Hijack: Part 6

December 9, 2016December 8, 2016 ~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

The morning meeting came as much welcome as anyone had expected. It was 8 AM on the dot when the Union Rep pulled into Lone-Wolfe’s lot. The Chief of Police followed immediately. Little was said between them as they stepped for the door, brief-cases in hand. Gail had made coffee and forced Carl off the couches so she might sit with Darian and Marla across from the pair. The rest of the employees gawked one room or the other, hidden in shadows or at desks and chairs only half-listening so no-one would notice.

They laid out files and folders across the coffee table between them, set up audio recorders “for the record.” Gail figured that meant, “to sell to the nightly news.” She allowed it for the sake of moving forward, and began by introducing Marla and Darian.

“Marla and I were retrieved the vehicle after the accident. Darian is Lone-Wolfe’s crew-chief, and is inspecting it on grounds of his experience with it.”

The Police chief spoke first, and at Marla, as if singling her out for the weakest link, “And you submit the vehicle arrived in roughly the same condition it left the tow-lot?”

Marla eyed him, but spoke expertly, “The vehicle arrived here in identical condition. We have cell-phone photos to prove it.” She fished out fuzzy print-outs from a file-folder and set them up, “As well as high-resolution images of the rig’s arrival and unloading.”

She thumbed out a few pieces of photo-paper, and the Chief’s mouth squirmed. He’d expected her to be the weak link, not a well-spoken professional. Gail sensed almost immediately how in over his head he was; he’d made it through life bullying the weakest making his way forward from it. He’d expected to get through the morning the same way, but now couldn’t. Regardless of Marla’s standing in the three, she was still expertly skilled, however often Gail found fault with certain personality traits.

Gail hid smug satisfaction at watching the Chief squirm. He’d already revealed his agenda, and the whole damned building knew it. He wasn’t there to meet out justice. He was there to appease constituents and critics, crack-down on the little guy. Gail wasn’t little by any means, even less so a guy, and infinitely less of one to be fucked with so crassly. It was going to be one of those days, and everyone knew it now.

The Union Rep explained, “Local 413 is prepared to argue in your defense provided you meet certain criteria.”

“In our defense? Is someone taking this to court?” Darian asked suddenly.

“We’ve received word the NHSB is preparing a lawsuit to be brought to the state’s Supreme Court. As I said, we’re prepared to represent you, provided you allow a forensic investigator to assist in your examination of the vehicle.”

Gail fumed, but did her best to keep her cool, “What good’s a Union that can’t protect us?”

“That is what we’re attempting–”

“No. It isn’t,” Gail spat sternly. “You’re covering your own asses and throwing us to the wolves. All of this is politics and optics. If you had the clout you pretend to, it’d never go so far.”

“Need I remind you this conversation is being recorded?” The Chief said, mirroring her previous smugness.

“I’m allowed to be angry,” Gail said, clamping her jaw shut. “I’m allowed to admit that I feel we’re being hung out to dry. That the Union has only its own interests in mind concerning this case.”

“Gail, please,” Darian interrupted with a low hand. He eyed their visitors and Gail, “I see no reason not to allow a forensic investigator to observe, so long as that is all they do. I have a job to do with regard to the vehicle, and I intend to do it. I’ll comply as much as is reasonable. I can always use an extra set of eyes. That said, I can’t allow anyone to compromise my inspection. What I’m doing here will set the tone for everyone’s defense– be it Union, Lone-Wolfe, or otherwise.”

The Chief seemed to relax at Darian’s obvious command of the situation, “Very well. Then I’ll ensure you’re deferred to as authority during the inspection.”

“And so long as there is no evidence of non-compliance in this matter,” the Union Rep said. “Local 413 will be behind you every step of the way, but I warn you Ms. Wolfe, your company’s on thin ice, with the Union as well as the Press. You’re under the microscope for the time being.”

“Which means what?” Marla asked outright.

“We’ll be sending in representatives to observe and document the company’s work and responses to the investigation.” He managed a round-cheeked smile that made Gail want to knock his teeth in. “Consider it our own form of investigation regarding personnel and operations. Should everything check out, your certification within the Union will remain in good standing.”

“And if not?” Gail asked with a slight snarl.

He winced and rose from the couch, “Let us hope it does not come to that.”

The group rose with him, Gail’s arms firmly crossed as the two saw themselves out. She watched the garage door shut, then about-faced and marched into her office. Darian and Marla trailed after her, passing gawkers that did their best to suddenly appear casual. Gail sank in her chair while Darian and Marla stood before her.

“Shut the door,” she instructed them. Marla slipped away for a moment, returned with her arms crossed. “Darian, watch this… investigator carefully. Don’t fuck up your job over it, but make sure they’re not allowed access to anything sensitive. Especially on the rig.”

