The Rebellion Hyperbole

by John P. Logsdon

  “What was that?” Trek asked.

  “FloraRex™.”

  “Flora what?”

  “Therapy in a pill.”

  Trek snatched the bottle away and read the warning label.

  FloraRex™ is not meant for everyone. If you have allergies to eggs or klemboos, FloraRex may not be right for you. Those with diminished kidneys should not take FloraRex. In rare instances, FloraRex has been shown to cause severe allergic reactions in people who breathe on a regular basis. Care should be taken when taking FloraRex by anyone who requires food or water in order to survive. Stop taking FloraRex if you experience abdominal pain, swelling of the feet, loss of genital hair, rectal discharge with oily spotting, an erection that lasts more than four hours, blood oozing from the eyes, cardiac arrest, or if you suddenly die. If you stop taking FloraRex and your symptoms continue, you should contact your doctor, call an ambulance, or—in the case of sudden death—contact the morgue. In a nutshell, do not take FloraRex.

  “Damn, Herb,” Trek said, dropping the bottle back on the Flejnarian’s lap, “with those side effects I think I’d rather deal with the potentiality of being mentally disturbed.”

  “I won’t have any side effects,” Herb said as he showed Trek another set of pills. “I just have to take these, too.”

  “Hopefully one of those covers that oily discharge one. That’s pretty disgusting.”

  “Thanks for not being concerned about the sudden death issue,” Herb said with a frown.

  “Well, yeah, that too.”

  Trek turned his attention to the rapidly growing space station. Herb was right—it was a massive structure, and it was only getting bigger as they closed in on it. The comparison to a cigar was uncanny as well. It even had little gold bands near the tips on both sides.

  It was quite a sight.

  Had Trek still been interested in healthy activities, he could see running a different level of the city every day. Being that everything else was changing in his life, maybe it was time to get back to his jogging routine.

  He shrugged the thought off and took a hit of Soothe instead. It wasn’t nearly as healthy as a quick jog around a city, but it was far more pleasurable, giving him a relaxed mind within moments.

  It was also the primary reason Trek was in so much debt.

  “You think FloraRex™ is bad?” Herb said, uncrossing his arms and pointing at the container that Trek was placing back into his pocket. “That stuff is eventually going to kill you.”

  “How long does that take again?”

  “What?”

  “How long does it take Soothe to kill the average human?”

  “Probably about one hundred and sixty years.”

  “Exactly,” Trek said. “And I’m fifty. And seeing that something else is bound to kill me long before I see another one hundred and ten years—like Riggo or even old age, for example—I think I’m good.”

  “Many of you humans live into your one hundred and forties now.”

  “Thanks for the science lesson, Herb, but if I’m only going to live to one hundred and forty-ish and I’ve only been using Soothe for about twenty-five years, I don’t think I’ll hit the one hundred and sixty-year death mark you say it’ll take for Soothe to wipe me out.”

  “Your habit nearly killed you just yesterday,” Herb pointed out.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Trek said with a grunt. Riggo had given him a nice supply of Soothe as a going away present, no doubt hoping that Trek would screw up this new job so that the RiffRaff would not only get the 75 in platinum, but also take his life. He gulped. “Point taken.”

  “I’m just saying that it wouldn’t hurt you to be a bit healthier, especially with this new job and all.”

  “Says the fellow that just took a slurry of pills that could cause all sorts of ailments.”

  Trek leaned closer to the window to look up at the side of the space station and caught his own reflection.

  He thought he looked pretty good considering he was 50. His skin was a little rougher than it used to be, which made him look rugged. His hair was thick and dark, thanks to the medical hair restoration breakthrough that happened when he was in his 30s. Sure, he was a little chubby around the middle, and his arms weren’t as tight as they used to be, and he recalled having only one chin while in his youth; but all in all, he looked solid enough and he felt great, especially after a hit of Soothe.

  He flicked on the in-ship video system as they closed in on the station, catching the end of a newscast.

  …and the head of Internal Security has stated that they’ve still not found the culprit for the communications sabotage. Supreme Commander Monty McCracken has been put in temporary charge over Internal Security, and it is rumored that he is starting a new investigative division called the Gordo Galaxy Detective Agency. Further speculations state that this new division is going to be headed up by the famous author and detective, Trek Gibbons.

  Empty slide. Empty slide. Slide 1-7-3-9-9. There is a pickle prone to people parting precipitations. Empty slide.

  “What the hell is she talking about?” Herb asked.

  Trek was laughing. “She’s obviously reading everything off of a TelePrompter, Herb.”

  I can’t speak for all of Quarn, of course, but I, for one, feel safer knowing that someone with Detective Gibbons’ skills will be on the case.

  “Well,” Herb interjected, “at least you know that was heartfelt.”

  From everyone here at Quarn News, this is Kady DerGrady wishing you a starless night.

  “Why would she want people to have a starless night?” asked Herb.

  Trek shrugged as their ship pulled in to the space dock. He got the sensation of being pushed and pulled. The gravitation synchronization when landing on a self-fortifying body always took a few moments to settle in. The sensation made him a bit nauseous.

