The Whorls of Jupiter

Chapter 11 Reprisal

August 1st 2521 Waxing 4

La Trois stood in the elevator of Yari Station and swiped the reader inputting executive offices into his destination. As the doors opened a secretary greeted him, "Can I help you sir?"

"Captain Adam La Trois to see Golan."

"I'm sorry sir, I don't see your visit scheduled on the agenda. I might be able to set up an appointment next week with proper clearances when hopefully the security level goes down."

"I see. Unfortunately Ma'am, my ship is scheduled to lift off in less than three hours."

A ripple of fear echoed across her features in realization, "Wait... That's you?"

"Indeed it is Ma'am. Now I have business with your boss. Why don't you give him a ring and ask if he'd like to see me?"

Golan's voice echoed from her desk, "No need. Send him in, Etna. Then go home and get ready for the launch."

"Thank you Mr. Golan. Please go ahead Captain."

La Trois curtly nodded and strode into Golan's office. Inside were a number of contraband books over the years on his tightly secured shelves and several awards for service excellence for managing the station. In the front of the room were busts wearing hardhats of every role of the station. Yellow for base maintenance, red for cargo loading, white for life support, and others still.

"What can I do for you Captain?"

"Well first I'm... stunned. I have to say Golan. I had no idea Bridgemoor valued your service so highly."

"It's difficult work but we see it through."

La Trois eyed the hardhats with disgust, "I actually came to pay respects to your... services too. As thanks for getting the Prominent Rage offworld."

Golan waved him off, "You don't have to do that captain. I'm afraid you're embarrassing me."

La Trois's voice shifted coldly, "So easily?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"So many lives lost in these working conditions... I guess being rewarded for it does make sense."

"What are you on about?"

"I never understood the cruelty, the prioritization of economics over the lives of your colonists. I mean money had value but it can't laugh or have sex. Compared to Jovians who died on your docks, it all just seems so small and petty."

"Are you here to lecture me Captain La Trois? You, a legalized privateer that preys on other ships for a fat check?"

La Trois looked him in the eye, "You really don't recognize me do you?"

Golan squinted real hard and then waved dismissively. "No idea."

La Trois removed an old partially burned LIFE SUPPORT vest from his jacket and wore it. Old, with a faded blue pattern, and took the white hardhat from the memorial that matched his former role.

"What ridiculous costume is that?"

"I was wearing it when you locked me out of the station. The day Al Short died and was reborn La Trois."

"That's not possible," Golan said outraged. He strained to remember but then snapped his fingers remembering, "Al Short was an incompetent, ungrateful little shit that was slow on the uptake! So I sent him outside to examine the lower hull. A storm brewed faster than projected so I shut the door on him to save the station."

La Trois's expression was one of quiet contempt, "He was out on that deck alone for three hours. Watching, waiting, knowing the storm would take him. And it did. And he survived."