by M. Alan Marr
“Right now, Steve’s running on adrenaline. When the dust settles, he’s going to crash hard. He’s going to have questions, and I think it would be better if we were on hand to answer them. Just in case he spins this in a whole different direction.”
“You mean turning me from planetary protector to planetary invader?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“You, sir, are very smart.”
“Steve?” Chaz calls outside. “Come with us to our place.”
“Yes, sir.”
chapter 8
STAR-BUCKS
☆ ☆
Dev, Chaz, and Steve arrive in the penthouse at the Gillespie. From the moment Steve steps off the private elevator, he looks around in absolute awe. He follows Dev and Chaz into the main room of the penthouse and all but gasps.
“This is a great place!” Steve says, looking around.
“Thanks,” Dev replies. “You doing okay?”
“I’m great, Dev, really. Ready to get to work.”
“I need to report on the attack,” Dev says to Chaz. “I’ll try to make it quick.”
“Go ahead,” Chaz says. “We’ll go pick up some food.”
Dev disappears into the study, where he begins composing his After Action Report.
“Wow, I’ve never been in a penthouse before. This is awesome,” Steve marvels. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, based on the aircraft you guys bought.” Steve looks at the art on the wall. “That’s a Marc Chagall.”
“It is.”
“Dev’s got great taste for a . . . well . . . gosh.” The reality is starting to sink in.
“I know this is a lot to take in, Steve,” Chaz says, “but please believe me when I tell you he’s here to help.”
Steve looks at Chaz with curiosity. “I know that, Chaz. Really, I’m fine.”
Chaz and Steve leave the penthouse while Dev writes his report. Steve is just amazed at all that happened. Outside, it finally dawns on him that it isn’t morning at all, but nearly sundown. He looks at his phone for the correct time and date.
“Oh my God, it’s been almost a day and a half.”
“Yeah, time of day sort of gets conflicted when you’re out there. I don’t exactly know why, but I know how you feel.”
It’s well into the dinner hour now, but it feels like morning. That in mind, Chaz and Steve walk to, a local greasy spoon, where they serve breakfast all day. Chaz places a take-out order for three cheese omelets, three orders of pancakes, and six orders of bacon, extra crispy.
While waiting for their order, Chaz and Steve pick up three coffees at Starbucks. They chat about some upcoming flight planning, but keep the space talk to a minimum.
Dev makes quick work of the After Action Report: two Brigands destroyed; the closest being eliminated two parsecs from Oasis, well beyond Earth’s active detection range. Dev details how the Yeti detonated an energy pulse rendering communications ineffective. The analytical data of the pulse is appended in the report. Dev also notes the contribution of one Captain Steven Fitzgerald, unwitting passenger and (now) Flight Candidate of the Crown. The After Action Report will be transmitted as an After Action Cable. As such, any warships within signal range will be privy to that information, as well as the battle telemetry automatically transmitted from Dev’s fighter during the engagement. The telemetry provides combat details; Dev’s report provides the context. Hopefully, the data collected on the energy pulse will provide the Signal Corps the means to prevent communications outages in the future.
Dev hears the elevator chime and sends the cable through the relay buoy and skyward to the Crown. A new dashed line appears on the cosmos program, showing the outbound transmission.
Report sent, Dev stretches his arms and yawns, then walks into the kitchen, where Chaz is setting up breakfast-for-dinner. Steve hands Dev his coffee, and they toast to a good mission.
“Aw, thank you, good sir.”
Steve smiles. “Any time, Commander.”
Chaz takes the lids off the aluminum trays of food. “Dinner is served.”
The three men talk casually while they eat. Dev holds up a large piece of bacon with almost ceremonial deference. “This is the best thing on this world.”
“Bacon?” Steve says.
“Bacon,” Dev confirms. “We don’t have this on Trieste.”
Steve looks perplexed. “Really?”
“Yeah, and I don’t know why. It would be a big hit. It’s so delicious.”