  Once the clank of the docking stabilizers rang out, their cabin door slid open and a female voice came in from the speaker.

  Passage 7297 from Floonsport has completed its final leg of the journey. Sotzi Spacelines hopes that you enjoyed your flight. We know that you have a choice for all your space traveling needs and we thank you for choosing us as your journey carrier.

  Trek took a deep breath and prepared himself for a new life.

  “Ready, Herb?”

  “Not really.”

  “Me too.”

  Waiting

  McCracken stood watching as the shuttle eased its way in to the space port.

  On board sat the future head of the GDA.

  Trek Gibbons.

  The man who had stolen McCracken’s cousin’s thoughts, skills, and writings and passed them off as his own was only moments away from being used as a figurehead. McCracken would use him, direct him, and then destroy him. Then he would return him back to society so that Riggo could finish him.

  If it hadn’t been the case that Gibbons had fit perfectly into McCracken’s plan for taking over The Committee, he still would have paid Riggo the 75 platinum to make Gibbons’ death more interesting. But McCracken understood that things had to be done a certain way if you wanted a certain outcome. They had to be handled properly, with care and planning.

  The compression locks clanked in place on the vessel as the force fields opened to allow the transference of passengers. Fumes from the engines briefly blew past before the filtration system cleaned everything out.

  The smell always reminded McCracken of his days as a cadet. Those were simpler times.

  As the passengers filed out, McCracken caught sight of the middle-aged man who matched the latest photos on the MUCK. He looked a little pudgier, but holocams were known to take off a few pounds.

  Investigation

  They left their cabin and found the line to exit the ship was moving smoothly. With all their luggage stowed beneath the vessel, there was no need to deal with carry-ons. Herb never went anywhere without his knapsack full of meds, of course, but that was just a species-based peculiarity.

&
nbsp; The first thing Trek noticed about the space station was that the air was fresher than on the transport. The second thing he noticed was the military uniform of the man who had hired him. Based on the pictures he’d found of the MUCK, Trek had expected the soldier to look more frail.

  “Trek Gibbons,” said Supreme Commander McCracken, holding out his hand in a not-so-friendly way. “I trust you had a comfortable trip.”

  Trek shook his hand and forced a smile. “It was fine.” Trek turned toward Herb and said, “This is my, uh—assistant, Herb.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Herb.

  “Flejnarian,” McCracken said, keeping his hand to himself this time, obviously aware of their germ-passing phobias. “Won’t find many of your kind on board, I’m afraid.”

  “I would imagine not,” Herb replied.

  “Listen, Commander,” Trek started, “I just wanted to thank you for—”

  “Save it, Mr. Gibbons,” McCracken said, cutting him off. “You’re here because you’re needed here. If you weren’t needed, you wouldn’t be here. Is that clear?”

  “Very,” Trek said with a frown.

  McCracken grunted and then strode toward the main terminal.

  Trek followed him, trying to take in the sights along the way. There were many female forms on station that could very well make this new job palatable. Trek was fond of many races. The more diverse, the better. Unlike many of his human acquaintances, Trek was not a purist.

  “We need to head down to the communications bay,” McCracken was saying as Trek pulled his eyes off of a particularly stunning Velcrian.

  “Yes,” Trek said. “I was just discussing with Herb here about how I wanted to see the evidence firsthand.”

  “You were?” Herb asked.

  Trek kicked him.

  “Ow!”

  “Right,” McCracken said with a squint. “Well, I made sure to have you dropped off at the closest terminal, so it’s only a couple of doors down.”

  “Thank you,” Trek managed. “I’ve never been on Quarn before.”

  “Is that so?” McCracken asked. “I would have thought that someone of your… stature would have been invited by The Committee for a grand tour.”

  Trek sensed a trace of a sneer in the comment, but didn’t reply as they pushed through another set of doors.

  “Good morning,” McCracken said to the upturned faces of those who filled the desks. “Department Head Chenthly,” he added with a nod, “this is Detective Trek Gibbons.”

  Trek smiled tightly and shook her hand. She smiled back with that sense of awe that his fans used to give him. Maybe she’d read his books?

  “Detective,” she said, adjusting her mousy brown hair, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Trek said, sensing her interest. “You, too.”

  “As you can see,” McCracken stated a bit loudly, looking back at Trek, “we’ve gotten everything back online.”

  “Yes,” Trek replied, refocusing and trying to sound self-assured.

  “Do you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

  Trek looked around. He’d never been on Quarn, much less in this particular station, but in one fashion or another all offices were about the same. There were desks, chairs, screens, employees, synth-plants, lights, windows, walls, and in this case a somewhat homely human female who clearly had the hots for him.

  He had no clue what he was looking for, but if he was to fool this McCracken fellow, he had to at least make a serious effort. He then asked himself “What Rebben Coolait would suggest he do at this point?” Rebben would tell him to look at the problem from all angles.

  So Trek got on his hands and knees and started crawling around.

  “What exactly are you doing?” McCracken asked.

  Trek cleared his throat and said, “I’m looking at the problem from all angles.”

  McCracken gave him a dull look.

