Lora Rookson ignored the alert notifications on her tablet, letting them fade away as she tried to enjoy herself. The excitement she once held for action had long diminished into a distant echo. Even if the ship was boarded by pirates, she probably wouldn’t care. Besides, her sergeant would’ve alerted her if something was truly wrong.
She wasn’t sure how to celebrate the day of her birth. Lora couldn’t even remember the last time she entertained the idea. Thinking back far enough only drudged up painful memories, so she did her best to imagine how one was to celebrate such an occasion. In her minds-eye, she thought of all the nights she spent with her platoon, getting rabidly drunk after surviving a massacre, or letting a S’Hykri pleasure harem pamper her before a copulation ceremony.
Sitting at the small booth in the Star of Argon’s casino with some lonely comfort liaison, Lora still wasn’t sure if this was the proper procedure to celebrate ones birth. She had on a sleeveless flak jacket, and tied the sleeves of her jumpsuit around her waist.
With her hair pulled back, Lora let her bangs drift free before of her eyes. A part of her, albeit a small part, wished she had something more appealing to wear. Lora sat her heavy arms onto the table as one of the servers approached and offered them refreshments. Lora shot the woman a glare, took the entire bottle from her hand, and sat it on the table.
The leisure area of the Star of Argon was a smaller compartment than she expected. The ads pouring over her rooms monitors made it seem much larger. Situated near the lower decks, and tucked comfortably toward the aft section, the ships casino and bar lounge was one of the amenities provided to the crew.
The chamber was originally a standard cargo compartments, although at one point it was converted into a makeshift barracks. It was evident that during one of the Star of Argon’s many retrofits, there was an attempt to convert this section into an adjacent fighter bay. There was still some gear left over from that time. Abandoned fuselage hoses hanged from old panels, and rusted emblems decorated the walls in several places.
The Pilgrims Corps had invested a decent amount of money installing this recreation center. Although, to call it a casino was a bit misleading, in Lora’s view. It was more of a strip club/drunkard hangout than anything else.
Sure, there were several games of chance and card tables throughout the room, all of which were run by a staff officer who seemed a parody of officer integrity. But, for every card table there were two stripper poles installed around decorative seating arrangements. For every music lounge, there were four bar centers serving any number of specials, and they were not stingy with the alcohol content.
The comfort liaisons serving in this lounge were many, and they all wore similar uniforms to what Journey had on. Granted, there bodies were nowhere near as altered. Liquor cabinets were filled to the brim with crystal decanters, and a vast collection of spirits. There was even a smoking section, where rich tobacco cigars were readily available. The music was a constant stream of soothing notes, meant to relax the encumbered passengers, rather than create a lively atmosphere. Lora couldn’t help but notice the private booths along the opposite side of the room, where the occasional customer was granted a private audience with one of the comfort liaisons.
Thank god for birth control, Lora thought to herself with a shrug.
Just when Lora felt the melody of her surroundings starting to lower her guard, the world around them seemed to shake. They all felt the ground shutter beneath their feet, and saw the lights flicker over their heads. Power fluctuated, causing a sudden change in the artificial gravity.
At first, Lora tried to ignore it. As soon as she downed her second shot, however, everyone was slammed out of their seats, or flat on the floor, as the gravity suddenly dipped. Igniting the gravity drive should’ve been a timely procedure, with plenty of warning and notice throughout the ship. This sudden, emergency transition, was violent by comparison.
It was over in a single second. The sudden lurch settled as the Star of Argon folded space time around itself, and slipped through the very fabric of reality to emerge in a completely different layer of space.
“Who the hell is running this tug!” Lora scoffed, using old school military slang for transport ship, as she got back up onto her seat. She was relieved that she had remembered to keep the cap on the bottle. It took a moment to find it on the floor, but it’s contents were intact.
The comfort liaison that followed her scrambled on all fours back to her adjacent seat, the straps of her uniform dangled on the floor as she crawled. Her long blonde hair was frazzled from the chaos, and her glasses were crooked along the bridge of her nose. Journey sank into her seat with a bloody nose. The air pressure had changed, along with the artificial gravity, causing their ears to pop.
It took a couple minute for things to return to some semblance of normal. Some of the stage dancers had to be taken to the sick bay, and more than a few guests had concussions to share. Lora was only grateful that she was sitting in her booth when the ship made its emergency jump.
