The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30.

 

.1.

Dr.Peter's car skidded to a hault. Jane Peter's got out of the drivers seat, slung a backpack over her shoulder and proceeded to rush into an open field, filled with dandelions and onion grass. She pulled out her GPS  from the backpack and a piece of paper with coordinates scribbled on it.

 

"77;45;12" she murmured to herself, one eye on the paper, the other on the GPS, and her peripheral vision on the ground.

 

After walking for about 10 minutes, she reached the location written on the piece of paper. There was nothing to distinguish it from any other part of the field, except perhaps maybe this piece of land had a bit more of dandelions in it than that patch of land over there. Jane really couldn't tell nor cared. She shoved the GPS and paper into her pocket and looked down.

 

A dandelion looked up at her. One of its yellow leaves waved at her.

 

Jane grimaced. The microscope wasn't where it was suppose to be.

 

She took a metal stake out of her backpack, along with the GPS, double checked her coordinates, and with an annoyed shove, plunged the stake deep into the ground. The dandelion that had waved at her was now tilted to the side, the stake trying to occupy the ground which had formely been the dandelions.

 

Jane looked up. She did a 360 degree scan of the area, than choosing a direction at random, started walking with her head pointed down. After 50ft or so, Jane would stop, look up, look around, sigh, and than head back to the stake. She repeated this about 34 more times before she saw a glint in the corner of her eye. Quickly, she rushed over to where she hoped the microscope that she was after was.

 

Jane heaved a sigh of relief, when she saw that it was in fact the microscope she was looking for. She heaved another sigh, this one of dissappointment, at seeing where the microscope was.

 

To anyone but Jane and her colleagues, a labrotory micrscope buried halfway into the ground would be an odd sight. Jane had to admit, even though she knew why the microscope was up to its lens in dirt, she found it odd as well. The dandelions that were next to the microscope were a bit shocked by the microscope suddenly being beside them, but remember that they were dandelions and resumed absorbing sun.

 

Jane reached into her pack for a shovel. She rummaged around with her hand behind her back trying to find a shovel to dig the microscope out of the ground it didn't really want to be in. Frustrated, she slung the backpack over her shoulder on to the ground and ripped it open.

 

"You've got to be kidding me." In the backpack was flares, several compases, her GPS with two packs of batteries, a couple other stakes, some rope, a swiss army knife, a telescope, a radio, some MRE packs, a couple maps for places other than where Jane was, and a first aid kit. "They forgot to pack the shovel."

 

She wasn't suprised by this. They had expected several scenarioes but finding the microscope underground, or atleast partially, hadn't occured to the two other scientists who were in charge of packing Jane's bag. Jane took out another stake, activated the homing beacon, and shoved it into the ground. Several dandelions yelled in protest.

 

Zipping up her bag, Jane headed back to her car. She grabbed the cellphone on her belt. She started to say the name of Dr.Kilmartin but stopped. 'No Signal' glared at her in awful neon blue. "Figures." She whined, "Out in the middle of nowhere."

 

Opening the trunk of her beatup 2004 Honda Civic, Jane searched for a shovel. She knew it was a pointless effort, she had never put a shovel in her trunk in her life, but hoped the shovel fairy might be passing by right now and feel generous enough to give her one. Pushing aside a box filled with textbooks to find no shovel, she sighed and slammed the trunk.

 

Soon she was in town searching for a hardware store. Town was a bit of an overstatement. She was in Dixon, and towns normally consisted of post office, two restaurants (normally owned by the same people), a hotel or more likely motel, and almost always, as Jane had found, a hardware store. Spying the traditional paint can in the window, Jane parked her car.

 

"Shovels?" She asked as she walked through the door, a bell ringing above her head.

 

"Down that aisle, to your left little lady." The shopkeeper murmured between his pipe and newspaper.

 

Jane didn't know anything about shovels. She knew plenty about quantum theory, matter reorginization, and super string theory but shovels were not her bag. She picked up a couple, banged them on her hand, trying to pretend like she was a savvy customer and had been shoveling all her life. She finally chose the one that hurt her palm the most.

 

She started to walk out the door when the shopkeeper said, "You going to pay for that?"

 

This startled Jane. She assumed the store had a RFID reader, and her account would be debited the proper amount. Jane remembered she was in Dixon.

 

"Sorry." She said pulling out her wallet. She hoped she still had some cash left in her wallet.

 

"That'll be $11.89" the shopkeeper responded, holding out his hand for the money. Jane gave him a twenty which she carried around for emergencies. "Thank you very much, have a good day now." Jane smiled and walked out the door.

 

Back at the field, Jane had no problem finding the microscope again. Not with a blinking GPS to show her the way she didn't. Jane took the stake out of the ground and replaced it with the shovel. Dozens of dandelions yelled in horror as Jane unearthed the microscope. She was careful to dig around the microscope. After she had created a moat around the piece of equipment, she put on a pair of rubber gloves, gripped it firmly, shoved the shovel underneath the soil of the microscope, and pulled. The microscope lifted out of the ground, several dandelions falling to the wayside.

 

After getting into range of a cellular satellite, she called her "office".

 

"I'll be back in 30 minutes" she told Dr.Stevens.

 

"Alright. Did it work?"

 

"Not exactly."

 

Jane pulled up in front of the office she and the three other scientists she was working with were using. She was unsure to really call it her office, since it said 'Jim's Meat Packing Plant' on the front, and their desks were seperated with some plywood found behind the building. Jane was starting to get tired of the beef smell as well.

 

She walked in. The student, Mike, from the University all three doctors had gone to was sitting in a chair with his legs up on a cardboard box which he was using for a desk. He was their receptionist, not that they really needed one. Somehow Stevens had tricked the University into giving them an intern, along with a rapidly decreasing grant. Jane wasn't sure how he had managed that trick, but let it be. They were all hoping Stevens could pull off the same magic trick again come the next semester.   

 

"Did it work?" Mike asked. She smiled at him, but really didn't care to talk to him, so she moved on to the offices in the back. She could hear arguing coming from Kilmartin's office.

 

She stopped in the doorway. Stevens and Kilmarting were yelling at each other. They did this a lot Jane had observed. She felt it was part of their thought process, to get out their ideas along with their anger. They never yelled at her but they had no qualms about yelling at each other. She guessed there was some mixed emotions between the two of them, considering they had both married the same woman. At different times of course. The woman had divorced both Kilmartin and Stevens but Stevens had married her first and he believed Kilmartin might have been the reason the woman had divorced him. Kilmartin wasn't sure why the woman had divorced him as well, but Jane thought it might have had something to do with working 20 hours a day. With her ex-husband.

 

Stevens had a marker in one hand, and a fist in Kilmartin's shoulder. Kilmartin was punching Stevens arm holding the marker while trying to point to the board in front of them with little luck since Stevens was punching that arm.

 

"No, you idiot, those calculations are correct. I've checked them three times." Kilmartin yelped, the pounding from Stevens was getting to him.

 

"I don't believe you. I've found five errors so far and I'm not even half way through your calculation." Stevens responded. He really wasn't noticing Kilmartin punching him in the shoulder. Kilmartin was a lot smaller than Stevens and Stevens had had 4 old brothers to deal with.

 

Jane cleared her throat. They both turned, stopped arguing but didn't stop punching.

 

"The coordinates were wrong." She tossed the dirt covered microscope on the desk. "As well a the geographic safeguards."

 

A smile of triumph appeared on Stevens face, since the safeguards were Kilmartin's alogrothims he was currently trying to correct.

 

Kilmartin scowled. "The location approximation subprograms are your job." He barked at Jane.

 

She shook her head.

 

"Next time, remember to pack a shovel."

 

 

 

.2.

 

A flash of light and Jane was standing in the field of dandelions. Wisps of smoke floated off her clothing. She took a deep breath and patted herself. Everything seemed to be fine.

 

She stepped forward and tripped over an office chair.

 

The three had fixed the problems with their matter transporter, or as Kilmartin liked to call it their Transporter Beam. They had successfully transported several office supplies from their building to a field, 60 miles away in Dixon which Jane had dutifully picked up. After awhile the cost of Jane driving all the way out to Dixon began to wear on Jane and their budget. So they installed a cheap video camera on a tree and just let the stuff lay there for several weeks. Jane remembered she hadn't been out here recently to move some of the junk they had been sending through.

 

The group steadily began sending different objects through to Dixon. Several microscopes, a couple office chairs, a computer, and a banana. They had borrowed a monkey from the another group doing research for the university and transported him to Dixon. Jane had to rush out to Dixon to get him before the residents of Dixon found monkey walking down their streets.

