When Orbatron was first colonized, much effort was put into choosing the most ideal spot for a capital city. Orbatron City’s location was selected based on many factors. It was central to the Zales supercontinent. It was close to the water, but built on a mountain range far away from any fault line, giving the city protection from both floods and earthquakes. But most importantly, it stood adjacent to a fertile valley where all of the city’s food could be produced locally.

Both the spaceport and downtown were built upon a table of rock overlooking that valley. Nisha and Dalia sat on the edge of the rock table with only a security fence between them and the hundred meter drop off below. Nisha passed the cigarette and focused her eyes on the food factories far off in the distance.

“Hey, you can’t smoke out here,” said a spaceport employee standing behind them.

“We’re like a million kilometers from anything over here. Why can’t we smoke here?” Dalia asked.

“Put it out,” the employee demanded with a scowl.

“Fine,” Dalia said, flicking it off beyond through the metal net of the fence.

The employee left.

“What a lund,” Dalia said.

“It’s alright. I think I’m about blasted enough to get on a spaceship now,” Nisha said, sitting ankles crossed, knees out, grasping the fence with both her hands.

“I can’t wait to get blasted in outer space,” Dalia said after gulping down some liquid from an unmarked bottle.

Nisha checked her pad and noticed that it was already twenty minutes past when they were scheduled to leave. She tried to call Eirian again, for the seventeenth time. Still no answer.

“Oh, finally,” Dalia said looking back across the spaceport deck.

Nisha turned around to see a transport vehicle parked by their spaceship.

“That’s not Eirian,” Nisha said, blocking the sunlight with her hand.

“No, it’s a surprise,” Dalia said, jumping up to her feet.

Nisha stood up also, and the two of them walked over to their ship.

“Regan? What are you doing here?” Nisha asked.

“I’m coming with you,” Regan replied.

“What? Who’s gonna run your company?”

“Angel. She knows what she’s doing. I decided that it was time for a vacation. When am I gonna get this sort of opportunity again? This is why I work so hard, so I can do things like this.”

“Yes! That’s such good news. We should be able to make space for you.”

“Don’t worry,” Dalia said, “I already took care of everything. She’s gonna bunk with me.” She turned to Regan. “You know, we almost left you. Thank goodness the ice princess is running late.”

“Traffic is insane. Hold on, I gotta lot of luggage to load up. Needed to bring a lot of firepower to last us eight months,” Regan said before leaning into the transporter and grabbing some bags.

“So, this is who we were waiting on?” Jones Davenport asked Nisha as he walked out from inside the ship.

“Um, no. This was a surprise.”

“How much longer?” Jones asked. “We’ll have to drop to another window soon.”

“Just a few more minutes. I’ll be right back,” Nisha said, running off from the crowd to call Eirian. Again, there was no answer. “Diu,” she said aloud. Nisha left a message: “Eirian, will you please just call me back and let me know how long you’re gonna be. We can wait as long as you need. Just let me know how long. Love you. See you soon.”

Nisha turned around to watch Regan and Dalia load up the ship. Jones stood by typing on his pad.

Nisha’s pad rang and she answered it.

“Eirian, are you okay?”

“Nisha–” There was a silence for a moment.

“What?” Nisha asked, walking farther from the ship.

“I’m sorry. I can’t come with you,” Eirian said.

“What? Why not?”

“Nisha, look, I’m so sorry. I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to find the courage to tell you.”

“What happened?”

“I can’t pretend to feel differently than I do. I care about you so much. But I’m in a weird place right now, and I need to be by myself.”

“Are you breaking up with me right now? Over a diuing call?”

“I’m sorry, Nisha. I just can’t do it right now.”

“Why? What changed from last night?”

“I should have told you as soon as I got back, but I was so happy to see you. I love being with you, but it’s just, I can’t do it right now.”

“You knew you were going to ditch me all this time and you waited to make me late on my trip?”

“I apologize, sweetie. This is so difficult.”

“Don’t call me that ever again.”

Nisha disconnected. Tears streamed down her face. She squatted down on the ground.

“Nisha, you okay? What happened?” Dalia asked, running over.

Nisha couldn’t answer. All she could do is stare at the ground and weep.

Dalia hugged her.

Nisha sat on the deck of the space port in Dalia’s embrace, her palms on the ground, her tears puddling on the pavement. All she wanted to do was curl up and die.

But then she realized that everyone on the deck watched her. They were all waiting for her, and the embarrassment was too much to take. She wiped her eyes, stood up, and drifted back over to the ship.

“It’s time to go,” Nisha said to Jones.

“So we’re not waiting on anyone else?” he asked.

Nisha shook her head. Jones rolled his eyes and headed back inside the ship. Regan hugged Nisha and Dalia, and then all three locked arms and walked inside.

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2012. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

“The view up here is even better than at my place,” Regan said, gazing down at the city.

“It’s not bad,” Nisha said after exhaling.

“I wish we could ride a zip-line from here to there,” Regan said, pointing at her home at the top of the Ellington Tower. “That would be a blast.”

“Sure.”

Nisha twisted her head around, scanning each of the entrances onto the observation deck.

“You okay? You seem a little out of it,” Regan said.

“I don’t know. Everything’s moving so fast.”

“You’ll only be gone for eight months. That’s not that long. I’m sure it’ll be incredible. I wish I could go.”

“I wish you could too. But I know. You’ve got a company to run. I totally understand. I just wish you could come.”

“But you’ll have Dalia with you. She’s fun.”

“Yeah, a little too fun. That’s gonna be interesting, stuck on a spaceship with her. By the way, where’d she go?”

“She was too busy rubbing up on some geezers by the bar when I went to get her.”

“Looking for a new sugar daddy only days before we leave. That sounds about right.” Nisha drew in a long breath and then exhaled loudly. “My stomach is twisting in knots.”

“Here, hit this again and chill out.”

Nisha grabbed the cigarette.

“Here you are,” Nisha heard someone walking up say.

“Vesteria? Hey, yeah, I’m here,” Nisha called out.

“Yes, I just said that. Hell of a view, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Nisha, I want you to meet Jones Davenport. He’s your producer.”

“Yes, of course. Nice to meet you,” Nisha said shaking his hand. He had dark skin and turquoise eyes, his hair black and thick. He had the body of a man yet the face of boy.

“So you finally decided to join the good guys, huh?” Jones asked.

“Well, I got kicked off the other team, so I guess I’m on yours now.”

“I like your enthusiasm. So have you done much documentary work before?”

“Not a lick. But I’m a fast learner.”

“I hope so,” he said. “We’re doing a little meet and greet with the crew on Tuesday. We’ll all just get a drink and get to know one another before we leave.”

“Okay. My schedule is a little tight, but I’m sure I can squeeze an hour or so in there. You know, I wasn’t really expecting this to all happen out of nowhere so I have to get my affairs in order before we go.”

“Don’t worry,” Vesteria said, “if you can’t manage it, it’s alright. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other when you’re floating around in space. I’m warning you. Space travel is way more boring than you’d expect.”

“Yeah, I’ve done a little space traveling.”

“So listen,” Vesteria said. “Be sure to spend more time schmoozing, alright? Don’t hide up here all night. And if your movie star girlfriend shows up, don’t hesitate to introduce her and parade her around. Many of my investors own studios.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Vesteria said, “Monday, before the prep meeting, you need to stop by our lawyer’s office and sign some things. We’re finalizing your release before you go. So, you’re all mine now. Enjoy the party.”

