Discretion Universe: Steven's Sci-Fi Collection
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Michael BN
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11
Written by Steven Afon, the main character of “The Desert Within,” these stories weave sci-fi tropes into romance with LGBTQ+ protagonists.
Three tales. Three men with everything to lose. Written by Steven Afon—the not-so-reliable narrator of The Desert Within—this collection spins sci-fi tropes into heart-twisting relationship dramas. In Alternate Truth, Mason hides a dangerous secret from his boss, Elliott… and from himself. In The Ticket, a dying old man wrestles with the memory of a love that slipped through his fingers. And in Construct, a man risks it all for the one he can’t let go, even when the outcome is uncertain. Past, future, now—each story asks the same question: How far will you go for the person who matters most?
Alternate Truth: The Mission
MASON
These three stories are dedicated to Isaac, the love of my life. Without you, they would never have been written. I saved your favorite for last.
Steven
***
I crumpled to the ground, clutching my head, trying to steady my breathing. The world was spinning out of control, and I couldn’t stop myself from retching onto the pavement.
After a moment to gather myself, I rose to my feet and recited the first task on my list. I then carefully loaded the cartridge into the injector and pressed it against my neck. The chemicals coursing through my veins instantly revived me.
As the fog in my mind began to clear, I focused on the next task. I found the location I was looking for without much trouble.
“Can I have a pepperoni pizza, a glass of water, and the Wi-Fi password, please?” I asked, trying to blend in as much as possible.
The waiter punched in my order on his device and handed me the password. I had chosen a nearly empty place for the sake of privacy.
I pulled out a modern cell phone from my belt pack and connected to the internet. This wouldn’t take long, but I had to be careful.
Any inconsistency could give me away.
I placed the phone on top of my subverter, causing the screen to flicker for a moment before the familiar logo appeared.
First order of business: an identity. Creating one from scratch was more trouble than it was worth. Luckily, I had brought the necessary information with me.
A couple of taps and I was in the system. There he was!
I replaced his photo with mine and altered all his personal details, from his weight to his academic achievements.
Next, I needed a digital footprint that matched my cover story. The subverter was able to backdate my social media presence. It even created fake follower accounts that had supposedly interacted with my posts across various platforms.
Officially, I was now Mason Ervine. All that was left was to secure funds for a home base and lunch.
***
My mission seemed straightforward, but it was far from it.
I was tasked with gathering information on Elliott Prescott and reporting back to my superiors. I had been chosen specifically to appeal to my target and was given enough information about him to infiltrate his circle.
We knew Elliott was gay, even though he hadn’t publicly come out. I found the term limiting, but my personal opinions weren’t relevant here.
I also knew that Elliott had earned a law degree three years ago. Unlike most of his classmates, he wasn’t born into wealth. Elliott’s education was funded by a scholarship from the prestigious Hayworth family.
The scholarship covered tuition, living expenses, and even provided an apartment in the city center. Most Hayworth scholars ended up working for the family law firm, and Elliott was no exception.
Robert Hayworth had recently retired, leaving his son Joshua in charge. Joshua was ambitious and eager to make his mark on the firm his grandfather had built.
Joshua was currently assembling a team of young, driven lawyers to solidify his authority.
Before long, Joshua selected Elliott to represent the human rights division. I was told that Elliott was hiring a PA. Getting that job was the perfect way to complete my mission.
I was prepared to use every tool at my disposal to nail the interview, even if it meant subtly flirting with him.
After my nightly injection, I reviewed the intel one more time. I had memorized it long ago, but focusing on it was comforting.
Tomorrow was the big day. So many people had worked to get me here. I couldn’t afford to screw it up.
***
Nothing I had studied about Elliott Prescott could have prepared me for his genuine charm and charisma.
From the moment he shook my hand, I felt an inexplicable familiarity. This was absurd, considering where I came from.
I observed him interact with various people from the lobby to his office. He exuded an almost tangible energy that seemed to leave a positive impact on everyone he encountered.
“So…Mason, why did you decide to interview for this job?” he asked, his confidence effortless.
His eyes momentarily distracted me.
“I’m a skilled multitasker who finds joy in helping others,” I replied, trying to sound as natural as possible.
His eyes twinkled as he waited for me to continue.
“Even if I’m not exactly cut out for your job, Mr. Prescott, I think I can still make a difference in your success.”
He laughed warmly at my words and replied, “That’s probably the most polished response I’ve ever heard.”
Damn it! I’d been warned that he didn’t like answers that put him on a pedestal. They were clearly wrong.
“Why don’t you try again, but this time, drop the formalities. Why do you really want to work for Hayward & Co?” Elliott asked, stroking his clean-shaven chin as if he had a beard.
I was totally off-script now. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but then again, I wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place.
