The Destiny of Beauty
By Robert Ranes
*****
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Due to sexually explicit scenes and language that may be considered offensive to some people, only ADULT readers may purchase this book. Please keep this book stored away from access by minors. All characters involved with sexually active behavior are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction and any characters, names, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, businesses, establishments, events, etc are entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2009 by Robert Ranes
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/robertranes
*****
Chapter 10 — Mistress Obtained
Chapter 12 — The Situation Changes
Chapter 13 — The New Pick Pool
Chapter 15 — News Confirms My Plans
*****
I happened to notice when the two unsavory characters first approached my door. I peered at them through the shades of my front window and wondered what they wanted. The men were well dressed, with sport jackets and ties, but something about their looks disturbed me.
However, they didn’t hesitate, and promptly rang the doorbell of my seedy flat on the bad side of Arlington. In these early morning hours I didn’t expect any robbers, nor did I have too many unpaid debts. So I could either open the door and ask what they wanted, or act like I wasn’t at home. I opened the door.
“Yes?” I inquired, peering at them through the crack between the door and the frame.
“Mr. Stiles,” a dark complexioned fellow on the left politely inquired. He looked like he hailed from South America, probably Brazil, with an odd accent to his voice.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“We represent a concerned interest that wishes to discuss a possible job contract.”
I was elated at first, and then grew angry. “I’m not interested,” I declared as I began to close the door.
“Please hear us out Mr. Stiles. This will only take a few of your minutes.”
I noticed that the door wouldn’t move any further, and looking down saw he had somehow shoved his foot between the wooden door and the frame.
“We have repeatedly attempted to contact you, by Net and regular mail, but you have not replied.”
“Sorry, I’m just not interested right now.”
“We know you work at the local food court, Mr. Stiles, and can barely make ends meet. Please, at least let us talk to you, and then if you don’t like what we have to say, we will leave willingly.”
“Yah, what have you got to lose?” inquired the man on the right who reminded me of a movie gangster. He appeared to be the least articulated of the two, but made up for it with a stocky frame and a serious business type attitude.
“And surely, Mr. Stiles, if we were robbers or someone who intended you harm, we would not be discussing this, now would we?”
I had to bow to his logic, as the guy on the right could probably bust through my door with one sound thrust, and if I made it to the phone, the police would arrive thirty minutes later to catalog my broken neck.
I unlatched the door.
“Very well, won’t you come in, mister, uh…”
“My name is Benkens, and this is Mr. Trankin.”
“Glad you meet you,” I said while shaking each hand in turn. Both had firm handshakes, especially Mr. Trankin.
“Won’t you have a seat?”
I led them into my small living room. They took the couch near the TV, and I sat down in the chair on the right. For some reason, I didn’t think to offer them any refreshments.
“So, how can I help you gentlemen?”
“Well, Mr. Stiles, as mentioned we represent a concern that is interested in hiring someone with your expertise and experience,” related Mr. Benkens.
“I see. That’s always nice to hear.” I hadn’t had significant employment in over two years, and knew no one was interested in any expertise that I might possess.
“Looking at your resume, we see that you hold a Bachelors degree in Physics with a minor in chemistry, an Associates Degree in Electrical Engineering Technology, and a Masters Degree in Computer Science. Is that correct?”
“Uh, yes. But, I also have a B.S. in Mechanical Engineering.”
“Oh, that’s right, there it is. Skipped right over it.” Benkens thought for a moment. “And your emphasis in computer science was robotics and artificial intelligence. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“So we have to ask, Mr. Stiles, why aren’t you employed?”
I stifled my anger. “Because I am 53, overeducated, will cost their health care system too much money, am not good at playing their political games, and they’re more interested in hiring cheap foreign labor.”
“Well said, Mr. Stiles. Or, should I call you Harold?”
“Harry is fine.”
“Harry, listen, we understand. And that accusation by the police—that’s all it takes these days. You spend your whole life on the straight and narrow, and then bam, your name is mud and they hang you out to dry.”
I wasn’t going to mention that humiliating incident. Whoever they were, they had done their homework.
“So, here you are, working a job with no future, trying to stay alive long enough to draw social retirement and get on medisupport. Believe me Harry, we understand. That’s why we’re here to make you an offer.”
“Why would you be different from any other company or governmental concern?”
“Because we don’t represent an organization, that, let me say gently, has been authorized by the government nor by the Patrol.”
“You mean you are like a foundation, or something?” I was getting a little nervous.
The Brazilian laughed whole-heartedly, and his partner merely smiled. “No, Mr. Stiles, we are of a more anti-establishment nature, an organization that believes in the worth of the common man, against the oppressive industrial governmental interests.”
I fidgeted in my chair. “Uh, please forgive me, but you don’t represent a criminal organization, do you. Like the Mafia?”
“The Mafia?” they looked at each other and smiled.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“No, Mr. Stiles, we represent Doctor Genson Smythe of Saturn, the greatest leader, the greatest scientific mind in the entire System.”
My head spun for a moment. Was this on the up-and-up? This was worse than the Mafia, much worse! The greatest scourge of the solar system, a renegade scientist whom some said was immortal; who thumbed his nose at the Patrol and did whatever he wished. This man wanted me, or so they said.
“I don’t understand, why me?”
“Well, let us say that we have problems in recruitment.” They both chuckled. “And, most people aren’t willing to risk joining an organization such as Doctor Smythe’s.”
That was an understatement. Anyone caught associating with Genson Smythe would serve serious prison time, if not outright execution. I read last week that one of his gang was executed in Europe for ‘crimes against the state’. In fact, just talking with them might get me in trouble.
“How do I know that you aren’t in fact the Space Patrol posing as his representatives?”
