PB - #32 Song of the Rings_The Future That Never Was — The Rings Will Rise Again!

Song of the Rings

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“It’s Pierre,” Tatyana clarified once Miles and Kat were back to the house. “His blood pressure drastically dropped. We—”

Kat didn’t wait for the explanation to be finished and went underground, straight to her brother’s room.

On the way, Uncle Tom burst in from the reactor chamber. “Miss Ballou … if there’s anything we can do…”

He had no more reaction than a sad, polite smile.

Miles followed the bio-engineer the best he could; her being more used to the lesser gravity of the small moon than he was. When he finally reached the medical module down the ranch, he came upon Fate trying to pull Kat away from her brother’s bedside. Her embrace caused Kat’s arm to turn purplish.

“Let go of me!” she cried, struggling. “Pierre! Non… non! Non!”

Annoyed, the surgeon finally let go, leaving their host to rush to the lifeless body partially covered in loosening bandages.

“What—happened?” Miles asked. He gagged midway. The strong smell of iodine reminded him of the aftermath of his accident a few years ago.

Fate ran her hand over her face, leaving a trail of blood on her temple. “What had to happen, Miles. Medicine is a science, not backward magic. Saving your friend would have taken a miracle!”

“Shit…” Miles shifted his gaze to Kat, kneeling with her head resting on her brother’s arm. He heaved, turning his back: “Thank you, Fate. Thank you for giving him his chance.”

“Trust me. Even with all the top-of-the art equipment aboard the Techno-ship, the odds were…”

“I know…” He started walking away from his friend. “I was just thinking…” he said under the hatch’s halo of light. “After all that effort… all that huffing and puffing. I was expecting a different outcome.”

“Since when does life seem to be fair?” Fate grunted.

“Couldn’t it be just once?”

Fate followed him out, and both landed in the kitchen after passing the other rooms. There, they found Tatyana and the three robots. All appeared to be worried, sitting around the table, hands joined like praying. Fate’s ensuing explanation was brief, and Uncle Tom and his wife returned to their apartments, leaving the humans in their grief.

“What’s this?” Tatyana asked after a few minutes of unbearable silence.

Miles had instinctively moved to the gurgling wall refrigerator. “Root beer,” he replied, weighing the glass bottle in his hand. Around the red label, bubbles bobbed, obeying a strange ballet—a battle between the pressurized beverage and lesser gravity. “Pierre used to drink that all the time. You want one? It’s like cola.”

“I know what root beer is, buddy. It’s full of Safrole.”

“Safrole?”

“Sh’yeah! They employ that same compound in insecticides. Way too chemical.”

“Since when do you care? You’re eating protein bars made of mutant cockroaches’ worms!”

“Not anymore,” the teenager huffed. “Thanks to Beau and Kat, I’m into a fancy organic diet now. For my summer body. It’s important according to Vogue.”

Miles held a laugh. “How about you, Fate?”

She didn’t answer, angrily cleaning her fingers and wrists under the scalding water of the faucet. Apart from the blood, it seems so she was also trying to scrap the growing chrome spots from her forearms.

“Going back. Need to say goodbye,” Miles gulped. “Properly.”

“No goodbyes. Just good memories. Be brave, buddy.”

Miles went silently back downstairs. Leaning against the door frame, he prepared to say farewell as he uncorked the brick. In the darkness, he could only hear Kat sobbing. “This one’s for you, you crazy Cajun fuck…” he declared before taking a sip of the disgusting beverage.

Main ending

Having worked endlessly for days and nights, Fate rested aboard the life-saving ambulance they escaped with, citing a need to be alone. She had promised to Miles not to run away.

The stress of their last adventures had transformed Fate, psychologically but especially physically. Miles had noticed the chrome marks on her forearms and neck have grown slightly since they met on Enceladus. Whatever the young woman was suffering from, her illness was worsening, driving her on the edge even more.

