My Brother's Keeper, Prologue
17 Sep 2021Michael Ridge
A low, rustic twang filled the station’s bar, the lighting dim and the customers steady. It was late by local time, but that didn’t matter to the lone man in the corner. He drank by himself, his head down, not even looking into a dataslate or comms unit. He simply stared at the table, his lips sometimes moving as though in the middle of a word, but mainly sipping his beer.
Another man walked in, older, his face lined from decades of hard living and his hair shot through with grey. He scanned the room, his gaze falling upon the lone customer in the corner, his features a spitting image of his own. He nodded to the barkeep, walking up to the man. He stood before him for a long moment, Michael neither rising nor looking up in greeting. Finally the new arrival sat down, taking a chair and twisting it around, his arms crossed over the top of its back.
“You’re a hard one to track down, Michael.”
Michael Paxton Ridge looked up, distrust in his eyes.
“Surprised you even know how to call for a cab, old man. Space travel ain’t your style.”
Father and son regarded each other for a long, long time. The elder of the two reached inside his jacket pocket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out with his lips and lighting it. Smoke wafted in the space around them. After a long pull, the older man leaned forward.
“Not coming back I understand. You’re a dead man walking on Lemana. But you can’t have holofac’ed? Gotten in touch somehow? Let your family know that you were okay? You just had to vanish?”
Michael leaned back, arms folded.
“Little late to go on about family, ain’t it? We boys raised ourselves after momma passed. What was that you were always telling us? Got a job needs tended to?’”
Augustus Ridge leaned forward, aged eyes flaring, one finger held up in protest.
“I was tending to jobs. How do you think the power was never shut off? How do you think food magically showed up in the fridge?”
A scowl formed over Michael’s features.
“I think that we brothers did what we had to do. If you ever sent a single bit our way, it never made it to my hands.”
The older man looked down, at last looking like the aged old man that he was.
“That’s why I’m here. It’s… your brother. Preston. He’s gone. Taken. Said he wanted to be like you…”
He looked up, anger in his eyes. The finger pointed at Michael.
“And that makes you responsible.”
Now Michael leaned forward, his eyes blazing.
“Listen, old man. Preston left us before I did. Wasn’t my problem then, and it isn’t my problem now.”
Augustus shook his head. “Sure, he ran with a rough crowd for awhile. So did you. So did I, before I met your mother. But he came back after you left, got mixed up in the rumors that his older brother stole himself a spaceship and blasted off for the stars.”
A guarded look washed over Michael’s face.
“I never meant to make trouble for… look, you know how it is back there. If I hadn’t jacked that ship I’d probably still be running scrap for Big Bill.”
Augustus folded his arms.
“Yeah… and you’d have saved us all years of harassment from your old business associates. Do you have any idea of what it took to persuade them that you acted on your own? And what it cost us?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “So bill me.”
His father scowled.
“Preston took it all in, the tales about you. Started hanging around the starport. Got busted a few times for trying to stow away. Even tried to break into someone’s Sidewinder with a plasma torch, though rumor has it he was drunk.”
Despite the situation, Michael chuckled.
“Preston never did back down… even when he should have. What about the others?”
Augustus shook his head.
“Useless. Too drunk or too worthless. I hate to say it, but…”
His rough-hewn scowl deepened.
“...you’re the only of my boys who ended up being worth a damn. So it’s down to you.”
Michael scoffed. “You mean, down to us, right? He’s your son.”
The old man rose, straightening out his jacket, sliding a data disk toward his son.
“You’re the one with the big, fancy ship. I’m just some old nobody from some nowhere shithole. That’s what you’ve been telling everyone, I expect.”
Michael picked up the disk, pocketing it. He rose, taller than his father, holding up a warning finger.
“You’re a coward, old man.”
With that he strode away, flipping a credit chip toward the bartender, pausing to look over his shoulders. Contempt dripped from his every word.
“And what the hell makes you think I ever talk about home?”