“It was nice to meet you. Looking forward to a successful journey,” Jones said, bowing his head down.

“Likewise,” Nisha said. After Vesteria and Jones walked off, Nisha looked down to see the cigarette had burned out.

“So you’re totally out from OMNN now?” Regan asked.

“Yeah, I still can’t fly a desk for three years, but I’ve got no obligation other than that. And I’m making more money with FNC than I was before. So that’s good.”

“That’s great. Just think of this whole experience as getting a raise. Quit worrying about it and go schmooze. I probably need to check on Dalia anyway and make sure she isn’t giving someone a hand job in the middle of the ballroom.”

Nisha and Regan left the observation deck of the Flatiron Convention Center, which sat upon the mountain range to Orbatron City’s north. They stood on an escalator that curved down a spiral to the ballroom below. As soon as Nisha stepped off the escalator, she gazed across the crowded room, spotting Eirian Cole right away. Eirian wore a white dress that conformed tightly to her torso and then puffed out into a bell with ornate stitching around her legs. Nisha retracted her autocoat, revealing her plain black dress.

She marched across the room, exchanging pleasantries with corporate sponsors as they approached, all the while concentrating on Eirian, who chatted up a circle of people around her.

“And here’s the guest of honor herself,” Eirian said as soon as Nisha breached the circle. “Hey, sweetie.”

“You look amazing. I love that dress,” Nisha replied.

“Thanks. I raced over here as soon as I stepped off the plane. Traffic is terrible tonight.”

“It’s fine. You made it.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Eirian said to everyone else. She and Nisha scampered off holding each other’s hips.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Nisha said. “Let’s get out of here and go catch up.”

“Nisha,” Eirian said as they scuttled toward the bar, ”I just got here. This whole thing is for you, right? We’ll have plenty of time to catch up tonight. Let’s party. Let me get you a drink.”

“Alright.”

Eirian ordered them each a sunkiss.

“So I thought about our conversation last night,” Eirian said, handing Nisha a drink, “and I’ve made a decision.”

“You have?”

Nisha’s stomach somersaulted.

“I’ve decided that I’m coming with you.”

Nisha barely stopped herself from shrieking.

“Really? That’s amazing. This is gonna be so fun,” Nisha said, squeezing Eirian.

“Now listen, I probably can’t go for the whole eight months. At some point, I have to come back and promote this movie I just shot. But it’ll be in development for a while.”

“This is the best news I’ve had in a long time. You have no idea how happy this makes me. We’re gonna have so much fun.”

“Yes, but please, sweetie, let’s keep this our little secret for now. I don’t want people to know and follow us around and make a big deal of it. I want to slip off the planet without anyone wise to it. “

“No problem. I won’t tell a soul,” Nisha said with a grin wrapped across her face. She took a long gulp of her drink.

“Nisha,” Dalia shouted from across the room. She was on her way to the bar with Regan following behind. “I met a bunch of the crew over there. A couple of those guys are pretty hot. Looking forward to getting locked up on a ship up with them. And there’s a couple chicks that I bet you’ll dig. Oh, hi, Eirian,” Dalia said, walking up clumsily.

“Hello,” Eirian said to Dalia. “Regan,” she said nodding her head.

Regan nodded back.

“So I guess you’re not coming with us, huh?” Dalia said to Eirian. “It’s okay, I’ll take good care of our girl.” Dalia wrapped her arm around Nisha. Eirian’s face remained expressionless.

“Ms. Eirian Cole,” said Vesteria as she joined the huddle, “I was just informed that you finally arrived. Vesteria Tzeng,” she said extending her hand. “I’m Nisha’s new boss.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Eirian said, shaking hands and bowing.

“I’m a huge fan. I love 25th Century historical movies, and Sol is the best one I’ve ever seen. You were stunning in it.”

“Thank you so much.”

“I was just telling Nisha that I’m good friends with a lot of studio execs, and if you ever want to sit down and talk shop, I’d love to.”

“Thanks for the invitation, but tonight we have other business to celebrate,” Eirian said, putting her arm around Nisha.

“Indeed. Let me grab another drink real quick, and I’m doing a toast in a few minutes. Again, a pleasure meeting all of you,” Vesteria said, walking off.

“Diu, I need a drink, too. Be right back,” Dalia said, stumbling off to the bar. Regan smiled at Nisha as she followed Dalia.

“She’s coming with us?” Eirian said with a tone of disappointment after Dalia walked off.

“I didn’t know if you would come. I didn’t want to go alone. But, this’ll be good. Hopefully you two can get along when you’re forced to. You’ll probably be best friends by the end.”

“I’ll probably have to throw her off the ship.”

“Stop it,” Nisha said, smiling, cuddling up next to Eirian.

The two of them spent the rest of the night together, bouncing around the party, riding back to Eirian’s suite in a limousine, laying together in bed holding each other listening to music. In Eirian’s arms, Nisha felt safe from any danger. All of the stress and anxiety and uncertainty and emotions of the week melted away. Finally, it would be just the two of them flying across the galaxy together. Nisha, wrapped around Eirian’s sleeping body, held that thought in her head until she passed out.

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2012. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Shuffling down Gagarin, she spotted the restaurant for which she searched at the next intersection. The sides of the buildings along the avenue were all wrapped in matching mirror walls, and people in suits hurried along choking off the sidewalks. Before walking into the restaurant, Nisha peeked up at the grey clouds reflecting off of every surface and shivered.

“Welcome to Plato’s. Do you have a reservation?” asked a hostess when Nisha entered.

“I’m meeting Vesteria Tzeng. She should have a–”

“Of course,” the hostess said, “Ms. Chanambam, right this way.”

The hostess lead Nisha past men and women in bow ties and top hats huddled around a wooden bar, through a hallway containing upward moving fountains, across a dimly lit dinner seating area, to a private lounge in the back where Vesteria Tzeng sat at a table across from an empty seat.

“Nisha Chanambam,” Vesteria said, standing up, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I’m a huge fan.”

“Are you?” Nisha asked, shaking Vesteria’s hand, noting that she looked plumper in person than on the feeds.

“I’m always scouting the competition. That’s my job. I’ve had my eye on you for a while. You got a spark or something. Your presence, your appearance–it’s authoritative, but it’s got this taste of innocence that makes the viewer want to trust you. It’s brilliant. It’s a rare commodity in this business. So, thanks for meeting with me.”

“Well, I don’t exactly have a lot going on right now, so I guess I have time for a free lunch.”

“This place has one of the best biologists in the city. You’ll never eat a tastier lab-grown meat.”

Nisha scanned around, studying the lounge.

“So,” Vesteria said, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I would want to meet with you.”

“That’s not too difficult to figure out. I’m out at OMNN, so you want to come pick me up to stick it to them. Am I right?”

Vesteria smiled. “Well, you can’t work for them. And we’re the other network. It does make perfect sense, doesn’t it?”

“You do know I’m still under contract for another three years, right? And they’re not gonna let me out of it.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“It’s not?”

“There’s plenty of room to navigate around your contract and get you right back to work.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll tell you how. You’re allowed to do two documentaries a year. And each can be broken into as many parts as we want. We could do a documentary in fifteen parts in the summer, and then another fifteen parter before the end of the year. I’ll have you on the feeds more than at your last job.”

