The gathered crowd groaned.
“Rachel! Enough,” Doug yelled. “You can touch it up later. We’re loaded and ready to go.”
“Fine,” Rachel sighed. “If that’s the way you want to go about half-assing everything that I do.”
“Get on with it!” The crew yelled in unison. Hisses and spits started in the crowd of cat creatures as they joined in the harassment.
“Fine! There, I’m done.” Rachel re-appeared from behind the curtain and tossed her paintbrush to the floor. “I Had to add a shadow that I forgot.” She cupped her hands, “Krista! You may want to stay for this! It’s important!”
Krista turned and glared up at Rachel. She crossed her arms and glared back with a perturbed look. “This had better be damned well worth it. Time's ticking and I got things to get done.”
Rachel beamed at the crowd below. She stood tall, proud of what she had just accomplished. “Ladies and Cats. By Earthen tradition, may I present the newest, in what we hope to be a long line of vessels in the new Earth empire fleet…”
“We are not the Earth empire, Cheezy,” Wes interrupted.
“We’re just renaming her, remember,” Doug added.
“Oh, right. Um...where was I,” Rachel asked. “Wait, that’s right, I remember what I was going to say.” She took a deep breath and began with a flourish of her hands. “By Earthen tradition, we ask for blessings for her crew, for luck and for favorable winds during our voyage. I present to you, Veronica!” Rachel pulled on a rope that hung loosely nearby and the curtain fell away to reveal a vaguely familiar pin-up girl over a dark blue background that winked over her left shoulder to the onlookers. Veronica was stenciled in bright white lettering along the bottom edge of the image in stark contrast to the ship’s bland gunship gray paint. The figure was completely nude, save for thigh high stockings and leather gloves that came above the figure's elbows. The figure knelt, legs tucked under her and slightly to the side. An exaggeratingly plump derriere was accentuated with the defined lines of her waist and two small, but very pronounced back dimples. The profile of one very large, round, and impossibly perky breast, almost as if it housed an antigravity device within its supple curves, distracted and drew the eye. Long black hair hung down to the middle of the models back and framed a very familiar, Native American shaped face. The crew all turned and looked at Krista.
Krista gasped at the sight. “What in the…”
“We love it, Rachel,” Doug interrupted. “Now can we get underway?”
“Hey now, hold on just one damned minute here,” Krista said, motioning toward the painting. “I think I have a right to get a say in this.”
Rachel hooted. “Oh, great Goddess, as you have said on more than a few occasions, just let it happen.” She snorted a laugh. “Oh shit, wait, no we’re not done.” Rachel ran down the scaffolding to a worktable littered with paint, brushes and miscellaneous odds and ends. With the speed of a lame jackrabbit, Rachel snatched a small black bag from the table, then turned and ran back up the scaffolding. Carefully once at the top, she removed a squarish, black labeled bottle from the bag. “I christen thee, Veronica! May you sail straight and smooth!”
“Wait, no! That’s my whiskey!” Trae sprinted toward the scaffolding just as Rachel swung. The glass bottle smashed into tiny fragments as the amber liquid splashed across the side of the vessel and rained down upon the dry, cracked earth.
cHAPTER 32
Sol system
The Betty / Bridge
August 8th, 2176 / Late Evening (Betty Time)
“V
sphere network connection confirmed, Cap,” Wes reported. “Transmitting on all outbound frequencies.”
“Good,” Doug replied.
“Well, crap.” Wes blew out. “Our data transfer rates just tanked.”
“Is the transmitter down again?”
“No, we still have a strong signal. Hold on.” He tapped at the controls. “Oh, no freaking wonder. Everyone’s accounts on game servers and such just auto logged in and started doing automatic updates, plus the downloads that I already had in the cue from before we left the system.”
“Wait. Why was there anything active in the first place?”
“It’s stuff that was already in progress or just left logged on before we went through the flux.” Wes cycled through a number of screens on his console.
“Hey, come on, you gotta at least let the game updates roll,’ Trae said. “There should be new patches and firmware updates by now. Tiff will be pissed if you kill those off.”
“Tiff can go on and get over herself. We need the bandwidth,” Wes said as he tapped at the console. “There, I think I stopped all of them.”
“So, we’re good?”
“Yup, I think we’re good.”
“Good,” Doug said. “Send out the job ads and get our flight plan logged with the I.A. and Luna colonies, then send the director our cooked-up data.”
“Aye Cap,” Wes replied.
“Now hail the Veronica.”
A short, but low tone indicated the open channel.
“And you’re on,” Wes said.
“Alright Rachel, we’re good here. Get yourself and the Veronica into position upspin and go dark. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to do a transfer.”
“You know this would be a whole lot easier if I just flew in with you,” Rachel replied.
“I know it would,” Doug said, “but that’s a no go. We need to get the Veronica registered as derelict salvage with the Commonwealth and Luna before we bring her anywhere near Earth. I don’t want to chance the I.A. stealing her from us when we have people still on the other side.”
