Justin Gogas as Sullivan Gull

When the comm. buzzed, Sullivan eyed it with a mix of curiosity and wariness. It had a Priority Three tag – that meant it was either from the government, the military or someone with connections to both. And it wasn’t for him, either – it was for Lincoln. Sullivan Gull smirked and wondered just how pissed Lincoln would be if he sent it back to his quarters. But, he reasoned, it’d be a bad idea to do that before clearing the caller. So, knocking off the detritus of trash that littered the huge freighter-rig’s control board, he flicked the switch to patch the comm. in.

“You’ve reached the Gina-Lee and this is Sullivan Gull speaking. How’re you doing this fine morning and what can I do for you?” He leaned back in the chair at the ops station, putting his feet up and glancing out the window at the expanse of space while he waited for the reply.

“Good morning, Mr. Gull. I’m doing well and I’m looking for Coproral Harlan Lincoln.” The man’s voice was carefully articulated. Didn’t sound navy. Sounded suit.

“Ohhh, I’m sorry,” Gull replied, sucking in a wincing breath through his teeth, “the good Corporal isn’t available. He’s out cold after one too many buckhops and I know better than to try and wake him up after a night like last night. Lemme get your name and I’ll have him try and reach you once he’s up and alive again.”

There was barely a pause. “My name is Cary Tyler. I’m the CCO of Isely.”

Sullivan’s boots thumped down onto the floor as he pitched forward and almost lost his balance in the chair. He leaned forward, peering at the comm. speaker. “You’re…the CCO of -…”

“Isley Corporation, who I believe made the lovely and sound Gina-Lee, Mr. Gull.” The tone wasn’t smug, just stolid. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind patching me through to Corporal Lincoln…”

“Yeah,” muttered Sullivan absently as she reached for the panel buttons. “Yeah, sure.”

And patch him through he did. This time, he let the comm.. keep buzzing back in Harlan’s quarters.

~*~

“Are you kidding me?!” Sullivan choked on his burrito, spat it onto his plate and wiped crazily at his mouth. “There is no way I’m going to the ass-end of the galaxy!”

Lincoln dropped down into a seat across from Gull. “I need you, Gully. There’s not another mechanic I trust, and you’re the best purser around. You can get that ship supplied and battened down faster than a squadron of quartermasters could. You know the Georgian-class ships – hell, you helped build six of them.”

“I don’t trust the military and I sure as Hell don’t trust Isely,” Sullivan groused, eyeing the chewed hunk of burrito with brief mourning even as he debated having a second go at it. “You can’t tell me they’re plucking you back out of obscurity for some routine survey. Something’s not right, buddy.”

“Maybe. But I also know that Isely covers its bases; that’s what got them where they are today. They never underestimate anything. If this anomaly turns out to be significant, they have to be able to say they had the tops in every field present when it was first surveyed. They’re smart, Gull.” Lincoln looked at him meaningfully. “Smart enough to make sure it’s worth your while.”

This should’ve bagged Gull, right then and there…so it surprised Lincoln when Sullivan shook his head again. “No. Sorry. I can’t do it, Lincoln. Not even for you, and you’re the best pilot I’ve ever known.”

Lincoln blinked. “Why, though? Paranoia is one thing, but we’re talking about getting you set up for the next ten, twenty years, here. Come on.”

Sullivan dropped his gaze. “Look. I don’t have…a good past. At least, not a clean one. The last thing I need is to sign on with Isely and have the military involved with my work.”

“Oh.” What else could Lincoln say?

Sullivan nodded, and though he didn’t elucidate, his mind was wandering back to being young and homeless on Neville, living on the outskirts of the Carolina colony…and of taking full advantage when the skirmishes hit. He had looted, mugged, went crazy as chaos reigned, saw his friends sabotage the ground troops and steal weapons and hurt people – not because they were the enemy, but because they were thieves and wanted the fighting to continue so they could keep looting and stealing. He remembered seeing one of his buddies set off a charge near a base camp so they could run in and grab ammunitions and rations while the soldiers were scrambling to recover. He remembered a medic who had died from the charge going off because she had seen his buddy setting it and thought he was a civilian trying to dismantle the bomb on his own. She ran to try and drag him away before it went off. His buddy ended up with a piece of shrapnel in his ear from a canteen. She took the rest of the pieces in the throat and chest. After that, the raids didn’t seem as much fun anymore.

