Chance for the Future

By Paul M. Carhart

In a futuristic world where creativity has been banned, Mancy Fairlight secretly paints pictures in her run-down apartment while raising her son. Mancy lives in constant fear that one day the same man who had engineered her husband’s public execution will discover her secret and come for her. When her son begins to exhibit extraordinary musical talent, Mancy’s worst fears become reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul M. Carhart
• Release date: Aug 13, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452315416

Paul M. Carhart

Paul M. Carhart is an award-winning Art Director in print, Internet and new media. He has produced interactive creative for Audi, Nissan/Infiniti, Toshiba and Focus on the Family and was the host of the UCCS web radio show, The Creative Underground. He often speaks on creativity, writing and design and his articles have appeared online and in local and national print publications. In addition to the Fairlight series of science fiction novels that include Chance for the Future, Hope for Tomorrow and Faith in the Past, Carhart is also the author of One of the Girls (the first in the PsyChickTM series of Young Adult superhero novels), A Stranger on Bay Street (the first in his new Worlds Collide series) and Zooming Thru Life, a nonfiction guide to the on-the-go lifestyle. He is currently halfway through the next Worlds Collide novel, A Stranger at the Gallows. And hopes to return to the Fairlight series after that. Stay up-to-date: www.paulcarhart.com.After a short time in Colorado, Paul and his wife Lori returned to Long Beach, California where they both grew up. The two of them were the driving force behind Launch Pad, a band that played the local Long Beach music scene as well as many charity functions.In Febuary 2014, four days before her birthday, Lori passed away, the results of a devastating stroke. Her death put Planetfall and subsequent books roughly a year behind schedule.Paul has continued their music in a new band, Third World Sun, made up of former Launch Pad members. They play frequently in the downtown Long Beach music scene and their first independently-produced CD will be available in December, 2015.Paul has one daughter, Melody, who is Third World Sun’s primary photographer.

Book preview

Engaging characters, witty dialogue, and page-turning action makes this one book you just can’t put down!

– Rick Bentsen, author of The Blademaster Chronicles

Chance for the Future

S p e c i a l E d i t i o n

Paul M. Carhart

Smashwords Edition

Chance for the Future

Copyright © 2000 Paul M. Carhart

Power to the People

Copyright © 2010 Paul M. Carhart

Hope for Tomorrow

Copyright © 2001 Paul M. Carhart

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chance for the Future, the short story, Power to the People, and Hope for Tomorrow (which is excerpted in these pages) are works of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

Except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, no part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without written permission from the publisher.

This book is available in print from paulcarhart.com.

Discover other titles by Paul M.Carhart at Smashwords.com:

Novels:

One of the Girls by Paul M. Carhart

Nonfiction:

Zooming Thru Life by Paul M. Carhart

C o n t e n t s

Chapter 1: Promise

Chapter 2: Party

Chapter 3: Who’s That Girl

Chapter 4: Attraction

Chapter 5: Home Sweet Home

Chapter 6: Shadow

Chapter 7: Swept Away

Chapter 8: On The Run

Chapter 9: On The Fly

Chapter 10: Shell Shock

Chapter 11: Connections

Chapter 12: Directives

Chapter 13: Evasion

Chapter 14: Diversion

Chapter 15: A Way Out

Chapter 16: Tunnel Vision

Chapter 17: Ambush

Chapter 18: Resistance

Chapter 19: Revelations

Chapter 20: Quest For Safety

Chapter 21: Goodbye

Chapter 22: Decisions

Chapter 23: Captivity

Chapter 24: Action

Chapter 25: Reaction

Chapter 26: Reunion

Chapter 27: Revision

Chapter 28: Reformed

Power to the People

Excerpt from Hope for Tomorrow

About the author

Chapter One

Promise

The cavern tunnel pitched, tossing Marc Fairlight and his friend recklessly against the wall. Despite the explosions behind them, the air was still cool. Marc picked himself up. The enemy wasn’t far behind them and there were too many to fight straight on. Their only recourse was to retreat deeper into the tunnels.

