Return-Path: Date: Fri, 26 Aug 1994 15:27:57 -0700 From: quanta@netcom.com (Daniel K. Appelquist) To: quanta-ascii@netcom.com Subject: quanta-aug1994.ascii: Part 2 of 5 Sender: owner-quanta-ascii@netcom.com Precedence: list Reply-To: quanta@netcom.com Jim grinned at her, showing a row of sharp teeth. The sarcasm had been playful rather than biting. In unspoken accord they did not mention their midnight conversation, but somehow it had shattered the formality of their relationship. Not that they were taking long walks in the garden together, or even working on a first name basis, but something had changed. Jim wasn't quite certain whether he liked it. "I was trying to point out why I don't like the idea of you leaving the estate," he said. "I know. But this meeting is too important to miss. An equal trade agreement with Hyundai/Hwang would open some big doors for us back in Japan. Tanaki surely wouldn't try to hit me there... it's bad form." Jim sighed, defeated. "Well, the security's as tight as I can make it." "Good." The portable phone Jim habitually carried with him rang before she could add anything else. Jim unfolded it and listened to the frantic voice on the other end. "Sit tight and I'll meet you there," he said and closed the phone down. Julee lifted an eyebrow curiously. "Either Eddie Blake is having a really bad trip, or he's scared enough to want to sell us some information," Jim said as he jumped down from his chair. "He didn't know anything a week ago, so maybe he's learned something important. He's convinced Tanaki tried to off him. "I'm going to meet him. It shouldn't take long to find out if he's running a game. So don't leave the estate until I get back." She nodded and threw him a mock salute. "Take care." He found Blake exactly where he said he'd be, holed up in a smelly dive of a motel down in the Central West End. Blake had an old 12-gauge shotgun across his knees, and to Jim he looked very frightened, and very straight. Jim had spent twenty minutes watching the building, the room, and the man. If there was a trap, he couldn't spot it. "So what's the word?" he asked Blake while he surveyed the room from his momentary perch on the window sill. Blake tightened his grip on the shotgun. "Here's the deal: you give me a plane ticket out of the colony, a little spending money, and enough protection to keep me alive to enjoy it, and I give you the name of the guy that's selling your Councillor out to Tanaki." His gaze darted nervously about the room. Jim considered him. "How do I know you've got the right name?" Despair flickered in Blake's eyes. "C'mon, man! They killed Isabella. She was one of Tanaki's regulars and she knew a lot about what he was doing. Maybe she even helped recruit this guy." Isabella was the woman who had shot at Julee Aston during her lecture. "So why not you? That was almost two weeks ago." "Man, `cause I didn't know anything!" Blake was squirming like a restless child. "That's the way it's always been. Tanaki pays good, tells me what to do, and I don't ask questions. I don't wanna know. But this time, I went up to the big house to pick up the rest of my money for another job... it didn't have anything to do with Councillor Aston... and I got there at the same time this guy did. It took me a minute to figure out who he was. I've seen him on the viewer a few times when the Councillor was on. So then I split. I figured if Tanaki'd kill Isabella, he'd sure kill me if he thought I knew about the guy." Jim thought it over. The story was plausible, and even convincing. "All right," he finally said. "I'm willing to buy. Who is it?" Blake shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Not until I'm someplace safe." "Will the Aston estate do? It'll take a while to arrange a flight and your money." Jim was beginning to wish Blake was as dumb as he looked. Blake nodded, and they left through the window and down the fire escape. Jim didn't want to take any chances while the hairs on his neck were bristling with unknown danger. They reached the estate without incident. Jim took Blake to the basement and locked him into one of the holding cells that had been built there. No one saw Blake, as Jim had intended. "I can't exactly let you roam about the estate," he explained to Blake when they reached the cell. "This isn't the nicest of accommodations, but it will keep you safe and out of trouble until I get back." Blake submitted with the air of a doomed man. He had pretty much sold himself, and knew it. "Now I want a name." Jim had kept his part of the bargain, and Blake was not in much of a position to argue. "I don't actually know his name. He drives the Councillor's car. Short little guy that's got no hair." Jim clamped his jaw shut on his surprise. Ned? But as he thought about it, it made sense. Ned had access to the gate key, and the first assassin had come in through the gate. Security had found the gate shorted, but that could be arranged from inside as well as out, and after the fact as easily as before. And Ned had been sick the morning that the car bomb had nearly taken them out. Jim himself had sent the man home, as he did anyone who was not operating at their peak. It had never occurred to him that the symptoms could have been faked. With a rush of adrenaline, he realized that the Councillor's car had not been in it's spot when he had brought Blake in. He wasn't sure what time it was, but knew it couldn't be too late. He growled deep