by Nathan Pedde
“But…” Des said, “I’m just a kid… I’m not a spy…”
“Of course you’re,” Captain Kusheeno said, “You’re my spy.”
Des squirmed in his seat. Sweat poured down his neck. His hands became clammy.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you like your part-time job at the factory?”
Des pondered the question for a moment. This was a no-win question and nothing good could come no matter what answer he gave.
“No,” Des said, “I hate having to do a job and worry about my homework.”
“Good. It’s settled. You’re going to be re-assigned to a different job. Since you like to wander around so much and explore the station, I’m going to assign you to a company called Courier One.”
“Courier One?” Des asked.
“Yes.”
“Courier One is a bunch of messengers. They deliver small goods and parcels across the station.”
“I see. A courier can travel across the station to random places without being noticed by anyone,” Des said, “And a courier can get into places to deliver packages in places no one else can.”
“Exactly,” Captain Kusheeno said, “you’re going to be my spy, and your cover is going to be a courier in that company.”
Des felt his fate was sealed, he rolled his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
“Do you know why this station is so important?” Captain Kusheeno asked.
“Something about manufacturing,” Des said.
“Close,” Captain Kushenno said, “It’s where the lion share of the fuel for the fleets are possessed and shipped from. If this station goes offline for even a day, we’ll lose the war.”
Des cursed himself for a fool, he had run out of excuses to try and get out of the situation.
“What am I going to be spying on?” Des said.
“Now,” Captain Kusheeno said, “This part is important. Not everyone in the company is a spy. The less they know about you or your real occupation, the better. You can’t blow your cover and let everyone know you’re a spy. If you screw this up, I will lock you and your family away for a very long time. And your friend Elsie too.”
Worry shadowed Des’s face.
“So I just go into my new work and act normal?” Des asked.
“Yes, except you need to contact your Handler.”
“How do I do that?”
“Simple. You tell her the code phrase.”
“Code phrase?”
“Yes. It’s simple. You say, The dog barks at midnight and she’ll reply with, The rain comes from the west.”
“The dog barks at midnight,” Des said, “That sounds stupid.”
“It’s supposed to,” Captain Kusheeno said, “It’s something no one will ever want to say to another person in regular conversation.”
“Ok. So I tell her that phrase, and she’ll tell me the other phrase. Then what?”
“That’s up to her,” Captain Kusheeno said, “Now you better hurry and get to Courier One’s office. They’ll be expecting a replacement soon.”
“Replacement? Wait. I didn’t actually agree to this,” Des said, “I’ve a choice don’t I?”
“Yes,” Captain Kusheeno said, “You’ve a choice, either you join Courier One and do as you’re told, or I will ruin you in more ways than you can imagine. You’ll beg me to space you by the end of it. I was going to just arrest you and your family, but you’ve pissed me off. I will space you, after I watch your family rot in some hole.”
“You can’t do that.”
“My responsibilities are to ensure the safety of the station and all who are on it by any means available to me.”
“What about laws?”
“Suspended in this time of war. You know this,” Captain Kusheeno said, “Now. Are you going to go and do as you’re told, or are you making the other choice.”
“I’ll go,” Des said.
“Good,” Captain Kusheeno said, “I knew you would see to reason and make the right choice.”
Captain Kusheeno rifled through the papers and handed Des one.
“Do you know where the offices of Courier One is?” Captain Kusheeno asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Give this to your new boss, Mr. Anderson. He’ll put you to work.”
Des looked down at the paper. It was a transfer order letting Mr. Anderson know he’s now working at Courier One.
“And my old job?” Des asked.
“Right,” Captain Kusheeno said as he handed Des a sealed envelope, “Give this to Mr. Anderson as well. That’ll need to be delivered to your old boss… What was his name?”
“Boss? At ‘L and L Industrial Works’?”
“Yes. What was his name? It just completely slipped my mind.”
