Heather stood in what had once
been her bar and looked over the wreckage. Shards of glass and the dust from
the ceiling tiles littered the slick, black floor. Although most would describe
Heather as bubbly, her bar didn’t reflect that. The whole place was dark, with
neon lights burning behind the bar, and an old school jukebox in the corner.
Now it was a mess.
The quake had done some real
damage. Tables were knocked over, and
the jukebox and fallen forward, the glass front smashing. Inside, some
territorial urge was telling her to clean up, but she knew it was pointless. The
countdown on this place, her place, and this planet had started long ago. She
sighed, leaning against the bar, her hand going to her forehead, her fingers
rubbing her right temples.
It was hard to keep up
appearances all the time. She was always the bright one, the ray of sunshine
for everyone else stuck on this dust pit named Tetra-18. She didn’t feel like
doing it anymore. She knew she would, once she encountered people again, but
for right now, while she was alone, she let herself mourn.
Tetra-18 was a dump of a
planet, but it had been her home. She had come willingly, taken up the bar
willingly, and started making a life for herself willing. Now, against her
will, everything she had worked so hard for was going away.
“I take it you’re not open.” A
male voice sounded from the doorway entering into the bar.
Heather turned, wiping the
surprise wetness from her cheeks, and smiled. “Guess not. But… maybe a few
bottles of something or other survived the quake.”
The man stepped into the bar.
He was tall, lean, with olive skin and close cropped hair. Heather had seen him
around.
“Marco, right?” she asked.
“Yep.” He glanced around at the
ruined bar. “Need some help cleaning up?”
Heather shook her head. “Don’t
worry about it. It’ll all be so much space dust in a few days.”
That comment killed the
conversation for a while. Heather made her away behind the bar and found a few
unopened, and unbroken beers still resting in the now warming freezer. She placed
one on the bar, dusting some dust and debris away as she did so, and popped it
open. She took the second one and opened it for herself.
Marco grabbed one of the stools
off the ground, and put it upright. He sat down, leaning forward and rested his
elbows on the bar top. His golden brown eyes watched her as she drank. They
weren’t unfriendly eyes, but curious. Heather really didn’t know what to make
of the young man. She had heard his name in passing, enough to be able to put a
face to that name, but she couldn’t recall any details, no gossip. He was
probably one of the guys who just kept his head down, did his work and counted
down his days until he was back on earth. That was ninety percent of the miners
that came through Tetra-18. No one had probably told him that his trip to earth
wouldn’t be happening in the near future. The skeleton crew that the company
had left behind was going to get shipped to Beta-66, and the gas mines there.
They usually saved that news until the last minute, spring it on the guys when
they are already in flight. Heather had picked it up when one of the big wigs
behind all these mining expeditions had gotten loaded and let it slip while he
was trying to bury his face in her tits.
She wasn’t going to be the one
to break the news to Marco.
“How are the rest of the guys?”
She, out of habit, began wiping down the bar. “No one was hurt during the
quake, right?”
Marco shook his head. “Nope. We
were down in our quarters. Everything down there is bolted in, so no real
damage. To people or facilities.”
“Don’t really care about the
facilities. That’s the captain’s job. I’m here to care about the people.” She
put down the rag and leaned forward. “So, you going back home after the clean
up?”
She decided to test how much he
already knew. He looked young enough to possibly be green, but the scars and calluses
on his hands told her that he had been doing hard work for most of his life.
“Doubt it.” He took a swig off
his beer. “I thought I was the last tour, and I ended up here. Came over from
Iggy-7. Some of the guys think we might be going back, but me… nah.” He took
another swig. “This kid Bucky, can’t be more than eighteen, he really does
think he’s going back to earth. No one has the heart to spring the contract’s
fine print on him. I told him they should, but no one wants to be the one who…”
The sound of his voice was
overpowered by a sudden, loud crash.
“What the hell?” Heather looked
past Marco, and noticed that the floor in the far right corner of the bar had
suddenly collapsed. “Is that a sink hole?”
Marco stood up, turning towards
the still crumbling floor. “No way. This whole base is built on solid rock. I’ve
seen the diagrams myself.”
More of the ground began to
crumble away, the growing hole moving closer and closer towards the bar where
they both sat. Marco edged towards the door, looking at Heather and motioning
for her to do the same. There was another crash, and a huge chunk of the floor
broke away, vanishing into a inky, black nothing.
Marco was the one who froze.
Heather grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the doorway.
“Come on!” she yelled.
They made it through the
doorway just as the entire bar collapsed in on itself. Stone dust and shards of
metal sprayed into the air, and Heather and Marco both tumbled to the ground,
their arms up to shield their faces. There was a loud, electronic woosh, and a
metal door slid into place, blocking the bar from their view.
“This area is not safe.” A
computerized voice sounded through the hallway.
Heather sat up, brushing her
hair and bits of debris from her face. “No shit.”