in his throat, unconsciously voicing his anger. The woman had left despite his orders! And Ned was driving her. Jim locked Blake into his cell and then sprinted up the stairs, cursing as the half-healed wound in his shoulder lanced him with pain. He yelled for his staff as soon as he was out of the basement and explained the situation in a few terse sentences when they came at a run. They were in a car and heading out through the gate within two minutes, which pleased Jim in an unoccupied corner of his mind. The helo crew was also alerted, but it would be a few minutes more before they could get airborne. Jim caught up the phone and dialed the Councillor's private number. The phone rang twice, then Julee's voice came to him from the other end, "Hello?" "Hello, Councillor," Jim replied. "This is a friendly conversation. Smile and nod, and pretend you're talking to one of your ladyfriends." "What's going on?" Her voice was light, but her sudden concern was clear beneath the false joviality. "Is the divider up? Can Ned hear you?" "No, he can't. What's going on?" She was more insistent this time. "Laugh. Your ladyfriend just told you a joke." On the other end, he could hear her obey. "Now," he continued, "tell me where you are." A pause. "Fifth and Old 70. Am I in trouble?" "Yes. Where are your escorts?" "My car blew out its hoverfan. One of the cars stayed with it and we transferred to the other one. I didn't want to be late." Jim sucked in his breath. It couldn't have been an accident, could it? He was barely aware of the deep gouges his claws were ripping in the seat as he flexed them in response to the tension that gripped him. "Who's in the car with you, and where are they?" The armored escorts had two compartments: one in the front that also extended up into a small turret from which a gunner could fire, and a rear compartment buried in the belly. "Ned's up in front with Dan and Xiao. I'm in the back. What is going on? Wait a minute. We're stopping." Jim's heart leapt up into his throat. "Where, Councillor? Where are you?" Another pause as she peered out through the viewing slits. "We're still on Old 70. We must have crossed the bridge: there's nothing here but ruins." There was a note of fear in her voice. "Put the phone down but don't hang up. Put it on the floor. We'll be there as soon as we can." Then, "Old 70 across the river," he told the driver of his own car. "Hurry," was all Julee said. Then, distantly, Jim heard the door grate open and a man's voice order her out of the car. Jim could see the bridge ahead of them, and the blasted landscape of East Louis on the far side. During the war, a targeting mistake had flattened the ghetto of East Louis while leaving San Louis and her military airport virtually unscathed. The drumming of a helo's blades reached Jim above the thunder of the racing hovercar, and he hoped it was theirs. They arrived in an inevitable cloud of dust and ashes kicked up from beneath the hovercar's skirt, diving out of the car as bullets shattered the windshield and tore holes in the upholstery. It wasn't armored, Jim reminded himself as he tried to pierce the swirling dust. The car began to settle with a whine, and the dust settled with it, as the two men with Jim returned fire. Ned had taken cover behind the armored escort and was keeping them pinned with devastating accuracy. The shell of a building rose behind him, covering his back. Jim had doubts about how long their own car could continue to shield them as the withering fire slowly shredded it. Ned would have to run out of ammunition before they could do much to him. They weren't about to hit him... he was using the door of the cockpit as a shield and firing through the hinge slit. Julee Aston was nowhere to be seen. Jim peered around the edge of the open door behind which he crouched, then jerked back as bullets whizzed past his ears, painfully loud. A new rattle of gunfire, deeper than the tinny sounds of hand weapons, joined the cacophony. The helo was descending, and Jim could see the fire that spit from her guns. The heavy slugs hammered the side of the armored car, rocking it. Ned turned to face this new threat and raised his weapon. Jim didn't think he'd ever get a better opportunity. The rough ground gave him excellent traction as he bounded across the space that separated the two vehicles and up onto the body of the armored car. The strength and speed that made his ancestors one of the most feared predators in Asia made Jim a dark blur as he leapt from the roof of the car and crashed into Ned Chang. He took him from the side, throwing his greater weight into a twist that brought Ned down beneath him. His claws sank into the man's back and the sweet taste of blood filled his mouth as he clamped powerful jaws around his neck and squeezed. A flicker of motion at the corner of his eye brought his head around with a snap. Julee Aston stared at him in a mixture of shock and horror from beneath the car where she had taken refuge when the firefight began. Her eyes were huge against the pale skin of her face. It was the child's face, exactly as he had seen it twenty years before. They remained that way for several moments, staring into each others' eyes. The understanding that passed between them ran too deep for words. Then Julee broke the contact and looked around. "Is it safe to come out?" She asked. The gunfire had stilled, and only the sound of the hovering helo filled the air. Jim