Saturday, March 16th, 20XX
He wore the outfit. Over his spacesuit, as Jensen had 'suggested'—he considered wearing it underneath instead, but thought better of it. 'Pérez is watching'… as if he'd tattle on me over some stupid hazing bet.
Jacques looked at himself in the mirror. I look like an idiot. Both pieces were decidedly too small. He fluffed out the pom-poms and waved them, once, like 'jazz hands'. Then he tried stuffing them, by the little plastic handles, into the waistband of this ridiculous skirt. Nope! These'll have to go.
He decided to go about the rest of his punishment—Cdr. Jensen's duties for the day, which he was now stuck with—and try to forget about what he had on. Everyone's gonna be looking at me! He sighed and checked his holotab, where she'd sent a list of tasks with brief explanations. Most of the morning was time allotted for her do get a bunch of paperwork done, respond to emails and all that. She'd emphasized (and he could imagine the glee in her voice as she wrote the words) that much of what she had to do was only accessible from her personal computer in her office in the ICH, or even written on actual paper, so he would, in fact, have to leave his room. There was a meeting with C&E's Head Foreman, Bradley, in the early afternoon, and an online meeting with some of the other higher-ups after that. He hoped he'd be able to keep his camera off, and Jensen's e-mail noted that this was likely… but that he should 'probably remove his top' if someone asked to see him. Ha-ha.
The first thing was breakfast, though, so Jacques took a deep breath and stepped out of his room. I should've brought stuff back here last night, he thought, annoyed. Half the crew is gonna be in the mess right now! It was 6:34; he always woke up early. Flight School (and later space-flight school) had drilled that into him.
His block's common room and the adjoining hallway were empty; automatic lights blinked on as he crept out. Good, he thought. As he hurried down the hall, he heard another door slide open, and froze. "Jacques…" said the voice of Dan Sacrimoni. "What the hell are you wearing?"
Jacques looked back once, one eye like a frightened deer, then kept on, quickened his pace.
"Hey, hahahaha, hey!" shouted his 'friend'. "Wait up, lemme get a picture!"
Each person he passed was also amused, or confused. By some incredible stroke of bad luck he even passed Kay Farris, who craned her neck, grinned and called out: "Slayyy!" as he hurried past her, eyes on the floor. He didn't particularly see who it was from E&R that she was with, but he heard the laughter.
He reached a smaller side-door to the mess hall, and there he hesitated. Fuck it. Another hearty breath and he went inside. He skirted the edge of the room towards the buffet line. There Jacques grabbed a tray and rushed his way through scooping eggs, tonging waffles, bacon, pouring juice. He felt the eyes on him. The kitchen staff was part of C&E—'Building Strong Bodies,' according to Companionship—and he couldn't avoid seeing their snickers. Then with a skidding lurch, he was back out into the hall. He sighed relief.
Luckily, the N&S office block in the ICH was empty. It's a fucking weekend. Jensen's office was well decorated: pictures of her siblings (looked like her younger sister had a husband and kids), model spaceships on the desk space, a generic sort of 'motivational poster,' and a few more posters from science fiction movies. He sat at her computer—a physical one, with a large, flat monitor with black plastic housing—and got to work.
***
Kayla Farris entered the Biology lab at 7:30AM. Some of the other researchers had collected samples of their own during yesterday's mad dash. And it seemed she wasn't the only one who'd opted for an early Saturday wake-up and hurried breakfast: inside were several other scientists, including Professor Rainer Munschloss, the elderly department chair, as well as Dudley Phillips, a tall British man with long, straight blonde hair.
Munschloss stood as she entered, and called out: "A-ha, Doctor Farris! Of course you'd come today."
"Discovery doesn't take a day off," she said with a smile. The two shook hands; she'd met him more than once.
"Oh," he said, and gestured to each other person in turn: "This is Dudley Phillips, he's a behavioral Zoologist. You know our ecologist, Ms. Sattiraju, of course." Nita Sattiraju looked up from her slide preparation and waved; Kayla waved back, smiling. Munschloss pointed to a lab table in a far corner. "And those two are Mister and Missus Rokuyama, Hikaru and Yume, our resident geneticists."
"Hello! Nice to meet you all," said Kayla. The Rokuyamas waved as well, but they were deeply focused on a large holoscreen.
