Chapter 2: Death and Taxes

Davy and his friends might be up for government service, and Davy finds himself scouted by Raider Corps representatives. Ryan has a deadly accident.

Kirkland knew his stuff " I'll give him that. The next day my leg was stiff, but otherwise perfectly fine. I got up at end of curfew and went to fix breakfast for my sisters. I felt like a jerk, blaming them when I saw them for all of a minute the day before, so I made them omelettes. When they got up, Mercy and Christy took one look at the small dining table and chorused, “We forgive you, Davy.” They knew I only made breakfast when I was feeling guilty about something, so that had become their standard greeting when they saw me cooking.

Mercy had grown into a pretty sixteen year-old. She didn't have many friends, though " most of the kids her own age thought she was “odd” or “weird”, but Mercy never took offense. She still didn't talk to anyone, but was incredibly gifted in all her lessons. I suppose if you aren't hanging out with others there's not much else to do but study. She had a quiet curiosity about everything, but never asked questions.

Twelve year-old Christy was intense for her age. Dad used to push her harder than any of us, starting as soon as we moved to the station. He used to take us every morning to the Docks or the holo-courts to work out before classes, even Christy, though she was only two years old. When we lost our home, Christy went in for some sort of medical procedure for a month, but then Dad had her out running with us, insisting that she keep up. I think he blamed her for Mom's death; even though she always made perfect grades, and was stronger than Adam by the time she was five, he never gave her any praise. Now she worked herself, still going down to the holo-courts after classes to run the training programs that our father had put us through.

I'll give my sister some credit: she grew up well despite all of that. I think Mercy had something to do with it " I'd see her feeding Christy when she was little and taking care of her the way we saw Mom do it. Adam and I helped too, of course, but Mercy was constantly there for Christy in a way that we never were.

Once they had finished breakfast that morning, I made sure they got out the door for their lessons " Mercy would walk Christy to hers before going on to her own. Then I washed up in the small bathroom that we shared with the next-door neighbors, and went down to the Docks.

The Docks were two enormous docking bays for cargo and transport ships. I worked there about ten to twelve hours a day, loading and unloading the ships with whatever goods needed to go out. It was there that I could see if Jesse was right and the Raider Corps reps really were hanging around.

I clocked in and stepped to my place loading the carts. There were a few people that I didn't recognize, but none of them looked out of place: three men and two women were scattered around the bay, loading up the ships from the carts. They were all dressed like refugees, in clothes that looked like they got a lot of use, and were just as diligent, as though they had just gotten these jobs and were afraid of losing them. But something caught my eye about them " they didn't hold themselves like people who had just lost everything. On the contrary, all five of them stuck out like sore thumbs to me because they carried themselves like the rich.

Lifting crates automatically, after a couple years of the same, I kept my eyes on those I'd pegged as outsiders. Studying one of them, a burly Arab with a bright blue cybernetic eye that clashed with his dark gray normal one, I realized that “rich” wasn't the word to describe them. That one carried himself like he had the power to beat down everything that stood in his way, like he wasn't afraid of anything. He was lifting his crates easily, like they didn't weigh a thing, and looked around casually at all the other workers like I was doing.

The others seemed the same. I stared at another, one of the girls, and she didn't struggle at all with the crates. It was as though she did more than that every day. I had never seen her kind before, either " she had amazingly pale skin, almost like an albino except her short hair was mostly black, and she moved with a natural grace that no refugee on the station could claim. Her delicate features had no place on a loading dock. As I studied her, wondering if she could really be part of the United Military, she looked in my direction. We locked eyes for a split second, before I had the decency to look away. Next time I looked at her she was back at work, but she had slowed down and made a show of struggling with the crates.

I didn't get off so easily, though. When the bell sounded for lunch, she came over to the bench where I was eating, to scold me for staring no doubt. The girl stood in front of me, arms crossed and back straight, as she stared me down.

“Do you have a problem with me?” she demanded, like she was used to giving orders.

“No, Ma'am.” The “ma'am” just slipped in unintentionally " she looked like she was used to being called that.

“Then why were you staring at me?”

I gulped down a bite of my sandwich, going slowly in order to deliberately get on her nerves. “What makes you think I was staring?”

“Answer the question!” she barked. It startled me into responding.

