Call of the Void

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. If one does cry out into the void, but no one can listen, did they ever scream? Is that despair felt if not heard?

Still, a scream can’t help but be heard in the artificial atmosphere of the Mariner Valley, America’s colony on Mars. Two gunshots in the side of a man’s abdomen help illustrate just that. Ortega didn’t have a chance to connect the kill shot before his target skirted around the corner. He quickly dropped, blood boiling wails bellowing through the halls of the old exploration era station. As Ortega rounded the threshold, weapon at the ready, he found his quarry writhing on the floor, and at that moment he certainly felt the man’s despair. Almost subconsciously he let the muzzle drop. Ortega felt cold, but ever attuned to the circumstance. He never did enjoy watching life leave another’s eyes, despite his line of work.

Bang.

One last trigger pull to seal the deal. The man made no noise, only the sound of a single brass casing clattering on the cold, grated metal floor sounding out in the hall. Ortega took a photo for his superiors and started to make his way out of the corridor, clearing and stowing his carbine in his bag as he went. The stench of blood mixed with stale air from the recyclers filled the hall. As he entered the broader neighborhood, he steered clear of public transport and large crowds. With how disheveled as he looked, and felt, the last thing he needed was a concerned citizen getting in the way of his paycheck and bringing unwanted attention to the company. In time he made it to his hole, tucked away in a quiet alley, in a part of town far below the red planet’s surface, and far from the care of the authorities.

The room wasn’t much to look at. Clearly built not long after colonization, paint peeled off the walls in places to reveal plastic drywall compound and synthetic foam fillers, and the furniture fashioned from old crash seats hardly held together. Ortega had grown up in a similar tenement not far from here, and he still has family in the Valley. In spite of that, he chose not to advertise his visit to Mars. It’s the first time he had been to the planet since he joined the Army. He’d spent the better part of a decade on Earth bouncing between garrison and deployments in South America and Central Asia, slowly losing touch with those back home.

The hell would I even say? went through Ortega’s head as he cleaned himself off. I’m here for work anyway, nothing else. Mama María probably would even want to see me at this point. With his mind just about made up on the matter, he lit a cigarette and began to unwind and undress. The shower. How ‘bout I visit that instead. He chuckled at the thought.

Soon enough he stepped out of the shower, and his phone buzzed with a call from his handler.

“Ortega,” he answered.

“Got the target’s photo,” responded a man, speaking with seemingly no accent. “Good kill”.

Ortega just sighed. “You know what the execs wanted him for?” he asked in an uninspired manner.

“Gonna guess it was some corporate espionage crap, but even I never get all the details Ortega, you know that. Doesn’t matter either way, I’ll shoot the payment that the bosses arranged your way.”

Almost immediately Ortega’s screen lit up with a payment request. He opened the statement to find only half the expected amount.

“The fuck is this!” Ortega snapped in Spanish. “The job is finished, why am I hardly getting paid.

“Hey calm down, lemme check the dossier,” the handler replied in a dismissive tone. “Says that they wanted him alive, guess they docked your reward.”

“Bullshit man! The guy was armed! I was taking shots the moment I saw him! Had to ice him.”

“Look Ortega, I don’t set the rates, I just give you the details,” stated the handler. “It’s still a decent rate, and the corp probably won’t need us for a couple of days. Just take the cash and enjoy a night out or something. You got family here, right? Maybe go have a reunion,” the handler said in a reassuring voice.

Almost immediately the handler ended the call. At first, Ortega sat there, still in nothing but his towel, just processing how everything had panned out. Then, still fuming, he lit another smoke to ease his nerves. He fixated on the flaking paint and the smoke wisping throughout the cramped room. Eventually, he considered, Still make more bank than an actual soldier. He accepted he should just take his mind off things somehow until he went offworld again with another job.

“You got family here, right?” That bastard thinks he knows what's up, Ortega thought. Fuck, well I haven’t got anything else to do.

Ortega took the tube this time. He wasn’t on the clock, and wasn’t brandishing a firearm, so the prying eyes of the locals weren’t as large a concern. Still, people can't mind their business, so he dressed in a slim jacket and khaki pants, his sidearm under it all, maintaining an unassuming look as to not draw unwanted attention himself. This practice he learned on his first deployment. You never know who’s watching, right?

María must’ve moved up the social ladder since he left home, judging the shiny part of town the tram slid into. He heard she married someone new after he moved away, but this was a whole different echelon. Ortega found himself in Columbia Nova, a wealthier district in the Valley, where he could actually see the Martian sky through the transparent ceiling. One of the sections appeared blocked off, and workers in vac suits hung on a platform nearby, probably there preparing to repair a leak on the surface. Even as humanity tames foreign worlds, the void still lies menacingly at the door, forever being warded off. From Ortega’s point of view, it always seemed as though humanity did a better job warding off the void in places like this than where he grew up. The world would rather bury people like him deep underground than carefully maintain a habitat that can’t even see the Sun.

He stepped off the tram into a station nestled in a vibrant courtyard. Vegetation was plentiful and carefully maintained by the local city management. Immediately the smell hit him. It was as fresh and as clean as parts of Earth he had seen in the Army. He could hear birds chirping and fluttering through the space. Do they ever fly to the station's south? Ortega thought as he chuckled to himself.

He continued through the streets for the better part of an hour before he approached his mother’s new address. The corridors were wide, bustling, and full of life. Greenery filled the space, certainly easing the stress on the air recyclers. Ortega hardly knew what he was doing. I’ve faced God knows what on Earth, but shit like this still fucks with my head. He could eventually see the home. It was clean and bright, brighter even than the neighboring facades. A woman stood out front, looking right at him.

“Armando my child,” María said softly in Spanish as Ortega motioned closer. “You always could find your way home. You’ve grown.” she remarked with a weak smile.

“Hey Ma,” Ortega sighed. “Nice digs.”

He had no idea what to say. I didn’t think this far in advance. He stood almost frozen for what felt like an eternity, just locked in the moment, only to be interrupted by the chime of his phone abruptly sounding off. He spoke for a moment, then turned to María.

“Fuck ma. Work. Sorry,” he professed as he turned away, feeling defeated.

“Don't be a stranger my son,” his mother replied in a warm, understanding tone.

Hours later, Ortega strapped himself into an old hard seat on his shuttle. It was a smaller ship, closer to a lander than a real ship. Mars’ lower gravity allowed for lighter craft to break orbit, eliminating the need for a multi stage rocket. Still, safety was paramount for any launch, hence the restraints. The crash seats on budget hauls like this could use some work though.

Corporate had called with yet another job, another target, this one on Saturn’s moon Titan. We’ll see how this one shakes down I guess. As he settled in, he thought, Damn, never even met the step-dad. He took a deep breath in and looked longingly to his left at the padded insulation on the inner hull, imagining a window that could never be with the vacuum of space stalking the interior only inches away. Guess this is the life, always being called back to the void, one way or another.