Stranger

A pillar of smoke broke the horizon to the West. Beneath it, so far as I knew, was nothing but rock. All the terraforming stations were clustered together, and mine was the farthest in this direction. It was most likely a gas deposit, ignited by the meteor shower the night before.

I radio’d into central, checked if fallen craft had been reported. Told me sensors only picked up iron and carbon, they’d send out a salvage team by morning. Still, I had an odd feeling. I set two plates at the dining table.

Soon enough, a stranger walked out of the desert. It was just past sunset. The smoke silhouetted a damned pretty shade of blue. I pointed.

“That yours?” I asked. He stood there a moment. The Corps uniform was torn, bloodied. It didn’t quite fit him. Too broad in the shoulders. His hand rested at the hilt of a blaster.

“Suppose so,” he said. I eyed him a moment. A bit scared, sure. But he wasn’t going to pull that trigger. Even from the porch I could see the safety was on.

Dust spiraled as he trudged up the stairs. He collapsed into a wicker chair. I fixed dinner.

It was condensed food, but you get used to it after a while. He took a bite and told me he couldn’t ever get used to this. That made me smile.

“So you’re a terraformer?” He asked between bites.

“That’s it. Same as my father, and his.”

“I didn’t know it took so long.”

“Ain’t magic.” My own chair creaked as I leaned back.

“It must be lonely, though.”

“Only recently,” I shrugged. The silence said everything I couldn’t.

He kept looking at the walls. Not the pictures or decorations that lined them, just the walls themselves.

“Something catch your eye?” I stood, put a kettle on.

“I’ve been surrounded by bulkheads for so long, I forgot what wood looks like.”

“Know what you mean. Spent some time in the Corps myself.”

He looked confused a moment, until he remembered what uniform he was wearing.

“Where did you — where were you stationed?”

“Alpha Centauri, about 20 years back.” I watched him perform the mental calculations and braced myself for the realization.

“The revolts? Did you see combat?”

“Saw. Heard. Felt. I was on the Leviathan when it went down.”

“Stars. My father told me stories…”

“I wouldn’t listen too close to those. The truth ain’t half as exciting, and it’s twice as bloody.”

He nodded. It was a weary gesture. The same kind I made when the escape pod dug into rock and the airlock clamps fused from the heat. I took the kettle off just before it whistled.

“I was hoping for something stronger.” But he took the coffee gratefully.

“Blasterfire dulls the senses,” I explained. “Makes your ears ring, your eyes burn. Nothing ever tastes quite right. Booze does the same thing, just takes longer.”

He nodded again.

“Corps ships have made emergency entries here before,” I said. “They don’t usually take so long to ask where the radio’s at.”

“They’ll find me soon enough.” He looked at that smoke column again, as if he could see the ghosts riding it up to the stratosphere.

“Reckon you’ll want to be far from here when they do.”

He nodded again. Raised his cup.

“To those damned rebels.” His smile was small, ironic.

“And we who slaughtered them.”

The tin cups tapped together. Their echo was damned loud in the silence that followed.