Category: Trunk Stories

Trunk Stories

Smokejumper

prompt:  Write about a character arriving in a place unlike anywhere they’ve ever been….
available at Reedsy

The day after finishing her basic firefighter training, Maya Estrada travelled farther than she had ever before. Under her uniform she wore a ring on a chain. It had been her father’s, but her mother had passed it on to her when she left for mandatory service. Probably as a reminder of what could happen, she thought.

Maya knew her mother wasn’t happy about her choice of service, but she wasn’t one to intervene. “You are your father’s daughter,” was all she said. Maya was to be a firefighter, like her father before her. He had started in his mandies as well, and continued on until he died fighting a wildfire when she was nine.

It was her first time off-world. When the liner entered the jump gate she was prepared to be amazed. It turned out, however, that super-C was boring. An even, smooth, featureless grey filled the window. She watched for a few minutes, hoping for some change, but only strained her eyes. Maya darkened the window and ran her hand over her close-cropped, tightly curled black hair. The haircut was required in basic, and seeing her reflection made her turn away from the window. She felt the short hair made her least-liked features, a sharp nose and thin lips, stand out even more. While her skin was a deep black-brown with a reddish undercast like her mother’s, her features were sharp like her father’s.

When lunch was served she was ready to refuse in some way without making it clear she had no credits. Instead it was placed in front of her and before Maya could say anything the server said with a smile, “Compliments of the Federation. If you’d like any alcohol, cannabis, soporific or stimulant that will be charged, though.”

She was on her way to smokejumper school. Firefighters in areas too rough for robots or vehicles. When she was one of the four candidates selected out of training to go straight to advanced training, she already knew that was what she wanted to do.

The exit from super-C to normal space was at least a little interesting. The featureless grey flashed a blinding white, then was replaced with the blackness of space, stars becoming visible as her eyes re-adjusted. The planet below was far different from Earth. Maybe closer to Earth as it used to be eons ago.

She saw huge swaths of green around and between the cities. There were a few places on Earth that were still that way, but nothing like what she now witnessed. The cities were smaller than what she was used to, and most had an agricultural area directly around the city itself. Still, most of the planet was green.

Maya went from the space port to an airport where she got on the smallest plane she’d ever seen. From there it was a few hours flying over those vast expanses of green. They landed at a small strip adjacent to a small building, no more than eight or nine stories. The construction seemed solid enough, though lacking in any decoration besides a sign with a parachute over a flame.

The building wasn’t what held her attention, though. All around the clearing trees reached for the skies. The air smelled like the rooftop garden on the block, but stronger. The  sharp, resinous aroma of the evergreen trees mixed with the rich, loamy scent of decaying plants carried far in the humid heat. She stepped off the airstrip onto the grass. The ground was soft underfoot, and uneven. She dealt with momentary vertigo as her body tried to interpret the strange sensation of not standing on a truly solid surface.

As the other members of the cohort arrived she noticed that only one other was a Junior Troop like herself. Most of them had been wildlands firefighters for at least a year before qualifying for the program. A few of them, Troops wearing the green tab signifying they were still in their mandatory service period, eyed the two fresh recruits with obvious suspicion. The older candidates, those past their mandies and higher in rank, had no sour looks for any of them.

The other Junior Troop approached her. “Junior Troop Estrada,” he said, looking at her name tag, “Mel Travers, Sol 2. Just finished basic. You?”

She extended a hand. “Maya Estrada. Same, only Earth. You… look like you’ve spent a lot of time outside. Is that from training, or…?”

Mel laughed. “No, I’m straight off the farm.”

“Ah, yeah, Venus,” Maya said. “I didn’t want to assume.” She looked at the grass under her feet and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, getting used to the sensation. “So you must be used to this,” she said pointing at the ground.

“Have you really never been outdoors before?” Mel looked puzzled.

“Well, sure. But always in the city.” Maya inspected her nails. “Where there’s solid concrete underfoot.”

“You’ll get used to it in no time,” he said with a wink.

Eager to change the subject Maya pointed out that the head instructor was coming out of the building and the other candidates were beginning to line up. They joined in the line up, falling in as they’d learned in basic.

Once the line had settled the instructor called the seven highest ranking candidates forward. She passed a tablet to the senior ranking candidate and spoke with them in low tones for a moment before turning back to face the rest of the candidates.

“I am Commodore Jihane Ibrahim,” she said, her face reflecting the glow of the sun in its deep, cool brown; faint lines around her eyes visible only by the slight shadows there. “You may call me Commodore, or Sir. I am not your mother or your father, and I am not a civilian instructor.”

She wandered past the line of nineteen candidates remaining in the formation. “I’ve been a wildlands firefighter for 22 years, an officer and smokejumper for 19 years, and a Doctor of Government in Wildlands Emergency Management for nine years. I’ve run this academy for six years, and will continue do so until I retire.”

“I see I have five mandies with experience, and two fresh out of boot. I’ve selected the highest ranking candidates to pair up with you. The other twelve of you, pair off as you see fit.” She returned to her place at the front. “From this moment forward, you will do nothing on your own. Your partner will be in line of sight or hearing at every moment. If I ask you where your partner is you should be able to answer immediately and precisely. Losing track of your partner is an automatic fail.” She nodded toward the high ranking candidates she had pulled out earlier.

The first was Lieutenant Kal Markham, a lanky blond with pink showing through the dun of his tanned skin. “Junior Troop Estrada, you’re with me.” The next chose Mel, and the other mandatory service members, all Troops, looked at them with daggers in their eyes.

Kal took his place beside Maya, and leaned over to whisper in the nearest unhappy Troop’s ear. “We had to pick the fresh recruits, as they’ll need the most help to stay alive.” This mollified the Troop and the word passed through the rest of the formation in whispers.

Once the pairing-off had finished, and the assignments were noted in Commodore Ibrahim’s tablet, they were given their first task. “On the seventh floor you will find your rooms, marked with your names. You and your partner will drop your luggage there, then inspect and pack the rucksacks you find there with the gear that is laid out. You will mark your rucksack with one of the adhesive name tags that are being passed out now. Then you and your partner will report to the ninth floor to receive your fire suits. Mark the trousers, jacket, gloves, boots, helmet liner and helmet each with another of the adhesive name tags you have been given. You will then report back here in formation, geared up. There is no lift. You have thirty minutes. Go!”

“Sir, yes Sir!” the formation called out in unison, then began a mad scramble into the building. Kal and Maya both reached out to hold the other back, and laughed.

“Thirty minutes is a lifetime,” Kal said.

“Yeah, uh, yes, Sir. It was like this in basic,” Maya answered. “My bag is light enough I can run up the stairs if I need to, so why get caught in the crush?”

They finished their task, Kal taking time to show Maya how to inspect and pack the gear she wasn’t used to. The rucksack was heavier than Maya had thought, and carrying it up to the ninth floor was painful. However, once she had her fire suit on, Kal helped her adjust the numerous straps and pads on the pack making it far more comfortable than she had expected.

Kal and Maya, without rushing, arrived with five minutes to spare. Many of the others were sweating from the exertion of their mad scramble in the high humidity. Most of them, however, had made it back in under half the time allowed. Something she knew she’d have to get used to soon enough.

Commodore Ibrahim returned, followed by a Captain, and three Senior Sergeants. “The trainers will now hand out radios and navigation devices. You have forty hours to reach all the locations marked in the devices and pick up the markers at each stop. Each pair of you has different locations between here and the end goal. Failure to pick up any of the markers is an automatic fail of this school. Failure to show up at the end goal within the forty-hour time limit is a strike. Two strikes and you fail the school. Any questions?”

“Sir, no Sir!” the candidates called out in unison. As the trainers handed out the devices the pairs took off into the woods at the edges of the clearing. Kal and Maya were the last to be given their device and leave.

“I heard what you told that Troop, Sir,” Maya said. “Is it true?” 

“Not at all,” Kal said. “I argued with Sub-Lieutenant Obele over who got you. Your academic and fitness scores are no joke. Travers is a very close second. The rest of the mandies are all good enough, I guess, but you two are cut out to be exceptional.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Maya watched as they approached the tree-line. It seemed dark and otherworldly to her eyes.

“And when we’re out here, I’m just Kal,” he said. “There’s plenty of time for the Sir crap in garrison, but on the fire line there’s no time for that. If I, or any of the others with experience tell you to jump, you do it. That’s how we all stay alive.”

They walked in a silence broken only by the humming of insects, the chirping of birds and tree frogs, and the occasional check-in on the radio. The canopy closed over her head, the branches high above her threatening to fall on her at any moment. It was somehow both claustrophobic and comforting. Under foot, the ground was uneven, rich odors rising from every footstep. The air felt thick in her lungs, sweat soaked into her helmet liner, and more trickled down her spine. Every little breeze made the needles rustle in the trees around her and mixed the resinous aroma of the trees with the rotten smell of the loam below.

The day wore on, and they had picked up three of eleven markers, but Maya had trouble discerning where the sun was. They were in a place of constant gloom under the towering trees. “Sir, uh, Kal,” she asked, “how long have we been out here?”

He checked the navigation device. “Just coming up on nine hours. Let’s stop and eat.”

Maya nodded. “Gladly.”

Kal showed her how to quickly drop her pack by pulling on the latch at her chest. “It takes a little extra time to reconnect everything before you pick it up, but dropping it like this should become as natural as breathing.”

It took her a couple tries to find the latch without feeling around for it. “Yeah, if I needed it off in a hurry right now I’d already be too late.” She reconnected all the straps and sat down leaning against the pack. “Of all things, my ankles are exhausted.”

Kal smiled. “Yeah, I never left the block until my mandies,” he said, “so I know exactly what you’re talking about. It took me about three weeks to get used to walking in the wild.”

Maya pursed her lips, “I can handle three weeks. I’ll be used to it before I graduate, at least.”

They ate protein bars and sipped on their water. “With the way the light has barely changed I thought I might be too soft for this,” Maya said between sips. “Has it really been nine hours?”

“It has.” Kal looked at her. “I figured if someone as smart as you were coming to Dem 2, you’d have looked it up. 38 hours, 17.4 minutes per planetary rotation.”

Maya snorted, “I would’ve, only I didn’t know where they were sending me. Never saw my orders. They just said ‘get on this liner,’ and then ‘get on this plane.’”

“Well, then, welcome to Erinle, second planet of the Dem system.” Kal stood. “I need to piss, then you should do the same, and we’ll get to the next marker.”  He turned his back to her and relieved himself against a tree. “Don’t you start until I’m done. That’s another habit to pick up. One of us should always be on lookout.”

“Makes sense.”

When Kal finished up he said “your turn.”

She moved a meter away from her pack, dropped her trousers and squatted, keeping her eyes on Kal. “I’m going to pretend that my ankles aren’t tired and we’ll continue straight on through to the end, right?”

Kal shrugged. “The first three markers were pretty far apart. If they’re all like this we may well have to.”

Maya stood and fixed her undergarments and fire suit. She knelt down and shrugged into her pack the way Kal had showed her, and they continued on. The next marker was just a few hundred meters ahead and they reached it in what seemed like no time. The trail they had been following, though, came to an end.

“Hm.” Kal pulled the marker off the tree and placed it in her pack. “It looks like we need to make our own path from here.” He pointed off the side of the path. “The next marker is that way.”

Where the trail had been hard-packed, with an occasional rock or root to trip her up, making her way through the trees was downright treacherous. Ferns, which Kal told her were called fire ferns, grew out of the thick, soft pine duff. Fallen branches, some five or six meters long, provided constant obstacles. The occasional downed tree had to be circumnavigated or climbed over.

“All of this,” Kal said, pointing to the duff, the ferns, and the fallen wood around him, “is fuel for wildfires. A great deal of your job will be to clean stuff like this up.”

They reached a small clearing, where Maya could once again see the slowly darkening sky. She noticed a new smell here, too, reminding her that she’d grown accustomed to the smell of the forest. “What’s that smell?”

Kal stopped and took a deep breath. “Oh, nice.” He walked to a pine growing on the edge of the clearing, smaller than the ones they’d been walking past and with a different pattern of bark. He pulled off a small piece of the bark and sniffed at it before handing it to Maya. “Here, check this out.”

The bark smelled of vanilla. The scent was heady and sweet. “What is this?”

“Pinus erinle,” Kal answered. “Engineered from Pinus ponderosa on Earth.”

“Studying botany?”

“No, you’ll come to learn the names of the trees and plants you protect.” Kal shrugged. “Or at least, I did.”

“So you’re from here?”

