🚀 go-pugleaf

[[Continued from Part Two]]




     The Free Trader `Rhonda' finally managed to dock at Planet
Seattle's orbiting starport.  Normally Seattle was a pretty easy place
for a Trader to dock and grab a cargo.  Normally, it was one of the
places Toni and Speck looked forward to.
     There was nothing normal about the full Ottsamattawidu Militia
Floatilla that ringed the Starport, nor anything normal about the
ultracomplex customs and docking procedures the Traders had to go
through to prove they were who they said they were, and not
Muhuhahahaharan Terrorists carrying enough Antimatter to ignite a new
star.
     They grumbled but went through the full docking process.  They
cycled through, had their inspections, registered their business
(delivery of one Charter Passenger, a Xolchipalian National without any
blemish on his record to slow things up), and started the laborious but
still enjoyable process of selecting a new destination for their ship,
and the right cargo to bring to it.
     As for their passenger... well, he parted ways quickly enough with
the pair, though he managed to convey the impression that he wasn't
rushing in the slightest.  He made his way along the Concourse, and
glanced in a shop or two, and stopped off for some food at a Fleegle-in-
a-Box, and then made his way to shuttle departures.
     Normally, Planet Seattle required extensive medical examinations
for even transient visitors to their world.  There was also a local
day's quarantine delay built into the process.  With the Militia's
presence, the queue had extended to three days and there were endless
forms to fill out, interviews to conduct, statements of business to
endure and guarantees to make.
     The passenger -- an older gentleman, with a likable air about him
-- simply stepped around the queues, and slipped through the offices.
He quietly walked right past the customs agent and boarded a shuttle
without ticket or temporary identity card.  In short, he stepped
completely through the bureaucratic order of the day without making so
much as a ripple.  Even his seat wasn't contested, though the flight was
overbooked.
     If anyone noticed the gentleman's silver ring, or the weird, almost
black glint from it's pentagonal crystal, they didn't think it worth
mentioning.

