Space corps retribution, p.20
Space Corps Retribution, page 20
“Rude,” Stephen said as he swirled his fingers, signaling to the chauffeur to hurry up.
Reynolds gave him a cold stare out of the corner of his eye and went right back to work. His eyes darted across the screen, and his fingers swiped up constantly. He tore through the documents and ignored the prattling on of the director on his phone. After driving for quite a while, the director stopped talking and shoved the former commander in the shoulder. When he was ignored, he did it again.
Pulling one of his earbuds out, Reynolds turned to the man and stared at him directly, making no effort to hide his disdain. “What?” he seethed.
The director looked down at his hands. They lightly gripped the soft leather of the seat. When he couldn’t hide the shaking in his fingertips, he buried them under the edge of the seat and adjusted his posture.
“I like you, Thomas. Did you know that?”
Reynolds continued his plain stare.
“It’s true.” Stephen’s tone lifted with the words, leaving him sounding like a valley girl. “You know, most people weren’t sure about you. Frankly, even I had my doubts.” A glance told him Reynolds’s stare still hadn’t moved or softened. His own expression soured, and he threw his hands up.
“Look, if that’s how you want to be, that’s fine by me. Far be it for me to try to offer you a compliment,” Stephen said. “What matters are the results.” He shook his head and grimaced. “I really hope you understand that I have a lot of key players going out today. The travel arrangements alone are costing me an arm and a leg. If you don’t deliver, I don’t know if even I can do anything to save your career. Not in the private sector, at least. I’m pretty sure you did enough damage to your public-sector reputation on your own.”
Reynolds shook his head and refocused his efforts on his documents.
The director, emboldened, continued. “How’s the admiral these days? Any luck with her? No? Still no word?”
“I haven’t tried,” Reynolds said.
“You know, that’d be one hell of a nut to crack. That contract alone could sustain the company well enough to support your projects for the rest of your life.”
“Sales is your job. Engineering is mine. I don’t ask you for help with blueprints.”
“True enough. Though to be fair, I don’t exactly have access to some hard-to-reach print that would completely change how you do your job.” His eyes grew enormous with the exaggerated expression on his face. “Wait a minute. I do. And, as I recall, I give that to you without asking for anything in return.”
“Except an audience with Admiral Asher?”
“Details, Thomas. I just want to make absolutely certain that we can keep giving you everything you need. The bills rack up, and someone must pay them. Anything you can do—”
“Is already being done. Which I thought was the point of today’s presentation.”
Stephen sunk back into his chair and rolled his eyes. A second later, he sprung forward and grabbed an energy drink. Almost magically, he bounced back to his usual exuberance with the crack of the opening can. “It’s pretty simple. At least, for me it is. If everything goes well today, we may never need your contacts.” He glanced over at Reynolds and raised his can. “And thank God for that, because your shining personality doesn’t exactly give me confidence that your relationships mean much to you.”
Reynolds lowered his tablet for a moment. “Because yours is so much better?”
“Fair enough, but you didn’t join us because of my personality. If you don’t deliver today, there may not be any more money, either. I really hope all your tests went well. I didn’t see them in the reports.”
“There weren’t any,” Reynolds said. “We test in the field.”
“I swear—”
“I’ll worry about my problems. You worry about yours. Keep the money coming in, and you’ll keep getting results.”
The haze of dust hung high in the air, caused by the makeshift lot of cars in the desert. A podium in the distance showed a colorful and flashy display of the logos for both MK Analytics and Project Hermes. The closer they drove, the more the director’s energy rose. He barely sat in his seat anymore as he twisted his body against the window to get a better view.
“Would you look at that,” he said softly.
Reynolds rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you coordinate the event?”
“Yeah, and it looked great on paper. It looks amazing in person.”
“Aren’t we courting military applications? I really don’t understand the point of the fanfare. You’d think this was a consumer event.”
Throwing his body back into his seat, Stephen wiped his hands down his face and rubbed his cheeks. His smile remained.
“Oh, come on, Thomas. All events are consumer events. There’s no money in secrecy when you’re selling to an international market. One country sees what another country could have, and they’ll be fighting us to get priority on production. If the people of those countries see what we have, especially for something as exciting and culturally relevant as space travel, then the people will beg their representatives to authorize the purchase. If they don’t, they’ll vote them out of office. That sounds like a win to me.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ll see.”
After passing by several rounds of security, the SUV pulled up behind the stage. The flash of cameras went off, disorienting Reynolds.
“Thomas Reynolds?” asked a woman with brightly colored hair.
He nodded.
“You’re on stage four.” She motioned to a modified golf cart. In the front, a driver sat with a ridiculous headset covering everything above his ears. In the back, two men stood armed with rifles held at the ready. “They’ll take you where you need to go. You’re on in less than an hour, so makeup needs you now.”
“Makeup?” Reynolds asked.
Stephen laughed and waved him on. “Don’t worry. They’re excellent. It’s stage makeup, so it’ll look a little funny in the mirror, but it will look great from the audience. That’s what’s important.”
Deciding against arguing, Reynolds walked around the side of the golf cart and sat down. It took off with a jolt and ramped up to an impressive speed. The wind pressed against his eyes, so he squinted. He saw the windscreen down and considered raising it, but with no complaints from the men in the back, he decided it wasn’t worth it.
The cart pulled up to a flat stage with pop-up stadium seating on three sides. A few people stood in the stands finagling with audio and visual equipment. They didn’t seem to notice his arrival, and he barely noticed their presence once he saw his pride and joy.
Flat black panels covered the entirety of the stage. If he didn’t know what they were, Reynolds would have assumed that it was just a protective covering over the platform.
The cart skidded to a stop beside the trailer adjacent to the stage. A man stepped out and impatiently beckoned Reynolds to join him inside for makeup, but Reynolds only heard his voice as background noise. He walked right past and stepped onto the platform, enjoying the slight give of the material under his feet.
“Reynolds!” shouted a voice in the distance.
The man ignored the repeated shout, assuming it was the stylist. He found the control panel and uncovered it, setting about checking the placement. Every detail was perfect, and he savored the feeling of the panel in his hands as he grazed his fingertips over the edges of every button.
A brief commotion on the edge of the platform caught his attention. When he looked up, he saw Commander Stephen Cole of the Space Corps fumbling for his pass to show the two guards.
“It’s all right,” Reynolds said. “I know him.”
The men allowed Cole to pass by and walk on the stage. He offered an insincere thanks to them before stepping forward with his familiar limp. He beamed and shook Reynolds’s hand and patted him on the shoulder.
“It’s good to see you, buddy. It really is. I don’t know what I’m looking at yet, but rumor is that it’s game-changing.”
Looking around, Reynolds asked, “Is she here?”
“Asher? No, I’m afraid not.” He noticed the disappointed look on Reynolds’s face and quickly added, “She wanted to be. Unfortunately, she’s just too busy. I can’t go into details, but you watch the news. You know as much as I can tell you.”
“Yeah. I understand.”
“And I—”
“Stop,” Reynolds said, holding up a hand. “We’ll talk after the show.”
From the author
Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope to see you again in the next installment, coming soon.
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K. D. Mattis, Space Corps Retribution
