A Swift Kick in the Asteroids

by Edward Zajac

  Fletcher smiled as he sat down beside her. Suns, if he could patent that look, he’d make millions. “So, what are you working on?” he asked, peeking at her console.

  “Just some R8-955G forms. I do them every fiscal quarter.”

  “Right,” said Fletcher, nodding. “R8-955G forms. Those are very… important.”

  Xena glanced up. “You have no idea what they are, do you?”

  “Not a clue,” said Fletcher, chuckling.

  Xena smiled and the room itself seemed to brighten. “They are actually very important. They’re itemized lists of all office expenditures. Power, supplies, et cetera. We fill them out every fiscal quarter, as per Deus regulations.”

  “Really?” said Fletcher, his curiosity compelling him to lean a little bit closer. “Office expenditures, you say. Anything odd or unusual in there?”

  Xena shook her head. “Just the usual.”

  By the time Fletcher stopped his sidelong advance on her console, his head was only an inch above her right shoulder. But before he could see anything interesting, other than what he saw when he glanced down her blouse, Xena dexterously slid her hand over the console and the form instantly disappeared from view, supplanted by a picture of a cute Kirry cat.

  “I’m sorry,” said Xena, curtly. “But that information is classified.”

  Fletcher pouted his lips again. “Even for me?” he asked sweetly.

  “Even for you,” said Xena Xa. “I can’t release that kind of information without a 1289P authentication form from a tier 6 employee or higher.”

  For a moment, Fletcher thought he might have ruined his chances with Xa, but then he noticed the playful smile on Xena’s face, which meant that he still had a shot. Or so he hoped.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you take security seriously here on Mayoo.”

  Fletcher took a sip of his coffee as he reconsidered his approach. Maybe this situation called for something more adroit than flirting. Something a little bit more tactful. And he could definitely do tactful no matter what Aurora had to say about it. What was so hard about tactful? Anyone could do tactful. He could be sly and cunning if he wanted to be.

  He just didn’t want to be, that’s all.

  “So, Ms. Xa,” said Fletcher, sitting back in his chair. “Tell me a little bit about yourself. How long have you been a Deus minion?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Xena, twirling her ebon locks with her finger. “I think I’ve been enjoying the privilege of Deus employment for two, maybe three fiscal years now.”

  “That long and they haven’t promoted you yet?” said Fletcher. “That’s a travesty. I’ll have to comm corporate about that.”

  “No, no,” said Xena. “Don’t do that. I’m quite happy here. It’s a nice office and everyone here is really friendly. Plus, Mr. Bent is on the fast track to Vice President.”

  Fletcher stared at Bent through the plastiglass wall of his office. “Is he?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Xena. “And he promised to take me with him.”

  “How nice of him,” said Fletcher, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “So, you don’t have any desire to become a Deus exec yourself? I think you’d be great at it.”

  “No, no. I’m not cut out for that kind of responsibility. I’m quite happy here as a secretary.”

  “That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?” said Fletcher. “Some sentients work themselves to death just to earn a few more credits. But not me. I’d rather do what I love, be poor and happy than be rich, stressed, and miserable all the time.”

  “Exactly,” said Xena. “I totally agree.”

  Fletcher took another sip of his coffee. “So, you like working for Bent?”

  “Absolutely,” said Xena. “I’ve worked for some real cretins.” Her face blanched. “Not at Deus, of course. Everyone here is just great. But in other companies. Mr. Bent is nothing like that. He’s kind and always accommodating. He’s a great boss.”

  Fletcher smiled. “I’m sure corporate will be thrilled to hear that.”

  “What about you?” asked Xena. “Where are you on the corporate maglift?”

  “I’m more of an independent contractor,” said Fletcher. “You know, the muscle.”

  “So, you don’t know why Deus is auditing us right now?”

  Fletcher shrugged. “Stars if know. I just go where they point me.”

  “Really?” said Xena, caressing his arm. “I didn’t peg you as a sent that could be so easily controlled.”

