Compile:Quest

Chapter 22: Timmy's Condition

The Hole, Wildebeest Digger Colony,

African Continent

Darryl straightened when Ace stormed into the Hole. The boy strode toward the bar like he was planning to walk through it.

"You ain't on night shift," Darryl called out.

"Not here to work." Ace dug in his pocket and pulled out a token, slamming it on the metal counter.

Darryl whistled through his teeth. "You and your pa been at it again?" he asked, replacing the token with a mug of beer.

Ace chugged at the drink and grimaced. He jerked a pouch from his pocket and hoisting it up with two fingers.

"You mind?"

"Go ahead," Darryl said. "Deader than a chicken's asshole in here."

Ace sat down on the bar stool, catching himself against the counter as it wobbled. He rolled a joint and lit it, his eyes closing as he exhaled. Darryl watched as Ace took another gulp at his drink. The only other patron was Timmy, who had passed out in his booth in the corner. Darryl began drying another of the Hole's dented tin mugs.

The boy didn't drink except when he was pissed off with Ray. Luckily, this only happened when they saw each other, which, fortunately, happened only every other week. The Hole was dimly lit and smelled only slightly better than the Pit outside, but many diggers called it home when they'd been kicked out of theirs.

"Can you believe he said I had to sign up for the milit'ry?" Ace's voice was steeped with irritation.

"But he knows how you feel about it," Darryl said, having earned a master's degree in the art of feigned interest.

"Said it's that or I'm in the Pit."

Darryl let out a deep, sympathetic sigh.

"I mean, he knows how I feel about that shit. He knows."

The barkeep shook his head.

"I mean," the boy continued, "I'm not going into the business of killing people. Murdering them and enslaving them and shit. Stealing. Raiding. I don't do that!"

The barkeep nodded, fully aware of Ace's view on the subject. You'd have to be deaf or living in another colony not to know his views. He subjected another mug to some onerous polishing.

"Did you know that Leider Petrus was single-handedly responsible for the deaths of more than three-hundred Rooivalk diggers? Three hundred innocent people, dead." A solitary index finger stabbed the air. "Because of one man."

Darryl shook his head. "It's a crying shame."

"And you know how they get away with it? People like my pa, who just let him." Darryl nodded, staring into the mug in case he'd missed a spot. "I'm not going to let someone command me to kill someone else. Never. I'd rather live in the Pit."

"You know you can't live in the Pit," Darryl said, keeping his voice even.

Ace's hand flicked dismissively. "You know what I mean."

"You'll have to go live up top. And then you'll die."

"That..." Ace trailed ash into his mug as he lifted his finger toward Darryl. "That's another thing!"

The barkeep placed the mug on the stand behind them. He flipped the cloth over his shoulder and crossed his arms in preparation for Ace's next harangue.