"Hi," said Phillips, looking up from his own screen. "And what's your name again?"
Kayla extended her hand to shake. "Doctor Makayla Farris, Phytology. Dudley, huh?"
He smirked. "I've been called Dudley, or even 'Sir,' but just Phillips will do. Nice to meet you too, Doctor."
"Yes, yes, very good," said Munschloss, "we'll have plenty of time to figure all this out together. Dr. Farris, may I speak with you in private for a moment?"
"Sure." They went into his office.
"Makayla, I must offer you an apology." Professor Munschloss looked genuinely distressed. "When we made our record of the Kepharines in the E&R logs, I noticed you'd already started an entry on the creatures. And decided on a scientific name… an African name, as I recall…"
"My pilot has Nigerian heritage," she said, "and he was critical in finding our way to their feeding ground. He insisted."
"Oh, I don't think it's… that's a fine name; it's only fair. But I, um, when we got it back here to headquarters, the first ever confirmed sighting of extraterrestrial life, well, I suppose OCM wanted something a little more…"
"Broadly understandable?"
"...yes, that's about how they'd say it. Ahhh, that's the way of things. We make the discoveries, and our sponsors want their names on it. I was able to keep your chosen name on those vines you found… Farrisa kosmosi, yes, because you are an accredited Botany researcher. And your name's still on the list of those who found the aliens… I'll add that pilot too, what's his name?"
"It's fine, Professor. I get how it is."
"No, seriously. I'm quite upset at all of this, I feel that the field of Biology has too long neglected… well, historically it's centralized a singular perspective, you see… I suppose I can just look up who piloted your rover…"
"Alright, Jacques Delende is his name. He's an Ensign. Oh, and I had a C&E worker with me too, Frederick Wilson. I think he was the first to actually see the things."
"Delende, oh yes. I'll credit both their names in the findings, make sure it's recorded that Frederick Wilson first encountered them, and that you made the first record. Just had to set things straight as I might. Thank you, Doctor. And, sorry… go now. Don't let me get in the way of your work." He smiled weakly. Kayla nodded respectfully and walked out, over towards her own office. She shut the door half-way and got to work on her plant samples.
An hour or so later, there was a knock on the door frame. "Come in," she said.
Nita Sattiraju entered and closed the door gently behind herself. "Kayla," she said. "You had a geologist in your rover yesterday, right?"
"Yeah, man named Kyle Savarin. Why?"
"Ooh!" Nita sat at the table with her. "Did he take any samples?"
"Nah, he stayed inside. Think he ran some survey scan from the lab in there. Why?"
"Oh, nevermind," said Nita. "Your soil samples were good, but I think I'll need a broader idea of the crust makeup. You know, mineral ppms, whatever."
Kayla looked up from her microscope. "You wanna come Monday? Could use an ecologist to help put this all together."
"No, Dr. Wolstein will probably go. All this space stuff kinda freaks me out." She tapped Kayla on the shoulder, whispered: "Makayla."
Kayla followed her gaze out the slats of her Venetian-blinded window where Phillips, the Professor, and another newly arrived biologist—an older woman—were sat in calm discussion. "What?"
"That guy's kinda cute, right?"
"What, Phillips?" She eyed Nita knowingly. "Not really my type."
"Oh?" She looked back at Kayla confused. "I heard, uh, in undergrad, you dated… uh…"
Kayla raised an eyebrow, said flatly: "…a white guy?"
"…Yeah. That."
"We're scientists, right?" Kayla smiled. "Experimental analysis includes figuring out what 'tests' aren't worth repeating."
Nita looked back out and tightened her lips. "Well I don't see any red flags. He seems… nice."
"…so you're gonna talk to him?"
"What?" Nita's eyes widened. "Oh, I don't know. We've got work to do… I should get—"
"And then Saturday night!" said Kayla. "Go! Work it, girl. Conduct your own experiment." She wrung her hand at the door. Nita left.
Kayla Farris smiled out the window. Alright, pretty boy, she thought. Don't you string this poor girl along now… least, not unless Farrah's in on it. She snorted.
***
Commander Jensen's office had a large window to the outside. With no signs of activity out there, the surface of Kepharon looked very eerie to Jacques Delende. He knew their landing spot was chosen to avoid exposed deposits of those purple crystals, but those were where the vines grew, and the aliens ate them (or, drank from them?) so there weren't any signs of life at all, no movement but the occasional thin cloud floating over the horizon. He refocused on his work.
