Spheres of Influence

by Bob Mauldin

  “So, who was the older guy? Kinda cute if he was younger,” Carmen commented, oblivious to the several officers and agents shadowing the group.

  Knowing the answer would floor her friends, Lucy took great relish in saying as matter-of-factly as possible, “Oh just the Special Assistant to the President.” She waved her hand, dismissing the subject.

  “The president? Our president? Have you met him?”

  “No, but it’s a distinct possibility sometime in the future. After all, one of our embassies is here on American soil, and who really knows who was behind the ambush at Camp David.” She pulled herself up short. “Sorry guys. One of my pet peeves. I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, especially after meeting one of the operatives who was influential in the attack. We’re supposed to be having fun, but I have my buttons, ya know?”

  Amy looked around the crowd. “Aren’t you supposed to be incognito or something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then we need to get you out of that... outfit. Besides, a woman carrying a gun on her hip is going to draw attention.” And it was true, but the stares the three women drew on their way out of the building stemmed as much from their differing looks as from Lucy’s somber uniform and weapon.

  “I was gonna change when I got home. Seems like Bruce took off with my bag,” Lucy said, looking around helplessly.

  “We’ll stop at my place,” Amy said. “I’ve got something that you will kill in, and it doesn’t need a gun to do it!” She giggled at her own joke as the trio walked across the parking lot, drawing stares from passersby, as well as a few unnoticed photos from a photographer with a long-distance lens. They climbed into an old Futura after Carmen unlocked the doors.

  “Isn’t this your Mom’s?” Lucy asked.

  “Yeah, but my Firebird got totaled by a drunk driver. No insurance, of course. And, no, I wasn’t hurt. I wasn’t even in the car. He plowed into it right in front of our house at two-thirty in the morning. So, I got Mom’s hand-me-down until I can come up with the down payment on another car. At least it runs.”

  As has been known to happen when two women get hold of a fashion basket-case and have all the tools of the trade at their disposal, a simple change of clothes turned into a full makeover, no matter that the victim went kicking and screaming to her doom. At least she looked good.

  A full hour and a half after they arrived at Amy’s house, Lucy stared into the full-length mirror. Carmen and Amy’s attack had been well planned. A complete stranger looked back at her. Her long blonde hair had been taken out of its habitual ponytail and fluffed and curled, framing her face and softening the lines. Her nails, both fingers and toes, had been painted a brilliant red, and she’d been poured into a pair of hip-huggers made from something akin to parachute fabric. A low-backed, low-cut white blouse just this side of legal matched a pair of open-toed platform shoes, and the ensemble, coupled with the expertly applied make-up, caused Lucy to yell, “I look like a hooker!”

  “Well, maybe you do. But you certainly don’t look like the woman who walked out of the airport two hours ago!”

  That was true, so after one more long look in the mirror, she said, “Oh, what the hell. Let’s go!”

  Four years and then some of being separated from the greater mass of humanity had left Lucy a little unprepared for the super-entity that was Cincinnati, even though it was early. The mere crush of bodies was enough to give her the shakes, and she thanked the stars above that she didn’t have to cope with the traffic!

  Martello’s private banquet room had been the status symbol for graduating seniors for over a dozen years now, and Lucy, Amy, and Carmen had been able to steal it away from several competing high schools when they graduated due to the fact that the three of them had worked for Martello as bussers and waitstaff. Now, on this afternoon almost eight years later, the room was almost as crowded as it had been then, and the faces were all the same. The difference was that then, everyone had gathered to celebrate a shared accomplishment. Now, they were all here to see her—not an unusual circumstance these days, but these were people she knew personally, and she’d have been a liar if she said it didn’t matter to her.

  She began “working the room,” as someone had once put it to her, shaking hands and renewing old acquaintances while Carmen and Amy stuck close at all times. The rounds had nearly been completed when Lucy heard a familiar voice from the back of the room holler, “Speech! Speech!”

