Date Point: 12y1w4d AV
HMS Caledonia
Major Owen Powell
Powell had to wave aside the two cubic meters of smoke that came back with the rest of the Gaoians, and he suppressed a cough as it tickled the back of his throat.
All present and correct. He had to admit, he was actually impressed—things had gone damn near without a hitch.
“An’ here we are, all dressed up and you give us nowt to do,” he grunted as the four of them vacated the Array. Behind them, the end they’d left behind on the target ship would be busily burning itself out with a few judiciously placed packs of thermite paste, just in case deleting and rotating the connection codes wasn’t paranoid enough.
“Sorry to disappoint, Stainless.” It was hard to tell in those eye-bending suits but that was undoubtedly Regaari. He’d mastered the art of snarking like a human.
“I should fookin’ hope so. Right. De-Suit, grab juice and turn in your weapons, and we’ll have a bit of a chat.”
He checked on Irish as he got out of their way. Their newest Protector had been waiting for Faarek to come through, and was deliberately laying on the Blarney and Begorrah as thick as he could as he chattered the whining Gaoian through the process of tending to a minor broken bone. He happily slid into supporting Thurrsto instead when the Gaoian medic rushed to his injured Brother’s side, and Powell made a mental note to gently commend him later. Preferably once he could be sure that Costello had done so.
A minor broken bone, though. After a heavy pulse hit that would have put Warhorse down, unprotected. Those Suits were the real deal, no doubt.
He hit the wall intercom. “CIC, STAINLESS. The SNOWTOPS are all aboard and accounted for, package in tow.”
”Thanks, STAINLESS. SHIPFATHER says we have no pursuit.”
Powell rocked back on his heels and let that sink in. Things going pretty much exactly as planned? That was almost a new one on him.
“Fook me sideways…” he muttered, then permitted himself a small laugh and turned back to the Gaoians.
By now they were all at least halfway out of their suits and looking justifiably pleased with themselves, even if there was plenty of concern for Faarek. They were drinking the Gaoian recipe of the SOR’s energy drink concoction, heartily bolstered with anchovies and cod liver oil and blended into a fine fishy emulsion.
Blaczynski had tried some once, on a dare. He’d almost kept it down, too.
Eventually Irish got up and backed away, and Powell nodded inwardly as he noted Costello immediately pat him on the shoulder and say something encouraging. Faarek’s arm was strapped up and he’d had a Crue-D shot, and the general set of the ears over among the Gaoians was relaxed. Time for a quick AAR.
“Arright. Fall in, easy.”
They did so promptly and attentively. The correct “stand easy” position wasn’t actually easy for Gaoians at all—they had to contort quite unnaturally to rest their hands behind their backs, so they were instead permitted to rest their hands in front. It still looked smart enough.
“Not half bad,” he praised curtly. He suppressed the urge to make a mild joke at Shim’s expense about his grenade-throwing skills. It would have gone down great with a human, but might very well have genuinely hurt the Gaoian’s feelings. “Shim, ears stopped ringing yet?”
“Nearly, sir.”
“A little more care with your throw next time, lad. You’ll be fine. Anyway, bloody good teamwork on those sticky patch takedowns. Regaari, Thurrsto, you kept your heads well when that response squad was almost on top o’ you. Hmm… Ergaan. Could have saved a few seconds when you reported you’d found the objective. ’FOOTBALL, port cargo bay, five guards.’ See?”
Ergaan duck-nodded.
“Champion Daar,” Powell turned to the lone Stoneback on deck. “Anything to add?”
Daar hesitated, and chose his words very carefully. “Nothin’ merits mentioning here, sir.”
“I would appreciate your advice, Cousin,” Regaari gently insisted.
“…Well, it’d take a simulator to show ‘ya, but you could have saved some motion with the patch takedowns. Honestly y’all did really good. It was worthy of First Fang!”
“Our Warehouse will be at your disposal,” Powell promised, noting how well the compliment went down. Stoneback’s First Fang must have had quite a reputation. “Anything else?”
Daar wobbled his head slightly. “No sir. We’ll see what we can do with the sim.”
