Edited, thanks!

Aces 29

Globe Studios, later that night-

You built your walls and you stayed behind them; freezing emotion in boxes that had to stay locked, for all time. That's how John Tracy managed his life and career. Only, Triumph accepted no barriers. You spilt your guts at the nightly bull session, or else you cost you team valuable points. So, yeah… John refused to be the reason that IR lost out on their lead.

Like the rest of his family, the redhead never backed down from a challenge, once accepted. His DNA coded hard for defiance and pride, right up there with "effing introvert".

These council meetings took place at Globe Studios. Each night, the teams gathered with Melissa Maxton in sim-room B. They met at the pebbled shore of an artificial lake surrounded in boreal forest, with a fire of blazing false logs and stars burning bright, overhead. (Not very subtly, those shifting constellations advertised popular snack food and televid shows, adding some much-needed revenue.)

Scenes of the day's adventure were flashed up on rotating virtual screens as IR, the Deth Chix and GDF Navy sat round the fire on tree stumps and logs. Created by hidden fans, a constant breeze sent up showers of sparks, making the firelight flicker and dance. Swarms of video drones jockeyed and buzzed, covering all the contestants. That was the setting as, prodded by Maxton, the teams "dug deep" and shared.

Alan and Penny loved the attention. Virgil, Grandma and Kay could take it or leave it. John was in hell.

Perched on a photo-shopped pine log (really a cushioned director's chair) Melissa Maxton grinned at them all like a slavering jackal, saying,

"Right, then. Starting with our second-place team, Acme Entertainment… what is your deepest secret? Best answer gets extra fuel and a thirty-minute head start, tomorrow." A prize that actually mattered. Needless to say, the answers came thick and fast, from Blud's…

"My real name is Elmer,"

To Skull Doll's…

"Mum lies about her age and her weight. Add twenty to both."

Frog told of being abandoned; dumped by his folks at a government kid care facility for a supposed night out that just never ended. Stayed firmly non-binary through all of it, having faith in neither end of the sexual spectrum.

Then Murder Doll admitted wanting to kill someone, once, just to see what it felt like… after which Cobra snapped,

"Already have, as a juvenile. Had to fight my way out of an alley, at… guess I was almost twelve. Got caught afterward, did my brain-scrape and had my record erased. There's parts I still remember… but it won't be dug up to help sell more crap on TV, Ms. Maxton."

The show host kept right on smiling, twining a lock of dark hair round her index finger. Thinking, 'You already have, Sweet-cheeks,' Maxton turned from Alice's snake-tattooed face to IR.

"Now for our winners," she purred. "Let's hear the deepest-held secret you've got, and strive to top Acme. Least you can do, after nearly being disqualified."

Alan was game to try, first, being a big fan of cameras. Sitting up straighter on his fake-log seat, lit up by Zippy Mc Drone-Face, the skinny blond jumped right on in.

"Okay, so… I broke into dad's liquor cabinet, once, and tried all the bottles but one, because then I heard someone coming."

Virgil turned on his seat to stare at the cockily grinning young astronaut.

"That was you?" he demanded, handsome face crunching up in a scowl. "I thought Gordon got into the hooch, again."

And then, because the spotlight and drones were focused now firmly on him, Virgil said,

"Uh… as for me… I don't have many secrets. I think I might be in love, but I'm not sure she's taking me seriously."

Brown eyes warm in the firelight, Virgil went on, his voice just a little bit shaky.

"Thing is, I don't lie about stuff like that… and I usually keep my mouth shut… but I have to let her know I'm not kidding. All I need is a chance to prove I'm the guy she's been looking for."

He stared at the fire while talking, hoping that more than just flames were warming his Emma. A varied chorus of "Aww…" and snorts of disgust filled the brief silence that followed. Then Penny spoke up.

Inspired by Alan and Virgil, she fabricated a wild adventure in which she and John had supposedly met and fallen in love. BS to the power of off the d*mn scale, but IR's sentinel was forced to back up her lie because, points.

After Grandma shared her secret lemon-Mayonnaise frosting formula, and Kayo modeled a never-fail submission hold (on Alan) there was no further stalling. John had to participate, like it or not. Question was, what to discuss?

Earth as seen from space, when the line of night swept over the globe, and city lights sprang to life like a sparkling rash? The two-billionth digit of pi? How to soothe and cure a colicky mare? IR's annual pizza budget? Scott's nickname for Thunderbird 1? (Classified)

None of these options seemed right to him, somehow. So, ignoring that circle of fire-lit faces… especially Maxton's… John said,

"I'm 11001, in binary," adding, "numbers have colour and texture, to me. Solving an equation gets to be like…"

"Creating a painting?" Penny supplied, surprising him.

John slowly nodded.

"Yeah. Sort of. Only, equations flex and change value, depending on how many variables you're juggling. You could get lost in that."

And then the astronaut felt almost naked, like he'd revealed something too far inside to be comfortably shared. Wanted to climb a tree and pull it up after him, or just retreat to his station.

Fortunately, Melissa Maxton signaled commercial break with a grunt and an impatient knife-hand.