“Well, no, I’m from Kiwa, Bul 4a.” They crossed the clearing. “I’ve been stationed here for two years. We’re at the end of the wet season, and it’s been drier than normal. Fire season’s going to be bad this year.”

Maya mopped the sweat from her brow. “This is dry?”

“For the wet season, yes.” Kal pointed out their next marker. He pulled it and put it in Maya’s pack. “Sure, it’s 80 percent humidity. But we’ve had less than thirty centimeters of rain this season. Come dry season, this entire valley will be a tinderbox.”

“It’s hard to imagine all this on fire,” Maya said. She was going to say more until she saw another clearing ahead. This one, however, was black, not green.

“Dust mask and goggles on.” Kal didn’t bark it like an order but Maya felt the seriousness of it all the same. “The ash produces fine particulate that’s both bad to breathe and painful in the eyes.”

Maya stepped into the burn area with Kal. Even with the mask the smell of burnt wood overtook everything. The ground was coated in a thick layer of ash, the ghosts of burned trunks dotted throughout the landscape. As they crossed the thousands of hectares of scorched land, Kal pointed out small green nubs, pushing out of the ashes. “That’s why they’re called fire ferns. They’re the first thing that comes back. This fire was last season.”

Maya compared the desolation she stood in with the trees behind her. If there was any way to protect them, she would do it. “Do you think I can be stationed here?”

“I don’t know,” Kal said. “But if you prove my instincts about you right, I’ll personally request you for my platoon.”

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Trunk Stories

Cold Black

prompt: Write a story where the power goes out on a spaceship or submarine….
available at Reedsy

Quiet, too quiet. The engines were never audible from the bridge. The low vibrating hum that travels through the decks, up one’s bones and into the back of the subconscious, though, was painfully obvious in its absence.

If the missing vibration didn’t make the situation clear, the sudden drop out of super-C combined with the loss of artificial gravity and all sources of light did. The Tahiti Sunset was dead, adrift. The cockpit canopy was darkened. Without power to force a state change it would be as long as an hour before it would become translucent and stars would be visible. Her eyes ached, pupils trying to dilate further than possible.

Anj felt along the control panel in front of her, counting the switches right to left. When her hand reached the fourth she raised the cover and flipped the switch beneath it. Nothing happened. “No, no. Come on, baby, give mama something.” She flipped the switch off and back on, to no effect. She counted the switches by feel again. It was the correct switch.

Careful to keep a firm grip on her seat, she released the belts holding her in place. Sudden movements in microgravity were dangerous, especially when one is effectively blind. She felt her way along the bulkhead to the vac suit storage. Reaching in she felt her suit, hanging so she could back in and suit up in seconds. It was the one place in the ship where she was confident to let muscle memory take over and ignore the darkness. Eyes closed she scrambled into her suit as in a drill.

As she lowered the helmet the suit’s heads-up display popped to life. In most situations it was easy to ignore the display, but in the total lack of light it was excruciating, a searing stab of blinding light into her over-taxed eyes.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the spots to go away, and for the light she could still see through her eyelids to mellow out. When she could look at the HUD without pain she tried looking around the ship. The HUD provided no illumination outside her helmet, so she turned on the headlamp, on its lowest setting.

Looking at the control panel she could see that she had, indeed turned on the emergency battery power. “Oh, baby, what happened? I hope it’s just a loose connection.” She ran a gloved hand along the bulkhead next to her. It’s not that she believed that the ship itself could feel and hear her, but she had grown attached. It helped that the navigation AI had been upgraded with a basic personality, friendly, casual, and optimistic without being too chirpy.

Anj kicked off from the bulkhead, floating toward the hatch to the battery compartment, and the tool kit strapped to the deck next to it. She opened the compartment and checked all the connections she could reach by grabbing them and trying to move them. All were secure. She removed her right glove and ran her hand along the batteries. Cold. If the batteries were cold it meant they hadn’t been charging for a while. “Why didn’t you tell me, sweetie?”

She unstrapped the tool box and kicked herself toward the cargo bay. “Tahi, remind me to check the power warning circuit.” She said it before she realized that the ship’s AI was unable to respond, or even hear her. “Never mind, I’ll do it as soon as we get back up.”

In the cargo bay she opened the deck hatch into the engine room. The fusion reactor sat dark near the forward bulkhead. She approached and set the magnetized tool box on the floor near the main panel. She pulled out the tester and connected the leads to the port on the panel. The tester blinked to life, sending power and signals to the circuits in the panel. Lines of red text began scrolling up the tester. When the output stopped scrolling she scrolled back to the first line. FAULT K93-19747.

She pulled a small notebook out of the tool box. It was beyond old-fashioned, but at least the thin plastic pages didn’t require any power to work. When she was unable to find any notes about that specific fault she moved on to the next. By the time she’d tried to find the fifth fault she was beginning to think that she wasn’t going to solve it, and would likely die of asphyxiation eventually.

Still, she pressed on. By the time she reached the eighth error she found a note in her notebook. It was related to containment failure; specifically that one of the electromagnet’s output was unstable. It was as good a place to start as any. She removed the outer housing to get to the ring of electromagnets. She noticed a discoloration of the housing directly over one of the electromagnets, as though the metal had been heated beyond its rated capacity.

After checking the suit’s power was sufficient she turned on recording and slowly scrolled through the error messages on the tester. Picking up the housing and scanning the suit camera over it slowly she said “Looks like one of the e-mags overheated.” She pulled herself around to the back of the reactor to look at the component. Sitting close to where the housing had been was a junction box, also discolored. “This junction will need to be checked out as well,” she said, pointing to the burn mark.

Still recording, she grabbed the needed wrench and removed the questionable electromagnet, careful to stick each bolt to the magnet on her left suit sleeve. Once it was free there was no doubt. The connections beneath were loose and coated in carbon. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I should’ve checked everything after the reactor overhaul. They weren’t careful putting you back together.” She placed the component in a bag and clipped it to the tool box, then swapped out the wrench for a driver.

“Checking the junction.” Anj removed the junction cover plate and found two of the fine sensor wires fused to the housing. “Seems the heat killed the sensors before they could report, and shorted out the charging circuit.” She removed the entire board from the junction, checking the plugs as she removed them and deciding that aside from the sensor wires and the battery level return wire they were serviceable.

“Steps to correct: first, replace the e-mag. Second, replace the battery level return wire. Third, replace the sensor wires. Finally, re-run diagnostics.” She turned off recording, and the suit light, and let herself float aimlessly for a bit while trying to figure out how to make all those things happen. As her eyes adjusted she noticed faint light in the cockpit. The canopy must have gone translucent finally.

Unsure what parts she still had in the cargo hold from the overhaul she pushed back into the hold and opened the crate. “Please tell me they left the e-mags.” On top was the old main control board, not needed, thankfully. Beneath that was the ring, the frame on which the electromagnets mounted. Under the ring were the hydrogen injectors, the helium collector for when the reactor was cycled, and sure enough, the electromagnets.

She picked one up and compared it to the one she had removed. It looked similar enough, but she wanted to be sure. Turning her suit light back on she compared the markings and mounting holes. The manufacturer was different, but the two had the same ratings, and the mounting points matched exactly. “Let’s put this in and mark item one off the list.”

Anj placed the burned out electromagnet in the crate with the other scrap and closed it back up, after retrieving the main control board that had drifted lazily across half the cargo bay. The markings on the battery level return wire, which also acted as a ground, showed it as 0.3 ohm at 100 meters. “At least you’re not a superconductor. I think I can work with this.”

She looked around the cargo bay. There were no wires she could salvage. She thought about the wiring in the ship itself. Maybe the wiring to the recycler? That wouldn’t work, she realized, unless she had a dozen or so to weave together. She needed a beefy wire, about a meter long. She couldn’t pull any from the battery bay, where more of that same wire was installed. Taking it from the battery bay to the cockpit was non-starter as well.

Based on a hunch she opened another hatch in the cargo bay deck. The connections to the artificial gravity. The wires were slightly smaller, but there was enough to double them up. “Sorry, baby. This is gonna cost in repairs, but I do what I have to.” Anj pulled wire cutters from the tool box and measured out a one meter section in two of the wires before cutting. She placed insulating boots over the cut ends of the wires in the deck to avoid shorts, and replaced the deck hatch.

After getting the wires doubled and firmly connected she pondered the next problem. The sensor wires were hair-thin, and made of a special alloy. She returned to the crate of used parts. There was no old junction board in the crate, as the original was deemed in good enough condition to leave. There were only two sources of fine enough wire she had access to, her suit, and the old main control panel. Problem was, neither of them were of the right alloy.

She returned to the cockpit with her notebook, strapped herself in the pilot’s seat, and began slowly leafing through the pages, looking for anything she might have written in the past 12 years about those wires. There was a full page with the wiring diagram for the sensor wires, the type of wire they used, a site on the weave where they could be purchased at wholesale cost, and a note that said: “Buy some spares!”

“Why didn’t I listen to myself?” She thought about the state of the Tahiti when she bought it. The sensors had originally been shorted out with small pieces of plain copper wire. That’s why she needed all the details of how it was meant to go together. “I won’t like it, but I’ll do it. You hear me, Tahi? I’m doing this under duress.”

She left the cockpit and returned to the trunk in the cargo bay. A few quick snips on the back of the old main control panel and she had two copper jumpers to short out the sensors. After putting the jumpers in place on the board and replacing the board in the junction she started recording again.

“I don’t have replacements for the sensors in the junction, so for now I’ve shorted the sensors with copper jumpers. I’m about to re-run diagnostics.” And plugged the tester back in. A series of green messages scrolled by, followed by three yellow warnings and a message that the reactor was in need of service. “You think I don’t know that?”

She replaced the junction cover and the housing around the electromagnets. Now all she needed was enough power to start up the reactor. This would normally happen from the batteries when a restart was needed in space, or from ground power when docked. She had been drifting for more than three hours, and there was no way to determine her location or even send out a distress call without power.

Returning to the pilot’s chair and strapping herself in again, she began leafing through her notebook. Somewhere in there was a “recipe” for jump-starting the reactor. It was in a section marked by a red page that said “Last Ditch Only” with a skull and crossbones crudely drawn on it. It contained things she had learned mostly from other pilots, most of it questionable at best. She leafed through the few pages there. How to use a CO2 scrubber filter and charcoal to make urine drinkable. How to attach a vac suit’s ion drive and battery pack to a crate to send it on a one-way trip. Or, how to send off contraband toward your target before you dock, she thought. How to charge the ship’s batteries using a ground vehicle in the cargo bay. That would be handy, if I had one.

Finally she found it. A page full of notes and diagrams on how to jump-start a fusion reactor with dead batteries. In large print at the top of the page the pilot she’d gotten this from had written “Do not try this! Ever!” At the bottom he had signed it “Best, Kai.”

“Well, Kai,” Anj said, “I didn’t listen to me, not like I’ll listen to you now.” The instructions called for at least two vac suit batteries. She had the one in the suit she was wearing and one spare. A quick look at the HUD showed the vac suit battery at just over 65% charge. She checked the cabin oxygen levels. Since she’d been in the vac suit the whole time the oxygen in the cabin was still at a reasonable 18.4 percent.

Another trip to the crate netted her the burnt battery cable, from which she cut three pieces of usable wire. She grabbed the spare battery, stripped out of the suit, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the faint starlight that reached the reactor room. She could see her breath in the growing cold. 

After removing the main control panel bolts and lifting it up she had access to the wiring underneath. Using the light from the tester she identified the connection points in the instructions. After wiring the batteries in sequence she turned the main power switch on the control panel to the “start” position and touched the wires to the points indicated. She flinched as she was blinded by a bright flash and the smell of ozone. The reactor whined and sputtered, then stopped.

“Come on, baby. You can do it for mama.” She waited for what seemed like hours for her eyes to readjust, then touched the wires again. Knowing what to expect she shut one eye tight, and forced herself not to flinch. The reactor whined, then pop-pop-popped a few times before the turbine began turning. The instructions had clearly stated not to remove the wires until the turbine was at full speed or they were completely depleted. She held the wires steady, the heat building up in them burning her hands as the turbine sped up bit by bit.

Finally the sound she was used to, the turbine running at full power, was her cue to move the wires and close the main control panel. The batteries were hot, and the overload indicator on both had popped. She dropped them in the suit locker on her way back to the pilot’s chair. “I hope I don’t need to make a space walk now. It’ll be the shortest one ever.”

“I’m sorry, Anj.” The ship’s AI had a feminine voice, and did a good job of emulating emotive speech. “I seem to have been offline for the past four hours and sixteen minutes. We are no longer traveling super-C, has there been a problem?”