The enemy. Marc could hardly believe he had come to think of his one-time compatriots as the enemy. And yet, that’s what they had become.

Hurry up! Marc’s friend called from somewhere in the darkness. The slope was growing steeper, which made it harder on his already fatigued legs. The flashes of the near-constant explosions put spots in his vision. He stopped to catch his breath.

Don’t wait for me, Marc called. I’m coming!

An explosion shook him, knocking him again to the cavern floor. Small stones embedded themselves into his arms and the palms of his hands. The sandy floor scraped across his face. Everything blurred and seemed to slow down. He closed his eyes and it all stopped. His body sagged in relief.

Then he was being pulled up from under his arms. The blur returned.

He tried to shake it off but was sidetracked by a sweet, familiar scent. The smooth visage of his wife peered down at him, concern etched across her face.

Mancy?

Instead of a reply, he was shaken fiercely.

No. It’s Chance, his friend shouted into his face. You must’ve been hit on the head, Chance mumbled. Come on, Marc. Snap out of it!

Marc shook his head to clear it, now smelling nothing more than the dusty cave. Mancy was gone. I’m okay.

He picked himself up, snatched his rifle and brushed the loose rubble from his Enforcer uniform as he went. Chance followed closely.

I know there’s an exit up here somewhere, Marc said. He tried blinking to chase away the rest of the fog from his head.

If so, we’d be hard pressed to find it with all of the sand and rubble pouring in.

Not to mention that it’s dark.

Another explosion resounded through the caves, forcing them both to brace themselves against the walls. When the rumbling ceased, the layout of the caves had changed. There were now two tunnels to choose from.

Which way? Chance asked.

Marc shrugged, his torn uniform bunching up at the shoulders. I guess we have a fifty-fifty chance in either direction.

If either of them still go anywhere.

Point taken.

They paused for a moment. Other than a few stray pebbles skittering about, it was silent.

You hear that? Chance asked as he brushed the dust out of his eyes.

The explosions had stopped. But now there was another sound.

Enforcers, Marc breathed. He recognized the marching pattern. They must have decided they wanted him alive.

Chance opened a compartment on his belt and consulted a digital compass. They’ll be joining us soon if we don’t get going. He gestured to the tunnel on the right and took the lead. The sounds of marching feet grew louder. But Chance and Marc picked up the pace, both well aware that they were leaving the telltale signs of their footprints in the sandy cavern floor. Tracking them would pose little difficulty. They could only hope that they could find an exit before the Enforcers caught up to them.

Marc’s hope was extinguished, however, when he ran into Chance.

What?

Dead end, Chance huffed.

Marc shook his head. Don’t say that word.

Chance began sifting through the rubble. These rocks have recently settled. The exit’s got to be back here somewhere.

Marc joined him in pulling aside the rocks. If they could only clear an opening large enough for them to slip through, they might actually escape. As they hauled aside the debris, the footsteps echoed louder through the cavern.

Okay, I think we can get through now, Chance remarked.

Then get in there.

That bump on the head must have done more damage than I thought, Chance replied. You’ve got a family. You go first.

"That’s not the point. These Enforcers don’t even know you’re with me. If anyone has to get caught, it’s me. I’m the one they’re after. Too much is at stake to risk your capture."

The footsteps were now punctuated with voices, although the echo obscured the exact words.

More than anyone, you know what they do to traitors, Chance cautioned. His eyebrow arched to make an unspoken point.

Marc fixed Chance with his gaze. They’ll catch us both if we spend what little time we have left arguing.

Chance frowned, furrowing his brow.

So get going! Marc ordered. Besides, I’m right behind you.

Chance leapt head first into the dark gap, his face appearing through the hole seconds later.

But it was too late. The Enforcers had arrived and they brought erupting energy fire with them.

Marc slung his rifle over his shoulder and drew his sidearm. Three of the oncoming soldiers fell with his first four shots. He was ridiculously outnumbered but there was no turning back now.

