by Erik Hyrkas
Chapter 2. Max
The door to the infirmary slid shut behind me. After a few steps toward the command center, I became aware that I was not alone. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Hillary McMasters.
“Max!” She hurled my name at me like a curse.
Generally, men have more muscles than women, but Hillary was built like a tank. She had muscles in places that I couldn’t even grow them. Her skin was pale white and had a slight red glimmer to it. I wondered if that was some kind of warning system built into her DNA.
“You realize that you’ve ruined my wedding, don’t you?” Her voice was a low growl. I began desperately trying to remember what Dozer had said about her, but I couldn’t recall what planet she was from or what nasty surprise she was about to unleash on me.
I sighed. “You’re an agent. You know the job is dangerous and that sometimes... Well, sometimes agents get smelly.”
She grabbed my shoulder and yanked me around with serious force. “He was sprayed by a half-dozen Krylian boars. That’s not smelly. That’s a life sentence.”
“It could have been worse. He could have been gored.” I lifted my shirt to show her what I meant, but there wasn’t even a scar left to demonstrate where I had been slashed open by twelve-inch tusks. Sometimes healing fast was a curse.
“I can’t kiss him without vomiting.”
“It might help if you close your eyes,” I suggested.
“He’s in a plastic bubble right now because his odor can be detected a mile away.”
“Yeah, I keep telling him that his ‘lucky socks’ aren’t as lucky as he thinks.”
She stomped her foot. “Every partner you have ends up this way. I’m going to talk to Captain Johnson and…”
“Hold on! I’ve never had another partner end up smelling like an Ogerian armpit, except Jameson but he came that way.”
“Jameson was a good agent before he was turned into burnt toast.”
“Yeah, I sort of feel bad about that.”
“Sort of?” Her face glowed red—literally glowed red. “You’re partners end up dead, or worse, terminally smelly.”
“It isn’t my fault,” I protested. “It’s a dangerous job, and I’m usually the one that gets hurt the worst.”
“But you always walk away and your partners don’t.” I saw a tear escape the corner of her eye. She turned and ran back toward the infirmary.
“Usually, I crawl away,” I whispered.
I strolled through the familiar glossy white tunnel ribbed with evenly spaced black arches. When I reached the end of the corridor, I hesitated before a door that had the lustrous shine of a MacBook. I placed my hand on a cold chrome panel and lights came to life across the surface, scanning both me and the surrounding area. Standard procedure, I reminded myself. Nothing entered the command center without authorization. Nothing from this planet anyway, I thought.
A disembodied female voice purred, “Identity confirmed.” The door slid open.
“Thank you,” I said.
The voice responded, “You’re welcome.”
I couldn’t contain my smile. “What are you wearing?”
“I am wearing nothing.” She paused briefly, and then her synthesized tone changed. “Why would you ask me that? I’m distributed artificial intelligence.”
I snickered. It’s so easy to get the AI upset. I stepped into a circular room that glowed with wall monitors displaying high definition maps, security camera feeds, and threat profiles. The door slid shut behind me. Was it me, I wondered with a chuckle, or did the door slide shut unnecessarily hard? A man stood motionless in the center of a tsunami of swirling information. A cone of stadium-bright light bathed him.
He wore a crisp tan uniform with small colored metals on his chest. His blond hair was parted perfectly to one side, not a hair out of place. He reminded me of old pictures I had seen of World War II captains.
“Agent Maximus,” the man said without averting his eyes from the displays when I approached.
“Captain Johnson,” I replied.
“I see you survived the North Carolina incident.”
“Just a dozen Krylian boars, sir.”
“I take it that they didn’t gore you.” He sounded disappointed.
“They did, sir.”
He looked distracted and I wasn’t sure if he heard me. “Excellent,” he said absently. He sniffed the air. “Did you take a shower?”
“No, sir. Is one missing?”
He sighed ever so slightly. “Agent, there’s a level nine disturbance in Texas, and we’re deploying primary and secondary agents to engage hostiles tonight.”
“Yes, sir!” Level nine, I thought! In the four years that I’d been with the Service, there had never been a level nine incident. I’ll bet we get to use the cool toys to handle this one.
“We’ll be dispatching two teams in Raptor Sixes armed with Archer III Stingers deployed via the Space Curve Rail. Each agent will be equipped with Wolverine Two-Eighties and Rayshark body armor. However, I’m not sending you.” He paused as he continued his study of the display panels.
