Before the sun was even over the horizon, Dan’s eyes snapped open like they hadn’t since he’d fallen asleep in the middle of his freshman exams. What the… He sat up straight in bed. Disoriented, he looked around him for something familiar but saw only cloudy, translucent fabric rippling in the morning breeze. In his confused state, he thought it looked very much like flying through a thick bank of clouds.

relax

His husband advised.

nothing has changed

you are still very much alive

and we are still very much stuck here

Dan checked his reality. Under extreme protest borne of lack of sleep, his brain begrudgingly released memories like a miser dropping coins. As his gears began to grind, Dan recalled staying up until the wee hours of the morning helping people set up their emergency tents and get settled for the night. After that he had spent most of the rest of the night in the company of Victus and the nutritionist figuring out how to balance the work assignments with extra food rations. Only when he could no longer keep his head from bobbing up and down had he dragged himself back to his own tent and succumbed to sleep.

Looking far more fresh than his partner felt, Bo stuck his head into the tent. “‘Mornin’, sunshine.”

Dan groaned and made an attempt to stand up. “Did you get any sleep?”

“A few hours,” Bo said. “Enough to function.” He handed Dan a white, porcelain mug.

“Coffee?” Dan asked, greedily. He almost snatched the mug from Bo’s hand, and was sorely disappointed to see that the cup was empty, save for a small, pink pill rolling around in the bottom.

Bo snorted. “Hell no, we ain’t got coffee. This ain’t no fancy cruise ship.” He chuckled at his wit then motioned to the mug. “Write your name on that, and for the love of god, don’t lose it. We only had a few dozen real cups and they’re long gone by now. Most folks will have to make due with a little plastic cup until we get the replicator going. Put the pill under your tongue and let it dissolve.”

“What is it?” Dan asked, dubiously.

“It’s better than sleep,’ Bo answered. “Until it isn’t, at which point you’ll fall flat on your face and sleep for eighteen hours straight, no matter what you’re doing. So if you feel yourself coming to the end of your rope, find a nice, soft place to crash.”

Dan didn’t look entirely convinced, but he did as his husband suggested. A few moments later, the world around him began to look brighter and move a little slower. To his surprise he was starting to feel human again, as if he hadn’t needed the pill in the first place.

Bo saw the look on his face. “It’ll come back to haunt you,” he assured Dan. “Don’t ever make the mistake of relying on these puppies for more than a day or two. But right now, sleep isn’t an option, so this is what we’ve got.”

Dan nodded. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked, as he pulled on the shorts and shirt he’d been wearing the day before.

Bo tossed him a meal bar and ducked under the zipper to exit the tent. “Come on,” he said, “We’re late.”

“For what?” Dan asked, scrambling to keep up.

“Work,” Bo sounded surprised. “I need you on a team, you know.”

Dan looked surprised. He had imagined that his talents would be best used in some administrative capacity. “Work construction? I’ll do what I can, but I didn’t really give that much thought.”

“We need everyone we can get,” Bo said. “You do know how to run a welding rig, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Dan admitted. “But it’s been over twenty years since my granddad taught me, though I don’t suppose much has changed since then. You sure there isn’t someone on the crews who would do a better job?”

Bo shook his head. “The ones who can weld have better things to do right now.” He looked at his comm and headed to where the shuttles were parked, Dan in tow.

“I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it, but I’ll do what I can.” Dan said. “What sort of equipment do we have?”

“I don’t know,” Bo said, as he walked up the short gangway to shuttle three and held the door open for Dan. “It’s in here, somewhere.” They consulted the printed manifest but it didn’t provide much useful information after the cargo got so thoroughly scrambled. He pointed Dan to the front of the mass of crates and boxes. “You look over here and I’ll dig through the pile in back.”

Ten minutes later, Dan unearthed the welding equipment, miraculously complete and unmolested in its original shipping box. “Holy shit,” he breathed, sounding awestruck, “This sucker’s fusion powered.”

“I’m guessing that’s a good thing?”

“Unless you want to stay tethered to a generator,” Dan said. His smile widened as he examined the print on the box more closely. “You wear it on your back, and instead of a heavy power cord, you’ve just got this skinny little tube running to a barrel of sea water. It’s even got a little machine that makes its own filler wire out of whatever it is you’re working on.”

