Leave: Michael's Story

Dedication: For Lie, my sister, on your quarter century day. You asked for a story and I dredged this out of the thing we call my brain. Hope you enjoy and love this one as much as the first. August 30, 2004


I didn't jump when my friend and wingman came up behind me. One of the disadvantages of Service boots were they clunked loudly on the metal decks of the ship, announcing the owner's presence long before the person actually appeared. It was impossible to sneak up on someone while wearing those boots, no matter how quietly you tried to walk. I nodded a greeting to him but didn't speak. I had known he would seek me out here for one last attempt.

Both of us stared out the window of the small observation room, not looking at each other. Unlike the larger room, this one did not boast the large glass windows but smaller openings that only gave a partial view. Most of the crew avoided this room, only some of the pilots used it since it was close to the bays. Below us, Earth spun peacefully. Shuttles darted in and out of view as they buzzed silently around the space dock. "I see you're ready for Leave," he commented.

I glanced down at myself, reminded by his words that I had already changed out of my uniform. I had been on dock duty for my last shift since all flight crews were grounded in space dock. That was the reason Brad and I hadn't been on shift together. I was clad in ragged, well-worn jeans, a once white but now dingy gray long sleeved t-shirt, and a black leather jacket; steel toed boots covered my feet. "I finished my last shift an hour ago. Just waiting for my shuttle ride."

"You sure you want to do this? You're welcome to come stay with Karli and me."

I appreciated his last attempt to get me to change my mind but knew this was something I had to do. I clapped my friend on the shoulder, appreciating more than I could say his friendship. Just a few short years ago, I would have never expected this. "Somehow, Brad, I don't see your brand new bride welcoming a service buddy on your first night home." I had been best man at his wedding the last time we had Leave. I still wasn't sure he understood how much it meant that he asked me to perform that gesture. Close friendships were something I had dreaded before Brad. I smiled in gratitude at his oft-repeated offer. "Besides this is something I need to do. I don't think I'll be able to go back again after this time. This might be my last chance to find her."

"Forty-eight hours, Mickey. Two days. You don't call me in that timeProxy-Connection: keep-alive
Cache-Control: max-age=0

nd I'm coming after you."

"I appreciate the offer, Brad, but no. You can't get mixed up in this. And even if I wanted to, I might be unable to call. You don't know what its like down there."

Our heads turned as the inship comm chimed, drawing our attention and cutting off our conversation. Brad's mouth was still open, ready to reply to me. "Lieutenant Michael O'Neill, please report to Bay Two."

The message repeated as I strode across the room and tapped the button to respond. "This is Lieutenant O'Neill. Message acknowledged." I turned back to Brad one last time. "Thanks again, Brad."

He nodded. "Good luck, Michael."

After eleven years in the Service and five aboard the SNS Endeavor, I knew the quickest way to every flight bay from anywhere on the ship. Although as a fighter pilot I rarely left from Bay Two, I still knew the way. Like the other pilots, I occasionally took my turn at piloting a shuttle to keep my hand in. Brad, who was my wingman, and I normally rotated with one of us piloting and the other co-piloting. Consequentially, and because I hadn't been far from the bay, I arrived there only fifteen minutes after the page had reached me.

The pilot saluted me as I entered the bay and approached the shuttle. I waved him off. Technically, he didn't have to salute me since I wasn't in uniform or my flight suit but these guys tended to anyway. Shuttle pilots were of two groups. One group hero worshipped all fighter pilots and would do anything for them. The other hated that we were skilled enough to make the grade for fighters and not them. Apparently, I had drawn pilots from the hero-worshipping group. I wasn't sure which group was worse. I didn't feel the need to return the salute since I had been on Leave for the past hour. "Your duffel's already on board," he told me.

"Thanks, Chambers." I dredged his name up from the rosters that I was routinely given to read and remember. "Okay if I board now?"

"Yes, sir. We're almost ready to leave."