“Bloody lovely. I have nothing more either, so you go let your techs do their jobs, get settled in for the ride home. AAR’ll come after you’ve got some food in yer. Dismissed.”
Daar remained close to him as the other Gaoians left, and spoke softly once they were out of earshot.
“Boss, I gotta ask ‘ya. What exactly was the point of us suiting up? I mean, besides backup.”
“To lead by example.”
Daar’s ears quirked. “Well, sure. But what example?”
“Several at once. It was meant to be a learning opportunity. You’re trained to lead combat units, yeah? I wanted to see you observing their mission, see what you could share, how you offered criticism, all of that. You’re a leader of Gaoians and I wanted to learn by observation.”
Daar duck-nodded respectfully. “Fair ‘nuff, though I ain’t been First Fang Leader for years. And why test me and not Abbot, there? I’m not in charge of the Whitecrest Brothers.”
Powell ran a thumb along his jaw and reflected that he needed to shave again. “No, but they do look up to you. Regaari especially, he quite plainly admires you.”
Daar shrunk in on himself in embarrassment and grumbled. “Not as much as I do him…”
Powell gave a quiet, amused chuckle. “Perhaps. Anyhow, don’t worry about Costello, he’ll have his day. As for you and the Whitecrests, I’m keeping my options open—that Suit turned out better than I would have imagined and that changes things, especially my assumptions.”
“Not really sure I follow you, Boss,” Daar admitted.
“I’m playin’ the long game,” Powell said. “Sometimes we do things that won’t ever amount to much, because they could amount to a lot if things turned out one way over t’other. See?”
Daar gave him a shrewd look. “You’re convinced the HEAT doesn’t need me.”
“Daar, you’re wearing that Suit right now because you’ve bloody well earned it. I just think that your talents…well…fook it. Lemme tell you some o’ the reasons behind the mission we’ve got planned for JETS…”
Date Point: 12y2w AV
Starship ’Negotiable Curiosity’, Perfection System, The Core Worlds
Bedu
”Bedu? How-? …This channel is supposed to be inaccessible to anybody without the encryption key I gave to your implants.”
“Yes.” Bedu suppressed a yawn. His metabolism was proving to be much harder to regulate without cybernetic assistance than he had suspected. “Imagine my dismay when I realized I needed to have the implants removed.”
”How are you accessing it without them?”
Apparently the long interval since their last conversation had done nothing to dull Vakno’s temper. Bedu forced himself to sit up straighter. “I learned an apt saying. A humanism. ’Necessity is the mother of invention’. Glib, isn’t it?”
Vakno’s image finally stopped showing the jagging and artefacts of packet loss as she turned off the evolving encryption that his equipment had been half-successfully keeping up with, and she gave him the kind of long, calculating look that only the most successful Corti in the galaxy ever mastered.
“…Why in Origin’s name did you have them removed?” she asked. “And… is that battle damage in your ship?”
“Oh, it’s an enthralling tale,” Bedu promised. “I was very brave. Why, I even courageously killed my own mechanic. You know, I was actually quite fond of Hkzzvk…”
Vakno did something characteristic: She interrupted him. “Where were you?!”
“I was on,” Bedu said, “the planet Ikbrzk…”
Date Point: 12y3w AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Technical Sergeant [select] Adam “Warhorse” Arés
Gabe had signed the full SACRED STRANGER paperwork on the condition that Adam show and tell everything about the Crue-D. There were to be no secrets between father and son now that the law wasn’t a hindrance, and normally Adam would be ecstatic about sharing something so important with the first man on his list of people he loved the most.
But to do that, Adam was gonna need to do the mother of all heavy days and that was kind of a problem.
Even as a young kid, training hard more out of friendship with the adults at the gym and his own enjoyment than anything, his body had responded well. Then he’d decided to enlist and under Legsy’s guidance in the last few months before he signed up, he’d made the transition from a merely exceptionally fit and strong teenager to something truly special.
He’d started his military career as an elite specimen but hadn’t properly realized how much that was true until Basic. And he’d re-appraised himself again during the Pararescue pipeline.
And then he’d started on the Crude.
