Flux Runners

by William Joseph Roberts

  “Really,” Lizz said with a surprised look. She took the offered portfolio and began flipping through the pages. “How are your organizational skills?”

  “Well,” she snorted a laugh. “You can’t do translations without being able to organize the sentence structures from one language to another.”

  “Close enough, you’re hired.” Lizz handed the portfolio back to the young woman. “Now, if you would please step over here, I’ll need you to help document all of the other candidates.” Lizz motioned to the filing cabinet on her left.

  “Next!”

  cHAPTER 35

  Earth / Atlanta

  Georgia Tech

  August 13th, 2176 / Afternoon EST

  A n image faded slowly into view to the soft metallic twangs of a dobro guitar accompanied by a melodic bass beat of a hand drum. Silhouetted against the dark sunset shades of red and orange, a distinctly female form emerged from the darkness on the screen. She stood tall and proud atop a mountain crag as if she looked ahead, far into the future. Insignificant bursts of wind tousled her hair and skirt before the painted scene of heavy storm clouds in the distance. The image brightened as it orbited slowly to the left to reveal a shapely, but mature looking blond, dressed in a light gray dress suit. Large winding curls hung over her shoulders and teased at a peek of lace and the pert, but ample mounds which presented themselves from the button-down portion of the outfit. Experience glimmered within her eyes. Confidence played along the crook of her devious smile.

  “Our future as a species is out there,” a narrator's deep voice boomed. The view continued to orbit the image of Lizz. She shaded her eyes and gazed longingly into the distance.

  “Beyond our limits of sight and understanding lay countless unknown opportunities.” The music grew heavy with the thump of a muted bass drum.

  A bright red star faded into existence and replaced the shapely figure.

  “Job opportunities await you within the Dragon’s Lair.”

  The image panned right, revealing a dense asteroid belt and a bright sandy world beyond.

  “Travel to exotic new locals. Help to establish mankind's first colony beyond our solar system. LizzCo Industries Unlimited needs you. All professions are welcome. Dishwasher, engineer, geologists and more are needed to colonize and create mankind's new Eden beyond the stars.”

  The planet slowly changed color to a deep dark green with large areas of blue.

  “Think of your future and ours. Humanity needs you! Do your part. Join today. Lizzco needs you!”

  D oug looked up from the datapad. He rolled his head to the left and took in the sight of Wes’s beaming cherub-like face. He scowled at Wes, concern lining his tired face.

  “So, what do you think?” Wes waited; his hopeful wide eyes begged for an answer.

  Doug wrinkled his nose and sniffed at the air. “Is it just me or does the place smell mildewy?” He looked around for the faint hint of mildew that clung to his nostril hairs. They sat in the newly renovated waiting area of tech tower, the administrative hub of Georgia Tech. Dark hardwoods mingled with glass and stainless-steel accents around the room. He thought the uncomfortable chairs resembled something he’d seen in an ancient 1960’s television show once. White, egg-shaped and lightly padded with bright, eye-straining colors.

  He turned back to Wes. “Do I smell?”

  “I don’t think so,” Wes said then sniffed at his shirt.

  “Are you sure? Since we’ve been back on Earth, I keep smelling this mildew like smell and I can’t figure out where it’s coming from. It’s not like my clothes have been wet for days or anything.”

  “Oh yeah. I caught a whiff of that too, but couldn’t remember where I’d smelled it before. So, what did you think of the promo video?” Wes beamed with hopeful delight.

  “I think that Lizz is going to kill you if you’re lucky.” Doug handed the datapad back to Wes and stretched. “Hopefully we won’t have to wait much longer. Our appointment with the Dean was at one o’clock. What time is it anyway?”

  “Twelve thirty-two in the afternoon,” Wes replied.

  “Really?” Sarcasm dripped from the squint-eyed look that he gave Wes. “The sun is out dufus. I think I could have figured that part out myself.”

  “Ya never know. We’ve been in the G.D. Lair for so long you could have Dragon Lag.”

