mates, only for silence to fall without warning when they spotted Taz.
Taz flattened himself against the wagon as the skimmer started by. His wide eyes met those of the gang leader, who mimed shooting the boy and then nudged the man to his right. A buzz disturbed the air, followed by a sharp crack, and then Taz spun against the wagon, clutching his left shoulder. The gang leader blew him a kiss and then shouted. The skimmer whirred and, leaking oil and expletives, disappeared down the street.
Brenner bolted towards Taz, palming his pistol. "What the hell was that?" he demanded. Then, seeing the blood streaming between Taz's fingers, he said, "They shot you. They shot you?"
Grunting, Taz sank down to the ground, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Yeah."
Brenner pulled off his shirt and wadded it up. He started to pull Taz's hand away and stopped. "You're bleeding pink."
Taz let his head fall back against the wagon and laughed. "Yeah. They've tagged me." He flinched as Brenner pressed his shirt against the wound. "Means they want me in the gang."
"They shot you."
"You're a quick one, Lieutenant." He winced and shifted position. "Gang decides they want you, you got two choices on Meridani: join up or die. First time they tag you, it's a soft tap, no blood. In blue. Letting you know they want you. Second time it's a hard tap. Non-lethal, in pink. Reminder that you got a choice. You gotta go to them, put your name down. Sell your soul."
"And if you still don't?"
Taz took a deep breath. "Next time they tap you, it's a double-tap to the head or to the heart. Execution-style. You'll never get to make a choice again."
Brenner sat back on his heels. "What are you going to do?"
"Can't join," Taz said, coughing. "Don't want to die. Ma can't make the money to get by without me." He tried to shrug and the colour drained from his face. Closing his eyes, he said, "Don't know what I'll do. But I won't ever join the West Street Scraps. Or anyone else." He opened his eyes, tears glimmering against his eyelashes. "Lied before. Had a sister, Caley. She's gone now." He coughed again. "Got caught midpoint in a gang war. Bled out. Only sister. I won't be someone who's responsible for murdering little girls."
Brenner looked down at him, his face thoughtful. "How do you feel about the Commission, Taz?"
Taz turned his head towards Brenner. "Ma always said if you ever wanted to get off the planet, you had better hope you had some kind of skill. Maybe you'd catch the notice of the Commission. Maybe they'd want you." His eyes drifted closed. "Maybe they'd take you away from the gangs. Maybe they'd save you."
"Tell you what, son," Brenner said. "If you're as good a mechanic as everyone seems to think you are, I'll do that. I'll take you off Meridani. I'll get you a posting with the Commission." He frowned suddenly. "Somewhere dirtside. I'm not sure you're old enough to be posted in space yet." He gently shook Taz's uninjured shoulder. "But first you've got to stay awake for me."
"Sir," Taz said. "You get me off this planet, Lieutenant, and I'll go to hell and back for you."
"I'll settle for a working hopper first, son."
"That too."
* * *
Taz gripped his small bag of belongings tightly and stared at his barn. The doors were closed for the first time in years, the yard clear of the debris that had cluttered it for nearly as long. He had closed up shop, but Brenner promised him that with the right training he'd be a damn fine engineer. And that sure as hell beat waiting to get double-tapped by the Scraps.
Turning, Taz looked down and met the gaze of his mother, already several inches shorter than he was. "You be careful," she said. "I want to see my boy again."
Taz leaned forward and embraced her. "Ma, when I come back, I'll be more than a man," he promised. "I'll be an officer. I'll be someone you can be proud of."
"Theodore, I'd be proud of you even if you never left that barn again," she said, swatting him gently. "You go and show those engineers they don't know everything, boy. I'll be waiting when you come home."
He kissed her cheek and looked up the rise to where Lieutenant Brenner was waiting by his repaired hopper.
"Come on, Taz," Brenner said. "The Commission's waiting."
Theodore 'Taz' Dekker took a deep breath, shouldered his bag, and started towards a new life with the Commission.
[Background snippet related to characters from Empire's Legacy, originally written in 2011.]
Find the rest of Empire's Legacy here.
"I can't take them much further," he said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Not hauling that."
The man squinted up at him, shading his eyes with his hand. "How much farther is it to this mechanic of yours?"
"Not far," the driver said, pointing with his chin. "Just over the rise."
"Can they take it that far?"
The driver settled back in his seat. "You gonna pay me if the horses drop dead?"
The man shrugged, stepping over a pothole. "Suppose so."
The team continued its laborious way up the incline, pulling behind it a space-to-dirt hopper pod on rollers. The man walked beside it, his military jacket slung over his shoulder and his shirt soaked through with sweat.
The farm, when they reached it, did not inspire the man with confidence. The house was a small, ramshackle building clearly patched with whatever materials had come to hand. Smoke curled out of a chimney that appeared to have been made out of conduit pipe. Instead of animal-related paraphernalia, bits and pieces of dismantled equipment lay scattered about the yard; through the barn doors the sound of a drill could be heard.