“What?”
“There’s been a ping in northern Minnesota, and I’m sending you in to investigate.”
“But Sir…”
“Your mission coordinator will brief you. I need somebody who can handle the Minnesota case without assistance. Unfortunately, all I have is you,” he said. “So, this is the plan: get your ass to Minnesota.”
“Sir, I could help in Texas and then go to Minnesota.”
“Listen, Agent Maximus. We exist to squash problems before they squash the pitiful little humans going about their ordinary lives unaware of the aliens on their planet. If the humans knew how precarious their situation is from day to day, how near doom they are each and every day, they sure as hell wouldn’t worry about whether their neighbor had a nicer Audi or whether their next TV should be plasma or LCD. That’s what they are supposed to be doing, going about their days without a care in the world beyond the utterly mundane. It’s our job to keep them thus oblivious. We let the humans grow at their own pace as a race until they are ready to join the Intergalactic Alliance or they destroy themselves.”
“What does that have to do with Texas, Sir?” I asked.
“Nothing, but it has everything to do with Minnesota. I dispatch resources to keep the dirty apes on this planet glued to Dancing with the Stars instead of worrying about the future, and frankly, I don’t have to explain my decisions to you. That is all, Agent Maximus.” He sniffed the air again. “Oh, and take a shower.”
I stood my ground for a second, fighting the temptation to argue, but I knew there was no sense arguing. I wouldn’t get to use the cool toys after all, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up in the mess hall cleaning pots instead of investigating pings. At least I got to do this next mission my way. I never liked having teammates underfoot. Then it occurred to me that maybe that’s why Johnson was sending me to Minnesota, because he knew how I hated having a teammate mess things up, get burned to a crisp, or even get smelly.
As I approached the only door in the command center, it opened extremely sluggishly. AIs can be so temperamental, I thought. I headed for the hangar to find Wendy and get the details of my assignment. I tried to look at the bright side. I wasn’t just an agent in charge. This was a solo mission! I had always thought Johnson didn’t like my methods and the way I bent the rules, but maybe he was starting to like my results. Maybe I was wrong about him.
When I came to the Hall of Remembrance, where the pictures of fallen agents decorate the walls, I found my parents’ pictures like I always did when in this part of the compound. My mother had olive skin and bright green eyes. On top of her head, where humans have hair, she had small triangular plates growing on her skin. When she wore a wig, anyone would mistake her for a beautiful human woman. My father looked entirely human—because he was. He had brown hair, like me, and piercing blue eyes that missed nothing. He was muscular but not intimidating, a
nd his smile implicated his whole face. I brushed the top of their picture frames to make sure no dust had accumulated since my last visit. None had.
I examined the ring on my middle finger. My parents had given it to me when I was young, and I wore it on a gold chain around my neck until I was big enough to put it on a finger. The inscription was comprised of two elegant symbols from the Rigenerare language that translate as: “Always Together.” My mother knew the risks of being an agent and wanted to make sure we were never completely separated.
I touched the ring and my mother and father sprang into being near me, holograms that I couldn’t touch but that looked real enough to be them, so real that I sometimes forgot they were memories.
“Maximus!” my mother said. Her arms opened to embrace me, but then she gave me a small smile and let her insubstantial arms fall to her sides.
My father beamed at me. “You’re looking good. We haven’t seen you for some time.”
“I’ve been busy,” I said. I kept my voice even so I didn’t play up the news. “I have my first solo mission.”
“That’s great, son! Soon you’ll be a great agent, just like your mother,” my father said.
“Harold!” my mother gave him a light slug on the arm. “We’re a team! I only made it this far because you were at my side.”
I couldn’t bear to mention that they hadn’t really made it this far, that they were only holograms. I looked back at the wall that held their pictures. They had double golden stars on either side of their names, the distinction of being Special Agents, the élite group that took on the toughest investigations and dealt with the greatest threats. I didn’t know how they died, and I wondered, if they were the best, why weren’t they still with me in flesh and blood? Unfortunately, their holograms were made before their final mission and had as little idea as I did how their lives ended. The only information I received was a condolence letter from the Service explaining that they died bravely and on duty.
I turned back to them. “Anyway, I’m about to leave, and I thought you’d like to hear the news.”
“Great work,” my mother said. “Make us proud!”
“I will, Mom,” I said. I reached for my ring to turn them off.
“Don’t wait so long to talk to us, son,” my dad said.
