Golden Fleece

“Good afternoon,” said Koenig, voice as smooth as a high-end synthesizer chip’s. “Today’s top story: death rocks the Starcology.” Aaron sat up so fast that my cameras, which had been zoomed in tight on his eyes, ended up staring into the middle of his chest. He failed to notice the slight whirring as I tilted the lenses up to lock on his pupils again. “Also on today’s program: preparations for Thursday’s one-quarter-mark celebration, a look at the controversial Proposition Three, and a behind-the-scenes peek at the Epidaurus Theater Group’s production of that old chestnut, Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins.”

Aaron looked stoic while a picture of Diana, blonde hair tied in an asymmetrical ponytail off the left side of her head, appeared behind Koenig. Beneath it floated her name, and, in brackets, the dates 2149-2177. “At 0444 hours yesterday morning, the landing craft Orpheus was appropriated by Dr. Diana Chandler, twenty-seven, an astrophysicist from Toronto, Canada. Dr. Chandler, apparently disconsolate over the failure of her husband, Aaron Rossman, also twenty-seven, also of Toronto, to renew their recently expired two-year marriage contract, presumably committed suicide. Mr. Rossman is the Starcology’s dockmaster.”

“Jesus—,” said Aaron. I widened my field of vision. Kirsten’s mouth was agape.

Koenig continued: “Reporter Terashita Ideko spoke with Chief Engineer I-Shin Chang about the tragedy. Terry?”

The view on screen changed from the close-up of Koenig’s pockmarked visage to a two-shot of Ideko and Chang, a line of text at the bottom of the display identifying them. Chang was at least twice the size of the Japanese reporter. Ideko only came up to the point at which Chang’s lower set of arms joined his barrel-shaped torso.

“Thank you, Klaus,” said Ideko. “Mr. Chang, you were on hand when the Orpheus was brought back aboard the Starcology. Can you tell us what happened?”

Ideko wasn’t using a handheld mike. Rather, he and Chang simply stood across from one of my camera pairs, using its audio and video pickups to record the scene. Chang proceeded to describe, in great technical detail, the recovery of the runaway lander.

“I don’t believe this,” said Aaron, mostly under his breath. “I don’t fucking believe this at all.”

“You can’t blame them,” said Kirsten. “It’s their job to report the news.”

“I can too blame them. And I do. All right, I suppose they had to report Diana’s death. But the suicide. That stuff about my marriage. That’s nobody’s business.”

“Gorlov did warn you that they’d be doing a story.”

“Not like this. Not a bloody invasion of my privacy.” He took his arm from around her shoulders, leaned forward. “JASON,” he snapped.

“Yes?” I said.

“Is this newscast being recorded?”

“Of course.”

“I want a copy of it downloaded to my personal storage area as soon as it’s over.”

“Will do.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Kirsten.

“I don’t know yet. But I’m not going to take this lying down. Dammit, this kind of reporting is wrong. It hurts people.”

Kirsten shook her head. “Just let it blow over. Making a stink about it will only make matters worse. People will forget about it soon enough.”

“Will they? No one has ever died on board. And it’s not likely to happen again, is it? This is going to stick in everyone’s minds for years to come. Every time someone looks at me, they’re going to think there goes the heartless bastard who drove poor Diana to suicide. Jesus Christ, Kirsten. How am I supposed to live with that?”

“People won’t think that.”

“The hell they won’t.”

On screen, Klaus Koenig’s pitted face had reappeared. “In other news today, groups both for and against the divisive Proposition three are—”

“Off!” snapped Aaron, and I deactivated the monitor. He got up, hands thrust deeply into his pockets, and began to pace the room again. “God, that makes me angry.”

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” said Kirsten. “People won’t pay any attention.”

“Oh, right. Eighty-four percent of the crew watches that newscast. Koenig would have killed for a share that big back in Armpit, Nebraska, or wherever the fuck he’s from. Jesus, I should knock his teeth in.”

“I’m sure it will all blow over.”

“Dammit, Kirsten, you know that’s not true. You can’t make the world all right with your little lies. You can’t mold reality just by saying it’s all going to be okay.” His eyes locked on hers. “I hate it when you tell me what you think I want to hear.”

Kirsten’s spine went rigid. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. You’re always telling people what you think is good for them. You’re forever trying to shield them from reality. Well, I’ve got news for you. I’d rather face reality than live in a fantasy world.”

“Sometimes people need to take things one step at a time. That’s not necessarily living in a fantasy world.”