  Fletcher was about to reply with a witty retort, or at least what he considered to be a witty retort, when Bent’s office door swished open. “What is going on out here?” Bent demanded.

  “I was just getting to know your employees,” said Fletcher, sitting back in his chair. “They’ve had nothing but nice things to say about you. You should be proud.”

  “Yes, well, unlike some sentients here,” said Bent, stammering as he spoke, “they have work to do so if you would kindly leave them alone.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Fletcher, with exaggerated innocence. “I didn’t know I was bothering anyone.”

  “Well, you are,” said Bent. “Now, when will your colleague be done with his audit?”

  Fletcher took a sip of his latte. “He should be done fairly soon.”

  “Good,” said Bent, curtly. “The quicker, the better.”

  “Absolutely,” said Fletcher. “And I figured we could discuss the results tonight over dinner.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Courtesy of the Deus Syndicate.”

  “Thank you,” said Bent, less than sincerely. “But I can’t do dinner tonight.”

  Fletcher’s face went ashen. “Oh,” he said, histrionically abashed. “I… see.”

  That seemed to give Bent pause. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he amended. “I just have other plans tonight.”

  “No need to explain,” said Fletcher, in his best passive-aggressive manner. “It must be extremely important. I mean, why else would you decline an opportunity to discuss Deus security with my colleague? I’m sure Mr. Bryce will understand.”

  Fletcher watched as Bent processed this information. At first, the tacit rebuke seemed to fly over his head without even mussing his hair. It wasn’t until the information circled around for another flyby that it metaphorically singed his metaphorical hair. Metaphorically.

  “Actually,” said Bent. “Now that I think about it, I might be able to rearrange my schedule.” He turned towards Xena. “Ms. Xa, may I have a word with you for a moment?”

  The two retreated into Bent’s office. Fletcher watched through the plastiglass walls as they spoke, trying to decipher what it was they were saying. He thought he saw Bent mouth the words “calendar” and “database” a few times, but couldn’t be certain. Fletcher’s lip-reading skill was limited mostly to profanity and the occasional death threat.

  In those, he was fluent in twelve different languages.

  A few minutes later, Xena and Bent emerged from his office.

  “Good news,” said Bent cheerfully. “I was able to clear my schedule. How’s seven for you? I know a great place around the corner. It’s called Nebulae.”

  “Seven sounds wonderful.”

  Casting Fletcher one last nervous smile, Bent nodded and slipped back inside his office.

  “He seems like a really great guy,” said Fletcher. He reached inside his coat pocket and retrieved a small communicator. “Mr. Cole, how much more time do you need?”

  “I should be done in a half hour or so,” said Zagarat over comm.

  “Meet me on the fortieth floor when you’re done,” said Fletcher, pocketing the device.

  “Nothing to do for a half hour, hmm?” said Xena. Fletcher nodded. “Well, I was about to take my break. Maybe you’d like a tour of the office.”

  “Now, that sounds lovely,” said Fletcher, holding out his hand. She happily took it, pushing herself to her feet. “And where would you like to start?”

  “I say we star
t with the break room and see where the day takes us.”

  “Ms. Xa,” said Fletcher, wrapping his arm around hers. “I am all yours.”

  wenty minutes later, Xena emerged from the utility closet, correcting her skirt as she walked. Twenty seconds later, Fletcher also emerged from the closet, smiling to himself. And to anyone who could see him.

  If all tours ended like that, thought Fletcher, museums would be far more popular.

  Fletcher was still smiling to himself when Zagarat and Leevee exited a nearby lift. “This three step authentication should secure the network without overcomplicating it for the TDI.”

  TDI being Technologically Deficient Idiots.

  “Understood,” said Leevee. “We’ll implement the changes on a test server tonight.” He placed his hand on Zag’s shoulder. “It was an honor seeing you work. I hope to one day raid the Towers of Azuzuron with you, Lord Amon RuneSLayer.”

  “For the Glory of One!” said Zagarat, slamming his fist against his chest.

  “For the Glory of All!” said Leevee, thumping his chest before leaving.