“We love you,” my mother said.
“I love you, too.” I tapped the ring and they were gone.
When I walked into the hangar, Wendy was inspecting the engine on an old prop plane. She was slender with straight blond hair she wore perpetually in a ponytail. I noted that her jumpsuit had grease smudges on the front when she turned toward me as I approached. I met Wendy my first day in the Service and had learned to respect her—if for no other reason than she was part-Teslian and could run a strong electrical current through her hand capable of knocking out most people for an hour. She had given me a personal demonstration that first day. I woke up twenty minutes later, but I’m a quick healer. Now that I think of it, maybe that’s the reason that, in the past four years, I was the last person to mention how pleasant her curves are. It wasn’t that she didn’t deserve the compliment, but I don’t think anybody else was brave enough to note her exceptional shape out loud.
I was a little distracted by said curves when I heard the feminine clearing of a throat behind me. I turned and found a woman with a glowing smile, bright blue eyes, and dark hair in tight waves held in a bun. Strands of hair escaped the bun, but it only made her look more attractive. Her skin was fair with traces of freckles.
I held out my hand, hoping she wasn’t Teslian. She shook my hand firmly without, fortunately, shocking me to death.
“Agent Maximus?” she asked.
Her smile was so powerful that it was contagious. “Please call me Max, and you are?”
“Agent Miranda. I’m your partner on the Minnesota assignment.”
“Partner?” My smile faltered, and not just because I felt Wendy’s hand on my shoulder.
“I have your credentials here,” Wendy said. “Max Anderson, 24, and your girlfriend Miranda Smith, 22.” She handed us each an envelope.
Miranda opened her envelope immediately, but I simply stared at Wendy and frowned. “Johnson didn’t say anything about a partner.”
“Captain Johnson,” Wendy corrected me, “might not have thought to mention it. However, I’m sure you two will do great.”
I cleared my throat. “But…”
“There’s been a ping in northern Minnesota near the town of Ely. There is an old iron mine there, and we think the source of that ping might be near the mine or perhaps from inside it.”
“Excellent! I love exploring caves,” Miranda said enthusiastically.
Wendy smirked. “Well, it’s a mine, not a cave, and you’ll need a wetsuit because it is under fifty feet of water.” She cleared her throat. “I should probably warn you…” She looked absently at the plane. “Never mind.”
“It sounds like a vacation getaway,” I murmured.
“Exactly,” Wendy replied. “You two are on your first couple’s getaway and have booked a stay at the Great Rapids Inn.”
“How are we getting there?” I glanced around for an obvious source of transportation. “Space Curve Rail or do we get a ride in a Falcon II?” Then I realized that I didn’t see a Falcon II.
“Neither, actually.” Wendy gestured to the plane that she had been working on when I arrived at the hangar. “A Cherokee 140.”
The vintage was at best 1960s. I fought to find words. “Umm...”
The plane’s paint was faded blue and white, and there were small dents across the skin of the wings. The windshield looked like it had a permanent fog etched into it. The tail had 8609E in large bold lettering across the back.
Wendy clapped me on the shoulder and sent a pleasant tingle through me. She could do more than cause pain, I knew. At her lowest setting, she could make you tingle in ways one could not imagine. I remembered that first night together behind closed doors. It turns out there is not an inch of her body that she can’t run electric current over, which is certainly interesting, but when her passion peaks, she can lose control. No matter how pleasant the tingling feels at first, I learned the hard way that you must never put your most important body part in the equivalent of an electric socket. The shock was worse than the time I peed on an electric fence.
Wendy’s hand trailed down my chest, sending tingles through me as she went. “Well, that’s what I have for you guys. Time is of the essence. I need to help prepare the others for the Texas departure using the SCR. That mission is top priority, and Captain Johnson is already going to be upset that I’ve wasted this much time talking to you. As your mission coordinator, you can call me if you need anything. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I watched her as she walked to the other side of the hangar to where the Space Curve Rail cab waited. Agents carrying Wolverine two-eighties were walking into the hangar toward her. Lucky bastards, I thought.
Miranda took two quick steps and then leaped with blinding speed to the plane. She must have crossed the thirty-odd feet in a fraction of a second—and not by running but with a lightning fast jump. She was in the cockpit with the engine running before I took my first step.
When I climbed in the plane and put on my headset, I asked, “What’s the rush?”
“If they activate the SCR before we leave, the gravitational disturbance won’t allow us to take off for an hour. So, if you don’t want to wait around, we should go now,” she replied.
