Pull Your Weight

Tubai sighed as the houselights went up. Yellow smoke collected above the bar and reminded him of the trenches on Mars. So did the eerie silence after the house music went down. The war veteran was tall and bald with bags under his eyes. His young partner had a ponytail and a week’s growth on his face. Kremp hadn’t been off the Waste Station since he was twelve years old. The two slingers counted credits they earned during a long night on their feet. 

“Tipping out ten percent of crap is blitzing our plan to get off this lifeless station.” Kremp scratched his beard and turned to his partner. “Can we keep Gonzo’s credits for the week?” 

Slinging drinks with the same person every night kept Tubai’s brain in a state of inertia. Kremp told Tubai about the crew’s latest lust triangle while he cleaned. Tubai kept it to himself but he preferred being shot to hearing trite stories about trivial lives satisfied with a monotonous existence. At the same time, he was distracted by stains on the carpet that disappeared and reappeared under the cheap flickering lights. Each one triggered a different memory of cleaning up drinks that didn’t stay in a customer’s belly or were spilled in a drunken stupor. 

“How many Dipnide tattoos have you gotten this year?” Tubai interrupted the soap opera.  

“Not as many as a Pukatte,” Kremp rubbed his arms covered in ancient clock faces. “At least I’m not gambling anymore.” 

“I’ve been saving.” Sweat rolled down Tubai's head and soaked his shirt. He imagined jabbing Kremp with his resin pen, but the picture Tubai saved of the real estate ad he passed every day on his way to work, reminded the war vet of his goal, the cabin suite of a city high rise. Tubai planned on calling the travel service as soon as his account hit a million credits.  

An alert flashed across their devices, and Tubai thought Kremp’s eyes might fall out. 

ScrapSavers are temporarily offline due to a shortage of organic recyclables. 

“Last time, the supplementary shipment took months,” Kremp held up a bottle. “Out of Kialan spirits. Captain Foyle will climb the walls.” 

Tubai’s worldly antenna picked up a signal from the universe and while his unambitious partner complained, Tubai came up with a plan.  

“Do you think Foyle would let us borrow The Bucket?” 

“Depends on where we’re going,” Kremp tried to think. Maybe he had five hundred credits saved but Tubai hadn’t asked.  

“Do you agree that Captain Vee would rather buy from the source, than charter a shipment of random organics from a neighbor?” Tubai’s question was answered with a nod. “And what does that mean for us, partner?” 

“Flavors from around the galaxy,” Kremp daydreamed. 

“And a hefty payday,” Tubai raised his eyebrows.  

Kremp nodded until his eyes looked behind Tubai. Then he groaned. “I’m a jinx.” 

Tubai turned to see the infamous Captain Foyle stroll in. The veteran slinger stood to attention and smiled. 

“The doors aren’t locked yet. Busy night?”  

Kremp wiggled his toes in his damp shoes and said that he would meet Tubai at Captain Vee’s office tomorrow morning and walked out. Foyle rested his long arms on the bar as Tubai gathered his belongings.  

“We’re out of Kialan, Cap.” 

“I bet you have a bottle in your quarters.” 

“For special occasions.” 

“You and I have something to celebrate.” Foyle had to duck under the door frame to exit the bar.  

The next day, Tubai and Kremp smiled as Captain Vee approved the two-day mission for organics. Tubai shook hands with Foyle who accepted ten thousand credits for renting the Bucket. Kremp peeked at Tubai’s device during their meeting. His credit balance was fifty thousand after paying the ten. The young slinger’s body felt heavy. When Kremp waved his hand at the security pad to open the Bucket’s hatch, he couldn’t avoid the sight of his tattooed skin. A wave of nausea tortured Kremp, and his inner monologue took over. You don’t deserve this chance, so be grateful.  

“Thanks for taking me along, Tubai.” 

“You can pay me back after Captain Vee sends the credits.” 