Which was where the problem came in with putting on a heavy day for demonstration purposes: He was gonna need to thoroughly destroy his best friends, and Adam’s idea of a heavy day bordered on being any reasonable man’s idea of self-harm.
Bullshit: It was self-harm. Very carefully controlled, constructive, worrying self-harm designed to heal up stronger than before. That was the whole point. And it had worked, too…But Adam couldn’t quite shake the fear that no matter how easily he could bench press cars or pulp enemies with his bare hands, or Protect anyone, anywhere, anyhow they needed it…would he ever be strong enough for what was coming? Smart enough? Good enough?
Thoughts like that were among the many reasons why he visited the psychologist so often.
“Hey, ‘Base.” His words came out as a semi-distracted grunt.
They were packing up at the end of a tough week. The Gaoians had excelled themselves on Operation GOLD BREES, and it had been a good field trip for the second string and the cherries, too. Not quite an all-hands-on-deck, but enough that the SOR was back in recovery mode for a day or two. That meant, among other things, unpacking, checking, and repacking all their gear.
Baseball, who had been repacking his travel medkit, knew his best friend’s tones well and put the work aside for a second. “Sup, bro?”
“Dad signed the paperwork.”
‘Base’s face lit up. “Bro, that’s fuckin’ sweet! When does he start?”
“Tonight I give him his first injection, and he’s gotta start on those cog-rehab games, too.”
“Man,” enthused ‘Base, “This shit’s awesome! Your dad’ll be back to normal in, what, a couple of days?”
“Uh, ‘prolly a week ‘cuz of the nerve damage. But yeah.”
Righteous was servicing the gauss rifles, and chimed in with a smile of his own. “That’s fuckin’ awesome.”
“Yeah.”
“…Bro, what’s wrong?” Nothing could get past Baseball.
“Uh, Dad made me promise to show him what the Crude does. ‘No secrets anymore’ he said.”
“And? What’s the big—oh.” Baseball suddenly looked crestfallen. “I’m gonna be hurtin’ ain’t I.”
Adam gave him a complicated look.
Firth as always had the right words. “Eh, so what? Kick my ass too, bro. That’s just good training, right?”
“Heh.” Adam sobered up a little bit, though he still had to put on a rueful grin. “Are you sure? I could probably think of some other way to show him, y’know?”
“Nah, said ‘Base. “You’re a fighter, ’No secrets any more’ means you gotta show him that. I mean, you owe him, y’know?”
“…Yeah.” Honestly, that cut right to the heart of Adam’s doubts. “I just worry…what’s he gonna think of me?”
“Figure that’s for you to talk over with him,” Righteous shrugged. “Don’t worry ‘bout us none. We’re big boys an’ were happy to help. I can handle a little bruised ego, as long as it’s you kickin’ my ass.”
‘Base nodded. “Exactly. When we doin’ this, man?”
Adam calculated for a moment. “Uh… Next week, I guess,” he said. “After he’s healed up and, uh, he’s all ‘there’ in his head again.”
He went back to checking the expiry dates on all the drugs in his field pack but he must have been looking badly unhappy because it wasn’t more than five seconds before Righteous grabbed him, spun him around and he got the full crushing three-way bro hug treatment.
“Bro. You’ll be *fine.*”
Adam sighed, and nodded slowly, forehead-to-forehead with literally the only two men in the whole galaxy who might really have a handle on what he was feeling right now.
“…Thanks, guys. I fuckin’ love you two.”
There was a long, fraternal pause before Baseball pulled away. “You good?”
Adam nodded. “Yuh. I just gotta go for a quick run I think. Clear my head.”
“Should we come?”
“…I’d like that.”
They quickly squared away the last of their work, checked in with Regaari (who had ‘CQ’ that evening), then set out for a brisk barefoot run. All three of them were naturally hot and sweaty thanks to their size and the cold Cimbrean night rain was always welcome to them, especially when exercising. A nice, easy run around town and through the woods was pretty much the perfect way to meditate, by Adam’s reckoning.
