Authors: Marc Andre
The remainder of the dialogue was less interesting because the story had already reached its climax, and Cotton and I had pretty short attention spans. Allen tied up a few lose ends. The chief goon was brain dead but his body was still alive. When they arrived at 14
Herculis, surgeons were able to transplant the goon’s legs onto the doctor, which made him about 4 centimeters taller than he was at embarkation. New security regulations were promulgated to protect the welfare of cryogens including the requirements for blast proof security doors. Apparently, most captains now days only let a few select, highly trusted crewmembers know that cryogens are being transported and tell the remainder of the crew that the ship is transporting something else. There are also more regulations for pest control on starships and space stations. Lonelistar, and the owners of the Packard, got sued big time by the family of the cryogen that got eaten (even though he was a convicted murderer) and both companies went out of business. Jim was given honorary admission to Black Star International, a private security firm that runs a for-profit school to train people for security positions. They were hoping that his presence would be great for publicity and business, but Jim struggled terribly with both coursework and physical fitness. With extra tutoring, Black Star International was able to teach him basic tactics at the squad level. Their initial goal was to train him as a ship’s officer. However, there was no way they could have pulled that off and still maintain the trust of the public, which is why Jim Boldergat is called ‘Sergeant at Arms Boldergat’ and not ‘Security Officer Boldergat.’ Black Star USA was able to award him a handful of technical security certificates after bending rules and interpreting standards and regulations quite loosely.
I asked Allen how he seemed to know the story of the Packard so well. To me, it seemed that he had access to multiple eyewitness accounts and differing points of view. He told me about how he got much of his information from the Global Comprehensive Background Search Engine.
“Basically it’s a computer program that can link a ship’s personnel data to police records, news articles, social media, and other websites.” He said. “The intelligence of the system is quite remarkable, giving the user pretty relevant information and even capable of discerning records from two different people with the exact same names and dates of birth. The Space Marines use the same system, only theirs can access classified information.”
“Anyone can use the engine?” I asked.
“No, of course not! The search results would contain highly sensitive and confidential information. If a tabloid news agency could tap into it, they could easily ruin the lives of public figures. By law, the search engine is restricted to high ranking ship officers and security personnel.”
“How did you come to use it?” I asked.
“Well I had three chances to guess Jim Boldergat’s password before the system would lock me out and alert the captain. And on my second chance, I guessed correctly.”
“What was it?”
“Magic Sky Daddy, the name of the ship.” Allen’s smug smile faded. He tried to hide the look of astonishment on his face as he realized that he had just given me access to something very powerful. He hardly knew me, and he had no idea if I would abuse it. I pretended not to notice Allen’s uneasiness, thanked him for his time, and we left.
In the passageway, Cotton asked me, “Do you think that story about the Packard is true?”
I thought for a while. “Yes, despite being royally messed up, I’m pretty sure it is.”
“Is that why Jim Boldergat is so afraid of rats and is always eating?
Because of the famine?”
I was pleasantly surprised Cotton knew the word “famine.” “Yes,” I replied, “that’s exactly why.”
“I don’t want to end up like Jim Boldergat,” Cotton said. “For a hero, he’s really messed up.”
“Don’t worry,” I said as kindly as I could. “I won’t let anything that bad ever happen to you.”
Allen sent me a message explaining that he hacked into Mrs. Hallisworth’s computer and enabled my math processor. He enumerating the steps I would have to take to avoid getting caught cheating at math. At first I was a bit perplexed why a guy who boasted about his ability to bypass computer security would send such a self-incriminating message, but about a minute after I scrolled down to the last line, the message deleted itself. I assumed Allen had also taken steps to remove copies of the message from any centralized server.
Allen explained that the math processor would appear as an icon called “math problems” followed by the current date expressed as eight digits. The date would automatically update every school day. From her own computer, Mrs. Hallisworth would be unable to determine that an additional program, other
than the assigned problem set, test, or quiz, was operating on my module. However, if she roamed around the class and looked over my shoulder, my cheating would become rather obvious. To get around this, Allen assigned a set of keystroke and stylus short cuts that would allow me to rapidly open and close the math processor program.
As a closing thought, Allen wrote, “Your math impairment is rather profound. Keep in mind that if your performance suddenly improves from ‘failing’ to ‘excellent’ or ‘outstanding,’ you will arouse suspicion. Furthermore, your own incompetent computer skills will likely implicate me, so moderate the extent to which you pursue this line of academic dishonesty.” Labeling me as impaired, failing, dishonest, or incompetent didn’t bother me in the least, but implying that I wasn’t sneaky enough to avoid over inflating my grade stung a little. Regardless, I followed Allen’s advice, and within a few weeks, I elevated my grade to a C minus.
Hammond put down his tray and sat next to me. My thoughts returned to my more immediate environment.
“You like them cheeseburgers,” Hammond said to Cotton, observing all the empty wrappers. Cotton grunted and nodded without looking up from his meal.
“What did you get on your last essay in English class?” Hammond asked, accepting the fact that Cotton was too lost in his meal to engage in conversation.
