by Mars Dorian
“Nice.”
“Would you like to pay now or the sol after tomorrow?”
“Pay?”
The three letter word Rosco hoped to ditch for a while. The bot ignored his grimace, maybe he couldn’t read it in the first place.
“It’s five thousand five hundred iC for the monthly lease of a single cube, sir.”
Rosco’s jaw dropped down like a broken airlock. “Five thousand five hundred credits for that cubed craphole?”
If the service bot was human, he would have cringed. Instead, he repeated the same info in the most monotonous voice imaginable. “That is correct, sir.”
No, it wasn’t. Maybe the shell had a malfunctioning CPU core.
“That’s a mistake,” Rosco said, “please check again. My cube’s subsidized by ICED. I’m a member of the military.”
“You were.”
It wasn’t possible, but the bot sounded like he carried attitude.
“Your cube was subsidized until yestersol—the second you were discharged, sir. Since you’re a private citizen now, you have to pay citizen prizes. The basic cube rent is four thousand iC plus one thousand five hundred iC for the filtered oxygen supply.”
“Those bastards,” Rosco said.
Paying more than triple meant his compensation would run out in three months. Rosco swallowed hard when he saw a tanned woman prancing into the lobby area. She wore a stylish blue and yellow biz dress, semi-transparent face shield shades, and the brightest smile on this side of the planet. She danced toward the desk next to him and addressed the service bot. “Su-weet sol, Mr. Robot. I hope you can help me with an inquiry.”
No manners, Rosco thought. Some rich girl acting like the queen of the hill, but not on his watch. “Excuse me, but I’m in the middle of a conversation here.”
The woman lifted her shades and winked. Her plasto-face made her look younger than she probably was. “Bite me. Are you Captain Tellride?”
Here we go again.
The woman reached out her ringed hand and grinned wider, if that was even possible. “Looks like the universe has conspired in bringing us two together. If that’s not a divine omen, what is?”
What a spiri-loon. “And you are?”
“My name is Lo-Skova, and I’m the current CEO of Daystellar.”
14
Daystellar.
It was impossible not to know them—their corporate presence ranged from Earth to Jupiter. A vast conglomerate of businesses involved in asteroid mining, insurance, cybernetic productions, consumer electronics, and even military appliances; Rosco couldn’t remember their revenue size, but he believed they made trillions.
Lo-Skova’s right hand floated in the air. The permanent smile etched into her enhanced lips started to look like an acid wound. Rosco’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want from me?”
“I’ve seen the news.”
“Who hasn’t?”
Lo-Skova flicked a glance at the service bot behind the desk. “Let’s go someplace else. Bots are bound to governmental surveillance laws.”
Rosco froze to the ground. Who the hex was this woman, waltzing in like Captain Ace and demanding all of his attention? “What for?”
“I have an offer that’s impossible to ignore. But I want to keep it hidden from the public; at least for another sol. Billions of iC are on the line.”
She smiled at Rosco. “Do you have a nearby place where we can talk?”
Rosco pondered. The woman’s attitude put him off. Being a lifelong serviceman for ICED, he’d never dealt with big corporations before. Some superiors and peers had always labeled the multi-planetary industrials as greedy sociopaths with morals as thin as graphite-layered fibers. But given ICED’s latest decay, maybe their word wasn’t worth anything anymore. The CEO must have sensed Rosco’s hesitation. “l'lI give you a thousand iC if you just spent fifteen minutes with me.”
“You’re joking.”
Lo-Skova transferred the amount via a quick ID swap. Rosco saw the sum on his personal savings account and couldn’t believe it. The CEO expressed a winning smile. “Now what do you say?”
Fifteen minutes were a drop on the star ocean of eternity. Lo-Skova’s style was pure tease, but her gift of one thousand iC powered up her promise. Besides, you didn’t get to be the CEO of an interstellar super-corp by being a flake.
