Forbidden Tomorrow: Part I

By John W. Twilley

Vince Akeeno is a star ship engineer for Space Dynamics, a space trade company. His friend and attorney, Eddy Larch, becomes embroiled in a conflict involving Vinces estranged wife and Bruno Carlton, a famous prizefighter and gangster. Eddy must help Vince fight the sinister syndicate before hes murdered, but Vince actually has bigger problems.

He has an idea on how to save humankind from extinction. As soon as he makes his suggestion, however, it quickly becomes clear that no man is more qualified for the job than Vincebut hes not sure he wants to play the hero. Despite his hesitation, the military wrangles him into service and trains him to command a special ship called the Defiant.

The Defiant will take the last of humankind to another world. Meanwhile, aliens are invading and attacking civilization. Will Vince, an unlikely redeemer, take command of the Defiant in time to save the human race? Will his personal embroilments get in the way, especially when he develops feelings for Eddy? There is no time for hesitation in this game of life and death, survival and destruction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781532007101

John W. Twilley

John W. Twilley served in the Vietnam War as a computer technician and has worked as a computer scientist at both Data Computing and Central Exploration in Oklahoma. He attended Oklahoma State University and Central State University and is the author of Nether World. He now lives in Del City, Oklahoma, with his wife and family.

Book preview

Chapter 1

At home, Vince Akeeno watched the Langley, a trader starship, come to Earth on schedule, except that it could not land. Pirates intercepted her as she made her last leg of a trade route to home. The company reporter explained the situation. The 3D display showed the ship under attack. It was out of reach of the Earth Space Patrol and too far into Sol System for Earth Star Fleet to intercept. The ship went into high orbit and the pirate captain sent a message that his landing servos had failed. He wanted a repair crew from Earth to rendezvous in orbit. Otherwise, he would drop bombs on Midwest Spaceport.

What are you doing, Vince? Nora said.

His estranged wife hoped to catch him at something.

Got a call from work, Vince said. Go back to your couch.

You don’t tell me what to do, she said.

Vince went to his workroom with Nora following him. He waved at the sensor before she came running into his room. Her muffled shouting did not bother him. Another call came in on his secure channel. After the call, he left his house by way of his personal exit to the garage. His house was in the Alpine Addition on Reservoir Hill in Tulsa, Oklahoma near army headquarters. He had to go south to Midwest Spaceport. In doing this, he had to bypass the usual protocol because the call had been an emergency. Pirates were incoming.

The audacity of this crime convinced Vince that something big wanted his attention. No pirated ship ever came this close to home.

Everything he did to get to the spaceport blurred up to the moment when he landed his car in the midst of shuttlecraft. He ran from his car to the nearest one.

Two pilots greeted him with enthusiasm. The one on his left said, "I’m Don, and this is Banger."

You guys army? Vince said. He wanted them to be at ease, but they did not look like they needed assurance. He had a plan, but he knew he could expect death if he made a mistake. It would be a dangerous ploy. It involved a fake button and fast talk.

Port security, Don said. "We work for Space Dynamics."

"We have word that only the Langley is in a parking orbit, Vince said. Pirates hijacked the ship on the last leg of her trade route."

Banger grinned evilly.

Don said, "Banger is a natural marksman."

It’s a bad situation, Vince said. Don’t go with me if you expect this to be easy.

Banger had tiny mean eyes. He also carried a lot of muscle weight. Don was lean. Both of them seemed competent. Let’s go see it, Vince said.

The shuttle wall was a temporary ramp. They walked up it into the hold. The ramp rose until it was a wall. Darkness became light as the shuttle powered up.

We better move fast, Vince said.

Without a word, Don and Banger went to the pilots’ cabin.

Vince buckled his seat belt because of no artificial gravity.

The shuttle left the spaceport driving up through dark clouds. Vince felt every change in direction and speed. The pilots were good. They kept the course within safe limits of human tolerance. They matched orbit and landed in the shuttle bay of the pirated ship.

Vince stepped out of the shuttle, his pilots following on either side.

The captain waited there. His belly hung out of his tight uniform and his red beard spread out over his chest.

Pirates shot Don and Banger before they could react.

Vince stood alone between two dead men.

Where is my repair crew? the captain said.

Vince did not dare show fear. What are you wearing? Vince said. That isn’t our standard uniform.

It’s something new we’re trying out, the captain said. I’m Captain Dorman, and you are not the repair crew I expected. He scratched his belly absently.

We’re not a military operation, Vince said. Your uniform is military issue, from where? My pilots were not soldiers. Why did you have them shot?

"We don’t need Space Dynamics clown suits, he said. Your men had weapons in their hands. My men followed instincts. When can we expect repair of our landing gear?"

Vince moved toward the main moving walkway. It would take him to the aft sections of the Langley. There he would find engineering and the offending anti-gravity servos.

What are you doing? Captain Dorman said. He wheeled about with difficulty, having to shift his weight.