 

Finally, it had come down to the test of one of them being transported out to Dixon. The first volunteer had been Mike since he was the intern. But the University had snatched him back from the group. Stevens wasn't able to persuade the University to let them keep a graduate.

 

They spent the next three days arguing about which of the three should be transported. Kilmartin argued he was to valuable to the group since the matter transporter was his idea to begin with and had contributed the most to the project. Stevens countered that most the work Kilmartin had done was garbage anyway and that he shouldn't go because he was the de facto leader of the group.

 

Jane just didn't want to. They had hired a med student to check the monkey once they had it back in their office. The med student said she couldn't find anything wrong with the monkey and took the monkey back to its rightful scientists. Jane still felt uneasy about being absorbed in a ball of light and then reemerging in a ball of light in a completely different area. It made her stomach churn just thinking about it.

 

But after three days of Kilmartin and Stevens arguing, she strapped a helmet on and got on the platform. Enough was enough.

 

Jane rubbed her knees. She turned and waved to the camera to indicate she was alright. A light they had setup next to the camera blink three times to signal her that the two were coming out to pick her up. Jane gathered the debris that was cluttering up the field into a pile. She sat down under the tree the camera was in and waited.

 

Her hand brushed over some dandelions as she sat. She stared over the field, her mind idling. And almost in rush, it hit her. She had just been transported instanteously some 60 miles. She felt her stomach churn, the way it churned when she had thought of something her body didn't quite agree with. She threw up.

 

Moving to another tree, she propped some of the office furniture together and closed her eyes.

 

 

 

.3.

 

Their office had become an office.

 

They had moved from the meat packing building and into a loft down the road. This lasted them two weeks. With the assistance of a venture capitalist Stevens knew, they had rented an entire floor of an building in an office park than was uptown from where they had started. Soon, they rented three floors.

 

Jane actually had a desk. With actual walls which she could actually hang her diploma from, which she had even gotten framed. She was in charge of marketing and research, not because she was any good at it but because the other two were worse than she was. Jane would have liked to continue research on transport theory itself but Kilmartin had claimed that and an entire floor for his research. Stevens was in the office down the hall from her. He was the still the de facto leader of the group but they could all tell he would be the companies president when they went public. This didn't bother the other two scientists. In fact, Stevens kind of resented having to take the position, almost as if he had chosen the smallest straw.

 

Jane was in the middle of a discussion with three governments from three very different parts of the world. Jane would have been hopelessly lost if not for the translation device within her telephone. Still, she thought she would prefer banging her head against her nice, new, solid oak desk, than deal with another round of stipulations and requirements.

 

"How many "beacons" do you need again?" the liason from France asked.

 

"We need one every 1000 miles, although we are working on a new one that will increase that range." Jane responded. She could hear gasps from the other three callers. She wasn't sure if that was too many beacons or too few. Kilmartin had not been very specific. He was busy designing the next generation of beacon. He had been in his lab for weeks now, day and night, refining it. Kilmartin wasn't able to give an estimate on how much a performance increase they would give but the current beacons had a range of 500 miles which Kilmartin thought he could easily tweak to 2000. Jane had played in safe and went with 1000.

 

"My government will need to know what kind of technology will be used in these beacons before they can be allowed on our soil." the representative from China demanded.

 

"All design sheets will be forthcoming, however you will have to sign a NDA." Jane responded.

 

"How soon can they begin to be installed?" Italy's ambassador asked.

 

"About two days." Jane responded.

 

"Don't you mean two months?" France said.

 

"No, no. Two days. Oh, It will take us some time to do a geographic survey to find optimal spots for the beacons but after that, it should only take our technicians 2 days to install them. I'd say a week to do the survey. Thats how long it took us to do the United States."

 

"China will not allow a geographic survey to be done on its sovreign land." China bellowed.

 

"Of course not," Jane soothed "We can show you the data that needs to be gathered for us to find optimal positions. You may complete the survey yourself if you like. We simply offer the service of doing it for you at your convience."

 

"Will there be any problems between the American network and ours?" the Italian ambassador asked

 

"None whatsoever. In fact, your networks will be using technology 5 times faster than that of your American counterparts." That got a pleased response from all. Jane simply shrugged. The beacons weren't the point. But they had to be there, so the sales pitch went on.

 

"What kind of figures are we talking about again." France asked

 

"My office is sending you a detailed file on the improvements InstaTrans has made to America's infrastructure. You will see a 200% increase in productivity and a 79% increase in overall GDP."  Jane said and began reading off other numbers.

 

After the proof of concept phase had been completed, and production begun, the problem had arisen of beacons. The groups method could transport any object within a foot of its desired location but the system had to know where that location was. The first idea had been to develop pads for the items to be transported to. But than the need for central locations, as well as locations at all, had been a quagmire the group did not have resources to deal with.

 

It had actually been Jane who had thought of the idea of beacons. They were simple devices really. They took a geoscan of the area and sent the data back to the servers at InstaTrans office. This worked suprisingly well, with 99% success rate. Soon, InstaTrans had several servers in several locations to update the location data needed. Kilmartin had tried to take credit for the idea by redesigning Jane's idea. Jane didn't care. She was applying her talents to the transport yards, which were used to send items to, well wherever.

 

With a bit of luck, InstaTrans became as widely known in the United States as FedEx which it had every intention of buying within the next year if the three could just figure out what to do with all those planes. Transport depots became common place throughout the U.S. and business began to skyrocket.

 

"And with those figures, in conjuction with the ability to trade between yourselves, should be more than enough reason to begin this project." Jane concluded.

 

.4.

 

Jane was talking to Stevens in his office when they were rudely interrupted.

 

A man in his late fourties came barging through the door, cigar between his teeth, and a wad of papers in his hand.

 

"Do you know what your doing to my company!" He demanded.

 

"Not another one." Jane sighed. "Seriously Mark, we need security."

 

"Naw, I kinda like them." Stevens responded a wry smirk appearing on his face. Jane rolled her eyes. Stevens was going to go into another one of his speeches. Jane left the room, which went totally unnoticed by the belligerent man. She wasn't the one sitting behind the desk with the sign <i>President</i> on it.

 

"Take a seat, Mr.?" Mark asked.

 

"Jenkins. Thank you." Mr.Jenkins sat and appeared to loose some of his anger. His cheeks lost the color of his glowing cigar.

 

"Certainly. What can I help you with?" Stevens started.

 

"Your destroying my company, thats what you can help me with you rotten bastard." Jenkins exploded again. He remembered why he was angry. "I can barely find enough cargo to fill my trucks, let alone anyone who wants to use them."

 

"Ah, you're with? Stevens asked

 

"OnTime Transit." Jenkins responded.

 

"A trucking company?"

 

"Thats right." Jenkins answered. Stevens smiled.

 

"What have I done to you again?" Stevens asked.

 

"You taken all my customers with your stupid Transport dood-dads. My guys can't compete with instanteous delivery." Jenkins huffed.

 

"Thats right, they can't." Stevens responded. "Can I ask you a question?"

 

"I guess."

 

"How long has InstaTrans been in business."

 

"About 7 years now I think."

 

"Okay. How long have you been in business?"

 

"42 years."

 

"How many times did we try to contact your company to have a meeting?" Stevens asked.

 

"How the hell should I know!" Jenkins exclaimed. Mark raised his eyebrows. Jenkins let out a huff. "I think my secretary mentioned it once or twice."

 

"Denise." Jenkins said aloud.

 

A computer voice responded "Yes."

 

"How many times did InstaTrans try to contact, what did you say the name of your company was again?"

 

"OnTime Transit." Jenkins muttered.

 

"How many times did InstaTrans try to contact OnTime Transit?" Stevens asked Denise.

 

"13 times in 2019, 10 in 2020, and 3 in 2021." Denise responded.

 

"Thank you Denise." Stevens smiled.

 

"So." Jenkins sneered.

 

"Mr.Jenkins, if the roles were reversed would you have asked us for a meeting to discuss transport depots."

 

Jenkins eyes widened "So thats how you got so many of those darn locations started."

 

"Yes. I'm sorry Mr.Jenkins but theres little I can do for you. Without commiting too much hubris, I'd say InstaTrans is the future and the trucking industry is a thing of the past. We tried to help you but you wouldn't listen."

 

"Don't you need anymore transport depots?" Jenkins pleaded.

 

"Not really. Denise?"

 

"Yes?" Denise asked again.

 

"Do we need any more transport depots in the North American region."

 

"There are some minor congestion in the locations at Michigan and California. Regional managers have asked for additional capabilities."

 

"So, Mr.Jenkins do you have any locations in those areas?"

 

.5.

InstaTrans had a problem. And it wasn't just success.