nodded. Uncertain, he offered her his hand despite the blood that covered it. After a moment, she took it, and let him pull her out from underneath the car. Four days later, Jim found himself once more sitting across from Julee Aston in the familiar environs of her study. A man occupied a third chair. He was, Jim had to admit, one of the most handsome men he had ever seen, with the perfect features of a Greek god. His hair fell in waves of burnt gold to his shoulders, and he had the lean, muscular build of a swimmer, easily visible through the loose, sleeveless shirt that he wore. Like the rest of his clothing, the shirt was carefully tailored, and expensive. Everything about him spoke of money and of quality. The only unusual thing about him were the thick folds of brightly colored skin that fell the length of his body from his shoulders and arms. When he raised his arms, they expanded into a beautiful mosaic of butterfly markings, like a spread cape, that stretched from ankles to wrists. And yes, he had answered Jim's question, he could glide formidable distances, provided the winds weren't too rough. His name was Parker Eddings. And he was now a member of the Council, occupying the newly created Altered seat. Julee's motion had passed by a narrow margin the day before. Jim was thoroughly curious why she had asked him here. After the introductions were made, Julee turned to him. "Councillor Eddings asked me to arrange this meeting, so I will leave it to him to say whatever he has planned." Eddings smiled at the light jab. Then he turned to Jim. "I understand that your employment with Councillor Aston will soon be ending." Jim nodded, "Yes." Out of the corner of his eye he watched Julee for a reaction, but was disappointed. She had not said anything when he had told her the first time, either. "Then I would like to offer you a position on my own staff." He held up a hand. "And not just as a bodyguard. You know what it is to be Altered without the advantages I have always enjoyed. I need someone with that perspective if I'm going to do anything truly useful for our people." He was an incredible orator, this new Councillor, Jim thought. For a moment he was tempted, drawn by the power of the man's personality. Then he shook his head. "I can't, Councillor." Eddings watched him for several moments, as if debating whether or not to try to convince him. Eventually he smiled, resigned. "I was afraid that might be your answer. I hope you'll reconsider." He laid a small card on the desk near Jim. "That has my private number, in case you do." Jim picked up the card, nodded. After a few minutes of idle talk with Julee, Councillor Eddings took his leave. To Jim's surprise, he offered him a hand as he was leaving, and Jim could tell that he had not thought twice about the gesture. It was the first time in Jim's memory. He glanced at the man's card again after the door had closed and wondered if he might not take his offer after all. The stillness in the room brought Jim out of his thoughts. Julee Aston sat behind her desk, chin cupped in her hands, staring at him. It was not a hostile gaze, but Jim could not decipher it beyond that. Surprised to find his heart beating fast, Jim waited for her to break the silence. When she did, it was not with anything he had hoped she'd say. "I am formally releasing you from your oath, Jim Leary, as of this time. Your employment by the Aston Estate is thereby terminated, without prejudice." The words were formal, as they were required to be, in order to be binding under law. Jim nodded and said nothing. He didn't know what he could say, or even if he wanted to say anything. Julee leaned back in her chair. "So this is goodbye?" There was a note of sadness in her voice. "I guess it is, Councillor." A ghost of a smile illuminated her features. "Well, it's been an adventure, to use an old cliche." Jim found himself smiling as well. Then he sobered. "Take care, Councillor." Tucking Eddings card away in his waist pouch, he jumped to the floor and walked toward the door. "Leary, wait." Julee's voice stopped him before he had taken three steps. He paused and turned. "This is for you." She came around the desk and handed him a small cream colored envelope. He accepted it curiously. "Open it later," she added when he turned it over to examine the seal. "All right," he shrugged, and added it to the contents of his pouch. Then, without further ado, he turned and padded quietly from the room. Julee watched him go, face expressionless. When he opened the cream colored envelope, Jim found inside a reservation ticket for two for dinner at the Tea Room. It was dated nearly a year in the future, on the first anniversary of the creation of a Council seat for Altereds. Jim grinned to himself and wondered if either of them would show. ___________________________________________________________________________ Valerie Jones is an engineer, although not currently working in her field, which is the aerospace industry. She loves flying, cats, horses, gardening and computer games. She's been hooked on science fiction ever since her mother read her to sleep with the Dragonriders of Pern novels. She lives in Lawerence, Kansas with her husband and sixteen month old son. ___________________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________________ The Harrison Chapters His eyes snapped open but saw nothing save for a blue dot in the Chapter 16 distance... He closed his