I am serialising my dystopian/retro-futuristic sci-fi story here. Here is the second chapter, titled “The Captain”
I will be adding a new chapter every Friday.
Chapter 02 – The Captain
He awoke and stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling. He could smell coffee and cigarettes. She appeared at the door, wearing her silk robe, carrying a cup of coffee. In her other hand, she held a cigarette.
She placed the coffee on the bedside table as his hand groped the inside of her thigh. She smiled, puffing on her cigarette.
“What is the time?” he said, taking the coffee and sipping.
“7:23,” she said.
“If you had woken me up earlier…we could have done it again.”
“I just woke up. What time must you leave?”
“8.”
She opened her robe, exposing her naked body, smiling cheekily, and giggling.
“I don’t have time,” he said, irritated, releasing her thigh. “If this building had lifts, it would be a different matter, but I have to climb those damn stairs!”
“I will get you breakfast,” she said, tying her robe, kissing him, and then leaving him.
He finished his coffee. It was black with two sweeteners, just the way he liked it. He climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. He ran a sink full of hot water and washed his face. He kept a shave kit and toiletries at the apartment, and lathered his face.
As he shaved, he thought about last night, judging the quality of the service she had provided for him. He had instructed her from the very beginning that his time with her was for his relaxation and to allow him to decompress. Her job, he explained, was to be attentive, loving, submissive, like a wife should be.
She had welcomed him with that flirty, daring smile that excited him, and kissed him, taking his attaché case from him, and unbuttoning his jacket.
She had mixed him a brandy cocktail and sat beside him on the sofa, lighting his cigar and intently listening to him, her hand on his thigh or chest, as he provided a high-level recap of his largely administrative day, laughing and giggling when he made his dry jokes about The Company bureaucracy and procurement procedures. She scored well on this portion, and he sensed that she was genuinely attracted to him.
They had gone to the kitchen, and she had cooked him dinner. He had told her to remove her dress and to cook for him in her lingerie and heels, and she had done as instructed, seemingly enjoying cooking for him while his eyes prowled her body, which he liked.
She had overcooked the steak, and it was fatty and grisly. The potatoes were runny and bland, which had disappointed him, showing that she had not put in quite enough effort in the ‘wife’ department.
However, whatever shortcomings she had in the kitchen, she had more than made up for in the bedroom.
He splashed his face with water and looked at his clean, stubbleless face.
She makes a better whore than a wife, he reflected, pleased, on balance, with her overall job performance.
He dressed. He kept clean shirts, socks, and underwear at the apartment, and was soon back in his black uniform with polished silver buttons. He called her, and she hurried to him, kneeling and pulling his boots onto his feet.
He wandered into the kitchen to find bacon, two eggs fried in bacon fat, and two slices of toast coated in margarine waiting for him, and another cup of coffee.
“Wonderful,” he said, looking at the meal before him. “Get my case.”
He sat, and she brought him his attaché case, from which he took a colourful and well-thumbed brochure with a picture of a middle-aged couple, smiling, on the front cover. Between them was a dog. He began eating as he read. She sat opposite him, smoking a cigarette.
“What are you reading?” she said.
He continued to eat, chewed, sipped some coffee, and then spoke, his eyes remaining fixed on the brochure he was reading.
“I have told you before, do not speak when I am reading,” he said plainly, and continued to eat.
She puffed on her cigarette.
After the meal, he stood and went to the living room. She helped him button his jacket, straightened his tie, brushed his collar, and handed him his attaché case. She pressed her body against him, kissing him.
“I almost forgot,” he said, and opened his case, taking out a flat box that he handed to her. “New lingerie. Wear it next time.”
She smiled seductively, unfastening her robe and exposing a breast.
“I thought you preferred me natural,” she purred, pressing her nudeness against him, and kissing him again.
He seemed to blush a little, and then left, climbing the stairs to the roof to meet his copter to take him to HQ.
The copter flew over the vast, ghetto below. It had started as a penal colony, where criminals and undeserables were shipped off to dig for the prized Gravitite. Over time, the ghetto expanded as the population grew, with indentured labourers shipped in as well as more undesirables to work as labourers in the quarries. Now it was a sprawling, cramped, ramshackle city with hundreds of towering polycrete former cellblocks, now apartment buildings, enclosed by plaswire that incinerated anyone who came too close, and surrounded by the featureless, cold, flat prairies of Planet B.
Maglev trains shuttled the workers from the ghetto to the quarries where they worked. Further away, in the distance, the captain could see the vast, automated protein, carbohydrate, and moisture farms, as well as the anti-gravity reactor that powered the planet.
The copter crossed the wire and flew above the corporate offices and living accommodations of The Company, Kantary Deep Space Mining Corporation. Kantary had purchased the extraction rights for Planet B from the Terra’s Minerals Directorate, and the descendants of the convicts, undesirables, indentured workers, and economic migrants fell under the corporate control of Kantary Deep Space Mining Corporation.
