The two moons orbiting Hakkut shone tonight. Dion, almost half the size of the planet, displayed a soft radiance of blue from the haze of its atmosphere. A red rocky moon, Ameena, orbited Dion. The red glint within the circle of hazy blue dominated the night sky. Fade sighed as he left the narrow alleys, then adjusted his hat against the cool winds as he walked past the headquarters of the imperial garrison.
The imposing red brick walls of the fortress bristled with barbed wire. Fade knew the fortress was not as deeply constructed, or equipped, as it was reputed to be. Then again, it was a decent enough for Imperial ground forces to maintain control of the planet in peaceful times. Other important terrestrial fortresses and planetary anti-landing systems were rumored to exist.
At a taxi stop at the southwest corner of the fortress a group of about twenty young officers passed. The leader of the group laughed as he broke out into a drinking ballad. The others joined, singing about getting laid in poorly timed unison. Most loosened their tight black ties as they sang, stuffing them in their pockets. There was a strong odor of booze as some of the soldiers roughhoused with each other.
Fade waited for them to pass before pressing his fist into a dirty yellow button on the edge of a bench; it never budged with less forceful methods. A metal pole rose from the ground and adjusted to his height. A touch screen provided the interface for the entry of necessary data, his real name and his monetary identification code. Next it asked for his destination, which was four hundred and two kilometers north by northeast.
Four hundred and forty H-credits were deducted from his card. Several minutes later, a yellow hover craft kicked up a cloud of pallid gray dust as it touched the ground. Rust stains crawled upward from the craft’s lower body; they rose from deep scratches as gristly brown dots.
The front fender collected dents, while deep craters pocked the vehicle’s body. Fade stepped into the cab and sat on the worn leather seats. The cabby cleared the protective barrier between cab and compartment, then flicked on the speakers. He turned to face his customer, the unshaven face stared blankly.
“Before we go any further, are you going to pay my tip? Twenty Haricons, I only accept the hard stuff, nothing electronic, and nothing street.”
Fade rummaged through his pocket for strips of extremely thin plastic. The black information bar on each bill contained a transmitter that tracked movement, if the transmitter was damaged or missing the money was considered street, non-negotiable. Fade only had a hundred, which held the likeness of an obese man.
“I only have a fat one, got change?” Fade asked.
The cabby grabbed the bill through the exchange slot.
“Nope.”
Fade took a deep breath and stared; it wouldn’t be good for business to shoot a cabby. As they took off, he never bothered to look back at dull concrete buildings, the plastic satellite dishes, and the metal radio towers of Hakkut City as they quickly diminished from sight.
The reflection of the dim lights from the planet’s equatorial capitol disappeared to the south as the taxi gained speed. Outside the city, a sea of conifers the early settlers had planted dominated the view. The forest gave way to tundra. Snow imposed a stern cold white upon the land. There was no light from other vehicles, so the stars and the aurora came into stark relief.
-----
The taxi landed next to a twisted road sign which was so worn the letters could no longer be seen; it pointed to a small town toward the east. Fade stood on a vast stretch of tundra near the border of the planet’s ice fields, on the edge of habitability. Three hundred and twenty kilometers from Hakkut’s equator were permanent ice fields. In winter, wind from the north blew from regions where oxygen flowed as a liquid. Wind holding at twenty kilometers an hour with a wind chill factor of negative fifty Celsius was possible.
Fade’s cloths didn’t have a heating system. The trench coat and thick dusty jeans held insufficient warmth. He pulled the red cowboy hat down past his ears as the taxi pulled away. After a short walk to the end of an icy dirt road, he saw a thick, squat, mud-brick saloon with a stout chimney sitting in front of a large greenhouse and next to an oversized garage. This was the last settlement at the edge of the ‘habitability zone’. Much further north and the winter wastelands became instantaneously deadly without the aid of expensive facilities. A neon sign flickered, The Cozy Tavern, in putrid yellow from the window.
The traditional western décor inside enhanced the warmth. The bartender wore a bow tie with a red vest and a white collar shirt. Mugs of ale slid across wooden counter to the patrons. A combination of gas lamps, fires and electrical lights kept the interior lit.
Low key country music played from a wooden radio behind the counter; the singer strummed a guitar and moaned about Ma washing dishes for her boys. Fire grasped from the chimney. Embers flung from its outbursts, ready to burn any who ventured too close. A wood burning stove’s warm glow invited patrons toward the central tables.
