Chapter Three (1.3)

Jeremiah visits the Old Man.

Chapter Three

Sedna Station

Dwarf planet 90377 Sedna

Sol System

It must have been some time since Jeremiah had been back on Sedna.  It all seemed a little off to him.  It was hard for him to place, but certain things just seemed different.  The corridors seemed to be more crowded than before.  And everywhere he looked there seemed to be a beggar or junky lying about.  The whole station felt worn out, neglected.
The housing district was on the opposite side of the dwarf planet as the markets and the fastest way to get there was to take the shuttles through the planets surface.  After he left Thomas’ bar he made his way through the back corridors of the market proper. A shortcut he learned several years back when he first started the smugglers life. If you knew where and when to walk through Sedna, you could easily avoid all the security cameras and drones.  But as he worked his way through the labyrinth that should have been unpopulated, he ran in to several people.  Mostly junkies and bums, a few children playing, and even a young couple do what young couples do.  The infrastructure that once ran the biggest trading depot in Sol System was cracked and leaking across the floors.

Finally he reached the lift entrance he was looking for and stepped inside.  The shuttles were desperately packed full of people.  The system ran every few minutes or so, but for some reason, people were crowding in to the shuttles as if their very lives depended on it.  He couldn’t recall a time it had ever been so crowded.  It repulsed him.  He thought back to what Thomas had said earlier, about Earth closing it’s doors to people seeking refuge from.. whatever it was they were running from.  He couldn’t believe it.  That wasn’t the CSA he had signed up to fight for.

As his shuttles hurled through the planets surface he began to feel eyes on him.  He took his focus from the passing tunnel walls and glanced around.  Over his shoulder he noticed an odd looking man, a boy really, maybe no older than twenty something, giving him a spiteful stare.  He realised the kid was staring at the pilots patch on his service jacket he received when signing up.  Jeremiah glanced at his service patch then back to the kid and returned a menacing stare.  As if to say, You got a problem, boy?  Do something about it. The kid broke his stare and when the shuttle stopped next, he got off.  Jeremiah shook his head.

The thanks I get for fighting off the Wan-Ren…

A few stops later, his own exit.

As he worked his way out of the shuttles and in to the housing districts, he began running through his day thus far.  He had barely been on station for an hour and already committed to 200 bottles of a highly addictive and highly illegal drug, effectively gotten someone killed, and had been nearly killed himself.  Actually, now that he thought about it, it wasn’t that bad a morning.  Now that thought shocked him.   Is this really what his life was now?  He began to wonder if it was the station that was changing, or him.
The scent of food was gone now and replaced by a musty stale air from worn out recyclers no one was bothering to replace.  He had expected the housing district to be quieter than the markets, but as got deeper in to the housing district he was overwhelmed with a cacophony of sights and sounds he wasn’t expecting.  The corridors were filled with people; children running and playing, small venders sporadically lined the walls selling food and wares.  Just like the market level, there were several people sitting or lying on the floor, more junkies he guessed, a few possibly even dead.  Adults hung out of doorways, shouting across the halls.  He passed one couple in a fist fight as their children tried to separate them from each other.
After several minutes of walking through one maze to the next, he finally reached the door he was looking for.  The name plate was so covered with dirt and rust only two letters could be made out.  O.M.  Jeremiah chuckled to himself.  Old Man.  He knocked on the door.  A faint hiss and mechanical whine sounded from inside the metal, then a camera telescoped out a few inches towards his face and scanned his eyes.  The camera retracted., and then… nothing.  Jeremiah stood there for a moment.  Shifting slighting back and forth.   He thought maybe he should knock again.  He raised his hand and moved it towards the door when the seal hissed and clanked and finally the door cracked open.
Jeremiah stepped through the doorway, but the door seemed to be stuck.
“I was beginning to think you were dead.” A voice said from behind a wall in the next room.
“I could say the say for you.” He shouted back as he squeezed through the defective doorway.  “Took you a while to open the door.   How are you feeling?”
“Oh, what’s this?  Are you pretending to worry about me now?” The old man asked.
“Oh, don’t start with that.” Jeremiah complained.
“Start with what?  You’ve been gone so long.  You don’t call.  I hear things in the news.  There are rumors in the air.  The Outer Systems are on the verge of panic.”
“You think the Wan-Ren are coming back, too? You’ve been spending too much time with Thomas.  They’re ghosts.”
“At least he’s got the time for me.” The old man quipped but continued before Jeremiah could respond to the jab. “Strange that these ghosts are making so many people nervous. Ghosts don’t tend to leave behind thousands of dead colonists.”
“Honestly, the only thing out there to be afraid of are the pirates and politicians.  And you can usually trust a pirate.”
That made the Old Man laugh.  It was a deep laugh, more of a cough really. Dry and painful sounding.  The man finally came out from the kitchen with two glasses and a bottle or a dark brown liquid.  He walked over to a small table protruding from a wall and set it all down.  A few taps at a console on it and two stools unfolded from underneath.  The man looked over to Jeremiah.
“Come.  Sit down.” He said as he began to poor the drink.
The Old Mans face pained Jeremiah.  His eyes were cloudy and sunken.  His skin was losing color.  He looked weak.  Jeremiah walked to the table and set down his pack.
“You’re getting worse.” He said.
“I’m fine.” The Old Man replied
“The cancer is back?”
“For now.” He said and raised his glass to Jeremiah.
Jeremiah took the other glass and toasted the Old Man
“And your eyes?” Jeremiah asked.
“Eh, Alec installed this new AI system for me.  I don’t need to see anymore.  Does everything for me.”
“AIs are illegal.” Jeremiah said sternly then took a drink.  “Ew what is this?” He asked.