“Is that supposed to happen?” Journey asked with a groan. She brushed her blonde hair back as she tried to find a glass.
“Who cares,” Lora certainly didn’t. “Second rule about being a soldier, don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. If the fly-boys want to rip the ship in half for no good reason, that’s there business. Besides, It’s better to prepare for the worst rather than let your curiosity lead you astray.”
Journey’s hands were shaking as she fumbled for the bottle. “Even now?” She asked.
“Especially right now.” Lora looked over to see a new dancer approaching the nearest stripper pole. She was a pale figure, with dark black hair and narrow green eyes. Her gaunt face reminded Lora of all the other malnourished occupants of Galli station, just before their departure.
“So, what are you prepared to do now?” Journey’s sweet voice reclaimed Lora’s attention.
Lora thought for a moment, pondering her answer, before speaking. “There isn’t enough time for me to run back to my quarters, and get into my armor. There isn’t even enough time to find a rifle. So if shit hits the fan, it’s out of our hands. The best thing one can do in such a scenario, is to get too drunk to care before anything worse happens.”
“What if we’re under attack?” Journey’s voice shook.
“Then we die, but at least we die happily drunk.” It was incredibly easy for Lora to accept this. “Unless the flyboys do their job, of course.”
“But aren’t you in charge of…” Journey tried to interject.
Lora just raised her hand, signaling her to stop. “Second rule!” She reminded the comfort liaison across form her.
“Right, sorry,” Journey looked down at her empty glass. To which, Lora uncorked the bottle of vodka and filled both their drinks.
“Drink up.” Lora downed her shot quickly, letting the alcohol sting the base of her tongue, and glide down the back of her throat. It was far smoother than she was used too, yet Lora hid a chuckle when she watched Journey struggle to do the same. The short girl nearly coughed up a lung as soon as she swallowed.
The music changed, picking up a more lively tune. Nearby, a group of patrons resumed a game of poker, and argued amongst themselves as to which tokens belonged to whom. Lora had filled her glass several more times while waiting for some of her company mercenaries to finally show up. She was still clueless as to what would be fun to do…other than drink of course.
“So what’s the next rule?” Journey seemed hesitant to take another drink, her fingers were strobing the lip of the glass in awkward fascination.
Lora was teasing when told her she would teach her the rules of being a soldier. Becoming a warrior took training, and sacrifice, and rarely let you live long enough to appreciate any other way of life. Only those who never saw the maelstrom of a war-zone, to see the layers of body parts used to build the walls of your trenches, would glorify it.
“First…tell me something? You want to fight in the freedom liberation front. Why?” Lora looked the comfort liaison in the eye, studying the lines on her face.
“Because…I promised my brother I wouldn’t abandon him. He left to fight on Sinmore, and I haven’t heard from him since. I have to find him…or at least find out what happened to him.” Journey’s voice had grown unbearably soft. “I want to be strong like you…so that I can make a new home on Sinmore. A new home for me and my brother.”
Worthy goals, Lora kept that opinion to herself.
Lora bit her lip. She couldn’t help but feel reminded of her own husband, how she searched for him so long ago. She buried the thought quickly, shoving it deep down in her mind where it belonged.
“Third rule,” Lora eventually responded, but not before having another drink.
Journey sat up quickly, her fingers danced against the crystal glass still filled to the brim with vodka.
“Find your faith.” It was the first rule Lora had learned when she was conscripted. It was probably one of the only rules in the militia manual that she believed was worthwhile.
“What?” Journey’s fingers froze.
“Even soldiers of fortune pray to something, or someone, when there in the grind. So my advice, find something worth putting your faith in, and hold onto it.” Lora held her faith in two things, or groups of things for that matter. She prayed to the patron god of warriors before every fight, and held a private faith for each of the children she left behind. “Now take a drink, remember rule number one, never drink alone.”
Journey looked up at her in fascination, as if a great revelation had been presented to her. Carefully, she brought the glass to her quivering lips, and drank it back.
“By the way,” Lora continued, “each rule comes with a drink. Tomorrow, we’ll see how many of them you remember.”
Journey coughed as she slammed the glass back onto the table. When her breathing settled, she wiped a layer of spit from her mouth. “Is this some kind of test?” She asked, watching as Lora filled both their glasses again.
“Absofuckinglutely,” Lora slurred, and laughed.
The short girl nearly coughed up a long as soon as she swallowed.
Is long supposed to be lung?