7 Months Later
Salvador Vigino slid open the corrugated door to the dormitory, enraged that he had slept a full eight hours. The sound of creaking metal and drumming pipes aboard Starheart’s engineering deck rang out. It was unusual for him to awake naturally to the ambience of the ship’s depths; no, his team had sabotaged his routine early rise. After checking his private trunk was still locked, Sal exited his room, holding out an alarm buzzer with an unsoldered wire. He asked a simple question to whoever would be unlucky enough to be beyond the door.
“Who the hell let me sleep in?” His voice attempted to be serious but fell somewhat flat. He had expected a quintet of his team members, his subordinates, to face him. Instead, he was only met by a single man.
“Oh, come now brother, we all thought you needed it! And besides, even you must admit you look better without rings under your eyes.” The deep, accented voice was that of his best friend Abel. The giant of a man was laying on the tattered couch the team had squeezed into the shared room, baring a bright smile that tempered Sal’s anger in an instant. His jumpsuit unbuttoned to reveal his tiny shark tooth necklace, Abel was hardly what one could call ‘classy’ when it came to clothing.
“And besides, we still have plenty of time before assignment.” Abel showed his watch, a pale thing that contrasted against his dark complexion, to his friend, highlighting the time left. However, the reason for Sal’s tension was not the fact that he truly needed the sleep, or that his team had felt the need to sabotage his alarm to help him; it was another matter.
“No sign of Lighthouse yet, Abel?” The anger on Sal’s face had dissipated into worry, and Abel’s visage followed suit.
“Sorry man, not yet. There’s still time though.”
Sighing, Sal slipped into his black and yellow jumpsuit, the uniform of the engineers of Henry and Huell’s Seventh Expedition Fleet, before wrangling his customized heavy-duty jacket over it. Abel launched up and seized his relatively smaller colleague by the shoulders.
“Come on now, there’s a full day ahead before anything is decided, and the others are excited to see how happy you’ll be with their handiwork!” Abel’s damn smile was enough to warm up Sal’s cold heart enough to wrench a small smirk from the squad leader.
Stepping into the familiar rust-brown hallway, chemolescent lights flaring above, Abel met his step. The tight and twisted halls of Starheart would instil claustrophobia in those with less grit and experience, but Sal had more than enough of both. The duo made their way along the Goliath-class colony ship’s dank insides as Sal rubbed his beard.
Eventually, Abel’s ability to enjoy the silence had reached its limits. “So, finally decided what you are going to do after we make planetfall?”
“That’s if we make planetfall at all,” Sal grimly shook his head. “This whole journey’s been a mess.”
“Oh, come now Sal, you’ve got to have hope. And let’s make it hypothetical, say we get the best planet in the galaxy to settle; where are you going to go? Do you want to stay, or head back to Titanlock?”
Sal thought for a moment. He had considered his options and weighed them up a hundred times over since they had left the capital of the CCH. When Starheart reached HL7628, he could either stay planetside and start a new life on the colony or return home to Titanlock with money from the colony data. However, he had no time to decide as the pair had reached the assignment room at a quick pace. As soon as they stepped in, Sal was hounded.
“Ha! It actually worked! I’ve never seen Sal so refreshed,” A cackling voice came from an all too familiar woman wearing her usual sunglasses, decked out with more tattoos than skin and with her jumpsuit sleeves rolled up. Xin cackled as she puffed on her vapour cigarette as she jabbed Abel in the gut, causing him to grunt.
“Well, you got me ready for action. How the hell did you guys tamper my alarm whilst I slept?” Sal asked, a grain of irritation creeping in, as he met each of his team members eyes.
“S-sorry sir, but Abel and Xin said t-that you don’t get enough sleep, and that you…” A frail, almost whiny voice trailed off. Dusty, a boy barely capable of being called an adult, quaked before him. Sal couldn’t help but soften his glare at the sight of his wiry figure and pathetic attempt at growing a beard, and so he turned his attention to the next culprit.
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“Not that it would have done him much good. Unlike the rest of us who actually need their beauty sleep, Sal gets all the sleep he needs just from blinking. If he keeps frowning like that, he’ll never lose the wrinkles,” The slightly effeminate voice condescended to the side. Had Sal not known the older figure for some time, he would have never matched the voice up to the toned, ash-skinned marble statue of a man. Stannock was checking himself in a hand mirror as he admired his chiselled jaw-line and straight ponytail, meeting Sal’s eyes quickly before turning back to his own image.
