Date Point: 6y 11m AV
Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Moses Byron
“Oh, Mr. Byron! We were all so pleased to hear you were coming, the project’s really starting to find its feet!”
“So I heard.” Moses replied. The VP in charge of Cimbrean Development—Levaughn Thomas—was one of the more…interesting people that he employed, being both a rare example of somebody who had managed to remain overweight while living on Cimbrean with its mandatory exercise schedule, and as camp as a Hollywood manicurist.
He was also so much of a brown-noser that it was a wonder he could smell his own Paco Rabanne, but Byron didn’t mind that when it came attached to a keen organizational mind. “You’re all doing a good job out here.” He commented, glad that he’d sent one of his three AW609 tiltrotors out here. The vehicle was surprisingly quiet on the inside, easy enough to have a conversation in. “Three weeks ahead of schedule, well done.”
“Yes sir!” Thomas beamed happily, cleaning his spectacles. “Everyone’s so rising to the occasion.”
Byron reflected that sparing no expense had probably helped there. if he was any judge, the project’s wastage was going to border on the scandalously high, without being high enough to warrant a stern response.
Hopefully.
Still. It would prove to be worth it in the end. Cimbrean definitely WOULD profit, and probably sooner rather than later, but even if he never got to enjoy those profits himself, he’d go down in history as the ultimate philanthropist. A win-win.
He looked out of the tiltrotor’s window as the pilot pushed it into horizontal flight mode and circled round Folctha’s western districts, where the bulk of his construction work was happening—the huge agricultural depots were already in place, the workshops and factories and dozens of small grain silos. Yes, a handful of immense ones would have been more cost-effective for bulk storage, but the engineers had produced some rather neat graphs to show that the energy costs of jumping that much volume back to Earth through Array technology would have caused the originally-planned huge silos to fill faster than they could be emptied.
Sending little and often, on the other hand, kept on top of predicted growth for nearly ten years before an expansion became necessary. Little surprises like that had kept the project truly interesting, but as they picked up speed and set course for the real crown jewel of this plans, fifty miles out of town, he found his attention drawn upwards.
“When do they arrive?” he asked
“They’re already in orbit, Mister Byron. Their shuttle should be landing at about the same time as we do.”
Byron looked back down, satisfied.
“That’s native flora down there, isn’t it?” He asked. Cimbrean native plants were chlorophyll-based, just like plants on Earth, but they had a slightly paler, blueish cast to them. Earthling flora was evolved for an atmosphere which was nowhere near as effective at blocking UV, and was darker as a result. You could really tell the difference.
“Yes, sir.”
“I only really start to appreciate just how big this is when I see it from up here. A whole planet, Levaughn. All of its native life, doomed, all of it now becoming humanity’s property, all because somebody got caught short in the woods.”
“I know. It’s terrifying.” Thomas nodded.
“Awful.” Byron said, as if agreeing. He chose the word extremely carefully—the thought really did leave him full of awe.
If a lone and ignorant human could do something so momentous accidentally…
Byron’s mental filing system had, for most of his life, included a folder he thought of as ‘moon laser’ projects—ideas that were simultaneously both technically possible—as in, the math checked out and there was no real obstacle to his making it happen—but obviously absurd. He COULD have afforded to establish a permanent manned installation on the moon equipped with a giant laser.
Sure, the idea had been to use it for laser propulsion of interstellar probes equipped with solar sails, rather than some idiot James Bond villain thing like blowing up the New York Stock Exchange, but…why? It wasn’t like they’d come back, and when probes like New Horizons and Voyager had done just fine with old-fashioned reaction mass and gravity boosts…
Nobody needed a laser on the moon. What they needed was…civil engineering projects, small-business investments, energy or…hell, maybe just a cooler fridge, a smarter phone and a carbon-neutral car. They needed an ethical mogul, a world-class multibillionaire wh o used his money responsibly and for the betterment of the common man.
Moses knew that he was not that man. He just did a very convincing impression of that man.
Hence the moon laser folder. It was where he stuffed all the amazing things that a little boy had once imagined that billionaires did. After all, Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne were billionaires. Lex Luthor too, even if he was the baddie.
And that little boy was still very much alive in there, and adamant that at least ONE of those things would get done.