  Doug yawned, then looked back at Wes in total, unamused confusion. “What? Speak English. G.D. Lair? Dragon lag?”

  “It’s just like jet lag, but because we were on G.D., er, wait. Gamma Draconis time, the lag is that much worse.”

  “You’re having fun with this aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely! Who wouldn’t want the chance to name all of these new places and things? That is some serious bragging rights, not to mention a chance to get into the history books.”

  Doug wrapped his arms tightly around himself and stretched. “Hopefully it won’t take the Director of the I.A. too long to fulfill his part of the bargain. Lizz has already sent them the info and our doctored schematics on the Veronica. We’ll need every penny that we can get to set things up. Then we might have a damn good chance to make it into the history books.”

  “Well, we could always make it into the history books as the first spacer crew to turn into the Donner party.”

  “How about we don’t and just say we did?”

  “Oh, and speaking of naming things,” Wes said, turning in his seat. “Since Rachel named those other planets, I want to log the name for our planet.”

  Doug yawned. “Alright. What did you haven in mind?”

  “I’d like to name it Anderson.”

  Doug turned to Wes with a questioning gaze. “Why Anderson?”

  “See, I figure that since our cats look a whole hell of a lot like the cats from the Destroyermen series, that it just makes sense to name it after the author, Taylor Anderson.”

  Doug shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, why not. Knock yourself out, Wes.”

  “Mr. Rackham,” a high pitched, nasally voice interrupted from behind where the pair sat.

  Doug stood and turned to find a plump but seductively curvaceous young brunette blandly staring back at him. “I am.”

  Wes turned in his seat and gasped. “Whoa.”

  Doug snapped his fingers without breaking eye contact with the young woman.

  “Sorry.” Wes averted his eyes.

  The young woman quickly turned to conceal a blushing smile and walked away, but called over her shoulder, “Doctor Walker will see you now.” Her short-legged quick pace caused the pleats of her short orange skirt to audibly swish and sashay as she walked.

  “Thank you.” Doug grabbed Wes by the shoulder of his jacket and tugged. “Come on Geek, let’s go.” They followed the young woman down a narrow hallway that abruptly turned to the right. She quickly disappeared into a small alcove that was set up as a secretary’s station next to a thick wooden door with a heavy bronze plaque that read, Dr. Ronald J. Walker, Dean of Students.

  She opened the door with a wide, inviting smile aimed toward Doug. “Please let me know if you need anything at all.” She teased with a sidelong smirk as she brushed past the pair and took a seat at her desk.

  “Well alrighty then.” Wes stepped aside and motioned Doug ahead of himself. “After you, Captain Rackham.”

  “Down boy. Let’s do this thing.” Doug slapped Wes on the shoulder and continued into the room.

  A tall, pot-bellied man sat behind an antique wooden desk that looked as if it had been in the office since the day that the college had been established. He quickly stood to greet them. “Gentlemen, please, come in and have a seat.” The large goiter on his neck bobbed as he nervously swallowed.

  “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Dean Walker.” Doug sat in one of the plush antique chairs that matched the look of the desk.

  “Oh, it is my absolute pleasure to meet with you, Captain Rackham.” Dean Walker excitedly dabbed at his partially bald head with a handke
rchief, then sat back down. “I have to say that these are indeed exciting times that we are living in. I have been instructed by the board of directors and other interested parties to entertain any reasonable offers that you wish to negotiate.”

  Doug opened his mouth to reply, then quickly snapped his mouth shut. He studied Dean Walker for a moment, then glanced toward Wes with a deep, contemplative sigh. Doug leaned forward and sat on the edge of the chair, fingers interlaced in front of his mouth. “All of a sudden, I’m not so sure that we really want to be here.” Doug coldly glared at the Dean. “It was everything that I could do to get this appointment with you when I began to contact the college yesterday morning. Now all of a sudden, you’re visibly shaken and directed to be compliant to any offer that I might make?” Doug sat back in the chair and propped his feet up on the Dean’s desk. “So, what gives Dean? Something smells fishy to me.”