“What kind of documentaries?”

“Well, I like to give my journalists creative freedom. I want my people to do what they do best. We do things quite differently at Freedom News.”

“That’s nice to hear.”

“But. I do have some ideas I’d love to run by you.”

“I’m certain you do,” Nisha said chuckling.

“During the interview, you asked the President a lot of questions about the Frontier. Is that a subject of interest for you?”

“It’s a sufficiently fascinating topic.”

“Ha, yes it is. And it’s also a sufficiently large area to cover. It takes a long time to travel around and get a good sense for what’s going on out there. Normally, my biggest names don’t want to go because they would be out of the anchor chair for too long. But you don’t have a choice. So you could spend years out there in the Frontier, researching leads I’ve assembled, traveling from place to place, documenting all of it. Everyone’s curious about what life’s like out there. You, an independent, objective journalist tossed out from OMNN for standing up for her own principles, you could paint a uniquely authoritative and authentic picture of the Frontier. Don’t you want to know what it’s like out there? Aren’t you curious to see it?”

“You want me to go out there and follow your leads. Paint the story in a way you want people to see it. You want me because I’m from OMNN and I won’t seem like just another liberal capitalist claiming socialist oppression. Look, I may have my problems with OMNN, and even President Crawford. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna go over to the enemy and be part of something even more corrupt.”

Vesteria laughed.

“Nisha, I don’t give a diu about your ideology. I know we have a reputation for being the liberal network, but that’s because OMNN is the equalist network. OMNN is so biased it makes us appear liberal when we’re really right down the middle.”

“That’s not true.”

“Look, I’m sorry there’s all these great journalists who come to us because OMNN won’t hire them for their politics. So yeah, we got a lot of liberals around here. But we got plenty of equalists, too. But honestly, I don’t care if you’re a fascist communist. That’s not what Freedom News is about. We’re about getting to the truth. And whether that’s good for equalists or liberals doesn’t matter. We’re here to call shit on the hypocrites. And right now, there’s a lot of hypocrites on top of that dome over there. And there’s a lot of truth hidden in the Frontier that needs to be revealed. All those accusations you were making–you don’t even know the half of it.”

“The truth is malleable thing. You lead me around the Frontier and have me talk to people who will tell me a certain story. And after I keep hearing this story, I’ll start to think it’s true.”

“They really have your head fucked up over there, don’t they? Fucking communist plots and socialist conspiracies. Truth isn’t malleable. It’s harder than a fucking diamond. Now, someone might get confused and misrepresent the truth, or maybe they’ll even lie about what the truth is, but that doesn’t change reality. That doesn’t change what is true. Journalism is about digging through the shit and finding that diamond in the rough of truth and polishing it up. That’s your job. I’m just giving you support from back here. All I’m doing is giving you an opportunity to find the truth. The rest is up to you.”

“What am I gonna find out there?”

“I don’t know. Let’s find out together.”

Nisha nibbled on her lip.

“Alright, I’m interested.”

“I bet you are. Well, we have to move fast. Before we even finish eating, I’ll have my people putting your paperwork in order. You can come down to the office tomorrow and we’ll negotiate some numbers, but I’m sure we can afford you. And then we’ll have a formal announcement as soon as possible. We’ve got to take advantage of the moment while everyone is still talking about you. We’ll give them something else to talk about, keep you in the headlines.”

“And then what?”

“Then we send you into the Frontier. We’ve got some logistics to work out, but I bet I can have you on your way next week. I already have a crew assembled. I’ve got a spaceship booked for the next two years. I’ve got so many leads you won’t even–”

“Two years? So I’ll be gone for two years?”

“I only said I have it booked. Maybe we’ll send you out there for six months at a time. I don’t know. We’ll work that out tomorrow. But there’s a lot to see out there. Not only do I want to you tour around the Frontier, but I want to send you over to Or and Trinitar. I bet you’d love to meet some aliens, right?”

“How in the world could you get me a permit to do something like that this fast?”

“You let me handle that. I’ve been playing this game a long time. OMNN has the whole galactic empire behind them and all Freedom News has got is my resourcefulness, and if you look at the scoreboard, we’re only running behind by error margins. And this–we’ll take it over the top with this one. This will be an event. This will make people talk. So clear your calendar. We’ll do a press conference tomorrow night, and a party this weekend. I’ve got the Flatiron Convention Center already booked. I’ll have the whole place filled up with important people.”

“You sure took a risk setting this all up without even talking to me.”

“Life doesn’t always drop an opportunity in your lap. And when it does, you take advantage or else. So, we doing some journalism together or what?”

Nisha nodded.

“Good,” Vesteria said as she gestured, calling for the server. “Let’s eat.”

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2012. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

“Nisha,” Regan Callahan said with her arms outstretched, “I’m so sorry. Come here.”

They hugged.

“Come on inside,” Regan continued. “I’ve got something that will make you forget all about this.”

A few steps inside, Nisha stopped. She stared at a glass wall facing the domed center of Orbatron City. The Ellington Tower, which stood slightly over a kilometer high, was the tallest building in the city north of downtown, and it provided a spectacular view. The enormous dome, with hundreds of skyscrapers sprouting up from inside, sat center stage, the farmland of the valley rolling off into the distance behind the spaceport to the east, tall buildings and urban sprawl weaving into the horizon to the west. Far beyond downtown to the south, Nisha could even make out the edge of the bay.

“Walk with me,” Regan said, ushering Nisha down a curved hallway. “I need to check a couple numbers real quick, and then we’ll fire up the atomizer.”

Regan Callahan leased the top three floors of the tower, but she used most of the area as a research and development space for her business because it was one of the most secure locations in the city. The circle-shaped 225th floor contained mostly small laboratories, all connected by the inner circle corridor that Regan and Nisha walked around.

“So listen,” Regan said, “I talked to my lawyers, and they said there’s no diuing way they can take all your salary if they suspend you and won’t drop your non-compete. If you want, I can let you borrow my legal team.”

“No, I went and talked to my lawyer, and she said the same thing. I’ll at least keep most of my money. We’re gonna work on a settlement. So I guess it’s not that bad. I get a three year vacation.”

“It could be worse.”

“I know. It’s just–I was just starting to do so well. And now I have to wait around and start all over again.”

“I don’t know about that. Everyone’s talking about you. You’ve got to be twice as famous as you were a couple days ago.”

“Yeah, but that’s today. Three years from now no one will remember my name. You know how the news is.”

Regan pulled at a door, which opened with the pop of a suction cup, and then she and Nisha walked inside the laboratory, taking off their shoes before entering. Mirrors covered the walls, floor and ceiling and surrounded four rows of plants that grew out of a plastic irrigation system below blinding lights. While Regan made her way to a bank of digital displays at one end of the room, Nisha reached out and touched a leaf.

“Nisha,” someone shouted from below the plants. Nisha squatted down, glancing underneath the foliage.

“Dalia? What are you doing down there?”

“Coming down off some crazy jumpers. Fuck they were intense. You gotta try them.”

“I can’t do that stuff any more. What are you doing down there?”

“It’s calming down here. The sound of water flowing and looking up at the leaves. You should come down here and check it out.”