The enemy fired back, forcing Marc to take refuge behind a mound of larger debris. The lasers splashed harmlessly against the rubble.

Get in here, Chance called. I’ll cover you.

Chance squeezed off two shots. One of them picked off the lead Enforcer. Of course, Chance’s plan was futile. The moment Marc turned his back to dive through the hole, he would be riddled by energy bolts. Marc knew the Enforcer mindset better than anyone. They would rather take him dead than allow him to escape. General Starrk would tolerate nothing less.

Bolts of energy continued to illuminate the tunnel. Sweat beaded on Marc’s brow, matting the dust into his unkempt blond hair.

Chance fired again, missing his target, but skewering the man’s weapon.

The soldier dipped down for his sidearm.

Chance was not as good a shot as Marc was. There was no way he could hold off the Enforcers alone should Marc be caught. As the endless stream of Enforcers poured into view, Marc made a decision.

He holstered his pistol and hefted his more powerful rifle in his hands. Making the most of his Enforcer training, he leapt out from behind the bolt-scarred debris he had been hiding behind and, dodging incoming laser bolts, flew out into the fray. His finger lodged the trigger back flat against the guard. Two more of his opposition fell away. He landed on his side, scraping slowly to a halt on the other side of the cavern floor.

Chance’s rifleless soldier lined his newly-drawn pistol up with Marc’s head.

I’m done for.

But the soldier did not fire. Marc locked eyes with the young man. He did not recognize him. Why hadn’t he pulled the trigger? Second thoughts about firing on Enforcer colors? For what seemed like an hour - in reality, mere seconds - Marc and the young Enforcer held each other’s gaze. Then, a flash of energy took the soldier down.

Whether the deadly blast had been a ricochet or had come intentionally from Chance was unimportant.

An Enforcer with compassion, Marc thought. Perhaps the world still has a chance after all.

Of course, the world was now without that Enforcer. Were there others like him?

Marc put the man out of mind and rolled to the side of the cavern. Another Enforcer flashed past him.

Another Enforcer!

There were just too many of them.

Get out of here! he cried to Chance. He squeezed off another shot that penetrated his target’s uniform chest plate. The smoking Enforcer crumpled to the ground. You’re more important to the cause than I am! You’ve got to go now!

Marc could see the frustration on his friend’s dirt-smeared face through the opening. You’re crazy! Chance accused. Your wife! A child on the way, for Christ’s sake!

Marc squeezed off the last shot in his rifle, this one missing by just a few inches. Just get out of here! He leapt for the opening and tossed his empty rifle aside. The sound of it clanking against the rocks echoed in the cavern. Go! If they take me alive...

You’ll be tortured for information and killed, Chance finished, his eyes wincing as an Enforcer’s energy blast hit near the opening. Chance fired back but the shot went wide.

Marc checked the charge on his pistol. Only a few shots left. He switched the setting to auto-repeat.

Another energy bolt hit the rocks to the right of Marc’s head. He ducked and Chance fired again, this time piercing the guilty party through the forehead.

Marc raised his eyebrows, impressed. Listen, you’re too important to the cause to be captured here.

I can’t leave you.

You don’t have a choice.

Chance’s eyes widened as Marc stepped back and lifted his weapon over his head. An enemy bolt harmlessly splashed against the wall to Marc’s left, barely missing him. But Marc didn’t even flinch.

Marc, no!

But there was no longer any other choice.

Marc’s finger tightened on the trigger. His weapon discharged its remaining energy into the ceiling. The rock face exploded overhead.

The remaining Enforcers retreated from the falling debris.

Marc uttered two more words. Tell Mancy…

I will, Chance cried as the dust and rocks separated them. And I’ll look after her!

The avalanche settled over the opening without comment, obscuring Chance forever from Marc’s view.

Marc turned, threw down his empty pistol and put his hands on top of his head.

The remaining Enforcers stormed him, their rifles trained on his head and chest. They forced him onto the ground. Within seconds, his hands were secured behind his back.

Goodbye, Mancy, he whispered just as he felt the prick of a needle in the back of his neck.