Darian nodded, “I’ll handle it.”

“Have you found anything yet?” He shook his head. “What’s the hold up?”

“What’s left of the rig’s pristine, or as much as it can be after the accident. So far though, it’s looking more like driver error.”

“Have we heard from the Cook County Coroner yet?”

Marla replied this time, “Someone took a call from the office yesterday, but they said it’d be a couple days before they released their reports. Apparently they’re backed up on paper-work, but Bud’s wife took possession of the body yesterday. She called in to alert us of it, and that she’d call back once they’d made the funeral arrangements.”

“You should go,” Darian insisted. “A lot of us have already decided to. Ferrero was a good guy, a friend to all of us. It wouldn’t be right not to. The dispatch crew’s spoken to one another about it, they’re planning to go in shifts.”

Gail heaved a sigh, leaned back in her seat with fingers tensed against her forehead. She hated funerals. They were an extension of people’s inability to accept things and move on. To her, “Closure” was just another word for attachment. She respected Zen philosophies most, ones where nothing was sacred and all things would pass. Anything else just seemed self-indulgent and delusional.

While she agreed with Darian’s assessment, not attending was still better than attending without a proper show of sympathy– or any for that matter. Sympathy was one of those emotions she had trouble with. It required a certain level of sentimentality, and she seemed to be losing what little she’d had by the day.

She straightened in her seat, “Fine. I’ll go. Marla, keep me informed of anything we hear.”

“And until then?” She asked simply.

“Help Darian and keep an eye on that squint when they come in. If I need you for something more, I’ll let you know.” She waved them off. “I need time to think.”

They nodded at one another and headed for the door, stepping out as someone else began to step in. The fleeing movements of their departure damn-near confirmed what the stink of money said before she looked up. She found herself eyeing M-T Inc’s leading, suited prick.

“Get out of my office and off my lot!” She shouted, nearly tipping her chair back as she stood.

“Ms. Wolfe, if you’ll allow me–”

“I won’t.” She reached for a phone on her desk. “Get out now, or I’m calling the police and having you charged with trespassing.”

He cleared his throat, “That won’t be necessary. Mechanized Transports merely wishes to extend our sympathies to you and your employees over the recent loss of your driver.” She lifted the phone to dial, but he stopped her, “And I’m certain, as this is my purpose here, it would only engender more negative opinion were you to have me accosted over it.”

Gail froze, poised with phone in-hand and finger ready to dial. She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, tensed her jaw, and flared her nostrils with a furious breath. She set the phone back on its receiver. “You have exactly twenty seconds before I hurl you off my lot with both hands.”

“I shan’t need more,” he said with a cocky half-smile. He set a briefcase on the desk, popped it open to produce a packet of papers. “In addition to our condolences, I am also authorized to present you with a copy of the offer-contract we’ve written up. Our price is more than fair, and I assure you we’ll hold to that offer as outlined.”

He set the packet on the desk, shut the briefcase. Gail couldn’t help it, she laughed– one, robust laugh that melded desperation with exasperation. “More than fair? You want to buy us off, gut the company, and eliminate the competition to further your corporate agenda.”

“I assure you–”

“Listen Mr. Wembley–” Genuine surprised that she remembered his name etched over his face. “My boots alone have twenty years on you. If you want to spout rhetoric, go home and practice in the mirror until you believe the bullshit you’re selling. I started this company. I built it with sweat and blood, and I’ve kept it running with good sense since then. Now you come in here, high and mighty, and expect me to roll over like you would. If you think I’d ever sell to you, you’re a lot more of a lost cause than I thought.”

His face turned to a scowl, clearly bothered by her slight, “You cannot hold out forever.”

“Watch me,” she challenged with narrow eyes.

He sneered toward the packet of papers, “That offer is contingent upon the public value of your company, Ms. Wolfe. The lower it goes, the lower we go.”

Her previous suspicions flared up in the back of her mind. Her voice turned low, venomous, “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here. You show up, and suddenly one of my drivers is dead. I don’t know how your company is involved, but I aim to find out. When I do, you won’t have paper enough to wipe your asses with.” His eye twitched, but he remained silent. “You’ve had more than your twenty-seconds. Get. Out.”

A corner of his mouth twitched and he turned away, body considerably more stiff than before. The door to the office shut with a deliberate attempt not to slam it. Gail fell back into her seat, waiting a moment to recollect herself and contain her fury. In a perfect world, she’d have kicked the little shit through a window, smashed his head into a desk, then left him in a bloody heap outside Lone-Wolfe’s front-gate. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a perfect world, and any physical violence she might want to exact on the assholes trying to set her up would have to be transmuted into more-clever legal maneuvering.

