The Flare

The General

Chapter 2

Earth, 2258 Common Era

Jake Robertson straightened the medals dotting his uniform before turning to enter the General's office. If one was to be chastised, they should look their best. At least that's what his mother would say at this moment if she were here. He smiled at the memory of her constant fussing and attention, glad she wasn't here to see why he was being called to see a General. Especially General Fattore.

"He'll be right with you, Lieutenant," the perky blonde sitting cross-legged at the reception cooed as she adjusted her already low-cut top, putting more cleavage on display.

Jake smiled at her, giving her a peak at the dashing charm for which he was known. She wasn't bad looking. The typical blonde bombshell he saw everywhere on Earth. Plastic surgery and enhanced genetic manipulation made it easy for women to look more and more like an anorexic Marilyn Monroe. And like a true red-blooded American male, he was a Marilyn man. Curves, t**s and ass. That's all he needed. Looking her up and down, ideas began popping into his head. Thoughts involving her, him and a can of whip cream.

"I haven't had the pleasure…" Jake grinned, letting his dimple pop out of his left cheek.

"The pleasure is all mine Lieutenant. I'm Candy," The blonde perked her lips, enjoying the double entendre.

"Yes, you are." Jake smiled back, taking clear advantage of her blatantly displayed chest. He laughed quietly to himself. Women were so predictable. First, smile, second, chest thrust, finally, coquettish giggle. They didn’t need to say anything. Just a little twiddle of their hair and they basically screamed 'take me home with you.'

There were two types of women in Jake's life. Bubblegum like Candy and the fierce, independent women who had his respect. Few women he met made it to that category. President Olivia Kennedy made it there. Then of course there was his mother. And even…

"Robertson! Your ass, in here, right now!" A voice boomed from behind the closed door, causing Candy and her pert breasts to bounce in surprise.

The General.

Jake sighed, reassured Candy with a saucy wink, and walked toward the closed door, knowing the unpleasant meeting was inevitable. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off as quickly as possible.

General Fattore sat behind a gargantuan desk in the middle of the lavish office. Jake was certain she put it there on purpose, trying to intimidate all those who walked through her door. To let them know who was in charge.

Unfortunately for her, she didn't realize the monstrous piece of furniture swallowed up her short, squat body making her look like a fat elf sitting at Santa's table. The effect was not lost on Jake. He always had to use a decent amount of self-control to stop himself from laughing outright whenever he was in the General’s office.

The room was spartan. No pictures or chairs in the room for guests. Another tactic used to maintain dominance over whoever stood before the General. If she were a man, he'd suspect small p***s issues.

Jake stood smart and saluted, not making eye contact per standard form.

"At ease, Lieutenant, though I may regret it."

Jake braced his legs apart, twining his arms behind his back and looking directly at his superior's beady little eyes. At one time Irma Fattore had been decent to look at, he’d heard. His father, John Robertson, even dallied with her, albeit for a short while. Sadly, years of botched plastic surgery made her face almost unrecognizable. Her eyes could barely shut, her cheeks pulled too tight and her lips were a mangled mess of flesh. The tabloids claimed Fattore’s hasty and ill-planned surgeries were done to impress his father when he lost interest in her. A sad case if it were true. His father didn’t deserved a woman of Irma’s solitude and strength. The General had led dozens of successful campaigns. She even saved the life of the President on Operation Expansion. It’s what made Fattore a clincher for Secretary of Defense.

His respect for the woman only made this confrontation more embarrassing.

Fattore smiled making Jake nervous. "As of today you have been reassigned," the General practically sang with glee.

Jake stood still, registering the information. He was currently slated to begin colony preparations on the asteroid Ceres. Five years he’d trained for this mission.

"Ma'am?" Jake didn’t believe what he was hearing.

"You’ve been reassigned. The Ceres mission is going to another candidate," the General paused to smile with satisfaction as she rolled her tongue against her cheek.

Jake stood stock still, trying to absorb the ramifications of what he was being told.

Ceres. Another candidate. Different assignment.

What…the…fuck was more important than Ceres? The colony would lay foundations for mining the asteroid belt. It would make it possible for Earth to harvest more supplies and build ships for space travel. This first mission, if successful, would lead to a mining camp allowing Earth to take advantage of the mineral deposits and provide limitless resources. Jake designed the mission specs and was the most qualified astronaut for the job. What could be more important?