Dan was impressed. The hardware looked ideal for their needs.

He was significantly less impressed with his own skills an hour later, after he’d laid down a dozen meters of sloppy welds. There before him was blatant proof that even the best tool in the world was no substitute for experience. His heart sank as he turned back to his task. Through the dark green filter of his welding helmet, he watched himself draw out yet another ugly weld against the metal surface. It had never seemed this difficult to him before - what was he doing wrong?

“How’s it going?”

The unexpected voice made Dan jump and kill his arc. From inside the isolation of a welding helmet, where all he could see was the pulsing electric arc and the surrounding puddle of red-hot material, it was easy to forget that he wasn’t the only person within a hundred kilometers. He groaned as he straightened, his back cramping in rebuke for his awkward posture. Pulling up his helmet, he saw a short, stumpy man examining his work. Dan surveyed his progress with embarrassment and disgust. “I suck at this.”

“Huh,” the man planted his fists on his hips and grunted. Without speaking, he bent and retrieved a large hammer from the tool kit that Bo had shoved into Dan’s hands. He made Dan jump again when he gave the twisted metal part that Dan was welding a solid whack. Other than making a hellaciously loud noise, the abuse had no visible effect. “Good ‘nuff,” he pronounced, before tossing the hammer back into the toolkit. He stuck out a dirty, sweaty hand for Dan to shake. “Eggar.”

What the hell is an eggar?  In spite of his confusion, Dan took the hand and shook it. “Huh?” he said, stupidly.

“Eggar,” the man repeated, smiling at Dan’s expression. “Like Edgar, but without the “d”. That’s my name. Eggar Morris.”

“Oh,” Dan smiled in return. “Sorry. Dan Blocker.”

The shorter man squinted at Dan in the morning sun. “You Taylor’s buddy?”

“Yeah,” Dan said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Population growth was sure to be a priority on their new world, and being partnered with another man wasn’t likely to be his strongest selling point.

“No worries,” Eggar shrugged. “Seems like a decent enough guy. I suppose you probably are, too. I don’t think anybody’s going to blow you much crap.”

“I hope not,” Dan said, “but I’m really more worried about what I’m doing, here.” He gestured at the last few feet of welding bead he’d laid down. “This looks like shit.”

“Don’t really matter,” Eggar said, bending to examine Dan’s work. “Long as it’s strong, nobody cares what it looks like.” He picked at the weld with a screwdriver for a moment, popping loose a bit of the bubbled slag that had accumulated at one end. “Show me what you’re doing.”

Dan felt nervous butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He felt bad enough about his performance without having an honest-to-god welder breathing down his neck. Swallowing his discomfort, he flipped his visor down over his eyes and struck his arc.

But before he could feed it any filler material, Eggar’s voice stopped him. “Hold on.”

Dreading the tongue lashing that he was certain was coming, Dan straightened. He blinked in surprise when Eggar pulled the helmet off his head. “Here,” the man pointed to a small rotary switch beside the visor. “You got three positions, Auto, Dark, and Cancel.” He took the torch from Dan and held it in front of the visor, striking an arc against the beam of metal Dan had been practicing on.

Through the darkened glass, Dan saw the arc dancing back and forth, just like he’d been watching it do for the past hour. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

Eggar pinched the switch between thick, stubby fingers and twisted. “Auto,” he announced. he struck the arc again, and grunted when the faceplate didn’t act any differently. They saw the arc flickering behind the span of black glass, but nothing more. “That ain’t right.” He tossed the torch on the table with the careless ease of a man who’d done it a million times before and examined the helmet more closely. “This ain’t working.”

“I tried all three settings, but they didn’t seem to do anything so I just left it where it was,” Dan told him. “What’s it supposed to do?”

“Hold on, “ Eggar grunted. Dan noticed that Eggar was really, really good at grunting.  He fished a small knife out of his pocket and used it to pry off the battery cover. “Huh.” Using the tip of the knife blade, he dug into the helmet’s guts and pulled out a small paper insulator that had been installed to keep the battery from draining during shipment. “Gotta take this out before it’ll work right.”

“Oh,” Dan mumbled, feeling stupid. “I’ve never used one this fancy, before.”

