Ric Locke - Temporary Duty

“I as well,” Steward put in. “I have a new allegiance.”

“Voluntarily, before witnesses. That’s all it takes,” Hansen observed. “A toast to the new order.” They all sipped, and Hansen went on, “Leaves me with a tough job, though.”

Peters indicated the big Grallt with a wave. “Lemme tell you the secret to bein’ a good boss,” he said in a light tone. “Find somebody twice as smart as you are, hypnotize him, and tell him ‘handle it.’ Then sit back and act modest when the compliments start pourin’ in.”

The others chuckled, even the Secret Service agents suppressing smiles. “I’ll keep that advice in mind, John,” Hansen said. There was a pause during which Steward brought more drinks. “Well, that’s the main thing I came for,” he observed, “but there’s a couple of minor matters.”

“How’s that?” Peters asked.

“First the good news. Donald Peters is in EPA custody in Pittsburgh, and as far as I know healthy. I’ve sent Secret Service agents to look into it. We should have more news by Friday.”

Peters nodded. “Granpap’s been preyin’ on my mind. Thankee kindly for the information, an’ I’ll be waitin’ for more.”

“Soon, I hope.” Hansen sipped his drink. “Now the bad news: I’d intended to return your spacesuit, but that won’t be possible. It’s been rather thoroughly destroyed, along with a good chunk of a hill at Oak Ridge.”

Peters nodded. “I reckon they figured out how to break open the power nodule,” he observed. “I’ll get another. Any survivors?”

“Not of the lab, no. There are dependents, of course.”

“Get us the names an’ we’ll send condolences, at least,” Peters suggested. “That about it?”

Hansen smiled. “I reckon so, as I think you’d say.”

Peters smiled back. “I reckon I would. Stay for dinner?”

“To my vast regret, no. I’ve got a Cabinet meeting in—” he glanced at his watch “—two hours, and I’ll probably eat a sandwich over working papers, with people whining at me.”

“Consider it a standin’ invitation.” Peters held out a hand. “Good luck, Gene.”

They shook. “Good luck to you, John,” Hansen said. “I think we’ll both need a lot of it. George, it’s time to go. Do you need to sweep the hall first?”

“No, the others are out there,” the agent said practically.

“Let’s go.”

Peters, Dzheenis, and Steward watched them leave. “He seems a good man,” Khurs observed from the couch.

“Yes, I think so,” Peters agreed. “Will dinner be soon?”

“Soon enough,” Dzheenis said cheerfully. “And there is a great deal on your plate.”

“Ooh!” Khurs cried out. “Something just happened.”

“Let’s go in the bedroom and find out what,” Steward suggested. “Grallt pregnancies are still a little new to me.” Denis came in from the kitchen with a sandwich in one hand; he raised his eyebrows and followed Khurs and the doctor out of sight.

Peters looked at Ander, still curled up asleep with Eve in her lap, and at Lisi, who was swaddling the now-sleeping baby. Dzheenis hovered, regarding his mate and offspring. “Yes, there’s a great deal on my plate,” the depa’olze of Peters pa’ol thought to himself. “But I’ll make the best meal I can of it.”

At 0343 Jack Steward swaddled the newborn and handed it to its mother. “Male,” he said. “He seems healthy. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” said Khurs, and guided the infant to her breast. “Welcome to the Universe, John,” she said.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events herein portrayed are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2010, 2011 by Warrick M. Locke. All rights reserved.

Cover image copyright © 2011 by Stoaty Weasel, http://sweasel.com/Used by permission.

A slightly different version of this story, with a lot of errors typographic and otherwise, was previously posted at

http://warlocketx.wordpress.com/fiction/temporary-duty/