"What I Lost Last Week" a.k.a. "Three Partners" - A CRAPP tale from Troy Tanner... chapter one only....

"For being part of the Environmental Protection Agency, we sure trash the eco-system a lot." Kirk's comments during after-action paperwork days tend to make me smile.

It was damned good to have him back. Breaking in the new kid nearly drove me nuts over the summer. She was good, but keeping her grandfather from interfering took more work than I really needed while showing her the ropes. Amber sat three sets of desks over, alone for now, studying as her next partner was on vacation. Something we in the CRAPP division tend to milk out as much as possible on. Then again, the Cleanup, Remediation, And Paranormal Protection jobs take their toll faster if we skip those days off we can sneak.

"Yeah, we also kill more trees than any other division in the agency." My personal pet peeve was high this morning, testified to by my overflowing trash can, old type writer and twelve open bottles of that screwup hiding stuff. Watching the guys with computers upstairs do reports last week, I felt I really deserved something more modern than 1950's era surplus. But not for my chair. It may be that old, and failing, but I have it broken in to that wonderful stage called "comfortable".

Longhand tossed his copy of a report on a cleanup from back in the spring over to me. The Hell Hound thing ate up more trees than most quarters did in the office. If I ever find the damned fool that felt crossing a hell hound with a red bones bloodhound, I intend to use all four edges of every sheet of paperwork that generated to flay him with. Or her, not trying to be sexist (Yes, they just made me watch those mandatory political correctness videos. Again.). Satan's puppies, I was calling them. So help me, former partner or not, if Blair had a hand in it, I was dumping the paperwork on him.
Kirk hates paperwork as much as I do. The only reason we do it is Jim's Law. Our boss, Jim Young, painted this on the walls a few years back. "No paychecks issued until the paperwork is CORRECTLY filed."

I intend to have it made up on a brass plaque for him someday. With my name listed as "chief violator".

"Tanner, Longhand. Quit screwing off, and finish that Environmental Impact Statement." Hollering from his office door, coffee mug in hand to raid my precious supply of Kona again, Jim strolled into what I tend to call the Pits of the Damned, the small cubicle room that is the CRAPP offices.
I'm Tanner, or at least that is the name the thing on the desk claims for me. It lies a lot. Saying things like I am a "Remediation Specialist", when janitor is a lot closer. It also says my first name is Trey, not Troy. What can you expect, it was made by the lowest bidder, like all things governmental not associated with a corner office are.

"Jim, get me some leads on which redneck is behind it, I can stop the mess." I pushed aside his hand reaching for the pot. "Tanner's Law." My words accompanied a gesture towards my sign. "No expense accounts approved, no coffee stealing allowed."

"Not me this time, the IG held them upstairs. He said he'll sign off this time, but your next set gets submitted to him with a personal interview over why you needed those items." Trusting Jim, who is a former partner, I let him fill the mug.

"Yeah, fine. The IG and Director Johnson can check my expense reports all they want. If they want to ride along next time." Finding things to extinguish dog-poo reacting closer to napalm than fertilizer took a hellish amount of experimenting. Not to mention a lot of cleanup behind the failures.
"They might do that. Congressional Oversight Committee meetings next week." Jim smiling with that retort set my nerves on edge. Hell, to avoid those, they might.

Leaning back, I noted a well known gleam in his eyes. "Where and what, Jim?"

My heart sank when he pulled out a thermos to fill next. He expected me to cut him off again after this assignment. Taking his time to fill it, part of an old game dating back before his promotion up the food chain.

What he said chilled my heart. "Region One requested help. Dan said he'd even let you in the office."
Dan Martin, the Region One CRAPP liaison hates my guts. Something to do with using his BMW as a pen to keep a litter of young werewolves in. Hey, I filled out the expense report, justified it, just a budget cut cost him the car in the end.

Kirk leaned back in his chair, looking skyward. "More white-man mess to clean."

"Mother Nature's mess." Jim laughed. "No playing that race card to get out on Native blood reasons, Kirk. They say it has something to do with salamanders. Starting fires in hunting cabins and barns out there."

