Disaster On Station 12 Ch 5

A few days later it was all over the news...

Negligence In Station 12 Disaster, Says Whistleblower

Peuters

Force fields designed to protect the outer hull of the space station from even microscopic impacts, such as the one that destroyed it, were in serious disrepair, according to a witness who testified in federal court today. A former maintenance mechanic on the doomed space station, the witness told a story of budget hoarding and a pattern of shoddy maintenance on the orders of station administrators, including the Station Superintendent, who was killed in the accident. 417 people in all were killed; there was only one survivor in the incident.

The allegations made by the whistleblower caused a stir because only two days prior Space Components, Inc., which owned the space manufacturing, office, and community facility filed suit against Lorraine Anderson, the sole survivor of the accident thanks to a groundbreaking brain transplant into a cloned body, claiming that her diamond ring had attracted the miniature asteroid which ultimately became embedded in it. SCI attorneys alleged, in documents filed previously, that forensic examination of the stone showed that the microscopic fragment which pierced the station's hull, causing it to collapse under pressure, had become embedded in the very center of the diamond.

According to the documents, forensic investigators hired by SCI to investigate the incident were confident that this was impossible unless at the moment of the impact the ring were somehow attracting the miniature meteorite. No theory on just what force was in action was offered. Diamonds have never been shown to be attractive to meteorites, according to geologist David Sanborne, in response to Peuters inquiries.

SCI attorneys did not return calls placed by Peuters reporters today. SCI's CEO was, according to his secretary, "looking into the matter".

Thomas Jorgenson, an attorney representing the Anderson family, offered this statement by phone from his office. "Space Components is trying to shift the blame from a corporate system that encouraged cutting corners and which looked the other way on safety infractions if a financial incentive was involved, to put the blame on the one person who managed to survive this tragic event, and just barely. Their allegation that Mrs. Anderson's ordinary, unremarkable engagement ring could have somehow attracted the meteorite is absurd. It's also beside the point. Even if, by some strange unknown force (and I am in no way suggesting this is possible) a substance onboard the station had attracted the meteorite, that still does not explain how the meteorite got past the station force fields. Their argument isn't logical."

The story went on a bit, but I didn't read any further. Clenching my eyes shut tightly, rubbing them wearily, I tried not to see all 417 faces of those former neighbors, coworkers, and friends of mine who had been killed by a company trying to save money it really didn't even need.

"What's the matter, Daddy," said my daughter Lissette, leaning into me from behind and wrapping her arms about my chest and resting her head on my shoulder, her soft, ripe breasts pressing naked into my back.

I exhaled in exasperation... "Oh, I was just reading my e-news," I replied, putting down the screen sheet. "It looks like the company is going to lose out, and we've dodged the bullet again on this lawsuit they filed. But I just can't stop thinking about all the good people who died up there."

There was a pensive silence for a few moments, before Lissette kissed me on the cheek and said, "maybe a swim will clear your mind?" Then she leaned into my ear and whispered "nothing like wrestling with a half naked, glistening, dripping wet college girl in the surf to brighten your mood..." And with that she dashed off across the beach toward the blue ocean, all svelte muscles, rippling, jiggling flesh, and grace. Giggling she turned on her heel once, her long blonde hair flying, and motioned to me with a waggling finger and a grin, before she turned again, and ran right into the ocean, water splashing around her in the bright Caribbean sun.

So much for my Pina Colada in the shade, I thought, downing the drink in one pull, as I rose to my feet. Smiling like the cat about to get the canary, I took off my sunglasses, and my shirt, and ran in the ridiculous swim suit my wife had bought me to join my daughter in the rolling waves. My day was getting better already, and I felt young and alive!

We just swam and goofed around, in case you are wondering, like the good old days in the pool before we left for life in Space. But unlike then, now my daughter was a grown woman, and a lush beautiful one at that, whose charms were no longer the mystery to me that they should have been, and which I could no longer ignore. In my memory, every moment of it is in slow motion, she a gleaming goddess in paradise, her every movement, her every quiver unconsciously seductive, and I recall only the sounds of the roaring surf, and her light, airy feminine laughter as we played like old friends, which just a little flirtation.

