The Ring had been through its fair share of cycles before, three generations in fact. The construction of the street was hazardous, to say the least, the gravity core had a habit of turning off at inopportune times, sending workers floating off into the dark recesses of the nebula. However, workers, as always, were replaceable in the eyes of the company and the project went on without much delay. The plan was unorthodox, a space station in the shape of a ring wasn’t exactly practical architecture. But Claudio Extemorst was nothing if not unorthodox, and he had the funds to back his eccentric desires. The design was based on a picture he had seen as a child called The Wedding of the Valtori, a giant painting that hung above the fireplace of his father’s 2nd study room. It depicted two celestial creatures hovering in space, goliaths that shamed the stars themselves. One outstretched a hand delicately while the other, with solemnity, presented a ring that floated idly above their skin. The day that he became rich it was decided that this art was fit to reflect reality and he drew up the plans himself. The day the Ring was finished, Claudio made sure he was the first to step foot on his completed masterpiece. Those who were there reported the first words he said after he took in the sight. With watering eyes and a deep breath, the man simply said, “Damn, this place is a dump!”
Immediately afterwards the entire station was abandoned, left to rust alone like an old family car. It was forgotten about, only a blimp on a deep radar scanner. It wasn’t until rough times hit the Extemorst corporation that someone thought to think of the potential lucrative options of having an open bit of real estate in space. Of course, established corporations and businesses weren’t going to bother going to the deep dark pits of the void to set up shop, that would be like putting a lemonade stand in the middle of Antarctica. So, the particular cliental shifted from respectable to scoundrel.
Business started well, with the promise of privacy and the assurance that the Galactic Patrol would turn a blind eye, all sorts began to construct businesses on the Ring. Bounty Hunters, illegal traders, drug runners, and you name it all started off with a bang- quite literally. With such anarchy running amok, it was difficult to control, certain factions had already started to try and overthrow their competitors and if you didn’t like the price of something nothing was stopping you from just blasting the seller and running. So, in order to keep the peace, and to make sure that their 7% percent cut of all sales would remain unimpeded, some things would need to change.
Rules were established, originally there were ten, but it quickly got narrowed down to three after several riots. But like with all rules, people didn’t listen and continued their acts of violence and piracy. It was clear that something was needed to enforce these rules, something strong, powerful, and virtually indestructible- something like Mr. Ham.
Timothy was certainly feeling the strong part as Mr. Ham held him by the shoulder and forced him down the street. The grip on his shoulder felt like a clamp that was getting tighter and tighter, he worried that a bone might eventually give way and pop out under the pressure. “Uh, sir, I don’t want to be a bother!” He spoke, his legs barely able to keep up the pace. “But could you please be a bit gentler, your hands are very strong!”
Mr. Ham gave him no heed, as he tended to do to everyone who dared to try and strike up a conversation with him. His grip remained firm on the boy as he led him down the dark street. Timothy managed to observe that there happened to be more people idly standing about in front of buildings and skulking in dark corners, the lottery announcement certainly brought in a crowd. He noticed it then, above him he could see the stars again as well as the swirls of color inside the nebula. The cavalcade of ships had already left, with no prize to claim there was no pointing in hanging around it would seem.
“May I ask where you’re taking me?” Timothy inquired, as nicely as he could given the circumstances.
Mr. Ham only grunted in reply.
The boy wouldn’t have to wait long to find out however as the giant man tugged him over to a small hut. There was an iron door that Mr. Ham quickly knocked open as if it were made of straw, leading his prisoner in after him. Timothy looked around, realizing pretty quickly that he was in some sort of prison. There were two cells on either side of the tiny room and in the middle sat a large desk as if to guard them. The cells didn’t seem to have bars or doors at first glance, but on the second they certainly did with a nearly invisible force field flickering in the dim light.
Timothy quickly found himself being tossed into one of these cells, a bright flash of blue energy erupting behind him to indicate that the high-tech door was locked. Mr. Ham silently moved over to his desk, taking a seat that still somehow seemed too small for him. In his new room, the boy dusted himself off awkwardly. “Oh, this place is nice.” He said, not sure if he was lying or not. “Are there any chairs in here?”
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Mr. Ham shook his head, not as a reply but more as a reaction to the stupid question. Of course, there weren’t any chairs, why would prisoners need chairs?
Seeing that the seating arrangement wasn’t going to be fixed any time soon, Timothy sat down on the floor. There wasn’t much to look at in his cell, no windows, no pictures, and no other cellmates to strike up a conversation with. It all seemed strangely familiar. “This reminds me of home.” He said before remembering to correct himself. “Oh, I mean my old home, that is. I think I may have got kicked out. My attic was rather like this, all dark and sort of dirty, but at least there’s space!”
