Free Time Salvager by Wesley Chu Page B

“Smitt?”
    “I’m outside your door. Your comm band’s been on all night. Must have been an abyss of a nightmare. When I felt your exo power up, I ran over. Listen, the first thing you have to do is power down and open the door.”
    James glanced at his glowing wrists and the mist-like shield covering his body, then stood up hesitantly. The yellow light in the room faded, leaving him in total darkness. He unlocked the door, and without waiting for it to open, walked away and sat down at the table in the corner, where an almost empty bottle of whiskey begged to be polished off. He threw back the contents of the bottle as the door opened with a creak.
    Smitt stuck his head in. “Hello?” He turned on the light, saw James with the bottle in his hand, and shook his head. “It’s five in the morning.” He came in and sat down opposite James. “For once, can you not drink when you’re not on assignment?”
    James grunted, pulled a glass off the shelf, and offered it to him. Smitt shook his head but accepted it anyway. Then he put the glass to the side. James leaned against his chair and wiped his forehead. His shirt was soaked, and his skin burned and itched as if he had wandered onto the surface of Mercury without a rad band. He touched the bump growing on his scalp.
    “That hurt.” He felt the burgeoning knot growing on his head. He wasn’t sure if he was dizzy from smashing his brain on the sleep pod or from his earlier binge.
    Smitt looked concerned. “Maybe we should cut back your bar visits. Third time this month you’ve had an episode.”
    James put the empty bottle on the floor and reached up to the shelf above him for a fresh bottle of whiskey. He popped the cap off and brought the bottle to his lips.
    “No, I don’t think you should,” Smitt said, trying to take it away from him. A look from James stopped him. James took a swig and held the whiskey out toward Smitt, who shook his head again.
    “Look, James, this is getting a little out of control. I’m saying this as your friend, not your handler.”
    “You’re probably right.” James took another swig. “I don’t really care. I feel like I’m about to crack any minute, and this bottle here is the only thing keeping me together.” He smacked his lips. “What are they going to do? Fire me? Ground me from salvages?”
    “You want to get out of ChronoCom eventually, don’t you?” Smitt said. “You’re doing well. At this rate, we buy our way out in four, five years tops. You really want to jeopardize that?”
    James dropped his head. Four or five more years meant a hundred more salvages. How many more dead faces was he going to see? How many more would haunt his dreams? He grunted. Not like it mattered. The dead already numbered higher than he could count. What were a few more?
    “You know I have an abyss’s chance of earning out, don’t you, Smitt?” he said in a low voice. “I won’t survive four or five more years.”
    Smitt leaned forward. “Listen, I didn’t want to say anything while you were hitting the bottle, but we just got a choice job. It’s a big one, big enough to buy up several years of our contract. It also has an added bonus: a ticket to heaven.”
    James raised an eyebrow.
    Smitt nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, a golden ticket.”
    “What is it?” James asked.
    Smitt looked James up and down. “Briefing’s in a few hours, so stop fucking drinking and sober up.”
    “I don’t have much more left in me,” said James. He stared at the liquid swishing in the bottle. “Any day now, I’m just going to fly…” He laid his palm down horizontally and slid it forward. “… straight into Jupiter’s fucking eye.”
    Smitt shrugged. “I always had you pegged as one of those who just flew off into the heliopause to see what’s on the other side.” He shook his head. “Anyway, it won’t happen. It’s a golden ticket,” he repeated, “as long as you don’t screw it up.” He grabbed a towel from the rack