“Please, Mr. Stiles. The Patrol doesn’t work that way. They don’t test the loyalty of Union citizens to the state—it’s illegal. Besides, we’re taking a risk ourselves, just talking with you.”
Mr. Benkens frowned at me, and his partner didn’t seem any too pleased. “And, no matter what you decide, Mr. Stiles, do not contemplate going later to the authorities, as Dr. Smythe frowns upon what he would consider a personal affront.”
“Of course, of course. I would never consider it.” Of course I would consider it, assuming they left my home with me alive in it, but I would be a fool to do it. The police would pat me on the back, and I’d be dead in a week, maybe less. Besides, I didn’t like the police much any more, and perhaps they knew that.
“So, what is the job?”
“We want you to head up a robotics project. Your title would be Lead Technical Engineer. You would report directly to Genson Smythe. No politics, no degradation. He treats his employees right, believe me.”
I paused and thought about it. And, the thought scared me silly. Probably those who felt they were not treated right hadn’t lived to spread the word.
“And, there’s other compensation, besides the excellent salary of 300,000 Solars a year.” That amount impressed me.
“Other compensation, like a health plan, retirement?” I hazarded.
At that they both laughed. “Of course, Mr. Stiles, there’s that—retirement plans, health care, and such. But no, we were considering the much more satisfying benefits that someone in your position might find of interest, being single and all...”
“Please explain.”
“Well, this is a High Echelon position. You would have private accommodations, supplied by Dr. Smythe, as well as a high ranking privilege to certain, let us say, spoils, should they come our way.”
“What kind of spoils?”
“Oh, the normal kind—precious metals, gems, art work, you know. And, of course, women.”
“Women.”
“Yes indeed, Mr. Stiles.”
I sat for a moment, not sure what to say. Arabic harems flashed through my mind, complete with eunuchs and beautiful girls garbed in diaphanous clothing--poppycock, of course. But, I had read stories; everyone did, about missing ships, and missing people. In fact, thousands of people go missing every year right here on Earth alone—gone, and no one knows where they went. And, ships did disappear now and then, along with their passengers. Some were ransomed back, but others were never heard from again.
I shook myself out of this reverie. Now was not the time to lose oneself in idle speculation. Of course, women held a lure, as they did for most men, but not enough of one to override my sense of propriety.
But, they were still a lure. I was an old man, but I was a man nevertheless.
“I see,” I replied, attempting to conceal my interest. “So, I take it that you yourselves have benefited from such spoils?”
“Us? Oh, Mr. Trankin and myself are strictly terrestrial employees. Nor, do we have need of special access to women.” He hesitated a moment. “But, our report indicates this may not be the situation with yourself.
“If I may be so blunt, Mr. Stiles. But, you have spent the majority of your life either in attaining your education, or attempting to use the benefits thereof. By the time you realized that your opportunities had passed you by and that women no longer considered you a valid romantic candidate, it was too late. Of course, you did try overseas, but with globalization, some bad luck, and the loss of your job, things just did not pan out. Am I correct?”
“I see you have indeed studied up on me,” I admitted.
“And, of course, you want someone fairly young, no older than say mid-thirties, correct?”
“Well...”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong—we like them young and hot, ourselves!” Both chuckled in delight at some secret joke. “And, it makes having families a little easier, should the want arise, am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“We do our research well, Mr. Stiles, before we recruit for the Upper Echelons. In fact, you are not alone in your situation. Many men your age have been discarded by society, and Dr. Smythe gives them a new opportunity for a satisfying future.”
“By breaking the law, becoming a fugitive of society,” I remarked.
“What law?” he responded. “The laws that put you where you are today, after years of toil trying to get ahead? Was it worth it? Were the late nights you spent studying in the library while your roommates slept with the hot cheerleaders worth it? Don’t you ask yourself that every time you wash a dish or make a sandwich? They now own car dealerships and insurance franchises. You work in a sandwich shop.”
“I do what I have to do,” I growled.
“Exactly, Mr. Stiles. But, you deserve more, and this is your opportunity to seize it.”
“I see.”
“And, between you and me, there’s one other thing you might consider.”
“And, what might that be?”
“If you work out well with the Doctor, he might be inclined to, let us say, return some of your lost years.”
I didn’t know if I heard him right.
“Oh come, Harry, surely you’ve read the stories?”
“Something about Genson Smythe discovering an elixir of life?”
“Yeah, something like that. Anyway, this is off the record, though I’ve heard rumors that it’s true; and that is he sometimes rewards those he favors by giving them back a little of their youth. Of course, only those in the Top Echelon would know for sure, and they aren’t talking. Still, it’s something to consider.”
“Hmm, yes, I guess it would be.”
“Well, that’s about the jist of it, Harry. Interested?”
“I presume from our discussion that the place of employment is not on Earth?”
“Yes, Mr. Stiles. It’s not on Earth, and I’m not at liberty to discuss location any further.”
“What about transportation, personal affairs, etc?”
“Of course, you’d have to wrap up any personal affairs, but we know you have few to wrap up. And, don’t worry about transportation, we will take care of everything.”
“But, what would happen? Would I just simply disappear?” I couldn’t help it, but the idea intrigued me, or at least the concept. Perhaps it was kind of like running away to join the circus, a common theme in childhood stories.
“That’s exactly right, Harry. You’d leave most of your personal effects behind, including your house. A proxy of ours would purchase it once you were officially declared missing and your estate settled. The funds would then be transferred to your new System Identity.”
I sat in silence. I couldn’t think of anything else to ask or say. Me, become a criminal, and join a criminal mastermind, someone above the law and a renegade of System Civilization. It was absurd to even contemplate the possibility.
“I am sorry, and I mean no disrespect, but I just cannot do it.” I hesitate for a moment. “And, there’s no consequences for turning down your offer?”
