WATCHING YUTE
Joseph Picard
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 Joseph Picard
Sourced from 1st edition
Also from Joseph Picard, Watching Yute's predecessor, 'Lifehack', available at Smashwords.com or in printed formats through the author's site, ozero.ca
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
~~~~~
Foreword
~~~~~
Watching Yute began as an examination of what went right in Lifehack, and what could have been done in better ways. Since the reckoning of the basic concepts behind Lifehack, a lot of time has passed to give me perspective. Thanks also to the volunteer editing team: Gill Picard (dad) Dolores Picard, (mum) Adam Zilliax (Proud geek) and Meggin Dueckman (Crouton). Each made valuable, unique contributions.
As well, I write this forward on the eve of the tenth anniversary of the death of Cheryl N. Her suicide affected myself and many others in ways that she wasn't able to foresee.
This book is dedicated to Cheryl.
If only she had realized how many people loved her.
:::CAUTION
Contents of this novel are spelt primarily using the Queen's English.
Why? Because the small continent nation of Aguola is a commonwealth of England, that's why.
Location: 26s 88w
Size: 3,586,250 km2
Population: 10,902,000 (post-Erebus estimate)
~~~~~
:::C /01
~~~~~
Sergeant Eliot Hood sat at the bar. Technically, he was on duty, but he was only waiting for his C.O., Major Marcus Douglas, to finish up whatever they were here to do before heading back to their own base.
He ordered a beer, and looked up at the football game playing on the nearest terminal. Patriotism made him root for team Aguola, but he didn’t think they had half a chance at the World Cup this time around. Still, there were worse teams to get creamed by than the Scots.
This bar was offsite from Yute central base, but it was close enough that the clientèle were mostly off duty military. The handful of civilians that came here were generally professional ladies, who were tolerated as long as they were discrete.
When Eliot was about half way through his beer, a man sat on the stool next to him. Obvious civilian. He wasn’t in good enough shape to be a soldier. Eliot wasn’t in any position to throw stones, mind you, but at Eliot’s steadily advancing age, no one minded if he got a little soft around the edges.
The civilian man quietly watched the game until the commercial. A preview of tonight’s news came on.
“Good evening.” A stately anchorwoman began, “Tonight we’ll be reflecting on the upcoming one year anniversary of the Autar City disaster. We will be remembering the victims, heroes, and the vigilant men and women who still maintain the quarantine. That’s tonight at eleven, followed by all the latest on the World Cup.” The anchorwoman disappeared under a flurry of network graphics and logos before the terminal flipped to a beer ad.
“A year.” Eliot muttered under his breath.
The civilian nodded. “Fucked up, huh? Maybe this year the ground will crack open, and a giant Abraham Lincoln will attack the City of Meston.”
“I doubt it,” Eliot said without looking away from the terminal. “Lincoln is a yank, he’d attack DC or something.”
The civilian turned his body to face Eliot as he put a small plastic container on the bar. “Uh, mister,” he said, “The guy over there told me you’re posted at the temple base…”
“Yeah? And?” Eliot scarcely looked away from his beer.
The civilian tapped the plastic container on the bar twice softly. “Well, my mum passed on not long ago, and she always wanted to see the statue. Her mum told her about it, and she always thought it was something she’d love to see, on account of her heritage, but of course no one’s allowed there besides the temple guards.”
Eliot looked the civilian up and down. “Either you’re adopted, or you’re the whitest Aguei I’ve ever seen.” The nation of Aguola had always been home to the aboriginal 'Aguei' people. Everyone else were considered “Northers”, as descendants of settlers.
If your ancestors came from Europe, you were a Norther. If you were white, you were a Norther. If you were black, you were a Norther. If you came from the south pole, you were a Norther. If you were anything but Aguei, you were a Norther.
The civilian smirked. “Yeah, I was adopted. At any rate, this is a bit of her ashes, and I’ve heard some people have had a portion of their ashes sprinkled in front of the statue, and I was wondering…”
“Ah, there it is.” Eliot sighed. “You know we’re not supposed to do that.”
The civilian nodded slowly. “I know. But I’ve come all this way, and I promised, and.. don’t make me insult you by trying to bri-“
Eliot leaned forward slowly but aggressively, to draw attention away from his hand discretely covering the plastic container. He winked. “Listen buddy, I’m not for sale, and the temple isn’t your personal ashtray. Scram, alright?”
The civilian watched Eliot’s hand smoothly stuff the container into a thigh pocket. “Ah, yes, well, of course, I see. Thank you for your time anyway, Sir.” He then pulled out his wallet, and reached out to leave a moderate sum of money on the bar next to Eliot. Eliot blocked the civilian’s reach before the money got close to the bar. He chuckled quietly. “I said I can’t be bought kid, I meant that. Now scram.”
The civilian nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”
::: Standby
::: Standby
::: Standby
::: Standby
::: Standby
::: Standby
~~~
In the following year, the disaster of Autar also claimed the city of Meston. A man named Jonathan Coll was found to be responsible for both events.
