Unstable Prototypes (12 page)

"How did it go?" asked the man.

"About a half hour longer than it needed to,
Jon," she said wearily, slipping on her glasses and taking a
cautious sip of her tea.

Jon Nichols was her personal assistant, a
paid intern hired by her editors to keep her at least somewhat on
schedule for her appearances and press deadlines. Tearing her away
from her project of the moment long enough to submit a story or sit
in on a broadcast was a full time job. As a result, Jon was with
her practically every moment of every day. Initially, it had been
the source of some friction between himself and Lex. That lasted
until halfway through their first conversation when they met face
to face, which was the point it became clear that Jon was more
likely to be interested in Lex than Michella. His tastefully
selected wardrobe and well kept dirty-blonde hair probably would
have been a fairly strong clue, if not for the fact that men of all
orientations tended to look like that in the infotainment
world.

"He didn't call yet, did he?" she asked,
taking off her earrings.

"Not yet."

"And we're sure it wasn't my turn to call
him?"

"Positive."

"Oh, did you get in touch with Lt. Davies? I
wanted to talk to him about-"

She was interrupted by an obnoxious snippet
of pop music blaring from Jon's pocket.

"There he is, right on time," he said,
pulling Michella's slidepad out and handing it to her.

"Hi, honey!" she chirped in a sing-song
voice, a smile lighting up her face.

"Hey, babe. Just making sure I didn't miss
Mitch o'clock," Lex said across the connection, his face displayed
as a tiny, slightly jittery video stream.

"You know I don't like it when you call me
that, Trev," she said flatly, before her face lit up again, "Oh, is
that Squee around your neck? That is so
adorable!"

She tapped an icon on the screen, snapping an
image of it.

"Isn't she such a cutie?" she said, turning
the phone to Jon.

"Hi, Mr. Alexander. Nice scarf," the
assistant said.

"Hi Jon."

"Hey, are you in the SOB right now?" Michella
asked, turning the slidepad back to her.

"Yeah. I've got one of those charter
jobs."

"It isn't anything dangerous, is it?" she
asked suspiciously.

"Hey, babe, you know me. Would I do something
dangerous and not tell you?"

"Yes," she said flatly.

"Don't worry. This is strictly run of the
mill stuff," Lex lied, hopefully convincingly.

"Well, be careful. And shame on you cooping
up that cute little pup in a cramped little ship."

"Oh, but it's fine if
I'm
all cooped
up? I see how it is."

"Oh please, Trev. You'd be doing that in your
free time and you know it. Where is this charter trip heading to,
anyway? Anywhere close? Maybe you can stop by here. I'm speaking at
two more panels. The last one is a keynote."

"Tempting, but it's only about halfway
between here and there, a place called deGrasse."

"I've never heard of it."

"I'm not surprised. It isn't even a planet.
It's a dwarf planet, out in the middle of a whole lot of
nothing."

Jon snapped his fingers, drawing Michella's
attention. When she looked, he held up his own slidepad and
silently mouthed the words 'Lieutenant Davies' while pointing
vigorously to it.

"Oh, uh, listen Trev, I need to go,
there's-"

"I know, I know. Duty calls. Go plumb the
dark recesses of corruption and deceit," he said.

"Thanks for understanding, you're the
best."

"Damn straight I am."

"Love you, Trev."

"Love you, babe."

She tapped the connection closed and quickly
had Jon transfer the call from Davies, switching it to voice only
and putting the slidepad to her ear.

"Davies? Yes. Thank you for getting back to
me so quickly," she said quietly, cupping the phone and speaking
quietly, "What did you find out? … Really? Not on any of the watch
lists? … That's what I came up with, too. … I suppose. Well, thanks
for your help. I'll let you know if I find anything."

She closed the connection and crossed her
arms, a look of irritation on her face.

"Dead end?" Jon asked.

"Not so much a dead end. More like a
confusing one."

"What's this about?"

"Lou, the feature editor. You remember what
he had me working on?"

"Mmmhmm."

