Ann
Despite the general clutter of her office, Ann Timpson liked where she worked most of the time. Part of it was the fact that she was the Chief of Security, which came with it some privliges. Privelges, of course, that she wasn't about to take advantage of, even if they were sitting in the right hand drawer of her station… Also, there was a nice view of the surface of Prospero, which looked like an overgrown jungle of trees that were all the wrong color. Not that Ann knew a thing about what it was really like on Earth That Was--their home planet had been lost centuries ago. But the tree species that Mankind had managed to take with them to the stars before the loss of Earth all followed a familiar format: Brownish trunks with green foliage. There were different types, but Ann always queried her aedee when she needed to know what they were called--which, so far as she could remember, was never--and otherwise appreciated the fact that they produced enough oxygen to let spacestations survive in the cold of space. Here? Well, Prospero was a unique place, she knew that much. She didn't have a background in xenobiology, so she always had to rely on the experts--Senton Trapp, for example, had a pretty solid grip on what was what here--and, when she wasn't sure, she could live with a shoot-first-ask-questions-eventually-if-ever mentality. Sighing, Ann palmed her viz-display, letting her aedee communicate with the device and project a three-dimensional hologram of her message queue. Rubbing a hand across her short, peppered hair, she looked out at the sagging branches of the strangely colored trees that sprouted in the distance. The Compound was built in a massive clearing--one of their own designs--and had an immense fence securing the perimeter. She'd been stationed at Prospero for nearly two years, and in all that time, she'd never seen one of the creatures that supposedly lived on the planet. Oh, she'd seen video and holographs of them, but never in real life. They kept away--something about the strange smell is what Trapp had said--and pretty much minded their own business. Which meant htat Ann's business involved keeping the Compound as peaceful as possible. That was its own trick. Humans were a stiff-necked lot, and tempers ran high. There was ample space in the Compound, and though there was a sense of being in an aquarium (she'd seen one of those on the Gateway back before she'd deployed to Prospero), what with the glass tubes that connected the different domes of the Compound, most people felt like they were outside--to a certain degree--yet safe enough. But that didn't keep people from getting a little stir crazy. When that happened, it was up to Ann and her crew to keep things from getting out of hand. Those were good days. Busting heads, knocking sense into those less interested in hearing sense? Not a problem. Ann had been doing it for a long time before Prospero, and she planned on doing the same thing for a while longer. No, it was the paperwork that really drained her. She'd rather talk down a belligerent, drunken miner than sift through all the aedee-waste she had waiting for her. Which explained why she was standing next to her desk, trying hard not to think about the drawer on the right hand side, and staring out toward the distant tree-line. The perpetually purple sky of Propspero gleamed like amethyst as the sun sank toward the eastern horizon. That had taken some getting used to: Every spacestation that Mankind used nowadays had a "northward" and "southward" axis (even if such directions were technically meaningless in space) and rotated from east to west. Like the Gateway--that behemoth sat by an immense star, spinning its way about as though it were Lost Earth. She shook her head. People held onto the past, that was certain. She was one of them, she knew. Sighing, she turne dto the queue of messages that waited for her and sat down. Wiggling one of her fingers, her digital-genetic, or digenetic, interface known as her augmented device interpreted the action as a request to process the information on the viz-player. Relaying the request via the digenetic antennae installed in her body, the aedee released thef rist message that awaited her. While she could read the message on her hand--or listen to it, if it were an audiocomm--she preferred to use the larger viz-player whenever possible. It strained her eyes less. The message unfolded before her view, but she found she couldn't focus on the letters. Her thoughts kept drifting to the right-hand drawer. Standing up, she rolled her right hand in a quick, familiar pattern. The aedee took the command and began to read aloud the message in a sterile, computerized voice. The settings were a touch too quiet, so Ann stroked her temple upwards. Her aedee recognized the gesture and increased the volume. "Chief Timpson," read the viz-player, filling the small, cluttered office with the voice as Ann looked out at the setting sun. "You will