“Mr. Stiles,” he exclaimed. “We work for a civilized, logical man. We will not coerce you into something that you may feel is not right for you. Doctor Smythe has specifically given orders that nothing untoward will happen to you, if we fail in our recruiting efforts.”
“But, that don’t reflect well on us,” commented his partner Trankin.
“Well, I don’t mean to cause you fellows any trouble…” I was starting to sweat, thinking they might change their minds about the no harm clause.
“Naw, it’s ok,” replied Trankin. “We’ve done well for the Doctor in the past. It’s all part of the job.”
With that they both rose from the couch and shuffled towards the door. I shook their hands one last time, but before they left Benkens reached inside his jacket and pulled out a card. It read ‘Delaran Exports, Ltd.’, and some number with an area code that I didn’t recognize.
“If you change your mind, Mr. Stiles, give us a call. Anytime.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
They left the house, walked down the sidewalk to the main street, turned right and disappeared from sight. I checked my watch. I had to be at work in thirty minutes.
Three days later I called the number. A week later I died on my way to work from a bomb left in an open dumpster. An hour later I boarded the freighter Helen’s Beauty with a false passport and headed into space. I was now a criminal. I was free.
*****
The captain confined me to my cabin for the entire duration of my journey on board his vessel. A cabin boy brought me my meals, and I passed the time viewing the small collection of movies and journals they had left for my perusal.
I wished I had seen Earth during takeoff, as it might be the last time I would ever view it without a telescope.
But, I was committed to this venture, and the captain was adamant. “You don’t see nobody on board this vessel lest I say so,” he declared. “A boy will bring your meals. Don’t talk to him. He won’t talk to you.”
I tried my door every evening. It was always locked. I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into, and thought of questions I should have asked during the interview. But it was too late now. The die was cast.
And as the monotonous days passed into weeks, my anxiety and tension seemed to fade as well. I lay on my bunk contemplating my new career, and the possibilities of success it offered me.
I began to lose track of the days. So I started marking them on a scrap piece of paper, one mark for every two meals served, which appeared to be a type of breakfast or lunch, and later a dinner. But, several weeks must have passed before I even started my primitive time keeping method, so it was only an estimate at best.
One day a horn sounded, and the artificial gravity shut off. I nearly heaved before it was restored, as I rarely traveled in space. I wondered what had been the purpose of the stop, and realized they had likely made a rendezvous with another space vessel.
The days continued in monotonous simplicity, each one like the last, until one day the door opened, and instead of the serving boy, there stood the captain, dressed in an official uniform and looking important.
“This is your stop, Mr. Merrywether. Get your things and let’s go.” He called me by the name, Thomas Merrywether, verified by my apparently valid passport.
We took the corridor down the hall to an express elevator, dropped five floors, and walked into a large room equipped with a space lock. The lock was open and men were walking in and out carrying bundles. This was apparently some type of pit stop, where men and supplies were exchanged, but as to our present location in space, I had no idea.
A man in a loose fitting suit approached us. “I’m Lieutenant Darrison,” he informed me. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Merrywether.”
“The same,” I replied. He looked like an ok sort, with a stiff posture and a firm grip. Something said ex-military to me.
He saluted the captain. “I’ll take him from here, sir. I’m sure you have things to do.”
“Thank you, lieutenant. Good luck to you, Mr. Merrywether,” said the captain, and he disappeared down the corridor.
“Come with me, Mr. Merrywether. We have a cabin all ready for you. May I carry your bundle for you, sir?”
“Oh, no, no, I’m perfectly fine,” I replied, “please lead the way.”
“Very well.”
We stepped through the air lock of Helen’s Beauty and into a matching space lock, also bustling with men and supplies. I noticed to the right five women and two men, dressed in tight jump suits with hoods over their heads. They were chained together at the waist.
“Who are they?” I inquired.
Lieutenant Darrison glanced at them. “Oh, just some ransomed prisoners. Their relatives coughed up the dough, so they’re going home.”
“I see.”
As we walked through the corridors, it became obvious that this space vessel was significantly larger than the small freighter. And, the crewmen we passed in the corridors seemed a little, well, coarse, I guess you might say.
We finally arrived at my cabin, and Lieutenant Darrison showed me inside. It was about twice the size of my previous one, and luxurious in comparison. “I’ve arranged dinner for you with Captain Daniels this evening,” he informed me. “He sends his regrets that he could not greet you upon your arrival, but looks forward to your company at his table.”
“Tell the captain that he is most gracious, and I look forward to meeting him as well.”
Darrison walked over to a closest. “You’ll find several dinner suits here, and a valet will be by in about an hour with refreshments, and to assist you any way he can.”
“Thank you.”
“Also, you have full run of the ship, except for deck D, E, and the Engineering levels. And, of course, the bridge is off limits to all but ship’s personnel.”
“Of course.”
“I say again to you Mr. Merrywether, welcome aboard. I hope you enjoy your stay on the Blue Flyer, and I think you’ll find we’re one of the finest ships in Commander Smythe’s fleet.”
With that he saluted, turned, and stepped from my cabin, closing the door smartly behind him.
I speculated for a moment on what Lieutenant Darrison had mentioned. Genson Smythe possessed a space fleet. The concept seemed astounding, and yet plausible, considering the number of ships that went missing each year. And, yet, one didn’t hear much about it in the media. Just that there had been ‘accidents’ and some ‘pirate activity’ was affecting System shipping. The Earth government simply stated that the Space Patrol was hard at work tracking down those responsible.
Now, I had joined those responsible, and the thought gave me a sinking feeling in my stomach. Not for the first time I would wonder if I had made a mistake accepting Dr. Smythe’s employment offer.
I tidied myself up, and used the fresher. I found some drawers with a small amount of underclothing, as well as shirts, and trousers of various cuts, all in my size.
