by Chris Hechtl
The planned worlds to be terraformed in Rho had also been revised, he thought as he checked the countdown counter. It wouldn't be long now he thought, noting the digital numbers cascading ever downward to zero. The company's astronomy department had taken an in-depth look at the systems around Pyrax using the sensors and telescopes in Sol as well as the mountain of information Icarus's sensors had compiled while in the sector.
Nina would survey and terraform Senka, Antigua, and two potential systems nearby. Pinta was carrying advanced terraforming gear which she would use on Triang, Briev 4, Agnosta, and Pyrax. Jack frowned thoughtfully. He hoped it worked; he rather liked the idea of forests and trout filled streams on Pyrax. It had been a long time since he'd gone camping and fishing, he thought, sighing softly to himself.
The Béliard would be sent to Pyrax and then beyond to four systems clustered just beyond her. They would survey and terraform any worlds there then they were free to return to Sol solo or Pyrax and then return with the other ships if they preferred.
“Good luck,” he murmured, standing before the wall screen as he watched the three ships headed out beyond the heliopause. It would be a few moments before their drives finished charging but he could already see space bending around them. Of course the video he was watching was old, light speed and all that, he reminded himself. But still cool to watch. The bright flash as they jumped caught himself off balance. He brought his right arm up protectively to shield his eyes. When he lowered it they were gone and on their way.
“Time to get back to work,” he sighed softly, sitting back in his chair.
-*-*-^-*-*-
The young man with the purple locks stood there in the mall's food court, sipping a cup of zombie soda through a straw and wondering about his schedule. The place was only lightly filled; he'd found a nice seat with a good view of everyone. The table was actually clean for once. He really did need to get going but …
“You looking for me, lover boy?” a familiar voice said from behind him. He turned to smile up to his boyfriend just as his hair was pulled and black lipstick covered lips covered his own. Their tongues twined briefly and then Orko broke the kiss with a laugh. He stroked Krytos's hair as he took a seat across from him.
“Been a while,” he said, smiling.
“Yes it has,” Krytos replied, wiping a bit of drool off his mouth. He picked up a napkin and got the smeared black lipstick off. At least Orko wasn't a total vamp this time. Last time they'd met he'd given him one hell of a hickey on his neck.
“Too long,” Orko replied with a leer. “We really need to schedule some alone time, lover boy. It's been what, a month?”
“Something like that,” Krytos replied, aware of the people around him. Public displays of affection were still moments of uncomfortable viewing for others. Gay public affection even more so, even though mankind had gone a long ways to accepting them as normal over the past two centuries. It was one of the reasons he was still alive he thought. It was easier to pass on information because people instinctively looked away. Unless they were turned on by it, and he was fairly certain Saul's people were all hetero.
“So … been busy?” Orko asked.
“Well,” Krytos, real name Kenneth Tzenson said with a drawl then a shrug. “I guess you could say that. You?” he asked, waiting for a couple behind Orko to move on.
“Something like that,” Orko replied with a snort, looking over his shoulder to the couple. He nodded his chin to them in a casual what's up move. They looked away. He snorted. “Think they'd freak if I gave you a blow job here?” He asked, pulling his red hood off to reveal his blue bald head. As usual his black tattoo of a face mask and tear streaks made him look like a bandit.
“Just a bit,” Krytos said, shaking his head. “I can't anyway, I've got to jet.”
“Someone's moving up the corporate ladder,” Orko said with a whistle. “I'm jealous,” he murmured.
“It's not my fault you aren't the best hacker in the business,” Krytos said, making a show of cracking his knuckles.
“That would be Descartes, if he's even still around,” Odin reminded him. Krytos made a face. Orko, real name Odin Kasmir really was his lover. Also his FBI handler. They'd met at the FBI camp the two of them and a group of other gifted kids had been sent too after they had each gotten into mischief. The FBI had recruited them and trained them in such camps as well as on the weekends in scouting trips.
