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CHAPTER 13:
Catch of the Day

Simon Q @TheExtremeIronMan
WooHoo! Personal Best. Just got the final official time rankings for ExtremeIron2041. I smoked *everyone* with a combined time of fourteen hours, forty-nine minutes. That’s a record that will stand forever!

USSF Office of Scientific Integration

@OSIGenBoatright
Records are meant to be broken. Stay tuned for results of the latest trials of bionic prosthetics for athletes. —Major General Richard Boatwright, USSF/OSI

Simon Q @TheExtremeIronMan
@OSIGenBoatright, no fair, man! That’s cheating!

ChirpChat, April 2042



True to the prediction, Shepard was back in less than two-and-a-half hours. Jen was amazed. He’d been averaging over forty miles per hour—even with the steep uphill climb of the Kohala Mountain Road—while cycling, and then almost fifty miles per hour on the speed run. The ultra-marathon pace had to be over twenty miles per hour. It made her wonder what his swim time was. Either the run or cycling pace would be miraculous for a normal person, but six-and-a-half hours to cover two hundred miles on foot and bike was still impossible even for the most elite of athletes. Perhaps, someday, an unaugmented human might manage to break one record—but certainly not both in the same day.

Jen had learned that Shepard was anything but a normal human. She’d called her editor, despite it being the middle of the night in Richmond, and he’d sent her everything that had been made public in the aftermath of the incident last year. He told her that if she could get the rest of the story, he’d get The Powers That Be to greenlight the interview.

She’d decided that it would be best to be honest, since the reports made him out to be a man who considered honor to be the most important character trait. She was sitting in her same spot when the SUV pulled up in advance of Shepard’s return. This time the man—her editor identified him as Doctor Nikhil Pillarisetty—pulled out a small black bag and white coat before coming over to sit next to her.

He smiled, but didn’t say a word before Shepard came running up. Much to her own surprise, she remained silent herself, and didn’t try to pump the man for information.

“Are you following me?” Shepard asked her, not even panting.

“Yes, Colonel. I noticed your private competition and would like to talk with you about it.”

“I guess that would mean you’re a reporter. I don’t talk to reporters.”

“Colonel Shepard, it’s true that I’m an investigative reporter, but that’s not what I want to talk about. I am intrigued about why you were out here running your own ExtremeIron triathlon.”

Before Shepard could answer or Jen could make another comment, Pillarisetty interrupted. He’d put on his white coat and was holding a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. “Okay buddy, give me your arm. Let’s see how you doing here.”

Pillarisetty put the cuff on Shepard’s right bicep, pumped it up, held the stethoscope to the inside of the elbow below the cuff, and looked at his watch. After a minute he pulled the stethoscope away, deflated the cuff and nodded in satisfaction. “Okay, shirt off, let’s have a listen.” He put the stethoscope against Shepard’s chest—Jen noted several fine scars, at the left shoulder and down the midline. The doctor paused a moment, then moved around to the back. “Heart sounds good.” He repeated the process by placing a palm-sized electronic device against chest and back. “LVAD’s within spec, too. Okay, put your shirt back on, I don’t need to see your pasty-pale skin.”

Jen stifled a laugh. Shepard was anything but pale, even if he wasn’t as dark as herself or Pillarisetty.

“Here, put this on.” Nik handed Shepard a small sensor and instructed him to place on the index finger of the right hand. Once again, he nodded. “This looks good, Shep. I wouldn’t think that you had been exercising at all.”

“You could’ve gotten all of that from the embedded sensors. For that matter, my wristcomm logged it all as well. You don’t have to go all Dr. Welby on me, Nik.” He stole a glance toward Jen. “Besides, we have an audience.”

“It’s okay, I called Marty and the home office while you were doing your Superman impression. The chase cars got her ident and called into OSI. General Boatright said it’s been long enough; Ms. Butler has a decent reputation and it’s okay for you to talk to her. Just remember, low-profile.”

“Colonel Shepard, does that mean an interview?” Jen asked tentatively.

“I’ll think about it. What I seriously need right now is a shower and to change. Then, I’m probably going to clean out a buffet somewhere. That or just order three or four entrees for supper.” Shepard paused for a moment. “Tell you what, there’s a little place down the road—about three quarters of a mile—just past the seawall. It’s called Humpy’s and it’s a nice little bar with good pub food. Give me . . . oh, ninety minutes, and I’ll meet you there. We’ll talk but I gotta warn you, it’s not going to be private. Nik’s my friend, but I suspect he’s got instructions to watch me like a mother hen.”

