The smell of bleach soaked Fletcher’s airways, even with the mask on. But he was nearly done. And then he could declare his office clean once more. Actually, probably cleaner than it had ever been in its life. He scrubbed and bleached it five times over already, ensuring no hint of the garbage or fecal material was left behind. Every surface got cleaned, inside and out.

  Sighing as he tossed the last rag into the bucket of used ones, he glanced around at the fruits of his efforts. Just a dull cement room, no windows or art to brighten it up, but it was clean. The bleach smell remained constant, burning his throat.

  Sure, the room would need to be aired out for a few more days before he could comfortably sit in it, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about getting some nasty disease from using it. Thanks to a little elbow grease, it was impossible to tell that only a week ago it’d been smeared with trash and poop.

  His back ached extra since he got his stitches out that morning, but at least he was healed enough to get back into running, even though he had to do less than he would have liked. But it was something to do. And he was in desperate need of that.

  His eyes lingered on the cleaner and clean rags. Maybe he should wipe his office down once more, just to be safe.

  Fletcher shook his head. No. It was more than clean enough. In fact, he probably shouldn’t have bleached it more than three times for the sake of his lungs, but he made an important discovery while cleaning the office up that pushed him to go overkill with the bleach.

  If he was heavily involved in doing something, he was a lot less miserable than sitting around. Unfortunately, that’s all there was to do at Vesi Station. Everyone, all day, every day, sat around. They played poker or napped or twiddled their thumbs, but all of it involved sitting. And Fletcher couldn’t stand to sit any longer. Because sitting gave him time to think, and the more he thought, the unhappier he became. It turned out that remembering all the happy times in his life actually compounded the misery of being in a dump like Vesi.

  He’d sat around a lot the days following the cycat attack, but eventually he’d mustered the gumption to clean his office, and in doing that, he discovered the secret to fighting off the angst.

  Work.

  Physical labor.

  Anything that kept his hands busy and his mind occupied.

  The problem was that he finished the few projects he had. His office, bedroom, and the bathroom shared with Jana were all spotless now. He wasn’t about to go scrub the barracks or the enlisted bathrooms given what they’d put him through.

  Jana was always off napping somewhere, so he briefly contemplated sneaking into her office and cleaning it while she was away.

  Okay, no. That was a terrible idea. She would hate that. Or maybe she would appreciate it and then flirt with him even more. Either way, it would only make his life worse.

  Fletcher stepped into the hallway with the cleaning supplies, deciding to go ahead and return it to the supply closet. As much as he wanted to stay busy, he couldn’t just spend the next five years scrubbing the same three rooms. That would drive him insane.

  Jeez, the entire base was a dump. Walking back through the corridor was a stark contrast to his freshly cleaned office. Too bad no one was going to do anything about it.

  He stopped in his tracks and glanced down at the cleaning supplies he carried. Technically something like cleaning was degrading work for an officer, but who cared? This was Vesi Station where protocol was a joke. No one respected him anyway, so what did he have to lose?

  Fletcher set the stuff down against the hallway and jogged to the supply closet to fish out more equipment. He got a mop, another bucket, and another set of rags. He wanted something to do, and the entire base was in desperate need of assistance. No one else was going to do it, so it might as well be him.

  And he did. He started with the hallway with his and Jana’s offices. And he cleaned whatever rooms he had access to. Nobody came through while he worked, so he was free to do it without being bothered.

  It was exactly what he needed. Fletcher easily got lost in the monotony of scrubbing and mopping, and before he knew it, his stomach was rumbling for dinner. He dropped the rag in his hand on the enormous pile of dirty ones and stared back down the hallway he’d just finished. It was his third one of the day, and he’d made a huge difference. No more weird smells assaulting his nose every time he walked through it, and no more questionable substances splattered on the walls.

  Of course, it was still rather beat up with lots of cracks in the floors and walls. And there were several separate electrical wiring disasters hanging from the ceiling, but he didn’t know what he could do about any of that. He’d never been too handy of a guy. That was always Javier, who spent his summers working as a carpenter.

