Dustclouds

He made himself look at the billowing dustclouds through the window. Huge grey pluming mounds of silty grey, stark against the vast black nothingness.

He’d been told it was grounding. That while you floated about in the nothingness of space on a rusted chunk of metal conditioned to support human life, that it helped. That you should take time to look.

To take in what is real out there.

So there he was, grounding himself, looking at the dustclouds, thinking about how each bit of grey was a tiny shard of glass, and that if he was out there, flying through it, he would be being ripped to strips of blood right now.

But he wasn’t out there. He was in here. And safe. And that was something to be thankful for.

Hey, maybe this grounding works after all.

He was waiting for Pops. They had him up on the care floor, but he could come down to observation once a day for visitation and to look at the clouds, and that was enough for both of them.

The transport sighed as it depressured and out he wheeled. Old, frail, broken somehow. Klost remembered how his father’s forearms used to bulge and tauten, a lifetime of labour had seen to that, but there they were now - thinned to bone. White. Dying.

And the mind wasn’t far behind. Klost had come to dread these meetings. The decline. The jumbled sense of what used to be and what was. The lack of words to get to meaning. The decay of the man he knew. The shadow of death so dark on him now.

But not here yet.

Not quite.

They once called them ‘seers’, people whose minds went. At the end of life the timeline in their heads got all messed up and they saw the past and the present as the same. Then some time ago they worked out that they saw the future as well. That they could predict things that came, but the predictions were so fuzzy it rendered the visions near useless. You couldn’t tell if what they were saying was past or present and it made no odds - incomplete information was no information at all. People took crazy gambles on what seers said and lost homes and wars and the lot.

So no one much trusted seers now. And looking at the state of Pops, Klost could see about why.

He rolled across to his son by the window and for a while they just looked at the clouds. Pink now, lit from behind by some unknown source, maybe a diamond transporter on its way. Huge, engulfing clouds. Belittling somehow.

He knew they were just little splinters of glass reflecting the light. But knowing that made it no less magical. Knowledge doesn’t hold any strength to beauty.

“I’ll be gone soon boy.”

Klost rolled his eyes at a well-worn path. If there was one thing Pops liked to talk about, it was his imminent demise.

“I’ll be gone soon, you mark it.”

“I marked it a million times before, I’ll mark it a million times more.”

“I’ll be gone soon,” a wisened hand gripped hard onto Klost’s forearm, wastrel-thin fingers digging into flesh with whatever strength they could muster. His father’s eyes held Klost and he realised he really hadn’t looked at him for so long, “And you will find him. You will find my other boy.”

Klost moved his hand on top of his father’s and patted it gently, unsure whether he was trying to reassure him or just end the talking. But still, he looked into his father’s eyes. They were more grey than he remembered them. Something seemed to float across them. Just the reflection of the dustclouds he told himself, as he turned back to look at the view.

His shuttle rattled and coughed intermittently on its way back to the main hull. The smoother flights above him moved quicker and quieter, but they cost more than a working man like him could afford.

He disembarked and strolled down the browned metal walkway, surrounded by large, cheerful projections of attractive people telling him that walking was good and a fit citizen was a happy one.

Klost didn’t feel like a happy citizen right now. His HUD was blinking in and out of usefulness, and it was only a short few hours until he was back to work again.

He made his way down the Crater and looped out and left to the marketplace. He had to get this fixed sooner rather than later. If he was without feeds he couldn’t see jobs. If he couldn’t see jobs he couldn’t do jobs, and if he couldn’t do jobs he would end up even broker than he was now. Which was broke.

Börsch’s place was a mess. Broken things, mess and untidiness. Wires and wreakages hung from the ceiling and the floor didn’t look much better. Klost heard crunching from beneath his boots as he made his way to the counter.

At least ain’t no one gonna sneak up on him.

He waved up at the camera as the lenses in it whirred forward and back picking up a picture.

Ain’t no one sneaking up on him at all.

Once he had been scanned and verified the door hissed open and Börsch made his way out, digging his knuckle into the low of his back and wincing. “What d’you want?”

“My HUD’s fritzing.”

“Get a new one.”

“Can’t afford it.” Klost’s held the HUD out over the counter.

“I can’t work miracles with shit,” Börsch replied, but he still took the HUD, pulling a looking glass down over one eye and plugging it into an outlet. “This is dogshit. You bring me dogshit and expect gold.”

