Chapter 4: Quinn

Quinn almost brains himself against the interior panel when the first explosion hits. He scrambles out from under the control unit on the bridge of the old ark ship and runs to the main viewer. But the angle is wrong for clear viewing, though he can see a glow coming from the direction of the colony.

He races through the dark corridors to the small hatch near the escape pod corridor. At the edge, he pauses to watch the small ships dive and loop into the buildings across the dump, attacking his home. He is close enough he sees them clearly, so overcome he can only stand there and stare. They are like nothing he has ever seen before. There has never been an encounter with another race of beings, unfriendly or otherwise, since humans reached out to the stars.

He prepares to leap to the ground and run to help when he spots a shadowy figure below him, sneaking around the base of the ship, slinking along with inhuman movement. Quinn's blood boils as his dark temper takes over and fear turns to fury. He crouches on the edge of the elevated hatch and waits until the shadow is directly below him before dropping on top of it, driving it into the ground.

***

Five Hours to Contact

Quinn forced himself to breath, hating the stench of the dust and chemicals rising from below him as the elevator climbed from the bottom of the mine. He kept his hands in fists shoved deep in his jacket pockets so no one would see just how angry he was. Not that any of the other workers paid him attention. The fight was very fast and very public and he was sure there wasn't a man or woman below who didn't know all about it by now.

Defending his father had become a habit, a reflex, really. John Piers spent his whole life down below, just like everyone else. Trouble was, after a time it got to him, under his skin and in his heart, turning him into someone Quinn hardly recognized anymore, especially once the bottle came out.

He hadn't meant to fight about his father. Quinn knew what John was like, well aware his dad had a serious problem, suspended because he was dangerous to himself and others. Down below, the only people the miners could count on were each other. The mineral they harvested was volatile if handled improperly and a mistake could mean the end of the colony. If one of their number wasn't up to the job, steps had to be taken. Quinn understood all that. He was sixteen already, spent the last three years of his life following his father down the shaft, had even been proud, at first, of the job he did.

Now he just hated everything about it. Including the snide remarks and nasty comments he tolerated day in and day out about his father, remarks never said to his face, just loud enough for him to hear. The crew of miners took to leaving him alone and he felt them pushing him out, too, just like his dad. He knew the day was close his supervisor would approach him and say it just wasn't working out, it wasn't his fault, but he didn't fit in. Quinn dreaded that day, but also wanted it to come.

And it came, but not the way he chose, not with a permanent mark on his record making it difficult for him to get a job up above on the plant. If that damned Pike Isner had just kept his stupid mouth shut instead of running on and on about John and how Quinn's dad was a menace to everyone in the colony, Quinn could have had his quiet talk and his gentle release.

Instead, he found himself rolling on the mine floor in the choking red dust with Isner underneath him, pounding the smirk from the older man's face. They let him attack his elder, watched, confident Isner would take the youngster for a ride before they gave him the boot. But

it didn't take them long to gape like idiots, the pack of them who wanted him out, as Quinn turned the tables on Isner and gave him what for.

John Piers may have been a drunk, but he was a hell of a fighter and he taught his son everything he knew.

Then they were pulling him from Isner, shouting for the supervisor in his nice white hat, already on his way, accusing Quinn of starting the whole thing while the supervisor looked at him with sympathy, knowing the truth. Quinn took his punishment in silence and fury as the shift ended, listened to the regret in the white-hat's voice as he formally released Quinn from the mine and told him he'd have a mark on his work record. He wanted to punch the man when he quietly took Quinn aside and told him if he had just held out a little longer, just kept his temper. The supervisor had a job lined up for him in the factory, just waiting for confirmation. Knew Quinn was a good worker and nothing like his father. But now... well, he'd have to pull his recommendation.

Quinn was on his own.

As the elevator settled to a shuddering halt at the mine exit, Quinn turned and tossed his helmet down the long, deep shaft into the dark before turning for home.

He ignored everyone who rushed past him, avoided the odd ground transport chugging its way through the dust of the red streets. He dragged his steps, not wanting to go home, but had nowhere else to go.

Not precisely true, but he needed to see his father first. They had to decide what to do. With no income and very little in the bank, they needed to figure out where they were going to get money to live while Quinn found another job.

He could smell the booze the moment he walked through the door. His heart sank, fury surging again. Quinn turned left, walking into the small living area with its sagging furniture and film of red dust. He stared at his father with dead eyes, all the rage burning out in one rush.

John Piers was one of the greatest workers in the mine since it opened. He had this uncanny sense for rock and the stress it was under. He saved many lives in his long career and won quite a few medals. Time was Quinn felt proud the tall, strong, barrel-chested man with the huge laugh and generous nature of his dad.

All that remained of his pride lay sprawled on the short sofa, drooling into a ragged pillow, a half-empty bottle of bootlegged shine in one withered hand. John's sunken face, deeply lined,

appeared almost child-like in sleep. Quinn couldn't stay mad, especially when he saw the picture frame clutched to his father's chest. The one with his mother's beautiful face smiling up at him.

He liberated the photo from his father's weak grip. Had his mother lived, things would have been so different. If she hadn't gone to work that day, had she not trusted the new supervisor and his assurance the fresh tunnel was safe, had she only checked with John first before starting her digger, things would have turned out like they planned. But Eliza's loss set off a chain reaction in John carrying to Quinn, to the mine and, finally, to utter collapse and ruin.

Quinn rolled a light blanket out over his father, taking the bottle and stashing it in their filthy kitchen. He helped himself to the last of the protein bars he secreted away to make sure he had food the times his father threw fits and wrecked everything they owned. Then, unable to stand it any longer, he slipped out the back and headed for the only place he felt like being anymore.

Horizon waited patiently for him in the distance, calling him home.

***