“It’s tea! Ya don’t like it you can get the hell out!” The old man shouted in defense.
“And so what if they’re illegal?  I’m old.  And I’m tired of this damn therapy.  I’ll be dead soon, so what are they going to do to me?”
“You’re not even taking the therapy anymore, are you?  You’re aging faster after every day with out it.”
“It’s a scam.  Been a scam for the last 1000 years.  Make us live forever, they say. Oh,  but we keep aging with out their wonder drugs.  Ya don’t take it, you’re a 200 year old skeleton walking around miserable.” The Old Man went on.  
           Jeremiah agreed on it all.  Originally, the Life Expansion Project, or the LEaP, was meant to allow humans to survive a trip through space at sub light speeds.  100 years isn’t so bad if it’s only half of your life span. Increasing the maximum life span of a person was really as simple as flipping a genetic switch. Yet somehow, they never managed to find a way to keep the body from aging.  Sure you could suddenly live to be one hundred fifty-two hundred years old, but with out the cell therapy, the body’s cells and organs would continue to age. They needed to be constantly refreshed and cleaned of all the filth life put them through.         

For a long time the world was divided, but eventually the genetic alterations were bred in to nearly all of society.  Every human alive was now at the mercy of the corporations producing the Therapy.  Except the Wan-Ren.  Their ancestors were among those that left earth on the first Generation Ships in an mass Exodus from what they deemed, the Great Downfall.  

Those who could afford it, lived very long and happy lives.  Those who couldn’t, like most people in the outer systems, lived long and often miserable lives.  And Jeremiah was no different.  He too was bound to the therapy that everyone else was.  The difference between him and many others is that Jeremiah had a tendency to steal.  The Old Man knew this, and naturally assumed the therapy Jeremiah brought him was also stolen, and so would frequently refuse to take it.

“I know.  But you need to take this.  You know what will happen to you if you don’t.  Hell, it looks like it’s already happening.”  Jeremiah said at the end of what seemed like an endless speech.  He offered the medicine again, this time the Old Man reached over the table and grabbed it from his hands.

“Thank you.  And thanks for the tea.   I can’t stay, though.” Jeremiah Said.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them as the Old Man carefully and thoughtfully looked Jeremiah over.

“What is it you think you’re searching for out there, boy?”  The Old Man asked, finally looking away and down in to his glass.

“What do you mean?  I’m not look…”  The old man cut him off.

“Don’t lie to me, boy.   You’re searching.  You may not realize it, but all this runnin’ around, bouncing from system to system, deal to deal…   You’re searching for something.  And it’s gonna get you killed.”  The old man looked up with piercing, ghostly eyes.

Jeremiah met his stare. Knowing he couldn’t lie to both himself and the Old Man in this moment.

“She’s out there.  I know it.”
“She’s gone, Jeremiah. “ His reply was filled with a terrifying mix of pain and remorse, but also anger.  Anger towards Jeremiah.

“We don’t know that!”

“We know enough.  You’re running yourself in to the ground.  She’s gone.  She left us.  Not a word, not a trace.   You’ve been across half the damn galaxy and you’ve found nothing.”  The old mans words cut him deep.  Jeremiah felt a strong pain growing in his chest.

“I have nothing else left.”

“You have everything left.  You’re fifty-seven years old.  You have more than one hundred years left to live your life.  To be happy.  Trust me.  You do not want to live those last few years with regret weighing you down.”

Jeremiah took another long pull from his tea and set the empty glass down.

“I have to go.  I’ll be here for a few days, I think.  I’ll try to stop in before I go.”  Jeremiah grabbed his bag and headed for the door.  The Old Man continued to sit, shaking his head as he stared at his drink.  Before Jeremiah closed the door behind him he turned,

“Take the therapy, Old Man.  She would have wanted you too.”  The old man scoffed in response and Jeremiah was gone.

Author's Note

Chapter three from Animus. First round draft. all comments, critiques, and reviews are welcome.

Reviews

[Chui]

Except the Wan-Ren. Their ancestors were among those that left earth on the first Generation Ships in an mass Exodus from what they deemed


----earth isn't capitalized ^

[Chui]

“It’s a scam. Been a scam for the last 1000 years. Make us live forever, they say. Oh, but we keep aging with out their wonder drugs. Ya don’t take it, you’re a 200 year old skeleton walking around miserable.” The Old Man went on.

---both times you say 'with out' and not 'without' not sure if it's a must to fix that, but I guess it's writers choice.