As she rubbed against me over and over, her body slick like she'd been greased as we struggled and laughed with each other, I couldn't help responding to her as a man does. I knew she felt it, because as she brushed past it she would linger slightly, or press a little, or her eyes would lock mine for just an instant, but nothing was said. And it's a good thing, too, because just as the situation got to the point where it might lead to something, I felt the wind knocked out of me as a shoulder plowed into me from behind, and suddenly my head was underwater.

I crested the surfaced sputtering and flailing, gasping for air, and for a moment I didn't notice the stereo chorus of hysterical female laughter. Pawing the hair out of my face, and wiping the water off my face as I tried to regain my composure, I blinkingly opened my eyes to see my wife and daughter nearly doubled over laughing, both of them looking like mermaids in the sea with their tanned, high riding, bare breasts defying gravity just above the water.

"Lorraine," I exclaimed, "I can't believe you dunked me!"

"I have all this energy now," she gushed, "It's incredible!"

And at that both girls attacked me, and I found myself fighting a losing battle, outnumbered, and overpowered by a more youthful force. And although I held my own for a bit, gradually I wore myself out. As the physically oldest one there, I called a stop to things after a bit, and trudged wearily toward the shore, breathing heavily. Back at my little straw umbrella with the beach chair and the little table with a fresh Pina Colada on it, I collapsed into the chair and hung my head back over it's frame, breathing deeply. A moment later my daughter flopped down on a towel she'd spread out, and I realized with a start that even she was a bit pooped from the exertion.

"It's like she's a kid all over again," my daughter huffed, shaking her head in mock disgust, before breaking into a grateful grin. I just smiled back at her, as we both enjoyed having her back, and our own gratitude that she wasn't gone from our lives after all, and that in spite of everything she was probably the most healthy of us all.

It was a little while before Lorraine came bounding up the beach and joined us in the shade, looking at last (after a good deal of solo cavorting in the sea) at least almost as subdued as her daughter, at least physically her elder now, and I, were feeling. "Let's get something to eat," she said after a brief rest – a sentiment the whole family could handle.

Dinner was delicious, mostly fresh seafood and island fruits, and served with a delicious, mature wine that left me feeling just a little tipsy. The girls wore beaded sarongs around their waists to embellish their bikini bottoms, some shell jewelry they had bought at the local tourist market the other day, and they did their hair carefully, twisting in some local flowers. For the young, beautiful women on the island, like themselves, this was all that really constituted "dinner wear", although if she had been dressing her real age instead of her apparent physical one, she'd have worn something more like a long skirt, and a loose fitting cotton blouse, like most of the matrons we saw at the restaurant. Instead, she went topless, like most of the budding beauties whose age group she seemed to be a part of, most of them blissfully unconcerned with the distraction their blossoming forms elicited. For her part, Lorraine seemed to revel in the freedom of it. Lissette, on the other hand, chose to wear a thin, disturbingly sheer blouse to match her black sarong. For my part, I felt over dressed in white cotton pants, rolled up above the ankles to avoid them dragging in the sand, Birkenstocks, and a billowy cotton shirt sewn with a deep v-neck, and no buttons. God, I remember thinking, I could really get used to this Island living.

In the restaurant, everyone smiled at us and nodded as we passed. It was funny how the perceptions and misperceptions blended. Some had read the news and knew who we were, congratulating us on our luck, many showing curiosity about Lorraines cloned body, those who did taking more interest in Lissette when they learned she had been the source of the DNA used for her Mother's new form. Others were clueless, thinking us any variety of combinations. One old woman even complimented Lissette on her looks, saying "you have a remarkable figure for a woman with a teenage child," causing us all to crack up before we explained, to the poor old woman's shock, that it was actually Lorraine who was the Mother, and Lissette the daughter, not the other way round.

In fact, everything in the day went off without a hitch, until Lissette had to use the ladies room, and excused herself to sashay across the room in its direction. I guess I was looking a little too hard.

"You know," said my wife, looking at me with a bemused expression, "I felt that boner you had when I dunked you earlier..."

Oh shit. "Yeah," I tried to brush it off, "so? You know you turn me on..."

"I hadn't had time to turn you on, Jack," she said evenly, with a little glint in her eyes, "but our daughter had..."

To be continued...