“Yes, there has. But first, three things. One, figure out where we are. Two, make a note to pick up spare sensor wires and e-mags when we get you in for repair. Three, remind me to add another warning on the page about how to jump-start a reactor. Oh, and remind me to demand a refund from the shop that did the reactor overhaul. Their shoddy work caused the failure.”

“That was four things,” the AI said. “The last three have been noted. I’ve just calculated the first. Based on the location beacons from the nearest and next nearest gate we are in this sector.” A star map hologram appeared over the pilots console. “We are about 83 light hours from the nearest gate, and 312 from the next. Based on our current trajectory and drift rate of just over 1286 kilometers per second we are somewhere in this band.” A donut shaped highlight appeared, growing slowly as they continued to drift.

“Bring us on-course to the nearest gate, and send out a distress call.” Anj strapped herself in her chair. “I hope there’s an escort cruiser nearby to give us a warp bubble.”

“Anj, artificial gravity seems to be malfunctioning.”

“I know, Tahi. I’m sorry. Had to pull some wires from the grav generator to get the reactor working again.”

“Oh dear. I’ll keep all acceleration to one gee or less, then.”

“Sounds like a plan.” The return of the feeling of gravity was welcome.

“Do you think naming you after a place that sank beneath the ocean was bad luck?” Anj patted the console.

“Of course not.” The AI paused. “There is no such thing as luck. Besides, the old pictures you showed me were very aesthetically pleasing. I believe ‘magical’ may be an appropriate adjective.”

“It may very well be.” Anj chuckled. “And since we have some time, how about a game of poker?”

“You know I still can’t bluff,” the AI said. “But no one said I could never learn it, right?”

“That’s right,” Anj said, glad to hear her friend’s optimism again. “We’ve got a few days right now, might as well try again.”

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Trunk Stories

Spotlight

prompt: Write a story about someone who’s famous for something they never actually did….
available at Reedsy

Fame: many claim to want it, a few would kill to get it, I just want it to stop. Every time the story comes up I want to crawl in a hole and disappear. There’s no way I can live up to something I never did.

Perhaps I should back up a little. This all started four years ago. I was sat at my laptop in a 24-hour diner, working late into the night. I had a tricky bit of code I was trying to coax into shape, and chose a booth near the back. The quiet, and the low lights, combined with a double-order of fries and non-stop coffee was the perfect setting for it. When I finally called it a night I felt bad for the waitress. I realized I’d been there three hours and only spent seven dollars. So I laid a twenty on the table, wrote “Sorry for taking so much of your time” on a napkin and left. As I was leaving an older man passed me with a slip of paper in his hand.

At the time I figured he was going to sit in one of the booths, but now I know better. He ruined my life. Sure, he made someone else’s life 8.9 million times better, but I paid the price.

By nature I’m a solitary sort. Crowds make me nervous, cameras make me self-conscious, and public speaking is right on out. I don’t appreciate being the center of attention, even among acquaintances and coworkers. So it was that when I returned to work on the following Monday and all my coworkers began to gather around that I went from uneasy to downright paralyzed.

They asked “Anna, are you going to call her?” Their attention was clamorous and nauseating. Saying things like “wow, I could never do something like that,” and “you really are a saint, aren’t you?”

I finally snapped “what the hell are you talking about!?”

“The tip? At the diner? Friday night!”

That had me more confused. “Yeah, I left a twenty for some fries and coffee, because I hogged the booth for three hours.”

“Not that, the lottery ticket.”

“I don’t play the lottery. It’s a tax on people who don’t understand statistics.” I shook my head, determined to just focus on work. That kept me busy until lunch, when I saw the local news story running on the big screen in the break room.

“A local waitress is trying to locate this woman who left her a life-changing tip on Friday.” A blurry cell-phone picture of me was on the screen, next to a picture of the twenty and the note I left on the table. Under the twenty was a lottery ticket. The old man, that was in his hand!

The news caster continued. “An 8.9 million dollar tip. The winning lottery numbers, revealed on Thursday, matched only one ticket. That same ticket was left as a tip at this local diner on Friday night. Yesterday, we talked to the waitress who received that tip.”

The waitress showed up, her face blurred out. Sure, they can protect her privacy, but what about mine?  “My mother’s hospital bills were about to make us both homeless. Now I can pay off my mother’s house and medical bills, and put aside a bunch for my son’s education. I pulled taxes out first, then gave a million to all the other crew that were on that night to share. I would like to give the rest back to the woman who left it. If she doesn’t want it I guess I could donate it to the women’s shelter. I haven’t really thought about it beyond that, except maybe to fix my car.”

“And what kind of car is it?”

“It’s a ’79 Honda. It’s tiny, and rusty, but it’s good enough for me, except it burns oil.” She laughed. “My dad bought it new, and passed it on. It’s got about 950 thousand miles on it, and it still works, so…,” she shrugged.

“This morning, the local Honda dealership offered to completely restore her nearly million-mile car for free, and is offering a new car to the woman who left the tip. In addition, several local businesses have offered free goods and services to the mystery angel who – ” click.

I turned off the TV. “Fuck me. The old man. That’s what he was holding.” All eyes were on me. “Oh come on! You all know better than that. I. Don’t. Play. The lottery.” Everyone turned away nervously, and pretended to be very interested in their lunch. My appetite gone, I tossed the remains of my lunch in the garbage and returned to my desk.

By the end of the work day word had somehow got out to the media, and news vans surrounded the office; cameras everywhere. There was no exit I could take and not be seen. I decided to hold my head high and walk straight out the front door to the bus stop. I ignored the yammering questions until I was almost past all the cameras.

I turned to face them and silence fell, broken only by the sound of camera shutters. “I will only say this once. It wasn’t me. Yes, I was there and left the note and the twenty-dollar bill. I did not leave the lottery ticket. I don’t play the lottery.”

One of the reporters piped up “Ms. Jenkins, the ticket was bought two weeks ago, with cash, at the corner convenience store closest to your apartment. We have you on the surveillance footage in the store the night the ticket was bought. Why do you want to hide from such a selfless deed?”

I shook my head. “Leave me alone.” I turned and walked to the end of the block where the bus stop was and waited for my bus. The crews were clamoring to move their cameras to follow me, getting in each other’s way. Having timed my exit well, the bus stopped and I got on before any more inane questions could be hurled at me.

On the bus, the stares were immediate, and intense. Someone said “Hey! That’s her!” and began clapping. Soon the entire bus was clapping. I got off at the next stop, pulled out my phone and requested an Uber. The driver showed up a few minutes later. He either didn’t recognize me, or was polite enough not to say he did.

Once home, I turned on the TV only to see my face again, next to a grainy surveillance image of me in the corner Fast-Mart. I turned it right back off.

My boss sent me a text, advising me to work from home for a couple weeks until the story died down, as my presence in the office was a “major distraction.” Like that made any difference. My absence was not going to keep everyone from talking about me.

I spent the next couple weeks doing my work as quickly as possible in the early morning hours, then job hunting in far-away places. I could only hope that hiring managers didn’t immediately google my name and see the news pieces.

My phone had been ringing non-stop for days, and I was letting voice mail screen my calls. By that point my face was on all the major national networks, and spreading to international news. They were calling me reclusive, eccentric, and selfless. At least the first one was mostly right. While scanning those messages one made me stop and pay attention. 

“Hi, this is Julia Ramirez, Human Resources Director at SaaS Masters in San Juan, Puerto Rico. We’re very interested in your experience with cloud computing and scalability. We have a position as a senior integrations engineer at our South Africa location, and would like to schedule a phone interview with our other senior engineers some time this week. Give me a call back at this number if you’re interested.”

This was the first job callback I had that hadn’t mentioned my unwanted fame. After doing some online research on the company I called.

“SaaS Masters HR, Julia speaking.”

“Hi, Julia. This is Anna Jenkins calling back.” I took a deep breath. “I’m definitely interested in the position, but how would getting to South Africa work?”

“Well, you would start here, in San Juan, for two months training. Just to get you up to speed on our systems. While that’s going on we’d get your work visa and travel papers handled by our legal department, and we pay for business class air travel, and will help with moving expenses and help you find a place to live. If you want  to fly first class you’ll have to pay for the upgrade yourself.”

“No, no. Business class is fine,” I said. “To be honest, I just really want out of the country for a while.” Realizing how bad that sounded I quickly added “not that I’m in any trouble or anything, I’m just dealing with a lot of media attention and getting tired of it.”

Julia cleared her throat. “Lo entiendo. I mean, we’re all aware. We get the same news here. It just seemed obvious from your reaction to the interview that you didn’t want to be bothered with it.”

“Well, I appreciate that.”

“Besides,” Julia said, “you said you didn’t do it, why don’t they believe you?”

“Thank you. You’re the first person to say that.” I felt myself relax. “It means a lot.”

My interview was two days later, and within a week I was in the San Juan office. I still got looks and comments on the street, but not in the office. While I was sure everyone knew, they all seemed to be okay with the idea that I didn’t do it.

I spent four years working in the South Africa office until my work visa ran out. While there, I only seemed to get more famous. Some pundits and bloggers called me “famous for being famous” while others, rightly, called me a victim of the media. I’ve become the object of countless arguments online and in the media. My refusal to pick up a free car, and share in the winnings was proof that I either did or did not leave the ticket there, depending on which side one was arguing. Regardless, my last few months in Jo-berg I had to duck the news media, but paparazzi were still getting my pictures in the tabloids and online.

On the flight back I was met with quizzical looks and one traveller who asked “aren’t you the woman that gave away the lottery ticket?” My response, of course, was a simple, honest “No.”

I flew direct from Johannesburg to San Juan, and went through customs there. The customs agents all recognized me right off and wanted selfies, and an autograph. One asked if I ever got my new car. I did my best not to scream at them, and made it through without too much trouble.

I’m due back in the office next Monday. I think I’ll see if I can get assigned to the Seoul office next. Perhaps I’m less of a big deal there.

Trunk Stories

Small Town Values

prompt:  Write a story in which two people who know each other are introduced — but neither person admits to knowing the other….
available at Reedsy

Few things require the level of careful discretion as Tamara Pike’s life. As a sheriff’s deputy in a lazy backwater in the middle of the Bible Belt, who happens to be African American, and a lesbian, and kinky, it meant hiding. She couldn’t hide her color or her gender, but everything else about her personal life was sealed up tight anywhere within a 100-mile radius of home.

She spent weekends with her “boyfriend” Thomas in the city, bringing back pictures of them out to dinner, with friends, with his family. He’d even visited her at work a couple times to sell it. In reality he was a close friend from college, and they shared outings to the BDSM club in the city, where they would comment on the women and he’d go find a Domme to satisfy his itch and she’d meet up with her girl.

She spent every weekend she could with Katy, the cute, red-headed coed with a single, bright-green braid at her right temple. She would hear her squeals of delight in her dreams. Katy was far more experienced, and was opening Tamara up to new levels of play. They’d ended their last long weekend with Katy gifting Tamara with a new flogger and a promise of teaching her how to use it. At the leather goods store they looked at collars. “I know it’s too early,” Katy had said, holding one of the collars up for inspection, “but if you decide to put one on me, I’m not opposed to being yours.”

Tamara was glad that she was dark-skinned enough that the blush she felt rising while remembering that wouldn’t be visible. She shook her head to clear it and reported to the morning briefing. After handing out the usual assignments, and making sure everyone had at least two Narcan auto-injectors, Tamara left the noisy pit to head out on patrol.

“Tamara!” The Sheriff, while usually friendly, was overly so. “Come by my office for a minute before you head out.”

“On my way, Sheriff Mercer!” Tamara checked her belt, holster, badge, radio, and name tag to make sure everything was straight.

“You know better than that, call me Jim!” he called out.

“Okay! On my way Sheriff Jim!” Even if they did this routine two or three times a week it never seemed to get old to him, so she kept it up. This time, however, she heard a female’s laughter with his.

“She got you, Dad!” the female said.

The voice sounded familiar somehow. Tamara turned the corner into the Sheriff’s office to see red hair, with a single bright-green braid at the temple. It was Katy. She held her face as still as possible, trying to not think about Katy writhing as she… stop thinking about it!

“Deputy Sergeant Tamara Pike, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Katy.” Jim was glowing with fatherly pride, Katy looked like a deer in the headlights. “She’s in college to become a yak herder.”

“Lame,” Katy said, regaining her composure and punching his arm. “Try harder.” Turning to Tamara she said “I’m actually studying Criminal Law.”

Tamara knew that already, but recycled what she had told her when they first talked. “That’s a tough field, you must be one of the smart kids on campus.”