  The demand was taken up by all in the room until she finally stood up. She looked around the room for the first voice, but with this crowd, anyone who wanted to stay out of sight easily could. “First things first,” she said. “I want to apologize for all the trouble you guys have been put through over this. None of you should have been bothered by the FBI or anyone else. All I can say is that the difference of opinion as to who’s going to control the technologies we’ve got our hands on has been settled at the highest levels. Things are progressing differently now, and no one should be bothered again.” As the last word left her mouth, the room broke into applause.

  She waited for the noise to die down and continued. “I’m only in town for three days, so I’m not going to have time to renew old friendships right now. Please don’t feel slighted. We have a very tight schedule to keep. I guess you guys have been following the news and stuff, right?” When a few voices affirmed her guess, she went on. “Okay. We’ve got three ships in orbit right now that need crews.” She held up her hands to stop the buzz that started at her words. “This is not a recruiting speech, guys, but if any of you want to join, we’ll be happy to take you. Anyone who can be personally spoken for by a member who joined before we started taking specialized applications has an advantage over those who come to us off the streets, so to speak. Just so you know.” Again, the buzz of conversation started up and died down seconds later.

  Lucy gazed at the staring faces. “You know, I was our class valedictorian, and I’ve spoken before the United Nations Security Council, The Swiss Parliament, and the Japanese Legislature, and I’ve never been more at a loss for words than I am right now. I guess it’s because I know all you guys, and it’s a little spooky. Basically, Simon and Kitty Hawke found the ship, recruited about a thousand of us for the first crew, and went out to the asteroid belt to build the first space dock. The reason for was that if we wanted to keep the technology, we needed to get it duplicated. They believed the original owners—we call them the Builders—would come looking for their ship and take it back.

  “One thing led to another, and when the first dock was done, we headed back to Earth to get more crew for the next dock. I was just third shift crew supervisor at that time, and I made captain right after Kitty got promoted to her captaincy after we finished the third base, I think. Anyway, it wasn’t until Simon got invited to Camp David that things went sour. Simon was killed, or so we thought at the time, and Kitty was critically injured. At the time I was the choice to succeed Simon and Kitty because I’d been promoted to ship captain right after Kitty and was next in line.

  “Simon’s vision was for us to distribute the technology aboard the Galileo to the people of Earth in such a way that not too many got hurt in the process. Had we given the ship to our government, Simon and Kitty believed, no one would have seen anything of the technology until our government milked it for all the military stuff it could get. Plus, given our current level of espionage, someone would have found out about it and started a nuclear war rather than let us keep the ship. Doing so would have changed the balance of power too greatly.

  “Personally, I think Simon was right. How many of us have had to deal with a bully who says pretty much the same thing? Anyway, the Galileo is out in the belt right now building the fourth and final dock, which we’ve already named Taurus Base. We have four active ships, three more waiting for crews, and more coming off the assembly lines every six months.

  “Our first base was attacked right after we left for home, and we lost ten crew to the
attack. We believe we’ve found and destroyed the ship that did it, but we also think a sister ship managed to get away. It’s the opinion of most of us that the attack was perpetrated by a second race, so we’re in a real race to build up what we have in order to protect ourselves, and quite possibly the entire planet. I’m not really happy to be in charge of this mess, but I keep hoping Simon will recover enough to take back the reins. All I want is to be a ship’s captain. Besides, the paperwork is awful!”

  As Lucy sat down, the doors opened, with Martello leading a procession of carts and waiters into the room. Plates full of Martello’s famous dish were unloaded onto the tables, and Martello himself served Lucy.

  “Ah, mia Angelina! Too long have you been away. For you, my specialty! And for all your friends. In your honor, I am having new menus made up! Now and forever, this dish will be known as ‘Primavera Angelina.’”

  Martello, a very pious man, had taken it as a sign when Lucy applied for a job one summer. Seeing her middle name, he hired her on the spot, saying, “Whoever is named after the angels cannot be bad!” And from that day on, he’d called her by her middle name, to her complete and total dismay.

  As Martello grated fresh parmesan onto her plate, he asked quietly, “Would it be possible, mia Angelina, for poor Martello to get a picture before you leave?”