“I don’t need gold, I just need it to work.”

Börsch’s grunted through a disdainfully curled lip as he continued his work. Klost looked around the shack. It had a chaotic beauty in a way, like twisted metal after a crash or an exploding cadaver frozen in time. It was everywhere and everything in one still picture. Too much to take in crammed into an inescapably small space.

It comforted him.

He spoke before his brain caught up, “You hear anything of my brother?”

The work stopped immediately as Börsch’s looking glass suddenly trained directly onto him. “That fuck owes me money.”

“Owes a lot of people money.”

“You find him, you tell me.”

“If I could find him, I wouldn’t be asking you about it, would I?”

Börsch stared at him a couple of seconds more, then went back to his work. “Why you asking now?”

“Just something my Pops said.”

“He’s seen him? In tomorrows?”

“No just… wants to see him again maybe. One last time and all that.”

Another grunt as Börsch switched tools quickly, “I know he’s your blood. But he’s a piece of shit.”

“You use that word a lot.”

“That’s because I am surrounded by it, shit.” As if to make his point he offered Klost back his HUD. “It’s works. For now. It will break again, this shit.”

“As long as it gets me through the day.” Klost readjusted it onto his head and transferred some credits over for the job.

Börsch nodded as he saw them come through. “You need a new one.”

“Yeah, I need a lot of new things.”

“This will not last long.”

Klost turned and made his way back out of the shack, his footsteps crunching on the way. “Trust me Börsch, when I’m swimming in credits you’ll be first in line.”

“Sure” Börsch called out to him as he made his way out of sight. “Sure.”

Klost got the message at work.

He made his way up to the care floor, no observation today.

The woman behind the desk clicked through a list, pressed a name and a small box, 30 by 30, popped out behind her. She collected it from the shelf, placed it on the counter between them and opened it up. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, in a way you could tell she had said it a million times before. Maybe the first time she was sorry. Didn’t sound that way now.

Klost took Pop’s items out one by one and placed them into his satchel.

A whole life fitted into a box.

A sad way to go.

When Klost took the last item out he felt like he should cry. This was the right time to cry. Now.

But he didn’t.

So the feeling just stayed there. Waiting.

He left the box and made his way towards the elevator when another message arrived on the HUD.

- - - - - –

- - - - - –

- - - - - – Items collected

- - - - - – Inheritance issued

- - - - - – Klost Hocha

- - - - - –

- - - - - – Inheritance to be shared with brother, Inge Hocha

- - - - - –

- - - - - –

- - - - - – Inheritance held until brother found by request of deceased

- - - - - –

- - - - - –

Klost couldn’t help but smile.

Thanks Pops. Thanks a lot. Every day I visit and I don’t get shit unless I find him.

Yeah. That feels about right.

He gave a small laugh to no one as another, more mischievous thought crossed his mind.

You don’t think Pops saw something? In the visions? Me and Inge?

But before the thought was done Klost cut it dead in his tracks. Seers were bullshit and his brother was a deadbeat, his Pops was dead and he was stuck in the exact same place as always.

Yeah, thanks Pops. Thanks a billion.

The days passed long and hard for Klost.

He never realised how much the visitations with Pops broke up the monotony.

Or he never realised how much having Pops around made the world less monotonous.

Either way, the world seemed more bled out now.

Darker still.

Word. Bed. Work. Bed. Work. Bed. Nothingness.

Klost drifted.

They had cremated Pops. Klost had watched from the window as they were fired out into the dustclouds. Into glass. Pops was one of them now, the shards of glass, the gigantic clouds, the universe. He was everywhere and nowhere, all at the same time.

Klost wasn’t sleeping well. He struggled to fall and when he did he tossed and turned himself awake. Night into day and day into night, it all became one long streak now.

He hated the hours he was at the job, and he was growing to hate the ones he wasn’t.

He was drowning all at once with lungs full of processed air.

Suddenly Inge running away into the great unknown didn’t seem like such a bad idea. At least he hadn’t been swallowed up staying around here.

He could still feel Pops’ hand on top of his, still hear his whispered refrain, “You will find my other boy.”

He looked down at the meagre rations his credits could afford and thought back to the 10 hours he had worked to afford it. Something about that deal felt so off right about now.

He once again looked out into the great unknown. He supposed it couldn’t be much worse than right here.

Quitting had been easy.

He’d always imagined it would be big and dramatic and accompanied by an argument but it wasn’t.