“Copy that, Cap.” Rachel let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “I’ll just go wait, way over here, in the dark. No one to talk to or to keep me…”
“You’ll be fine, Rachel,” Doug interrupted. “Betty, out. Alright, Trae, get us to Atlanta as fast as you can,” he ordered.
cHAPTER 33
Earth
Independent Alliance / Atlanta Headquarters
August 9th, 2176 / Morning (Betty Time)
“S
ir, we have them,” a young agent said as he frantically burst through the office’s double doors. He intently tapped at a datapad cradled in the crook of his left arm as he walked.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Director Lepetomane glared at the young agent.
“Sir, you wished to know when the Betty or any of her crew re-emerged onto the net. The ship reconnected to the Vsphere network last night around 2300 hours and began to upload an encrypted priority message that was directed to you.” The agent scrolled through the information on the datapad. “It looks like it is addressed to you from one Elizabeth Trower.”
“What?” Color crept up the director’s neck, reddening his ears. “Why was I not informed immediately? If it was sent last night, then why am I just hearing about it now?”
“They initially logged back into the system via a repeater satellite on the outward side of the asteroid belt, on the opposite side of the solar system,” the young agent said. “That very large upload traveled from one repeater to another until it reached our servers back here on Earth. It was just a matter of time and file size in this case.”
“Well, then show me,” the Director ordered.
“Yes sir.” He tapped at the datapad and the room exploded with holographic display windows that hung like ghostly portals in the air. “It looks like they came through on the contract, sir.” Schematics, data outputs, and assembly break downs hovered in mid-air above the Director’s desk.
“Good,” the director crooned to himself. “I had my doubts but knew she could pull it off in the end.” He let out a long sigh of relief. “Is there any other activity?”
“One moment sir.” The agent sorted through the information on his datapad. “It looks like there were some personal messages outgoing.” He continued through the information. “They have also connected to a number of gaming a
nd entertainment servers and a number of Illegal download server...Oh my,” the young agent stammered.
“Oh, my what, agent?” The Director glowered at the young man. Impatient consternation lined his face.
“Um...Well, sir. There are a number of download search strings that have initiated since the ship reconnected to the net.”
“Downloads?” The director stared blankly at the young agent.
“Yes sir.”
“Are they downloading classified information? Is there anything to be concerned with?” The director's tone was cold, plain and straight-faced.
“Well, no sir. Nothing classified. I’d say concerned would be subjective, though.”
“Then what is it already? Spit it out, agent.”
“Well, sir.” The young agent nervously swallowed. “These look like automated download search strings that re-initialized for girl on girl, girl in fox suit, girl on girl in fox suit on cephalopod, midget grannies, granny zombies, and midget granny bukkake, sir.”
“Bukkake?” The word rolled oddly off the Director’s tongue.
“Trust me, sir. You really don’t want to know,” the agent insisted. “There is also a video being uploaded to a popular sharing site that has been linked to dozens of other sites.” The agent tapped at his datapad once more and brought up a holographic window with a video that he moved to hang in front of the director.
“Well hello my dear, Elizabeth. It seems there is more to this than they have willingly reported.” He longingly watched the video feed. “Monitor all of their communications and assign an agent to follow each of the crew members once they land. Ensure complete discretion,” he waved a finger at the agent. “I also want to know what was in each of those outgoing transmissions.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” The holographic screens vanished in the blink of an eye as the agent tapped at the datapad and quickly turned to leave the room.
“Also, agent, please write up a full report for me on this, bukkake topic.”
“Yes...yes, sir,” the agent stammered.
cHAPTER 34
Earth / South Atlanta
Atlanta International Spaceport
August 13th, 2176 / Mid-Morning (Betty Time)
“I
appreciate you coming along to the office with me, Bob,” Lizz said thoughtfully. “I can usually handle myself, but this isn’t exactly the best area of town to wander around on your own. It’s comforting to have an extra set of eyes along with me.”
They walked along a dirty, trash-strewn sidewalk in the shipping and receiving area of the Atlanta Spaceport, south of downtown at what was once the old Jackson airport. Tractor trailers and containers of all sizes filled any available spaces within the fenced-in shipping yards. Cranes worked and trucks scurried about moving containers and materials in a choreographed mechanical ballet.
“It really isn’t a bother, Elizabeth,” Bob said. “It’s the least I can do until I can find my place within the pecking order of the crew. Nothing wrong with the position of whipping boy, in my personal opinion.” He winked. “It’s the best way to learn the down and dirty truths of a situation.”
Lizz turned and looked at Bob with a sidelong, wry smile. “You’d best be careful. I may just take you up on that position, literally.” She returned his wink.
Bob blushed. “I find that proposition both terrifying and exciting at the same time.” He chuckled under his breath.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” She smiled up at him and laced her arm through his. They turned right down a side street and stopped abruptly at the strange sight before them.
What was once a multistory mini storage facility had been converted into a micro-office complex a little less than a century ago. During the asteroid mining boom that began shortly after mankind had established its first colony on Mars; hundreds of mining companies sprung up overnight. In order to register with the I.A., these companies were required to maintain a physical address, but no one wanted the enormous overhead of office space when they might physically be in the office for one or two days a year. Lizz gawked at the line of waiting people that wrapped around the building and ended only paces away from where she and Bob stood.