“C plus,” I lied. I had received an A minus, but I knew Hammond was performing badly, and I didn’t want to cause resentment.
“Way better than me,” he said.
“You failing?” I asked, concerned.
“Almost, but not quite.
Though if I do, it’s no big deal. I mean I speak English pretty good no matter what Ms. Gross says.”
I tried to think of something reassuring to say, but my mind went completely blank.
“Teachers are always putting me down!” Hammond said. “I don’t know what they have against me!”
“I don’t ever remember Ms. Gross putting you down,” I replied.
“She’s always correcting me!” Hammond said, angrily.
“She’s supposed to correct you. She’s a teacher. That’s how she gets you to learn.” I had made the comment without considering Hammond’s feelings, and it was clearly the wrong thing to say.
“What’s it to you?” He snapped, red in the face. “What are you, in love with her or something?”
Cotton had finished his burger and seemed to enjoy watching Hammond and I argue. “She hot?” my brother asked. Thanks to Allen unlocking the adults only channel on our living unit’s entertainment system, Cotton had finally learned to appreciate those biologic characteristics that separated my brother and I from the female sex
Cotton’s inquiry about Ms. Gross’s appearance seemed to set Hammond at ease. He turned the question over in his mind for a few seconds so that he could assess the matter objectively. “She has a good face. She dresses nice. Okay boobs, I guess, but she kind of has a big rear.”
“Oh yeah,” Cotton said looking at me, “that’s how he likes ‘em.”
“What? No!” I protested.
“Yeah you do!” Cotton said. “I
’ve seen the way you look at those pics of Fiona Mammalot. Back home,” he grinned at Hammond, “him and his friend Billy pooled $300 for this one sleazy skin mag called
Trunk Junk Rump
or something.”
I had no idea Co
tton knew about my old copy of
Trunk Junk Rump
. I let Billy keep it when I left Yucaipa.
“
Fiona’s rear is big, I’ll give you that,” Hammond agreed, “but she’s all fit so her rear is all nice shaped and sticks out the back. Ms. Gross’s butt’s not very firm and kind of sticks out the sides.”
“Hey I think I know who you are talking about,” Cotton said, “the English teacher right?”
“Yeah that’s the one!” Hammond said.
“Oh yeah, Anton is definitely in love with her. He doesn’t mind if her butt sticks out the sides,” Cotton said with a smile, knowing the conversation was causing me maximum unease.
“What? No!” I protested. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Allen sitting alone in the corner. He had taken the bun off of his burger and, with the skill of a surgeon, had dissected the cheese from the meat. He had taken three bites from the paddy, and I could tell by the way the small boy was picking at his meal with a fork that he was full. I knew Hammond didn’t like officers’ kids, so I beckoned for Allen to come over and join us, hoping that Hammond would get pissed off and leave. Allen smiled, stood, and picked up his tray.
“Why do you like that kid?” Hammond barked.
“He’s all right. Hey, if you don’t like him, feel free to leave!” As the words left my mouth, I knew I had played my hand badly and had essentially dared Hammond to stay.
“Well I’m not going anywhere!” Hammond protested.
Allen sat down next to Cotton and said, “Hey guys, what’s up?”
“Nothing!”
Hammond said gruffly.
Allen looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. We can talk about whatever you guys were talking about before I came over,” he said awkwardly. “Unless it’s private, then we can talk about something else. What were you guys talking about? No wait, you don’t have to tell me.”
To my horror Cotton extended an olive branch between the two older boys and blurted, “We were talking about how Anton loves Ms. Gross the English teacher.”
“No I don’t!” I protested.
“I don’t think I know her.” Allen said. Not missing an opportunity to boast, he added, “I’m in advanced placement independent study, after all. Is she good looking?”
Hammond shrugged and Cotton said, “Eh, she’s alright.”
As if I wasn’t sitting at the table, Allen bent forward and, at a near whisper, said, “Actually, I’m pretty sure Anthony is in love with my friend Ellen.”
“Ellen?” Hammond said with interest.
“Which Ellen?”
“That Ellen,” Allen said, standing up and waiving at someone in the mess line.
To my horror, Ellen waved backed, came over, and sat down next to Allen, setting her salad bowl down on the table.
“Ellen from English class!”
Hammond said with delight. “Yeah I could see that!”
“See what?” Ellen asked, a bit put off that someone an arm’s length away would talk about her in the third person.
Under the table I kicked Hammond as hard as I could. My aim was a bit high, but thankfully I missed his testicles.
“Ummf!”
Hammond grunted, followed by a quiet “nothing” as he tried to discretely shrug off the pain.
“What are you boys talking about?” Ellen asked, totally confused.
“We are talking about how Anton loves you?” Cotton said with an evil smile.
“What? No!” I cried, totally embarrassed.
“Oh no, he doesn’t,” Ellen said dismissively. “He’s in love with Ms. Gross, our English teacher.”
“What? No!” I cried again.
“Oh I knew it! I knew it!” Hammond said triumphantly, jumping out his seat and pointing at me. “I knew it! I knew it!”
“YOU BOYS SETTLE DOWN!” Sergeant at Arms Boldergat barked from across the room, clearly upset that someone dared disturb the love he was making with a carton of tapioca pudding.
