Lives of Future-Past (The Chronicles of Max Gunnarsson Book 1) (5 page)

     “
Holy crap, she is so naïve and clueless. Excellent qualities in a wife, for sure…
”

     What Ryder didn’t realize, as he always believed himself to be more intelligent and superior to everyone else, was that Jennie knew exactly what she was doing. She was hyper-smart and extremely calculating in her actions. She rested her chin on her hands, fingers intertwined as she gave him a little smile.
     “So, how was your shift? Anything new and exciting on the flight deck?”

     “Oh, the usual - techs messing up my equipment. I’ve gone through three already this mission.”
     “Ryder, you need to be patient. They were trained to do a certain job, and I know you’re a top-level pilot and like your ship tuned a certain way, but please be nice, sweety. They’re just kids, not even officers.”
     Ryder simultaneously loved and hated the fact that Jennie had that effect on him – he actually momentarily considered being nice to a lowly tech, until his better sensibilities came into play – namely, his heritage. He was a Johnson, and Johnsons did what they wanted - but they were also manipulative.
     “Yeah, you’re right, Jennie. Why is it you always have the best answers?”
     “Just my nature, I guess, sweety. So whatcha wanna do? We have over fourteen hours till next shift, which is super-unusual.”
     Ryder’s heart skipped a beat. He had almost forgotten that the two had been placed on close-overlap duty schedules, with their on and off times only an hour apart. He had over half a standard day to get her into his quarters.
     “Well, do you want to play billiards? I was fraternal champion at my university, you know.”
     Jennie knew this, as Ryder had told her at least five times in the past, but like any smart girl who wanted something she simply fed his narcissism.
     “Wow, you don’t say! Well, I played a bit, and I’m not very good, but maybe you can teach me a few tricks, hmm?”
     “Sure thing, but first I need some food. What’s on the menu?”
     “Garlic mashed potatoes and jraxon – your favorites,” she said as she giggled, knowing he despised both. She loved garlic and didn’t really mind eating the indigenous bird that resembled a duck, but she just consumed a protein shake, not wanting to stink like garlic and displease him. She had never met anyone before who plainly stated that they were allergic to garlic, but she thought it was a convenient excuse if anything.
     Oh well, even if it is a bunch of crap, it’s kinda creative
, she thought to herself.
     “I just had a protein shake – gotta watch the figure, you know,” she continued with a grin, and then watched him scan her figure, which was extremely watchable.
     “Sounds good – think I’ll have the same… and maybe bring some
fritas
(French-fried potatoes) to the game room with us.”
     “Okies – sounds good sweety, grab your stuff and let’s get going,” she said with a voice coated in sugar. She could have called him a
rancid pig living in a bag of feces
using that voice, and he would have still melted a little bit inside. That was saying a lot, because Ryder Johnson’s emotional temperature was in the range of around absolute zero.
     After an hour playing billiards, and repeatedly beating her, but just barely, he started up with some small talk, trying to get her to talk about herself, which she was reticent to do. She simply fed his ego and always wanted to listen to his stories, so he got an idea.
     “Hey Jen, the game consoles down here really suck, and I kinda got special permission to bring a holo-game console onboard. Wanna play it? I brought along a bunch of the latest games too.”
     “Oh, do you have Attack on Vela VII?” she asked, with a hopeful intonation to her voice.
     “As a matter of fact I do. Come with me, my dear,” he said as he led her away by the arm, much to the dismay of nearly every other man in the game room who had been watching her play, usually from behind where she was standing.

