Chapter 3

DAY 0 – HADES – RUZA

The child wailed as she sat in her mother’s lap, the woman gently bouncing her offspring on her knee, glancing up at the doctor with a worried expression on her face. She reached up to brush her dark hair out of her eyes, some of the sand and dust from outside clinging to it, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, Doctor Ruza!” she began with a grimace. “It’s not you – she’s scared of needles.”

“She is only four,” the doctor replied, his voice deep and gravelly. “It is only natural that she should fear injury. It is a healthy sentiment – not something to apologize for.”

Ruza’s office was a modest one, built inside a small cluster of prefabs that had been joined together – capsule-shaped buildings about the size of shipping containers that were raised off the ground on outriggers. He had a front desk with a waiting room, a store room, and an examination room where he could see patients. The windows were narrow and raised high on the walls, the windblown sand that coated them giving the light that bled through a sepia quality, but it was mitigated by the pale light strips on the ceiling.

The furniture was similarly spartan – mostly printed desks and shelves that were loaded with tools and supplies, the chairs similarly printed from polymer. There was a scale for weighing patients, a more elaborate examination table, and a few other necessities that had been imported from off-world. The locals had begun to refer to him as a family doctor, though he was unsure why, as he had sired no kittens in his time. His chair creaked beneath his six-hundred-pound frame as he leaned over his desk, the welded metal pipes struggling to support him.

“Child,” he began, his husky voice getting the girl’s attention. She gazed back at him with wide eyes, her breath hitching. He extended a massive hand and splayed his fingers across the table, each one the size of her mother’s wrist, tipped with hooked claws that shone black under the halogen glow. It was covered in a layer of silky, sand-colored fur, the child reaching out tentatively to touch him after glancing to her mother for reassurance. Her tiny fingers delved into his coat, and she began to smile, the tears ceasing.

“Kitty,” she giggled, petting him as she would a domestic animal.

Slowly so as not to alarm her, Ruza snuck a second long arm around to her left, a hypodermic injector clasped daintily between two of his padded digits. Her mother raised the girl’s sleeve, and he pressed the injector against her bicep, the squeeze of a button causing the sharp needle to shoot into her arm. It was over in a moment, and the child hadn’t even noticed, Ruza withdrawing the device and returning it to the table.

“Thanks, Doc,” her mother sighed with a relieved smile. “You’re pretty good at dealing with kids.”

“They have two states of mind when they first see me,” he rumbled in reply, watching the child pat the back of his hand. “Abject terror or fascination. Both can be leveraged.”

“If you say so,” the woman chuckled. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” Ruza replied, stopping her as she reached for her phone. “I am a volunteer, and the majority of my supplies come from the UN. The child needs her vaccinations – it is not an elective procedure.”

“You’re sure?” she asked. “Things have been getting better, but this is still Hades, and you still need to eat.”

“Certain,” he replied, raising a hand that could have easily enclosed her head. “Take this also,” he added as he rose to his paws, striding over to one of the cupboards on his digitigrade legs. At eight feet, his round ears almost brushed the ceiling, but it made reaching the higher shelves convenient. He produced a small plastic container and set it down on the desk, popping it open with his claws to reveal an inhaler and several capsules of medicine contained within foam cutouts. “Sandstorm season is beginning, and it may negatively impact her breathing. I know that children can seldom be convinced to wear their respirators. There is enough here for several months.”

“You’re an angel, Doc,” the woman replied as she took the case. “My husband should be getting in a new shipment of goods soon – should be a lot of freeze-dried meat, some Franklin beef. Come take your pick before he ships it out to the stores.”

“It would be rude of me to refuse,” Ruza replied with a curt nod.

“C’mon, now,” she added in a more soothing tone. “Say goodbye to the Doctor.”

“Bye,” the kid chimed, giving him a little wave. He watched them leave through the door that led to the waiting room, the pair walking past the empty chairs, the woman wrapping her waddling child in a shawl before heading outside.

Setting up a practice on Hades had been difficult at first. The planet had never been wealthy, ruled first by corrupt mining corporations, then by a crime syndicate that had been driven away six years prior. The remote colony had hardly flourished during that time, but frequent UNN patrols had brought security, and an influx of aid and development had given the dusty world’s denizens some much-needed stability. Things were gradually getting better. Ruza was a combat medic, but he had grown weary of war, and he had sought out a place where he could make a real difference.

He walked through into the waiting room, remembering to keep his tail close so that it didn’t get caught in the automatic door, his leather clothing creaking. Humans seemed confused by his choice of attire, but the climate of Hades was not so different from his home territory, and the traditional jacket with its decorative buttons and embossed designs suited it well.

“Heading out, Doc?” his secretary asked. It was another human woman sitting behind the front desk, looking up from a tablet computer. Hades was not a popular destination for aliens, and he rarely saw any passing through, let alone other Borealans. It made him a very recognizable figure in the local community.

“We have no more appointments for today,” he replied. “You may leave early if you wish, Amy.”

Ruza donned a pair of goggles to protect his eyes and wrapped his lower face in a thin scarf, stepping outside and descending a short flight of steps, the harsh wind already starting to whip at his messy blonde hair. He felt sand beneath his toes as he stepped out onto the street. There was nothing to be gained by paving the roads on Hades, as they would soon be drowned in more windblown sand.

He walked past rows of identical prefabs that lined the rudimentary street, forming the basis of the sprawling settlement. They had started out matte white, but their finish had been sandblasted and eroded away to expose silver metal in places, leaving most looking weathered. They had a decidedly industrial design, the humans favoring function over form, raised off the sand on their extensible stilts. Round communications dishes and chugging air conditioning units protruded from them, showing the scars of decades of makeshift repairs, a network of insulated cables that were draped between them delivering power and data. Even here, there were a handful of plants taking refuge in the windbreaks formed by the dwellings, a few scrubby bushes clinging to life.

The biggest landmark was the colony’s orbital tether. It rose high above the rooftops, taller than any skyscraper, tapering away into a thin thread that vanished into the blue haze. It resembled a large strand of black cable several meters in diameter, a skeletal, ring-shaped structure that loomed over the surrounding prefabs and industrial plants anchoring it to the planet. At the top was a space station that served as a counterbalance – too far away to be visible – keeping the thread taut and serving as a kind of main port for the planet.

The humans built such impressive structures on all of their major colonies. They were designed to carry large quantities of cargo and passengers to and from space without incurring the fuel costs of having to fly transports, and this one had been built by ExoCorp before they had been run off the planet. As he watched, a massive cargo crawler began to rise up the length of the cable, slowly picking up speed as it went.

As he made his way along, he passed through a market, the sounds of criers rising above the wind. They were selling all manner of things, from locally made goods to UN ration packs, awnings made from colorful tarps protecting the stalls from the harsh glare of the system’s hypergiant star. Ruza raised a furry hand in greeting as several of the owners waved to him, the towering alien easy to recognize in a crowd.

The locals were dressed in long shawls and thick jackets, the flowing fabrics shielding them from the ever-present dust in much the same manner that the people of his homeland protected themselves from the sand. Most wore bulky rebreathers and masks, and Hadeans were seldom seen outside without tinted goggles or visors to stave off the dust and the sun’s harsh glare. Hades was a harsh mistress, and the humans had made a go of it here, carving out a small city despite being obviously unsuited to the environment. Though he had learned much in his time and had abandoned many of his people’s harsher values, Ruza admired them for their tenacity.

Eventually, he arrived at his home, mounting another set of slim metal steps that were ill-suited to his large feet. As he entered the prefab, he flipped on the air conditioner and the AG plate, feeling the familiar tug of his homeworld’s gravity return. As a Borealan, he was accustomed to gravity thirty percent higher than that favored by humans, and a regimen of medication and some time in the artificial field helped keep him healthy. Left unchecked, his bones would grow fragile, and his immune system would be diminished.