  Zag turned and saw Fletcher staring at him. “Shut up,” he said, preempting a pithy rejoinder from Fletcher. Or rejoinder at any rate.

  “What?” said Fletcher. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “But you were thinking it.”

  “Yeah, I was,” said Fletcher, grinning. “Are you done with the audit?” Zagarat nodded. “Good. Let’s get back to the hotel and change. We’re having dinner with Bent at seven.”

  Zagarat’s brow creased. “Why are we having dinner with Bent?”

  “Why to discuss the audit, you big silly,” said Fletcher, his tone so cloyingly sweet and utterly chipper that the crease in Zag’s brow instantly became a furrow. “Besides, Bent is a corporate genius. We can both learn a whole lot from him.”

  The furrow in Zagarat’s brow deepened to a canyon. “What?”

  “Come on,” said Fletcher, hustling Zag inside a newly arrived magcar. “We don’t want to be late now, do we?” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Ground floor, please.”

  “Um… no, I guess not…” Zagarat shook his head. “Wait. What the suns is going on?”

  Fletcher said nothing. He simply reached down the back of his shirt. A moment later, he retrieved a small metal object, about the size of a fly, holding it aloft so that Zagarat could see it.

  “What the suns is that?” asked Zagarat.

  Fletcher crushed the device in between his thumb and index finger. “Proof that we’re onto something.” The maglift doors opened. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  letcher didn’t say another word until they reached their hotel room. Even then, all he said was, “Get inside. Get inside.”

  “What the suns is going on?” asked Zagarat, the door shutting behind him.

  “Nothing,” said Fletcher as he scrambled to unbutton his shirt. He tossed the shirt to the ground and then kicked off his shoes. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you’ve been acting really weird ever since…” Zagarat paused when Fletcher began unbuckling his pants. “What are you doing?”

  “Just getting ready for dinner,” said Fletcher, pulling down his pants.

  “Whoa,” said Zagarat, blocking the view with his hands. “Don’t need to see that.”

  While Zagarat looked around at anything except Fletcher’s… aw, geez, Fletcher gathered up his clothes, opened a window, and tossed the crumpled mass outside, his clothes fluttering in the breeze as they danced their way down to the ground below. All except for the shoes. They didn’t so much dance as plummet onto the head of a homeless man below who was probably going to be pretty pleased by this fortunate turn of events, once the concussion subsided.

  Fletcher then braced himself against the wall, every muscle in his body seeming to flex to twice its normal size. Well, every muscle Zag could see. There was one muscle he was really trying to avoid with all his… aw, geez. He really didn’t need to see that.

  Just when it seemed that Fletcher was going to either have an aneurysm or a movement of some kind, the lights in the room flickered momentarily and a few shiny objects fell to the floor. One mote in particular ricocheted off of the floor, bouncing twice before landing at Zagarat’s feet.

  Zag picked it up, holding it up to the light. “What is this?” he asked.

  “That,” said Fletcher, grabbing the mote and tossing it, and the other three motes, out the window, “is a bug.” He shut the window. “A Starlight Mini R52 if I’m not mistaken.”

  “And what was it doing on you?”

  “Xa slipped it on me when she thought I was otherwise distracted.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I think Bent told her to do it,” said Fletcher, his arms and legs akimbo. “This way he could listen in on our conversations.”

  “But how did you…” Zag grimaced when his eyes drifted down towards Fletcher’s… “Aw, geez. Could you… could you put some clothes on now please?”

  “Huh?” said Fletcher, glancing down at himself. “Oh, would you look at that? You can see the whole solar system, can’t you? I’ll be right back.”

  When Fletcher disappeared inside the bathroom, Zagarat looked over at the hotel door, his eyes narrowing in concerted consternation. A singular thought continued to run through his mind, as if powering his brain with its kinetic energy. What the suns just happened?

  The angel and devil on his shoulders both shrugged their incomprehension, leaving Zagarat alone to make sense of the absurd.