  But he could handle cleaning, and if that was the only mark he left on Vesi Station during his time here, at least it was something positive, which was a lot more than what anyone else at the station could say.

  Fletcher was happy with how he spent his day, and he had plans to clean as much more of the station as he could over the next few days and weeks. It made for a perfect distraction from thinking and it was something useful, the best of both worlds.

  Considering how tired he was, he decided to call it for the day and go get some food. Since Vesi Station ran exclusively on rations, everyone came and went as they pleased in the mess hall, eating their meals whenever and wherever they wanted.

  Fletcher hated it, mainly because the food was darn terrible. But that wasn’t something he could fix, but deities, what he wouldn’t do for a vegetable. He was used to living in places like Alcett and Bren’it’p where the food was always fresh. And every other Mixed base he’d been to, even during training, had had at least a small selection of produce.

  But not Vesi. He understood it was difficult given how far apart the supply drops were, but couldn’t they at least grow a bit of their own food? There weren’t too many people living at the station, and even Fletcher learned the basics of gardening during school given it was a required part of the Human curriculum—a standard that was meant to ensure every Human could be self-sufficient in case of another disaster or war that disrupted supply chains.

  Thinking of those lessons gave him another idea. Cleaning the whole station would take time, but once he was through with it, he would need other projects. If he wanted fruits and vegetables, he could always grow them himself. He knew the basics of it, and surely no one was going to stop him. Obviously it was too cold to garden above ground, but the station had plenty of unused rooms. He’d just commandeer one for an indoor garden to supplement that rations. And that would give him more to occupy his time.

  In order to do that, he would need supplies. He was sure he could find most of what he needed laying around the various closets in the outpost, but the one thing he couldn’t scavenge were seeds. Those would need to be brought in, ideally on the next supplies shipment. But the only person with access to add to the requested supplies list was Major Palacios.

  Fletcher sucked his cheeks, wondering if it was worth the battle. He decided it was, and after dropping off the cleaning supplies, he made his way to the Major’s office. He knocked and then waited for a response. Just because no one else at the base showed basic courtesy, didn’t mean he had to give up yet.

  “Dickens, I swear to the deities themselves, if that’s you, I’m going to shoot you,” Palacios said.

  Fletcher entered the room anyway. “Sorry to bother you, sir.”

  Palacios slapped his hand against his forehead. “I need to get a lock or something. Haven’t you annoyed me enough for one lifetime?”

  “I have a request for the upcoming supplies list, Major,” he explained.

  “Good for you. Go find some place to stick it.” Palacios spun his chair away from him. “Now get out of here. I’m trying to get a little peace and quiet.”

  “It’s nothing big. Just some seeds,” he continued, unbothered by the Major’s curt demeanor. Everyone at Vesi was a jerk, that was just a fact of life he was coming to accept.

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  “Seeds? What on earth do you need seeds for? If that’s some slang for a new drug, you should know that Eris already has some good stuff. I’d rather not risk bringing in a competitor to her.”

  Fletcher held in his scoff. “Not drugs, sir. Genuine seeds, to grow some food.”

  “What?” Palacios spun back around to face him. “Don’t tell me you're giving up on your officer dreams to become a farmer now, Dickens? First off, I don’t think this climate is all that conducive to it. Secondly—”

  “I want to start an indoor garden. A hydroponics center where I can grow some fresh vegetables.” He met the Major’s questioning eyes, keeping his face even and serious.

  Palacios scrunched his face. “You want to grow vegetables? Why? No. Nevermind. I don’t care. Request denied. Why would I ever waste precious supply space for something as stupid as that?”

  “Because the more hobbies I have, the less time I have to bother you,” Fletcher answered.

  The Major paused for a moment. “I see your point…”

  “Let me do this garden thing. I just need the seeds, and I’ll figure the rest out for myself, I promise,” he said.