The two of them had been early teens and had hit it off pretty well. Their sexual relationship had started on its own after they'd felt each other out. Orko was a skeletally thin guy who had changed his skin color to blue and was into Goth a little too much. Also something called He-man for some strange goofball reason. It was the origin of his handle, Krytos knew that much.
Krytos made a cough with his fist and slipped a flash chip into his mouth. When he was finished he sighed, which was the sign he was ready for the hand off. Orko reached across the table to cup his chin and then kiss him again after a moment. He passed the chip off with his tongue and then enjoyed the kiss.
When Orko broke the kiss Krytos was gasping but all smiles. “Now that's fun,” he murmured, eyes glittering with mischief.
“For you maybe,” Orko said, making a show of wiping his lipstick with his napkin. From long experience Krytos knew he had slipped out the chip and then folded it in the napkin. “So, busy. And getting promoted?”
“Something like that. A lot of stuff is going on,” Krytos said with a shrug. “A lot of opportunities. It's fun. Our kind of fun,” he said, grinning like a shark.
Orko's black eyes blinked and then he slowly returned the grin. “I see. So much better than sex,” he murmured.
“Well, almost,” Krytos agreed with a leer. He got up and stretched. “But I've got to hit it. Boss man wants me to work on the next project. The fire man's been spitted on the barbie so we're good to go there.”
“Can I get an invite to the party?” Orko asked.
“I doubt it,” Krytos said with a grimace. “I'm not even sure I'm going to go. Damn dull affair. You know me,” he said petering off with another shrug.
“Yeah yeah, work work,” Orko said with an exasperated sigh as he sat back and watched Krytos take a sip of his drink. He seemed to have killed it so he chucked it into a nearby trash bin. “You know the old saying about all work and no play …” he reminded Krytos with another leer.
Krytos laughed. “I'll get some time off soon I promise,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just as soon as things slow down,” he offered.
“You'd better,” Orko pouted, flipping his hood back up as he rose to his feet.
“Like I said, gotta jet,” Krytos said, this time it was his turn to pull Orko in for a kiss. It was more of a peck; he had to move.
“Better get more than that next time,” Orko grumbled. Krytos snorted as he smiled in apology and then flipped his board down. He waved a jaunty salute and then kicked off.
-*-*-^-*-*-
Very much aware that he could have been followed and was most likely under some sort of surveillance, Orko went about his business as usual. He had pocketed the napkin with the chip on it then went on his way to his dull dead end job.
Sometimes he asked himself why he and Krytos did what they did. Most hackers were against the man; they hated authority. He wasn't too thrilled about it either, but he did like the opposition. He liked catching them, tripping them up. The competition to come out on top was fierce. So were the risks, it was like a drug. Not only did they have to outwit the bad guys, but sometimes the good guys too. That was the fun of it, they got a free pass on shit they pulled since it was all in the line of duty. Better than sex indeed. Undercover was like the best drug, the best high. He just never wanted to crash he thought.
Near quitting time his own handler came by for a talk. Agent Stanley “Stan the man” was a clean cut anachronism to a better time. He was a dinosaur, a walking Bible salesman Orko thought. “Got something?” Stanley asked.
“You better believe it,” Orko said, fishing the chip out of his pocket, folding it in a ten spot and then handing it over. “There. We're even,” he grumbled.
“Better be all here,” Stanley said lamely, realizing they could still be under long range surveillance. He grimaced. “Your makeup is messed up,” he warned.
“Shit,” Orko said, touching his face. A click of his mouse and a mirror popped up on his video screen. “Frackity frack,” he muttered, touching his face up.
“At least it's quitting time; no one saw it,” Stan said.
“Except everyone in the mall and in the foyer coming in to the building,” Orko sighed. “Damn lipstick runs all over the place,” he grumbled.
“Why use it?” Stan asked.
“I like the color,” Orko replied.
“So … food?”