“Sorry!” Hammond said, taking his seat again.
“I’m not a boy!” Ellen protested meekly, but our champion of a peace officer had returned to his compulsive eating and either didn’t hear Ellen or was simply ignoring her.
Hammond leaned forward in his seat. “What makes you think he loves her?”
“What?” I said. “Hello, I’m right here! You shouldn’t talk about me like I’m on the other side of the room!”
“Oh no,” Ellen said. “I don’t
think
Anthony loves Ms. Gross. I
know
he loves her.”
“What? No!” I shrieked, loudly. “I do not!”
Cotton couldn’t contain himself. He rocked back and forth in his seat, hooting and hollering with amusement. The ruckus disturbed Jim Boldergat again. He put down his pudding and glared at me.
“I can tell by the way he looks at her and totally sucks up to her in class.” Ellen said. “You know, in all the other classes we have together, he totally ignores our teachers and just fidgets with his module or gets his homework done.”
“I do not!” I protested, too loudly apparently, because a few seconds later, right before I had a chance to deny to Hammond that I would ever do anything as uncool as homework, I felt a fat fingertip tap me in between my shoulder blades.
I turned around to see Jim’s red face, jowls flapping as he screamed “BOY! I TOLD YOU TO SETTLE DOWN! ARE WE GOING TO HAVE A PROBLEM HERE? AM I GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE YOU TO THE BRIG?”
I flinched in disgust as Jim’s spittle sprayed me in the face.
“No,” I said, calmly, “we are not going to have a problem.”
“WE BETTER NOT!” Jim barked. The fat man huffed and turned away.
The peace officer gone, we resumed our conversation. Apparently, we were still on the subject of me.
“Did you see how the sergeant made him flinch?” Hammond said mockingly. “Man, what a coward!”
“Yeah,” Cotton said. “Why were you like all apologetic? You didn’t do nothing wrong. If anything, he was out of line for getting all sore and hollering at you.”
“I didn’t apologize,” I protested.
“Yeah, could you be more servile?” Allen said, emboldened by the unchallenged abuse Cotton and Hammond had dished out at me. “Maybe next time you can grab your ankles and let him take you from behind.”
To my horror, Ellen was the first to laugh, and loudly too, her face turning red. Hammond pounded his fist on the table with amusement, and Cotton fell out his seat, rolling around on the floor, his sides aching. Allen looked pretty pleased with himself. Unfortunately, Jim Boldergat had left to join the mess line, so he missed the whole thing and would be unable to scream at my abusers for disturbing the peace.
Cotton was the first to speak up when the mirth finally subsided. “I’m going to get some pudding.”
Ellen stood up as well. “I don’t like this salad dressing, I’ll go with you.”
Hammond also stood up, “Yeah… I’ll… uh… come too.” His desire to spend more time with Ellen was blatantly obvious. The poor girl blushed with embarrassment.
After they left, Allen leaned forward and said quietly, “I have a favor to ask of you and your brother.”
“Yeah sure,” I said. “We owe you plenty.”
Allen looked over at Jim Boldergat, who had returned to his seat. Lowering his voice, he said, “We probably shouldn’t discuss it here.”
“Yeah, okay. I got you.” I winked. “You wanna cause some kind of mischief.”
“Hush!” Allen put his finger to his lips. “Keep your voice down! You’re going to get us into trouble!”
Whispering, I asked him, “Jeff and Mike coming after you?”
“Actually, no!” Allen said. “They’ve pretty much ignored me since your scuffle in the archives.”
“Good! Looks like they figured picking on you isn’t worth the trouble.” I said.
Allen nodded. “What do you need us to do?” I asked.
“I need you guys to go somewhere nobody else can go.”
“What for?”
“I need to get something.”
“I dunno,” I said. “We’re not exactly ninjas or cat burglars or nothing.”
“Well I know you’re not,” Allen said, “but Cotton is.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I lied.
“Yes you do,” Allen said. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He reached into his school bag and took out his backup deck. It was almost as fancy as the one he had in the archives.
He tapped the datapad, and a dark image appeared on the screen. I couldn’t make the picture out, exactly. It appeared to be some sort of amorphous mound of cloth jammed in a tight tunnel. The camera pushed up against the mound. It went out of focus for a while and then seemed to jiggle. A metallic probe extended into the field of view and pushed into the mass. The mound wiggled again, only faster this time. A blue electrical arc shot out of the probe into the mound. The mound lurched forward, and an instant later Cotton’s face appeared wearing a rather pained expression. He pounded his fist into the camera and the screen went blank. I frowned and shook my head.
“Does Jim Boldergat know about this?” I asked.
“No.” Allen said. “This isn’t from the ship’s security feed. When you started the rumor about the rats in the ventilation system, I didn’t buy the official explanation that turbulent airflow was causing the ducts to rattle. So I commandeered a jano-bot from the clean utility, and modded it out into a pest control hunter-killer.” I chose not to challenge Allen’s assertion that I started the rodent rumor. No doubt he had found the essay I wrote for English class on one of the ship’s servers.