Meanwhile, Tatyana and Beau had embarked on a curious personal project, trafficking in scrap and other out-of-use equipment from the farm or the thermonuclear reactor. The girl had called it their “megaproject-of-death-but-in-fact-quite-the-opposite”. Her new dangerous prank had won the approval of their host, Kat, seeing her as a way to thank her for all the help the strange teenager had given her brother.

Uncle Tom and Eliza had offered to maintain the aeroponic farm while Kat mourned her sibling they buried deep in the bluish plain. The former chrome miner and Kuiper room robot were doing great, after Beau taught them the ropes of the moon-ranch.

As for Miles, a poor gardener, a mediocre engineer and an incompetent nurse, he only enjoyed being outside, contemplating the stars beyond the polymer hull. An occasional furtive glance towards the ship’s hangar betrayed his aspiration to fly again, a desire that wasn’t as strong as it once was during his days in the rebel fleet or even on Canyon Creek. And Miles grew desperate to know why.

“Miles?”

A wicker basket in her hand, Kat had appeared at the bottom of the hill he had taken refuge, as he did almost every evening. She climbed, opening her basket to grab a TT. “Sweet potato pie?” She turned on the thermocouple, and threw him a fork. “I also brought your share of tomates too.”

Miles smiled. “Thanks, but I’ve had my fill. More than my fill, even. But I can’t say no to that oh-so-famous pie I haven’t tried yet. Best in the Rings, I heard a Cajun man uttered while we were flying over Methone.”

“Handmade. And nuclear-baked of the day.”

The fuming TT emitted a beep, and Miles cautiously opened it. The perfectly cooked slice gave off a savory smell of anise but also a more acidic touch. Curious, Miles took a bite. It appeared to be the best sweet potato pie he had ever eaten.

“This is the best sweet potato pie I have ever eaten,” he mumbled before swallowing another piece twice as large. “What’s the trick?” Immediately, a third piece was gone.

Kat sat beside him, cleaning a plump tomato against her sleeve. “No sound-minded soul would divulge its ancestral secret so easily.”

“Understandable,” Miles acknowledged, his teeth glistening with sugar.

Kate bit into her tomato. “Anis. Lemon and lime zest. With a touch of amber maple syrup from Boréale.”

Miles raised an eyebrow while chasing the last crumbs. “Interesting. You should know, however, that I’ll take your secret into my—” He stopped.

Kat took a deep breath. “This is Pierre’s gift—for bringing him back. Our mother’s recipes. And indeed, the best in the Rings.”

“Amen to that.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“We chatted with Fate,” she said, swallowing what was left of her food. “We talked about you. The way you boldly fly like there was no tomorrow.” She paused. “She warned me of your… temperament.”

Miles laid down in the bluegrass. “My temperament?”

“The kinda suicidal aspect of your life.”

The pilot crossed his arms, and shrugged: “Did she tell you I was a little whining bitch?”

“Tatyana called you that.”

A silent fell and Kat laid down next to Miles. Both stared at the stars and Saturn for a while.

“Like the two runaway robots, she wished to stay here,” Kate said after a shooting star of a Techno-satellite blinked above the gas giant.

“Really? She doesn’t want to go back with Fate?”

Kat closed up, glancing briefly at the ship bay. “That’s for the best. Don’t be mistaken. I’m grateful to Fate. Which makes me grow conflicting feelings about you bringing a Japanese gangster.”

“My once-a-yakuza-friend hasn’t had an easy life. And her future doesn’t look much better.”

“What about yours?”

“That’s a good question. I try not to think about it. And oddly enough, the best way seems to be flying.”

“So you wish to leave?”

“I owe Fate a one-way ticket to Jupiter.”

“And then what?”

Miles patted his heart, buzzing under his shirt. “Fate or Tatyana must have broached the subject.”

“No. It wouldn’t have been proper to go into too much detail behind your back. What about that? Is it an implant?”

“It’s my heart.”

“You heart?”

