stakes and lies

continued from part 4

“This morning at the capitol The Fifth session voted 'for' and law 237A-13b for now stands. Despite pleas from several individuals, including many loners, Admin Zarto and his committee unanimously renewed the controversial subset and...”

In a square room with no windows, Bill Green sat in an uncomfortable chair watching a whole wall digipost. The government channel was playing, but Bill stared off into a corner, where a tall cactus stood, askew. More Central second degree. He was talked out, and they had gone over the data readings and logs a dozen times. No, he had seen nor heard any unusual alarms at or before the time of the accident. He hadn't even known there was an accident, but Dr. Alex Bethelte had been seriously radiated at some point. No one else on board had. No, he had not logged any alarms. No, the doctor had not logged any alarms or said he was compromised at any point. No, Jasmin Bathelte had not reported any system failures. Would she even know how to set up a scenario to 'murder' her husband, let alone make it look like an accident? Bill didn't think so. He didn't want to reveal their affair, but things like that were hard to keep a secret on a small research ship monitored from most every angle. Their tiny suites weren't recorded, but comings and goings had to be seen. Surely people on ground would have suspected, so he didn't bother lying. And Bill told Jasmin the same before they touched down.

For Green the stakes were high, this entire situation could cost him not only his job, but his license. Being caught in a compromising affair wasn't the end of the world, but a lie was bad news. Murder or negligence was worse. Bill really wasn't concerned with that though. He simply had nothing to do with the doctor's passing. He had been honest and forthright, but to hedge his bets would it hurt to throw Jasmin under the bus? Just a little?

“Other than a prelaunch inspection, I never even went into the research lab,” Green had earlier told the inquisitors. “You have the tapes and data to prove that. Besides, I had nothing to do with the research and I'm sure I wasn't welcome there.” Just as the doctor wasn't welcome in the cockpit, even if he was designated First Captain. That was only an honorary title, stupid really, since Green was his military superior, and the autopilot, or ground control, would fly the ship in dire need. Bill didn't utter a word of his thoughts, only the observable facts.

Except this: “Jasmin spent a lot of time in there.” Central ground had discovered a leak in the outer wall where the research laboratory was. It could have taken the ship minutes or hours to auto repair, and in that time the doctor could have sustained enough radiation to shorten his life considerably. An alarm should have sounded, and that would have given Alex time to clear the room and decontaminate if appropriate. Green was goddamned if he knew what had gone wrong. “She knows the basics of the alarm system and turning it on and off, I suppose.” The inquisitors were looking for something, anything. “I don't believe she would have done anything like that, though,” he added, looking down at his folded hands. I won't directly accuse her, he had thought. Damn, but she was pretty and a welcome diversion in the boredom of the silent vacuum of space. Green liked to play Gershwin over the speakers, and the sultry piano was a smooth backdrop to their gentle zero-g lovemaking. Thinking of her aroused him slightly, and the sensors hovering over his skin jerked the stoic monitor. Green raised his eyes and smirked. “Even so,” he said apologizing, “who among us would suspect her, in any circumstance?”

They neither agreed or disagreed. Second Captain Bill Green was dismissed, for the time.

“Nothing places her at the scene, but it was a crucial point in experimentation – in data gathering.”

“Yes, probably she should have been there. Things would have gone sour without the doctor's full attention....”

“A good time for foul play.”

“Where was she?”

“No data to validate that information, but she wasn't trained to go outside the ship, and certainly not windward to compromise the hull. That would be instant death inside of Mercury's orbit.”

“Could have been alee, when the ship was maneuvering, in advance. She may have disabled the alarms in that section, but only temporarily. It is self correcting?”

“Of course. Besides, all of that is highly unlikely. And she wasn't rated. We can rule it all out.”

“Noted.”

“Other than being the doctor's wife, what qualifications had the woman?”

“Much more than a glorified secretary. She is a trained engineer. Electronics, programming. Even if she wasn't in on the design, it is possible she could discern the ship's electronic systems. As a precursor she would have been given moderate training in the use of emergency protocol, and instruments.”

“Of course. What of Captain Green's assessment?”

“He gave none, and we have concluded he bears none of the blame. Certainly this warrants an obligatory grounding of say, five missions?”

“Two, at the most. It is my conclusion that the wife is the prime suspect.”

The fishbowl in the center of the hexagonal table stirred slightly, but none took notice.

“I second.”

“I too.”

“Concur.”

“Aye. Sentence passed. Inform the ranking lieutenant. Adjourned.”

In the platinum hall, Central Authority's number one conjured his field officer and sent the message, then entered the square room with no windows.

“Captain Green?”

Green stood, quickly alert, and hoped the sweat stinging his eyes didn't show.

“Full exoneration, Green, congratulations. However you're grounded. Two missions – You understand.”

“Absolutely, oh sure.” He scratched his eyebrow. “The doctor's wife?”

“That's none of your concern Green, but you've mucked it enough, don't you think? Let's call it one month leave? Okay, dismissed, stay out of trouble soldier.”