The Farming Station was a two-day journey at magna speed. Kremp was in awe, having never seen food in its natural state. Hydroponic bays grew one of every grain, vegetable, and fruit from different sectors of The Alliance. Meat from hundreds of species were boxed on pallets. The boys scanned barrels of organic waste stacked four levels high all coded for ScrapSaver upcycling. After Captain Vee’s order was loaded on Foyle’s ship, Tubai wanted to be alone. 

“Let’s get a hot meal partner,” Kremp never argued when nature called. Secretly, he also planned on visiting the Lonely-Hearts Club and hoped his introverted comrade wouldn’t follow. 

“I need a shower, kid. Bring back some food, would you?” Tubai found his resin pen and chewed on the mouthpiece. 

Two hours later, Kremp returned with a bag of food and a flushed face. Tubai shoved the pighen legs in his mouth, two at a time. 

“I haven’t seen you eat like this since your first night at the bar,” Kremp reminisced. 

Day one after the Hundred Lightyear War, Tubai’s squadron was discharged and dropped off at the Waste Station. While Tubai enjoyed his first hot meal in months, a thug at Kremp’s bar shouted that Kremp owed a gambling debt. Kremp ducked behind the bar to avoid the monster’s swing. A stoic Tubai threw the meathead over his shoulder. Kremp ran to the office to watch the security monitor. Tubai took the bookie behind a trash container in the dump tube, but only Tubai came back into view. Kremp remembered that the war vet waved at the camera. The bookie never returned to Kremp’s bar.  

The next day, Captain Vee offered Tubai the job of Waste Bar bouncer. Rumors spread of the bookie’s beating and after three weeks without a fight, Kremp trained his new partner to mix drinks. Tubai hadn’t planned on slinging booze for five years, but it was easy money. The set schedule made his transition to civilian life easier. Tubai preferred the predictable days to the threat of death on Mars, but after a few years of monotony, Tubai felt the pull of the unknown, and of being unknown. 

“We should live at the Farming station. It has the best food, the best air, the best artificial sunlight, and the prettiest tanned females.” Kremp fantasized. 

“Stay focused on the real dream,” Tubai chewed on his resin pen and smirked. 

“Real dream?” 

“Can you afford to live here?” Tubai opened his arms like he presented a treasure. Trees lined each promenade and water traveled through the walls to empty from the roof, making a waterfall in the center of the dome. The station was capped with bioluminescent glass created from local water sources. The temperature was a comfortable seventy degrees at all times.  

“Well,” Kremp pointed his bushy beard in the air. “I saw a few cocktail joints in the last hour. One of them will eventually need a bartender.” 

“Aren’t you broke?” Tubai was confused. 

“I have enough to start,” Kremp was unusually confident as he packed his bag. “You don’t need me.” 

Tubai wondered how Kremp was prepared to stay at the Farming Station after years of irresponsible spending. The old soldier asked Kremp to stay for a cup of tea. Tubai ordered dried passion and chamomile flowers from the Bucket’s ScrapSaver. He steeped them in boiling water before serving the floral bitter tea with valerian honey. The elixir relaxed Kremp and he admitted to having saved several hundred credits.  

“I found someone who needs a roommate,” Kremp added to his confession. 

“Who? When? This wasn’t the plan.” 

“Captain Vee prefers you to me and in fact,” Kremp’s sentences were slurred. “Everyone that comes to the Waste Bar likes you more, especially Foyle. You’ll have a million credits in record time.” 

Those were Kremp’s last words. Tubai reclined the kid’s chair and strapped him in for safe sleeping. Next, Tubai found Kremp’s device and searched for his transaction history. Even without Captain Vee’s payment, Kremp had about five hundred credits. Enough to rent a room for a month. Finally, the war vet reviewed the kid’s conversation history.  

“I knew it!” Tubai realized his words hung in the air and watched Kremp jostle, but the kid settled down and kept his eyes closed.  