  “I thought you’d said it smelled mildewy earlier,” Wes said jokingly.

  Doug looked to Wes with a squinty-eyed glare. “Yeah, that too,” he said with a nod then turned back to the Dean. “So what’s the deal, Dean?”

  Dean Walker nodded with a nervous smile. His face twisted with pain as he forcefully swallowed a mouthful of bile. He motioned with a finger for the pair to wait a moment, then reached into a lower drawer of the desk. Shakily, he poured a handful of antacids, popped them into his mouth and began to chew. He replaced the bottle then began to gulp from a bottle of liquid antacid to wash down the chalky, dry mess.

  “You know that isn’t exactly healthy. Should we go ahead and leave?” Doug thumbed toward the door, “There are plenty of other colleges in Atlanta that would be willing to speak with us.”

  The Dean swallowed hard and gasped. “No no no, please don’t do that.” He dropped the bottle back into the drawer and gulped back a burp. “Excuse me,” he said as he patted his chest lightly. “For the record, you are Captain Douglas Rackham of the mining transport, the Betty, aren’t you? Part of LizzCo Industries Unlimited?”

  Taken aback, Doug suspiciously glared at the Dean, then slowly turned his gaze to Wes.

  “What?” Wes said defensively.

  Without a sound, Doug covered his ears with his hands, then his eyes followed by his mouth. Wes nodded in wide-eyed understanding and immediately tapped at the SAPP implanted into his forearm.

  Doug turned back to the Dean. “Yes sir, that is correct.”

  Dumbfounded at the scene before him, Dean Walker continued. “Then as I previously stated, I will gladly entertain any offers that you wish to make.”

  “Clear,” Wes interrupted. “This office is bugged for sure. I just can’t tell exactly what kind of gear they are using, so I’m broadcasting on all frequencies. Stay within twenty feet of me and no one will hear or see anything except the cat came back.”

  Doug snickered, then stood and leaned onto the Dean’s desk. “Please explain to me who in the hell it is that is pulling your strings.”

  Dean Walker leaned back in his seat. Heavy tears filled his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have a choice. They threatened my family.”

  “Who are they?” Doug demanded.

  Dean Walker let out a fitful sob. “But if I tell you, they will kill me.”

  “If you don’t tell him, life might not be worth living after he finishes with you,” Wes said.

  Doug drew his pistol, cocked the hammer and placed it on the desk. “Who,” he quietly demanded.

  The Dean sobbed uncontrollably. “The I.A. They approached the board of directors just shortly after you contacted us.”

  “Shit.”

  “Big brother is all over it,” Wes sighed.

  “Yeah, no shit.” Doug holstered his revolver, then sat on the edge of the desk. “Did they say what they wanted?”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  Doug sat quietly for a moment in thought, then turned his attention back to the Dean. “Alright then, since Wes let the cat out of the bag already, here’s the deal. We have established a colony in the Gamma Draconis or Eltanin system. But to fully support our efforts, we need funding for supplies and equipment. In exchange for funding, we are offering your top researchers the opportunity to study and document the planets and alien life forms within this system. We have already made first contact with a sentient species on the second planet and have documented a number of alien vessels. The planet is covered in the ruins of a civilization that once inhabited it and I for one would really like to know what happened to them. We will offer transportation and on-site support to your people, to include meals, lodging, and medical care. In exchange, we would like a flat rate of five hundred thousand credits per researcher biannually, plus full access to all data and findings.”

  Dean Walker stared blankly at Doug. His eyes darted back and forth in thought as he tried to comprehend what was just said. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “As serious as a heart attack.” Doug produced a small datapad from his jacket and placed it on the desk in front of the Dean. He activated it and a video began to play that showed Casraownan.

  “H...h...hello from Eltaaanin,” the cat-like creature in the video said in horribly broken English.

