Enlisted

by Nathan Pedde

  “Close. It’s where the majority of the fuel for the fleets are possessed and shipped from. If this station goes offline for even a day, we’ll lose the war.”

  He’s got me. I’m out of excuses. I’m such an idiot.

  “What am I going to be spying on?” Des said.

  “Now,” Kusheeno said, leaning forward in his chair, “this part is important. Not everyone in the company is a spy. The less they know about you or your real occupation, the better. You can’t blow your cover and let everyone know you’re a spy. If you screw this up, I’ll lock you and your family away for a very long time. And Elsie too.”

  Worry shadowed Des’s face. “So, I just go into my new work and act normal?”

  “Yes, except you need to contact your Handler.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Simple. You tell her the code phrase. It’s simple. You say, the dog barks at midnight, and she’ll reply with, the rain comes from the west.”

  “The dog barks at midnight,” Des said. “That sounds stupid.”

  “It’s supposed to. It’s something no one will ever want to say to another person in regular conversation.”

  “Ok. I tell her that phrase, and she’ll tell me the other phrase. Then what?”

  “That’s up to her,” Kusheeno said, “Now you better hurry and get to Courier One’s office. They’ll be expecting a replacement soon.”

  “Replacement? Wait. I didn’t agree to this. I’ve a choice, don’t I?”

  The captain glared down his nose.

  “You’ve a choice,” Kusheeno said, “either you join Courier One and do as you’re told, or I will ruin you in more ways than you can imagine. You’ll beg me to space you by the end of it. I was going to just arrest you and your family, but you’ve pissed me off. I will space you, after I watch your family rot in some hole.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “My responsibilities are to ensure the safety of the station and all who are on it by any means available to me.”

  “What about laws?”

  “Suspended in this time of war. You know this. Now. Are you going to go and do as you’re told, or are you making the other choice?”

  “I’ll go,” Des said.

  “Good. I knew you would see to reason and make the right choice.” Kusheeno rifled through the papers and handed Des one. “Do you know where the offices of Courier One are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Give this to your new boss, Mr. Anderson. He’ll put you to work.”

  Des looked down at the paper. It was a transfer order letting Mr. Anderson know he’s now working at Courier One.

  “And my old job?” Des asked.

  “Right,” Kusheeno said, handing Des a sealed envelope. “Give this to Mr. Anderson as well. That’ll need to be delivered to your old boss… What was his name?”

  “Boss? At ‘L and L Industrial Works?’”

  “Yes. What was his name? It just completely slipped my mind.”

  “Mr. Von Karlos,” Des said.

  “That’s right. Von Karlos. I remember now.”

  Des looked down at the envelope. Part of him was going to miss working at the factory.

  “What are you standing around for?” Kusheeno said. “Get going.”

  Chapter Five

  Des stood on a street corner in the Pink Sector. Tall buildings stretched upward filled with business offices encased in glass and steel.

  The streets were filled with different people. Most wore business suits and carried briefcases, scurrying around the streets like ants in an anthill. An overhead walkway stretched above the street level allowing people to walk outside of the buildings to get to stores and offices on upper floors.

  Across the street was the ‘Courier One’ office. The office was built in an older, seven-story building in an outdated style, constructed out of asteroids carved into blocks and held in place with mortar.

  The office had a ground floor entrance with a big red sign above the door. A jewelry store was on the right side, while a bookstore was on the left.

  Des walked across the street and entered the small entrance. The lobby of the office wasn’t large either. A simple counter stretched across the room with a small scale set on one side.

  A receptionist sat behind the counter, looking to be in her mid-twenties with very light blond hair. She was reading out of a plasto-paper book, not the electronic kind most people read.

  “Hi,” she said, looking up from her book. “How may I help you?”

  Des handed her the transfer paper, “Just this.”

  The receptionist looked at the papers and then at Des. She picked up a phone from behind the counter and dialed a number.

  “Hi, Mr. Anderson, sorry to bother you,” the receptionist said, with a small pause. “I’ve a boy here with a transfer paper from Captain Kusheeno… Yes, I know… I will send the boy up. Bye, sir.”

  Boy? Des thought, I’m sixteen. I’m not a boy.

  “Well then,” the receptionist said. “Welcome to the team. Please go up the stairs to the third floor and talk to Mr. Anderson. He’ll help you out.”

  The clerk pointed to a small hallway behind the counter. He didn’t say anything to her. Des didn’t trust his mouth to say anything that wasn’t going to be rude. Unclenching his fists, Des walked around the counter and into the hallway, painted an ugly light brown color. It was barren of decorations and other doors until the very end of the hall. A single metal door with faded paint reading, ‘Stairs.’ Des entered the stairwell and walked up the stairs, also barren of decorations.

  As Des reached the third floor, he felt a slight pain in his legs.

  I need to exercise more, Des thought to himself. Too much time sitting at a desk studying.

  The third floor looked much different than the first floor did. To Des, it seemed as if whoever decorated the building spent the entirety of the budget on this floor.

  On the other side of the stairwell door, a skinny hallway stretched out with soft light-blue colored walls. The floor was pieced together with a gray tile. There were many doors, made to look like real wood, on either side of the hall. Wood was expensive and rare outside of the four Jovian terraformed moons.