“Mind your manners, Shep.”

“Yes, Mother. Anyway, it’s not just a formality. He will be there too.”

“Yeah, someone’s got to charm the wait staff and reassure them that he’s not just a mindless eating machine!” Pillarisetty said.

“That’s okay by me. I am not trying to do a hit piece. I think there’s much more to your story than anyone realizes. Wouldn’t you like the world to know who the real Glenn Shepard is?”

“Lady? I’m not sure I know, myself.” Shepard grabbed the rest of his gear, nodded to Pillarisetty, and crossed the street to the SUV.

“Oh, I can tell you stories, ma’am,” Pillarisetty replied with a laugh.

“Do not let him get started!” Shepard called back without turning around. “If you want to know my story, well . . . I can tell you a few things, but to be honest with you, I don’t have a whole lot of trust to spare. Earn that, and then we’ll see.”

“See you in three hours, Ms. Butler! Better bring your wallet, just in case he sticks you with the bill!” Pillarisetty laughed.

“Wait, he said ninety minutes!”

“Yes, he did.” Pillarisetty called back over his shoulder. “But I’m going to force him to slow down and maybe even take a nap. If that changes, I’ll comm you.”

“Um, how do you have my comm code?”

Pillarisetty turned, winked at her, then turned back and followed his friend.


Humpy’s was a nice little shorefront place and like the earlier restaurant, had an indoor bar on the lower level and open-air dining on the upper level. It also offered a great selection of beers, including several local brews. Several people she’d consulted also recommended the pub’s food, particularly the kalua pork nachos and the fish and chips. The latter was often made with “catch of the day” and the fries were golden brown and crispy-hot. Jennifer decided she would go with an order of the nachos and a Fire Rock Pale Ale while waiting for Shepard to show up.

She was somewhat surprised to see that instead of coming up the main stairway from the dining room the two came across a walkway that spanned two neighboring buildings. She cocked an eyebrow, and Glenn replied, “Laverne’s has an elevator. Better that than stairs.” His companion was walking with paired canes rather than the crutches she’d seen earlier.

There’s more than one story here, she thought to herself. Best not get ahead of myself, though.

Jen stood and held out her hand as the two approached her table. “Colonel Shepard, I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Jennifer Butler. I suspect you already know that I write for the Richmond Times, but I assure you that I am not tailing you, nor am I here on an assignment. Actually, I’m supposed to be on vacation. My editor told me to get out of town and lay low.”

Shepard’s expression was neutral, as was his handshake. Doctor Pillarisetty, on the other hand, had a friendly face and enthusiastic greeting. He set one of the canes aside to grasp and pump her hand—such a contrast to his reserved companion.

Shepard motioned for her to sit, and then surprised her by moving to get her chair. The three spoke of inconsequential things—the weather, the menu, Kona vs. Big Island beer, kalua pork vs. kalbi ribs—until orders were placed. Not surprisingly, Shepard ordered appetizers and two entrées, commenting to the server that he might be ordering more.

Soon the drinks and nachos were delivered, so Jen decided to dive right in. “Colonel Shepard—or do you prefer Doctor Shepard?”

“Actually, I’m retired. No longer a colonel, and not presently licensed to practice. Just call me Shepard, or Glenn.”

“And I’m Nik—just a k, no c—or Vin, or Vindaloo, ‘The Swarthy Menace,’ or just Doc, since the flyboy here is bad at the social niceties.”

“Vindaloo?” Jen was a bit confused by Nik’s comments.

“It started as a joke and kinda stuck,” Glenn responded in a deadpan manner. “Nik’s pretty irreverent.”

“No, I’m the comic relief,” Nik corrected.

“Ah. Okay. Well, Glenn, I will get right to it. I’m not on assignment, I’m not recording this, I’m just trying to satisfy my curiosity. I saw you come out of the water and get on your bike. A while back, I did a profile on a lawyer who was a triathlete, so I recognized the ExtremeIron course. Then I realized where I’d seen you before—the rescue a year ago. I looked you up, and couldn’t find out much about you. That’s what piqued my interest. It seems that no one ever told your story. I promise not to do a hit piece. I really don’t do that kind of thing.”

“I rather think you do. Considering that the reason you’re here is the piece you did on the corruption in Councilman Garner’s office,” Glenn said with a hint of challenge in his voice.