Katy had initially been hurt that Tamara had called her kid, but that was months ago, and knew now that there was nothing hurtful meant by it. “I am,” she replied.

Jim looked at her, confusion crossing his face. “You admit you’re a…” His comment was cut off by another punch in the arm.

“Smart, I mean,” Katy pouted. “I’m not a kid, I just didn’t want to be rude to your friend.” Standing behind her father half a step she mouthed “Oh my god!”

Tamara laughed. “I’ll remember that.” Inside she was screaming. If she had known who Katy was, or rather who Katy’s father was, she would never have spoken to her. She maintained her calm exterior, and saw Katy give a thumbs-down gesture, the hand signal that replaced a safe-word when unable to speak. Tamara’s nod was slight, just enough to let Katy know that she had her back.

Jim looked at Katy and back to Tamara. “I hate to ask, but could you drop her at home? I’ve got a meeting with the county prosecutor coming up.”

“Sure, Jim,” Tamara said. “Katy, right? Anything you need to grab or are you ready to go?”

“Just my backpack. I’ll see you out front,” Katy said.

Tamara walked out to her cruiser to wait, eavesdropping on the conversation of two other deputies.

“I swear, if I knew Tate had a daughter like that…,” Carter said. “You so much as look at that girl sideways and you’ll be castrated before you can blink,” Jones replied. They were silent for a moment before Carter spoke again. “I just can’t believe he has a kid, and she looks like that!”

Tamara decided she’d heard enough. “Why don’t y’all get out there on patrol, before the sheriff makes a necklace out of your little man-bits?” It had taken a while to get past the push-back from her promotion to sergeant, especially as the only woman and the only African American in the department. Once the dust settled, and two less-than-stellar deputies left the force, the rest of the men grew to respect her, as evidenced by the way they could all tease each other.

“I…,” Carter started. “I was gonna say something about size, but you’d just twist it and make me look stupid.”

“That’s because it’s easy,” Jones said. “Besides, Pike got the brains in her family.”

“Hey!” Tamara laughed. “Who are you calling ugly?”

Jones laughed and Carter asked “Did I miss something?”

“Yes, Carter, you did.” Jones waved. “We’re 10-41, Sergeant.”

Katy exited the building ten minutes later, carrying a large backpack filled to bursting. As much as Tamara wanted to rush to help her, doing so in front of the Sheriff’s office window might not be the best idea. Instead she keyed her radio. “Base, 214 is 10-41 with a civilian ride-along.”

Katy approached and Tamara took the backpack and placed it in the back seat before opening the front passenger door for her. “Why did you call that in?” Katy asked in a forced whisper. “Now everyone knows I’m riding with you.”

“It’s either that or you ride in back.” Tamara got in and started the cruiser. “It’s just the rules, and you know how I am about rules.”

Katy’s face grew pink. “Yeah, I mean, yes, ma’am.”

As they left the center of town and got closer to the farm where the sheriff lived Tamara finally spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me… no, that’s not right. Why didn’t I ask when I first heard you name?”

“Why didn’t I ask you what county you worked in? I never would’ve thought you’d be hired here. Besides, I really didn’t expect to come back,” Katy said, “at least not before I came out. Preferably over a video call. From a state or two away.”

“You realize that if your dad figures us out I’m literally dead.” Tamara realized her hands were beginning to cramp from her death-grip on the wheel, so she forced herself to relax and take a deep breath. “I don’t mean that in the ‘literally as figuratively’ way, either. I mean Jim will take me out to the river, put one in my head and dump me where I’ll wash out to the ocean.”

“He wouldn’t,” Katy said. “Would he?”

“If you weren’t planning on coming back, why are you here?” Tamara shook her head. “That didn’t sound right. As freaked out as I am, I’m glad to see you. I was planning on spending next weekend with you anyway. But what’s wrong that you had to visit sooner than you wanted to?”

“Remember, I told you how Mom moved us away when I was little?” Katy asked. When Tamara nodded she continued. “I see Dad once every few months: birthdays, graduation, a few holidays. But, Mom and I don’t get along. We don’t even talk. When Mom found me with my first girlfriend at 16, she basically disowned me. Kicked me out the day I turned 18.”

“Shit, Katy. I didn’t know that.”

“Because I don’t talk about it. I never told Dad, because I wanted to stay in the city. But I’m over it.” Katy focused on her hands, folded in her lap. “I didn’t know how over it I was until I got the call last night. Mom died. It’s only right I tell Dad to his face.”

“Is that going to be a tough discussion?”

“It was easier, and harder than I thought it would be.” Katy looked at Tamara. “Why do you think it took me so long to grab a backpack?”

“Wow. So, how did he take it?”

“He told me how he was here for me, and if I needed anything to let him know.” Katy shrugged. “Kind of what I expected of him.”

“So how long are you here?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical. I’ll finish out the semester remotely, then probably start back next spring.”

“I don’t know if I can keep us secret that long,” Tamara said. “Unless you can come up with a good excuse why you’ll need to go to the city with me every weekend.”

“I’m going to tell him,” Katy said. “Tonight. I’m coming out. I won’t tell him about you, unless that’s what you want.”

“I’m still afraid Jim will kill me,” Tamara said. “But I’ll be there for moral support.”

“Thanks, I’ll take you up on that.”

They pulled up to the farm house, and Tamara carried Katy’s backpack into the front room. “I’ll stop by after my shift.”

They embraced and shared a deep kiss. “I’ll be waiting.”

After her shift Tamara changed out of her uniform and was heading out to her truck when Jim stopped her. “If you don’t have any plans why don’t you come by the house? We’ll have some dinner and hang out for a while.”

“Sure.” She’d been wondering what excuse to give to show up, but he made it easier for her. “What time?”

“If you don’t have anything else to do could you head over now?” he asked. “Katy gets bored, and I’d hate for her to reorganize the cupboards or something.”

“No problem, Sheriff Mercer.”

“Call me – eh, never mind. I’ll be home in an hour or so.”

The entire drive, Jim’s failure to respond as she’d expected to the joke ate at her. Does he know? Oh god, is he going to kill me? Maybe he’ll just fire me, or arrest me for… something.

The first words Tamara said as she entered the house were “I’m dead.” She told Katy what had happened, how their usual joke had fallen flat. Unable to relax, Tamara and Katy commiserated, wondering how much trouble they were in. Tamara considered running away together, trying to piece the logistics together in her head.

Jim walked into the house and took one look at the two. “Why so glum?”

“Daddy, I,” Katy began, then faltered. She looked at Tamara and then back at Jim. “I’m afraid you’ll hate me, but I have to tell you the truth. I’m…,” she faltered.

Jim looked at her with mock concern. “You’re what? A murderer? A drug dealer? The person who’s been stealing parts from the salvage yard? If it ain’t one of those then I got no reason to hate you. Even if was one of those I don’t think I’d hate you. I’d be mighty disappointed, but never hate.”

“I’m gay.”

“I know. So what?” He smiled and scooped up his daughter in a warm embrace. “I’ve known since you were 12 and getting googly-eyed every time you saw the lead girl on that annoying show you watched. But I have a confession to make, and you both might be mad at me for it, at least for a little while.”

“What’s that?”

“I sent you home with Tamara, and invited her over, in hopes you two…,” he shrugged. “She’s got a fake boyfriend in the city. We all pretty much know she’s gay, but we play along. She worries that some of the other folks in town aren’t as understanding.” Jim sat in his armchair. “I just wish she’d settle down, rather than hang out at that weird club in the city.”

“Wait, you all know!? Even Carter?” Tamara was floored.

“Well,” Jim said, “Carter may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I’m sure Jones or someone’s filled him in by now.”

“But, the club…” Tamara felt her heart sink. “How did you know about that?”

“That Blaine fellow on the county board,” Jim said. “Told me he followed you there on three weekends. Thought he could use it as some sort of leverage.” Jim laughed. “When I threatened to arrest him for stalking he decided he didn’t know anything and wasn’t going to say anything.”

Katy looked at Tamara, and before she could respond said “Sorry, Tamara. Dad, I’m the girl she visits in the city.”

Jim looked at the two of them, his eyes wide. “You mean, I just tried to play matchmaker but I’m too late?” He let out a roaring belly laugh. “You two will be the death of me yet.”

“So, um, Sheriff,” Tamara asked, “does this change anything?”

“Between you and me? No. Between Katy and me? No. Between you two, it sure does. First, I expect to see a lot more of my future daughter-in-law outside of work,” he said. “Second, you’d best get to work on earning that promotion to detective. You want to have a good income before you two tie the knot.”

“Excuse me?” Tamara said. “How do you see that working in this town?”

“Easy. You go to the Episcopal Church and have a ceremony.” He snapped his fingers. “Done.”

“Dad, do you really think anyone in this town would be okay with that?” Katy’s distrust was clear on her face. “They’re mostly like mom. She kicked me out as soon as I was 18 and disowned me because I’m an evil, wicked sinner. With all your campaign talk of ‘small-town values’ I thought you’d treat me the same.” 

“Listen, I don’t know what ‘small-town values’ means in the big city, but I’ve made it clear what it means to me. At least in town-hall meetings and campaigns.” Jim sighed. “It means that drug dealers go to jail, addicts go to rehab, and if I find out who’s stealing parts from the wrecking yard they’re going to work it off. It means we’re all like family, and we take care of our own.”

Katy grabbed Tamara’s hand. “Do you really think we could walk down the street like this and not get called names, or beat up, or worse?”

“Do I think it won’t rile anyone up? No,” he said. “Do I think they’ll get over it in time? Sure. Just like they did over Tamara herself, once they got to know her. There’s one or two who won’t, but they don’t matter anyway. And what idiot would be stupid enough to assault a law enforcement officer? Especially one that can kick their ass?”

“The Simmons already call me some pretty horrible things.” Tamara sighed. “Of course the rebel flags and swastika tattoos make their feelings pretty obvious.”

“I wouldn’t worry over-much about them. Boys like that have a tendency to put themselves behind bars.” Jim pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m ordering pizza for dinner.”

“Sure, dad, pepperoni please.” Katy’s expression was mixed, somewhere between stunned and relieved, with a touch of awkwardness thrown in.

Jim looked at the two, still holding hands. “Now if y’all don’t cheer up and hug or something I’m gonna eat by myself.”

The two smiled and hugged, sharing a chaste kiss. “Don’t get carried away now,” Jim said. “And if I ever find out you hit my little girl, I’ll bury you, Pike.”

“Dad!” Katy pulled Tamara close. “She doesn’t hit me,” she said. Then in a low voice added “unless I ask her to.”

Jim’s ears and cheeks grew pink. “Oh, the club…, no, no no no no no! Too much information! I can’t know that about you! I’m going to go bleach may brain until the pizza gets here.”

Tamara laughed. “I guess you’re right, Jim. Nothing’s changed at all.”

Trunk Stories

Extensions

prompt:  Write a story involving a conversation that’s packed with subtext; the characters aren’t quite saying what they mean….
available at Reedsy

“The Librarian” wore a dour expression on her lined face. Her grey eyes glared above the half-moon glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. A blush of pink rose with her ire in her porcelain cheeks. “What do you mean, another extension?”

Samuel shifted nervously from one foot to the other, careful to look anywhere but into those piercing eyes. His short stature, thin frame, and smooth, dun skin belied his true age, but fixing his deep brown eyes to her gaze still made him feel like a child. “There’s… extenuating circumstances,” he offered.

“Still and again, eh?” The Librarian dropped a heavy tome with a loud a thud. “This makes what, fifteen?”

“Er,” Samuel knew that she was painfully aware of just how many it was. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you know why I’m called The Librarian?” she asked.

“Er, no ma’am.”

She removed her glasses, letting them hang around her neck on the thin, gold chain that linked the ear pieces. “Because I run this place like a library. We loan. We do not sell or give away permanently.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I trust this will be the last I hear of this?”

Samuel caught her gaze, and as much as he wanted to answer in the affirmative, feared the outcome if he did and was wrong. “I… hope so?”

“You hope so!?” The Librarian almost never raised her voice. When she did, as now, the object of her wrath could feel the trembling to their bones. “That copy has been out so long it’s been superseded, not once or twice, but at least a dozen times! It’s time to retire it, now.”

With an unexpected bravado Samuel asked, “Why? If it’s still good enough for…,” he regretted his words as soon as they were out.

“It’s not ‘still good enough.’ “ The mocking tone of her reply caught him off-guard. “That copy has been in circulation for so long it’s falling apart. Losing pages here and there, and who knows how many penciled-in edits, revisions and probably flat-out vandalism by now.”

