The marketplace, the former hangar of the ship, was huge; cool and shady as opposed to the humid heat outside. “There’s the galley at the other end, if you need food”, Yan said. “Here’s an advance, two hundred caps each. You get the rest after I sold the wares.” He handed out some bags to his mercs and added: “Belowdecks is also a proper bar with a bigger choice of drinks, and if things haven’t changed too much since last I was here, a few whores as well.”
Shrapnel took his bag and watched with a mild feeling of disgust as the other’s immediately began to head for the door to find said bar and heatedly began discussing the possibility of whores. No one asked him to come, and that was fine by him. He didn’t want a whore, he wanted a beer to wash the grime out of his throat. He found the galley, ordered a beer, and after settling down at the table that was farthest away from any traffic, single-mindedly made love to his drink.
People came and went and he noticed that the stalls were being closed down and people were leaving the marketplace. He would have to relocate to that bar after all if he wanted another drink.
It was at that moment that Shrapnel, by sheer chance looking up when someone walked across the upper balcony, saw someone he thought he recognised. The door closed behind the man a second later and Shrapnel dropped his feet from the table, wondering with a racing heart if he had been mistaken.
He tried to calm himself. He probably had, but he had the nagging urge to try and find out if he really had. Confusing a man with someone he knew wouldn’t get him in trouble, but the thought of missing out on even the slightest chance of finding his old friend again… or at least the man he liked to think of as friend, as someone who might have become a friend, made his stomach turn. He emptied the bottle, set it down and after running his hands through his hair to calm himself, hurried up the stairs and through the door he had seen the man vanish through.
By the time Shrapnel had closed the door behind him, he was out of sight and before him lay a maze of darkened corridors that all looked alike. He headed straight on, not taking a turn left or right, until he had to turn left or right. He looked back and forth and with a shrug, turned left and followed that corridor until he had to double back because it was a dead end. Next left, down the corridor, another door.
He had found the stairwell. Up or down? Above him he heard the sound of another door closing and with a shrug, made his way upstairs, taking two steps with each stride. He took the next door he reached and found himself outside again, on what seemed to be the flight deck. Wrecks of old planes were still rusting away here and there and between two of the old carcasses made of metal and rust was…
“Flak?” He hadn’t heard, but maybe it wasn’t Flak and he just didn’t react to the name. His hear hammering in his chest, Shrapnel broke into a run. The likelihood was almost too strong to be chance. “Flak!” The man froze and turned around. And the cigarette fell out of the corner of his mouth.
“The fuck…?” Then his eyes widened. “Shrap…?” “Flak!” Shrapnel slowed down as he reached him, slightly out of breath and grinning like a madman. “Man it’s good to see you, buddy…” Flak hadn’t moved an inch and was still staring at him. Shrapnel suddenly felt his spirits vanish. “The fuck are you doing here?” “I… I came with a caravan.” Shrapnel rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I thought I’d recognized you and… well…” “Jesus”, Flak said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I thought I’d never see you again.” “I… I thought the same.” Shrapnel hooked his thumbs into his belt. “But I…” He didn’t get any farther, as in that moment, Flak finally unfroze himself and took a step towards him before throwing his arms around Shrapnel in a rib-cracking bear hug.
Taken slightly by surprise Shrapnel needed a second to retaliate, but he returned the embrace with as much fierceness as he could muster. The two of them remained like that for a while, occasionally slapping each other’s back, before they stepped back and broke the embrace. Flak was giving him a lopsided, little smile.
“Man, buddy”, he said. “Come on. That calls for a drink.” “I’m right behind you.”
Friends will be Friends 7b/8
“There’s the galley at the other end, if you need food”, Yan said. “Here’s an advance, two hundred caps each. You get the rest after I sold the wares.” He handed out some bags to his mercs and added: “Belowdecks is also a proper bar with a bigger choice of drinks, and if things haven’t changed too much since last I was here, a few whores as well.”
Shrapnel took his bag and watched with a mild feeling of disgust as the other’s immediately began to head for the door to find said bar and heatedly began discussing the possibility of whores. No one asked him to come, and that was fine by him. He didn’t want a whore, he wanted a beer to wash the grime out of his throat. He found the galley, ordered a beer, and after settling down at the table that was farthest away from any traffic, single-mindedly made love to his drink.
People came and went and he noticed that the stalls were being closed down and people were leaving the marketplace. He would have to relocate to that bar after all if he wanted another drink.
It was at that moment that Shrapnel, by sheer chance looking up when someone walked across the upper balcony, saw someone he thought he recognised. The door closed behind the man a second later and Shrapnel dropped his feet from the table, wondering with a racing heart if he had been mistaken.
He tried to calm himself. He probably had, but he had the nagging urge to try and find out if he really had. Confusing a man with someone he knew wouldn’t get him in trouble, but the thought of missing out on even the slightest chance of finding his old friend again… or at least the man he liked to think of as friend, as someone who might have become a friend, made his stomach turn. He emptied the bottle, set it down and after running his hands through his hair to calm himself, hurried up the stairs and through the door he had seen the man vanish through.
By the time Shrapnel had closed the door behind him, he was out of sight and before him lay a maze of darkened corridors that all looked alike. He headed straight on, not taking a turn left or right, until he had to turn left or right. He looked back and forth and with a shrug, turned left and followed that corridor until he had to double back because it was a dead end. Next left, down the corridor, another door.
He had found the stairwell. Up or down? Above him he heard the sound of another door closing and with a shrug, made his way upstairs, taking two steps with each stride. He took the next door he reached and found himself outside again, on what seemed to be the flight deck. Wrecks of old planes were still rusting away here and there and between two of the old carcasses made of metal and rust was…
“Flak?”
He hadn’t heard, but maybe it wasn’t Flak and he just didn’t react to the name.
His hear hammering in his chest, Shrapnel broke into a run. The likelihood was almost too strong to be chance. “Flak!”
The man froze and turned around.
And the cigarette fell out of the corner of his mouth.
“The fuck…?” Then his eyes widened. “Shrap…?”
“Flak!” Shrapnel slowed down as he reached him, slightly out of breath and grinning like a madman. “Man it’s good to see you, buddy…”
Flak hadn’t moved an inch and was still staring at him. Shrapnel suddenly felt his spirits vanish.
“The fuck are you doing here?”
“I… I came with a caravan.” Shrapnel rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I thought I’d recognized you and… well…”
“Jesus”, Flak said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I… I thought the same.” Shrapnel hooked his thumbs into his belt. “But I…” He didn’t get any farther, as in that moment, Flak finally unfroze himself and took a step towards him before throwing his arms around Shrapnel in a rib-cracking bear hug.
Taken slightly by surprise Shrapnel needed a second to retaliate, but he returned the embrace with as much fierceness as he could muster. The two of them remained like that for a while, occasionally slapping each other’s back, before they stepped back and broke the embrace. Flak was giving him a lopsided, little smile.
“Man, buddy”, he said. “Come on. That calls for a drink.”
“I’m right behind you.”
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