A Little Revolution

A Little Revolution

G. F. Kaye

* * * * *

This is a work of fiction. All detailed physical locations are fictional, as are the events described, and exist only in the mind of the author. Any resemblance of characters contained herein to any specific person, persons, or beings, living or dead is purely coincidental.

A Little Revolution

Copyright 2018 by G. F. Kaye

All Rights Reserved

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First Published by G. F. Kaye at Smashwords. Also by G. F. Kaye @ Smashwords

Stories of the Marlowe, Inc., Crew:

The T-bone Affair

Murder at Tiffany’s

Liberty Shrugged

Trajectory

Also:

Carats

Ikon

A Witch’s Tail

In The Cusp Series:

To Ride in Shadow



Prologue: Surprise, Surprise

Diko was a first class Macari scout, not some unpracticed, lagoon dwelling, space cadet rookie, and it was not happy! Not at all! It’d been out for several rotations on deep space probe, a very deep space probe, and was supposed to be returning to its home planet for a long awaited rest and recreation. It’d been looking forward to settling down somewhere nice, quiet, and planetary for a few cycles; possibly even producing a youngling. It was long overdue for all of that.

Being an aquatic race, it snorted a string of bubbles.

Right. So much for what was supposed to have happened.

Diko resignedly sighed foam. It’d been a very long tour. It’d earned that time off - and more. Grimacing, switching the ship’s controls to manual, minutely adjusting the course of the control module by instinct, all the while it continued to grumble. Tired scouts had a tendency to become careless. Even the council slave-drivers should know that, and Diko was tired. Thoughts of nursing and teaching a youngling were beginning to have more and more appeal. It was due. It was overdue. Now, it was also angry. It’d taken the male role in several couplings in its life; on rare occasions when it’d actually been home, it thought, making a noise equivalent to a snort, or as close as one could get in a fluid environment, but it’d not had the pleasure of taking the female role yet. That’d been largely because it’d never known exactly when it’d have to go traipsing off halfway across the galaxy because some university hot-shot - a being that actually had a home life of its own, incidentally - got the itch to see what was out there.

Forty thousand cycles of civilization, and we still go and take a look, it thought, glumly. It was one of the realities of faster-than-light-drive, however. It was quicker, and easier just to go and take a look, when you had questions, than use the long-range equipment currently available, even now. Besides, the automated scanners on a probe ship continuously recorded the objective while a scout was enroute. If astronomers at homeworld saw a star go nova, for instance, by using the scanners on an FTL probe ship it was possible to have a complete record of events at the objective, starting with the incident prompting a mission, right up to what the scout found when it got there in real-time. Of course, the high-and-mighty tech deciding - probably over a nice breakfast at home, it fumed - that it just had to have answers wasn’t the one who had to go out to wherever in space whatever had happened and have a look-see, was it? Oh, hell no! They communicated that to some poor moolak on its way in from gods only knew where for much needed r & r. "It’s only a few arnori out of your way, Diko, old mahai, so why not stop and take a few scans. Okay?"

Yeah, right! It blew a rude stream of bubbles. Only a few arnori out of the way, but it was another fact of FTL life that the short hops took almost as much time as long ones. You had to slow down to make any major course corrections. The distance from this fourth rate little yellow star to its nearest stellar companion was four arnori. Diko had come twenty-seven arnori from its shortest course home just to get here!

It frowned. Studying the results of a preliminary scan, looking at its ship’s chronometer, it did a few quick calculations. It’d taken forty eight revolutions of the miserable rock it was heading for to get here after changing course. At the speed it’d been going, it would’ve been home by now.

Sighing a trail of bubbles, it shifted its gaze to another, larger display. At least, the rock was proving to be somewhat interesting. The oversized asteroid didn’t have so much of its mass sticking out of its atmosphere as some, and there happened to be several pockets of what could possibly be livable area trapped on the projecting surfaces. Those exposed, largely barren, except for biological sludge, otherwise rocky surfaces seemed to be what all the hubbub was about, though. Long range scans had determined they were literally infested with some sort of more or less intelligent life - one capable of transmitting primitive radio signals, anyway. How that life could stand to live, day to day, in a thin, gaseous envelope above the proper atmosphere was more than Diko could fathom, but it’d seen stranger things in its career. They wanted a closer look, however, with scans, so, resignedly checking it’s scanners again, Diko decided to land the scout in a likely looking pocket of atmosphere conveniently near a cluster of the odd life-form’s dwellings. All seemed to be working properly. There didn’t seem to be anything it had to particularly watch out for, so it entered a landing pattern into the autopilot and sat back to watch. Unfortunately, it’d been, after all, a very long mission. Diko, an otherwise experienced scout, was understandably tired. So was its artificially intelligent ship. Preparing to land, it forgot one simple thing; to verify relative altimeter readings with a laser bounce. So, instead of passing over the small island of rock in its approach pattern by fifty tika or so, it slammed into the very solid granite at, in the local terms of the planet it was landing on, about four hundred eighty miles per hour, scattering the quickly sinking wreckage over much of the surface of the lake with a few small pieces even reaching the shore. Its last thought pattern, on registering the crumpling of its ship, will never be known, but it was very likely the Macaran equivalent of, Oh, crap!