“'Cause you don't look like you belong here,” I answered, “You and your four friends.”

She looked taken aback for a second before saying, “What friends?”

I had taken a gamble in saying that. I didn't know who she was or who she represented, or if she even knew the other four I'd pegged as outsiders, but if those five were refugees, then I was High Chancellor of the Galaxy. I silently pointed the other four out to her, reveling in the frustration that she couldn't hide from her face. My gamble was right, she did know them.

“How did you... never mind.” She went over to the Arab and barked an order. He sauntered off, as naturally as possible, going from one of the others to the next and giving them orders as well. The girl, the leader probably, came back over to me. “Come,” she ordered.

“Sorry, lady, I've got work to do.” I was finishing up my lunch and needed to get back out there.

She stopped and stared, ticked off that I wasn't obeying. “What's your name, kid?”

“Davy,” I noticed a tic going in her temple and realized that I might be pushing her too far. “David Watson.”

“You'll be compensated for your time, Watson, and your job is in no danger. Now come!”

“Why?”

I'll admit, I was enjoying her frustration a bit too much. She looked about ready to explode, but looked around her and thought better of it. “I represent Raider Corporation, and would like to know how you spotted us so easily. I need you to tell me in front of the others, so that we can all improve in the future,” she quietly explained. It sounded like a half-truth to me, but I took her word for it and followed.

She led me to an empty room outside the Docks that looked like an unused laboratory. A few minutes of awkward silence later we were joined by the others. They all stood over me, even the two girls that were a couple of inches shorter, making me feel my social status for the first time since we got to the station. All of them seemed to be communicating silently, while I waited for some kind of verdict for a crime I didn't know about.

Finally, the first girl said, “Diablo, go fix the records. David Watson has been at work all day, got it?” The Arab with the false eye nodded and left, leaving me there with the other four, all of whom stared at me as though memorizing my face. I managed to get a good look at them, as well.

Beside the girl that dragged me there, there was a man about ten years older than me. He had the dark skin of an African, with eyes just as dark and black hair that had flecks of white in it. The biggest of the white spot in his hair was a streak by his temple going back to his ear, as though splashed there by a really bad artist. He had a cocky smirk on his face, as though silently laughing at the world. He was the only one there that didn't seem to take orders from the girl.

Next to him were another couple, a man and a woman, standing side by side with their arms crossed and glaring. They looked familiar, but as I couldn't place their faces I dropped that line of thought. The man was white, while the woman was Asian in appearance. Both of them looked older than the others, even though the woman was the shortest in the group. The man seemed about fifty to me, while the woman was in her late thirties at least " the other three I'd have pegged for in their twenties. Despite their older appearance, these two had the least amount of white in their hair. Both of the girls had unnaturally short hair, too, as though they needed to keep it out of their way.

It was the woman who spoke first. “Cal,” she said, “I know this is your first command, but it's a surveillance mission. What's the problem?”

Cal, the girl who dragged me there, turned red when the other woman mentioned that this was her first command. “This... kid managed to spot us out. I want to know how.”

The cocky guy next to her just chuckled to himself. “Kid,” he said addressing me, “I'm impressed. You've got sharp eyes. As for you, Cal,” he turned to her, as she blushed harder with anger, “That's the kind of observation we want " you blew our cover by talking to him. Put him on the list and be done with it.”

Cal clenched her fists by her sides. “What if one of us was just careless, Sin?” she asked him, “Look at him " he isn't even that special.”

I raised my hand as though I was in class. “Uh, I'm right here.”

“Yeah, so?” Cal snapped at me, “How did you do it?”

I glared at her for a second before giving my answer. “You guys didn't look like you belonged. None of you pass for refugees, and trying made it obvious that you were United Military reps.”

“Is that what you told him, Cal?” the one called Sin asked.

That puzzled me. “You aren't?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Then who are you?” They were scoping out the station, but not for the Corps? Who else could be interested in the trash of humanity?

Sin turned his grin on me, saying, “We're the COR Borgs. If that even means anything to you.” He was right; I'd never heard of them before.

“Cal just got jumpy in dragging you in here in the first place,” the woman said, “You can go now " Diablo's fixing it so you have the rest of the day off, for your trouble.”

