Retro Tomorrow: Part 6

Ambush

People were constantly being disappointed by space travel. That was because most space ships were small, cramped, box-like crafts. Old-style aero travel was glamorous in comparison. Never mind that these ships had some of the most advanced engines mankind had ever produced. Never mind that they had a degree of handling and control that was undreamed of. Never mind that the way they gleefully thumbed their noses at relativistic physics had made the colonization of space a physical reality in under a century. Space ships were ugly, and, therefore, no one was very interested.

This wasn't the case with the Glory. It was an aeronautical engineer's wet dream. It looked like someone had lacquered an eagle and then painted it gold. It stood there in the hangar that was adjacent to Dr Bartholomew's lab, somehow managing to find the self-respect to gleam, even though the room was almost entirely dark.

It seemed to be looking down at Jenny, silently saying to her, "Hey baby, forget these losers, let's go to some uncharted corner of the galaxy and get better acquainted."

"There are forms you have to fill out," interrupted Dr Bartholomew in his nasal whine, "That is, if you are sure you want the command."

Reluctantly Jenny tore her eyes away from the ship, how could she have even dreamed of refusing the commission.

Suddenly, a handkerchief was being given to her.

"You're drooling," said Betty with an evil smile. She was on her fourth cup of black coffee and had spent some time freshening up in the ladies room, so she now looked considerably more human.

If Jenny had not been so totally transfixed by the Glory, she had no doubt she could have come up with a devastating rejoinder to her friends comment. As it was, she just stared up at the ship with a sense of rapturous awe. She was hardly embarrassed at all when she noticed that she had been unconsciously dabbing at the saliva on the corner of her mouth.

Meanwhile, Andrew was looking at the ship a little more critically. He touched it carefully with his index finger.

"Warm," he said, "Its coated with nanotic solar cells? I didn't believe work on them had progressed past the theoretical."

Dr Bartholomew scowled, he had learned to loathe questions from Andrew, "Yes, well, we don't release all of our findings to the press."

"The paint is actually absorbing solar energy to power the ship," Andrew said to her, translating for the layman, then adding, "This new engine must use a huge amount of power."

Dr Bartholomew gave a pained look which Jenny knew meant that Andrew had caught him in a lie. The doctor was spared having to make a response by the Brigadier.

"Perhaps," he said, "Our new Captain Drake would like to take her ship on a test run, I'm sure that the paperwork can wait."

Dr Bartholomew clearly considered this the lesser of two evils.

"Fine," he said, hobbling towards the controls for the skylight. He flicked a switch and the ceiling of the hangar began to split in two.

Space Ports were always located high above any inhabited areas, for safety. Since Dr Bartholomew did so much aeronautics research, his lab was located at one of the highest points of the Academy, and it had its launch pad. Since so much of his work was experimental, it was located very far away from the official Academy space port.

As the skylight fell away, Jenny was treated to a breathtaking view of clear-blue sky unimpeded by any of the space-ships which so frequently cluttered up the sky.

Only it wasn't. Jenny noticed three black dots, in the sky, slowly growing larger before her eyes.

One look and Jenny knew that the Brigadier had seen them too. His body tensed up.

"This is a no-fly zone," he said, staring up at the dots.

Suddenly, the dots were very big indeed. From her courses in aircraft identification, Jenny recognized that they were Mercurian Light Warships. These were small, two-man ships used in bombing runs and in close combat. Everyone seemed transfixed by their approach. They must have been moving at terrific speed because they were now so close that Jenny could read their markings. Now they were close enough that Jenny could see their gun ports beginning to glow red, which, at the time, she recalled thinking was odd.

She remembered what happened next almost as if it was a dream, a barely coherent jumble of thoughts and sensations. She remembered being surprised and a little bit angry when the Brigadier suddenly and with no warning, grabbed her and roughly threw her to the floor. Then she heard the hot sizzle and smelled the faint whiff of ozone which was the hallmark of a ray blast. This was followed by the scream of metal being torn apart like tissue, then the smell of dust.

Something hard hit her head, and she gathered some time must have passed because someone kept screaming, "Are you alright? Are you alright?" at her. It was the Brigadier. Slowly, Jenny noticed that he was bleeding from his leg.