Nisha got down on her hands and knees and crawled underneath the bushes. Dalia Vera lay on her back, facing up at the plants, wearing a fuchsia pajama body suit spotted with cartoonish cat faces. After Nisha lay down beside her, Dalia turned her head, revealing pupils as large as her eye sockets.

“Woah, you look fucked up,” Nisha said.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Dalia said before curling up and hugging her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Nisha said, staring up at the leaves. “I’m just gonna take a little time off.”

“I saw on the news people protesting OMNN for suspending you,” Dalia said, releasing Nisha from a bear hug. “We should rally more people and go down there. Fuck those daddydiuers. Let’s be a big pain in their ass until they give you your job back.”

“Oh, I wish I could.”

“Really, let’s do it.”

Nisha wanted to explain that she couldn’t risk breaching her contract, but staring into Dalia’s wild, drug-addled eyes, she only smiled.

“Hey, you two,” Regan said, hanging her head down below the plants. “Let’s go blast.”

“Alright,” Dalia cheered, rolling out from under the plants and hopping to her feet. Nisha followed them out of the laboratory, around the circular hallway, and over to a living room with a window wall facing north toward the mountains.

Nisha, Regan, and Dalia each hopped into separate recliners along the walls, and with the push of a button, the three recliners rolled over to the center of the room, circling a coffee table. Regan reached for the atomizer and an oval-shaped box next to it on the table.

“So what are you gonna do with all this free time, now,” Regan asked as she pinched lime-colored dust from the box and loaded it into the atomizer.

“Well, I’ve got a few loopholes in my contract, so I have some options. I can do a documentary for someone else. I can write a book. There’s some other stuff. But I don’t know quite yet what I want to do. For the moment, I’m gonna enjoy myself and do a lot of blasting,” Nisha said as Regan handed her the atomizer. Nisha gripped the plastic tube of the atomizer, pushing a button on top, and a tiny balloon on the end of the tube expanded in an instant. She pressed her lips on the other end of the tube and inhaled.

“You should just stay here and hang out. Or even better,” Dalia said excitedly, “we should just lock ourselves up here and get diued up and have Regan’s ‘bots get us food and drugs and we won’t leave until summer. It’ll be like the ultimate slumber party of all time.”

“That’s fine. We can do that,” Regan said. “But we’re gonna have to institute some sort of minimum showers per days rule because you’re starting to smell.”

“Alright, alright, after I come down a little more,” Dalia said.

“So, you’re staying here again?” Nisha asked, exhaling and passing the atomizer to Dalia. “Your latest sugar daddy dump you?”

“Nah, I got bored of him. You know how I am,” Dalia said.

Nisha smiled.

“What were those plants back there? They looked weird.” Nisha asked Regan.

“They’re some rare species from the Azinene jungles. They aren’t very potent, but they have this really distinct taste. So I’m trying to figure out what to cross them with.”

“Hey,” Dalia said as they passed the atomizer around, “maybe we should go out instead. Let’s take mushrooms and go to Dome Park. We haven’t done that in a long time.”

“The reason we haven’t done that in a long time is because I can’t be all twisted in public. People would recognize me,” Nisha said. “Especially now.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re too big a celebrity to party,” Dalia teased.

“Speaking of celebrities, when does your girl get back?” Regan asked Nisha.

“They’ve got another week of shooting I think.”

“You should get her to talk to her network exec friends and see if she can get your job back,” Dalia said.

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why not?” Dalia asked.

“Because I’m not gonna ask her to do that.”

“You shouldn’t even have to ask. She should have just offered.”

Nisha paused, not wanting to admit what she was about to say. “I haven’t even talked to her, yet.”

“Really? Why not?” Regan asked.

“When she’s on a shoot, she likes to completely disconnect and just concentrate on her work.”

Regan and Dalia turned to each other with raised eyebrows.

“Look, Nisha, I know you don’t want to hear this,” Dalia said, “but that cold chutia treats you like shit.”

“She does not.”

“She won’t even call you after what happened? And you’re not allowed to call her?”

“I did call her. I told you–she’s disconnected. She might not even know it happened. She’ll call me eventually when she checks her messages.”

“How could she have not watched your interview? It was the President of the fucking United Planets. Nisha, I’m telling you, you need to find someone who actually cares about you.”

“I don’t want to argue about this right now.”

Dalia rolled her dilated eyes. Regan put the empty atomizer on the table.

“Don’t listen to her,” Regan said. “She’s the last person you need to take relationship advice from.”

“That’s true,” Dalia said.

“So, I rolled up some rockets before you got here. Let’s go to the roof and blast them,” Regan said.

“It’s freezing outside,” Nisha said.

“I installed a fire pit up there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, we were roasting marshmallows earlier,” Dalia said.

“Alright, vamos.”

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2012. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Nisha bit her lip. Wanda had made her wait over half an hour already, and the adrenaline had faded. She squirmed in her chair, proud and regretful at the same time. There was no sound from the feeds, so Nisha could only guess at what they were saying. She hoped they commended her for standing up to the President. Curiosity pushed her to check her pad and read a headline:

“OMNN reporter suspended after insulting, falsely accusing President Crawford.”

“Diu,” Nisha said aloud.

The door opened and slammed shut. Nisha watched Wanda Higgins plod over to her desk with a scowl on her face more gigantic than her gene-enhanced breasts.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Wanda screamed.

“You suspended me?” Nisha shouted back.

“I should fire you.”

“Why? All I did was ask questions. Isn’t that what a journalist is supposed to do in an interview?”

“A journalist?” Wanda asked with a condescending grin. “Oh, come on, honey. You’re a reporter, not a journalist. You read the news. The only reason you work here is because you look smart and you did what you’re told. Until now. A journalist?”

“I was trying to get at the truth. That’s what journalism is all about.”

“What are you eight years old? Here’s a news flash: the truth is irrelevant.”

“The truth is irrelevant? Yeah, that oughtta be the OMNN tagline. Obviously I’m the only one around here who cares about objectivity.

“Objectivity?” Wanda laughed. “Let me explain something to you, okay. There’s facts, there’s data, there’s empirical evidence. Those are objective. But all of those, all of them, they’re open to interpretation. It’s just a bunch of numbers. We’re the ones who give it meaning.”

“Let me explain something. Either the President fixed the election or he didn’t. That’s not open to interpretation. It’s the truth. And it’s really diuing relevant.”

Wanda sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I’ll tell you what the truth is, okay, sweetheart. There’s a fucking war going on, and it’s been happening since the dawn of civilization. The course of human history is determined by a battle of ideas. And right now this battle is between those diuing liberals who think that the worst of us should prosper at everyone else’s expense. And then there’s those of us like the President and myself. Those of us who believe that humanity is better than that. Those of us who believe in justice.

“And this battle,” Wanda continued, “that’s all that’s important. Don’t you see that? It doesn’t matter how you win it. They’re breaking every rule in the book to fight us, so we have to fight back just as hard. We have to counter every attack. We have to fight dirtier and more tenaciously than them or we’ll lose. This entire media organization, we’re here to fight this war.”

“But that’s not what a media organization should be doing,” Nisha said, leaning forward. “The media should be an independent party who can hold each side accountable for breaking the rules. We should be keeping both sides honest because otherwise everyone becomes corrupt. Look, I feel the same way as you do about liberals. But that doesn’t mean I have to support a corrupt President who fixes elections.”

