What Happens When It Goes Right by M. K. Dreysen

You're a pro, right? Get shit done, when it needs to be done. Where, how. You show up, you do your job, you get paid.

A pro's pro. Still. We've all had those jobs, right? The ones where it just doesn't work? So you pack it up, part ways with a handshake and an understanding, and everyone chalks it all up to just the random noise of the universe.

Well. Umm. About that... For this week's free story, dear reader, let's you and me consider that maybe, just maybe, some of those jobs did actually go just the way they were supposed to.

Just not necessarily for those who planned them...

What Happens When It Goes Right by M. K. Dreysen

Morty usually breaks out of his nap when the plane first starts to descend. Air pressure change, the ears pop or maybe refuse to. Either way and the body's ready, old son. Morty wishes, on those trips, that he could read on the plane.

Only, he can't. Motion sickness and Morty are old adversaries. He doesn't tempt fate, motion sickness doesn't give him migraines and a stirred up stomach. They're good. So Morty reads until the wheels come off the runway, closes his eyes and does his best to sleep the rest of the way. Until the plane starts its descent.

Then Morty usually just stares at the backs of his eyelids until the call comes in. "Please return your trays and seatbacks..."

That one.

Today, though, and Morty is a little shocked. He slept right through all that. Real sleep, too. With a dream he's struggling to remember because it was one of the good ones.

He'll forget it, her and the boat and one of those little drinks, the kind with the umbrella and too sweet mixer? He tries his best, that's the kind of dream that will make the hotel room disappear to sleep tonight awfully quick. Only, he knows that by the time he raises the window to get a good look at the approach, she'll be gone. But that's ok.

No clouds. Just the prettiest view, of the low mountains, worn down by the eons but still mountains, still holding a little of winter's snow. The pilot turns the plane in, and Morty tries to keep track of any new buildings going up.

Maybe that's part of the job, maybe not. Morty gauges the little worlds he enters. How are they doing? Is it all old folks, holding onto their twenty acres, or half or ten or five or five hundred? Have the kids come home?

The flaps come down, the long loud quiet comes on with just a hint of hot engine coming through the air vents. The plane's working, wheels down so Morty turns his head back to get ready for the bump. Easy down, no real winds, the pilots put them all on the ground, oh so nice and easy.

There's the taxi, phones beeping to life; Morty jumps up when the cabin bell goes off, but just to get his overhead bag and sit back down again. If the ladies across the aisle are in a hurry, they can go first.

He likes having the briefcase and the overnight bag where he can get them. Something reassuring about it, knowing he doesn't have to stop and fiddle with stuff while all the folks behind him stand in the aisle and think "Hurry up."

Quick trip to the bathroom, stop at the rental counter. "Mister Sullivan, we've got you a free upgrade."

Subaru instead of Corolla. Which, if the weather does what's been threatening, Morty might just see a little snow tomorrow and Wednesday. Nothing major, no accumulations or anything, hardly enough to worry about. But the Subie's little all-wheel drive system will certainly be a good feeling, won't it?

Morty strolls past the smokers getting their fix; he quit that a couple years back. There's a car to get warm and thirty miles drive to the hotel room and he's dying for a smoke and happy he's not stopping to cadge one.

He has to drive a little ways because that's the closest airport. Drive up from Charlotte, or over from Knoxville, those were the other choices and each of them a three hour drive. So he'd chosen to stick around Atlanta. Kill time there and grab some Popeye's in the airport. Not too shabby, and all he had to do now was remember to pull in for an orange soda and a KitKat, late night snack attack supplies.

He doesn't text, or call, the librarian. That's tomorrow morning, after breakfast and coffee. Morty likes the hotels where they put out the free breakfast spread. Not because they're some kind of wonderful, though it is nice to just go down and get caffeinated and fruited up proper without having to make a fuss. Rather, Morty's favorite reason for the breakfast buffet is that he can go back upstairs and use his hotel bathroom in private.