She wanted to tell him that she was fine, but the dust and the smoke which suddenly filled the room made it impossible. She nodded, which seemed to satisfy him, because he leaned backwards, groaning as he did so.

The hangar was covered in rubble. With relief, Jenny saw that the Glory was still in one piece. This was important, but at the moment she couldn't quite remember why. Surveying the room, Jenny noticed that Betty was still standing there, absurdly clutching her coffee cup, while she looked up out of the skylight. Then Jenny saw what she was looking at: the War Ships had veered back around for a second attack run. The gun port on the lead ship had begun to glow, and the only thing standing between it and the Glory was Betty, who stood their staring at it numbly, like a deer trapped in headlights.

Someone should do something, thought Jenny vaguely.

To be continued...

Retro Tomorrow: Part 5

The Morning After: Redux

"My head hurts," said Andrew as he carefully slid the lid to the Resonator into place, "Is that normal?"

"Yes," said Jenny testily, "Its normal. My head hurts too. Its supposed to hurt after you've been out drinking."

"Then why did we do it?" Andrew asked, his face a mask of innocent scientific inquiry.

Jenny scowled at him, but it was a very good point.

"Oh I don't know," she said after being unable to come up with a compelling reason, "Its just what you're supposed to do after you graduate. Its supposed to be 'fun' whatever that means."

Jenny had problems with the word 'fun'. It seemed that her definition of fun differed from that of the rest of the universe. For most of her classmates at the Academy, fun seemed to involve getting together in a dark room, playing music as loud as possible and drinking yourself sick, with various sex acts to follow where applicable (if any obliging young women were present). As the only woman at the Academy, many of her classmates tried to get her interested in this kind of fun, but she couldn't see in the dark, the music gave her a headache, and the alcohol generally made her sick. Of course, most of her classmates would have been happy to skip directly to the various sex acts but if they suggested as much to her, then they usually found out why she scored top of the class in unarmed combat.

For her classmates, fun seemed to be a destination but for Jenny it was a journey. Most of the time she didn't even realize she was having fun until after the fact. She would think back on some afternoon she'd spent helping Andrew with one of his experiments, or helping Betty try and find that most elusive of objects, the perfect pair of shoes to go with a dress she'd bought, and Jenny would think, that was fun, often in surprise. Jenny usually experienced fun in the past tense, she was usually too nervous to experience it in the present.

Andrew seemed satisfied by this explanation. "One thing bothers me, though, I think that I drank about half a bottle of wine last night. What about you?"

"That sounds about right," she said, "Why?"

"Well, didn't we order three bottles?"

"Ah, that would have been Betty," she said adding to herself: Never go out drinking with Betty again unless you bring along a portable stomach pump.

"She did seem rather intoxicated."

"No, Andrew," said Jenny shortly, "We were 'rather intoxicated'. Betty was sloshed."

Meanwhile, deep inside herself, the fuse had begun to burn.

Andrew busied himself making adjustments to the Resonator.

Finally, he looked up, "I hope she's feeling alright this morning."

Here it comes, thought Jenny and managed to say "She'll be fine."

What she meant, of course, was "If you have any portions of your anatomy which you wish to have painfully removed, then, by all means, continue this conversation, otherwise shut the Hell up."

Andrew wouldn't have been Andrew, though, if he'd ever learned to recognize a subtle hint, and so he said, "Maybe we should have checked in on her?"

"You seem awfully concerned about Betty all of a sudden," said Jenny a little too shrilly, "I mean, considering you could barely remember who she was before last night."

Unaware of the extreme danger he was in, Andrew smiled, "That's funny isn't it. How could I not have noticed somebody as nice as her?"

"Yeah," said Jenny through clenched teeth, "funny."

"I was wondering," said Andrew who was apparently not content to just pull the tiger's tail, he had to splash water on it and make derogatory jokes about its parents too, "Do you think she would mind if I asked her out sometime?"

The words were burning their way out of her mouth before she even noticed, "Look, this is clearly going to be a thing between us, so I just want to say right off that I think it was really unfair how you took advantage of Betty last night."

And that was the thing about Andrew, when you got angry at him, he didn't get angry back, he didn't yell and call you names. He just looked at you with those sad puppy-dog eyes of his and made you feel like a heartless monster.

"I just kissed her," he said, in that kicked puppy voice he always used.

