Rare Isotopes Ch. 01

Frank Howard -- June 16th 2122 -- 16:56

An urgent beeping sound pierced through the silence of the office. A red light flashed on the poker-chip sized projector on the desk. Chief Frank Howard's large body jerked around, slopping his mug of night-black coffee.

"On screen!" he barked at the device.

In an instant, light flicked up, filling the semi-dark room with an eerie, blue-tinted glow. A perfect 3D image of the lobby, thirteen floors below, spread over the desktop. The Chief watched as a young woman pushed through the big glass doors, flicked her long red hair, then marched confidently across the marble floor of the foyer. The sound of her shoes snapped against the Chief's ears. In his peripheral vision, he could see the eyes of almost every male in the vicinity turn towards her. Conversations stopped. A workman fumbled with, then dropped, one of his tools. The woman's expression remained smugly indifferent.

The Chief leaned over his desk to get a better view. His eyes scanned across the young woman's body in a way that made him feel instantly guilty. He knew his wife wouldn't have approved, but he simply couldn't look away. The woman's tight, short-sleeved shirt molded perfectly to her torso: clinging to her slim waist and encasing her high, firm breasts. As she strode forward her short, black skirt bounced from her ass, before giving way to her long, shimmering legs and a pair of 3 inch black heels. Just above her chest, she wore a small name badge - not that the chief needed to read it. He knew exactly who she was and so did his computer.

As she approached the front desk, the middle-aged female receptionist shifted uneasily in her seat. Her expression morphed from professional pleasantness to raw irritation as she saw the length of the younger woman's skirt.

"Can I help you madam?" The receptionist spat with barely disguised disgust.

The question went unacknowledged. The young woman simply turned her back on her and looked directly into the microscopic holo-camera on the ceiling.

"Hi Frank!" she mouthed and waved with one hand.

The Chief gulped and hooked his finger into his neckline to loosen his tie. How the hell did she know where the camera was? How the hell did she know he was watching?

His large fingers fumbled for the correct button on the desk control panel. "Vera," he stuttered, "This is Chief Howard. Let Special Agent Cassandra Astor up please."

Vera grunted from behind her counter. "The Chief wants to see you," she said, pursing her lips between sentences. "You can make your own way up."

Cassandra maintained her gaze towards the camera and a seductive smile grew across her face. Then she blew a kiss.

"Thank you, Sir," she mouthed.

The Chief choked and his dick began to engorge in his pants. He beat his fist against his desk. God dammit, that girl was a pest. If she wasn't so good at her job, he'd have had her sacked long ago.

Cassandra turned towards the receptionist. "Thank you Vera," she said, with sarcasm dripping from her voice, "so kind of you to pass on the message."

As Cassandra entered the elevator, the Chief looked himself over in the wall mirror. His pudgy 53 year old body wobbled as fear and arousal coursed through him. Under his thinning black hair, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He knew full well that this was not how the Chief of Staff at the CIA's espionage division was meant to react to a subordinate. He was meant to be the one with the power. He was meant to be the one who struck fear into those around him. Only his handful of superiors should rightly be allowed to reduce him to this.

He tucked and re-tucked his shirt into the waistband of his belt, then grunted in annoyance when he saw the coffee stain on his tie. He licked one of his fingers and dabbed at the brown patch with his saliva. It only served to surround the brown stain with a newer wet one. Oh to hell with it.

He gruffly pulled out his chair, flicked the holo-projector to display some old unclassified documents and waited for the knock at his door.

It wasn't long before it came.

"Enter," he said, trying to make his voice deep and level. He rested his elbows on the desk and tensed his muscles to quell his shaking.

The handle clunked, the hinges swung open and Cassandra strode into the room, swinging her hips as she traveled.

"Hey, Frank!" she said, as she smiled her knee-weakening smile.

"Good afternoon, Astor," the Chief nodded, forcing himself to look only at her eyes -- her dazzling, light blue eyes.

"Oh don't be an old stick in the mud," Cassandra cooed. "I thought we'd established that you can call me Cassie now."

"That was the office party Astor. This is a formal CIA briefing and I am your superior, respect protocol for once."

"Or what?" she giggled. "What are you going to do to me, Sir? Put me in chains?"