His tools were nanites, experimental microscopic robots capable of a wide variety of functions, including producing more nanites, and infesting a human body.
Coll died, and his actions were halted, but not before millions died, and two cities were lost. Due to the severity of the “Erebus incident”, the government of Aguola and many other counties of the world rushed to ban nanite development.
~~~~~
:::C /02
~~~~~
One year after the Erebus incident.
~~~
Marcus always found it unsettling to be away from his own base. He was still among his brothers in arms, but it wasn't his brothers in arms. It wasn't home.
Yute central base was textbook government issue all around. Lots of concrete, flat and grey, with the occasional stenciled paint for directions. It quite lacked any character. He found it odd that they called it “Yute central”, as he felt that the temple in the adjoining Yute desert was the rightful centre. It didn't truly matter. Sometimes Northers name things in accordance to their own whim, regardless of reality.
The softness of night at least took the edge off of the unwelcoming structures surrounding him. The distant sounds of boisterous off duty personnel also added a slight coat of humanity, although Marcus was quite content to enjoy such jocularity at a distance.
Obviously he came here as seldom as possible, but some things were best d
one in person. Diplomacy was in order when making requests to a new commanding officer that he hadn't even met yet. However it was late, and it would wait for the morning. During the helicopter flight in, he arranged for quarters for the night and was granted the VIP room.
He should have asked where it was. He thought he knew where it was, but since the last time he had been here, the area the VIP room used to be in was now a mess hall. If he was the kind to carry a mini terminal this would be easy, but as it happened, Marcus wasn't especially attached to little fidgety electronics. Maybe he should while doing business around here.
He hadn't noticed at first, but the distant jocularity had suffered a quick turn to discord. A boiling up of shouting was punctuated by a single shot being fired.
That, he did notice.
He began to run towards the sound with the intent to cautiously investigate, but before he got far, two M.P.s exploded past him and vanished around the corner. He did his best to keep pace behind them, but the young man and woman were younger and fitter than Marcus.
They passed a soldier who pointed them in the direction of the continuing shouts, as if the way wasn't obvious.
The female M.P., a lean, tough looking blonde with a ponytail sticking out the back of her regulation desert cammo cap, stopped short at a corner. She held her hand out to signal her partner to stop. Marcus stopped as well, hanging back to watch.
Seconds later an out of breath soldier with a 9mm handgun stumbled around the corner. The woman was on him instantly, grabbing his wrist and slamming it against the wall. The gun dropped to the ground while the male M.P. drew his weapon.
The freshly disarmed (and drunken) soldier started running back the way he came. The female M.P. waved her partner's aim down, and called out to the runner.
"Oh, please!" She picked up the gun he dropped, dumped the clip, and unloaded the chamber. "M.P.! Freeze! I’ve got a gun!" There was no need to mention that it was empty.
The runner kept going, staggering all the way. The female M.P. threw the gun at his head, and the impact put him on his face. He was still conscious, but quite disoriented. Why did his head now hurt, and how did he get on the ground?
"I told ya I had a gun." Both M.P.s walked over to him, restrained him with a zip tie, got him on his feet, and arrested him.
Marcus walked up. "Impressive."
The female M.P. turned her head to look back at Marcus. "Just a rowdy drunk, business as usual."
"So you regularly deal with armed drunks who could have easily shot you, arrest them without injury, and without the use of a sidearm?"
She smirked. "What, I had a gun. You saw it. I used it on him, too!"
Marcus furrowed his brow. "Many would say you took an unnecessary risk. Can I have your name?"
"Uh oh." The male M.P. murmured.
The female M.P. flinched a little. "Sir. Leftenent Cassidy Stanton, Sir." Marcus scribbled the name down on a little pad he pulled from a breast pocket. Cassidy paused to look at Marcus. He had the kind of face that told you he was an even-tempered sort, but there was something in his eyes that just looked a little out of place.
"Cass-id-y. Stanton." He put the pad and pen away, smiled, and nodded once. "Have a good evening, Leftenent Cassidy Stanton." He turned and began to walk away. "Oh, which way to the VIP room, by the way?"
~~~
At the end of the shift, Cassidy and her partner Leftenent Greg McKinney were checking out at the M.P. station.
“Hey Stanton,” Greg said to Cassidy, stuffing some of his bulkier equipment into his little locker, “You think that guy that took down your name is going to cause problems?”
Cassidy opened her locker and paused in thought. “I didn’t get that vibe. Even if he does, it’s not like I did anything too out of line, really.” She opened her locker and saw her personal terminal ther with a blinking little red light. A missed call. “…. shit.”
“Hm?”
“Eh? Nothing.” Cassidy said, staring at the little terminal. Cassidy turned aside for a little privacy and leaned on her locker, staring at the little terminal in her hand. ‘Missed call: Brandy. Message waiting.’