* * *



Chapter Two: Houston?

"What do you think happened last night?" The academic looking type glanced over the top of his glasses at the new arrival at the crash site, another academic type.

I have no idea. Something came in low enough to scare the willies out of the people that called it in. They live just on the other side of the ridge and heard whatever it was hit. While speaking, he hooked a thumb in the general direction of the south end of the lake. Yeah. It hit hard enough to shake things up. I listened to the 911 recording before I came in. It’s why I’m later than you, I guess.

Then you know as much as I do, academic one shrugged. I got a rundown from dispatch on the phone.

Hmm. The second academic scanned the area. They say something came in low over the house at a high rate of speed, rattling the windows. I did stop and talk to them; another reason it took me so long. I asked if they thought it was a small plane and the guy said it didn’t sound like one, so I asked him if it sounded like a jet. He said it just sort of made a whooshing noise and made their rears pop, then ‘crash!’ I asked him if he saw any sort of a light and he said he didn’t see it, he just heard it. He did say he didn’t see any light through the windows.

The first academic straightened, frowning. Something big enough to cause a sudden change in relative air pressure, but no light? Odd. He shrugged. Not enough damage to be a meteorite.

Damage? The second guy frowned.

Yeah, the first one grunted, tipping his head toward a rocky knob protruding from the placid surface of the water. Something hit that rock quite recently. He indicated an open laptop computer on the folding table before him. "I took a few pictures. Fresh impact damage. Real fresh, on solid granite, too! Something hit that rock really hard." The second walked around to see, as the first scanned through photos he’d been transferring from his digital camera when he’d arrived.

Whew! No shit! No sign of what hit it? number two muttered.

Between me and the cops, we checked out the area pretty good. I imagine after I send in a prelim, NASA, or somebody contracted to them, more like, will go over the whole area again with a fine-toothed comb. The first guy shook his head morosely. I really hope they find something. If not, the ET nuts will have a field day with this.

So we keep it quiet?

The first guy snorted. Yeah! Right! Haven’t had the radio on this morning, yet, have you?

The second guy frowned. Oh?

Yeah. All abuzz with the UFO that crash landed up here last night.

UFO? Shit!

Uh-huh! Like I said, ET nuts are gonna be on a roll! Not wasting any time, either! He closed his laptop and slipped it into a case at the sound of a vehicle. It turned out to be a National Guard Jeep.

What the hell? the second guy grunted.

I asked for somebody with metal detectors.

The second guy nodded. Makes sense. Anything you want me to look into?

At that, the first guy looked at him, frowning at the lack of a badge. Who the hell are you, anyway?

Pete Voigt. I pretty much run the local paper. Head newshound, too.

Oh, great. Just friggin’ wonderful, the first guy muttered, locking his computer case.

Quiet up here. News travels fast! The reporter grinned.

Yeah, I get that, but there’s nothing to report! the academic blurted.

The reporter grinned bigger.

What? the academic demanded.

The reporter held his hands up, spread, as if he were holding a newspaper. Investigators confounded at crash site! Can’t find anything! He grinned at the academic. The guy was actually a geology prof from the community college, but he was the nearest thing to a scientific investigator in the area. That worthy just threw his hands in the air and walked away. Soon enough, there were several people in Army green going over the area with that proverbial comb. In the next few days, there were several more academic types, with assorted instruments. These were not from any local college. Just a few days later, all was again quiet. The thought that what’d crashed into the outcrop was an interplanetary scout ship literally grown on a highly advanced watery world from bio-organic materials never did enter anyone’s mind.

* * *



Chapter Three: Oh! Ick!

