Chapter 11

Inside of Jackson's head, a small reminder alert pinged, and he took a breath. The ping was vaguely musical, and for the nanosecond it lasted Jackson enjoyed and appreciated the fact that he had a snapshot of music that only he could enjoy. The breath ended and he returned his focus to the problem at hand.

Very occasionally Jackson would wonder what it would be like to have a normal human brain. He would probably be lazy, perhaps absentminded, maybe talkative. Perhaps he might've even had a say in how his personality developed. His mother had taken that choice away from him with her extensive use of cocaine and critz and alcohol. When he was born his mind was so malformed there were only two options; augmentation or no augmentation. Without a CPU he would be a ward of Orbital Minera, his brain running a single function where a normal human could handle several, barely classifiable as alive much less intelligent. So really, the social worker hadn't had a choice either, giving the techs and medics permission to use him as a test case for their latest augmentations.

The alert pinged, and Jackson took a breath. There were a lot of items stored in his long-term harddrive, but the currently focused goal was to get food. In theory he could switch goals, thumbing through the items in his mental to-do list, but choosing a different goal wouldn't help him obtain food, so he dismissed the thought. If he ever bothered to inform them, the techs would probably be embarrassed about that serious flaw in their design. A chip designed to force his single-function-brain into achieving a goal wouldn't ever allow him to willingly choose a different one. The only time a goal changed was due to outside factors, like someone talking, or a change in the environment.

Jackson stepped down from the pod's ramp, absentmindedly helping Missy and Aimee off as well. The crowd parted for him as he made his way towards the doorway leading to the mess hall. They think I'm mourning my fallen comrades, the information registered to him, but he couldn't empathize with it. What possible use could moaning and wailing have in accomplishing any of his goals? Of course, they're important, Jackson admitted, mentally scrolling through his tasks to make sure goal 11125 still had a high priority, but who can spend so much time not doing something?

He had reached the mess and was filling a plate when the goal priorities shifted with a click, goal 87546 stashing away like a satisfying piece in his mind's puzzle as soon as he successfully acquired food. While he looked for a table, he enjoyed the leisurely process of flipping through his tasks to select his next goal. Goal 11125 was one of the highest priorities at the moment, since the sooner he mounted a rescue attempt the more likely it would be to succeed. That one will have to be divided into several subgoals though... He set his tray down and browsed through for smaller goals that he could quickly complete before tackling that one, pausing only to breath when the alert ping reminded him.

"Jackson!" Even in the crowded and bustling mess hall Jackson recognized Cynthia's voice; it was one of the most attractive things about her. It was silvery and light, almost musical. Like the breathing alert, he realized, I wonder if that's why I like it so much. Her voice was concerned now, and he liked the thought that she worried about him. Deeper, more instinctual feelings stirred in him at the sound of her voice, and goal 71609 slid upward in priority by several places. Part of him was slightly ashamed as he selected it, that he was prioritizing such a animalistic goal over saving his squadmates, but it had been a few weeks since he'd last satisfied those urges, and he always planned better when they were satisfied.

He almost winced when he turned. Just behind Cynthia, Samantha was also approaching, glancing at the other girl with confusion. A guy just can't catch a break around here, Jackson mentally sighed, as the CPU in his head whirred with the incoming data. His goal split into subgoals in a picosecond, and he immediately felt disoriented until he could translate them into words. Seeing the two girls next to each other highlighted their differences and brought them into sharp contrast. Cynthia had clearly just come from the hangars, since her face was still smudged with carbon stains and engine grease. Her red hair was tied back with a piece of black ribbon, and Jackson spared a moment to appreciate the single strand that had fallen out of the tie. Samantha had also clearly come from the hangars as well, but her work was far more clerical. Smooth unblemished skin and soft hands set her about as far apart from Cynthia as she could be, but with the proximity Jackson realized that the ringlets around her face were almost the exact same shade of red. I guess I have a type after all, he pondered, cute red-haired scrubs. The alert ping reminded him to breath, and refocused him on the task at hand. Right. Don't want to end things with Cynthia. Don't want to end things with Sam. Don't want to lie to either. You can never give me a simple goal, can you? Jackson scolded the chip. On the next ping, he took an extra deep breath.

"Cynthia! Sam!" he gave a small smile and stepped forward, putting one arm around Sam's waist and using the other hand to pull Cynthia forward. He kissed Cynthia on the forehead, Sam on the cheek, and then turned back to the table, "Fuck have I missed you! Come on and join me, please!" He indicated the empty seats at his table, smoothly sitting and hoping the ice in his stomach wouldn't show on his face. To his relief, both girls sat, though both now looked unsure of themselves.

"I heard about your planetary," Samantha said cautiously, breaking the slightly awkward silence, "Jackson I'm so sorry."

"They're not dead yet," Jackson began eating as he spoke, "their beacons are still lit."

"Jackson..." Cynthia reached across the table to place a comforting hand on his, an action that Jackson noticed made Samantha frown.

