The Captain - Chapter 1 - Not Quite Solace

Mach woke on his floor again.

Not unusual, though challenging on the floor of the world’s smallest living quarters. He took a systematic inventory of his situation. His head wasn’t pounding. His clothes were un-scuffed and clean. He concluded no one had dragged him back and left him for dead. Things were looking up.

Standing proved easier than expected, despite the initial creaky push off the floor. The momentum got him into a nearby chair, where he sank in with a sigh. Confused momentarily, he took some time to sort himself out. He remembered he wasn’t drinking, which explained the lack of a hangover. He rubbed his face and remembered his friend scored some expired med bay anesthesia as he instinctively took inventory of the room.

The living quarters were tidy and clean. That new cleaning service had done outstanding work. He wondered if they visited while he was on the floor? He imagined that would be a shock being an employee and finding the tenant laying there like….

Just that fast, it entered his mind. Like a bolt of lightning. Why did this always happen? Why couldn’t he have just a single day where it didn’t happen?

Mach sat down and contemplated what he’d have to do today to forget.

The coffee machine beeped and began a pour. The comforting aroma knocked him out of the spiral of theories.

The sound of rain drowned the noises of life outside the modest apartment. Mach opened the blinds, fully expecting to be hit by blinding light. Instead, the interior remained just as dark as it was. A storm was outside. The rainy season had begun. He wondered if he could survive this one.

Mach relaxed to experience his coffee and mulled over the number of years he had lived in that apartment. He wondered how much longer he could tolerate this existence in this half-sized stateroom.

A message plopped up on the digidex next to him from someone named Snake. The bright led colored text lit up the dim surroundings.

Flying out this morning. I left some in your cabinet. :) See ya next month.

Mach took a moment and read the message, leaned back in his chair, and replied,

Thanks brother. Good luck out there!

Mike was all Mach had left lately, though that guilt was building. He had single-handedly turned an arms specialist into a propofol dealer. He deserved more than to reinforce Mach's wallowing, but he knew the murder had done Mach in. It had gutted and crippled him. His once confident swagger and competent leadership, laid inside a tiny apartment unconscious half the time. There was no ambition, no joy, no interest, or hope. The anhedonia had left him unable to find a hobby, an interest, or a friend.

Mach debated finding Mike's cabinet stash and just sleeping the day away, but something about the rain brought a sense of calm.

Mach rested his head on the headrest and pondered what she would think of him now. She’d never tolerate this self pity. She’d slap him is what she’d do. Shake him until he realized he’s a goddamn captain. He has people who depend on him.

Then she’d hold his face in both hands like she always did. She’d look at him and tell him. One day. One day, we’ll be able to leave this behind.

The feeling came again, but so did sleep.

***

Without substance induced slumber, the dreams were more a nightmare than a gift. A kaleidoscope of feverish timelines flipped too quickly. Each moment was long enough to bring agony and short enough to cherish. She forced him to memorize those dumb numbers. Why couldn’t she just write them down? She whispered to him. Seven, one, three …

When he woke with a gasp, the rain seemed even harder. His coffee was cold, but he took a grimacing drink anyway. He had sweat through his shirt.

A distinct strobe in his office flashed twice. For a moment, he mistook the strobe for lightning, but soon realized it was his office comm link. Only a few people even knew that link id.

He groaned his way to the nook through the kitchen. Dumping his cold cup of joe, he tapped the coffee machine to coax it into another. The machine beeped and started a warm up cycle.

Waiting, Mach peered out the nook windows. The rain streamed down outside, only leaving the lights beyond to dance opaquely in the frames. The comm link flashed twice again. Mach stroked a finger on the device and the screen pulsed off for a second and then turned on. A single message in the queue glowed.

CMD DE CMH 1R QSL KKKK

Mach stared for a second at the archaic code. His face illuminated in the glow. He swiped on the transparent screen above and entered some number sequences. A large call button popped onto the screen.

Mach stood, grabbed his caffeinated spoil from his coffee machine, and sat down again. He blew on it and took a sip. He debated just hitting delete, but the message was the most interesting thing that’s happened in a while.

With a sigh, Mach pushed the button and settled into his chair.

After a few seconds of strange tones, a voice emerged from the speaker.

“You are alive,” a voice said.

It was amazing this technology was so advanced, yet still sounded like a digital walkie talkie.

“My paychecks say otherwise,” Mach said.

“Are you ready to fix that?” Hitchens continued.

Mach didn’t respond right away. Instead, he sipped on his coffee.

"How's that going to work?" Mach asked.

"They gave me Blakes post," Hitchens said.

Mach wondered how Hitchens was on the short list for Black Corp though it was hearing Blakes name that caused the twinge of pain. Any urge he had to quip or enjoy the conversation diminished.

Mach paused, lost in thought.

“You don’t need to say anything. Just listen.”, Hitchens replied.

“I need you to find something for me. Something that doesn’t want to be found,” Hitchens said.

"You used to be the best at that remember?"

Mach remembered.

The comm system crackled, then settled down.