True to the lieutenant’s word, a valet showed up in about an hour with some refreshments, and informed me he would stop by later to escort me to the captain’s table. The youth couldn’t have been more than nineteen, and seemed like an unsavory sort. But, he treated me with deference and was exceedingly polite.
It wasn’t more than a few minutes after that when I felt the telltale ring in the metal walls, and later a familiar vibration that indicated we were once more under way. To where, I didn’t know.
The captain’s table was elegant, if not a little gaudily set; as if everyone there were intent on living life to its fullest while one still had the chance. I noticed one female officer, with her hair piled high on her head, who spoke with a Russian accent. She was perhaps in her forties, though not particularly attractive. Judging from their speech, the other officers also represented a variety of different national origins. Genson Smythe must recruit wherever he could to find acceptable candidates.
A man in a brown sports jacket, one of three other people who were evidently recent recruits like myself, asked the captain a question that burned in my mind as well as theirs.
“Excuse me, captain, but can you tell us where we are going, and when we might expect to arrive?”
Captain Daniels gave the man a piercing stare, as if evaluating the importance of this fellow, and the trouble he might make for himself. “I’m sorry, Mr. Derringer, but our destination is known only to the navigator and myself, and may not be divulged to anyone. We’re running with blacked out plates.”
“But surely you can tell us how long we could expect to be on your vessel?”
“Honestly, even I don’t know, Mr. Derringer,” insisted the captain. “I receive instructions from Dr. Smythe on a timely basis, and he has not informed me of our anticipated arrival time. I suspect that we will have several more errands to attend to before swinging home.”
“But, can’t you give us some ballpark number?” he begged.
The captain hesitated before answering. “I would say probably between three and six months. It could be longer.”
We all groaned, including a few of the junior officers, who must have been in space for at least that duration already.
“But you shouldn’t be too concerned. I understand that Category One recruits such as yourselves will be given substantial travel pay. So, when we arrive, you should have a lot more Solars in your accounts.”
We all smiled at that bit of information, and the discussion moved on to other matters. There was talk of a new class vessel of the Patrol, a type of light cruiser, and it was generally agreed amongst the guests at the table that it posed no threat to the superior vessels of Genson Smythe. So, the evening wore on, and the captain finally excused himself. I made idle conversation with some of the officers, and then decided to retire as well.
My valet appeared out of nowhere and escorted me back to my cabin. He was obviously keeping an eye on me, and it was probably just as well, for I hadn’t yet become familiar with the many corridors and lifts of the Blue Flyer.
The days began to drift into each other, and soon became weeks. This time there was a calendar on the wall of my cabin, and I had no need to keep track of time by primitive methods. I kept more or less to my room, coming out for exercise, and the occasional dinner with the captain.
Several times I felt the slight jar of the ship docking with another vessel, and each time wondered whom we met out here in the depths of space. Once I almost asked, but decided it was none of my business. I was beginning to learn not to be too inquisitive about the ship as it carried out its duties for the Supreme Commander Dr. Genson Smythe.
Finally, almost four months later, the Blue Flyer jarred as if connecting to another spacecraft, but this time it felt like something more than that. The entire hull shuddered slightly, and now the familiar hum of primary power systems that had always permeated the walls of our metal vessel, subsided into silence. I knew then that we had arrived at our final destination. I just did not know where, or how long I would be staying--or, if I would ever leave here at all.
*****
About an hour later the same valet came to my cabin to help me pack and escort me off the ship. “Right this way, sir,” he addressed me in obvious good spirits.
“Where are we?”
“We’re at Home Base, sir. And, it’s been too many months, if you know what I mean.” He gave me a wink, shouldered my bag, and we set off down the corridor. I followed quickly behind.
At last we stepped from a major airlock of the Blue Flyer into the blinding light of day. I halted on the landing, swaying a little as my eyes roved over the astounding heights above and below.
I saw a vast lit chamber, filled nearly to capacity with men and machines, the view almost fading into the distance from the smoke and steam that partially obscured the air. Thousands of men swarmed over hundreds of space vessels from small one-man scouts to ships fully equivalent in size to Patrol battle cruisers. I could not even estimate the size of the chamber itself, but it must have been several miles across.
“Careful there, sir. Each ship has it’s own gravity field, so you have to be careful walking along catwalks.”
We made our way slowly to a major thoroughfare, and then rode the carrier to a system of modules far in the distance. We passed a number of robots, men, and even some women, all intent on their own particular destination. Most seemed to be low level employees, dressed in ill fitting, dirty jumpsuits. Once in a while I noticed a man or woman with a brightly colored armband. I assumed it indicated some type of technical insignia. The robots seemed to be standard industrial types, well used, but operating with normal mechanical efficiency.
“Are there always this many ships at dock?” I asked.
“Sometimes more,” he replied. “But most of our vessels are out cruising, either on legitimate business concerns with some of the independent colonies, or watching the shipping lanes for any choice targets.
“I see. Where are we headed now?”
“I’m taking you to the personnel office. Mr. Dillon likes to personally greet top echelon employees once they arrive. They will assign you your quarters, give you a tour of your work area, and once you’re settled in, you’ll probably get to meet the Doctor himself.”
Somehow the prospect of meeting Dr. Genson Smythe did not thrill me as much as I had hoped.
Mr. Dillon turned out to be a paunch-bellied man of about forty, with a smile that didn’t reflect a pleasant personality. He was obviously a failed industrial recruit, who like me, saw a better future working for the pirate king Genson Smythe.
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Merrywether,” he said while shaking my hand. “I trust you had a pleasant journey?”
“Pleasant enough,” I replied, “though the first leg of my voyage was a little cramped.”
We both sat in comfortable leather chairs, in a small though tidy office.