He ran and he thought of the upcoming demonstration. He was generally quite shy about his actual strength; people had a hard enough time believing he was real just standing there talking to them. That he was in fact much stronger and heavier than he looked wasn’t something most people were prepared to accept, so he mostly kept the details to himself.
But now, he needed to make his Dad understand exactly who and what his own son had become. Nobody could keep up with Adam in the gym and that all by itself was gonna thrash his buddies. The combatives were gonna make it much worse for them, too.
They thumped across the furthest pedestrian bridge over the river, intentionally breaking the rhythm of their footfalls so as not to shake it apart, and Adam felt a twinge of remorse over how totally he was going to break his buddies next week, all for a stupid show.
The guilt doubled down when he realized how much he was going to enjoy himself doing it.
Date Point: 12y1m AV
Scotch Creek Extraterrestrial Research Facility, British Columbia, Canada, Earth
Colonel Ted Bartlett
Doctors Taylor and Cote had been with SCERF right from the start. Hell, Ted had first met them on the bloody ice at Rogers Arena. They were inseparable best friends, to the point where Betty-Anne Cote had been Rufus Taylor’s Best “Man” four years earlier.
Their field—Biology—had sadly turned out to be a minor footnote of extraterrestrial research. By and large, all the interesting compounds came from deathworlds, and Earth was as deathworld as they came. They had done some interesting work in support of the Cimbrean Reclamation Project, had surreptitiously done their best to break whatever curious biochemical encryption the Corti had managed to work into Crue-D, had helped adapt alien prosthetics for the human body but by and large their work had been…
Valued, yes. Respected, certainly. But they had always been the two civilians working in the shadow of the military physicists, chemists and engineers.
Today, though, they were rockstars in woollen sweaters. Researchers had been dropping in to congratulate them all day.
Doctor Taylor, always the louder of the two, was absolutely not afraid to milk it either. “-I mean, the mutation mechanism itself is just incredible! There’s enough material in the way the cultures picked it up and began synthesizing to make CRISPR look like a footnote!”
Ted looked around the lab, which was a study in white cleanliness compared to the physics department he’d headed up. Physicists in their offices surrounded themselves with books, whiteboards, laptops and coffee. And tennis balls, in SCERF’s unique case.
Sure, the actual labs were just as clean and tidy, but Taylor and Cote even kept their offices to that same level of cleanliness.
Though, it seemed strange to use the word “clean” to describe a room full of hundreds of conical flasks filled with turbid E. Coli cultures.
Every single one of which was busily producing a steady supply of Cruezzir. “Not just the immediate benefit of having the medicine itself, then.”
Doctor Cote was happily pipetting samples of the invaluable bacteria into vials to be frozen and sent to companion labs around the world, but she shared a rare few words for Ted.
“Rufus is right, if we can adapt the mutation process to other compounds then it might be revolutionary,” she said.
“More than revolutionary. Imagine, any compound you could possibly want, and the only obstacle to getting an unlimited supply of it would be lab time and raw materials,” Taylor beamed. “On-demand mass production of any molecule, within the week.”
“Assuming you can adapt the mechanism,” Ted pointed out.
“Well, yes… but there’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to…” Taylor agreed reluctantly.
“We can,” Cote asserted, with rather more calm.
“I’ll have to take your word on it. We’re well outside of my field,” Ted conceded.
“All that’s for the future though,” Taylor grinned. “For today? Cruezzir!”
Ted laughed, and raised an imaginary toast. “Cruezzir!”
“And to a bright future for human medicine!” Taylor added.
Cote raised a flask. “Cheers!”
Ted grinned. “Cheers!”
Date Point: 12y1m AV The Dog House gym, Folctha, Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Gabriel Arés
Gabe’s outer speechlessness belied the cyclone of thoughts he was trying to process internally.
First among them was Adam. Adam who was almost naked in his skimpy shorts, pumped up and terrifying like a complete savage with his chest quietly heaving. Adam, whose friends were strewn around him on the ground in visible pain, utterly defeated.
They’d invited Gabe to watch their gym session, and it had gone on for longer than Gabe would have thought feasible. He’d watched Adam, John and Christian do absolutely impossible things and watched his son go much further. The weights and gravity were too puny so he made up on intensity and the other two just couldn’t keep up.