He had leave to sign e-mails as 'Commander Corinthia Jensen' on her behalf. That was most of the morning for him (it seemed like she really did only check her inbox once a week), and one or two of the forms she'd marked as 'due Sunday 23:59'. Busywork, he thought. But then, with nothing to pilot today, what else would he be doing this morning? Anything else. There was an extensive rec area on the second floor of the complex; he could've at least worked out. Maybe if I get this all done early enough tomorrow.
There was plenty to do, and he had earbuds for his holotab to play music, so the morning passed him by quickly enough. Then it was 12:30, and he decided to stop for lunch. He stood and walked out, thinking about this meeting he had at 14. He'd never met the C&E Foreman, Wayne Bradley. He—people were staring at him, why? He looked down. Fuck, that's right. He'd forgotten about his fucking cheerleader outfit. He began to sweat and speedwalk.
In the mess hall, the voices caught him. "Delende! Hey, let's see you twirl!" It was Ensign Ellison.
"No, it's a cheerleader outfit," said Dan. "He's gotta do his routine! '2-4-6-8, who do we appreciate'—c'mon, Jacques!"
He scowled and went for the food. When he tried to walk back out, Lt. Carson called after him. "Aw, c'mon Delende, don't be sore! Come back, sit with us. That's an order, Ensign."
Jacques' shoulders sagged. He came slinking back, his head low. No small portion of the diners applauded him. Some whistled.
Dan was playing games on his holotab with some guy from C&E—a friend of his, whom Jacques didn't really know. Ellison and Carson looked up as he sat. "Not bad," said Tammy. "Might need some work done to fill that top out, though."
The Lieutenant shook his head at her. "Delende," he said, "is it true you're subbing for the Commander, 'cuz of some bet you two made?"
Jacques swallowed a bite of cold-cut sandwich. "Yeah. It's all a bunch of—"
A far-off voice called out: "Wonder how Jensen tops her sub!" Jacques turned and saw an E&R uniform, worn by Livvy McNally. She was pointing at the sub sandwich in his hands, and grinning.
"Who cares about that?" said Jacques. Dan Sacrimoni snickered. "What?"
Livvy sat down next to Jacques. "So, what's it like for N&S on the weekends?" she said.
"Boring," said Tammy Ellison.
"What," Jacques said to Livvy. "No more thoughts? Anything funny to you?"
"Aw don't worry Jacques Delende," she replied. "I'm not mad that you haven't read me your poem yet. Or that you left it on the counter in the club room." She tapped the zipper pocket on her leg. "Don't worry, I kept it safe for you. Just lemme know when."
Jacques shook his head.
"Ooh!" Livvy's attention was on Dan and the other guy. "What're ya playing?"
"King's Conquest," said the C&E guy. "I'm Trevor by the way, Trevor Gelman, Extraction. Come have a look."
Livvy jumped up and sidled over next to Dan. "Oh shit! You're using goblin infantry? Do you have—"
Dan tilted his holotab towards her. "Yeah, the Shadow Queen. Took forever to grind for it…"
Gamers. What a waste of time. Jacques Delende ate.
He was surprised just how hungry he'd been; not a crumb of his sandwich remained, and his apple was reduced to the slimmest hourglass-shape of seedstuck core. He checked his holoband's clock: 13:38. About that time.
The others were still conversing. Trevor was off his holotab now, and Livvy (who was using hers) asked him: "You seen this?"
He looked. "Nah," said Trevor, "I don't use KruX anymore. Not since that dipshit Frankie Branford bought it."
"Whoa," said Lt. Carson. He glanced around covertly. "Cool it with that kinda talk."
Dan Sacrimoni chuckled. "Since when do you care about 'language,' Carson?"
Carson leaned in and whispered: "Branford talk, 'bout being dipshits. Where do you think we are?"
"Oh come on," said Trevor. "Everyone knows he's a stupid nepo baby. 'Not serious people'? I got nothing against the Admiral; I mean, look at what he's done, for all of us. But Frankie… these past few years, KruX has been absolutely cooked. Can't hardly open the app without getting drowned in fucking bots."
"Hah," said Jacques. "Don't wanna badmouth them either, here."
"What do you think," asked the C&E guy. "Delende, right? You still use KruX?"
