by M. R. Forbes
"Everybody seems to know you," Holly said.
"I've been plastered all over every stream for the last two months, and there are shots of me displayed everywhere around the city. It's crazy, really. There was even a girl who asked me to sign a photoshopped picture of me that she said she masturbates to."
"Really?"
"I'm not kidding."
They reached the lift. Mitchell scanned the id number on it, and then knocked from his p-rat. It recognized his credentials and opened up. They stepped inside, both laughing. Mitchell touched the screen to send it to the ground floor.
"Do you like it?" she asked. "Being famous?"
"I don't think of myself as famous. I'm popular now because of the battle, but give it a year or two and people will forget about me. But no, I don't like it. I'm a pilot who can't fly. A warrior who can't fight. There's going to be a push into Federation space, and I'll be sitting on the sidelines, watching people I convinced to join the Alliance military go out there and do what I should be doing. Not only that, but I have almost no control over what I do, or when I do it. It's only gotten worse since yesterday."
"That sounds awful."
"It's frustrating, but it isn't all bad. You wouldn't have come up to the party to see me if I were just some Joe Mechjock."
"Am I enough to make it worthwhile?" The mischievous look in her eye had returned.
"You might be."
She reached over and hit the 30 on the lift's touchpad. "I have a feeling your bodyguard or something is going to be looking for you. Let's skip the drinks. You have something else I want right now."
Then she was pressed against him, her head tilted back, her lips finding his. Her kiss was forceful, aggressive, and it took him a moment to recover from the attack and launch his counterstrike. He wrapped his hands around her, lifting her up and pushing her back against the side of the elevator. She giggled under the kissing, hands tightening around him.
"Are you always so straightforward?" he asked, pulling his head away for a second.
"When I see something I want, I go right for it. I call it smart." Her hand found the back of his head and pulled him in again.
13
She brought him to her hotel room on the thirtieth floor. It was nothing special, a standard suite with a king sized bed, a bathroom, and a dresser. A funky piece of artwork hung behind the bed, painted in color-changing ink that moved in whorls that changed color depending on the way the light was hitting it and the position of the viewer.
Mitchell noticed it almost subliminally as he sat on the bed with Holly in his lap, holding her close, kissing her neck and shoulders, pressing his naked body to hers. She rocked against him, purring and moaning, her hands scratching his back in her pleasure.
He had been with at least a dozen women in the last two months, and while they had all been great partners they had each held onto a certain demureness, as though their public status carried over into the bedroom. He didn't know what Holly's public status was. Maybe she didn't have one at all. Either way, she wasn't hindered by it. She wasn't hindered by anything. She was assertive, aggressive, fearless.
It was amazing. Mind-blowing. Even Ella, in all her confidence, had never quite merged with him so well.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
He shouldn't have been so surprised when the door to the suite opened, and the lights flashed on.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Holly froze in his lap. He stopped kissing her and lifted his head, looking straight at the painting and feeling his already rapid heartbeat move to triple-time. He recognized that voice.
What the hell had he just done?
"Wait out here," he heard the Prime Minister say.
Holly shifted off him, breaking their connection, putting her back against the bed. Her face was flushed, her hair sweaty. She glanced at him, her eyes trying to transmit a nervous apology.
"Captain Williams?"
Mitchell turned slowly, putting his hand over his quickly deflating groin.
"Your Excellency," he croaked. "What are you doing here?"
The Prime Minister's face was rigid, every muscle clenched tight. Mitchell could feel the anger building behind it as the man did his best to maintain the composure of his status. He was the Prime Minister of Delta, he couldn't very well resort to throwing punches. Not that Mitchell would have any choice but to let them land.
"I should ask you the same thing," he said, in a low whisper that fought to not be a snarl. He looked over at Holly, and Mitchell saw the anger flash to sadness for an instant. "Did you know that the woman you were just screwing is my wife?"
It was worse than a punch to the gut. Mitchell looked back at Holly. She was thirty years the Prime Minister's junior, at least. She was staying in a plain, ordinary hotel room, not one of the VIP suites. She wasn't wearing a ring and had told him she didn't have a husband.
"Sir, I-"
"Get out."
He slid off the bed, reaching down and grabbing his pile of clothes off the floor. He held it in front of his midsection. "Sir-"
"I said get out," the Prime Minister screamed.
Mitchell bowed his head and took a wide angle around the man. The door to the room was closed, but he knew the Prime Minister's guards would be right outside of it.
"David?" he heard Holly say. "Uh... what? Captain Williams? What was... What were we just doing?"
Mitchell stopped and turned his head. Holly was looking back at him, her eyes suddenly fearful, as though their prior activity had been anything but consensual.
"Holly, what's the matter?" the Prime Minister said.
"I don't know," she replied. "I..." Tears started running from her eyes. She reached down and grabbed the sheets, pulling them up over her body, covering herself in front of him. "What did you do to me?" Her look was accusing and angry. What the hell was going on?
The Prime Minister spun around, his anger boiling over. "Guards," he shouted.
The door opened. Two men in dark suits entered, blocking Mitchell's exit.
