Chapter 2
Private Kolter
I can feel the cold compress on my forehead long before I have the strength to open my weary eyes. I don’t want to think about it. I know when I do open them that I’ll just see my rig burning and a stretch of insurmountable desert lying in front of me. I’m not even sure I can do it. I’m not sure I even want to try and survive. My future was that stolen rig.
I had to steal it. I had to. I couldn’t work for them anymore. I’m not sure why that company gets away with what it does. I suppose the rules of law mean little to those writing them. The bosses there were nothing more than security guards who just keep you trapped and afraid. They sold it though. They really did.
They sold us all a thought of having a good life, a regular pay check, three hot meals a day and a warm bed to sleep in every night. I should have listened to my Dad. He warned me about going off world and working on the mines. He has always had that often irritating logic to him. He has foresight. Something I admit I lack. He can figure something out for what it is long before the reality hits. He knew they were trouble just by glancing at them. Just by the poster!
The reality was nothing like the dream they sold us. They treat us like crap every day and they got away with it every time. They made me feel stupid, made me look a jerk in front of my friends if ever I missed a quota, and lorded it over us every chance they got. I’m not sure where that culture came from, or how it turned what was probably once a decent little mining company into a living nightmare. I wished so hard I had just joined the Army. Another idea of mine that Dad put me off. But at least in the Army I might have been able to get outside more. See some action maybe. Save some beautiful women one day. That must be the concussion settling in…
Those jerks though. They kept us cooked up onboard the rigs for months and months at a stretch. Only a small cafeteria to eat in. No games room like on the poster either. No holo-vision like they promised and one huge shared dorm. A far cry from the luxury they sold us. The beds were barely big enough to sleep in. Not even close to being ample enough to get a full stretch or a good night’s sleep. But then we were expected to jump out on command and start hoofing another million cubic ton of stone out of a cramped mine.
I don’t even want to think about the food they served either. Nothing like the Four Star Michelin chef they advertised. Made me sick to my stomach every damn day. Genuinely ill.
I bet I got all of my friends in trouble though. They made us all feel like worms. The company, somewhere out there, are probably taking what I did out on my sector. And for that, and that alone, I’m truly sorry. I hoped to inspire rebellion in what I did. I dared to hope some of the guys might have had the balls to have come with me. To go it alone and keep pushing no matter how hard the going got. We could have been the captains of our own ship’s. We could have made it on our own or died. Yes, died.
But I guess it was only me. Only I wanted out so bad. Is that it? I don’t think, no I’m certain, that I wasn’t the only one feeling that badly about them. The guys used to complain and complain until the sun or star of whatever word we were raping clean rose up. I think most of them had just accepted their lot. I think they just gave up. Maybe they cracked their spirits and broke them.
I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore either. I can hear Kolt rummaging around beside me. I should really snap out of it and see if there’s anything I can do. I owe the scary son of a bitch that much at least.
I open my eyes with a few long drawn out blinks. The shade helps as I force them open. Kolt must have used water from the sprinkler system to soak a cold compress for my battered head. It feels good. The cool of the towel is helping to take the edge off the numbing pain in my head. I shuffle just a little. Kolt has his back to me and I can’t see what he’s doing. I’m glad of the moment to get my thoughts together and start adjusting to my new surroundings.
My new reality in fact. My head is spinning and I’m starting to feel sick. I’ve been in enough fights to know just how a mild concussion feels. This is one of the worst I’ve had to endure though. I can keep it together though. Just as well. We are nowhere near help. I can’t even think of the nearest inhabited star system.
We’re still inside. I’m immensely grateful of that. Kolt has closed the blast door and kept the shutters down over the windows. We’re still in the jettisoned bridge of the rig. Out on the sand somewhere on this planet, I have to admit, I know precious nothing about.
‘You are awake?’ Kolt turns with his leather apron creaking as he sways. He places a rising intonation at the end of the statement. It makes it sound like a question but maybe he meant it that way. His grasp of the English language makes me laugh. It’s a little cruel of me though. He has just saved me after all.
‘Yeah.’ I can talk a lot better now. That cold compress must be doing me the word of good. ‘I feel like death, Kolt.’ I can just about sit up. My back is making all sorts of protesting scrapes and cracking noises but I can do it. I let out a sigh of relief once my head is securely and firmly clasped in my hands. I push the compress hard into my forehead and squeeze a little water into my mouth as it dribbles down my battered and bruised face. I suppose I better be polite to this guy. He did save my life.