“But…”

“No buts.” She waved over another of the assistants. “Angela, have you met Samuel?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Angela stood half a head taller than Samuel, her afro extending that to a full head. Samuel didn’t need to look at her to see her eyes so dark the pupils didn’t show, her skin a warm, dark red-brown, her full lips that he often fantasized saying his name.

“Angela, I’d like you to take Samuel down to receiving.” The Librarian returned her glasses to her nose and began jotting notes on her calendar. “I know you could use some help down there, and it would be good for him to get a better understanding of how we do things here.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Angela flashed a wide, toothy smile at her. “I’ll get him straightened out in no time.”

“While I appreciate your enthusiasm,” The Librarian said, “don’t make any promises you’ll regret.”

Angela’s smile was replaced with a more serious, hard expression. “Right you are, ma’am. I’ll do my best to get him on board.”

As Samuel followed Angela to the elevator he tried to come up with some way to break the ice. Now that they’d be working together it was his best shot. They entered the elevator and Angela pushed a button for their destination.

When the doors closed Samuel hesitated for a moment, and was about to speak when Angela started instead. “Are you seriously that daft?”

“I… uh,” he stammered. “Wha-what do you mean?”

“Fifteen extensions!?” Angela laughed. “You’re the talk of the place. Sure, maybe one extension, on very rare occasions two, but fifteen! You are, without a doubt, either the bravest or the dumbest person here.”

“There are extenuating circumstances!” His voice came out rather more petulant than he would have liked.

“Look, kid,” Angela said. “You have to learn how to pick your battles. And this is one you won’t win.”

“I’m not a kid.” Samuel felt his fantasies about Angela disappear in a cloud of self-doubt. “I’m probably older than you.”

“Maybe, but you’re acting like a child.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just because you like a borrower, or even believe that they have a very good reason to extend a loan, it’s not enough. It just isn’t done.”

“If I could just get her to hear me out, I’m sure she’d change her mind.”

“Who, The Librarian?”

“Of course, who else would I mean?”

“She doesn’t change her mind.” Angela shook her head, her afro bouncing side to side. “Never happens.”

The elevator stopped and they stepped into the receiving department; cold grey concrete slab floors and walls enclosing a utilitarian workspace. “Do you,” Samuel asked, “know her name?”

“The Librarian? Sure.” Angela guided him to her office.

“What is it?”

“I said I know her name, I didn’t say I’d tell you.” Angela stopped him and stared in eyes. “We. Do. Not. Speak. Her. Name.”

Samuel gulped. “I knew she was private, but….”

“Enough of that.” Angela led him into her office. On a bench to one side were stacks of folders, ranging from massive tomes-worth bundles of documents to those with no more than one or two sheets in them. She pulled one out of the middle of one of the stacks with a deft flick of her wrist. Samuel expected the stack to topple but it dropped into the missing space neatly with a thud. She handed it to Samuel.

He recognized the cover, even though he could see the differences right off. “This is the newest version, I guess?’”

“It is.” She opened the cover and leafed through a few pages. “Notice how clean, and notice that the language is more up-to-date.”

“Yes, but as a remote agent I have only one group to keep happy,” he said. “If they don’t want the changes, why should I push them on it?”

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Angela said, “but I don’t spend all my time in receiving. I’m a field customer service agent as well. You’d know that if you came to the meetings. You’d also know that we are no longer called ‘remote agents.’”

“And how do your customers feel about change?”

“Some of them are all for it,” she said. “There are those who don’t like change, and don’t want it. I don’t give them a choice.” Angela walked to the far end of the office where a row of ten folders stood on a shelf. “These are their next ten. Or maybe nine,” she said, pulling one out part way. “This one is… problematic. They may reject it outright.”

“So you’ve already read them and vetted them?”

“As soon as they come in.”

Samuel raised the folder he held. “And if this one is problematic?”

“There’s another thirty or so copies in storage.” Angela stopped herself. “I meant to say versions, not copies. There are no exact copies of anything here.”

“Which makes it that much more important that my customers get the version they want.”

“It’s not about who wants what.” Angela crossed back to the bench and picked up one of the folders with only one document in it from the stack. The document inside had only a few lines on it. “Do you think anyone wants this?” She petted the cover and held it close to her heart. “Poor little thing. No, no one wants this, but it still needs to go out all the same.”

“What happens to the ones that don’t?”

“After a certain amount of time they find their way to excess shipping.” She leaned against her desk. “They go out to the lottery draw, and are passed out randomly. I’m afraid that’s the fate for this one.”

A panic hit Samuel. If those newer versions ended up in the lottery, anyone might get them. “Uh, I need to find the other versions of this, quick!”

Angela laughed. “The Librarian isn’t very good at explaining the why, just telling us the what. I knew you’d come around once you knew the whole story. That’s why the other versions are in the box by my desk.”

Samuel let out an audible sigh. “Thank you, Angela. But then, what happens when they’re returned? At the end of the loan?”

“That depends on their contents when they get here.” Angela shrugged. “Some are retired, placed in the private stacks upstairs. A few, if they’re really foul, are shredded and burned; but most are sent to recycling and returned to circulation.”

Samuel thought about that for a moment before speaking. “Well, she did say retired, not chucked in the furnace. I guess maybe it is time to get the old version back.” He added the newest version to the box and lifted it. “So, who is your customer group?”

“Roman Catholics.”

“Huh.” He looked at the row of folders on the shelf. “So that’s the next ten, or maybe only nine, popes, then?”

“Yep.” She nodded at the box he held. “And now it looks like the next thirty or so Dalai Lamas are in good hands as well.”

“Say, Angela, would you like to…”

She cut him off. “The Librarian does not allow any fraternization of Soul Repository employees. Not. At. All.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe I’ll see you around the break room sometime, eh?”

Angela smiled. “Maybe. I’ve got to get back to work now, and you need to go tell The Librarian you’ve learned the error of your ways.”

Trunk Stories

North Dakota Grannies Knitting Circle

prompt:  Write a story about a meeting of a secret society….
available at Reedsy

Six elderly women, all carrying large knitting bags, five walking and wearing pink parkas, the last in line pushing a wheelchair with the sixth in a blue parka, filed out of the Senior Center restaurant. They passed by the tax preparer’s office and turned into the closed quilting store beside it. The store was closed, but open for them every other Sunday.

As they entered they removed their parkas and hung them on hooks by the door. Alinta went first, revealing a shock of white hair, and rich, red-brown skin, heavily creased by years and sun. Cho was next, revealing long, straight, dark grey hair, and warm, tawny skin, criss-crossed with wrinkles and lines, most notable being the deep creases on her forehead from from years of concentration.

Berta followed, her medium-length, yellow-grey hair and ivory skin showing beneath the blush of her wrinkled cheeks already bared before she entered the door. Behind her, Djeneba entered, removing her parka to reveal light grey dreads above a weathered, mahogany face.

Finally, Carmela entered, pushing Madeline in the wheelchair. Carmela removed her parka first, her wavy, dark grey hair still showing hints of black at the root, above a heavily lined medium beige face. She helped Madeline out of her parka, short white hair haloing the palest, most heavily aged face there. After wheeling Madeline to the large table in the center of the room, Carmela sat, pulling out her current project to knit among the others.

The quiet sounds of knitting were only interrupted for the occasional comment. “Whoops! Dropped a stitch on the last row.” “Now that I’ve got it memorized this cable pattern is fast.” “Djen, you think this sleeve is long enough for a seven-year-old, or should I add a few more rows just to be safe?”

This continued until Alinta cleared her throat. “Keep knitting ladies,” she said, “it’s time to start the meeting.”

The four others who had been wearing pink all replied with “Aye.”

Alinta smiled. “We’ve been looking for a new member for a while. I know we talked knitting over brunch, now let’s see if Madeline is right for the group, eh?”

“Well, I’m just an old granny trying to hang on,” Madeline said.

“I know your hundredth birthday was just last week,” Cho said, “but don’t count yourself out yet.”

“Correct.” Berta looked over her knitting at Madeline. “I’m interested in what you did before you were a granny.”

“Well,” Madeline said, “I guess it can’t hurt at my age. My last job was as an analyst with the CIA, until they forced me to retire. Morocco is so wonderful, have any of you ever been?”

“Oooh, sounds like a juicy job,” Carmela said. “What languages do you speak?”

“Oh, Spanish, Russian, Arabic, Pashto, a little German, some Korean, and I understand Icelandic, just can’t wrap my tongue around it.”

Djeneba asked, “Why did you join the CIA?”

Madeline thought for a moment. “I really thought I’d be helping people, making things safer, you know?”

Alinta reached the end of a row and flipped her work around. “How would you feel about doing something that really helps people?”

Madeline chuckled. “At my age? Not sure there’s much I can do.”

Alinta looked over her knitting, her hands never slowing down. “How old do you think I am?”

“Oh, well,” Madeline looked uneasy. “I don’t know, you seem young to me. Couldn’t be over 70.”

Alinta smiled. “I’m 396, no… 397 tomorrow. Cho is 284, Djeneba is 312, Carmela is 197, and Berta is the current youngster at 154.”

“Now you’re pulling my leg.” Madeline laughed it off. “But if there was a way I could make a difference, I’d do it until I fall dead.”

Alinta rapped on the table once, and the other four all answered “Aye.”

“Madeline, welcome to the club.”

Carmela pulled a small flask from her bag. “Time for tea?”

“Yes.” Alinta looked around the table. “Djeneba, when you finish that row could you?”

“You stay put, Djen, I’ll get it.” Cho said. “I’m working in the round so I can set it down whenever.”

Cho returned with tea service and set about making tea for everyone present. She accepted the flask from Carmela and poured a measured amount in each cup, which got a naughty giggle from Madeline. “Don’t tell my doctor!”

They continued knitting, sipping their tea, and watching Madeline as her posture straightened, her eyes brightened, and color flowed to her smoothing cheeks. “I’ve never felt so much energy! And the pain from my spine, it’s gone!”

“That’s just the beginning. You’ll stay with Carmela for a couple weeks, as your body heals and adjusts.” Alinta continued knitting. “By our next meeting you’ll be ready to join in for sure.”

“So, this stuff is great, but how does that…” Madeline cut herself short. The look from Alinta made her feel like she did when getting a raised eyebrow from her grade school teachers. Maybe she really was that old.

“If you haven’t already guessed, each of us represents a continent. I represent Oceania, Cho – Asia, Berta – Europe, Djeneba – Africa, Carmela – South America, and now you, Madeline, will represent North America. Just watch for now. Ladies, report.”

“More refugees from Sudan,” Djeneba said. “We’ve made some payments to Chad to take most of them in, Eritrea still doesn’t want to help. Ebola outbreak in DRC, nine cases so far, we’ve got Médecins Sans Frontières on the ground already. We still need to make a decision on the coup in Kukuana. General Kanoute has seized power and cut off all outside communications. We’ve got four freight containers of weapons impounded in Nigeria that he’s expecting.”

Alinta paused in her knitting, pursed her lips, then resumed knitting. “Buy the weapons from the Nigerian government outright. Send them to our rail yard in Burkina Faso. Tell the President and his loyalist troops where to pick those up. Any dissent?” When there were no responses she said “Thank you, Djeneba. And tell Eritrea that if they want to keep their loans they need to take the refugees. Next.”

Cho spoke up. “We finally have an ID on the Crystal Lotus Yakuza boss. He’s making moves in politics, and likely to be elected to the House of Councilors. Flooding in south Vietnam isn’t easing up. We’ve provided 1.3 billion dollars for recovery. Still waiting on the outcome of the trade summit in China.”

Alinta nodded. “It would be a shame if another newly elected Councilor was tied to the Yakuza. I believe the gentleman will meet a tragic end in an accident next week. The other clan you mentioned last meeting… Plum Blossom I believe, may be willing to help if the price is right. Any objections?” The only response was the quiet clacking of knitting needles. “Thank you, Cho. Next.”

Carmela cleared her throat before she spoke. “We finalized purchase of 9% shares of Banco Central do Brasil. We’re supplying 7 million dollars worth of weapons to Policía Nacional del Ecuador to help take down the cartels.” She paused. “Sorry, almost dropped another stitch. The revolution in Cordillera is all but complete. The last of the loyalists are pushed to the Peruvian border, out of ammo and food. The Peruvian Army is blocking their escape over the border, and they should be capitulating within the next few days. Which, of course, means the fountain and well are secure. I brought back twelve gallons with me.”

Alinta smiled. “Good news is always welcome.” She looked at Madeline and nodded toward the flask. “That’s what you’re drinking.”

“Like, the fountain of youth or something?” Madeline asked.

“Something like that. Next.”