  “Has anyone studied these?” Trek asked, pointing at the potted plants in the corner.

  “If so, I doubt they’ve done so as thoroughly as you just have,” McCracken replied.

  “Actually, has Internal Security gone over things in here yet?”

  McCracken cleared his throat. “Let’s just say that the I.S. isn’t exactly top notch at the investigation game, which is why you’re here. Besides, I wanted you and your team to have the first crack at the evidence.”

  “Ah, yes, my team,” Trek said, brightening. “Maybe they’ve already looked things over?”

  “Negative,” McCracken said. “I took the liberty of having your team get to setting up their quarters and their offices. They have yet to visit the crime scene.”

  Trek pursed his lips and began thinking of ways to look like he knew what he was doing.

  Since he was already on the floor, he started looking under the desks to see if there were any other clues. He climbed under each of the desks, looked at his fingernails for a few moments, knocked on the sides now and then, and said, “huh” and “interesting” as often as he could.

  The staffers were obliging as he crawled around, seemingly enthralled with his investigative technique.

  If only Rebben were still around.

  And then he noticed something different. A small, metallic box was stuck up under this particular desk. Trek hadn’t seen any of these boxes anywhere else.

  “There’s a box under this desk,” he said.

  “Oh?” McCracken replied.

  “Yes. It’s got some funny symbols on it. I didn’t notice any boxes under the other desks.”

  “There should be no boxes or anything different under anyone’s desk, Detective,” said Chenthly.

  “Well, there is one here.”

  He considered removing the box, but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted to do was remove it and find out that the entire system was hinged upon the damn thing.

  As he began pushing his way back out, he found a loose shirt button laying next to one of the desk legs. It was small and silver and had a tiny portrait of the Quarn station plated in its center. It probably wasn’t worth anything, but Trek didn’t like throwing away shiny little objects, so he tucked it into his pocket before standing up.

  Turning, he was met with McCracken’s hard stare. “Did you retrieve the box?”

  “No, sir,” Trek said. “I don’t know what it’s for and I don’t want to cause any damage.”

  McCracken rolled his eyes and pointed at the man who sat at the desk in question. “You there, liberate that box from under your desk this instant.”

  The man scrambled and returned it swiftly.

  It was silver with archaic looking symbols, plus a little switch on the side.

  “What do you suppose it does?” asked the young man, who flipped the switch up and down a few times.

  “No,” McCracken yelled, pulling the box away from the man. “You don’t just flip switches on something when you don’t know its intended purpose, you dullard!”

  “The communications network just dropped again, Miss Chenthly,” said another tech. “But it was just a blip. A few blips, actually.”

  McCracken was giving a stern look to the other tech. “What kind of idiot flips switches on a device with unknown properties?”

  “But that’s in our job description,” replied the tech with a defensive look.

  “It is?”

  “Of course it is,” Miss Chenthly said. “That’s what technicians do. We flip switches and restart machines.”

  Trek took the device from McCracken and began spinning it in all directions as he tried to ascertain its purpose. Obviously it could control the communications network, but maybe that was just a side-effect of its true purpose?

  “I wonder what these symbols represent,” Trek said, more interested in the box than in the argument.

  “That’s probably what you should look into, no?” asked McCracken rather pointedly.

  “Of course, yes,” Trek said.

  Herb poked at the device.
“They sort of look like the symbols that those goofballs always show from that show you watch about ancient cultures.”

  “You mean Ancient Cultures.”

  “You can’t seriously enjoy watching that show,” McCracken stated.

  “They do have some interesting points, Commander,” Trek replied with a shrug. “And it’s not like just anyone can become an Archaic Traveler Theorist.”

  “Can’t they?”

  “I love that show,” Chenthly chimed in. “I find it incredible that people don’t believe in aliens.”

  “Are you kidding?” McCracken said. “Half of your employees are non-human, Chenthly.”

  “No, I mean other aliens.”

  McCracken’s brow furrowed. “There are roughly two hundred and fifty known species cataloged from the expeditions over the last two hundred years.”

  “Right, but I mean other aliens.”

  Trek stayed quiet as McCracken closed his eyes and scratched the back of his head. Then the commander put his cap back on, adjusted his tie, and looked questioningly at Trek.

  “Uh, anyway…Commander,” Trek said finally, “I need to get with my team and go over these symbols. I suspect they’re the key to solving this crime.”

  “Your team is the key?” Chenthly asked.

  “Hmmm? Oh, no, the symbols.”

  “Now that sounds like a plan,” said McCracken, checking his watch. “I don’t have time to take you there myself, but I’ve asked the chief of Internal Security to meet you at the transport station at two. It’s getting close to that now, so we’d better get a move on.”

  “Speaking of time,” Trek said as they exited the room, “I understand that you’re on a twenty-four-hour cycle?”

  “Correct,” McCracken answered. “Sixteen light and eight dark, with a bit of dusk and dawn thrown in for dramatic effect.”

  Trek grinned. “That makes things easy.”

  “I think that was the point.”

  Checking In

  McCracken wasn’t about to wait for Captain Broog to arrive, so he left Gibbons and his aide at the travel terminal and hopped into his speeder.