Then they fought, after a quick break and lots of the “juice” they were all drinking. Given the context of three hyper-men on space-magic alien performance drugs, that wasn’t a particularly reassuring name for what Adam insisted was just a very concentrated sports drink.
The sparring was even more darkly illuminating. Adam…thrashed them. Mercilessly, and repeatedly. Firth quite obviously was the more skilled and experienced fighter and that did help some, but in the end Adam’s sheer physical superiority overwhelmed him.
Gabe chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his lip as he considered that. His son. Toying with the most impressive soldiers and men he’d ever seen. Men he had previously thought were the bigger, stronger friends of his little boy.
And Adam took them apart while wearing an expression of alarming savagery that said he was enjoying himself.
It didn’t match. It didn’t fit. Happy, goofy Adam, his son, had a mean streak a mile wide? Where had that come from? Had it always been there? What did it mean?
Somehow, Gabe managed to keep those thoughts off his face as he sat in place, watched, and said nothing.
Adam nodded sheepishly at Gabe’s non-reaction, then thumped over to take care of his friends. There, Adam’s better side—his caring side—shone through. Gabe listened as his boy muttered apologies and small praises to both, made them comfortable while they rested on the padded floor. He turned down the gravity and doted on them quietly. They nuzzled, all seemingly forgiven, and Gabe was almost ready to write off all the things he’d seen that day…
Until Adam produced the distinctive blue Crue-D syringes from his medical pack and injected Burgess, then Firth. Gabe’s doubts and worries returned in full force then grew even worse, as within just a couple of minutes both men seemed to be well on their way to being fully recovered.
Gabe’s own recovery had been no less miraculous: In less than a week he’d gone from being barely able to string together two coherent thoughts to feeling just as sharp as he ever had, if not sharper. He felt almost certain that he was recalling important facts even more easily than he had ever.
Sadly the nerve injury in his lower back was too old for the Crue-D to work on. He’d regained no mobility in his leg, nor any reduction in the chronic pain… but his physiotherapy regime seemed to be working a little better for the moment.
By the time Adam helped his buddies to their feet it was almost as if the brutality they’d just undergone had been merely a convincing act. He hugged them both around the shoulders then twitched his head in Gabe’s direction.
“Guys, can I have a moment with dad?”
Burgess nodded, “Sure thing hoss. We’ll be upstairs, ‘kay?”
“Okay. There’s steaks in the fridge, Firth. I bought exactly what you told me.”
Firth gave him a cracking friendly blow on the shoulder, a gesture that contained no trace of ill will. “Good boy! I’ll go make ‘em right now.”
“Okay! See you two in a bit.” They thumped off towards the stairs. They did that in private, Gabe noticed—out in public, around people who weren’t ’in’ on their situation, they were cat-footed and light. Cautious, even. Here and now, though, they relaxed and let themselves thud and stomp like the weighty creatures they really were.
Adam turned his attention back to Gabe, and every fatherly instinct Gabe had instantly fired up. Adam looked…vulnerable. Like he’d not seen the boy in years. Not even the breakup had hurt him like what he was seeing right now.
“…Dad?”
Gabe heaved himself up out of his chair and hobbled across the room as fast as he dared, slammed into Adam and hugged. It was much like trying to reassure a hot, sweaty wall. Adam paused, then wrapped those huge arms around and squeezed with almost dangerous force. It was a big, powerful, desperate hug, and Gabe sensed his son needed it. So he hugged back, as best he could.
Something blindingly obvious dawned on him. “You’re taller than me. I never really noticed.”
Adam laughed something that sounded like it had a sob waiting on the edge. “I’ve been taller than you for a while now!”
“How tall are you?”
“Five-foot-eleven.”
“¡Órale! You’re six inches taller than me! When did that happen?”
Adam chuckled and squeezed a little tighter, which made it hard to breathe but it felt good anyway. Gabe rested his head against Adam’s chest, and they nuzzled like they were just a father and his little boy, alone in the world and content.