“You're on my list now, bucko,” Cal said, glaring at me, “whether I like it or not. I'll be watching.”

I didn't know what else to say, so I mimed tipping a hat to Cal and left. Walking out of the room, I checked my watch. I hadn't noticed that time had gone by so quickly; an hour had passed since my lunch break ended. Not having anywhere else to go, I decided to go see Jesse at his work. My leg, while infinitely better than the day before, still hadn't healed enough for solar-boarding, and I wasn't eager to see Maddie after the previous night " I'd hit my quota of pissed-off girls for one day.

* * * * * * * *

“So they just wasted my time, dragging me in there like that,” I complained to my best friend later.

Jesse shrugged, “At least they kept you clocked in. My break's only for a few more minutes.”

We were down in the engine rooms, sitting on the sidelines out of the way of the big machinery. Jesse was an engineer, like Adam, helping keep the station in orbit. Jesse worked on one of the upper engine levels, while Adam worked on the lower engines. It was hot down on these lower levels " I had to keep a bandanna on me to keep the sweat out of my eyes. Working around fire, though, meant Jesse was covered head to foot in fire-resistant material. I did not envy him.

A loud whistle sounded, much like the signal we had in the docks for shift changes. “Well, break's over,” Jesse said, standing up and stretching, “Back to work. And Davy?” I stood up too, needing to leave once they started firing things up again. “Don't think too much into it, alright? Sounds to me like that Cal was just jumpy.”

I nodded, convinced. As I moved to leave there was a shout from across the cavernous room, “Hey, Jesse!” Looking over in the direction of the shout, we saw Jesse's brother running around one of the furnaces up to us. “Jesse!”

Ryan stopped in front of us, just as some of the engine workers threw some more fuel in the furnaces. “What's up?” Jesse asked.

The kid took a minute to catch his breath. Ryan was more brains than brawn " he had little muscle to speak of, usually spending his days at a desk. Brilliant, sure, but his classwork and side projects (such as the Raider Corps project) left him with no free time. He looked like a younger version of his brother, with the same dark eyes and hair, but Jesse physically worked hard at his job, while Ryan was too young for the backbreaking work. The kid looked out of place in the engine rooms in his school clothes; even I wore thick, tear-proof material.

After panting for a few seconds, Ryan managed to tell us the news. “Mom just got a letter. They're setting a tax this year.”

Jesse and I glanced at each other. We'd called it, but neither of us were thrilled at the outcome. “How much?” Jesse asked.

“I don't know,” Ryan answered, “but if I don't get that contract we might be in trouble.”

Jesse grimaced slightly. “Okay, get back up there and find out what they want. There are some Raider reps in the Docks, as of an hour ago.”

Ryan gave a curt nod and ran back off towards the entrance. I turned to Jesse. “Well?”

“This looks bad,” he said, “You need to go see about your sibs.”

“Right.” I turned to go as well, when we heard a shout come from near the exit. Someone was screaming in pain while others were shouting for water and a medic. Jesse and I ran to the scene, trying to see what had happened. What we saw chilled me to the bone:

Ryan was the one screaming, having caught fire from the furnace.

Without pausing to think we knocked him to the ground, trying to pat out the flames. Jesse and some of the other engineers used their shirts as fire-blankets to help put him out, but the damage was done by the time we finished. Ryan's face looked like cooked meat, blackened and charred by the fire, and his clothes were soldered to his skin. He was gasping for breath, and we all gave him room once the fire was out. The foreman was shouting at the furnace workers, asking what had happened and why a kid was let in with flammable clothing on.

A medic came rushing up, elbowing everyone out of the way as he checked Ryan's vitals. I helped Jesse up; he seemed to be in shock. Leading him over to the benches, he recovered enough to shake me off and go talk to the foreman.

“Hey, you!” one of the engineers came over to me, “You need to get out of here. Non-certified personnel can't be here.”

I knew that, but the rule was usually relaxed during the lunch hour. I should have left earlier, and Ryan shouldn't have gotten past the door after the whistle sounded. But “should have”'s wouldn't put Ryan's face back on, so I left without protesting.

* * * * * * * *

As much as I hated the station medic, I still promised Jesse on my way out that I'd keep an eye on Ryan for him. The foreman wouldn't let Jesse go, even for family, because Ryan wasn't supposed to be down there in the first place. He was lucky to still have his job; the guard at the door was immediately fired, a temporary replacement put in until another guard could get down there.