“Ah, yes,” he agreed. “Independent freighters aren’t known for their luxury accommodations, I can tell you that. Should have seen the cabin I shared on my way out! Hadn’t been cleaned in months, and had to share the fresher with four other men. But, things are better now, yes indeed!
“So, let’s get down to business. Dr. Genson Smythe himself directly requested your recruitment, realizing that you would uniquely fit a technical position we have here at Home Base. Let’s see,” and he scanned a data Fak sheet on his desk. “Ah, here is it, Lead Technical Engineer, Special Projects.
“So, how much do you know about the job?”
Having many months to think about it, I realized that the details remained sketchy at best. “Well, I understand I would be working in the Robotics Department…”
“Yes, that’s correct, Mr. Merrywether. But, more precisely you will head an independent robotic development project loosely administered by Dr. Smythe. However, he’s a very busy man, and will only meet with you as he sees fit to relay the research tasks he has in mind and discuss the results. He wanted someone with a broad technical background willing to get his hands dirty.”
“I can do that,” I said.
“Yes, I think you can, Mr. Merrywether. He will also expect once a month reports, one to Dr. Smythe, and a copy on file for senior staff, such as Dr. Trentora, who is responsible for the maintenance of all robotic complements on this station.”
“Would I report to Dr. Trentora at all?”
“No. You are under Special Projects designation, and contact with Dr. Trentora would only be necessary for professional courtesy, as well as requests for supplies.”
“I see.”
“Don’t worry. You have a good budget, and any supplies you need have already been approved by Dr. Smythe. But, no goldbricking! He’ll want to see results, or at least evidence that you’ve done some good research.”
“Of course. Quite understandable.” I was beginning to sweat, considering the possible consequences of displeasing this new boss.
“Now, the position comes with a full residence accommodation—very spacious, even luxurious by most standards. It can house three with ease, and five with some cramping.” He laughed and winked. “Though, I’ve seen some men cram ten in a residence this size!
“However, utility rations are an independent expense, and that usually has an effect on the number of, er, roommates employees normally keep.”
“I see. Are there larger accommodations?”
Mr. Dillon smiled. “Actually, yes, but usually only the inner circle have them. You can get them, though, for a price. If the need arises, and you feel you can afford it, you can speak with Residence planning.
“Now, concerning health care, you are completely covered, and any dependents as well for a nominal charge.”
“Sounds good.”
“Yes, indeed. We actually provide much better health care than most members of System Civilization.
“Now, since we are on the subject of benefits, how would you like to invest your earnings?”
“Oh, you mean like investment funds, and such?” I hadn’t yet given much thought as to where to put my money. I had been more concerned about the consequences of failure in the pirate culture I had entered.
“We have a variety of investment funds and accounts available with respectable firms, both in the System, and with several independent colonies. Here, look this package over, and get back with me.” He handed me some Fak sheets, and I thumbed through them.
“But, I really need to know what percentage of your base salary you want to put into local Shares.”
“Local Shares?” I had heard that term used before.
“Yes. You see, when we capture a ship, or make any kind of score, everybody working for Doctor Smythe gets a share of the booty, whether they’re in deep space, or right at Home Base. Of course, those who make the capture get the lion’s share, so to speak.” He smiled momentarily at the pun. “Still, everyone at Home Base here gets a small percentage, and these disbursements are made in Shares. So, we all benefit when any of us make a big score.
“Now, beyond the minor Shares you receive in your Science position here at Home Base, a portion of your salary can be paid in local Shares instead. You can then use these Shares to make booty purchases when the opportunity arises, pay bills here at Home Base, etc. It’s kind of our local currency, in a way.”
“I see...”
“Well, sometimes goods come our way that can’t be easily liquidated, and they end up in Pick Pools. Others go into general auctions. As a special service to our top employees, Dr. Smythe has some Pick Pools and auctions only available to A-Class, or Top Echelon, as we call them. At these times you can get some really quality items. And, I am sure I need not explain our most popular item of interest.”
Mr. Dillon paused for a moment, perhaps wondering how best to describe a pirate system designed to fairly distribute valuable goods, and as I had grown to realize, this must include desirable women as well.
“Now with Pick Pools, the prices are set by Distribution. But, because of unusually high quality, it seems the merchandise is always in high demand; and you usually need substantial Shares to get into the Pool. If you don’t have the Shares, you can’t get a distribution. So, in Pick Pools, the more shares you have here at Home Base, the better chance you have to get your first choice, should you decide to participate.”
“You’ve participated yourself?”
“Why, yes, a few times. I’m B-Echelon, but still get a large enough residence for a few beauties. Ah, I remember one,” he reminisced. “She was magnificent, black hair, fiery eyes, superb body--but some chief supply officer got her.” He paused, perhaps in contemplation of the one that got away. “Oh, well, there’s always more to come! Am I right?” He laughed and smiled at me congenially.
It had suddenly become clear that the most commonly sought after item here was women; perhaps a rare prize more highly valued than gems, gold, or jewels, for such were cold consolation for lonely men.
For some reason the Viking raids on old England came to mind, blonde warriors throwing women over their shoulders and carting them off to the waiting dragon boats. I forced my mind back to what Mr. Dillon was saying.
“Also, there’s the general auctions, but the competition is fierce. The brothel owners are always looking for top workers.”
“Brothels?”
“Of course. C-Echelon workers aren’t generally allowed private quarters, and they make extensive use of the brothels.”
“Then we see a fair number of women come up for grabs?” I had to confirm my speculation.
“Yes indeed,” he assured me. “As well as jewels, art, and such. But that can usually be disposed of by Administration through our network of fences. But, if the person isn’t worth ransoming, or doesn’t have the needed skill set, or just plain won’t join us, they go on auction, or are sent to a Pick Pool.”
“I see.”
