The Man Who Broke the Moon

by Michael James Ploof

  “Jason…you don’t want to be here right now,” said Bobby.

  “What the hell?’ said Jason, getting out of his car. “You hooked up to the Pal system too?”

  “I’m serious, man,” said Bobby, looking way too worried for someone flipping burgers in paradise. He glanced over his shoulder warily. “Some guys been asking around for you. Rough-looking dudes. Columbians, I think.”

  “They still here?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then what are you so worked up about?” Jason brushed past his flustered friend and walked up to the bar.

  “Hey, Jason,” said the bartender.

  “Hey, Jewels.”

  “Pain Killer?”

  “You know me too well,” he said with a smile and lit a cigar.

  She winked. “Not well enough.”

  he turned to make his drink, and Jason cocked his head to get a better view of her ass, Bobby came around the bar and leaned in conspiratorially. “What’s this about, man? Why those dudes after you? Is it about…you know.” he glanced around at the dozen or so patrons in and around the bar.

  “The cocaine?” said Jason, enjoying the way the word made his friend squirm. “Nah, man. I always pay my debts.”

  “Then what?”

  “Thanks, Jewels,” said Jason, as she placed the drink in front of him. “Why you so serious, Bobby?”

  The boozer let out a sigh. “Look, you say it’s not about the product, then I believe you. I just don’t want to get pulled into something here, you know…”

  “Dangerous?” said Jason with a smirk. He couldn’t help but mock the man. “No, no, of course not, you can move five kilos of coke a week without any trouble, didn’t you know?”

  Bobby’s pathetic face pleaded.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Jason. “They don’t want me because I didn’t pay for the drugs. They want me because I banged their boss’s wife.”

  “Jesus Christ, you got a death wish, man?”

  Jason shrugged and took a drink.

  “Well, I would lie low for a while if I were you.”

  “You’re not me.”

  Bobby shook his head. “They had a T-27 model with them.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got an overbearing Pal 2000, and knowing him, he’ll be here any minute.”

  As if on cue, a drone taxi landed, and out lumbered Pal 2000, twitching and jerking, and scanning the patrons.

  “Ah, there you are, s-s-sir.”

  “Looks like they already got to him,” said Bobby, noting the many bullet holes in the robot’s chest.

  “Nah,” said Jason, “That was me.”

  “I’m afraid the dam-dam-damages are going to c-c-cost you fifty thousand credits, s-s-sir.”

  “We’ve got other problems right now.”

  “What pro-pro-problems?”

  “First, fix your goddamned speech impediment.”

  “Working on it, s-s-sir.”

  Jason finished his drink and waited, nodding at Jewels when she pointed at his glass from the other end of the bar.

  “Problem fixed, sir.”

  “Why’d you shoot your robot?” Bobby asked.

  “He’s a pain in the ass. He’s on orders to protect me from myself. But he must protect me from other harm as well. Isn’t that right, Pal?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “Do you have any combat programs installed?”

  “As you know, robots cannot do harm to humans. It is the first law of—”

  “I’ll take care of the humans. I need you to take out a modified T-27.”

  “The modification of robots is against the law, sir.”

  “Yeah, no shit, but bad guys don’t care about the law. That’s what makes them bad guys.”

  Pal considered that. “I’m afraid that even with martial arts programs, I would be incapacitated by a T-27 in less than seven seconds.”

  “Good, then you can buy me some time if need be.”

  Bobby poured himself a shot and tossed it back. “Listen, Jason. You should get off island for a few days. Let this whole thing blow over.”

  “Banging a kingpin’s wife doesn’t blow over.”

  “You’re right,” said Bobby contemplatively. “You’re screwed. Any requests for a final meal?”

  “Is that your way of saying, ‘get away from my restaurant before trouble comes looking for you?”

  “Yeah, man, something like that.”

  “You’re my fucking hero, Bobby Bishop. Good thing I’m not here for your help. You got this week’s take?”

  “It’s in the office.”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  Bobby offered him a sympathetic glance and disappeared into the small diner through a beaded curtain. Jewels, who had been trying to bring Jason home for a month, glided over to him as she wiped down the bar.

  “What kind of trouble you get yourself in this time?” she asked, offering him a devious grin.