"It's okay, I'm not in denial or anything," Jackson chewed thoughtfully, trying to decide how he would handle his current goal, "if their beacons go out I'll deal with it at that point, but until then there's still hope."

Samantha opened her mouth, and the highest priority goal demanded that he interrupt her. If he could stop them from addressing the elephant in the room, there was a chance that he could simply keep them both by pure inertia. Both girls were a little off-balance, and the chip was telling him to keep them that way. Instead he kept quiet, letting her speak. He knew it was his imagination, but he sometimes felt like he could hear his CPU screaming and grinding as he ignored the route that would technically work the best, but he would much rather opt for open communication than for manipulating his way to his goals.

"Jackson, I know this probably isn't the best time," Samantha said, unaware of the conflict in Jackson's CPU, "but ... who is this?"

"I'm sorry, that's rude of me," Jackson apologized, "Sam, this is Cynthia, she works in fuel processing. Cyn, Samantha, she's in ship transfer admin." He took another bite as he waited for the inevitable follow-up questions. Cynthia's hand was still on his, which was a good sign, and he idly ran a thumb back and forth over it as the girls exchanged glances.

"Pleased to meet you," Cynthia murmured, looking at Jackson instead of Samantha with narrowed eyes, but a half smile playing around the corner of her lips.

"Likewise," Samantha sounded unsure of herself, and Jackson's CPU informed him that his chances of goal completion would increase vastly if he simply played to her unsureness.

"You two are my two best friends on the entire orbital..." Jackson continued. The techs told him the chip couldn't actually form commands, that it simply allowed him to focus better, but he could swear he heard it talking to him; "Confuse her! You're so close if you can just keep her on her toes! Lie!"

" ... and in answer to the question neither of you are asking, yes, I'm sleeping with both of you." Jackson powered through the chip's instructions.

Samantha's mouth dropped open in surprise. Cynthia folded her arms and leaned back, but she was grinning.

"The balls on this one," she chuckled.

"You ... you're just going to say that? Just admit it to both of us?" Samantha spluttered.

"Course, why not?" Jackson took another bite, "it wouldn't be very nice to hide that information would it?"

"But it's 'nice' to sleep with both of us at the same time?" Samantha almost exploded. Jackson shrugged,

"I suppose I didn't assume we were exclusive," he said, "that's why I didn't mind you banging your co-worker on the side." Samantha blushed bright red, and Cynthia threw her head back and laughed aloud. She not only didn't realize I knew ... But she also thought we were exclusive at the time? Jackson considered whether or not to be offended, and finally shrugged it off.

"I didn't ... I wasn't..." Samantha stammered. She turned to Cynthia, no doubt hoping to find someone to back her up, "and you're okay with this? With him just going back and forth between the two of us?"

"I never made an assumption about what we were," Cynthia raised both hands, "Jackson's fun to talk to and he's a good lay, we never put expectations on each other beyond that. Although," she reached forward and grabbed Jackson's spoon, pointing it menacingly at Jackson, "last month when I needed help cleaning the capacity core on your cruiser, and you said 'oh I've got physical training to catch up on', I swear to god if you blew me off to get some action from her..."

Jackson grinned, "Actual PT, I swear," he said, truthfully, "I like to think I'm a little more respectful than ditching one of you for the other." Cynthia used the spoon to steal a bite of chocolate paste from his plate, and he didn't stop her. Samantha seemed completely out of her element and bewildered, but she wasn't leaving. His CPU stopped screaming at him, and he felt his shoulders imperceptibly relax.

"I guess it's just ... different ... to me," Samantha finally mumbled, "I'm not used to this kind of situation. It seems weird."

"Weirder than when you thought you were both cheating on each other?" Cynthia asked brightly around a mouthful of chocolate. Samantha blushed again.

"You'll have your hands full if you get with these admin types Jackson," Cynthia grinned, "full of strange expectations."

"No call for that kind of talk Cyn," Jackson broke in before Samantha could respond, "Sam's a fine lady, and alongside you she's one of the people I care about most on this station."

"You're right, that was uncalled for," Cynthia agreed, "I'm sorry Samantha."

"I'm not a prude or anything," Samantha said defensively, "I just don't like the thought of sharing Jackson back and forth."

"Well..." Jackson said thoughtfully, carefully, "if that's the way you feel, we don't have to do this back and forth."

Samantha looked at him uncomprehending, but Cynthia clearly saw what he was implying almost instantly.

"Jackson Carter Rade," she leaned back in her chair, fixing Jackson with a stare that was halfway between incredulous and impressed, "let me get this straight. Your two girlfriends meet each other, and even though you managed to stretch your luck enough to avoid a major blowout, you now think you're smooth enough to turn the situation into a threesome?"

Jackson carefully finished his last bite, considering how to answer. In the end, he opted for honesty.

"Yep," he said. Cynthia and Samantha looked back and forth between him and each other. Jackson had to admit that the stunned looks on their faces was amusing enough to be worth whatever answer he got.