“Sal’s just being careful. He’s always looking out for us about these sorts of things. Ain’t that right, boss?” The last voice of the group was quiet and soft but with a directness that Sal couldn’t help but like. Marcus, slightly younger than Sal, though still making Dusty look like a newborn, met his eyes. He returned a hollow stare from beneath the low hanging bangs of his fringe. Beyond a subtle smile, the poor-postured man’s gaze was intense, scanning the room around him unblinking. With a nod, Sal acknowledged him before sighing deeply. Glancing at his watch, he saw they were a few minutes out from needing to be at their assignment meeting.
“Well, if everyone is done judging my sleep schedule, its best we get a move on. Starheart won’t wait for us.” Without pausing for confirmation, he turned on his heel and moved towards the centre of the room for seating. They kept a slow but steady pace, with Xin limping alongside her colleagues.
Weaving between the seats, Abel quietly spoke to Xin, “So, you think they’re gonna meet up with us, or what?” Abel enquired; his voice was hushed against the sounds of humming pipes above.
“Eh, I don’t know. I hope so. There’s a chick on there who sold me a tonne of cheap energy drinks last time we linked up, and I’m running low. Oh, and so the mission doesn’t risk being killed off too,” Xin said, shrugging. Today was the last day that the Seventh Exploration Fleet’s third vessel, Lighthouse, was meant to rendezvous with Starheart and Ruby Eye. Considering the troubles of the journey so far, the loss of an entire colony ship would be near fatal for the mission’s success.
Drawing a few eyes, the group made their way to sit in a row of folding metal chairs alongside the other engineers and maintenance workers. Awaiting their deck leader to arrive, the team bantered. Stannock, sitting on one side of Sal made the first move. Still looking at his own reflection, he spoke behind Sal’s shoulder towards the youngest of the bunch.
“So, Puppy, did you try that shaving technique I told you about? You may be young, but you need to start your routine early if you want good facial hair.”
“H-hey, don’t call me that! I’m not so young that I don’t know how to style my beard. B-besides, it looks great. I think.” Dusty’s weak protests were drowned out by the ambient roar of the other conversations echoing around the place. Even so, Sal heard it plain as day.
Turning over to face the young man, Sal advised, “Don’t pay attention to that narcissist. He’s just winding you up. Besides, if you’re worried about the beard,” Sal gestured to the small strip of fuzz going from lip to chin. “Don’t be. It might just take some time. Sometimes, you have to risk a bit of effort. Otherwise, you’ll never know how good it feels when it goes right.”
Sal gave a light grin as he rubbed his own goatee. His first attempts at growing it were not pleasant memories. As much as he wanted to support Dusty, he would never show him the embarrassing photos from that time. Seconds later, Engineer Deck Manager Elijah Meyer entered the room. Instantly, conversations died in the engineers’ throats as he made his way to the podium before them.
The wizened mantled figure stood before them, cybernetic arm resting on the metal stand. Positioned like a statuesque beast of myth over the crowd, he looked through the rows of workers before him. Hung on his belt was a shock baton, capable of delivering current between a quick zap to a horrendous burn and giving a strong incentive to complete his orders successfully. There was little reason for a mutiny, regardless of how bad the mission might be going without Lighthouse, but Elijah’s presence stomped any rebellious thoughts dead.
With a voice like rust on barbed wire, it echoed through the now silent hall, “Alright team. I know we’re all a bit on edge. However, we’ve still got until tonight before Lighthouse is beyond our latest schedule, so for now it will be business as usual. Main orders will be given out now but be careful – for those of you in the cargo bay, the Keepers are doing some inspections of the gear down there, so stay out of their way.”
Following the standard rundown of ship news, the squad leaders, including Sal, stood and made their way to the stage. When Sal made his way up, he and the manager shared a nod. Accepting a data transfer, he received his list of work orders for the day. Before he could escape his boss’ grasp the grey-haired manager addressed him.
“Sal.”
Shit, when Elijah took that tone, he knew it was trouble. Turning with as neutral an expression he could hold, he faced his boss. “You need to get your checkup today. I know you’ve put it off, but with a potential S-Warp tonight, I don’t want any chances. Get it done.” Each word was said with the force of a hammer. Damn it.
Sighing heavily, he gave as strong an acknowledgment he could stomach. “Yes sir, I’ll get it done.”
Returning to the chairs, he distributed the data to the other members. As they stood to leave, Sal desperately hoped that Xin had forgotten her usual routine for the morning but was proven painfully wrong.
Clearing her throat, she shouted enthusiastically as they turned to the hollow and dark corridors of Starheart, “Torchers, move out!”
The rest of the team physically cringed at the stupid nickname she had forced on everyone. Groaning with anguish, Sal hung his head. Another day in the Collective Corporations of Humanity. Another day in hell.