Silent Partner

Klingon Hamlet

"How was work." Daily question without even a tone of interest. I shrugged at the floor while Marla stared at her tabletron. Silence bridged us. Golden sunset poured through the office windows. Ninety floors up, hip-deep in the mass of hovercars rushing to get home, drivers dying to hug their wives and husbands and kids, watch some quality 3D.

Not Marla. She had her tabletron.

I dramatically dropped my workpack onto the floor. "Whoops." It crunched. I'd probably smashed the screens, maybe broken the drives. I finally looked up at her: head bowed down, face washed out by the pale light of the tronics. Ghostly. "Call Ed, he'll replace that for you."

Ed burst in as if on cue. "We've got a problem."

Marla's face turned, eyes hidden behind the ultra-reflective glasses. I could see her forehead crease. Ed never rushed in. Never used the word "problem". The atomic disaster on Mars was a "setback". "Ed?"

Ed was a foot taller than me, but seemed double that. He peered down, gave me a nod, then said, "Perhaps we should speak alone?"

Marla agreed and ushered me out. I gave her a pained glance; she might've responded, had she bothered to look at me. The doors slid shut, and glowed red around the doorframe. Locked.

Luckily, I had a sharp ear. I leaned in and listened.

Ed: The courier ship, headed for Mars yesterday? (Ed always had that way about him...asking instead of telling.)

Marla: Uh-huh. The Crescent IV.

Ed: Never arrived.

Marla: It came back.

Ed: Not that either. It's gone, Marla.

Marla: Juggernauts don't just vanish, Ed. Plus, we've trace-locators. Fire it up and find her quickly.

I could see Ed shaking his head violently, face reddening: Did that, five hours ago. It's gone! No trace. Sent thirty Scoopers out to search for ion trails, debris. Came back with shrugs and nothing more.

Marla: That ship has thirty-five Neutrino--

Ed: I know, I know...!

The voices had gotten progressively louder, and only too late did I realise they were approaching the door. With a whisper the doors parted, and I looked into four very anxious eyes. I was smart enough to know I wasn't supposed to hear that thirty five Neutrinos were missing.

Marla's pupils were like lasers. "Snooping is for spies. You know what we do with them--"

Ed studied his hands, then rested one---it was cold and shaky---on my shoulder and gently pushed me away, whilst saying, "Marla, we had him intrigued, leave him be-"

Marla whirled around and she looked ready to pounce. Ed flinched. Marla then quietly commented, "That was a rash comment from a divorced father of three kids he never sees. Maybe your advice is unnecessary, eh? Maybe you should get those world-bombs found and put back in my factories, eh?"

Ed nooded, eyes glistening, and patted my shoulder again as he scurried off. What a weasel---I felt bad straightaway thinking that. Marla's coldness, rubbing off on me. Figuratively---our marriage had long since negated any phsical rubbing off. Her job was primary focus, apparently.

Marla--she was staring at me. Really looking at me, for the first time in a long time.

"Neutrinos," she said, "are classified technology. Everyone wants to know what we're up to, even UniCorps." The last word was spat out like an epithet. She adjusted her expensive suit, slicked back her hair, gave me a cold smile. "And if I see Neutrinos mentioned once in the media, I'll know it was you."

She stepped up close, and although we were at eye-level, I felt myself shrinking under her terrible stare. "I'll send you to the mines. Now get the hell out of my sight."

I ran to the nearest lift. One rushed up, swallowed me and spat me into my room-cubicle. I shuddered, grinned, groaned. I knew where that ship was. Knew exactly what had happened her and her crew. Every cell in my body cried out Save them! But how? Without a doubt, if I told my wife what had occurred, she would send a Sweeper team to slaughter every last one of them. Delete their files. Erase their familes.

And when they were done, she would kill me.

No, I was going to need someone's help. Someone with a ship, and some guns. A name burned brightly in my mind, and I smiled. Perfect.