“It doesn’t matter if he fixed the election or not. Either he wins, or we’re stuck with the alternative. That’s the only thing that matters. You’re never going to have a leader who is entirely free of corruption. Power is impossible not to abuse. You have to be pragmatic. Crawford is the only thing standing between us and them. If he has to break a couple rules to win this, then that’s just the cost of winning.”

“And that’s justice? Rigging elections?”

“You think the tyranny of the majority is justice? Just because they lie to people and convince them to vote for them doesn’t mean the world would be a better place if they were in charge. In fact, it would be a disaster. This empire grows more fragile every day. Don’t you understand that? These anarchists could tear everything apart. There’s something more at stake here than your flimsy ideals. It would be great if we could all be objective and everyone followed the rules. But that’s a fucking fairy tale. The truth is, there’s never been an objective media entity in all of human history, and there never will be. Because journalism isn’t about being objective. You can take that lesson to wherever you end up next after we get rid of you.”

“Get rid of me? I thought you suspended me.”

“You’ve been suspended indefinitely. But we’re not going to unsuspend you until your contract ends three years from now. You’ll get paid, for now, but then we’ll come back and sue you for every buck you earn after today. And we’ll win the suit. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. In the meantime, you’re not allowed on any media outlet. You even have to shut down your little blog. And if you quit, your non-compete clause will keep you from working for five years.”

“What? All I did was ask some fucking questions. Somebody has to hold those in power accountable for their actions. That’s our responsibility. If I didn’t challenge him, no one else would have. He only does interviews with people who ask him easy questions. I had a rare opportunity to call him out, and–”

“And what did you do with it?” Wanda interrupted. “You looked like a sucker. You totally blew it. You didn’t think to fact check that petition? Great journalism, sweetheart.”

“I did check out the names. Almost all of them checked out. I don’t know what he was talking about. He probably made that up.”

“But everyone believes him, not you. You see, the truth doesn’t matter. It’s all about perception,” she said, leaning her cleavage forward, wearing a wide smile. “That’s all that matters. I think you actually helped him by looking so bad.”

“Then why are you getting rid of me?”

“Oh, honey, this isn’t my decision. This comes straight from the top. You might as well stop arguing with me because this is non-negotiable. Outside, security will escort you to your office so you can get your things out. Then you lose your voice in this game for three years. Hope it was worth it. But it doesn’t matter, anyway, because you don’t have what it takes to make it in this business. Good luck to you.”

Wanda’s blood-red lips curved up to the sides of her eyes. With a twisting stomach and tears welling up, Nisha stood and bolted for the door.

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2012. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Nisha glanced back down at her notes and shuffled through them. One more commercial break and then she would do it. It was almost time. She drew a long breath.

“Ready?” called out the producer to Nisha. She nodded. The producer walked over to the President and said, “We’re back live in thirty seconds, okay?”

The President smiled. His entourage dispersed, leaving only Nisha and himself sitting in chairs in front of the cameras and crew. The President looked over at Nisha with a confident grin, and Nisha turned away.

“And we’re on in 5… 4… 3,” the assistant producer said before swinging his arm forward in an underhand motion with an open palm.

“Welcome back to our exclusive interview with the President of The United Planets, Jackson Crawford,” Nisha said into the camera. She turned back toward the President. “So, you’ve been President for nearly a quarter century now. At the end of this new term, you will have been President for thirty-six years. That’s a long time. How do you find the drive to keep doing this job decade after decade? What motivates you most?”

“Well, it is a very difficult job. It wears you down. It’s not easy to govern hundreds of star systems thousands of light years across the galaxy. But it’s a wholly fulfilling job. To do the people’s work, to help better the lives of trillions of people every day, it’s wonderful. That’s what drives me, to do my best to improve this world, to live up to the responsibility the people have bestowed upon me. It’s very humbling, and I take it very seriously.”

“Do you intend to run for re-election again when this term ends?”

The President chuckled.

“Well, that’s over a decade from now, so I think I have a little bit more time to make that decision.”

“So you wouldn’t rule out running for a fourth term?”

The President donned a giant smile.

“For now, it’s time to get back to doing the people’s business again, and fighting another re-election campaign is the farthest thing from my mind.”

“What’s been your favorite experience as president?”

“There’s been so many great moments. It’s hard to choose just one. But–I think my favorite experience so far was passing the Tressel Act. The year before was a rough year, with Molly’s passing and a bitter re-election campaign. It was a tough year for my family. So, to fight alongside my daughter on behalf of my wife, it was a special moment for me personally. We couldn’t bring Molly back, but we were able to prevent the same thing from happening to others and spare them the nightmare we had to live through. Of the many legislative victories I’ve had over my career, I’ll always be proudest of that one.”

“Speaking of your daughter, Nancey’s term as Regulation Minister ended last week. How was it having your own daughter as part of your cabinet?”

“We certainly had some strong disagreeances over the last twelve years. But we were butting heads since she was a child, so it was nothing new.” He stopped to grin. “But I couldn’t be a prouder father. Nancey endured a lot of criticism and had to make some tough decisions, but she never wavered or gave up. She fought for what she believed in and worked tirelessly to improve the lives of people in this nation. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter or a better Regulation Minister.”

Nisha glanced back at the camera.

“Alright, we’ll be right back to discuss the challenges lying ahead for President Crawford in his third term.”

Silence lingered for a moment.

“And… cut,” the assistant producer said.

The President’s entourage rushed back onto the set, drenching him with compliments for his performance in the interview so far.

“Nisha, great job,” the producer said as he approached.

“Chur,” Nisha replied.

“I was thinking,” the producer continued, “Leave out the question about the Frontier. Let’s not even bring it up.”

“Really? It’s another penalty kick for him.”

“I know, but he’s already done so well. And, Wanda called down to say leave it out. There’s no reason to even bring up something controversial at this point.”

“Okay,” Nisha said, doing her best to gleam a smile despite her deep reservations. But she couldn’t give herself up just yet. She needed a couple more minutes.

After the producer walked off, Nisha found herself tapping her fingers on the outside of her thigh. She stopped her hand. Adrenaline raced through her. She wanted to scream, but she summoned all of her concentration to appear calm and collected. For a moment, she contemplated backing down. This could be a huge mistake. Broadcasting to the largest audience in her career might be the wrong time to do this. Maybe she shouldn’t.

“We’re back on in thirty.”

She stared at the President’s dumb grin. He looked so proud of himself. Catching her stare, he winked at Nisha.

“And we’re back in 5… 4… 3…”

No, she thought, no turning back now.

“Welcome back to the program,” Nisha said. “I’m here with President Crawford in his first interview since winning his third presidential term back in November. Mr. President, it was a contentious election. Some have argued that perhaps it was the most divisive in the history of the United Planets. How do you plan to pull both sides together and move forward from here?”

“Often times, Democracy is a messy process. I recall that both my previous elections were quite contentious as well, and we all moved forward and came together to get things done. And we’ll find a way to do that again this time. I have all the faith in the world in our people’s ability to work together.”

“What’s the biggest issue you want to tackle in this third term?”

“There are quite a few big issues I’d like to take on. I think the question of alien rights is a complex issue that we as a people need to come together and address. It’s not going to be an easy problem to solve, but it’s not beyond our capacity. Also, with as large as the United Planets has become, it’s time to address our inadequate infrastructure. We need to build a lot of new stargates. That’s the first order of business when parliament meets next week. My administration is putting together a comprehensive new piece of legislation that will expand not only our transportation systems, but our scope of exploration. Expansion is crucial to maintaining the strength of this nation‘s security and economy.”

