In the Rouge

3 - Liam

Liam arrived at the training room, after receiving assistance from a few helpful—and more than a few unhelpful—crewmembers. Rushing in, afraid he was late and probably wearing the wrong uniform, he was brought to a sudden stop by eleven staring eyes and the ringing silence of an interrupted conversation. Ten eyes belonged to five spacemen sitting at schoolroom style desks at the back of the room—no, at least one was a spacewoman.

     A slight feeling of relief washed over him as he noticed they all appeared to be wearing the same uniform as he. Then he took stock of the eleventh eye and his relief vanished. The eye stared at him from the worn and weathered face of a tall muscular man standing at the front of the room. He was bald, and a livid scar ran from his scalp, down across a red mass of scar tissue where his right eye had been, to just under his chin. His face was contorted in a terrible grimace, and his hands were in front of him strangling an imaginary neck.

     “I . . . I’m sorry I’m late,” stammered Liam. “I just came on board and made it here as fast as I could.” Unconsciously, he wrung his hands.

     The one-eyed man straightened, and his terrible grimace broke into a toothy grin. “No worries. Sarge ain’t here yet,” he said in an accent Liam couldn’t place. “I’s just tellin’ dese kiddins ’bout how ah lost me eye. M’name’s Durney.” The man walked over to Liam, slapped him heavily on the back with one mottled hand, and held out the other.

     Confusion and adrenaline fought for control of Liam’s mind, and while they did, he shook Durney’s extended hand on reflex. He seemed to lack a reflex to stop, however, and after a long moment of hand shaking, Durney had to pull his own hand away.

     “An’ yur name?” said Durney.

     “Oh, right. Sorry. Uh, my name is Liam?” Confusion had won the mental battle and turned his answer into a question rather than a statement.

     Durney looked at him quizzically for a moment, then turned and waved his left arm, vaguely indicating the other five occupants of the room. “Wull, lemme introduce ya ta the others. That on the left thur is Mic Dax. He been here four years. Don’t arsk ’im what Mic’s short fer.”

     Mic looked young, with dark hair and skin, slouched at his desk with his eyes closed. He appeared to be asleep.

     “Nexta Mic is Jang Juan. He been here two years. Quiet sum’bitch, hardly says a word. ’Less o’course ya got three teats an’ blue skin.” Durney let out a low chuckle.

     Liam barely had time to take note of Jang’s fiery red hair and the unfriendly gesture he made with his right hand, before Durney moved on to the next person.

     “Then thurs Sully ‘Snores Like a Demon’ McBride.” Durney nodded at a portly red-faced man next to Jang.

     “You’re a damn liar,” said Sully, smiling. “Don’t listen to him, kid. He’s a liar and a scoundrel; he’s the one snores to wake the dead.”

      Durney shrugged. “His snoring been keeping me ’wake fer eight years now.” He nodded his head at the woman sitting next to Sully. “The purty’n nexta ’im is Belle. She’s six months in.” He winked at her: an interesting feat for a one-eyed man.

     “Hello,” she said with a smile and a wave. Belle had light-brown hair, pulled back in a short ponytail, petite features, and large brown eyes. She radiated excitement as though a tiny and unreasonably happy star had exploded behind her face. Liam could not help but smile back.

      Durney turned his attention on the last of the group, who was, to Liam’s surprise, another woman. It was hard to tell at first, she was squat and muscular with short, dark, curly hair framing a square face and thick jaw. Liam was only sure she was a she because of the red hot rage she glared at Durney; Liam figured no man could keep that much anger and aggression pent up. “An’ that heapin’ pile o’ sunshines on the end is Jester. She came on wit’ Mic.”