"Sir, I didn't. I swear," Mitchell said. How could everything have gone so bad, so fast? His whole body felt cold.
The Prime Minister didn't look at him. His eyes were on his wife. When he spoke, Mitchell could hear the pain in his voice. "Bring him to a vacant room and keep him there. Call a doctor."
A strong hand fell on Mitchell's shoulder. He kept his eyes on Holly, who had buried her face in the sheets. How could she be doing this? He was going numb with disbelief. He didn't resist when the guards pulled him from the room.
"Are you out of your damn mind, Captain," one of them said. The other was silent, his eye twitching. Probably getting access to another room.
"I didn't do anything," Mitchell said. "Check the surveillance. She threw herself at me."
"We'll pull the surveillance as a matter of course. If you're telling the truth, it will be plain enough."
"Do you believe me?"
"If I didn't think something was up, you'd be out cold right now. I'm a former Marine myself. You can't possibly be dumb enough to throw away a rep like yours over a piece of ass."
"Forty-second floor," the other one said. "The whole thing is vacant for remodeling. Room 4218."
They ushered him back to the service elevator, giving him the courtesy of not parading him naked in front of the other guests.
"Why the hell is he staying in a random room in the middle of the hotel?" Mitchell asked, still trying to make sense of things.
"Standard operating procedure," the guard replied. "More attractive to the taxpayers, and harder for assassins to find him in a place this big."
"She told me she was single."
"Look, Captain, you need to just shut it for now, okay? We'll bring you to a room. Clean yourself up, get dressed, and wait. Security will get their hands on the feeds, and if you're telling the truth this whole mess will go away in a couple of hours. I can't say the same for the future of the Prime
Minister's marriage."
Mitchell stayed quiet. He put his clothes on in the elevator on the way up and then marched to room 4128. The guards deposited him inside.
The door locked behind him.
14
Major Arapo showed up two hours later. Mitchell had cleaned himself up and managed to calm down by then, reasoning that the hotel surveillance was sure to clear him of any wrongdoing, even if Holly insisted that she had been coerced instead of accepting responsibility for her actions.
Still, her confusion had been awfully convincing. If he hadn't been there, and known better, he would have believed her himself.
He heard the door unlock right before it opened. She walked in, and he stood to meet her. Her face was as tight as he expected, her posture stiff. Furious.
"Captain-" she started.
"Did you review the feeds, Major?" The best defense was a good offense.
She froze. "I did."
"Then you know I didn't do anything wrong."
She laughed. An unpleasant, sarcastic laugh. "Didn't do anything wrong? Are you kidding me, Captain? You snuck out of the gala with a woman you barely knew. You purposefully avoided me, because you knew I would try to stop you, and, oh, what's this... You got yourself in trouble!"
"How was I supposed to know that-"
"You weren't supposed to know. You weren't supposed to leave the gala or my sight. I tried to give you some breathing space. I tried not to have to watch every move you made like you're some kind of unintelligent infant. Obviously, my assessment of your mind was completely off base. One night, Captain. One night you needed to be on your best behavior, and not only did you screw up, but you did it in the worst possible way, with the worst possible woman. You weren't supposed to know, but if you had stayed put, you wouldn't have had to. What if she had been the Federation assassin who tried to kill you the other day?"
Mitchell had been preparing a retort. The last sentence stole it from him. He felt the heat of his embarrassment on his face. "I didn't think about-"
"You didn't think at all, except maybe with that cock of yours. My assignment is to protect one of the Alliance's most valuable assets. It's a lousy assignment, let me tell you. Even so, I put one hundred percent into everything I do. That's why Cornelius trusted me to do it. He's going to have both of our asses for this."
Mitchell was frozen, his offense abandoned. He had screwed up, big time, and was taking the Major down with him. He didn't have to like her to feel guilty for that. They were on the same team. It was just as bad as if he had left her wounded somewhere.
"I-"
"Don't," Christine said. "Don't say anything. I'm sure you're sorry, now. You should have been sorry ahead of time. To be honest, I can't for the life of me figure out how you got onto Greylock."
"Excuse me, Major?" Mitchell's anger started flowing back. "If I was on a ship preparing to invade the Federation, instead of here trying to be something I'm not, we'd both be happier. I got onto Greylock as a pilot, not a salesman."
"I agree with you. I do, Captain. That's not the hand we've been dealt. Even so, I expected a little more tactical planning from someone with your background and experience."
He heaved out a sigh, letting all the fight go with it. "Yeah, I messed up. What happens now?"
"Now we try to keep everything quiet. The Prime Minister saw the feed. He's confused as hell because he said his wife's never acted like that in her life. It doesn't help that she doesn't seem to remember any of it."
"She doesn't remember? Are you sure she's telling the truth?"
"We brought Dr. Drummond in with a portable medi-bot to scan her. She's telling the truth. Or at least, she thinks she is."
"How can that be?"
"I don't know. The Prime Minister suggested that you might have drugged her."
"I didn't-"
"I know. I vouched for you myself."
"You did?"