There was a hum below the creaky floor, which indicated a furnace to supplement the other heat sources. Complaints creaked from the floor boards as Fade approached the lone pool table. The felt was discolored and worn. Faded balls lounged in a cracked plastic triangle; the cues remained unassembled and stuck in their holders. The eight ball held a luster unmatched by its companions.
Just above the pool table hung a motionless ceiling fan with weak, dust laden panels that looked as if they might snap with the slightest rotation. Around the pool table sat poker tables, three to the left and two to the right. They were made of Hakkut pine and had solid center supports with thick braces. The tops were more than two centimeters thick, surfaces polished to a smoothness suffering attrition from long use.
Only one table was occupied. The customers wore dirty jeans, boots, and thick linty flannels. They had never bothered to remove their woolen knit caps. Ratty looking cigarettes hung from chafed liquor coated lips; the ashy ends congealed into long gray streaks that eventually succumbed to gravity. Numerous empty whisky bottles were stacked about the table and chairs.
Rifles, some half as tall as their owners, leaned against the back of each chair. A man with a wrinkled face smiled; his upper teeth were rotten and his lower ones were missing. He scratched gray hair matted to the side of his head, then took a sealed whisky bottle and smashed the neck against the side of the table.
His poker cards, already smudged with dark fingerprints, were now moist from spilled whiskey. He drank from the jagged neck without flinching until it was empty. A speckled dried meat, heavily salted, served as his chaser. The old man had a great hand, all four aces, Fade snickered when the other men began to groan once it was revealed.
“Should’ve folded your laundry,” said the old man as he shuffled a pile of money and Fikan jerky over to his side of the table.
A man with a black beard laughed a bit before noticing Fade, “How’s business? Gonna be washin’ dishes for food gan night?”
“Not tonight,” Fade answered. “Caught anything worth mentioning?”
“Shot meself three caribou this week, must be three hundred k-grams each. I’m gonna catch me a fair price for duh meat when I haul it down Morstown morrow.”
The hunter meant Morristown, a fact often lost in his peculiar dialect. Hakkutian caribou were no easy prey, they could run at fifty kilometers an hour for long stretches, were muscular with sharp horns, and were not only extremely aggressive, but highly intelligent.
A skinny man with loose hair falling from underneath a blue winter cap decided to mock the man about the creatures he shot.
“They’ll find out you just ran one them over with your halfer, and found the others dead old age,” he said.
The hunter was close enough and strong enough to grab the little guy’s neck with one hand.
“You mock me huntin’?”
“No....I was just a jokin’. Never did mean anythin’ bout it. Not a bit. You’re the best hunter here, know. Lotta men like me jealous. We’s can’t help it.”
“Good,” said the hunter, letting the runt fall back onto his chair. “Fade, why don’ you join? Game’s ready.”
“Not tonight.”
“Member not to drink more an two beers,” said the old man. “Paul don’ want another over-niter. Never knew a merc held liquor poor as you do.”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Fade relaxed at the bar, staring at bottles on the shelf in front of him. The vodka was in clear, bulbous glass bottles.
Rum from the hinder region filled ceramic jugs; it was advertised as potent enough to kill the senses with a sip.
Wine from the vineyards of the temperate planets was in inky bottles with grape vine designs; dust settled thickly on the slopes extending from the necks of the bottles.
Gin from the planet Ranack provided a rare tonic, though too expensive for most here to afford. Little cheap brown bottles of whiskey from the central forests of Hakkut were already on the tables, they often sold out before closing time.
The center piece of the liquor shelves was a large bottle of champagne with a long elegant neck and a thin glass body. Indentations in the glass marked a wreath in the center along with the Imperial Harn Champagne Co. logo. The bartender wiped a glass mug and plopped it on the counter.
“The usual?” Paul asked.
“The usual,” Fade confirmed.
After Paul finished filling the mug, Fade pulled his eleven millimeter revolver from underneath his coat, opening the empty chamber. He cleaned the revolving mechanism and its housing with an iron haired pipe cleaner.
“Do you always have to clean your gun on my counter?” Paul asked.
“I need it in working condition.”
“That’s what you always say. I take it you don’t need any work tonight?”
“Not tonight,” Fade said.
“Big contract?”
Fade shrugged.
"I understand, keep it to yourself if you have to. It doesn’t bother me one bit because you’re a worthless customer, and even more worthless as a worker. I don’t know why I continue helping you.”
“You sound just like your daughter.”
“Did I mention you can stay away from my daughter?” Paul asked.
Fade shrugged.