                           * * * * * *

     It always took Dianna quite a bit to calm down after a fight.
Especially a hard one.  It was so... draining.  Mike had been kidding
around with her once, and asked her if it was rough to be addicted to
adrenalin
     They'd taken the day.  Yet again, against all odds.  And she had
been part of it.  No matter what else happened, Dianna had been part of
it when they were against the wall.
     Which was the problem, of course.  She'd been ordered not to.
She'd been ordered back into support.  Instead, she'd gone toe to toe
with Dukat and held him off until she got cocky, let him catch a breath,
and took a burst to her forehead that had threatened to stave it in.
     Mike had healed her.  He'd healed all of them.  But the skin was
still tender, and her head still hurt from the impact and she was still
exhausted and upset from the rush of the fight hours before.
     Waiting for the other shoe to drop didn't help, but she figured it
wouldn't be much longer.
     There was a knock.
     "Right again," Dianna said, and rolled off her bunk.  "Yeah?"
     "Dianna?"
     Mike.
     "Yeah.  Just a sec."  She pulled the blankets on her bunk tight,
glanced over the room, decided there was nothing to be done for it, and
opened the door.
     He was standing in the saucer's corridor, dressed causally.  "Hey,"
he said.
     "Hey.  Um... would... come in, please."
     Mike nodded and stepped inside.  Dianna sat on her bunk, nodding to
the desk chair for Mike.  It was a needed step.  With all that had gone
on in the past year, this was the first time that Mike as Deputy Leader
was debriefing Dianna.  In other words, the first time he was exercising
the duties of his job -- which before had been her job.  Dianna wanted
it to be clear that she accepted this -- accepted him.
     "I thought we should talk about the fight," he said, with a slight
smile.  "Well, I also thought -- heck, we should talk period.  I like
talking to you.  We used to talk.  You know what I mean?  Whatever
happened to that?"
     "Well," Dianna said, "I killed a man in cold blood.  You then were
battered bloody by Nimbus and the Astounding Salad Shooter.  And then
there was the whole Windsor Plague affair--"
     "Oh yeah."  Mike took a deep breath.  "Can... we just have that
argument as read, rather than going through it again?"
     Dianna nodded.
     "Oh thank Elvis.  The last thing we needed was a rehash of old
wounds.  Especially with all the potential new ones.  So... the fight."
     "I... yeah.  The fight.  Mike, I know I disobeyed orders and took a
primary lead in the attack.  I didn't know what else I could do.  I'll
accept whatever--"
     "Whoa whoa whoa.  Dianna, you saved the day.  You held the line.
When everyone else was broken, you kept the fight.  Dianna -- I'm not
here to ream you out.  I'm here to say you did good.  Damn good.  You're
the hero of the day."
     "You stopped him."
     "We stopped him.  Mostly you, hammering at him and weakening him.
I'd never have gotten close with the cutter otherwise.  Damn it, Dea,
shut up and be complimented."
     Dianna blushed, a small smile breaking through her face's usual
depression.  "Yes sir," she said.
     "That's better.  I expect obedience and respect, especially when
it's in your favor."  Mike grinned.  "By the way -- did you get a clear
view of whoever it was who nailed you?  You ought to be wearing this
funky jewelry, not me."
     "I -- no.  I didn't get any view at all.  It took me completely by
surprise.  My defensive power was nearly drained from the fight, and the
blast sent me reeling.  Besides, you seem to be handling the Oanthat --
I'd probably be going insane."
     Mike shrugged.  "It's not so bad, really.  Just an amplification of
the world.  So, what's your plans for the evening?"
     Dianna chuckled.  "Oh, I thought I'd have a wild night of clipping
my toenails and wishing I'd remembered to bring my copy of _The Princess
Bride._"
     "Right.  Revise that and get on your dancin' shoes.  We're shipping
out in the morning, so this is our only night to hit the tourist scene.
We're thinking dancing and partying in midtown.  I hear the beer is
familiar but expensive."
     "I..." Dianna sighed.  "Thanks, Mike.  I wish I could."
     "Never wish.  Just do."  Mike grinned.
     "Mike -- it's against the terms of my disciplinary action.  I'm
still under house arrest.  I'm just on another planet."
     "So, we're escorting you then.  Come on -- get changed."
     "Mike--"
     "Dea," Mike said quietly.  "We're a billion miles from Earth.  No
one's gonna know.  It's all right."
     "Trashman will know.  Did you clear this through--"
     Mike's brow furrowed, slightly.  "I'm Deputy Leader," he said.  "I
think I have the authority to reward a job *very* well done with one
night's shore leave without asking Mother May I."
     "I... yeah, you have a point."  Dianna smiled *very* slightly.
"Mike... I... thank you.  Thanks for--"
     "Hey, no problem."  He stood and headed for the door.  "Remember --
dancin' shoes!"
     "Who all's going?"
     "You, me, Dani, Jane and Ler Trude.  The Kid -- well, he's the Kid,
right?  And Trashman wouldn't know how to do a victory dance if you paid
him."
     "Sounds good.  Oh, and Mike?"
     "Yeah?"
     Dianna looked almost shy.  "Since when do you call me Dea?"
     Mike blinked, halfway out the door.  "Well... I... I guess I picked
it up from those tapes you gave me.  Your old teacher called you that,
right?  If it bothers you--"
     "No.  No it doesn't bother me."
     "Great.  Catch you on the flip side."  He headed out the door,
sealing it.
     "Yeah," Dianna said to the door.  "Catch you on the flip side."