Nisha took a sip of water and one last gulp of air.

“Speaking of expansion, there have been reports that many people from the Frontier will be protesting your inauguration. Does that concern you?”

The President paused. It wasn’t a rehearsed question.

“We live in a free country. People are free to express their opinions however they please. I know there are plenty of people in the galaxy who don’t like me. That’s the nature of politics. There will always be opposition. There will always be those with different ideas. But that’s what makes this country great. I’m always open to hearing a different point of view and taking into consideration other ideas. But at the end of the day, we have a democratic process where the people make the rule of law, and those laws must be obeyed.”

Nisha saw her producer squinting angrily. She didn’t have much time.

“So then, are you opposed to the so-called ‘Ad Hoc Laws’ that many Frontier governments have begun instituting over the last year?”

The President paused again.

“This term, ‘Ad Hoc Laws,’ it’s been used to describe many things. I couldn’t comment on thousands of different laws as if they were all the same law.”

“Alright, I’ll be specific. What about the proposed law that the Pleoine parliament is voting on next week, the Right To Private Property Act? Are you opposed to that law?”

Out of the corner of Nisha’s eye, she caught a glimpse of her producer waving his arms around.

“I’m not familiar with this proposed law.”

“You’re not?” Nisha asked with brows raised.

“Ms. Chanambam, The United Planets contains hundreds of star systems, each with their own government and sub-governments. Surely you’ll excuse me if I’m not familiar with every single piece of legislation that has been proposed by four hundred and thirty-five legislative bodies.”

“I can excuse that,” she said smiling. She stopped for a moment, deciding whether to press on or try something else. “What do you say to those who claim that there were irregularities in the election and that an independent investigation should be conducted?”

The President licked his lips.

“I would say that those claims are unfounded, and that an independent investigation has already been conducted.”

“The Election Department is hardly an independent party.”

The President stared at her for a moment before talking. “Every election in the history of democracy has featured claims of irregularities. It’s human nature to want to believe that you’re side was right, and that the only way you lost is from being cheated. It’s an understandable emotion. And there have been plenty of times in history where corruption has thwarted the will of the people. But it’s also a serious and dangerous claim to make without cause. The people who make these claims now, they do so to undermine our democratic process. They wish to impose their will even after the majority rejects them. They seek to de-legitimize the election only because they lost it. There hasn’t been one shred of tangible evidence that back up these claims–”

“Well, I have some evidence I’d–” Nisha interrupted, but the President didn’t stop.

“–and I find it very unprofessional of you and, to be perfectly honest, insulting, to make an unsubstantiated claim and try to ambush me in an interview like this.”

“I didn’t make a claim. I asked you a question.”

“You insinuated corruption in the Election Department and in my administration without a single piece of evidence to back up your claims.”

“I have a piece of evidence I’d like to present to you. A petition of sorts, forty-five thousand people from the Pleione Star System who claim they voted for the opposition party in the election. That’s nearly sixty percent of the total population of the system. Yet, you somehow won fifty-four percent of that system’s vote. Isn’t there a discrepancy between those numbers?”

“This interview is over!” yelled one of the President’s staff.

“No,” the President said to his staffer, extending his index finger upward. “I’ll answer this question. Ms. Chanambam, there certainly is a discrepancy here. I’ve seen this same petition you speak of. It’s been all over for weeks. But unlike yourself, I investigated it. Over three quarters of the people on there are fake identities. Most of the names aren’t real. Many are people who are already dead. It’s entirely a fabrication, and unfortunately you’ve wasted the end of this interview giving legitimacy to an unfounded and malicious lie. But it was nice to meet you anyway, and thanks for having me,” he said smiling as he extended his arm forward.

She shook his hand and the assistant producer shouted, “Cut.”

“What a waste,” the President said softly to Nisha as he stood up. With his security team and advisors surrounding him, he walked up to the producer and said, “You tell Wanda, good luck getting half the budget she had last year.” Then the President jogged off the set with his entourage rushing to catch up.

“What in the diu was that?” Nisha’s producer screamed as he walked up.

Nisha slumped down and said nothing.

“Nisha, Wanda wants you upstairs immediately,” the assistant producer said.

Nisha wiped a bead of sweat off her eyebrow and headed upstairs.

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2012. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

He sat back down on his couch and turned on his video player, skipping around the feeds, stopping at the government news channel.

“–majority of Frontier colonies cooperating with United Planets security forces, protests around the inner systems have almost entirely ceased. President Crawford explained that he has negotiated agreements with most rebel leaders, and that both sides are happy with the arrangement.”

“One of the most important parts of our government is the ability to dissent with policy,” the President said standing in front of a crowd of people. “Differing opinions on how the government should function are not only welcome, they are encouraged. They are essential. I try to always listen to the people because it is for them that we govern. But open rebellion and lawlessness when your opinions don’t win out is unacceptable. We live in a civilized society, and the rule of law must be obeyed. You don’t always get everything you want with democracy, but that’s part of the whole deal. I’ve met with opposition leaders across the galaxy, and I’ve taken heed of their opinions. Now, the United Planets must get back to business.”

The screen flashed back to the reporter.

“The Attorney General of Orbatron Myra Lin eluded to the fact that many of the Orbatron opposition leaders who have been arrested and detained could get released by the end of the week, but she made clear that some rebels would get indicted for treason.”

Drake turned it off and walked to his kitchen area again. After rustling through his freezer and finding nothing he wanted, he decided to run down to the street and grab breakfast. Thirty seven floors below, Liberty Street was alive with activity. It was as if the rebellions had never happened. Drake pushed through a crowd blocking the entrance to a breakfast joint at the corner of his building.

He ordered a ploma wrap and started checking messages on his pad. The first message of interest was from the United Planets, requesting he come in for another meeting with the Marshal right away.

“Fuck, what now?” Drake said out loud.

He continued flipping through messages until he saw one from Rylan:

Drake, get off that morlock chutia you’re boning and pour yourself a drink cuz I got good news for u. You’re not crazy. the backup crew that replaced us for the mission had the same thing happen. The explorer who walked out on the planet in that crew started goin nuts and just opned up his space suit. He’s dead. Looks like you got out lucky. Anyways, hope your doing good buddy. Just thought u’d like to know that. I think we all got called in so I’ll see u at the capital later.

Drake grabbed his wrap and headed back upstairs, happy the origin of his hallucinations might not be from a deteriorating mind, though he was even more curious about it now.

As he strolled around the outside of the building to reach his apartment entrance, he spotted the man in the suit from last night standing against a building down the block. Drake ran over to him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Drake,” he said with a smile. “Good morning to you.”

“Don’t give me that good morning shit. Why are you following me?”

“I’m not following you. I didn’t even know you were here.”

“If I see you one more time, you’re gonna diuing regret it. You understand me?”

“Good day to you,” he said, walking off.

After losing the man into the crowds along the street, Drake stood for a while, studying the sea of people for anything suspicious before heading back up to his place.

He stepped out of the elevator, strolled to his door, and opened it up. As he walked inside, he saw two people in battle gear and masks holding weapons on him.