I glance up to start talking to him and catch a glimpse of his eyes again. I can barely meet them. They are cold, red and bloodshot, and he doesn’t seem to know how to stop staring. He has no emotion in them. It’s like they’re frozen or something. Locked in one moment. I turn away but push myself to make the effort.
‘Look…’ I begin. I’ve always been funny at expressing any kind of emotion. Gratitude especially. Maybe I had it beaten out of me years ago at work. ‘I never said thanks for…’ He didn’t let me finish.
‘There is no problem.’ I know what he means. But I use his tenuous grasp of my language to start a conversation.
‘I think we might have a few problems Kolt.’ I even manage a snigger. I thought, when I looked over to him once more, that my jibe might have confused him. But he doesn’t, still, manage any other facial expression than those frozen stiff eyes.
‘That is not what I meant.’ He didn’t seem amused at all.
‘It’s just a joke, relax.’ I urge him, trying to put the fire out before it can extend into an argument. I gesture forward with one hand, sort of like a submissive wave, and he looks as though he accepts it. He backs off a touch.
‘Thanks.’ I say again, hoping that it might be able to backtrack the conversation to a point where we were both a little more comfortable. I wish I could see his face. I can’t read him. I try again to engage him, ‘Where are you from Kolt.’ I’m not talkative. Frankly I like my own company and I’m never too interested in making new friends. They just cloud and clutter my already unbearable life. But I’m beginning to sense that I’m going to be the driver of the relationship between myself and this guy.
Maybe I’m judging that a little early. Maybe I should just give him a chance.
‘Russia.’ He replies, proudly, and with an elevated voice. I think he might be smiling. But I wouldn’t put a year’s wage of sweet nothing on it. I’m just glad he said something. This guy has me on edge. I have to admit he is freaking me out. It’s his eyes.
‘Which one?’ I ask him to confirm. I’m just trying to hold down a decent conversation with him through my throbbing head.
‘The first, and only.’ He replies even prouder still.
That means he’s from Earth and not one of the colonies.
The colonies sprung up almost spasmodically after the invention of hyper drive only about two hundred years ago. I almost don’t want to say.
‘I’m not from Earth.’ I tell him. For reasons that don’t matter for anything anymore, the emergence of colonies, just like in the Imperial age back on Earth, caused wars. Independence wars, power hungry wars and wars over resources. Those times became known collectively as the “Colony Wars”. Some of the silly prejudices those wars created lingered on
. A lot of Earth people still hate colonists.
‘An enemy yesterday becomes a friend today.’ Kolt answers. I wish he would just stop staring at me. Those eyes of his. It feels like they’re piercing right through my skull and spooning my thoughts out of my brain before they even occur to me. I’m surprised by his answer though. Usually I get spat at. But I guess, out here, we are both alone. Forced together. I think we both know that we have more chance of staying alive if we stay together. I sense Kolt doesn’t want our different backgrounds to drive a stake between our fledgling friendship. He turns back to whatever it was he was doing before.
‘How did you end up here?’ I ask him. I, with a huge amount of effort, lift my broken body up and onto my feet. My armor starts to creak and groan but I’m very glad of it. There is no telling how much worse my injuries might have been had I not been wearing it. I stand to another chorus of cracks from my shocked vertebrae. I sigh with pain but it’s duller and a lot more comfortable than I had been expecting. My head is starting to clear too.
‘I don’t know.’ He replies and turns back to glance at me but only momentarily. That was odd. How can he not know? I should ask him. But I daren’t. ‘I administered as many painkillers as I though you could handle.’ He continues without dwelling on the first comment. That explains why I’m not bent over double.
I glance quickly down at my red but heavily scuffed armor. I bend my arms every way I can and listen to bones and sinew crack and twist back into place. This armor used to belong to a guard at my work. I stole that too. No surprise. I needed a disguise. The material is made from flexible polymer. It has a plastic feel to it but a tougher, hardened outer shell. I tap it gently with my bleeding knuckles. It feels ok. I can move really well in it and it dries quickly too. I remember sweating my ass off when I came too before. Now I’m bone dry. Looks like I chose well. This armor should be perfect for when we have to traipse through the barren desert before us.
‘Thanks.’ I say again. I don’t know why this guy has me so freaked. Usually I’m not afraid of a fight. He just has me spooked. He has a way about him that I find a little unsettling at best. Maybe I’m just suffering more than I thought from the hard hit to my head. The concussion might be clouding my judgment. Maybe I’m judging the poor guy a little too early.