                           * * * * * *

     Primus Mystica Jennifer Connely (Coincidence) slid into the smooth
wooden chair, sipping her herbal tea thoughtfully.  With one perfectly
arched eyebrow, she regarded the vulpine Turdian sitting across from
her, dressed in the robes of a Tertius of the Order.  Baneala looked
back, coolly and inscrutably.
     That was the name of the game.  Sit and imply that you held all the
cards.  If everyone bluffed, everyone was on equal terms.
     "Your pawns are prepared?" Connely asked?
     "Indeed," Baneala said.  "The Disposab'll will attack whenever we
wish them to, all in the name of Fritionium."
     Connely's eyebrows raised.  "Fritoni... no, don't tell me what it
is.  I am utterly certain I don't want to know what it is.  When you say
they could attack whenever they wish to, how swiftly does that mean in
real terms?"
     "Two days or less, including travel time.  I'm assuming I shall
give the word as soon as we leave this little meeting."
     "Indeed... indeed..." Connely looked thoughtful.
     "Does this meet with the Mystica's approval?" Baneala asked,
guardedly.  This was also part of the game -- try to learn what all side
wanted, without showing too much of what you yourself wanted.  The
combination was somewhat difficult.
     "Your work certainly does," Connely said carefully.  "I am certain
the Primus Fleet is very pleased with your progress.  As for how it
coordinates with my plans... I should like it very much if you could
delay the attack nine days, or eleven days total from now."
     "Eleven... days.  It is somewhat hard to keep a fever pitch that
long while still holding them in check."
     "Hard, yes.  Is it impossible?"
     "No, not at all."
     "Then I would ask again -- could you delay the attack until eleven
days hence?"
     "Why?"
     Connely smiled slightly.  "When two assignments can be resolved by
a single manipulation, we all profit all the greater, yes?"
     Baneala blinked.  "Two assignments?  There is something more to
Planet Earth than the `Alamo's Revenge's Revenge?'"
     "That's really not relevant to your duties, Tertius Fleet," Connely
said, smiling a bit broader.  "Let us simply say that a delay in the
attack would increase the overall benefit immeasurably."
     "I see.  Are these reasons I can mention outside this room?"
     "Don't be a fool."
     "Of course."  Baneala smiled.  "Consider it done, Primus Mystica."
     "Excellent."  Connely smiled.  "I can see a long association in our
future."
     "Indeed.  Your pardon."  Baneala rose and left the room.
     "Until the end of the universe, in fact," Connely whispered after
her, and rose to attend to her own projects.

                           * * * * * *

     Trashman noted Kid Solipsism standing in the hall, no doubt waiting
to use the Xolchacomm as well.  The rumors about the Kid and Mandy had
flown pretty furiously.  Trashman's trained eyes could separate rumor
from fact relatively well.
     Trashman let him wait.  Rank *does* have its privileges, after all.
Besides, soliciting the opinion of the organization's psychologist was
*business,* wasn't it?
     He was astounded once again at Elizabeth's face.  So soft, and
warm... so strong when it had to be.
     "So do you think he's been unaffected?" she was asking.  "Beyond
the expected norm, of course?"
     "I'm not entirely sure what the expected `norm' of Apotheosis is,
Healer," Trashman said mildly.
     "Isn't that a bit of a strong term," Elizabeth replied.  "He's not
become God, Trashman."
     "Regardless, he seems to have the same sense of humor as always, he
seems reasonable and reasoning, and he's making all the right noises,"
Trashman continued.  "Yes, from all appearances, the Bracers have not
really affected his judgement."
     "So you think they *have,* and he's hiding it?"
     "You're *so* bright, Doctor.  Have I told you that, lately?"
     "Not lately enough, and not in terms we shouldn't use on an open
line."  She smiled coyly.  Trashman liked that smile very much.  She
seemed more relaxed than when they spoke the day before.  The crisis was
over, of course -- but there was something else.  Something had put her
at ease....
     "What do you want to do?" she asked.  She might have been at ease,
but she was also focused on the business at hand.
     Trashman rubbed his eyes.  "I really don't know yet," he said.  "We
need to wait and see.  We need to get more information about what all
this is doing or will do to Mike.  I *might* be overreacting."
     "And you might not."
     "Always."
     "Anyhow, I should go.  Mandy's pacing the hall and trying hard to
not look at her watch.  Besides, I'm twenty minutes late for Civics,
which means by now one of the other instructors has taken over for the
day.  I need to intervene before it's too late."
     "Too late?  Who could cause that much damage in Civics class?"
     "Dangerousman."
     Trashman blinked.  "Oh dear," he said.

                           * * * * * *

     "Oh beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain..." the
collected students sang in a variety of keys and rhythms (including at
least one beat best described as `barking rap').
     "This is ridiculous," Kid Electron shouted.  "Frigid Girl and I are
*Canadian!*"
     "No talking!" cackled the Most Dangerous Man On Earth.  "Sing!
Sing!  Sing of our glorious country!  Sing of the land that threw
off the oppression of monarchy!"
     "Um, I *am* a monarch," Dreamweaver threw in, but Dangerousman was
on a roll and therefore didn't hear her.


[[Continued in Part Four]]


--
Eric Alfred Burns             | The happiest moment in anyone's life
sabre@superfluous.wa.com      | is that moment of glorious, madcap fraud
http://www.halcyon.com/sabre  | when you send personal e-mail out
Poet, Writer, Gadfly-for-Hire | on company time, like this piece here.