Jesse wasn’t happy; not happy at all. They’d come to a new town with a lot of hopes. A new job for mom, new school for him, nobody calling and hanging up in the night, or, what had been worse yet, someone calling the place she worked and making threats to whoever answered the phone after asking for her. That’s what’d cost mom her last job. Of course, after word spread as to what was going on, no one else back home would hire her either, even though she was damned good at what she did. In fact, everyone in the trade admitted she was one of the best merchandise display designers in the business. They just weren’t that fond of the constant threats of death, dismemberment, and other interesting things.

Well, he shrugged, kicking at a stone, you couldn’t really blame them. A graphic, verbal description of disembowelment did put people off. He and his mom had no idea who was doing it, either. They’d gone to the cops, and, sure, they’d checked the story out. The trouble was, there was nothing to check out. The calls came in no discernible pattern from multitudinous locations within fifty miles or so of the town they’d lived in. They’d all been made from pay phones. All had been too short to trace, or trace and possibly get to before whoever was doing it was long gone. They weren’t even sure what the guy - at least they thought it was a guy - sounded like. The only reason they knew it was the same person making the calls was because the voice pattern, itself, was always the same, according to the police techs. It didn’t match anything they had on file, though, so they were back to square one; square one being: someone was stalking mom, obviously, since whoever it was knew where she lived, where she worked, and who she knew. That was bad enough, but whoever it was had also obviously made a hobby of making life miserable for everyone around her, and there didn’t seem to be a whole lot anyone could do about it. As a side effect, his grades had suffered, and, due to the stress of what was going on with his mother, he’d been classified as having an attitude problem, simply because what his teachers wanted just didn’t seem very important to him when his mom was being threatened! Go figure!

So they’d moved here, and begun again, with mom taking a different job, in a slightly different field, and Jesse starting over in a new school, with new teachers, and, eventually, a few friends. In short, they’d settled into what was basically a new life. For a while, it’d been great, even for a teenager and his mom on their own. He and his mom had always been close. They’d gotten much closer since dad - well . . .

It wasn’t anything they talked about, however. Besides, he’d been ruled out as the one making the calls. Anyway, they’d gotten even closer after moving here, and things had been really good for a long time. They really appreciated her talents at work. She’d gotten steady raises, and, eventually, a promotion. As for Jesse? He’d been accepted on probation, of course, but had quickly brought his grades up to where he’d been taken off the ‘watch list’. For a while, things had been good.

He kicked at another rock.

Things had been going well, then mom had gotten sick.

It was an insidious thing. It’d not caused any great problems, but had steadily weakened her. When she’d finally gotten tired enough, often enough, to see a doctor, he’d likened it to some sort of low-grade infection. You’ve had it for a while, too! he’d said. That’d started Jesse wondering if it might be some kind of poison, however, and, despite mom’s urging him not to, he’d told the doctor about the phone calls and threats.

The doc had shaken his head, though. No. Not poison. It’s some kind of biologic thing. Probably a virus. It just doesn’t fit anything I’m familiar with. Ellen, he’d said to Jesse’s mom. I want to put you in the hospital for a couple days for extensive testing. I don’t think it’s anything inherently contagious, but you have to have gotten it from somewhere. I really think we need to find out what’s doing this. She’d listened, but demurred. As time went by, though, she’d continued to weaken, and the day finally came when she’d called the doctor and made the arrangements.

That’d been three weeks ago. She’d lost ground steadily, since, and, though he was sixteen and capable of taking care of himself, the social workers had gotten into the act. It was what had him mad as hell, stomping toward the lake up in the hills above the town. Those fools wanted to put him in a foster home!

A foster home! With adults he didn’t know, likely kids he didn’t know, either, and who knew what the hell school he’d be going to. Sure, there was only one high school in town, but they wouldn’t even guarantee he’d be staying here! Then one of them had actually had the gall to suggest they locate his dad! That was when he’d gotten up and left the school counselor’s office, which was where they’d all ganged up on him. One guy had tried to stop him, but one of the things he and his mom had done together, after the phone calls started, was sign up for lessons at the local dojo, and they’d diligently applied themselves, keeping up their drills and katas after moving here, assisted by DVD’s. They’d gotten pretty good. Neither one was anyone to toy with, by now. He chuckled evilly. He really hoped the guy’s arm was sore for a very long time!

Crap!

He suddenly stopped stomping, shaking his head. In retrospect, it’d probably not been a great idea; not at all. Now they were probably listing him as dangerous! Foster home? he snorted. More likely ship me off to juvie! he muttered, rolling his eyes. It was better than going back to the guy that’d beat him and his mom after getting ‘downsized’, however. There’d been no excuse. None that mattered. What he’d done, even if in anger at his situation, was unforgivable. Jesse clenched his teeth at the recollection. It was totally unforgivable. As far as he was concerned, he no longer had a living father.