Someone had managed to break into one the nations biggest bank's vault. Of course there was no money in the vault anymore. The only banks that still had actual currency in them were banks located in backwards places such as Dixon. The bank robbers had, regrettably, chosen a bank in the heart of New Maven. Not only had this bank stopped carrying currency, it had never carried any sort of tangible money in its entire existance, it being one of the first totally electronic exchanges. The vault was a relic of the previous bank that had occupied the building which New Maven Trust found quaint to keep around. The robbers had apparently not read New Maven Trust's brochure, or if they had, thought it an outright lie to keep burglars, such as themselves, out. The five theives thought they were pretty clever.

Jane did not.

A ton of damage had been done to the bank when the group of would be bank robbers attempted to vacate the empty vault. The most visible damage was that the bank vault door had been blown straight off, leaving a very large vertical manhole without its cover. In their anger, the theives had trashed some of the offices, stolen some office supplies, and pissed in a couple of the fish tanks in the foyuer. The bank owner, a Mr.Sneedly, was not very pleased to see this come the following morning.

This act of otherwise silly vandalism would have been completely ignored by Jane and her colleagues except for one irritating bit of evidence. See, the robbers had not entered through the front of the bank, nor the bottom, nor even the top. They had instead pop up right in the middle of the vault.

The security tape showed a normal New Maven evening one second, and the next the Exchanges vault door exploding outwards into a glass wall. Three minutes later, five men with ski masks and empty bags stumbled out. It was apparent to everyone, especially Mr.Sneedly, that someone had managed to use an InstaTrans depot to get inside his bank vault. To Jane, Kilmartin, and Stevens' lawyers this was anything but.

The legal team that InstaTrans employeed, which came as quite a shock to Jane and Kilmartin, fought bitterly that it could not have been InstaTrans's technology that had given the criminals access to New Maven Trust's vault. They pointed out that there were safeguards in place which denied any weapon to be shipped through a Transport Depot. They also noted all registries for InstaTrans 201,023 depots showed no anomalies or unscheduled shipments. Out of the 201,023 depots, only 45 made shipments at the time of the robbery, and only 4 were to locations anywhere near New Maven.

The three owners wanted to make a payment of good faith to New Maven Trust for the damaged done to its building since it was obvious to them someone had used one of their depots even though the logs didn't say so. But their lawyers refused, citing precedent, and continued the battle.

Jane hoped a settlement would be reached soon. She was getting tired of the headlines, the lawyer bills, and most of all the endless depositions.

After one long deposition, Jane went to a hotel in New York. The three owners of InstaTrans were to meet to have their quarterly meeting on company goals, problems, news and to treat themselves to a day off. They had missed the last two meetings because of meetings with lawyers. They had decided to clear their schedules for the weekend and enjoy a weekend away from the office.

Jane got of the elevator and went into the penthouse suite. Inside, Mark was arranging some papers on a desk and Kilmartin was busy fixing himself a plate of food.

Jane stopped. What was Kilmartin's first name? She must have known it at some point. They had been working together now for over 11 years. She must have refered to him by his first name atleast once. She scratched her head. No, it certainly wasn't coming to her.

"Um Kilmartin?" She asked, stepping into the living room of their suite.

"Yeah." He returned through a mouthful of shrimp and tartar sauce.

"Whats your first name?"

"...Whats my first name?" Kilmartin repeated.

"I'm sorry, I'm incredibly embarrassed but I can't think of your first name right now." Jane responded, her cheeks begin to blush.

"My first name? You mean we've worked together 12 years and you don't know my first name?" He sputtered.

"11 years actually, and no I do know your first name, I just can't think of it at the moment."

"What if I didn't remember your name?" Kilmartin shouted.

"Don't be ridiculous you've always called me Jane. I'm just asking what your first name is."

"Well if you can't remember it, I'm not repeating it."

"Oh come on." Jane was starting to laugh.

"No." Kilmartin shoved some more shrimp in his mouth and fell into a couch.

"Just a hint then?" Jane asked between giggles.

"Its Andrew, now can we move on, we have some serious issues to discuss." Stevens broke in. Andrew glared at Mark but kept quiet. Jane took a seat, opened her laptop, and sat back.

Mark stood up and turned to look out the window.


.6.

"We have a bid." Mark began.

"I don't care." Kilmartin squeezed through five shrimp stuck in his teeth. He liked to avoid any business details that didn't directly effect his research.

"Yes, you do Andrew." Kilmartin raised an eyebrow. "Its actually several bids. Six countries have put in offers to buy the division of InstaTrans thats on their respective soil."

Kilmartin stopped chewing, which caused some tartar sauce to dribble down his chin. Jane stopped chewing on the pen she had in her hand.

"Which countries?" Jane asked.

"The United States, France, China, Russia, Japan, and Mexico."

"Mexico?" Andrew asked a bit puzzled.

"Yes, didn't you hear. Mexico's rich again." Kilmartin shrugged and went back to eating shrimp.

"What are the offers for?" Jane followed with the next logical question.

"Roughly, they all amount to 2.3 Trillion in assets, the majority being in the U.S. and China."

"I assume you've known this for quite some time now Mark," Mark nodded "So what are the details."

Mark began, "Each country feels InstaTrans has negatively effected their use of Transport Depots. The complaints range but the majority feel we charge too much for maintenance and shipping. The validity of their claims notwithstanding, they have all filed charges to that effect. They are using those charges as pressure to get us to sell.

Several countries have also alluded to possible military consequences if we do not immeadilty hand over control."

Kilmartin snorted, "Yeah, I can only imagine who."

"Its not who you think. And these countries are just the tip of the iceberg. I have it on good authority that we will have 13 more bids by the end of the week. Now I know what your thinking. Yes, we can deny their bids and yes, the amount of revenue we make far exceeds the bids themselves."

"Exceeds the GDPs of most of them too." Kilmartin joked. Stevens smiled.

"Yes, we could fight them for a very long time, and probably win. But I have to point out again the military threat. There is very little we can do if they decided to capture our depots."

"Can't we just buy an army to stop that?" Jane said. She didn't think that would be one of the things she would have to consider.

"Perhaps if it was one country, but eighteen? And I don't know about you, but I enjoy being a United States citzen."

"So what are you saying." Jane asked. Kilmartin sat up and leaned forward.

"To put it bluntly, we're being chopped up and sold. And frankly, they can take it for all I care. I have enough money and a mountain of books to read. But what are your thoughts?"

"What about the technology?" Kilmartin asked. "I'll die before they take my proofs from me."

"Your patents will be safe. You can continue to work on Transport technology. The governments will probably need you as an advisor. But the Depots, Beacons, and offices will belong to their respective countries."

Kilmartin shrugged, "Thats all I care about. I'm out."

"Jane?" Stevens asked.

Jane stopped to think for a few seconds. Like Stevens, she had plenty of money saved and her list of side projects had only increased since InstaTrans was formed. And she would be happy to get out of Marketing and Research, despite finally becoming good at it. She felt some affection for the company she had started but it had blossomed so fast that she didn't feel an emotional attachment to it. Jane didn't know where half of the Transport Depots were. She did know how many beacons had been sold. 3.2 Million.

"I'm fine." she said.

"Well that was easy." Stevens said. They all shook hands and left.


Transportation 0.013 (Nanowrimo)
.7.

Anderson felt bad.

It had been his fault those fool bank robbers had gotten into New Maven Trust. If he wasn't in so much debt, Anderson would never have dealt with anyone from Kentucky.

"Thats my new rule. Never do business with anyone from Kentucky." He thought to himself.

Anderson had been able to reconfigure the Transport Depot mainframe where he worked to allow weapons to be sent through. He had been sending all kinds of weapons and munitions through for the past four months. Nothing dangerous like a thermonuclear warhead or anything on that scale. Just a few small arms here, a couple trucks of ammo there, and a few chinooks. He couldn't believe he had pulled that off. Had to land the damn things right on the pad in the middle of night without any lights.

If only those idiots hadn't caused such a huge explosion, everything would still be gravy. And to be transported right into the vault? What were they thinking? What was he thinking? He knew New Maven Trust didn't have any money in it. Atleast not the kind you could walk out the door with. Anderson should have seen the big clue when the three men had given him a suitcased filled with cash. But Anderson had only seen the green glow of money and had simply asked where and when.

Anderson shook his head. He felt bad.

Because of that evening, InstaTrans was no longer InstaTrans. The depot where Anderson used to work was now owned by the United States military, designated Depot #A12-U5. Anderson, not having a security clearance or a terribily clean record, was fired two days after it was announced that InstaTrans would be liquidated and its assests sold to different countries.