hand into a fist as a beeping noise rose Jim Vassilakos somewhere in the distance. Then the lights came on, and he squinted, barely able to see at all. "Good morning." ___________________________________________________________________________ He liked the sound it made, twirling on the counter top, and the way it made her hazel eyes open wide with glee. "Lemme see." Mike's first impulse was to clasp his hand into a tight fist. She tried prying back his fingers one by one, but each time she got one where she wanted it, she'd have to let it go to work on another. "Dummy," he thought, as it would snap back down, and she'd scream and then laugh, frustrated and easily amused. "Mike... please. I'm gonna tell mom." "Tell her what? I found it." "I just want to look at it." He held its edge between two fingers, its coppery color reflecting the late afternoon sunlight. Some sort of profile lay etched on the side, a man with a beard, all distinguished and stately. She squinted, trying to make out the details as he jiggled it back and forth, forcing her eyes to constantly refocus. Finally giving up, she tried to grab it. "Slowpoke," he thought as he felt a snickering smile form on his lips. "I have all. You have none." "Mike..." she started to whine. "Oh, don't cry, baby. You want it?" "Yes." "I bet you do." She ended up chasing him around the flat, underneath tables, through the shower, over their parents' bed, until she finally cornered him at the balcony, hazel eyes deadly serious. "Gimme it or else." "If you insist." He made as if to hand it forward, but just at her moment of triumph, he flicked it backwards over his head. It was over twenty stories down. "Mike... I'm telling." She never did, of course. She never told about anything, while he would tell about almost anything, even the stuff he made up. "Mommy already knows you're a big fat liar." "Does not... uh.... Am not." He didn't know why she held her tongue. He never really thought about it. He knew it was a good thing though. She'd certainly collected enough dirt over the years to put him on life-long restriction. "Where you going?" He froze, his lower torso hanging out the ventilation shaft. It wasn't the first time she'd pretended to be asleep. He looked down, uncertain. "Nowhere." "I'll tell." "Go ahead." He stopped once he reached the roof. She was at his heels, hazel eyes shimmering faintly in the starlight. Mike scowled. A tag-along was just what he needed. "Where do you think you're going?" he queried in his most accusatory voice. "Where are you going?" she chirped in reply. "Nowhere." "I'm going nowhere too." He gritted his teeth, walking over to the old staircase. He'd busted the lock on the door with his father's gun while nobody was home to hear the noise. His dad never even noticed the bullet missing. Mike told her to go back at least twenty times on the way to the ground floor. It wasn't that she'd get him caught. Sneaking past the security-bot wasn't a problem. The thing was stupid, and he'd learned long ago how to distract it with a pebble. It was just the idea of her company which irritated him. She walked behind him once they were outside, picking up funny shaped stones or bits of metal. She even found a coin, probably the one he'd tossed over the balcony. They ended up going into one of the deserted buildings at her insistence. She wanted to find something hard and flat to spin it on. Mike suggested her head, which she didn't find funny. They must have sat there for hours while she twirled it with glee and wouldn't let him touch it for all the false promises in the world. He watched her, his eyelids growing increasingly heavy as he reminded himself that they couldn't fall asleep. Without her in the room, there would be nobody to cover for him in the morning. Still, she seemed too happy to budge. She finally looked up, waking him from his pseudo-slumber. "Remember Dana?" Mike looked at her and yawned, "Haven't seen her in awhile." "Mom said her family must've moved, but I went over the other day, and her older sister answered the door. Said she wasn't living there anymore." "Maybe she got the bug." That made her pause, but then she looked up again, "I don't see how she could have. She hardly ever went out. Her dad wouldn't let her." Mike sat upright on the floor, crossing his legs. "Sounds almost like Jason." Lei twirled the coin again. "Yeah. Before his parents moved, he said they were leaving because of him and that I should go too. Because we were both second-born." "Second-born?" "I know. I asked mom what he meant. She said they were really leaving because his parents couldn't face their chores." A goo-spitter crept beside her leg while she was talking. Mike flicked a string of pebbles at it until it got the hint and crawled away. She didn't seem to notice and just kept twirling the coin. "Mom said some people just hide from real life. Isn't that weird?" "I guess." She was quiet for a while after that, and Mike closed his eyes wondering what the big people were up to. ____________________ "Mike. Wake up!" His eyes snapped open but saw nothing save for a blue dot in the distance, jumping like the beat to a really slow song. His mouth felt strange, almost swollen, and his body felt warm and numb, as though he'd melted into the concrete. It took about a minute before he realized there was something in his mouth. He spat it out gently, feeling it brush by his arm several moments later. With considerable