It's Hell to Choose

by Michael Anderle

  Eric hit the button to close the hatch, “Short-cut!”

  Mr. Deteusche could hear his son’s laugh get cut off. A few seconds later, the Pod smoothly went up about twenty feet, then they both heard the heavy ‘whoosh’ of air when it practically disappeared into the night sky.

  —

  Jeo stood in his office. It was, effectively, one shipping container in size. One-quarter of the wall in his office was a massive whiteboard, that was digitized. So, whenever he and William would work together, whatever he drew on his board here was automatically duplicated on a board William had down on the Polarus and vice-versa.

  That was cool until William started writing ‘words’ on his board when he wasn’t expecting the words to appear -- that was scary as hell.

  William found it ‘funny as hell’.

  Jeo found the controls to shut off the ability except for when they were working together. Now, he didn’t feel like his office had William's ghost looking over his shoulder.

  Personally, he was in heaven. His time on the Polarus getting to know Bobcat, William, Marcus, TOM, and ADAM was awesome. He had a voice chat channel hooked into talking with ADAM and TOM right now. There were only fourteen people on the Space Station at this time. Ten of them were protection.

  Protection from whom, he had no idea. It wasn’t like any of the major superpowers had the ability to just run a space shuttle over here and knock on the doors. Hell, he should know considering his previous employer.

  ADAM had informed him that his previous employer had shown up at his apartment while his stuff was being moved. They were unhappy to find out that he had a job already, and the people on site did not know where he went.

  Then, they tried to contact his parents with seemingly legal documentation which stated he was to come back to the offices and open some locked areas. Supposedly, no one had realized previously he was the only one who had the combination.

  Jeo had smiled to himself. He had forgotten about the safes. The previous employee before him provided the combination to him and split. The last Jeo had heard, he was surfing in Asia somewhere.

  When his parents had provided TQB with the document, the inside council Jakob Yadav had fired off a response that ended any harassment of his parents, and Jeo received a nicely-worded email from the company asking how much he wanted in a severance package to provide the combination? Would a year’s pay be sufficient?

  Jeo sent confirmation that would be wonderful and supplied the combination to Mr. Yadav at the same time.

  A week later, he had been pleased to receive an email with the deposit information.

  SWEET! He still grinned thinking about how that flaming gas sack, Javier, must have felt to have authorized the payout.

  Now, he was working at the beginning of the refining parameters and how they would mine the ore, and where, in the belt.

  “ADAM, what is the status of the modification technology for the platforms?”

  “Well,” the alien TOM’s voice came out of the speaker, “You could ask me.”

  Jeo grimaced, “Sorry TOM. I always depend on the AI.”

  TOM’s voice came back, “I don’t bite, Jeo.”

  “It’s not that, well, it’s mostly not that.” Jeo temporized, “It’s more that I’ve always wanted to work with AI’s and figure he is always available. I’m never sure what you are up to, so I don’t want to interrupt.”

  There was a pause from the speaker, “Ok, I never considered it from that perspective. ADAM can get ahold of me very easily, we are closer to each other than you might believe. Either way, I’m the one who Bethany Anne has working on this project with Marcus and William. Jeffrey is in charge of the manufacturing and assembly from different locations.”

  Jeo interrupted, “Why are they being done in separate locations? Is there a raw materials issue?”

  “No, security,” TOM replied. “We don’t want the knowledge out yet. The stresses on the platforms were originally designed for implosive, not explosive. So, these coatings are going to be applied to change the underlying strength of the beams and operational support no matter which direction the pressure is pushing on the frame and other structural members.”

  “Does this change it forever?” Jeo asked.

  “Long enough, but I wouldn’t plan on the applications to last more than ten years for those we are changing presently. For newly built platforms where the application can be applied to all components as it is built, then I would feel comfortable with at least five decades of service.”

  “Damn, that’s impressive” he murmured. “Bobcat wasn’t kidding when he said that Bethany Anne wanted to be mining in months, not years.”

  TOM’s voice interrupted Jeo’s thoughts, “No, she wants to be mining in weeks, not months. Bobcat was trying to help you cope with the aggressive time schedule.”

  Jeo’s original thoughts left him as he stared at the speaker on his desk. “I’m sorry TOM, did you say Bethany Anne really wants to be mining in weeks?”

  “Yes, I can confirm with her if you wish. However, the last time she and I spoke on this subject she hoped you would be live in eighty-four days, so that is about three months on the outside.” TOM said.

  Jeo turned to open his work tablet and look at the Calendar. “That’s twelve weeks.” Jeo started computing solutions in his head. “We are going to need a week to push the platforms out to the mind fields, plus I need to confirm which asteroids we are going to mine first. That means that the Pods I need to be modified for the research need to leave on Tuesday. When was Bobcat going to let me know this?” Jeo asked, not really expecting an answer.