“Lungs, thymus—and probably my leaver too. All are dying for various and stupid reasons—mostly because I’m a walking junkyard full of metallic parts and half melted pilot implants slicing my guts and arteries from within,” Miles said as Kat came closer to look.

The woman laid her hand on the concealed device. “Dying?”

“That’s just the way it is.”

“Can’t the teenager or Fate fix it? Fix you?”

“They tried and failed,” Miles coughed. Kate withdrew her hand. “I’ll probably flatline after reaching Jupiter. Left alone and frozen in my chair, drifting—”

Kat slapped Miles. And before he could apologize, she kissed him.

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Alternate ending

“Did—did I ever tell you about Ballou, Red?”

Miles’ soda pop passed through his nostrils, painfully burning his sinuses and throat. Tears flooded his eyes.

“P—Pierre?” Kat hiccupped, lifting her head.

“Une racinette—root beer. Bring one, Kat. Dying of thirst, merde.”

Still choking on his drink, Miles couldn’t believe his ears. All of the electronic equipment monitoring his copilot’s health came back to life along with him, illuminating the room. There was quickly a pulse, then a very agitated electrocardiogram.

Kat’s following reaction enlightened Miles how the French-speaking folks excelled in cursing. “Pierre! Espèce de Cyrano à quatre pattes!” she yelled, punching him in the arm. “Tu te fous de ma gueule? Une rancinette? Bougre d’extrait de—de—de cornichon!” she burst out crying.

“Arrête d’hurler, pour l’amour de Darwin…”

After Fate entered the room with a bang, Miles sighed: “Told you that son of a bitch is truly immortal…”

Pierre had suddenly decided that the afterlife wasn’t worth the shot, and had indeed chosen to return among the living, on his beloved moon. His miraculous resurrection—which had no known equivalent other than that hippie guy in the Mormon bible or Miles on the T.M.S. Congo, wasn’t without major risks. Several gruesome relapses had occurred in the days following his comeback, although nothing root beers and Fate couldn’t manage. Still weak, Pierre could thank his saviors on his own. He wasn’t back on his feet implants yet, and still far from being independent of Tatyana’s on the job-care-machines or Kat’s nurturing hand, but his mental faculties gradually came back to their original crackle.

Having worked endlessly for days and nights, Fate finally enjoyed a well-deserved rest aboard the life-saving ambulance they escaped with, citing a need to be alone. She had promised to Miles not to run away.

Meanwhile, Tatyana had embarked on a curious personal project, trafficking in scrap and other out-of-use equipment from the farm or the thermonuclear reactor. She had called it her “megaproject-of-death-but-in-fact-quite-the-opposite”. Her new dangerous prank had won the approval of their host, Kat, seeing her as a way to thank her for all the help the strange teenager had given her brother.

Uncle Tom and Eliza had offered to maintain the aeroponic farm while Kat looked after her sibling. The former chrome miner and Kuiper room robot were doing great with Beau, who quickly taught them the ropes of the moon-ranch.

“Miles?”

“Handmade. And nuclear-baked of the day.”

“This is the best sweet potato pie I have ever eaten,” he mumbled before swallowing another piece twice as large. “What’s the trick?” Immediately, a third piece was gone.

Kat sat beside him, cleaning a plump tomato against her sleeve. “No sound-minded soul would divulge its ancestral secret so easily.”

“Understandable,” Miles acknowledged, his teeth glistening with sugar.

Kate bit into her tomato. “Lemon and lime zest. With a touch of amber maple syrup from Boréale.”

Miles raised an eyebrow while chasing the last crumbs. “Interesting. You should know, however, that I’ll take your secret into my tomb.”

Kat took a deep breath. “This is Pierre’s gift—for saving his life. Our mother’s recipes. And indeed, the best in the goddam Rings.”

“How is he today?”

“Pretty good. We chatted a lot,” she said, swallowing what was left of her food. “We talked about your missions, mostly. The way you boldly fly like there was no tomorrow.” She paused. “He warned me of your… temperament.”