"Nah, I don't bother with any of that social media shit."
"My man!" Trevor reached out towards Jacques with one hand, and they shared some sort of handshake. "I see why Danny likes you, bro. Not sure what you see in him…"
Dan shoved him. "Oh, very funny. Don't worry about these assholes Livvy, I still use KruX, and I'm not cooked. Still lots of funny shit in that hellhole."
Livvy smirked. "Raif's right. I don't wanna hear you guys shit-talking the Branfords. They're both great men."
Jacques stood and collected his tray. "Sure, Livvy. You guys enjoy bullshitting, I've got more work to do."
"Ooh!" said Livvy. "Goin' to the ICH? I'm headed that way too." She hopped up.
"Nah, C&E. Got a meeting with Foreman Bradley."
Trevor hopped up too. "Welp, that's where I'm headed. Let's go, Delende, I'll show you a shortcut. Danny, you wanna come with?"
Dan Sacrimoni hardly looked up from his holotab. "No thanks. I'm about to burn this asshole's walls down. Maid outfit next weekend, right Jacques?"
Jacques scowled. He and Livvy waved goodbye to Lt. Raif Carson, then left the mess together with Trevor Gelman.
As they continued down the hall, Livvy said: "Alright, see ya guys. Tomorrow night, right Jacques?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah sure."
She took a turn away from them. Trevor watched her go. "You two got some kind of a… situationship going, or something?"
"No." Jacques rolled his eyes. "She's, uh… friend-of-a-friend. Honestly, she kinda pisses me off."
"Hmm," said Trevor; he smirked. "In a good way? Gamer girl, right, she doesn't seem so bad. Kinda like she's one of the guys."
"Oh, go for it," muttered Jacques.
They entered C&E, went through hallways crowded with rough men stifling giggles. "Alright, Foreman's office is down that hall, through the meeting room," said Trevor. "Good luck, cheer squad."
Jacques adjusted his hot pink brassiere and frowned. "What's he like, Bradley?"
"Oh, I don't see him much, but everyone says he's chill. Funny guy… 'a character,' they'd say. He's definitely gonna laugh at what you've got going on. But he's not… that cooked, for a boomer."
He can't be an actual boomer; they're all ancient by now, Jacques thought, but didn't say. He understood the expression. Trevor saluted him goodbye; Jacques gave a wave.
***
They'd all put their heads together. Kayla, and Nita, and Lena Williams the biochemist, and Phillips and Professor Munschloss, and even the Rokuyamas. This critical corner of E&R was piecing together the interlocking organic systems of the species and energetic cycles interacting on Kepharon. Now they all sat in the Biology department's break room, sharing a quick bite.
"What do you all think," asked Phillips, "how many more hours until we crack it?" Kayla felt his peripheral gaze on her. I wish I knew how much time we have, she thought. No more than thirty-three, but he knows that.
"Yes, that's the spirit!" said Munschloss. "Why, we should place bets! A bottle of my finest champagne back on Earth to whomever hews closest, and if you'll be rigging the bet, you had better be low-balling!"
"Won't be today, that's for sure," said Lena. "Yume hasn't even sequenced one of the plant specimens."
Yume Rokuyama frowned. "It is not more than I can handle! But their genetic code is absolutely unique to this world, all these species… even 'sequencing' might not be the right word, it isn't DNA at all."
Hikaru nodded to her. "It takes time. For us to adapt."
Kayla finished what she was chewing. "We don't even have the full picture yet; we don't know what wedon't know. I couldn't guess without more information; hopefully the rovers give us everything on Monday."
"Well, what about the Kepharines?" asked Nita, and she turned to Lena. "What are they getting out of the leaves, nutritionally?"
Lena shared a glance with the Professor. "...we don't know yet. Seems to be mostly water they're sucking down. They clearly don't process the plant matter—it's sort of like cellulose, and they can't digest it. All intact in their… bowels?"
Phillips shrugged.
Rainer Munschloss stood and tapped his table. "Well, they must be getting their energy from somewhere! Needn't be today, but we'll figure out these energetic cycles. I'm certain of it!"
Kayla steepled her fingers. "I'm not much of a zoologist… but I think I've begun to understand the Farrisa vines. Ihave a hypothesis." The others looked to her.
