“If that’s true, why are you letting the Jun’Tar screw up Bi-MARP so thoroughly?” Electra asked.
“Are they?”
“Yes! They screw up everything! Usually on purpose!”
Dr. Baarqua chuckled softly, which nearly incited Electra to throw her coffee in his face. If she hadn’t still wanted to drink it, that coffee would have been on its way to splash blue-ape fur.
“They are succeeding at what they were meant to accomplish,” Dr. Baarqua said. “Earth will become a grander spectacle and a far more effective warning than the Chamber dared to hope.”
“The dire warning I get, but a spectacle without humans, since we both know Treasure and Bort can’t produce a viable population alone and, aside from me, there aren’t other humans to fill out the breeding stock.”
“Aren’t there?”
“No, there… Wait, are there?”
“What number is in your mind?”
“Three hundred eleven, but the other three hundred eight are gone.”
“Are they?”
“Please stop doing that,” Electra said. “I want to drink the rest of my coffee, but if you do it one more time, I will be honor bound to throw it in your face.”
“To avoid that undesirable outcome, I will simply explain,” Dr. Baarqua said. “Your species, excepting you, Bort and Treasure, has been purged from the rolls of spacefaring species. This does not mean your kind was purged from existence.”
“The three hundred eight?”
“Are on Europa as we speak,” Dr. Baarqua said. “The human colony, indeed, all of Jupiter and its moons, was designated a wildlife sanctuary by the Chamber before Bi-MARP began. It awaited only a new population to inhabit, which my people generously provided in the form of a cryogenically preserved small town formerly known as Urkhammer, Iowa. We ‘borrowed’ the town in 1928, forgot to give it back, then were too embarrassed to admit our mistake, so we simply kept them frozen. You recall that I did specify we only largely stuck to observational science. Because you were the only active human for so many years, the Chamber kept humanity on the deep census records as being spacefaring, even though only you and Bort technically fit that description for a significant amount of time.”
“Then what is the point of Bi-MARP?” Electra asked, happy tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks. Humanity wasn’t doomed. She wouldn’t be the last, lonely member of her species, pointlessly wandering the galaxies until she died.
“Although it may be difficult to see now, I assure you, there was a twofold point,” Dr. Baarqua said. “The first, I have given you part of. The Chamber wished a cautionary tale. The second reason I leave the deduction of in your capable hands.” Dr. Baarqua slipped from the booth, dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and folded his lower arms over his stomach to hold the datapad in place beneath his lab coat. “Paul, ABD, implored me to thank you for assisting in his research and preventing the Glott insurgents from harming him or damaging his laboratory. He shared the security footage of your thrilling escape. Remarkable flying, Captain. I daresay you’re the best human pilot alive.”
She smirked. “What am I supposed to do now?” Electra reached into her jacket pocket and pulled the data crystal from it. She handed it to Dr. Baarqua, who slid it into the pocket of his lab coat without even inspecting it.
“Attend the grand opening of the Bi-MARP visitor center, of course,” Dr. Baarqua said. “Your heroics are to be honored and your presence is most humbly requested.”
Electra watched Dr. Baarqua leave. Her datapad link chirped after the door closed behind him. The transfer of units to pay for the data crystal had gone through. Drumming her fingers on the side of her cup, Electra watched ripples bounce back and forth over the surface of her quickly cooling coffee. She wanted to tip over the cup to be a little petulant, but Om would be the one who had to clean it up. Exerting a little control over her surroundings and indulging in snappish chaos weren’t worth it. She was all but broke, and she couldn’t imagine any other situation where having so little money was such great news. Between the interest and being charged for the significant damage she’d done to Letterman, the crystal put her a hair above zero units—not even enough to fix the scraped paint on her ship.
“Are you Electra Rex?” A soft, ethereal voice pulled her from her brooding.
Electra glanced up to find the glowing, willowy forms of two Ephemerettes standing at the end of the booth. Ephemerettes were comprised of gas-filled membranes, a very thin layer of chitin for support and bioluminescent light, which made them beautiful, but also kind of hard to look at for long periods. Ephemerettes could take almost any shape they bent themselves into, typically looking like floating orbs and tubes when no one else was around, or imitating a pleasing or threatening shape based on who they were talking to and what response they wished to elicit. In the case of the two speaking to her, they’d decided to shape themselves to buxom, curvy and highly feminine humanoid figures.
“Um…yeah, why?” Electra said.
“My friend and I are huge fans of yours,” the one on the right said.
“You are?”
“The hugest!” the one on the left said, flashing brighter in excitement. “You’re the face of Bi-MARP. The treasure hunter with the astounding ship who made a fortune rebuilding Earth—all the galactic net newsreels are talking about it.”
“I’m Selestine and this is Chorrana,” the one on the right said. “Do you think we could buy you a coffee or maybe get a tour of your ship?” Selestine leaned forward to place her hands on the table, using her arms to press her large, glowing breasts together.
“We’ve heard it’s beautiful…and cozy,” Chorrana added.
“I hate to burst your respective bubbles, but I don’t have any of the fortune. To be honest, I’ve pretty much lost everything I care about except my ship,” Electra said.