Morty's on his own schedule, anyway. And since he doesn't have to start the day until he calls the librarian and lets her know he's on his way, the middle-aged bladder, the rest of it, he can deal with that stuff on his own dignity. And privacy.

"I've put together a list of works to start with," she tells him, when Morty gets to the library. Only a ten minute drive, so he'd still made it there plenty early.

"It looks like someone's been putting money into the town," he says. "I love the library."

And he does. A pile of stone, the old place sits just off the main drag, right at the base of the hill that the little downtown crowns. A little parking lot so he doesn't have to park on the street and dare the traffic.

Mortimer Sullivan, Ph.D., analyst for an obscure federal agency, is a creature of habit.

Ylena Rodriguez, too, is a creature of habit. Her trip, the one that intersects with Morty's purely by accident of timing, began in pretty much the exact same way. Six rows back of Morty, in fact; this identity doesn't have the miles to upgrade to the good seats. And Ylena's being a freelancer means she keeps an eye on the pennies.

She gets the Corolla Morty was upgraded from. Not that either of them are aware of the coincidence. She throws her bags in the back and heads out down the highway. Ylena's staying in a hotel that would have caused Doctor Sullivan's inner accountant to break out in hives.

It's good though. She got a deal, so Ylena's only paying a few dollars more per night for the resort treatment.

For the rooms, and she's happy going to the Waffle House, or Cracker Barrel or whatever, for breakfast. Ylena grew up with her grandfather. Papi took breakfast every morning at one little diner in town. Coffee and huevos and whenever she sits down to the chatter from the kitchen and the coffee steaming its way through her nerves, Ylena thinks always of Papi.

It's a good start.

The factory's a half hour away. Old TVA site. Remnants. Get a desparate governor looking for economic opportunity, and the taxes that might come with it, and the ghosts of the place had come to life. Via an engineer who'd done her time in the corporate grind and was looking for nothing more than a place for the wife and kids and home by three-thirty, four o'clock at the latest.

Ylena's not there to drag the place down. That's what she tells herself, anyway. The appointment's been on the books for about six weeks. A "happy accident", she'd come to town on a "vacation" six weeks ago and just happened to run into the factory's proud owner. "I'm on sabbatical and looking for case studies. A book on what the next generation businesses are doing for the quiet spaces."

Donna Ryan had been only too happy to book Ylena a tour. "We're so glad you could come," she said to Ylena. "We're very proud of what we've accomplished."

Ylena could tell. Maybe the equipment wasn't all new; maybe the folks working the place weren't exactly new, either. But the former had all been given that loving touch.

And the latter had been reclaimed from the layoffs. "Furniture, until the world moved on. That's what dominated this area."

And now they were making gadgets. If it could be printed in 3d, cut with a laser, they could make it.

"So, basically, a high-tech fabrication shop?" Ylena asked. Like the ones Papi had visited, worked in. Only with plasma cutters and CDC machines.

"Right, you can dream it, we can make it." Donna showed her the works. Cast iron to obscure copper alloys. Degradeable plastics and "We're tooling up for pharma. Next year, cell matrix printing."

Ylena whistled. "The FDA's going to be a different world." Inspections, inspections, and paperwork.

Donna gave her a wry smile. "Yeah, no. The hospital's doing the real work. We're just making their demo versions, nothing that will actually go in the body. My first job was a pharmaceutical plant, I don't want anything to do with that end of it."

Ylena's first tour didn't take all that long. Really, a morning, and then lunch and they were done. Donna, the engineer's joy always peeking through, was as happy as could be, explaining how "Roy's putting together a gear box for an old tractor." And, "Chrissy's laying out prototypes for a toy manufacturer."

"How do the jobs come to you?"

"Word of mouth, website. Trish does a few road trips every year, industry conferences."

"Is that payment for minding the boys all day while you play with the toolbox?"

Donna sighed. "Pretty much."