‘How come you don’t remember how you got here?’ I walk over to him. More of a stumbling pace. To Hell with it I figure. I nearly died a few hours ago when I planted my rig into the sand. Why would he go ape on me after saving me anyway? I’m still nervous to ask though.
‘If I knew the reason why I do not remember, then I would not have lost my memory, would you agree Sam?’ If it had been anyone else other than Kolt, I would have thought that was a joke. But his fixed eyes give nothing away.
‘Right.’ I relent. ‘Call me Parker.’ I don’t add any reason. Why bother? I just prefer my surname. Maybe I’m just so used to hearing the guards bark it before slapping me upside the head for the fifth time in any day. Those painkillers must be working a treat. I’m even getting a nice, subtle, but nice buzz from them. It’s making me feel good. I’m starting to feel more like myself again.
‘I remember the fire.’ He added. His voice tone changes, though not his cold, hard, and fearsome stare. He sounds reflective and sullen though even that is difficult to gauge behind the muffling effect of his mask. I’m sure he is staring into the distance, searching his fragmented memory, but those gruesome eyes are impossible to focus on.
He must have meant the fire that welded his mask onto his suit. And right into his skin too.
‘Was that on your ship?’ I pry further but don’t move any closer to him. He stands and squares up to me. He doesn’t look threatening but his body language is a little invasive and he seems to be on the offensive.
‘I think so, Parker. But I do not remember crashing.’ His voice trails off into the abyss of his lost memory. ‘I remember walking. A great distance. And then seeing you out here in the desert.’ He said nothing more. His eyes are vacant and the repetitiveness of his breathing through that mask is making me sea sick.
‘So you didn’t crash that long ago?’ I ask him and back off. I’m not feeling threatened by him anymore. Even though I should be. I wander over to the console on the right of the tiny bridge-come escape pod. The polished surface, matted black in color, gives me my first glimpse of my face in what feels like years. My beard has grown out of control. I look like a wild hermit. Blood is matted right through my blonde hair. I definitely need to get that cut too. It’s longer than most women’s. My face is battered and bruised too. I’ve only just noticed how aged I look. My face has the first signs of wrinkles on it with crow’s feet around my eyes and cavities in my cheeks when I force a smile. At least I think that’s what a smile looks like. It’s been a long time since someone put one of those on my face. So long ago that I’m not sure what face to make when asked to smile.
Kolt thought for a moment. ‘It can’t have been no.’ He finally decided. ‘I have walked for a long time. The days have melted together as one and I have not kept a record.’ I was going to have to fill in the gaps later. He had saved me but clearly had his own problems to work through. One thing was for sure though. We needed to get out of this place and try to find some way of getting rescued.
Kolt must have thought the same. He has loaded up a bunch of supplies and has collected a lot of water from the sprinkler system that saved my life and the bridge itself from fire. He’s resourceful. I’d never have thought of that. I remember lying in pools of water when I first came to. They’ve gone now. He must have soaked it all up using that cold compress. Then rung it dry, squeezing the water into bottles, all with his bare hands while I was unconscious.
‘What time is it?’ I ask him.
‘I’m not certain.’ But he is ready to go. He lifts the sizeable backpack of supplies onto his shoulders and stands waiting for me by the heavy blast doors that lead to the outside world. I don’t even know where he’s thinking of going. I don’t know even why he has been walking for so long.
‘Night has fallen. That is the best time for us to make a start on our journey.’ He says while waiting for me patiently by the door. I didn’t notice how tall he was before. It was hard to tell from where I was laid out on the floor. He reaches an impressive eight foot at least. He isn’t wearing armor either. I can see his muscles through that silly uniform of his. He is built like a formidable tank. I hope I never end up on the wrong side of him.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask him and pace gently over to the door. My hand falls naturally into my pocket. I’m looking for the key card that I used before. It’s not there. We had been planning to get out right after the fire was doused but me passing out put a swift stop to that.
‘I have it.’ Kolt says, remembering himself, and takes it from a pocket concealed behind his caked leather apron. ‘I remember that my ship has communication technology on it.’ He answers my question and holds the card to the instrument panel. It beeps irregularly and the door twists into life. It is still broken. It squeals and sparks fly but it gradually begins to open with a horrible grinding sound.
‘Then why didn’t you use it to call for help yourself?’ I ask him without calculating my words. I still find him a little edgy and I should have thought twice about how I asked him. Not that my question isn’t a valid one. I could have predicted his answer though.