When one is surrounded by scoop-hungry
journalists, it doesn't pay to speak in specifics, lest your
carefully cultivated lead end up as someone else's breakthrough.
Thus, Michella made it a habit to speak in terms that would be
clear to Jon, but more or less worthless to eavesdroppers. In this
case, Lou had asked her to look into a particular theft at a
military base.

"Well, I'm starting to pick up the
breadcrumbs, and I finally got a good nibble, but it doesn't make
any sense. The name just keeps pointing back to a disgruntled
textile worker from the eighteenth century. Honestly, if you're
already agreeing to meet with an investigator, why get cute and
cryptic with your information?"

"Some people just like being difficult. Maybe
it's a red herring. Sending you on a wild goose chase."

"No... No, this guy had an agenda, I know it.
I'll keep digging. I've got a feeling about this one. I think this
one is going to be big..."

"Wake up, Dee!" barked Purcell.

Karter, sprawled on the floor of his cell,
snorted awake.

"Oh, hello there, boss lady," he said,
groggily.

Through a complicated and highly awkward
sequence of motions, he managed to pull himself from the ground
with his remaining arm and leg and propped himself up in the
chair.

"... We agree to pay your full fee," she said
with a sneer.

"The adjusted fee for reproduction rights and
the design and construction of mass production facilities?"

"Yes," she replied, the single word carrying
an impressive payload of hatred.

"Too bad."

"What?!"

"Not good enough. I'm a trifle peeved about
the imprisonment and involuntary return to amputee status that I've
been subjected to. Price went up."

"How much?"

"Out of the range of mere dollars and cents,
I'm afraid."

"We weren't intending to pay you with an
antiquated paper currency."

"What I mean is, money won't cut it
anymore."

Purcell glared at him, military discipline
the only thing standing between Karter and a broken neck.

"Open this door," she muttered to one of the
guards on duty.

"Commander?" asked the guard.

"Open this door! That is an
order,
soldier!"

"Ooh, what's this? Is the big scary boss lady
going to rough up the cripple?" Karter jabbed as the soldier
entered a key code into the panel beside the door.

The commander stalked in, grabbing the front
of Karter's jumpsuit and hoisting him off of the chair. She pulled
the knife from its sheath and held it to the side of his face,
close enough to brush against the scraggly hair of a two week old
beard. Those strands that touched the edge fell away.

"What are you going to do? Slice up the man
with one arm? Is that going to get you your precious solar
missile?"

"No... I'm not going to slice up a one armed
man... Because as far as I'm concerned, you aren't even a man
anymore," she said.

The knife moved a fraction of an inch closer.
It touched his skin and, with a hum at the very edge of hearing, a
long shallow paper-cut opened on his cheek. Karter jerked away.

"If you can't be reasoned with, then what
reason have I got to keep you alive?" she hissed.

"I didn't say I couldn't be reasoned with,"
he said. For the first time there was the hint of nervousness in
his voice. "Take that knife away from my face."

"Are you going to give me what I want?" she
growled.

"Regardless of whether I will or I won't, if
you get startled by a sudden noise while you've got that against my
cheek, you'll cut my face off. That won't help anybody. And in a
minute, there's likely to be a very sudden noise."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Purcell
fumed.

"When was the last time you saw my other
arm?" he asked.

"... MacDonald!" she barked to one of the
guards.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Go check on Dee's arm."

"Yes, Commander!"

He hurried down the hall a short distance, to
a set of lockers. A few moments later, he answered.

"It isn't here!" he called.

"What do you mean it isn't there!?"

"Funny thing about lockers," Dee said, "They
only really lock from the outside. Safety regulations dictate that
most lockers have to have a manual release on the inside."

"You can control your arm remotely..." she
surmised.

"Oh yeah. It's got cameras, the works. Want
to know another funny thing? You didn't lock any of the surrounding
lockers. One of them has grenades in it. Correction,
had
grenades in it."

"I
will
kill you if you try
anything."