He wasn't going to get out of it, this time, thought Jenny.

"You just kissed her? Is that what you call it? That wasn't a kiss, that was like...mouth sex or something."

"She started it," Andrew said helplessly.

"She was drunk," said Jenny, "You had no right to take advantage of her like that." Adding, to herself, that her righteous anger had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was positive that in the six years that she'd known Andrew, he'd never harbored so much as an impure thought about her. She was definately not jealous of Betty in the slightest, and more importantly, she was positive she wasn't in denial.

"Oh," said Andrew, "I didn't realize you felt so strongly."

"This isn't about me!" said Jenny, "It doesn't bother me in the slightest who you choose to kiss. Its just that Betty is my oldest friend, I don't want to see her hurt. Why should I care who you kiss?"

In the face of such a grotesque distortion of facts, Jenny at least had the decency to look away.

"I'm sorry," said Andrew calmly, "I don't want anything to come between our friendship, and I would never want to hurt any of your friends, I'll leave Betty alone."

That was another thing that infuriated Jenny about Andrew. He was so damn agreeable. Here she was, with a dozen arguments about why he shouldn't date Betty, and he suddenly blows them all out of the water by agreeing with her.

She sniffed. "We've known each other for six years," she said a bit more quietly, "and its not like you ever even tried to kiss me. What? Were you saving it all up until after we graduated?"

Andrew smiled and even blushed a little bit, Jenny thought it actually looked quite sweet.

"Is that what this is about?" he said.

The tension was drained from the moment, Jenny saw it now, this had all been one of those wacky little mix ups.

"Well, not as such," she said slowly, feeling her own cheeks burning, "I mean, I never even really thought about before, but when I saw you kissing her, I suddenly thought, why couldn't that have been me."

"Oh, I'm sorry Jenny, I didn't realize you felt that way. You're my best friend, but I don't think I could ever date you...."

She cut him off, she understood exactly what he meant. "Yeah," she said laughing, "It would be too weird, right, like kissing your sister."

Andrew joined in the laughter. "Yeah," he said, "and besides, you're way too scary."

Jenny was no longer laughing.

"What. Did. You. Say?" she asked him, and now Andrew wasn't laughing either.

"Well," he said nervously, holding the Resonator in front of him like a shield, "You, um, kind of have the reputation around the school."

"A reputation?" she said in a voice which she did not feel was scary in the slightest, "What kind of reputation?"

"Well, remember that guy during our second year who said you had a nice ass during P.T. and how he had to use a walker for the rest of the semester and his roommate said he used to wake up at night screaming?"

"Yeah," said Jenny, "What about him?"

"Well, that was kind of scary."

"I send one sexist pig to the infirmary, and I'm branded for life."

"Then there was that guy two years ago, who you kicked in the...um...midsection. Then there was the time....."

"Look," said Jenny plaintively, "If you're just going to bring up every person I've nearly crippled, then I think this is going to be a very unfair conversation."

"Uh..." said Andrew.

"Look," she said, advancing on him, "You've seen me almost every day for the last six years, right?"

"Uh...yes?" hazarded Andrew, his grip on the Resonator tightening.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Jenny, a great point won, "And you've seen that I can be an extremely sensitive person when people aren't mouthing off to me."

"Uh...." said Andrew who was clutching the Resonator like a talisman.

Jenny's eyes narrowed.

"That's right isn't it?" she prompted her voice promising untold dangers should this not be the case.

"Oh, yes, yes," replied Andrew quickly, "Of course. The model of sensitivity."

"There were probably plenty of times you wanted to kiss me, you were just too shy, weren't there?"

"Uh...." said Andrew,whose knuckles were growing white.

"I said 'Weren't there?'" shouted Jenny, the shrinking violet.

"Uh, Jenny," said Andrew, "If I drop the Resonator, chances are good that we will both die in a horrible explosion. Do you want that?"

Jenny blinked, as if assessing the situation for the first time. She had made a quite significant incursion into Andrew's personal space, causing him to lean backwards in a remarkably good imitation of a Limbo dancer. She noticed that he had begun to sweat, which she decided to attribute to his hangover, and not to the fact that she was, in any way, frightening him.

She backed off, sniffed again, and took a minute to smooth down her uniform. Andrew seized the opportunity to put his invention down next to the door of Dr Bartholomew's lab.