“Bite your tongue. No, I met up with my boi,” he said with a leer that made Stan uncomfortable. “He's busy though, flat out. A lot of stuff going on, busy, busy busy. So busy they need a fireman to put the fires out. Some sort of company barbeque coming up though. I asked for an invite but he said no can do,” he said pouting.
“I see,” Stan said softly. He wasn't a total fool; barbeque was a code word for something major in the works. Something somewhere was about to blow up.
The FBI had been on to One Earth for decades, even prior to the destruction of Daedalus. The mere involvement of Saul Roshenko in their organization was enough to raise a red flag in any justice department. The problem was getting someone on the inside. Raids had been ruled out, and the one time they'd gotten a team in the bastards had cotton balled them in a dead end job. That alone had told Stan's bosses that they'd been made.
The second and third attempts had gone much the same so they'd gone to the acid black program. Krytos had built his references carefully over the past twenty years. He'd met Freud as a seemingly wayward teen with no direction and entirely too much of a gift for mayhem and mischief. He'd let the lawyer recruit him in order to redirect his “youthful energy to more constructive ends.” He'd even burned a few low level informants and FBI spies in order to seal his credentials with the organization. Now he was using his skills to rise through the ranks.
He'd been careful on what he'd passed on to the FBI, always aware that he could be fed disinformation to ferret out a mole. But from the sound of this …
When Stan left the office he took the subway to his condo. He went through the main level to the elevator but instead of going up he hit the basement button and then held his finger on the button for a moment. It lit green, then flashed, then he removed his finger. He waited as the computer read his DNA and fingerprint then passed him on to drop. The elevator clinged and then began to drop. It dropped four floors, past the basement and subbasement before it hit the lowest level he could go.
When the doors opened a rather anxious face was standing on the other side. “Stan?”
“I've got something,” Stan said, shouldering past Miss Styles and to his office.
“Wardroom!” she called out to him. He slowed his stride. “Boss man wants in on it now,” she ordered. He frowned, looking back at her then nodded.
“So?” the boss asked as Stan came into the room. No names were supposed to be exchanged in the complex, but Stan knew him as Abe. Stan hesitated in the doorway. “Come in and shut the door. The room has been swept,” Abe said.
Stan nodded, stepping aside politely as Miss Styles entered, then closed the door behind her. She bobbed a nod and headed to her seat as he made certain the seals closed and the light above the door turned green indicating the room was now secured.
“Report,” Abe ordered as Stan took his seat and set the chip down in front of him.
“Secondary agent reported a barbeque is imminent,” Stan said carefully. “That it was already planned, and that primary couldn't invite outsiders.”
“So they've gotten their assets in place and it's underway? And we missed it?”
“Apparently so, sir,” Stan replied carefully. He shot a look at Miss Styles, uncomfortable with her presence. He didn't like giving anything about the other agents away. “Secondary agent said fireman; I'm not sure what that means. I thought they had found something to shift the blame to someone else,” he said.
“Fireman?” Abe echoed, frowning. “Fireman? Fire man?” he parsed it out.
“Shit. Fire man. Prometheus,” Miss Styles said, eyes wide. The two men froze.
“We need to see what's on that chip. Now,” Abe growled.
“It's too late, didn't they jump?” Miss Styles asked, rising to her feet as Stan fumbled the chip into the reader.
“Not yet. But by the time we sanitize this and get it past our people …” Abe frowned as the report's files came up.
“We couldn't stop Mayflower's attack. At least it wasn't a total loss but …” Stan scowled.
“Frack,” Abe said slowly and succinctly as he read the contents.
Chapter 42
August 2199
Prometheus made the routine jump into hyper with a course set for Proxima Centauri. Isley had her hands full managing the engineering department while also training in the simulators on all the bridge positions. It wasn't fair, but she stuck to the program. Adel the XO was sympathetic, but she liked to throw tricky problems at Isley just to keep things interesting.