Fifty years on, the little boy knew you didn’t just build a laser on the moon. First, you laid the groundwork. You got the logistics in place, prepared a plan, got everything as ready as it could be…
Then you made the world need a laser on the moon, and they’d pay for it for you.
“Mister Byron?”
Moses shook off his thoughtful fugue. “Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry Levaughn. That was rude of me.”
“It’s nothing important sir. I’m just saying that…the shuttle’s alongside us.”
Moses glanced out the port window. Sure enough, a grey vehicle with all the aerodynamic grace and aesthetic beauty of a breezeblock was keeping pace with them, held aloft by forcefields and kinetic thrusters. It was a fair bit larger than the tiltrotor, and a damn-sight uglier.
“Looks like we got us a convoy.” he drawled, and stood up to cross the cabin for a better view. This did little to improve the shuttle’s appearance, and he couldn’t see the pilot through the black canopy, so after a moment or two he returned to his seat and looked back out the window.
Sure, the agricultural facilities back in Folctha might be more finished, as was the spaceport, but it was this facility that held his real hope for Cimbrean’s future. It was a compound, three overlapping rectangles on the ground, one of which was already the drained-abscess wound that would form the basement and foundation for the regional office building. ‘regional’ meaning the whole planet, for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t pretty, but he’d see the architectural plans—it would be. Especially once the ornamental monoliths, fountains, reflecting pools, lawns and trees were in place.
The important building, however, was very much finished.
They set down some five minutes after the compound and its hive of busy yellow vehicles came into view, the shuttle politely allowing Byron’s tiltrotor to alight first, tucking its engine nacelles up into the vertical and spinning them down like a crow settling its plumage.
True to form, the shuttle’s own landing was graceless. It wallowed down onto a forcefield cushion and thumped up a cloud of dust as it cut power to the engines and relied on the fields to handle the last few inches. If not for the stabilisers inside it, it would have been a rough jolt of a landing.
Moses adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and jacket as he crossed the grass. The aliens had been quite clear that they didn’t plan on staying a moment longer than was necessary to make the delivery.
They were Guvnurag, as big as backhoes themselves, but still able to stand side-by-side in the cavernous shuttle, carrying something between them. Huge, dark brown, shaggy and rippling with colour along the bioluminescent lines that began in the middle of their huge foreheads and spread out along their spines and flanks, they rolled down the shaking ramp on sturdy, elephantine leg, each with one thick-fingered hand hefting the handle of a crate as big as their torsos.
“Gentlebeings! Welcome.” Byron spread his hands in hospitality, reminding himself to keep the smile on his face closed-mouthed. Bared-teeth grins unnerved and frightened aliens, as a rule. He hoped that the translator that Thomas was carrying was up to the job, but it seemed that it was, as it chugged out at length a string of syllables that sounded something like long-winded Japanese being spoken by a double bass.
The slightly smaller of the two aliens replied in kind, and Byron blinked as the translator cancelled out its words with phase-shifted noise and replaced them with a startlingly high-pitched piccolo woman’s voice. The translators allegedly tried to find an equivalent match for vocal pitch and mannerisms, suggesting that this particular Guvnurag was a young and ebullient female.
“Mister Moses Byron!” she exclaimed, and glanced at her bodyguard, patterns of light pulsing all over her skin. Moses searched his recent memory, having studied Guvnurag bioluminescence in depth just that morning. The young female was…nervous. Intimidated? Or perhaps just inexperienced and jittery. It was hard to tell. “It is good to meet at last.”
“The beginning of what I hope will be a profitable relationship for us both.” Moses declared, extending a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, the Guvnurag trader extended her own hand, which was a good triple the size of Moses’ own, and shook hands. He made a point of not gripping anything. Her immense mitt may have been warm and soft, but the bones inside it weren’t a patch on the human skeleton, and it would not do to injure a trading partner.
“Speaking of which…” the other Guvnurag rumbled, being given a deep, phlegmatic voice.
“Of course. Levaughn?”
Thomas nodded and waved two men forward, each dragging a wheeled suitcase.
“Original human artwork.” Moses said, as the first one was opened. “Ten paintings, three sculptures. Unique and, thanks to your Confederacy’s quarantine field, otherwise almost impossible to export.” he smiled. “I suspect that this case alone will pay for our purchase in full, if you find the right auctioneers. As to the other case…”
It opened, revealing a neat rack full of glass phials and little plastic boxes.
