STARSHIP FOR SALE

  Starship For Sale, Book One

  M.R. FORBES

  Published by Quirky Algorithms

  Seattle, Washington

  This novel is a work of fiction and a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 by Quirky Algorithms

  All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration by Tom Edwards

  Edited by Merrylee Lanehart

  Chapter One

  “Benjamin Murdock? The doctor will see you now.”

  My eyes latched onto the last text message resting at the bottom of my phone’s screen. Words of encouragement from my best friend, Matt. Good luck, bro. I know it’ll turn out fine.

  I wanted more than anything for those words to be prophetic. I wanted to feel like everything would turn out fine. But my sense of dread wouldn’t leave me. The fear of the unknown. Matt was the lead singer of our band. Not a prophet. Not even a medical student who might be able to make an educated guess about my situation.

  Pure hope. That’s all he had. That’s all I had.

  “Ben?” my mother said, her voice as tight as a guitar string. Her calloused hand slid into my open palm and squeezed, offering me what little comfort she could. Always a fighter, mom raised four of us alone after my father died, working two jobs while managing to care for us, leaning on my Aunt Cassidy to help carry the load. She loved all of us—me, my sister and two brothers—more than I had ever loved myself, and I knew it.

  Which made the prospect of dying young even worse.

  “It’s going to be okay, Ben,” she whispered, doing her best not to break down in the waiting room. “Do you want me to come back with you?”

  I glanced over at her. One of her jobs was in construction, and the elements had aged her face beyond her forty-six years. The wrinkles and wind damage went with her tired brown eyes and thinning brown hair. She had always told me that she didn’t care how hard she had worked or how young she might die, as long as she saw all of us to adulthood. None of us were supposed to go before she did.

  I nodded, accepting her invitation to go see Doctor Haines with me, though I knew the question wasn’t really a request. If I said no, she would put up a fight. And nobody was dumb enough to argue with her.

  I switched off my phone, catching one last glance at Matt’s text before it faded to black. His was one of a handful of well wishes from friends while more posts of encouragement had come from acquaintances I’d met on social media. As I headed toward the nurse near the door to the back, I wondered how many of his staff would remember me a month after I passed.

  A macabre thought for sure. One I probably shouldn’t have let take up residence in my head. But I’d spent the last three days since the MRI giving room for the darkest recesses of my soul to creep forward as I tried to figure out what the purpose of my short life had been and what the benefits of a full life versus a short one really were. If the outcome was bad, might that actually be good? I wouldn’t have to grow old and wrinkled or lose my ability to see or hear or even walk. I wouldn’t have to be stressed over finding work or keeping a roof over my head. Nothing about the world had bothered me before I had been born. Wouldn’t it be the same going out?

  Desperate coping. Where did that fall into the five stages of grief?

  I slipped my phone into the pocket of my jeans, where a square matching its size and shape had pressed out the fibers, giving the denim a slightly more worn look that went well with the other tears and fading. I was hardly a fashionista. Rather, the thrift shop was the best we could afford. Even my phone was a three-year-old model bought off eBay for pennies on the original retail price, but I had learned early never to complain. I was enrolled in university, earning a degree in computer science with a minor in music on a half scholarship. The other half was in loans, eminently affordable as long as I was full-time. As far as Mom was concerned all of my focus needed to be on my classes, not split between study and work that went beyond the occasional gig our bandmate Calvin scored at one of the local dives. Fifty bucks a pop per band member, barely enough to pay my monthly cell bill. That was when I could still play. My coordination and balance had been off for weeks, keeping me offstage. It’s the whole reason I ended up here.

  I’d spent the last three years telling myself that things would be different after graduation. My CS degree would land me a job at one of the FAANG companies—namely Facebook, Apple, Amazon, Netflix, and Google—with enough of a starting salary to handle the loan repayments and hopefully allow Mom to quit one of her jobs. My aptitude, experience, and non-MIT level education be damned. Or maybe I could get lucky in crypto, learn solidity and catch on with a DAO. Or if all my dreams came true, the band would catch the eye of a producer and a few new stars would be born.

  At the moment, none of that mattered. Even my most mundane dreams were under threat. Would I even be here to see my sis get married in a few months?

  Life didn’t just hand me lemons. It squeezed the damn things into my eyes.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Mom said again as we made the long, slow walk from our seats in the waiting room toward the nurse. Becky. That was her name. Older than me but still young, fresh out of nursing school. Blonde hair and compassionate blue eyes.

  “Hey Becky,” I said when we reached her. “I feel like I’m on death row. You know, dead man walking.” The dark statement caught her off guard, and her face flushed. I could sense Mom’s horror as well. “Sorry,” I added, correcting course. “I’m just nervous.”

  “It’s perfectly understandable,” Becky replied. “You’re going through a lot right now. I’d be nervous too.”

  Our eyes met, and I wondered if she had learned those lines in school. If the compassionate eyes were like makeup, and if she would keep that look as she gained experience, or if she would grow jaded at some point. Nobody went to a neurosurgeon for routine care.