What you see is what you get, Ylena thinks. The factory, really just a metal building on a slab with room enough for the half dozen machines, and a clean box in the corner. An old house repurposed as the office space. "The TVA took over some farm. We had to do some renovation, the place was in kind of rough shape. I like it though."

Ylena understands that. Sit in the little kitchen and look out the back window at a flock of wild turkeys pecking after lunch, she'd have been pretty attached to the place, too. "How many acres?" Ylena wonders.

"Sixty three. And we don't take up more than an acre. The rest of it, we just let go how it will."

Up to the fenceline Ylena had driven past, whitetails placidly ignoring her.

Yeah, Ylena thinks to herself, once she polishes off the fried chicken plate Donna had brought in for lunch, "We don't have a lot of choices, but Grace's makes up for it. Best chicken you'll eat for a good long time." And it was.

All just the way it looked. The gates at the front are new. The fenceline shows patches, here and there, where the chain-link had needed to be fixed up. The gates look like they'd been part of that renovation.

But they are just plain gates. No electronic eye, just a Master lock and a chain. The kind of gates that someone closed on their way out for the day, and someone opened on their way in. Ylena hasn't asked about the gates and how they were treated.

She just asked if Donna ran a night shift. "Oh, hell no. Well, not unless we have to. We've got a dozen folks here, one or the other of us closes the gates when we leave in the evening and that's the end of it. I get to the point where I'm putting in a regular second shift, and if Trish doesn't brain me I'll do it myself."

Ylena smiles. "Been there..."

"Done that, and I ain't going back for more. I opened this place because I want to do good work and make a little money, and still make it home for dinner with Trish and the boys every night." Donna barks laughter. "Nope, Roy and Martin let me know when the gang goes from enjoying a little overtime to complaining about it, and that's when we know we need to start turning down orders."

No security on the front gate. No cameras in the little parking lot, just a farm's driveway really. All of it very small town.

Humble. Exactly the kind of out-of-the-way place you'd look for, if you were a major international conglomerate with a penchant for secrecy. "The Mouse House doesn't want to get caught flat-footed again, the way they did with Baby Yoda," Ylena's contact for this job had told her. "They've put in the directive: have prototypes ready to go before the craze takes off."

Ylena could guess the angle her clients were working. Disney wanted working 3d files ready to send off to the next level of manufacturer, the high throughput factories.

Ylena's clients wanted to roll their own versions out ahead of the rush and take a cut of the action. Pirates of the new digital age: get the cutouts right and someone would clear a few million, untraceable, before the Galactic Empire could bring the guillotine down.

"What do you need?"

"Whatever files and prototypes you can grab."

The only question was whether she went after them now, or whether Ylena could afford to wait for another trip.

****

Dinner was a little Polish tavern. "I'll be happy to buy," Ylena had offered.

"And we'll be there," Donna answered.

Trish and Donna stepped out of their truck just as Ylena walked to the corner.

"I didn't brave the street. The library looked like an easier choice."

Trish shook her hand, an easy smile going along with it. "They get a lot of that. If you were here in July, the little theater up the street has a summer Shapespeare festival. When they're going full swing even the library's full."

Ylena went for pork cutlets and potatoes; Donna had the duck, Trish the filet with crab cakes. "Juris says this is his retirement gig. A little of the old style, a little of whatever the cooks feel like making that day."

"And a hell of a wine list," Ylena pointed out.

"It's a treat, that's for sure."

Ylena didn't have much trouble directing the conversation where she needed it to go. Trish rolled her eyes a few times, but the dinner was a working one, after all.

What Ylena wanted to know, most of all, was whether Disney had any more prototypes coming.

"Donna says you get the joys of most of the travel," Ylena commented.

Trish shrugged. "Her last job, Donna lived out of a suitcase. Every week a different plant."

"At least I got home for the weekends," Donna said.

"Yeah, most weeks," Trish replied. "Unless something went wrong. We can dodge most of it, but not all. But not near so much. Last trip was, what, last month?"

Donna nodded. "L.A., right."

"Remind me to forward you Gary's email. Looks like they've signed off the last round, they're through with revisions."