Chapter Two

Confrontation

Time enough had passed for the dust to have settled...

At least that’s what Mancy was expected to believe. Of course, Mancy Fairlight was too single-minded to buy into such beliefs. She merely continued to act out her part for Lizabeth.

And anyone else she might run into, for that matter. What was in her mind and heart, after all, was her own business.

I’m so glad you agreed to let me escort you to this event, Lizabeth crooned as she fussed and fawned over Mancy’s dress, make-up and hair. They stepped onto the moving walkway that led up to the Terrace Level. It’s time you got on with your life.

Mancy nodded in mock-agreement.

Lizabeth dabbed at Mancy’s lipstick, You are sooooo pretty, Mancy, when you smile and have me to do you up right. Did I mention that I am so glad that you are attending this event?

Three times a day since I agreed to undergo this torture, Mancy thought. I’m glad that you’re glad, she said aloud.

After all, six years is a long time. Your husband… Mancy skewered her with a stare. Well, it’s about time to get your head out of the clouds and get on with your life, Lizabeth said. Besides, you never know who you might meet.

Mancy didn’t want to meet anyone. Every night her bed was conspicuously empty. But it was a void she didn’t wish to fill. She wasn’t sure if she would ever get over losing Marc. At least not until she knew what had really happened to him.

Even by working at The Government Building, she had only been able to discover that Marc’s criminal file had been sealed. That was all!

Whatever you say, Lizabeth, Mancy replied aloud. She didn’t even remember what it was she was agreeing to.

As it should be, Lizabeth remarked. How else do you think you have risen so high, sooo quickly at the office? Stick with me and you’ll go far.

I’m the Secretary to the Undersecretary of the Chairman’s Assistant, Mancy thought. About the only thing I know about the affairs of The Government is where the bathroom is... and I have to look that up on a directory.

And I thank you for your help, Lizabeth.

You’re welcome, Lizabeth grunted. She straightened a stray strand of Mancy’s hair one last time as the moving walkway dumped them at their destination.

A set of tall, reflective double doors stood before them. Mancy took a moment to scrutinize her reflection. Her mop of chestnut hair diminished her medium height and build. But tonight, she wore a sparkling red dress with a sash around the waist, a loan from Lizabeth, that made her green eyes glisten like Christmas ornaments.

Which was about as far as Mancy dared to go. She didn’t want to attract the wrong sort of attention.

Still, she had not dressed this nice since she had lost her husband. Was she doing the right thing now?

Biting her lip in nervous anticipation, she pushed a strand of her unruly hair out of her face. She had never been able to get her hair under control and it was just a little reassuring to know that even the fashionably almighty Lizabeth could do little to tame it either.

In the reflection, Lizabeth was a good half a foot taller and considerably fuller in figure than Mancy. Her mentor’s face was pretty in a sculpted, artificial way. Right down to the small mole on her cheek that Mancy could swear changed position from day to day. Her well-endowed bust taxed her extravagant lilac gown, but was restrained in some way that Mancy could not fathom. Lizabeth’s hair was a bleached platinum, almost to the point of snow white, and was arranged in a lavish array that towered far over both of them. Mancy was reminded of a flocked Christmas tree.

Ready, dear? Lizabeth inquired. Others are coming behind us.

Mancy took a deep breath and held it. She couldn’t bring herself to answer.

Come along then, Lizabeth insisted as she took Mancy by the arm and stepped forward, dragging wide-eyed Mancy with her. And don’t forget to smile. Lizabeth reached out and touched the door chime.

Identify, the mono-tone voice droned through the small speaker on the wall.

Lizabeth Stevens and... she paused to let Mancy say her name in her own voiceprint. Mancy bit her lip but didn’t speak. Lizabeth jerked Mancy’s arm to get her attention.

Uh...Mancy Fairlight.

A few seconds ticked by. This is definitely a mistake, Mancy thought as she twisted a stray strand of hair.

The double doors swung wide, revealing a vast antiseptic room that apparently served as the ballroom. The unmistakable sound of human chatter wafted toward them.