“Finally, those left over get recycled.”
“Recycled?”
“They’re fed to the food vats. Along, of course, with any betrayers of Genson Smythe’s trust.”
I could see calling these people pirates was not too far from the truth. But, that meant I was a pirate as well, and for some reason that thought did not particularly please me. I decided then and there to remain a live pirate, and not a dinner plate special.
“When you get to your housing unit, check the general information for Home Base. It has a complete explanation of the economic system. You’ll get it down.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dillon. I will.”
“Now, we’ll let you get settled in today, and tomorrow at oh-nine hundred you will have a one hour meeting with Dr. Smythe. One of his staff will be at you door at fifteen till, so be ready. The Doctor doesn’t like to be kept waiting, and it takes at least ten minutes to travel between your residence and his office.”
I heard a shuffle behind me and noticed that a short man had entered the room.
“Tailer here will show you to your residence, and get you settled in. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me.”
“I will,” I replied, “and thank you very much, Mr. Dillon.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Merrywether. And, welcome again to our little organization!”
With that the interview was over, and following Tailer I left the office. Thus ended my first conversation with the Director of Personnel.
“If you don’t mind, sir, we’ll visit your lab first. It’s on the way, and will save us time.”
“Lead on,” I replied.
We took a series of interior corridors through what appeared to be a large administrative block, until we entered a section of Home Base evidently reserved for research. Walking through the passageways, people passed us by in both directions, paying us little attention, intent upon their own business, almost reminding me of a busy corporation complex on a Friday afternoon. Wall panels indicated what levels we were on, and I asked if we could stop for a moment at a cross section to allow me to review the layout of the place.
“Of course, sir. Home Base does need some getting used to.”
Studying the diagram, I soon got the impression that Home Base was basically a large spheroid, and we were presently in a northern section comprised of many shops, offices and other facilities. Housing seemed to be further on around the circumference, and I asked my guide if I was interpreting the map correctly.
“Yes, sir. That there’s the residence halls, cafeterias, and such,” he indicated, pointing at the screen with his finger. “We’re here in the Science section. In fact, pretty close to your office, actually. See, up the corridor two intersections, and half a section on the right into blue block is your lab.”
“Here?” I inquired.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
I was finally getting my bearings. And, I knew now that Home Base was enormous—fully three miles in diameter by my estimate. How it was ever built in the first place was beyond me. This station appeared to be a fully functional pirate base, complete with a huge spacecraft docking and repair center, machine shops, power center, living quarters, and everything needed to supply and upkeep a fleet of ships that preyed on the rich inter-System shipping. I could not understand how it could have remained unknown to the System Patrol for so long.
“Tell me, Tailer, how long have you been here?”
He hesitated a moment, thinking back. “Oh, going on three years now, sir. And it definitely took a while for me to learn my way around.”
“I guess I’m just a little amazed at the size of this place,” I commented. “One could wander around here for days.”
Tailer laughed. “Well, don’t worry sir, there’s navigation panels at all major intersections, and if you need extra help, feel free to ask anyone with a white, green, or blue arm band.”
“Oh? What do they designate?”
“Well, white are, uh, servants, blue Second, and green Third Echelon. Though, some wear them as pips on their collars. See?”
Sure enough, he pointed at his neck and for the first time I noticed a little green pin. It seemed to be an enameled insignia of the Greek symbol beta.
“This means I’m Third Echelon, Beta Level. I got promoted.” He smiled in satisfaction. No doubt promotion, as in most jobs, meant a higher salary and benefits.
“I don’t seem to have one…”
“You’ll find them in your residence, sir. But, yours will be gold. You know, Top Echelon.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Well, sir, let’s get going. Your lab is just a little ways, now.”
The lab turned out to be more extensive than I anticipated. It was large, and contained a fair amount of very sophisticated equipment that I hadn’t seen since my university days. But, it was unkempt, disorganized, and a little dusty.
“Since the laboratory hasn’t been used for a few years, it might need a little cleaning…”
“Yes, I should think so,” I agreed, running my finger over a smooth metal surface. I was inspecting what looked like a Sterling Robotics chassis, maybe five years old, though very advanced at the time.
“We would have had it cleaned up for you, but some new employees prefer taking a look-see first, to make sure nothing good gets thrown out. However, maintenance can clean your lab at any schedule that you would like to set up.”
“Excellent,” I remarked. I would have to catalog the items first, and then decide what goes and what stays.
“Who had this lab before me?” I asked.
“Uh, I’m not sure, sir. I never met the gentleman.”
“Why did he quit?”
“I really don’t know sir,” he replied somewhat nervously. “You would have to inquire with Personnel.” Mr. Tailer began to fidget.
“Well, he certainly left me with a mess,” I joked. That seemed to relieve the tension somewhat. But, I could tell that Tailer knew more about the circumstances of this previous employee than he was letting on.
Before leaving the lab Tailer entered a temporary code word, and we set the visual and voice prints for the security lock. There was very little crime at Home Base, but basic security was standard at any facility, and Home Base had more to secure than most places I had seen.
We then made our way along various corridors, and last took a travel-way to the center of Residence, where Middle Echelon employees lived. Three levels up we found my own apartment, in an area that seemed to reflect the higher tastes and style of the upper crust. There were even some shops and food centers that specifically catered to the Top Echelon, though from their looks, purchasing anything there would probably burn up a lot of Shares.
“Here we are, sir.” Mr. Tailer opened the door to my apartment, setting my bundle on the bed. The place was indeed spacious enough, considering that we were on a base where every square foot was at a premium. It basically had three rooms, a large bedroom and living room combined, a kitchen with a small dining area, and a relatively large fresher.
