[RFC][Story] Mission to Arcadia

[Dartz]

Interview
May-June 2024

Sign it, she said. For fortune, fame and fun. Sign your life away?

Lev sat in the driver's seat of the old Curiosity-type rover, watching the core-drill do its thing. He took a sip from his drinking straw and sighed. Bughunting on Mars was pretty much the dead-end of things. Drive the six-wheeler out to some remote part of the planet that might've once held water, then dig, then ship the core back to the lab where the director of research would claim all the credit for whatever was discovered inside.

For a would-be scientist a few weeks after graduation, it was the best that was on offer. It was the first step on the long ladder to publication and funding - a credit on a paper as an 'assistant' that'd stand to him when he set off on his own personal project.

That's what he told himself.

He figured if he kept repeating it, eventually he might actually start to believe it. The computer chirped, informing him that it'd succeeded in cutting its sample, and was now automatically returning it to the trunk to be carried home.

He typed in the label, set it to print itself out, then opened up his navigator. The next set of coordinates were an hour's drive away. He left the driver's bubble and clambered back to the sleeping cab, boiling himself a kettle.

As the driver, his sole contribution was avoiding boulders and fixing software bugs.

Sometimes he even wondered if maybe the Curiosity-series couldn't have just been independent computer-operated rovers rather than manned vehicles. But someone'd insisted because manned drivers could spot things automation couldn't and choose to investigate independently. He suspected the professors liked it because it got rid of anyone smart who could get in the way of their research funding but didn't dare say it out loud.

The kettle began to burble to itself, steaming up the portholes. He switched it off and poured himself a hot cup of tea, flavoured with genuine squeezed-from-a-cow's tit 'fresh' milk that'd cost a good chunk of his salary to get out to Mars.

But if you were spending a few weeks alone in a glorified space-camper it was worth it.

He slipped back down into the driver's seat, unfolding the cupholder from the armrest before slotting it into place. He cursed as hot tea splashed across his bare legs, brushing it off

Another bonus about working in the backarse of beyond - nobody saw what you were or weren't wearing. Lev preferred to dress comfortably, rather than dress for the miniscule possibility of a decompression.

Seeing that the loading had cleared, he set the cruise control, allowing the research rover to accelerate itself up to speed while he put his feet up. Motors whined, driving the three-ton six-wheeler across the Martian soil at the fantastic speed of five kilometres and hour.

A billion years previously, it'd been a lakebed. Supposedly.

The time between drillsites was time to check up on the interwave. The ongoing race-fixing biomod scandal was still generating megabytes of argument, with no end in sight. Some fics he liked had updates. A few fans he followed had done interesting things - the 'building blocks of life' having now been discovered on another comet.

Bored out of his mind, he started scanning for situations vacant.

The hardest part of that was finding ones he thought he could handle. Nothing killed confidence quite like coming across that one required competency that he just didn't have. Then came the idea that he'd just be wasting someone's time, followed by the idea that he'd never hear back anyway.

Best not to be disappointed.

That was a hard monster to fight against.

He scanned through the most recent postings until something caught his eye.

"Position for graduate biologist interested in taking part in deep-ocean survey in unexplored territory. Must be capable of operating a lab.. Must be willing to travel. Three character references, SP Vetting and a background check mandatory. An excellent chance to get published while gaining valuable laboratory research experience.

Employer: Great Justice

Location: Extrasolar

Intrigued, he tapped in, opening the full job-spec. It was surprisingly sparse on information - made interesting only by the employer, and the location.

He sent his C.V. with little real expectation of hearing back.

Anything with Great Justice in on it was bound to pay well.

-----

The message had told him to come to Marsbase Sara for interview.

He lied to the boss saying it was a trip to get a spare part. It'd cause a shitstorm if they thought he was looking for work elsewhere on their money. Sara itself smelled of hot diesel and grease - a smell that clung to the inside of his nose. Themessage told him to go to the newer part of the base, beneath the tourist-trap parts.

It was clanking, heaving, hot and heavy. It was, he thought, what it must've been like to be inside a running diesel engine. It was clattering, banging and noisy, filled with an energy of motion that tried to drag him along. It pulsed and thrummed with mechanical life and vibrancy. Neon lights fizzed through steam exhausted from the back of Excelion's High Test . A Gear with its buzzing-hornet Vee-engine trundled past towing a broken down 8-wheeler. Sparks flew from a machine-shop that backed onto an old tanker truck its owner was living out of.