I dozed off as the shuttle exited the bay. It was better for all concerned if I slept through the flight. Pilots, especially fighter pilots like myself, did not make good passengers. Once planet side, I stashed my duffle in the first locker I found, setting the thumbprint to mine and making a mental note of the number. I wouldn't forget it, even though I hadn't written it down. I knew better than to take anything resembling Service gear where I was going. I left the SNS portion of the space port and hopped onto a train that would take me downtown.

Where I was headed, Servicemen did not go. What I was could get me killed there, cops didn't even go there, but I had grown up there and I had one last chance to find her. Next year would be too late.

Forty-five minutes later, I stepped off the train, out of my new life and into my old. I had known when we entered my past. The train had stopped at the Wall, the dividing line between the safe and normal and my past, and been searched. I had sunk into my seat, affecting a bored and uninterested visage so that I didn't attract attention. The Wall had been built not long before my escape but I still had no fond memories of it. It was what separated the people who lived here from what everyone else considered life. I had left this place behind eleven years ago, never intending to return but circumstances did not always go as planned. As I stepped off the train, I felt myself sinking into old rhythms, old movements. My senses kicked up, alerting me to movements around me. My posture lost its strict Service straightness; I slouched along now not walking with the clipped strides I used on or off duty. I didn't even notice my movements had changed until I passed a graffitied mirror. In it, I saw shadows of the boy I had been eleven long years ago. I didn't want a return to that boy, I had buried him deep when I signed the papers for the Service but the memories of him would keep me safe and alive while I searched for her.

Once outside the station, I breathed deeply, taking my first breath of unrecycled air in eleven months. I coughed a little as the fumes of dozens different smells assaulted my nose and mouth. I made a mental note not to take such deep breaths until I had a chance to adjust to the noxious air. My lungs were way too used to the purified air with its higher content of oxygen. I had no idea where she would be after all these years but I would start by trying to find some of my old friends. I would play my cover story by ear but the idea that I had been locked up for the last eleven years would be the easiest. I would just have to be careful to keep a shirt on in front of others so my tattoos stayed hidden. They were the one part of the Service I was unable to remove. I had four of them, one on my upper arm and three more on my back. Down here, they could get me killed. I ignored the cabs, both automobiles and bicycles, in favor of walking. The bar I was thinking of checking out wasn't far enough for me to spend credits on transportation. I wouldn't be able to access any additional funds down here since my link would bring up my occupation.

The bar hadn't changed much in the eleven years since I had last visited. It was still the three Ds: dank, dark, and dirty. In other words pretty typical of the area. I bent over to tighten my shoelace since it obviously wasn't untied and checked that my knife was secure in its sheath. It would be stupid to come down here unarmed and enough people sported Service knives that mine wouldn't look out of place.

I made my way over to the bar, slapped a credit down on it, and nodded at the bartender. "Whatever you have on tap," I told him. He passed me the glass, whisking the credit away under the rag that wiped across the top behind the glass. "Is Asher around?" I asked, wondering if one of the boys I had run with years ago was still around. Asher had probably been the closest of all the boys I ran with and he might have a line on her I could tug and follow. I knew Brad was serious about his forty-eight hour deadline and that I would need to contact him somehow before my time elapsed.

"He'll be here later," the barman grunted and walked away.

I hadn't been able to contact Asher the last time I had made my way down here. I hadn't even been able to find a trace of him so I was rather surprised to find that he was around now. I didn't let it concern me though, hoping that he would be able to provide me with a lead. "Lemme know if he comes in," I instructed, not entirely sure that I would recognize Asher after eleven years. The barman grunted in acknowledgement.

I slipped away from the center of the counter where I had been and tucked myself into a corner where I could watch the bar but still remain relatively unobserved myself. I nursed my beer for hours, not wanting to purchase another but needing the cover of a drink in my hand. I kept a clock in my head counting the hours until Asher walked in.

* * * * * *

He hadn't changed much in the eleven years since I had last seen him which surprised me. He was thinner, harder looking, than I remembered but he still moved with the same deadly grace. I knew that the thinness masked the actual strength of his body and that he was much stronger than he looked. He was dressed similarly to me in jeans, shirt, jacket, and steel-toed boots. The boots had a dual service in both protection and attack. It hurt to be kicked by one of those boots. I had had the cracked ribs to prove it numerous times growing up. The bartender signaled Asher and directed his attention to me as he poured a whiskey and a beer for Asher.