***
"Jensen told me she was sen—Woh—HAH! Bud, what in God's name are you wearin'?" Foreman Bradley hissed hot air out from between his teeth. "HAH! Hahahahahahaha!" He doubled over in his desk chair.
"Lost a bet…" Jacques muttered.
"Oh of course—Hah! Delta pledge, heh, that big bull-dyke's somethin' huh? Siddown kid, let's get this over with."
Jacques sat and opened his holotab. "I have some notes here…"
Bradley waved an open hand back and forth. "Eh, I'll keep it quick. We just gotta make sure everything's good between our departments, your pilots ready for the mining rigs, and Maintenance's on top of your starships and space-trucks, and bla bla bla."
Jacques nodded and leaned back in his chair. "Oh, is that all?"
"Hey… heh. You're sharp, huh kid? I like that." Bradley took a swig of coffee and smacked his lips. "You should know, despite my pleasant exterior, I don't really give a shit what kinda person you are. 'Heart a' gold,' they say. Like take your Commander there, big ugly bitch who's never gonna find a man." Bradley squinted one eye and pointed emphatically. "But I say: who cares? She does her job, and she's got a sense of humor… there's the important bit. Not like one'a those liberal gays, those 'victims'. You ain't some victim, right… what's your name again?"
"Delende. Ensign Jacques Delende."
"Mmm-hmm, that's right. Ensign. Seems to me you got a good head on your shoulders boy, see through all the bullshit. There's a man works right here in Maintenance named Fred, Fred Wilson, and I must say you remind me of him. Do your job, be nice enough to people…" He waved a hand at Jacques' face. "None'a the rest of that shit matters, and no complaining."
"Yeah," said Jacques. "All those people that waste their breath complaining, none of that. Focus on the task at hand."
"Exactly! Alright, lemme see here…" Bradley squinted at his computer monitor; it was a rather old one, thick and white like it was from the last century. He clicked with a worn computer mouse of much the same old style. "It's uhh, huh… alright. Says she wants six more in the ICC, two in the hangar, and an extra electrician on the Destiny, that right?"
Jacques checked his notes. "Yeah."
"Great! That's done then. Now…" Wayne Bradley crossed his arms. "Your rover pilots did good yesterday. Maybe a little too good, my boys might say. We got a lotta P.O.I.s marked up for extraction, and the Word From On High is that we take the 'blessing' and spin that shit into gold. That means Extraction's sending out four more of the Big Rigs, and we're gonna get started on the first Stationary, all first thing Monday if we can manage it. Way I know it, that's eight pilots for the rigs, and—"
"Twelve trucks for the Drilling Tower? So, twelve pilots there, two SH escorts…"
Bradley raised an eyebrow. "Good. Yeah, that's twenty-two in total. Knew you were sharp, boy, now the question is: you got those numbers to fill? I know they're sendin' shuttles out for moons n' asteroids, Destiny's still got a few, and of course the geek-mobiles…"
Jacques scrolled his holotab. "...Hmph. Short one, but I think Cdr. Jensen would be in for an SH ride…"
"Sounds like compliance to me." Bradley stood and extended a thick, calloused hand to him. "And I believe you, kid, the Commander loves flyin', that's for sure. But I ain't worried if she can't; one escort's plenty."
Jacques eyed the hand. "We… it wouldn't quite be up to standards…"
Bradley smiled. "Y'know… Jensen's tricked her Lieutenant Perez, the little silly guy, into doing this sort of 'substitution'. He's a hard worker too, and smart for a beaner, but he just can't see past his own glasses when it comes to bending the rules. I like him fine, but woo-wee when he makes a stink about this sort of thing to Corporate, I must admit to getting a little sore. C'mon kid, shake my hand and let's be done with it. My guys'll throw an extra hover into one of the trucks, just in case. One lookout can scan for problems just fine on his own."
Jacques sighed, took Bradley's hand and shook it, slow but firmly.
"Right-o," said the Foreman. "And I don't doubt Jensen's up for it, we can agree there. Now, anything else you need?"
Jacques stood. "Nope, guess that's everything. I'll let you know if anything changes, or if she—"
Bradley rolled his eyes. "Like I said, kid, she's one of the good ones. Not about all the usual nonsense; she's basically just one of the guys, knows her place and gets to work. I'll let her know you done good here today. You're alright yourself, skirt and all, hah! Y'know, you shoulda seen this guy they sent from E&R for my computer…"
Jacques knew he shouldn't have asked; guys like this always laid out little lines of intrigue, just bait to start them grumbling, and leave you feeling like you asked for it: "What guy?"
