Damage Control - ARC (20 page)

"Is that Frenck?"Aaron Rosenbaum came down
from the other end of the bar—all six-foot-seven of him. They'd
known each other since college. He thumped Thaddeus between the
shoulder blades, but not too hard. "I thought you were dead,
Frenck. How'd you manage to survive the National Mall attack?"

"Shitload of luck. How's the family?"

"Wife and kids are fine. Bastards got my
niece Emily, though. Just got out of Annapolis, too. Graduated with
honors. She was really gonna be somebody. Got a posting at the
Pentagon."

"That's pretty fucked up, Aaron. I'm
sorry."

Aaron perched on the empty stool to
Thaddeus’s right and leaned in. "Listen, we don't have to take this
shit. There's groups forming all over. We're getting organized.
We're going to make ET go home."

"And let me guess," said Frenck. "You're here
to recruit me."

"Well...yeah. I mean, you saw what they did.
You were there. Don't you want to fight back?"

"You think a bunch of fat old guys like you
and me can accomplish what the US military couldn't?"

"Hey, it happened in France. French Army
couldn't do shit. Along comes the Maquis, and all of a sudden the
Nazis are in trouble. Different kind of fighting."

"With a little help from the Americans and
Russians. All I can say is I'll think about it."

"And Canada. Can't forget Canada."

"I'll sleep on it, okay?"

Next to nearly getting killed on a regular
basis, the worst part about being a news videographer was that you
could never count on a full night of sleep. This phone call
actually came at the very decent hour of nine a.m., but Thaddeus
had been up till six chasing a tip that had turned out to be
nothing.

It was Aaron. "Listen, I know I said I'd give
you some time to think about it, but one of our sister groups is
organizing a protest. It looks like it's gonna be good—big turnout.
You could really make the difference for us, Frenck."

"What are you asking me to do?"

"Well, first of all, I'm sure you're going to
want to be there doing your thing no matter what. I mean, we're
talking about thousands of demonstrators—peaceful demonstration.
But you could really help the cause by giving us an exclusive."

"You want to get an exclusive on my feed? For
what? You got a network lined up?"

"Well, it's not a network exactly. But we got
a lot of stations on our side."

"Wouldn't it help your cause a lot more if
all the major networks got the feed instead? Why go exclusive?"

"Do you have any idea what those bastards
would do with the footage? They've got all the networks by the
balls, you know."

"Yeah, I have an idea what they'd do with the
footage, Aaron. They'd edit it to make it support their position.
And I think that's exactly what you'd like to do, too."

"You always see through all the shit, Frenck.
That's what makes you special. The difference is, we're the good
guys. We're doing it to help get our planet back."

"When do you need to know by?"

"Call me when you're setting up, okay? The
protest starts at ten in the morning on Saturday."

Thaddeus didn't get a chance to call Aaron.
He started to reach for his phone as soon as he had his equipment
set up, but a beautiful brunette in her twenties interrupted
him.

"Michelle John, CNN," she announced, holding
out her card.

"Thaddeus Frenck." He glanced at the card and
stuck it in his pocket. "Let me guess: you're asking for an
exclusive."

A guy joined them from out of the protest
crowd, with what Thaddeus took to be prematurely-gray hair.

"I am," said Michelle. "Normally, I'd talk
about how we offer the highest compensation for exclusives in the
industry. But I don't think you're interested in that, so I'll
remind you that CNN has a very good working relationship with the
powers that be. And while some more reactionary vigilante types may
not agree with that, you and I know that acceptance of the way
things are, when there's nothing you can do about it, means no more
needless waste of Human life."

Before she was half done, Aaron was calling
him. He nodded to Michelle now and picked up the call. "Yeah."

"Sorry to put the squeeze on, man, but my
tech's gotta know, like, a minute ago."

"Tell them both no," said the gray-haired
guy. "I've got a better option for you." He offered his hand. "I'm
Fletcher."

Did Piper find a way home again? What
happened back home when she disappeared?

Why was Zuke flying over Earth in the first
place? Who chose the planet for exploration?

Why wouldn’t Chegg let Jade have any contact
with Earth?

What was Chegg’s secret Earth mission and
what made it so dangerous?

Who is Fletcher and what is he up to?

Read the full story in the four-book series,
The Fletcher Variable
.

To learn more about Chuzekks and the
Fletcher Variable
universe, visit Chuzekk.wikia.com. Feel
free to contribute anything you find interesting from this book,
but please be kind and warn other visitors of any spoilers.

_________________________________________

from
The Canterbury
Tales
by Luke Bellmason

Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Have you ever wondered how your jump drive
really works?