Enter, the mono-tone voice ordered.

Lizabeth, swiping Mancy’s fidgeting hand away from her hair, led the way through the double doors, tugging her protégé along with a spirited flourish.

Mancy paused to take in every detail from the noisily chatting patrons of the party to the sanitary odors of the colorless food being served. As expected, there was no entertainment of any kind. Not even background music.

Lizabeth tugged harder, leading Mancy into the center of a world she cared little about becoming a part of. Even visiting for one evening seemed distasteful and somehow wrong.

Lizabeth steered them toward the food and drink table.

This is always the first stop, Lizabeth whispered. It’s central to the action. Mancy nodded, pretending to be aware of such things... and that she cared.

When they reached the table full of unappetizing concoctions that smelled more like medicine than food, Lizabeth did not even feign interest in the cuisine. Instead, she scanned the room.

What are you looking for? Mancy asked.

Shhh. Watch and learn.

Mancy followed Lizabeth’s line of sight, which pinpointed two men on the other side of the expansive room. One of the men wore an Enforcer uniform.

The other man was a tall, dashing man who was dressed impeccably in nearly all black. He balanced a full drink in his right hand as if it wasn’t even there. His jet-black hair was slicked back as if he had just showered and he sported a short-cropped goatee. Clearly having a better time than anyone else at the party, the man was trying to engage his uniformed colleague in conversation, to little or no avail.

The uniformed man was older and Mancy recognized him despite the distance. Her face flushed and she took a step back.

I can’t believe I’m in the same room with that horrid man!"

Stay right here," Lizabeth ordered. She left to glide across the room.

Absently, Mancy took a disposable cup from the table, her eyes never leaving the man in the uniform.

I knew this was a mistake.

She reached over to the punch bowl, felt around until she had the ladle in her hand and lifted it to fill her cup.

Lizabeth greeted the handsome man first, then the other.

Lizabeth is his friend?

Mancy turned the ladle sideways only to pour punch all over the table.

The people around her snickered and the ruckus rippled throughout the room.

Glancing down, she could plainly see the punch all over the table and some of the food. It was also dripping, rather generously, onto the floor. Some of it had even splashed onto her dress. Grinning sheepishly, Mancy again pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face and replaced the ladle in the punch bowl. She shrugged helplessly at the onlookers and stepped back from the table.

That’s when the ladle slipped deeper into the bowl. The handle twisted in the process, knocking over a tower of upside-down-stacked cups, which went clattering across the floor.

Again, the guests were laughing. Not knowing what else to do, Mancy slinked back against the wall where she felt she could do no more damage.

Definitely a mistake.

Regaining her bearings, Mancy peered across the room to discover what had become of Lizabeth. After all, she was the only familiar face at the party besides that uniformed man. But Lizabeth, too, had witnessed Mancy’s punch bowl antics. The woman was charging across the room with her right hand extended toward Mancy and her left hand reaching up to support her teetering hair arrangement.

I don’t need a babysitter.

Mancy slid down the wall to a seated position. She wrapped both of her arms around her knees. Already, she had made quite a mess of things. She didn’t want to interact with anyone else.

If I can just get out of here, she thought as she craned her neck in search of an exit.

Mancy, are you alright? Mancy never had a chance to answer. I guess I really can’t leave you alone in a place like this, Lizabeth muttered. Never mind. Come with me. You’re here. I’ll introduce you to some people.

Mancy shook her head vehemently. Lizzy, I...

Don’t be ridiculous, Lizabeth countered. It’ll do you good. Besides, can it possibly get worse?

Knowing who the uniformed man was, Mancy believed it could.

Can’t we just go?

Lizabeth pulled Mancy to her feet and patted her hair neatly into itself. Nonsense. She turned to face the two men and waved coquettishly. The handsome one nodded, a sparkle in his eye. The uniformed man, on the other hand, turned away from them ever so slightly. Lizabeth, without even trying, scooped up the ladle and filled two of the remaining cups with punch. She handed one to Mancy.