  “How long have you been on the station?” TOM asked.

  Jeo looked over to the speaker, “Not long, maybe twelve hours, but what has that got to do with my questions?”

  “Because Bobcat believes you should check out your surroundings and enjoy space before he calls you.”

  “When is that going to be?” Jeo asked, thinking about everything he now needed to be doing.

  TOM replied, “In twelve hours.”

  “When would Bethany Anne have told me?” Jeo wondered, not really expecting an answer.

  “Twelve hours ago” was TOM’s reply.

  “Oh” Jeo considered TOM’s reply. “I guess she isn’t into ‘being in the moment’?”

  “Sure, if you mean the moment when you are pushing forward towards the goal of making the human race safe? She does tend to be rather focused on that part. Don’t get me wrong, she knows that Bobcat did not focus you on this twelve hours ago and is allowing it to happen. Before you ask, she allows it because she can understand her methods might need softening from time to time.”

  Jeo looked around his office, “TOM, let’s discuss the requirements for the platforms and how we are going to get them modified. She wants three months? Let’s be mining in two.”

  Jeo pulled the second keyboard towards him. A monitor screen was projected on the wall in front of him. There were twelve incredibly powerful projection cameras placed on the four walls of this office which could project multiple screens, or join for even larger screens. Team BMW was using four of them for a holographic projector like you would see in science fiction movies. That was incredibly cool, but until he had need of it, Jeo thought it was a little much and utterly useless for his spreadsheet work.

  Each projector could also ‘see’ when he placed his hands to manipulate the screen as if it was a touchscreen and also detect hand gestures in the air in front of the screen. Jeo reached up to the fifteen-inch monitor displayed on the wall and opened two fingers from about an inch apart to roughly two inches apart. The display on his wall went instantaneously from fifteen inches to thirty.

  “Computer, I need a Project Plan, Name it Destiny Zero Zero One.”

  “Understood Mr. Deteusche.”

  “Computer, replace calling me Mr. Deteusche with Jeo.”

  “Understood Jeo.”

  “Computer, replace your designation with ‘Sama
ntha’ and switch to feminine voice.”

  A warm and inviting feminine voice greeted Jea, “Understood Jeo.”

  Jeo shivered, “Samantha, switch your voice to female, pragmatic. I don’t need your voice causing my mind to wander.”

  A much cooler and clipped female voice responded, “Understood Jeo.”

  “Samantha, project a countdown timer in quadrant office A-1 for fifty-six days and start it counting down.” He looked over to the wall he would see each morning as he walked into his office. “Switch the timer text to light blue.” Satisfied with the result, he turned back to his own monitor, “Samantha, open a diary application and every time I say ‘Captain’s Log’, I want you to copy my comments into the diary application, is this understood?”

  “Understood Jeo” the female voice responded back to him.

  Jeo grabbed his keyboard, “Excellent. Let’s make history, Samantha.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Costa Rica - South America

  The warehouse was useable. Phillip Simmons had last used this location some three months back. It was in a seedier side of San Jose and still close enough to the main airport to be useful.

  In the mid-afternoon sun, there weren't many places to hide coming up to the doors. He had arrived here two minutes before and knew he had at least three, if not four, pairs of eyes on him. The mercs he was hiring were not Johnny-come-lately types. They all had been in the business for at least five years, and each had at least eight major projects under their belt. God alone knew how many minor or personal projects.

  He had unlocked the heavy chain keeping the doors closed and had to go back to the car in disgust. Popping the trunk, he pulled out a can of lubricant and went back to the lock and squeezed the can enough to drop some of the oil into the lock. He held it there a few seconds and then moved the lock, keeping it upside down on the chain so the oil would drain into the tumblers. He then went back to put the can in his trunk and pulled out some rolled up blueprints.

  He waited another ten seconds before trying the lock again and was able to finally open it. The chain started sliding out of the handle, and he pulled his hands away quickly so that it didn’t whip around and bust up his knuckles.

  He pushed open one of the two sliding doors a few feet before it stopped, probably with a messed up wheel itself. No matter, it didn’t need to open any further. He turned when he heard footsteps behind him. Phillip pulled the sunglasses down to look over at a smiling white male with a brown cowboy hat, blue eyes, and dimples.

  “Birk Muller,” Phillip said with a smile on his face, “as I live and breath there was never a nicer asshole than you!” Phillip reached out, and Birk clapped his hand in a handshake.

  “Phillip, you royal pain in the ass-hole, what you got cooking this time?” Birk asked as he quickly glanced inside, while holding Phillip’s hand.

  “Let’s go inside and I’ll lay some of it out. Maybe you will be able to refine the plan before everyone gets here.” Birk released his hand and allowed Phillip to go in first.

