Storytime: Last Legs
Hello! Welcome back or, if you’re new, welcome in!
It’s new story week here on Inklings, where I write a new short story inspired by a random writing prompt. Some of them are my own, most I pick up from around the internet (image searches ftw).
Previously, I’ve been adding these to my website at leehulme.com, and just dropping the link here.
But I’m wondering if just dropping the story here would be better. Switching things around a bit by making the website more static, as this place is becoming my new dynamic home. Perhaps I could replace the bloggy bit with an updating embed of these posts.
I’d be very interested to hear any thoughts on this, especially with regard to ease of access. I don’t think I could record the audio for each story, because I lack the spoons for doing takes and editing them (plus if I do audio for my stories, I’m doing it properly like in the podcast I’m slowly fighting fatigue in order to finish putting together).
Anyway, here’s the story for today (also alive on the website). I hope you enjoy it, please give your thoughts on the above, and on the story. Please share to someone who might enjoy it, and if you’re new here, please subscribe (for free)!
Last Legs
CW: mention of cancer & mastectomy; one character is an amputee, and they're struggling with an infection at the site.
Harv paused from his work, patching and repatching old, torn clothing into 'new' clothing, and wiped the sweat from his bald head and neck. The ship was doing its best but he feared that it wouldn't make it to the meteor they'd spotted two days prior. He just hoped it would get close enough for them all to jet over, but he worried for Jamie. She was 12 and had only learned to jet since being on the ship. She hardly spoke, since the loss of her dad—her only family. He couldn't blame her for that, but she needed the will to survive and he wasn't sure she had it.
On a nearby workbench was Gillian, grim-faced as always, allowing sweat to run in rivulets down her body—on which she wore only a pair of boxer briefs, her breasts removed long ago to save her from cancer. She was wiry and strong, her grey hair kept short thanks to Owen, who had been busy training as a cosmetologist when the stupid shit happened.
Though Gill was past her 50s, Harv, at 31, was smart enough to be pretty sure she could take him in any strength or fighting challenge, and, ex-army Special Forces, he understood and respected that. Plus, she was an ace at fixing all the shit that broke in this thing.
He loved his ship, but Harv was not stupid enough to think that made her the best ship ever, and she'd been in need of enough work that he was considering trading her in. Of course that was before everything went to hell.
The last two members of Harv's makeshift crew—gathered simply by helping Harv load supplies at top speed before they ran out of time—were Annette and Tommy.
Annette had turned out to have an excellent eye for spotting salvage, and freeing it from wherever it happened to be—two things she swore she had never done before, even right after returning from a scout with a haul so big they needed a full day to jet it aboard. But she could never quite look Harv in the eye as she said it. She was in her mid-30s, but her eyes were much older, filled with trauma.
He didn't push her on it, and stopped the others from doing so. Harv didn't care what past she was hiding. Her present was on this ship, keeping them not just fed, but supplied with pretty much everything else they needed.
Harv didn't ask her about her past, but he did wonder.
Harv's experience, and the skills the rest of them had were certainly keeping them going, but Annette was the reason they had the things they needed. Deep inside Harv there was a whisper…
Descendant…
The main thorn in Harv's side was Tommy. He was the youngest—claiming 25, though Harv doubted he was older than 21—and it was clear he'd come from a rich family. His knowledge of light ships and basic onboard living got him on, even though he loaded half the amount of supplies as anyone else, and he sat even now ensuring they remained on course. That and making decent food out of what was often little more than freeze-dried scraps were the only two things he would do without spending the entire time grumbling.
Harv had talked to him, both privately and not, but Tommy believed his position on the crew could not be…downsized. Harv feared he would need to teach Tommy differently, but it hadn't come to that just yet.
And now there was a meteor! Not a scrabbly piece of rock, not a floating hunk of blasted ship, not the cruiser of another tinpot dictator where they cycled up the ever-groaning engines and disappeared before anyone spotted them (as Harv gritted his teeth and begged the ship to stay together). It was a rough boot shape, maybe 500 miles through ts widest part, covered in trees and grass and, Harv was almost certain, crop fields.
Which meant they were in an environmental bubble. Which meant they might have passed the wars right by, either by sitting out here quietly living, or by using huge thrusters to take them out here to live quietly. Harv had believed that no bubble that big and intact existed anywhere, not anymore.
But here it was. A meteor of good size—likely to be missed by passing cruisers and outlaws, and clearly with some shielding against being pinged, which was why it didn't show up on any of their detection scans despite being right in front of his face.
No. Annette had led them here. Days ago she had reset the coordinates while Tommy wasn't in the command room, and simply demanded that they go there.
Now here they were, right where she'd said. Harv was sure of her past now, but it still wasn't his to pry out of her. And he was damned glad he'd made the offer to take her aboard.
With luck, the people here would be friendly, at least enough to let them trade for parts. And some real food wouldn't go amiss.
If this place wasn't friendly, Harv would be at something of a loss for what to do next. Hiis ship couldn’t last much longer without some major repair, and the crew were getting snappy and frustrated with being constantly cooped up together. Most crews at least had some type of shore leave, but there had been nowhere to land in so long. This meteor could change everything, for good or ill.
He sat up in his chair and stretched his back, grimacing at the clicks and pops it made as he moved.
"How's the stump?" Gill asked, not looking up from her work.
"Eh, it's been better," Harv gave it a soft stroke, managing to keep the pained grimace off his face—he hoped. The truth was, after losing his leg during a battle that had almost dragged him into the clutches of an artificial storm, then the prosthetic giving way to wear and tear, just, getting around was a constant danger. He had slipped and banged various parts of himself as well as the stump just above his knee pretty badly a few times, and with the injuries to the stump, some of which were bad enough to bleed, had come infection.
He was fighting it with antibiotics, with the help of Gill, who seemed to know a lot about it. It hadn't gotten worse, but it hadn't gotten better either. When this second attempt at antibiotics ended, he would tell her then whether it was better, worse, or the same. Hopefully this meteor would be friendly enough to let them stay, at least long enough to figure out another option.
As they neared, Tommy sent out the wideband equivalent of a white flag—we are peaceful, we ask for aid—and double-checked that their weapons were all stowed, ensuring any scans would not show anything that could be interpreted as aggression.
“If they don’t respond by the time we’re able to reach stable orbit, drop us nto it and keep broadcasting.,” Harv told Tommy, thumping into the command centre on the set of low-grav crutches they had found on a wreck mere days after his prosthetic had given up. “If they’re used to being hidden, we might be a big surprise to them so give them time to respond.”
Tommy nodded sourly, he hated being given orders, but his survival instinct had so far overcome his rich kid brattiness, and he obeyed, even if it was with a face that could curdle freeze-packed soy milk powder.
Harv rolled his eyes and thumbed the intercom, “Gll, prep the shuttle in case we need it.
The “Yes boss” he received was unecessary; he knew the shuttle would be ready in about 3 minutes time.
While they waited, Harv settled himself comfortably in his Captain’s seat and was asleep before Gill’s confirmation that the shuttle was ready to go.
Writing Prompt used:
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See you Sunday!