He said he was going to quit. The guy accepted he was going to quit. Then he left.

He’d built up a backlog of a few credits and pulled the trigger and this was it.

He was free. And scared.

He knew the place his brother had spent the most time at. At least the place he knew his brother had spent the most time at.

So he paid his way onto a transport, shoved himself into the mass of people on there, closed his eyes and let himself be rocked forward and back, up and down as it passed merrily along its journey.

It stopped at various ports letting stuff be loaded and unloaded, goods and people alike.

The transport was dirty and people were angry and there was noise and grime and Klost found it useful to shut down. Completely ignore. Go back into his body and wait. His time would come, but until then, don’t engage. Don’t get involved. Be separate to it.

So they travelled on until it popped up on his HUD ‘Next Stop - Korchvelt’

Korchvelt was a strange station. Large but empty. It echoed with an importance long past. Too big for what it needed to be, too worn to have any grandeur. It was battered and sad and pretty empty inside. Klost could relate.

It was probably in his head but his joints ached more here. His head was less clear, thoughts foggier. Maybe it was old age, he could have told himself, but he didn’t. No, he blamed it all on Korchvelt, a place that seemed to drink the life right out of your lungs.

He asked around about his brother, offered credits to those he thought could be swayed, an intimidating stare to those he thought couldn’t, but he didn’t get far.

He sat down at a broken old noodle bar, ordered up and began spooning the hot, salty ramen into his mouth. The texture was comforting. The saltiness burned over his sore throat, gently coating the pain.

Was this a mistake? The thought clattered through his mind and he dismissed it as quickly as he could. This was no time to doubt. Doubt helped no one. Doubt was a backwards step.

“You, er, know where I can find a guy named Inge Klost?”

The server looked up at him and shrugged, wiping his hands on the apron hanging from his waist.

Doubt helped no one. No backwards step “You think you can ask around for me?”

The stare from the server spoke emphatically enough, but as the credits Klost sent over popped up on his HUD the corner of his lip tightened slightly and he made his way to the serving hatch, “You heard of a guy called Inge Klost?”

“How much he offering?”

Klost took another mouthful of broth. Not a wasted journey after all.

Klost was beginning to struggle for credits but was at least getting somewhere in his search.

The chef was expensive but provided results, a woman named Tsvetayev who lived near the transport station.

Klost had to bide his time trying to find the right time and place to approach her.

He slowly clocked her routine, where she worked and ate and lived.

He tried his best to work out how to do this. He’d not really thought he would get this far, being honest with himself, yet here he was, and here he would have to make the best of it.

She was round in the face, Tsvetayev, with signs of tiredness around the eyes. Her clothes were practical, hair tied back with a lone curl breaking free and falling down below her eyes. She had studded earrings with what, even from this distance, he could tell weren’t genuine stones.

She sat and ate hungrily and smiled as a colleague told a story.

The tiredness fell away almost instantly, a spark in the eye lighting up her face. I see who you used to be, thought Klost, ordering another drink he couldn’t really afford so as not to draw attention.

After a few days of watching. More drinks he couldn’t afford.

More failure.

One the third days she lunched alone and eventually the credits got so low Klost decided it was now or never.

It’s funny how desperation does that to a man.

Klost took a breath and approached.

“Can I sit here?”

“I don’t own the place.”

Nothing came to mind fast enough for Klost to respond, and as he internally cursed himself he lowered himself to the seat instead. Speak man damn you, speak. “You know anywhere with jobs ’round here?” Klost tried to weigh up what she thought of the question. He didn’t think must of it himself, if he was being honest.

“Short of credits?” She didn’t even look up from her food.

“Who isn’t?”

Tsvetayev nodded her agreement.

“The rigs are always looking for people.”

“Mining’s a dangerous business.”

“You want work or not? Transport there takes people every morning.”

Klost nodded along. “You know a guy called Inge Klost?” Her face narrowed to anger instantly, she picked up her tray and tried to stand. Klost’s hand, firm but not bruising, held her wrist. “I’m not like the others looking for him.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

“I’m his brother.”

The narrow anger turned to doubt, then confusion, then distrust. Her looks at him hardened, years of questions and seeking about Inge had calcified her somehow. “He owe you money too?”

Klost couldn’t help but smile, first time in a while and all in all, it didn’t feel too bad, “Not in any way you’re thinking.” He fired his ID across to her HUD and watched her take it all in.