"Sounds like a white guy from Fish and Wildlife's problem." Kirk pressed on, but his eyes narrowed at that creature being named. "Oh, hell no. White folk brought the fire breathers here, not my people."

"On a reservation in upstate Maine." Jim twisted the knife, stealing a handful of candy from Kirk's desk jar. "You get nominated as lead to keep your people happy."

Looking across the desk, I waved off Kirk's next try. "Fine. Anything that has Dan ready to let me back into New England must be real, and scary." Standing up, I glanced to the wall plaque with the names of the fallen agents on it. Something about this raised my hackles, wondering whose name would get engraved on it next.

Kirk's glance spoke volumes. He wanted to head home for some time off. I let a smile cut my face after Jim's door closed. "Think you can convince your fellow natives to cut me a fishing permit?"

"Not my tribe, but I can try." He looked dubious.

Flashing a set of Office of the Inspector General's ID's for him, expertly forged over to us, I smiled. "We are looking at blaming the BIA for everything."

If you investigate the Bureau of Indian Affairs, most Natives bend over backwards to help. Especially when a fellow native is part of the team.

Black Banner, Red Banner (the true opening)

(sorry for this one posting out of sequence, but been finding it scattered in the wrong folders as I clean up the mess my computer is these days. Too many cold, coffee deficient days the last few years, clouded my organizing skills.)

Thatch's Log/23496-2301TCT
      I hated taking this freight, especially to Mizar Aleph Prime. Of late too much of old Terra's bad ways had been showing up there. Almost as if the place was being invaded silently by agents of the Arcturian Empire, to take over the Association as they had man's old home. I had noted over the years the trend of males and females both to shave their heads there, and the proliferation of the genetic engineering shops, just like the tales of Terra had been in the last days.

      But the cargo was the only one out of Castor Prime Aye-Hammer. So I took it to get us back into the trade loops. And regretted it once I saw the manifest. The Frankenstiens out on the edge of the Association were making a mistake, they were supplying their FGR, the Forced Genetic Reformation, tech to those walking the edge of the uniformity culture. I have seen tanks like these before. Just before the Fallback War. From the same source. All sent to Terra for the take over there, when every man, woman and child on Earth stil was forced into the tanks, to be remade into perfect, docile slaves for the Arcturian takeover.

      I had fought that war. I still fight it, in my dreams. I remember delivering that cargo, then tossing the captain who ordered us to surrender to the Frankenstiens who went over to the ememy for that change, into the lock and cycling him out. It was the day we raised my own flag, chosen by the crew to lead them free of the terror we saw on earth, of perfect conformity. Every person looking alike, every person genetically programmed for their jobs. Everyone like robots.

       I have done my best to keep the crew from knowing what we carry, but as Supercargo and Load Mistress, Jack and Annie had to know. No choice there, they had to balance us out for mass thrusting and transition shifts. And to do that, they had to inspect the holds, pods and goods. I had to tie the boy down when he realized the cargo, and tell him we would do the job as we needed the money. The girl was different, she had looked intrigued, and in my own rounds I had caught her opening some of the tanks, and inspecting them. Once I had even caught her lying in one, seeing the way it fit her form, looking at what it would do to her, how the hoses connected up for the life support.

       It disturbed me. Annie was the one who had taken the best to the ways of space, other than Jack. She had more painful memories than the others, having lost all her family. Perhaps it is just the thought of forgetting the losses she had suffered, when a rogue band of Arcies crossed the borders and raided deep into the Association, hitting Dubhe Delta. Jack had saved her, and the others, but her mind was damaged.

       The boy would go ape if he knew. He loved that girl, and until this run, I thought she had loved him. So I tried to let her know she could talk to me, but she just shrugged, donned her clothes again, and went about her business since. But the auto log told me she was still visiting the tanks and twice had found her searching the data cubes for the Conformists and Frankenstien's ways.

       Entry to Mizar will be soon, but perhaps not soon enough. I am leery to ask it, but I think Jack will need to be disarmed, for everyone's safety. If Mizar is going to Conformity, and Annie goes over to them, things will get ugly.