"Oh, this tranny. Think he was calling himself 'Libby' or something, Irish kid, maybe college age. Good kid though, great with computers! It's sad really, what they do to kids in there, those schools, leavin' good boys all confused. Someone just needs to teach him some sense; a strong father's what he needs, some churchin'… it's his mom who wears the pants in that household, that's for sure!" Bradley chuckled. "Then comes the dyed hair, and the LBG shit, and all this PC feelings stuff that's tearin' our country apart. It's kinda crazy, isn't it? Takes strong men to get shit done, and your big she-bitch's doin' a better job of it than an actual guy! Sign of the times…" He sighed.
"Yeah," said Jacques. He walked out.
As he left C&E, Jacques' face was absolutely blank. His mind raced: Livvy's a transgender???Wha… I should've noticed—why didn't she tell me!? Maybe it wasn't actually true… there were plenty of women with mannish sorts of features. Commander Jensen fit that description, and while he had no interest in her… that way… she was definitely a real woman… right? Yes, Jacques thought, I can tell the difference. Commander Jensen is definitely a real woman, like, biologically. But Livvy…
Well it was more than that. She lied to me? He couldn't fight the feeling that Bradley was correct; Livvy was transgender, and that felt like betrayal. Does she have, like, a dick?They get surgeries for that, right? Jacques was momentarily revulsed thinking about such surgeries. Not that there's anything wrong with dicks, or being gay or whatever, but… to get it chopped off, or like, chopped up, and sewn into a… He cut his own thoughts off, as best he could. Maybe it wasn't true; there was only one way he'd find out for sure. But now I know, he thought, that she's a liar, same as Kay. Of course they'd be in league about this; they were friends, and the founders of their 'Poetry Club'. Kevin doesn't seem so bad… maybe they're just taking advantage of him? Sneaky fuckin'…
He returned to the ICH, to Jensen's office, and sat—with a bitter scowl on his face—and got back to work.
***
Fred Wilson sat in his personal quarters—a small bedroom in a cramped suite of four C&E guys—and read: a paperback book from Kayla and Kevin's personal collection. One of the less threatening ones, or at least that's how it appeared: About Love, by bell hooks. Based on Dr. Farris' recommendations, he was thinking Baldwin next, and then Kwame Ture. But even this tome was troubling, and not because he didn't understand it: the writing was in plain language. He did understand, he agreed, he had to read more, but the ideas presented started to overwhelm him. Fred closed the book, for now.
He stood and went out into the suite's shared space. There was a sink; he got a glass of water. And sat, and sipped, and tried to process. Absently, he found himself humming under his breath: "Mm-mm mm, mm-mm-mm mm mm-mm Chocolate Rain." He scratched his stomach."Mm-mm MM, mm-mm-mm mm mm-mm Chocolate Rain!"
At length he smiled, scoffed, and opened his holotab. He opened a website, and searched, and put little listening devices into his ears. And he saw with new eyes, and was elevated.
***
Jacques Delende had settled down back into the rhythms of tedious busywork. The zen-like trance of it brought him back to his undergraduate days, memorizing equations and turning problems over in his mind. Putting numbers into spreadsheets. And writing the same pleasant, professional missives back and forth, with Jensen's name and contact information on the bottom.
So rapt was he, that a rather large person was able to sneak up on him: he half-jumped out of his chair when he caught sight of Commander Cori Jensen leaning in the door frame, arms and legs crossed. "Hey-o, short skirt. You gonna eat someday?"
Jacques caught his breath. "Ugh," he said, and looked at the clock on his holotab. 18:38. As good a time as any for dinner. He stood, they left.
"So?" she said, in a low voice. "What's the scoop with Dr. Farris? She… 'otherwise indisposed'?"
They turned a corner. Jacques scratched his head. "Well… yes. Sorry, it's a… uh, a recent thing." He snorted in amusement. "She actually asked me—"
"Recent?" Cori cocked her head. "How recent? Someone here?"
Jacques nodded.
"…who? Aw, don't tell me you two have some kinda history…"
"No, no absolutely not. I, umm… I'm not sure I should tell you…"
"Oh," said Jensen. "Alright." She cupped a hand around one side of her mouth and whispered: "Is it a lady?"
