Avalon
Page 11
Jeth wasn’t interested in the tourist views from up here. He just wanted a good look at his ship. Seeing Avalon from the outside always made him feel better. When he was kid, the sight of the ship meant his parents were home from whatever weeks- or months-long journey they’d been on. He rarely got to watch their departure, but he was always there for their return. Except for that last time, of course.
Even so, the sight still comforted him, which he needed right now. His dread about the inevitable meeting with Hammer over the fiasco at Kordan had been building inside him for hours. He would pay for the damage to the ship, one way or another. How much and with what currency, whether money or blood or both, he couldn’t guess. Hammer never seemed to react the same way twice. Once he’d even let Jeth off scot-free, but he doubted he would get so lucky this time. Not with the bum metadrive to boot.
When he reached the familiar point where the walkway began to curve inward, he stopped and faced the outside glass, dropping his gaze to the outlying docks. From here he could see Avalon. She was a Black Devil spacecraft, old enough to be considered a classic, but still as tough as they came. With her streamlined body, she looked more weapon than ship, something fierce and predatory. She was the best, most versatile spaceship around, fast and powerful, yet still capable of deep-space exploration. And with her own metadrive, she could take him anywhere he wanted and be completely off the ITA’s radar. And she’s mine.
Almost.
Jeth leaned his forehead against the glass and exhaled, his breath fogging the surface. He had to have her. She was his only way out of this life. His desire to be free was so strong it was almost a physical pain. He hated living here, hated being under Hammer’s heel, one of his tools. One of his toys, like Renford had said.
For the last few years Jeth’s plan had been to buy Avalon back from Hammer, gallivant around the universe for a while, and then finally settle down on Enoch, an Independent planet all the way in the farthest corner of the universe. Enoch was self-sufficient and wealthy enough to have a space exploration program he could work for—one day.
Jeth stayed there, staring at his ship, until fatigue made his eyelids begin to droop. After the third yawn, he turned and headed toward the nearest elevator. He rode it down to Sector 15 and started walking, navigating the complicated path to Avalon’s dock without conscious thought.
The longer he walked, the dimmer the light became and the less touristy the scenery. Sector 15 was the seedy part of town. The long-term docks on Peltraz spaceport were mostly inhabited by people who couldn’t afford the tax to fly their ships out of there or pay for housing in one of the nicer sectors. The further in you went, the more well-to-do Peltraz became. Hammer lived in a massive estate at the dead center of the port.
As he rounded a corner into the darkest corridor yet, Jeth froze. Movement somewhere to the left caught his eye. He clenched his fingers, wishing he had a gun, but civilian firearms were prohibited on Confederation-aligned stations, one of the few overarching regulations the ITA enforced. Only Hammer’s soldiers were allowed to carry weapons, and they served as law enforcement for the entire spaceport. The ITA agents stationed at Peltraz only oversaw the comings and goings at the public docks, leaving everything else under Hammer’s complete authority. So long as Hammer kept Peltraz in good standing with the ITA, his rule was guaranteed.
Still, that didn’t mean that whoever was lingering in the shadows ahead of him wasn’t carrying a gun illegally. Jeth looked around, hoping to see someone else nearby. No such luck.
He considered doubling back and taking another route, but he was so close to home. And I’m not a coward, he reminded himself. He faced danger all the time. He could handle whoever was lurking down here.
Steeling himself, Jeth marched on, but he kept his gaze fixed on the place where he’d seen movement. Nothing was going to take him by surprise.
As he approached, he heard someone moan. He stopped and squinted, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. A man was sitting on a bench recessed into the wall. Jeth must’ve passed the bench a thousand times before, but this was the first he’d ever seen someone occupying it.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jeth asked.
He regretted the question at once. This man was far from okay. Even in the dim light he could see that. The man looked like nothing but bones held together in a bag of human flesh. Jeth had never seen someone so emaciated before in real life. He’d seen a couple of photos of severe starvation in history textbooks, but the images were little more than vapor compared to the real, visceral presence of such suffering. The sight made Jeth’s knees tremble and his muscles contract from a terrible mixture of shock and pity.
The man stirred on the bench, his eyes opening to narrow slits. “I’m hungry,” he said, each syllable strained from the effort it took him to speak. Even in the dim light, Jeth could easily count the bones in the man’s chest, exposed by the shirt barely clinging to his frail shoulders. Blue veins were visible in his forehead beneath his ashen skin.
Jeth took an involuntary step back, suddenly aware of how much the man smelled. Like piss and shit and death. Every instinct Jeth possessed screamed at him to run away. But he managed to stay put, body tensed from the effort.
“Hungry,” the man repeated. “Please.” Only a few teeth remained in his mouth, those black with decay as his body ate itself in an attempt to find the nourishment it needed to stay alive.