  The air inside was still musky from being closed up, the recent rains and the humidity. Phillip walked to the side where a couple of small rooms with a cutout in the wall for windows let you see inside and flipped a switch to turn on the fluorescent lights. It would take them a few minutes to reach full brightness.

  “I get we are going to the States, but what is the purpose?” Birk asked as he walked around the place, making sure no one was going to jump out at him probably.

  “You guys are going to hijack a children’s school bus on a field trip. Then, you will drive it into a building that has a lower level and security gates between the levels. Good security, by the way. The SWAT teams will be required to go through three vehicular gates, and there is a stairwell access for the bottom level to deal with.”

  Phillip walked over and set his keys and the blueprints on the dusty table he used every time. Unrolling the plans, he set his keys on a corner and then he had rocks from last time for the remaining three corners. He pointed to the lower right corner. “The bottom level is approachable via the stairwell, the last security gate, which is solid by the way, and there is a 12-inch drainage pipe.”

  Birk took one last look around as he came over to the table, “Twelve inches isn’t a very large back door, Phillip. I really don’t want to be trying to be fight my way out the front.” He looked down at the map. “So, what’s the real escape route?”

  “Why do you think there is a real escape route?” Phillip asked, “Maybe I want your ass left out there as one big ugly cowboy shooting target?”

  Birk looked up and grinned, “Because you have always done right by anyone you hire, and I doubt this is the Big Screw.”

  Phillip shrugged, “Yeah, there’s an out. You guys will also have twenty-four hours to check everything for yourselves before you do the run.” He pointed to the bottom right corner of the plan, “I have had a team working to build a fifty-foot tunnel to the wall right here. It’s ready for you guys to go check out both sides. One team member can stay on the exit side, which allows you to either go into the sewers or get into the underground parking via another route two blocks away and exit with vans. Your choice.”

  “You aren’t going?” Birk asked.

  “Are you kidding me?” Phillip replied, “If my ass is anywhere near the U.S. and a hint of this gets out, they will call me in for questioning. If I stay here and make sure I’m with someone when it goes down, others will vouch for me. Besides, you guys aren’t the main event.”

  “No?” Birk looked back up at Phillip.

  “No, you are just to pull the focus and hopefully the security off of a well-secured corporate headquarters out in the mountains west of Denver. That’s why it’s children. Everyone on the base will be either running out to where you are or focused on the news coming in from the event.”

  A deep, gravelly voice greeted the two of them from the doorway. “I’m nyet so liking a children’s op, Phillip.” Both men turned, but Birk was quicker and Phillip saw his eyes open wide. Both for someone surprising him, as well as guessing who the man was.

  Phillip left the table and walked over to the huge Russian with his hand out, “Boris, son-of-a-bitch as I live and breath…”

  “Hey, you said that already,” called out Birk behind him.

  Phillip ignored him, “It’s good to work with you!”

  The big Russian had a massive beard and quick eyes. His dark brown eyes looked almost black as his hand smothered Phillips. He walked into the room. “Are the six that are skulking around outside going to join us here, or are they vaiting for a party in-vi-tation?” His heavily accented English could confuse a person. Sometimes you could never tell if Boris was joking, or being serious.

  Birk smiled, “Ah, well, that would be the group who nominated my ass to be the sacrifice to confirm Phillip was on the up and up.” He pulled his phone out and sent a text message. "They will be here in a few minutes, now.”

  Phillip was impressed and depressed at the same time. Impressed with Boris to have located them, and depressed that he had missed them. It might be time to make sure he departed this kind of work before he lost his remaining edge. Well, this project would pad his retirement fund sufficiently that living in South America would be comfortable for at least thirty or forty years without side projects.

  Boris was a huge man, but he seemed light on his feet. He had the look of a tracker, someone accustomed to being in the bush. Phillip wasn’t going to misjudge the man based on his slow speech and careful talking. He had done enough background checks on Boris for previous potential projects the United States wanted, to know that this was probably not the ‘original’ Boris. For one, the huge man looked to be maybe in his thirties and ‘the’ Boris was on the books as having been used in 1952. Although, the description in the documents he was able to read painted him as a giant, hairy, dark-eyed Russian.

  Phillip shrugged mentally, probably a family that kept the business going with succe
ssive generations. Possibly why he had a reputation for not being able to be killed.

  Soon, six more Merc’s joined the group, and Phillip shook their hands. He had worked with one other guy there, Patty McKingsly, for an op that spanned from South America over to Europe three years ago. Except for an occasional death wish, Patty was hell on wheels with pistols and didn’t care what the job was. He was as amoral as they come, except for his mom. Speak ugly about her and it was usually a brawl right then, right there. If you came at him with anything but your fists and maybe a beer bottle, then you typically received two .22 love taps to your stomach from the pistols he always had on him.