"So," said Jenny, choosing to pretend that the last five minutes had never happened, "What's this doohickey supposed to do anyway, I've been helping you with it all night and I still have no idea."

Andrew was so grateful to be back at a subject he understood, he was more than willing to join in the group Amnesia.

"Its a machine that generates a beam of low level vibrations. The effect should be negligible on solid objects, but on fluids, it should be quite explosive."

"Like," said Jenny with mock innocence, "A cabinet full of chemicals like the one in old Barty's lab."

"Exactly, Ms Drake, full marks."

"Andrew, my friend," she said, their argument, if not forgotten, at least postponed, "You have a frightening mind. I only hope it never falls into the right hands."

Andrew threw the switch. Jenny felt a dull throbbing somewhere behind her temples.

"It will take a minute," said Andrew grinning, every bit the mad scientist.

Jenny waited in breathless anticipation. Nevertheless it gnawed at her that people at the Academy thought she was scary. She might be a trifle irritable, its true, and maybe she might be a little hot tempered, and, yes, she might not be the most friendly person in the world, and, OK, technically, she did seem to get into more than her fair share of fights, and fine, a few people might have had to undergo emergency surgery, but it just wasn't fair callling her scary.

The sound of exploding glassware interupted her revereies. Andrew gleefully shut off his machine.

Fine, she decided, if they wanted scary, she could do scary. She threw open the doors to the lab and strode in like she owned the place.

Oh dear, Dr Bartholomew," she said, "All your chemicals seem to have exploded."

To be continued...

Retro Tomorrow: Part 4

The Morning After

There was something wrong with the sun, she had conculded. It was far too bright, it looked like a laser beam shining through the windows in Dr Bartholomew's laboratory.

There was something wrong with the floor, too. The whole building seemed to be swaying, which was odd, since the Academy had been built to withstand nuke attacks. Still, there was no denying the the whole room was swaying.

She conceded that it could possibly be her that was doing the swaying, but dismissed this out-of-hand because of the obvious fact that it was impossible to move without experiencing soul-crushing pain.

She remembered waking up, of this much she was certain. There was that first beautiful, peaceful moment where she lay there not knowing who she was, not knowing where she was, and being only dimly aware of that terrible throbbing behind her eyes.

She had gotten up. Apparently she had gone to bed wearing her clothes, which was quite convenient. Then there was a bit of time that she couldn't really remember and then she was in the elevator heading up to Doctor Bartholomew's lab. Then, another little time lapse, and she was standing in the lab, with the far too bright light shining through the windows and the floor swaying unsteadily beneath her feet.

It was very important that she be here at this time, she knew this to be the case, and, just like the wobbling floor trying to trick her into thinking her legs were unsteady, there were people here who were staring at her, they were going to try and tell her that she shouldn't be here.

One of these people was looking at her, he seemed quite concerned. He was the Brigadier -- see, everything was fine, they couldn't trick her.

"Good lord, Betty," he said with surprise, "You look a sight."

The name Betty rang a bell. They were trying to trick her again, they didn't think she knew her own name. Well, she'd show them!

"Yes sir, I know," she managed to say, wondering how it was possible for your tongue to hurt. Then, defying all known laws of physics, managed to pull her arm up and give some vague manner of salute. That would teach them, she thought.

"Ah," said the Brigadier, looking his secretary up and down, "I imagine the three of you made rather a night of it," he said, obviously hoping to confuse her, but she would have none of it.

"Wanted to be here, sir," she said through lips which felt calcified, "When Jen got here."

"So," said another voice, and now Betty's mind had really started to work at full speed, it only took it a few seconds to recognize the voice as that of Dr. Bartholomew, "It appears that Lieutenant Drake has decided to accept the commission. Well, well, well, I didn't think she had it in her."

From out of nowhere a warm mug had materialized in Betty's hands, and the Brigadier was, not unkindly, motioning her to drink. She recognized the smell. Betty's mind pulled out a file card which read "Coffee." She took a tentative sip, and that was, indeed, what was in the mug.

Suddenly, the world was a much kinder place. The floor stopped wobbling as much as it had been, and the sun seemed much less bright. Coffee, Betty decided, was good. Coffee was her friend. She took another sip of her friend, and things fell into focus.