“’s alright.” Eggar snapped the cover back into place, moved the switch to the “Cancel” position and demonstrated again. The tip of the torch moved into view and Dan blinked his eyes reflexively to keep them from being burned by the intense light, but when the arc formed, this time he saw only its outline through the glass.

“Son of a bitch!” Dan grinned. He could see everything through the visor as clearly as if the glass were transparent, but as if by magic, the arc had been removed from the image.

“That make things easier?” Eggar asked, handing the helmet back to Dan with a knowing smile.”

“No doubt,” Dan answered, striking a couple of arcs on the material to see the effect for himself. “I could get used to this! You’re my hero.”

Eggar looked over at the other guys, who were taking advantage of a lull in the unloading to get a few minutes rest. “I’ve got a few minutes before they’ll need me again,” he said, in a tone of voice that sounded very much like Bo’s, “so let me give you a few tips.” He waved a hand at what Dan had already done. “You’re doing pretty good, but you’re treating this thing like an old stick welder, and that’s holding you back...”

***

In the middle of the tent city, laughing children running past Victus’ tent woke him from his fitful sleep. His eyes opened, but the rest of his body rebelled. It wanted sleep as much as his mind craved escape from reality. Laughter was incongruous in a world without Lucas and he wished it would go away.

It did not.

Victus gave up. He slowly sat upright atop the empty packing crates he’d used for a sleeping platform and stiffly swung his legs over the side. The motion nauseated him, but he didn’t care. Physical discomfort was irrelevant.

Sliding down from the crate, he walked three steps to a small stand of grass and waited patiently as his stomach heaved up a mass of viscous yellow foam. Out of habit, he did so as quietly as possible so anyone nearby would not be disturbed. A few seconds later, a second mass of foam joined the first, followed by a third, insubstantial production a minute later.

“Are you sick?”

Victus started, but did not turn around. From the voice, he could tell that it was the young boy that Dan had been tending to the day before. “No,” the Kenzine said, with a controlled calm that he hoped disguised his annoyance.

“There might be diseases here that we don’t know about,” the voice continued, somberly. “We could all die soon.” Victus thought that the boy sounded remarkably calm as he discussed their possible demise.

“I am not sick,” he explained. “When I have not eaten in a long time, my stomach builds up acids which upset my stomach.” He didn’t feel like talking, but when he thought of how alone the boy must feel he didn’t see any option. He wiped his mouth to make sure nothing disgusting hung from his lips and slowly turned to face the boy. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

Clay looked back at him with a dull reserve that could have been mistaken for boredom, but was probably shock. “He said they’d be alright.”

As ambiguous as the statement was, Victus didn’t need to ask what Clay was talking about. He didn’t sound angry, like Victus might have expected. Instead, his words were hurt and confusion. “I heard you tell Dan about that, yesterday,” Victus said, carefully. “Lucas was a man of his word, and he would have done anything to keep them safe, if it were possible.”

When he looked back at the child this time, Clay nodded his head in understanding “Do you know what happened to them?” the boy asked, haltingly.

Victus breathed in a chest full of the sweet, pure air that had never seen the taint of internal combustion and centered himself. He did not feel ready to talk about this, but it seemed that he must. “I saw their shuttle break formation shortly after the star liner’s engines exploded. I can only assume that their shuttle was damaged by flying debris.” The varius realized that he was speaking in adult terms to a child who looked no older than eight or nine. Given Clay’s somber attitude, it was all too easy to forget that he wasn’t twice his age. “Do you understand what that means?”

“It means they crashed.”

Victus nodded. “That is probably the case.” The two stood silently for a few heartbeats, isolated within their own thoughts yet sharing a common pain. The varius decided that this young sapiens boy did not deserve to be treated like a child. “I had not wanted to speak of this, Clay.” he paused, hoping it would show the boy his sincerity, ”Thank you for having the courage to broach the subject when I did not.”

Clay nodded. “Lucas told me you have to talk to people if you want them to like you.”

“He was a smart man,” Victus agreed, nodding his head. “I’m glad you got the chance to know him.” He could not think of anything else to say that did not threaten to obliterate his careful composure, so he asked, “Have you had breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry,” Clay almost whispered.

“I am not hungry either,” Victus said, “but you must eat if you are to survive.”

“Why do you want to survive?” the boy asked, looking directly at him for the first time in long minutes.