  “Thank you for not keeping us waiting long,” Mom said.

  “Of course,” Becky answered. “This way.”

  We followed her out of the waiting room and into a long hallway with offices and exam rooms on either side. I’d been back here a couple of times already as part of the process, and I knew Doctor Haines’ office was halfway down on the left, next to the print of that Van Gogh painting of sunflowers. Thirty feet. I made it close to ten before my vision started blurring slightly and I had to slow down and lean on Mom to help stabilize my balance.

  “Damn it,” I cursed under my breath. I had spent the last weeks hoping the symptoms would magically clear up. Wishful thinking hadn’t helped. Neither had prayers.

  “I’ve got you,” Mom said, tears already in her eyes as she helped me along. She was the eternal optimist, and I knew, like me, she expected bad news. I hated doing this to her.

  Becky knocked softly on the doctor’s closed door.

  “Come in,” a deep voice said from behind it.

  She opened the door, moving aside to let Mom and me pass. Haines rose to his feet behind his desk as we entered. A tall, broad man, it continued to amaze me that he could do such delicate surgery with such large hands.

  “Ben,” he said. “Missus Murdock.” He waved at the two chairs positioned in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

  I hadn’t actually been inside Haines’ office before. Only the exam rooms. My eyes danced nervously around, stopping at the photos of his wife and kids that sprinkled the walls between sports memorabilia and more Van Gogh prints. Anything to keep from looking him in the eye.

  Mom kept her grip on me as I sat, just in case I lost balance and fell instead. Once I was fully down and settled she moved to the other seat, accepting the tissue Haines offered. I looked at the kindness as a sign of bad news.

  I went from avoiding Haines to staring right at him, searching his kind face for any hint of what he was about to say, as if divining the answer ten seconds earlier could somehow change my future. If he hadn’t become a surgeon, he probably could have made a killing in professional poker. Or maybe he had just been around long enough, seen enough sick people that we became more like broken objects than broken people.

  Dark thoughts. Ugly thoughts. I’d never been so much of a pessimist. But then again, we all knew there was something wrong with my brain.

  Becky left us alone, closing the door on her way out.

  Chapter Two

  I opened the door to leave Doctor Haines’ office almost twenty minutes later. I remained surprisingly calm despite the diagnosis he had offered. The treatment options that stood little chance of changing the outcome. All most of them would buy me was time.

  And not quality time.

  Just time.

  Mom stayed behind, still needing to ask as many questions as she could. She had taken the news worse than I expected, practically begging me to do anything to stay alive as long as I could. I didn’t question her love or devotion, and at the same time it bothered me that I had to play the strong one. The devastation, we shared. The disease, mine alone.

  The decision was also mine, and right now I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Beyond the lousy odds, the fatigue, the nausea, the pain, there was also the cost to consider. Since I was still in school I had Mom’s insurance, but how much would it cover? How much could we afford?

  I knew the answer to that question. Nothing.

  I told Doctor Haines I needed time to think. He prescribed me some meds that would immediately help manage my symptoms and improve
my overall quality of life, at least for the short term. Moving from the office, back through the waiting room, and down the hallway to the elevator, my every sense felt numb, as if I were pushing through mud. I couldn’t get my thoughts under control. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to cry, stay strong, or just pretend the meeting hadn’t happened. I don’t know what I looked like to other people, but the elderly couple getting off the elevator when I reached it looked at me with tender eyes before quickly turning away, not wanting to share my moross state.

  The pharmacy was on the ground level behind the lobby, and I reached it less than a minute later. Not much more than a counter inside the hospital, it was staffed by a pair of older women. Their white hair and wrinkled faces were almost unbearable for me to look at as I approached.

  “Hi. I’m Ben Murdock. Doctor Haines should have sent down some prescription orders for me?”

  “Let me look you up,” one of the women said, typing in my name. I could see her eyes narrow slightly at the medications I’d been assigned. No doubt she knew what they were for. Glancing at me, she had the face of someone who knew I was too damn young, but didn’t want to embarrass me by saying so. “The pharmacist is filling them now. It’ll take about fifteen minutes.” She pointed to a row of maroon chairs. “You can wait there. I’ll call you over when they’re ready.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  She offered an empathetic smile but didn’t say anything else, so I retreated to the chairs, taking up the first position and pulling my phone from my pocket.

  Hey Matt. Bad news. I’m dying, man.

  I stared at the words as I hit the send button. Despite the meeting with Doctor Haines, despite seeing them written there, I still couldn’t quite believe it was real. Matt’s answer came back in a hurry.

  Shit. Ru srs? So sry. Can they do anything?

  I shook my head as I typed.

  Surgery, chemo, radiation. Best case sucks.

  He responded even faster this time.

  Worst case?

  I stared at the screen. My fingers barely wanted to move to type the response.

  Death.

  My eyes lingered on the word again. I had never imagined writing something like that in relation to myself. Even when I first started getting dizzy, I had always convinced myself this was something I could get over.

  How long?

