Risk Analysis (Draft 04 -- Reading Script)

by David Collins-Rivera

  He taught elective and credit-free classes in a training facility somewhere on-station, occasionally to only a single student at a time. He also gave regular public lectures in one of the big meeting halls, covering such things as the Etruscans, the Phoenecians, and the cultural cross-pollination between various Bronze Age Tribes of Northern Africa. He'd yet to fill the place, he confessed with a shy smile, but had a few regulars. Understanding none of it, I stood with a polite little group that listened to him describe his work here. I don't think I was alone in my puzzlement, but people nodded anyway, and asked for clarification about this or that. I think he understood we were just here for Ghazza's sake, but if so, he was cool with it.

  I met CPM06 This, and CPS05 That, and This civilian contractor, and That retired Team officer, now working as a consultant. I shook hands and spoke in banalities like everyone else, and it was a good performance for a while, if I do say so myself.

  There were sidelong glances, though.

  There were confidential mutterings, and quick whisperings here and there.

  There were people who looked at me frankly, assessingly, and it was entirely too familiar for comfort.

  Because, if someone was of a mind to make use of the new, unknown element, it could turn out badly.

  It could go to very dark places. People could get hurt. Killed.

  Memories could be made that couldn't be unmade, no matter how hard you tried.

  No matter the sweet injury, or horrific convalescence, the recollections could still be there -- a fly in the ointment of a person's life.

  This easy gentility could make a man do things, and become things he couldn't even imagine. Even if it was as benign and boring as it appeared, it was certainly more than it appeared.

  And, of course, they all knew each other. That, too was a recipe for suffering, when the oil drums and crowdguns came out, and when the people were shouting in the streets and the companionways!

  A man could lose his head that way -- or half of it, at least. In an alley, accompanied by a liar. It might only be a matter of time, before...

  "Are you all right, Ejoq?"

  Ghazza's voice tore me from the moment, and I almost hugged her for it.

  "You look terrified!" she said quietly, very concerned.

  "I...I...kind of...I'm sorry...this was a mistake."

  "There's nothing to be afraid of here. Look, they're just people. Friends and colleagues. Nothing more."

  "I know...it's not that."

  "Have a seat. I'll get you that drink." She started to move off, but I stopped her.

  "Just water. Please. I'm going into work later."

  "One night off isn't possible for you? God, you need to relax!"

  "I didn't come here to relax!" I shot back, with a loud-enough hiss that a couple of well-heeled participents of the night's sedate festivities looked my way. "I can't do this. Not again."

  "Do what? It's just a small party."

  "It is? With some important people you need me to meet? People who have plans, maybe? Priorities I can't understand?"

  "Where is this coming from? There's nothing going on behind the scenes -- at least, not here. Not tonight."

  Her look of concern never faltered, but she caught someone's glance across the room, and made a motion. I figured it was Bomand, but a familiar form in a dress uniform was at my side in a moment.

  "What's wrong?" Floy asked quietly.

  "I don't know. I think it's a panic attack. He was staring out at the room, and just started shaking."

  "I did not," I argued, because I wasn't going to have that be anything like true tonight. Or any night.

  "What is it?" Seven Nuellan asked quietly, kneeling next to me, as I sat on...what was I sitting on?

  A coffee table.

  "I know you're okay with parties," she pursued, in a whisper. If Ghaz found that tidbit at all noteworthy, she didn't make a sign.

  "Actually, I'm really not. I can't talk about it."

  "C'mon...you've seen me at my worst."

  "Legally, I mean. I can't talk about it. And I really didn't expect to feel...wow! I'm...I'm so sorry! Ghazza, I'm truly mortified -- or I would be, if I knew anyone."

  "You know us. We know you."

  I bit my tongue.

  The planet Barlow and Spoke Plaza were both too close at that moment to open up any more. Because I didn't know what would come out. I hadn't had a spell like this in years -- but years have no meaning for some things, while people have no other way to bridge them.