OK, sure, so you simply dial your destination
into the navigation computer and press a button, but that navcom
has to calculate a trajectory to the point in space where you want
to be, then has to take into account all of the gravitational
fluctuations between here and there, then has to crunch those
numbers into vectors for the jump drive, which then flips your
vessel into hyspace at just the right angle and velocity so that it
finishes up in lospace at precisely the right point.

For all this to happen there needs to be an
extraordinarily detailed map of the galaxy you’re in, from every
black hole, pulsar and gas giant, to every moon or lump of rock.
The map doesn’t just need to know where these things are, but also
where they’re going, how fast and where they’ll be at the moment
you arrive. To put it simply; someone had to go there first.

So spare a thought for the brave boys and
girls of the Federal Galactic Naval Fleet Astrogation Squadron.
We’re a rare breed. Subjected to a battery of tests to make sure we
won’t crack up when we’re left on our own for years at a time and
trained to be totally independent.

I’d been on seventeen missions during my
career, more than almost any other scout. I’d faced countless
hostile aliens, spacial anomalies, supernovae, poisonous creatures
and threatening letters from my health insurance provider, but none
of these things filled me with so much dread as being promoted. My
husband had put them up to it, of course.

Bill was a commodore with his own fleet. We’d
met at the Academy when we were both fresh-faced eighteen-year-olds
and had married just as I’d passed the entrance exams for the scout
service. I always joked that he knew what he was getting into, but
Bill laughed a little less at that joke each year. He’d stayed with
the home fleet and raised our two children while I’d been out in
the distant reaches of the Galaxy for years at a time.

We’d talked about ‘promotion’ many times over
the years. I would take a command aboard one of his ships and we’d
serve our remaining time together before retiring. Every time I
went away I’d told him it was my final mission, but then I always
wanted one more, then another. Eventually, it became harder to
persuade Bill to let me go.

The ship he’d chosen for me was the
FGS
Talisman
, one of the carriers that launched the scouts out on
their missions. We’d come to Riga, one of the sectors I’d
catalogued on my first mission when this sector had been unknown
space. Now it was part of the Federation of Galactic Worlds. All of
the Lonestar class scout ships were lined up along hangar deck for
the ceremony. Their pilots were standing proudly beside them in
full dress uniform. I walked in to fanfare and applause.

The whole senior staff of the fleet were
lined up on the stage at the other end of the deck. Bill stood in
the middle, all dressed up. Next to him was Captain Sanvari, the
outgoing Captain whom I was due to replace. The walk to the stage
seemed like several kilometres. I felt strange, breathless. I
wanted to run out of the place.

Eventually, I climbed up onto the stage and
Bill started talking. I couldn’t hear him, of course, as I
immediately froze to the spot, staring out at all those faces
watching me, petrified. Bill reached out to slip the extra gold bar
onto my collar, but as he did, his hand slipped. I felt the stage
move and I saw everyone move sideways. I watched the tiny gold bar
tumble out of Bill’s hand and drop away. Lights flashed, a siren
wailed and the crew scattered in every direction. We were under
attack.

Bill and I ran for the elevators. Another
volley hit the carrier, this time from the rear.

“They’re targeting our engines,” I shouted,
but Bill didn’t hear me.

We dashed into the elevator and hoped it
would get us to the Bridge. The doors began to close and we saw
Captain Sanvari running to catch up with us. I held the door, but
another powerful blast struck one of the launch bays, which had
opened to allow the defence fighters out. There was an explosion,
and several of the Lonestars, fully fuelled and loaded with
weaponry, went up. Bill pulled my hand away from the door controls,
and the elevator lifted rapidly upwards.

By the time we’d reached the Bridge, the
attacks had increased.

“I think I might have an idea who these
people are,” I told Bill. “Remember, I was out here on my first
mission.”

Commander Laxmo rushed over and Bill gave him
the news about Sanvari.

“There’s over forty attacking ships, sir,”
said Laxmo. “They’re split into six groups.”

“They’re concentrating on the capital ships,
right?” I asked, but it was just like I was invisible.

“Get us out of here, Laxmo, move the fleet
out,” ordered Bill.

I could see from the monitor station that my
instincts had been right. I knew who was attacking and I knew what
they wanted.

“Look at those sharded drives,” I said,
“they’re Bodarian ships. They’re after the Lonestars. They only
want the gold cores from hydrives.” Another group of fighters flew
by and launched torpedoes into our flanks. “Laxmo, give the order
to the crews, we have to get the scout ships away.”

“No!” shouted Bill, “turn us around, Laxmo,
we’re not stopping to launch.”

“Don’t forget who’s in command here,” I said.
“Captain Sanvari is dead; this is my ship.”