Come along, Lizabeth commanded as she led Mancy across the room.

With her free hand, Mancy straightened her dress and, once again, pushed her wild tresses away from her eyes. She bumped into the back of Lizabeth only to discover they had arrived before the two men. This time, only a couple drops of punch had sprinkled onto the floor.

Hello again, gentlemen, Lizabeth began. Both men nodded, the handsome one fighting down an amused smirk. I’d like to introduce you to someone. She stepped aside, unveiling Mancy from behind her. This is Mancy.

The handsome man’s left eyebrow arched, distorting a slight scar that traced its way across his forehead. Pleased to meet you. After only a brief pause, he took her hand and bowed. He was certainly charming, despite the scar. He straightened, the drink in his other hand still full. My name is Chance. He gestured toward the other man. And my dour friend here is none other than...

I know who he is, Mancy spat.

Did I just say that?

Lizabeth took a step back.

Of course you do, the uniformed man remarked. His speech was sharp, punctuated with an arrogant aristocratic accent. I am General Starrk, Commander and Chief of the Enforcement Corps. He lifted his drink with a well-manicured hand and tossed back half of it. You, no doubt, have seen me on the NewsNet.

Yes, no doubt, Lizabeth breathed. You do look so smashing on those broadcasts, General.

Mancy rolled her eyes.

The general nodded, an extra fold in his neck bunching up against his tight collar.

The general’s uniform was immaculately cared for without a visible snag or prick. His boots were perfectly polished and he wore many medals upon his left breast that, to Mancy, all looked pretty much the same. His hair was a silver that glistened in the light of the room and his eyes were like cold steel. In fact, he seemed to look right through her, even when his gaze was not fixed upon her.

If she spent another moment in General Starrk’s presence, Mancy expected to either explode or to shut down completely.

She exploded.

You killed my husband! Mancy cried as she tossed the whole of her drink across his uniform.

Time stopped.

She stared at him.

He glared back.

Her cup slipped out of her hand and bounced harmlessly to the floor, echoing throughout the spacious hall.

It was the only sound in the room.

The general pursed his lips. Oh really? he asked as he glanced down at his once pristine uniform. And which criminal would that have been?

She didn’t really mean it, sir, Lizabeth babbled as she attempted to brush off the general’s uniform.

Mancy was astonished. Lizabeth was supposed to be her friend. Why was she performing damage control for these low lifes? Mancy’s fiery gaze locked with Lizabeth’s.

Some friend, Mancy decided.

Quite all right, Starrk remarked as he stepped away from Lizabeth’s attentions. She obviously has me confused with someone else.

Obviously, Chance smirked.

Mancy had heard, and for that matter, done enough. She feared what she might say if she stayed for another instant so she bolted from their presence, stomping past the food table on her way out. Her left foot slipped in a stray puddle of punch and, her arms windmilling in an attempt to keep her balance, she went flying up into the air. Her legs flailed about and she landed on her behind with a crimson splash, her dress hiked up to her thighs and her hair reaching out in all directions.

Apparently, the cleaning service hadn’t yet been out to wipe up her previous mess. Now she had been cast in the roll of the mop.

Mancy just sat there for a few seconds, dripping. One sob escaped but that was all. It had been so long since she could remember feeling anything at all. Now she was going to cry in front of everyone?

You picked a fine time for an emotional breakthrough.

Mancy bit her lip and picked herself up, left foot sliding some in the spillage. She gave Lizabeth, and then Starrk, one last flower-wilting glare before storming out through the double doors.

Guess I don’t have to worry about being asked to attend another one of these parties.

She took the moving walkway three steps at a time. As soon as she hit the street, she broke into a run, leaving red punch-stained footprints behind her.

Definitely a mistake, she thought as the night air whipped past her face.

Now that she was alone, the tears flowed freely but her crying was silent. She was embarrassed, but now she began to fully comprehend the ramifications of her actions. She knew first hand what General Starrk was capable of.

A cold grip clutched her heart.

What have I done?