Before long, Tubai found himself nosing through Kremp’s payment history. Tattoos filled his transaction list, but in the last hour, instead of more ink, Kremp paid the Lonely-Hearts Club for services rendered, with a tip of fifty credits to a girl called Lana. Tubai kept an eye on his sleeping partner. After thirty minutes, Tubai woke Kremp.  

“You aren’t going back to the Waste Station?” Kremp saw the Bucket’s objective on the chart display. 

“I am, but I need to borrow your rogue mind.” 

“I don’t gamble anymore, remember?” 

“This is a sure thing, a real thing.” 

Tubai pointed to the observation window. He wondered if the kid was paying attention. Kremp stared at the glittering void and rubbed his tattooed arms. He felt lighter after promising himself he would be more disciplined with his money. Kremp sighed. 

“Sector Ninety-Nine mines kinetic plasma.” Tubai learned to work with what the universe gave him. “In our sector, a single pallet is worth about two million credits.” 

“Th... that sector is on the edge of the galaxy.” Kremp sat down. His seat cushion deflated with a gush of air. 

“We can afford plasma fresh from the mine, no middleman. We’ll make a serious profit.” 

“I get it, WE are the middlemen.” 

“Adventure is freedom,” Tubai quoted Captain Foyle’s toast and Kremp forced a smile. 

“Foyle only rests for seven days. What if we don’t make it back in time?” Kremp imagined waking up to Lana under artificial sunlight.  

“Foyle agreed to accept five percent of our plasma as Bucket rent. We’ll sell the rest to the highest bidders. I bet we have millions of credits within a few days.” 

“I don’t need millions of credits. I need air, sun, and good food.” 

“More like good sex.” Tubai admitted on behalf of his lonely partner. 

Kremp stood up and started to walk off the ship when Tubai continued, “You don’t have the credits to stay.” 

Kremp found his device, tapped his fingers on its surface, and Tubai watched as his young partner’s complexion turned green. Instead of a fifty-credit tip, his account listed five hundred. Kremp had nineteen credits left to his name but would never admit it. Tubai sucked resin from his pen and waited. 

Kremp looked at Tubai, and felt thankful for his partner. The kid decided the Farming Station was a mistake. “Maybe Station Ninety-Nine has sunlight too.” 

A few hours later, the Bucket’s screen shield displayed a cylindrical mass of swirling and sparkling gases. 

“Computer, where are we?” Tubai hadn’t ever heard of the phenomenon. 

“The Artery. A single strand of the mega cosmic flex filament that enables faster than magna drive travel via the force of gravity.” 

The computer explained that to get back to the Waste Station, and Foyle, by the seventh day, the slingers had to ride the Artery. Tubai’s ears buzzed when the computer said it was the heartbeat of trade for Sector Ninety-Nine and protected as such. The war vet and his naive sidekick listened as the computer reviewed how they would pay for passage. Ships were charged based on the number of light years traversed from the first tollgate to an exit tollgate. 

“If a toll is missed, travelers are fined double at the exit.” 

The computer cautiously maneuvered the ship into the gaseous thread. The Bucket was pulled in like a grain of sand to an ocean wave.  

“I’ve never seen so many starships in one place!” Kremp’s head swiveled left, right, left, and right. His anxiety must have rubbed off because Tubai hit the thruster which deactivated the autopilot and they hit a patch of slow gas. The Bucket pitched. Kremp rolled across the floor, and Tubai tumbled off the captain's chair. A sound Tubai always found excruciating, metal on metal, reverberated through the Bucket. Anger, because he wasn’t warned about the filament, grew in the soldier’s gut. 

“There is surface damage to an Artery Welcome Station and the Bucket’s own hull.” The ship’s computer warned its motley crew, “Incoming patrol cruiser.” 

A deep voice spoke through their com-system, “Please stop your engine. An officer will board your ship momentarily.” 

Kremp wailed like a baby. Tubai crawled to the captain’s chair, reached up and hit the thruster again. Kremp wiped his tears and gripped a console support beam. The Bucket moved erratically and nearly grazed an Alliance exploration vessel. Kremp's long hair escaped from its tether and stuck to the sweat covering his face. He begged Tubai to stop the ship. 

