Goldstein
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June 13th
What a sunny and happy that day was. The birds were singing, the cicadas hummed, like nature’s alarm clock. The sky was a light blue, broken only by the long trails left by the countless ships buzzing above the Kennedy Space Center. A light breeze buffeted the grass and created tiny little waves. How exciting, so full of promise!
I wasn't paying much attention to the squat, yet-impressive Center. My briefcase was sitting on my lap and acting as an emergency surface so that I could finish my latest report. It wasn't exactly essential, it was a report on the latest training practices being operated in the Bohr Quadrant, but my superiors would have my head if I turned it in late. "Late," of course, being after the moment I stepped into my office.
"Okay, what was that officer's name...Dougal, Donald, Captain, Corporeal..." I felt like snapping my pencil in my frustration. I was better than that. But lately...
"Of course! Warrant Officer Smitters, how could I forget?" I hurriedly penciled in his name, along with some other information, then let out a contented sigh. I removed my cap and scratched my scalp, then quickly rearranged it into a tight bun when I saw the ground rapidly coming closer and closer.
I paid the cabbie, who accepted his $87 dollar fee without a word. I quickly checked to make sure my uniform was free of dust or lint, then confidently proceeded into the building.
In the middle of the Center sat a huge rocket, blocked of by thick plexi-glass. Scientists in mustard yellow suits with long tails that reminded me of a 19th century butler were talking and showcasing the rocket, which would launch later that day. Government agents and members of the press studied it with amazement.
I hadn't been invited to attend the countdown. I don't know why...
...
My office overlooked the entrance to the Center. Arches with quotes from astronauts carved into them stand over a jet black and unnaturally smooth road flanked by tiny models of famous shape ships and satellites that sit in serene pools of water that create waves to give the illusion the rockets are about to blast-off. That view, however, was blocked by the bulk of Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Gannie.
I never did like Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Gannie. He knew nothing of spatial warfare, having been trained in conventional terrain tactics. Still, the boys up in the White House saw it fit to appoint him to the Local Space division. They knew more than me, apparently. It helped, I suppose, that his distant uncle was the Exulted Premier.
“You’re fired,” he said.
“Excuse me, sir?” I said, thinking I misheard him. Or it was a prank. That would be just like him.
“Budget cuts. The KSC has too many tactical strategists, and you’re part of the group we don’t need anymore.” Not a single drop of sympathy. Smug snake, I thought, nothing like being totally incompetent to grant you job security. “You will vacate the area immediately?”
“Yes, sir,” I said through gritted teeth, my grip so tight on my briefcase I'm sure my knuckles were white.That cursed grin of his. He would take pleasure in someone losing their job. He brushed past me, off to presumably inform some other sod of some bad news.
I didn’t even have a box for all my possessions, and they wouldn't fit all into my briefcase, so I used my gray cap instead for what remained. As one last act of revenge, I stole everything, from the stapler to the big rubber band ball. As I took my college certificate off the wall the news finally hit me at full-force, and I had to choke back tears.
How undignified.
Anger and disappointment ballooned in my chest as I made the walk of shame out the Center. Disappointed because it was best job I ever had. Angry because I hadn’t seen this coming and I was letting it get me down. There was work elsewhere. I could get hired by some corporation, maybe BP, maybe Microsoft. No one paid me much mind. It seemed, while I wasn't paying attention, that layoffs had become the norm.
Which cab should I take? The one back to my apartment, so I could mope in peace? To the food district, to drown my sorrows in cheap coffee? Or to the business district to start finding a job immediately? The first two sounded so pathetic, even in my head, that I headed for the closest business cab when I heard-
“Hey, want a job?”
His words caught me off-guard. At first I didn't think he was addressing me, but then I recognized he was smiling at me. I glared at the speaker, a middle-aged man with a long, unruly beard. He stood, his arms crossed, against the side of a personal transport car that was conspicuously fancy, compared to the standard government models. He himself looked like he had been dragged there from a back-alley, out of place amongst the uniformed officials.
“How do you know I need a job?” I said roughly, and I tried to walk away, but he jumped in front of me.
“People with jobs don’t carry stuff like staplers around in their hats. Come on lass, do you want to join the unemployed mass? How much demand do you think there is for, uh,” he bent down and read my nametag, “tactical strategists named Grace O’Malley?”
I rolled my eyes and pushed past him. I had him marked from the very beginning. Any man that looked like he should have been receiving welfare checks shouldn’t be offering jobs. Not legal ones, at least.