Donna snorted. "Until Christmas."

"Just smile and cash the checks, love."

Which sorted the time schedule for Ylena. There wasn't any reason to delay. Nor to get back on a plane if she didn't have to. So now.

Ylena had fixed it with the waiter, so Donna didn't have the chance to grab the ticket. They wrapped up dinner and headed for the cars before Donna asked, "Are you still planning to come by tomorrow?"

Ylena didn't really have to consider it. Not after splitting a bottle of wine. Tonight's work was done. "I'd like to, if you don't have anything I'd be interfering with."

"No problem," Donna said. "I might have to break off for an hour or so. We've got some guy coming in, a fed."

"Inspector?"

"No, it's actually nothing to do with us. There's an old waste dump from the TVA days, at the opposite end of the property, and Washington likes to send someone in to keep an eye on it. If it's like last time, I'll drive the guy over in my truck, he'll spend an hour taking pictures, and that'll be the end of it."

Ylena nodded. "Ok. Do you know what time he's supposed to be there? Maybe I can come in before, or after?"

"I think, if you want to aim for eleven, that'll work out about right. See you then?"

"Great, yep, see you in the morning," Ylena confirmed.

By the time she got to her rental, the reason for it had drifted away, leaving Ylena dreaming only of a nice late start to her morning.

****

The day started so well. Ylena showed up at Donna's facility just after ten. "How's the fed doing?" she asked.

"He's still down there, taking pictures. Said he'll probably wander back up the hill sometime after noon. He even brought a sack lunch."

And so Ylena and Donna went on about Ylena's business. She lead the questions to where she needed the answers. Who was working, what were they working on? What time did everyone knock off? All questions artfully posed, of course.

Lunch time, a little more visiting and it was time to go. Ylena wanted to get a nap in before the real work of her day commenced.

"Are you going out for dinner?" Donna asked as she walked Ylena to the car. "There's another place, not too far from where we ate last night."

"I'm on the early flight tomorrow morning," Ylena answered. "I'm going to write up my notes and hit the sack early."

"Too bad," Donna said. "I'm buying dinner for that fed by myself. Trish begged off, and now you. I'm stuck listening to a bureaucrat's small talk."

"Perils of being the boss," Ylena laughed. "Thank you so very much for the tour. I learned so much."

Donna echoed the laugh. "Just send me a copy of your book when you get it finished."

"Will do."

From there, Ylena just needed to check that she had her gloves, and a few other little necessities, ready to go ahead of her nap. Unlike Morty Sullivan, for this trip at least Ylena had needed to check a bag. Tools and "safety" gear; the kind of things the average traveling troubleshooter would need on their rounds.

A couple hours sleep, a stop at the Burger King at the corner, and she was back on the little winding mountain road to Donna's place just after eight at night. All the world around tucking into their beds, no streetlights, and the only fly in Ylena's ointment was a Subaru headed out where she was headed in.

They both tried to back up at the same time; Ylena backed into someone's driveway and flashed her lights until the Subie finally got the hint.

Then back on the lane and further on up the hill.

She didn't see the cop sitting in front of the gate until it was too late to do anything about it. "Shit," Ylena muttered as she rolled the window down.

"You'll have to come back tomorrow," the cop told her. "Maybe."

"I left my laptop inside, couldn't I just..." Ylena began.

"No ma'am," he answered. "The command came down from way on high. They'll be back tomorrow morning to figure out who's allowed inside. Until then, I have to turn you around."

"Thank you." Ylena backed, turned, and headed herself to the highway and the hotel.

The metal building where her targets lay only had two entrances. Both of them where the watching officer couldn't fail to spot Ylena if she tried to get in. And the warehouse was newly built. There wouldn't be any rusty, half-forgotten openings in the sheet metal that Ylena could use to sneak in the back.

She'd looked.

The only question was what had happened, and how long it would be in effect. "Donna, it's Ylena. What happened to your shop?"