  Lucy sat there, stunned. Martello had one whole wall devoted to the famous and infamous who’d dined there over the years—presidents (three!), politicians, movie stars, athletes and authors giving mute testimony to the quality he insisted upon. “Martello! Thank you! But not like this. Wouldn’t it be better if I had my uniform on?”

  Amy leaned over and put a hand on Lucy’s arm. “Gotcha! I figured we wouldn’t have time to go back to my place, so I put your stuff in the trunk of Carmen’s car. Your gun is there, too.”

  “So!” Martello said triumphantly. Lucy gaped at the heavily laden plate sitting in front of her. “Martello, there’s no way I can eat all of this. I have to have dinner with my parents tonight and explain all of this to them, too.”

  The grey-haired owner placed both hands over his heart. “A mother must come before Martello. Any less and you wouldn’t be mia Angelina. You are a good daughter and forgiven. But taste and tell me what you think!”

  Lucy made a show of taking a bite. “It’s been almost four years and you still serve heaven on a fork! My compliments. And thank you for understanding.”

  “I’m a poppa, too,” he said, moving condiments around on the table. “I’ll have the camera set up when you’re ready to go.” He clapped his hands together. Let’s go, you lazies!” We neglect our other customers.”

  An hour later, Lucy looked at the watch embedded in her wristband said, “It’s about time, girls. Pop will skin me if I’m late, and you know he’ll skin you for making me late!”

  “One step ahead of you, girlfriend,” Carmen said. “Here’s your uniform and gun.”

  Lucy remembered Carmen excusing herself earlier but had thought it was just to go to the ladies’ room.

  “Try a shot from the waist up. There are a few of those on the wall, and the rest are mostly people seated at a table. All you have to do is put the shirt on for a few, and then we can go.”

  And so, Lucy Grimes, once a bus person at the famous Martello’s Italian Restaurant, wound up on the wall with her arm draped oh-so-casually over that worthy’s shoulder.

  Carmen’s Futura wheezed to a stop in front of Lucy’s house with fifteen minutes to spare. Lucy picked up the lump of clothes wrapped around her pistol and slid out of the car. “Tomorrow, okay?” she asked. “We’ll go shopping and then I have to get back to work. Right now, it’s out-of-the-frying-pan time.” After the three women exchanged hugs and comments, Lucy asked, “Hey, I thought for a minute there, earlier, that I heard Jack Potter’s voice, but I never saw him. Did either of you guys see him or invite him?”

  Carmen said, “He’s still getting greasy rebuilding engines for one of the circuit racers over at Rick’s Rods. I spoke to him personally yesterday, and I thought I saw him, but we didn’t speak, so maybe not, ya know?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Oh, well. I had kinda hoped...”

  “Yeah,” Carmen said, commiserating. “But who can figure guys? Go!” she said changing the subject. “I see Bruce peeking around the shade. See you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll get your stuff cleaned and back to you then, Amy.”

  “You can keep ‘em. You make ‘em work better than I ever could!” Amy said, laughing. The old clunker rattled to life and groaned around the corner, leaving Lucy with the hard part of her night still ahead. She trudged up the walk and onto the porch, and as she reached for the knob, the door swung open.

  Bruce stood there, door in one hand and the other out for her load. “Go wash up before Mom has a kitten. I’ll put these in your room.”

  “Be careful,” she admonished. “I’ve got my pistol in there.”

  Lucy slipped into the guest bathroom that was tucked under the stairs. Minutes later, scrubbed clean of all makeup, she walked into the dining room. She stood there, just listening to the sounds that had given her solace during all the trying times of her life, and two tears inched their way down her cheeks. As smells began to intrude on her perceptions, she started to register them.

  Pop’s famous meatloaf! I am in such deep shit!

  There was, as well, the smell of her mother’s mashed potatoes, the ones with the secret spices and lumps. The smell of beef gravy also wafted out of the kitchen, along with the smell of steamed veggies, probably from the little plot out back. And banana pudding! They’ve pulled out all the stops, she thought, grateful that she’d only tasted the Primavera.

