Chapter 5

Chapter 5 Draft
(8-22-08)

Alkes 3 – Chulmur System – 2494:

It was hellishly hot on this pebble-pod of a world! Under-Leader Philomel was most uncomfortable inside his bulky, insulated, envirosuit. Muscles evolved for near twice the gravity here made travel, even with the suit’s added weight, easy enough, But the suit had never been designed with the expectation of so much sustained exertion. The condenser over-temp alarm kept flashing almost continuously and Philomel needed to manually help the air blast clear crystalline 2H-O from his visor so that he could see.

Etramel, the Over-Leader, had come in low, below the visual and sensor horizon of the grounded alien ship, and in the coolest portion of the planets night. Landing the small vessel on the other side of a low range of hills from the newcomers position, he made ready with his mechanical analogue to get close and observe. Continuing to make sure his presence was not detected.

The robot scuttled before him now, moving rapidly low to the ground, the heat not affecting it in the least. The observers on the Chelmu Astrometric station had seen the blue flash from the tachyon pulse when the ship exited the transition point and emerged into the system. It delayed a tenth of a sleep cycle, probably making a sensor scan then seemingly in an instant was streaking towards the second planet inwards. It orbited there for two sleep cycles more before sending down a lander. The larger ship then broke away, accelerating again all at once to a third of light speed, headed back to the transition point, and disappeared.

The Decision Master ordered a ship sent to investigate, and the Philosophers Council gathered to consider meaning and purpose. Once before, a thousand breeding cycles past, the Chelmu System was the destination of Others. Others, who had visited Chelmu, learned to understand and speak with the Philosophers, went and did as they pleased, found nothing of interest, and moved on. The shock wave caused by that visit was enough to get the Chelmu to look beyond their home world, and over the generations develop into technological areas they had never before bothered to investigate.

A caste ridden, hierarchically organized species; their advance was not rapid, but it was steady. Developing the methods and processes needed to work with materials intuited by the Philosophers Caste, at the elevated temperatures required, was the work of hundreds of generations. Some thirty generations ago the Chelmu took their first steps away from the home world After a flurry of expansion and discovery they turned away from the rush science and the new, and went back to living as they always had, with slow, steady measured progress. How else to insure a stable society?

They did not abandon the newfound knowledge, and did not halt all research. They theorized and planned, and proceeded slowly. On such a cold world as Chelmu, where even energetic chemical reactions took place slowly, this was part of their nature. It was also part of their nature to hold on to and protect from change anything they considered their own. And by now the entire planetary system qualified.

Philomel saw, projected on the top half of his visor, images of three beings, unsuited and unarmored they had only a few implements hanging from a harness at their midpoints. They must find this world agreeable. He made sure the signal was being relayed back to Etramel and the ship then settled into a slight depression to continue watching. His mechanical servant would do the close work. He was there only because this was all so new it was impossible to tell what might be needed.

He saw two more of the alien figures leave their vehicle and opening a large set of doors remove containers holding what turned out to be inflatable shelters and start erecting them while the others set up posts at a distance and run a kind of cabling from the ship to each. These were likely sensors and the obvious conclusion was that the aliens intended staying, perhaps intending to make this planet their own.

The Decision Master, Over-Leader of the Tribunal Perfect would not be pleased.

* * *
New Texas 2494:

It was a somber time in the Webb household Mark, Megan and Mack Webb were sitting in the expansive game room, beers in hand staring glumly at each other.

Megan was finally the first to speak. “OK, who’s going to be the first one to say it? We are finally going to have to split up; the Three Musketeers have to ride alone!”

Mark finally broke the silence, “We knew it was coming, ever since Dad conned the FG into recreating the Scouts. That bullshit he spread about the ‘Marksmanship’ Merit Badge to allow those 22′s that would only shoot BB caps, got by the Weapons Laws was classic. Were we the only people smart enough to realize that weapons training was weapons training?”

Mack almost snorted beer through his nose, “Like those IDIOTS did not understand that an Eagle Scout got an automatic two rank boost in the old US Armed Forces. They are ten steps behind Dad all the way! If it ain’t current issue it does not count to those cretins. The question on the table is simply this, what are we going to do? I am going out system to work for Uncle Chris building and by the way flying ships!”