I’ll inspect your landing gear, Vince said. Is that a problem?

Well, no, he said. He pursued Vince, who kept a fast pace.

They both arrived at engineering where a corridor led to the damaged servos, which upon first glance seemed to be okay. Vince went to a particular station. A display showed operational feed. He slapped the control panel. His extra button appeared. To the untrained eye, nothing was different. Vince had supplied a new piece of equipment that would cause the monitor to display false information. Now, it was time for his lie. The servo seems fine.

Check the others, Captain Dorman said. He was out of breath.

Vince said, This monitor says you have several days before your computer systems fail. I don’t know why you reported a problem, but you can land anytime. The servos will hold out that long.

Vince turned to face Captain Dorman.

The captain pointed a weapon at him. It was of the energy emitter type, military issue, illegal, even in space.

"Now, you better tell Midwest to send up that repair crew," Captain Dorman said.

Why would I do that? Vince said.

Because I’ll kill you and drop bombs on your spaceport, he said.

"You won’t escape from our Space Patrol, Vince said. They will overhaul your ship before it gets past Jupiter. There will be nothing but prison for you if you don’t land and surrender this ship. Space Dynamics will allow you to leave without charges if you do that."

We’re not landing, said Captain Dorman.

Vince said, "Someone, passing as a repairman, down there in a shuttle, is waiting to get clearance for the Langley?"

Captain Dorman grinned. You’re getting smart.

Who captained this ship? Vince said. It won’t matter if you tell me.

You’re right, Captain Dorman said. "You can thank your local crime syndicate for that. We’re making loot by grabbing cargo for the bosses on Earth. As for the former captain, you can find him floating between Jupiter and Mars."

Vince said, "The crime syndicate would not sanction an independent action like this. You know that you’re sandwiched between two enemies. The person you deal with is a murderer. He won’t let you live. He has his own crew."

Captain Dorman said, "He is a one-of-a-kind man. Earth is dying. He will take us to another planet. I’ll get what I deserve."

A shot of energy from your own weapon? Vince said. Whoever you have waiting is crazy as a rat chasing a bug. You’re in trouble. You know it.

Captain Dorman let his chest swell, and said, "We have a plan. He’s bringing pens with him, enough to build a colony. We’ll have plenty of workers."

Vince knew that pens were an alien crystal technology that would allow storage of a human body for transference to computer media. Thus, making a means for putting a person into virtual reality.

Vince wondered how pens would build anything. He had to keep talking. A psychotic with big ideas and a captain who is so gullible he bolsters his impotent ship?

Captain Dorman said. "He is Bruno Carlton, the former Heavyweight Champion of America. He’ll lead us to a better place."

The captain’s answer was what Vince needed. Vince suspected Bruno was behind this bold plan. This same asshole was trying to extort money through his wife. She was under Bruno’s spell. She would empty Vince’s bank accounts if she could. He shook himself mentally. He must return to Midwest Spaceport to martial the authorities. That would be his next feat of magic. How will you accomplish that with a dead ship?

Prove it, Captain Dorman said.

Vince said, Look at the efficiency percentage counting back on this monitor. I can’t change it. It says you have less than three-days to get to safety. The servos will die. Then your only option is to get the aliens to help you land somewhere.

The aliens kill humans, Captain Dorman said. We won’t get any help from them.

What do you think Bruno will do when you tell him the ship is unworthy for travel, Vince said. You think he can fix this?

Captain Dorman said, He might.

Okay, I’ll call his shuttle, Vince said. He reached for his communicator.

Not too fast, Captain Dorman said. His gun leveled at Vince.

Vince brought the device out of his front pocket. He tapped in the number for port security. "I need the shuttle designated for repair of the Langley. Direct the call to a Mister Carlton."

A moment passed while the Langley computer efficiency dropped to 97%. Then Bruno Carlton answered. You better get us off the planet fast!

Vince said, "The Langley will die. The story about the servos failing worked, but the aliens you met left a malware package when they were onboard. This thing is counting down."

Is Dorman there? Bruno said.

He’s here, Vince said. Vince handed Captain Dorman the communicator.

"What should we do about this malware? Captain Dorman said. I think this guy knows his business."

Bruno said, Take the ship out of orbit and wait for me to arrive. I have an anti-virus program with me. We’ll be able to leave Earth space with no problems.

Captain Dorman did not smile. "You better run for it. Port security knows where you are. You might transmit your virus killer. Otherwise, time will run out. I’m watching the timer. There’s not enough time to leave Sol System."

The connection broke.

I bet he’s making a run for it now, Vince said. Bruno would get out of reach of the port authorities. He had plenty of time since the shuttle he hijacked from Midwest Spaceport must be somewhere distant from landing zones.

I’m heading for the bridge, Captain Dorman said. "We’ll land in Midwest Spaceport. Any possibility you’re a man of your word?" Captain Dorman kept walking toward a lift that would take him to the bridge. He did not look back.