  Except to live. To keep on living them.

  To breathe.

  In...out...in...out...

  "There," my two bosses said together, not laughing at their chorus, because it wasn't funny. Nothing here was funny. Nothing in the past was funny, and that made me chuckle.

  "Better?" Floy offered a thin smile with her mouth, but a brighter one with her eyes.

  "Maybe a little bourbon with that water?" I asked Ghaz, and she looked pleased, going off to get it.

  "Whatever it is you did before coming here," the Seven commented, sitting on the table next to me, "it was more than gunnery." She upset a shallow bowl of puffed nuts next to her, but didn't seem to care. She watched me closely.

  "And a whole lot less," I conceded.

  "How is someone supposed to respond to that? You say things without any context. You can't ellaborate. You can't explain. Most of all, you can't share. Or won't."

  "Don't stop. You're on roll."

  She closed her eyes, as if to gather her thoughts, or maybe her patience.

  "I don't know why I even care. What are you to me? Alien. You're an alien creature. I've made First Contact."

  "I come in peace."

  "I highly doubt that," she replied, sounding, for all the world, rather heartsick. "There's no peace around you."

  I'd been watching her up until now, but that final jab had found my gut, and I dropped my eyes.

  I wanted to speak up and deny it, to render her speechless with brilliant rhetoric, and to prove her argument false.

  But I didn't know how, or why, or why it would matter to anyone.

  "I have niece," I offered, lobbing out a non sequetor to clear the arena. Except that Cyndra really did come to mind at that moment, and, darn it! I could share if I wanted to. This career military officer was wrong.

  "Okay...?" the Seven replied, clearly wondering over the context. "Your brother's child?"

  "No...she...or rather I was kind of...adopted into her family...it's complicated."

  "That wasn't in your file. How old is she?"

  "Twenty-four, now. She's getting married in two years. Her family goes in for long engagements."

  "Well, that's nice. Is that nice?"

  "I...don't know yet. It may very well be. But I haven't met the guy. I really hope I like him when I do."

  "Why? What happens if you don't?"

  "He might have to go away."

  She sat quietly then, looking at me, eyebrows knit in concentration.

  "You're going to kill him if you don't like him?"

  "Well...that's a worst case scenario, but..."

  And I shrugged.

  "By like him, you mean, what, exactly?"

  My eyes were on the carpet. It was a nice carpet. Plush and muted. Management definitely got the better apartments on-station.

  "I have to be convinced he can keep her safe."

  "Can't she keep herself safe?"

  "She hasn't always. And everyone needs back-up now and then. He'll be someone who can provide it, or he'll be gone."

  "What does your niece think about this? Doesn't she get a say?"

  "That is her say. It's her idea. And it's a good one."

  Floyeen watched me with something like growing apprehension. At least, that's how I interpreted those widening eyes.

  "What are you two so afraid of?"

  I thought about that for a moment, then swept the room with a lazy hand. I meant far more, and she caught on instantly.


  "You can't control the whole galaxy, Ejoq!"

  "You just watch me."

  We were silent then. People were spying out of the corners of eyes. Her fellow officers were surveilling.

  Or maybe not. Maybe no one cared.

  I reached over to grab one of the puffed nuts Floy had spilled, my face moving by hers for just a moment. She inhaled quickly, the smallest of gasps -- as if catching her breath from an unexpected sprint.

  We locked eyes as I moved, and hers were like deep brown points of attention and fear.

  A single centimeter. I could have touched her. I could have brushed her face with my nose, my lips...

  But I didn't.

  She was a blur. Everything was a blur.

  It was all out of focus: growing up back in Jarden; those few days on the surface of Barlow; this place, here and now. They were just moments.

  Moments in my life.

  I sat back, and popped the nut into my mouth. She was flushed, staring straight ahead with what almost looked like shock.

  Ghazza, who'd been waylaid for a time by some stuffed shirt or other, returned with my drink just then. Her eyes went wide when she saw Floy.