Mark chimed right in, “I am going to work for Dad at Dyn Corp., building Computers and Communications Systems just happens to trip my trigger!”

Megan chimed in with, “I am staying right here to do Medical research with Mom, as well as some other stuff!”

Mark drained his beer and popped the top on another, “There is the 800 pound GillaPig in the room, the other stuff. We are stupid if we do not understand by now that our Elders intend to go to War with Earth for Independence. Do we buy in or not?”

The room was silent until Megan popped another beer, “I have my OCS class date, how about you two?”

The room was deathly quiet until her triplet brothers looked at her and said as one, “Last time I checked our name was Webb. There is no way we are not gonna be in for the end game!” Beyond a shadow of a doubt, Linda Webb had infected her grandchildren with the family mission.

Mark was of course the jerk who chimed in with, “Hey, we are too damn serious. Who wants to go downstairs and bust some caps?”

Megan almost died laughing, “Sure, if you want to get humiliated again, I am game!”

Mark spit out, “Put a time line on the first shot and I will carry that bet!”
When the three got to the lovingly created third basement and the 100-Yard Range, and their Custom Crafted .308 Winchester Sniper Rifles; they once again felt at home and heard the voices of their Parents in their ears.

“Relax, Aim, Squeeze”; was a Mantra they would never forget!

* * *
Joachim Minters sat in his office in the vast Orbital Yard of the Kie system and marveled at his fate. His first life hidden deep in the dirt, he had been resurrected to do the job he was born to do. Not only that he had the incredible duty of trying to keep up with Chris Webb.

“Just hang in there and report to me everything he comes up with,” his boss Warrick Gates had said. Joachim had tried his best and hoped he had been good enough; he was an Engineer and a damn good one. Chris was a damn force of nature, here in a Provisional Government controlled system; He had let his damn brain go into overdrive.

First, they had located a second Transit Point out of the system. Second, the fact that it lead to a useless system was actually an advantage. Third, they were able to test their Drive without any knowledge of Earth.

His second job, that of picking Chris Webb’s brain almost overwhelmed his first, which was to build a Fleet. That however was coming along quite well, thank you! The hull of the first of 12 massive warships that would be built in this system was almost ready to begin Internal fit-out. The other twelve were to be built in another tag-end world called New Carolina. All the Kie crew in training wanted to see was the second ship which was to be named Yamato, the first was to be named Challenger. For some reason, that one was to be manned by a crew that was all of old USA descent. A Brit by blood, he knew he had to do some research on that. He would do that right after he had five minutes to spare!

The knock on the door broke his trance as the very whirlwind himself entered the door.

“Sorry to barge in Joachim but, I have a short fuse to get to the shuttle back to New Texas. That one is a FG run.”

“Yeah, we have that one on the shutdown schedule; it arrives in about 15 minutes. We are shutting down all of our active stuff in 10.”

“Yes, pain in the ass but we have to play the game. Anyway, sorry to dump this phase on you but, I have to get to the main computer nexus to run my current data on. In a couple of years we might be able to do it here but right now, I gotta be back at Central!”

“Oh Christ, what is it this time? Last time was those god awful missiles.”

“I am not sure, but I think that Wild Bill’s Seventh Equation may have some interesting aspects.”

“As I have come to shudder at that phrase, what do you mean this time Chris?”

“Maybe, just maybe, a way to cloak our Ships and Installations down to a range of 10,000 miles!”

“Did you say Miles not AU’s?”

“Yes Joachim, miles. This is really scary shit! Even if I am wrong on the range, I am pretty sure the cloak will work. The variable is how close we can get! I need that big ass nexus at Webb Central to figure that out!”

“Will that be before or after you and Becce drop out of comms for three days?”

“After of course, I am surprised you had to ask?”

“Just doing a reality check, have to stay sure of the Boss you know.”

Chris just shot him the Universal Salute and quipped, “See you in three months Turkey. Tell Brianna and the kids I said Hi!”

* * *
Bhutros M’butu, Secretary General of the Federation Government and his son Jamil, Under Secretary for African Affairs, were enjoying a weekend vacation at the old Kwame Kilpatrick Estate. The grounds and sumptuous mansion were built on lands cleared from the leveled old city’s 21st. century blight and were the Detroit resort of the UN Leader. The primary residence was still called the Manoogian Mansion, though changes had been made. The original building was small, only 4000 square foot. It backed up on the Detroit river and was close to the downtown UN headquarters.