“Terran organic compounds. Medicines, mostly—acetaminophen, ibuprofen, aspirin, codeine…There are also samples of caffeine, tea tree oil, mint oil, pimento berry oil, olive oil, xanthan gum, cumin, black pepper, cocoa, latex….A full list is in there, along with instructions for what they can do, a comprehensive assessment of which ones may prove to be hazardous, and the formula for some of the simpler ones. Oh! And please accept this with my compliments.”
He offered the bottle that Thomas had just handed him. “A personal gift. California Cabernet Sauvignon, two thousand seven. The last really good vintage year before the Long Drought and, I’m assured, entirely safe for Guvnurag biology.”
He suspected, from the hues that pulsed down their lengths, that the aliens were taken aback
“Such generosity!” the female exclaimed. Moses smiled benevolently.
“You’ll find a spiral device amidst the artwork.” he said. “It’s not an abstract sculpture, it’s called a ‘corkscrew’, and you’ll need it to get the bottle open. You’ll figure out how, I’m sure.”
“Thank you. And…well, here is our end of the trade.”
They picked up the object they had been carrying between them, set it down again in front of them, opened it, and took out its contents, which they set atop the carrying case.
“Oh my God.” Moses breathed and leaned in, pleasantly surprised. “It even looks the part!”
“Excuse me?” the male alien asked.
“I’m sick of technology like warp drives and gravity field generators and whatever looking like something out of a ham radio catalog.” Moses indicated the object he had just purchased. It looked great: enigmatic, black, festooned with alien runes and pulsing lines of light. “Look at this thing! This is what I always imagined a scifi gizmo like an FTL comms relay would look like!”
The Guvnurag traders exchanged glances and then, sheepishly, the male stepped forward and opened what turned out to be the box that the actual FTL comms relay came in.
Moses deflated. The object inside was plain old technology after all. Wrapped in static-free plastic and a cradle of packing foam. It was drab, metallic and functional: all bare screw heads, electrical connectors and data ports, and the alien runes were probably warnings, warranty void stickers, and the serial number.
”…Figures.” he sighed. “Why the flashy lines?”
“Those are…emotional indicators. They tell Guvnurag that the object inside is delicate and should be handled carefully.” the female explained.
“They’re emoticons.” Thomas translated.
“Thank you Levaughn.” Moses only barely stopped himself from sounding nettled, and forced himself back into a good mood. It was stupid to be so disappointed by something so trivial when he now had a brand new interstellar communications device to play with. Or, more accurately, to pay people to play with.
He straightened. “Well. Thank you very much indeed. I do hope you found our business satisfactory.”
“We did!” the female enthused, echoed by an assenting rumble from her counterpart.
“If you need any help getting that stuff onto the shuttle…”
The aliens tested the suitcases, assured him that everything was fine, and retreated up the ramp, wishing him fond farewells and promising to try the wine at their first opportunity.
Levaughn had already handed the relay off to the technicians and engineers, who were bustling it towards the communications building as fast as they could without jolting it. “That seemed…to go smoothly.” he observed, bringing his exquisitely plucked eyebrows together in a frown.
“You’re not a believer in smooth business transactions, Levaughn?” Moses asked him, wryly.
“So not.” Levaughn retorted, rolling his eyes. “Daddy always told me, there’s always a catch.”
Moses chuckled, and looked up at the shuttle as it lurched into the air and away. “Why introduce a catch where it’s not needed? All that stuff cost me…what, a few hundred dollars? My investment portfolio made that much just standing here. And in return…”
“We can talk to the galaxy.”
Byron smiled. “For starters, Levaughn.” he agreed. “For starters.”
Date Point: 6y 11m 2w AV
Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Ava Rios
‘Eden’ had been sold, of course. There was always a demand for housing in Folctha these days: it was a boom town in a huge way, being equal parts scientific goldmine, private-sector wet dream and a retirement paradise where the gravity weighed just a little less on wealthy old bones.
Thousands of idealistic libertarian dreamers had flocked in, and Sir Jeremy Sandy had taken a convincing win in Cimbrean’s first ever democratic elections to remain as colonial governor thanks in part to his adoption the most progressive, fair-handed and logical social policies that modern political theory could invent.