Gabe pulled back and looked up at the broad, heavy-jawed, handsome face of his son. Where did he get those looks? It was a very different face to his own, which was narrower and more refined, but still…Adam was there, hiding behind the exaggerated features.
“And you’re still you.”
Adam grinned and relaxed a little. “I’ve always been me, dad.”
Gabe nodded, then gestured back toward his wheelchair, and leaned on Adam’s arm for support as he returned to it. “Don’t blame me for worrying.”
“Never. You’d be a crappy dad if you didn’t. But we’re here to talk about your worries anyway, so…”
“Right. And I have a big one.” Gabe grimaced as he sat back down in his wheelchair. “…You enjoyed that.”
Adam straightened up, considered him for a second, then spun across the room, grabbed a bench, lifted it casually into place opposite him and sat down. “…Yeah.”
“That’s… different. I mean, you got into a few fights after we moved here, but I figured that was just ‘cause of… y’know, losing your mom, your friends, San Diego… You weren’t ever really a violent kid.”
“Yeah.” Adam agreed. He wiped thoughtfully at a bloodstain on his knuckle.
“Is that the Crue-D?”
“…I’m… pretty sure it ain’t,” Adam said at last. “I think it’s just me being so big now. My testosterone levels are permanently fuckin’ sky-high ‘cuz of the Crude, and doing what I do…and, well, we kinda like beating on each other ‘cuz we’re the only people we CAN beat on like that. Nobody else could take it, right?”
He gestured to the totality of himself. “Crude doesn’t give you anything for free, it just unlocks doors. You still gotta push yourself through those doors, right? You still needed to do those cognitive rehab exercises, right? There’s nothing about me that’s because of the Crue-D, I did all of this to myself, and the Crude was just a… hell, it’s like the weights! Havin’ them’s not enough, I still have to lift! See?”
Gabe gave Adam an appraising look. “I don’t buy it. You make it sound like this stuff has no side-effects at all.”
Adam stood up and sighed. “It doesn’t, and that’s the problem.”
“…Run that by me again.”
“…Okay. So what you saw today?” Adam gestured toward the stairs. “Both my bros are in a hell of a lotta pain right now, right?”
“Yeah…”
“And they won’t be by the time we go upstairs, right?”
“…I don’t follow—”
“What we did today shoulda put them in the hospital. Hell, as hard as I was lifting, that could honestly do things like kidney failure and lifetime injury. But for us…” He sat down again. “…that’s just Wednesday.”
“Just Wednesday.” Gabe shook his head disbelievingly as he echoed the words. “But it doesn’t just stop with the muscles, does it? Otherwise you wouldn’t be dosing me up with it for cognitive rehab.”
“Nope!” Adam beamed. “And it’s working, ain’t it?”
“…I feel sharper than I’ve been in years,” Gabe confessed.
“Works on literally anything. If it’s a skill, if you can practice or train it? Crude’ll help. Read some challenging books, hit your rehab really hard…So long as you’re on it, there are no consequences for you to going balls-to-the-wall. The only thing that happens, no matter WHAT you do, is you get better. Now…Tell me that ain’t a problem.”
“…Yeah. That’s a hell of a problem,” Gabe agreed. “I can just see some… some punk gangbanger getting their hands on this shit and not having your restraint.”
“Yeah. I don’t know how we made SOR work, maybe it’s a happy accident…but it works for us.”
“So definitely no side effects at all? ‘Cuz I’m gonna want grandkids someday and I know bodybuilders can get-”
Adam threw back his head and groaned. “Dad…! No! No. Definitely no problems there.” He paused, then waggled his eyebrows like an especially cartoonish Groucho Marx. “Like I said, no matter WHAT you do, you get better.”
Gabe snorted. “…Well, now I’m sold on this stuff.”
“Ooh? Am I gonna get a little half-sibling?”
It was Gabe’s turn to groan. “You too? As if Jess dropping hints wasn’t enough…”
“That’s a yes, then?”
“…Yeah. Probably.”
Adam punched the air with an explosive thud and hugged him. “I love you, dad.”