The last decade and a half had been treated them both quite handsomely. The monies earned from Jamil’s work on New Texas, perhaps scheming was a more appropriate way to describe it, provided the means to ease the elder M’butu into his position and purchase as much continuing support as any potentate could want. And it also left open a ready-made spot on Earth that Jamil could return to.

“Life has been good to us, has it not my son,” Bhutros said expansively before admiring two of Jamil’s women lounging by the pool and licking cocktail sauce from his fingers. A bucket of shrimp on ice occupied the low table between their two recliners.

“It is and has been my father, but I am beginning to worry now that things are too good. I know how the people on New Texas think, especially their ruling classes. Some of them think as we do, though not the faction in charge now, and all of them have been much to quiet for the last several years. They are up to something. That is their nature.”

“Come, come now. All of their new found wealth is causing them to grow fat and lazy—just as we have.” Bhutros patted his impressive paunch and grabbed another handful of the delicious seafood. “But I should speak only of myself eh? You Jamil are as lean and hungry looking as ever.”

Looking towards the pool Jamil said, “Perhaps it is I get more exercise than you do father.” Then he gave a short laugh. “To be serious though I think it is time I return to New Texas for a while. I do not trust the reports we are getting and think it best I go there myself.”

“Very well. The situation of our subjects here on Earth has improved so much since the oil started flowing that any disruption would cause the Government great difficulty. I think that is all we need fear. What do you wish me to do?”

“Only this father, have a document drafted giving me complete authority to do whatever I find necessary, even overrule or remove the present Governor. If there is something going on there, something working against our interests, then he is either implicit or incompetent. If there is nothing then I will not be gone for long,”

“I will assign you a military vessel and you may tell Mufusi to prepare whatever documents you think desirable. I do feel you worry too much, but better that than too little.

A week later Jamil was back on New Texas for the first time in a decade. Much had changed in the intervening years. Commercial activity at both the transit point and Huston Station circling the planet rivaled that of any two similar facilities back in the Earth System. Unsurprisingly, he was met by Federation Governor General and High Commissioner, Jean Batiste LeChartrand. A puppet appointee made to please the European Union, Jamil controlled the strings.

“An honor to greet you Your Excellency. And your trip, it was pleasant, no?”

Jamil could sense the undercurrent of fear in the Governors glib manner. The message telling of his impending arrival had not included the reason for the trip. Jamil answered, “As usual and expected Jean. And you look well yourself. New Texas has been good for you I would say.”

“Thank you Your Excellency, hard work is its own reward.” They took the military shuttle down with only Jamil’s guard contingent on board. The rest of his retainers would follow on the stations regular transport.

Once away from the possibility of being overheard as the shuttle left the station Jamil explained the nature of his mission. “There is an undercurrent to the situation here that I neither like nor understand.”

“An undercurrent? I have seen nothing indicating any serious threat. The New Texans all seem happy with the ways things are. They should, the planet is prospering beyond anyone’s dreams.”

“And you have done fine in your own right Jean. But naturally, I do not hold that against you. I will do an audit of the books you maintain here making sure everything matches within reason to what you send officially but again I am primarily to look into the social conditions. As soon as we land and get to the residence, have a meeting set up with Hank Carling. Perhaps he will enlighten me. More likely not, but that is where I intend to start.”

“You look good Henry; I would have recognized you anywhere.” They were seated in familiar surroundings, the bar at Liza Morgan’s place. Jamil had his usual security in place. They were at a table overlooking the bay. The room was crowded except for the area around their table and Liza was running the bar.

“You haven’t changed much yourself Jamil, a couple of pounds maybe but hardly noticeable.”

“My women, they keep me in shape.” he smiled and continued, “I have kept track of you Hank and am astonished you still head P&I after these many years. A surprising lack of ambition—or could there be some other reason?”

“I’m just a family man at heart. What with Kaybe working for the local press now, and still one girl at home, I am quite content.”

“So it would seem. Tell me Hank, how do you rate the current Governor General’s administration?”

“Hardly something for me to judge. I would say he seems to be skimming about what one would expect. Surely that isn’t why you have graced us with your presence. An audit could be handled much further down the chain.”