concentration, his hand found it somewhere in the darkness. It was about the size of a walnut, cold and metallic. He closed his hand into a fist as a beeping noise rose somewhere in the distance. Then the lights came on, and he squinted, barely able to see at all. "Good morning." It was a woman's voice, detached yet strangely familiar. She sounded a little tired as her face blurred in and out of focus. "How are you feeling?" She wiped his eyes with some sort of sticky, gauze pad, and Mike could see her short, dark hair as she leaned forward again, looking into his eyes with an elongated, metal instrument. "Do you know where you are?" Mike thought about it. "No." "You're on the Crimson Queen... Royal Fleet passenger liner. You're safe." She put something on his head and then pressed a few buttons. A twisted red line appeared on the display, sparking to mind images of floating bubbles, crimson and boiling. Mike blinked as she turned back around. "Do you remember anything?" "Umm..." For some reason, he found himself imagining her with long, white hair. Her eyes were light brown, like a tiger's. Not silver, like Sule's. He blinked again as the memories came rushing with neither heed nor invitation. "Do you know who you are?" "Mi..." he bit his tongue. "My head feels... kinda woozy." "It's okay. Just rest. If you need anything," she tapped a red button beside his fist. "Lights dim," she commanded. They obeyed, and she seemed to have to play with the door, making it beep several times before it would open. A man wearing a holster stood on the other side, smiling and sneaking a peek. Then the door closed again, and Mike saw a small number pad nested into the wall beside it. The object in his hand was metallic with two small holes set into one face. A moon-shaped etching lay beneath them, making a smiling face of the trio, and the words "try me" were carefully etched along the adjoining side. Frowning, Mike raised it carefully to his head, using his fingers to find the appropriate jacks. His arm felt strangely disconnected, as though half the nerves were deadened, and it took considerable fumbling before the device agreed click into its proper place. The lights seemed to stutter for a moment, and sitting somewhere within one wall, he could see the pair of dancing yellow lanterns. "Cecil, what's going on?" "Speak with your mind, my friend. You are in the gravest danger yet." Mike tried to shrug, but his shoulders barely responded, so he just sat still as the lanterns continued to swirl, beckoning attention. "The Imps believe you are working with ISIS. They think it is you who summoned them to Sule's rescue. It is only a matter of time before they learn the truth." "Where am I?" "The cage, the Crimson Queen's high security section of sickbay." "Are we in hyperspace?" "En route to Tyber." Mike took a deep breath, "No wonder I'm having weird dreams." The lanterns halted their dance, mid-stride. "Dreams?" "Realistic, actually. Ever hear of delayed action re-play?" "Ah... understood." Mike sighed. Cecil knew him too well. "What's our ETA?" "Fifteen hours." "Anybody with you?" The lanterns danced again, "The whole team, Pooper-dumper included." "Does anyone have any ideas for getting me out of here?" "Brain cells be burning over it. Trust in that." "Could you be more specific?" "Locks on doors, for starters. Codes to enter, unknown." Mike smirked, "Unknown? To the ultimate hack?" "Hack Cecil could, but not quietly. Not on this boat, and certainly not concerning their prize jewel." Their prize jewel. Mike savored the sound of it as his smirk decomposed itself into a sullen stare. "I'll get the combo. You guys figure out how to use it. Okay?" "Agreed." Mike disengaged the radio from his jacks, using several minutes debating where to hide it. Precious little was sacred in a hospital null, particularly one in which your every bodily function was monitored by various medical gadgetry. Even a woman doctor would have to get intimate >from time to time. He finally settled on wedging it beneath the upper-torso sheath between his armpit and the castfoam, pressing the red button almost as a after-thought. A young man entered the room a minute later. He wore a white coat with snake insignia and had a soft, friendly face. "Ah... Lieutenant Feso Sosrodjojo at your service." Mike tried to grin, "Lieutenant, I can barely move." "That's just the regen compound doing its work. It contains a mild paralytic." "Take me off it." "Ah... I can't do that." "Lieutenant, don't make me pull rank here. Can you at least take me off the paralytic?" He sighed, "If you don't mind pain, sure." Mike nodded, "I'd also like to see myself. If you have a mirror somewhere..." "No problem. I'll be right back." A minute later, Mike discovered the nurse true to his word. "Why are you being so nice to me, Feso?" "Ah... you're Mr. Important, right? I see Lieutenant Torin always asking about you. He's very tight with the Commodore, I hear." He grinned knowingly, his eyebrows arching as if to say "nudge nudge... wink wink." Then he smiled, sort of shyly. "No, I'm always nice to the patients. It helps people heal, and you need all the healing you can get." "What I need is to be able to move." "Ah... you can move your arm and head." "I want to be able to move my body. I want to be able to do my own digestion and defecation instead of these machines. Can you take me out of the body sheath?" "Ah... I don't think that would be such a good