“I know a place around the block,” Rosco said.,
“Perfect.”
The two left the reception desk. The service bot reached out his cybernetic arm and waved it. “What about your cube, sir?”
Lo-Skova’s mouth opened at the speed of sublight. “Keep it. When Mr. Tellride accepts my offer, he won’t be living in this Bauhaus prison.”
Big words, Rosco thought.
Let’s see whether the CEO could deliver…
15
Lo-Skova didn’t like Rosco’s choice. The woman insisted on riding to the Sky Gardens of Ares’ core district. Arguably the most beautiful and expensive place on Mars, but Lo-Skova promised to pay for everything. That’s why Rosco ordered a star lychee lemonade and the molecular double-whammo sundae, cooled down to minus one hundred degrees. Brain freeze guaranteed, but it was still better than booze.
The two chitchatted for a while and watched the civilians passing by the exotic flower beds of the Sky Garden floor levels. But Rosco wasn’t the cut and chat kind of guy, so he flanked the CEO with a direct question. “What do you want from me?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about our company before.”
“To be honest, I thought the asteroid disaster ruined you guys.”
“Well, it had a big impact on our brand, but financial damage is reversible; reputation… that’s another issue.”
Almost everyone on Mars knew about the devastating asteroid mining disaster that had killed dozens of miners and injured hundreds—some beyond repair. A financial suicide but not for Daystellar Consolidated. The corporation was able to fall back on their production of remarkable technology like MagLev systems and component parts for ICED battleships, as well as personal defense devices that never failed to work. Given their good quality—and the one thousand new iC on his account—Rosco’s ears were available for at least ten minutes and thirty-six seconds. “Daystellar was once known for pushing scientific boundaries and leading the consumer-centric cybernetic revolution, but the focus on mining and bad management ruined the company’s image. The shareholders would kill me for saying this, but Daystellar is on the verge of public irrelevance,” Lo-Skova said.
“I don’t follow.”
“In short, I want to bring Daystellar back to the spotlight of scientific relevance and innovation. When people in the future think of technological progress, I want them to think of our company. You know, being a beacon of light for tomorrow’s change-makers and entrepreneurs.”
“Good for you.”
Rosco still couldn’t see his place in her speech; it sounded like a looping pitch. Lo-Skova intertwined her hands and changed to a deeper voice. “Here’s where you come in.”
She fumbled with her datapad, flipped it around toward Rosco, and pointed at the blank space that looked like a fingerprint signature placeholder. “But what I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential, which means you have to thumb this disclosure agreement before we can continue.”
The talk sounded sleazier by the minute. The scammer of a CEO pranced into Rosco’s life, blabbered like a dame on Burrn, and threw around shady contracts.
“To hex with this,” Rosco said and pushed himself up.
Lo-Skova looked unimpressed. “I give you one two thousand and five hundred iC for signing this disclosure and ten minutes of your time.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m the CEO of one of the biggest megacorps in the solar system. Making sleazy promises would ruin our brand.”
“If there’s anything left to ruin.”
Lo-Skova sighed. “Please. A thumb signature and ten minutes, and then you can leave with two t
housand and five-hundred credits. It will be the fastest money you’ve ever made.”
The CEO was right about that, but just to be on the safe side, Rosco activated the loudspeaker record function on his comm. A little backup for eventual legal battles to come. He sank into his chair, pressed his right thumb on the display, and crossed his fingers.
“Nine minutes and fifty-five seconds of my attention left.”
Lo-Skova grinned. “Let’s be frank—the asteroid mining disaster is still corroding the reputation of Daystellar.”
“Tends to happen when innocent workers die.”
The CEO rolled her eyes. “We had taken the utmost precautions. Plus, the worker’s relatives were compensated in the millions. But let’s not talk about accidents in the working environment.” She paused. “We want to sponsor special projects that are at the forefront of innovation and discovery.”
