Mana Pool Snippets - The Job

Part 2

I took a breather and said, "I know you are frustrated, but I have a job to do, not be pushed around. Please, for the sake of my gods, let me ask the questions and you answer them. One thing at a time."

"The faster I do this, the less time I worry about the people camped around my ship.

"I heard," I acknowledged.

"I mean really tough. This city, Porter, the FBI, CIA, EPA idiots, and others."

"You're rambling."

Jaruka closed his eyes and rubbed his face. "No, I have not been to this solar system. Ever."

The machine pinged again.

"Good," I said. "But, you're probably right. We can start from the beginning."

"Good, because you'll need to remember this," he said with hard eyes. "And I mean remember."

Three months before The Wave...

October 15, 2012, Terra Firma Time

Creos, Maji Bay, Larada fishing village

I can say, on record, this mess I'm in, started with three knocks on my airlock.

I miss the Lunar Spear. Oh right, you don't know that. It was my ship, before it was shot down, split in half, and chopped into pieces. I'll tell you about it later.

Those knocks woke me up and I snorted through my pillow and blankets. "What...Who? Who's there?"

"Jaruka, you in there?!" The voice came from under me in the ship's workspace under the bed. "It's Dozel. You awake?"

"Oh come on, not now," I complained in my dark, empty bedroom. I did not want to fight that day. I rolled out of bed, fell, and hit the floor coughing out mucus. I was malnourished. I found my plasma pistol under my pillow in the dark and then crawled to the floor airlock. I fired up the gun—the green glow illuminated everything—and said through the door, "Who wants to know?"

"Someone needs to see you."

"Who? You?"

"No."

"Then who the crog are you and why? People die when people rudely wake me up."

"I told you, it's Dozel. I'm your fishing partner. Remember?"

"I know a Dozel, but you might be a fake."

"Stop being a jackass and unlock the door!"

I pinched a jagged dread in my fingers. "I don't know. I can tell something is different in your voice. I need proof." I clicked off my translator on my neck.

I heard a string of low-toned throat sounds and clicks of Creosian. One of those words was a curse Dozel uses while fishing. "Close." No other species speak Creosian fluently, it's even hard to imitate without universal translators, or a robot. If it was Dozel, and he was, I loved screwing with him.

Pointing my pistol at Dozel's forehead, though, was part joke and part seriousness.

Dozel stood on the stairs, one of three legs tapping on the metal, with three un-amused eyes staring back at me. His head quills never moved, not even flinched from me. He's a good kid, level tempered for a fisherman's son. I used to hang out with his father's family many times, exchanging food for fishing time on the ocean. Of course at that time, fishing season was closed and would not open back up until...oh, right now.

"Hey," I said. Several skin dreads fell through the doorway, dangling in front of Dozel, each a jagged, lifeless wooden tentacle. Come to think of it, with the natural oil on them, they did look terrible, like right now. I need a shave.