Vince said, You’ll not be charged. Your crew will be unmolested. But, you will lose your ship.

I hope I catch Bruno, Captain Dorman said. His voice became faint with distance. He owes me a ship.

Vince went back to the shuttle bay. Along the way, he elbowed a passerby in the throat. He recovered the man’s weapon, another illegal gun. While Captain Dorman tried to land, Vince headed for an alternate entrance to the shuttle bay. He needed to return to Space Dynamics before Langley left orbit. The pirates on Langley could expect arrest and execution. Vince had no conscience about lying to a pirate. Dorman’s men had murdered all Langley’s crew and their families except those sold to slavery.

He came into the shuttle bay behind a deadly reception. He gave them a little warning. Hello there, Vince said. Then he took the first one to turn cutting off his head with one shot. The three others lost two kneecaps, an arm, and one had a hole in his middle. Don and Banger remained where they had fallen. He crossed the distance to the shuttle. He pulled the dead pilots back into the cabin. The pirates still fumbled for their weapons as Vince closed the shuttle door. He made his way to the controls and launched the shuttle before the captain could give orders from the bridge to blast him out of space.

The Langley landed shortly after Vince did.

The pirates gave a good account for themselves. Then the port security inspected the ship.

Vince finished decommissioning the Langley the morning of the next day. He might have taken his car, but the walk was too far. Instead, he wandered to a company shuttle exhausted. There, he sent instructions to his car to go home and park itself in his garage. Pilots on standby waited for his instructions.

He pulled two cylinders of plastic film apart, and he wrote his answers to questions with a stylus. Actual paper disappeared with the trees in circa 2250. Everything he transcribed went into the Tulsa City Database. He decommissioned the Langley. The cylinders snapped back together. A tiny winking light indicated the data transfer.

Vince said, "Take me to Alpine Addition, transponder code Akeeno. Not much frontage, so be careful."

Later, after he watched the shuttle leave, he beheld the horizon through the sweeping glass curve of his apartment window. It shook with resonance. Beyond his reflection was the encroaching ocean that submerged half of America. Texas and half of Oklahoma were under the Gulf of Mexico.

While watching the rebound of millions of tons of salt water against a protective wall, he stripped off his stinking company uniform. A fast wash with his steam wand refreshed his body. A change of clothes completed his ritual, pulling on a light tunic with bright colors. There was a ghostly image with a muscular build standing in the living room window. He put his legs into elastic banded slacks. The rumbling storm did not distract him even though the ground shook. He would try to make this a short day so he might catch up on sleep, instead of doing a 48-hour day.

Nora Craven, his wife, a commercial model, slept in, while he got his early start with no sleep. She would not miss him. She probably dreamed of Bruno.

Vince must remove the man from his life. Laws were different in the 25th century. All crime was punishable by death unless you were careful or powerful.

He pulled on his high-topped socks. The style and materials of his clothing were an acceptable custom. He strove to do the right thing by his job, which meant looking professional. He wanted to breathe and smell the air of life but the Community life demanded a conformity, which included elastic clothing not suitable for outdoors. It also included a mask he had to wear when he was outdoors in public. The mutating viruses in the air and rain could kill a person. Medical science had cured a long list of human afflictions but the tiny sub-molecular life of a virus persisted, hence the terror of infection lived on. Add to that terror the fact that the human immune system was weak from years of devastating war. Women would scream and men would flee from contracting a common cold. Vince would not wear the mask. His rebellious spirit refused.

He would stop by his father’s house for coffee on the way. He allowed himself this because it brought him closer to sanity. Long hours pushed him to craziness.

People, according to his father, once wore leather shoes. They had thick sloppy pants held up by a strip of animal skin with voluminous shirts clasped with primitive things, called buttons. He imagined how people looked centuries ago walking to their rusty ground cars in the rain and driving along a muddy ground road amidst a jungle of brick walled buildings.

The last thing he did was his shoes, which were extra soft with a tough pliant material. He might walk across broken glass, if need be, without cutting his feet. The shoes could grip a wet surface. He would not slip, like during a rainy day, like today.

No one went outside for long periods, not since the viral mutations were getting worse. They went everywhere in cars. No one thought much about it but cars were much like flying rooms. Work was more of a priority. The cars provided a mobile living space. Life centered on constant movement. A person slept on couches instead of beds. Vince recalled Joe explaining what a bed was. He actually had one in his house.

He finished dressing and moved to his destination.

He waved at the garage entrance. It slid aside revealing seven new cars with different colors of enamel and patterns of design. His was dark blue with red streaks. Nothing metal existed. Rusting cars lived in the distant past along with dents and collisions.

In the garage, his voice echoed, Open-open-open… The bubble shield on the front of his car lifted. He walked up to the entrance that sloped into the car, and then down into the crushed velvet upholstered couch area. His preference was burgundy. Vince said, Close please.