     Playing the holo-games didn’t last long. Ryder pulled out his bottle of tequila and poured them both a drink as they relaxed on the small couch in his quarters. His room was actually larger than the typical quarters allotted to a Lieutenant, all due to his father’s influence.
     It wasn’t long before the tequila started taking effect on them both, and had them giggling while watching some animated comedies – which turned to a kiss - then turned into kissing on his bed while she strategically moved his wandering hands to safe zones.
     Ryder thought he was going to get what he wanted that day, but Jennie always seemed to know how to deny him carnal pleasures when in her company. This time her primary defensive weapon was his bottle of tequila. She really believed that if she were too easy he wouldn’t respect her, and thus make her less attractive as a potential wife.
     She could outdrink any
bacho
under the proverbial table any day of the week, and this day she put Ryder Johnson not only under the table, but passed out in his bed. Then thinking about what Bagatelle had asked her, she saw no harm in looking around his room a bit.
     Making sure he was definitely passed out by prodding him a certain way (which would have most likely brought about an involuntary reaction if he were awake), she started going through his drawers, only to find nothing. Then she moved to his closet, where she only found his uniforms. The only realistic place was under the bed, and he was right there, with his head nearly hanging over the edge.
     Kneeling down slowly, she quietly dropped into a pushup position and lowered herself, spying a trunk underneath. Curious, as it was not a regulation footlocker, she was about to pull it out and take a look when he heard a voice.
      “Hey, what are you doing down there?”
     Her heart almost stopped, but thinking fast, she pushed herself up, and then lowered herself.
      “Five, six, seven, eight… Oh hey hon - you awake already? Ryder’s been a naughty boy, hmmm?”
     He totally fell for it.
      “Wow Jennie, you’re such a workout freak. Hmm, I’ve got an idea - why don’t you do some pushups up here?”
     It wasn’t against regulations to have a non-military box of that type in their quarters, so she shrugged it off and put it in the back of her mind. She was sure everything was all right – after all, he would never do anything to jeopardize his most promising career path.
     Climbing up onto the bed, she decided she would give him a bit more of herself – not everything, but pretty damned close.

     Ryder woke up a few hours later, feeling around his bed but finding nothing. Looking up groggily, he saw a note written on his static wallboard.

    
Sweety, had a lot of fun, but I had to get ready for my duty cycle. See you on the flight deck –     Kisses
     
     Jennie

     Most men would have welcomed such a note, and such a night, but Johnson wasn’t like other guys – he was furious. He had wasted weeks trying to get in the girl’s pants and couldn’t even get to second base with her.
     He was used to women of higher stature – women from good families, not sad little orphans.
    
At least rich women put out
, he thought,
She should have given it up on our first date, dumbass dega.
      His family controlled his life – they were his life. He could do whatever he pleased to whomever he liked, including murder, and his father would make sure that someone else was found culpable - but when it came to bringing a wife home the woman had to be from a similarly connected family, and of their same racial subtype.
    
“Bed anything you like, but if you bring a dego baby home I’ll disown you,”
his father had told him before he left for the university.
     While emigrants to Azul had thrown off most of the old prejudices from Earth, some remained, and the egalitarian upper class of society constantly attempted to circumvent the laws that were created to keep all things available to all people – as long as they earned it fair and square.
     If someone wanted to be a top military commander they could – they needed to attend the university (public universities were free), and then apply to attend the military academy. Of course, people with degrees in obscure Old-Earth Russian literature had certain obstacles to overcome, but it was all about working hard and planning. Then they would have to spend years moving up the ladder – not everyone is born to do that sort of work, but everyone is born with a talent – they just need to discover what it is.
     Frustrated over his lack of success with Jennie, he dropped to the floor, pulling his unorthodox footlocker out from beneath his bed and pressing a combination of numbers on the lock. Opening the top he pulled out a brand-new side space video console and powered it up.
     As the screen flickered to life, a face appeared in the display. An older, aristocratic-looking gentleman, roughly in his 70s, with steel-gray eyes, angular features, short gray hair and a pale complexion was staring back at the lieutenant.
   
    “Father - we arrive soon,” said the lieutenant, with virtually no emotion to his voice. 
 