  The Dean gasped, then smiled wide as the realization hit him like a lemon wrapped about a large gold brick. “Do you know what this means? This information alone will turn the research community upside down. I could get you,” he stammered as he tapped at the side of his nose, drifting off in thought. “I can get you a physicist, three sustainability researchers, and a microbiologist almost immediately. Possibly a structural engineer and more with a few days.”

  “That would be excellent,” Doug acknowledged. “Though I would like to have an archeologist on permanent assignment to document things before we move or possibly destroy evidence.”

  “I’m sure that I could find someone with a few calls,” the Dean said.

  “Good.” Doug smiled. “You have my contact information. Please submit a short overview of each team member for approval by tomorrow evening. As for the I.A., if they want to slip one of their people into the mix, then I say we let them. Just make sure that you mention peanut butter in that person's file. That way I know they aren’t one of your researchers.”

  “Agreed, Captain Rackham.” Dean Walker stood and extended his hand. A hopeful smile painted his face, “These are indeed, exciting times.”

  Doug happily took the Dean’s hand and shook it. “Indeed, they are.”

  cHAPTER 36

  Earth / Atlanta

  Corner of Peachtree & 7th Streets

  August 14th, 2176 / 0600 EST

  “I

  really don’t know what to say, Bob. This is perfect.” Lizz marveled. “Thank you for going the extra mile on this one, but how did you manage to find this place, let alone purchase it so quickly?”

  “It was my utmost pleasure Ms. Elizabeth,” Bob assured her. “It just so happens that after a little digging, I found out that I personally knew the previous owners of this building. A few phone calls and strings later, I managed to pick up the entire building at well below the market value.” He winked at Lizz, then produced a deed and a heavy-looking set of keys from his jacket pocket. “You just have to complete the paperwork to purchase the property from me for the same price and it is owned by LizzCo Industries Unlimited.”

  “Wait, did you say the entire building?”

  “Yes, I did.” Bob smiled proudly. “All nine floors of it. Now hear me out. We can easily utilize the current coffee shop space as our main face to the public. There are currently five other businesses renting space within the building. We can keep them on or evict them and utilize the space as we see fit. That depends on what you wish to do with the property. In order to cover all of the overhead and make this headquarters self-sufficient, I’d say we should leave the existing businesses and fill the empty offices as quickly as we can. As you can see,” he gestured with arms flung wide, “Peachtree Street is booming. By putting your name up there, you wi
ll only make LizzCo a household name to all of those passing by. That is something that we can easily build on for the future.” Bob took her hand and proceeded across the street.

  “Is the coffee here that good or are they just that slow at serving the customers,” Lizz asked, pointing at a line that had begun to form.

  “I also took the liberty to contact Wesley last night and had him update the contact information on the promotional video and all of the other ads that he put out there on the net. Most likely, that line of people are waiting for you.” Bob looked down and smiled at Lizz.

  “Hi, hello,” a well-dressed woman in the line said in a sweetly soft Boston accent. She waved as she stepped out of the line toward Bob and Lizz. “You’re Elizabeth Trower, aren’t you?”

  The pair stopped as they reached the sidewalk in front of the building. “I am,” Lizz cautiously replied then looked up at Bob and whispered. “Please remind me to contact my old friend, Hiram, later this evening. I might need to hire some security while I’m at it.”

  “Hi, my name is Camiel Lewis,” the short brunette said as she approached. She beamed a smile at Lizz and enthusiastically held out her hand to shake. “Listen, I know how important first impressions are during the interview process, but I really need to get going. I’m already late for my regular job and if I could, I'd like to leave you a copy of my resume and the completed job application that I downloaded from your site.” Camiel produced a neat black folder from the depths of a massive leather purse that hung across her chest and handed it to Lizz.

  “Hey lady,” a voice from the line interrupted. “How about you wait till they open the doors like the rest of us working stiffs.”

  Camiel suddenly became rigid, her face went blank of all emotion, then just as suddenly she smiled wide. A gleam of mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Please excuse me for just a moment, Miss Trower,” she said in a chipper, but utterly annoyed tone. Her heels clicked loudly as she did a flawless about-face toward the voice in the line.