Ceres was a dwarf planet in the Milky Way’s asteroid belt; the rock has an ice ocean ripe for the taking as well as dozens of other precious materials. The plan was for Ceres to serve as command central for the mining of the massive asteroid belt, providing the materials necessary for colonization and space travel around the galaxy. The mission was extremely dangerous. In planning, Jake and the aeronautical experts heading the assignment anticipated several life-threatening situations. He was the man for the job--sending anyone else would irresponsible and dangerous.

"Where exactly are you sending me?" Jake kept all emotion from his voice, trying not to bark the question.

"If I had my druthers, you'd be parked. But higher ups have something for you. Another, higher priority mission has arisen. This one comes directly from the President. Naturally, I was more than eager to give you the assignment," Fattore grinned, her eyes glinting with a hint of evil. He knew she had to be pissed about Cherile, but this?

Cherile Fattore was the General’s daughter and Jake’s last girlfriend. If you could call her a girlfriend. Jake had hoped to get lucky and find both beauty and integrity in Fattore’s daughter. They dated a few times. Jake’s mistake had been taking her to bed more than once. After that, she began to expect more than he was interested in giving.

Since the moment Jake ended his relationship with Fattore's daughter he’d been waiting for her to voice her disapproval. But this was worse than he anticipated.

"What kind of assignment?" Jake ground out between his teeth.

The General leaned back in her plush chair and folded her hands, forming a steeple with her index fingers. "You are going to the edge of the system to a Denaaren space station. There you will prepare it for a diplomatic mediation with Naron. Hopefully, it will slide us into the ISC this time.”

Jake gritted his teeth. “Ma’am, permission to speak freely."

The General eyed him for five long seconds before nodding.

"There are dozens of qualified candidates for this type of mission. I’m the best you’ve got. And shouldn’t you put your best on the most important mission? Don’t you need the best on Ceres?"

He had to get out of this. Ceres was his dream. The last thing he wanted to do was sit in a damn space station fixing gangplanks and circuit boards. He was a leader not a handyman.

"The Denaarens have approached the President, offering us this mission in an attempt to foster a less antagonistic relationship with the Naronians."

"The Naronians?" Jake asked, suspiciously. The Naronians were the one contester to Earth's joining the Intergalactic Space Council.

The ISC was a community of technologically advanced races joining their resources together, enhancing travel throughout space. Of the twelve primary societies guiding the Alliance, Naron believed Earth's technology too rustic to survive harsh conditions in space. At least that was their claim.

"The Denaarens have decided we need facilitated mediation to convince the Naronians we aren't hillbillies. Your job is to prepare the station. That’s all."

"This is a glorified babysitting mission. My mama’s dog could do this job!"

"As far as I'm concerned, that's exactly what you are. You and your ungovernable prick are going and it would serve me well if you stayed there. However, for my purposes, two months is gonna have to be good enough," she all but sneered, a look of perverse satisfaction on her face.

Jake was so shocked at her overt disgust he couldn't stop what came out of his mouth next, "You're sending me to the far edges of the galaxy because I f****d your daughter?"

Jake groaned, his choice of words less than appropriate in talking himself out of the situation. But he was surprised the General would go to such lengths. She’d always been a stand-up lady, garnering quite a lot of respect in the aeronautical community. He'd known to expect something unpleasant when she ordered him to appear so soon after leaving Cherile. It was hard, seeing such disgust on a face he respected. But a two-month stint out in the middle of nowhere, never mind the time it would take to travel there and back, was a bit extreme just for personal revenge.

"You're damn right I am. You picked the wrong General's daughter to mess with!" Her face turned burnt orange in fury. Oh yeah, choice of words, Robertson. If he kept at this, he'd be lucky if he didn't end up in the stockade instead of space.

Fattore still saw her daughter as the epitome of everything beautiful and pure, as opposed to the plastic Barbie doll she was. Jake should have known better than to get himself involved with Cherile. But before he knew what was happening, what he thought was just a one night stand turned into ‘meeting the parents.’ At first Fattore'd been pleased with their relationship, seeing the joining of his family with the Robertson name as something to increase her prestige. His father's name still carried clout in the field of aeronautics. Or maybe she saw this as Cherile’s chance to catch a Robertson when she could not. Either way, all Fattore saw now was a rooster caught in the hen house.

Little did the proud mama know, Jake wasn't the first man to pass through Cherile's particular gate to heaven. Nor had he made promises he knew he wouldn't be able to keep. Convenient that Cherile failed to mention those details when she went crying to mama.

That was Jake's primary problem with his first type of woman, the Bubblegum girl. Their uncanny ability to equate s*x with love and commitment.

