23
Globe Studios, in wealthy and smug Neo-Hollywood:
Melissa Maxton was not a patient woman. She'd already burnt her way through three marriages, four civil unions and countless drunk weekend affairs. This frenetic impatience tainted all aspects of the show host's life, from her (temporary) friendships to her (always high drama) career.
Now, having watched Denny Caruthers screw up by the numbers, Maxton switched to plan B. She was still at the video centre, at the pulsing heart of that giant, domed complex. Still drinking stale and over-sweet coffee, surrounded by dozens of eyes; the whisper and glow of a hundred pale screens.
Just now arrived, Denny hung back like a dog that expects to be whipped, tugging nervously at his lanyard and shirt collar. Started to make an excuse of some kind, but his boss cut him off at the knees.
"One job, Denny. You had one effing job, and you couldn't hack it. What kind of future do you think you've got in this business, if you can't even bluff an old lady? Seriously?! Who the h*ll lets themselves go like that, anymore? Can't she afford a d*mn shot?"
Maxton threw her paper coffee cup in time with that last, snarled remark, hitting the intern square on his skinny chest. Brown, gummy fluid drenched his white shirt and black pants, but Caruthers was desperate to keep his job. He didn't flinch or cry out. Just sent her a crooked, "thank you, ma'am, give me another," smile, then started to babble and plead.
"She didn't believe me, Ms. Maxton! She kept asking questions! But… but if you could give me another chance, I promise this time, I'll do the job right! Please," he added, because his term at the Vocational Centre was nearly over, and he could not earn his acting certificate without a successful internship.
Maxton's dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Still glaring at Denny, she held out a hand for another cup. One of her assistants… Bambi or Jenny or Taffy, something like that… placed a fresh dose of caffeine in her red-nailed hand.
"Tell you what, Den," purred Maxton, cold and unblinking as a snake. "I'm gonna make you a deal. Call it a little side-wager. Even though you screwed up, I like you. You remind me of my seventh-grade crush. The one who died. Since you're practically like an old friend, I'm gonna let you find granny and offer to take her on out to the show site."
Denny perked up, hardly believing his luck.
"Me? On scene?" he asked hopefully.
Maxton gave the intern a nod, smiling a little.
"Yep. You, Denny… right there on camera, in front of all those people. You'll earn your certificate in no time at all, trust me. Just go to Ma Tracy's dorm, collect the old bat, then take her over to Cloud City. Use one of the company flitters. This is your second chance, Denny, because you remind of someone important. Don't screw it up, this time."
Caruthers shook his head anxiously, so grateful to be given another trial that he almost cried. Wouldn't turn around, either, but backed out of Maxton's presence like he was facing an empress.
"And, Denny?" she called, watching the intern stumble his way past a roomful of smirking technicians.
"Yes, Ma'am?" he asked her, straining forward to listen.
"Change your shirt. We have standards, around here."
A burst of laughter propelled the young man out the door. When he'd gone… once she'd heard the lock buzz shut… Melissa Maxton reverted to type. Turning to face the effects tech, she said,
"Wait till they're on location, and Granny has a clear view. Then, cut off all power to the city's aft stabilizers, and hit the force shields. Make sure they can see what's happened, but can't land to help out."
She'd get a reaction out of that flinty old bag one way or another, thought Maxton, sipping her coffee and smiling a thin, private smile.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
On the beleaguered Cloud City, high above gunmetal rivers and withered fields-
John Tracy knew engines; their sound, their vibration and sharp, stinging tang, when running right. This one felt off; sick and misfiring badly. The whole thing juddered and creaked as he made his way upward, scaling a rickety maintenance ladder.
Above him were Lieutenant Kraft and Lady Penelope. Kayo, too. Below, waiting for the line to clear, was Virgil. A problem, because his brother was heavy, and the ladder's rungs as fragile as cardboard. Well, there was more than one way of threading a bolt or coding a program.