  It took me a minute to type the response. My hand started shaking, another symptom. Another reminder.

  Few months. A year if I’m lucky.

  I could almost picture Matt’s face. We had been friends since we were old enough to walk and talk, starting as neighbors in the same Section Eight apartment building. Matt’s mother was an alcoholic and drug addict, and she had left the picture when he was eight. He was raised to adulthood by his father. Most people who looked at him saw a rock star wannabe slacker. But Matt had a natural vocal range most singers would kill to have. What he really needed was a better band around him. His loyalty kept him tied to the rest of us, me especially.

  Where ru now?

  I quickly entered the answer, ignoring the typos caused by the tremors.

  Hspital pharmaky. Mom’s upstir w doc haindes.

  I looked up as a mother and daughter entered the pharmacy. The girl was maybe nine years old, wearing a colorful knit hat even though it was sixty degrees outside. I wasn’t so obtuse that I didn’t understand right away.

  Then I realized she was broken, like me. But even younger. And farther along in her treatment.

  She noticed me looking at her and offered an innocent wave. I smiled and waved back before looking back at my phone.

  on my way. Don’t leave b4 i get there.

  I smiled. Matt knew I couldn’t drive myself anywhere anymore. I could take the bus, but I had figured he would come running when I gave him the news. Unlike my mother, I could confide in him without having to consider all of the familial ramifications. I could bounce every thought off him without worry. That’s what best friends were for.

  Ok. I’ll meet you in the lobby. Waiting on meds.

  The mother and daughter crossed to the chairs and sat, the girl climbing onto the chair next to mine.

  “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Eunice.”

  I looked over at her, thinking I would force a grin but finding a real one at the sight of her smile. “Ben,” I replied. “That’s a great hat you have there.”

  “Thank you. My mom made it for me to keep my head warm. I don’t have any hair. Do you want to see?”

  “Sure.”

  She lifted the hat off, revealing her bald scalp. “Tada!”

  I laughed. “How do you feel?”

  “A little nauseous sometimes, but I’m okay. The doctor says I’ll get better and be able to go back to school next year.”

  The innocent words jabbed me in the gut. “That sounds exciting.”

  “It is!” she laughed. “Are you sick too?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her smile turned into a wide oval and she breathed in sharply. “That sounds terrible. I’m sorry you’re sick. You seem like a nice man.”

  I glanced at Eunice’s mother. She wore a similar expression to the woman at the pharmacy counter.

  “Is it bad?” the woman asked, sincerely concerned.

  I nodded.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Eunice said. “I like you, Ben.”

  I laughed. “I like you too, Eunice.”

  “Benjamin Murdock,” the woman at the pharmacy counter said.

  “That’s me,” I said. “It was nice meeting you. Good luck with everything.”

  “I hope I’ll see you again,” Eunice said. “Maybe we can play checkers.”

  “I hope so,” I replied.

  The pharmacist replaced the woman behind the counter when I arrived. He had three different bottles in his hands, all of them filled with large pills. “Mister Murdock,” he said, placing each one on the counter in turn. “Inflammation. Nausea. Steroid. The first one is the most important, but the second one will help with the side effects of the first. The third will help with the fatigue.”

  “I’m not fatigued.”

  “I’m sorry to say, you will be as things progress.”

  Not something I looked forward to. “Right. Okay.”

  “Dosage instructions are on the label. If you experience diarrhea or rashes, stop taking the medication immediately and call the pharmacy or Doctor Haines. Okay?”

  “Got it,” I said.

  He left the pills on the counter and retreated to the back, replaced by the clerk. She scanned each of the bottles and put them in a bag.

  “That’ll be one hundred fifty dollars,” she said, ringing up the purchase.

  “I have insurance,” I replied.

  “That’s the fifty dollar copay for each prescription. Honestly, you’re fortunate your provider covers these at all.”

  I swallowed hard as I reached for my wallet. My credit card could handle this batch, this month. But it was my first taste of how expensive this whole thing might quickly become. If I decided to do the full treatment, Mom would be bankrupt in no time, her whole life savings gone in a matter of months with no guarantees.

  She would do it without hesitation. That was the problem.

  I paid for the meds and left the pharmacy, waving to Eunice again on the way out. Making my way to the lobby, I had to slow down when another wave of dizziness passed over me. I found a seat and dropped into it, leaning my head back and closing my eyes while I waited for Matt to arrive.

  “Ben.”

  I must have fallen asleep, because it seemed like I had just shut my eyes when his voice jogged them back open. Tall, lean, and handsome, Matt had longer blonde hair, a strong jaw, blue eyes and tanned skin. He wore a black t-shirt over his muscled chest, a leather jacket over that, matching his designer jeans and black combat boots. He was the one all of the women fawned over, while the rest of us battled through our sets behind him, mostly going unnoticed. I had never minded. Matt had the look of an arrogant pretty-boy but in fact had a heart of gold.

  I sat up as he dropped into the seat beside me and wrapped his arms around me, unashamed to hug me in public.