Chaz thinks about it. “Probably because you guys never had to worry about preserving your food supply.”
“What do you mean?” Dev says.
“In the old days, they used to salt and smoke meat and fish as a way of preserving it. That’s how we got bacon.”
“I suspect you’re right,” Dev says. “Because we don’t really have any smoked meats up there.”
Steve looks at Dev. “Was it hard adapting to life here, Dev?”
Chaz laughs. “Oh, yeah, it was very hard for him arriving here with a billion dollars in his pocket. He bought this place on his first day.”
Steve laughs at that notion. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Seriously, though, it couldn’t have been easy.”
Dev mulls the question over. “I was briefed, so I arrived knowing how to drive, and write a check and use a pay phone, however, my information was based on data obtained in 1985.”
Steve laughs incredulously. “Seriously, 1985?”
“That was the last time one of us was here. Obviously, a lot has changed. Checks seem outmoded, and I haven’t even seen a pay phone anywhere. But like any new environment, it’s the little things that are most difficult. Starbucks was one of the first places I went to. We have stuff very similar to coffee, so I knew I wanted some. But navigating through a Starbucks line for the first time is not for the faint of heart.”
“What did you do?”
“What would you do in that situation?” Dev says. “I’m not trying to be flippant, I’m genuinely curious.”
Steve thinks about it. “I guess . . . I’d have what everyone else is having.”
Dev smiles. “That’s what I did.” He holds up his cup. “The guy in front of me ordered a venti Pike.”
“Cool.”
“Beyond that, it was a lot of trial and error. I watched a lot of Food Network when I first got here, so I could learn about what people were eating.”
“So you come all the way down here to observe Earth and you watched Food Network?”
“Hey, a man’s gotta eat,” Dev says around a mouthful of omelet. “After the basics, you pick up on the nuances. For example, Chaz taught me that the proper way to eat pancakes is to drench them in butter and syrup. Bacon, I discovered one morning at breakfast.”
Steve laughs. “How funny. And you’re here to save our bacon.”
Chaz laughs at that one.
Dev doesn’t understand. “I’m here to save everything.”
“Saving our bacon is an expression,” Chaz explains. “It means saving our lives.”
“Ah, idioms are probably the hardest thing,” Dev says. “Adages like that make no sense to me, because I don’t always understand the context.”
“That’s funny,” Chaz says, “because up on Trieste, when it looked like we weren’t coming back, you said we should have saved the bacon.”
Dev laughs. “Yeah, but I was serious.”
The conversation switches back to the mission at hand.
“We still need another pilot,” Dev says, wiping syrup from his mouth.
Chaz turns to Steve. “What about that other woman on your list? The one you and Jen were in college with.”
“Michelle Hazlewood,” Steve says. “Yeah, bad idea.”
“Why?”
“They hate each other. Michelle’s the reason Jen got divorced. Jen’s ex-husband had an ongoing affair with Michelle. I didn’t say anything about it because you picked Jen and Harrison.”
“Yikes,” Chaz says. “How did we miss that?”
Dev answers, “I didn’t include interpersonal relationships in the vetting program.”
“I have no idea where to begin,” Chaz says, shaking his head. “Everyone I know is either married, partnered, flying for the airlines, or still in the military.”
Steve shakes his head. “I gave you all the names I could think of.”
“We need to establish some parameters,” Chaz says, then adds, “I think we should try and stick with singles for this. Spouses and kids would just complicate the equation.”
Steve replies, “You think they won’t be able to focus?”
“I don’t know. Keeping this secret is important. And I can’t imagine some married guy saying, ‘Bye, honey, I’ll be off the grid for a few days, and by the way, I might not come back.’”
“I see your point.” Steve nods.
“Starting from ground zero could take time.” Dev sighs.
“What about retired pilots?”
“How old are they when they retire?” Dev says.
“Used to be sixty, now it’s sixty-five.”