Maybe he didn't feel that bad. The owners of InstaTrans did loose his job for him. They could have taken a fine from the incident and been on their way. But all of a sudden, the three owners, Peters, Stevens, and Kil-something, Anderson couldn't remember, had announced they were stepping down. And then everything went to hell.

Almost immeaditly, the safeguards put in place by InstaTrans, the very same ones that Anderson had disabled, were removed. Belligerent countries began sending troops into neighboring lands, right to the capital doorstep. North and South Korea became just Korea. China annexed huge parts of Russia. Russia annexed huge parts of China as well as small former soviet states. Mexico had tried, and failed to take Texas. It seemed every hour a new army would appear someplace it really shouldn't be.

And then the bombings. Several terrorist attacks occured in New York, Paris, and Tokyo. The Transport Depots in the United States, France, England, Japan, and Canada were all taken offline. When they were eventually brought back, each Transport network would only work for domestic sites with no access granted to foreign countries. Soon the majority of depots were controlled by the military with only a few opened to commerical traffic which was tightly regulated.

Stevens, Peters, and Kilmartin had all vanished. They had tried to retire to their own respective parts of the world. But after three death threats, two pleas for help, and one kidnapping, they simply had enough. The three were being protected by the United States Government in a building outside of Denver. Quiet unexpectedly the building exploded in flames, killing anyone inside. No political faction claimed responsibility and eye witnesses said they saw a flash of light before the building collapsed. Rumors circulated that the United States was trying to force the three into helping them redesign their transport depots. There was little sadness for the presumed death of the three. What had been a bounty of goods only a few years, had turned into misery for many of the worlds people. They were not sorry to hear that the three creators had died.

In the span of two months the map of the world had changed. The benifits gained from InstaTrans were lost overnight. Thousands died in horrific brutality.

And it was all Andersons fault.


.8.

 

The 4th Congress of the Federated Nations was to begin in just three days.

 

Linda was to be the translator for Spain. She was already aboard the International Space Hub orbiting around the moon. The moon was the perfect place for the International Space Hub really, being the only neutral land within several light years. No one could decide on who really owned the moon, so as a comprimise, all nations agreed no one owned it. A couple of greedy nations had tried to conquer the moon but had been unsuccessful. In order to monitor such campaigns by rogue nations, the international community built the successor to the International Space Station, the even more bland International Space Hub. All federated nations had offices aboard the Hub, as well living quarters. A meeting hall had been constructed in the center to deal with current business, such as despots trying to the moon again. They all admitted the Hub looked remarkably like something out of a cheap sci-fi movie, like Star Wars, but after several years, no one really cared.

 

Least of all Linda. What Linda cared about at the moment was finding her boyfriend. His plane had docked with the Hub several hours ago and Linda was hoping they could have some quality time before she had to start translating. She cursed herself for not being at the gate when he arrived but the Spanish ambassador had needed his hearing aid updated to work with the microphones in the Hub. Why the Hub didn't use computer language translators, Linda didn't know, but it gave her a job, one that wasn't too difficult and allowed her to travel, so she didn't complain.

 

Spotting Tim, her boyfriend, a few paces away with his back towards her, she rushed over and pushed him into a dimly lit closet off the main hall. She began kissing him and Tim who was a bit suprised but quickly understood what was going on, joined her. Linda sank into the warm embrace of Tim's lips. She hadn't seen him in more than 4 months and the time had been torture. 4 months without sex. Linda had almost forgotten what sex was like.

 

As her hand caressed Tim's cheek, she felt something odd. Or didn't, Linda's pulse starting to increase with anxiety. What she caressed was an unmistakably clean shaven cheek. If she remembered correctly, and she was pretty sure she did, Tim had a scruffy beard and at the very least kept a fair amount of stuble at all times. Perhaps, Tim had finally managed to tame the wild threads of hair that seemed to envelope his body. Linda had urged him on several occasions to consider electrolosys but he had flatly refused. Why the sudden change?

 

Linda's anxiety getting the better of her, she stepped back and touched for the light panel.

 

Once Linda's eyes could tell the difference between bright light and not so bright light, it was plain to her that the person she had just been kissing for better part of a minute was not, as she feared, Tim.

 

The man, a minor delegate from England named Patrick, was still standing where Linda had left him, his face still puckered, eyes still closed, hoping Linda would return to the unexpected but enjoyable kissing. Patrick had been lost till Linda had pulled him into the closest. Technically, he was still lost but he enjoyed his current situation much more than the previous one. This was the first time he had been invited with the English delegation to the International Space Hub and didn't know the first thing about the Hub. No one had told him where to go, who to meet, or where to get a nice cup of tea. However, if attractive women would up and push you into closests and begin making out with you, than Patrick believed he had finally arrived at his proper destination. If only he had a cup of a tea.

 

After several seconds Patrick groped around a bit and then opened one eye. To his relief, the woman was still there. He was a bit confused as to why she had stopped kissing him and turned on the lights. He shut his eye again. Maybe if he held himself perfectly still she would restart.

 

Linda didn't know why she was still in the closest. Every urge in her body told her to leave. Every thought in her spinning brain told her to flee to the farthest corner of the Hub. Why had she confused this man with Tim? Beyond being clean shaven, he was taller and half the size of Tim. And Tim would never have worn something that formal to the Hub, since he was photographer. She began to wonder if it had been more than four months.

 

The woman had still not resumed kissing Patrick. His lips were starting to get dry and he had an itch on his thigh. He tried to shift his weight so that his pant leg would rub against the pesky part of his leg. This only served to double the strength of the itch and it was turning out that Patrick would have to move his hands and scratch it. Patrick was worried that any sudden movement would cause the woman to flee in horror, this being the normal response Patrick recieved when he tried to kiss a woman. But the itch kept tapping him on the shoulder, not one to be ignored. He peeked again and she was still there. He began slowly moving his arm.

 

Linda noticed the man's arm moving immeaditly. A mistaken kiss was one thing, but she'd be damned if she would let this go any further. Linda inched her feet closer to the door, trying to make her way out of the cramp closest. Of all the closests in the Hub she had to pick the smallest. She was within inches of the door when something amazing happened. She didn't leave.

 

Having succesfully vanquished the itch on his thigh, Patrick returned his attention to the woman. He could tell by now that she was not going to continue kissing him and it appeared she was trying to leave. Patricks next reaction was the same reaction he had for every encounter he had had with women. He got embarassed. Patrick moved his feet forward trying to get to the woman before she left so that he could apologize for letting her kiss him, when true to Patrick form, he tripped.

 

Linda had stopped and wasn't sure why. She felt as if something was keeping her in the closet and it wasn't the boxes in her way, although they had slowed it. She turned to look at the man again who was now rapidly falling in her direction. Linda braced herself as Patrick landed squarely in her chest knocking them both into the boxes that were keeping Linda from getting out of the closet.

 

After the last box had fallen on their head, Patrick looked into Linda's eyes who returned the same stunned looked.

 

"My name's Patrick." Patrick said. It was the only thing he could think to say to a woman whose chest he was currently laying in.

 

"Linda." Linda replied, hoping Patrick would remove his face from her cleavage.

 

And then, quiet uncontrolably, Linda kissed Patrick again.

 

 

.9.

 

The group of Petani's huddled in the cargo hold. They were dressed in spaceflight attendant uniforms and were pensively waiting to be released from the cargo hold they were residing in. The cargo hold that was really made for well cargo, but it had been made for only enough cargo 15 pieces of luggage. The Petani's had more than 15 pieces of luggage plus they were thrown in as well. And it really wasn't luggage so much as weapons.

 

The leader of the group, a Captain Levin, was shifting a patch on his custome when one of his more attentive soldiers, which didn't take much from Petanis, tapped him on the shoulder. Levin sighed. This one always had confusing questions which Levin was never able to answer as hard as he tried. And Levin tried really hard. Levin would end up hitting the soldier, Mevin, on the head until he stopped asking questions or until Levin's hand got tired.

 

"Sir?" Mevin asked.

 

"Yes, Mevin." Levin asked.

 

"I can see the flight attendants, sir." He stated.

 

Levin rolled his eyes. "Yes Mevin, thats us. We're dressed as flight attendants. Its our disguise to get on board the Hub. Remember?" He hoped Mevin remembered. Levin had already explained everything he knew about their mission so if Mevin asked any more questions, Levin would have to resort to making things up. Which was something Levin was pretty good at doing. He had found the trick to making things up and having people believe the things you just made up was to say them in such a loud and obnoxious manner that the other person had to assume that you were telling the truth or risk correcting someone who was being loud and obnoxious. Levin was very good at being loud and obnoxious. He had gotten top marks in it at school.