“I usually write profiles—at least for Richmond. They started me off with Sunday supplements, then science pieces. Then I got assignments to cover the releases of biographies of Admirals, Generals, business leaders and the like. I stay away from celebrities; they don’t need my help to blow their own horns. That’s what I was trying to do with Garner, but some things didn’t add up. I didn’t look for trouble, but it sure found me—or him, to be exact.”

“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” growled Nik. “I’ve met a few of the . . . victims . . . of his type of ‘community engagement.’ I used to do pro-bono work for an inner-city free clinic.” He cocked his head toward Glenn. “I’m Shep’s head shrinker now. I’m not sure which is worse.”

“He’s my rehabilitation therapist,” Glenn corrected with a smile. “And turned out to be my best friend, much to the surprise of both of us. Since I wanted to test myself, I thought it might be a good idea to have a doc to check me over to certify that I was in good health . . .”

“. . . And of sound mind, which is rather dubious. If you ask me.”

“Well, that describes both of us now doesn’t it, Nik?” Glenn laughed.

Jen laughed with them. It was clear that there was a strong bond between them. Nik cared for Glenn, and Glenn trusted Nik. This was not the usual doctor-patient relationship. Perhaps it was because they were both medical professionals, perhaps it was a shared experience in injury and rehabilitation. Since Nik was the one who’d said that someone had vouched for her, she figured she should ask her questions of both of them and see which one responded.

“The news article on you was from a year ago. What was that about?” Jennifer asked.

“I had just finished rehab and wanted to visit my aunt and uncle. Nik and I decided to drive from Texas to Virginia and got caught in a tornado. When the storm passed, I saw a car rolled over, almost upside-down; a mother and two children were trapped. I’m a doctor, I couldn’t leave them there even if I’m not certified to practice in North Carolina. I would do whatever it took to get them out, and that’s what I did.”

“Whatever it takes him. That’s how he got into this mess,” Nik added.

“Yes, that is, in fact, how I got into it. How much have you learned about what happened to me?”

“Frankly, nothing. The official Space Force statements didn’t say anything. A deeper dive only revealed that you were part of a new rehabilitation program for injured vets. Nothing else. I mean it’s pretty obvious from seeing you in a swimsuit that you’ve had extensive surgery, the evidence suggests prosthetic limbs, but that’s really all I know. There was nothing else to find.”

There was silence for a long time. Glenn looked conflicted. He raised his left hand to his ear, touched it briefly, then put his hand on the top of his head and brushed it back and forth a few times. Catching himself in what appeared to be a nervous habit, he looked over at Nik. His friend smiled back and nodded.

“It started on the Moon.” Glenn sighed as he put his hand back down on the table. Jen noted that up to this point, he’d handled his drink and food with his right hand. “Three years ago, I was up there as medical officer in charge of monitoring tests of the Dragonfly vehicle—the ultralight aircraft designed for use on Mars. It won’t actually “fly” on the Moon, though, and the reaction control thrusters are tricky and not all that stable. The Dragonfly flipped over and trapped the pilot. The hypergolic propellants burned—even in vacuum. I pulled the pilot out, but got burned. It wasn’t too bad—a little bit of plastic surgery and replacement of my left arm and I would have been as good as new, certified for flight and able to go to Mars as planned. Unfortunately, an explosion blew me into a nearby rock outcropping and shattered my legs.”

“Oh! Oh my.” Jen stared at him wide-eyed.

“So, they stuck him in the paint and body shop and rebuilt both legs, an arm, an eye and an ear with advanced bionics.” Nik said.

“Opsec, Nik.”

“It’s really not classified, just obscure. If she knows where to look, it’s all there. Besides which, General Boatright said it’s okay. Deep background and all that, although he would like to speak with Ms. Butler as well. An interview, not a threat.”

“As a matter fact, he called me about an hour before I met the two of you. He said he is ready to start getting you in front of the public again, so I can interview you and even write a biography if I wished. I still have to talk with the Public Affairs Office before publication, but it seems they would like to play up how you are an inspiration to injured vets who want to return to duty and normal life. They want to use you as an example.”

“As a figurehead more likely,” Glenn snarled. “They’ve been a little slow at that return to duty part. In fact, after the event in North Carolina, I was told it wasn’t going to happen for at least a year or two—if ever.”

“Well, maybe I can do something to help with that. Tell me about yourself—you’re an astronaut. You were part of the Return to the Moon mission in 2029, and were on the crew for the Mars colony-building missions. Why? What motivates you to go through all of this?” Jen waved her arm vaguely at Glenn. “What makes this worthwhile to you?”


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