The office he'd been told to go to was lower down, in the newer parts of the base. The lower he went, the cooler it was. Things were much quieter on the bottom level. People lived and slept down there. A few had offices. All seemed to have been formed from some form of structural portakabin.

An old green Ford pickup was parked outside the one the email told him to go to.

Cautiously, he pressed the buzzer. The door unlatched a moment later and he pressed it in. Inside, was nothing except a woman in a business suit, a wood-veneer desk and a seat for him to sit on. It was utterly spartan and clean inside. She was utterly unremarkable. Her hair was darkened - clearly dyed, there was a slight red sheen to it. Her blue eyes stared.

He stepped in, immediately aware that this was not a conventional interview. Not in any world.

"Lev Mattel?" she said, standing up. She extended her hand.

He nodded, finding her grip warm and firm.

"Call me Sylvie," she smiled, sitting back down her seat.

He did the same, finding himself feeling strangely uncomfortable. He was sweating inside his suit

"It's good of you to come, and take the time to be here."

"Well. Thanks for the opportunity, anyway," he answered, fighting hard to keep calm.

There was nothing on the desk. No pens. No papers. No coffee-rings. She didn't even have a copy of his C.V. or an electronic copy on a datapad. She sat there with her hands clasped together. The office was utterly bare. It existed solely so that he could meet her.

"You mention you have lab-work experience. Can you tell me about that specifically."

Her voice was calm, with a soft, hoarse edge to it. He sensed the American accent she was using wasn't even her native one. He took a breath, deciding to press on anyway, despite it not even being a the usual interview opening question. It made him pause for a moment, just to get back on his mental feet.

"Well.." he began. " I entered Vesta on a sponsored scholarship, studying molecular biology. My course of course included labwork. I found I enjoyed it so I asked to stay on as a postgrad doing research rather than go into industry." His mouth was running automatically, reciting verbatim one of his pre-prepared answers. "Part of my duties involve operating a Curiosity rover - it's basically like a small mobile lab inside, which has to be self sufficient. I have to look after supplies, maintenance and make sure the onboard experiments run. "

She nodded once. Her hands remained clasped together on the table.

"Would you feel up to running your own laboratory, solo?"

"Solo? You mean, as a sole researcher?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

"That's unusual," he said, before catching himself. He chastised himself silently. He scrambled to get back onto a positive track. "It doesn't sound that much different from what I'm doing, going by the job-spec."

"It doesn't. However, in this case you would be solely responsible for the equipping to the lab, for designing experiments and directing a team of divers collecting samples of local lifeforms for surface study."

"Yeah.... well." He rifled through the back of his mind, searching for anything remotely relevant. "You see on my CV I mention we had a team-based project in Third year, where I acted as team leader. I'd feel confident directing a team of divers towards achieving an established research goal."

"And would you feel confident in establishing your own research goal?"

"Well. Yeah. I can do it," he said. Alarm bells however, had begun to drown out enthusiasm "It's kind of strange though," he ventured tentatively.

"In what way?"

Her tone was mild. She still looked at him, more a puppet than a presence - a mouthpiece for someone far away. Somehow, it made him feel just a little more confident.

"Asking for a grad student to run their own lab, direct their own research. It sort of seems too good." That was when he recalled who the prospective employer actually was. "I'm guessing since Great Justice is involved, there's more going on than research."

She smiled at him. The first time he'd seen her genuinely smile. It was, he figured, exactly what she'd been waiting for. She reached under the desk, opening a single drawer, before removing a sheet of paper and a biro pen.

"If you'd like to know more. I'll need you to read and sign this."

The paper was placed on the desk, pushed gently towards him.

He glanced down at a wall of text. "What is it?"

"The Classified Information Order," she answered.

He felt himself got just a little bit cold inside, pulling it towards himself with the tips of his fingers.

"It means that, to keep a secret, we can do whatever is necessary to prevent the revelation of the secret, in proportion to the harm that we honestly believe will be done by the revelation of the secret."

Her expression had become just a little more animated, a little more interested in him. A little more serious. There was definitely more of her in the room.