Dev thinks about it. “I’d be very hesitant. Rigors of combat not withstanding, a sixty-five-year-old Earth pilot is not likely to take well to being a Flight Midshipman whose peers on Trieste are thirty or forty years their junior.”
Steve half jokes, “If only there was a bachelors’ only pilot club.”
“Hey,” Chaz says with some promise, “maybe there is . . . what about Rainbow Wings?”
Dev is unfamiliar. “What is it?”
“That’s the LGBT pilots group, right?” Steve says.
“Yeah,” Chaz replies. “I bet there’s some people there we could look at.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Steve replies. “I flew with a couple guys at the charter company who belonged to that group. Great pilots from what I remember.”
“Do you still know them?”
“Nah, they went to the airlines a couple years ago.”
Dev pulls up information on Rainbow Wings on his Ti-Phone and reads aloud their mission statement: “Rainbow Wings, a flying organization for the LGBT community.” Dev looks at Chaz. “I find it interesting that you all constantly make references to the LGBT community. As if it is a subgroup.”
“We are considered a subgroup,” Chaz says plainly.
“Acceptance is getting better,” Steve proffers.
Dev elaborates. “I don’t mean sub-standard group, I mean subgroup, as in a separate segment of society, a subculture.”
Chaz speaks cynically. “Yeah, that’s what I mean too.”
“How is it up there?” Steve wonders.
“We don’t distinguish between groups like that,” Dev says. “Sexuality is a matter of biology, not moral placement in society. But here, it’s always this group or that group.”
“Don’t you have clubs on Trieste?” Steve says.
“Yes, but I’m referring to societal designations,” Dev says. “I guess we just settled these issues a long time ago. Your people have a very long way to go.”
Chaz thinks about their predicament. “I feel like we’re back at square one. We need to narrow down the field of candidates.”
“What about the military guys you know?” Steve says.
Chaz shakes his head. “Active military guys, after reflecting upon their oath of office, may turn us all in.”
“So that leaves civilians,” Steve says. “Easier to work with anyway.” Then he looks at Chaz and realizes he was a Navy man. “Sorry, Chaz.”
“No worries. You’re right.”
“What do you say, Chaz?” Dev says.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t been to one of their meetings in years. I don’t even know who’s there now.”
“I think it’s worth a shot,” Steve suggests. “The ones I’ve flown with were outstanding.”
“Overachievers, most of us,” Chaz says. “Comes from years of being treated like second-class citizens.”
“By whom?” Dev says.
“By the government,” Chaz says, then adds to the list. “By family, sometimes. By coworkers. By classmates. By ignorant people. By people who aren’t smart enough to spell the word jet, let alone ever fly one.”
“Wow.”
“Sorry to sound so cynical, Dev.”
“For good reason, it sounds like.”
“But how do we do this?”
“I’ll direct the system to cross reference our existing team to vet viable candidates. Any objections?” No one says anything. Dev nods. “Very well, then let us commence operation Rainbow Warrior.” Dev stands and beckons them to join him in the study. Chaz follows. Steve hesitates a moment and then follows as well.
“Should I get going?” Steve says, unsure if he is intruding.
“No way, Steve,” Chaz reassures him. “I’ve held on to this secret long enough. I’m glad to have the company.”
“Besides, Steve,” Dev says, “you’re integral to this project, particularly now. We need your input.”
Steve feels good about this. “Thanks, fellas, I really appreciate that.”
Dev starts the Tertian programs on his computer. The large display on the wall activates and fills with Tertian icons and graphics.
Steve is impressed. “Whoa, is that a space TV?”
“No, Samsung,” Dev says, pointing to the corporate logo at the bottom of the screen frame. “But I did update its programming a little.”
Steve’s eyes light up. “Oh my God, you did the same thing to the GPS in your Range Rover, didn’t you? You knew where all the speed traps were!”
“Yes, sir.” Dev smiles. “Last thing I need are police entanglements.”
“I wouldn’t mind that programming update,” Steve says.