Berta never looked up from her knitting but talked all the same. “Our Geneva bank is set to buy out three smaller banks in the U.K.. Germany has agreed to keep their deal as it stands. Spain and Greece are both looking for help dealing with the refugee situation. That would be 52 million dollars total.”

“How much,” Alinta asked as she turned her work again, “is that per refugee?”

“That’s assuming 500 dollars each,” Berta answered.

“Double it. Any objections?” When none were forthcoming she added “Thank you, Berta. I guess that means I’m next. The only big news for Oceania is the earthquake in New Zealand. We’ve provided 72 million dollars in aid to the government, and made another 22 million available for no-interest loans for rebuilding.”

Alinta carefully folded her knitting back into the bag and finished the last of her tea. “Don’t worry, Madeline. Over the next two weeks Carmela will get you up to speed with the technology, tools, and contacts, as well as your credentials to the bank. You know how analysis works, so we’ll leave that to you, and only offer assistance if you ask.”

Madeline stood from her wheelchair, for the first time in years. “This is… incredible. But really, it sounds like all you’re doing is moving money around.”

Cho smirked. “We’re playing politics. And these days, politics is money. Some of the previous members of the NDGKC figured out a long time ago that owning banks and having more capital on hand than the GDP of most countries was the best way to shape the world.”

“Wait, former members of the North Dakota Grannies Knitting Circle?” Madeline sat back down as her legs tired.

The ladies laughed. “No,” Alinta said. “That’s just a convenient name for us right now. NDGKC stands for Nameless Dominion Global Knights Cabal. In reality, though, we aren’t sure what the original name was, as it was in Phoenician, and likely changed multiple times over the course of the previous twenty-nine and a half centuries. In another hundred years, when this area is too built up and we move again, we’ll have to change the name again, so I wouldn’t worry overly much about it.”

As they donned their parkas and Madeline wheeled herself out the door Cho tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll stop by Carmela’s on Tuesday with your new parka. I peeked at the size in that one, hope that’s okay.”

Madeline winked. “It’s only okay if you share the pattern for the cable on those sleeves. It’s adorable.”

#

Before going to Carmela’s place they stopped by Madeline’s apartment so she could pick up a few items. Nothing that would call attention to the fact that she was leaving, though, just things that she didn’t feel she could leave behind. It amounted to two knitting pattern books, twelve skeins of merino wool yarn in various colors, and an arrowhead she’d found as a young girl.

The two weeks that followed were hectic for Madeline. As her she watched herself grow younger, healthier, more vital, she planned her funeral. There was no way around it — as long as Madeline Richmond was alive, she would generate curiosity that was bad for them all.

She first got a new identity, Madeline McCarthy, fifty-five years old. Several online shopping sprees outfitted her with new clothes and a whole new look. A new US passport, driver’s license, Social Security number and Cordillera passport making her a dual-citizen followed. When she saw the pictures on her new documents she was shocked at how young she looked.

A Cordillera doctor, visiting Fargo for training, signed the death certificate. Natural causes — complications due to pneumonia. She and Carmela picked up an urn of ashes from the crematorium. There was no service, as Madeline had no living relatives, and left everything in her possession to the animal shelter in her will. She received a small entry in the local paper’s obituary column, and a plaque on the wall of the animal shelter with her picture and the inscription “In Loving Memory.”

At the end of those first two weeks it was time for another meeting. Rather than their regular meeting, the Knights took a charter bus to an out-of-the way cemetery outside Fargo. There, they reverently placed the urn of ashes in the niche assigned.

Madeline stood before her name on the plaque in front of her. “Whose ashes are those?”

Cho took a deep breath. “Our former sister, Mary Smith.”

“Her original name was Makkitotosimew — Algonquin for ‘She has large breasts.’” Alinta smiled. “She never liked it, and was glad to change it.”

“It was true, though,” Djeneba said, and the ladies shared a laugh.

“So how did she…,” Madeline couldn’t bring herself to say the word. After being ready for death to take her at any moment, her new lease on life made it difficult.

“She got tired.” Alinta placed a hand on Madeline’s shoulder. “Sometimes one of us is killed in an accident or other misfortune, but usually a sister just grows tired and goes.”

“But I don’t see how.”

“She stopped drinking the water,” Cho said. “About three years ago. She aged rapidly and died in her sleep last year. We’ve been holding her ashes until her replacement was found.”

“I can see your next question,” Alinta said. “She was born, near as we can tell, in 1598 or 1599. She joined the Knights in 1702. She was far older than I.”

“Carmella told me there’s never been a male Knight. Why is that?”

“The waters don’t work for men.” Alinta made a small gesture and they began the walk out of the cemetery. 

Djeneba added “We don’t know why. We’ve been trying to figure it for the last two hundred years, with no answer.”

“But,” Cho started. She stopped at Alinta’s raised hand, and nodded.

They piled back onto the bus and Berta said, “We’re ready to go back now.” As the bus pulled out to take them the three and half hours back the ladies retrieved their knitting and started working.

Each sat in their own seat with their knitting bag beside them. Carmela turned to Berta. “Have Madeline show you what she’s working on.”

Madeline overheard and showed Berta the scarf she was knitting.

“That’s the cable that Cho was doing on those sleeves, right?” Berta scooted over to get a better look. “Did you double it?”

“I did.” Madeline beamed with pride. “I changed it up a little so they’re interlinked in-between.”

“Clever.” Berta looked back at her own work. “I’ll have you show me that when I finish this one. It looks fun.”

Trunk Stories

Atonement by Proxy

prompt: Write a story about someone looking to make amends for a mistake….
available at Reedsy

It’s odd that the things one has little to no control over can produce the most profound guilt. The same guilt that had Lily’s guts in knots. Her client was dead. If she had been there a few minutes earlier she could have prevented it.

Lily checked her outfit, crisp western-style suit in a medium brown-grey. Her porcelain-pale skin, pale blue eyes, and white hair with spiked blue tips contrasting with the warm brown. As a member of the Board of Security Professionals, this was to be her first time to stand on the other side of the bench in a hearing.

She took a deep breath and entered the hearing chamber. Seated were the other six members of the board, with her normal seat empty. The remaining members of the board looked like a photo of the Founders of the Federation; uniformly dark brown, some with warm, reddish undertones, others cool, but all with “normal” African features. Lily, on the other hand, had the “less-desirable” Euro features, in spite of the fact that her father was a genetic engineer and could have made her look like the majority if he had wished.

Sitting in the gallery were the members of the SIMI Trade Commission Board, the highest authority on the station. In a normal hearing they wouldn’t be there, but the BSP were to judge one of their own. Without oversight from the Trade Commission the entire hearing could be called into question. The Trade Commission was, contrary to what one would encounter in most parts of the Federation, made up of a broad array of face shapes and skin colors. What the Federation as a whole was supposed to look like.

 “Hearing number 302-13-21-LC is now in session.” Ania, Director of the BSP, spoke from her position in the middle of the bench. “Lily Cavin, you are called before the Board of Security Professionals to give an account of the events of the 12th day of the 13th month of Federal Year 302.”

“I travelled to Mars… excuse me, Sol 4, Dome 418, on a commercial shuttle. I was scheduled to meet Dr Nadine Ngata at 04:30 Federal time, to manage security for the FDF Ethics and Oversight conference.” Lily kept the guilt she felt from her voice. This was not the place for it.

“And what time did you actually arrive?”

“The shuttle was held in orbit for over two hours, and we touched down at 05:42.” Lily took a deep breath to calm her nerves and went on. “I arrived at the main level of the dome at 06:04 and stopped by the first toilet to freshen up. And that’s when I found Dr Ngata.”

“How did you find the doctor?”

“She was in a stall, shot multiple times.” Lily felt the guilt rising like bile. “I told her not to leave her room before my arrival, but I wasn’t firm enough in my warnings.” She didn’t add that the doctor had been distrustful, and had only hired her to squelch rumors of racism.

“Where were your local-hires while this was going on?”

“Locally hired security forces for the conference were due to arrive at 06:50 for a briefing,” Lily said. “The two body-guards who were assigned overnight lost her at 05:53 when she refused to stay in her room and used privileged access to cut through a Police barracks with two exits on each of three levels. They said she was carrying a satchel, but it still hasn’t been found.”

“Was Dr. Ngata working with law enforcement?”

“Not directly,” Lily said. “I did a full intel and background before accepting her as a client. Her work was as an ethics consultant with the Federal Defense Force, not directly with Combat, Police, Fire, or any individual FDF components.”

“What kind of enemies did she have?”

“The kind that send death threats.” Lily shook her head. “I’m sorry. She had received 118 death threats over the previous 10 months, all untraceable.”

“The reason I asked about what kind of enemies,” Ania tapped her tablet and a document appeared on the large holo behind the board. “This is the autopsy. Nine bullets, all FDF issue, serial numbers traced to the main Police barracks of Dome 412. The same Dome 412 that was destroyed last month in an horrific terrorist attack. They were fired by a rail pistol taken from that same weapons locker, and the pistol was turned low enough to be subsonic, but just high enough to cause fatal injury.”

Ania looked at the other board members, each nodding in turn. “We have already gone over your contracts, security plan as outlined in the same, and relevant communications logs with Dr. Ngata and the local hires. You are excused while the board makes their judgement.”

Lily returned to her flat, near the station’s dock. It was below the level where rotation provided one G, originally designated for storage when the station was still a mining platform. The 1.21 G felt comforting, the extra weight her cocoon. She lay down and rested until her comm chimed, letting her know they had reached a decision.

She stood at attention before the board to hear their judgement.

Ania pounded the gavel. “It is the finding of this board, that the death of Dr. Nadine Ngata was not a failure of the security measures instituted by Lily Cavin on her behalf. Dr. Ngata purposely evaded the bodyguards hired to protect her, and ignored the warnings of Ms. Cavin as they pertained to her own safety. Ms. Cavin performed her duties according to the standards of the Board of Security Professionals. It is the finding of this board that Lily Cavin shall face no fine, sanction, or censure, and her license remains in good standing.”

Lily left the hearing and stood on the promenade, looking down on the people one level down doing their daily routines. The floors curved slowly up in both directions. By walking in one direction she could end up right back where she started. Growing up on the station meant that planets felt backwards to her. That might have to change, though. It was too late to try to change her role on the station, but she could move to one of the colonies, take up a trade.

Her reverie was broken by Ania. “Lily, can we talk?”

“Sure.”

“Listen,” Ania said. “I don’t know how you’re feeling, or what you’re going through right now, except guilty. I know that one well.”

“I should’ve made sure the bodyguards had access…” Lily was cut off by Ania’s finger on her lips.

“Should’ve, would’ve, could’ve… that’s not the truth, and some part of you knows it.” Ania stepped back from the railing. “Walk with me.”

Lily walked beside her, content to let Ania set the conversational pace. They entered a lift and headed up two levels. Once there, Ania led her to her flat and invited her in.

“Would you like some tea, Lily?”

“Sure.” Lily looked at the small flat, the few decorations overshadowed by a display on a small shelf; an image of a much younger Ania in FDF Police gear, and a medal and commendation. “So you were police in your mandatory service?”

“And after.” Ania set down a cup of tea for Lily on the table. Lily took the hint and joined her there. “Until my partner died on the job. He should’ve waited for me to show up, but he didn’t.” A shadow crossed her face, and brief grimace of pain.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “That must be hard.”

“It was… still is, if I’m honest.” Ania set her tea down and fixed Lily’s gaze. “But the mistake I made was leaving the force.”

“Why?”

“I blamed myself.” Ania’s face relaxed, her gaze soft. “If I hadn’t been held up in court, maybe my partner would still be alive. It took me too long to realize that, more importantly, if he’d waited for me, he’d still be alive.” She took another sip of tea. “I blamed myself. I let guilt dictate my next move and I left the force, in spite of how much I loved it.”

“I don’t see the relevance,” Lily lied. She did, but wasn’t ready to admit it.

“I see how much you love what you do,” Ania said. “But right now, you’ve got guilt chewing you up and clouding your mind. I didn’t give myself a second chance, but maybe…”

“Maybe?”

Ania sighed. “Maybe, if I can convince you to not make the same mistake I did, I can at least feel like I tried to redeem myself.”

“So,” Lily said, “this is about making yourself feel better? I’m your proxy? I don’t know how I can keep doing this job without feeling like a fraud.”

“Yes, it’s about making myself feel better, but,” she grabbed Lily’s hand, “it’s mostly about helping you through what you’re feeling right now.”

“I was considering working for my dad,” Lily said, “not the one here on the station but my other dad. He’s in one of the colonies, growing potatoes. At least I wouldn’t get anyone killed that way.”