Mancy picked up her pace, sprinting as fast as she could, her red dress and wild hair flowing behind her like the tail of a comet.

I’ve got to get home!

Chapter Three

Who’s That Girl?

Major Fredrik Tannk wiped the sleep from his eyes.

An alarm resounded throughout his quarters. He flailed about for the source of the sound. After a few moments, his fingers finally found the button. But the sound continued.

Tannk sat up, shaking his head, trying to clear it. Must not have been the wake-up alarm.

He scrambled out of bed and, after throwing a shirt on, made for the vidphone on the wall. Running his fingers through his tightly cropped hair, he drew in a breath before pressing the blinking activation button.

The screen flickered to life. On the monitor, a lower ranking Enforcer stood at attention, concern staining his face.

Sergeant Miles reporting, sir, the man blurted. Tannk nudged the volume down a notch but said nothing. Sir, I have an important message for General Starrk.

Tannk glanced at his wrist-chrono, flicking on the dim backlight. It was just after ten o’clock.

So why are you calling me, Sergeant? Tannk inquired, suppressing an urge to scratch the back of his neck. Can’t you contact the general directly?

The general seems to be, uh, unavailable, sir.

* * *

Tannk approached his task with trepidation. Disturbing the general at the annual fundraising event was not at the top of his to-do list. Still, this particular message could not wait. It was one of those damned if you do, damned if you don’t situations.

Not wishing to draw attention to himself, Tannk had selected a discreet entrance to the ballroom. He announced himself in mid-stride as he approached the door. The mono-toned voice had no chance to prompt him.

Tannk, Major, he said.

Military voice print identified, the voice replied. Enter.

The small door slid up. Tannk paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the well-lit ballroom beyond. The general was easy to spot. One measured step followed another. Major Tank approached his commanding officer with a brisk military gait.

As if in combat, Tannk took in the environment and sized up the room. He recognized two people conversing with the general. One was that brash, rather roguish, young entrepreneur who went by the name of Chance. Also present was, that eternal schmoozer, Lizabeth Stevens. At one time or another, Lizabeth had thrown herself at every being of the masculine persuasion who had ever been in the Government’s employ. Excluding, of course, Tannk himself. He thought it would be best to keep it that way.

Tannk halted and saluted the general.

Lizabeth Stevens continued to talk.

Interrupt or not?

The general would probably be grateful for the diversion. Indeed, Tannk might even get a promotion.

Tannk straightened his uniform and took the last step required to make him part of their group.

General Starrk, sir. His eyes appraised the general carefully. Tannk was taken aback by the general’s appearance. Starrk was dripping with punch, a puddle forming at his feet.

At ease, Major, Starrk replied. As you can see, I am not the epitome of formality myself.

Tannk allowed his posture to relax. Sir, may I ask?

No you may not. Starrk waved down a passing waiter. Get me a napkin. The waiter unquestioningly headed off on his mission.

Tannk bristled at the rebuke. Well, on to business then.

Sir, I have come to deliver a message.

Starrk returned his attention to the major. Official business?

Tannk nodded.

The waiter returned, slipping up next to the general with a handful of plain white napkins. Starrk took them with a polite nod before the waiter disappeared once again. Discarding all but one of the napkins, the general bent down and snatched up a loose disposable cup from the floor.

How had Tannk missed that detail?

Starrk lifted the cup into view. Tannk noticed Chance’s eyebrow arch at the sight of the cup. The general smirked. Major, retain this for future use, he ordered.

Tannk nodded and took the cup along with the napkin, holding them with the same care and concern as Starrk had.

The general spun to face Chance. It appears that duty calls. This rather fascinating conversation will have to be continued at another time.

With a flash of teeth, Chance nodded. When duty calls, General Starrk, dedicated soldiers such as you have no other choice but to comply. He lifted his full drink in salute.

Indeed, Starrk muttered. He snapped back to Tannk. Major, if you would lead on.

Tannk turned about and marched back the way he had come, still cautiously carrying the cup within the napkin. General Starrk followed, precisely in step.

Goodbye, General! Lizabeth sang.