When the skirmish was drawing to an end and he knew the military would soon have the leisure to focus on him and his gang, he stole a transport to get him to Earth and set up a new identity, a new life. Time went by and he grew up fast in four years. He learned shame. He learned remorse. He knew his mistakes and he regretted them, but dragging them out into the light wasn’t going to do him or anyone any good.

“Gully, if you do this, Isely can set you up anywhere. You don’t have to be a grease-monkey on a freighter any more. You can go to work in their factories and labs. I know you’re a better mechanic than you pretend to be. Don’t you want a fresh start?” Lincoln’s words were solemn. “I need you on this.”

Sullivan looked up, his jaw set. “Okay,” he replied. “Okay. We’ll both go to Port Alhambra.”

What a lovely breakthrough. I must keep this going, Lorraine thought as she sat back in her chair. The end of the hour was drawing near. Four minutes left. She had to hurry.

"I don't know. Authority is bullshit. Military brass are full of it. Even the captain can't escape it. You know...Hazard will pound his chest and preach about marines being bands of brothers and never leaving each other behind, but they'd sacrifice each other in a heartbeat to accomplish whatever irreverent mission they've been handed by corporate homofags. How is that family?"

Her excitement was almost impossible to contain. He's pausing a lot and stuttering. He's expressing real feelings again. This hasn't happened since we got through about Amy, and even that took weeks. "Is that why you've given Avery such a hard time about your leg?"

"Hah... I've forgiven and forgotten about that." Sullivan pauses and raises an eyebrow. "...mostly." Lorraine smiled and raised a matching eyebrow.

"But that was the classic example of it all, though. After the colonial skirmishes, I got this view of camaraderie in space. It is kind of like the early space explorers had in the 20th century. Back then, they wouldn't do anything unless they were certain every astronaut could return home safely. Someone's in danger? Abort the whole fucking thing. Hundreds of millions of dollars down the toilet if even one person's life could be saved when danger struck. Call me crazy, but that's the kind of camaraderie that I'd like to be a part of. Not this superficial BS that the military spouts once they got involved in space travel. That's the kind of brotherhood we didn't have during the skirmishes, and it was hell."

"And what if you were in charge? what would you do for your fellow crew?"

There was a long pause as Gull's brow furrowed deeply.

"...We'll find a way - together. I'll disobey an order to save my friends. I'll stop someone else from obeying an order if I have to." Sullivan leaned back and took a deep breath, relaxing for a moment while the next words came to him.

"I drift and travel between ships all the time. A cargo run on the Gina Lee changes crews almost every trip. The gays on the Valdosta are the closest thing to a family I have. I take it seriously. The GAF or goddamn Tovar puts us in a position where we might not all come back alive?"

The contempt was writhing out of Gull's face. "Fuck 'em. They can take their mission and choke on it."

Lorraine saw that the clock above Sullivan's chair read two minutes over. She let out an irritated sigh. "Our time is up. I would like it if you thought about this more and told me about what you came up with for next time."

"Sure, sure." Sullivan stood up and then bent down, hoisting the large box with a 20th century lawnmower printed on the side up onto his shoulder.

"You never did bring up what was in that box," she said.

"Oh, just a little something I found in an antique store for some friends. They better like it - I traded a core router for it. I'll tell you all about it next time." Sullivan turned, opened the door, and began stepping through it.

"And don't forget to put up your degrees from GIE on the ship," she said. "No one knows how smart you are or how hard you've worked because you don't let them know."

"Yeah yeah, I'll be sure to do that..." Sullivan struggled getting the door closed with the cumbersome box getting in the way, but finally shut the door to Dr. Patterson's office.

Halfway down the hall, he heard one last muffled cry. "And stop hitting on my mom!"

(Gogas, that was amazing!! You NEED to write more. I had no idea you were that talented a writer!)

You most definitly need to write more. ::nodnodnodnod::

I support the general sentiment. Write more. Would love to get more into Gull's head.

"Am I the first one here?"

"No one else has arrived yet," she said with a smile. She pushed a button on the view screen desk and leaned closer. "Mr. Gull is here to see you, Mr. Demine."

"Fantastic! Send him in, please. I'll be out in just a minute." Behind the secretary's desk, the silver double doors to the office parted in opposite directions.