“What the diu?”

Drake felt something shock his neck, and before falling unconscious and dropping to the floor, he saw another person holding a gun to his throat.

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2011. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Drake cut north down side alleys because too many people clogged the main streets. He made his way to an Irish-style pub called Erin’s tucked away down an alley a few blocks from his apartment. The place was crowded, but Drake found himself a spot at the wooden bar stretching down one side of the skinny-rectangle barroom.

“Drake! My boy! You weren’t gone for too long this time,” said Thiago, a bartender who, despite having grey hair since when Drake first started frequenting the joint over twenty years ago, never seemed to age.

“Yeah, and I’m back for good.”

“I heard they ended Exploration. You alright?”

“I got a fifty year pension to sit on, so I’ll be alright for a little while.”

“Well, let’s spend some of that right now. Whatta you having?”

“How about a stout.”

“First one’s on me,” Thiago said as he shot off to grab the beer.

Drake eyed the busy bar, scanning mostly younger adults who inhabited it today. For a long time, the bar had been a local’s dive, but in recent years, college kids and younger bureaucrats discovered the place and told their friends.

“Here you go,” Thiago said, returning with the stout.

“It’s funny. I used to be the youngest guy drinking here.”

“You ain’t the oldest, yet. I’m still here,” Thiago said, lifting a beer from under the bar and taking a sip.

“Cheers to that,” Drake said, clicking glasses and taking a gulp of his stout.

“So you’re done for good, then? Whatta you gonna do now?”

“I’m gonna sit here at this bar and keep drinking until I figure that one out.”

“Well, good luck to you. We’ll solve the meaning of life as soon as this rush dies down.”

Thiago hurried over to a group of people wanting to order drinks. Drake sat, sipped, and escaped into his mind. He watched the video feeds behind the bar, keying in on one news feed where the President was speaking, but there was no sound. Watching the President’s mouth flap away in silence reminded Drake of his impending disintegration. All of this time he had been so careful not to spend his money, worried he might live for hundreds of years and run out of cash, and now perhaps he’d be a vegetable in six months.

He sipped on his stout and flipped through his pad looking over study after study about wormholes and mental health. As he did, he was sure he could feel his brain dissolving one cell at a time.

Someone leaned over Drake’s right shoulder.

“Sorry,” said a young, freckled, brown-eyed girl, “trying to squeeze in and get a drink.”

“What’re you having?”

“A cider.”

Drake nodded and flagged down Thiago.

“Can you get her a cider on my tab.”

“Sure thing.”

“Hey, thanks. But you didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You look kind of familiar to me. Have I met you before?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, where’d we meet?”

“Right here. Right now.”

“What?”

“I’m just diuing with you, sweetheart.”

She cut an uncomfortable smile.

“Here you go.”

“Wait a second. You’re that explorer. The one with the weird name.”

“Drake Ovchinnikov.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

“Tayla. I work over at the capitol, so that’s probably where I’ve seen you.”

“That makes sense. Whatta you do over there?”

“Accounting.”

“How’s that?”

“Horribly boring. So what are they doing with you? You getting shipped off somewhere?”

“Nope, I’m out. Sitting here right now trying to figure out what to do next.”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“I have no idea.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Drake chuckled.

“Well, it was great meeting you, but I’m gonna go back over to my friends. Come over and have a drink with us if you want.”

“I might do that.”

While she walked away, Drake stared at her curvy shape strutting across the bar.

“New friend?” Thiago asked on his way delivering a drink to another patron.

“I sure hope so. Hey, let’s do some shots.”

“Coming right up.”

The true summer weekend in the city faded away along with Drake’s sobriety. Hours later the crowd had mostly emptied out, leaving an older clientele gravitating around the bar. Drake had intended to consume some more liquid courage and then talk to Tayla, but she had somehow slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention. With the pub slowing down and approaching last call, Thiago spent more time chatting with Drake.

“So whatta you think about everything that’s been happening?” Drake asked.

Thiago took a moment and said, “As long as I got crowds of people coming in here drinking, it doesn’t matter much to me what king sits on the throne.”

Drake laughed. “So how’s the crackdown been going here?”

“Pretty successfully. They arrested a lot of the organizers of the protests and then threatened to kick all the kids out of college. Now they got like three times as many police roaming the streets, and these guys are in special forces gear.”

“I think they made a lot of the Exploration soldiers police here.”

“Crawford ain’t one to be fucked with.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Someone waved down Thiago, and he darted down to the other side of the bar.

“You’re wrong,” said a man in an expensive business suit sitting to Drake’s left.

“Oh yeah, what about?”

“Crawford.”

Drake just ignored it and sipped on his stout.

“Would you do what’s right if given the choice?” the man prodded.

“Look, pal, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just trying to chase a buzz.”

“Drake, you could make a real difference.”

“Do I know you? How do you know my name?”

“You know many secrets don’t you? You could blow this whole thing wide open if you wanted, couldn’t you?”

“You need to shut the diu up right now.”

“I just want to know, if you were given the opportunity, if you could do what’s right without consequences, would you do it?”

“Is there a problem here?” Thiago said as he returned.

“No problem at all,” the suit said.

“Drake?”

“Just a drunk talking.”

Thiago flipped his eyes back and forth between them.

“Here, I’ll get his next beer and close out. I wasn’t trying to make any trouble,” the suited man said.

While Thiago walked over to close out the tab, Drake asked the man, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Opportunity, Drake. You looking for one?”

Drake clenched his fist.

“Calm down. I already know the answer. Cheers,” the man said as he paid his tab and left the bar.

“You know who that is?” Drake asked Thiago.

“Never seen him before.”

“Diu, I need a shot.”

For a few minutes, Drake scanned behind him, nervous about the man in the suit, but as drinks and shots continued, he rode his buzz into a blackout.

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2011. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

“Welcome back, Drake.”

Drake only nodded.

“Are you feeling alright? Have you recovered from your incident?”

Drake nodded again.

“I assume you’ve kept up with the news lately. I’m sure you’ve seen the rebellion is fading. Order is inevitably being reestablished, and already the streets of the city have returned to normal. I suppose you no longer doubt the President’s strategic maneuvers?”

Drake sat silent.

“Look, we’ve arrived at a crossroads here, Drake. The future hinges on a single question. Can we count on you?”

Drake remained quiet. The Marshal smiled.

“Oh, you don’t have to answer right this moment. You can take as long as you’d like to think about it. But you need to understand, indecisiveness breeds distrust, and you ain’t exactly a paradigm of trust right now.”

“I haven’t lied about anything. I don’t have any idea what happened out there, but it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The Marshal laughed.

“Let me ask you something. Did Caldwell really rub one out during a traversal?” the Marshal asked with a grin. “I asked you very specifically not to say anything out there. I didn’t have to tell you. The old man wanted to keep a tight lid on this. I went out of my way to extend a hand to you, and you slapped me in the face.”

“It was gonna be announced before we got back, so I didn’t think it would do any harm to tell my crew.”

“The entire mission was a disaster. I’d say it did quite a bit of harm. We depended on you to show some leadership out there, and instead you acted like a little kid, same as the rest of them.”

Drake dragged his hand over his face. “You’re right. It was my error. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to betray your trust. I’ve spent a lot of time with those people, and I misjudged how they would react.”