Taking a deep breath, he looked around. Taking another, he sat down on the ground and began doing some calming mantras. Eventually, he reached a state where his hands unclenched. Spreading his fingers, he dropped his arms to his sides, his hands on the ground. That was when he found it.

It didn’t look like much. More than anything else, it resembled one of the gel-caps some medications were packed into. It was larger than any gel-cap he’d ever seen, though. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he peered through it, wondering. It was about two inches long, maybe three quarters of an inch in diameter, had a slight golden color to either it or the contents, and weighed nothing much.

He snorted. Weird, he muttered under his breath.

Letting it roll into his palm, he unconsciously began rolling it between his hands, staring, once again, at the rocky promontory in the lake. He had no idea when, exactly, but it suddenly occurred to him that he’d dropped it. He didn’t see it on the ground, however, but did note a warmish feeling in the palms of his hands. Holding them up, he blinked, watching the last of a golden goo being quickly absorbed into his skin. What the hell? he muttered, dropping his hands to the sides of his legs and wiping them off, though he knew it was far too late for that. The warmish feeling quickly subsided, however, and he wasn’t aware of any strange effects immediately afterward, so, shrugging, he resumed his rumination. Whatever it was, was inside his body, at this point, and it was at least a half-hour walk back to town. If the gooey stuff was going to have any serious effect, it’d probably take less time than that, he decided.

The sun was getting low in the sky when he finally decided to go home. On arriving at his block, however, he noted, from the shadows, a suspicious vehicle parked just down the street facing the house he and his mom were renting. He couldn’t make it out, but there was some sort of a logo on the doors, and a man and woman in the front seat. He noted her hair was the same color and she was wearing it in the style one of the social workers he’d ducked out on, earlier, had been wearing.

Great, he muttered, before chuckling, inanely. If that was the best they could do in the line of unobtrusive observation, he had no worries. He didn’t take it for granted, however. He’d read too many spy novels to make that mistake. Going down a couple blocks, he quickly crossed the street, hidden from casual observation by a big delivery van that happened to be conveniently making a left turn. Keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings, he walked up the far side of the next street down, quickly ducking behind a hedge after spotting a suspicious shadow on a front porch he knew faced the back of his home. It could be the owner, however, so he settled in to watch the suspected watcher. It soon became apparent, though, the person was, indeed, keeping an eye on his back door. Crap! he muttered. He’d planned on changing clothes, at least, and returning to the hospital to let his mom know what was going on. I bet Mr. Sore Arm had something to do with this! he murmured, shaking his head.

Okay. Injuring a county worker, or whatever the hell he’d been, had definitely not been good.

Crap! The guy might’ve even been a cop! he snorted. Just friggin’ wonderful, genius!

Working his way through the yards to the next street, he looked up and down, then crossed to a small park that took up maybe half a block. As luck would have it, he was sitting, dejectedly propped against a tree, when a girl from his home-room he’d become friendly with happened to walk by with her dog.

Hey, Jesse! she grinned, walking up.

Hey, Becky, he replied, maybe a bit sourly.

Oboy. What happened?

Figuring it might help, he told her everything, starting from his mom getting sick. By the time he got to this morning, she was sitting beside him, and the dog’s head was on his lap. Ruffling ‘Sparky’s’ fur, he took a deep breath, finally, and told her about that morning’s incident.

Oboy! she sighed. They’re going to be watching the hospital, too.

Yah. I kinda figured, he muttered.

. . . and you really need to see your mom; let her know what’s going on.

He nodded glumly.

Hmmm, she said, shaking her head slowly. Looking down, she rested her chin on her fist, obviously deep in thought. Um – uh – well, I have an idea.

What? he wondered.

Um.

Come on, Becky! Spit it out! he not quite barked.

She straightened, looking aside at him, and shrugged. Geez! Snap at me, why don’t you? Okay. You’ll probably think I’m crazy, but how do you feel about wearing a skirt?

A what? he blurted.

She grinned, more than a little mischievously, he thought. A skirt; a really cute one with red and white stripes. It has an attached bib, too. It’s sort of like a jumper, really.

He frowned, picturing it, and frowned harder. You mean, like your candy-striper uniform?

Exactamente! she grinned. "I have two of them. One is my sister’s,