Brunning Divide

Episode 3: Damaged Hands - Part 1

FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER

The Fortitude ship, Protagoras, rocked and jostled. Intermediate flashing lights and sharp chirps signaled to the crew and passengers the need for moderate caution.

"Sam, please sit down and strap in. I don't want you hurt." Tama Jans looked to her husband and nodded to the seat next to her, the harness straps empty.

Sam acknowledged his petite wife with a wink and a smile. Then ignored her. Hunched over a little, he continued walking around the small chamber. With each lurch of the ship he stuck his long arms straight out, bracing himself momentarily against opposite sides of the room, his palms flat against the cool metal walls.

"Sam. You're not proving anything."

"Am too." His deep voice contrasted with the high pitch alarm.

Tama rolled her eyes, half smiling. "And what, exactly, is that?"

"That those restraints—"

"Safety seats."

"—Restraints that you love so much are unnecessary and worthless." Sam hung his hands to his side and kicked his feet in a jig. "See—" The large ship lurched, sending Sam into a sprawl that ended with the loud thud of Sam's head colliding against the empty seat next to Tama. "Blightin' Bernie Pilot!" Sam cursed and shook his head.

Tama laughed, knowing it took a lot more than a knock on the head to bring her stout husband down. "See. You'd not bang your head if you'd sat next to me in the safety seat."

Sam grumbled and stood, one hand bracing himself, the other rubbing the rising lump on his forehead. "Ha. It was the damn seat that did this to me! Unnecessary, worthless, and dangerous!"

Shaking her head, Tama laughed. "You're impossible."

"That's what makes me so irresistible."

"Says the man sprouting lumps from his face."

"One lump. More like a battle wound. The Jans Death Seat Conflict. It was a close battle, but the hero arose again, shaking off the empirical tyranny of the restrictive seat." Sam stood up in an attempt to look majestic and banged his head against the ceiling. He leaned against the wall, both hands rubbing his head.

Tama stifled her laugh. "Only to be brought down in the Low Ceiling Skirmish."

"Leave it to the Bernies to keep a man from his full potential."

"Yes, the Hibernarii designed this whole spaceship with the sole purpose of thwarting Samuel Jans and his bulkiness."

"Sturdiness. Not bulk. I'm sturdy." The ship pitched again, throwing the unrestrained Sam to the ground. He shot a glance at his wife, who was about to say something. "Don't."

"What?" Not even attempting to hide her smile.

"Just don't say anything." He sprawled out where he lay, his body covering most of the floor in the small chamber.

"What are you doing now? Come sit down. It's filthy down there."

"Stinks too. Like old grav-boots—all metal and musty." He put his hands behind his head. "It's comfortable down here. Wake me up when the damned Bernie pilots stop taking the back-roads."

"We're in the outskirts. Every route out here is a back-road."

The ship settled, the ride smoothing out. The ever-present low hum of the ships engine filled the void left by the, now silent, alarm.

"Thank Yuan." Sam sat down in the seat next to Tama. "Glad that's over and I can sit finally."

Shaking her head, Tama unbuckled her restraints. "You. Are. Impossible." She leaned over and kissed Sam. He pulled her to him, making the kiss more intense and longer than Tama had planned. She pushed away from him, laughing when Sam tried to pull her back. Despite his immense strength, Sam was a gentle husband. He could have held Tama to him with no chance of her escaping, but he'd never do that to her. Tama broke his grip with a small push and stood up.