Paul shook his head let him put his gun back together. Once finished, Fade slipped it into a red leather holster. The foamy brew in his tall glazed mug was downed in a succession of gulps. He immediately felt queasy, propping his forehead with both hands. From there he commenced an examination of the remaining droplets of liquid. Foamy shapes inside the glass reminded him of warships battling in deep space.
He envisioned his X-580 cruiser among them, blasting the enemy at every chance. Fade put his finger inside the glass, pressing a drop of beer to simulate the demolished enemy with his imagination. Upon finishing, he dried his finger with his coat and reached into the pocket of his shirt. A piece of crumpled paper fell on the counter; he spread it open with his palm:
Imperial War Office.
General Notice to Independent Fleet Captain.
Harn Era Time:
Circasion 41, 3567 I.E.
Hakkut Standard Time:
Mas`le 12, 398 A.S.
Recipient: Harry F. Defacto
Status: Independent Agent
Rank: Mercenary Captain
You are hereby on notice to link with the First Imperial Fleet for defensive operations in quadrant C, square fourteen, for possible engagement of the Twentieth Buldethian Grand Fleet. Notify us of your acceptance at three hundred hours Hakkut time, fifth day of the twelfth month. You will be given all pertinent information over secure transmission. As a registrant of the Independent Battle Corps, you are considered obligated to heed this call of the Harn War Office. Violation will result in termination of your citizenship.
-----
Fade stuffed the document back in his pocket and shouted for a second beer, he thought tonight was a good night to push his limit.
Part 2
He muttered to himself as he looked down at the wood grain of the table. Slowly, he made a fist and clenched his teeth. It took a practiced breath for him to relax. He pressed his fingers to his forehead as he waited for another mug of beer.
Destiny refilled his mug. It was the first time he had ever seen her in a dress of any kind, a newly purchased plain brown dress with a frilly white apron. He did a double take, the uniform gently hinted at the curve of her hips, her narrow waistline, and the slope of her bosom. It wasn’t even made of flannel.
“What’s up with the dress?” he asked as he pressed his hand on the counter.
“I’m not wearing it for you,” she said, “I just thought it would be more appropriate if I was a proper hostess. Why am I telling you this? As if you’d understand. So, how does it look?”
Her cheeks were colored like finely ground rose petals. Slender hands wrinkled around the edges of her trimmed fingernails from exposure to soapy water as she wiped the counter top. She didn’t stray far from him.
“Did Bertha call in sick again?” he asked with a burp, “If she were here, I might have ordered a hot meal. Bertha really knows how to cook.”
He brooded over a half empty glass and yawned.
“She’s been sick for a few days,” Destiny explained, “Dad asked me to fill in. Sorry if that doesn’t suit you. If you really want a hot meal, there’s my specialty today, caribou stew. I made it especially for supper tonight, there’s a lot left over. ”
“You’re cooking? A lot left over?” Fade asked, “Since when?”
“I’ve been learning the ropes for a while,” Destiny said, “Bertha’s been training me.”
“The stew you made, did Bertha try it?”
“No,” Destiny said, blinking twice. “I only made it yesterday. Why do you ask?”
“I was wondering how Bertha got sick.”
Destiny pulled out the beer hose and sprayed him in the face. Fade tried to catch the beer with his mug but failed to prevent the soaking. He was too tired and looked as if his soaked body was about to drop. He snatched her table cloth and wiped his face, then sopped beer from his shirt.
Destiny dropped the beer hose in its hatch with a smug grin before reordering the wine bottles. She did this four times, finally placing them back in their original positions anyway, though she never thought about wiping off the dust. Someone called for more drinks; she removed a handful of whiskey bottles from the bottom drawer and delivered them swiftly before finding more tasks behind the counter.
“I completely fail to see why you drink if you always fall into coma after two beers. Why don’t you try some stew instead?” Destiny asked as she fetched a bowl for him, “I’ll give you a free bowl. I don’t think it’s right for you to go hungry, especially with the harsh climate here. It’ll even sober you up a little bit.”
“No,” Fade said, his stomach growling, “I already signed a suicide pact with the empire, eating your soup would be cheating.”
She scowled at him with a bit of a growl through nearly perfect teeth.
“Fine,” Fade winced, “I’ll give it a try.”
She hummed while presenting a bowl of dark thick soup with crackers on a tray. When she reached the counter, she leaned towards him. Fade looked upwards to avoid her gaze and instead caught the mint smell of her breath.
“Is it true?” she asked. “Are the Bulds really coming here? Is it going to be a full scale battle?”