Workers were issued day contracts and paid in food coupons. Workers purchased food with these coupons from Kantary, paid rent for their living accommodations to Kantary, and bought water from Kantary, all under the watchful control of Milpol.
Beyond The Company compound was the Milpol habitat, where the officers lived with their families, with Milpol HQ at its centre. The barracks for the troops were further back.
The only way on or off Planet B was a Company shuttle from the spaceport where the Gravitite was loaded for transport to a deep-space freighter in orbit.
The copter flew on to HQ. The captain checked his watch as the craft circled the roof, then landed. The captain was met by his adjutant, who took his attaché case and followed him across the landing strip.
“How was your inspection of the sector last night, sir?” said the adjutant loudly over the copter’s noise.
“Overall, I was pleased,” said the captain disinterestedly, removing his gloves and handing them to the adjutant.
Guards snapped to attention as the captain approached a set of doors that slid open, and he stepped into HQ.
The Milpol HQ was a utilitarian, modular structure manufactured by The Company for deep space mineral extraction. Most of the Milpol detachment had been born on Planet B, the sons and daughters of earlier Milpol personnel. After graduating from the Milpol academy on Planet B, they joined Milpol as junior recruits.
Outstanding graduates from the academy were sent to the Terra Space Directorate’s Military Academy as officer cadets for education and then returned to Planet B to work as junior officers.
The captain checked his watch again as he hurriedly walked through the building, more guards snapping to attention as he passed, until he came to a set of doors.
“Who is in there?” he said.
“The Colonel and the other section heads, and someone off-world, from Secpol,” said the adjutant.
“Secpol?” said the captain, sounding surprised.
“Yes sir,” said the adjutant.
“That will be all,” said the captain, straightening his jacket.
The adjutant snapped to attention, then turned.
“Wait…” said the captain. “Message my wife, and tell her that I will be coming straight from here to the recital, and I will meet her there.”
“Yes sir,” said the adjutant, snapping to attention again.
The captain pressed a button, and the doors slid open, and he stepped in.
Inside was a large, windowless meeting room. All the men inside were dressed identically to the captain, wearing black uniforms and polished silver buttons. All except one.
“Good morning,” said a uniformed man, seated at the table, dressed in Milpol uniform.
“Morning, Colonel,” said the captain.
“How was your section inspection last night?” the Colonel asked, reading through a report while paying no attention to the captain.
“There were certain elements that were a cause for concern, but other elements that were satisfactory. On balance, I am pleased,” said the captain.
‘Very good,” said the Colonel, still reading through the report, and probably not paying much attention to what was being said.
The captain saw the faces of the other section heads and greeted them. His eyes then settled on the last man, whom he did not know, and who was dressed in a black flight suit. The man had dark, cropped hair and a sharp look about him.
The captain took a seat.
“We are joined by Captain Smith from Secpol, who has a principles-only briefing,” said the Colonel, who had finished reading the report.
“Thank you, Colonel,” said Smith, standing.
Secpol, or the security police, were the security services for the Terra Space Directorate.
“Gentlemen,” continued Smith, “The information shared in this meeting is a principles-only briefing, for sharing with the site commander and section security heads only. No information shared in this meeting may be shared or discussed with anyone other than the site commander, the section security heads, and me.”
He stood, staring at their intent faces, then continued.
“In twelve sols, the Terra Space Directorate’s deputy director of minerals and mining will visit Planet B for the following activities. One, inspecting the Gravitite extraction facility. Two, attending the ceremonial signing with Kantary executives for the 200-year extension of mining extraction rights with Kantary. Three, attending a luncheon with Kantary executives and select Milpol officers and their immediate family.”
He paused.
“The deputy director, and his party, will be on the surface for 8 hours, and during this time will be under Secpol close protection detail, and his own personal bodyguard, with Milpol providing overall surface security for the visit.
“The deputy director will arrive by interstellar freighter and be awoken from hibernation when the ship enters orbit. The deputy director’s party, which includes Guus Hendrix, a Kantary Senior Vice President and assistants, media, and the deputy director’s entourage, will then travel by shuttle to the spaceport, where the party will transfer to copters for travel to the quarry.
“Milpol will provide copters and flight crew for the transfers as well as security escort.
“At the quarry, the party will observe the Gravitite extraction process, and for media interviews. The expected time, including travel time there and back, will be 4 hours.
“After this, the deputy director will travel via copter directly to the Kantary corporate compound for the ceremony. The luncheon will immediately follow that.
“Kantary surface personnel have been briefed that the event at The Company compound will be for Mr Guus Hendrix only, and are unaware that the deputy directors will be in attendance.
“The deputy director will then transport via copter directly to the spaceport and leave the surface. Questions?”