I locked eyes with Elliott, gathering my courage to give him the most sincere answer I could muster. His smile was distracting.
“Mr. Prescott, I’ve got bills to pay and a student loan that’s threatening to drown me.”
He leaned forward onto his desk, signaling that he was all ears.
“The salary and benefits that come with this job would feel like hitting the jackpot,” I continued. “Plus, you seem like a pretty good guy to work for.”
I took a deep breath and concluded, “If you give me a shot, I promise I’ll give it my all.”
Elliott stroked his imaginary beard again, mulling over my response.
“I’ve interviewed eleven people for this position,” he said. “But none of them had the guts to be as honest as you.”
Was that a compliment?
“I’m an early riser,” he said, standing up and buttoning his jacket. “I expect you here at seven thirty sharp.”
Did that mean I got the job?
“Thank you, Mr. Prescott, you won’t regret this!” I said, shaking his extended hand.
“I have a feeling I won’t,” he replied with a grin. “And, please, call me Elliott.”
Holy shit, I did it!
***
I was at my desk by seven fifteen.
This was my first day and I was determined to make a good impression. I’d trained for this for ages, and now I could finally put my skills to work.
Even though my main task was gathering intel, I was excited about this temporary life that didn’t involve constant survival.
Elliott arrived at seven twenty and was surprised to see me already there.
“Good morning, Elliott,” I greeted, flashing my best smile. “Your coffee is on your desk, and I picked up your favorite blue striped suit from the dry cleaners for your meeting with Mr. Sanchez at noon.”
My new boss looked at me in shock and stuttered, “How?”
“I asked around,” I lied. I’d gone through my database last night and found everything I needed to impress him.
I heard him mutter, “Holy fuck,” under his breath before pointing at me and saying, “I’m buying you lunch today.”
***
Elliott played with a Caesar salad but didn’t eat much. He seemed preoccupied. Maybe his meeting didn’t go well.
I was prepared for a variety of questions, but halfway through lunch, Elliott asked the one I’d been hoping for.
“Tell me a bit about yourself, Mason. Where are you from?”
Why did I wish I could tell him the truth?
“I was born in Pittsburgh, but after my mom left my dad, we ended up in Port Morris, the Bronx.”
My answer got the reaction I expected.
“You’re kidding!” he exclaimed, dropping his fork. “I’m from the Bronx too!”
“No way!” I said, feigning disbelief.
“I swear!” he said, raising his hands. “If it wasn’t for the Hayward scholarship, I’d probably still be there.”
And there was my opening.
We spent the rest of lunch talking about our childhoods. His were real memories; mine were fabricated stories based on real places and events. I’d practiced them so much that I knew them by heart.
The more I shared, the more he opened up. By the time he asked for the check, I’d already been invited to lunch the next day.
***
For the next three weeks, I worked, came home, ate dinner, and wrote my daily report. After my evening injection, I’d set up my device and send my detailed intel back to my superiors.
Their only response was confirmation that they had received my transmission.
The monotony of my new life might have bored others, but I found solace in its predictability. I didn’t allow myself the luxury of entertainment, fearing it would divert my focus from the task at hand.
Honestly, the best part of my day was the time I spent with Elliott.
I had to keep reminding myself not to get too comfortable. After all, my entire presence here was based on a lie. Elliott couldn’t ever find out; the stakes were just too high.
My routine was thrown off on an uneventful Thursday. One of Elliott’s meetings had been rescheduled to three days earlier, and he needed all hands on deck for preparation.
I offered to stay. I didn’t realize that we’d be working well past midnight. I missed my nightly injection, and within a few hours, the symptoms of my condition began to show.
“Are you okay?” Elliott asked, studying me with concern.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I responded.
My left hand had begun to tremble slightly. Technically, I could skip one of my twice-daily injections, but it wasn’t advisable.
“Mason, your nose!” Elliott exclaimed, rising from his desk and offering me a box of tissues.
I took a few and wiped my nose discreetly. I hadn’t anticipated the bleeding to start so soon.
Elliott watched me silently for a moment before saying, “I’ve seen this before. I’m not here to judge you, Mason, but I strongly suggest you stop.”
His words left me utterly confused.
“It’s not because of the job stress, is it?” he asked. “I know some of the juniors use it to stay awake all night.”
Suddenly, I understood what he was insinuating.
“Elliott, I don’t do cocaine. I’m undergoing medical treatment that sometimes has unpleasant side effects,” I explained, coming up with the only reasonable excuse on the spot.
He sat back down, leaning over his desk. “I’m so sorry! It’s nothing serious, I hope.”
“I’ll be just fine! I just prefer not to mix my personal life with work,” I said.
“Please, go home and rest,” Elliott urged kindly. “I’ll wrap things up here and see you in the morning.”
That was a close call!