The Marshal’s grin sharpened.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Drake. Caldwell was a loose cannon from the beginning. I should have taken him off your team a long time ago. And as for the hallucinations, the doctors downstairs actually have a theory. They handed me a report this morning on the subject. It’s a study that links brain deterioration with high numbers of wormhole traversals. It seems many former explorers have developed dementia and other mental health problems later in life. The doctors believe that it’s possible this deterioration triggered your brain to produce the chemical and release it. Apparently the brain releases this chemical when people hallucinate near-death experiences.”

Drake considered the theory.

“So when you get a chance, go book a visit downstairs and let them have a look. Anyways, Drake, we all make mistakes. We’re human. This whole fiasco can be swept under the rug. I haven’t even told the old man, and I don’t intend to. He’s got bigger problems to deal with right now. Where we go from here all depends on you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I need to know you’re a team player. Do you want to stay in the game or not? If you’re gonna be a bureaucrat, you have to understand how bureaucracy works. It’s all about trust. If I can’t trust you, I can’t work with you. So, can I trust you?”

“I really don’t know what I want to do, now,” Drake answered. “I’m an explorer, not a bureaucrat. That’s what I wanted to do, and it’s what I’ve done all my life. Now it’s over. And on top of that, my brain might be deteriorating or something. So I’m gonna need a little time to decide whether I want to come join your shit factory.”

The Marshal chuckled.

“You take all the time you want, Drake. But if you come back here and want back in, remember, you better be ready for all that entails. I won’t be so forgiving next time you diu up. You’re dismissed.”

Drake sat up and left.

After marching across the building and exiting, Drake stared out at the park across the street. Circled by skyscrapers extending up from a kilometer below, Dome Park was a crown of artificially designed rural space on the top of humanity’s largest urban monstrosity, an island of green trees, vivid flowers, and stone architecture inside a sea of syntheticness.

He had passed by the park so many times over the years, never having taken the time to explore it. A beautiful, clear, true summer day seemed as good a time as any to wander the park and clear his mind. So he crossed Capitol Street and strolled down a brick path.

Once he had penetrated the park by a few blocks, the city fell away. The canopy of trees shielded the towering buildings as well as the currents of wind that whipped across the topside of the dome. Drake found a bench facing a fountain in the middle of a cozy square and sat down.

As a flock of birds fluttered between trees, water spewed out from the top of the fountain and tumbled down cuts of stone, and butterflies floated over flowers and bushes, Drake decided he could no longer play ball. It wasn’t just having to grovel and bow down to the Marshal that he couldn’t stomach, though that was distasteful enough, but rather, he could no longer support the entire system. When he was out flying across the Universe, discovering new worlds and helping expand humanity across the void, he could accept kneeling to the corruption that sustained his cause. But to be only an instrument of corruption, he refused to accept.

Drake stayed in the park for hours, walking through gardens, looking upon statues, contemplating his decaying life.

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2011. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Only days away from retirement, he decided it was time to construct a future. His primary ambition all his life was to travel across the galaxy, and now that he’d probably seen more of it than anyone else alive, what next?

His doorbell rang, announcing a server who brought him a meal.

“Good evening, Mr. Ovchinovkov,” she said as he opened the door for her. From a downward stare, he scanned her body until his vision met her grey-blue eyes. In a stalled moment, he beheld her dimpled face, entranced by the gorgeous woman decades younger than he, struck by how familiar yet mysterious she appeared. Drake couldn’t concentrate on the words she spoke, only the elegance in which her lips delivered them.

“I’m sorry. What?” Drake asked.

“Chicken or Beef?”

He sighed.

“Chicken.”

“What would you like to drink?”

“Water.”

From a cart behind her, she fetched his meal and beverage.

“Chur,” Drake said as she handed him a tray. When their glances met this time, there was another fluttering pause before she smiled in a reassuring way, so he smiled back.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked, cutting her eyes off to the side.

He widened his grin before saying, “No, that’s all.”

“Have a wonderful evening.” She whirled around and pushed her cart off.

Drake walked back inside, sat at a small table, and dug into his meal. Chewing on factory-grown meat substance designed to taste like chicken, he pictured the server in his mind for a moment and imagined himself as a young man, inviting her in, talking to her for only a few minutes before their animal instincts took over. But it was only a fantasy. There was a time, once, when he could have taken advantage of a chance connection, indulged in a lustful passing. But now he was an old man who had spent his entire youth voyaging the emptiness of space. All of his experiences had come at the expense of other experiences he’d wished to have had as well. And as time drifted away, opportunities at new experiences evaporated, leaving him with nothing to hold onto but fleeting memories and soon-forgotten accolades.

As Drake finished his third bite of food, he felt no appetite, and in fact, the taste and even the thought of food repulsed him. He spit out a ball of ground food gunk. Something didn’t feel right. His mind clouded, and he felt pressure pushing against his skull from the inside. He looked around the room, and something caught his eye. When he focused in on the motion, he saw nothing. Then something on the wall moved.

Realizing that he was breathing heavily, Drake chugged his glass of water. After finishing it, he dropped the glass. His thoughts outpaced his mind. A buzzing noise crept up in his ears, crescendoing until the vibrations pulsed through his entire body. Colors and shapes invaded his vision, all seeming to breathe in rhythm with the rapid oscillation of the noise.

Then the rhythm ceased. He found himself somewhere else, again.

Giant trees swayed back and forth. He could hear people speaking in languages beyond his comprehension. The trees wrapped around one another, forming a vortex of shining colors, a spiraling tower of patterns swirling on into eternity.

He felt as if he stood out on a ledge, glancing at an entire world that existed both inside and outside himself. For hours, he stared out across the void, subconsciously communicating with the glowing shapes as they weaved together.

The intensity of the experience faded, and Drake realized he was still inside his room on the ship. The walls had geometric patterns of color drifting across them, but he no longer felt as if he was in another place. He ran into the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked like a zombie. What was happening to him?

After rushing to the communication console by the bed, he stopped short of calling the emergency channel. With the hallucinations and rush of sensation subsiding, and his deep anxiety shifting into a shallow euphoria, he opted to simply lie down and think things through. Although they were unmistakably of the same nature, this newest experience was different from the first. This one seemed less potent and more manageable, as if it were some sort of aftershock from the initial earthquake.

Not having ever tried a hallucinogen, Drake’s knowledge of the subject was limited, but he had heard of flashbacks, a burst of symptoms occurring seemingly out of nowhere, plaguing people who had previously taken the drugs. Perhaps Drake had somehow been contaminated with the drug on that planet, and this was just another side effect.

Ultimately, he decided not to report the incident, preferring to avoid giving others the perception he was some sort of addict or lunatic. He would ride this one out. Despite concern about the origin of these experiences, Drake did find the sensations fascinating, though not necessarily enjoyable. It was an exploration of a kind which he had never yet voyaged until now.

Drake went to his bags and dug out a personal monitoring device that he was required to keep on him when engaged in a mission. Even when he was off duty and not obligated to do so, he always kept one on him somewhere. He initiated a body scan and used a digital needle to take a blood sample, which he poured into a hole on top of the machine. He lay down in his bed, panting, mummified in blankets, struggling with anxiety, waiting for the device to provide him with data to analyze as the hallucinatory sensations withered.

© admin for Nothing Is Beyond, 2011. | Permalink | Add to del.icio.us

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh