Chapter 5
FIVE
JETT
TEN WEEKS TO CHARON
Click!
Jett’s pistol alerted him that he’d shot through yet another battery.
He lowered the weapon, arms shaking, to the barrier between himself and down range.
It rattled against the ceramic—a staccato tap tap tap that reverberated through his body—and he dropped it the last few centimeters so he could regain control.
“Wanna talk to you, Lieutenant.”
His heart jumped into his throat, nearly choking him, and Jett spun. Ell leaned against the side of his booth, their face darkened as they took him in, took in the welts and scabs on his arms. He knew they didn’t like what they saw.
Two weeks had passed since he’d spoken to Eddie for the last time; two weeks of drinking, sorrow, and self-loathing. Running in the apartment gym and shooting on the Range were the only activities that kept his brain from dwelling on what he’d said, what he’d done, what he’d lost.
Nothing gave him the relief he desperately wanted and needed; there was no balm for the wounds in his soul.
“Jett.” Ell stared, holding eye contact for far too long, then turned. “Follow me.”
Jett grabbed his gun and spent batteries and followed them across the room, behind the other shooters, until they reached the far office. Ell took the only seat inside, setting their cane against the tab. Jett stayed near the door.
“You need to get your shit together, Jett.”
“What?” he responded. “No ‘good morning’ or ‘how you doing’?”
“You’re spending too much damned time on my Range.”
Jett scoffed. His pistol sat heavy under his arm, pressed against his side. It’d been a part of Jett so long that he couldn’t remember what it was like to not wear it. Couldn’t remember what it was like to not be armed at all times.
“Are you just going to ignore me, Lieutenant?” They shook their head.
Jett shrugged, pushed the sleeves of his shirt down over his arms. They burned where wounds met fabric.
“The Jett I know always has something to say. He can’t shut the fuck up half the time.”
Jett felt his fight response kicking in.
“What the fuck did I do to you? Where did this shit come from?”
“You’ve withdrawn from your friends. You threw Security into disarray by leaving without warning.” They sighed and slumped back in the chair. “And you’re so far into a self-destructive cycle over a man that you don’t see how it affects everyone around you.”
“Over a man,” Jett repeated. “Over a man? You act like I wasn’t prepared to spend the rest of my life with him! Like he was just some one week fling and I’m a besotted idiot throwing their life away. I was going to marry him!”
Tears pooled in his eyes, threatening to spill over.
“He left me—kicked me out of the only home I’ve ever known. What was I supposed to do?”
Ell sat straighter. “Act like the adult you are, Jett Valla. First, you should’ve warned the Division before just handing over Security and leaving Ollie to clean up the mess.
How do you think that’s been for him? He’s liked and will do a good job, but you were respected as well as liked.
Everyone knew where you came from, what you did in the CDF, and your track record here was flawless. ”
Jett flinched, guilt joining the thrashing storm of emotion.
“Second, you’re on edge one hundred percent of the time.
You snap at people, act reckless, and ignore the consequences.
I’ve heard people asking what happened to make you this way, and that’s not a good fucking feeling.
Third, you’re letting yourself waste away.
” They sighed, massaged their temples, and looked at him once more.
Every word they’d said hit home in a new and terrible way. Jett wasn’t himself anymore. Hadn’t been for nearly three months, but he only just now realized how bad it’d gotten. How far he’d fallen.
“And last,” they continued, holding up a hand. “I’m furious about what you said to Eddie.”
A whimper escaped his throat as tears started falling down Jett’s face.
“I know what I did, Ell. Why do you think I’m this way?” It was the sad and simple truth. Jett knew he was spiraling, and knew it was because he’d pushed Eddie away as hard as he possibly could. Insulted and belittled Eddie. He hated that he’d done it, but he didn’t think that he could ever fix it.
“You know he was going to apologize, right? That he was going to beg and plead for you to come back to him?”
Jett shrugged. During his mental, emotional, and alcoholic hangover, he’d wondered if Eddie had meant to apologize, to tell him the truth. But Jett had been so angry, so hurt, that he’d not given Eddie the chance.
“It’s time for you to get your shit together. Stop drinking. Go to Medical before I have Kepler drag you there. See a therapist. Or, by the Void, you’re gonna lose more than just Eddie before we get back to Charon.”
They held eye contact for one tense minute, then turned away and pulled out their personal tab. A clear dismissal.
Back in his apartment, Jett lay shattered on his bed with bandages tight across his arms. Wound glue and a gel for the welts soaked his skin, cool under the restricting fabric.
Jett wanted to rip at them, tear through them, scratch an itch that was more in his mind than his skin.
Knowing better, he wiped away his tears and took in his surroundings.
The cooly impersonal apartment was just a place Quasar was storing him until he returned to Charon.
Quasar colors decorated the two rooms, sleek grey furniture and gold accent pieces.
But it was messy with the pitch-black detritus of Jett’s life.