‘I do not know.’ He states. The frustration he feels leaks out through the tone of his voice but he keeps his composure. I want to push the issue so bad. My inquisitiveness is burning and I just have to know. If I’m supposed to trust this man, then surely, I tell myself, that I deserve to know something about him.
‘You don’t remember?’ I put a lot of effort into that question. I made sure that I sounded as empathic and sympathetic as humanly possible. I made sure there wasn’t even a scrap of sarcasm in there.
‘After the fire I just remember walking, dazed, confused, isolated and feeling more
alone than any man has ever felt before me. The thought of seeking rescue had not occurred to me. And still does not.’ The door finally, after scraping and howling, finally gives way in a burst of sparks and opens. Kolt hands the key back to me. Was that a gesture of trust? Night has completely fallen and the first thing that hits me is the sight of my rig burning in the foreground.
It has sunk further into the soft dunes and is burning with rich black smoke pumping out into the atmosphere of this strange world. The frame has sunk far below my eye level, and I can only just make out the drill mechanism and flat platform. Warning lights still work on the metal frame. They are washing the desert in eerie blues and reds. I try hard not to let my disappointment show. It was a terrible idea anyway. Luckily the bridge-come escape pod that has kept us safe all day hasn’t sunk any at all. It can’t weigh much.
Offensive sulphuric smells fill the cold night air of the desert. I want to breathe in deep and hard to fill my lungs and try to make my head feel better. The putrid smell makes that a poor choice. I breathe regularly, but deeper and deeper with each intake, to try and get used to the horrible scent.
I want to watch it some more. I want to watch it burn and remember my old life as a modern-day slave working for that evil company. I want to see the whole frame sink and try to use that image to lie to myself and say that it was the final chapter. Say that it’s over. But Kolt has other ideas. He strides out into the desert and turns immediately to his right. He obviously has a plan and a route worked out in his mind.
I’ve ignored him. I ignored what he said. That the thought of being rescued had never entered his mind. And that it still doesn’t. My over active mind wants to tear into it and try to figure out what he meant. But the conscious and, at this time, more powerful side of my brain is afraid of the answer. Why would he have not thought to seek rescue?
We walk in silence well into the night. I can’t help but to glance back every now and again to the disappearing sight of my burning past, and coincidentally, my burning future too.
The consistency of the sand does not stay the same. For a while I can feel my feet sink into the sharp, fine and grainy sand in the dunes. But then for another few minutes it feels like I’m walking on hard bedrock. It’s too dark to see where my feet are going. All I have are the stars above. I can’t help but to admire them though.
I’ve never seen so many of them all lit up like this. There are, literally, millions of them. The optimistic part of me, buried deep as it might be, can’t help but think its one small good thing to come out of this crap day. Some of them twinkle and dance across the blackened sky. I can make out a few constellations too, but in far more glorious detail than I’m used to. I can see Taurus and I can make out Orion’s belt in dazzling detail. The third “star” on the belt is in fact a galaxy of stars and not just one. For the first time since hearing that, I can actually make out the other stars in it. It helps to be this far from Earth too. On the edge of space. On the edge of knowledge and on the cusp of new discovery.
I’m enjoying being in my own mind for once. I’m enjoying being able to think. I can push the miserable thought of my working life into the back of my mind and let my own thoughts come forward. It’s surely an odd feeling though. I’ve been a part, a small part but still a part, of a crappy organization that actively discourages anything individual for so long that I had forgotten I had a thought chain of my own. I can think about the stars. I can think about things like that and not about where the next beating is going to come from. Or when the next time I’m going to be told I’m no good or that I’m a waste of space is going to be.
Is it because he thinks there is no chance of rescue? The first question ignites in my mind. Just like I knew it was going to. Maybe that was why Kolt didn’t think to seek rescue. Maybe he knows more about this planet than I do and he knows in his heart that he has no chance of getting off it alive. My heart sinks a little and I can feel the nervousness in the pit of my stomach when I think about it. I don’t even know why. This was supposed to be a last ditch attempt at a life on my part too. I have nothing to go back to. And noting to move on to either. I need to let go. I came here prepared to die. And I should stay like that. It’s not a bad way to live. Just in a moment and not striving for something or pining for something else. Maybe it’s more than that.