John began kicking out hand- and footholds as he climbed, using his magnetic boots to hammer dents in the shaft's alloy wall. Not so deep he made holes, but indented enough to help support Virgil. Noisy as h*ll, but with everything else going on… increased heat, hovering drones, screeching engines… nobody paid much attention.
He could squeeze handgrips, too, because the environment suit was designed to withstand Venus, Jupiter, and hollow, deep space. That and, well, it was only somewhat powered down. His drone noted everything, but didn't flash any warnings, so John kept on working, blazing a path for Virgil, below.
At one point, a ladder rung broke under Penny's right foot. She nearly fell. Dangled for several wild moments by one hand, scrabbling around for a grip on anything at all that wouldn't just puff into brittle, red dust. Doubling his speed, John raced upward. Risky, concentrating that much weight in one spot, but the redhead had too much IR in him to just sit there and watch her flail.
"Gotcha," he said, after kicking a flurry of rapid toeholds, then getting his shoulder under her butt.
Breathing fast, shimmering lightly with sweat, Penelope craned down and around to look at him.
"Good show. Part spider, are we?" She had to practically shout to be heard over all of that clamour, but her expression was teasing and friendly. Maybe a little relieved. John smiled back at the beautiful blonde.
"I do my humble best," he responded, shrugging his shoulder to give her a boost. See, attractive females were very confusing. His first/ last experience hadn't gone well. Since then, he'd never known quite what to do when confronted with one of them. Could only stay sober, alert and retreat in a blazing d*mn hurry. Anything else was just asking for trouble.
Now, though, Penelope cast a sidelong glance at her video drone, then bent down with serpentine grace to give John a kiss. Aimed for his mouth. Scored on his forehead because he sort-of on purpose shifted position.
Not that he didn't want to. It wasn't "no" forever… just… yes, but not with her? Not on effing d*mn camera? Whatever. He couldn't sort out his own head and heart. Right now, didn't have time.
After an awkward moment, Penny got moving again, picking her cautious way up the ladder and rope. From below, John thought he heard noises, meaning that Virgil had found those kicked handholds, and was already setting off.
John resumed, too, hardly feeling the heat or exertion. At last, he came to an opened hatch, its combing marked all over with blue IR tape. The astronaut twisted sideways onto a narrow ledge, shuffled leftward about a yard, then took hold of the opening's rim. Not Penny, but Kay, seized his wrist from inside, helping to haul John through. Off to one side, the line was knotted fast to a bulkhead brace.
"One, two, three… up you get," Kayo grunted, blinking sweat from her eyes as she pulled.
John gave her a quick, rough hug, cooling the girl off as well as making her smile.
"Lady P and the sailor are already outside," Kayo told him. "But it's not much cooler out there. Plus, there are hostile security bots. I've had to trash six of them."
She was breathless and slightly bruised. Had a small burn on her forehead, above the right eye. Otherwise dirty and sweaty, but fine.
"Better hope they don't charge us for all the equipment we wreck," John replied, edging his way past his sister. "On the other hand, maybe they shouldn't attack us. Changing the subject, Virgil's on his way up. Need me to help bring him in?"
He asked, because it didn't feel right to leave Penny and Kraft outside alone, even if one was a government operative and the other a Navy lieutenant. Kay snorted by way of response.
"Yeah, right," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "If I can pin his butt to the mat, I can haul Virgil in through a stupid door."
"Hatch," John corrected her automatically. Like Scott, he was an Academy grad, and couldn't help it. "In an engine or vehicle, doors are called hatches, Little-Bit."
She shoulder-bumped him.
"And the ceiling's an overhead, floor's a deck. Yeah, blah, blah, blah. I get it, smart one. I just choose not to say it. Now, take off and go to the rescue, before Penny falls down a well or the pirate queen shoots something vital."
Definitely, an acquired taste. Someday, Tanusha was going to make some poor slob blissfully miserable.