“I don’t have any food.” Pity choked Jeth’s voice, tinged with inescapable revulsion. The only thing in his pockets was Renford’s calling card. There would be food on board Avalon, though.
Even so, the sight still comforted him, which he needed right now. His dread about the inevitable meeting with Hammer over the fiasco at Kordan had been building inside him for hours. He would pay for the damage to the ship, one way or another. How much and with what currency, whether money or blood or both, he couldn’t guess. Hammer never seemed to react the same way twice. Once he’d even let Jeth off scot-free, but he doubted he would get so lucky this time. Not with the bum metadrive to boot.
When he reached the familiar point where the walkway began to curve inward, he stopped and faced the outside glass, dropping his gaze to the outlying docks. From here he could see Avalon. She was a Black Devil spacecraft, old enough to be considered a classic, but still as tough as they came. With her streamlined body, she looked more weapon than ship, something fierce and predatory. She was the best, most versatile spaceship around, fast and powerful, yet still capable of deep-space exploration. And with her own metadrive, she could take him anywhere he wanted and be completely off the ITA’s radar. And she’s mine.
Almost.
Jeth leaned his forehead against the glass and exhaled, his breath fogging the surface. He had to have her. She was his only way out of this life. His desire to be free was so strong it was almost a physical pain. He hated living here, hated being under Hammer’s heel, one of his tools. One of his toys, like Renford had said.
For the last few years Jeth’s plan had been to buy Avalon back from Hammer, gallivant around the universe for a while, and then finally settle down on Enoch, an Independent planet all the way in the farthest corner of the universe. Enoch was self-sufficient and wealthy enough to have a space exploration program he could work for—one day.
Jeth stayed there, staring at his ship, until fatigue made his eyelids begin to droop. After the third yawn, he turned and headed toward the nearest elevator. He rode it down to Sector 15 and started walking, navigating the complicated path to Avalon’s dock without conscious thought.
The longer he walked, the dimmer the light became and the less touristy the scenery. Sector 15 was the seedy part of town. The long-term docks on Peltraz spaceport were mostly inhabited by people who couldn’t afford the tax to fly their ships out of there or pay for housing in one of the nicer sectors. The further in you went, the more well-to-do Peltraz became. Hammer lived in a massive estate at the dead center of the port.
As he rounded a corner into the darkest corridor yet, Jeth froze. Movement somewhere to the left caught his eye. He clenched his fingers, wishing he had a gun, but civilian firearms were prohibited on Confederation-aligned stations, one of the few overarching regulations the ITA enforced. Only Hammer’s soldiers were allowed to carry weapons, and they served as law enforcement for the entire spaceport. The ITA agents stationed at Peltraz only oversaw the comings and goings at the public docks, leaving everything else under Hammer’s complete authority. So long as Hammer kept Peltraz in good standing with the ITA, his rule was guaranteed.
Still, that didn’t mean that whoever was lingering in the shadows ahead of him wasn’t carrying a gun illegally. Jeth looked around, hoping to see someone else nearby. No such luck.
He considered doubling back and taking another route, but he was so close to home. And I’m not a coward, he reminded himself. He faced danger all the time. He could handle whoever was lurking down here.
Steeling himself, Jeth marched on, but he kept his gaze fixed on the place where he’d seen movement. Nothing was going to take him by surprise.
As he approached, he heard someone moan. He stopped and squinted, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. A man was sitting on a bench recessed into the wall. Jeth must’ve passed the bench a thousand times before, but this was the first he’d ever seen someone occupying it.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jeth asked.
He regretted the question at once. This man was far from okay. Even in the dim light he could see that. The man looked like nothing but bones held together in a bag of human flesh. Jeth had never seen someone so emaciated before in real life. He’d seen a couple of photos of severe starvation in history textbooks, but the images were little more than vapor compared to the real, visceral presence of such suffering. The sight made Jeth’s knees tremble and his muscles contract from a terrible mixture of shock and pity.
The man stirred on the bench, his eyes opening to narrow slits. “I’m hungry,” he said, each syllable strained from the effort it took him to speak. Even in the dim light, Jeth could easily count the bones in the man’s chest, exposed by the shirt barely clinging to his frail shoulders. Blue veins were visible in his forehead beneath his ashen skin.
Jeth took an involuntary step back, suddenly aware of how much the man smelled. Like piss and shit and death. Every instinct Jeth possessed screamed at him to run away. But he managed to stay put, body tensed from the effort.
“Hungry,” the man repeated. “Please.” Only a few teeth remained in his mouth, those black with decay as his body ate itself in an attempt to find the nourishment it needed to stay alive.
“I don’t have any food.” Pity choked Jeth’s voice, tinged with inescapable revulsion. The only thing in his pockets was Renford’s calling card. There would be food on board Avalon, though.