“Your ship is only the perfect symbol of style, speed and luxury dipped in glorious pink and dripping in chrome,” Selestine said. “It must fit you perfectly.”
“We could fit you perfectly,” Chorrana purred, tracing the tip of her finger up and down the outside of Selestine’s arm. “Any shape you like, we can make it happen.”
“I…wait! What? How do you know…?” Electra pulled out her mobile datapad and typed her own name into the galactic net search. It exploded with stories, information and many, many interviews with the Bi-MARP staff, including one lengthy, popular exclusive given by Treasure. Through the Jun’Tar ability to pat themselves on their backs, the Chamber’s skill in self-promotion and Treasure’s remarkable story, Electra’s fame had exploded before she’d even woken up alone.
“That’s the one we watch most!” Selestine said.
“She was so lucky to get to fly with you,” Chorrana said glumly. “I wish we could get so lucky.”
“If we did, we’d be grateful,” Selestine added.
“Grateful as many times as you could stand it,” Chorrana agreed.
“If you’d made that offer weeks ago, I would have jumped all over it and both of you,” Electra said.
“Yeah, but you weren’t famous weeks ago,” Selestine said.
“Or rich,” Chorrana added.
“Why would we have cared weeks ago?” Selestine asked.
“I’m not rich now. What the fuck? Go away!” Electra yelled, not really sure why that bothered her as much as it did.
The Ephemerettes harrumphed, transformed back into swirling masses of orbs and tubes and floated out of the door. Electra thought they did a remarkable job of seeming haughty while holding no real defined form. It was impressive, at the very least.
Electra played the interview of Treasure on her datapad. All of Treasure’s promises to retell the stories of what they’d done, where they’d been and the events they’d helped shape were accounted for. From time to time, the interview broke away to a different conversation to corroborate with another source or elaborate on something Treasure had said. Much of this secondary information
had come from a bot-module, and though Electra didn’t recognize the new voice, she spotted Letterman’s obnoxiously stern attitude. Strangely enough, Letterman—for the most part—substantiated everything Treasure said, spoke glowingly of Electra’s abilities in retrieving the Bort Pod and even gave a flattering retelling of how Electra had first rescued Treasure from the sociology simulation lab. A pang of guilt shot through her at trying to batter his shell with a mace. All he’d ever done was his job to the best of his ability and she’d been terrible to him the whole time. Bots weren’t programmed to understand ethical and moral structures, like how wrong it was to sell a sentient life form for any amount of money. Letterman was physically incapable of knowing that what he’d done was abhorrent, and Electra knew it, even if she didn’t want to admit to herself that in some truly fucked up way, Letterman had been trying to help her when he’d attempted to collect Treasure.
The only major difference in their accounts—and one the Jun’Tar interviewer spent a good deal of time highlighting—was how Letterman had come to be damaged and how Treasure had been turned over to Bi-MARP. If Treasure was to be believed, during the Battle of Station 111, Electra and Letterman had valiantly rescued Treasure from all manner of pirates. Sadly, Electra had to flee and go into hiding while Letterman had been badly damaged during their heroics. Treasure painted a beautiful picture of Electra and Letterman working as a team that was, despite being technically accurate, complete bullshit in spirit.
Letterman said his memory cells had been damaged in a fight with the Glott pirates and that he couldn’t remember anything until after the collection team arrived to retrieve the goods Electra had amassed. He did admit that it was only through quick thinking, superior piloting and non-lethal combat skills on Electra’s part that they’d been delivered from Station 111 without casualty and to a secret, secure location for the exchange with the lien enforcement agents. Again, his compliments needled Electra, and she had to face the fact that she’d vilified him more than he probably deserved.
The other videos largely functioned to support or wander down tangents created by Treasure’s story. If anything, Treasure was even more of a media darling than Electra. Treasure was a product of one Chamber project completing another. The newsreels couldn’t heap enough praise on the Chamber for the successful synergy of ventures that spanned centuries. Treasure was charming, clever, beautiful and enigmatic—a woman who had lived more than a dozen lives yet retained youth and vigor. The galactic net newsreels ate it up and begged for more.
Everything Treasure had said she’d do, she’d done. Across both inhabited galaxies, Electra was thought to be one of the greatest living pilots—daring, brave, stunning, equally brilliant at handling starships and women, the best humanity had to offer. The fifty-five million unchecked hits weren’t for Bi-MARP stuff. It was the parameter for her own name she’d set up and largely forgotten about after the bounty notice had popped weeks ago.
“You are debt free, famous, fly the ship of your dreams and apparently have Ephemerettes begging you for threesomes, yet you look like you’re on the verge of tears,” Om said, rolling up beside her booth to re-form into a generally humanoid shape. “Didn’t end up wanting what you wanted once you got it?”
“I guess not,” Electra said. “No, wait. That’s stupid. Yes, I want all of that stuff, but I also want Treasure, not the Ephemerette threesome. Okay, maybe deep down I want that too, but not now, not until I at least try to rescue Treasure for a third time.” It only occurred to her after the fact that she’d rejected the Ephemerettes’ offer of copious amounts of sex and adoration while still feeling the effects of a red pill. Her willpower rarely defeated pharmaceuticals and never so thoroughly and easily.