remember that the Portal's final password check will be happening tomorrow at 0900 hours. Please ensure that the envoy is settled and ready for the process. As the Chief of Security, we expect you to take all measures necessary to ensure the safety of the equipment and the envoy. This is not a matter to take lightly. We have sent a similar message to Captain Terrance Rall, with additional details. If you have any follow up questions, let him know. Sincerely, Desert Peaks. End message." Ann drew in a deep breath. She wasn't a large fan of PAs, but they had their uses. She'd been a private army grunt for a handful of years before deciding the money wasn't worth the sleepless nights. Protecting the Compound, filled with a good ten thousand hard working miners, scientists, and their families? That was more her speed. With a finger flick, she archived the message and moved onto the next one, letting the viz-player read it, as it had the first one. "Ann, we have to make a decision. You don't want us to implement the Janus, but I'm telling you, this thing is important! We have to be able to know what's going on in our home. Please call me--message me, I don't care--and let's talk about it. Please. Lyle. End message." Ann shook her head. She couldn't believe that he was still harping about Janus. The program allowed the listener to eavesdrop on almost any channel broadcast within the Compound. There were comparable programs in use throughout PA-ruled space, but never with civilians. It made sense that private armies needed to keep track of what their employees were doing--particularly when one considered the cost of training the people and keeping them fit enough to do what they had to--but Ann didn't want to listen in on conversations about how the kids got sick last night, or a sext, or any other bit of trivia. It seemed like a waste of resources. Lyle was persistent, but wrong. It was that simple. Extending her right index finger at the viz-player, she said, "Lyle, you know what I think. That's all I have to say about it. Chief Timpson." She dropped her finger, the viz-player put up a question mark to ensure she knew she was going to send the message, and she nodded in response. The message disappeared from her queue. Before she could engage her aedee, a new message showed up, this one marked CRITICAL. Its sender was reflexively read, and Ann felt her stomach seize up. Envoy, Charalee Timpson. Ann swallowed heavily and, without her knowing it--or without her wanting it (but absolutely wanting it)--the drawer slid open and her hand was wrapped around the packet and it was out and free and all she needed to do was squeeze her hand to tell her aedee that the aersol should disperse and then she'd be away and it wouldn't matter because she wouldn't be there, she'd be somewhere safe and warm and there her sister couldn't touch her, not even with memories. She came to herself before the signal could be given. Blinking, Ann shook her head, dropping the packet back in the drawer. She didn't bother looking at how many empty packets were in there still. Instead, she closed the drawer firmly. "No. I can read a letter from my sister without it," she said. She took a deep breath, then another. Closing her eyes, Ann strove to seek the calm within herself. When she was younger, her father had taught her yoga, particularly Dhyana meditation. It had never meant as much to her as it had her father, but she still thought of it as a worthwhile practice. Not as useful as a hit of Calm, but… "No," she said, pushing against the drive in her gut. Calm was fine for when she was off duty or partying (which she did about as often as she saw the alien lifeforms on Prospero), but not because of a message. There were alternatives… Ann sat in her chair, back straight, eyes closed. She wouldn't succumb. She knew herself well enough. It was just Charalee. Her arrival was anticipated--Ann had known that she was the Desert Peak's envoy for months--but that didn't make it any easier. Her self-discipline broke and she tore open the drawer. There were only two packets left--the rest were empty. Without pausing to consider what she was doing, she put one in her pocket and held the other up to her nose. Before she could trigger the aedee's signal, a message popped up on her viz-player. This one, however, wasn't marked CRITICAL. Instead, it was marked the bright orange of an EMERGENCY. Ann stared at it blankly for a moment, then read the brief words. Without stopping to think, she dropped the packet of Calm back into the drawer. Snatching her jacket off the hook by the door, she palmed open the lock. The door apertured open and Ann rushed out, heading toward the Lab. As she ran, she hoped she wasn't too late. |
What is this?This is a NaNoWriMo project that publishes, day by day, the chapters I'm writing for 2017. If you're confused, go to Chapter 1 Ann and start there. ArchivesCategories
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