idea." "Please?" ____________________ Erik knew he'd overslept even before he was moderately conscious. He'd woken at his usual time several hours earlier, and recalling the previous night's excitement, promptly closed his eyes. It was a nice change, he decided, though a little too habit forming. "Computer. Reinstate program wake-me." "Done. You have messages waiting." "Say messages, list." "Commodore's quarters. Medical department, check-in desk. Custodial department, laundry section. Done." "Laundry?" "Illegal command ignored." "Say messages, all." "Lieutenant, I am eagerly awaiting a report concerning you-know-who. Make sure I am fully briefed by the time we arrive at Tyber." He groaned. Blip "Hi. Lieutenant Torin, this is Sosrodjojo over at sickbay. In case you haven't gotten word yet, I figured I should let you know before my shift ends. That patient of yours has woken up, and he seems completely cognizant as far as I can determine. You know, because the first thing they do usually is to start complaining. Anyway, I just thought you'd want to know as soon as possible. Bye now." Blip "Hello. This is Chief Ater. We had an interesting time removing those seal-it patches off the fleximesh you sent us. I just wanted to let you know, Lieutenant, that there was a Draconian service insignia underneath. Showed up on the computer as external intelligence branch. I took the liberty of forwarding a memo up the chain of command, but I figured I should at least clue you in as well. Oh, and by the way, we figured out that we can't repair it on-board, but I'd like to shuttle it down to Tyber when we arrive and see what we can do with it on planet." Blip "There are no more messages." "Erase messages, all." Erik crawled out of the null tube and showered, whipping out his clearance badge as he entered the cage's guard room scarce minutes later. "Hold it there, Mister." Hunter's hair was slicked back from perspiration, and Erik guessed that she probably just finished her mid-morning workout. Rumor had it she kept a pair of grav-weights in her desk, and though he'd never confirmed it one way or the other, he'd read that some of the new-school, hands-on surgeons were taking up martial arts for their nerves. Either way, she looked pumped-up enough to belt him one. "Where do you think you're going?" He put on his best smile, "Where's it look like I'm going?" "It looks like you're trying, rather foolishly I might add, to sneak into the cage." "How observant of you." "Don't even think it. I have a patient in there who needs his sleep." "Doctor, this will only take a moment. Open the door." "Don't open it. Lieutenant, the answer is emphatically no." The guard looked between them, obviously befuddled. Erik knew she out-ranked him, but he also knew that he had the power of God to call upon for all the guard was concerned. He pulled the writ from his shin pocket. "You see this?" "Yes sir." "You see the seal?" "Yessir." "You recognize it?" "Yessir!" "Open the door." Dr. Hunter stood behind, her mouth gaping open with a string of saliva ready to spill to the floor. "Nobody ever told me that ISIS was involved!" "You never asked, and keep your voice down." The guard began punching in the access number once they reached the cell. "The door can only be opened from this side. The number is two-four-one-five-three. You key it in from the other side, and it'll tell me that you've entered it correctly. Then I key it on this side, and the door opens." "Keep it open until I say otherwise." "Yessir." The cell door slid into the wall, and Erik entered, followed by a pair of irate footsteps. Her patient was reclining diagonally in the gravitic null, his body sheath laying along the wall behind him. A short, folded chair rested against the near corner, a mirror propped against one of its legs, and another chair, unfolded, sat facing him directly as though he were fully expecting the intrusion. He smiled, his head jacks gleamed in the eerie, turquoise light. "Lieutenant Torin, I take it." Erik sat down, Hunter preferring to stand and look threatening. "Why are you out of your body sheath?" The patient shrugged, a pained wince traveling the length of his face, "I no longer required it." "I'll be the judge of that. I can't believe Feso didn't tell me he did this. Has he been administering the regen compound?" "More or less." "More or less?" She examined the playback for all of two seconds. "What happened to the paralytic?" "I needed to move." "Moving is exactly what you don't need. Mister... Mister Doe, you have been shot several times." "Twice. Only two got through." "Only two?! Look Mister... whoever the hell you are! If you saw yourself yesterday dripping in blood..." Erik broke in, "Doctor! Please." "Lieutenant..." "Doctor, this is a very unusual patient. Please allow him a moment or two of insanity. I can assure you, it comes with the territory." "I will not put up with..." "Due to security matters, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." "What?!" "I am asking, Doctor. Please, don't force me to go further." Tiger-eyes glared down on him, "I don't care what kind of connections you have, Torin. This is coming around. You hear me?" "Fine. Get her out of here." She left before the guard could muster the courage, and Erik made a toothy grin, the sort he used to practice in front of a mirror just to break up his buddies during oral exams. "Guard, you can close the door now. So..." "So..." "How was