“Perceptive as always. I will be truthful with you. I think things are much calm politically here. The Williams coalition has maintained power for a very long time now, and the agitation for independence that used to be so troubling to me seems to have dried up. How do you explain that Hank?”

“That’s easy; everyone is so busy that there is no time to complain. Except for the professionals in government. And they can’t get much popular support.”

“Yes that’s how it is reported and still I have my doubts. But no matter. I am here and will be until I am satisfied.”

Liza herself brought them refills.

“Sit down my Dear,” Jamil said. “And order something for yourself. I would like to hear what you think about the changes on New Texas since I left for Earth. You know, I have missed you.” He said that giving a look that only could be called an extremely refined leer.

* * *
Sally Ditmars, oh so carefully, killed the remaining velocity of the 150,000 ton bulk carrier ‘Tanganyika’ until she was motionless, a bare five feet from the terminal. She wasn’t the ship’s Captain, that was a position held by Inka Kinshasa, one of Bhutros and Jamil M’butu’s distant relatives; but in everything that mattered, she might just as well have held the position.

The Ditmars family fortune was no longer based only on fueling ships and minor construction, but now, even as the old areas expanded, the bulk of what they did was based on moving fuel someplace else. In this case, not hydrogen but oil, and now not from the gas giant Tethys but from the fourth moon circling the inner planet Nimbus. Like most production, this load was going back to Earth.

Officially she was the ship’s Pilot. In practice she had command, especially when close to a fueling station. From the time the amount of oil sent from the Velorum system back to the Earth over loaded the Federation’s ability to handle it, it took only a small step made with little hesitation, before transports built by the out-system yards were purchased. Earth could have built them, but there was more money to be made by those with a hand in it by doing the build away from the home system.

There was more engineering involved with the liquid transport and handling systems than in the ships drives. Pumping and storing in bulk these quantities of oil, while under 0 gee, was a specialized art. And far too much money was being made that any of it slip away.

The reactionless drive was at least in theory off limit to Sally as the ships pilot, and to the rest of the Ditmars people who ran the oil transport equipment as well. In practice they cycled their own crews through the various tanker ships. But the drive rooms were indeed steered clear of. This meant that before any of the ships they were building secretly were finished, some early experience in how they were handled, or at least experience in how the Federation crews handled them was being acquired, even if not the drive details and practices.

The Tanganyika’s Earth born Engineering Officer was much more involved than the nominal Captain when it came to ship’s operation. He had to be. The drive room was his, and he wasn’t allowed any voluntary New Texan or Colonial crewmembers to help him run it.

The drive had been taken off line well before Sally took over. Instantaneous accelerations and velocity changes didn’t work well with large ships only feet away from final docking.

“You can take us out of here when we leave.” Sally said to Frank Carling, the most recent trainee she was getting up to speed. “You’ll find her more of a handful than you’ve been accustomed to, and the simulators only go so far.” Sally wasn’t worried about him though, at 25 he was confident but level headed. He should be, he came from good stock.

* * *
Sally sat in the bar at Houston Station waiting for of all people, Chris Webb. She didn’t really have three months to spend on the trip out to Kie and back. But it did seem important to Dad and all his friends. And her brother Chuck threw in a few fine words as well. Sally’s hours and days were more than filled with training the Pilots and Crews they needed for the expanding fleet!

Not only were they crewing better than half of the Earth Tankers (excepting of course the precious drive rooms) but, the Colonial built in-system birds were coming on line at a dizzying rate. Thank the God’s that they were automated as all get out and required only 4 Pilots and Crew as opposed to the 17 of the Earth designs that hadn’t changed in a hundred years.

The horde of Cadets that Becce Webb was pouring up from New Texas were a unique mix. First, they were ALL Pilots; Second, they all could work at a second rating as crew, and Third; Sally had to knock that obvious Military edge off of them. She had been able to laugh it off with the FG pukes so far with a snide sounding remark about where Becce had got her training. Enough of them knew the story of CPT. Becce Andrews that Sally got no grief on that score.

The one exception, oddly enough, was young Chad Webb, younger than his high-powered cousins; he did not fit the mold. His attitude on Masters Degrees and higher was, “Gimme a stick!” Where Sally had to work on knocking the edges of off everyone else, his laconic answers were, “Yeah, I got it”, when taking the stick and “Little Lady has the Bird” when relinquishing control. Sally almost got upset about the “Little Lady” until she realized he was built like well, a Webb, if a human wall wanted to call her “Little Lady” she could live with that! Then her reason for this trip showed up, the human whirlwind called Chris Webb.