Tailer went about familiarizing me with the apartment, making sure I would feel at home. Indeed, it was already furnished, though in a somewhat gaudy fashion. But, I could get used to it. And, it was spotless. Evidently, a cleaning crew must have tidied it up before I arrived.
On his way out, Mr. Tailer transferred the residence security to my control, making sure it worked properly. I thanked him for all his help, and he seemed genuinely pleased.
“Please, call me Frank, sir. And, if you need anything at all, and don’t want to disturb Mr. Dillon on what you might consider a minor item, please feel free to contact me, day or night.”
He seemed sincere. “I will. And thank you.”
“Well, perhaps I will see you around, Mr. Merrywether. And, don’t forget that one of Doctor Smythe’s aides will be by tomorrow morning to take you to your meeting.”
“Oh, I won’t forget that!” I laughed. Frank laughed as well, though perhaps a little reservedly.
I had about five hours till I needed to hit the sack. Fortunately, time on board the Blue Flyer had been in sink with Home Base, though I still felt a little tired. I used my personal Share card that was part of my informational packet to purchase a light meal at a nearby dispensary. It was no doubt expensive, but without a feel for the value of Shares, I had no way of knowing, though I would learn soon enough.
I got settled in as best I could and hit the sack early. Tomorrow I would meet the infamous Dr. Genson Smythe, my new boss. Somehow the thought frightened and depressed me at the same time.
*****
True to their word, a thin man arrived at my doorstep right on time wearing an impeccable green suit. Fortunately, I was waiting for him, dressed accordingly in near formal clothes I had found in my closet. In fact, they were the same clothes given to me on board the Blue Flyer, though cleaned and pressed. Someone had evidently transferred them to the apartment during my talk with the Director of Personnel. I was glad I had changed the residence security parameters, though I suspected they could be overridden were the need to arise.
I had also found a small golden pip on the dresser, a Greek alpha symbol raised above a sunburst background. It now lay attached to my collar. I looked ready for my meeting with Dr. Genson Smythe, though I did not feel ready.
The man’s name was Mr. Hunt, and it appeared he hailed from somewhere in North America, possibly the west coast. He acted very cordial as he escorted me to the main transfer corridor and we took a travel-way to the executive administrative area. I got the impression we were near the outer skin of the spheroid, from my still limited understanding of the navigational wall panels.
We stopped at the outer office, and I was surprised to find that the Doctor’s personal secretary was male. “Mr. Merrywether?” he inquired. “You are a little early. If you would just take a seat, sir?”
“Thank you,” I replied
My escort bowed cordially, and left. I sat in the right of three seats and waited, thumbing through the packet I had brought with me. There was no reading material, nor any video feeds to the small room. In fact, the room itself looked somewhat unusual, for at least one wall had a very solid looking appearance.
In about a minute, a buzzer sounded at the desk, and the secretary looked over at me. “Doctor Smythe will see you now, sir. Just go through that door, and proceed to the end of the hallway.
I got up, stepped through the large, solid looking door, then through a second one, and walked about forty feet down a wide corridor. The walls were a gray color, with no decoration. It was a thoroughly depressing passageway, which ended at another solid aperture. I hesitated, and knocked. With my first rap the door slid aside revealing a large office with a man seated behind a vast desk console on the far side. It was Doctor Genson Smythe.
“Mr. Merrywether, come in,” he said without a smile, and yet without a scowl either. His voice somehow seemed to resonate in the room, and project an impartial though fair impression. Perhaps it was an intentional phenomenon designed to impress visitors. If so, it impressed me.
Genson Smythe was a fairly muscular man; handsome in a way, with short dark hair containing wisps of gray and dark penetrating eyes. His face was not lined, and yet gave the impression of great wisdom, or perhaps age. I had never met anyone quite like him before.
“Please take a seat,” he said.
As I approached his desk, he did not rise to shake my hand, but instead watched me with an intense intelligence. He wore an immaculate gray suit, and I noticed a gold starburst on his collar, a pip inlaid with a Greek omega symbol.
“Thank you, sir,” I replied, as I sat down in the upholstered chair. It felt very comfortable, but for some reason no matter how I squirmed, I could not find a relaxing position. I gave up, and leaned forward.
“My credentials, Dr. Smythe,” and handed my packet to him.
He did not reach out to take Fak sheets. “I know everything I need to know about you, Mr. Stiles, or as you are called now, Mr. Merrywether.” He paused and I did not interrupt.
“We had an open position, here under Special Projects, and after reviewing several possible candidates, I decided you would satisfactorily fill that position.”
“I’ll try my best, sir.”
“Excellent,” he replied, his index fingers touching to a steeple. “Well, down to business. Your job here will be to conduct scientific research, investigations, and perform engineering development into specific projects involving android advancements. Here are my instructions; complete with my own input covering the areas you are to investigate. I will supply supplemental materials as required.”
He handed me a complete case full of Fak sheets, and I quickly thumbed through them. They covered numerous subjects, from artificial intelligence to micro motor systems. I had never before seen most of the material, and I was fairly up to date as of a few years ago.
“You see, Mr. Merrywether,” he continued. “My organization has certain recruitment problems, especially involving ship management and control. We have difficulty finding qualified personnel, and even using extensive automation, we cannot crew the number of vessels that I would like to.
“So, I need you to investigate lines of research that would ultimately lead to replacing most if not all of the personnel necessary to man my space vessels.”
I was getting a sinking feeling. Construction of autonomous robots, or androids as they are often called, was likely far beyond my expertise, now or ten years from now. I reservedly informed Dr. Smythe of these cold hard facts. It was better that he find out now, rather than later.
“No need to worry, Mr. Merrywether,” he declared. “I feel you will be up to the task, and I have included information related to my own studies that should greatly accelerate your understanding and expertise in the field.”
“Very well, sir. I will do my best.”