“I gotta get back to work.”

“Then let me buy you a drink later, and explain it all. Explain everything.”

The wait seemed to last an eternity. A dustcloud between them. A universe. He could see behind her eyes a tumult he easily recognised. “Sure,” came her reply as she took her tray back towards the counter.

The address of a bar flashed up on his HUD and Klost could smile again.

She had something.

Klost wasn’t one to talk about women’s looks or wax lyrical over beauty but he was drawn to her. She was smart. She was angry. He liked that.

After he had explained about his Dad and the stupid task Klost had been set upon his demise, she eased a bit in his company. Trust him? No, but believe him? Partly, sure.

The dive bar smelt like broken promises and the clientele were on the sadder side of happy but it held a charm to Klost, or at least the company did.

Tsvetayev said she only had an hour so he had to talk fast, but sometimes he let the silence eat, to see what she would say, with mixed results.

She hadn’t spoken to Inge in ten years, give or take, and she had no wanting to. He’d screwed her over like he’d screwed plenty others and he’d left her broke and with something else too.

A boy. Luca.

Kid had been in her belly as Inge ran away from more trouble he’d found and he never made his way back again.

Figures.

Inge’d skipped out on about everything else in his life, why not a baby boy too, I suppose.

This cut Klost some. The boy being alone. But in chatting to Tsvetayev he knew the kid would be fine, even if it killed her.

“He ever send credits?”

She laughed.

“I can send you some.”

“You were asking me for work earlier today.”

“No, true enough,” came Klost’s response, “I do need work. Just feel kind of responsible.”

“How you come to that?” Tsvetayev ran her nail into a dent on the lip of her metal cup, “Few hours ago you ain’t never heard of me or the boy, now you’re falling over to fund us?”

“It just feels ri-”

“I don’t need Klost charity,” anger bit behind the words, before cooling, “Saved your credits for yourself, it sounds like you need it.”

Klost couldn’t disagree with that, “One more?” he asked, tipping his cup in her direction.

“No, I’ll be getting back,” she replied, shifting herself out of the booth, “But if you ask really nicely, I might just let you buy me one another time.”

The days passed well.

Each morning Klost rammed himself into a transporter filled with those who worked off the port, and each day he travelled, armpit to mouth, up through the dustlouds.

It smelled in there, sweat rolling down the inside of the windows, but at least he was among honest people here, all on their way to earn an honest living. It shot up and away into the dustclouds on the way towards the rig. From a distance, he’d only seen greys and browns but as he moved through them each day he started to see purples, blues, even reds and pinks. The way the light struck it. Beautiful.

It made him happy his Pops was now part of something beautiful, even if the new job was far from that. Hard, dirty and dangerous hours and Klost was only earning slightly more than before. But he did kind of like how practical it was, moving the heavy machines into place took strength and thought, and leaving work covered in the glistening dirt that cutting kicked up made him feel like he had earned his rest.

He also saw Tsvetayev more and more.

They only had a small gap between the end of her workday and her having to get home to her son but they became a highlight for Klost, talking about nothing really but just enjoying the chance to talk.

Then he’d head home, shower, eat and sleep before the next early start tomorrow.

It wasn’t a spectacular life, but it was a life, and in a way he’d never had before, he was happy.

Thanks Pops. He thought that night before he fell into sleep. Maybe you did see something after all.

The toy sat in front of him on the bar.

Was this a mistake?

The credits from the rig had made their way into his account and he’d bought it on impulse.

Is this overstepping the line? She’ll think it’s too much, right?

Him and Tsvetayev had fallen into a nice rhythm of late, and he couldn’t escape the feeling he was about to upset it. Or maybe would it move them further on in… whatever this thing was.

He was out of the rut and into something better, and here he was risking it for something better still. The thoughts chased his mind as he sat and waited.

It was an odd little thing, the toy. A small ship that propelled off a surface of its own accord, then hovered, moving around based on how you waved your hands. Klost wasn’t sure if it was good or not, he certainly had no idea if it was the kind of thing kids liked or not but definitely he knew one thing: it was a gamble.

He saw the door slide open and his breath caught in his throat. It was her. He tried to tell himself it was because she looked good, but, even though she did, it wasn’t that. It was that he was scared.

He swallowed down spit and forced breath out of his nose, the effort making him grunt.

She slid into the booth opposite him, “Bit old for toys ain’t yer?”