/end log entry/

      The black bearded captain leaned back in the acceleration chair, and sighed as the familiar rocks of the Kuiper belt of the Mizar system appeared around them. A perfect drop into the Gap, that area between the orbit belts, kept clear by automated ships and miners to allow ships to enter the system closer from transition field space. He had gotten his cargo this far. Now he just had to keep the crew of the Slick Willy together.

       This trip would be the end of some things though. He was sure the girl, as good as she had been until now, would leave them at Mizar. He would miss Annie, but not as much as her beau would. He decided to make some changes in his crew, he would need a new cargo crew, and Stede would be a good choice there, no need to worry about more stowaways with him in charge. Gow could take over environmental, and then he could bring young Rackham up to the helm to keep him busy learning a new skill, and under the eye and hand of himself.

      The large Aye-See first mate came into the bridge. His bulk was impressive in large rooms, in the confines of the helm area, he induced claustrophobia in most folks. They called him Gow as that was the closest they could get to his true name. And he was angry, which made him more dangerous "Saw cargo. Explain."

      Thatch sighed. "We were broke, and there was no place to to ditch the stuff at. if you want to get away from Castor, you ship the Franky's goods." The captain ran his hand across his face in exhaustion. "Tell jack I need to talk to him. Keep your mouth shut about what we transported. I don't like it more than you do." Eduard Thatch lay his hand beside the display that showed another vessel close in to them. A Frankenstien hunter-killer frigate.

      Gow's eyes noted the readouts, and nodded his alligator head. He understood what had happened now. Gunpoint cargoes had been on the increase of late, as more of his folk, the cannon-fodder of the Acturian Empire, spread into Association space in small ships for piracy. Just as they had into Terran space thirty years before. "Aye."

       The captain took several deep breaths. and let them out slowly. He needed a few hours in the old exercise room to clear his head in the movement sof Tai Chi, but would not get them this trip. After that he set up the second station for Jack to run the cargo reports and look for bids, his last time at that for a while he was sure. He also brought out the pilot's manuals, to give the boy a distraction for the next few days.

       It was nearly an hour before young Rackham arrived. He was cleaned up for a change, wearing a clean jumper, and regulation boots. Something the commander normally had to demand of him in writing. He even knocked first, which was rarer yet.

       "Oy, Cap'ns. Youse wants me'z." Jack still spoke mostly in the Dubhe cant he had been raised in. It was a habit he would have to break now, with the new job.

      "Take a seat Jack, we need to talk."

       The boy, no, over the years he had become a young man, one with long blond hair, the start of a scruffy beard, and deep blue-grey eyes. Eyes that showed he knew of what would happen at the Prime Station. "Aye aye," was all he said as he took the indicated co-pilots chair. Eyes that noted the training gear and books,but gave none of the normal joy they should have held.

       Ed sighed. "Caught her at the tanks, i take it."

       The silence said more than words could. There was the marks of anger still being suppressed in Rackham's face. He merely nodded, not trusting his voice to this, even if it was contrary to regs. Thatch knew the pain, several of his had chosen the Conformity during the Fallback. Including his wife of ten years at the time.

      "She has a hard choice, Jack. And so do you. You know the Conformists kill all past relationships out by their change. She won't be your girl no more." The captain wanted to break it easy, but Jack was not the easy type.

       "Oy, she'z losts as we'z, got's it'z Cap'ns. Won'ts makes fussy. She bigs nows, nots me'z fems, 'eard's she's louds an'z clairifieds." Captain Thatch winced at the dialect, he had been raised in it himself and somehow left it behind in his rise to command. It smacked of the things he hated about Dubhe, mostly the lack of formal education.

       "It will be a rough spell for you, boy. I have done this myself, my wife went over during the war." He had never told the younger members of the crew of those days. Jack knew because his own parents had crewed on Willy back then. "You will not carry that heirloom cannon of yours though, crew safety requirements boy. Not that I don't trust you, but when the port officials come aboard, I want that damned thing in the locker. Or your hiding spot."