 

"No sir, I mean I can see the real flight attendants." Mevin responded.

 

Levin raised an eyebrow. They were still in the cargo hold or had something happened? Levin looked around. All he saw was the dark forms of the other men in his group and the bags that had stowed betweent their feet. He was still in the cargo hold.

 

"No, you can't Mevin." Levin corrected.

 

"But sir, I can and they're..."

 

Levin cut him off. "Thats enough. All you can see is the cargo hold which is exactly what I can see and nothing else. Is that understood?"

 

"Yes, sir!" Mevin saluted, or tried to in their tight conditions. Levin smiled, closed his eyes and hoped he would be able to get some good shuteye before Mevin woke him up again with his questions.

 

No sooner had Levin managed to squeeze into one of his favorite dreams, the one with the exotic cars with an equally exotic by position, not by origin, woman on top, than did he hear the chirp of his favorite commando Mevin.

 

"Sir, its not that I want to see the other flight attendants, its just.."

 

"Its just what?" asked Levin rolling his eyes.

 

"Well, they're not wearing the same uniforms we are. The flight attendants you see. I saw a couple through this crack here and their suits were had different insignia on them."

 

Levin let out a sigh of relief. Insignia would be missed. "Don't worry about it kid." he assured.

 

"Well I wouldn't but also their uniforms were cut differently. Where ours are tight and revealing, theirs are loose and comfortable."

 

"I don't have time for your complaints about the dress, Mevin." Levin scowled. That might be a problem.

 

"Oh, I'm not complaining sir. And the last thing that caught my attention was that their uniforms are blue with silver trim." Mevin finished.

 

"What are you a fashion designer or a soldier." Levin laughed at Mevin.

 

But Mevin looked at Levin with a stare that Levin knew all to well. Levin was missing something. Something very obvious. Levin tried to think. That hurt, so he stopped for a little while. He tried it again, this time in smaller bits. He went over what Mevin had just told him. Different insignia, different cut, blue trim uniforms. A few mistakes but nothing Levin hadn't seen before. Petani's intelligence gathering wasn't what it could be which would chartiably be consider decent. Levin turned back to Mevin.

 

"So?" Levin ventured. He hoped whatever obvious detail he had missed would be shown to him after that two letter word of defeat.

 

"Uh.." Mevin stammer "Well sir, our uniforms are green with purple trim."

 

Levin started hitting Mevin in the head.

 

 

.10.

 

Shifting into her clothes was something Linda had never gotten used to. For Patrick it was a terrifying and exciting new way to get dressed.

 

This had not been the reception he had expected. Patrick had expected a cup of tea, a bland biscuit, and a chat with the ambassador to be filled in on what he would be doing while aboard the International Space Hub. He hadn't expected a quick go of it in a closet with a woman he had barely met who was, from Patrick's perspective, way out of his league. Patrick stopped shifting his pants into position when it dawned on him. He was going to have to apologize. He always did. Everytime he kissed a woman or even talked to her, Patrick ended up apologizing even when he had done nothing wrong. It just sort of came out of him. And he always felt less of a person apologizing to a woman when there was really no point in him apologizing at all. And it seemed from Patricks observations, that the women he met felt that way as well. He could only imagine how hollow he would feel after this apology.

 

Linda was cursing to herself and she fastened her bra using the door and a mop. The sex had been good, although brief, and she couldn't help herself from liking the man. Maybe he reminded her of Tim but she doubted that. Tim never did anything spontaneous which was why his photos turned out so boring. He would take ours adjusting the lens and several more hours adjusting the subject.

 

"Oh god!" she thought, "Tim." She had made a mistake kissing Patrick and pushing him into a closet but surely Tim had not. After going to their room, Tim would almost surely come looking for her. And using the Hub's SID system to locate her, Tim would be opening the door any minute. Even this minute! Linda held her breath, the door in her mind opening and Tim's jaw swinging in mid-air.

 

Patrick was just finishing the windsor knot in his tie when he notice the woman, Linda she said her name was, had stopped moving. He tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around.

 

"You alright?" He asked trying not to look anxious. Linda's eyes grew larger.

 

"No." She whispered. Mountains of dread began to fall on Patricks dreams. He knew it. He was going to have to apologize. And he really liked her, that was the thing. It was more than just the sex, although he considered that the cornerstone of their new relationship. There was something about her that made him crazy which had lead to what had just happened which almost never happened where Patrick was concerned. He opened his mouth.

 

"I.." But thats as far as he got. Linda shook her head. Pushing this time with all her weight she managed to get out of the closet and was quickly absorbed into the flowing sea of people.

 

"Call me?" Patrick said to no one in particular, except the mop who took down Patrick's number.

 

 

.11.

 

Levin had given up punching Mevin. Levin's new unpleasant activity was figuring out how to correct the mess they had wound up in. This was proving difficult for Levin because Levin was no a planning kind of Petani. Levin was normally of the committee to plan strategy, which was fine with Levin, since he didn't much care for committees. Or plans for that matter. Levin did one thing well and that hit people and occasionally blow them up.

 

He looked at his men. They looked back at him, oblivious to the revelation Melvin had shared. Levin thought to himself, in slow increments, on how to procede. He could call the whole thing off, return to Petani, and hit some of the men from the Petani Intelligence Agency (PIA). Levin didn't like anyone who worked for the PIA which was one of the reasons Levin did not like Mevin. Mevin was the liason from PIA who was suppose to guide Levin through PIA's information and planning. So far, Mevin had done less guiding, and more pointing at holes in PIA's plans, like a safari that had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Levin shook his head. But Levin had never backed out of a mission before and he'd be damned if he'd do so now.

 

"Okay Mevin." Levin started, "What do you recommend?"

 

"Recommend sir?" Mevin responded blinking several times. He wasn't asked very often what he thought, least of all by Captain Levin.

 

"Yes Mevin, what should we do about the uniforms?"

 

"Its not my place to say, sir." Mevin ventured.

 

"Not your place to say! Not your place to say. The uniforms are your damn fault Mevin." They were actually PIA's fault. Mevin had had no input on the design of the groups outfits. In fact, Mevin had had no input at all. He hadn't even been part of PIA's task force to develop this plan. He had been brought in at the last second to accompany the poor heroes that would be going on this suicidal mission. Mevin could see that it was suicide even if Captain Levin could not. Mevin had been trying to uncover flaws in PIA's plan so that Captain Levin would call the mission off and they could all go home, safe, sound, and most importantly alive. Of course, Mevin's actions had backfired and Captain Levin was now quite angry with him.

 

"Sir, I was not part of PIA's task force in charge of this mission. I am not qualified to correct any of the problems we have found." Mevin stammered.

 

"Your not qualified to solve em, but you're sure as shit qualified to find them." Levin barked.

 

'They're not that hard to find.' Mevin thought but kept his mouth shut. "Perhaps we should remove the uniforms sir?"

 

"And wear what Mevin? Our white underwear?" Levin snarled.

 

"No sir. But we cannot wear these uniforms outside. People will notice."

 

"No kidding."

 

Well, atleast he understood that much, Mevin breathed. "Perhaps we could persuade some the flight attendants to give us their uniforms, sir." Mevin hinted.

 

"The good persuasion or the boring persuasion." Levin raised an eyebrow at the thought of getting to hurt someone.

 

"Whichever you see fit, sir." Mevin hopped he had laid a clear enough path for the Captain.

 

Captain Levin smiled. Levin was going to get to hit stuff.

 

 

.12.

 

Linda burst into her room with shame, guilt, regret, and terror following at her footsteps. What Linda saw in her room caused her to change all those emotions, save one.

 

Because of the limited space on board the International Space Hub, lowly staffers such as Linda only had quarters big enough to match their title. So being just a translator, Linda's room was very, very small, much the same way the closet she had just been in was small, only the closet had been bigger. As such, Linda's quarters were a living room, bedroom, bathroom, dining room, and study all fit into one neat room. The engineering and physics involved still amazed Linda to this day but she had to admit she was comfortable. Or would be, if someone else was using he bed at the moment. Someone else who was alone.

 

This time she was definitly sure it was Tim. The realization from before had made her sight ever the more vivid and she could see with eagle eyes that her boyfriend, who she had jus cheated on, was cheating on her. With out stopping to be confused on who had been unfaithful first, Linda marched over and hit the emergency button.

 

A loud siren went off causing both bed members to sit upright. Linda didn't recognize the girl, although if she had to guess, Linda would say she was from the Japanese delegation. Tim scruffy shocked face swung back and forth trying to locate the source of the noise as well as who had started it. When his eyes finally came to a stop on Linda, all the blood in his face drained to his toes.

 

"Shit." He wimpered.