"Well, say what you will about him, the boy's got stones," Cynthia finally said. Samantha was opening and closing her mouth like a fish, but she finally managed to stutter,

"What ... what ... what?"

Jackson tried to gather his thoughts for a whole several alert pings. His head was beginning to hurt from the strain of the CPU, and he was painfully aware that several goals were slowly creeping higher in his priority list. He looked up to meet the eyes of the two girls.

"Look, I've had ... the most hellish few days I can ever remember," he admitted, "I've just about fried my brain by keeping it running too hot for the past few days, because there's just too many tasks to get done. I've got another rough patch coming up, so right now, in this brief bit of quiet before the storm, I'd really like to do something that will let me relax and forget about all the shit that has come before and is coming up." He shrugged, "I meant what I said earlier. You two are my closest and best friends here, and I'm really glad we still have that," he raised his eyebrows to make it a question, and was relieved when both girls nodded. "I like having you for friends, that would be true even if you both weren't as good in bed as you are. I mean ... damnit I'm normally smoother than this..." The sound of gears grinding in his head was makinh it ache. The chip doesn't even have fucking gears, he mentally grumbled, rubbing his temples.

"Aw, honey," Cynthia said sympathetically, standing and rounding the table to give him a hug. She took his hand and pulled him up from his seat, turning and moving toward the door.

"Come on," she said over her shoulder, and Samantha rose with a confused look.

"Where ... what are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm gonna help this fuckin' idiot relax," Cynthia replied with a smirk, "and you're going to help me."

Cynthia's room wasn't far from the mess hall, within easy access of the hangar. As a "scrub", one of the valuable mechanics on the Orbital, she had the luxury of a private room. Jackson smiled wearily as he stepped inside. Though it was slightly cramped, a single large room and adjoining bathroom, Cynthia had made it her own. Small gears and wires, twisted into pieces of art, decorated the walls, and hand-made blankets and quilts lined anything that could be used as a bed or seat. The entire effect was one of instant comfort and coziness, an effect that Cynthia herself had on Jackson. Samantha looked around the room curiously as Cynthia pulled Jackson towards her strange bed that sat in the corner, made up of a pile of layered blankets and pillows as high as her waist.

"This place is ... really nice," Samantha sounded surprised, "comfortable."

"What better place to comfort someone?" Cynthia untied the fastenings on her rough mechanics jacket, shrugging it off and tossing it in a corner. She always seemed at ease, but Jackson noticed she was a little more herself when she was in her room.

"Um ... about that..." Samantha was blushing, looking down at her feet.

"You don't have to do this, Sam," Jackson watched her face carefully, looking for signs of hesitation. It didn't matter how helpful his CPU could've been in convincing her; if she wasn't willing to do this, he had no desire to force her.

"No," Samantha seemed startled, "no, that's not it at all, I really do, it's just I ... I don't know how."

Jackson shot a look at Cynthia, hoping she wouldn't make fun of Samantha's embarrassment, but the mechanic was looking at her kindly, almost affectionately.

"It's not so hard," Cynthia smiled, reaching out and hooking a hand around Samantha's neck. Samantha blushed harder, but Cynthia gently steered her towards the bed where Jackson was sitting, "do you like kissing our jerk of a boy here?"

"Yes," Samantha answered hesitantly, and Cynthia gently pushed Samantha's head forward to meet Jackson's lips. Jackson held the moment in his mind as the kiss deepened. It felt like so long since he had touched her, touched either of them, and he wanted to savor the sensation of every moment. Samantha's kiss tasted like strawberries, and her tongue darted playfully across his lips. He ran his fingers through her bright red curls as he lay back on the bed, pulling her with him.

"Good," he heard Cynthia say approvingly. As if encouraged by the other girl's approval, Samantha straddled Jackson, sitting on his upper stomach and bending down to keep on kissing him.

"Now," Cynthia murmured, and Jackson vaguely registered the sound of clothing hitting the floor, "we'll see if you're a good enough kisser to keep his attention during what I'm about to do."

She is a very good kisser, Jackson mused, as Samantha gently tugged at his lower lip with her teeth, but I have an idea about what Cynthia is going to do... As if on cue Cynthia's fingers deftly unfastened his pants with a practiced ease. Samantha broke the kiss, panting, to turn and watch as Cynthia pulled his pants off and threw them into the growing stack of clothes by the bed.

"You're wearing too much," Cynthia said. Samantha was blocking Jackson's view of her face, but whatever expression Cynthia was wearing must've been enough to allay Samantha's reservations.

Samantha slowly slipped her shirt over her head just as Cynthia wrapped warm nimble fingers around Jackson's shaft. The combination of Cynthia's fingers and the sight of Samantha's breasts dropping free was enough to make Jackson's hips involuntarily buck, and Samantha giggled she almost fell off of him. He couldn't see what Cynthia was doing, which made each touch unexpected. Instead he was treated to Samantha's large boobs hanging over his face as she leaned down again to pull his shirt off. He didn't mind in the slightest. Her strawberry-flavored kisses resumed again, keeping his attention as she made complicated motions to remove her own pants.