Jacques looked away and set his jaw which, with the accompanying pause, seemed to be answer enough for Jensen. "She, umm… she asked me if you were, like, only into women?"
"Wuh?" She scoffed. "Y'mean, like… hah! Well, that's my business, or maybe hers, ha-ha-ha! Fuckin'… oh man. Lot a person could read into that question…"
Jacques shook his head. They shared a smirk.
They passed Lt. Pérez going the other way; Jensen and Jacques both waved, and the man saluted them with crisp form, both in turn. When he was out of sight, Jensen muttered: "He's a good little soldier, huh? He's lucky I'm the one C-O who doesn't reward hard work with more work…"
"Yeah, no way you'd slap a bunch of busywork on someone who's just trying to go above and beyond," Jacques said.
She grinned at him, chin high. "Punishment ain't a reward. And I seem to remember a proud little first-timer agreeing to a certain bet, and insisting on the punishment. How's your back doing, by the way?"
Jacques touched the bruise along his spine and back muscles tenderly. "I'm fine. Lucky C.O.s get the nice desk-chairs, with lumbar support and everything."
"Oh, o-ho-hoh, there we go. Nice office for ya, and a spot in the rover with the wonderful Ms. Farris. I suppose you secretly liked the idea of draggin' up, too?" Jensen smiled ironically.
He looked down at his ridiculous outfit. The talk of all of this, of 'drag,' and Kay and how stupid he must've looked in this moment, got all the old thoughts churning once again: the annoyance. He fell silent.
Jensen must've noticed his change in demeanor. "Hey, Delende, I didn't mean to—it's… I mean, who am I to say a person can't—"
"Commander," he said, brow furrowed, "is it, uh… is it, like, a little bit fucked up for me to call a girl—a woman… 'a bitch'?"
She smiled faintly. "Heh, I dunno. Is she bein' one? Who're we talkin' about here?" They rounded another corner and passed by a member of the Companionship team. Without a shared glance, or communication of any kind, they both stayed quiet until the man was gone behind them.
Jacques shook his head, still frowning. "…I don't—Fred was saying… look. If a girl was being a real bitch, and I mean like really, y'know, screwing people over and lying about it, laughing behind their backs… and I called her a bitch for it, would you, um… would that make me the asshole?"
"No seriously," said Jensen, "Fred—who're we talkin' about? Better not still be referring to Doctor Farris. I know she comes across as kind of, uhh…"
"A kiss-ass?" offered Jacques. "A professional… sellout?"
"…yeah. Like there's only cold hard cash behind the smiles. But she's complicated; there's warmth below all that, it's hard to explain…"
Jacques frowned at her. "You—look Commander, I know you're trying to be nice and all, but you really don't get black women. They're really good at… impressions, and if you think she's got some 'heart of gold,' you're probably still caught up on some mask of hers. It's all part of the performance."
Cori Jensen scrunched her eyes for just a moment. She smirked and snorted. "If you say so," she said. "Not sure about 'bitches,' though. Think that's a cultural thing, not really my business to weigh in… even if I am one, heh heh. All I know is: lotta people wear masks for all sorts a' reasons." She looked at him sidelong.
Jacques laughed too. "Hoh, just you wait Commander. When her mask slips, you'll see. 'Cultural thing,' though, you mean like…" He stopped short to look back at her.
Jensen stopped too, and bit her lip. "Yeah. Sorry, I don't mean to be weird about this, or make it all about my own bullshit. And I don't want you to get—uh, I'm kinda one of those people, y'know? Feels, like, guilty about all the, y'know, the history, and how things still really aren't—"
Jacques scowled. "Ugh. I get you, but don't worry about it. Seriously. We're all just people at the end of the day. Better shit to do than sit around bit—complaining about it." He grinned.
"Yeah," said Cori. "Sorry." They kept walking.
"You don't gotta feel bad," he said, and smiled. "I know you're a good person. And; seems like Kay does too…"
Jensen rolled her eyes.
***
The day's work was done. The rest of the Biology department wouldn't be certain until more data was compiled, and that was fine—that could all get done when the rovers got rolling again on Monday. But Makayla Farris knew enough. In less than twenty-seven minutes she'd have to join the others at dinner. She paced inside her suite, alone, thinking.