"There you go," the driver said, releasing the clamps and letting the hopper slide from the rollers onto the cracked dirt. "Best mechanic in town. Good luck."
The man watched as his ride disappeared down the road at a considerably faster pace than he'd arrived and then turned his attention to the barn. Shifting his jacket to the other shoulder, he ventured through the doors and spotted a pair of well-worn boots poking out from beneath a battered skimmer. He nudged one of the boots with his own. The sound of the drill stopped.
"Theodore Dekker?" he called.
The boots shifted and then shot out from under the skimmer, followed by a long, gangly body topped by a surprisingly young face and mussed hair. "Everybody calls me Taz," the boy said, rubbing grease-smudged hands on his trousers. His eyes took in the man's uniform and the jacket over his shoulder. "Who're you?"
"Lieutenant Seamus Brenner," he said. Sweat dripped from his chin.
"You're Commission," Taz said. His voice was neutral. "What's a Commie doing all the way out here?"
"My hopper cut out on me just past town and while I can do patchwork repairs I've got a long flight ahead of me. I don't want her cutting out again mid-flight." Brenner looked Taz up and down, frowning slightly. "I was told you're the best mechanic around."
"Yeah," Taz said. "Got a problem with that?"
"How old are you, son?"
Taz hunched his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Does it matter if I can sort out your flight problem?"
"I suppose not."
"Then let's see this bird of yours."
Taz followed Brenner out of the barn and whistled when he saw the hopper, hulking on the rise of the road. "She always look like that?" he asked, circling around the crumbled front end.
"I had to crash her when the engines cut out. Can you fix her?"
Taz dropped to the ground and peered up under the engine casings. "What is she, a Gen. II double-barrel engine?"
Brenner's eyebrows rose. "You know much about Commissioner equipment?"
Taz shot him a withering look. "I'm a mechanic. I take them apart and put them back together again. Yeah. I know a lot about ships and equipment, Commissioner and otherwise." Pulling a rag out of his pocket, he wrapped it around his hand to protect it from the hot metal and flipped open the engine mounts. After a few minutes, he pushed himself out and back up to his feet. "I should be able to fix her," he said, dusting off his trousers. "At least, she'll fly and keep flying. You'll want to take her in for a proper servicing once you're back with your fleet though, somewhere that has the regular parts you need." He scratched his head. "I'll have to cobble something together for you." Seeing Brenner's look of consternation, he added, "I know what I'm doing, Lieutenant. Don't worry about it. As for the rest of her..." He walked back around to the hopper's bow and crouched to examine the damage.
"Once I'm out of the atmosphere it won't be an issue, but that kind of damage is going to cause serious problems in the air," Brenner said. "And I've got to get off-dirt here and I've got to get back dirtside on Idylla."
"I can fix her," Taz said. "But it'll cost you." He looked up at Brenner. "I've got most of the stuff in the barn to fix the engines, but to fix the hull I'll pretty much need to strip her down and rebuild her. I don't have the materials to do that." His mouth twisted, and he said, slowly, "It'll take a few days. If you don't want to wait, you'd be better off getting the ground transport from town to Neradi. There's a twice-daily transport there to the spaceport from city central."
"I'll wait," Brenner said. "There's more forms to fill out if I leave her than if I wait and have her repaired."
"Right then. We'll have to go into town to pick up the metal." He bit his lip, and for the first time since he'd appeared from under the skinner, he looked anxious and very, very young. Brenner watched him silently, curious.
"Just how much is this going to cost me?" Brenner asked.
Taz stood up. "No more than it should, Lieutenant," he said. "You don't trust me, okay. Go someplace else. But ask anyone - I'm the best there is. And I don't do it for me. It's my ma I'm doing it for. And - "
"Easy, son. No need to fire up. I don't know you, remember?" Brenner glanced around. "You got an easy way into town?"
Easy was a relative term, Brenner thought as the wagon jolted over another rut in the road. He glanced sideways at Taz, who was driving the pair of horses; both looked to Brenner as though they ought to be taken out into a field and shot in the name of mercy.
"So it's just you and your mother, then?" he asked.
Taz shrugged. "Dad's long gone."
"No siblings?"
The boy stared straight ahead, his mouth set. "Guess not," he said at last.
"Your mother must be very fond of you."
"Guess so. You got any family, Lieutenant?"
"Two kids," he said, the corner of his mouth turning up. "Annieka and Camryn. Younger than you. They make it all worthwhile." A fleeting look of pain passed over his face. "Whether they know it or not."
Taz glanced sideways at Brenner as he turned the horses into a scrapyard on the edge of town. "This is it," he said, sliding down from the seat and tying the reins around a post. "Yo, Midge! Customer!"
A heavy-set man with a tattooed neck appeared from between the piles of junk. His eyes narrowed when he saw them and he spat in the dirt at Taz's feet. "You still owe me for those cables, Taz," he said.