“Me too.” Chaz laughs.
Dev stands before the screen and selects a series of icons just by proximity motion of his hand.
“Whoa,” Steve says. “So, how does this work, Dev?”
“It might be easier to show you a completed vetting.” Dev selects the old file for Dave Bush, Steve’s former first officer in the BBJ. Dev describes the process to Steve as the screen fills with information and lines of connectivity.
“Okay, there’s the subject, Dave Bush. The program starts out by confirming his identity, as you see by his picture, name, and current billet.”
“His job title,” Chaz murmurs to Steve.
Dev continues. “Subject’s identity is then linked to various business entities; colleges, trade schools, financial institutions . . . ”
Steve reads some of the information under the academic tag. “Wait, he had a 1.9 GPA? Is that what that means?”
“It does.”
“No wonder he didn’t get half my jokes, he’s a moron.” Steve looks further and sees the list of colleges he attended. “He went to three different colleges?”
“And changed majors twice,” Chaz adds.
“He also never graduated,” Dev says, and then continues. “Financially . . . nothing remarkable there. School loans, current list of bills and services. He routinely gets something called a Brazilian wax at Mona’s Salon in his hometown.”
“Oh, gross!” Steve grimaces as the program pulls up a picture of Dave’s naked and very hairy rear end at the salon. “How does that even show up?”
“Someone at the salon must have taken that photo and posted it online,” Chaz guesses.
“Yuck.” Steve winces. “Hairy bastard.”
Dev gestures to the screen and closes the butt picture and pulls up the next series of information tags. “Places he shops. Donations. Books he downloaded. His cable television lineup.”
“This is what surprised us,” Chaz tells Steve as he virtually selects the media icon. “Look at what he watches.” The media icon expands and lists all the programming and frequency of viewing for each program. “All politically far-right media, paranoid conspiracy shit, how to prep for pending tyranny, survivalist shows,
anti-government fringe propaganda.”
Steve looks at the programming list. “Man, who knew? He’s probably home right now digging his bomb shelter.”
“He may need it,” Dev says, alluding to the Yeti.
Steve notices a blue icon reading Biologic Data. “What’s that one for?”
Dev explains. “Medical history, aptitude quotients, psychological examinations, pharmaceuticals; data of a biologic or medical nature.”
“Wow, that’s pretty amazing,” Steve says. “And very intrusive.”
Dev shakes his head. “This program only culls data that’s already out there. It may seem intrusive, but most of this is stuff people transmit about themselves all the time without ever considering it could coalesce into one file someday. This is that file.”
Steve’s eyes grow big. “I’m almost afraid to ask what mine looked like.”
“It looked better than mine,” Chaz says.
Dev points to Steve’s picture at the top of the screen, in a lineup with the other Oasis pilots. “See for yourself.” The screen closes Dave’s file and starts populating with Steve’s information. Good grades, excellent work history. Nothing glaring.
Steve smiles. “Guess I passed.”
Chaz puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Your file is really impressive. In fact, we should give you a raise.”
“A raise?” Steve says. “I don’t know what to do with the money you pay me now.”
Chaz speaks with admiration. “Then you can send it to your folks.”
Steve smiles warmly, knowing his good deeds are being recognized. Dev selects Steve’s current billet, Chief Pilot—The Constellation Cooperative, LLC. The information expands in detail and shows his salary of $450,000 per annum. The figure is triple his last salary of $150,000 under the icon reading BBJ Captain, Charter Inc. Dev highlights his current salary tag and uses a rotational hand motion to dial the figure it up to $480,000. Dev makes a scoffing sound and dials it up to an even $500,000.
“Did you just up my salary to half a million dollars?” Steve gasps.
“Not enough?” Dev says, then dials it up to a cool million.
“No, Dev, stop.”
“Steve,” Chaz interjects, “Dev has over a billion dollars locked up in a Swiss account in Zurich, and it grows larger every single day.”