  Des walked down the hallway, craning his neck as he stared at all the pictures and paintings decorating the walls. There were pictures of people and places as well as historical paintings. One of the doors was open. Des peered in. A group of people were huddled, sorting through a pile of letters. Another room had a couple of people in suits who sat at desks working at computers.

  Des looked at the names on the door. None of the names was the one he was looking for. Des continued down the hallway. After another six meters, Des saw a more significant office with big glass windows. In large writing was the name, Lue Anderson.

  He knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Lue Anderson said from the office.

  Des entered. Sitting at a large desk in an opulent chair was a short hefty man in a suit and tie, reminding Des of a burnt marshmallow.

  “Mr. Anderson?” Des asked.

  “That’s what the name says on the door,” Mr. Anderson replied. “What can I do for you?”

  Des walked up to Mr. Anderson, handing him the transfer paper.

  “Ah… right. Kelsey from the front desk told me about you.” Mr. Anderson examined at the transfer paper. “The position of an internal courier is for in station areas only.”

  “Yes, sir,” Des said.

  “Shush,” Mr. Anderson said. “I’m reading.”

  Des stood unsure what to do. He tried his best not to fidget.

  “An O’Neal. I was sorry to hear your father died.”

  “You knew my father?”

  “Yes. He was a courier here in his youth. Started here a couple years older than you’re now,” Mr. Anderson said. “And yes, I looked old then too.”

  “I don’t know much about my father,” Des said. “Or that he lived here.”

  “Th
at’s right,” Mr. Anderson said, “but to business. Did you seek this transfer?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “What did you mean, why?”

  “Why did Captain Kusheeno transfer you to me?”

  “As punishment.”

  “Punishment?”

  “Yes. I’m not allowed to talk about the details, but let's just say I managed to get on his bad side. He thought my job at a factory was much too easy and reassigned me.”

  “What job do you want to do?”

  “I wanted to go to an electronics firm. I want to become an astronautical engineer or an astrogator. I figured if I could work somewhere more technical. No offense.”

  “I understand. You're upfront with me. I respect that. I could reject the transfer and try to get him to send you elsewhere.”

  Fear crept into Des, like standing over a slow burning fire. “Will it work?”

  “No,” Mr. Anderson said. “Even if I were to transfer you elsewhere, Captain Kusheeno’s too strong-willed for that. Hell, I could give you a desk to work at, but that probably won’t work either. If you pissed him off enough to send him my way, then you did something bad. I better not step on that landmine.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Welcome to Courier One,” Mr. Anderson said. “It’s nothing like working with technical systems. I doubt it’ll be counted highly when you go to apply to a college. But it’s work, and there’s a war on. I’m going to give you a position in the light capacity delivery corps because it’s hard to screw up. Just follow the directions on where to go, and you’ll be fine.”

  Des nodded, sighing to himself. He had gotten in, and it seemed like the boss believed him, for the most part.

  “Maybe after a couple months, the Captain will calm down and let me transfer.”

  “Maybe, but in the meantime, go to the second floor and find the courier ready room. Ask for Diplin. He’ll be your supervisor. He’ll set you up.”

  Des pulled out the letter from the Captain out of his jacket.

  “The captain gave me this to be delivered to my old job,” Des said.

  “I was expecting it,” Mr. Anderson said. “Let Diplin know and he’ll see it gets delivered.”

  Des nodded his thanks and left the office. His mind buzzed. He was excited, and scared. He was scared he was excited. He had to calm his mind to figure out what was his next step.

  Des took the stairs down to the second floor at a more leisurely pace. His mind still racing with what he needed to do. If he knew who his handler was, or at least who he looked like, then it would make it easier to make contact. He put it out of his mind as he had to figure out what to do.

  Moments later, Des sat in a chair in the courier ready room. The room was large with old, faded off-white paint and silly motivational and safety posters. Benches and a couple of tables were spread around the room. Metal lockers lined one wall. One had Des’s name handwritten on a piece of tape. His street clothes were folded neatly in it.

  Des wore the courier’s uniform which made him look like a raspberry fruit popsicle. He was dressed head to toe in bright red pants, shirt, jacket and a hat. The name ‘Courier One’ printed on the back of the jacket with bright yellow letters.

  The room was empty except for Diplin. He was sitting at a table reading some article on his personal tablet. When Des walked into the room ten minutes ago, Diplin took one look at him and threw the uniform at him. He then didn’t look back at Des.

  Diplin was in his mid-twenties and had short thinning hair which ruined the handsomeness of his youth. He was tall and wiry, except for his gut, which resembled a bowling ball. Diplin wore the red jacket to the uniform overtop of his street clothes. His coat had a yellow chevron on the left sleeve. Des guessed the little piece of extra fabric meant Diplin was a senior courier.

  “Bloody government,” Diplin said, finishing the article. “They should just end this horrible war. Don’t you agree, Sprat?”

  Des looked at Diplin but didn’t say anything.

  “Are you deaf, Sprat?” Diplin repeated.

  “Were you talking to me?” Des answered. “Because my name is Des.”