"It's...." he managed to say, before his mind did a complete loop over itself. There was something unbelievable about the whole thing. There was something utterly terrifying about it. There was something scintillating and enticing about the possibility. "That sound..." The first thing he wanted to say was 'horrifically easy to abuse', before realising it probably wasn't the answer she wanted to hear. "That's worrying."

"It's supposed to be," she confirmed. Her tone flat and serious. "These aren't spy games. If you take this job, those're the rules you agree to play by at the start. It's not something to do lightly."

Her expression was calm - almost gentle. She was trying her best not to sound threatening. It worked right up to the point he realised she was politely telling him he could be killed if he revealed the wrong secret.

He glanced down at the sheet, at a long list of regulations that might well end up being his death warrant if he wasn't careful. The obvious question came to mind. He folded his arms tightly across his chest, focusing in on the sheet.

"What if it's wrong? What if what you're doing is wrong?"

"That's a matter for your own personal ethics. I won't lie, there're people who publicly won't like things we do. It's the sort of job that everyone involved is happy to acknowledge never happened. That's as frank as I can get. If you don't think you can handle that ethically, or psychologically, then you can go back to your project and we'll forget we ever met. "

He took what felt like forever to muse over it, feeling just a little strange inside. It was also deathly real, a sword of Damocles they'd dangle over his head.

"So, what can you tell me about this mission?"

"It's nothing messy or violent, if that's what you're wondering. Just a little wet-work. "

The smile on her fast told him it was a terrible joke on her part. It broke the mood. It humanised whoever was on the other side of the doll. It made him feel a little more comfortable.

"In exchange for signing up, we pay well. We offer exciting, challenging and varied work. And it'll give you a real chance to jump ahead with your career, either within Great Justice, or back at Vesta as a published researcher. "

Even as she said that, he couldn't get away from the reputation Great Justice came with. It would be an 'interesting time'. More interesting than a fossil bughunt now entering its second decade.

He signed it, then slipped it back to her.

"Thank you for your time. That'll be all for now."

"Ah... Thanks for the opportunity," he repeated, his sudden nervousness now plain to hear. It was the standard interview ending platitude that now seemed woefully out of place.

The shook hands one last time before he left. As the door closed behind him, he found himself desperately hoping that was the last he heard of it.

------

He spent the next three weeks in his rover, scanning the interwave for information on Great Justice troubleshooters - the sort of fringe things that hung around the rumours section of the older fora. He found could feel that piece of paper still hanging over him, and began to wonder what would happen if he actually mentioned the interview with Sylvie to anyone. He found himself wondering who'd been behind it all.

There were a few named Troubleshooters out there, five publicly aknowledged as being top-line. And a few of those possibilities really excited him. Both as a researcher looking for a big name to be published alongside... and as a bored 24 year old with short hair and a desperate requirement for a shave since his lazor-razor broke.

Lev drove Curiosity-4 over a small boulder, letting the machine's suspension do its work. A gimballed cupholder kept his tea from sloshing over his bare legs. A deep yawn reminded him that he still had five more sites to go today before finally turning in.

He'd just begun to entertain the idea of getting an hour's kip anyway when something knocked on the hull. He jumped from the driver's seat, kicking scalding hot tea over his legs.

A suit of blue and white power armour came into view, waving at him. She - definitely she, with those Stingray suits, popped her visor. A puff of vapour escaped as it depressurised, revealing a smiling blue-eyed face framed by brilliant red hair.

He wasn't sure why he screamed. Maybe it was the idea that he'd just watched a woman commit suicide, or maybe it was the scalding hot tea burning his leg. But he did. And loud enough to hurt his own ears.

And still she stood there, grinning with cruel amusement.

"Hi!" she yelled, breath fogging from her mouth. "Your airlock work?"

"Fuck You!"

He projected his anger and embarrassment right back at her with his middle finger. A bloody Panzer Kunstler dicking with the normal people....

He recognised the marking on her shoulder. He'd seen it enough times when drilling in Noctis. Though what the hell one would be doing way up at the other end at Margaritifer, he didn't know.

He yelled back through the quartz-glass. "What do you want?"

"Airlock!"

She pointed towards the back of the rover.

He practically punched the button to open the outer hatch. It better have been important. It took a few moments for her to traipse around to the back of the rover. The machine's suspension creaked as her mass was added to it's own, heavy metal footsteps ringing on the rear deck.