       Jack acknowledged the command, softly, with chagrin. Since they had been hit by pirates out by Pollux, he had taken to keeping the ancient Colt on his person, and loaded, contrary to regulations of the Association Space Guild, but those desk pilots, in both the captain and spacer's opinion, had never tasted real action in their life.

       They started their work on the next cargo and offload arrangements, chaffing at the hours delays in communications at this range, but knowing it was required. They used the lag time to start the boy on his new career. But the joy at his first time on stick was dampened by things he knew were to come.

To be continued....

Black Banner, Red Banner (the true opening)

(sorry for this one posting out of sequence, but been finding it scattered in the wrong folders as I clean up the mess my computer is these days. Too many cold, coffee deficient days the last few years, clouded my organizing skills.)

Thatch's Log/23496-2301TCT
      I hated taking this freight, especially to Mizar Aleph Prime. Of late too much of old Terra's bad ways had been showing up there. Almost as if the place was being invaded silently by agents of the Arcturian Empire, to take over the Association as they had man's old home. I had noted over the years the trend of males and females both to shave their heads there, and the proliferation of the genetic engineering shops, just like the tales of Terra had been in the last days.

      But the cargo was the only one out of Castor Prime Aye-Hammer. So I took it to get us back into the trade loops. And regretted it once I saw the manifest. The Frankenstiens out on the edge of the Association were making a mistake, they were supplying their FGR, the Forced Genetic Reformation, tech to those walking the edge of the uniformity culture. I have seen tanks like these before. Just before the Fallback War. From the same source. All sent to Terra for the take over there, when every man, woman and child on Earth stil was forced into the tanks, to be remade into perfect, docile slaves for the Arcturian takeover.

      I had fought that war. I still fight it, in my dreams. I remember delivering that cargo, then tossing the captain who ordered us to surrender to the Frankenstiens who went over to the ememy for that change, into the lock and cycling him out. It was the day we raised my own flag, chosen by the crew to lead them free of the terror we saw on earth, of perfect conformity. Every person looking alike, every person genetically programmed for their jobs. Everyone like robots.

       I have done my best to keep the crew from knowing what we carry, but as Supercargo and Load Mistress, Jack and Annie had to know. No choice there, they had to balance us out for mass thrusting and transition shifts. And to do that, they had to inspect the holds, pods and goods. I had to tie the boy down when he realized the cargo, and tell him we would do the job as we needed the money. The girl was different, she had looked intrigued, and in my own rounds I had caught her opening some of the tanks, and inspecting them. Once I had even caught her lying in one, seeing the way it fit her form, looking at what it would do to her, how the hoses connected up for the life support.

       It disturbed me. Annie was the one who had taken the best to the ways of space, other than Jack. She had more painful memories than the others, having lost all her family. Perhaps it is just the thought of forgetting the losses she had suffered, when a rogue band of Arcies crossed the borders and raided deep into the Association, hitting Dubhe Delta. Jack had saved her, and the others, but her mind was damaged.

       The boy would go ape if he knew. He loved that girl, and until this run, I thought she had loved him. So I tried to let her know she could talk to me, but she just shrugged, donned her clothes again, and went about her business since. But the auto log told me she was still visiting the tanks and twice had found her searching the data cubes for the Conformists and Frankenstien's ways.

       Entry to Mizar will be soon, but perhaps not soon enough. I am leery to ask it, but I think Jack will need to be disarmed, for everyone's safety. If Mizar is going to Conformity, and Annie goes over to them, things will get ugly.

/end log entry/

      The black bearded captain leaned back in the acceleration chair, and sighed as the familiar rocks of the Kuiper belt of the Mizar system appeared around them. A perfect drop into the Gap, that area between the orbit belts, kept clear by automated ships and miners to allow ships to enter the system closer from transition field space. He had gotten his cargo this far. Now he just had to keep the crew of the Slick Willy together.