 

All Linda could muster was a bitter smile before the Hub police arrive.

 

"Is their a problem, " the Hub Officer looked at his wrist display "Linda Jenkins?"

 

"Yes. I came home to find these two strangers having sex in my bed." Linda said cooly.

 

"Stranger! I'm your boyfriend!" Tim exclaimed although even he had to admit it was a pretty poor defense.

 

"No, Tim, no you're not." Linda responded in the same cool voice. She was suprised at how calm she was.

 

One of the Hub Officers pried his eyes away from Tims companion's naked body long enough to ask, "Is this true, ma'am?"

 

"Is what true?" Linda asked, feeling her tempered start to swell.

 

"Is he, " the officer pointed his wrist at Tim and then looked at it, "Timothy Rodriguez, your boyfriend?"

 

"No, he's not. I don't know him." Linda stated again.

 

"Ma'am perhaps you should talk to him before you get the Hub Security involved." the officer began backing away, one eye still fixed on Tim's date.

 

"I want this asshole out of my life, out of mind, and most definitly out of my damn room!" Linda screamed, her fury coming to her at precisely the right moment.

 

The officer jumped back a bit, having just been bit by Linda's scorn. He scowled.

 

"Get out of the bed Mr.Rodriquez. You too miss, " he pointed his wrist at the woman "Akiko Ichihara. Get dressed. We're taking a little trip" So that was her name. Linda rolled it around in her mind. It lost all meaning after awhile. As did her feelings for Tim. She just wanted him out.

 

"But I don't have any place to stay!" Tim yelped. He had planned to stay with Linda while onboard the Hub.

 

"Oh, don't worry lad. We'll find a place for you to stay the night." the officer smiled. Linda smiled too. Wherever they found a place for Tim, it wouldn't be comfortable.

 

As the officers pulled Tim out of Linda's room, Tim turned and glared at Linda. She became angry with his demeaning glare and opened her mouth to speak but Tim cut her off.

 

"I thought you'd be in the closet longer." he said. The air in Linda's mouth stood still. She closed her eyes as well as her mouth as the officer pushed Tim and Mrs.Ichihara, onto the main throughfare. Linda's door slid shut. She turned and slid to the bottom, her arms falling over her head.

 

After several minutes, Linda got up, turned to her phone and called the Hub Security Precicint. She asked to talk to Tim. After a bit of comotion, Tim's face came on the screen.

 

"What?" He growled. Linda's brow shrunk.

 

"Sorry to dissappoint you, jackass. I wish I had stayed there as well." and with that she cut the connection.

 

Linda flopped on the bed. Linda lay on her bed for an hour letting her mind roaming aimlessly until it came to a destination Linda wasn't sure she was ready to deal with.

 

"Patrick." she mouthed.

 

.13.

 

Melvin pushed at his collar. The uniform Captain Levin had "aquired" for him was several sizes to small and was causing a great deal of pain to Melvin. Melvin was on his way to secure a means of escape while the others completed the mission. Melvin was searching for a means of escape because that part of the plan had also been left out by the PIA and so it had fallen on Melvin to come up with a way to get all 15 men including Melvin, off the Hub without Hub Security catching him. Of course, it had been Melvin who had pointed out that there was no plan for escape in the PIA to Captain Levin, so Mevin did feel responsible for solving that particular problem.

 

As he walked down a side corridor, Mevin saw a man who looked almost as disheveled as himself. He too was shifting his collar, although for quite a different reason than Mevin, since the shirt seemed to fit the man just fine as far as Mevin could see. Mevin kept his head down as the man past and then turned to watch the man turn a corner. Five seconds later, the man crossed the intersection going the other way. Another 5 seconds and the man was back at the intersection and it appeared he was looking for a street sign. Of course there were no street signs on the Hub, even Mevin knew that. Everyone either used their WDA or knew where they were going. Very few people were admitted onto the Hub without first being given an indepth seminar on the layout of the Hub. This was to avoid people getting lost onboard the Hub, a seminar that apparently the man Mevin was watching had missed.

 

Mevin turned to continue his hunt for an escape plan but stopped. Mevin cursed at himself. He could never resist helping someone with a problem, no matter how trivial or how inconvient it was for Mevin. It was one of his personal flaws that made him well liked as well as taken advantage of. Resigning himself, Meivn started walking back down the corridor.

 

Cautiosly, Mevin approached the man.

 

 

.14.

Patrick was lost, in every meaning of the word lost.

He was lost the moment he walked out the closet. Patrick had tried to chase after Linda to apologize, and in doing so had made several nondescript turns into sections of the Hub Patrick knew nothing about. Not that Patrick knew much about the Hub, this was his first time. No, Patrick had not paid much attention to the orientation seminar given to him onboard the shuttle. Patrick was too amazed by the sight of the brillaint stars rushing towards him and the rapidily dimishing Earth behind.

So, when he had asked several people onboard the Hub how to get to the British delegation's offices, they had smiled, noted that Patrick did not have a WDA on, and noted that he looked slightly disheveled. And then they began reading off a list of confusing directions from their WDAs. Patrick would nod, smile, pretend to think for a few seconds, nod some more, and graciously thank the person he had just stopped for providing him with infinitely valuable, although cryptic, information Patrick could not use. Patrick would then shove off, hopefully in the direction the person had just mentioned, until he turned a corner and asked someone else.

This went on for about 30 minutes until Patrick gave up and decided it was just as efficent to walk around with no particular direction in mind. He was after all, on a spaceship, so after a certain length of time Patrick would end up at his destination through pure brute force and determination. Unbeknownst to Patrick, the Hub was roughly the size of two dozen football stadiums, with nooks and crannies that would make a Hub veteran weary and disoriented.

This sort of random searching perfectly suited Patrick's current state of mind. He was also lost in deep thought. Or as far deep a thought as Patrick could manage. And Patrick was thinking about love, so the thought did not have much depth but what it lacked, it more than made up for in breadth.

Patrick could not stop thinking about Linda no matter how he tried. Patrick had a hard time not thinking about any women he met, let alone one who had slept with him. Meeting and talking with women had always been treasured moments in Patrick's mind. A simple meeting would be enough food for Patrick's imagination for months. Patrick lived on female interaction, like most men do, and the symphonany of confusion that accompanied it in his brain.

Because Patrick's brain was so engrossed with the new Linda, Patrick had managed to pass the British delegation's offices several times with out noticing it at all. It was quite marvelous that Patrick had managed to blindly find his destination. It was even more marvelous that Patrick didn't realize he had found it.

Patrick was interrupted in the middle of one his dreams. That particular dream had had been where he, Patrick, was galhantly (Patrick always did things galhantly in his dreams) fighting robbers trying to steal Linda's purse while his love stood in corner with moony eyes and perpetual sigh of affection. Patrick had just subdued the villian and Linda had rushed to his side kissing his shapely cheek (Patrick's body and appearance also improved three fold in his dreams) when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Thinking it was another robber, Patrick swung in the direction of the finger.

.15.

Mevin ducked. Hours of being punched by Captain Levin, had trained Mevin's reflexes into one of near feline perfection. Mevin had always let Levin hit him because Levin was a ranking officer and it appeared that hitting Mevin caused Captain Levin a great deal of relief. Each time Captain Levin hit Mevin, Mevin would rationalize that he was taking this abuse for the greater good of the squad, that Levin was working out his frustration, and that Mevin was doing his duty as a soldier to take some of the burden from the Captain, even if it was in brutal form.

The man currently swinging a fist at Mevin was not a ranking officer, didn't seem all that frustrated (the lopsided smile on the man's face told Mevin the man had been daydreaming), nor did he meet Mevin's justification of pain for the group benifit. So Mevin ducked.

"What's wrong with you?!" Mevin screamed. Helping people was one thing but narrowly missing someones clenched fist was quite another. The man's eyes shot open, the daydream state Mevin had noticed evaporating.

"I'm terribly sorry, my mind was elsewhere. I didn't hit you did I?" the man apologized.

"No." Mevin waited a few seconds, trying to decide whether he really wanted to help this man after all. He was British. Petanis didn't have a great deal of love for the British, after siding with Petani's enemy Betani. Mevin sighed. "Look, are you lost?"

The man blink a couple times. Clearly, his mind was stuck.

"I'm sorry, yes, yes I am. My name's Patrick by the way." Patrick bumbled.

Mevin nodded. He didn't really care what the stinking Brit's name was. Mevin looked at his WDA and said "Where do you need to go?"

A small groan could be heard from Patrick's direction. Mevin looked up. Patrick had his head in his hands and if Mevin wasn't mistaken, Patrick was also crying.

"Are you alright?" Mevin asked, although he was unsured if he really cared about the response.