It was all a monumental pain in the ass, but Isley was sure it would help her if she ever wanted out of engineering country. Not that she did, but it would look great on her resume. She even stood a couple bridge watches the third week out, which was at first exciting but then boring as the routine set in.
Most people thought manning a bridge watch would be all fun and games. It wasn't; she had to keep up with the various departments, the ship's course, sensors, plus keep a running log of everything going on around her. Starships it seemed ran on paperwork not helium-3.
The good news was that they were in the lowest octave of Beta band. The ship was humming along, traveling to Proxima Centauri in as little as six weeks. She loved it; she could imagine what the ship could on the long run back from Rho. Beta however was hard on some of the equipment; she had to keep things running smoothly all the time. It was tricky, the ship's three fusion reactors had to be in constant balance with their output or bad things happened.
She rubbed sweat from her brow as she sat up. Chief Roak had made her job seem easy. It was anything but. And the skippers little side project as well as the CMO's insistence that everyone keep up on their PT was wearing on her. She was used to the four hours of sleep she got a night and the lack of a social or love life … she frowned thoughtfully. Could that be why they were running her ragged? Afraid she'd sleep with every Tom, Dick, and Mary on the ship? She rubbed her jaw then picked at her lower lip with her index finger. It could be. She'd have to do some discrete checking to be sure. She did know they'd held the jump party without her. Someone had to take the watch in engineering while everyone else partied; that was to be expected. She'd planned on taking it for a half shift, but the XO had rearranged the schedule so she'd worked double duty, first in engineering and then on the bridge covering for Nefertiti at communications and then for Simmons at the navigator station. That wasn't fair she thought; her sense of justice pricked.
She sighed softly to herself. Nor was it fair that Sayed had confiscated her comfort food she'd brought on board and given it to the crew during the party. That was total bullshit. She'd done a lot of research getting the ingredients and ice cream mixer. He'd known she'd brought it on board and even helped her stow it. Frack. And she couldn't bitch about it because it was great for the crew's morale. Total BS. She was starting to question why she was on the ship … and starting to wonder about why Chief Lovato had really quit. Something told her there was more to the story. She made a mental note to do a little more digging on it when she had the time. Had the time, ha!
-*-*-^-*-*-
Owen Lewis frowned as he studied the readouts on his station. H
e'd brought his special drink with him; it was sitting in the cup holder. They said it would be quick. Painless even. He wasn't so sure. He was terrified, but he knew he had to go through with it.
Why now, was the question he thought. He rubbed his brow, proud that he wasn't shaking but aware he was sweating a bit.
“You okay, Mister Lewis? You seem hot,” the captain asked.
“I had an early workout, skipper,” Owen said over his shoulder to the woman. He did his best to keep his cool but it was hard, oh so hard. He wanted to down the drink then turn and look her in the eye when it went off. His hand drifted to the drink and then back to his station. Soon, soon, he thought.
“How are things going, skipper?” A familiar voice behind him said conversationally. He turned slightly to see the XO, another western female come in to speak with the captain.
“Five by XO,” the captain replied. “Here to relieve me?”
“No, not yet. I was working on the duty roster. Since the chief has passed the navigational course and communications, I wasn't sure what else to throw at her.”
“How about ops?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow as she picked up her coffee cup. She grimaced, it was empty.
“She has ops in main engineering. She needs to be challenged,” the XO said.
“You do realize the woman hasn't complained. She's been an angel this entire time.”
“Which we want to keep her as. She hasn't gotten into mischief because she's been so busy,” the XO replied. “I'm aware a few of her staff have made passes at her, but she's turned them down.”
“Ah. You're aware because you put them up to it?” the captain asked mildly.
“Something like that skipper,” the XO replied with an astringent smile. She didn't like having a slut on board, but the skipper had signed off on Irons before she could spike her. So, making sure she'd only be around for the one deployment was her only option to get rid of the woman.
“It seems petty to push her too hard,” the captain murmured. She eyed the cup again.