“You didn’t get anyone killed.” Ania patted her hand. “This is what I’m talking about. You should take a week or two off, think it over. And I want to you to talk to me, any time of day or night, when you feel ready. I didn’t give myself a second chance, but maybe I can help you give yourself one.”

“You say I’m not at fault, but it took the board hours…”

“The board decided before you even walked out of the room.” Ania smiled. “We spent two and a half hours answering questions from the Trade Commission before we could announce our finding, though. And then one of the Trade Commission members had the gall to complain that we took too long to come to an obvious conclusion!”

“Okay, I’ll give it a couple weeks.” Lily walked to the door, and stopped halfway out. “What should I do in the mean time?”

“Why don’t we start with breakfast tomorrow? The café on the promenade at 07:00. My treat.” Ania shushed Lily before she could raise an objection. “I’ll see you in the morning, unless you need someone to talk to before then.”

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Trunk Stories

Coulomb Barrier

prompt:  Write a story about another day in a heatwave….
available at Reedsy

The deuterium-deuterium fusion cycle as employed in standard spacecraft engines is made possible through the use of extreme heat, exciting the atoms to crash into each other energetically enough to overcome the natural repulsion of the weak nuclear force, and get within range of the attractive strong nuclear force. This is what is meant by overcoming the Coulomb Barrier. – Dr. Fatouma Tigana Fusion Basics for Power Mechanics

The announcer stood in front of a graphic of the sun over a landscape of identical grey blocks stretching into the distance. “It’s the 24th day of the heat wave, with temperatures here in the city expected to reach 52 degrees. That’s 325 degrees Kelvin for those playing at home.” The announcer’s voice was serious, making the attempt at informal banter jarring. “To win 200 credits, be one of the first three people to tell us, at Bamako:news:block374-local, what is 52 degrees in Fahrenheit?”

Jak did the calculation in her head while she switched the holo to its default display mode. She sent the answer “125.6” to the block holo channel from her comm. A moment later her comm chimed with the message that 200 credits had been deposited to her account. On a normal day she’d be asleep at this hour, since she worked nights, but she hadn’t slept well for the past 18 days. This was the second time she won 200 credits from their daily trivia question.

Inside the drab, grey walls of her flat the air was a perfect 20 degrees and 30 percent humidity. A holo image of a forested waterfall played on the wall opposite the door. Despite the comfort of the flat, the heat still felt oppressive to her.

She worked nights, but she worked outdoors. She maintained the automated machines that erected the 100 story, square kilometer blocks like the one she lived in now. Last night, though, the temperature stayed well above 30 and the hot, humid winds were torture. No amount of cool showers could seem to get her free of the feeling of being overheated, even here in her perfect environment.

Jak decided to call the weekend early. The construction company might get mad, but they weren’t the ones fixing melted insulation and heat-damaged batteries every night. She fired off a quick message from her comm and took another cool shower. Her bed sat disheveled and she contemplated trying to sleep again, but she knew it was futile at this point.

Dressing in her lightest clothes she left her 98th floor subsidy flat, taking the elevator all the way down to the ground floor. Floors 0 and 1 were where all the shops and services lived. They were also the busiest, especially in the middle of the morning. She wandered through the crowds, trying to decide if she needed to buy anything with her new 200 credits.

Last time, she’d bought a party dress, costing almost the entire amount. It wasn’t until the day after that she realized she’d probably never have occasion to wear it. She was wandering through the mall, looking for something interesting when a voice called out “Jaqueline! Jaqueline! Over here!”

Jak sighed. Only one person called her Jaqueline, her next-door neighbor, Sina. Sina was attractive, and nice enough, but annoying; frantically chipper and a chatterbox in the way that only five-year-olds haven’t outgrown. She didn’t know her well, despite the many meetings in the hallway outside their doors. “Hi, Sina. I see you took a job?”

“Yes! I still want to work on my art, but I thought maybe I could find a job that can make people smile!” Sina pointed to the case in front of her, a huge smile plastered on her face. “Ice cream makes people happy! Especially when it’s hot out! Not that you’d know it, since no one’s ever really outside except in a taxi or bus or train or plane or something. Want some ice cream?”

“No, thanks,” Jak said, then paused. “You know what, on second thought, sure.” She looked over the flavors and asked “What do you recommend?” No sooner had it left her lips than she regretted it.

“Oh! I really like the chocolate raspberry… or was it strawberry? Or the cherry with chocolate chunks in, or the green tea with chocolate chips…. Oh! You have to try the rhubarb lemon sorbet! It’s tangy… and sweet… only…”

“Only, no chocolate?”

“Yeah! How did you know?”

“I’ll go with that. Sounds light enough for now.” Jak scanned her ident to pay and tuned Sina out as she chirped non-stop while scooping ice cream.

“Have fun today! I’ll be home around 20:00, you can let me know what you think about it then!”

“Uh…” Jak had no idea what Sina was talking about. “Um, sure. You may have to remind me this evening, I worked all night and haven’t slept.”

“No problem! I’ll just pop by when I get home! Toodles!”

Jak sat on the side of the fountain in the middle of the mall, eating her tart icy treat and watching the crowds. What was Sina talking about? As much as she wanted to enjoy the cold sweetness she found she’d finished her ice cream while trying to recall whatever Sina had said. If she’d paid attention she would know, but now her mind was working overtime in effort to tease out anything coherent.

She lay back on the cool marble of the fountain edge, trying to figure out her best course of action. Option one: she could wait until 20:00 and find out then. Option two: she could march back over and admit that she wasn’t listening and find out what Sina wanted to know. As hard as she thought, she couldn’t come up with an option three.

She tried to imagine how she would approach it without hurting Sina’s feelings. As she thought of how she would apologize the cool of the marble spread through her body. Relief, at long last.

“Wake up, sweetie.” Sina’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “You fell asleep on the fountain.”

“I… uh…,” Jak sat up, trying to clear the fog of sleep from her brain. “Oh. Sina, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention earlier and then you said….”

“No, I’m sorry.” Sina seemed unhappy. It wasn’t a look her face was accustomed to. “That was a mean trick, I’m sorry.”

“What trick?”

“I knew you weren’t paying attention, so I thought it would be funny to act like I thought you were.” Sina sighed. “I know I’m difficult to be around. I talk too much when I’m nervous. My stomach gets all fluttery and then I just talk and talk and don’t let anyone get a word in edgewise. It’s kind of a bad… wait. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

“You are.” Jak shifted, her back in knots after sleeping on the hard slab. “What’s got you so nervous?”

“Well, I… kind of like you,” Sina said. “I mean, I don’t really know you, but you seem like the sort of person I would like, only I really want to get to know you.” Her speech was picking up pace. “If it’s not too much to ask, I mean, if you’re not doing anything, and you would be okay with it, but if you’re not I’ll understand, I just wondered if…” she fell silent.

“Yes?”

“I did it again.” Sina took a deep breath. “Jaqueline, would you like to go dancing with me?” It all came out as one word. Sina gulped, then continued on. “It doesn’t have to be tonight, or tomorrow, but maybe some time this week? When you have a night off? It doesn’t have to be anything serious, I just want to get to know you. Friends first, and that’s all if that’s all you want, but….”

Jak raised a hand to stop her. “I have a brand new dress I won’t get to wear otherwise, so, yes. We’ll go dancing tonight. On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You have to stop calling me Jaqueline. My name is Jak, it’s not short for anything.”

“Sorry. I was just, I don’t know…,” Sina trailed off.

“Nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it already 20:00?” Jak asked.

“No, I saw you lying over here, and when you didn’t move for a couple hours I took the rest of the day off.”

“In that case,” Jak asked, “why don’t we make a full night of it? Let’s grab some dinner, my treat. And then dancing is on you.”

“That sounds great!” Sina chirped. “We can go for your favorite, then that way I know what your favorite is! Unless it’s too expensive, then we can go for something else, but I still want to know what your favorite is. My favorite is cauliflower curry. And chocolate. And any kind of berry, but especially raspberry…”

“Sina,” Jak cut her off.

“I’m doing it again, huh?”

“That’s okay,” Jak said, “it’s cute.” It wasn’t what she expected to say, but she realized that Sina was no where near as annoying as she had thought earlier. Perhaps it was her lowered resistance due to lack of sleep, or maybe the heat had finally melted her brain. Either way, it was working. “Let’s go eat, then we can go home to get ready for tonight.”

“Okay. Hey,” Sina asked, “when the weather cools off, can we maybe go to the lake, go swimming?”

“That sounds good, but let’s get through tonight, first.” Jak stood and stretched. “Let’s grab a cold noodle salad.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“Only when I’ve been working in the heat.”

“Wait, you work outside!?” Sina’s eyes grew wide. “What kind of work do you do that you have work outside?”

Jak offered Sina her hand. “We can talk about it over dinner. After all, that’s what this is, right? Getting to know each other?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Sina accepted Jak’s hand and stood. She continued to hold her hand after getting to her feet and raised her eyes to Jak’s. “Is… is this okay?”

“It’s fine.” Jak smiled and lightly squeezed Sina’s trembling hand. “If I didn’t want you to hold my hand I wouldn’t have offered.”

As they walked hand-in hand through the mall Sina was, for once, at a loss for words.

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Trunk Stories

Redemption Road

prompt:  You thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you….
available at Reedsy

The first couple months after I killed Kevin Whatcomb I saw him everywhere. It was the first time I pulled my weapon in the line of duty, and the first time I ever killed someone. I made sure it was the last. I quit the force right after. Still, for a couple months I saw him everywhere.  At the grocery store, in line at the theater, riding the bus, driving the car next to mine. He wasn’t really there, of course, my mind just kept inserting the object of my guilt on everyone I saw.

Since then I’ve worked road construction. The hot, hard work combined with a couple years of therapy pushed Kevin out of my waking consciousness, and reduced his appearances to the odd nightmare. Until that day. He was standing with a bemused smile in the middle of the road I had just closed.

We were getting ready to rip out a section of the main road into the Redemption Acres development in preparation for new sewage and water lines. As the lead laborer I was one of the first on the site, setting up the detour signs, placing the cones, and making sure the equipment had room to maneuver.

I had just placed the last sign when I saw him. My first thought was that it wasn’t real. I looked away, counted backwards from 100 by sevens, then looked back. He was still there. He hadn’t changed into someone else or disappeared completely. My heart began to skip and thud, and I felt the waves of a panic attack trying to build.

I closed my eyes, crouched down, and forced myself to breathe slow and deep. Maybe I’d gone off the anxiety meds too soon. Didn’t seem likely, as I’d been doing fine for over a year without them.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, “but I’m looking for Alan Tate.”

The voice was not Kevin. He had a British accent and a far calmer disposition. I could hear Kevin yelling in his drug-fueled delirium, “I’ll gut this little bitch!” I clapped my hands over my ears hearing it all again, seeing him standing with a knife to seven-year-old Maisy’s throat.

“I’ll gut this little bitch afore you c’n pull that damn tri…” BANG! The dull clatter of the knife on the wood floor, then Maisy’s scream. She was cut, but only superficially, where he had held the knife tight against her neck.

“Are you unwell?” the man asked. “Should I ring for an ambulance?”

“I’ll be okay,” I answered. I wiped my tears with shaking hands then slowly stood. As my vision cleared I saw him, right there. It was him, but it wasn’t. “Sorry. You just… reminded me of someone. I’m Alan.”

“I presume then, that I remind you Mr. Whatcomb.” His smile fell and he looked at me with a mix of sympathy and shame. “I’m Charles Dumont, although I’ve found out recently that I’m also a fair number of other people as well.”

“What does that mean?”

“I ran my DNA for grins, and found that I am wanted in South Africa, a person of interest in Slovakia, an officer in the Russian Army, a dead criminal in the states, and at least four other people on ancestry sites.” Charles sighed. “Identical DNA match to all of them.”

“I know you’re not Kevin,” I said. “I tried to help him, lots of times, but….” There really wasn’t much to say. “I, uh, killed Kevin,” I said. “And then I was the only one to show up at his funeral. I wish it could have gone differently. I wish I’d talked him down.”

“The way I heard it,” Charles said, “you saved a young girl’s life. But why would you attend his funeral?”

“I knew him from patrols,” I said. “When he wasn’t using he was a sweet guy, if not the brightest bulb on the porch. I was trying to talk him into going to rehab, and I thought he might be ready. That last meth bender, though, he lost it. He was neck-deep in conspiracy theories about mind control and all sorts of weirdness.” When I finally looked at Charles again I saw he was writing in a pocket notebook.

“Did Mr. Whatcomb say anything about orders? That he was getting orders from somewhere?”