"Yes, yes I'm fine. Sorry, its been a terribly day. I'm looking for the British delegation's offices. Um, can I bother you for a favor?" Patrick stammered, wiping the corners of his eyes.

"Depends on what the favor is?" Mevin already knew the answer was no.

"See," Patrick began, "I've already asked several other people for directions and each one has in turn given me directions from one of those things." Patricked pointed at Mevin's WDA.

"Yes, and?" Mevin tapped his foot.

"Well it means nothing to me. It's as if I'm using a map of London in Oxford."

"Don't you have a WDA?" Mevin asked, also pointing at his WDA.

"What's a WDA?" Patrick asked.

"This." Mevin pointed at his wrist with frustration.

"Oh. Um what does WDA mean?" Patrick asked again.

Jesus. Had this guy been born yesterday Mevin chuckled. "It's a Wrist Digital Assistant. You do have one don't you?" Mevin knew he did not.

Patrick scratched the back of his neck and grimaced "I must have left mine on the plane." Mevin smiled a smile of understanding and contempt. "Would it be too much of a bother for you too show me the way to the British delegation's quarters?" Patrick ventured.

Mevin really needed to be looking for an escape plan. He looked at his watch. If everything was going to plan, and it probably wasn't, the Captain and his team should be at there first objective. But knowing the plan and who was in charge of executing it, Mevin felt assured he had a few moments to waste. And besides, there was probably some emergency escape pods near the delegations offices anyway. Mevin shrugged.

"Follow me." Mevin responded, and turned and headed back the direction Patrick had came.

.16.

Linda was having a wonderful dream of Patrick saving her from a robber trying to steal her purse. The robber was clearly Tim even though he had a mask on. Linda didn't know why Tim would be robbing her but only cared that Patrick was saving her. Linda caressed Patrick's thick arms (had they been that thick in the closet?) as he stood with his foot on Tim's windpipe. Linda sighed with affection.

She woke up in a sweat of ecstacy, her mind clouded by dreams of Patrick and dreams of hurting Tim. She got up, showered, and then sat down again. She toyed with an idea, and then finally put her body into action.

"Hub Tracking Authority." she said aloud.

"Hub Tracking Authority. How may we assist you today?" a voice responded over her intercom.

"I'm looking for a man named Patrick. He works for the British Delegation." Linda spoke with her eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, could you be more specific?" the voice returned.

Linda sighed "His name is Patrick. I don't know his last name. He's part of the British delegation."

"I'm sorry ma'am but I am unauthorized to track individuals using a nation's staff listing. If your Patrick is listed in the Common Person ID Tracking Manifest, I can assist you."

"How many Patrick's are aboard the Hub?" Linda questioned. She had a feeling she wouldn't like the answer.

"234." the voice responded. Linda was right, she didn't like the answer.

"Thank you." Linda acknowledged and cut the connection.

Linda dressed and put on her WDA. Calling up the directions to the British offices, she took one last look in the mirror and than set off to find Patrick.

.17.

Captain Levin was in trouble. He had a problem and he didn't have Mevin around to fix it nor punch.

That wasn't entirely true. Mevin wasn't anywhere near enough to be punched, that was true enough, but Levin had several problems at the moment not just one. Levin could have contacted Mevin on his WDA but that would cause the Hub Communications Authority to have a record of his conversation and Levin didn't need another problem in this day filled with problems.

Besides, Levin could fix anything Mevin could fix. Right?

Damn right, Levin told himself! Levin felt the urge to hit one of the squad members crouching beside him but held back. His men weren't PIA stoogies and at that moment were on such edge that'd they'd probably blow up more than the explosives in their backpacks. Levin unclenched his fist a bit reluctantly.

"Think." Levin commanded himself. "Ow." Levin rubbed his head. He remembered his brain didn't like it when he did that.

Levin didn't know, and would never know, that the Petani government had systematically and succesfully implanted brain wave restricting chips into each of its citzens. The purpose of this wasn't entirely necessary since most of the Petani population was already quite restricted when it came to thinking, but the leaders of Petani, also quite restricted in their knowledge, felt it was a good way to keep things the way they were. Since they were in power, the leaders felt the way things were was just peachy with them.

The BWR chips not only restricted certain types of deviant thought, like imagination and creativity, but also focused the Petani's brain to one particular action. In Levin's case, it was blowing up the central anti-gravity matrix. Levin didn't know nor care why he was blowing up the central anti-gravity matrix, he just knew that he had to. In Mevin's case, it was helping old Petani leaders with their problems and willingly accepting beatings. Mevin didn't know nor like why he was punched repeatly but accepted it as it came.

The BWR chips allowed for some imagination when dealing with the particular problem at hand but made sure the citzen never strayed to far from the ultimate objective. This was hindering Levin from coming to the clear and obvious solution to his problem which was to give up, go home, and drink a large mug of beer. This stark solution was never allowed to reach Levin's conscious mind.

Levin stuck his head around the corner and looked down the, what seemed to be an infinite, hall. Two guards were standing in front of the door Levin needed to get through. The two guards were really there for show, the automated defenses that lined the passage to the door were more than sufficent to stop most rampaging armies. Luckily, Levin and his men were not a rampaging army.

He turned back to his men who were busy at work setting up the driver weapon.

The driver weapon was a rather primitive weapon which had been improved with modern technology. The driver weapon dated back to the battering ram of the rampaging vikings and other barbarians. It had one central activity. To smash into a wall repeatly until one side quit, normally the wall. The driver weapon had improvements, such as automatic ramming and wall mounting braces. With the right amount of force, the driver weapon had been able to shove a round hole through 25ft of solid titanium.

The Petani soldiers were hoping to do that but in a round about way. It was well known that the defenses in the Hub were mounted on the top of the wall as well as the video cameras. If someone tried to disable the defenses while in the hallway, they would be facing a 12ft high gun turret with video camera vision. Levin didn't want to do it that way.

His group had two drivers. They were scaled down to allow the commandos to carry them on their backs but still held the awesome punch that made Levin's heart swell with pride. The idea was to mount a driver on either side of the hallway facing in at the top of the wall. The rest of the idea was to let the driver plow through the wall eliminating all weapons and cameras in one fell swoop. The Petani's thought they were pretty clever which unusually for them, they were.

The team was beginning to mount the drivers to the walls, after deactivating the cameras watching the hallway they were using. Hub guards would soon be dispatched to check on the disabled cameras but hopefully by that time Levin's group would be throught he door. The guards at the door didn't seem to notice, or care that a group of 8 men kept trying to casual cross the intersection of the hallway without them noticing.

As the second driver was having its last bolt anchored into the wall, another noise which went unnoticed by the guards, Levin's day got worse. He could hear the two men he had setup as sentries arguing with Hub security. Levin sighed. It was about to get messy. Then he smiled and took out his gun.

.18.

At long last Patrick had reached the British delegations offices. Patrick fell to his knees as if he had finally made it to Mecca, and Mevin thought he was crying again. Mevin rolled his eyes.

"Thank you so much." Patrick grabbed Mevin's hand who tried to yank it back.

"Let go of me!" Mevin snapped, pulling his hand free from Patrick's grateful handshake. And with that Mevin turned and walked away.

"What an odd man." Patrick mused, as he got up and brushed himself off. Patrick turned and starting walking towards the offices. He could hear yelling coming from the main office. He sincerely hoped it wasn't about him but knew that it probably was. Patrick sighed.

As he walked towards the door he noticed a shop that was quite conveniently stationed right beside the embassy. It said in big, bold letters that made Patrick wincy with embarrassement:

OFFICIAL WDA DISTRIBUTION OFFICE

Patrick sighed again. Looking throught the glass door of the embassy, Patrick could see Dillon Hanover, his boss. Dillon was the one who Patrick had heard yelling. The yelling was now definitly about Patrick.

"Well, I'm late already. Might as well pick up one of those wrist things." Patrick thought to himself, changing directions. He entered the distribution office.

At first Patrick felt he had stepped off the Hub and into Heathrow. The distribution was identical to the many convience stores Patrick had visited while in Earth's airports with the major exception that this convience store did not have a poster of the moon but a window overlooking the moon.

Patrick thumbed through the magazines, tried on a couple pair of sunglasses, and in a roundabout manner wound up at the counter with a snickers bar.

"This and a WDA." Patrick said, trying to act like he knew what a WDA was and that he had been using one all his life. The clerk could easily tell that Patrick had not been using a WDA all his life and wasn't sure if he knew how to use the snicker bar either. The clerk snickered to himself and thought he'd have a little fun.

 

"What happened to your last one?" the clerk asked.

 

"My last one?" Patrick asked. He had feared questions.