One good thing seemed to have come out of everything though, however negative in the longer run: M-T’s involvement. She hadn’t been sure before. She’d wanted to believe it as a matter of personal pride, and because coincidences happened even less often than she knew they did. Wembley’s reaction though, confirmed M-T’s involvement.

She’d been on the fringe of the corporate world long enough to know that Corporations did two things; shouted denials when involved in lies, and went dead silent when caught with their pants down. It wasn’t just the companies as a whole though, it the individuals themselves, an extension of the so-called “corporate-culture.” Wembley was nothing if not an embodiment of that culture. No doubt he’d be running to their lawyers crying like a child to mommy when he got back to M-T’s offices.

As much as it was a win to discern involvement, it was a loss as a whole. She was now waging corporate war against the seemingly infinite resources of a modern mega-corp. On top of that, they had public opinion and a guard dog safety-bureau on their side controlling both her own Union and the local Police. However things wound up ending, it wouldn’t be pretty.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: To Show

December 8, 2016December 8, 2016 ~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Sycophantic psycho cat,
stepping up to the bat,
beats her cleats upon the mat,
to ready up her brilliant stat,
and lift the corner of her hat,
while the umpire and the catcher, fat,
are wishing they’d instead sat.

After the game she’ll go to see,
visions of eternity,
in raving drug and booze party,
where perhaps she’ll meet me,
for some psychedelic tea,
that will force us into memory,
and leave us stranded out at sea.

Perhaps then we’ll make a bet,
that could never be reset,
especially if we haven’t met,
or maybe she may take me yet,
her loins throbbing, pulsing wet,
and then I, she will get,
with expert-knotted, new fish-net.

Maybe we’ll win,
feel skin to skin,
as I dive in,
deep in her satin,
wet warm I pin,
she feels me within,
committing original sin.

More likely though,
we’ll never know,
what the future could sow,
were we to go,
together, en-tow,
all others hollow–
should’ve put my money to show.

Short Story: The Well

December 6, 2016January 6, 2018 ~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

A series of long, rectangular modules interconnecting domes stole the rusted horizon. They rose from the dirt, dust-covered red and brown from high-winds and a oxygen-starved atmosphere. The city, Uruk, had originally been a lone, dome-rectangle module built to house a small team of astronauts. Their mission had been to make the Red Planet habitable. A few decades after having succeeded, Mars was thriving.

Uruk, named for the first, modern city in human history, had become Mars’ premiere settlement, and thus, the largest settlement outside Earth-orbit. Countless orbital stations contrived artificial gravity and took residence there still, but none compared to the masterpiece of human ingenuity, perseverance, and sheer will of Uruk. In merely three decades, Mars had gone from a settlement of five to over ten-thousand. Likewise, the astronauts’ lone module had grown to upwards of 5,000, not including the various modules required for vital systems, manufacturing, agriculture and the like.

Amid the glorious madness of it all was Commander Jenna Thomason; pushing fifty without looking a day past thirty-eight, eternally fit, and dark eyed with marbled steel and onyx hair. Contrary to expectations, no-one on Mars had aged prematurely from colony living. In fact, aside from a few, minor colds and pre-exisiting conditions, people were in pristine health.

Over the years, Jenna had become something of an icon; she’d been one of first, true residents, having arrived on the last, scientific deployment to Mars. She and four others were to complete the final preparations before the arrival of the colony ship en-route. Jenna had no reason to return to Earth afterward, and like the others, had elected to stay to ease the colonists’ transition.

Unofficially, she was looked at as Uruk’s leader; a Mayor of sorts, despite the position belonging to another woman (who often deferred to her.) Presently, the two were strolling through a series of modules in the “city quarter,” where most business and civil services were conducted. The dome-modules there were roughly a kilometer wide, multi-leveled, and arranged in such a way as to hide their curvature.

Their connecting hallways were another story; thick, with rubber-sealed windows offering views of neighboring stacked, steel modules, imposing edges and rises of domes, or if at the edges of the settlement, endless rusty expanses the faded into browns further along the horizon. It was beside one of these windows Jenna and Mayor Cline found themselves. Jenna stopped to talk, watching dust tossed about in a wind that whistled on the deceptive tundra beneath the sunlight.

“I’ve instructed maintenance to halt all other operations and begin repairs,” Cline said.

Jenna nodded, “And you’re hoping I have a solution. I don’t. I’ve been in this city longer than anyone, and we’ve always known it was only a matter of time. I’ve made weekly inquiries with Earth for twenty years, but no-one’s done a thing about it.”

“There must be something,” Cline urged.