  "Not you, too! Is it catching?"

  The Seven shook her head, as if to negate our host's concern, or maybe shake away the cobwebs, the snares, the moment itself.

  "I think so. We'll call it Ejoqitis."

  "Discretion..." our hostess muttered, setting the drink in my hand. Someone nearby called her away.

  I said nothing, and neither did Floy. Nor did she move.

  I did, but only to sip my cocktail.

  "I met your roommate," she said, at last. She spoke quietly, but matter-of-factly. A fair imitation of it, anyway.

  "Barney?"

  "Yes. To say the least, he was surprised when I came out of your room. Even more so when he saw I was alone."

  "He never mentioned it."

  "Because he's a nice guy. Your friend."

  "Is he? Is he my friend? I'm not sure what that is."

  "You're surrounded by them, but you don't know what they are?" she queried, eyes still straight ahead.

  "I think you're confused," I replied.

  "Not about this. I realize that you're involved in...things that can't be discussed. New situations and past ones. Fine. But that's not what it's about with you."

  "Oh?"

  "Whatever those things are, they don't define you. Its the other way around. You do them because of who you are."

  "And is it you who defines the glow-paint and stiletto shoes? Sorry we never found the other one, by the way."

  Head and eyes unmoved, staring across the room, she frowned.

  "No you don't. No cheap shots. No deflections. I get to do this. I claim that right. You're terrified of walls. Of places. Of being glued to anything or anyone."

  "You'll make me blush."

  "You're smart, and funny, and very annoying. You're a jerk. And, I'll lay odds...a hero."

  "But mostly a jerk," I confirmed, and her frown finally flipped over.

  "You're that one thing no one ever expects, Ejoq. Whatever the situation is, whatever solution is needed...that's you. That's what you become."

  Ghazza had been chicly-cheap with the booze -- big crystal rocks glass, a splash of fine liquor, a dash of water. I finished it off in one toss.

  "Philosophy," I accused.

  "Impossible. I'm a soldier."

  "They're not mutually exclusive."

  "I suppose. People are funny that way."

  "Yeah. Funny, I don't find 'em funny."

  She furrowed her brow at that one, eyes finally rolling over to glare at me, though she kept her head facing forward. It was such a silly look, I burst out laughing. And so did Floy, for a moment.

  Then she closed her eyes.

  "Oh...I think I'm in trouble. Are we in trouble?" It was just a whisper.

  Powerful.

  Frightened and frightening all at once.

  But no.

  No, it wasn't.

  It was just a moment in my life.

  I didn't answer her. Or maybe I did, because I got up then, and went searching for another drink.

  ||||||||||

  In addition to the fire and unexpected, uh, clean up, a horrible rattling began on Day-4. It came from somewhere under the cockpit, but turned out to just be a loose clip on an air duct. I couldn't find it for over an hour, though, and the whole time, I was sure the end was nigh.

  On Day-5, thick, reddish drahlik fluid started seeping out from underneath the mass of engine and power generation equipment directly behind. Occasionally, it detached from the deck and floated around the cabin in eerie little blobs. I didn't know where it might have been coming from, since there were no moving parts in the freejump design, I didn't think, except for fuel lines and pumps, which were all underneath our feet, and presumably cordoned off by a containment drape of some sort.

  A leak down there couldn't get inside the cabin without there being a gap in the deck -- something which would certainly have resulted in an air leak. According to the Life Support status messages that showed on the board, we weren't depressurizing, and no other system was showing a status Warning related to drahlik pressure.

  I never did figure that one out, and it didn't cause a problem, outside of being a mess.

  You can't use a mop or bucket in Z-G, nor were there any such aboard. There weren't even any rags, so I stripped down to my skivvies and just used what was left of my jumpsuit as a blotter.

  And the time crawled...

  ||||||||||

  twenty-three

  * * *

  "Okay...I'm clear. Drone is gone, back on it's route. The package is in the shaft, hanging from the line. You're all set."

