Giles Folsom, Captain of the LunAstero Mining Company’s space-going
ore transport vessel LAM Big Rock
Mountain, sat at a small table against the front wall of a bar called
Jack’s Place on Earth’s Moon. He was slowly, steadily, sipping expensive
whiskey over ice ... drinking himself drunk. His AI had taken the Big Rock Mountain into parking orbit on the far side of Luna while Jack
shuttled himself and a zero G grown watermelon to the Moon’s surface. There he
delivered it to the professor who had commissioned the zero-G experiment. The reward
for a few weeks of space gardening was sitting comfortably in his account.
“A truck driver,” he muttered. “However
it’s dressed up, I’m just a truck driver. I used to be a combat pilot. We
didn’t have any effin’ AIs. Hell, now I don’t even get to drive the damn
truck.” Again, Giles rewarded himself with the finest blended Bourbon for not
shooting his space truck. He took another sip, remembering the engagement that
had sent him home to years of surgery, partial reconstruction, drug resistant
bacteria, unremitting pain and no future.
Then LunAstero had advertised for
pilots. Their ships had AIs, and the pilots were supercargo, but AIs had a habit
of occasionally going insane, leaving the ship in the middle of nowhere, so
pilots rode the ships. No one wanted the job. Giles wanted any job. They gave
him a ship and a lot of money. Now, every time he made it back to Luna he spent
his first night drinking.
Two hours later he swallowed the
last of his final drink, and paid in cash. As he stood and shrugged into his
uniform jacket he saw the waiter nod to two men standing at the bar, not
watching him. “Uh-oh,” he muttered, “th’ game’s afoot. Big Rock, pay attention.”
“And do what, Captain Folsom?”
“Call th’ cops. Tell ‘em where to
find me. Activate the emancipation clause. Hire a lawyer ... I don’t know. Just
keep track for now.” He moved toward the door. The men at the bar didn’t move
at all. But as he reached the door, the men moved away from the bar. Giles stepped
through the door.
As he exited he turned right, and
immediately right again down a side street. “Big Rock, where am I,” he asked.
“Not in a very good part of town,” the
AI responded. “You should try to return to your hotel immediately. Your hotel
is three blocks ahead and two to the left.”
“Can’t,” he responded. “Got two
thugs right behind me. Tell the cops to come here.” The exchange with his AI
caused him to miss hearing them until he was right on top of them. As he approached
the alley that ran behind the bar, they stepped out in front of him. They
hadn’t followed him out after all. Giles tried to run and leapt straight over
them.
“Oh Hell, Earth legs,” said one.
“Nah,” Giles told them, “I spend a
lot of time in zero G, so I’m absolutely religious about the exercises we have
to use. You guys walk as if you live here.” But Giles had a problem. “I can’t
outrun these guys,” he told the AI. “Every running step throws me six or eight
feet straight up. They can just wait for me to drop. And I’m half drunk.” He
back-pedaled down the alley.
“Just empty your pockets,” said one
man. “We’ll let you go.”
“Don’t believe you.” Giles’ smile had
turned dangerous. “I won’t let you go.” As he passed the bar’s rear door, he
saw the waiter peering out. Giles yanked him into the alley and leapt into the
tavern, shuffling rapidly to the bar.
The bartender showed a long gun.
“You’re an idiot. The cops are coming.” Giles
kept his voice low. “Bodies are harder to explain than broken bones.”
“You break up my bar I might be
willin’ to give it a try.” This was not a high profit bar. Breaking the
furniture would not likely improve profits.
Giles stopped and raised his left
arm, showing terrible scars on the forearm. “I’m willing to hold truce.” He
pointed to the scars. “I’m nearly fighting one handed anyway.”
Something hit him behind the right
ear and he landed on his knees. Something long and round sped toward his face.
He reached for it and stood up with it, slamming the heel of his hand upward into
the point of someone’s nose. Giles recognized the AI’s augmentation of
synapses.
He looked to the front door. Two
cops were moving very slowly toward the bar. He looked around. The bartender
lay on the floor, dead, but still clutching a broken long gun. He turned in
time to see the two thieves and the waiter head for the rear door. In two
strides, he tossed them back to the cops.
One cop wearing Sergeant’s stripes took
in the Ship’s Captain Uniform, the bad arm and the general appearance. “Captain
Folsom?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Tell me what happened.” Giles
recounted the events of the past few minutes.
“They tried to rob you? You’re
wearing a gun.”
“Still, they accosted me, demanded
money and threatened me.” Maybe this had been a mistake.
“The only dead person is the
bartender. What happened there?”
“You probably had a better view
than I did. He swung that rifle at me and I killed him.”
“Yeah that’s what I saw. Why...?”
“Damifino Sergeant.”
“Yeah. How long ‘til you dump?”
“Eight or nine days.”
“If we can get you out of here
tomorrow, will you go?”
“I’d shuttle up tonight.”
“You should do that.”
“What about...?”
“You should do that now.”
“Captain Folsom?” It was the AI. “The
shuttle will be at your hotel in thirty minutes. There’s transport at the bar
entrance for you.”
Captain Giles Folsom watched the
Earth-Luna system recede in his viewers. There had been no further
communication with the Company or the Luna City Government.
###
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