Seven Years Ago, Battle of Logan’s Mount, Lenshire 4, Ergos System

“WE NEED A MEDIC!!!” a soldier screamed over the sounds of exploding grenades and bullets. A young man, no older than twenty-six, if that, snapped his head up at the call. He then looked back down at a man, his stomach ripped open by shrapnel. His breathing was shallow and fast. The man would not last much longer. His stomach had been ripped open and the acids had burned away a lot of his gut. The medic, Staff Sergeant Michael Locklear, had given the man an injection to stop the pain, but that was all he could do. He stood up, and told the corporal next to the man to find the chaplain to read him his last rites. The corporal ran like a bat out of hell, and Locklear went to the line, to find his next patient. As he neared the top of the trench, a bullet hit him in the chest from a sniper. Locklear stood there, looking down at his blood-stained coat. As he looked, he didn’t feel it, and the battle died away as he watched the blood spread through his shirt and into his coat. The blood made the brown coat almost black. He was then hit again, this time in the stomach, and the battle returned to him.

Present Day, Shenedoah Valley, Verdas Colony, Riche System

Locklear sat up abruptly in bed. His face was dripping sweat, his black hair matted to his forehead. He ran a hand through it, the black hair short around the sides, but somewhat long at the top. It wasn’t quite military, but then neither was he, any more. He blinked away the remnants of the nightmare, looking out at the full moon through his window. He took a deep breath and let it out. He then spoke out to the room, “And so another sleepless night begins.” He got out of bed and walked to his small kitchen area. Kitchen was a gross overstatement. It consisted of a hotplate, a coldbox, a sink and small counter, a small table, and a solitary chair. He padded over to the coldbox and pulled out a carton of milk. He then went to the counter and picked up a small glass. He poured the milk and replaced the carton. He turned on the light sitting on a stand next to the door. When the light turned on, you could see scars across his chest and stomach, some small and looking like raised ridges of skin. Others were red and prominent. You could also see two large, purple, circular areas on his right chest and his abdomen. These were where he was shot by the sniper. The other scars were from the POW camps set-up by the Alliance. Only they called them Internment camps, just to keep the media quiet.

He then walked over to his desk, pulling the chair from the table. On the desk were a number of letters and writing utensils; one was a bright yellow, almost neon in the light, with very large lettering in black letters. It also had in equally large type, Chinese characters. It said the same thing as the letters, NOTICE OF EVICTION. It gave the reasons, not paying rent, and being a disturbance. But Locklear knew the real reason. His landlord had swindled someone else into paying more for this piece of go-se room. And since he was an “Independent Dog”, as said landlord would put it, he couldn’t go through the courts. So he had to pack his things and move out. It wasn’t the first time this had happened to him, and it certainly would not be the last. He had few things to pack, and since he was already up, might as well start crackin’, as his father used to say. He pulled out of the drawer of his desk a few papers and ink wells. As he began to sift through them, figuring which papers he would need first, he came across his medical degree. It was a bit wrinkled and had bad creases in some areas, but it was still readable. He sighed and his mind wandered for a second back to the day he graduated from the Medicad on Sihnon, the looks on his parents faces. He smoothed the parchment out, it wasn’t paper but actual parchment, and finished sifting through his papers.

Right as dawn began sifting through the window, Locklear finished packing his things. The room looked almost the same; Locklear had been kicked out of enough hotels and rooms to never accumulate things he could not carry in his Army duffel. He took one last look at his room, and left. He headed downstairs, to the landlord’s room. He stopped at the cortex module across from the room. He began searching for transports off the planet, thinking he could try his luck somewhere else. He had only been doing odd jobs in this town, some ranches had needed hands and his med degree meant he could patch up the various injuries. It gave him some coin, but not enough to let him live more than hand to mouth. He noticed a Firefly class transport, named Oberon, headed for the rim. He thought to himself, ‘The rim needs docs, so they might not look too close to the fact that I was an Independent.’ He closed his session on the cortex, noting the berth number of the Oberon. He then walked over to the landlord’s door and knocked, loud enough to rouse the landlord. It was a few minutes after dawn, and still three hours earlier than the normal waking hour for him. Locklear couldn’t resist one last jab at the landlord for kicking him out.

There was an audible rustling behind the door, and a grumbling voice called out. “Coming!” Locklear also heard lower noise, but it was indiscernible. He assumed it was curses on him for waking him this early. He smiled, and thought ‘Serves him right.’ The door opened, and a disheveled older man, who was in the process of pulling on a robe.

“What!?!” the landlord yelled. “I came to drop off the key to the room. Thought you’d want me out of here as soon as possible.” Lockley said, giving the landlord his best salesman smile, his light British accent helping with the sell. “Fine. Give it here and be on your way.” He grumbled, grabbing for the key. Lockley, pulled it away, looking the landlord in the eyes. “Not so fast. I want by security deposit back.” He continued to hold the other man’s gaze. “I don’t have to. In eviction, I get to keep the money.” He retorted.

“You know that the only reason you evicted me is because you duped someone into paying more for that room than me. I can just hang out here and when I see the new tenant, I can inform him to how much I paid and watch the fireworks.” He changed his smile from a salesman’s to a menacing one, letting the older man know who was in true control. “Fine. You can have your money, but then be gone before ten.” He went to his safe and retrieved the money, returning with it. They exchanged keys for cash. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Lockley said, his charm coming back. The door slammed in his face. “Ya sodding prick.” He turned and left the building, heading for the marketplace and the docks. He needed breakfast and something to do to kill time waiting for the transport.