       This trip would be the end of some things though. He was sure the girl, as good as she had been until now, would leave them at Mizar. He would miss Annie, but not as much as her beau would. He decided to make some changes in his crew, he would need a new cargo crew, and Stede would be a good choice there, no need to worry about more stowaways with him in charge. Gow could take over environmental, and then he could bring young Rackham up to the helm to keep him busy learning a new skill, and under the eye and hand of himself.

      The large Aye-See first mate came into the bridge. His bulk was impressive in large rooms, in the confines of the helm area, he induced claustrophobia in most folks. They called him Gow as that was the closest they could get to his true name. And he was angry, which made him more dangerous "Saw cargo. Explain."

      Thatch sighed. "We were broke, and there was no place to to ditch the stuff at. if you want to get away from Castor, you ship the Franky's goods." The captain ran his hand across his face in exhaustion. "Tell jack I need to talk to him. Keep your mouth shut about what we transported. I don't like it more than you do." Eduard Thatch lay his hand beside the display that showed another vessel close in to them. A Frankenstien hunter-killer frigate.

      Gow's eyes noted the readouts, and nodded his alligator head. He understood what had happened now. Gunpoint cargoes had been on the increase of late, as more of his folk, the cannon-fodder of the Acturian Empire, spread into Association space in small ships for piracy. Just as they had into Terran space thirty years before. "Aye."

       The captain took several deep breaths. and let them out slowly. He needed a few hours in the old exercise room to clear his head in the movement sof Tai Chi, but would not get them this trip. After that he set up the second station for Jack to run the cargo reports and look for bids, his last time at that for a while he was sure. He also brought out the pilot's manuals, to give the boy a distraction for the next few days.

       It was nearly an hour before young Rackham arrived. He was cleaned up for a change, wearing a clean jumper, and regulation boots. Something the commander normally had to demand of him in writing. He even knocked first, which was rarer yet.

       "Oy, Cap'ns. Youse wants me'z." Jack still spoke mostly in the Dubhe cant he had been raised in. It was a habit he would have to break now, with the new job.

      "Take a seat Jack, we need to talk."

       The boy, no, over the years he had become a young man, one with long blond hair, the start of a scruffy beard, and deep blue-grey eyes. Eyes that showed he knew of what would happen at the Prime Station. "Aye aye," was all he said as he took the indicated co-pilots chair. Eyes that noted the training gear and books,but gave none of the normal joy they should have held.

       Ed sighed. "Caught her at the tanks, i take it."

       The silence said more than words could. There was the marks of anger still being suppressed in Rackham's face. He merely nodded, not trusting his voice to this, even if it was contrary to regs. Thatch knew the pain, several of his had chosen the Conformity during the Fallback. Including his wife of ten years at the time.

      "She has a hard choice, Jack. And so do you. You know the Conformists kill all past relationships out by their change. She won't be your girl no more." The captain wanted to break it easy, but Jack was not the easy type.

       "Oy, she'z losts as we'z, got's it'z Cap'ns. Won'ts makes fussy. She bigs nows, nots me'z fems, 'eard's she's louds an'z clairifieds." Captain Thatch winced at the dialect, he had been raised in it himself and somehow left it behind in his rise to command. It smacked of the things he hated about Dubhe, mostly the lack of formal education.

       "It will be a rough spell for you, boy. I have done this myself, my wife went over during the war." He had never told the younger members of the crew of those days. Jack knew because his own parents had crewed on Willy back then. "You will not carry that heirloom cannon of yours though, crew safety requirements boy. Not that I don't trust you, but when the port officials come aboard, I want that damned thing in the locker. Or your hiding spot."

       Jack acknowledged the command, softly, with chagrin. Since they had been hit by pirates out by Pollux, he had taken to keeping the ancient Colt on his person, and loaded, contrary to regulations of the Association Space Guild, but those desk pilots, in both the captain and spacer's opinion, had never tasted real action in their life.

       They started their work on the next cargo and offload arrangements, chaffing at the hours delays in communications at this range, but knowing it was required. They used the lag time to start the boy on his new career. But the joy at his first time on stick was dampened by things he knew were to come.

To be continued....