Likelihood percentages by prospect: J. Delende 8 Jensen 7 Suarez 7 Pérez 6 Ellison 6 Carson 5 Porter 4 Savarin 2. Leverages: J. Delende – guilt, aggrievement; Jensen – sexual attraction, guilt, aggrievement; Suarez – friendship; Pérez – morality, friendship; Ellison – aggrievement; Carson – friendship, aggrievement; Porter – sexual attraction, loneliness, pride; Savarin – respect. Gotta give J. Delende what he wants. Pérez needs to be shown that the rules are bullshit. Gently. Don't be afraid to use fear on Savarin.
Likelihood that Security/Companionship/Corporate are onto us: 2. Need to emphasize secrecy. Use others to encourage distance with Branford. Don't let McNally talk about it. Becomes more important as we expand. Sex with Wilson? I'll need that eventually. He's already in line. Reward him for encouraging distrust towards Corporate?
Kayla went into the bathroom and looked at her own face in the mirror. Her hair wasn't quite right.
Tools: Choi is almost finished, McNally can get into a wallplacement in 150 seconds, my sidearm's dissembled in this room, tell Wilson? Need to bend Jensen. Other hand: twenty-eight indoor mounted, two anti-spacecraft, sixteen Security with forty-eight light and twelve heavy. Dacuma brought a projectile? Compromised.
Still 42.3 for total destabilization. Thirty-three days (will only begin to collapse on thirty-six; three days after P.o.N.R., even if mining stops right then). Estimation for sasaboansam extinction? Consider parameters: auto- and heterotrophic. Need both. Nutritional deprivation rather than starvation. Start conservative: 28, twenty days. Run tests tomorrow, collect more samples Monday.
…Consider health: how am I feeling?
She sat down on her bed.
I'm fine.
When to start? Fifteen days? Diminishing returns as we find more worthy prospects—'returning to the fridge' Principle. Need Jensen certainly. She'll be fine. Sixteen days? Technically only need one day once things get rolling, chicken with head off, 'nature abhors vacuum'. We just need…
Nineteen is absolute endpoint; conduct tests for accurate assessment. Plan for seventeen—margin of error. How will Fred feel when he learns the truth? Aim for fifteen days just in case. What will he think of me? Fourteen. OCM can be convinced to bring living samples along, Sustainability. Maybe fifteen? Trust OCM to maintain that sustainability? Thirteen. Jacques knows me well, but hah, he doesn't really know himself at all. We'll be fine. The future. Twelve. We don't have to be fine, we just have to do. Phillips and Hamadani are going to start their club in five days. Have to be ready. Can't let Farrah have all the fun. Tell them twelve.
Five, twelve, twenty, thirty-three. 42.3, 28. 8 7 7 6 6 5 4 2. 2. B, H, 1, J. 28 2 16x(48+12) 1. Twenty-one. I'm okay.
But what if—? No. Jacques will lock in. Everyone will. The stakes are everything. Survival only becomes an option when you accept that your survival is not an option. I will lock in. Fred should hate me if I fail. Jacques should hate me if I fail. Livvy should hate me if I fail. Kash should hate me if I fail. Kevin will not fail. Farrah will not fail. Be like Farrah. I will hate me if I give up on my behalf. Five, twelve, twenty, thirty-three. 42.3, 28. 8 7 7 6 6 5 4 2. 2. B, H, 1, J. 28 2 16x(48+12) 1. Twenty-one. Today we are seven. In five days we'll be thirteen—maybe fourteen. Need eighty by day twelve. Aim higher, push harder. Any handhold. Smile, Kaykay. Urgh! Be a good liar. LIE!
She gritted her teeth.
You can climb the way from hated up to good. Remember. Keep it. There is nothing else.There is no failure but the failure to act.FIVE TWELVE TWENTY THIRTY-THREE—
***
Jacques Delende split off from Jensen after he got a tray of food, despite protests from her and some others from N&S. He made some excuses about being "introverted" and needing time alone, but really he had a lot he wanted to think about. About Fred, and Cori and Livvy, and even Kevin. And Kay Farris, Kay most of all. What IS she up to? He ate dinner alone in his room, and called it an early night. He lay in bed thinking. The night prior, he'd found his bunk surprisingly comfortable. Tonight, discomfort was his focus.