  Okay. We came inside. He took off all his clothes. Zag winced at the memory. Then he went over there. Zag glanced at the window. He tossed his clothes outside. Zag looked down at the spot where Fletcher had stood. Then he… Zag glanced at the bathroom. Wait. What?

  He started all over again. He looked at the hotel door. Then the window. Then the spot on the floor. Then the bathroom door again, his finger pointing the way from scene to scene.

  Finally, he said, “How did you do that?”

  “I’m sorry?” said Fletcher, in muffled tones. “I can’t hear you too well through the door. What was that again?”

  “The thing with the bugs,” said Zagarat, raising his voice. “How did you do that?”

  Fletcher emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a white button-down shirt, crimson tie, ebon slacks, and mahogany boots. “It’s easy,” he said, securing his belt buckle. “The adhesive Starlight uses on their R52’s works well on fabric, but not on skin. All you have to do is flex a few times and the adhesive eventually fails. There’s a reason Starlight products are so cheap.”

  “Oh,” said Zagarat, in less concerted consternation. “That makes sense, I guess.”

  Fletcher preened himself in front of the mirror. “Why? What were you thinking?”

  “Well, I…”

  “Because if you thought I channeled the surrounding energy and created a small EMP pulse in order to neutralize the bugs, then you were just being silly.”

  “No, no,” said Zagarat. “I just thought…” He looked up. “Wait. What?”

  But Fletcher was evidently too busy admiring himself in the mirror to hear, or at least acknowledge Zag’s question. “Can you believe this? Now, my clothes don’t match. And I loved that shirt. I really should bill Deus for this. You know what? I think I will.”

  “But you just said…”

  “You know what your problem is?” said Fletcher to Zagarat’s reflection. “You think too much. You gotta be more like me.” He paused. “Wait. That didn’t come out right.”

  “But… but…”

  Fletcher grabbed a plastisheet bag from a nearby chair. “Now, we don’t have a lot of time.”

  “But…”

  He pressed the plastisheet bag against Zag’s chest. “This should fit you perfectly. The mannequin in the store looked about the same size as you. Of course, it was a mannequin of a female Lassen but I’m sure it’ll still fit.”

  Zagarat stood at the threshold of the bathroom, b
linking dumbly. “But…”

  “Oh, and don’t forget these,” said Fletcher, placing a pair of brown Nevalese loafers atop the plastisheet bag. “They cost me a fortune. But only the best for you, buddy.”

  “But…”

  “Now, hurry up. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Bu…”

  The bathroom door shut in the middle of Zag’s but.

  And nearly in the middle of his…

  Oh, never mind.

  agarat exited the bathroom ten minutes later, looking rather dapper in his striped Arwadi suit and Nevalese loafers. But he didn’t feel very dapper. Suns, he didn’t even feel dapper-lite or diet dapper, with all that dapper flavor, but none of the accompanying ego.

  What he actually felt was…

  “I look like an idiot.”

  “Are you kidding me?” said Fletcher. “You look great. Hell, you almost look as good as me. And that’s saying something because I look amazing, even in this.”

  Zagarat glanced down at himself. “You really think I look good in this?” he said, his voice laden with doubt.

  “Absolutely.” Fletcher turned him towards the mirror. “Take a look yourself.”

  Zagarat didn’t so much admire himself in the mirror as admonish himself in the mirror. It was one of his many talents. After admonishing himself from every conceivable angle, he decided that Fletcher didn’t know what the suns he was talking about. He didn’t look good in this suit. He looked like a kid wearing his big brother’s clothes.

  He shifted slightly. But the Silien silk did feel good against his skin though. It was soft and sumptuous, like a million silky hands caressing his body with every move he made. A sensation so utterly euphoric that it was probably a good thing Fletcher hadn’t included a pair of Silien boxer shorts to go with the ensemble. If he had, Zagarat might not have made it out the door without experiencing an unfortunate accident that had been a nocturnal scourge of his early, mid, and late teens. The only good thing to come of the whole embarrassing affair was that Zag could now sneak down to the washing machine in the middle of the night without waking his mother. And that was quite a remarkable feat, given Margarat’s hearing.