Destiny locked his cheeks between her palms and pulled his face down, staring into it with wide green eyes. He leaned back a few degrees to escape, but his seat refused to tilt with him. Her palms smelt like stewed beef.
“Why Dooh yuh havth fu swish my thace?” he asked.
"Don’t look into space when I’m taking to you and I won’t have to,” she scolded, “Promise to listen and answer all my questions.”
“My wad of thonor,” said Fade. She let go, but continued to lean so that her face was only a few centimeters away from his.
“Want a kiss?” Fade asked.
She veered back, turning bright red.
“Answer the question, now!” she groaned, but now she was the one looking away sideways.
“Give me a chance to get ready,” Fade said, giving his stew a thoughtful yawn. Destiny snatched it from the table.
“The truth is,” Fade said, “Nobody knows all the details. I’ll have my stew back now.”
“Not yet,” Destiny said, looking at him again, “I heard the Bulds are sending a huge fleet right to this system, and that the garrison would need to be fortified at least twenty times over to withstand the coming ground assault. I also heard that the Imperial Military can’t muster fleets powerful enough to even slow the Buld’s down and that the Bulds kill civilians who resist, confiscate everything they own, and use the most painful torture imaginable to get information.”
“That’s a mouthful. Okay, you could say that, though I’ve never been in a Buldethian torture chamber so I don’t really know,” Fade said.
“What about the first fleet?” Destiny said, “Is it true that the legendary mega-dreadnaught, the Dorian, is being recalled into service because the Imperial Military lacks ships?”
“All rumors. Not your concern.”
“Not my concern!” she repeated, “You’re going to be patrolling the flank of an outdated museum battleship the imperial interstellar is flinging out of mouth balls! That is just as much my concern as any. Now, from what I’ve decoded from my signal receptor and information from the network, I believe you’re involved in something that is outright insane! It’s all over the networks. The first fleet is the laughing stock of the universe! Fade, why don’t you sell your ship and get into some sort of business. You don’t need to die in a pointless battle, especially when it really won’t be any different no matter who’s in charge.”
“If I don’t fight, I become an outlaw,” he shrugged, “Besides, maybe you don’t know everything like you think you do. The rebels are ruthless, communist bastards. There’ll be no free enterprise, no mercenary contracts, no networks you can gab over, nothing.”
“What if you never come back?” she asked.
“Then you’ll be rid of me.”
“Right,” she said, turning away, “I’ll be rid of a bad headache who can’t hold his liquor and stays here and sulks until I pity him enough to give him free meals.”
Fade took a few bites of his soup, after which Destiny turned around and pounded the counter with her palm.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” she yelled.
“You said it,” he said while sipping from his bowl.
"Not that,” she said, her eyes watering up, “You’re going to die and you don’t care! You act so talented like you’ll survive without a scratch. But how can I trust you to keep your word if you following reckless orders!”
The hunter with the thick black beard called for more whisky. Destiny’s dark brown hair swung over her shoulder as she turned; it shone in the Tavern’s hushed light. Shaky hands dropped the first bottle. It smashed over the porous wood floor, which absorbed liquid like a sober drunk. As she grabbed another, she glared at Fade with eyes of a light green flame. The sharpness burned into the forefront of his mind until he couldn’t help smiling.
“If I come back alive, can I touch your butt?”
She slapped him.
Fade sat silently without bothering to feel the reddening print on his cheeks. A few minutes later he trudged to the nearest empty table. He propped his feet, leaned back in his chair, and tilted his hat until the rim rested over his eyes. He was out cold instantly. In his sleep, his right hand pulled back his coat and ever so gently grasped the handle of his revolver.
The youngest at the card table looked up, said, “Hey, anybody notice Desty’s got a dress on? Did pops make you wear it, or is this a special occasion?”
“None of your business, order a drink or shut it,” she said.
“Hey look, she’s blushing.” the youngest said, “Ha! Must like somebody here. Is it me honey?”
“Not in your wildest dreams, bozo.”
The old man with the bad teeth pulled at the young man’s shirt. “Don’t take it so hard youngin’. I think it’s me she really likes.” he laughed, spiting a wad of chewed jerky fat on the young man’s boot.
“Large beer for me,” said the hunter with the dark beard as he eyed the sleeping mercenary. “Don’t mind them, I think you look sweet. The mercs a fool if he won’t listen to ya.”
Destiny quietly set fresh drinks down on the table with a frown, the usual, even though no one had ordered.