The comb-over failed to cover bare scalp and appeared more like a comb itself. The thinning hair wisped with an inky black shimmer. He scooped a dollop of black engine grease onto his finger, then rubbed the remainder over graying beard. There was not a gray hair on his head, yet his full beard remained speckled with them. An arm flex in front of the mirror revealed pectorals firm and defined, the chest and abs also perked.
Yet his face, so damn old. There was too much scalp and not enough inky black. Had someone drawn upon his balding head with an ink pen? Tray eyed the grease. The tub solid in his hand, the plastic smooth on his fingers. A finger raised to his head, then was withdrawn. The leftover grease smeared back into the container and the cap closed.
Tray emerged from the washroom in blue overalls and a dark green shirt. Goggles with faded rims pressed his forehead. The clang of a hammer against steel sounded through the hanger. The hiss of a blow torch mixed in. With a glance from side to side, Tray looked about to see if anyone nearby was awake.
The motionless body of Larox sprawled across the floor next to the aft side tool box; only the back of his head on his pillow. His left cheek pressed against the floor. Loud snoring slightly muffled by cement created a sound similar to a braying mule.
Tray shook his head, then grunted for such a long moment that it became a low murmur. An empty water bottle rolled off the table as Tray put his hand down. It hit the floor with a hollow plastic bounce. The schedule board listed a piloting and recovery simulation today, but Tray didn't see Horst anywhere. A hiss of air escaped the empty plastic bottle crushed under Tray's boot.
A green screen encased in a wall located between the dining and break area displayed communications from command in addition to input from the captain. Everything on it was the same; the same, same, same, same, boring, Tray thought.
More repairs, more diagnostic runs, more work for Horst and Lauren and more cleaning duties for Larox. Tray shook his head while peeling the crushed bottle off the bottom of his boot to toss it in a recycling bin. Lavinia had been scheduled for her aptitude tests. It seemed fast; she had only been around since yesterday.
Knowing that Lavinia was in Larox's room, Tray settled for a light tap on the wall. The door opened quickly. She stared upwards at Tray, who was quite tall, a big man. Lauren's maintenance uniform covered her a bit loosely; it hung on her. Slip-on socks with traction pads graced her feet, but were usually swamped by the overall's legs. Lavinia managed to walk without tripping over herself.
"You ready?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out a stainless-steel flask and took a big sip of Kentucky Bourbon. Lavinia quietly nodded; then watched him return the flask to a pocket inside his denim overalls.
"May I have a some?"
Tray turned a bit red, he suspected Larox was fixated on this new girl, so he felt kind of guilty about letting those soft pink lips touch the neck of his flask. If he let her drink from it and Larox found out, the guy would be pissed.
Nor was Tray a man to share his flask with anyone, but her innocently eager look melted him. Larox slept, Lauren worked, and Horst was away; no one had to know. And then again, who was Larox anyway, he thought, certainly no pillar of virtue.
"Eh, sure, why not..." Tray said, trying to act casual as he unscrewed the cap and pushed the flask at her.
Those soft pink lips grazed the edge. With a tilt of her head, she poured the liquor into her mouth. Two short gulps like a burst of water through a drain pipe, and it was all gone, down her gullet. The contents of the whole flask, a week's pay worth of Kentucky Bourbon, liquor that men had probably died to unearth, gone. He never said she could drink the whole thing!
A soft little burp escaped her tiny mouth. The empty container was handed back politely. Tray put his lips to it and angled for the last drop. A blush grew across his checks.
"Thank you."
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"You can put it down, but are you sure you can hold it, I haven't even seen you eat nothing this morning. You sure you want to drink like that on an empty stomach?"
Lavinia looked towards her feet again, "I'll be fine, I ate in the kitchen and I can hold it well."
"Well, well, a woman after my heart! Let's get out of here, you got an examination in fifteen minutes."
-----
That empty flask weighed heavily on Tray's mind; he wished he had some Bourbon left as they reached the testing center. A tired looking man in a white lab coat approached. An odor of cheap instant coffee filled the nostrils, a generic brand that had gone stale long ago. The man wore glasses with a missing lens on the left side. He pushed them up with his index finger. Underneath the empty side of the glasses was an empty socket covered with pale flesh, a face pocket, a smooth crater. There was no evidence of a scar easily seen. His mouth fell open for a second when he saw Lavinia, his remaining eye glimmering as he resisted a smile.