Feeling as if he were once again under the scrutiny of the abbot, Victus framed the correct answer, then mulled it over to ensure that it was the honest one. Finally he said, “Because the people of this colony are depending on me...” he looked down at Clay and inclined his head slightly to include the child in his statement, “...on us, to help everyone else live. It would be selfish to consider only our own pain when there are hundreds of other people who want very much to live, and are depending upon us to help them do so.”

***

After their midday meal Dan almost tripped over Clay, who seemed to be their omnipresent shadow these days.  He was always nearby, but rarely interacting with them.  Now the boy had crouched down so his eyes were closer to the ground, and he was busied himself poking at something in the dirt with a small stick.

"Clay? Do you have something to do?" Dan asked, patiently.

Clay’s attention did not waver from his dirt poking, but he shook his head.

Dan had never felt completely comfortable around children, but Clay had lost so much that Dan's heart went out to him. "Would you like to come help me?"

Clay shrugged indifferently, but stood and moved a step closer to Dan. Clearly, he was not going to ask to be included, but if the chance were offered, he would take it. Dan turned, and with Clay following a pace behind, went back to the group of people who were busy inventorying the contents of the shuttles.

Dan took the electronic pad he was offered and climbed inside shuttle number four. "You can help me take inventory," he offered. "It's a big bonus that you're small. You can crawl between pallets and get into places I can't."

“Why aren’t you welding?” Clay asked, still not meeting Dan’s eyes.  Dan was thankful for this, because that meant that the boy couldn’t see him blush.

“I don’t really have a lot of experience with that,” Dan admitted, trying to sound as ambivalent as he thought an adult should sound. “They said someone else would be a better choice for that job, and I should do this instead.”

“But you liked welding,” Clay observed.

Dan shrugged. “Yeah, but right now we need to have people doing the jobs they’re best at, and someone else is better at that than me.” He reached down to his belt and disconnected the flashlight he'd clipped there. "Here," he said, handing it to Clay. "You'll need this.  Wrap the cord around your wrist so you won’t drop it.”

They walked up the gangway to the closest shuttle and began reconciling the ship’s manifest with what was left in the cargo bay. Clay didn't ever offer more than he was asked, and after an hour or two working with him Dan began to wonder if perhaps he wasn't functionally disabled in some way.  It didn't matter, really. He was Dan needed to know what material was on the ship and Clay was helping him figure that out. That he was even marginally functional after losing both of his parents was more than Dan would have expected. His own parents were probably worried silly right now, but they were alive. Clay’s were dead.

So was Lucas, Dan reminded himself.  The thought left him feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“It’s blinking on and off.” Clay’s muffled voice struggled to reach Dan from where the child was buried, in the middle of a neatly stacked row of crates. Dan would have had to move the pallets with a forklift to see what was behind them, but Clay was small enough to wriggle between.

“Click the switch on and off,” Dan said, loud enough that his voice would carry. “If you only push the switch in halfway, it will start blinking like that.”

“Oh,” the voice came back, and then a moment later, “four one four A, and four one four B.”

Dan scrolled through the list on his screen until he found the two crates and checked them off. “Dental equipment and...” he checked the list again, “nutritional supplements. Good,” he smiled. “We’ll need both of those.” He was pleased, but the feeling was obliterated by a wave of guilt. He shouldn’t be feeling anything but misery while this boy was suffering through the loss of his family.  Perhaps it was he who was functionally disabled, his conscience argued.

Julian had helped them, and now he was dead. So was the chef and the doctor, and the mate of a man Dan was coming to consider a friend. Dan should be feeling miserable right now, not getting excited about finding a box of vitamins.

survivors guilt buddy

do not let it drag you in

everyone you see around you

is alive because you helped them

Dan knew that Bo was right. Beating himself up would do no good, and might even do him harm.

I am sorry about Lucas

Dan thought, in return.

I am too

I have to pay attention to my meeting

Dan felt the smile once again touch his lips, and this time he let it come. How like Bo it was for him to take a few moments out of his busy day to check in on him and make sure he was all right.

*affection*

“Four two four A,” Clay’s voice repeated, sounding impatient.

“Oh, uh,” Dan shook himself. Time to get back to work. “Got it. But there should be two of them...”