Milo

Milo flexed the fingers of his scorched hand. The skin still felt sore, but the black marks had started to fade. Diego’s ointment did wonders. What would happen next time he grabbed a cable? Would he be able to release in time, before he burnt to a crisp? Training, he needed training. Otherwise this power would no doubt kill him. Walking into a gym to ask for help was pointless. Lifting weights and jogging on a treadmill would do little. He needed to control the mechanism that triggers the power. If he could toggle it on and off at will. Yes, that would do. But how would he go about doing that?

Milo licked his lips, they were chapped. He had drunk more water than normally the last few days. With a sting his lips cracked underneath the tongue’s pressure. The iron taste of blood spread into his mouth. He poked on the affected area with a finger. Stupid. It stung again, but at least it was not actively bleeding after the first few drops. A throbbing pain rose around his temples and he massaged them lightly. Food and drinking enough had an important place in his life, he shouldn’t be dehydrated. But this was the second time his body behaved like this, why?

Diego strode inside the room, wearing a white doctor’s coat still.

“You heal nicely,” Diego said as he inspected Milo’s hand.

Diego opened a new tube of ointment and applied it thoroughly. After the initial cold an itch bloomed, Milo remembered the sharp pain of being pinched so he kept his mouth shut.

“Not going to tease me about my dating life?” Diego asked. “I never mocked you for your shitty dating life. It is alright. I was in a bad mood, but today I feel better.”

“Sorry for that,” Milo said. “This ointment is working great.”

“Yeah, do not mock an irritated Mexican,” Diego said. “If you think my temper is bad, then you should not visit any of the South American Cities. Their hot blood followed them up to space. Mucho loco. You Europeans are timid, I like it.”

Milo had never questioned it before, why a Mexican man would rather live here instead. Diego had been a part of Sam’s crew before Milo even stepped inside their ship.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” Milo said.

“Doc! Do you think we should put the battery man under our wing?” Sam said and barked in. “Before you stop me, Blue, this time is different. I have decided that you need training.”

Diego put away the tube. “As your medical doctor I must agree. I and the captain have discussed this.”

It didn’t surprise him that Sam had been thinking along those lines. He saw an opportunity to recruit him, but maybe it was for the best?

“We of course would need to straighten out the terms of your employment. You will have allocated time for training, but also for electrical work on the ship,” Sam said. “You will get your own room on the ship.”

Living permanently in the ship? Milo didn’t like the sound of that. To live in your workplace, it had to be detrimental for your work spirit. You would always be reminded of the work that needed doing. How would he separate personal life and work?

“Will that really be necessary?” Milo asked.

“We are just trying to keep you safe,” Sam said. “That video went viral. Everyone knows about you. It is easier to protect you if you are closer.”

Sam’s argument had merits. Still, Milo didn’t enjoy the concept of spending so much time aboard the ship. He had just started to accept that working here would be beneficial, why not take the transition in small steps?

“But how safe would it be to the crew if I trained inside the ship?” Milo asked.

“Of course. You belittle me,” Sam said. “Correct, we cannot train you here. But we will use your apartment for that.”

“That can work,” Milo said. “We? What do you mean with “we”?”

Sam smiled. “I will help you. Two minds are better than one, and all that. I will observe things you might easily miss by yourself. This method is often used in any professional training or sport. I see that look, but trust me on this.”

“Alright,” Milo said.

Sam pulled up his hand terminal and put a contract on display. “I have prepared everything. Sign the dotted line and we can get started.”

“Already?” Milo asked. Sam was not a fan of taking things slow, thinking things through. But by the looks of it Sam and Diego had been at it for some time. Alright. Milo saw no reason to stall. He signed the contract.

“Perfect!” Sam said.

Diego put a hand on his shoulder. “Captain, I think this patient is ready for some work.”

Sam grabbed him and helped him up. “Welcome to the crew!”

Just like that and he was on Sam’s payroll. Officially a part of the crew. A surprising relief. What will dad say?

“So, I have two things we need to settle. First I will show you to your quarters,” Sam said, handing him a coffee cup.

The coffee felt hot against his dry lips, but the liquid invigorated him. Sam held his shoulders and led him through the ship. At first his legs felt like jelly, but after a few junctions of walking his balance regained. They entered Final Sight’s crew deck, it consisted of a long corridor with several rooms on each side. Name tags on the doors put them apart. Sam made him halt in front of an unnamed door, he did something with his hand terminal and the name “Milo “Blue” Marshal” appeared on the door. Amazing how such a trivial thing, like getting your name on a door, could tear you up. Milo wiped his eyes. He felt happy.

“You okay, friend?” Sam asked.

Milo steeled himself. “Yeah.”

“Test suites have run and all cases check out. The synthesizer is hooked into the main system. So there is no need to refill it. All support systems are online,” Sam said.

Milo chuckled. “My synthesizer broke down years ago. I cook my own food, the synthetic products from the market are not that bad.”

Sam beamed at him. “You cook? Like real actual food?”

“Yeah,” Milo said. But why would they not? Didn’t the crew appreciate good food? Milo lived by the belief that food cooked with love made life that much better. A homemade lasagna could turn the worst of days around.

“Impressive, really. The mess hall has a stove and equipment, but we have never stocked it or used it properly. You can use it however you like as long as you clean up after yourself,” Sam said. “Let’s do it like this: I give you some extra money so you can buy proper, real ingredients and then you will teach me how to cook.”

“Teach you?” Milo asked. How would he do that? Choose a simple dish and let Sam try to cook it. Evaluate and discuss changes. Restart iteration. Should work.

“Yeah! I know this woman who would be quite impressed if I cooked a real authentic meal for her, instead of buying from a restaurant,” Sam said.

“Deal!” Milo said and they shook hands.

Sam handed him a bottle of water and Milo drank greedily. The cooled liquid invigorated him.

“You look tired,” Sam said. “The Doc has ordered you to drink more water. He mentioned something about you being dehydrated.”

Milo emptied the bottle. “That is why my lips are chapped. I didn’t understand before.”

Maybe Diego chose not to tell him because it was not too severe, but he was certain Doc would warn him if it became dangerous.

“So the second thing?” Milo asked. “You said we had two things to settle?”

Sam handed him a tool belt. “Get working.”

“Right,” Milo said.

Sam grabbed his shoulder. “One more thing. Your crew uniform.”

Milo grabbed the baggy one-piece of clothing as Sam handed it to him. It was heavier than he expected, but it flexed as a normal overall should.

“Now that you are an official member, you should look official,” Sam said, smiling. “All the crew is outfitted with these. Top of the line. The actual treading is metallic and provides some protection against small arms fire and shrapnels. Great when working on a warship.”

Milo stepped into the overall and zipped it up. It didn’t press too hard against his gut. Nice. Why would he say no to protection?

“Now. Work,” Sam instructed.