"Ditto. For all you know I've got one of
those grenades against the reactor right now, just itching to pull
the pin. I could take out this whole space..." he threatened, but
slowly his expression drooped, "Crap."

"Found it, Commander. It was in the next
locker... It has a grenade, and the pin's been pulled," MacDonald
announced.

"Okay, so I can't take out the whole space
station. I can still take out a few of your guys. I gotta say, I
like your style. Timed fuse style grenades with an old fashioned
dead man switch safety lever. I let go of it and it goes boom.
Hell, even if I don't, I'm pretty sure I've got enough juice in
that hand to set off the grenade just by zapping it. And grenades
are
really
effective in close quarters."

"If you set that thing off, I'll slit your
throat."

"If you slit my throat, those fingers go
slack, and that thing goes off... We seem to have reached an
impasse. I'm willing to deal if you are."

"... Okay. Here is what is going to happen.
You are going to let my man take the grenade. When that happens,
I'll take this knife away from your face and you and I will start
over," Purcell offered.

"That works for me."

"MacDonald! Depress the safety lever."

"Depressed!"

"Release it, Dee."

"Done," the inventor said.

"I've got the grenade. Disarming now,"
MacDonald announced.

Purcell stepped back.

"Now," she said, "Judging from the fact you
let us take the grenade before I removed the knife, I assume you
have more tricks up your sleeve."

"Always. And judging from the fact I've got
blood running down my face, you're just stupid enough to kill us
all rather than play this game much longer. Probably best if we
reach an agreement then."

"The previous offer stands. Your full
fee."

Karter brushed some blood from his cheek.

"Throw in some information and I'll consider
it."

Purcell's eyes narrowed. "What
information?"

"How did you get me off my planet? Your ships
wouldn't have been able to make it through my moat without
coordinates from Ma, and she wouldn't have given them with me
drugged."

"A short range transporter."

Karter's eyes opened wide, like a child
meeting Santa Claus face to face.

"You guys have a transporter..." he said, his
mouth practically watering as he said it.

"I think it is safe to say that we have
the
transporter."

"You guys let me mess with that thing, and
I'll build you whatever the hell you want," he stated, nothing but
sincerity in his voice.

The commander stared him in the eyes, her
mind turning over the offer.

"
After
you have built us the CME
Activator. And after you've turned over the manufacturing
apparatus. And after it has been tested and proven functional. You
will be delivered to a remote facility, we will evacuate all
personnel and equipment within its effective radius, and you will
be allowed to experiment with the device for twenty-four
hours."

"Only if you let me look at some of the
designs and schematics before then."

"Incomplete schematics."

"Deal," he said instantly, holding out his
hand for a shake.

She clamped it in her grip and began to
shake.

"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked,
still shaking.

"Same way I know I can trust you... we're
gonna be keeping a close eye on each other, won't we."

#

Just under the three day mark, Lex's ship
dropped down to conventional speeds in the vicinity of the 'planet'
deGrasse. The speck of dirt had the unfortunate fate of having a
mass and radius that put it right at the ever-shifting threshold of
planet-hood. Thus, depending on who was in charge of the
Astronomical Standards Committee, it could be anything from a
planet to a dwarf planet to a planetoid, and any of a half dozen
other terms that had fallen in and out of favor. The primary
problems caused by its size were the virtually non-existent
atmosphere and a gravitational intensity that barely made it to 10%
of earth's. It would have been a terrible choice for settlement,
except for a few very handy features. The first was the soil, which
had nitrogen concentrations high enough to make fertilizer
unnecessary. It had a peculiar, wobbling orbit that gave a region
near the north pole near constant sunlight, and the dark portions
had vast seas of ice. Low gravity, top notch soil, plenty of water,
and constant sun meant that certain crops grew massively large,
incredibly quick, so long as you managed to keep them in
pressurized greenhouses. deGrasse tomatoes were the size of beach
balls, and rumor had it that some of the more... recreational crops
were extremely potent. This led to a thriving underworld population
in certain regions of the planet, which in turn made it a decent
"no questions asked" hideaway.