“This Class C may be smuggling. The XO’s flagged for Rellion trips,” Hitchens said.

Mach wondered why a simple smuggling op needed a broken PWI investigator.

“So a normal stop and frisk?” Mach questioned. “Why you asking me?”

The question coerced an aggravating static noise from the comm link.

“It won't be that easy,” Hitchens said.

"I need you to get on and find it before they do. I need to know why they need it so badly."

"Who's they?" Mach asked.

A longer silence than Mach wanted occurred before a reply crackled through the speaker.

“I need you to do what you used to do. The way we used to. You remember?” Hitchens said.

Mach remembered. It was then he realized the transmission could be monitored.

Mach pondered his options. He was fatigued of being alone. Bored of being here. If Black Corp was the way out, so be it. They would switch his card to Black and seal his records. This was a way back in if he wanted it.

"I need you. I can't trust anyone else."

"Permanent?" Mach asked hoping he would understand.

"Yes," Hitchens said

"Mike will …." Mach is interrupted.

"He's the next call," Hitchens stated.

“Package?” Mach said.

“En route.” Hitchens replied.

Mach stared off into the rainy lake view, questioning if he was ready for something like that again. This was Black Corp stuff.

“Mach?” Hitchens said.

“Still here, Colonel.” Mach replied.

"I owe you for this," Hitchens said.

"And Mach?"

“Remember the solace you once cherished.”

The comm link hung up.

Mach didn’t understand, but was sure it was code. From this point on there would be no handbook. He was glad it also meant he didn’t have to pay next month’s rent.

Mach debated on whether he should have vetted things more, but he got ready to pack a go-bag. He could figure this out while packing. Odds were the package was already inbound and this would be amplified quickly.

He loaded using his checklist for an hour until a chime at the hallway door broke the silence. Mach approached the door and opened it just enough to extract the envelope. He quickly grabbed his dex, extracted the envelope's contents, and clicked it into place. Mach dropped the dex on the bed as he jammed more items into a black bag. The dex activated, and a synthetic voice uttered.

“Titan VO. 1-2-0 Class C Freighter, 13 Crew,” the artificial voice continued

“Package Tolan 7. SSG Rutger, M. Standby,” the voice said.

“Infiltrate, Find Asset, Report. Destination Unknown,” the voice continued.

"State Call CMS for handling," the voice stopped

Mak grabbed the dex and scanned the text on the screen.

“Unknown? No one wants the report?”

“Call CMS,” Mach declared.

The dex came to life and a few beeps sounded.

“Auth code?” a male voice asked

Mach fired back a lot of numbers and letters from the package header.

“Thank you. How may I help?” the male said.

“Credentials and job pass,” Mach said calmly.

“Sending now,” the voice said as the dex lit up.

“Confirm receipt?”

“Confirmed.” Mach said.

“I will destroy everything on file at the end of this call,” the voice stated.

“Do the instructions have a report destination?”

Mach heard faint typing in the background

“Negative. None required. I will destroy everything on file at the end of this call.”

"So when the asset is located, who is the POC?" Mach asked.

Mach wondered if this was even a mode of operation. He didn’t believe it was possible to create a package without a…

“At the end of this call, I will destroy everything on file,” the voice stated again.

Mach realized this conversation would go nowhere if this were a black operation.

“Understood.” Mach replied.

With a solitary beep, the call ended.

Mach looked at his boarding documents.

“Cargo specialist? Thanks Hitch.” Mach mumbled.

Mach grabbed his pack and stepped out into the lobby of his apartment. He hesitated for a moment to take in the fact he may never see this place again. He couldn’t say he’d miss living here, but home is home. In a few hours, he wouldn’t even have a home.

A black and gold jump shuttle pulled into the circle drive of the lobby. The rain obscured its arrival into a blur. Mach stepped out into the rain and boarded the shuttle.

As the shuttle hummed its way towards the jump terminal, Mach studied his rather vague package. Out of curiosity, he opened his old PWI-INT application and typed his name. An auth code appeared which was normal. Mach entered the auth code.

NO RESULTS FOUND

Mach quickly switched to the Cylec Liason systems and tried there.

NO RESULTS FOUND

Was that possible so quickly? It had been what, a couple hours and he ceased to exist officially? Mach wondered why his auth code still worked. Wait. Mach suddenly remembered his arm code tattoo required by Fed/Cylec service and scanned it.

4567810456

When no entry existed for an individual, it would just repeat the number on the barcode. Mach sank deep into the shuttle's seat, knowing that wasn't his number.

A panic struck him briefly that all his rank, accolades, and accomplishments were for nothing. Surely they kept those somewhere, right?

Mach tried to relax. He'd be onboard in a few hours and could figure out things in his rack. He knew little about Black Corp operations, but he knew they didn't follow many guidelines or rules. Hitchens would make contact again, he was sure. Maybe through Snake. He tried to remain calm and settle into the op.

He hadn’t yet realized yet he wasn’t thinking about her.

And he wasn’t dying either.

As a matter of fact, he was coming back to life.