Green collected his beret and marched out, relieved and sickened all at once. From all corners the collected moisture saw all.

continued in part 6

virginal voophilia

continued from part 3

Liane River flowed into the English Channel, but today it was a languid tree lined thoroughfare for lovers. Jasmin had brought a man, a much younger one with little practice in the art of lovemaking, and they hired a floating raft of sorts complete with canopy and hidden motors and contraptions. The river had been severely terraformed in the middle of the century, and with its added loops and canals it moved slowly now, at a relaxed pace and was the perfect attraction for a licentious liaison.

 Amando was all hands, but she enjoyed his attention, just so long as he was careful to avoid her newly bandaged neck. In a side trip to Spain Jasmin had looked up a back street surgeon, adept at removing the tags that Central Authority buried in its employees and contractors. She also dumped her mobile timepiece and converted all credits into several untraceable point-cards, which she had hidden in a wealth of locations. Living off the grid could be a hassle, but it was also joyful in its simplicity. Jasmin decided to get back to nature, where a slow existence was easy, and cheap.

 She jumped up, shifting the raft but its float dampers refused to let the boat tip. "Rise, Aman. Enough amore, I want to fight."

 Amando laughed, his accent was thick, but only because the ladies seemed to prefer it. "Alright, senorita. Give me a hand." Jasmin pulled him up and assumed a fighting stance. The raft was too small for an all out melee, but the water was soft, and clean if they should fall off. "Begin," Amando said, and began by feinting  with a right and throwing his left at her midriff. Jasmin took a slight blow as she maneuvered out of the way and twirled on one leg, planting a foot into the side of Amando's face. He was an accomplished brawler so the move didn't faze him. He simply took her ankle and twisted it, then threw her into the Liane.

 Little bubbles surfaced at the spot she had landed, and Amando leaned over the side to peer into the dark water. A large brown bear on the river bank guffawed loudly at the raft, and Amando looked up, surprised, when Jasmin reappeared behind him, dripping wet, and kicked him into the drink. The bear was not amused and slunk into the thickets. Jasmin knelt on the raft and smiled at the wet gent, who sneered and shook his long wet hair out of his eyes. "Pull me up," he said.

 "No tricks," and Jasmin reeled him in. She beckoned to a faux ermine throw, and lay him down on the blanket. They peered into each others eyes, and Jasmine stroked the soft fur under their bodies, feeling the texture tickle her fingers. She sighed and nuzzled his neck, then fell into his arms, into rapture.

 Above, in a sky colored wing, eyes looked on. Willoby circled in the currents, content to monitor the situation, for now.

continued in part 5

the way of the north

continued from Part 2

At Cape Canaveral they were prepping for a history lesson. An old tube-looking thing had been refurbished by 20th century Obsessionists, fitted with rocket boosters, and was propped upright to fire into orbit. Willoby suspected it would blow sky high. He was observing primarily for the chance to see that very thing, but he would be impressed if it made it. Of course, the Europans would then incinerate it in orbit. Too bad, Willoby thought, but near Earth orbit was pretty crowded these days and an unauthorized hunk of metal was more than just a nuisance. He had heard they were putting a monkey named Corn Wallace into the cockpit, but was sure that was only a joke. No one in their right mind would put a sentient creature into a death machine.

A green light pulsed mildly in his left eye, then the speaker clipped to his ear chirped.

"Willoby. Willoby, you're on the move."

"Which case?" He asked. Sparks were swirling around the rocket's carapace. Where had they gotten the tons of fuel required to launch this beast? Then the tell tale spark machine shorted out and the reverse magnetic ion system kicked on, lasers flew from the ass end, and the rocket fluidly boosted eighty thousand feet into near space and vanished beyond the cloud cover. "Ohhh," he said. No fuel.

There was a lot of clapping. Willoby felt a bit cheated, though. "Willoby, are you there?"

"Did you see the rocket launched?"

"They blew it up, didn't waste any time. I hope the lot of those idiot Obsessionists were all aboard."

"Rude. So, what's up?" asked Willoby.

The voice on the line hesitated. "The sun mission. Central has found the woman involved mostly guilty, and they want her back at the field office. You're to retrieve, reading show her stationary in Paris. Got that? We'll transmit her beacon with the packet; now."

"Got it," said Willoby as he scanned the data scrolling before his eyes. He disconnected and turned against the crowd back to the shuttle. He figured this retrieval would be little more than hum drum. A mere chore. The widow would be sunning by a pool, sipping a frou-frou drink and maybe taking in the local fauna, she wouldn't expect a visitor from Central Authorities Crime Division. Frankly, if she was 'mostly guilty', then he doubted she was guilty at all. It wasn't Willoby's job to decide that, just to collect the body. Alive and undamaged preferably.