She pulled out at seat without asking and elegantly lowered herself into it. She crossed her long, silken legs in front of her and dangled her stiletto shoe from the end of her toe.

The Chief swallowed. "I could do worse than that Astor."

She cocked her head to one side and bit her lip. "Maybe I'd like it if you tried."

"God dammit Cassie, just stop it." he blurted.

"Stop what?"

The Chief seethed through clenched teeth. He looked over at the picture of his wife, then out of the window, attempting to calm his breath. He gazed out across the North American astropolis. Endless rows of skyscrapers extended to the horizon, all dwarfed by the gigantic transparent dome that protected the station from the vacuum of space. Beyond the hard transparent membrane, he could see the moon to his left... and the nuclear-charred surface of the planet Earth to his right. He reminded himself of where his priorities lay.

"Stop playing your games Astor. Save them for the Russians or the Chinese. I've got a new assignment for you, and this one comes right from the Director."

*

Cassandra Astor - June 16th 2122 -- 17:01

Cassandra smiled as the Chief's eyes returned to her, flicking quickly between her chest, her legs and her face.

She lounged back in her seat, closed her eyes and took in a deep breath through her nose: inhaling the complex bouquet of chemo-signals that radiated from the Chief's heavily perspiring body. She could smell fear, yes definitely fear: he was probably fearing for his job and his marriage. Arousal, oh yes, I fuck-ton of that: the heavy scents of testosterone metabolites were practically dripping from the end of his dick. Anger: there was more than a fair hint of that too. And a zinc deficiency. He really needed to get that sorted.

"What's the mission Frank?" she said, opening her eyes. She internally amused herself at the spike of annoyance that leapt from his sweat every time she used his first name.

The Chief took a deep breath.

"Do you know anything about super-soldiers, Astor?"

"I've heard rumors."

"Well I'm about to tell you the truth, at least the truth as far as we know."

Cassandra nodded, adopting a more formal position in her seat and removing the most obvious sexual overtones from her body language. The Chief sounded serious. It was always best to listen when the Chief sounded serious, even if it was deliciously fun to toy with him.

"As you probably know, the Russians have been experimenting with genetic engineering for some time: genetic engineering of humans. They've also been experimenting with cybernetics and nanotechnology."

"So? What's new? Everyone's doing that."

The Chief sighed.

"The issue is not that the concept is new. The issue is that it appears they have perfected the technology to the point where our military is getting pretty worried. The intel we have suggests these super-soldiers can run as fast as cheaters, bend hardened steel bars with their bare hands, and regenerate themselves after suffering near fatal wounds."

"So?" Cassandra asked. "We've got drones that can travel half the speed of light, androids that can crush rocks in their bare hands. What's the problem with some unusually-strong human, they still wouldn't last five seconds on a battlefield?"

"No, not on a conventional battlefield," The Chief agreed. "Drones are faster and better armed. Androids are stronger, but there are ways that human have advantages.

"We don't let foreign drones into our territory. Sure if we're in an out-and-out war, they could attack, but we're not at war, at least not right now. Same goes for androids. We only allow US built ones on our streets. But humans... we let thousands in and out every day, including ones with augment chips. With these soldiers someone could build an army in our midst without us even noticing."

"Also we think the Russians have managed one thing we haven't. These soldiers can withstand high g-forces. Super-high g-forces. If it's enough, maybe they could withstand an acceleration to jump drive."

"Again, so what? We've sent out probes? What can a human do that an android can't?"

The chief sighed.

"According to international law, only human presence can claim a planet or territory on a planet... or an asteroid. An android can't, a drone can't, but a human, even an augmented human, can."

Cassandra took a moment to reflect on the consequences. "So you're saying that the Russians could potentially infiltrate us with these soldiers and/or claim worlds that are light-years away before we get the chance."

"Yes. Worlds, moons... asteroids."

"So where do I come in?"

"We've received intel, pretty shaky intel unfortunately, that one of the super soldiers is already on his way here. We need someone to get close to him. Find out whether he's really got some of these powers and if so, lure him into a situation where our tech guys can get a look at him."

Cassandra felt herself beginning to smile.

"If he's got a pulse, I can deal with him."

"That's what I'd hoped. Let's just pray they didn't make him gay."

