Ejected Earth - Chapter 4
Expeditionary Logistics | Great Lakes District | Greylunde
16 April 2585
Coming home was supposed to be familiar.
It never was.
The air in The Lakes was heavy and warm, but their lungs were still full of Salt Lake. Jack wiped the sweat that beaded on the back of his neck.
Readjusting was a sort of penance. Every labored breath a reminder that nothing would ever feel clean again.
“Welcome home, Boys!” The young tech pulled up a loading cart and reached for their bags.
Phil slung his bag over his shoulder and looked at the tech like he was carrying a body, not a duffle. Harlan showed his teeth. Attempt at friendliness. He didn’t care if it passed.
“Thanks, Alvin. We can carry our bags.”
Harlan patted the young man on the back. “We travel light.”
“Sure—I heard about Fin. Damn shame. Those shears can really pop out of nowher—“
“You’re about to lose your load.” Jack gestured to the tech’s loader.
Good thing. If Jack hadn’t stepped in Phil would have snapped his collarbone like a twig. Harlan wouldn’t have stopped him.
No one said goodbye. They just scattered. Lester and Arthur probably went to see family. No one asked where Phil went. No one cared where Jamie drank. Everyone outran the lines in their own way.
No words. Just nods—barely. Salt Lake was two thousand kilometers behind them.
Not far enough.
The job was done. Now came the part where Jack had to explain it to warm, comfortable men.
Jack preferred to get this part over with. Let them see the blood under his nails, the loss behind his eyes—still fresh.
The walk to General Admin wasn’t long enough. He wanted more time with the memory of Finley before it was fouled under the microscope of bureaucracy and procedure. But the Lakes had a way of snuffing out even the most intentional thoughts.
It didn’t feel at all like home. Easthold was alive and orderly. This place didn’t march the way home did. It dragged its feet. No reactor hum, no chatter. Just the faint hiss of drying vats and the sour decay of fynwood pulp—almost sweet at the edges. People said you’d get used to it. Jack never did.
Locked. It was the first time since leaving Denver he had thought to check the time. 0603 hours. Janet would be the first to arrive. Two hours. Jack sat on the front step to the building and passed time the only way he ever had.
He sharpened his pencil with this knife, opened the journal to a fresh page and scratched at an oval as it began to take shape.
As a kid, he didn’t care much for drawing. He drew because his dad drew. But the older he became the more sense it made.
He’d never found much comfort in the lines. Months of unbroken ice gray. Now matter how you’d pilot the Vore, each kilometer was the same as the last: a twelve-meter diameter tomb.
He drew to think of nothing else. He drew to escape when it was impossible otherwise. And occasionally he drew to remember—or so he wouldn’t forget.
“You’re a predictable man, Jack Greer.”
He blinked, forcing himself to see her—really see her—past the hunger and the ache in his skull. He gave his first genuine smile in months.
He hid his journal as he stood, but didn’t know why.
“You’re early.”
“Yeah, well, something told me you’d come here first.” Janet showed him the bag in her hand. “Something else told me you hadn’t eaten.”
She was right. Jack hadn’t eaten in days. Salted ham biscuits. He should’ve smelled them a block away.
“Right.” Jack chuckled. “Predictable.”
Silence hung in the air a bit too long. Janet looked back towards the transportation hub, then back to Jack. “It’ll only take what you let it. You should know that better than most.”
Jack felt heat well up his throat. The weight he’d fought so hard to hold in started to seep out.
Janet nodded to the door. “Now get inside and eat—stubborn man.”
Jack’s second honest smile. “Yes ma’am.”
Janet knew loss in the lines better than anyone—in ways only a mother could. Jack respected few others in that building.
None like her.
With a full stomach, Jack sat in Schaffer’s office as he waited. Everyone seemed to like Schaffer. Avoid confrontation and always hold the opinion of the strongest in the room, and you’ll be liked—not respected.
Jack stared at Schaffer’s chair—the kind that was only comfortable to the person who logged the hours necessary for it to hold that shape.
“As I breathe…Jackie boy!” Jack stood as Schaffer approached with an outstretched hand. “My God it’s good to see you. Janet said you’ve been here a while—that you came straight here.”
“Yeah, well…Figured they’d have questions. Might as well answer them fresh.” Jack released his hand and waited for Schaffer to sit first.
“Sure, sure.” Schaffer ran his hands through his hair as he sat. “Well look, you’ll get no barbs from me. It was a tough situation. Who am I to tell Jack Greer it was the wrong call?”
Jack didn’t let him off the hook that easy. He waited and watched him fidget his fingers under his desk.
Schaffer took a deep breathe. “Reykjanes has forwarded some questions that they’d like us to go over with you.”
“Us?”
Schaffer braced in his chair before answering. “Jeffrey”
Schaffer glanced at the door nervously as Jack laughed at the implication. “So they send Jeffrey Wall, of all people, to recall me?”
“Jeffrey was an expedition miner for 14 years. He’s respec—“
Jack stopped Schaffer with a stare. “He’s respected? By who, Terrence? By you?” Jack usually didn’t yell. Didn’t have to.
Schaffer didn’t budge. It would take him the better part of a week to recover from this.