Once seated, he watched the shield close, cutting off the rain sounds that drummed the metal walls of the garage. It was gloomy without the interior lights. He touched the main display button set in the right armrest. A dark green square on the piloting grid brightened. It displayed his last racing trek to the spaceport to get to the shuttle launch area.

Vince relaxed this time. He watched the canopy iris of the garage open to the boiling depths of rain. The drops fell like bunches of spears hurdled from infinity as he looked up. He touched the lift control. The automatic pilot engaged as the car rose from the garage. He ascended into the heavens against the imaginary onslaught.

For two centuries, his family credits had maintained the ancestral home. Now, there was just his father. Family estates were rare. He wanted his father to come live at his house because there were no protections in his twenty-first century home but he was stubborn.

His father’s house was open to all kinds of diseases. Vince went to visit him anyway. He even sympathized with the way Joe lived. Still, he had to do something. Joe was getting too old.

He was cruising through the storm heading south to the wilderness when a communication monitor arose from a slot. The display brightened. Eddy Larch, his combination lawyer and girlfriend, smiled at him.

His spirits rose. His car shifted in the wind, causing him to do corrections while he said, Eddy?

Thought I would check to see if we’re still meeting? she said.

Yes, he said. He did not remember making a date with her. Well, I’ll talk to Nora this evening about a divorce. When I give you the word, go ahead. File the papers.

He saw she was in her own car looking away at the storm while she talked to him. Can do, Eddy said, but I seem to remember you wanted to talk about Joe. Her lovely hair glowed with flashes of yellow light. Her face looked ethereal with the colored instrument panel washing her features like rainbow colors in the darkness.

Vince said, Joe will need to move soon, so he’ll need a place to stay.

Eddy said, "You can bring him to my place. I’ll wait for you at the Robochef in community housing tonight. The papers will be ready. We can get a beer. You wanna get drunk?"

Don’t you have lawyer business to take care of? Vince said. Problems at work need my attention this morning. I might do over-time. Can I call you?

Eddy said, "You’re my special paying client, pal. I mostly have to deal with lowlife clients. Not you, of course. I’ve never gotten a big customer. The syndicate is my main diet of crumbs, and they cheat me. Your job comes first."

I’m your big paycheck? Vince said.

Eddy said, "The Legal Beagles, business has been going backwards."

You’re out of a job? Vince said.

Eddy said, I don’t know. Maybe.

"Maybe you should go it alone, maybe be a defense attorney?" Vince said.

Eddy said, Too late. Besides, I got a hot client. You’re it.

Vince winced. He helped Eddy as much as he could. He kept a good eye on his altimeter while they talked. Navigation was shaky. Sometimes the power grid would fail. Both he and Eddy had to pay attention to their monitors. See you tonight.

Okay, Vince, she said.

Eddy faded. The display monitor sank into the console.

Vince’s car descended into the wilderness, not far from the wall that held back certain death. He saw the ancestral home where he had spent his boyhood. As a boy, he called his father Dad. His father wanted his son to call him Joe. So, Vince began early in life addressing him as Joe.

He drove over the gray green forest. Joe’s house swam into view. The car locked onto a landing point. Then it bounced on its stabilizers. He felt the car glide to a full stop on the soft grass of a hill topped by Joe’s place. The weather shield would not go down until Vince caused an override of the safety feature. A burst of noise told Vince the storm was heavy. He was near the entrance of the old house. He saw the porch lit up with antique light bulbs. Now, like a normal citizen, he should dawn his helmet. This affair would filter the air and protect him from debris. A flexible conduit extended from the helmet. He had to put his head into the sleeve pulling down until he saw through special eye shields. Instead, he left the thing tossed onto the floor of the car.

Howdy Vince, his father yelled. Better hurry. You’ll get soaked.

Vince got out. From all sides large pellets of water filled with virus drummed at him. He looked back to see his car close. Lightning reflected off the red stripes. He heard the forest singing with the noisy unrelenting rain. A mist bellowed up with green gray tendrils drifting with the shifting cold. The porch called to him, but he could not move.

Son? Joe said.

Joe came down the porch steps to Vince. He gripped Vince’s arm. He led Vince out of the downpour. The experience of being in weather was quite exhilarating Joe said, I’ll get the hot coffee. You better sit on the porch swing since you like the show so much.

Vince shivered. He would be sick later. The Akeeno families were of Philippine descent. Long ago, his people lived in a lush green jungle. The outdoors was in his blood.

Time passed while Joe fiddled in the kitchen. A crack appeared in the universe. An explosion heralded the event. There was Joe. He handed Vince a mug as a blinding flash of light washed over them. Water fell harder from the roof rattling in the flowerbeds.

Joe had to talk loud over the hiss of falling water. Here is your coffee! You okay?

Vince accepted the mug. He shouted, I’ll not stay too long. I have fifteen-minutes.