*

Zachary Daniels -- June 16th 2122 -- 17:10

On the other side of town, sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows of the El Pedro bar. Special Agent Zachary Daniels sat on a high stool at the counter, nursing a neat Scotch whisky. The elbows of his muscular arms pressed heavily against the polished metal surface.

Cassandra was late. She had a habit of being late for social engagements. It was one of the things that had always irritated him about her, but one of those things he'd always let pass. It was very easy to give Cassandra free passes.

He looked at the wall clock, then slowly raised the glass to his lips. Five more minutes, that's all he would give her. It didn't suit his self-image to spend hours waiting around for one of his exes, especially one as infuriating as her.

He sighed as an image entered his head from seven years earlier: around the time when the they'd just met. She was just twenty one, working as a orbital sniper, picking off renegade South American units trying to infiltrate the devastated remains of the Southern United States. She was a good sniper. An excellent one in fact. When he'd first met her, she had the third best kill per shot ratio of in the entire sniper corps. But he could see she had an even greater talent.

As the CIA attaché to Cassandra's army group he'd supplied intel about impending insurgent attacks. He'd also meant to be on the look out for potential recruits. He couldn't help but witness the way that Cassandra had a certain hold over her commanding officers. Part of that hold was obvious: she was uncommonly beautiful. Even in her army fatigues it was difficult to be in her presence for long without becoming distracted. But it wasn't just her looks, it was the fact that she knew how to use them -- and with an intellect as keen as hers, she knew how to use them to devastating effect.

Even with all his contacts, databases and surveillance taps, he'd never worked out how, five weeks after he'd been assigned to the snipers, Cassandra had managed to get her hands on the newest prototype rifle a full 9 months before it entered regular army service. Or how she'd gotten away with keeping it. Or how she'd had it precision bored by the Samuelson Industries, the nations premier weapon personalisation specialists. That was a service used by billionaire game hunters, not low ranking army recruits. But however she had got it, it had propelled her from number three in the sniper rankings to the number one.

It wasn't long before Zac had taken the young recruit to one side and asked her about her ambitions.

*

Zachary Daniels - May 23th 2118 -- 14:30 (roughly 4 years before present day)

"Miss Astor, can I have a word?" Zac called out, as the snipers bustled out of the briefing room.

On hearing Zac's voice, Cassandra looked over her shoulder and smiled. The light caught her face. "What's in it for me?"

"A proposition."

"Ooh, I was wondering when you'd ask, Zac."

Zac sighed, but he couldn't stop his eyes from flicking up and down her gorgeous body. Her tight, dark-green vest top hugged her waist. And, even under her baggy camouflage pants, he could clearly make out the pert globes of her ass.

She turned, giving him a view of her delicious, round breasts and sauntered towards him.

"Take a seat Miss Astor."

"I'd prefer to stand," she said, crossing her arms under her chest.

Zac sighed again. He wasn't an army man. He wasn't technically in the command structure. But his secondment was supposed to bring him all the privileges and respect of a major. He put his hands on his hips, but rather than make an issue of Cassandra's tacit insubordination he decided to get to the point.

"Have you thought about what you want for your future, Miss Astor?" he said.

"Yes." she'd said. "But I know full well you want for my future."

Zac laughed. "You know my job, that isn't hard to work out."

"I was talking about the other thing," she said, with a wink and stared at his crotch.

Zac's heart started beating faster. "Miss Astor, I was talking professionally."

"That's why you were sent, not what you were hoping for," she grinned.

Zac could feel his face reddening. "Miss Astor, let's stick to the professional interpretation."

"Yes let's, otherwise things could get all kinds of dirty and twisted." Salaciousness dripped from her voice. She stared at him with the most teasing of grins. He couldn't help but feel his cock begin to stir.

"Miss Astor, let me be clear, I'm asking if you're interested in working for the CIA."

"Yeah, obviously, but doing what?"

"Being a field agent. Infiltrating the bad guys' networks at home and abroad.

Making sure we get the information we need. I know you'd be good at it."

"Yeah, I would. But would you be sending me on the augment program?"

Zac inhaled deeply. "Miss Astor, how do you know about the augment program?"

"I know a lot of things, Zac."

"Evidently."

"So is that a yes or no on the augment?"

"I can have words."

"Make it happen and I'll agree to your little offer."

"It's a decision above my pay station."

"I'm sure your bosses would agree if you provided me with an introduction."