  Palacios rolled his eyes. “I’m agreeing to this only so you’ll leave me alone. I’m tired of seeing your face, Lieutenant.” He slid a piece of paper over to Fletcher. “Write down what seeds and how many. I’ll request it, but there’s no guarantee you’ll get it. Oh, and the base has limited resources. Don’t go wasting our water on this little project. Figure something else out.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Fletcher quickly scribbled down a list, asking for pea, lettuce, strawberry, and tomato seeds. He also added a box of seed potatoes. It wouldn’t be enough to live on, but it would be something more than the awful rations.

  “Now will you please leave me alone. For a long time, Dickens. A very long time. Forever if you can manage it,” Palacios requested.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you again.” Fletcher smiled and walked out of the office. Good. Now that that was taken care of, he just had to find a room, gather supplies, and actually build the garden. Yeah, okay. There was still a lot left, but he had a start which was the important part.

  He wandered back through the corridors to the mess hall and grabbed his dinner ration, taking it as a to-go meal instead of sitting at the disgustingly dirty tables. Maybe he’d clean the mess hall the next day since it was in such desperate need of it.

  Fletcher returned to his newly cleaned office which still reeked of bleach and sat at his desk. While eating, he pulled out a map of the facility—a beaten up one that was definitely out of date—and used a spare paper to create a cleaning schedule so he could make sure all the hallways, spare rooms, and common areas got cleaned. There was no way they’d give him the time and space for the barracks or bathrooms, but everything else he thought he could get away with cleaning without disrupting anyone too greatly.

  Taking the map, paper, and pen in hand, he tossed his trash and then went back into the hallways. It was time to update the map and figure out where he wanted to garden. From all his time wandering the base, he knew there were plenty of unused rooms, so it was just a matter of finding one large enough that was tucked away so no one would bother it.

  He checked various closets and rooms as he went, taking notes on what was in them so he had an idea of what supplies he had to work with as well. Everything was in terrible shape, but he was confident he could hodgepodge enough functional stuff together for his purposes.

  After an hour or so of cataloguing, he was on the last floor of the station, the one he felt would be most likely the place for his garden given it was completely unused. He’d only been on the floor a couple times during his tenure so far, and he’d never seen anyone else down there. In fact, he wasn’t sure anyone ever went down to the bottom floor.

  Fletcher checked through several of the rooms, finding that most of them were nothing more than oversized storage closets. That was good. That meant with a little rearranging, he’d easily clear one out for his garden center. He just had to decide which one.

  As he opened the door to the final room on the floor, he jumped back, his hand reaching for his pistol, but he quickly called his reaction off.

  An Unhuman, a full-blooded—at least based on appearances—[Insectoid], complete with the black chitin shell and multitude of beady red eyes. But he wasn’t in danger as the [Insectoid] wore a Mixed military uniform.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was down here,” Fletcher apologized, dropping his hands to his side. He glanced around the tiny closet where the man sat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt… this.”

  “The fault is mine,” the soldier replied. His pincers clacked between each syllable as his red eyes stared at the floor. “Forgive me for being in your way.”

  “No. You’re fine. I’m the one who barraged in.” Fletcher paused for a moment. “Uh, I’m Lieutenant Fletcher Dixon. I’m new around here, and I don’t recall ever seeing you around.”

  “An officer? I double my apology.” The [Insectoid] shrunk down, almost like he was scared of Fletcher.

  “I’m the one apologizing. You did nothing wrong,” Fletcher assured him. “But what’s your name?”

  “I am called George,” the [Insectoid] said, keeping his eyes downcast. “Forgive my intrusion, Lieutenant. I will get out of your way.”

  “Stay. I’m just cataloguing what’s in all the rooms so I won’t be long,” he said.

  All five of George’s eyes went wide, but he still refused to look up at Fletcher. “As you wish, sir.”

  Fletcher hesitantly stepped inside and began his work of writing down everything he found and in what kind of shape it was in. The silence was heavy between him and the [Insectoid], so he decided to break it.

  “How long have you been at Vesi Station, George?” Fletcher asked.

