He got into the Pontiac and turned the key. The starter turned over grudgingly and then the engine roared to life. He let out a small whoop of pleasure and beat his hand against the steering wheel.I went to the door of his car and yelled, “Let it run a few minutes before you try to drive it. Might charge up the battery a bit.”He nodded and started saying something, but I couldn’t hear. He saw that and patted the passenger seat, so I went around and got into the car, closing the door. There. It was much quieter now.“I really appreciate this. I’ve needed a new battery for awhile, but they’re so damned expensive, you know?” he said, shaking his head. “I guess it’s unavoidable now. I’ll have to head down to Wal-Mart or AutoZone. Maybe I can get out of there with my ass intact.”I nodded. The question was, would he get out of this car with his ass intact. Because if I had anything to do with it he wouldn’t. The more I saw of him the more attractive he became. I found myself wanting to take. He hit the machine a couple more times, but there was no point in continuing. John pressed the END CALL button and stomped out of the booth, hands in his pockets and his head down. He gave a deep sigh and, when he was sure no Niyanese was looking, he kicked the wall. He cursed at already being homesick. At not thinking of something better to say. At forgetting to bring pictures of his former life of any sort. All his possessions now were confined to a single fake-leather folio and a plastic: a work visa, a change of clothes, and 344 kilocredits. He made his way to the shuttle coffee shop and splurged on a chocolate brownie and a cappuccino. It cost him 22 kilocredits. The shuttle itself was a model 89, Hercules-class frigate turned passenger ship. The vast cargo bays had been replaced luggage carriers and cubicles of passenger cabins. Its crew had to be desperate if it had resorted to shipping cheap labor from Mavid to Niyan. John’s cubicle was extraordinarily depressing, nothing.
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