Businesses had flooded in alongside the people, investing billions. Folctha’s skyline was all cranes and scaffolding as buildings popped up like mushrooms, each one outdoing its predecessors as the architects fought for prestige and to make the most creative use of the opportunities afforded by low gravity. The forest line had been pushed back for miles, and the farmers seemed to be making more money just buying up the land and then selling it for development so they could buy more land further out, than from the actual agriculture.
Hotel space was also cheap, and much nicer than Eden had been. Besides, it wasn’t like Adam had many opportunities to spend his salary on much else. Most of it went straight into savings.
Dipping into those savings to spend Christmas and the New Year at the brand-new Folctha Star Hotel had been his idea, and a genius one. The walls were thick and soundproofed, the bed was measured in acres, the bath was big enough for two, and the windows were thick, sturdy, and completely opaque from outside, in part thanks to the solar-gathering forcefield that meant the hotel was a net contributor to the city’s power grid.
All of those should have been gratefully, enthusiastically and repeatedly exploited to their maximum erotic potential.
Instead…
They had had sex, oh yes. Powerful, athletic, gasping sex. Legs wrapped around him so hard that her knees creaked sex. Fingernails down his back drawing blood sex. The cold glass of that huge sturdy floor-to-ceiling window against her back and buttocks sex, made all the better by the scandalous illusion of exhibitionism.
That had all been one ride. A mind-blowing reunion fuck that had promised more and even better to follow, but failed to deliver. Adam was…Busy.
How the hell somebody could keep so busy on their Christmas break was beyond her, but he got up at four in the goddamn morning, span through the shower, then vanished to the gym, returning around sunset aching and exhausted and full of willing spirit but empty of actual energy.
Naturally she’d complained. He’d explained that he HAD to keep his training regime up, that every gram of muscle mass was a target he had to hit. When she’d suggested dinner, he’d pointed out that his every calorie and vitamin was tightly controlled.
And he was so stealthy. There was no hope of waking up to at least get a few minutes with him in the dark of the early morning, because he’d slip out of bed like a dream, shower like rain on the window, and when he slipped out of the room the door closed behind him with a click that was quieter than the wall clock’s ticking. When he came back, she could snuggle up to him all she liked, she’d get kissed, maybe some happy nose-nuzzles and all that good stuff…for the few minutes until he fell asleep, completely drained by his regimen.
All things considered, spending her lover’s birthday alone at noon in a dry-dock sized bathtub and treating herself to a Mojito jug intended for two wasn’t how she’d envisioned their time together going.
And she had two weeks of this to look forward to?
Fuck. That.
She abandoned the drink, threw on clean clothes and buckled on her camera with the fierceness of a rancher gal of the old west fixing to fight off bandits.
There were photo opportunities going begging all over this town, material to fill her website for a year. She’d sell her photos to agencies, news organisations and private buyers. A camera in the right hands could be a money engine.
If she wasn’t going to get laid, she may as well get paid. She could sort out Adam later.
Hopefully.
A productive afternoon and evening showed Folctha at its best: the sterile filth and colourful greyness of the building sites, the way Cimbrean’s star—still unnamed—just had that slight bit more magenta in it than a Sol sunset as it painted the first extraterrestrial human city. How Folctha at night was both the same as and different to any other city, with all the hue and splendor of its nightlife playing out under three tuberous, irregular moons.
She’d almost forgotten about Adam by the time she got back. There was no ignoring him when she insert-tugged their keycard in the room lock, though. He was asleep with the blanket draped over one leg and everything else naked to the night air, a study in masculine geometry, and as fast asleep as King Arthur under the mountain. All of her frustration with him came right back, and the devilish idea for waking him up that had just occurred to her was drowned out by the much louder voice of irritation.
There was nothing for it but to sigh, strip, and climb into bed next to him, wondering what the hell she was going to do.
A fitful night’s sleep full of that question was answered when, to her astonishment, she rolled over in the morning to find that it was full daylight outside and that he was still there, dozing on his side facing her with a half-lidded, sleepy and loving expression.
”…Hey.” He barely whispered it.