“Mr. Von Karlos,” Des said.
“That’s right. Von Karlos. I remember now.”
Des looked down at the envelope. Part of him was going to miss working at the factory.
“What are you standing around for?” Captain Kusheeno said, “Get going.”
Chapter 5
Des stood on a street corner in the Pink Sector. Tall buildings stretched upward from the ground of the station. The tall buildings were filled with business offices, all encased in glass and steel.
The streets were filled with different people. Most wore business suits and carried briefcases. They scurried around the streets like ants in an anthill. An overhead walkway stretched above the street level allowing people to walk outside of the buildings to get to stores and offices on upper floors.
Across the street was the ‘Courier One’ office. The office was built in an older, seven-story building in an outdated style. It was constructed out of rocks which were carved into blocks and held in place with mortar. Des knew the blocks were pieces of an asteroid.
The office had a ground floor entrance with a big red sign above the door. A jewelry store was on the right side, while a bookstore was on the left side.
Des walked across the street and entered the small entrance. The entrance wasn’t very wide at only ten feet. The lobby of the office wasn’t large either. A simple counter stretched across the room with a small scale sat on one side.
A receptionist sat behind the counter, she looked to be in her mid-twenties and had very light blond hair. She was reading out of a book, a plasto-paper one, not the electronic kind most people read.
“Hi,” She said as she looked up from her book, “How may I help you?”
Des handed her the transfer paper, “Just this.”
The receptionist looked at the papers and then at Des.
She picked up a phone from behind the counter and dialed a number.
“Hi, Mr. Anderson, sorry to bother you,” the Receptionist said, with a small pause.
“I’ve a boy here with a transfer paper from Captain Kusheeno… Yes, I know… I will send the boy up. Bye, sir.”
Boy? Des thought, I’m sixteen. I’m not a boy.
“Well then, boy,” the Receptionist said, “Welcome to the team. Please go up the stairs to the third floor and talk to Mr. Anderson. He’ll help you out.”
The clerk pointed to a small hallway behind the counter.
He didn’t say anything to her, he didn’t trust his mouth to say anything that wasn’t going to be rude as snot.
Des walked around the counter and into the hallway as he unclenched his fists. The hallway was painted an ugly light brown color. It was barren of decorations and other doors until the very end of the hall. A single metal door with faded paint which said, ‘Stairs.’ Des entered the stairwell and walked up the stairs. It was also barren of decorations.
As Des reached the third floor, he felt a slight pain in his legs.
I need to exercise more, Des thought to himself, Too much time sitting at a desk studying.
The third floor looked much different than the first floor did. To Des, it seemed as if whoever had decorated the building had spent the entirety of the budget on this
floor.
On the other side of the stairwell door, a skinny hallway stretched out with soft light-blue colored walls. The floor was pieced together with a gray tile, and there were many doors on either side of the hall. They were made out of plastic that looked like wood. Des knew it wasn’t wood, which was expensive and rare outside of the four Jovian terraformed moons.
Des walked down the hallway and craned his neck as he stared at all the pictures and paintings decorating the walls. There were pictures of people and places as well as historical paintings.
One of the doors was open. Des peered in and saw a group of people sorting through a pile of letters and messages. Another room had a couple of people in suits who sat at computer desks working at the computers.
Des looked at the names on the door. None of the names was the one he was looking for. Des continued down the hallway. After another twenty feet, Des saw a more significant office with big glass windows. In large writing was the name, Lue Anderson.
Des knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a Voice said from the office.
Des walked into the office. Sitting at a large desk in a large chair was a short larger man in a suit and tie. He reminded Des of a burnt marshmallow.
“Mr. Anderson?” Des asked.
“That’s what the name says on the door,” Mr. Anderson said, “What can I do for you?”
Des walked up to Mr. Anderson and handed him the transfer paper.
“Ah… right,” Mr. Anderson said, “Kelsey from the front desk told me about you.”