Jack slouched back into his seat. “Well, what the fuck are we waiting for?”
Schaffer began forming a word, but stopped just shy of it. The phone rang. Schaffer grabbed it before it finished its first ring.
“Understood. Ontario. We’re on our way.”
Jack was already on his feet, bag in hand. “Excellent.”
Jack stormed out of Schaffer’s office—Schaffer no closer than ten steps behind him. Jack knew where he was going. It was the room where he first met Jeffrey Wall, his first Line Chief, sixteen years ago. Ontario Conference. Room 109.
Jack stopped just short of the door. Blind rage wouldn’t help. He closed his eyes and drew a breath. He heard Schaffer’s heavy breath as he caught up.
He opened the door, slow and deliberate.
“Jack. Long time.”
He could count on one hand how many times he’d seen Jeffrey Wall seated. Bad salesman. Jack didn’t buy it.
“Mr. Schaffer said council had questions.” Jack made little effort to strip the acid from his voice.
Jeff gestured to an empty chair at the table beside him.
Jack didn’t blink.
“They did.” He straightened in his chair. “Terrence, would you step outside?” Relieved, Schaffer left.
Jeffrey stood and pulled his jacket taut. “And if I asked…any of them,” He took a step forward. “You would have likely broken my neck.”
Jack matched his step. “Still might.”
“They’ve never been in the lines. I know why you made the call you did. You probably even left it to a vote. Just like I did.”
Jack’s hands clenched into fists without him noticing. His blood pressure spiked. He noticed that. He took a step forward, smiling.
“Just like you did.” Jack steadied his breathing. “When you prioritize your crew—” Another step. “and not just yourself,” he said spitting, “there’s never more than one option.”
“They want you recalled, Jack. Still might. For now at least, you’re safe. I know what you’re looking for out there, Jack. I understand it.” His tone shifted. “But if I get the feeling—even for a second—that your ghost hunt endangers the safety of the men and women under your command, you’ll never set foot in the lines again.”
Jack’s rage peaked. Pinned in the red. His jaw began to cramp from grinding his teeth.
“Who the fuck are you talking to? No one else is here. I took your deal, and I gotta live with that, but don’t you dare pretend you give a good god damn about anyone but yourself. Not to me.”
“You misunderstand me, Jack. I didn’t pull any strings to get you out of this. After everything—the violence, the reckless calls…the relics. Yeah, we know about that too, Jack.”
Jack stared—silent.
“After all of that, do you really think the board would listen to your bullshit from more than ten years ago?” Jeff took a step towards Jack. “I don’t need you anymore.”
Jack listened, waited.
“Make no mistake, Jack. I didn’t get you clear of this.” Jeff took another step forward. Too close.
“…Your father did.”
Jack lunged, driving his heel into Jeffrey’s knee with all his weight. He couldn’t even register the pain before Jack’s elbow broke his jaw.
Jeffrey collapsed. His moan was unmistakable. Agonizing. Muted.
Jack shoved the heavy table aside, mounted him on the floor and pulled him up by his wool jacket.
“Kenny.”
“Luke.”
Jack almost choked. “Sarah.”
Jeffrey’s breath quickened, shallow and panicked. The shock started wearing off.
Jack caught the terror behind his eyes. It shook him out of his rage for a brief moment. He couldn’t remember deciding to move.
“You knew what Bore Chief meant to me—to my family. And you used it to make sure no one else learned what you did—what you didn’t do.”
“There was no vote.” Jack pulled him in closer. “Just—Jeff.”
Jeff silently writhed on the floor. Cornered prey trying to break free.
Jack’s grip tightened as he reached for the knife strapped behind his back. He pressed it to Walls throat hard enough to dimple the skin.
“That’s the second time you’ve threatened me, Chief. I’ll only do it once.”
Jeffrey lay helpless on the floor. Jaw—broken. Knee—probably.
“You don’t need me? I have proof, mother fucker. Satan would be a credible witness with what I have on you.”
Jack paused to feel Jeffrey’s heart ready to leap out of his chest.
“If I were a better man—if I didn’t need the lines—I’d slit your throat for what you did.”
Jack slid the knife back into its sheath. “But you’re going to tell the council it was a bar fight. You’re going to tell them that Jack Greer is a focused, committed Canary Line Chief, and a model Greylundian.”
Jack released his grip as he stood over Jeffrey. “You bought me cheap, Wall. Making me Chief cost you nothing. My price has just gone up.”
“And who knows.” Jack stopped shy of the door, but didn’t turn. “Maybe one day I won’t need the lines.”
Jack closed the door behind him. The fuse was lit.
Jack stepped out into the hallway. His pulse still hadn’t slowed.
He caught his reflection in this glass. The miles were starting to overtake him. Older than his father, John, ever was by three years.
Couldn’t remember the last time anyone remarked on their likeness.
Just needed sleep.
He passed Janet in the hall as he walked out of General Admin. She looked at him like she saw the whole thing. She didn’t judge. She just…saw.
She wouldn’t rock the boat, and Schaffer will think whatever he’s told to think. Still, Jack knew he would have to settle up one day.
Everything hidden will be known.
With Jeff and the inevitable fallout at his back, Jack was headed to his second stop.
Franklin.