   
 
Max stayed hidden behind the fallen log; weapon trained on the interloper, and started to hysterically scream at the newcomer.
     “Who?  --- Who the Hell are… you? Are you from here? Answer me! Don’t kill me! I’ll destroy you! Dammit! Help!”
     The older gentleman chuckled, and then burst out laughing, almost appearing to cry he was so amused.
     “My son, my son…. please put down your weapon before someone gets hurt. I am not here to harm you in any way. I am simply here…. to meet you.”
     Max took some deep breaths and calmed his blood pressure.  He had a tendency to get very riled up in dangerous situations. When he was younger his parents basically forbade him from participating in group-based and/or one-on-one athletic endeavors, as he would get so worked up and competitive that he would injure his opponents and teammates alike.
     Standing up slowly, Max lowered his weapon and gave a long hard look at the man sitting and casually smoking on a pipe. He had fairly long gray hair, a gray beard and mustache that were sporting various braids, and odd, layered black leather clothing. Completing the ensemble was a curiously ornate walking staff that was leaning against the log upon which he was sitting.
     Sighing as if in resignation, Max gave him a sullen look, exhaling as if he had already given up.
     “OK, please, who are you, where are you from and why are you here? I really don’t want to die – yet.”
     Max started to kick the dirt around him as he waited for an explanation from the weird old man.
     “May I stand without you pointing that ridiculous-looking death-stick at me?” queried the visitor, as he moved to raise himself up, albeit slowly. Max shrugged his shoulders, as if saying,
sure, why not
, and set the weapon back into its holster, but preferring to stay where he was – a good four meters away from the odd man. Waling up to the fire, the visitor gently tapped the contents out of his pipe, and then looked up at the brilliantly lit sky, partially visible off the edge of the natural canopy.
     “My son, we see the stars, but do we really know what they are? Or what the nature is of the universe around us?” The uninvited visitor took a small satchel out of a pocket inside his great leather coat, and put a pinch of something leafy-looking in his pipe.
     “I have come a great distance to meet with you, Maximilianus. By the way, may I call you Max? I think it sounds much better, and as I am considerably long-winded in my speech, perhaps it would be beneficial to all parties involved if I reduced some words by a syllable or two every now and then.”
     “OK, sure,” said Max. “Actually, that’s what everyone called…. hey, just a minute! How do you know my name?”
     The man looked at Max with a kindly expression and said, “Yes, my son. I know your name. In fact, I have known you since you were born.”
     “How is that?” asked Max, trying to piece together how some old hippy guy on Earth, number one, knew his name, and number two, was alive when there were absolutely no signs of human life - anywhere.
     “You have done amazing things, Max. You were top of your class in the university, you were always honest and driven, and furthermore, you helped – no – you
invented
the technology around which the SSCC program revolves. Have you ever asked yourself just
how
you were able to achieve such things? Furthermore, why it is that you can sleep with only one eye shut, or why under stress you show incredible strength? How is it that you had the courage to put your life at risk and test your invention, coming all the way to a nearly-uninhabited planet with no previous knowledge that it would have even been here in the first place?”
     “I ask myself a lot of questions, old man,” responded Max. “Questions like, if I am insane, and simply talking to an apparition of an old warrior that doesn’t actually exist. Or maybe I am simply dead and I’m in Hell. Did I even survive the journey from Azul? Crap, anyway, being as I’m speaking to a ghost – what’s
your
name?”
     The man smiled softly, and then lifted the pipe to his mouth. Putting his forefinger to the bowl, a flame came out just below the fingernail as he puffed away, procuring light clouds of smoke and creating a pungent aroma at the same time.
     “
Cool trick
,” thought Max.
     “My name is Draagh, although I have been known by many titles. I am the first of my line, one of the
Prīmulī,
and if you look at time in a linear fashion, I have been in existence for eons more than anyone can even count. I have seen the beginning of the current universe, of this galaxy, and many others. I saw the Exodus to Azul and I saw the fall of Earth. I have travelled to the furthest reaches of space, not limited even to this, what you call the Visible Universe. I have seen the rise and fall of magnificent empires, and some not so magnificent. I am an observer and a corrector, a teacher and a companion - and might I say, I really
do
think the stars are beautiful at night?”
     Max gave Draagh an incredulous look, and then noticed he was still holding the bottle of Glenfiddich in his left hand. Looking back at Draagh he said, “OK, so you are super old, have seen a lot of stuff and you saw the fall of… whoa, wait… you know what
happened
here?”
     Draagh gained a whimsical expression, his blue eyes twinkling in the firelight. Taking a small puff off his pipe, he lightly cleared his throat and said, “Yes, the fall of Earth. Quite tragic, really, but it could not have been avoided. No, no, no. That was a certainty. The only reason you stand here today is because one of your ancestors took a job with a certain corporation, and then ended up on an Exodus barge. In fact, if he would have gone out to coffee with a certain girl he fancied he would have left his phone at home, by accident of course. Then he would not have answered when a call came in for him to look into a particular job.”
     “A job? Where?” asked Max.
     “At a bar in the city of Pasadena, California.”
     “Huh?” mumbled Max, unable to make a connection between a bar and being on an Exodus barge.
