Shoshone Station: The Galactic Consortium season 2

Episode Six: Africa #9

Jake followed his new bunkmates into the mess hall. They'd spent most of the afternoon in basic orientation, learning where things were on the base. It was huge but mostly dedicated to civil service. He'd said something to Abioya about that, how he'd seen pictures on the TV of a huge refugee city of sorts. Abioya had laughed that off, saying that was in southern Africa, not here. Jake hadn't realized that Africa was so large, which made Abioya laugh even harder.

Still, this place was huge and busy. They weren't building dome shelters here, but they had hundreds that they shipped out from here, either on giant trucks or on hoppers. They also had water purification tanks and a variety of construction equipment for building infrastructure.

On one edge of the base was a large hospital that treated locals and sent medical crews to nearby countries at need. They had two medical evac ships like the one Jake had seen on TV, as well other smaller vehicles.

Closer to their bunks, and more pertinent to their stay, the base had a large commissary, mess halls, lounges, laundry, and other amenities. It had taken most of the afternoon just to get settled in, and Jake couldn't remember where half the stuff was. Still, he figured he'd get used to it.

The mess hall was huge but the line moved quickly through. The main dish was some sort of stir fry being served out of a huge vat. "Meat or no?" he was asked. He indicated meat, and a pile of vegetables with small pieces of meat were served on a plate and handed to him.

Chatura pointed to a buffet table beyond. "If you don't care for the dish there's plenty of . . ." Jake couldn't catch any of the rest of what Chatura said.

"Slow down," Abioya said to Chatura as they reached the buffet table. "I didn't catch even half those words and understood fewer."

Chatura slowed down, marginally, pointing at food and stating its name and what it was, roughly. Descriptions like, "a pastry with bean paste inside" or "deep-sea tube worms" did little to explain and less to entice Jake to try most of it. He did take a strip of mycobactim, out of curiosity, and what seemed to be flat bread.

They found a seat with a few fellow newbies. They were a diverse crew. The blond girl with the bright smile wasn't named Helga, but it was something pretty close, Helvig or something like that. She was from Norway and was studying urban planning, but had taken a year off to work for the administration. Next to her was Helann, who, like Jake, came from America and simply didn't have any better job offers waiting at home. Mani was a Cheyenne Indian from Shoshone Station. D'anton was from somewhere in France. Didier and Xawo were from nearby Guinea.

Overwhelmingly the room was filled with Consortium veterans and African locals. Some of the veterans sat in groups together, without translator collars, talking in their own language. Some of the Africans did the same. But they were slowly integrating; they'd been working alongside each other for many months now. Jake wondered if he'd ever feel comfortable in such a mix of people.

Looking around his own table, he had to bite back a laugh. Even a day ago, this would have been a more diverse group then he could imagine.

Wyoming was mostly white. Now he was in a sea of dark faces. Mixed in were hairy Hanuman faces, and the bushy eyebrows and broad shoulders of the Neanderthal. English was a given in Wyoming, and it was a shock to hear something else. Here the number of languages being spoken was bewildering.

When they had finished eating, the others wanted to go back to their bunk and finish settling in at a more leisurely pace. Jake readily agreed. He was overwhelmed and suffering culture shock.

As soon as they were back, he threw himself into his bunk. He dug through his pack and found his phone. He had no service here, but he did have Wi-Fi and used it check his social media. Several people were looking for him. Apparently mom had been asking about him. He sent a few short messages, simply saying he was safe and not to worry.

Abioya pulled a short rug out of his bag and laid it out on the floor next to his bunk. He knelt on it.

"You're Muslim?" Jake asked suddenly.

"Yes. Mom is the devout one. But if I don't pray at least once a day, I swear mom will find out and I'll never hear the end of it."

"Moms," Chatura commented from the bunk beneath Jake. "My mom's big into the Cult of the Mother. 'Have you danced for the Mother, Chatura?' So, what's Muslim?"

"Let me pray, then I'll tell you," Abioya said. He bowed and recited some lines in Arabic, or at least Jake thought it was Arabic.

Jake half listened while the two talked religion. "The essence of Islam is this: the prophet Mohamed taught that we are all one family in God," Abioya said. Jake's brow scrunched. He didn't know what he expected Abioya to say about the Muslim faith, but it hadn't been that. He'd expected something about fighting the unbelievers or death to the West.

Abioya went on to talk about surrendering to the will of God and being good to each other. Jake wanted to ask about the terrorists, how that fit with what Abioya was saying, but something held him back. Besides, Chatura started talking about the Cult of the Mother, whatever that was. "We are all one in the spirit," Chatura said. "The breath that goes out of me, goes into you. You see, it's practically the same thing."

Abioya laughed. "I like that. When you strip the form away, all the religions are mostly the same. Jake? Are you religious?"

Jake half shrugged. "Christian. My mom's a big believer too," he said, feeling defensive. "It's just . . . since Dad left, she doesn't have much time to take us to church or anything. She works so much. For me and my brother and sister."

"Your dad took off?" Chatura asked.

"Yeah, it's a long story."

"Never knew my dad," Abioya said. "Some cross-country trucker. Mom found out after she was pregnant that he was already married in some other country."

"My dad was a trucker too. Just left mom one day. Haven't heard from him in over a year." Jake shrugged again, not really wanting to get into the details but feeling like he had to express the connection with Abioya, that both their fathers were truckers. He wasn't even sure why he wanted that connection, other than the fact he felt so adrift.

They talked for a long while about lighter stuff, what they wanted to do with their pay, what things they were interested in, that sort of thing. Before long they called for lights out, and the bunker settled in for the night. Jake was asleep almost instantly.