She didn't explain, didn't offer any reason she might have gone snooping. Didn't need to, because Donna was exasperated.

"Oh, it was that fed."

"The one who wasn't an inspector?"

Donna snorted. "Yeah, only it's not us. The TVA left something nasty in that hole, apparently. The guy says something shifted, and he has to control access until they get it all cleaned up."

"How long did he shut you down for?"

"Oh, hell, we're not shut down. He got me that much. I just have to get everyone a badge. And we can't let visitors on-site until they've cleared the area."

Shit, Ylena thought. "The way the government works, it'll take them six months just to get the contracts started."

"A year, at least. That's what the guy said. We'll figure it out."

"That stinks. How are you going to handle deliveries?"

Donna laughed. "Trish is going to hate me. Everything's coming to the house."

Ylena had made the adjustment in her head. Some jobs just didn't work, that's all. She wished Donna a well-meant "Good luck," and then made the call to her client's contact.

"Six months is too long. Disney's set to release by then."

"I figured."

"Is there any other possibility?"

Ylena had given it some thought. But the setup had been too pure. "Not with the approach in place. I'm too identifiable, and their setup is too local." The people Ylena would have hired for the gig would need to come from elsewhere.

And the whole point of Donna's shop was to hire local. "I have to bet that access is going to be limited to those they already know." Whatever it was the TVA had buried, Ylena figured if they were going to this kind of trouble to control it, they'd be keeping track of just who they did give access to.

And whether it was her fingerprints and picture, or those of one of her trusted associates, Ylena wasn't about to give the feds that kind of information voluntarily. She wasn't sacrificing her career or anyone else's for just one job.

The guy sighed, heavy, over the phone. But he'd shifted his view, as well. "Win some, lose some. Ah, well. Sorry about the goose chase, Y. We'll be in touch, don't worry."

"Always glad to work with pros, Mark." And she was. Ylena much preferred clients who knew when it was time to back away from the table. And who wouldn't gripe too much when she shifted the tab from this backfire to the next job that came along.

****

Morty made sure to split the dinner check with Donna. "You don't want anyone thinking I gave you special treatment for the cost of a Caesar with salmon and a Vienna lager."

Donna shrugged. "I can't thank you enough for not shutting me down."

It was Morty's turn to shrug. "TVA left a mess, but it's not so bad you and your people have to lose work over it. Just make sure you keep receipts, so you get reimbursed."

"Is everyone going to be safe?" Which was Donna's next worry; the doors might be open, mostly, and that she could deal with. But if someone ended up sick over this...

"The teams will put up a fence, and they'll cut their own access road. You keep everyone on the good side of the fence, and we'll keep the garbage on the other side. We'll monitor everything, and give you plenty of warning if something does change. Promise."

Morty had already chalked it into his schedule for the next year or so. Once a month, he'd come spend a week on-site, sniffing out trouble. "And don't hesitate to pick up the phone if you've got a question. My job is to make sure this all gets done right. If you don't think it's going well, call me sooner than later."

All in all, when the dust settled and Morty headed back home, he was happy with the way things had turned out. Sure, the waste pile had shifted. Runoff, most likely; his trips to the library had confirmed just how wet the winter had been compared to normal.

But he'd caught it before the buried waste could leach out to the groundwater. Someone at the TVA back when had found a convenient place to bury a bunch of old transformers. The dielectric, if it leaked out, would have wrecked the town's water supply. Major problem if it had gone unnoticed, a minor nuisance with the way it worked out. And in a couple of months, when the cleanup crews got their fences set up, Morty would be ready to relax the access restrictions.

It was too soon, though, to tell Donna that. Morty had too much experience with these kinds of things not to plan for something going wrong.

Besides, this way he'd maybe get to surprise Donna, and himself, with a little good news on his next visit.

Yep. Morty Sullivan had to chalk this one up as one of the good trips, one of those where, when the troubles his bosses paid him to keep an eye out for showed up on the horizon, everything needed to keep those troubles on the outside looking in had all gone right.