"See you outside," replied John. "We're on a schedule, so make it quick and stay safe. I'll drop everything to find you two if anything happens… but I'd rather not have to."
"Aww…" teased his sister, flashing a sudden grin. "I love you, too, Onjay."
Uh-huh. He smiled back, mussed her dark hair with gruff affection, then turned to head out. And, yeah… there were already noises. John picked up his pace, missing the relative peace of Thunderbird 5.
What had he armed himself with from home and the Triumph stock room? Just a circuit pen, a folding knife, and some medical gear. Not knowing what he'd be facing, he'd gone with general usefulness, rather than simply raw power. Guns had their place, but were pretty d*mn final, and the redhead preferred to have options. Therefore, no firearm.
The passage wasn't long, and he'd had enough time to adjust to Earth. Still tried to push off and drift instead of striding, and almost fell on his face. D*mn gravity. Made it, though, racing through the outer hatch to find Pen and Emma back to back against a rumbling and flailing assortment of robots.
Well, John loved destruction as much as the next guy, but he'd always had a soft spot for machines, dogs and horses. Plus, one of those rattling, black-and-white husks might work to house Max in. So,
"Hey! Over here!" John called out, bounding from that narrow accessway into heat, noise and dismal grey light. Glimpsed a force bubble, behind which the sun was just a pale smudge. Spotted crates of shielded nuclear fuel and abandoned loading machinery, as well as the robots and girls.
Now lineless, Kraft was swinging some kind of electrical bola. Guarding her back, Penny had picked up a metal rod and was using it like a spear, smashing through rusted-out bot cladding. Several attackers were already twitching and sparking on the deck.
John's shout had distracted a few of the nearest robots, which turned and wobbled his way. The video drone shot upward, meanwhile, seeking a better angle. John gave his remote viewers a rude, upraised finger, then went back to the business of not getting killed.
Knife wouldn't do any good. Strength would be cheating. Circuit pen? Maybe, if he could just get behind the robots and stay there. That fuel depot was a nice, discontinuous surface, giving the astronaut plenty of objects to jump on and duck behind. Plenty to throw, too. Keeping low, he got the circuit pen out of a pocket and thumbed it to life, working his way around one of the best-preserved robots. Not too big or too battered, flexible limbs, but Max would probably hate it, anyhow.
Eye on his target, John leapt and he swerved. Almost plunged down an open manhole, but succeeded in getting around back. Hurled himself into the beeping security bot, jamming it into the gap between two heavy crates of plutonium. The other guard was swinging around, hunting him with infrared beams and lashing steel filaments.
John worked fast, finding and dislodging the trapped robot's memory cartridge, then replacing it with that of Max. Tough struggle, at first, but the Max cartridge was adaptive. It swiftly configured itself to conform to the open slot. John didn't throw away the old one because that rusted-out guard had only been doing its job. Just tucked it under one arm as he slammed the Max cartridge home. Grunted,
"Tag, you're it," then pivoted to face a charging assailant. He heard Penelope shout something but couldn't respond or look over. Too busy facing a clattering whirlwind of pincers and rust. Kicked an old oil drum into its path, then wrung enough power out of his suit for a heavy-grav leap.
The robot tottered and squealed. John vaulted right over it, landing on a stack of wood pallets. Old and weathered, they cracked, but he fought his way free in a shower of splinters and nails. Meanwhile, the guard bot was experiencing gyroscope problems. It had trouble righting itself and couldn't turn round to face him. Good enough.
John lunged forward, pen in hand. Got there in time to draw a few basic control circuits on the robot's back, in lines of glittering silicate-gold. Connected the end to the bot's power source and bam. Just like that, it shut down, locked by shackles of silicate ink.
By that time, Virgil and Kayo had rushed from the hatchway, dividing up to assist. John would have said, don't harm the guards, there's another way. Only, the unequal fight didn't last very long. And, no… Max wasn't happy, at all.