  Her mother backed into the dining room carrying a serving tray loaded with slices of meatloaf covered in beef gravy. Turning around, she set it on the table and inspected her daughter. “That is not appropriate dress for the dinner table, young lady.”

  Her father, entering the same way, carried potatoes and veggies to the table and set them down. “I think, just this once, we can overlook that rule, Mother.” He walked past Lucy and stuck his head into the living room. “Bruce!” he said, raising his voice just enough to be heard upstairs. “Dinner is on the table. Two minutes or you don’t eat!” Lucy had heard that threat all her life but never seen it enforced. Still, her brother took the stairs two at a time to get there.

  “Sorry, Mom,” Lucy said. “Thanks, Pop.”

  Dinner at the Grimes’ house usually consisted of all four members discussing their days and getting feedback on decisions made or help with decisions or just talking about whatever newsworthy item had been presented, sanitized, on the nightly news. On this particular night, with Lucy home for the first time in almost four years and a family conference coming up, no one was really interested in small talk, so dinner was consumed in an uncomfortable silence with very little effort to liven it up.

  For the first time in recorded history, no one had seconds of Pop’s meatloaf or Mom’s banana pudding. As Lucy dutifully scraped the last of her pudding from the cup, grateful again for her earlier abstinence, John Grimes said, “Bruce, help your mother with the dishes. I want to have a short talk with your sister before we all sit down.”

  “Sure, Pop.” Everyone attended to the ritual of stacking dishes for removal to the kitchen, and when there were two stacks, John looked at his daughter and inclined his head toward the living room door.

  “They’re going to take a few minutes to get that done,” he said, sitting down in the overstuffed recliner. “You know how I like to keep the bad things from your mother. The nightly news is bad enough with all the killings and wars and such. Is there anything you want to tell me that your mother shouldn’t hear?” Never one to beat around the bush, John went straight to the heart of the matter.

  Lucy, ever her father’s daughter, had the same failing. “Well, you were never in the service, Pop, so I don’t know if you’ll understand..
.”

  John raised a hand to stop Lucy. “Not in any of the services, no. But I was involved in some top-secret armament development in the sixties. Popguns by today’s standards, I’m sure, and even less than that to you if what some of the people who came to see me said is the truth. Regardless, I think I can understand a lot of what you have to say, so don’t try to sanitize it for me.”

  “Pop,” Lucy stared. “I never knew you were involved in that kind of stuff.”

  “Classified,” he huffed. “I’ve never been fond of that kind of security, but there it was. I’m sure some of the developments I introduced helped kill a great many people more efficiently, and I don’t sleep well some nights, but I consoled myself with the thought that my kids wouldn’t have to face that. Or I did until recently.”

  “I’m sorry, Pop. I never knew,” Lucy said softly. “But I have the same problem. Only, in my case, I know my actions have caused deaths. And not just of human beings. Can you get a grip on that concept? My problem is that I think of those beings as people. And I gave the orders that killed dozens of them, if not hundreds. No matter that they attacked us first and then went into hiding to either wait us out and escape or attack again. I still go to bed at night and wonder if I’ll ever sleep soundly again.”

  “I’ve never had any problem thinking of alien beings as an intellectual concept,” John Grimes said flatly. “After all, I am a physicist, daughter. But having intellectual concepts come to life and try to kill my daughter, yes, I’m having trouble. And it scares me.”

  Hearing the man she’d looked to for guidance all her life admit to being afraid didn’t exactly rock Lucy’s worldview, but she did feel it quiver mightily for a few seconds. “Scares me, too, Pop. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  Her mother chose that moment to come into the room carrying a tray with four glasses and a pitcher. “Ginseng,” she said. “Helps with the intellectual processes, or so says Mary Fellows. So, what do you have to do that scares your father, Lucy?” She sat down next to her daughter and placed a hand on Lucy’s leg. “You know we’re here to turn to.”