     “My son, all things are interrelated. If your ancestor had not taken that job as a bartender, that is, one who prepares alcoholic beverages for guests, he would have never worked the
happy hour
shift and befriended a top executive at a particular company - a company, by the way, that was eventually purchased by a major corporation in the consortium that eventually developed the fleet of barges. Once this man’s company was purchased, there was need for a senior level computer ops manager, and as your ancestor was educated in this discipline, he obtained the job, thereby unknowingly securing his passage on a barge during the Exodus. Isn’t it funny how one thing leads to another, and then to another?”
     Max nodded, interested, but still skeptical. “Alright, so I had an ancestor who somehow made it onto a barge, but what happened to the girl he was going to meet for coffee?”
     Draagh squinted his left eye, as if in concentration.
     “Hmmm, it seems to me that she was the one who had cancelled the coffee date, as her ex-boyfriend was pining for her to return and she gave in to his supplications. They married and had seven children, all of whom grew up to be spectacularly stupid criminals. So this young man, your ancestor, eventually married with a particularly beautiful woman, once they had emigrated to Azul. Of course, that is simply your mother’s side of the family – your father’s is a completely different issue. Smart people, they all were. On the bright side of things, you had no living ancestors on Earth when the invasion occurred. Oh, I did mention the invasion, did I not?”
     “The fall of Earth is what you said. What happened here? I went to Lima and there was practically no life, and absolutely no sign of human remains. It’s impossible that they would have disintegrated after only a few hundred years, even exposed to the elements. I mean, my instruments would have picked up massive residual DNA at the very least.”
     Draagh nodded his head in the affirmative while saying, “Yes, my son. It was quite tragic - quite tragic, indeed. Not a trace left - invaders of a really nasty sort. They were looking for particular natural resources, as are most invaders. Earth forces did not take kindly to an alien race simply showing up, uninvited. The invaders attacked, and a war ensued.”
     “Hmmm… a war? What do you mean?” Max asked excitedly. He was starting to get interested.
     “Oh the war! Brilliant! Mankind at its finest! All nations came together, leaving behind all of their old prejudices. They simply fought for survival against the threat of the invaders. The Vrol, that’s what they are called – the Vrol. Virulent creatures, they are. Much like intergalactic insects, with no individuality. So, eventually coming together, Earth forces had practically destroyed the Vrol, despite its advanced technology. Pure grit, I must say,” said Draagh while displaying a bright expression, his eyes momentarily growing big, as he proceeded to reload his pipe. “So the last thing the Vrol could do was to try and decimate the entire population of the Earth, and they did so – out of spite. They did this with a particularly horrific piece of biological warfare. They polluted the entire water supply of the planet with a genetically-engineered amoeba. Unfortunately, this amoeba penetrated on contact with the skin or mucous membranes. Everyone perished; all perished with horrible, painful deaths. The transmission vectors were all over the planet - drinking water, in the shower, swimming pools, and lawn sprinklers – anywhere. The amoebas simply consumed all organic tissues, with an extreme fondness for calcium, hence – no bones! Anywhere!”
     Max shuddered as he imagined dying slowly and painfully, watching as his bones dissolved while he was still alive.
     “So what you are saying is that there are no humans left on Earth? That it is basically a dead planet?” asked Max.
     “No!” exclaimed Draagh. “Life always continues, my son, always. Life cannot be stopped. It may take centuries, or even eons, but life always manages to forge on ahead. Yes, yes it does. In fact, there are nomadic tribes of humans running about in areas where the infection could not be implemented. As the amoeba could not travel up into the atmosphere when the water evaporated, that same water went up and formed clouds. Clouds of pure, unadulterated water, and those clouds created rainfall that collected in places where there was no contamination! This was true especially in the higher altitudes. Of course, there were some smart humans who waited until the amoeba lifecycle ran its course, simply subsiding on bottled water products and anything else that had been sealed before the infection. Speaking of sealed, that whisky
is
perfectly fine, as I stated earlier. Would you mind sharing a bit with me? It has been so long since I tasted a fine single malt.”
     Max looked at Draagh with a quizzical expression and simply shrugged, saying, “Sure, I guess, but are you certain that it’s ok to drink?”
     Draagh pointed to Max’s backpack, wearing a slight grin as he did so. “If you do not believe me, drop one of your little devices in it and perform an analysis. I do imagine you detected fossilized amoebas when you checked the area around Lima, did you not?”
     “Yes, in fact I did. The computer couldn’t identify them, but it said they were inactive, or even dead.”
     “Just so you know,” said Draagh, “that whisky was bottled before the invasion. It is fine, so let us make a toast to a new friendship. I am sure we have much more to discuss before we depart.”
     Max pulled two sterile cups from his pack and filled them with the golden liquid, handing one to Draagh before returning to his seat on the log, as he had been standing during the strange man’s entire string of monologues.
     He thought he heard Draagh say
depart
, but let it waft to the back of his mind, interested in hearing more strange tales. In the worst-case scenario, he was dead and in Hell. In any other scenario it was completely up for grabs as to what had happened. He could be laying somewhere, sick, dying and simply having a magnificent hallucination, or he could really be sitting with an old man - who looked like a badass Viking - and was smoking a pipe.
    