Asher tossed back the whiskey than picked up his beer and made his way down to me. "Rolfe says you're lookin' for me," he greeted me.

I took one last look at my boyhood pal and then grinned cockily, some of my old bravado shining through. "Sure, Ash. You tellin' me ya don't remember your old friend Mickey?" I replied.

Asher's jaw pretty much hit the floor and his glass tilted crazily almost dumping the contents on the table in front of me. "Glory be, Mickey Where the hell have ya been?" he demanded.

I kicked a stool towards him and motioned for him to sit. "Jail. Re-education. Job. Just got away finally and figured I'd look some people up."

Asher dropped onto the stool as if he had been held up by strings and the strings had just been snapped. "Eleven damn years." He grinned. "It's good to see you."

"You too," I said in reply and was surprised to find that it was true. Even though I hadn't wanted to come back here; it was good to see him. "So how've ya been?" I asked.

"Good. Most of the old gang is gone. Outta touch for various reasons." He waved it off as unimportant. "How many days you around for?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Couple of days. I've got a bit of an open date to get back."

"Got somewhere to stay?" he asked.

"Nah. Just figured I'd find somewhere to hole up when I got tired. I just got in a couple of hours ago."

Asher drowned the last of his beer and stood up. "Come home with me then. I've got a spare rack you can drop on."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it." I wasn't yet ready to ask about her, even though Asher might be my best lead. I drowned the dregs of my own beer and followed him out of the bar. "So who's still around?" I asked as we walked down the street.

"Graig, Jared, Morgaine, and Bryan," he rattled off. "That's about it. Pretty much everyone else is gone. It's been a rough few years."

My eyes lit up at the mention of the one name I had needed to hear. So she was still alive, still around. It meant I still might have a chance of finding her and speaking to her.

Asher had moved since I had been here last and his new apartment wasn't far from the bar. It was only two floors up, which was a lucky break for this area where most of the apartment buildings didn't have lifts. I was impressed with his new location. In an area with no lifts in the towering buildings and little air flow at the upper levels due to the surrounding wall, the lower down your apartment; the better your location and the higher your rent.

Asher coded in his security number, shielding it so I couldn't see it. Then he opened the door and ushered me inside. "Make yourself at home," he said. "You can bunk on the couch. Want something to eat?"

"Sure. Sounds good," I answered. I really wanted to ask him about Morgaine but didn't want to tip him off quite yet as to my ultimate goal. So as casually as I could, as I dropped onto the couch, I called out to him. "So what's everyone been up to?"

"The ones I mentioned?" he called back from where he had disappeared into the kitchen.

"Yeah. Start there."

"Bryan is a bouncer at a club farther downtown. Morgaine's dancing at the Pit. Graig and Jared are working at one of the machine shops. Graig's on the lines and Jared runs deliveries, I think. So most of the old crew has gone legit." I could see him shaking his head in the kitchen as if denying his own words. "Its sad the way the old gang has ended up. Look at you, even after jail, you've gone legit."

I snorted, containing a laugh, as I realized I had gone more legit than anyone else we had grown up with. Absently I rubbed my upper left arm where my recruitment tattoo was. Asher came back into the living room with me and handed me a sandwich. "Thanks, man," I told him.

He dropped onto the couch next to me and stretched his legs out, resting them on the crate that served him as a table in front of him. "Wanna go down to the Pit later? I'm pretty sure Morgaine's dancing tonight."

I froze. Thinking about Morgaine dancing at the Pit was one thing but I wasn't sure I could actually handle seeing her there in the flesh. I realized that after all these years, Asher still didn't know my true relationship with Morgaine. But I wanted, needed to see her, to be sure she was safe, happy, contented even. If I could reassure myself that she was all right and protected, I would leave her here. If not, I would do everything in my power to get her out.

Asher must have noticed my sudden preoccupation with my sandwich because he added on to what he had already said. "She doesn't dance in the back, Mickey. Albert keeps trying to convince her but she hasn't given in yet. Come on. I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. It'll be just like old times. A couple of brews, a few credits, and half-naked women all around."