“Come on kid,” the man said, jumping in front of me again. He threw his coat open, and for a second I thought he was one of those flashers, but instead of bare private parts, I saw gleaming watches, eyeglasses, necklaces, and oddly, handguns. He handed me a necklace, one with a huge ruby stone in the middle.
“Fancy that?”
I looked it over, and exchanged it for a gold-plated pistol. “This is just cool,” I said, letting the sunlight reflect off its surface.
The scoundrel grinned. “Then step into my car. There’s more of that.”
I scoffed and gave him the gun back. “I’m sure there is. Unfortunately, I’m NOT interested.”
“Then at least let me escort you to the nearest Employment Kiosk?” he said, slapping the door of the car behind him, which rose and shot off into the air, quickly out of sight.
There was no getting rid of him. Better to just let him come and show him how easy it would be for me to get a job. I never would have thought that’d be the last time I’d see the Center’s towering ships and trimmed green lawns.
Ever since the Conjoined Confederation of Countries was formed and the idea of colonizing the moon became a reality, the area around the Kennedy Space Center became prime real-estate. The government built housing for the scientists and security guards, but people need groceries, barbers, clothing, and other such things. The private sector provided that. Named “Narmstrong,” after that first, and greastest space explorer ever, it flourished, and soon became an icon of what modern-day countries could do when they let science and common sense lead the way. No crime, poverty. No churches, either, but if that’s a good or bad thing, I’ll let you decide.
Employment Kiosks were set up all over the city. I’m not sure why, no one lived in Narmstrong just to live there. But it was convenient.
The sterile neatness of the Center slowly gave way to the more casual and welcoming architecture of the city. Plastic was replaced by worn bricks and flower boxes. Main street was crowded with people, children with mothers, shoppers and sellers, love-struck couples. I felt alone. I quickly shook off the absurd feeling and approached an Employment Kiosk on the corner of a pharmacy. The man was still behind me, regrettably, so I typed in my job, then selected the city of Narmstrong, then stood to the side so he could clearly see the screen.
“Just watch, there’ll be plenty of-“
“No matches found,” he said, reading the screen.
“What? Well, uh, no matter, I can move. Let’s try all of Florida…”
“No results found. Perhaps the entire United States?”
I swallowed my pride and did as he said. After what seemed like forever, the results came back. Three jobs, located in Iowa.
“My goodness. Seven to seven hours? Only $100,000 a year salary? Not as cushy as your previous job. Not as cushy as what I’m offering.”
I cursed and slapped the machine.
“Feisty, I do like that in a woman, and-“
He shut up when I jabbed my finger in his face. “Why shouldn’t I do the same to you?”
Without breaking eye contact he pressed the golden pistol into my hands. “Just see the old girl, okay?”
What could it hurt? I told him to lead the way, which he did, with a bounce in his step.
The shipping bay always filled my heart with excitement. How could if not incite images of adventure and discovery? All of the ships, huge and small, lined up in rows, ready to blast off to
some new, exotic world. Waves, if they got big enough, would crash into the side and send droplets of seawater into the air. No one complained. It was considered good luck to be sprayed with sea foam at the start of a journey.
This shipping bay, however, located discreetly behind a packaging warehouse, seemed...off. People talked as they cleaned their ships or scrubbed the floor, loudly and boisterously. No security cameras, either.
Some of the dock workers, burned red, seemed to recognize my companion. “Hey, Commander, when you setting sail again? We gotta make a living, too, you know!” one of them called as his buddies snickered behind them.
“Oh, so you’re a Commander. Have a last name?” I asked as I admired the different kinds of ships.
“I do. Commander Francis Bills of the HMS Roanoke. And here she is,” he said as he spread out his arms, as if presenting a huge banquet.
It was a frigate, class-A, with six cannons capable of firing missiles with on-board computer guidance, along with engines that could reach .4 light-years. Fast, quick. A pirate’s ship.
“Fastest ship in all of space.” He sounded very proud
I rubbed my chin as I appraised the humble craft. “It’s not bad,” I finally concluded.
“Not bad?” a bald man with an eyepatch said as he clambered out of the ship. “Lass, this is one of the best pieces of hardware ever built. Show some respect.”
“Ah, Mr. Bridges, a pleasure to see you this fine day,” Commander Bills said, “please meet our new first mate. That is, if Mrs. O’Malley cares to join.”