"Yes. I don't like you, Mitchell, but we're in this together, and I really don't think you'd resort to rape when you have so many women literally throwing themselves at you."
"Thanks, I guess."
"The good news is that thanks to this incident, I got you cleared for some time off. The Prime Minister doesn't want you anywhere near Delta for a while. We're leaving for Earth tomorrow. You'll have a week to yourself, and then we'll be doing a promotional tour there."
Mitchell nodded. "Sounds great to me. I wouldn't mind getting out of Delta."
"I'm having your things brought from the base, we'll leave from here in the morning." She started backing towards the door.
"Major," Mitchell said, catching her hand. "Christine. I'm sorry."
She looked down at their clasped hands for a moment, and then up at his eyes. "I believe you. Try to start using your brain, Mitch. Goodnight."
She vanished out the door. Mitchell noticed that the Prime Minister's security detail was gone, and when the door closed it didn't lock. He was a free man again, Christine trusting him to be smart enough to stay put.
He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Holly. She had been so into him, so sexy and charismatic, and yet when the Prime Minister had walked in on them she had seemed frightened and insecure. How could someone be one person one minute, and someone else the next?
How could she not remember it?
He didn't know and couldn't guess. He decided to just drop it. One more night and he would be on his way home on a vacation he desperately needed. He hadn't been back to Earth in four years. His parents were there. His sister. Maybe he could even get his brother, the Admiral, back from patrolling the Alpha Quadrant? With such a big galaxy to play in, in-person family gatherings were near impossible.
He sat down and accessed his p-rat, prepared to tell his folks he was coming home. He thought about what to say, and then ditched the idea. If he sent a message now, it would probably leave with him tomorrow morning, piggybacking on his transport for a ride through the galaxy at faster-than-light speed. It would have been great if he could use the military's more efficient relay system of advanced communications drones, but they were reserved for urgent messaging, not so Mitchell could tell his folks he would be stopping by.
He flopped back onto the sofa and closed his eyes.
There was nothing to do but wait.
15
EARTH. July 14, 2040
Kathy woke up at five every morning, the same as she had for the last five years - ever since she had joined the Air Force. She used a small LED to navigate her way to her footlocker and threw a pair of sweats over her panties. Then she found her running shoes, laced them up, and silently abandoned the rest of her squadron, leaving them to sleep another hour before Reveille.
She slipped out the door of the barracks and onto the flat expanse of concrete that covered most of the base. It was a cold morning, colder than she had expected, even inside the massive balloon that protected them from the worst of the intense winter that raged across Antarctica at this time of year. She guessed it was probably forty degrees inside. A hundred degrees warmer than outside.
They did their best to mimic the light of the outside here on the inside, which meant that it was still pitch black. She slipped her LED against her ear so it pointed straight ahead, illuminating the area in front of her. Not that she needed it. After all this time, she knew the layout of the base by heart.
She started jogging. Slowly at first, and then picking up speed as she made her third circuit of her route, the same one she had been making since the war had ended almost eight months ago. Her squadron had been grounded, but Command had decided to keep them here on the southern pole in reserve, just in case the Federation decided to change their mind about the truce. That was just fine with her. It kept her close to the wreckage, close to the thing that had changed her life the moment she had looked to the sky, even before it had appeared to her while she stood on the playground grass.
They were going to build a ship. That was what Captain Johns had whispered to his
mates. Using the alien technology they had found, as soon as they figured out how it all worked, which they were doing more rapidly than anyone had expected. Of course, they had the finest minds in the world working on the problem - scientists from over a dozen nations. Their research was already bearing fruit, including the small, experimental generator that rested in the corner of the huge, enclosed space and powered pretty much everything.
She wanted a chance to be on that ship. It had been her dream for over a dozen years and was the reason she had joined the Air Force to begin with. How she would get that chance? She still didn't know.
She didn't need to check her watch to know what time it was. Her schedule was so perfect, so rigid, that as she crossed the twenty lap marker she knew she had ten minutes to Reveille. She took a different path then, crossing towards the center of the cement to where the three rows of fighters waited. They were F-70s, the latest and greatest, the first and only fighter developed entirely during the timeline of the war. They were incredible machines, radar avoiding, maneuverable, and faster than fast. She had flown over two hundred missions in hers without incident, registering more hits than any of her squad mates. They called her "Swooping Death" because of her favorite move, a crazy high-G maneuver that made the entire fighter rattle like a snake. It was a move that none of the other pilots were even willing to try. Swoops for short. She liked the full name better.
She approached her fighter, putting her hand against the cold metal side and lowering her head. A quick prayer to her parents, her mother dead from cancer, her father killed overseas after he joined the war effort. Another prayer for keeping her safe and alive, and a third a wish to see her way to the stars. It was all she had wanted for as long as she could remember.
"Second Lieutenant Asher."
The voice came from behind her left shoulder. She flinched a little, surprised by it, and then slowly turned around.
"Yes, sir?" She didn't recognize the officer standing in front of her. He was older. Tall, with salt and pepper hair and a nice smile.