“Hi Sally, get some sleep on the way out, you are going to need it!”

“What for simple write the -1 checkouts?”

“Just you wait Miss Ditmars, just you wait!”

Three weeks later she was in the Kie station at another bar staring at Chris Webb and Joachim Minter.

“OK, you got me here, what now Gentlemen?”

Chris grinned and handed over a memory stick, “Here’s the -1 for the new Tanker. Becce and I wrote that about 4 months ago. As soon as that FG ship cross-loads and leaves, we want you to test an entirely different vessel. I have already shook out the Military version; we need your input on the Civilian version.”

“OK, what does it do and why me?”

“Well, you are the Civilian Instructor Pilot, finally got the ratings and all. We need your input in how to convert our RD design to Civilian use!”

Sally’s jaw dropped for a moment, “You idiots have built a Reactionless Drive ship?”

“Yeah,” Chris grinned, “it’s a little faster than the FG’s and we have a tame Transit Point for you to practice with so no chance of detection. You can read our manuals when you get on board the third bird. Don’t worry about the magnets on the corners of the pages though. Did I happen to mention she includes the new Artificial Gravity sub-fields?”

The loud sound was Sally dropping her beer!

Five weeks later Sally was back in the same Bar waiting for an FG Inter System ship that she and Chris were taking back to New Texas. “OK Chris, you have your recommendations and your provisional -1 on the new designs, just one question, why?”

Chris raised up his Bourbon and stared her in the eyes. “Do you think we are going to abandon Earth, they will still get their Oil? They need it to survive; we are going to call the terms however. Look at the production schedules, your Tankers don’t get started until my Assault Shuttles are finished. We win first and then we take care of our distant kin.”

Sally looked at the two grinning faces, “Damn, you plan far out don’t you?”

Joachim gave her a sick grin and replied loudly, “I am beginning to believe that is a fixture in the Webb genes. That and an absolute fucking sense of paranoia!”

Sally was not even surprised when the whole Bar joined in the laughter!

***
Andy was beating his way through “paperwork”, who cared if it was on a screen; it was still damn paperwork. His Black Stew was broken when the private door opened and Chris strolled in with that shit-eating grin on his face. “OK, my jerk of a brother, what has caused you to put in a priority request for 9 hours of the full distributed Network. You do realize that that has to be spread over 3 days and please expound on why I should not kick your Ass into the mud for putting me through this?”

“Aw Shit—and I thought you loved me! How would you like a Cloak that works as close as 10,000 miles, just like your precious Chameleon Suits, it should be able to work even on visual. Same principal really, just using Energy Fields instead of fancy fibers. Crap, if it works as well as Grandpas Seventh Equation predicts we might be able to take about 15 pounds out of those suits. Hell of a lot less mass to mask there by several orders of magnitude!”

“You claim you can mask a Challenger Class Battle Wagon down to 10,000 miles even in the visual, what new Drugs are you on?”

“The Math, damn it the Math. I am just now realizing how smart Grandpa Bill was. This is his Seventh Equation, don’t ask me what I am going to find by the time I get to his Tenth!”

“Chris, you do understand why the FG froze all experimentation on his math don’t you? There is a still a smoking hole in the Gobi Desert from people working on his Fifth Equation, don’t you remember?”

“And I solved that five years ago Andy! Screw flying, this is what I was meant to do! Shit I have already found you two tame Transit Points, the new Fusion Plants, the .5C RD, the new missiles and Artificial Gravity; Dammit, let me run with this shit!”

“And I tried to stop you when? Here are you access codes for the 9 hours you need, and five more if necessary. I just have to do a reality check on you every so often lest you go wacko like Grandpa Bill.”

“Andy, he did not go wacko! Redmond changed the records to make it look that way, I have proved it. When we go to Earth, can I shoot a Redmond?”

“You will be third in line! I can damn near guarantee that this target list will go far deeper than that!” Suddenly his right hand shot out like a snake and grabbed Chris by the chin.

“Little Bro, don’t burn yourself out! I am going to need you when we go to Earth and Becce would never forgive me. I think you may have given us enough already!”