"So this is Lavinia, I take it," he said with a sniff that sounded like the start of a sinus infection, "No last name given?"
Lavinia shook her head, "I... don't remember."
Tray spoke up to complain, "She was out in the-"
"Captain Zweig, thank you for escorting the subject to the examination area, but you're not necessary here."
Lavinia stomped her foot, "No, I want him here. He was one of the people who rescued me. I don't know you and I want Larox's friend to be present."
Ouch, Tray winced at being called Larox's friend. He tapped the brim of his goggles as his eyes strayed to a corner of the room.
"It's okay Lavinia. He's not going to hurt you or anything, whatshisname here is just going to test your abilities so that our leaders can assign you a place and job. You see, everyone here has a job, and they have to take a few tests to find out what that job is. Simple. You'll be fine."
The one-eyed man squinted, his eyelids twitching. Tray began walking out only to have Lavinia follow him. Tray grabbed Lavinia by the arm before the other man could. She shrunk back a bit when confronted by a fierce scowl.
"Listen here!" Tray said loudly, vein bulging at the right side of his head "You're going to do as this man says and take the test or you will be thrown in a prison with no food or water. Do I make myself clear!? I'm responsible for you, and you aren't going to act like a brat an' make me look bad in front of my superiors!"
Lavinia pulled herself away, slapped his arm, and then wiped some of the spittle off her face. Unable to look at the Captain, she aimed her scowl at the far wall. Tray left with a heavier footstep than usual. The one-eyed man smiled, revealing a missing left front tooth.
"Alright, let's get started with the medical portion of the test."
-----
A crisp unstained white collar graced the neck of Mr. Delant. He stared through the one-way window. The subject was being put through the paces, full medical testing had been inflicted, and now she was running a treadmill with electrodes attached to her body. A hatch separated; the one-eyed man came through and bit down on his lower lip.
"The aptitude testing is completed sir," he said, exhaustion and disgust in his voice, "She can stop running whenever you're ready."
"And the results?"
"A perfectly normal human according to all scans, though her health picture is flawless, with one exception; it makes me wonder if something is out of place. Her aptitude testing shows incredibly high intelligence, mechanical ability, speech comprehension, problem solving skills, etc. I'd dare say we have genius on our hands here. I'd recommend a high-level assignment."
A gaurd adjusted the old man's oxygen mask gently. He took a deep breath and continued watching her.
"You know her Gregoire, don't lie to me. What is she?"
"I've never seen her before sir..."
"You don't find it ridiculous that she could survive the plains long enough to-?" Edward coughed.
"Sometimes the strings of fate are simply on a survivor's side."
Edward's color slowly left his face, and his expression formed into a deep frown. After pushing himself away from view he began to dust off his arms. A young woman with brown hair and eyes entered. She wore a plain tan dress with matching boots. One of Edward's primary caretakes, she approached the old man and put a hand to his cheek.
"Ah Helen," Gregoire said, "Alway good to see you."
She said nothing, but glanced up towards the one-eyed man with a false smile.
"Assign her to scrubbing," Helen said.
The scientist rubbed the cusp of skin around the empty socket, a gaping hole which never closed, yet the desire to squint was so strong that the crater twitched. He overlooked Helen and appealed directly to the old man.
"Scrubbing! Sir, if I may be so bold, her skills are far too valuable, and such a dangerous assignment is reserved for law breakers. Please reconsider. We desperately need meh-"
"Mr. Grégoire, she is to be assigned at my discretion," Edward coughed violently and caught his breath, wheezing, "You reported that she is willful. Once she has a bit of that pride drained, I'll consider her reassignment to a recovery team. Now see to her off to scrubbing detail."
"I'll have her transfered immediately."
The one-eyed scientist nodded as Helen followed the mobile wheel chair out along with the two gaurds.
Mister Gregoire turned red-faced, balled his fist so tightly his arm was shaking as he took a pen and stabbed it into a pile of reports. A broad ink stroke formed under the puncture.