“I don’t think there are enough globauncher balls to save Treasure this time,” Om said. Electra gave Om a puzzled look. “I read some of the articles about your treasure hunting escapades. Clever use of catastrophic decompression preventative measures.”
“Thanks. Every Embarker kid grows up thinking of a thousand new, unauthorized uses for globaunchers,” Electra said. “I have a plan brewing. A plan this woman could pull off…” She turned the datapad so Om could see the artist’s rendering of Electra for the cover of a galactic net magazine. “But probably not the real me. A very smart woman recently informed me that my plans tend to be shit.”
“The only difference between the woman on that cover and the woman sitting across from me is who is doing the looking,” Om said. “Also, maybe bra-cup size—the artist took some liberties.”
“No kidding. She’s got a couple serious zero-gravity mega torpedoes.” Electra shook her head at the oversized ta-tas the rendering of her possessed. “Okay, and what exactly did the riddle part of your comment mean?”
“That woman on the cover is you,” Om said. “That is the you Treasure sees. You’re the one rescuing her, so be the person she thinks you are and ignore whoever told you that your plans are shit.”
“Treasure told me that.”
“Okay, yeah, you have to take that seriously, but try to prove her wrong.”
“It’s that easy, huh?”
“No, probably not, but you’ve got a fast ship, a few ride-or-die friends and a spike in notoriety right now, so you can probably pull together a daring plan or have fun trying,” Om said. “Go get your girl, Captain Rex. Nobody at Bi-MARP knows that this wasn’t your plan all along. They think you’re thrilled with all these outcomes. They’ll never see you coming.”
“Good point. Okay, I’ve got an idea. It’s incomplete, it’s crazy and it’s going to require help. Have you seen Fizan?” Electra asked.
“She’s in her usual bay, throwing dice and talking about engorged genitals,” Om said.
That was it. She was crammed full of caffeine and self-confidence, with only a slight drag of wondering if maybe her breasts weren’t big enough. That was a fucked up, self-conscious thing to be wondering in such a moment, so she pushed it aside, mostly, and headed out to find Fizan.
After wandering the station for the better part of an hour among the stacks of starships and machinery in the queue for repairs, Electra finally heard her old Gromphra contact’s voice and followed it to the empty slip used for gambling and clandestine meetings. A half-dozen Gromphra were collected around a game of dice that Electra only recognized upon coming closer. They were playing Yahtzee.
“I’m going for threes to finish out the row!” Fizan announced. “Come on triples!”
Electra cleared her throat.
A dozen insectoid eyes landed on her at once and a bombardment of sexual propositions followed.
“That’s a nice top. Want to be nice on top of me?”
“Do those legs go all the way around someone my size?”
“Heaven must be missing a hot piece of ass!”
“Are your feet tired, because I’d like to lick them!”
“A threesome—you, me and my little friend.” Followed by several thorax thrusts.
“Hey, shut it down, you mooks,” Fizan said to quiet her nieces and uncles. “Don’t you know who that is? That is the Electra Rex.” The other Gromphra nodded and leered with new appreciation. “Sorry about that, Electra. They didn’t know. But now that you’re rich and famous, do you want to class up my bedroom by leaving your clothes all over the floor?”
“I’m not rich.” Electra rolled her eyes. It was going to be next to impossible to make anyone believe a person could earn more than eighty billion units and end up flat broke. “Are you done?”
“We have more, but we can save them for later,” Fizan said. “What do you need?”
“I have a disabled lien enforcement bot that I’d like repaired and modified,” Electra said.
“No problem. Let me grab my tools, unless you see a tool of mine you want to grab,” Fizan said.
Electra shook her head.
“Just the regular tools then,” Fizan agreed.
A half-hour later, Fizan finally showed up, toolbox in hand. Electra
had had ample time to clean the residual glob dust from the cargo hold, made all the easier by how empty it was after the collection agents had taken everything not nailed down. Apparently, the glob eventually turned into a fine gray powder. Her procrastinating about cleaning it up had ultimately worked in her favor.
Fizan let out a low, impressed whistle at seeing the state of Letterman’s old frame. “Disabled was putting it nicely. That thing is fucked,” she said. “Must have blasted it with that giant meat pole you’re packing. Lucky bastard.”
“Why do you do that?” Electra asked. “What’s with the constant sexual harassment?”
“I shouldn’t tell you, or anyone, and you’re going to have to promise to keep it under your hat,” Fizan said.
“I promise your secret is safe with me as long as the next words out of your mouth aren’t about any part of my anatomy.”
“All Gromphra that leave the home world are implanted with two things—a behavior modifier chip and a pheromone gland. The chip makes us say horrible, sexual things to everyone and everything and the pheromone gland makes us so repellent to every known species that even if we did get a comment to land, we’d still be too disgusting to do anything with,” Fizan said.
“Seriously? Why?”
“It keeps us from forming romantic relationships that might compromise the hive mind’s mission of collecting cash and goods for the Queen.”
Electra Rex Page 19