Reaching out and moving the hand, Chris stared at his Older Brother, “Exactly whom do you think won’t let me slow down? She also insures that I don’t burn out. I don’t know why but Becce hates the Redmond’s damn near as much as we do. Besides, my kids won’t let me do anything seriously stupid.”

As Chris walked out the door Andy decided not to mention how rich Chris was becoming as a side effect of his work. Joachim was making sure every bit of his info got to the mysterious Colonial Organization and they got it somehow to whoever could use it the best.

The Federation government had no idea how far they were behind in Technology and Sciences in general!

* * *
Andy Webb was at his desk bashing through his least favorite thing in the Universe, paperwork when Liam McMasters came in through the secured door. “Great Liam,” said Andy, “when you come in unannounced it’s got to be a problem!”

“Wish I could claim otherwise Boss but, we have a Security Risk high enough to rate a Category 1 response and the lowly head of No Such Agency does not have that kind of Authority.”

“Oh Crap, Liam. Go ahead give me the bad news; I am not going to doubt you on a Category 1.”

“Right, here is the file on a new hire at Dyn-Corp. At this time he is still in training and has not seen anything critical, but, even so, this time he is being trained for the Clean Room.

“He has some strange communications habits though, he calls the FG House every night on what he thinks is a secure line. He burst transmits a file of everything he learned that day to them.

“Not only that, his name is identical to a one year old who died 35 years ago in a small village out in Def Smith County. The bastard is an FG plant.”

“Shit, OK Liam, build a book on him and he’s ANV bait!”

“Boss, I guess I have been around you too long. We have the book built on him already courtesy of Hank and Ric. Hank kinda’ looked a little sick but said, and I quote; ‘Send this one to Andy and don’t tell me how. This one is already on the books.”

Later that day the Receptionist, sitting at her desk at Webb Enterprise, was shocked at the sight of Muriel Webb walking though the door and striding to the desk. “Hi, I have a delivery coming over from the Lone Star, could you make sure it gets up to the suite. The big lug is going to slow down long enough to eat lunch for a change.”

“No problem Mrs. Webb!”

“It’s Muriel; Mrs. Webb was Andy and Chris’s Grandmother!”

Entering the CEO suite she could tell that Andy had not asked her over for a simple lunch. Still she smiled at the clearly overworked and slightly drawn figure behind the aircraft carrier desk. “Love, are you ever going to slow down?”

“Believe it or not, Yes. In about two weeks when we have Chris’s new chip set in production I plan on spending a couple of weeks out at the country place. How about you?”

“Well that hits right on the end of the Semester for the teaching duties and I can run the Research from the house terminal in about an hour a day so, yeah works for me. Now, why did you ask me over here?”

Andy merely turned a screen around and said, “Here’s the file on a Category 1, I need your merry band of pirates to handle this one. He is a known FG plant so we have to stay low profile on this one. We can’t just knock him off; we need some type of deniable circumstance!”

“Let’s have lunch; I have a couple of ideas. Do you have a full habits book on the turkey?” Muriel snapped her head around as there was a knock on the door.

Andy grinned as he moved to the door, “Of course, that’s why he’s yours!”

* * *
Muriel was sitting at her desk in the Faraday caged office in the heart of University Medical when the door slammed open with an unannounced young Female ready to, eat steel and spit nails.

“Mom!” screamed Megan Webb, “what the hell are you doing canceling my OCS start date?”

“Read your orders all the way young lady, you are rescheduled not canceled. We have a job to do before you go play in the Bush, and it’s LT. COL to you now Cadet!”

“Yes Ma’am, what is my assignment Ma’am?”

“Here he is Cadet; I understand that you have frequented some of his favorite haunts.”

“Yes, I waited tables at Guido’s part time for spending money. It gave me a source of money my parents had no control over! I even know this turkey by sight; slow drinker and lousy tipper— why?”

“Well, personally your Father and I were quite happy over that show of independence; professionally it gives you the perfect cover for this job.”

“May I sit, Ma’am?”

“Feel free Megan, to consider this an informal session. So sit down girl, what are you drinking?”

“Grandpa’s best on the rocks and what are we going to do to Patrick McConihie?”

“Sanction Five girl, he goes down hard!”

As Muriel handed the girl her drink the young lady was grinning like the Cheshire Cat, “Let my brothers sit on the fact that I got the first live mission. Bring it on Colonel!”