“I can expect no more,” he said. “Besides, any small advancements we can use to upgrade the standard robotic complements already here at Home Base and on our space vessels.”
He paused, and stared off into space, as if his mind were preoccupied with some other matter. Presently, he turned his attention back to me.
“I will expect reports on your progress once per month. See my secretary if you have any more questions.”
He paused for a moment. “That is all.”
His eyes went to his console, and he began operating controls on the massive desk. I was dismissed.
I stood up and murmured, “Thank you, sir,” grabbed the case of Fak sheets, and left the sanctum the way I had entered.
As I stepped into the outer office, I checked my watch, noting that only about ten minutes had passed. Perhaps that was better. There was something unnerving about Dr. Genson Smythe, and an hour-long meeting with him was not something I would ever look forward to.
I made my way slowly back to my residence. I didn’t want to talk to Genson Smythe’s secretary just yet, about anything. I needed to thoroughly check out the numerous Fak sheets the Doctor had given me before I made any decisions that might get back to the supreme leader of Home Base.
Upon entering my apartment, to my surprise I noticed I had several messages. For security reasons, personal communication devices were not allowed at Home Base, and so all messages were by hard-wired net systems. It was inconvenient, but I presume Doctor Smythe knew what he was doing. He was probably concerned about stray radiations that might lead the Space Patrol to his base. At least, that was my assumption.
I had three messages, the first from Services wanting to know if I would like the lab cleaned. The second was from Administrator Dillon concerning my pay and benefits. He wanted an answer soon. I had come to the conclusion that until I got better situated, it would be best to keep my financial resources close at hand, and had decided to send only ten percent of my pay to outside investments under my phony identity. I would keep the lion’s share here for now.
The third message was from Dr. Smythe’s secretary. He was informing me that in three weeks a general auction of women open to all echelons would be held on promenade twenty-three. There was also complete information on how to find out about any scheduled auctions and Pick Pools that I might qualify for. I was surprised. Doctor Smythe must have known that the possibly of obtaining female companionship was a major factor in my ultimate decision to throw in with him. He understood his employees well.
I spread out the Fak sheets on my small desk, and poured over them. Lunch came and I took a break. I decided to eat at one of the cafeterias that catered to the middle and low echelon, even though it took me about ten minutes via travel-way and corridors to reach it. I got in line, selected my food, and sat down at a small empty table in a quiet part of the room. I needed to mull over what my preliminary analysis of the Fak sheets told me. Either I was going crazy, or Doctor Genson Smythe was indeed the greatest criminal mind the world had ever seen. No, he was probably the greatest genius in the last century!
I’m fairly intelligent. But the information he gave me was years ahead of anything I had ever read, and presented in such a way that it made perfect sense to me. He didn’t need a researcher; all he needed was someone competent enough to follow the instructions he had laid out. I had only skimmed the surface, but those Fak sheets probably leapfrogged robotics technology by fifty years at least.
I was eating almost unconsciously and considering the possibilities when a voice a few feet away snapped me out of my trance.
“Oh, excuse me?” I said, looking up at a man.
“May I join you, sir?” he repeated. “The cafeteria is filling up somewhat, and…”
“Oh, of course,” I replied. “Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you. I’m James Dailen. Good to meet you, sir.”
“Thomas Merrywether. How do you do?” We shook hands briefly.
He was a small man, perhaps around thirty-five, with lanky brown hair. Maybe North American, I thought. He settled himself in, and began eating one of the lower cost meals. I noticed he was Echelon Two, with a blue pip on his collar. He must have been new like myself, for the symbol was a Greek alpha.
“So, how long have you been on Home Base?” I inquired.
“Just about two months, now, Mr. Merrywether.” He hesitated a moment, taking a good swill of what appeared to be some kind of beer. “How long have you been here?”
I laughed. “Two days.”
“Wow, you are new. I hadn’t noticed you here before, but not many Top Echelons dine in this place.”
“How’s the food?”
“Oh, not bad, actually, especially for the money.”
We talked for a while of inconsequential things. He was actually a fairly likable person, and had indeed come from North America, central plains area, in fact. He ran afoul of the law for a relatively inconsequential crime, had lost his job as a result, was running out of money, and had been recruited by Genson Smythe’s representatives. It was remarkable how close his tale came to my own.
“Did you get to meet Dr. Smythe?” he asked.
“Yes, just this morning.”
“Oh, man. That must have been something else.”
“You haven’t met him?”
“Nope. Only Top Echelon personnel have ever met the Doctor in person. It must have been exciting.”
I thought back on the meeting. “Yes, it was exciting.” It had been, but I wouldn’t have put it in quite those terms.
“So, what do you do, James?” I asked.
“I’m a maintenance supervisor. Air, water, heating, cooling, my men and I keep it all running.”
“Good for you. People don’t seem to appreciate such things until they stop working.” I laughed.
“You’ve got that right,” he agreed with a smile. “So, what do you do, Mr. Merrywether?”
I wasn’t sure how much to say, but as far as I could tell, my general position was not a secret. “I’m in Special Projects.”
“I see. Well, I won’t ask any more.” He stopped for moment, sopping up the last of the gravy on his plate with a slice of bread. “Say, since this is only your second day and all, you may have a few questions. I’d be glad to answer them, if I can.”
I would like to have known who had the lab before me, and why he left. But, this man wouldn’t know that. I instead decided to broach the subject of the fairer sex.
“Well, what can you tell me about Pick Pools, and the auctions that they have here for companions.”
He paused for moment, and smiled slightly. “Honestly, not too much. I’ve only been to one auction so far, mostly out of curiosity, and the bidding was way more than I could afford.”
“What was it like? Were the women attractive?”
“Several were ok. But, it seemed they were a little worn out, if you know what I mean. I got the impression some brothels were selling off their least performing employees, as it were.”