I followed the stretcher to the main medic's floor, stopping along the way only long enough to let their mother know what had happened. Kirkland was supposed to be the Head Medic on duty, but there was another medic beside him that gave orders as they took Ryan to Intensive Care.

We weren't allowed in the main operating room, so I waited outside for news. I had just taken my seat when the office door burst open again. Mrs. Zairian stood there, along with Jesse's grandpa, looking ready to tear the room apart. “Where's my boy?!” she roared, “What happened to Ryan?!”

I tried my best to calm his mother down, while filling them in about the accident. Grandpa Zairian kept muttering about safety hazards and poor excuses for security while Mrs. Zairian railed right along with him.

“Why did I raise such a brilliant idiot?” she asked the air loudly, “Sure, he has the brains to multiply big numbers in his head, but he couldn't have just left a message at the door? Did he learn nothing of fire safety in class? Why did he have to rush down to tell Jesse? Why didn't Jesse just march him right back? Why do my sons torture me so?”

That line of thought continued for a good hour, while all I could do was nod and make what I hope were soothing noises while we waited. After the first hour, their tempers simmered down to quieter worry. The only noise from them then was the occasional sob from Grandpa Zairian and some dark muttering from Mrs. Zairian.

After what seemed like forever, Kirkland came out. “I am humbly sorry,” he said, “We have done all that we can do for now. He will need to be here for weeks, if not a month or two, if he lasts the night. The burns were quite severe, and did some lasting damage to his extremities.”

“I don't want some mumbo-jumbo nonsense from you, sir,” Mrs. Zairian was ready to breathe fire at this point, “What 'lasting damage' are you on about?!”

Kirkland seemed to shrink under her gaze. “Hi- his arms will take the longest to heal, and he will lose some motor functions in his eyes. The scarring will be permanent, and he will lose most of his hair for a time. This is all, of course, assuming he survives the night to begin with...” he trailed off, seeing the fury rising in Mrs. Zairian's face. Giving me a pitying glance, he slunk back into the Intensive Care ward.

Jesse's mom slumped back in her chair. “What's gonna happen?” she asked quietly. I couldn't answer.

* * * * * * * *

It was almost curfew when Jesse came rushing in. “What's going on?” he demanded as he flew through the door. I filled him in as best I could, but how do you tell your best friend that his brother could die?

“I spoke to some of the guys down there,” he said shakily when I told him Kirkland's diagnosis, “Ryan bumped into one of them as he was tossing fuel. Got the stuff all over him " only took a spark after that.”

Jesse was looking pale by this time, and went to go sit by his mother. She thankfully didn't say anything about it being Jesse's fault, which had been part of her earlier rant. Instead, the family sat in stoic silence as they kept vigil for Ryan.

I excused myself and made for the desk's com unit " it was too close to curfew for me to make it back home, and I figured I should let Adam know that I was out for the night. If I didn't he'd probably just go off at me the next day, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

Dialing my home number, I thought about what I should say. I had to be careful; Mercy went to school with Ryan, and he was as close a friend to her as I've seen anyone get. She didn't get upset easily " she didn't show much emotion at all, for that matter " but if anything could upset her, I knew this would.

The buzzer sounded once, twice, three times before Adam answered. “Watson's.”

“Hey, Adam, it's me. I won't be back this evening.”

“Davy? It's almost curfew, where are you?” I told him. “Jesus, Davy, what happened? Are you alright?”

Maybe I wasn't clear. “I'm fine, Adam. It's Ryan, Jesse's brother: there was an accident in the engine rooms earlier, and he got burned real bad. I'm here with the Zairians now.”

“Oh God,” he swore, “I'd heard there was an incident, but I didn't know who it was. Will he be alright?”

“We aren't sure,” I answered honestly, “Just be careful telling Mercy, alright?”

“Okay. And Dave?” he added, “Get home when you can. We need to talk about the tax.” I agreed, and we hung up then. I went back to the distraught family to wait some more.

Then Cal walked in.

Author's Note

Was Davy too whiny in this chapter? I wanted him to be self-absorbed, but to get a wake-up call when Ryan is injured.