They had gone out last night to celebrate. There was wine. Now that Betty came to think of it, she'd had rather more of the wine than either Jen or Andy. She had felt entitled, this was first time since they had met that Andy had taken any notice of her. He had even spoken to her, almost like a real human being -- granted Jen had prompted him rather alot, but still, she had felt that deserved some kind of celebration. Then the night got rather blurred, still she was sure, at some point during the night, Jen had decided to take the commission, and Betty had decided that come hell or high water, she would be there for her friend when she formally accepted it.

All of this would explain why she was standing there amid a rather surprised crowd of onlookers in the middle of Dr Bartholomew's lab with the worst hangover in history, and wearing -- with great trepidation she looked downward -- the pink and purple party dress she had been wearing the night before, which had been quite fetching and appropriate in the Officer's club last night, but which now made her look like a rather wilted violet. And, yes, there it was, the huge wine stain right in the middle of her lap, which had seemed so uproariously funny last night. Then, so as to make the moment complete, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a computer screen -- it had taken her almost forty-five minutes to get her makeup just right last night, this morning it made her look inhuman, and, now that she thought about it, her face felt oddly gritty.

She was about to ask the Brigadier if she could borrow his laser pistol to shoot herself, but the throbbing in her head gained a certain strange resonance, as if, somewhere, just out of earshot, a siren was wailing. The Brigadier seemed to notice it too, for he cocked his head quizzically.

Before either of them could say anything, though, they heard the rattling.

Dr Bartholomew kept a shelf filled with vials and beakers of various multicolored liquids which he used in many of his experiments. He kept a painstakingly close watch on them, demanding his lab assistances fill out detailed forms documenting which chemicals they had used, and for what purpose. Whenever any of the containers began running low, he was sure to get them refilled as soon as possible.

Now, all the various vials and beakers had begun to shake. Now they began to rattle. The non-noise was getting louder (well, it gained strength, anyway), everyone had begun to notice it, like a silent vibration inside your head. Finally a vial rolled off the shelf and shattered. Before Dr Bartholomew could say anything, a sealed beaker exploded, and then another and another, in a shower of multicolored liquids.

Betty looked down at her coffee mug and noticed the liquid was splashing around as if very anxious indeed to get out of the cup. Suddenly the cup leapt out of her hand, seemingly of its own accord, and shattered on the floor. An instant later, all the remaining containers exploded in unison. A second after that, the throbbing in their heads ceased.

The door to the lab slid open. In walked Jenny Drake, in the full dress uniform of a captain, the merest hint of a smile played around her lips.

"Oh dear, Dr Bartholomew," said Jen in a tone that could have caused a small frost, a look of complete and utter innocence on her face, "All your chemicals seem to have exploded."

Dr Bartholomew sputtered, incapable of coherent speech, he pointed his arm, accusingly at her.

"Hello, Brigadier," she said, tossing off a perfect salute, "I'm here to accept my commission."

Then, Jen noticed Betty standing there, "Oh God, Betty," she said, the ultra-cool persona momentarily forgotten, "You look awful."

Still, thought Betty, it could have been worse, at least -- no scratch that, because at that moment, Andy walked into the lab, with an indentical air of nonchalance, wearing the dress uniform of a First Lieutenant. Naturally, she was the first person he looked at. Then, something strange happened. Instead of drawing back from her in shock and revulsion, he gave her a rather bashful and totally uncharacteristic smile.

Then she remembered, the reason she had drunk all that wine, was to build up her courage. After dinner, Jen and Andy had walked her back to her apartment -- okay, they had carried her, but she had kept them entertained with funny stories and amusing banter -- now that she thought about it, possibly another mistake on her part. When they got to her door, Jen had left her to hang off of Andy while she, Jen, opened the front door. Betty had seized the moment, and had wrapped her arms around Andy and kissed him full on the lips. Betty was pleased to note that while Andy had seemed surprised at first, he quickly responded with an enthusiasm which met, and quite possibly exceeded her own, to the point that Jen had to pull them apart so that she could get Betty to bed.

Now, Andy stood there in his dress uniform and smiled at her.

Betty's head was throbbing. Her mouth felt like sandpaper. She was drenched with hot coffee, and the smell of the spilled chemicals was making her want to vomit.

This was the best day of her life.