Then the outer hatch locked shut, an indicator on his control panel turning green. Air rushed into the airlock chamber and he found himself dreading the door opening. He found himself keenly aware that the crew cabin was a mess, and that he was wearing nothing more than his underwear and a T-shirt announcing he'd been at Kandorcon.

Despite having been a ten year old in Manchester at the time.

The door opened and she was standing there.

"Sorry about that. I needed to get your attention."

She was not one bit sorry. He recognised the voice immediately, and he suddenly felt himself bristle all over. The soft hoarseness was unmistakeable. The accent - clearly her natural one - came from just over the sea.

"So what's this about?" he asked, standing up. "Miss?"

She glanced around, making him feel terribly self conscious.

"Call me Jet Jaguar."

The martial artist? he wondered.

"You had a job interview about three weeks ago with a friend of mine," she continued.

He doubted she was a friend of hers. His mouth went dry, his mind flashing back to what Sylvie had told him about secrets and Classified Information Orders.

And that he'd been asking quiet questions online.

"Yes..."

"Well," she grinned at him. "I'm here to offer you the job. If you want to take it."

He blinked at her. "Wait... you?"

She chuckled. "Yeah. You were expecting someone else I guess." Her eyes sparked with amusement.

He wiped the sweat of his brow, exhaling a relieved sigh. "Well, yeah."

"I get that a lot."

He took a calming breath. "I just boiled the kettle. You fancy a cup?"

"Milk. No sugar."

She stood with her back to the airlock door, leaning back against it while he poured hot water into a pair of plastic cups. One had a deep tannin patina all around its interior.

"Can you tell me what the job is yet?"

She shook her head. "Not until you accept. This is your last chance to back out."

He stopped pouring, leaving the tea to brew in the cups for a few seconds.

"What if I don't like it after you tell me?"

"You'll be living with us for a time anyway. Not in a cell or anything - just somewhere where we can keep a safe eye on you. You signed the order."

There was no threat in her voice. It was simply the consequence of a fact. She was smiling at him, inspite of the tension he saw in her posture.

"I know," he said, feeling a little weak.

Milk was added sparingly. He offered one cup to her, keeping the tanned one for himself. He almost warned her it was hot before watching her take a massive mouthful of it.

"Thanks," she breathed. "It's been hectic."

He sat down on his own bed, swirling the liquid around his cup by tilting it a little.

"I guess I'm in," he said, sighing, before taking a scorching sip.

She placed the cup on his workdesk, dangerously close to samples. "Great," she smiled at him.

"So. The job?"

She nodded. "Our mission is to go to Arcadia. There will be a team of deep-water divers. You'll have a feed to what they're doing in your lab. Your job will be to make the people think all that's going on down there is a little research. In return, we'll give you the chance to instruct them to pickup life-samples from the sea bed and we'll allow you to publish any findings based on them. After they've been appropriately sanitised."

"So, what're the team really doing."

Her smile broadened. "Classified. Need to know, and you don't need to know."

"So. What're the risks then? What're the risks to me?"

Her expression flattened.

"The biggest danger to you is the Federation finding out what's happening. They'll have to go public, the end result being that everyone on the mission gets blackballed by the Council. That'll pretty much kill your research career with Vesta, for a start."

The Federation council?

He suddenly found himself wondering if a few months somewhere quiet might not have been better than pissing off Starfleet if he got caught. It made him tingle inside - a reminder of those times in school when he knew he'd be doing something that'll get him in trouble.

"So. You're offering me a chance to make career-defining discoveries in an alien ecosystem at the risk of blowing apart my career at the start."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Fuck me," he breathed.

"Sorry. I'm spoken for."

"Oh ha ha ha," he responded dryly.

"So, You interested. It's a chance to do something cool instead of trundling around the backarse of Mars taking thankless orders from an old muppet with hair in his ears."

Put it like that..... He finished the remains of the cup in one searing gulp. "Yeah. I'm in."

She clapped her metal hands together. "Great. Hand in your notice to Professor Sorensonn, a courier will pick you up from your operations base in a week. You'll get a full briefing on 77 Frigga."

He thought for a moment, already longing for the comforting certainty of the Sorensonn's search for Martian fossils. He looked down into his empty mug.

"I need something stronger."

-----

________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?