  "Excellent," Dieter commented, looking and sounding relieved, in his perma-stoner sort of way. "I'll go get them after eighteen-hundred. It should be quiet then."

  "I'm off to work. Let me know when you have everything, so I'm not worrying."

  He told me he would, and rang off.

  As it turned out, I never got a chance to intercept one of the red drones on its way out of the Sub-D. The next day, on my way back to work, I saw one trundling along in the slow lane, busy on some assigned errand. I stood in front of it on the open street, waited until no one was near enough to overhear, and said the interrupt phrase. Maybe, in fact, the words were magic, because it worked like a charm. I gave the robot the closet numbers (as researched by Stinna, and relayed to me in a monotone), and the approximate location of the bundle within the first closet (as described by Dieter). And that was it. The machine acknowledged, and went on its way.

  I called work to say I'd be late, then went directly to Shady Lady's closet, sitting on my usual bench. The drone took nearly an hour, but eventually appeared, coming up the side road carrying a large, heavy-looking bundle covered in black plastic wrapping. It opened the door to the closet remotely as it approached, and I just followed. Popping the fire vent off, I pulled out the pressure suit stashed in there, and the dangling end of Dieter's cable for the block-and-tackle tumbled out. It terminated in a heavy-duty clip. I had the drone go back and forth a few times until it was directly under the vent, then told it to raise the load with it's lifter arms as high as possible.

  I had to climb right up on the thing in order to to get the package secured, the robot crying about accidental contact with a human being the whole time. It used a nagging staccato beep that I was scared would carry out into the companionway. It was extremely awkward reaching up there. I actually slipped off the machine once, and would have hurt myself except that there was a tall stack of crates behind. The drone stopped beeping for that, but then started again when I climbed back aboard.

  This time, I was able to secure the cable to the package, and told the robot to drop its lifter arms slowly. It did so, and the bundle stayed where it was, just inside the shaft. Then I stuffed the pressure suit back up there, re-closed the vent, and dismissed the drone
.

  At R&D, we were in the middle of a battle with GenDis over providing a sub-routine to one of the power distribution processors. We had an ISM scheduled for later in the morning -- that is, an Inter-Sub-Departmental Meeting -- which I was on time for, despite my morning activities.

  It turned out there'd been no reason to rush: the meeting had been rescheduled. This had come down through Team, which hadn't provided an explanation. Both Jake and Floy swung by Weaponry at different points, asking if we'd heard what was going on (Floy gave me a direct look with that). An hour later, I got a call from Amanda Kesselior's office, on-station.

  The Eight wanted to see me. Now.

  I told Ghazza I had a private meeting with Team, called Floy to say the same, and ignored Jake.

  Eight Kesselior's office was at Team HQ with the rest of them. They let me in with a special visitor's pass.

  The Counter-Intelligence officer's AI secretary told me the woman was in another meeting, and that I'd have to wait a bit. This was typical, and typically annoying, considering how urgent the order had been, but the fact that I was now on the premises got relayed to the Eight. Surprisingly, she dispatched some aides to escort me to the meeting, which was in another part of the building entirely.

  I was brought through to a large round room, fairly dark, with a big oblong table. A holographic motion map of the star system hovered over this, with icons and points of interest annotated in various colors.

  A lot of people in nice suits and Team uniforms were present. Eight Kesselior caught my eye, and indicated an empty chair at one end. It wasn't near her, but rather between two people I didn't know, both wearing civilian attire. I felt under-dressed.

  "Mr. Dosantos," said a gray-haired, uniformed man on the other side of the table, "thank you for coming." This guy had a hard face, and piercing dark eyes that he used to great effect. His gaze was intense and uncomfortable. I disliked him immediately. "I'm CPS09 Admiral Byron Maelbrott, Commander of Corporate Security Space Branch for Star System 216-11B. I'm given to understand that you're taking over Admin Security Investigations on-station."