The door man, as tall as Galen but twice as wide, gave him a hug and said, “Congratulations!”
“Thanks.” They stepped apart. It was early, no other customers yet. “I’ll wait here for Mom.”
“Sure.” The door man stepped behind the bar. Galen sat on a bar stool. The door man drew a glass of ale and put it in front of Galen.
He lifted it, smelled it and said, “This is my first drink in two years.”
“Go slow,” said the door man.
Galen took a sip, grimaced. Took a drink and then he shivered involuntarily. Soon he felt warmer and drank some more. The taste seemed green at first, and the back of his neck became taught for a moment. Then warmth and he easily sipped his ale, its taste getting better, tasting good by the time he finished it.
Mom came from the bar’s back entrance and then went behind the bar and stood in front of Galen. A tall middle aged woman with wheat straw colored shoulder-length hair framing a ruddy face, broad shoulders and large breasts and wide hips, wearing a dark brown shirt-dress that reached from her knees to her neck and a thick gold chain necklace hanging outside her dress. She placed a tray of food in front of him, a double cheese hamburger and a serving of fries on one plate, a slice of cheese cake on the other. She refilled his ale and said, “Enjoy.”
“Oh, I will. Thanks, Mom.”
“I put your bag upstairs in your old room. The bed is ready so you can sleep. And I hung some new clothes for you in the closet.”
Galen nodded, his mouth full.
“I’ll come wake you up for the party. I have a lot of work to do right now.” Mom turned and went into the back, the sounds of food preparation briefly coming from the kitchen area before the swinging door closed.
Galen made the extra effort to not eat in the mechanical, practiced method of the academy. He chewed slowly, many chews, not counting. He sipped ale, and drank, and especially enjoyed eating with his hands. Then he hunched forward over the food, deliberately, after realizing he’d been sitting up straight. At the end he resisted the reflexive move to use the fork on the cheesecake and instead lifted it with his left hand and took big bites. He noticed the crumbs, the bits of sauce and drops of ketchup on the front of his cadet uniform shirt and left it all there.
Done eating he yelled toward the kitchen door, “Thanks Mom!”
A muted reply from the kitchen area.
Galen left the bar by the back entrance and climbed the stairs to the second floor and entered the apartment after the pass pad recognized his hand print and let him in. It was the same, unchanged, the apartment over the bar was where Galen grew up. He entered, hung his hat and jacket on a peg just inside the door and went into the living room and then into the hallway to the door of his room. He stopped and turned about and faced the door of his mother’s room. He went inside and looked at the one picture on her dresser. She stood with Galen’s father. It was their wedding picture, taken six months before Galen was born. Taken a year before his father was killed serving in the Foreign Corps.
Galen went back to his own room, removed his clothes, tossed the socks, underwear and t-shirt in the basket of the cleaner, the shirt and trousers beside the basket, closed the lid of the cleaner. Then he looked in the closet. Civilian jacket, pants, walking shoes… from his academy civilian bag, cleaned and hung up already. And a new set of clothes hung next to that, including a full-length grey wool coat. The cleaner beeped. Galen removed the uniform and hung it up and put the machine-folded undergarments in the drawer of his dresser. Then he slid into bed and slept.
Chapter III
“Wake up!” Mom shook Galen’s shoulder. She was sitting beside the bed.
“Hey.” Galen stretched and blinked and sat up. “Wow. That was a great nap.”
“I knocked and you didn’t answer.”
Galen yawned. “I’m still a heavy sleeper.”
Mom said, “Just don’t let that get you killed. Make sure there is always someone around to wake you up.”
“No problem. Tad and Spike are coming with me. Tad is a light sleeper and Spike is very reliable. What time is it?”
“It’s an hour before the party, plenty of time. I want to talk to you.”
“Sure.” Galen rolled his shoulders.
“Your father. He was in the Foreign Corps. He died with honor.”
“I know.”
“Well I want you back. Do what you must to meet the obligations of your contract, but when you find yourself in that grey area between duty and honor, try to put survival at the top of your list. I don’t need another posthumous medal.”
“I understand.”
“Okay, now that’s out of the way. You have a girlfriend?”
“No. I’ve been busy.”
“Right. You still plan to leave tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow afternoon I meet with a hiring agent. Most likely I’ll get hired and have to leave right away.”
“I wish you could stay longer.” Mom stood.
“No. He who hesitates is lost. All the other grads are looking for jobs now. If I wait too long, even an extra day, all the good jobs will be gone. Besides, the sooner I leave the sooner I get back.”
“I like the way you think. Imagine, in just five short years you’ll be home for good with enough money to live well and never have to work another day in your life.”
Galen smiled. “Enough for you and me. I’m going into an armored brigade that stays busy. Unit contract shares will add up pretty quick.”
“Which unit?”
Galen struggled to remember. “The Jasmine Panzer Brigade.”
Mom frowned and patted Galen’s hand. “Just be careful.”
Galen said nothing. His mother left his room, closing the door behind as she left. Galen was glad she left because he was naked under his blanket. He got up and stepped into the body cleaner, got dressed and sat at his desk. He engaged the terminal and read the long list of missed messages on his flat screen. Most were more than a year old. He noticed that as time went on the fewer messages he had. The newest one was four months old. He simply deleted them all in one shot. Then he called Tad.
After a moment Tad’s face filled the screen. “What’s up?”
Galen smiled. “Ready to party?”
“You just woke me up. But yeah, I’ll be there. You call Spike yet?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll do it.” The screen went blank.
Galen shut off the terminal and stood, faced left and pulled back the curtain covering his window. An airbus went by, a hovercraft that moved along on a cushion of air that kept the bus twenty centimeters off the ground. It also sprayed a fine mist of water ahead of itself, to prevent dust. The overall effect kept the street clean. Across the street was a warehouse, thin steel walls thirty meters high. On the other side of the warehouse the control tower of the spaceport was clearly visible. Tomorrow he’d take a short bus ride and then walk to the hiring hall. Then walk from there to the spaceport, to travel to his unit. He realized he’d likely not see home again for at least five years. But that was the plan. This was his life plan. Five years as a mercenary, then come home with a pocket full of money.
He left the apartment and went down stairs and entered the bar through the back door. The male and female bathrooms were on the left and right, and past them the hallway opened up into the main floor of the bar. The ceiling was four meters high, soft lighting strips arranged in a meandering grid pattern that varied in width and resembled the time-space distortion map of Osterich’s gravity well. To the left the wall was lined with booths with sturdy square tables, a larger horseshoe-shaped booth in the corner with a sturdy round table supported by a single center pole, more booths along the wall to the far left. Ahead was the dance floor, half a dozen tables along its left and forward edge, the bar itself along the right side wall, the entrance to the kitchen area behind it.