 

"Yes. All WDA assignments are strictly monitored here at the Hub." the clerk responded. "Where is yours."

 

"Well I left it on the plane." Patrick ventured, hoping that excuse would be good enough to please the clerk and buy him a WDA.

 

"There will be a fine for that. And all planes are swept after docking. All WDA's that are found are then sent to their respective embassies if one is found underneath a seat, and that embassy fined for the lost WDA. I would check with your embassy first." This wasn't true. WDAs were as disposable as cameras and there hardly was a fine on them. This bit of news caused Patrick to go pale.

 

"Fine?!...But, but I would but the offices are closed." Patrick tried.

 

The clerk looked at his WDA, "Its 2pm." the clerk looked back at Patrick, trying to keep the grin from his face.

 

"Its a holiday." Patrick insisted.

 

"No its not." the clerk returned.

 

"Yes it is!" Patrick insisted although he felt a bit uneasy insisting on a holiday that didn't exist anywhere but in his mind and the three words he had just spoken.

 

"No it isn't! I've got a calender right here!" the clerk pointed below his desk, too far for Patrick to see. The clerk actually had adult magazines below the counter, one of which was open. The clerk had been perusing it when Patrick had come through the door.

 

Patrick look at the clerks name tag, "Now look here Mr.Anderson, it is a national holiday, whether you believe it or not, and I demand a new WDA. Patrick began to shout.

 

.19.

 

That was it for Anderson. The lies, the absurd excuses, he couldn't take anymore. The laughter had been growing inside him, bubbling up towards his mouth like lava. And like a volcano, the burning ash of laughter came spewing from Anderson's mouth, searing everything in its wake. The guy Anderson had been talking to looked shocked which wasn't suprising since he was British and they had become quite adept at it.

 

"Why are you laughing?" the man asked, taking a step back. Anderson could hardly hear him, the drums of his ears suffocated by his own laughter. This only made the man irrate and made Anderson laugh even more. He hadn't had this much fun since working at the InstaTrans depot.

 

"I demand to know why you are laughing!" the man slammed his fist. Or tried to. He wasn't that heavy and his arm had a hard time hurting the plastic counter. Anderson wasn't a very fit guy either but he felt he could take him. But Anderson didn't want to loose another job so he tried to control his laughter.

 

"Sorry, hahaha, I'm really, hah, sorry." Anderson managed.

 

"You don't sound it in the least." the man's frown increased.

 

"Heh, sorry. Look pal, WDA's are 20 standard. I was just giving you a hard time. Which one would you like UBM or Tisheba." Anderson had gotten his laugh under control.

 

"Giving me a hard time? You wanker. I oughta.." the man began.

 

"What? Not buy a WDA when you clearly need one. Listen, I'll sell it to you for 15 standard for the joke." Anderson comprimised. He couldn't care less how much he sold the WDA for. The things were cheap.

 

The man grumbled and shoved his finger into the debit reader on the counter. Anderson gave him a UBM WDA and the snicker bar and completely forgot about the man as he walked towards the door.

 

The man was almost out the door, when he turned and said "You lied to me." Anderson guessed this was some feeble attempt on the man's part to hurt his conscience. The man didn't realize that Anderson's conscience had long since stopped being hurt, least of all by an insignifigant comment by an insignifigant customer.

 

"You lied to me too, pal." Anderson replied a bit harshly. The man's mouth opened as if to say 'I'm not lying' again but stopped. The man's face quivered realizing that what Anderson had just said was true. The man stood there for a few seconds and then nodded at Anderson. Anderson smiled back.

 

Anderson watched as the man left the store. No sooner had Anderson's eyes left the man to return to his magazine did the man stop. Anderson groaned. He feared the man had thought of some other comment or criticism to send Anderson's way. He seemed like the type of man who would return to a conversation when to all parties involved it was clearly over.

 

But the man had not stopped to go back to the distribution office. In fact, it seemed the man had stopped all together, even breathing which Anderson wasn't sure the man could do for much longer. Anderson followed the man's line of sight to the cause of the man's sudden arrest.

 

"Oh," Anderson scoffed, "A girl."

 

Anderson went back to looking at his porn.

 

.20.

 

Mevin had found what he felt was an incredible escape route.

 

An InstaTrans Jump Station was located right beside the British offices, tucked conveinently in a corner. It wasn't owned by InstaTrans anymore, nothing was. A British emblem was gilded into the top of the structure and it appeared a door had been sealed shut in front of the Station. This didn't suprise Mevin. The welded door was there because of people like Levin and other Petani's who held a grudge against the U.N. The door was designed not to keep people from leaving but to assure that people didn't suddenly appear at an inappropriate time.

 

As Mevin had suspected, the door only looked welded. Upon further inspection, Mevin could see that the door was held to the Station by four clamps which all looked to have releases. It was now a simple matter of finding a way to access the Jump Station, unlock the clamps, punch in an address for Petani, and get the hell off the Hub. Mevin was very pleased with himself.

 

Mevin let his hands brush over the walls, hoping no one was watching him. He made a brief scan of the walls and saw only one camera. Mevin hoped whoever was watching, wasn't. He also noticed the man he had helped to the British offices still standing in front of them.

 

"I can't walk you through the door too." Mevin laughed.

 

Then, Mevin noticed the woman approaching the man. Mevin let out a low whistle. It had been a long time since he had seen a woman that beautiful. Mevin's head filled with thoughts of lust which was quite unusual for a Petani. Sexual reproduction was tightly regulated by the Petani government much the same way the Petani's minds were. As a side benifit to limiting the Petani peoples minds, all sexual urges were subdued and replaced with sheer determinism for the goal of the state. Petani efficency was the highest in the world albeit a slightly forced efficency.

 

Mevin shook his head. Mevin wasn't suppose to be having this images in his head. He had, in fact, never had these images in his head before. Mevin felt aroused like he had never been aroused before. These feelings weren't because of his wife on the 3rd Tuesday of every third month. They were just spontaneous feelings that he had had no notice of at all. Mevin braced himself against the wall.

 

Back in Petani, a blinking light went off on a panel in the PIA headquarters. A technician took note of the anomalie in Mevin's brain wave fluctuations, looked up Mevin's information, and increased the pressure from the chip within Mevin's brain.

 

Mevin snapped to attention, did an abrupt salute, and turned back to looking for an access panel.

 

After ten minutes of searching, Mevin had a connection to the Jump Station and was busy reconfiguring the the system. Long ago, programming an InstaTrans Jump Station was a daunting and complicated task. That had changed once InstaTrans had been disolved. The technology was reversed engineered by several governents and the schematics soon began poping up on the ultranet. Mevin had taken a course at Petani State University on InstaTrans technology and was fairly compotent InstaTrans technician. Within minutes he had released the clamps from the Jump Station and was trying to locate a suitable depot in Petani for the group to go to. The problem Mevin found was that the majority of depots in Petani had been demolished by the Betanis and the rest closed down by the Petani government.

 

"Fuck." Mevin grumbled. They were going to have to do a dry jump. A dry jump was something most people tried to avoid, the reason being you didn't know quite where you'd end up. You could be right where you intended to go or appear 200 ft up in the sky with nothing but the clouds to hang on to.

 

"And you'd be lucky to hit the ground with all the junk thats up there." Mevin thought to himself. Quickly, Mevin started writing safety routines he had memorized while at PSU. With any luck, Mevin and the rest would appear right in the center of a field just outside of the town Mevin grew up in. With no luck, they'd end up quite literally, in a tree.

 

Mevin sent a confirmation signal and locations details to Captain Levin.

 

 

.21.

 

'Patrick', thought Linda.

 

.22.

 

'Linda', thought Patrick.

 

.23.

 

Levin's WDA beeped.

 

Levin fired off two rounds before ducking behind an overturned piece of debris. Three of his men were dead, two of them were wounded, and the last three were working on the charges. That left Levin in charge of holding off Hub security. Levin was in his glory.

 

Throwing a grenade over his shoulder, Levin looked at his WDA.

 

"Good, that worthless sack of crap found an exit." Levin remarked, as shrapnel and body parts flew over him.

 

The plan had worked pretty much the way Levin had thought it would. The drivers had plowed a an enormous hole through each side of the walls, taking with them any sort of defense. The guards who were stationed at the door, seemed to come alive in an instant but were immeaditly crushed by rubble the drivers pushed to the side. Levin's team had subdued the first team of security personel and had made it into the Hub Central Anti-Gravity Matrix when Hub calvalry showed up. The only thing Levin didn't expect was the security team's rapid response. And the impressive amount of fire power they brought to bear. And it was difficult to impress Levin when he came to weapons.