Before I could object, Mr. Bridges did it for me. “Mr. Davies leaves, and you replace him already? There’s not a single ounce of respect in you.”
“I’m afraid I agree with the bald man,” I said. “I’m not a pirate.”
The word caused a visible shift in their attitudes. “How can you trust this woman?” Mr. Bridges demanded, his one eye alive with rage. “Throwing that word around as if it’s nothing. She could get us
killed!”
“She will do her job splendidly.”
“Do I get a say?”
Commander Bills pinched the space between his eyes and said, “Look, Grace, there aren’t any jobs for you. What else do you have? Our operations may or may not be legal. It hardly matters,
regardless.”
He had a point. But I wasn’t willing to leave the boundaries of the law so easily. I told him that.
“We…men of fortune don’t do contracts. Do one raid with us. We don't kill anyone, if that's what you're worried about, and we'll official record you as a prisoner press-ganged into service, so if we're caught, you're off scotch-clean. No risk, lot's to gain. Sounds pretty swill, aye?
Commander Bill’s face was one of pleading, Mr. Bridge’s, one of loathing. Did I really want to do this? What was the alternative? Some sub-standard job in…Iowa? Maybe a desk-job in a corporate
monstrosity? Or a job where my skills are valued? The only thing that had kept me tied to Narmstrong was my job at the Center. I thought of my little apartment in the military district, filled with worthless furniture and nothing of particular worth. I didn’t want to go back there.
“Fine. So long as I’m paid, I’ll do what you want.”
Mr. Bridges shook his head with disgust. “That’s why Davies left us. No loyalty in the crew. It’s gonna be the death of us all.”
“You do your job, and I’ll do mine,” Commander Bills said. “A celebration is in order. The men have full pockets and nothing to spend it on.”
“Not in this flowery town, anyway,” Mr. Bridges grumbled as he headed back into the Roanoke. “Shall I tell the captain to plan a course for the Tortuga Station?”
The mention of the station made Commander Bill’s eyes light up. “Aye, that sounds refreshing.”
The sound of the engine revving up mingled with the crash of a powerful wave. Seawater drizzled down, catching the light, sparkling.
“Welcome aboard, Miss O’Malley,” Commander Bills said, bowing and holding the door open for me.
What had I gotten myself into? With a gulp I entered the ship.
The inside was as clean as the outside, which surprised me. The floors were a slick black tile, the walls a smooth, white plastic. The hallways were spacious, enough for two men to walk abreast.
“You’ll be rooming in the First Mate’s office. Not as big as the captain’s or mine own, but it’s private,” Commander Bills said, pointing down a hallway to our right.
“Thank you,” I said awkwardly. Did I call him sir, maybe commander? A look of resentment flickered across his face, but perhaps that was just my imagination.
“Go ahead and get refreshed, then you’ll want to meet the captain.”
I nodded, and we parted.
The office was cozy. The walls did little to muffle the sound of the engine, but I’d get used to it. There was a small cot in one corner, a desk in the other. A small, circle window gave me a clear view of the ocean. I watched as the horizon went from horizontal, to diagonal, to vertical. We were ready to blast off. It’s amazing what artificial gravity can do. I had no shifts in perspective, and nothing was rolling around.
There was a small tug in my stomach as we slowly ascended. When I looked back up, a few minutes later, we were already high up in the clouds. Not even a hint of turbulence.
All of my possession fit into my desks’ top drawer. I checked the closet for any clothes, but it was barren. I supposed I’d be purchasing my own. I smiled rather immaturely at the idea of dressing up in a tricorn hat and corset and breeches. Maybe even a parrot.
Looking back, the fact I was smiling so soon after accepting an offer to board a pirate ship surprises me.
A couple of crewmates passed by my open door, sneaking a peek at the new addition, I suppose. They were snickering and speaking in whispers, and when I faced them, they hurriedly scampered out of view. A couple of cabin boys. Harmless.
The fellow that followed wasn’t. He was a huge, hunchbacked man with a mangled arm that he carried in a sling. Only for a second did he pause to analyze me. The conclusion he arrived at must have been unpleasant, because he furrowed his brow and snarled at me before passing on.
I’d be lying if I said the encounter didn’t frighten me a little. I steeled my nerves, then made my way to the helm of the ship, mindful to lock the door behind me.
< Message edited by Goldstein -- 1/31/2012 23:28:16 >
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