I laughed. Neither of us had been old enough to go into the backrooms the last time we had been together. I knew from what he was saying that even though we were both old enough now, we wouldn't be going into the backrooms. I was glad of that since the only id I had was my Service id, not something I wanted to be flashing down here. "All right, Asher." I nodded my agreement. "It sounds like a good idea."

Asher looked me over. "Mickey, my man, you cannot go to the Pit in those clothes. You look a little too clean if you know what I mean."

I knew what he was referring to. My clothes were in good shape, not worn or ripped, although they were probably the oldest clothes I owned. In the clothes I wore now, I could pass on either side of the Wall. "I have," I paused as if I was embarrassed or ashamed by what I was about to say, then continued in a stronger voice, "I have scars on my back and arms. I'd rather not have them showing if we go down there. I don't want anyone to get the idea I play that way."

He nodded, considering me. "I've got a long sleeved shirt with some holes in the front but all of my jeans are gonna be way too small."

I nodded. I had four or five inches on him and was more muscular in the legs than he was. My strength, a condition of Service life, wasn't hidden like Asher's. I had to look as strong as I was in order to succeed. "Lend me the shirt," I decided. "I can take my blade to my jeans and cut them up a bit."

"Yeah. That's good. These aren't your only pair then?"

I shook my head, remembering the days when the clothes you wore were most likely the only thing you owned. "Nah. I got another pair. I can cut these. I just don't have another pair with me. It'll be good to have a pair to wear here if I manage to get away again."

Without commenting, Asher disappeared into another room and came back with a black shirt. I took it from him and followed his pointing finger to the bath. "Hurry up," he called after me.

I went into the room and closed the door, pleased to see it had a lock. I locked it, and then double-checked to be sure it was secure before shimmying out of my clothes. It had been way too easy this time to get a line on Morgaine which made me wonder. Asher, who on my five previous trips had been unlocatable, had suddenly appeared with a convenient couch and the knowledge I needed. Acting on a hunch, I checked the tag in the shirt he had handed me. Just as I thought, it was relatively close to my size. I stood for a minute, the shirt clutched in my hands; then decided if it was a trap, I was already most of the way in it. I pulled the shirt on and down without taking a close look at it.

While the sleeves and back were made of a t-shirt material the front was a mesh, almost like fishnet with two strategically placed tears. If the shirt had been procured with me in mind, Asher's memory was better than I thought. The first rip was on my upper chest and exposed my right nipple to the open air; the second one was low on my belly and exposed my belly button. Both of these places had been pierced in my youth. Fingering the lower of the two tears, I made my decision and reached for my jeans. In a perverse moment, I had hidden away the rings I normally wore and had made sure the holes would stay open with two small and very discrete studs. I pulled the original rings out of my pocket and replaced the studs, which I immediately flushed down the toilet before I could change my mind.

I freed my blade from its sheath and made small random cuts on my jeans before using my hands to rip them. A search through Asher's medicine cabinet netted me a half-empty bottle of hair gel that I rubbed into my short hair and then spiked it, glad I hadn't buzzed it like most of the pilots. I pulled my boots back on, after putting my jeans on, and laced them back up. I slung my jacket over one shoulder before leaving the bathroom.

Asher whistled when I walked back into the main room. "Now that looks more like the Mickey I remember. You look good, man."

I waved it off. "Thanks, Ash. Ready to go?"

He hopped to his feet. "Yep. We can grab some food at the Pit if you're still hungry."

"Sounds good." I followed Asher out of his apartment. I was hyped, flying high on adrenaline, nervous that the trap I was expecting would be more than I could handle. Still I wasn't about to waste my last chance to find Morgaine to avoid the trap.

The Pit is almost completely underground. From the outside, it appeared to be nothing more than the entrance to an office building. The door was wood, plain, unmarked. There was no sign and nothing on the door or surrounding it to identify this as a club. Especially not this type of club.