She changed her intonation levels again. Lo-Skova sounded deeper now, like the female announcer voice of a public feedcast. “Well, our Galileo space telescope has detected an exoplanet billions of kilometers away from Mars—now comes the real shocker—our scientists and xenologists claim they have found traces of sentient life.”
Rosco whistled. “Bacteria?”
“Bigger. We’re talking about an alien species with high intelligence—a Type I, or maybe even Type II, civilization.”
She showed 3D motion images that projected above the pad. Sharp structures and ghost-like silhouettes came into view. Rosco shrugged.
“Pretty blurry. Looks like a bad image manipulation.”
“The visuals are lousy, but the evidence isn’t. Our probes have detected structures on the planet that have to be of alien origin. That’s why we want to send a highly-skilled team of elite astronauts to check it out.”
She folded her arms. “I want you to lead that team, Captain Tellride. You have the know-how and the experience to accomplish such a pioneer voyage. Plus, you still have the ICED branding attached to your name. It oozes public trust.”
Personal brand?
Rosco never thought about that label when serving ICED. He just wanted to get his job done, the clean and effective way. But then again, these privateers thought in different dimensions. “So you’re paying a bunch of experts to travel to some unknown planet, meet a potential alien life form, and take some pictures?”
“You make it sound petty, but keep in mind—the first human contact with an alien species will be forever associated with Daystellar. That means a permanent entry in the history books. The PR prestige bonus will last centuries.”
PR.
It was all about PR.
“I don’t know anything about aliens.”
“Don’t worry about that—we have an elite xenologist and decryptor on board. Your job is to lead her and the rest of the team. Your military history will help with that.”
Rosco pondered the CEO’s points. He had to admit, he was semi-intrigued.
He wasn’t cut out for civilian missions, but being the first captain to reach an unknown planet, and coming in contact with a new alien species sounded tempting. Maybe it could function as a means to rebuild his broken standing with ICED. Still, questions remained. “That’s a pretty long distance. It’s gonna take a big-ass FTL ship if you want to get there anytime soon.”
Lo-Skova’s maroon eyes flamed up. “Actually, the opposite is the case.”
She looked like she was waiting for the cue. “Daystellar’s best engineers have worked on a state-of-the-art prototype ship. Twenty-five years in planning, almost eleven years spent in production. It comes equipped with the latest military tech and the first micro temporal compression drive.”
She paused, probably for dramatic effect. “I know I’m a bit biased, being the CEO and all, but I can honestly say it’s the most advanced vessel humanity has ever built. No ship in the ICED fleet can even dream of competing.”
Her smile was about to cut her cheeks.
“We call it the DSS Vanguard.”
16
Lo-Skova sipped her frostachino with attitude. “Picture this: Rosco Tellride, Captain of the DSS Vanguard, the best ship in the entire colonial star system.”
That had a nice ring to it.
The damn CEO knew how to trigger Rosco’s desires; he pictured himself in a state-of-the-art ship with a loyal crew ready to obey every order. The thought alone jumpstarted his passionate drive to go back to the astral ocean.
Lo-Skova continued. “But it’s not just the title that should pleasure you.”
She jotted down a number on his datapad, flipped it around, and pointed at the seven digits. Rosco shrugged. “Is that your comm ID?”
“That’s your salary for the operation.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Most of the time, yes, but when I talk about credits, I’m dead serious. You should know that by now.”
This was too good to be true. Luck had never knocked on Rosco’s door and he doubted this moment was any different.
“What’s the catch?”
“Non-existent.”
“Bullshit.”
“Well, the catch is the mission itself. You’re traveling to the rim of the solar system, to potentially meet a new life form, so who knows what’s going to happen? This is uncharted territory.”
The permanent smile wiped from Lo-Skova’s face, and her voice lowered by a few decibels. “I doubt this is going to happen, but there’s a nano-chance you might never come back.”
