Blue Touch Paper
12 Mar 2021Eddie Stone
Eddie yawned as he slowly made his way home. His job was not difficult, but it was strenuous. “Sanitation” they called it. As far from glamorous as you could get, but at the same time, vital.He sometimes joked that his job ‘was shit’, but it was a job. And it paid better than a lot of work in the colony, because no-one really wanted to do it.
He paced down the corridor towards home, cream-coloured walls stained with age and neglect. And posters. "Election time again," he muttered. The Company had to hold them every so often, to maintain the illusion that, here in the murky depths of the Federation, democracy was still a thing. When every fucker knew the Company would be as likely to relinquish control as the Thargoids suing for peace. He felt sorry for Tanya, his boss, who had been landed with the futile task of organising their faction's election campaign.
Maybe because he was tired, he became more aware of the sounds around him. The buzz of cheap overhead lights, the ever-present thrum of power systems; and on the edge of hearing, a muffled cry, the sound of a blow from down a side passage. He paused, contemplated walking on...
...and found himself cautiously creeping down that passage, towards the source of the noise. Poked his head round a corner. Odd that he had been thinking of Tanya. Because there she was, pinned against a wall whilst three burly men in overalls roughed her up. Overalls with the Company logo on the back.
There was a long pause as Eddie's kitbag thumped on the floor, and the men turned to stare at him.
“Who’s this piece of shit?” said one of them. His head was stubbled and his face unshaven.
“Seen him around,” replied another, a short green mohican atop his scalp. “think he works in sanitation.”
“Makes sense. ‘Bout all a goddamn darkie is good for!”
Eddie took a step forward, and gazed at them. “Let the lady go.”
There was laughter. The third man, greasy locks to the collar of his dirty overalls, cuffed Tanya across the face. Her face was bloody and bruised. “And what you gonna do if we don’t, shit-scraper?” the man said.
Eddie met his eyes, replied “Do you really want to find out?” He did not wait for a reply, adrenaline fired his muscles and he sprang forward, punching the man holding Tanya. He released her and snarled as he swung back, fist glancing off Eddie’s upraised arm.
Stubble-head chuckled. “I think she’s got the message, boys. Let’s have us some fun with this monkey…”
Eddie grabbed his first target and swung him round, sending him flailing into the other two. They recovered and advanced, reaching into thigh-pockets and producing a variety of hammers and wrenches. Things went downhill after that; Eddie got a few good hits in, but ultimately he ended up on the ground whilst the men beat him with their weapons. After a few minutes, they stopped, for whatever reason. One of them kicked Eddie in the face for good measure and then the trio walked away, chortling.
“Remember not to fall in the shit, they might not see you in there!” called one over his shoulder.
“And don’t forget to vote for the Company!”
Then they were gone.
Eddie groaned and rolled over, slowly pushing himself up and slumping against a wall. Tanya was prone on the floor, breathing heavily. He hauled himself up and dragged her to her feet. One eyesocket was swelling badly, bruises were blossoming on her cheekbones and her greying hair was disarrayed.
“C’mon,” grunted Eddie, “let’s get us to a med centre…” Supporting her, they staggered back down the passageway, Eddie pausing to retrieve his bag. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”
Tanya closed her eyes. “Just a little bit of political debate. You know how it is. They know they won’t get done for intimidation, or assault.”
Fuelled by pain, Eddie felt his anger rising. “It ‘ain’t right,” he growled, “none of it is. Seems to me, something oughta be done.”
“And you know yourself that never works, Edvard,” Tanya murmured, “you of all people…”
A medic wordlessly patched them up. Eddie saw Tanya safely home and returned to his own lodgings, still filled with the possessions and memories of his late parents. A locker yielded a bottle of his father’s favourite tipple, a locally made, semi-legal moonshine. Several glasses did much to soothe the hurt of his body, and stoke the fire in his mind.
“Guess you guys like fighting dirty,” he said to the air, eyes unfocussed, “well, don’t ya know, the little guy can fight dirty too!”