Quadrant: Pacific
Time.
Sector: 45.
Civilian Center:
451.
District:
Residential.
1430 hours.
On the tenth day
of his Extended Consensual Absence, Captain Gunnar Rourke lay upon his retractable
Supra-Somnus Rest E-Z bed, listening to Eos recite “The Rime of the Ancient
Mariner” while Vesta—he and Daphne’s DomIcile Systems X-series
MechAttendant—massaged his lower back. The albatross had just appeared through
the fog in the epic poem as Vesta’s mechanical fingers hit the sweet spot in Gunnar’s
lumbar region.
Ahhh … a man could
get used to this! A life of PRO-T-EN luxury!
Thus far, it had
been an excellent day. Gunnar had awoken at 0600 hours as usual, completed a regulation
Asset Protection Savant workout, then eaten a hearty breakfast prepared by
Vesta. Then he and Daphne had taken a PRO-T-EN transport to the Commercial
District, where, at long last, they’d been able to finalize Daphne’s pregnancy.
As Gunnar paced the waiting room, the Reproductive Services Savants had
extracted Daphne’s LyfeGarde Pro Intrauterine Device and implanted the best of
the crop of her in vitro fertilized eggs. From there, they’d parted ways;
Gunnar heading back home for a much-needed massage, and Daphne heading to her
favorite PRO-T-EN salon.
Tonight, Gunnar’s
parents and grandparents would be arriving for dinner, and he couldn’t wait. He
hadn’t seen any of them—except by holo-cast—for several months.
“I am sorry,” Eos
said, mid-verse, “but I must interrupt this recital to inform you of an
incoming holo-cast. Sender, Major Trenton Warwick, Strategic Executive, Asset
Protection.”
Gunnar’s eyes
snapped open.
Farc!
“Thank you.
Standby to accept.”
“Of course,
Captain Rourke.”
Gunnar rolled over
and sat up. “Vesta, please hand me a towel.”
“Yes, Captain
Rourke,” Vesta replied in its mechanical voice, much less nuanced than Eos’s.
Vesta then turned as a panel slid open and a DomIcile
Systems Invisi-Rack shelf set emerged from within the wall. Vesta grabbed a
dark crimson towel with a PRO-T-EN T embossed in gold on each corner and a
Velcro strip along its edge, and handed it over.
“Thank you.”
Gunnar stood,
fastened the towel around his waist, and ran his hands over his black crewcut hair. A panel slid open in the wall before him, revealing the HoloCaster’s
dark, lidless eye.
“Accept
transmission, Eos.”
“Transmission
accepted.”
The HoloCaster’s
eye began to glow blue, then the conical beam burst forth. When the particles
settled, the image of Major Trenton Warwick, clad in his gray camouflage FlexForm
commander fatigues, stood before Gunnar. Looking grim, Trenton saluted.
“Captain Rourke,
as I live and breathe…”
“Good afternoon,
Major Warwick,” Gunnar replied, saluting back.
“At ease, Rourke.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Gunnar sat upon his bed, folded his hands upon his lap.
“Enjoying your
E.C.A.?”
“Yes, sir. Very
much so.”
Trenton nodded
with an air of regret. “I figured as much. Unfortunately, per Admin’s orders, I
have to enact Crisis Recall; meaning … your remaining E.C.A. is being
temporarily rescinded.”
Farc.
“Very well, sir.”
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