We’ve been walking for about two hours. I’ve been enjoying it. The silence. Letting someone else take the reins and lead the way. It’s been peaceful. But Kolt needs to stop. I can hear him breathing hard over his shoulder. The effort of pulling air in through the breathing apparatus that has become welded to his face must be tremendous. He doesn’t just breathe in; he has to pull air in with a powerful tensing of his diaphragm. I leap forward a few paces, nearly tripping in the soft sand as I do, and tap him hard on the shoulder. He turns a little startled. But with those eyes, who would have been able to tell? He says nothing. Just glares at me.
‘We should stop for the night?’ I almost have to ask him. Who put this guy in charge anyway? I should have been way more assertive and just told him. He drops the backpack and then falls to the floor knees first. He must be exhausted.
‘You should get a drink.’ I tell him, more sternly this time too. How does he drink? He can’t get fluid past the gas mask vents. He nods though and starts rummaging in the backpack. There were four full bottles of water from the puddles on the bridge. I want to ask him. I really want to. But I decide its best to just watch him instead.
He takes out a bottle and tips it upside down. He takes, without needing to look for it, a set of two needles from his apron pocket. They are connected with a rather thick transparent rubber tube. He stabs one end into the bottle cap and then rolls up his sleeve. His arm is covered in scars and holes. Dried blood is crusted over his milky white flesh. He looks like a heroin addict. He must have to drink, and presumably eat, intravenously. He taps his arm hard with two closed fingers a few times until a thick vein pops up. He then stabs the needle into the vessel and lies back still panting to draw in breath.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask him. That was out of my nature. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I was a nice guy before I started working for those guys. I can’t even remember. I can’t see past my hardened heart. At any rate, he doesn’t reply. He is too tired and out of steam.
I look around the dunes. We have unintentionally stopped in a pit. Dunes of soft flaky sand line every side. The wind has picked up a little. It isn’t anything brutal just yet but it could still make a night in the exposed cold a little less comfortable. It whips past the higher dunes and blows sand, in a whirlwind pattern off the edges and into the air. It makes no noise and it’s nice to look at. The dip in the dunes will have to be where we camp for the night. I take another of the bottles and take a long drink. I have been thirsty for miles but I was too happy in my own head, entertaining my own thoughts, to spark up any positional conversation by asking for a drink. I sit down on the soft sand beside Kolt.
I can see his chest heaving with each strained breath. I wish I could help him. But I can’t exactly pry that mask off of him. Over the next few minutes his breathing rate calms and half of his bottle is gone. He rips out the cord and stands the bottle upright. He rolls over and pulls himself to sit up.
‘You want to know why I did not even think to seek rescue.’ It didn’t take much emotional intelligence to read my thoughts. I thought I might have been harder to read than that but clearly not.
‘Yes.’ I swing a one word answer at him, hoping that it would prompt him for more information.
‘I feel lost.’ He replies equally as cryptically. ‘I did not seek rescue because I do not desire rescue.’ Those two statements did not seem compatible. ‘I like the feeling of being lost you see?’ I don’t know if I’m even supposed to reply to that. I don’t get it though. I decide to ask my questions down a different line though.
‘Then where are you leading me?’ I remember just now how nervous the guy makes me. I had been lost in
my own thoughts for too long and hadn’t really been thinking about him.
‘You do seek rescue.’ He states rather than asks.
‘Do I?’ I shoot back. I don’t disagree with him. It was just for the sake of an argument.
‘Yes. You have life still in your eyes and this is not your fate.’ He states categorically. Maybe he thinks he is some kind of spiritual. Or is it just his poor English? I drop my eyes. It’s still difficult to look at him. That fire must have affected his eyes somehow. I’ve still not seen him moisten them and they are still red and bloodshot all over. Not a drop of white left in them. I just watch the sand wash around my feet in the wind for a while. It’s golden colored, untouched, and very beautiful. He is right though. I don’t want to die. I’m not ready. If I had been I wouldn’t have tried so hard to get out of the horrible situation I was in before. Maybe there is something out there for me still. Strange how Kolt knew it and I didn’t.
For the first time in a while I’m starting to feel tired. It will feel odd to drift off to sleep unprompted, and not have to wake up to a hellish blaring siren and a smack around the face from a brutish “manager” come slave whip enforcer. I don’t care how cold it is. Kolt said he had walked for days. That might have meant actual days, like two or three, or it might have meant weeks, stretching further to months! He told me he hadn’t kept track and he doesn’t seem all that switched on. He really is lost. I could be in for one Hell of a journey. But I’ll find out in the morning.