"If you weren't so goddamn smart, I'd have thrown your ass on the runway and have you run over. But this is better. You're too smart not to impress the Naronians and it'll keep that stray dog between your legs away from Cherile or any other unsuspecting female!" The General smirked, pleased with herself.

"If I'm so goddamned smart, why are you wasting me on this glorified babysitting job! I'm needed on Ceres!"

More importantly he needed Ceres. It was his opportunity to put a wedge between him and the reputation his father left for him to follow, to pave his own road. He was tired of being the son of John Robertson, the hero who made first contact.

"It takes more than just smarts to make it in the aeronautical arena, Robertson. It would serve you well to remember that. Your father certainly knew how to tow the line. It's just too bad your apples didn't fall a little closer to the tree."

His father.

John Robertson was a shadow looming over Jake his entire life. The shade provided by John Robertson was enough to cool even the heartiest man’s lust for life.

Too bad the only thing he remembered was the old man walking out the door to whatever mission was next on the list or to some other woman’s bed. He’d spend all night fighting with Jake's mother, their voices keeping Jake awake. Funny how the world chose to see him as the hero and not a man simply because he happened to be in the right place at the right time. At least that was how Jake always saw it.

Jake’s jaw clenched. He'd spent his whole life trying not to be John Robertson. The only thing Jake saw was a negligent husband and father. Not just to him, but the three other families he’d kept. "If you were expecting a carbon copy of the old man, I'm happy to disappoint."

"At least he kept it in his pants! He didn't go sniffing after every pair of t**s on legs that walking by!" Fattore scoffed.

Jake didn't dare respond, not knowing what he might say. Despite three families out of wedlock and countless mistresses at his beck and call, John Robertson always managed to make them believe they were the only ones. Even Irma Fattore. He toyed with their bodies and their minds; a skill Jake was proud not to employ.

Jake’s heart ached a little when he looked at Irma, still defending his father after so long. He had no clue what his father said that incited such loyalty in Irma. Most likely false promises and assurances.

Unlike his father, Jake never promised more than he was willing to give. He was careful, being very clear about what they could expect from him. Because, like his father, Jake did enjoy women. And apparently women liked him too, as he never had a problem finding one ready to share a bed. Or a table, or a couch, or whatever solid surface was available. Considering the number of women he found himself with over the years, he should have found someone he could care about by now. But the only real bona-fide woman in his life was his mother. Despite all their glitter and shine, against her all women seemed dull by comparison.

Fattore leaned forward, placing both palms face down on the desk and gave Jake an evil smile, "You leave in ten days. I'd recommend doing as much skirt chasing as you can between now and then. It's gonna be a nice lonely stretch."

Jake had to admit it, he was f****d. She went straight in, took everything Jake wanted, smiling the entire time. Ceres had been the mission opportunity of a lifetime. An opportunity to make a name for himself. To prove he was not John Robertson—to himself.

His stomach full of knots, Jake stood straight, lifted his hand to his brow and saluted, "Yes, General." Snapping his salute, he turned and left, not waiting for his dismissal.

"Jake," Fattore whispered, before he could reach the door. The emotion in the General's voice caused him to turn, confused. "She really loved you. Couldn't you have just tried to love her back?"

Jake turned around and looked at her. All pretension was wiped from her eyes, she was no longer General Fattore, but Cherile's mother. A mother to a hurting child who would do anything to make her happy. Even ruin a man's life.

"I did, Ma’am. I did try. With every one of them." 

It was the truth. Even with Cherile he’d hoped to finally be satisfied, to never look every time another woman walked by and wonder what the easiest way was to get her on a flat surface. To never wish for more, for something ethereal and magical.

A look of sadness came into Fattore's eyes and Jake had never felt so low in his life. All this woman wanted was to see her daughter happy, and to her, Jake was the scum of the Earth standing in the way of that. Fattore'd done everything she could to make Cherile happy. Money. Cars. Clothes. Even surgical enhancements. She looked like a woman who'd failed. And she had. She couldn't force Jake to love Cherile. Any more than Jake could force himself.

Jake turned to leave the General's office, planning to head toward information headquarters to prepare himself for this new mission. On his way out his eye caught the bouncy little blonde sitting at her desk. She feigned surprise when he walked out. She'd been primping in preparation for his departure and he knew it. And she knew he knew it.

Jake laughed derisively. The General was right about one thing, he certainly did have a stray dog between his legs.

And right now, it smelled a b***h in heat.