“We damaged the welcome station," he shouted. “Not to mention the Bucket, almost hit a government vessel, skipped a toll, and ran from the law! If they board, they’ll hit us with a huge fine.” Kremp cried, “Or we could end up in jail. Goodbye credits, goodbye plasma, and goodbye freedom.” 

“And when Foyle has to fly someone else’s ship to bail us out?” The whites of Tubai’s eyes were bloodshot and his pupils were dilated. 

“The Alliance cruiser is on pursuit.” 

The patrol ship repeated its demand that they stop when Tubai spotted a cityship trudging down an exit lane. He manually flew into its shadow. Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid meeting a different patrol cruiser that came from behind. Tubai punched every button to force a full stop, but the Bucket’s bow nicked the smaller ship. Tubai yelled at the computer to change the course. He knew there was no choice but to hit the thruster again.

Kremp shouted nonsensical words until they were rid of the cruiser. They exited at a random point of the filament, skipping the exit tollgate. Tubai asked the computer to engage magna drive thirteen.

Twelve hours later, they were nearing Station Ninety-Nine. Both slingers listened to the computer review station resources and attractions as it parked the Bucket in a hangar with other ships. 

Station Ninety-Nine was a swarm of species from hundreds of sectors. Their voices mixed into a single string of sound. With his first step onto the platform, Kremp said that he missed the serenity of the Farming Station. Kremp had to yell in Tubai’s ear to be heard. Tubai felt lighter as the crowds and noise swallowed his identity. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew this was the cheapest place to buy plasma.  

After talking with a few vendors, the slingers found the plasma galley. Tubai handed the first shopkeeper his device. The seller looked at it, nodded, pressed his thumb on the tablet, and The Bucket’s computer sent confirmation that five pallets of kinetic plasma were onboard. 

“Now, how do we get Foyle’s ship repaired?” Kremp's eyes bugged out again. 

“I contacted Foyle,” Tubai confessed. “Cap wants to fix The Bucket himself, but we have to give him extra.” 

“Extra plasma?” 

“It’s all under control, kid. Our adventure leads to freedom.” 

The ship’s computer charted a course to match a nearby resortship. It was massive, like a whale among guppies. They used its size to mask The Bucket and travel the Artery without being detected. The remainder of the journey was smooth magna drive sailing. 

Back at the Waste Station, Captain Vee deposited thousands of credits for the barrels of organics into Tubai’s and Kremp’s accounts with a smile. She scowled when the slingers quit the bar. The next morning, Kremp and Tubai met to board a ship headed for the Farming Station. 

“No shortage of food, or females, eh?” Kremp daydreamed about his new life. “Money changes a person, gives them confidence. Thanks for dragging me along to Ninety-Nine. I can’t believe we’re finally getting off this boring dump.” 

Tubai only stared into Kremp’s eyes. 

Something's not right. Kremp’s inner dialogue didn’t speak soon enough. 

Tubai yanked Kremp's travel bag from his hands, pulled out his partner’s device, and despite Kremp’s attempt to punch him, Tubai logged in. At the same time, a gorilla-sized person walked out of the hatch and lifted Kremp two feet from the ground. The kid twisted and grabbed Foyle’s fist. 

“You owe me, Kremp,” Foyle showed off his canines with a smile. Kremp was confused and shouted profanities. “You’re hauling waste for me until you’ve paid your debt.” 

“I... I can pay you now! Right Tubai?” 

Tubai held up Kremp’s device. His account displayed a zero balance.  

Kremp surrendered and hung like a wet towel. “But Tubai, I saw you kick that bookie’s brains in.” 

“You saw a dumpster shaking kid,” Tubai said. “I freed the bookie and asked him to tell Foyle I’d keep an eye on you. I told you to save your credits. How long were we supposed to wait?” 

“I thought we were friends.” Kremp’s face melted. 

Tubai winked, “I got you off this garbage dump, didn’t I?”