  “You’re Sprat now,” Diplin said. “And if you think you can argue with me, then I’ll be forced to take you out back and show you who's boss.”

  Des didn’t say anything.

  “I’m your direct supervisor. And that means I control you. I tell you to do something, I expect you do it without question. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.” Before he could stop himself, he said. “You’re twenty-five years old and doing a job meant for teenagers. You must feel very special.”

  Diplin's face turned red. He marched over to him, grabbing hold of the front of Des’s jacket. With a quick snap, Diplin’s fist smashed against Des’s cheek. The fist made a wet meaty crunch as flesh hit flesh.

  Anger, shock, frustration, all built up in Des. He pulled back his fist. The door flew open as a young woman marched through the threshold. She looked to be eighteen years old. The young woman was dressed in the red of a courier, but she had two chevrons on her sleeve. The young woman had long red hair braided into a single strand with a soft, pretty face, now molded into a mask of rage.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” the young woman shouted.

  Diplin looked at the young woman with contempt.

  “Cryslis, this here is my ward and therefore my business,” Diplin snarled. “Get out!”

  Cryslis charged across the room faster than Des thought possible. She grabbed hold of Diplin’s right arm and twisted it. Diplin screamed out in pain as the joint snapped out of its socket. Diplin dropped Des to the floor.

  “Good thing you hurt your shoulder huh?” Cryslis said. “It got you out of the marines, and it gives me leverage on you.”

  “You can’t do this to me,” Diplin said. “My dad’s the boss.”

  “That’s nice,” Cryslis replied. “Wait until he finds out you’ve assaulted this kid.”

  “I’m disciplining him.”

  “You don’t have the power,” Cryslis said. “You don’t have your second chevron. I do. Unless your dad can get the central office to promote you, you don’t have the right. Go home. I’m suspending you until a disciplinary committee can be formed.”

  Cryslis dropped Diplin onto the ground. Diplin weakly held his limp right arm.

  “You’re going to pay for this.” Diplin said.

  “That’s nice,” Cryslis said as Diplin left the ready room. “Get out.”

  Des sat in a chair and rubbed his face, his anger simmered down into shame and embarrassment.

  “Are you okay?” Cryslis asked, bending down to look at his bruise.

  “I think so,” Des replied.

  “He has a mean bite.”

  “At least the dog barks at midnight,” Des said. A nervous chill shot up his back.

  Cryslis was silent for a moment, and Des was unsure what to do.

  “The rain comes from the west,” Cryslis whispered. “Huh. Figures.”

  Des shrugged.

  “We can’t talk here,” Cryslis said. “Give me a minute.”

  Cryslis pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

  “Mr. Anderson,” Cryslis said. “Yes, I saw him full out punch him in the face… In the ready room… I don’t know, do you’ve a camera in here… If you have one, then watch it. You can hear everything he said to the boy… No sound? Well… Until you get rid of me for that idiot, I’m officially forming a disciplinary committee for Diplin… Yes, I will put in the paperwork… And I’m taking Des here under my wing… Don’t make me take this further up the chain-of-command. Diplin, a grown adult, assaulted Des. It means jail time for him if I go to the authorities… I will.”

  Cryslis hung up her phone.

  “Before you say anything,” Cryslis said. “Let's grab a package bag each and a scooter. We need to get out of the building.”

  Des was only employed
by Courier One for a half hour before he made an enemy of the boss. The Captain wasn’t going to be happy with him.

  Chapter Six

  Des and Cryslis sat on a pair of Courier One scooters in the middle of the Yellow Sector. The electrically powered hover-scooters floated in the air due to some technology Des didn’t quite understand. Something to do with powered air vectors and transmagnetic currents. His brother explained it to him once, but he still didn’t understand it.

  The scooters were painted red and had a metal container for their package bags. It had been stuffed full of letters and small parcels to be delivered. Des and Cryslis sat quietly on the scooters. Des looked down at his watch. It said it was almost six pm. He would have to get home soon if he wanted to get his homework done for school the next day.

  “I’m causing too much of a commotion here,” Des said.

  “It’s not your fault,” Cryslis said. “You’ve no training.”

  “Your job could be in jeopardy.”

  “Something I wouldn’t cry over. I just want to get high school done and over with, not worrying about a job too.”

  “You’re still in high school?” Des asked.

  “Final year,” Cryslis said. “But pay attention.”

  “But, you’ve a rank though?”

  Cryslis was silent for a moment.

  “In Courier One,” Des said, “doesn’t a rank mean you’ve been working for them for a while?”

  Cryslis sighed. “I’ve been in the company since I was thirteen. I choose to earn ranks to solidify my cover.”

  “And the talking back to Mr. Anderson?”

  “Mr. Anderson is soft on his kid. He lets him get away with anything he wants. Luckily Courier One is a multi-station corporation, and he’s only in charge of this location. He’ll try to get rid of me, but it’s not like he hasn’t tried before.”

  “How do we keep him from sacking you?” Des asked.

  “That’s not your problem. I’m your handler, that’s my problem.”

  “What’s my problem then?”

  “You need to keep your head down. Listen to your surroundings and make observations on people.”