Joe sat in the old aluminum chair across from Vince. He raised his own mug in a salute. He sipped at the hot brew. Joe’s fuzzy gray eyebrows made a peak as he screwed up his face to suck cool air over the liquid. He waggled his big ragged yellow mustache as he pursed his lips.

"Space Dynamics is having trouble with alien pirates, Vince said. The storm noise died. Now, it was a low drum, and the wind died. He was yelling but there was just the white noise of flowerbeds. He lowered his voice to say, I have to do detective work on our ship manifests. The aliens are shorting the company stocks by shipping bad merchandise. There’s no market for broken machines."

Joe said, Shit.

Pardon me? Vince said.

Old expression, Joe said.

Vince said, Oh, well it has been getting worse. We’re losing ships along the trade routes too.

Joe held up his hand. Our own space navy never got going fast enough. It was a big mistake, son. We can’t fight without a budget for a military.

Vince said, Nora’s in a commercial. You might see it this week. I get a special pass to the studio when they shoot the scene, or whatever they call it.

Joe had a disturbed expression.

Vince said, It’s okay. I know she is a model. Men look at her. I should have seen through her much earlier.

Joe sipped much longer from his coffee. He lowered his mug. I’ll try to catch it on my video this evening.

Is it still working okay? Vince said.

You mean since I kicked it? Joe said.

Vince tried to check his reaction.

Joe laughed at him.

Vince said, Joe, I better go.

Joe said, Come back real soon. I’ll make biscuits in my toaster oven. I know what you have to do. Don’t be embarrassed. I bet the pirates are robbing the traders and the aliens are robbing them.

Those damned biscuits were good. Vince did not get up, I can stay longer.

Joe got up from his aluminum chair. He said, Guess you want them biscuits right away.

Vince smiled. He said, You got me. Drag out your old machine. We can see the news.

Joe went back into his living room. He returned with the set and sat the old television down on the stand between their coffees. The three-dimensional image jumped into wavering color. Current news, according to the scantily dressed reporter, shocked the public with events outside of Sol System. Sol was a member of the Confederation of Star Systems. This extended thousands of light years, but trade would not endure long years of travel. Three modes were possible. There were the cold-sleep-pods, which allowed for twenty-year excursions. Virtual-computer-storage methods allowed for 100-year journeys. One-thousand-plus year destinations required navigation of wormholes or slingshots while in virtual-computer-storage. All of these methods required iron nerves and genius calculations. Xenophobes had declared war in one of the far territories. A warship entered Sol System pursued by alien fighters. The news reported an alien mother ship crashed on the planet Mars after fighting a battle inside the orbit of Jupiter with space station weapons from Earth. Humans did not have the technology to fight an interstellar war. They won the battle but they were losing the war.

Vince did not subscribe to the opinion that Earth should get involved. The leaders of the government had different notions. Earth forces sent a warning to the aliens. More xenophobic fighters arrived. Earth responded with more force. Interstellar war began with violent horrific events. Then, the narrative got wordy.

Terrible news, Joe said.

Vince started into the present. The display showed current space combat scenes repeated. He shook himself, and said, I guess I better go to work.

His father rose from his chair, It’ll be okay.

Vince shrugged.

Always terrible news on the video machine, Joe said.

Vince stood. He put down his coffee. He hugged his father, I still want those biscuits but I have to check these latest events out. I did not know we were going to war.

The biscuits will be here, Joe said. "It’ll be awhile before they get done anyway. I don’t have one of those Robochefs."

Vince went to the porch stairs. He was careful since they were slick in spite of his shoes. He said, I’ll be back soon. Don’t eat my biscuits.

Joe let his eyebrows jump.

Vince laughed at Joe’s expression of denial. Then he went down to his car.

Vince waved at Joe before he reached the car. The rain continued to fall hard with drops the size of acorns-something Joe had shown him, from off of the trees. The shield went up. He descended out of the wet wind to his couch. He sat at his console. The door closed. There was silence in the cabin. The dry warm air circulated. Then the car ascended like a rocket, tilting into a zenith, heading for the midst of Space Dynamics.

When Vince arrived at the spaceport, Bruno Carlton would be gone. Even the spaceport records magically erased themselves. However, he could pull up the records in his office to study the situation. Instead, he steered away from the car parking area to the shuttle parking and landed. A shuttle was open. He walked across the tarmac. Two smiling pilots withdrew to their cabin as he walked in.

"Take me to Hyperion," Vince said. He had a notion he was sure he would regret. He was a civilian but his opinion should be worth something.

The shuttle lifted. It was making regular trips to the last military base on the ground in Oklahoma, to the north, guarding the radiation desert leftover from World War III. Beyond the base, the undead still existed. They were undead because they were technically human beings but manufactured servitors that did not die—designed for eternal service. They built a city and kept a mysterious motivation for existence to themselves. Should they come south the base would protect Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Vince sat behind the two pilots who were US Army. They brought the craft up above the Midwest Spaceport and maneuvered towards the northern outskirts. He noticed that the pilots were in blue Earth Star Fleet Uniforms. He said, "I’ll be leaving this shuttle for the general. It may be of use for hauling troops or surveillance of the undead."