Whatever.
   
 
The two sat back, sipping on delicious single malt whisky hundreds of years old, while looking up at the stars. Draagh again filled his pipe and puffed away, with Max noticing that the smoke made him feel quite relaxed.
     “Hey, Draagh, what are you smoking? It’s not tobacco, is it?”
     Draagh snickered and almost coughed, but held back. “My son, this is an exotic herb that actually originated here on Earth. I believe its scientific name was cannabis sativa. It is quite relaxing. Would you like a puff?” Draagh went to hand the pipe to Max, who went to reach over, until a look of realization washed over his face.
     “Whaaa? You’re smoking pot? Oh. My. God! I never smelled it before, but we have it on Azul. I can’t believe it. You’re smoking weed. Man, this is weird.” (*5*)
     Draagh waved his hands in the air, half snickering and half coughing, clearing away the ambient smoke floating around his head. “Oh no, no, no, my son. It doesn’t affect me like it would a human. My system is much more resilient. In fact, my genome has roughly 127 billion base pairs, compared to a normal human’s 3 billion. We are quite complex. Yes, quite, I must say.”
     Max had no desire to smoke any weed, as he started to feel the scotch working in his belly. He always loved that warm sensation, consequently followed by a delicious dulling of the mind. He poured more Glenfiddich into their cups, filling them to the brim. Taking a more comfortable position on the ground and leaning back against his log, Max was far more relaxed and accepting of this odd turn of events, and the whisky was certainly helping. He had escaped Azul, successfully tested the hook drive, and arrived at Earth. Then he had investigated a major city commercial area, gone to Machu Picchu, and then strangely made a new friend who popped up out of nowhere. He knew that Federation forces were on their way to get him, but he had another couple of days at least, and if this Draagh fellow had popped up out of nowhere, perhaps he could help in getting him to a safer location.