As the shuttle reached the cycle lot, his data beeped. Jasmin Bathelte was on the move, to Nord-Pas-de-Calais, that is, North France. He palmed the cycle handle and once the bubble clicked shut, Willoby rocketed down the highway, watching as meteoric flaming debris fell into the Atlantic Ocean behind him.

continued in part 4

sunday is for the whats?

the forensics of spume

part 1 here

Sipping coffee at a Paris café wasn't earning her any points with CASA, but she didn't care. In the weeks after touchdown and mandatory cell regeneration, Jasmin had sold her and Alex's two thousand square foot condo in Manhattan, then rented a flat here in Paris for an open ended amount of time. She explained: I've lost my husband of fifteen years to overexposure, due to negligence (none admitted) of your administration, and I can damn well take as much time off as I need. And want.

The investigation was still on, and CASA was implicating everybody aboard - certainly not itself. Still, it would look bad to formerly charge the widow unless direct evidence suggested otherwise. Central Authority let her go, Jasmin was hardly beyond their authority, no place on the planet was.

Jasmin drained the small cup and a twinkle in the dimming sky caught her eye. One of thousands of satellites, Europan owned, that spied on and punished human extremes. Jasmin threw a hand up and a passing waiter filled her cup. To be honest, the Europans cared little for your common, individual transgression. Those were still worked up by the local authority. The Europans, creepy little space sea monkeys, had made the world by large a fair and organized society. Everything was easier, better, but nobody liked to be controlled. Jasmin tapped the round water bowl in the center of her small table. The water sparkled with dust as it caught the rays from a falling sun. The swimming dust swirled and one mote pressed its eye against the glass and winked. Jasmin wrinkled up her nose, and the Europans - or were they just the tools of Europa?- formed into an eddy and coalesced to the top of the bowl in a frothy swirl, like a galaxy seen from afar.

She absently fingered her mobile time piece, wondering if there was a message from Bill. But no, there wouldn't be. Second captain Bill Green was a premiere CASA pilot, always walking a tight line and a company man. She was sure he had been grounded, for the time being, but that was only a formality because of Alex's premature death. Jasmin suspected she would get tagged for some sort of gross negligence in the accident, whether it was her fault or not. The only question in her mind was, would they sell it as an honest mistake, or foul play? Did Central know she and the pilot were playing patty fingers on the side? Had Alex known? He was always so absorbed with his work and data. The sun, Sol, was his obsession.

Jasmin noticed the time now. Seven o'clock. Certainly it wasn't too early for something stronger. She pushed the coffee cup away and ordered wine.

part 3 here

seventh goddess

She buried her husband on Boris Yeltsin's birthday, in the year of his lord, 2100. Every day was somebodies birthday, and while Jasmin hadn't an iota who Yeltsin was, she could appreciate his powerful, sustaining moniker. So, along with a crew of one, second captain Bill Green, Jasmin wrapped Alex in a space sheet, tied loosely but tied all the same, and jettisoned him gently toward the sun. They watched from the cramped cafeteria on a standard digipost wall board. The camera zoomed in and as the sun grew larger, the shrouded body dimmed in resolution, finally disappearing from view altogether. Jasmin and Bill sat close on the couch watching, their thighs touching, separated only by thermaline morning wraps, wondering how close Alex would get to the flaming ball at the center of Earth's system. But if, or when, it happened, they could never know. She only knew that as Earth's premiere big-burning-orb scientist, Alex would be happy knowing he was vaporized by father Sol's long reach.

This had been Alex's seventh tour in close orbit to the sun, all previous tours with an odd assortment of personnel. Alex had been classified as Captain always, though the duties of piloting and controlling the ship always fell to second captain. Bill Green was on his third tour with Alex, and there had always been a female scientist along too. Alex finally brought his wife along, Jasmin, though she had little knowledge in the workings of Sol. She was touched he wanted her close, Alex called her his goddess. Green had called her the seventh goddess, and he winked.

 The sun burned hugely on the screen, orange and yellow. Alex was a memory. Jasmine shed a single tear. Bill Green brooded over the loss of a precious heat absorbing thermaline sheet and the synthetic binding they used to tie it. Everything else they kept - Alex was naked as the day he was born under the sheet, which Jasmine insisted on because she thought the images of his arms and legs flopping around in the vacuum of space might be thoroughly undignified. They filmed the entire episode.

Green leaned forward and flipped off the camera and monitor. Then he squeezed Jasmin's arm and let his fingers trail down the side of her stiff wrap, against the curve of her breast and lay it on her thigh.
Jasmin sighed and shot a look of disdain at the second captain. "Really Bill?"

"Too soon? Okay, I really should get started on the paperwork anyway. And you might want to edit that footage and contact CASA." Bill stood stiffly and yawned. "I'm taking work into the slerve. Gotta loosen up some, what a downer."

She stretched out along the unoccupied portion of the couch and close her eyes. "You realize that we'll have to rendezvous now sooner than we thought. Of course without Alex I don't know what kind of mission we can sustain."

Jasmine listened to his voice trail off as Bill rounded a tube corridor. His words faded out, "They'll probably send up another sun guy," something unintelligible, "...have some time until.." something, "...get back to work for now...."

part 2

advertising, aliens, and coffee. Rah!

 did you remember to bring the tickets?

just in time for the Super Bowl

 enjoying a pot of coffee and a favorite novel, The Mote in God's Eye