Should have sounded shocking, but not to Rosco. Death was a daily reality in the Forces. His mind and body were prepared to sacrifice himself. It’s what he learned in Basic at MAME, and it’s what he kept in mind while fighting on the front lines of space.
VR or real.
“It could be worse.”
Lo-Skova arched her thick, brown eyebrows. “What could be worse than death?”
“Boredom and irrelevance.”
The two scary words that had cost Rosco many sleepless nights. “Better to get blown to pieces than to rot in feces.”
“I like your attitude, Captain. Real fresh.”
She paused. “So, do we have a deal?”
Rosco pondered.
He wanted to keep quiet after his discharge; relax many sols, try out the new distraction services of his city, or start something reminiscent of a sexual relationship. But three months of credit-burning in the overpriced Ares City?
That was not soldiering.
Besides, if this was going to be as big as it sounded, he could rebuild his trust with the colonial forces. This was his best chance to return to ICED and show the imbeciles how much they needed him.
“You got me.”
The smile returned to Lo-Skova’s cheeks. “Perfect. You will not regret that decision. Believe me, ICED will drown in envy if they see the career you’ll craft with us.”
We’ll see about that, Rosco thought.
Lo-Skova seemed to exaggerate every time she opened her lips.
Let’s hope the crew, and the ship, are as amazing as she had teased.
“So, what’s next?”
Lo-Skova clapped her hands. “A man of action, splendid; you’ll be picked up tomorrow morning at zero eight hundred and brought to Daystellar’s astro-training facility here on Mars, where you’ll undergo a quick check-up program. You know, just to get you accustomed to our tech and procedures. Since you just returned from your space battle, we can drop the zero G course.”
Her smile seemed to break out of her brown cheeks. Lo-Skova carried the excitement of a child, which was rare among adults. It was refreshing to witness.
“You will also meet your ship’s crew.”
Rosco almost forgot about them. Being a leader meant there were people under him following his orders—a necessary evil to every operation.
“How are they?”
Forget about smiling; Lo-Skova’s face flared up like a tracer signal. “Oh, they’re the most remarkable individuals you’ve ever met, and not ju
st because of their bio-modifications. If you think your ICED comrades were a colorful bunch, wait ‘til you see our mavericks.”
17
The next sol, at precisely 0730 hours, Rosco received a paid priority ticket for the express lane of the loop. He flushed from his one-day home in the residential sector to Daystellar’s training facility next to the main shuttle port of Ares City.
Busy space.
The shuttle port looked like a hi-tech ant hive reaching for Mars’ thin atmosphere. Thousands of tubes and sealed sky bridges connected the colossal structure. Through the semi-transparent armor hulls, Rosco could detect thousands of civilians and military personnel either walking, riding, or even flying to the many docks the port offered. Rosco’s pipeline took him to the restricted station of the Daystellar outlet. The loop capsule halted and opened its rear hatch. Rosco stepped out and saw CEO Lo-Skova chatting with a bunch of bots and people in press gear. Cam-droids floated around her and shot hyper-res motion images from every angle. When Lo-Skova spotted Rosco, she waved him over with a melodramatic gesture. “Our ICED hero hath arrived. Everyone, please give a healthy round of applause to Captain Tellride, the linchpin of our operation.”
No one clapped, but half of the press crowd unleashed volleys of questions.
“Captain, what can you say about your discharge from ICED?”
“Has the Sunblood syndicate pressed charges against you?”
“Do you expect retaliation from them?”
“Your former comrades in the military claim you’re selling your soul to the privateers. What’s your stance?”
Each new question was worse than the previous one. Rosco ignored them all, turned to Lo-Skova’s ear and whispered, “I had no idea the press was here.”
“Well, the point of the project is positive press coverage. You’ve dealt with orbital cartels, I’m sure you can handle a few media units.”
“Well, the difference being—I can shoot members of cartels without going to prison.”
The CEO smiled. “Judging by the cause of your discharge, apparently not.”