The section security heads peppered Smith with questions, which he efficiently answered. When the questions were answered, Smith spoke again.
“During the entirety of the Deputy Director’s visit, the former penal colony, now locally known as ‘The Ghetto,’ will be placed in lockdown. A small number of known and trusted workers will be sent to the quarry for a media inspection, allowing the media to gain a sense of what the actual extraction process looks like. But other than that, the population of The Ghetto is to be placed under lockdown, and remain invisible to the media covering this event.”
The Colonel and the section security heads nodded their agreement.
“You are all, of course, invited to the luncheon, along with your wives and children, where the Deputy Director will say a few words.”
“Very good,” said the Colonel.
“Operationally, you will schedule social uprising drills for the day of the Deputy Director’s visit, with the entire Milpol security apparatus placed on standby. In the unlikely event that there is…trouble…Milpol will declare martial law and activate the social uprising response plan.
“But there isn’t going to be any trouble, gentlemen, as no one on this planet other than us and the Chairman’s office at Kantary corporate knows that the Deputy Director is going to be here, and Milpol will secure the surface.
“And then, when the Deputy Director is off the surface, you can all go back to business as usual,” said Smith, smiling.
“Very good,” said the Colonel.
“I will need a Milpol liaison, Colonel,” said Smith.
“I shall do it,” volunteered the captain.
“Good show,” said the Colonel.
“Excellent,” said Smith, looking at the Captain. “You shall be travelling with the Deputy Director, the media, and me to the quarries.”
He passed the captain a file containing the Deputy Director’s detailed itinerary stamped “TOP SECRET – SECPOL + MILPOL LIASON EYES ONLY” and then sat.
“I shall be honoured,” said the captain.
And the meeting ended.
It was later, and the captain travelled via copter from HQ to the officer’s habitat. As they flew, the captain imagined receiving a commendation from the Colonel for his work as the Secpol liaison after the successful visit of the Deputy Director.
He imagined receiving a promotion, a larger housing unit, and perhaps even a permit for a pet. Sylvia, his daughter, would be leaving soon for the Terra Space Directorate and her cadet training at the military academy. He thought that having a pet would soothe his wife and distract her from Sylvia’s absence.
He unclipped his attaché case and took out a well-thumbed, once glossy brochure. The cover featured a picture of a middle-aged couple smiling on the front. Between them was a dog, its tongue hanging from its mouth.
He flicked through the pages until he came to the section featuring cats that could be ordered, by those with a permit, and delivered in hibernation across the galaxy.
As he admired the photos of the genetically modified felines, he thought of Sylvia and the life she had ahead of her. She would go off-world, as he had, and attend the academy, as he had, and then receive her commission, and then…
He didn’t know why, but as he thought of Sylvia, he suddenly thought of her. They, Sylvia and ‘her’, were of a similar age, they looked alike, and had the same colour hair. But that is where the similarities ended.
Sylvia was a star student who excelled in the gifted program at the Milpol school. She played the violin and studied Earth poetry.
Her great-grandfather had been transferred to Planet B by Milpol as a corporal, rising through the ranks to Chief Warrant Officer. Her grandfather, the captain’s father, had been sent to the academy under a letter of recommendation from the detachment’s colonel and returned as a Second Lieutenant, rising through the ranks and retiring with distinction as a Major.
Whereas she was a whore, and a descendant of scum.
He suddenly felt uncomfortable for allowing his thoughts of ‘her’ to coexist with those of his daughter.
The copter came into land on the roof of the Milpol school. Sylvia was now 18, having graduated, and her papers for the military academy had been approved; she was set to go off-world to become a cadet. The Milpol school had arranged an evening of entertainment for the parents of the graduating class.
The captain glanced at his watch as he hurried down the stairs. He was late.
His wife stood outside the auditorium looking unhappy.
“You’re late!” she snapped upon seeing him.
“Sorry, dear,” he said, trying to look and sound apologetic. “I was busy at work.”
She snorted. “Is that what you call it? ‘Busy at work!’ doing who knows what in the filthy ghetto, with those filthy…undesirables.”
“Now is not the time, dear,” he said, as forcefully as his nerve allowed.
She snorted again. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you. Don’t lecture me about time when you can’t even turn up for your daughter’s recital on time!”
The doors to the auditorium opened, and a Milpol junior officer in uniform walked out. He looked up and saw the captain, snapping to attention and saluting.
“Sir,” said the officer, eyes forward.
“No need for that…” said the captain. “As you were.”
The captain’s face flushed, his skin looking clammy. His wife had affected a smiling, pleasant veneer.
The officer nodded and hurried to wherever they were going. The smiling, pleasant veneer cracked, revealing a scowl.
“Open the door!” she ordered.
“Yes, dear,” he said, opening the door, and his wife, affected a new, serene veneer, walked along the aisle. They took their seats, and the lights dimmed.