The Mechanic
by Winter
"Be good, brother."
"I will," Tower said, while his cellmate wrapped him in a bonecrunching hug. "You, too."
"Hah!" the pale giant laughed. One of the few men Tower had ever met who was even taller than him. Damn, but he'd miss that laugh. "No chance, and you know it."
"Here. I want you to have this."
"Your necklace? But... why?"
"Just as a memento. Don't forget me."
"I won't, ya big lug. Now get outta here before you make me cry."
"Be well."
"Now that, I can do."
Another hearty chuckle followed Tower down the corridor, while the cell door clanged shut behind him. As the guard led him towards that final, elusive door, hands reached out through bars. He made sure to clasp them all, albeit for no more than a second. He was still on the government's clock. Every well-wish, every kind word from a harsh voice, added to the lump in his throat.
He'd better get out of there, or he would start crying.
The sign-out process went by in a blur, Tower's mind already out there. Freedom. Seven years ago, he had thought it would never again be his. Now, it ticked closer with every second. He got his old clothes back, surprised to see how loosely they hung around him. Alongside the library and the workshop, the gym had been his favourite place inside. He was still large, all around, but his belly had receded considerably.
Then...
Almost suddenly...
The last door opened. A guard escorted him through, then patted his shoulder and wished him well. There was sky above him. There were no walls around him. That, was when he began to cry.
* * * * * *
The battered old motorcar arrived in a rattle of mismatched parts and smoke, and Tower straightened up. Not quite a soldier's attention, but it wouldn't do to slouch in front of his mother. He saw the top of her silver hair through the windshield; how she could see anything was beyond him. How such a small lady had born someone of his massive stature, was another mystery. The car came to a stop, the door opened, and then she was in his arms. Lifted high off the ground.
"Mama," he rumbled, his voice made even deeper by emotions. "Mama, I missed you so much."
"Me too, my boy." She felt even thinner than he remembered, looked even frailer. Her dark skin was wrinklier than ever, and he couldn't hold back a grin. "What'cha smilin' about, kid?"
"Just happy," he mumbled. "It's been so long. Too long."
"What, bein' out or seein' your old mama?"
"Both." At that point, the tears returned. "Both, mama."
* * * * * *
"You oughta get rid of these." Mama pulled lightly on one of the grey strands that adorned his temples, which hadn't been there before... well, before. "I know a place that does great colour jobs. Unless you wanna shave it all off."
"No way," Tower protested. "I'm not young anymore, mama. Might as well live with it an' wear it proudly."
"Well said." She chuckled. "I didn't give up the struggle 'til I turned a hundred an' ten. Vanity is a woman's trait after all, don't you agree?"
"Really, mama, such an easy trap?" They both laughed. "I've seen many vain men on the inside. When they couldn't have their jewels an' their watches an' their fancy suits, they drew new bling on their skin."
"And you didn't?" She ran a hand up and down his solid right arm. "Not even a flower or a heart or anything?"
"I did one." Tower hesitated for a second, then he raised his t-shirt. "Right here."
On his right pectoral, was a small, subtle tattoo, slightly darker than his own skin, as to make it nearly invisible among the still jet black curls of hair. Something inside his chest gave a twinge, and he knew his mother would notice the sombre look on his face.
"Memoria," she read out loud, then she met his eyes. "Who is it you're rememberin'?"
"Dale," he said in little more than a whisper. "He was a friend. The best friend I made in there."
"Oh." As he had thought, she sensed his mood, and when she changed the subject, Tower loved his mama more than ever. "So, what'cha gonna do next."
"I dunno. Nobody 'round here's gonna hire me, not after..." His voice trailed away. "I was... I was thinkin' 'bout leaving the planet. Maybe seek hire on a ship."
"As what? Surely not as a cook." She cackled, and Tower's brows furrowed. Suddenly, he didn't love her quite as much. "You'd burn a piece o' coal!"
"Very funny, mama." he growled. "I actually learned some stuff in there. I know how to work with tools, and electronics. Pretty sure I can do repairs and such."
"On a spaceship?"
"Well, I don't know that for sure, but how difficult can it be?"
"So I have to miss you again?"
"I'll be back as often as I can."
"Don't lie, boy." She sighed. "But promise you'll call, 'kay?"
"Sure. Don't worry, Bryan and Carla will look after you."
"Them two," She huffed. "They can barely keep their brood in line. Don't worry 'bout me, sweetie, I took care of myself since I was little, I can handle things now."
"You'll always be little, mama."
They spent the whole weekend, catching up. Tower had rarely ever felt so pampered. A soft bed, plenty of good food. Showering alone! Long walks in open air. Mama refused him at first, when he handed over the money card that held his earnings from prison work, but she relented when he assured her that he didn't need it. No money meant no bars, which in turn meant no trouble. Never again, he told her as he had told himself so, so many times during the last few years. Never again.
Monday, he sat at the kitchen table, which was less rickety now that he had fixed the shorter leg. Mama had made him coffee, toast and oat porridge for breakfast, before she left for her social rounds. The taste of cinnamon still warmed his mouth. As he perused the employees wanted pages, he sighed. Everyone, no matter what position they offered, demanded a full education and a clean slate. Neither of which, he was in possession of.
He sighed. Might as well swallow the bitter pill, and spend money he didn't have on a starliner ticket. Maybe on some other world, people were less picky. Not that his hopes were high. His record would always stand in his way. Then something caught his eye. A small ad, on the last page, which he had missed as he skimmed through it.
"Wanted," he read out loud, "mechanic for private enterprise starship. Open for all applicants. Weapons expertise desired. Bed and board plus salary. Please contact captain Raeder of the Morning Calm."
Well, this was the most promising one yet. Weapons? Tower shook his head. He had never even held a gun, let alone repaired one. But, how hard could it be?
He got up from the table, cleared away his dishes and cut out the ad before folding up the paper. Then he went into mama's office and picked up her old-fashioned telephone receiver.
Maybe there really was a future for him.