“What in the bloody hell,” Lizz blurted.
A man at the end of the line turned and tipped his thread bear green cap, “Ma’am.” Sweat ran down his face as the warm summer sun blazed down from high above.
“What in the world is with the line?”
“You haven’t heard?” The man asked with wide-eyed surprise.
Lizz and Bob glanced at one another then turned their attention back to the man in the green cap. “No, we haven’t. We were here on some personal business. What would have so many people waiting like this under a baking sun?”
“They’re hiring for the new expansion,” the man said excitedly. “Don’t rightly know if it’s government-funded like the last time, but I don’t see where that matters as long as there’s good-paying work.
“The new expansion?” Lizz’s eyes went wide with terrified knowing.
“Yeah, they are planning a colony outside the solar system or something. There hasn’t been a new colony in nearly seventy years. Not to mention a chance for real exploration.” The man’s gaze drifted off to inner thoughts.
Lizz looked up to Bob as panic began to well up inside her breast. “What company?”
The man chewed at a hangnail on his crusty looking right thumb for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest.”
“Oh, hell.” Lizz darted ahead toward the office complex.
“Okay, we’re running then.” Bob trotted after Lizz, nodding to the man as he passed. “Thank you kindly, sir.”
“Not a problem at t’all. Y’all have a good’in.” The man called after Bob as he jogged ahead to catch up to Lizz.
Shouts of line jumper followed them as they hurriedly made their way forward. They pushed their way into the building and up the stairwell. Angry fists pumped in the air as they forced themselves through the crowd. Lizz stopped and caught her breath at the fourth-floor landing. The line turned left, then disappeared midway down the corridor to the right, directly toward the micro office of Lizzco.
“This cannot honestly be happening,” she gasped then took off her heels.
“What can’t be happening?” Bob asked, dryly panting.
“I have always operated with a high level of discretion. Always under the radar.”
“And this is anything but discreet,” Bob said, finishing her sentence.
Lizz nodded, then straightened and smoothed her skirt. She brushed an errant strand of hair from her face as she composed herself. “What will be, will be I suppose. We will adapt and overcome,” she reassured herself, then continued down the corridor.
Bob loomed just behind her as they continued to follow the line around the corner to the right, where it stopped at office number 442. Just above the small roll-up door, a screen displayed the latest in Lizzco advertisements.
“Didn’t you say something about being a businessman before, Bob?” Lizz asked, her eyes locked on the video screen.
“I did,” Bob said, catching his breath. “Why? What are you thinking?”
“Considering the results of Wesley’s video there, I think we’ve outgrown this little space,” Lizz said, nodding at the display screen.
“Ah, I see. The proverbial Pandora’s box is open for business, but it needs a facelift?”
“Something like that.” Lizz took a step back and looked down the line then back to Bob. “I need you to find something a little more suitable. Something that will look more professional and help draw in more than just roughnecks and space jocks. We need curb appeal. If we do this the way we are talking about, we’ll need applicants from all walks of life.”
“That I can do,” Bob said. “But I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here to deal with all of this on your own.”
Lizz glanced over the line of potential employees, then quickly entered an acce
ss code into the door's keypad. The door rolled up to reveal a tiny closet-like space. A small bar table, two bar stools and a file cabinet all but filled the small office space. “You, sit,” Lizz pointed at a petite, out of place young woman at the head of the line. She wore a bright yellow sundress, cowboy boots, and a denim jacket.
“Yes ma’am,” the woman said and quickly leapt onto the nearest bar stool.
Lizz looked over the line once again. “You, the big guy,” she pointed at a large black man with long, thick dreadlocks in oil-stained overalls. “What’s your occupation?”
“Mechanic, miner, you name it I can do it,” the man stated proudly. His voice was a deep heavy bass that resonated within the small corridor.
“What’s your name?”
“Chico, ma’am. Chico Michaels,” his voice boomed.
“Alright Mr. Michaels,” Lizz said with a smile. “You’re hired. I want you to help me corral this mob if things start to get out of hand. Think you can handle that for double the standard pay for the day?”
“Absolutely.” The large man happily stepped out of line and stepped forward; his hand outstretched toward Lizz. “Thank you, ma’am.” He shook her hand then stood next to the office door. Crossing his arms, he scowled menacingly at the crowd.
Lizz turned back to Bob. “Is that acceptable?”
Bob gave the large man a sidelong glance. “I believe that will do, my dear.”
“Good, then on to your assignment.” She stepped into the office.
“On it boss.” Bob turned and hurriedly disappeared down the corridor.
“What’s your name, miss?” Lizz sat on the second stool and straightened her skirt.
“Jenny Reynolds, ma’am.”
“And what are your qualifications?”
The young woman quickly opened and handed over a neatly organized portfolio. “My primary skills are in linguistics and translation of business documents.”
Flux Runners Page 24