Tannk ignored her. Nearly everyone in the room watched them as they departed. Tannk surmised, by the state of the general’s uniform, that something of a scene had occurred just prior to his arrival and he was relieved that he hadn’t been a part of it. However, whether he liked it or not, Tannk figured he would find out more than he wanted soon enough. Indeed, he doubted if he would be returning to bed anytime soon.

The two soldiers reached the small doorway.

Tannk, Major.

The door slid up. Enter, the voice said.

They marched through the doorway into the dark bowels of the Government building. The door fell like a guillotine behind them, slicing them off from the brightly lit party beyond.

I could use a new uniform, Starrk remarked as he picked up his pace, briskly passing Tannk in the dark corridor.

Sir, Tannk began, working hard to keep up with the general, although my timing was probably fortuitous, I did interrupt you for a reason.

It will keep, Starrk replied. As they reached the lift, Starrk pressed his palm into the hand receptacle and waited for the relatively quick scan. I want a complete cellular and biological scan on that cup. Get it and meet me in my office in five minutes.

Tannk saluted. Aye, sir.

The door opened and Starrk stepped into the lift.

Five minutes, Starrk reminded as he punched in the appropriate floor.

Five minutes, sir, Tannk echoed.

The lift doors hadn’t even closed before Tannk broke into a run. Raising his left hand as he went, he set his wrist-chrono to count down from five minutes.

As Tannk reached the forensics lab, he placed his palm in the hand receptacle. A few seconds later, the door slid open. Tannk darted into the dark room.

One word from him brought up the lights. The lab was deserted at this time of night. He stepped over to the scanner and pushed up the power lever. While the scanner was warming up, Tannk entered the physical attributes of the cup as well as the circumstances of its discovery into the scan log. Then he donned the appropriate protective goggles to shield his eyes from the scanner’s intense light.

He placed the cup into the small, squarish scan booth. Stepping back, he expertly pointed the barrel of the scanner at the booth, bringing the cup into the viewfinder just as the warm-up light flickered off. He pushed the blinking yellow pre-scan button and the scanner reacted to the booth’s reflective walls, automatically locating the multiple reflections of the cup and logging their positions.

He pushed the blinking red scan button. An intense laser beam stretched forth from the scan barrel, reading and relaying back to the device through various light spectrums every iota of information there was to be had regarding the cup. Texture, contour, molecular structure and a myriad of other usually trivial information began to scroll across the scan monitor’s screen.

Within seconds, the scanner had downloaded the information into a tiny, data card which promptly ejected itself from the side of the device into Tannk’s open hand. Tannk tossed the goggles aside and ordered off the lights. Data card in hand, he sprinted back down the corridor.

He skidded to a halt outside General Starrk’s office with thirteen seconds to spare. He slipped the data card into his upper right jacket pocket before pressing his hand up against the receptacle. The door rushed opened with the familiar servomotor hiss.

Tannk stepped through the doorway and came to attention.

Starrk’s office reflected the general himself: pristine and upright. A large desk took up the center of the room. An even larger window revealed the city below. Other than the city lights shining through the window, the room was dark. Silhouetted against the man-made starscape, and facing toward the spectacle, stood General Starrk, his hands clasped behind his back.

You didn’t make bad time, Major, he remarked without facing his subordinate. Do you have the information I requested?

Yes sir, Tannk replied.

Starrk turned around, a thin smile etching its way across his engraved features. At ease, Major, he hissed. I will further require your services this evening.

Tannk nodded. Of course you will.

Let’s have it then, Starrk purred.

Tannk withdrew the data card from his pocket and dropped it over the general’s outstretched hand.

Without a word, Starrk swiped the data card away, using only his wrist, and inserted it into a slot on the top of the desk. The huge window flickered, proving itself to be a gigantic computer monitor. It lit up the room with an eerie incandescent glow.

Major, if you could? Starrk gestured to a small workstation nestled next to a bookshelf along the left wall of the office. Starrk reclined in a throne-like plush chair behind the large desk.