Before I was buckled in, the plane accelerated away from the hangar. We taxied out onto the runway, and then she cranked up the throttle. We were in the air in only a few moments.
When we were less than a mile away, there was a loud pop back at the base that sounded like a gunshot, but it was a cue the gravitational flux would hit us in a few seconds. We swayed and rocked, but Miranda kept the plane going parallel to the ground.
“So, are you and Wendy dating?” she asked.
“No.”
She kept her eyes straight ahead. “But you used to date?”
I suppressed a groan. “Sort of—it was more of a failed science experiment.”
She glanced over at me and then back out of the cockpit. After a few moments’ pause, she said, “You look ill. Do you need an airsick bag?”
“No. I’m good.”
She smiled broadly. “Don’t worry; I have hours of flight time.”
“Hours?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little worse.
A mad giggle escaped her lips. “How hard can it be, right?”
“Where are the airsick bags?”
She must have thought I was joking because she didn’t tell me. She began sniffing the air. “What’s that smell?” she asked.
“Very funny. Did Johnson tell you about the Krylian boars? I did actually take a shower when I returned from that mission.”
“No, this smell is delicious.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. My face felt unnecessarily warm.
“Thank you,” said a voice in our headset.
Miranda and I both glanced over our shoulders at a man sitting in the backseat. A moment ago only our luggage had been there. Miranda’s light complexion blazed red.
I felt the plane lose a few hundred feet. I pointed to the front of the aircraft. “Miranda!”
“Oh! Right,” she said. She was all business again as she pulled us out of a dive and brought us to a safer altitude.
“Who are you?” she asked the man behind us.
“His name is Tyler,” I responded, keeping my voice as even as I could. “He and I did a mission together once.” I didn’t bother to mention that Tyler had saved my life and saved the mission. Let the arrogant jerk say that himself, I thought.
“Oh, so you two are friends?” Miranda asked.
I studied Tyler. I hadn’t seen him in months. His dark hair appeared to have a few more gray streaks, and it looked as if he hadn’t shaved in two days. He still looked physically fit, however, and he wore a fashionable custom-made blue shirt over a green T-shirt. His hair had that mussed look, as if he might have just fought off a dozen Virrean Wolves and looked fabulous doing it.
Before I could give a resounding “No!” Tyler cut me off. “Max and I are best mates. When you’ve been through life and death situations together, a certain bond is formed. Your fates are locked together.”
I rolled my eyes. Locked like a ball and chain, I almost said aloud.
“Why are you here?” I asked bluntly.
“I thought you’d be so happy to see me,” he said. He rubbed his shoulder, the one I knew he had injured to save my life. The lack of subtlety wasn’t lost on me. Apparently, I was about to repay the debt.
“Captain Johnson suggested you might need a hand, and he said I was the man for the job.”
Yeah, and that’s why he had to sneak on to the plane, I thought. I noticed he was rolling up a Visicloak, which shows people what’s behind it but not what’s inside it, which meant he had been hiding. The Visicloak folded into a handkerchief-sized bundle that he put into his pocket.
“I wasn’t briefed on the change of plan,” Miranda said.
“It was a last minute change,” Tyler explained.
“Sort of breaks protocol, if you think about it,” I said. “Most missions are assigned to only two agents, and two are less conspicuous than three.”
“The Texas mission has ten agents on it,” Tyler pointed out.
“That’s a level nine incident,” I countered.
Miranda glanced back over her shoulder and I thought I saw her sniff the air again. She smiled. “Having another agent on this mission is a good idea,” she said. If she was suspicious, it didn’t show on her face. If anything, she looked pleased to have Tyler in the plane. I wondered absently if he used Ax body spray.
“I’m a quarter Yungen, you know,” he said.
“Oh, really?” Miranda asked. She seemed genuinely interested.
“Yes. I’m not as accurate as my mother, but I have a sort of sixth sense about people’s emotions.”
My eyes bored into him. “Are you getting anything yet?”
He ignored me and spoke to Miranda. “Have you ever been to Yung?” he asked.
I could have been a quarter past unconscious and still made out Miranda’s emotions. She looked pleasantly flustered. I wanted to growl.
“Other than the time I spent in the Academy, I’ve lived on Earth my whole life,” she said.
It was at this point that I unplugged my headset, reclined my seat the standard half inch allowed on airplanes, and fell asleep.