One pilot said, A surveillance craft of this type would be put to good use. Thanks.

Vince said, I have the authority to give you this shuttle. I’ll be back for a ride to the office. The shuttle is yours then,

A few minutes later, the shuttle landed. He stepped out onto the hot desert ground, devoid of vegetation. Dead animals tried to cross from the north. Emblazoned across the entrance of the base was the name, Hyperion. In Greek mythology, Hyperion was a Titan and father of the son god Helios. The base represented the last of atomic defenses against the undead.

When he was close, he yelled at the gatekeepers. I need to see General Peters.

An old ground vehicle from two-hundred-years ago came to the gate to take him to the Administration Building. After five-minutes of high-speed terror, Vince unfastened the door. The door swung outward. Vince stepped out onto gravel mixed with mud. The driver told him to push the door back. It made a crunching sound. The car rambled away while he recovered his wits.

Early builders constructed the Administration Building from rare wood products, more rare than diamonds, in the 25th century. The facility was a carryover from days when there where prefabricated constructions. He marveled at the crude, almost primitive, white painted clean lines. The forest around Joe’s place might be worth a fortune, but no one remembered how to harvest a tree let alone steal one.

Inside the Administration Building, a long hall greeted him, but not before a young woman told him to sit and wait.

She said, The general’s busy. You can’t just walk in and talk to him.

Vince hesitated then he walked past the reception desk and down the hall with the woman trailing him in protest. Come back here, she said.

The general was at the end of the hall scribbling on rollups with a plastic stylus.

Good-afternoon General Peters, Vince said.

The general said, What do you want? After I find out, I’ll have you shot.

That’s a rather quaint notion, Vince said. "But never mind. I came from high space orbit. I visited with a Captain Dorman. His ship has landed in Midwest Spaceport after blowing the crew to space."

Pirates in space? the general said.

Yes, Vince said.

The general said, Now, Miss Durant will escort you to the front of the building where two wonderful gentlemen will take you to the stockade to await my pleasure.

Miss Durant reached out to Vince as though he might come along.

Vince said, "Bruno Carlton planned the operation. He wanted the ship for his own colonizing plans. The crime syndicate is moving in that direction. My guess is Space Dynamics is infiltrated with syndicate spies."

You can go ahead back to your desk, Miss Durant, the general said. To Vince, he said, Okay, you can sit. I’m listening.

Vince said, The captain entered orbit and placed a routine call for repair of his landing servos. It was bogus. He wanted to get Bruno Carlton up to his ship.

The general said, "He’s a major crime figure. This isn’t his modus operandi. Is he in custody? You might get a reward."

I don’t have him, Vince said. "He was in a shuttle awaiting clearance on the ground but at some distance from the spaceport. I’ve been looking at alien activity. Bruno may have a good idea. I think we should consider a push to colonize another planet. Space Dynamics may be of some considerable help with that. This piracy isn’t an isolated incident. According to the news, the aliens are attacking our ships. If it’s war, we don’t have enough technology to fight them."

General Peters said, You’re like a child. You come in here and interrupt me and expect me to take you serious about leading a colonization plan?

I don’t expect to lead but I trained in the army during the end of the war, Vince said. My smallness is a matter of genetics. Sometimes big things come in small packages.

Like explosives, the general said. He smiled wickedly. Okay, so you got a few qualifications.

Vince said, "I’m a starship design engineer with practical hands-on experience, and I’m one of the top executives at Space Dynamics. On the way in, I told the pilots they could keep the shuttle for your use. I’m not trying to start my own project. I had an idea you might listen. Is the idea so strange?"

Well, if you’ll leave your resume up front, I’ll give it thought, the general said. And gosh, thanks for the shuttle.

You won’t even consider the idea? Vince said.

General Peters said, "I’ll call the CEO of Space Dynamics and explain that he has a crazy executive that is giving away his shuttles. You’ll get lighter duties to take a load off your imagination."

Suppose an alien fighter on a suicide mission comes down into our atmosphere and bombs the dyke? Vince said.

The general said, "You’re one person who discovers we live in an imperfect world with mean aliens and evil undead servitors."

Vince said, "Space Dynamics has starships. We can send a fleet of trader ships to the distant stars. It would not be farfetched to designate ships for colonization."

General Peters said, "Go talk to your boss. Have him call me. I’ll be here in the desert. You’ll still be dinking around with repairs. And, your boss will laugh uncontrollably about it all."

Vince looked back at General Peters with a cold expression, and said, I’ll talk to Sid Butts. He is my boss. I’m up for Assistant CEO, and Vice-President of Operations. The job is mine. I’ve command experience also, and I’ll add that to my resume, so to speak. And, Sid has never laughed about anything since I’ve known him.

Okay, make a plan, the general said. I’ll listen to Sid.