“Hey…” she replied, as two distant parts of her brain embroiled themselves in a tug of war over whether to voice her discontent now, or wait until after she’d screwed him senseless, then voice her discontent.
He kissed her, ending that argument. He was so strong, she could feel it even though his touch was light, and they didn’t need long before she was straddling his hips, grinding and gasping and eagerly working towards the moment when she’d be ready to get around him properly.
“Oh god… So, what’s so special about today?”
He was too busy sucking on her nipple to reply properly, so just made an inquisitive “hmm?” noise.
“You didn’t sneak out this morning…”
He chuckled, and kissed the hollow where her throat met her collarbone, dropping his hands to her hips. “It’s my rest day.”
Ava blinked, and stopped moving. “Your…rest day?”
Adam frowned, confused. “Yeah. Weekends are rest days.”
”…You-?” Her mood evaporated, and she scooted down his thighs a bit, sitting on his knees. “You scheduled this?”
Adam’s expression had gone from confident lover to confused boyfriend to kicked puppy in a matter of seconds. “Well…not this, but, like, the day…”
“Jeez!” She seethed, and surged to her feet. “Well, I’m glad you could fit me into your busy goddamn schedule!”
“Ava…!” The exclamation was a hurt and confused one.
“No, seriously, what’s your thought process here?” She demanded. “Let’s hear it!”
“Well…Look, Ava, baby, I need to keep this up. Like, it could be dangerous for me to not keep my exercise going while I’m here. Even if it’s not, it could undo a lot of hard work!”
“And what the hell am I supposed to do when you’re gone all day?”
“I figured…I mean, it’s a nice hotel, there’s a spa, there’s like-”
She interrupted him, practically spitting lightning bolts. “No he venido aquí para admirar el paisaje, perrita!”
Adam’s jaw went slack. “What did you just-?”
“I called you a little bitch you fuckin’ idiot!” she snarled. “Or did all that exercise squeeze the Spanish out of your brain?!”
There was a long moment of silence, chilly on her part, hurt and confused on his. He stood up at about the same time as she sat down, and started to get dressed.
His boots were laced and he all but had his hand on the door handle when she spoke to him. “Adam, I’m sorry.”
He paused and looked back at her. Her ankles were crossed, her hands were hugged at her waist and she couldn’t hold his gaze—she looked away almost instantly, shaking and chewing at her lip.
“We’ll…Let me just…” he began, then started over. “We both need to…we’ll talk when I get back.”
“Don’t be long. Please.” she begged him.
In the end, he was barely gone half an hour, and returned with little more than a glow of sweat to show for the run he must have gone on. She’d dressed, but then sat down on the bed again and pulled the blanket around her shoulders, waiting.
She summoned a weak smile for him. “Hey.”
“God, Ava, I’m sorry.” he sat down next to her and engulfed her shoulders in his right arm, skin like a furnace against hers. “You’re right, I didn’t have a thought process there, I just…I didn’t think about you at all, did I?”
She rubbed her eyes, and nuzzled into him. “I love you,” she said. “but you can’t just…I’m not a videogame, Adam. You can’t just load me up and carry on from where you left off, you know? It’s been a year. A year, Adam. And then you come back and pencil me in for the weekends?”
“I know, I…I’m sorry.”
“And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have called you that, but…” she sighed. “Look, can we put it behind us and salvage the second week of this break? Just you and me, every day all day until you have to go back?”
He hesitated, and her heart sank. “I…Baby, I wish I could promise that.” he said. “But I wasn’t kidding about it being maybe dangerous.”
”…Fine.” She declared. “Fine. What can you promise?”
“I, uh…what would you like?”
“What I’d like is-” she stopped herself, and moderated herself. “Look, just…wake me up before you head out. Talk to me. Involve me. Get back here as early as you can and spend time with me! Hell, you’re fresh in the morning? Get some of that exercise in right here in this bed! And if you have to control what you eat, can we at least eat together?”
”…I can do all of that.” he said.
“Good.”
“So, um…where were we, before…?”
“Forget it, cabròn.” she told him. “You killed that mood stone dead, you’ve got a lot of cuddling to do before we’re back there again.”
After a silent second, he got the hint and finally, finally put his arms around her and nuzzled up close.
After a while, it even started to feel natural and safe again.