She sighed, and stared at the text. Finally with another resigned sigh, she pressed the icon on the screen. Brandy popped up on the screen. She was at home, in the kind of shirt Cassidy knew she wore around the house, oversized button ups. “Hey Cass.” She sounded tired and looked ready for bed. “Um…” an agonizing sigh and pause. “Is this the third message I’ve left this week without hearing from you? You’re hard to get a hold of. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be an inconvenience.” Brandy sat there silent for a couple moments more, gazing down. “I…. yeah, well. Call or don’t, I don’t know.” She sighed again, and the message ended.
Damn it. Brandy really wrote the book on the passive aggressive bit. Cassidy had to admit, even for a long distance girlfriend, she had been less than attentive. But work... duty... She stared at the terminal again, and considered calling Brandy. But it was late in Densfarn now. She tossed the terminal back in the locker and headed to her barrack. Brandy would be asleep.
She wouldn’t want a call now.
It had nothing to do with not wanting to face her and feel guilty. Again.
“Oh, are you still with her?” McKinney asked innocently.
“Yeah! Of course! You eavesdropping?”
“Sorry, just thought I heard a familiar voice. I haven’t heard much about her in a long time. Are things OK?”
“Yeah... !… yeah, things are fine. No news is good news, right?” It wasn’t. Brandy’s messages made it clear, but Cassidy was barely admitting it to herself, let alone having McKinney in on it. Not to say McKinney was a bad guy or anything. It just wasn’t his business. She put it out of her mind, but her mood was decidedly worsened, and she mostly kept quiet.
~~~
Jacob Kirison awoke.
He opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling of his apartment for a moment. Soon it sunk in that he was woken by the beeping of his terminal. A message had arrived. He slid over and sat up, coping with the horrid, near paint-peeling properties of his breath. A night of hard drinking can do that. He also seemed to remember deciding that a jar of minced garlic would be a fun snack at some point.
Yup, another glorious morning.
Make that afternoon. It wasn’t a critical distinction lately. Kirison stood, picking up the terminal as he wandered from the pull-out bed to the kitchenette in search of coffee. After recovering from a particularly dramatic yawn, he thumbed the button to check the new message.
The weathered looking, joyless face of a man aging before his time appeared. “Kirison. The department’s being shut down, it’s finally official. We did our best over here, but it’s no big shock. All things considered, you did a decent job though all this. I’ll keep you on the short list, and if anything pops up that suits your skill-set, I’ll call you. At least you’ve got a decent little severance coming your way. Anyway, I’m sorry it had to come to this. We can only blame Coll.”
Cute. Well, it was true that it wasn’t a big shock. After the recent disasters caused by an ex-colleague, Kirison knew his career path was shriveling out from under him. The parliament couldn’t pass enough knee jerk, extremist laws fast enough. Understandable maybe. Mr. Book was right though. Jonathan “Erebus” Coll was the one who ruined the fun for everyone.
Kirison had a few projects that had been on the back-burner for some time. Frankly, he hadn’t been making much progress since the bad news was seen coming down the pipe. It was kind of a motivation killer. The last year and a half he had been mostly fiddling around on things that had little or no application for the financiers, and even they didn’t care. They were more worried about lobbying, appealing things, and liability risk.
But today it was official. It was time to clean up all those little projects, and send them to oblivion. Kind of a waste.
~~~~~
:::C /03
~~~~~
A few hours into a
patrol shift, Cassidy felt her terminal wiggle in her thigh pocket. An incoming call. Anxiety spread though Her. It was Brandy, it had to be. Why don’t people call you to warn you that they’re calling? All of a sudden, there they are, wanting an answer, and you’re totally unprepared.
She just couldn’t talk to her now, she simply wasn’t ready! What was she supposed to say about never being able to call? Brandy would understand. It’s the career. Brandy has a career too. She’d understand, right? No, Brandy manages to call. The look on Brandy’s face in the last message returned to Cassidy, and the anxiety built up. Her mind went two directions at once. One side doing just her job, the other side just silently freaking out inside.
Mercifully, the wiggle of her terminal stopped. She took a deep breath, unnoticed by her partner, and relaxed a little.
A short time later the terminal gave a single wiggle. A message was ready. The anxiety rattled its way back up and grabbed Cassidy by the throat.
“Greg.” Cassidy choked out.
“Y.. yeah?” It was not typical to use a first name.
“I gotta... I gotta take five. Can I catch up with you?” She looked a bit pale, and left McKinney with the impression that she was feeling ill.
McKinney spoke with a supportive tone, “Yeah, sure, take your time.”
Cassidy kind of wanted to run. At the same time, she kind of wanted to lie down right there on the ground. The result was a slow meandering. She put the foremost thought of Brandy aside, and found herself obsessing on her pace. Too slow, and people would wonder what the heck she was doing. Too fast, and they’d think she was in a hurry for important M.P. business. Both results would be totally inconsequential, but regardless, she tried very hard to walk the perfect medium pace.
Watching Yute Page 1