Thanks for being open minded, Vince said. He got up from his chair.

Don’t expect much from Sid Butts, Mister Akeeno, the general said.

Want to place a wager? Vince said.

Leave while I’m in a good mood, the general said, "or I’ll have you walk back to Tulsa."

Vince left. He passed the receptionist who called for his ride back to the gate. He had not accomplished much. The general should know better. He did not mean to apply for a job. He wanted to bring the idea out of the shadows of suicidal acceptance. What would he say to Sid Butts?

Chapter 2

Vince came into his usual parking space descending into a circular entrance that went to a place near ground level. Most of the cars were Fords. Ford had survived the long haul of civilization, even unto the decline. He moved over into a spot and walked to the elevator. The elevators were like large cylinders, meant for dozens of people. Thousands of people worked at the spaceport long ago.

On his floor, he stepped out into a silent circular lobby. He took the appropriate corridor, riding the moving path until he arrived. Because his office faced out at the top floor perimeter, he had a window, an executive privilege he had sought for a long time.

At his desk, he summoned topics related to the problems with alien trade using his new level of access. He wanted to be ready to put forth his ideas and concerns when his boss came back from administrative leave.

His monitor popped a data spread on a freighter overdue from Zoron. It was about fifteen-light-years out, near a minor star in the southern part of the Confederation of Star Systems. Earth received the northern reference on the galactic compass. The Empire was the central governing body of the Orion Constellation. The freighter should have arrived two days ago. He checked on the ship serving the Zoron route. The Sadie Blue, bound from the trade lanes of Earth, made the Zoron run every ten-years. No communications came from Sadie Blue. It had not arrived. Vince looked at the manifest, a massive stock of something called integrators, thousands of them, were destined for Space Dynamics. The military wanted them. A solid contract held them on course.

He thought about the Sadie Blue with five-hundred humans on board. All of them expected to come home to families. They would all be expecting bonus checks for duty above the call of traders. The government was their client. Rich people ran the government. This crew expected a big share of that wealth. A prime example of corruption lay in the fate of the Sadie Blue and the trading system. The short runs lasted ten-years or less, but longer runs would not return in his lifetime. Still longer runs of several hundred-years could not expect to find Earth waiting for them. The rich class of Americans of the 24th century did not care about the Sadie Blue, or any other ship.

With no one to consult on this situation, he would act on his own. Outside his window big balls of white clouds piled up. Several cars cut through them, going to lunch in the community. The Midwest Spaceport of Space Dynamics spread out below. He pondered the fate of the Sadie Blue and decided to give it more time. The space winds might throw them off course. Sometimes traders did odd things like throwing a party on a friendly stop. They could shop on Bay World or Clause. Alien colonies on both worlds stocked human products for the traders. After a ten-year round trip, it would not be a sin to come in a few days late. Vince smiled to himself, worrying about nothing.

He checked for other ships reporting in late. It would sooth his suspicious notions about the aliens if he nailed down the Sadie Blue. After his company promotion was official, his company rank would give him a boost in pay. The responsibility for thousands of lives needed a cool thinker. The cool came with certainty that everything checked out. Hence, he continued to investigate.

He looked at his monitor again. A keyboard slid out above his front desk drawer. He typed a short inquiry asking about late arrivals.

The desktop bloomed with a report that covered the entire desk. Millions of reports had remained unanswered. Thousands of ships had disappeared. Hundreds of ships had come in late. The company had written off fifty ships in a Solar Day. The disaster should have driven his boss into a panic. No alerts sounded from management, not even a memo. Now, Vince wondered what bizarre thing quieted this disaster. His hands flew across the display, hunting for facts. He tried to narrow down the report by reducing the time window against the great resources of Space Dynamics. The report would surely shrink to less alarming proportions, he hoped.

A new report exploded across his desk, more alarming for new reasons. The trader fleet had lost too many ships for the past one-hundred-years. A shorter list pointed toward late ships returning with damage. The ship’s captains had generated no reports, so Vince concluded that it was a company cover-up.

The company CEO should have been receiving reports. Vince noticed disappearing manifests. A new color bloomed upward from the depths of his multidimensional display.

All the statistics glowed with pulsating red numerals backed with blue depths of records. The software program displayed warnings but Space Dynamics had not declared an emergency.

He called the military. The violence going on in space would fall under their purview. A whole shipment of integrators evaporated into nothing. Vince did not know what an integrator did, but thousands of them vanished. If he had stumbled upon a secret investigation, then he should be able to confirm it. The military handled projects like this. Perhaps they had already taken action on the old reports. The new ships lost to trader routes were taking longer to investigate. That was probably the answer.

Vince’s communication display rose from the desk.

Hello, a girl said. This is General McBrea’s office. May I ask who is calling?

"I’m trade manager with Space Dynamics, Vince said. I need to talk to the general."

She said, Call back later. The general isn’t here.