"I told you," Taz said. "Not my fault if Ryan didn't pay up. Send the hounds after him and leave me alone."
Midge growled something under his breath and looked at Brenner. "What'll it be?"
They were just strapping the last sheet of metal onto the back of the wagon when a cacophony of shrieks and hollers broke out down the street. Taz's head came up as Brenner completed his knot and turned around.
"What the hell is that?" Brenner asked.
"Gang," Taz said. "West Street Scraps."
A beat-up Geo skimmer rattled down the street, so battered and abused that it was by the sheer will of God that it continued to skim at all. Six young men were crammed into it, their arms and heads hanging out the sides; several more young men trotted alongside, banging on the dented metal sides with their pistols. Halfway along the street one of the men started singing and was joined by his mates, only for silence to fall without warning when they spotted Taz.
Taz flattened himself against the wagon as the skimmer started by. His wide eyes met those of the gang leader, who mimed shooting the boy and then nudged the man to his right. A buzz disturbed the air, followed by a sharp crack, and then Taz spun against the wagon, clutching his left shoulder. The gang leader blew him a kiss and then shouted. The skimmer whirred and, leaking oil and expletives, disappeared down the street.
Brenner bolted towards Taz, palming his pistol. "What the hell was that?" he demanded. Then, seeing the blood streaming between Taz's fingers, he said, "They shot you. They shot you?"
Grunting, Taz sank down to the ground, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Yeah."
Brenner pulled off his shirt and wadded it up. He started to pull Taz's hand away and stopped. "You're bleeding pink."
Taz let his head fall back against the wagon and laughed. "Yeah. They've tagged me." He flinched as Brenner pressed his shirt against the wound. "Means they want me in the gang."
"They shot you."
"You're a quick one, Lieutenant." He winced and shifted position. "Gang decides they want you, you got two choices on Meridani: join up or die. First time they tag you, it's a soft tap, no blood. In blue. Letting you know they want you. Second time it's a hard tap. Non-lethal, in pink. Reminder that you got a choice. You gotta go to them, put your name down. Sell your soul."
"And if you still don't?"
Taz took a deep breath. "Next time they tap you, it's a double-tap to the head or to the heart. Execution-style. You'll never get to make a choice again."
Brenner sat back on his heels. "What are you going to do?"
"Can't join," Taz said, coughing. "Don't want to die. Ma can't make the money to get by without me." He tried to shrug and the colour drained from his face. Closing his eyes, he said, "Don't know what I'll do. But I won't ever join the West Street Scraps. Or anyone else." He opened his eyes, tears glimmering against his eyelashes. "Lied before. Had a sister, Caley. She's gone now." He coughed again. "Got caught midpoint in a gang war. Bled out. Only sister. I won't be someone who's responsible for murdering little girls."
Brenner looked down at him, his face thoughtful. "How do you feel about the Commission, Taz?"
Taz turned his head towards Brenner. "Ma always said if you ever wanted to get off the planet, you had better hope you had some kind of skill. Maybe you'd catch the notice of the Commission. Maybe they'd want you." His eyes drifted closed. "Maybe they'd take you away from the gangs. Maybe they'd save you."
"Tell you what, son," Brenner said. "If you're as good a mechanic as everyone seems to think you are, I'll do that. I'll take you off Meridani. I'll get you a posting with the Commission." He frowned suddenly. "Somewhere dirtside. I'm not sure you're old enough to be posted in space yet." He gently shook Taz's uninjured shoulder. "But first you've got to stay awake for me."
"Sir," Taz said. "You get me off this planet, Lieutenant, and I'll go to hell and back for you."
"I'll settle for a working hopper first, son."
"That too."
* * *
Taz gripped his small bag of belongings tightly and stared at his barn. The doors were closed for the first time in years, the yard clear of the debris that had cluttered it for nearly as long. He had closed up shop, but Brenner promised him that with the right training he'd be a damn fine engineer. And that sure as hell beat waiting to get double-tapped by the Scraps.
Turning, Taz looked down and met the gaze of his mother, already several inches shorter than he was. "You be careful," she said. "I want to see my boy again."
Taz leaned forward and embraced her. "Ma, when I come back, I'll be more than a man," he promised. "I'll be an officer. I'll be someone you can be proud of."
"Theodore, I'd be proud of you even if you never left that barn again," she said, swatting him gently. "You go and show those engineers they don't know everything, boy. I'll be waiting when you come home."
He kissed her cheek and looked up the rise to where Lieutenant Brenner was waiting by his repaired hopper.
"Come on, Taz," Brenner said. "The Commission's waiting."
Theodore 'Taz' Dekker took a deep breath, shouldered his bag, and started towards a new life with the Commission.
[Background snippet related to characters from Empire's Legacy, originally written in 2011.]
Find the rest of Empire's Legacy here.
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