“It’s for the boy. If you… it’s for him if you…” Words tumbled away from Klost, he couldn’t seem to grab hold of enough to make a sentence right now. “Luca.”

“You bought it?”

Klost nodded. At least he still had control of that.

The moment seemed to be drift for an eternity.

A whole vast gap of time and space and waiting and wishing between them.

“That’s nice.”

Klost smiled as relief crashed over him. A wave breaking on a willing beachhead. “Then can I get you a drink as well?”

“Sure. I ain’t the kind of girl to wait on an asking.”

So this is what that feels like thought Klost, and he smiled.

As Klost washed the glittering silt from his skin he replayed certain moments in his head: When their fingers brushed slightly once as she raised herself from her chair. When someone tried to move past them at the bar and her body pressed up against his.

Was he reading the signs right?

Was now the right time?

Would she even consider it with the brother of the man who…

The thoughts away with the dirt, Klost took a deep breath, then stepped into the rest of his life.

“He sends gifts.”

Klost was taken aback, the arc for the evening he had in his head blown apart by a single sentence, “What?” was all he managed to cough in reply.

“Your brother. He sends gifts to Luca, on his birthday.”

Klost froze. Everything and nothing suddenly unfolded out in front of him at once. He tried to catch her eye, reach out to her through a gaze but she had her head down, shoulders hunched, as if an aching clawed through her chest.

She spoke again, quieter, just audible above the clutter of the bar, “Last year he made a mistake. Left a return address on it.”

Klost swallowed, a bitter taste washing the back of his tongue, then up over the roof of his mouth.

“I’ll give it to you, you can find him.”

And with that the air seemed to be drawn out of Klost’s lungs, and the world became dark and small and confusing once again.

It was easy to find him.

He hadn’t been using the name Inge, but it was a small place and Klost found him with just a description.

He saw him from a distance.

Across the bridge coming out of the living block someone said he would be.

His brother.

Here.

After all this time.

Klost tried to sift through the emotions. Anger. Excitement. Love?

He couldn’t bring himself to approach. A paralysis grabbed him muscle deep, gripped to the spine, every nerve stock still and shredded.

He looked the same, did Inge. Klost wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t for him to look the same. He’d thought he would look worn, older, haggard, washed up. Not like this. Not the same.

Like the day he’d seen him last.

All those years ago.

He forced himself to move.

One foot in front of the other, one breath after the next, one thought pushed to front of mind.

The night was dark and the street was busy, the rain slashing down as people went about their business, looking down, not wanting to see anyone, not wanting any part of it. Klost got fixated on the small droplets collecting and running to the end of his hood before falling to the floor. Nerves, Tension. A distraction.

He was getting closer to him, his breath fast now, panting. A moment so long in the mind would finally be here, face to face with his brother, completing Pops’ legacy.

He was five feet away, then two, then one.

He looked up one last time to be sure and was met with his brother’s eyes. Blue, with hints of grey, steely but welcoming, and all of a sudden Klost was back to a childhood together, warm days playing in the baking sun, fighting with water filtered down from the rooftops.

Maybe this is what seeing’s like, thought Klost.

The knife went into Inge’s gut hungrily.

It glided forward with barely any resistance and the warm gush of his brother’s blood seemed to call Klost to push deeper still.

The steely blue-grey eyes were now flooded with panic, with recognition, confusion and betrayal.

Klost lifted him by the waist, tilted him over the top of the bridge and continued walking as quickly as he could, hood pulled down, looking at the floor.

Pretty soon he couldn’t hear the people calling after him over the sound of the rain pounding metal, a few moments after that he was into some backstreets and away.

He thought back once again to the hot days and the rooftop water.

Funny thing, memories.

Klost was back on the rammed transporter towards the Crater. What did he feel? Regret? Caution? Guilt? Nothing? Everything all at once?

The HUD buzzed the message up.

- - - - - –

- - - - - –

- - - - - –

- - - - - – Condolences

- - - - - –

- - - - - – Body of brother - Inge Hocha recovered.

- - - - - –

- - - - - –

- - - - - –

- - - - - –

- - - - - – Automated message:

- - - - - – Full inheritance released to Klost Hocha.

- - - - - – May your father rest in peace.

- - - - - – End message.

A satisfying number of credits scrolled into Klost’s account as his gaze was drawn out of the window into the hard, dark sky.

Time to go buy that new HUD. Now what else can I spend my money on?

And for the first time in a while, Klost smiled.