Mr. Anderson looked at the transfer paper.
“The position of an internal courier for in station areas only,” Mr. Anderson said out loud.
“Yes, sir,” Des said.
“Shush,” Mr. Anderson said, “I’m reading.”
Des stood silently unsure what to do. He tried his best not to fidget.
“An O’Neal,” Mr. Anderson said, “I was sorry to hear your father died.”
“You knew my father?”
“Yes. He was a courier here in his youth. Started here a couple years older than you’re now,” Mr. Anderson said, “And yes, I looked old then too.”
“I don’t know much about my father,” Des said.
“That’s right. You were but a babe when he died,” Mr. Anderson said, “But to business. Did you seek this transfer?”
“No, sir.”
“Why?”
“What did you mean, why?”
“Why did Captain Kusheeno transfer you to me?”
“As punishment,” Des lied but knew it wasn’t a lie exactly as there was some parts of truth in it.
“Punishment?”
“Yes. Punishment,” Des lied still, “I’m not allowed to talk about the details, but let's just say I managed to get on his bad side. He thought my job at a factory was too much of an easy job. Reassigned me to you as punishment.”
“What job do you want to do?” Mr. Anderson said.
“I wanted to go to an electronics firm,” Des said, “I want to become an Astronautical engineer or an Astrogator. I figured if I could work somewhere more technical than making spoons or walking back and forth across the station delivering messages and packages. No offense.”
“I understand,” Mr. Anderson said, “You're upfront with me. I respect that. I could reject the transfer and try to get him to send you elsewhere.”
Fear crept into Des, like standing over a slow burning fire.
“Will that work?”.
“No,” Mr. Anderson said, “Even if I were to transfer you elsewhere, Captain Kusheeno’s too strong-willed for that. Hell, I could give you a desk to work at, but that probably won’t work either. If you pissed him off enough to send him my way, then you did something bad. I better not step on that landmine.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Des asked.
“Welcome to Courier One,” Mr. Anderson said, “It’s nothing like working with technical systems, and I doubt it’ll be counted highly when you go to apply to a College. But it’s work, and there’s a war on. I going to give you a position in the light capacity delivery corps as it’s hard to screw up. Just follow the directions on where to go, and you’ll be fine.”
Des nodded and sighed to himself. He had gotten in, and it seemed like the boss believed him, for the most part.
“Maybe after a couple months, the Captain will calm down and let me transfer.”
“Maybe, but in the meantime, go to the second floor and find the courier ready room. Ask for Diplin. He’ll be your supervisor. He’ll set you up.”
Des pulled out the letter from the Captain out of his jacket.
“The captain gave me this to be delivered to my old job,” Des said.
“I was expecting that,” Mr. Anderson said, “Let Diplin know and he’ll see it gets delivered.”
Des nodded his thanks and left the office. His mind buzzed, he was excited, he was scared. He was scared that he was excited. He had to calm his mind to figure out what was his next step.
***
Des took the stairs down to the second floor at a more leisurely pace. His mind still raced with what he needed to do. If he knew who his handler was, or at least who he looked like, then it would make it easier to make contact. He put it out of his mind as he had to figure out what to do.
Moments later, Des sat in a chair in the courier ready room. The room was large with old, faded off-white paint and silly-looking motivational and safety posters. Benches and a couple of tables were spread around the room. Metal lockers lined one wall. One had Des’s name handwritten on a piece of tape. His street clothes were folded neatly in it.
Des wore the courier’s uniform. It was a set of clothes which made him look like a raspberry fruit Popsicle. He was dressed head to toe in bright red pants, shirt, jacket and a hat. The name ‘Courier One’ was printed on the back of the jacket with bright yellow letters.
The room was empty except for Diplin. He was sitting at a table reading some article on his personal tablet. When Des had walked into the room ten minutes ago, Diplin took one look at him and threw the uniform at him. He then didn’t look back at Des.