Ruza had spent many years of his life traveling on human military ships, so even these cramped quarters were lavish in comparison to what he was accustomed to. Roughly one-third of the prefab’s floor space had been taken up by blankets and pillows that served as his bed, there was a shower cubicle that had been modified for his use, a small kitchen, and a cramped living room with a padded couch that he used as a chair. Work kept him busy, and he didn’t spend a lot of time at home anyway.

He shed his jacket and rolled his shoulders, hanging it up on a tall coat rack that was covered by a sheet beside the entrance. As he walked over to the faucet and poured himself a glass of water – he used mason jars instead of cups due to their size – he heard a buzz at his door. When he returned to open it, he saw a man standing there, his face concealed behind a rebreather and visor combo. The stranger removed it, shaking some sand out of his dark hair and giving Ruza a broad smile.

“Hey, Doc! What’s going on?”

“Bill,” Ruza replied, giving him a nod in greeting. “I have just returned from work. Are you here because of your arm?”

“The arm?” Bill asked, pulling up his long sleeve to expose a mesh cast. “Nah, the arm’s doing fine, thanks. Me and the boys are going down to the bar. I was passing through and thought you might want to join us.”

“I am rather tired,” Ruza replied apologetically.

“C’mon, Doc!” Bill insisted. “You need to get out more! I know you don’t like hooch, but come have a few shots of ... uh ... beer.”

Ruza considered for a few moments, one of his furry ears flicking.

“Very well,” he replied, donning his jacket again and descending the steps.

“That’s the spirit,” Bill chuckled, giving him a friendly pat on the arm.

“The bruising is much diminished,” Ruza said as he examined the bare skin beneath the cast. “I believe that the break is healing well.”

“You gotta learn to clock out, Doc,” Bill laughed as he took a drink from a can with his free hand. “Can I have my arm back?”

Ruza released him, then lifted a glass that was barely larger than a thimble in his padded fingers, taking a shot of beer. Some of the regulars made jokes about how little alcohol he could tolerate, as Borealans didn’t metabolize it as efficiently as humans did, but he had quickly learned that it was good-natured. It meant that they were comfortable around him – that they no longer feared him.

Bill had brought several of his friends from work, the men drinking and laughing as they sat at the modest bar, sharing jokes and stories. They were all workers from one of the nearby mines, their lifestyle making them tough and hardy. Injuries were fairly frequent, and Ruza had quickly found favor with them, patching up broken bones and other work-related injuries.

After ExoCorp had been ousted and the Syndicate defeated, the mines had been nationalized by the local government, and the workers had formed a powerful union to safeguard their interests. Some might consider the union bosses to be little better than mobsters themselves, but they took care of their own, and they were fiercely protective of their interests. Along with the PDF, they served as a stabilizing force on Hades, carrying favor with the locals. Power on this world was a fragile balance between the civilian government, the paramilitary PDF who acted as its police force, and the unions. They tended to keep one another in check, with the UNN mediating any serious disputes.

The bar was bustling tonight – packed with miners who had just finished their shift and were eager to spend their credits on some drink and revelry. These were simple people, and their concerns were generally limited to their next paycheck. Ruza found that simplicity refreshing.

“Why did you come to Hades, Ricky?” Bill asked as he gave his human neighbor a nudge.

“I came here for the beaches,” the man joked, his friends laughing. “Nah, I was down on my luck, and I bought the lie ExoCorp sold me about starting fresh on a virgin colony. Seemed like anywhere was better than Enceladus at the time. Problem is, once they shipped you out here, they’d start paying you in scrip to ensure you couldn’t hop on the next freighter and bail. I’ve been here ten years – lived through every trial and tribulation. I’ve seen both the Corp and the Syndicate come and go in my time.”

“Now we work for ourselves,” Bill added, raising his can in a toast. The rest of the miners followed his lead, taking a drink, as did Ruza.

“What about you, Bill?” Ricky asked.

“Debt,” he replied with a grin. “I gambled with money that I didn’t have and ended up in deep with some very unsavory people. I heard that these outer colonies would take practically anyone, no questions asked, and give them a fresh start. I suppose I got what I wanted.”

“Hades isn’t so bad once you get used to it,” another of the men added. “These days, at least, you get fair pay for a fair day’s work.”