Mr. Ham did not reply, he was beginning to regret his decision not to blow the boy away when he had the chance.
“Though I must say, I do miss my crack in the ceiling! It was the best part of my old room, except when it was raining or snowing… or any other type of weather besides cool, really. You should consider putting a window in here! I think that would liven things up a bit.” Timothy stood up and made his way other to a wall, placing a finger in a spot near the center. “Right here! I think that would be perfect.”
The pig man knew that where the boy had gestured led right into the adjacent building but didn’t say anything, instead he reached deep within his desk and pulled out a large book. Timothy took an interest but held his tongue, not wanting to pry. Mr. Ham began flipping through the pages, scanning each up and down quickly before moving on to the next. It was a bounty log, with the pictures of wanted criminals scrolled across the paper like a portfolio. Some of the people on the page looked vile like they would bite your head off if you looked at them wrong. Others looked surprisingly pleasant but still looked like they would devour your face due to the unorthodox positions of their jaws and the sheer abundance of teeth.
“Are you looking for me?” Timothy asked, catching on. “Oh, I’m afraid you won’t find me in there, I’m sort of a nobody.”
Mr. Ham didn’t listen, instead, he elected to flip through the whole book before closing it. Slowly he stuffed the portfolio back into the desk, shutting the drawer with a click. He eyed his prisoner up and down; he’d seen a lot of scrapers try to play nice and friendly with him but for some reason, he doubted that this one was an act. “From?” He spoke, his voice was as low and powerful as ever.
Timothy was happy to not be talking to himself anymore. “From? Like where am I from? I’m from Earth!”
The pig man cocked his head to the side.
“Oh, have you never heard of it before? Well, I suppose that makes sense, I’ve never heard of this place before I got here!”
Mr. Ham shook his head, this time it was a reply. He knew of Earth from vague stories of obscure planets, it was in a deep pocket of the universe that was barely visited. It would take at least seven ships worth of fuel to get there and another seven to get back- but what was the point? From the looks of things, the planet was a dead zone devoid of anything of use. “I know Earth.” He grunted. “Primitive, no space travel.”
“Well, actually, I think we have learned how to go to space,” Timothy recalled one of his few useful school lessons. “But definitely not as far as you guys, that’s for sure!”
“How?” The guard asked.
“I’m not sure, I think it has something to do with rockets and also something about ‘strong arms?’”
It was rather hard for Mr. Ham to roll his eyes, given his biology, but he managed it. “How are you here?”
“Oh! That’s a long story, but I suppose I have time! It all started when I touched this weird floaty triangle thing and then got zapped into a thing called the Lavender, but it was all okay because I got to meet my new best friends and then I threw up and passed out due to my brain injury and when I woke up there was a voice inside my head and then Alex suggested that I go try out the cool seat that they had found and when I did the whole ship turned on and sent us flying through the ocean, oh we were in the bottom of the ocean, by the way, I forgot to mention that, so then we crashed landed on this place where they though Sophia was a god and…”
Mr. Ham quickly raised his hand; he regretted even asking. “Enough.”
Timothy shut his mouth; he was doing it again wasn’t he? The boy waited for the conversation to continue, but when it didn’t, he decided it was up to him then. “You don’t think I killed that man, do you?” He asked sitting back down, the sight of himself standing over the body of Corpus with a gun in his hand flashed through his mind. “I would never…” The hulking man groaned and stood out of his chair, from his position on the ground he seemed somehow ever more massive to Timothy. “Wait, where are you going?”
“Out.” His guard put promptly before doing just that. Despite being one of the toughest, most resilient men in the galaxy, Mr. Ham seemed to be vulnerable to small talk.
Alone with his thoughts, Timothy sat idly on the floor twiddling his thumbs, this place truly did remind him of his old home. He had read in books that when people are reminded of home, they usually smile or think of the good times that they spent here. The boy tried to do that, but he was finding it hard to conjure a smile or even a good memory. But he was resolved, he thought of the stars outside the crack in his ceiling and forced a smile onto his lips, if he couldn’t have the real emotions, he at least could pretend to have them- that’s what he had always done after all.
There was silence for a long time, Timothy wondered if this is what meditating was like. But from the back of his mind, somewhere tucked deep inside a corner of his consciousness, he heard a voice.
ZzzTimothyzzZ
The boy gasped, “hello?”