Diplin was in his mid-twenties and had short thinning hair which ruined the handsomeness of his youth. He was tall and thin, except for his gut, which resembled a bowling ball. Diplin wore the red jacket to the uniform overtop of his street clothes. His coat had a yellow chevron on the left sleeve. Des guessed the little piece of extra fabric meant Diplin was a senior courier.
“Bloody government,” Diplin said as he finished reading the article, “They should just end this horrible war. Don’t you agree, Sprat?”
Des looked at Diplin but didn’t say anything.
“Are you deaf, Sprat?” Diplin repeated.
“Were you talking to me?” Des said, “Cause my name is Des.”
“You’re Sprat now,” Diplin said, “And if you think you can argue with me, then I’ll be forced to take you out back and show you who's boss.”
Des didn’t say anything, he didn’t trust himself to say anything.
“I’m your direct supervisor,” Diplin said, “And that means I control you. I tell you to do something, I expect you do it without question. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Des said before he could stop himself, “you’re twenty-five years old and doing a job meant for teenagers. You must feel very special.”
Diplin's face turned red, and he marched over to him and grabbed hold of the front of Des’s jacket. With a quick snap, Diplin’s fist smashed against Des’s cheek. The fist made a wet meaty crunch as flesh hit flesh.
Anger, shock, frustration, all built up in Des. He was about to do something he might regret.
The door flew open as a young woman marked through the threshold. She looked to be in eighteen-years-old. The young woman had long red hair which was braided into a single strand. She had a soft, pretty face, now molded into a mask of rage.
The young woman was dressed in the red of a
courier, but she had two chevrons on her sleeve.
“What the fuck is going on here?” the Young Woman shouted.
Diplin looked at the young woman with contempt.
“Cryslis, this here is my ward and therefore my business,” Diplin snarled, “Get out.”
Cryslis charged across the room faster than Des thought was possible. She grabbed hold of Diplin’s right arm and twisted it. Diplin screamed out in pain as the joint snapped out of its socket. Diplin dropped Des to the floor.
“Good thing you hurt your shoulder huh?” Cryslis said, “It got you out of the army, and it gives me leverage on you.”
“You can’t do this to me,” Diplin said, “My dad is the boss.”
“That’s nice,” Cryslis said, “Wait until he finds out you’ve assaulted this kid.”
“I’m disciplining him.”
“You don’t have the power,” Cryslis said, “You don’t have your second chevron. I do. So unless your dad can get the central office to promote you, you don’t have the right. Go home. I’m suspending you until a disciplinary committee can be formed.”
Cryslis dropped Diplin onto the ground. Diplin weakly held his limp right arm.
“You’re going to pay for this,” Diplin said.
“That’s nice,” Cryslis said, “Get out.”
Diplin left the ready room.
Des sat in a chair and rubbed his face, his anger simmered down into shame and embarrassment.
“Are you okay?” Cryslis asked as she bent down to look at his bruise.
“I think so,” Des said.
“He has a mean bite.”
“At least the dog barks at midnight,” Des said as a nervous chill shot up his back.
Cryslis was silent for a moment, and Des was unsure what to do.
“The rain comes from the west,” Cryslis said, “Huh. Figures.”
Des shrugged.
“Listen, we can’t talk here,” Cryslis said, “Give me a minute.”
Cryslis pulled out her phone and dialed a number.
“Hi, Mr. Anderson,” Cryslis said, “Yes, I saw him full out punch him in the face… In the ready-room… I don’t know, do you’ve a camera in here… If you have one, then watch it. You can hear everything he said to the boy… No sound? Well… Until you get rid of me for that idiot, I’m officially forming a disciplinary committee for Diplin… Yes, I will put in the paperwork… And I’m taking Des here under my wing… Don’t make me take this further up the chain-of-command. Diplin, a grown adult, assaulted Des. That means jail time for him if I go to the authorities… I will.”
