Shoshone Station: The Galactic Consortium season 2

Episode 8: The Sting #12

Jack stared out his office window. The view of the country beneath him was awesome. He was, he thought, getting into his groove up here. He had switched from the American style desk in the middle of his office to the Consortium work station in the corner. Why should he spend his entire day with his back to this view? And besides, as he learned their technology, he had less need for physical things, like his laptop or phone. He was even getting use to the backless stool. It made him sit more upright and left him less sore after a long day.

His phone buzzed. He stood and went to find it in the clutter of papers. The downside of not using his desk for work was that it was slowly becoming cluttered with "stuff." He found the phone. It was Barry.

Must be on the surface.

"What's up, man?" Jack greeted his partner. Were they still partners? Technically they were. They ran this office together. Jack remembered his first few days on the station, with him and Barry standing near the elevator. "Don't worry; it'll be a few days and I'll be back," Barry had said. Barry had barely set foot on the station since, and when he had, it was more as a transitory place than a home.

"We've got our Neanderthal," Barry said. "Be on our way back soon."

In one of the more improbable stories of the early days of contact, they had recently become aware of a Neanderthal named Ashok. He'd been a day laborer, working on a contract with the military when America and the Consortium were still at war. He'd walked away from a Consortium landing site and had been bumming around with some homeless people for several months.

He'd been picked up on vagrancy charges on the surface, his story going viral for several days. "Send me back," he told the judge. "It's easier to be poor up there."

Jack snorted. It was at that.

Blumenthal had messaged Barry and Badu, his errand boys on these sorts of issues, to pay Ashok's bail and get him back into the Consortium proper before it became an international incident.

"Then maybe you'll stick around and give me a hand at the office?" Jack half joked.

"I wish. Blumenthal sent me some message about legal complaints from some prisoners on Angorak. Americans, originally, but you guys put them away. You know anything about that?"

"Shit, yeah," Jack said. "Those would be the first round from our sting." He told Barry about the sting they were running.

"Awesome." Sarcasm dripped from Barry's voice. "I will be delighted to listen to those bastards and do nothing about their requests."

"I think that's the idea," Jack told him. "We gotta be seen as being fair, but their crimes are pretty clear, and we sure as hell don't want them back on the surface. Justice Department was crystal clear about that. Let the Consortium take jurisdiction and deal with consequences. But at least you get to see Angorak Station. I've heard the view is incredible."

"I've heard its damn cold," Barry groused.

Badu, his Consortium counterpart, said something off the line. Jack thought he caught something about brothels.

"Anyway, yeah, get to see Angorak," Barry said, wrapping up the call. "We're heading back to Colorado now. It's a ten-hour drive. See you sometime tomorrow."

Jack shook his head and hung up. Was Barry the lucky bastard or was Jack? They'd probably have different views on that. Barry was seeing so much in a short time, doing shit errands for Blumenthal. Jack was stuck here, put in the hot seat every time something cropped up between America and the Consortium, which seemed like daily. But it did speak volumes about the amount of trust that Blumenthal placed in him, and that gave Jack a lot of hope for his career.

He turned back to his workstation and went back to emails. Even with a growing office of administrative assistants screening them, email was a constant task. They ranged from long letters from senators about diplomatic issues that required equally long and thoughtful replies, to the occasional conspiracy-nut letter that was passed around the office for a laugh.

Jack had shown one to Zeta as a joke. She'd read it thoughtfully and then submitted it to the exobiology office on Saras. Their reply, meant to be reassuring, was anything but. Yes, there was a race of little green men in a distant part of the galaxy; they did have dimensional travel capabilities, but the Consortium was reasonably sure those ships couldn't reach this far and reasonably sure they had given up studying humans a long time ago, at the Consortium's request. But they were a strange race and their logic wasn't always comprehensible. The volume of crazy letters had increased significantly after that reply.

Jack tagged a couple of diplomatic letters that would require some thought. Best to tackle those in the morning. He sent a polite but vague "can't help you" form letter to a couple looking for their runaway daughter. He hoped the girl was up here. Given what he was seeing in the sting, it was safer to be a runaway up here than on the surface. It was possible; the vast majority of their new arrivals were less than twenty-two, and he knew there were many in their late teens. Colorado state law did not consider running away a crime for children over fifteen. The Economics Office was working on programs for youth, but the State Department didn't get involved unless the youth requested it.

He finished his work for the day and sent a brief report to Blumenthal of the major events. He messaged Zeta and asked if she wanted to get supper. She agreed and said she'd be done in a few minutes.

His primary assistant, Sherry, was just finishing up her work as well. Jolene, the front office officer, had just officially closed the office to walk-ins. "Anyone left?" Jack asked.

"Marcus is working late on the legal briefs for the sting," Sherry told him. "But he's cleared to be here alone. Oh, and Haughland is using one of our offices."

Jack nodded. He headed down the hall to see if she needed anything. He paused at her door.

"Information request," she was saying into her monitor. "Any prior contact between Jack and Chandiramani."

He froze and stepped backed out of view. She was putting in an information request about him. And Mistress Mani.

Jack reversed directions and headed for Marcus's office instead. His heart hammered. He hoped he kept the shaking out of his voice. "Hey, Marcus, Representative Haughland is using an office. I'm heading out. You can keep an eye on her? See she doesn't need anything?"

"Sure," Marcus said, not looking up.

He headed for the hall, his head still reeling. Part of him wanted to run to Mistress Mani, but he knew what she would say. "You will not speak of your job to me again." It was private business between him and Mani. His employer had no right to know about it. Information would agree surely. They rarely cooperated with their own diplomats when it came to requests like these, let alone an American one.

But if Haughland found out even a little bit about Jack and his mistress, enough to imply that he had some sort of illicit relationship, then she could get him fired, ruin him. What would he do then?

Before he could think of an answer, he saw Zeta coming down the hall toward him. "I was thinking of take-in, if that's okay. I'm feeling a bit wiped," she said, oblivious to his mood.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, following her down the hall. She turned and gave him an odd look.