* * *
Megan had spent the last six-day’s hopping tables at Guido’s and they had been good ones for her bank account but no sight of McConihie. She had checked with mo…, uh LTC Webb earlier in the day and found out that his training section was on a screwed up rotation and tonight was the first night of his weekend. And sure as little puppies, here he was right in at 1930 to start his weekend roll.

He went through his normal slow drinking griping period, (to justify his normal low tip to his acquaintances, he had no friends) and finally ordered a meal. Megan was all inner smiles as he ordered his normal Medium-Well Steak. She was all but dancing her way back to the kitchen to put in the order to the kitchen.

Nine minutes later she started out with THE ORDER and dumped the contents of the cleverly hidden micro-syringe in to the juices laden cut of beef. An hour later when the jerk finally left, with a tip of three dollars, she blipped her channel 3 comm twice.

Five hours later Patrick McConihie collapsed in a Bar 19 blocks away!

* * *
The Intercom blared at full volume, “DR. Webb to ER! DR. Webb to ER! STAT, repeat STAT!”

Muriel Webb strode into ER like the PHD that she was, asking at the top of lungs, “Why is a research Biologist being summoned STAT to the ER?”

The Lead Resident ran up, “Dr. Webb, we have an Ambulance inbound with a confirmed case of Stage Three Bush Fever and two EMT’s who are primary exposure.”

The Doctor came out in a flash, “Set up Level 4 Containment, get everyone on the detail in Environment suits and get me the Shift Chief for the Rangers just in Case. Do we have an ID on the primary case?”

“Yes Dr., we are running it through the standard travel database as well as the Texas Ranger Wants and Warrants as we speak, no hits as yet.”

“Not even on the Bush Travel DB?

“Shit, notify the Rangers to consider this a Secondary Infection case and to get on his back trial. This smells like we have a carrier out there. Damn I hate Bush Fever, I am going to find a vaccine for that SOB if it’s the last thing I ever do!”

“DR. you might wan to see this; it’s his BAC from the EMT report!”

Muriel stared at the page, “Stage Three and stone drunk! I don’t care; we try; even if all of us know there is no hope, by the Gods above, We Try!”

The entire ER exploded into energy!

* * *
Four days later Megan approached her Father’s office, ‘Holy Shit’, she thought the Generals Office, as she looked one more time at the channel 3 E-mail and it definitely said ‘REPORT’! Taking a breath before she opened the door she strode into the room. “General Webb, Cadet Webb reports as directed.”

She stood at tight attention even though in civilian clothes, as she watched her Father behind that huge desk still in a clean room suit.

He finally looked up from the paperwork he was engaged in, “Ah, Cadet Webb, I believe that we are here to discuss your new OCS date?”

“If I may feel free to say so, that’s news to this Cadet but, I am willing to be on that topic Sir!”

“Well Cadet, that may be Old News!”

Megan’s head involuntary snapped around as she heard several doors open. There was Mom in her old US Army Greens, Uncle Chris in his Blue and Gold Aero-Space Marine Blues, Admiral Gates in his Navy Whites, Unka Dave in his Marine Blue and Gold and as her eyes snapped back around Dad, having ditched the clean suit, in his SOCOM Black and Silver with the Four Stars on His collars.

Then Gunny Dave Roberts voice snapped out, “Attention to Orders.

“On this the Day the 14th of August of 2994, I General Andrew Webb of the Provisional Special Operations Command of the Provisional Government of the Earth Colonies, by the Power Invested in me by said body; Do this Day Promote Cadet Megan Webb to the Rank of Second Lieutenant in the Special Operations Command of the Provisional Government of the Earth Colonies. Do you take Upon Yourself This Trust Cadet Webb, So Help You God?”

“Yes Gunnery Sergeant I do, with no Convictions or Hesitations. So Help Me God!” The memorized phrase rolled easily off her lips even in her stunned condition.

“Then when I next see you in Uniform you had best be in the Proper Uniform LT.”, rolled the stentorian voice of her Father and Commander.

Andy’s grin was cracking his face as he spoke to the room, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now informal! Girl, don’t hesitate for a moment to inform your brothers that you beat them by Date of Rank Operator!”

To Be Continued.

Page Author | Wes November 9th, 2008