“It’s been done, Sarah,” Jenna replied firmly. “We’ve deployed dew-collectors, and water reclamation systems, but the fact is Mars’ water-supply resides at the poles in its ice. We knew that when we arrived. Finding the subsurface glacier was luck, it was never meant to last.”

Cline’s face sank, “You’re saying you won’t help?”

Jenna palmed her forehead, “There’s nothing to help. Uruk is out of water. We lose too much to evaporation and agriculture to keep up. It’s always been a system of diminishing returns.”

“Are you trying to say “I told you so?”

Jenna leaned forward against a window sill, braced herself with a deep breath, “I would never be that spiteful, Sarah, let alone about this. Ten-thousand people is a lot of water. What we need to do is begin rationing. Put people on water budgets. But we need an accurate measurement of our current resources, and projections for measures to be emplaced.”

Cline’s frown cut deep curves into her cheeks and brow, “There’s going to be a lot of backlash, and it’s only prolonging the inevitable, not fixing it.”

“Backlash is better than death by dehydration,” Jenna reminded. Cline winced. “Put maintenance on stand-by. I’ll lead a team to survey the Well. Meanwhile, someone’s going to need to be review our current water usage to examine our options. I’ll look at them when I’m back. I suggest overseeing the process until then.”

Cline was less than satisfied, but recognized her authority, “I’ll see you soon, then.”

The two parted ways, and Jenna immediately set to gathering a team, exosuits, and supplies. Her group of four met in a module outside Uruk’s water-treatment plant. There, an airlock lead to a catwalk, and in turn, to Mars’ bowels and the small, glacial reservoir contained beneath it. For nearly thirty years, “The Well” had been relied on as Uruk’s main water-source. Unfortunately, ait was never meant to last, nor even to be relied upon in the first place. The ice-caps were, but given the nearby reservoir, all plans for a connecting line had been put on hold for more urgent matters at the time. In Uruk, urgent matters always abounded– such was the nature of planetary colonization. Thus, the pipe-line was never completed.

The team’s survey concluded enough water for three months remained. On proper rationing, Jenna estimated the time could be doubled. Two to Three days after that sixth month, people would begin dying of dehydration without either a solution, or the first of several, unlikely shipments from Earth. Mars and its people could rely on Earth’s hospitality, however.

That left one, worthwhile solution; several thousand kilometers of pipeline between Uruk and Mars’ North pole need be erected. Even if the project could finished in time, and there were considerable doubts, it would take almost every person in Uruk working nearly ’round the clock. The projections weren’t promising.

Sara Cline, elected and esteemed Mayor of Uruk, called a conferences. Every person in the city was required to attend, or view the broadcast piped across all channels of the city’s televisions. Cline stood before thousands of people, muster all the confidence she could, and with Jenna at her side for morale began to speak.

“It is with dire need that I come to you, Uruk. It has been brought to my attention that our water is running low. To preserve our stores, we must– regrettably– impose a ration limiting families to a thousand liters per week.” She waited for the griping to wane, then continued, “I know it will be difficult, but other matters demand our more immediate attention.” She glanced back at Jenna for courage. The public icon did her best to impart what she could. The crowd noticed, quieted. “We require every last body working to rectify the problem so we may never again be troubled by such matters.”

Jenna stepped up, ready to speak professionally on the plan’s logistics, but saw the concerned faces and sighed, “I’m not going to lie to you. Things aren’t looking good: In less than six months, we must begin and complete a pipeline spanning the distance between Uruk and the North Pole.” There was an audible murmur from the assembled few thousand people. “In order to do that, it will require every one of us working double-shifts.”

The crowd went silent again, but Jenna sensed their collective ire and anger. She did her best to rouse their passion in the proper manner. “One hundred years ago, people said we’d never reach the moon. Forty-five years ago, people said we could never survive on Mars. Today, I am saying we can, but only if we work together. This task should not be seen as insurmountable, but rather difficult, a challenge to be overcome. Our species has time and again proven its innate ability to not only survive, but to thrive. We overcome the difficult, make possible the impossible, all by virtue of our existence. Knowing that we must now turn our sights to the Pole and begin work should hone our focus. I, for one, set my sights there voluntarily, to toil as others will. I ask only that you join me.”

She went quiet, the room dead silent until applause began to rise to a crescendo. Whistles and hoots came with it. Someone said something about loving Jenna while tears formed in her eyes.

Six months to the day later, she and a team of tired, stinking workers stood in the newly constructed module of “Polar pump station-1.” The flick of a switch prompted the start of a water-flow. Minutes later, a radio echoed a confirmation of positive pressure at Uruk. The room exploded in cheers. Jenna smiled; such was the power of Humanity in the face of adversity.