  “Much of my new life,” the [Insectoid] replied.

  He paused. “Sorry. I’m unfamiliar with that term. What do you mean, ‘new life?’” He had a guess, but he wanted to be sure.

  “My life as an Unhuman… After my conversion,” George said quietly.

  Fletcher stopped his writing, biting his bottom lip. Yeah. He figured as much. “Oh. I see. And how many years is that?”

  “Seven years.”

  “Wow. So you’re probably an expert about Vesi. I guess I know who to ask if I have questions,” he said.

  “I know nothing. I am nothing. I stay out of the way of my betters.” The [Insectoid] spoke it without an ounce of emotion.

  “Nothing?” Fletcher set his stuff to the side. “Whoa there. Let’s not talk about ourselves that way.”

  “The others told me that is what I am. They are whole. They know best,” George continued.

  He shook his head. “No, George. They don’t know best. I don’t know you all that well, but you seem like a nice guy. You have as much right to exist as they do.”

  “You are not like the others. You are different.”

  Deities, it was like speaking with a child. Then again, in a lot of ways, George probably was like a child.

  “Yeah. I am. That’s part of the reason I chose to come to Vesi. I’m different like you,” Fletcher explained. He glanced at his stuff. “Do you, maybe, want to help me with this project?” He’d worked with bullied kids every year as a teacher so he had a few ideas of how to help. Obviously George’s bullying went far beyond what most high school kids would go through, but Fletcher wanted to try to help anyway.

  “I will only mess it up,” George said.

  “Nah. This is pretty hard to screw up, and even if you do, it’s not a big deal. This isn’t that important. Come on. I need your help,” Fletcher insisted.

  George cautiously stood up and approached the shelves where Fletcher stood. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Go through the shelf and tell me everything you find and how good of shape it's in. I’ll write it down on my list.” Fletcher picked back up his writing utensils. “Ready whenever you are.”

  George’s mouth clicked for a few moments, but eventually the [Insectoid] did start rattling off the objects on the shelf. He did so at a slow pace so it was easy for Fletcher to keep up with his writing. They went through the whole closet that way. It definitely took more time than it would have if Fletcher did it by himself, but he was happy to involve George. The way the others treated the [Insectoid] was unbelievable.

  No, scratch that. It was definitely believable. These were the same people who smeared feces across his office and took him out to die by cycat just to have a little fun and stick it to him. Of course they were going to treat someone mild and nervous like George like complete garbage.

  While Fletcher couldn’t fix how they treated the [Insectoid], he could make his own efforts to befriend the Unhuman. No doubt it was difficult being stuck at this base in the middle of nowhere, especially after something traumatic like converting from being a Human.

  Then again, George didn’t remember any of that. Which is why he was the equivalent of a child in a lot of ways. But that was fine by Fletcher. He knew how to work with youth, and he really believed he could make at least a small difference in George’s life.

  Besides, it seemed he finally found someone on the base who didn’t hate him, so that was a win as well. After they finished, Fletcher bid George farewell. It was obvious the [Insectoid] was still uncomfortable around him, so he didn’t want to press him too far.

  Fletcher took his stuff back to his office and then returned to his room for the night. He was tired and sore after all that cleaning and cataloging, but it was a good kind of exhaustion.

  He didn’t go right to bed. Instead, he pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a letter to his dad. A much happier one this time that talked about his new projects and meeting George. He still complained plenty, but that was to be expected at a place like Vesi. The biggest difference was that he didn’t once ask for reassignment.

  Once he finished penning the letter, Fletcher tucked it away with the others in the photo album. He’d figure out how to send it later, but for now, he was going to get some sleep.

  As Fletcher laid down for the night, he contemplated how much had changed in just a week. When he last wrote to his father, he’d been convinced that Vesi had nothing for him. Now, though… now he sort of saw a future at Vesi. Not a bright one by any means, but one where he had some kind of purpose that didn’t involve fighting a war. Strange to think how much a little attitude adjustment could change in his life.