Asher stepped up and punched in a code that he wouldn't let me see. When the pad beeped, he hit the number two. I remembered this from years ago. The owner didn't want to check id every time someone came in so he gave the key code to regulars. If the regular brought someone else in, they pressed the two, acknowledging that the person being brought in was of age for the front rooms. The backrooms always required id no matter what.

The door led to a hallway and a set of stairs. The way was well lit so that customers wouldn't trip on their way down. I followed Asher's lead down the stairs, not sure what had changed in the years since I had last been here. I had always liked the Pit when I lived here; it was a comforting place for me. Although I was known, I could be anonymous and not worry about being bothered by the other customers if I felt like it. I had had a key code in my day, although I was sure it had been disabled for a long time now. So far nothing had changed, the hallway looked the same, a bit brighter now as though it had recently been painted but the color was the same; a bland off-white.

As we made our way downstairs, I could feel the bass from the music through the stairs. That certainly hadn't changed, the music would be loud and raucous, a beat to encourage hard, fast dancing.

The front of the club, where Asher and I intended to stay, was really nothing more than a glorified dance club. The dancers, Morgaine among them, had two jobs. One was to dance on the stage with each other, performing routines that showcased their abilities. The second was to dance on the floor with the customers. These dancers weren't prostitutes though, the club policy was dancing only. At least for the dancers out front. Albert wanted everyone who entered the club to have a good time. His hired dancers, both male and female, were under strict instructions to dance with anyone who looked like they were not participating. What I liked about the front room, and what made it easier to deal with Morgaine dancing there, was there was no groping allowed. The dancers were there strictly to dance. Nothing else. Any patrons who didn't adhere to this severe policy were immediately ejected from the Pit and were not allowed to return. If the groper was the responsibility of a regular; the regular was banned for a week and also lost the privilege of bringing guests into the Pit until Albert decided to reinstate the honor. I had seen a few people get ejected over the years, including some of my friends, but I hadn't ever even attracted the attention of the bouncers. It was just safer that way. Down here, the bouncers didn't have to worry about how enthusiastic they were in performing their duties.

Now I followed Asher into the main room of the club, keeping my eyes peeled for the welcome sight of Morgaine dancing. Asher had said she should be here and since I was expecting a trap, I fully expected to spy her within seconds of entering the room. But I didn't.

Asher made his way across to the bar and signaled the bartender to pass him two beers. He handed one to me and we turned to survey the dance floor. Talking was next to impossible with the music pounding, a fact I was grateful for. Conversation with Asher was the last thing I wanted right now. I wanted to find Morgaine and hopefully make plans to meet her later. Asher had made such a big deal about meeting Morgaine here and now that I didn't see her, I wondered why. Maybe he had expected her to be here and she wasn't.

After three hours of holding the bar up and trying not to get drunk on the beers Asher kept pressing on me, I had had enough. Obviously, Morgaine wasn't working tonight. I turned to Asher, who had just returned after another round of dancing, something I had refused to participate in, and said, "Let's head back to your place. It's obvious she isn't coming. I'd like to get some sleep tonight."

Asher nodded, his coordination almost gone. He had obviously been drinking my beers and his. "Sure, Mickey. Whateva you want. We can come back tomorrow." His words were sounded out carefully, slurred in places but he was still on his feet, which told me that he wasn't completely sloshed. I hoped he was sober enough to navigate the way home because I didn't know the key code or where exactly the apartment was.

We made it up the stairs with a minimum of stumbling, despite being impaired. Once outside, the cold sobered me up a bit but it didn't appear to have any effect on Asher. He weaved and staggered down the street. I concentrated on keeping him on the sidewalk and away from the little traffic, there was as we made our way back to the apartment.

Once back at Asher's place, I watched as he typed in the code to unlock the doors. In his drunken state, he forgot to hide the key code from me and I quickly memorized the eight-digit code he typed in. When we were in the apartment, I steered him into his bedroom and pushed him into bed. I left him there.

I went back out to the front room and stripped down to my skivvies, then pulled my original shirt back on to cover my tattoos. I dropped onto the couch, pulled the blanket that had been across the back over my body, and immediately fell asleep.

If you're reading for Writing Meeting, start here