Rumpled, stinking clothes piled in the corners, while takeout containers and liquor bottles littered his tiny kitchen.
There was enough trash in just the main room to make his itching skin crawl with something akin to disgust.
Ell was right that he’d let himself go, but he hadn’t limited his loss of self to just his body and mind. He’d given up almost everything that made him, well, him.
What have you done to yourself, Jett Valla? Was the loss of Eddie worth the loss of yourself?
It didn’t take Jett long—barely long enough for the question to process—to decide that yes, Eddie’s loss was worth it. It was worth all the punishment he’d heaped upon himself over the last three months. But it wasn’t worth it to see that pain and anger leech into all that remained.
“What have you done to yourself?” Jett asked aloud, filling the still silence with scratchy words.
Because of the apartment’s location in the Residential District, there was little noise that reached his 20th-floor rooms. He didn’t even know if there were others on this floor, or if he’d been ostracized from his fellow Corporate employees as well as his crew and friends.
It made him ache; his loneliness a solid mass in his chest.
How long had he been withdrawing? Had he really not sent those emails he’d carefully worded about his resignation and the future for Security? Was everything lost to the haze of booze and depression? What else didn’t he remember?
A ding sounded through the room. It repeated as he pulled himself from bed, dragged on his cleanest pair of sweats, and approached the door.
Ollie stood outside his door, a grin on his face and bags of food in his hands. He wore aa red jumpsuit, no undershirt in sight. It was loud, bright, cheerful—just like him. Jett and Ollie were complete opposites.
“Hello, hello!” He said by way of greeting, stepping around Jett and peering through the rooms. “Looks like I got here just in time for cleaning!”
Jett hit the button to slide the door shut and stared at his friend. “Hey, Ollie.” He didn’t know how to articulate what he wanted to say. Hadn’t even really considered that he’d see or speak to someone so soon. “I want to apolo—”
“Don’t worry about it, Jett. I talked to Ell and they said they’d sorted you out. And that you’d need some company. So, since it was my day off, and I was already down here with Priss. I decided to stop by with donuts.”
One swipe of his bare, muscled arm pushed a week’s worth of trash to one side so he could set the containers down.
“I…I’m sorry, Ollie.” Jett rubbed a hand across the bandages of his other arm. “I didn’t think there’d be any upset over my leaving.”
Ollie looked around the room, nose scrunched. “Don’t worry about it, boss,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Clean this junk up so we can eat in peace.”
Jett sighed and joined him. Every article of clothing went down the laundry chute, to be delivered fresh and clean overnight; the trash went into another, to be mechanically sorted and recycled or burned for fuel.
Ollie pulled out spray cleaner and rags and set him to wiping down each surface.
Jett felt better the more they cleaned. The room had gotten out of control, but he was setting it right. And he wasn’t alone.
He said a silent prayer to the Astra for Ell’s intervention, and for sending Ollie to see him.
The rest of the evening passed while Ollie shared anecdotes of their friends.
How Jack lost money betting against John Kepler in the System Races; how he and Ell egged Cosma into dancing in the crew bar; how the newest trainees destroyed the old training program.
Each anecdote was a snippet of life that made Jett feel like he was still part of the group, part of the crew.
And when Ollie left, Jett felt lighter. He wasn’t happy, but it felt like he could see tomorrow. Perhaps even a day after that.
Jett’s tab woke him the next morning. He had a call scheduled for an hour later to talk to Quasar. A call that he didn’t remember scheduling.
Jett was clean, comfortable in fresh clothes, and had eaten two of the donuts Ollie left for him the night before when the time came.
“Lieutenant Valla,” Miss Sarica said. “You are looking better than the last time we spoke.”
Jett gave her a false smile. “I’m doing just fine. What did we need to talk about?”
She smiled. “I like that you are always straight to the point.” She waited a moment but he didn’t give her more fodder for small talk. “Corporate has been developing a new training regimen for Security on the Metropolis-class ships, and they want you to test it.”
Jett’s heart rate jumped. The current training module was ancient and pitifully easy to beat. He’d put in a request for something new years ago, and it seemed like they finally followed through.
Quasar had his attention. “Go on. How do they want me to test it?”
“Frankly, they want you to push it to its limit. And make it harder; they really want to challenge the crew. They’re coordinating with a couple of Tech Officers on the Neo-Tokyo to make changes.”
Jett had one bright moment of hope that Eddie would be among them, but it fled just as fast.
“And I have full reign over the module? I can change it as it suits me?”
She smiled again, a glint in her eye. And Jett knew that he’d given away that this would be a relief, a job, something to do. He really had let go of himself if he was that transparent to someone millions of miles away.
“Yes. The Corporation believes you know what will be best for the Division.”
Jett nodded, pressure uncoiling in his shoulders, his chest. This was what he needed, the distraction he’d been looking for. It wouldn’t fix his problems, but it would help take the edge off.
“I’ll do it.”