"Thank you, sweetheart." Sullivan thought he heard a slight creak as the doors closed behind him, and his mind began to reel with which actuator with the most power for the least cost could return it to fine working condition. That, or some WD-40000 sprayed in the right place.

The interior of the office was much more mundane than Sullivan had anticipated. It definitely was not the inner sanctum of chains and whores he imagined someone as rich and powerful as Tovar having. Practical decorations and mostly practical furnishings, save for a ridiculously large circular conference table in the center of the office. Arthur and an army of knights would have trouble filling its seats. Sullivan took a chair opposite Tovar's desk, eyeing a small black box a few seats away.

Muttering could be heard from a bathroom at the far end of the office followed by the flush of a toilet. The bathroom door was wide open and the restless man came through, rubbing his face off in a towel.

"Ah, Mr. Gull! Pardon me for taking up so much of your time for such an insignificant task."

"It is totally fine, Tovar. I have a few spare days before my next freighter ships out. I think we're going to visit the captain in Misery before then."

Tovar shook his head. "That wretched place. I tried to pull some strings in the GAF but they would not be having it. Whatever 'doctor' signed off on her imprisonment has more clout than I was able to override."

Sullivan shrugged. "We'll get her out soon enough...Where's everyone else?"

"Ahhhh..." he mumbled, as he shook his head. "There will be no one else to join us. I have something small that is just for you. It is very small, and pardon all the secrecy."

"Oh...kay. Whatcha got?" said Sullivan. Tovar pointed to the box to Gull's side. Tovar walked to Sullivan's side as the lid was lifted. Gull was perplexed by the contents of the box. "Where am I supposed to put this?"

"Wherever you think it would be best. You may modify the contents as you see fit, but the basic mechanism should remain intact."

Gull face furrowed in confusion. "Ahhh....I don't see why this should be a big secret. Shouldn't the captain know about-"

Tovar interrupted, "I just do not wish anyone else to know out of fear if they are captured just like my dear Avery. If you need to use it, it is there. If not, well, better safe than sorry, as they say."

Gull shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, anything you say. I'm assuming someone will have the key to this thing when the time comes?"

Tovar picked up the box and handed it to Sullivan. "Little details," he said, as his arm turned Gull's body and began to motion him towards the door. "Everything will fit when the time comes, if the time comes. You'll do the right thing, I trust."

(This takes place before the crew's successes were first made public.)


A wrench slammed down on the bar top with a startling thud. "Sully, you rat bastard."

It took enormous effort even raise his drunken head to see Sean McLeary's face. "Ah di-unt know dey let fake Irishmen in dis baar," he said, further slurring an already slurred fake accent. "Bartender! A round of whiskey for the second best level seven mechanic in the galaxy here. He's an hour late, but we'll forgive him." The bartender reached for two more glasses.

"Ahh, no thanks, I won't be staying. I just came to drop this off." Sean waved off the bartender.

Sullivan tried hard to focus on the wrench. It took a few seconds before the image became clear. It didn't look familiar. "Oh shit man, I've been waiting for this!"

"It's the latest model. Still experimental. More torque accuracy than you could ever get before. Should be going to market next year."

"Not like it will do much good." His judgment was impaired, but Gull knew well enough to keep everything he's seen under wraps. "The things I've seen... Everything we've been taught, it's all wrong. I mean, it works, but the rules can be broken. Physics, electricity... The rules are just arbitrary." He took another shot back. "It's depressing. How would you feel if you knew that everything you learned...ah, never mind."

Sean sputtered and scoffed as he gathered his things to leave. "You've been on that Georgian class for far too long. Get back on the Gina-Lee for a while to clear your head. Or even better, take a goddamned vacation." Sullivan laughed.

Sean stood up from his stool. "You know, the old crew would love to see you again. Well, Malcom got arrested, but most of everyone else is there. We still have some fun with the occasional cargo vessel that goes adrift."

Sullivan shook his head. "No thanks. I told you, I'm done with that. It wasn't worth it."

"To each their own," he shrugged. "Stay frosty. Enjoy the wrench, and try not to go nuts," said Sean as he left the bar.

"Heh...If only I was nuts," Gull said as he swirled the last bit of whiskey in his glass. "That would at least make sense."