"Wonderful," she snorted, once the camera drones switched back to stand-by. "Two hours in the can, and all we've got to show for it's a would-be murderer, underage drinking, a love-sick pilot, math garbage, and the worst d*mn cake recipe I've ever heard. If anyone actually tries that sh*t, we're going to get sued."

Then, shifting her slitted gaze to the other side of that hissing and popping gas fire, the show host snarled,

"Navy's up, next. Hopefully, they won't be as lame as the rest of these losers."

Well, Firth, Tanaka and Striker were NCOs; they would not make a move without go-ahead from the two officers present, Rigby and Kraft. Those two glanced at each other. Yes, they wanted to win, and felt pretty d*mn humiliated by that awful first round… but neither were they inclined to boost Maxton's ratings.

Just over their heads, a slow-turning number counted downward from 3, timing the end of their break. Captain Rigby cleared his throat and shifted position, there on that plastic log. Above him, the constellations had rearranged themselves to display an upcoming football match; Manc vs. Real Madrid.

Tall, rangy and blond, sporting a textbook sharp buzz-cut, the Marine was no Tracy, but still a good-looking guy. He said,

"Firstly, I resent being labeled a loser. Nobody present gave less than their all, out there. Yes, there were some miscalculations. We'll make the appropriate adjustments."

For just a moment, the Virginian's blue eyes drifted over to Kayo, who'd gotten him down in that very same choke hold, earlier. She winked at him, as if thinking: Bring it, Tough Guy… if you want to go for round two, that is.

Meanwhile, a falling star crossed the night sky, trailing a brilliant stream of familiar cereal shapes (hearts, moons, clovers). Looking away from the beautiful, green-eyed girl, Wayne Rigby kept talking.

"Second," he said, "as this council meeting is intended for amusement and entertainment purposes, only… we reserve the right to lie."

"Lie?" repeated Maxton, while over her head, starry soda poured into a phantom glass.

"Through our teeth," growled Lieutenant Kraft, jumping into the conversation. She'd had a lot to think about. An unfair emotional load dumped onto her plate. Should have been angry at Virgil D*mn Tracy. Instead, took it all out on the show host.

"Everything we're about to reveal can be taken as possibly utter bullsh*t, from I'm eighty-seventh in line to the British throne…" (At which Penny blinked and looked startled.)

"…To I was president of the Academy glee club, and I sing bass," finished Rigby. "Played lead in the Pirates of Penzance."

Admissions that started a frickin' wave. Petty Officer 3 Sakura Tanaka grinned at her officers. Seeking to up the BS quotient, she murmured,

"I have not said so, before, but my father is a Space Corps Admiral, and my mother a World Council chairperson. This name is false. It is my maternal great-grandmother's; taken so that my career is not shadowed by theirs."

Lance Corporal Firth was next to speak up, as Rigby and Kraft cautiously side-eyed their not-so-humble petty officer.

"There I was," he drawled, gesturing widely with both out flung arms. "At the helm of a one-man scout sub, mapping an unknown stretch of polar sea floor, when… BAM, a huge methane bubble burst up from below, out of this hidden crag. The sub was unsupported, now, with nothing but gas bubbles surrounding her." Warming to his story, Firth went on.

"So, down I dropped, the height of Tracy Tower, at least. Only thing that saved my Navy ass was a giant swarm of comb jellies that got caught with me. Cushioned the fall, as we plunged down into this giant crevice. Must've dropped for, like, thirty minutes; lubed up with jelly fish. Tumbled through to a cavern lit by veins of radioactive minerals, high above a huge sea. Fresh, as it turned out." Enjoying himself, the young Marine plowed onward, saying,

"And there, on an island smack in the centre of that sunless dark sea, was a rock crystal island inhabited by warrior reptiles. Naturally, because of my magic science powers to bring light and fetch back the sunken gems of their throne, they made me champion of the realm. I'd be there still, except they wanted me to marry Princess Zzyzz and, uh… I'm not into scales and crushing embraces. Had to repair my sub and then break for freedom the night of the wedding feast, by riding a geyser straight back up to the ocean floor. Got the grisly scars to back what I say. Serious inquiries, only."

To raised eyebrows and puzzled looks from the rock band and rescue squad, Emma just shrugged and said,

"Happens all the time." Typical Navy adventure. Not for the faint of heart, or the Air Force.

Melissa Maxton, clutched by a truly fresh notion, scarcely heard Yeoman Striker say,

"I was born at a very young age, to three and a quarter parents…"

"Denny," she hissed, making sure that the drones were all focused on panning reaction shots. "C'mere. I've got an idea."

See, so far, all of the danger was conjured up and largely imaginary; the settings carefully vetted. But… what if an actual emergency came up, right there at Globe Studios? One that caused IR to show up with their rescue craft, performing heroic feats on camera? Real action and genuine stakes, with ratings that shot through the roof!

As Denny Caruthers panted up from the visual effects room to join his boss, she slipped past the bonfire glow. Seized his collar with both clutching hands, hissing,

"Listen closely, Den. Here's what I need you to do. You, alone, without a word to anyone else, got it?"

As for who won that head start and fuel depot? That was down to test audience choice, and the people voted hard for the GDF Navy. Some of them even joined up.