Calanna?" Mike frowned, "Difficult." "Really. I would never have guessed." "Lieutenant, why am I being locked up?" "Precautions. For your own safety, mainly. After all, how often do we get a genuine ISIS operative on board? And that's not even considering the valuable information which you carry... yes?" Mike nodded, "Yes, but you may be under a misconception. I'm not an operative." "Who are you?" He took a deep breath, hoping his scratchy, wounded voice sounded convincing. "The name's Mikaelis Caiton. I was originally one of John Clay's men." "DSS?" "No. Far from it. I was working only for John. He brought me over from Tizar to keep an eye on Ambassador Kato, but somehow one of your operatives, her name was Sule... no last name, I guess... somehow she found out about me and basically made an offer I couldn't refuse." "What sort of an offer?" "Initiation into ISIS." "She doesn't have that authority, Mr. Caiton." "Call me Mikaelis." "She lied to you." "I'm not surprised. Do you want to hear the rest or not?" "Please." "First, what are you willing to offer me?" Mike grinned, his question a little too direct. Erik grinned back. "Look, Mikaelis. If I wanted to, I could just burn the information from your brain." Mike dropped his grin, "Well, if you put it that way... I started working as a liaison between Clay and your people and managed to escape when things eventually went down on Calanna." "What happened?" "Clay turned triple agent on us. He sacrificed his own life in that nuclear incident you no doubt heard about and managed to kill Erestyl and destroy the ISIS headquarters in a single, calculated strike." Erik sat back, utterly befuddled. "How did you escape?" "Luck. Sule dumped a copy of our mind scanner readings to crystal. I then accompanied her to the starport to deposit them into an interstellar postal envelope. She doesn't like to take chances; that's one thing I liked about her." "How did you get wounded?" "Two of Clay's goons tried to make short work of us at the starport. They were locals. Real temporary hires. They didn't even know their source of income had already reduced himself to a jumble of sub-molecular particles. Really tacky way to go, if you ask me." "And what about Sule?" "She was wounded also. We managed to get to a starship, but its occupants weren't too crazy to have us there. She fought well, but..." Erik took a deep breath, trying to digest the story as quickly as Mike had made it up. "Where's the envelope addressed to?" "If I tell you that, what keeps you from just killing me?" Erik shrugged, "Nothing. You're going to have to trust me." "I don't think so." "Perhaps you should. It could be your last opportunity... to think I mean." Mike nodded, "I'll take you to it, but not until I have a chance to at least introduce myself to your superiors. If you find that unreasonable, then take your chances with the mind scanner, and I'll take mine." Blue light shifted along the Lieutenant's features as he considered the offer. He finally stood up. "I should warn you that insolence is not tolerated in ISIS." "Neither is stupidity," Mike countered, "at least according to Sule." Erik keyed in the combination as he reached the door, oblivious to the shift in his prisoner's gaze. After the door closed again, Mike stumbled over to the folded chair, taking the mirror and placing it flat against the metal deck. Amidst all the gleaming silver, it had either gone unnoticed or been disregarded as trivial. He took a deep breath and re-attached the radio. It took a minute before Cecil's dancing, yellow lanterns returned. "Greetings." "Greetings yourself. I got it. It's two-four-one-five-three." "Copy that. You'll be out in no time." The lanterns disappeared, and Mike disengaged the radio from his jacks, hiding it again while wondering how long "no time" would take. ____________________ It was just a little blinker. To anyone else on the bridge, it would have been beneath notice, but Tabor knew what it meant. He'd just barely finished re-configuring his display for that one little light. His personal message board began scrawling letters almost immediately. "There. See that?" He opened a channel to engineering. Nakaguchi was talking on the other end even before the line opened. "...just like I said. Did you catch it?" Tabor smiled, "I see it," though he had to admit to himself that he could scarcely believe it. "What do you think is causing it?" "You're the communications genius. You tell me." Tabor imported the section of hyperfield fractometer readings which his configuration had obligingly saved narrow seconds before they would have been consigned to electronic oblivion with the rest of the computer's standard erasures. With a few key strokes, he converted the data to a graph, and his eyes grew wide at the puzzling image. Nakaguchi was right. It was pure chaos, except for those few seconds where a series of peaks and troughs appeared with perfectly equidistant delays. "You see it?" "Yeah. I see it, alright. I just don't know what it is." "I do." "What?" Nakaguchi laughed, "It's the slogs of space." "You're doing this, aren't you? This is a joke." "A sick and dangerous joke." "Well, somebody's doing it. This does not happen naturally." "That's what I've been telling you. You should have seen it last time. It went on for more than a minute. I wish I was ready for it. I would have saved it." Tabor nodded, "I wish you had. A few seconds isn't much to go on. I'll get back to