“Like what?” I asked. “The devil made me do it?”

“No, more like,” Charles pursed his lips for a moment, “strange orders coming from shadowy figures or in dreams?”

“Never heard anything like that,” I said. “Although, if he had I would’ve chalked it up to the meth. It can really mess with your head.”

“I thank you for your time, and I apologize. It appears I’ve caused you distress and learned nothing at all about Mr. Whatcomb.” Charles turned to go.

“Wait,” I said. “If you want to know more about Kevin, I might know someone who can help.”

“Splendid! When and where should I call on you?”

“Do you have a business card?” I didn’t want to give out someone else’s contact info without their okay. “I’ll check with them, and if they feel like they can help I’ll pass their info on to you.”

He produced a plain, off-white business card with his name and business contact information number and scribbled a US number on the back. “That’s my cell number while I’m traveling in the states.”

“I’ll let you know, either way.” I stuffed the card in my back pocket and went to my truck to steady my nerves and start the day.

#

As the last dump truck load of broken asphalt left the job site I headed back to my truck. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check my messages and saw the card stuck to it. Okay, this is weird, but I said I’d ask. I flipped through my contacts, found the one I wanted and sent a text. “meet @ pp @ 7?”

The affirmative reply was almost instantaneous. I hopped in my truck and headed home. After a quick shower I drove to the Pizza Palace and walked in. There were few customers on a weekday evening so I had my choice of tables. I picked our usual and sat down. When I saw her walk in I waved her over.

“Hi, Alan!”

“Hey, Maisy!”

“Good to see you! Are you coming to my graduation?”

“Of course I am. What do you think?”

“I think we haven’t been here in three months. Maybe you’ve got a new girlfriend keeping you busy or something?”

“No, nothing like that. I’ve been working mostly down state.”

“I know, you told me last week. So what’s up?”

Before I could answer Maisy turned waved at one of the wait staff. “Annie! We’ll have our usual, please!”

I could just make out the faint trace of a scar on her neck. I hadn’t noticed it for a few years now, but today it caught my eye.

“Regular bread sticks, or spicy, hun?” Annie yelled her question across the near-empty eatery.

“Spicy! I like my food to have a kick!” Maisy laughed and turned her attention back to me.

“I met someone today,” I showed her the card, “a Charles Dumont, from a London law firm. He’s trying to find out more about…”

“About dad?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it this time? Was he wanted there too?”

“No, uh…,” I wasn’t sure how to say it. “He… uh, looks, exactly like your dad.”

“Can’t be that close.”

“No, he claims that he’s a 100 percent DNA match for your dad.”

“Like an identical twin?”

“Maybe? He says he also matched up with seven or eight other people as well.”

“Maybe it makes sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I know dad was adopted. And he had this story he used to tell mom before I was born; that he was a clone soldier, waiting for orders to beam into his brain. Of course he was always drunk when he told her.”

“Really? I never heard that.”

“I just found out about it last year. I think mom just wanted me to understand how unstable he was to start with.”

Our breadsticks and drinks arrived and we talked about normal things for a while. School, college applications, how to swing student loans. Things that a dad would talk to their kid about. I had taken her dad away from her, and in return she’d made me a surrogate.

I asked her more about the clone soldiers and she told me everything she could remember about it. In return I told her what Charles had told me. We both laughed when Maisy suggested that maybe they were identical twins, separated at birth, with the exact same kind of crazy.

After I had the left-overs boxed for Maisy to take home I told her. “I had another breakdown when I saw him… Charles I mean.”

“Are you still off your meds?”

“Yeah.”

“Wishing you weren’t?”

“Sort of. But I managed to pull it together eventually.”

“All right, Mr. Alan. I’ll make you a deal. Give me the doppelgänger’s number and I’ll call him, if…”

“If what?”

“If you promise you’ll call your doctor tomorrow and tell her what happened. I worry about you.”

“You shouldn’t have to, you’re seventeen, it’s not your job.”

“Alan…”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

She took the card and moved around to sit next to me in the booth. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“We talked about my dad, and you’re feeling guilty all over again.”

“How can I not? I took your father away from you.” I couldn’t have stopped the tears if I had wanted to.

“Look, I loved my dad, and he loved me, I know he did. The drugs didn’t.” She lifted my arm and put it around her shoulder and snuggled in close. “You saved my life from the drugs, and I know you tried to save my dad too. The drugs took him away from me, not you. And besides, you’ve always been there for me.”

“So now it’s your turn to be there for me?”

“Maybe.” She squeezed me once. “I’ll meet up with this Charles. If his DNA claim is legit, though, we may need to do some investigating.”

“Wait,” I said, “why would you…? You haven’t even met the guy and you want to check out a crazy clone army story?”

“Like I said, if his DNA is identical to dad’s. Then there’s at least something to check. Find their birth parents or something.”

#

I had just finished putting up the new street signs on the completed road, just opened to traffic, when my phone rang. I answered, expecting a call for another job, but it was Maisy.

“Alan! It’s Maisy! Sorry I haven’t called you before now, but I was waiting on DNA results and had to go to a couple college visits and…”

“Hey, hey, hey. Slow down.” I kept my voice purposely calm and smooth, knowing how she gets when she’s excited.

“Oh my god! It’s true!”

“What’s true? Clone armies?”

“Well, maybe not that, but Charles has identical DNA to dad! He’s my uncle! I’ve never had one of those before.”

“Okay. So are we thinking identical twins?”

“Not likely. We sent samples to South Africa and Slovakia and Russia and… a bunch of other places. South Africa sent an extradition request.”

“Wait, how are you doing all this?”

“Uncle Charles has loads of contacts. He got samples from dad’s case and sent them out to… eight? different countries. We’ve gotten six matches.”

“That’s… really strange.”

“It is. Uncle Charles wants to know if you’d like to work for him. As an investigator. See if we can figure this all out.”

“He what?”

“When are you done with work?”

“Just finished.”

“Meet us at Pizza Parlor in 30?”

“Make it 60. I need to wash up first.”

“Okay, we’ll see you there.”

“Wait,” I said. “If Charles is your uncle, what does that make me?”

“I just tell everyone you’re my other dad,” she said. “That’s how I see it, anyway.”

“I’ll take it. It may be more than I deserve, but I’ll take it anyway.”

I looked up at the sign I had just placed, “Redemption Rd,” and hoped it was a portent of things to come.

Trunk Stories

Meeting With The Higher Ups

prompt:  Write a story that involves a mystery — it doesn’t need to be crime-related, it should just include something that remains unexplained until the end….
available on Reedsy

I hate my job… no, not hate, but I certainly don’t like it any more. My job used to be my joy, and I would have happily done it without pay. Then I got too good at it, I guess. Got promoted a few times, and now… this.

There’s a meeting on my calendar with my boss, her boss, and someone else I can’t see in the BCC on the meeting invite. This afternoon. Hopefully they’ve finally figured out how unhappy I am and are ready to move me back to my old position. No, that would’ve just been Maia, my boss, telling me to pack up and move back downstairs.

When I started, I had no idea what was going on. It was all so new and exciting, and then I got my first assignments; little things, really. Oh, but I excelled at them! I loved designing and building the little things; things that most would never notice in a million years, but I did. Whether it was one of mine or not, I always noticed the little things. It’s the small touches that really complete a thing.

My position now, though, has me overseeing a whole world of stuff. I’m too wrapped up in the big things to take notice of the little things these days. Maybe that’s what it is. I’m going to get chewed out for the stuff the creep downstairs has been slipping into the code.

Since I’m not going to get any work done while worrying about the meeting I decide to look in on some of the little things my replacement, the creep downstairs, was building. I had warned against hiring him, but no-one listened. His newest creations make me sick. They exhibit a certain cruelty in their design, not to mention flaws that could bring the whole enterprise down.

I write up my concerns, along with examples, but before I can mail it to my boss I get an emergency notification. This is what my job is now, take care of the big stuff and forget about the little things. I delete the draft and log on to see what the emergency is.

It’s enough to push the mystery meeting to the back burner for now. There’s never a good time for a war, but this has to be the worst. On one side, one of my favorite teams, who is currently having problems caused by some of those cruel little things, and on the other the team led by the self-important, overbearing jerk who likes only three things: pretending nothing else exists, stealing from others, and most of all, he really loves himself.

Well, I’m not going to let this stand. If I’m careful about how I do it I can make sure the jerk gets his comeuppance, and possibly even help my favorites recover from the flaws the creep downstairs put in the system. I go into my creator-space and begin writing the code that will do this.

I have a long look at the resource allocations for both sides, and see what they each have and have not discovered. The jerk hasn’t discovered the iron in his territory… and now it’s basalt. It looks like his team is building a well. I tweak the layer the water is in, rendering it too alkaline to use.

Anyone who thinks we don’t change the playing field once it’s set is deluded. We make these kinds of changes all the time. Sometimes, like now, to help out a team we really like. Other times, also like now, to thwart a team we really don’t like. Usually, though, we just get bored or have a momentary inspiration to do something different. That’s why doing the small stuff is so fun. There’s always somewhere to build something new, something that’s never been seen.

Looking back at the resources of my favorites I see they’ve found the precious metals, but haven’t gone very deep yet. I extend and expand the main vein they’re about to hit into a bonanza. Even with that, though, they don’t stand a chance without outside help. Time to check their neighbors.

To one side, a reasonably strong neighbor with no precious metals. To the other, a neighbor with a huge army, and a need for more advanced agriculture. I send them messages, letting them know that the jerk is coming to take their lands. Not specifically disallowed, but not generally smiled on. I shrug and continue on with my quest to ruin the jerk.

I leave hints for my favorite team, telling them to trade with their bordering teams, make alliances, defeat the coming doom. I send a message to the team’s informer as well, pointing them to the hints. Not only allowed, but expected. On one border I add a small spring, and in the spring I add a new creation, one that can fix the flaw of the latest addition from the creep downstairs.

Now it’s time to sit back and see what happens over the next few turns. I watch with interest as a new leader takes over for my favorite team: the previous informer. She manages to turn trade deals into an alliance. That alliance beats back the jerk, whose entire team is taken out of play.

What happens next is a surprise. The alliance turns into a unified territory, and incorporates the empty lands that the jerk left behind. They are sailing on to more advanced technology, fueled by the massive cache of precious metals. Maybe I made it a little too large. No worry, they’re still my favorites and my inbox is filling with thanks from them.

When they figure out the fix in the spring it doesn’t take them long to recreate it for themselves. I’m pleased when their first impulse is to share it with every other team they meet. I guess there are times that this job can be enjoyable, too.

Oh, yeah. The meeting. My calendar is blinking at me, telling me it’s time to go. I think I’ll be okay with moving back downstairs, but I doubt that’s it. My last review was good, so I don’t think I’m getting the axe. Thinking about it isn’t helping, because nothing I can think of should have more than my boss and maybe HR involved.

My calendar is blinking red now, so I get up and head to the elevator to go to Maia’s office. The elevator plays muzak that’s been on repeat for about five or six years now. The trip to the next floor is too quick. Oh well, time to learn what this is all about.

Maia is standing outside her office waiting for me.

“By the way, Maia,” I say, “I’m a little concerned about the stuff that…”

“Don’t worry,” she cuts me off. “Erra’s doing a fine job, he just does it differently than you did.”

She opens the door and leads me in. There stands Maia, her boss Gaia, and seated at Maia’s desk is the big boss. Now I’m nervous. I close the door, unsure of what’s happening.

Maia says “Tacita, come, meet Tiamat.”

I shake her hand, surprised at her strength given how old and frail she looks. “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am.”

“Oh, the pleasure’s mine,” she says. “Nice work with the emergency call there.” Her smile is at once warm and mischievous.

“Oh, you… were watching?”

“Of course, dear, it’s what I do.” Tiamat winks at me and stands, not much taller than when she’s seated.

“I told you she was ready,” Maia says.

“Ready for what?” I ask.

The office grows brighter than I can stand for a moment as Tiamat shines, then returns to normal. “For your promotion!”

“Again!?” I shout. “I just started to enjoy…”

I’m cut off by Gaia and Maia glaring at me and Tiamat laughing. “Fire builds in silence, doesn’t it? Follow me, please.”

I follow her out of the office, Gaia tagging along. “Isn’t Maia coming?” I ask.

“Gaia’s your boss now, Maia’s your coworker.” Tiamat leads us down the hall to a door I didn’t know existed. “But you can visit her any time you like. Here’s your new office. I’m sure you’ll learn to find as much joy watching over a realm as you have a world.”

She closes the door and I flop down in my chair, plant my face on the desk, and cry.