Serialize This – Chapter 3
In which the Author triples down
I recently discovered that publishers of serial novels like to get their victims on mailing lists before explaining the proposition. I’m on too many mailing lists. It’s ‘unsubscribe’ here, ‘Stop’ there, ‘Block’ over yonder.
But, I did allow myself to get suckered enough times to assemble a custom plan, just for my Internet friends, but I’ll need your email address before I can tell you about it.
Nah. I'm kidding. There's no plan. Tell me what you want, and I'll see what I can do.
Chapter 3
The White House, Washington DC
It was another sunny day at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue where, at 8:00 AM sharp, Colonel Theodore Clarke, USAF retired, appeared on the President’s Patio outside the Oval Office.
She let him in through a side door. “You could come in the front, you know. Maybe check in with Captain Price.”
“Tune into the Anuraga Channel.” Clarke gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Bharamin’s in orbit.”
Carmen spoke to her phone’s Oma. A virtual display popped into augmented reality. In a studio setting, upon a special-effects backdrop, a camera circumnavigated the Anye migration vessel Bharamin to reveal Earth shining in the near distance.
In the foreground, Anuraga Media founders Tim and Myra Fowlkes sat in slingback chairs, narrating.
Tim said, “During the past half hour, space tugs extracted the historic Anye airborne estate Ruksa Zila from AMV Bharamin’s cargo hold, wrapped in an N-Space compression cage. This will be a big show, folks. Stay tuned.”
Carmen took a seat at her desk. “Earth Watch issued a yellow alert.”
“Of course, they did.” Clarke browsed a snack tray. “Is that what you’re wound up about?”
She let out a sigh. “Brandon and I had a romantic moment.”
He gave thumbs up. “Good for you.”
“I guess.” Carmen fidgeted. “We’re invited to board Ruksa Zila, if it doesn’t crash. It’ll be our first actual date.”
“I’d better read my emails.” Clarke moved fingers in the air. “Or maybe you know. Am I invited? Where’s Brandon?”
“Running errands. He did not say if anyone else is invited.”
Clarke spoke to his phone’s Oma. “Message to Glenn Mehrenholz. Hey, Glenn. Can Lorrie and I come up with Brandon and Carmen after you get the estate flying? Let me know. Thanks. End message. Send.”
“When you have a minute, I’m wigged out.”
“We’ll talk.” He held up a hand. “Hey, baby. Are you watching the show? Wild, right? You want to go to the launch party?”
He listened, then said, “Carmen’s wearing a polka-dot pleated skirt, dark background. Bronze satin blouse. Listen up. Brandon’s her escort. We’re double dating.”
Carmen covered her eyes. “Oh, Jesus.”
He waved to get her attention. “Lorretta says we’re going to look like a couple of world champion soccer players out on the town with our movie star wives.”
“You’re too tall to be a soccer player.”
“Am not.” He looked away. “Naw, I was talking to Carmen. I’d say plan on it. If it falls through, maybe the four of us will go to Rome. Sweet. Love you too. Bye.”
Carmen moved to a wingback recliner on the other side of her desk. “Ted; tell me something wise.”
“About you and Brandon? You want me to read your fortune?”
“I don’t know what I want.” She groaned into her chair. “I was up all night, worrying about everything.”
“Like what?”
“He’s 15 years younger than me.”
“You’re 15 years younger than you.”
“It could ruin our friendship.”
“We could all die tomorrow.”
She made a face. “I should put on the brakes.”
Clarke poured himself a cup of coffee. “Step on the gas.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“Giving you the straight poop here, Madame President.” He sat next to her. “That’s what you pay me for, isn’t it?”
“I don’t expect you to be impartial.”
“I want what’s best for you.” Clarke blew across his coffee cup. “What’s the problem?”
“Me. I’m the problem.” Carmen levered the recliner’s footrest out from its hiding place. “Relationships are obligations.”
“Relationships are transactional.” He raised eyebrows at her. “Take inventory. What does Brandon have to offer?”
She kicked off shoes. “I don’t think that way.”
“You two got any chemistry going on?”
“Yes.” She scooted down in the chair.
“Maybe you’d better catch up on your sleep.”
“I’m fine. I’ll drink coffee.”
They watched in silence while a space tug towed an immense black sphere out of Bharamin’s cargo hold.
Carmen’s eyes fluttered. Colonel Clarke draped a crocheted shawl across her lap. She began to snore.