The girl was gorgeous, her breasts were exposed, but he kept his focus. Beyond her, Vince saw the general at his desk. Vince’s monitor flashed the general’s identity with big red letters. Vince zoomed in on his face, serene and confident. He broke the connection.

Something had changed. His desk monitor went blank with the message: DATABASE LOCKDOWN. A lockdown on information concerning traders and military endeavors should not be in place. Most likely, the US Army Central Command Station had clamped off his research.

He went to his window. The clouds had darkened. Midwest Spaceport prepared for a heavy rain. Sheets of plastic drew up over maintenance facilities like tents. He heard a storm approach. His thoughts wondered.

Thousands of ships remained parked on his side in the Midwest Spaceport. He watched ships readied to offload or go back to space. The scene appeared so peaceful that Vince shrugged to himself. Perhaps he had overreacted. He needed to get away from the flashing message. He shook himself. It was time to take a break. The lockdown had to be bogus. Never the less, he had to talk with General McBrea.

He left the office for the elevator, which took him down to the parking garage. There, he found his car. He walked inside his Ford as the door closed. He sat for a few minutes in the quiet, and then he tapped the initiator sensor on his console. The car lifted. He made a mental note of the ever-increasing cloud balls forming in huge stacks of shining white mixed with black.

The Corvus Building in Tulsa where General McBrea lived centered amid the ruins of the weed jungle. Vince drove his car up into the low clouds until he landed at the US Army Command Center.

He walked out of his car and down into the general’s lair.

I watched you come in on my big board, the general said.

Then you understand why I’m here? Vince said. "My access to the community database is locked down."

General McBrea said, You talked to General Peters. I had to interrupt his laughing binge to find out what was so funny. He said you tried to start your own fleet.

Vince started to say something, but the general waved his hand at him.

What is this delusion about your being qualified to lead a colony? he said.

I didn’t ask to lead anything but something needs to be done, Vince said. "The community is looking the other way."

And you will save them, the general said. What have you got to work with?

Vince said, I am not applying for a job. I’m interested in what can be done to save humankind.

You served in the war, the general said. Why aren’t you old and wrinkled?

Family longevity, medical science from the late 21st century, and good luck, Vince said.

Well, you can’t fly a starship, the general said. You can design one, you can build one, and you can maintain a fleet of trade ships. You can’t command. That is for trained military officers. They’re the rare men who can face death.

So are we negotiating? Vince said.

I can send you to training, General McBrea said. You’ll fail. It will cost big credits to do that. Your company could pay the bill. Even then, if you should succeed against impossible odds, there are two additional tests you must not fail.

Vince said, Traders go through training. The company gives them the schooling they need as a tryout. We pick commanders from the cream of the classes. That is all that is necessary. I came out at the top but understand me. I’m not applying for a job.

The general sat back in his easy chair and gazed at the big board. A different view washed over the mapping display. A fleet of unknown objects moved over a sector of Earth space. "That is the Earth Star Fleet. Each officer who commands a ship has received the training I described to you. To command a military starship, you must survive training. If you do not, then you die. There is something for you to ponder. We can’t afford failure."

Vince said, Then you have nothing to lose if I get your fee. I’ll be dead. I’ll be out of your way. Is that what you want? I only came to the US Army with an idea. I will not lead anything. The fee can go to anyone you think can qualify.

"You’re an engineer and executive at Space Dynamics. We need such men doing their job, the general said. That would be the loss if you trained and failed."

Talk to my boss, Vince said. He could help you build a colonizing fleet.

I do not want to embarrass him, General McBrea said. Now, get out of my command center. I’ve half a thought to just throw you off my building, but you’re too damned important to the trade fleet.

Vince said, What about the trade fleet? We are being attacked!

"And, we have Earth Star Fleet on the job," the general said.

The general left no ammunition for Vince to use in reply. He stood there paralyzed, trying to come up with an argument.

Go on, the general said. Get back to that girlfriend of yours. What’s her name, Eddy?

How did you get that? Vince said.

We see everything, General McBrea said. Bruno Carlton is screwing your wife. We know that you haven’t got the courage to divorce that queen of shit.

What? Vince said.

The general said, "You don’t wear your mask, half the time. You visit your father, that crazy old man who lives in the forest south of Tulsa by the dyke. You are a damned hero of the people!"

Vince’s face burned with anger. I’m not trying to be a hero. I thought you might already have a plan in place.

The general said, "We do. The syndicate seems to know our every move. You come in here proposing something, and I have to assume that you’re a spy. That makes you more than an amusement. It could make you an actual annoyance."

So you have a plan? Vince said.

It’s time for you to go, the general said. "I’ll send you a consolation. I’ll recommend that your boss pay that fee. Find out what he likes about that."

I’m leaving, Vince said.

Good! the general said.

Vince withdrew. The general’s rebuttal still stung. His idea that the military would consider his idea at all vanished in a fashion that left him wondering about the actual overall fate