Gabe nodded, and did the best he could to return the hug. “…Love you too, amigo. Thanks for showing me this.”
“You’re okay?”
“I understand better now.”
That, he reflected, was really all he could ask for.
Date Point: 12y1m1d AV
BGEV-11 ’Misfit’, Uncharted System, Near 3Kpc Arm
Allison Buehler
“Jesus.” Allison gave the dirty brown ball they were orbiting a depressed glare. Here and there she could see the startling turquoise patches of tiny, slimy oceans absolutely choked with cyanobacteria and the first glimmerings of aerobic life. “We came all this way for a planet that’s not even finished yet?”
“Hey, the scientists are going to love this thing!” Julian defended it. “I mean, this is probably our most important find yet!”
“From a purely scientific point of view,” Allison pre-empted him.
“From a- …yes. I mean. Pure science is good, right?”
She sighed and kissed him. “I swear, you turn into a bigger geek with every planet we find.
“You’re the one who gave up on Star Trek because the science is wrong.”
“They kept inventing bullshit made-up kinds of radiation!”
He snorted. “See? You’re the geek.”
Xiù was redecorating the cupboards for entertainment, having spent weeks carefully sketching out some semi-abstract designs that evoked the Lucent glimmermotes, flowed around the edges and highlighting the corners. She was looking freaking adorable with an accidental splotch of blue on her cheek, too, especially when she paused and looked back at them to weigh in. “Let’s face it, we’re all geeks…”
“Okay, fine.” Allison mock-grumbled. She sighed at the planet below them again. “I was just really looking forward to having something to walk around on…”
“Yeah, I know… me too.” Xiù sighed, and returned to her painting.
“Well… yeah, me three,” Julian acknowledged. “…but this is still really cool!”
“It is!” Allison agreed. “You’re right, the scientists are gonna love us for finding this thing. But the next place on the list had damn well better have hot springs.”
“Well, the next one’s the strongest positive we have…” Julian said, calling it up.
Allison glanced at it, saw a happy ninety-seven percent at the top of the page and nodded, mollified. “Hot springs?”
“I should be able to find us some from orbit if it has them…” Julian hazarded.
“Sold!” Xiù called.
“You’re the pilot,” Julian pointed out.
“You can set course,” she retorted. “You only need me to land this thing, remember?”
“We need you for a lot more than that, bǎobèi…” Julian disagreed.
“Sweet,” Allison grinned, but Xiù was blushing under that paint blotch, so she decided to double down. “But true.”
“Well…you still don’t need me to run the navigation software!”
“But I’m comfortable!” Allison complained, snuggling into a Julian a little more.
“And I’m busy!”
“Well, let’s make the scientists happy and gather some more sensor data for a while…” Julian proposed.
“Yeah, you know what? That sounds good…”
“Agreed.”
“Done.”
There was a comfortable silence for several minutes.
“…Whose turn is it to cook tonight?”
Date Point: 12y1m2d AV
CIA offices, Chicago, Illinois, USA, Earth
Darcy
“Hey. Want some good news?”
Darcy was nursing a migraine, which was an occupational hazard that she’d been enduring for most of her career. Today’s was a bad one, though. A forehead-pincher. A “make the light shut up”-er. A “there’s not enough green tea in the world”, please-make-it-stop, honest-to-God ice-pick-in-her-temple migraine.
She rolled her head to one side and grimaced up at Jake from the relative cool comfort of her desktop. “You brought that guillotine I asked for?”
Jake put a cup of tea down next to her. “Gabriel Arés is going to stay on as chief of CCS.”
Darcy managed to sit up. “What, he just… suddenly got better from a massive concussion?”
“General Tremblay authorized the SOR to give him a course of Crue-D.”
That actually made Darcy laugh, and the pain in her head subsided just a little. “Well… well done, General… well done.”
“Yup.”
“…D’you think I could get in on that action?”
Jake chuckled softly and returned to his desk. “I’ll put that candidate shortlist you had Nick draw up on file. I’m sure we’re gonna need it someday…”
“Sure.” Darcy lowered her head to the desk again. “…Thanks.”
She fancied that her head was feeling a little better.