Zac coughed. "No Miss Astor. No, I will ask myself. But... hypothetically... if they did say yes, what kind of augment would you be after?"

"Smell. Enhanced smell."

"Really? Why?"

"Oh, there's a lot you can tell about someone through there smell. Where someone has been. What someone has eaten. Whether someone is ill. Whether someone is scared. Whether someone is aroused... Not that I can't tell those last two already... but I just want a little more."

"I'll have words, Astor."

"Good boy." she grinned.

Zac grunted in indignation. He'd been at the agency for too long to be patronized by 20 year old second lieutenant . "Do not call me 'boy' Miss Astor."

"I'll call you what I like."

"Not if you join the CIA you won't."

"Want a bet?" she said, her eyes sparkling.

Zac chose to ignore the question.

"Miss Astor, this meeting is over. I'll speak to my superiors and you'll hear from me soon." He said, turning and began to walk towards the door, trying to hide the uncomfortable bulge growing in his pants.

"Zac..." Cassandra called after him, "about that other thing you were dying to ask me..."

Zac turned, their eyes met. His dick twitched.

Cassandra pouted her lips. "The answer is yes."

*

Frank Howard -- June 16th 2122 -- 05:07

"Caitlyn, you've gotta see this!" James Fitzgerald called out in an usually shrill tone, his voice ricocheting around the lab.

Caitlyn sighed, rubbed her eyes and turned towards him. "What is it now, James?"

James was disheveled. He'd been reviewing freshly decrypted data all night. As had Caitlyn.

"Look at the screen, just look at it," he insisted.

Caitlyn took a deep breath, pushed herself away from her console -- and sent herself rolling across the floor on her little wheeled chair. She clumsily bumped into James and looked at his screen. It was the section D data -- the chemical analysis from the X329 probe.

"There!" he said, jabbing his thin finger towards one small data point in a sea full of numbers.

"You've gotta give me the context, James."

"Look, it's 3.0160293."

"I know James, but I don't know what column that figure is appearing in! Give me the context!"

"It's isotope mass!" he squealed. "It's fucking isotope mass!"

The expression on Caitlyn's face dropped. Her eyes scanned over the figure. The decimal point was in the right place. It was in a column of numbers that all looked exactly like mass numbers. He had to be right.

"How much is there?" she stammered.

"Approximately 340,000 tonnes."

"Holy Shit," she said, her heart beating quickly in her chest. "You better check that, then double check that."

*

Zachary Daniels -- August 14th 2118 -- 23:24

It was night. As Zac walked home, he looked up at the sky and saw the dark outline of Earth. Dim lights radiated from the remaining cities on the surface. If he squinted he could just about identify them. There was Mumbai, there was Chennai, there was Dehli. As he watched, the lights of Dehli flickered, then failed. He took a deep breath. India had escaped the worst of the blasts, but it has still taken its toll. And India couldn't afford an astropolis -- certainly not one large enough for the 750 million left there after the war.

Zac waved his wrist-chip across his front door. The electro-magnetic lock clicked open and he walked inside the small flat that he and Cassandra had shared for the last three months. He was meant to be working a night shift in the control room, but he'd forgotten his data fob. He had no choice but to return home to get it.

The lights were off, but all of Cassie's shoes were by the door. He presumed she must have gone to bed already: she'd been doing some really long shifts combining her CIA training with her continued work as a sniper. Zac was sure that Cassie could have weaseled out of the sniper job if she had wanted, but he sensed her ego was forcing her to prove she could do both.

As he carefully tiptoed along the hallway towards the bedroom, he heard a sound coming from the living room. It was faint, but sounded like skin impacting on skin. There was a dim, flickering light emanating from under the door.

He took a deep breath and lowered the handle. The sight that met him was not one that he would have expected. Cassie lay slumped against the dining table. Her red hair cascaded down the beautiful, smooth skin of her naked back. A holo-movie played out in front of her.

Zac moved closer. Cassie was entirely naked. He could see the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing. It looked like she was sleeping. Maybe she really had exhausted herself.

He jumped slightly as a a female voice whimpered from the speakers. "Fuck me, Master."

Zac moved closer and laid his gaze across the movie. He swallowed as he saw a young woman on screen, her body naked, her hands cuffed behind her back and her ass glowing painfully red.