you if I figure anything out." "You do that." The line closed with a fitful pop, and Tabor began running the standard code-cracker routines. Lish looked up, yawning contagiously. They'd both got on duty less than an hour ago, and her sleepiness had been infectious until now. "What's up?" "Got a little mystery." ____________________ "Well, it's no mystery to me. I know how men are. Oooh, you think you're tough, don't you?" Carla retaliated with a full round kick, knocking Hunter back at least four feet. The doctor didn't even seem fazed. "I'm telling you, it was infuriating." "Well, don't take it out on me, sister." "Why not?!" Carla had to duck and then some, finally retreating to her safe corner. "Alice, you bitch, you are in a bad mood." "Don't call me that." "Hey, it's okay. I'm one too. I freely admit it. Now if only we could get all men to admit they're assholes, the universe might be an honest place to live." "No... I mean don't call me Alice." "It's your name, ain't it?" "Stop gabbing and fight." Carla kept to the defensive. She could tell her favorite karate student was out for bloody, no-holds-barred aggression, and it was a beautiful sight. "You keep on like this, and I'm gonna have you in the tournament. Talk about focus. The only problem is that you're so pissed, you aren't thinking." She dished back just what the doctor ordered, except that Hunter didn't know it until she was already on the floor, dazed, Carla's foot scrunching down on her nose. "Damn." "Ha! And you thought you had me. Didn't you?" Hunter stood up, rubbing the leg which took the brunt of the take-down. "For maybe half a second." "Longer than that. You were getting wicked, woman." "I have good reason to be wicked." "Yeah, well... you have to think and be wicked at the same time. Once you have that down, all men better run and hide." Hunter smiled. It had taken a while, but Carla was finally getting to her. She always knew the doctor's weak spots. "I didn't say all men." "No, but that is what you mean. C'mon girl. You don't have to pretend different. I know." Hunter shrugged, picking up a towel, "It's just that they're so stupid." "Ain't that the truth." "They refuse to listen to reason. They're pig-headed." "I heard that right. Hey, where's that come from, anyway?" "What?" "Pig-headed." "You never heard of pigs?" "No." Hunter started to laugh, except that she was too angry and couldn't sustain it, so it just came out like all wrong, like a pig's snort. Carla watched her, a hurt scowl crossing her brow. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm stupid or something? Listen girl, just because not everybody goes to college for ten years..." "No... I didn't mean it like that. Pigs are proto-slogs. That's just the sound they make." Carla looked at her again, that strange sort of smile forming along her lips like she figured she was being lied to for the fun of it. "I can do that. Listen..." snort "Hey, this is great." snort snort "You're a real natural." "I've always been able to make that noise. That's a pig noise?" Hunter nodded, "I friend of mine was doing her dissertation on some of the old DNA samples. They were supposedly brainy animals for their time." snort snort "You should have been a science major, Carla." "I'll pass on that. The closest I ever got to science was a psychology class they made me take. It was real cheesy. For the final project, we had to find some sort of phenomena and explain it, okay?" "Uh oh..." "So, this guy in our co-op, he was my subject, except he didn't know it. See? Every time he got hungry, he would go over to the cold food locker, open it up, and just sort of stare inside like some meal was going to jump out at him all of a sudden and make itself. You ever see men do this?" "Not really." "Well, they do. If you ever bothered to just watch people, you will notice a lot of men exhibiting this sort of behavior. And it wasn't like it wasn't his food. It was everybody's food." "Okay. So what was your explanation?" "The cold." "Huh?" "The cold air hitting his stomach caused it to shrink, and so by standing in front of the thing while it was open, he actually reduced the amount of free space in his stomach. How ya like it?" Hunter smiled sympathetically, "What grade did you get?" "It went down as an incomplete. The professor advised me to forget about the sciences and take some trig to cover the slot. Can't say I'm sorry. I'm pretty damn good at what I do." "When do you use trig?" "When is your friend ever gonna meet a pig?" Hunter pondered Carla's eccentric sort of logic on the way back to sickbay. It was already an hour into her sleep shift, but she felt determined to immobilize her patient even if it meant chaining him to the wall and whipping him with warm squash, and ditto for Lieutenant Torin if he was unfortunate enough to still be loitering in the general vicinity. Her thoughts were cut short by the door, however, or more specifically, by it's remaining closed as she tried to walk through it. She picked herself off the floor, holding her bruised nose in one hand as she looked around to see if anybody had witnessed her comedic display of dexterity. Sickbay was never locked. She slid her ID through the scanner slot, but the door refused to budge, defiant and imposing as never before. She considered kicking it, but buried the notion in her list of unspent aggressions. She finally hit the white comm-switch on the right. "Can somebody open the door, please?"