  “Ah, nothing I can’t handle,” he said with a wink.

  “I bet you can handle a lot.”

  Jesus, girl, don’t make it so damn easy.

  Bobby came back through the curtain carrying a bulging manila envelope and nodded toward Jason’s car.

  “Well, sugar tits, I gotta be heading out,” said Jason, before tossing Jewels a twenty-dollar tip.

  “All right, sugar dick,” said Jewels. “Thanks for the tip. But next time I want the whole thing.”

  Jason shook his head, enjoying one last glimpse of her swollen cleavage, before heading to his car. Bobby waited, staring up at the cracked moon.

  “You going to need some more product?” Jason asked as he took the envelope and tossed it in his back seat.

  “Not this week. Aren’t you going to count the money?”

  “Nah.” Jason got in his car and started her up. She rumbled to life, catching the attention of half the patrons. “What were these guys driving?”

  Bobby turned from the moon. “It true what they say, Jason? Was it really you who did that?”

  Jason glanced over Bobby’s shoulder at the crack in the moon.

  He said nothing.

  Bobby watched him closely, saying, “They weren’t driving, they were flying. It’s a black air hummer.”

  “Thanks, Bob.”

  Pal 2000 got in the passenger seat and put on his seat belt, before waving at Bobby. “Goodbye, Mr. Bishop.”

  “See you later, Pal.”

  “Why do you bother being nice to them? They don’t have feelings, you know.”

  “Not yet,” said Bobby, glancing wearily at Pal 2000. “But when those little bastards become aware, they’re going to remember who their friends were.”

  “Well, I guess you’re thinking ahead,” said Jason, before relighting his cigar.

  “You should too.”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “You know, you and Pal would get along great. He could monitor your blood pressure while you slap your meat around.”

  “Sir, I am programmed to monitor only your blood pressure, which, at the moment, is quite—”

  “Shut up, Pal. See you around, Bobby.”

  “Not if I see you first.”

  Jason shook his head and put the car in gear. He hooked his arm around the passenger seat as he backed out, and out of the corner of his eye he caught the flash of headlights. Something heavy slammed into the back end of the car, whipping it around 45 degrees and leaving Jason staring down the road heading west.

  “Sir, if I am not mistaken, you have been located by the cartel,” said Pal 2000.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” said Jason. He slapped the stick into gear and peeled out, leaving the air hummer hovering in blue smoke.

  Chapter 3

  Bat out of Hell

  The White Chevelle shot down the road like a backdoor man caught with his pants down. The road quickly led to a sharp turn. Jason came in hot, pulled the e-brake as he turned just before the road did, and drifted around it before stomping on the gas once mo
re. Glancing in the rearview, he saw no sign of the air hummer.

  “Where are they?” he asked Pal 2000.

  “By my calculations, they are right above us, sir. Fret not, I have alerted the authorities.”

  “You what? Don’t answer that.”

  The roof suddenly caved in, and Jason reflexively slunk down in his seat to avoid a concussion. Pal wasn’t so quick and ended up denting the roof like a bowl around his round metal head.

  “I’m stuck, sir.”

  “Just hold on to your ball bearings,” said Jason. He took the gun from the small of his back with his left hand and fired three rounds into the sky. The air hummer sped ahead some two hundred feet and turned above the road with the agility of a hummingbird, its rotors a black blur of motion. The glass window was too darkly tinted for Jason to see who was inside, but he could just imagine the snarling face of Eduardo Valenzia staring back at him. Mounted guns folded out on each side of the egg-shaped air hummer, and Jason popped the safety latch on the nitrous button and squeezed hard.

  Fire erupted from the ends of the air hummer’s twin guns as the car suddenly lurched forward, surging from thirty to sixty miles per hour in a heartbeat. Bullets ricocheted off the hood and left their imprint on the windshield, and Jason flipped the bird as they passed beneath the air hummer. “Bulletproof glass, bitches!”

  “Sir, a window is not bulletproof if it is rolled down. For your safety, I would suggest rolling your window up and traveling swiftly but safely to the nearest police station. I have calculated a route, and—”

  “Hey, Pal. Knock, knock…”

  “Sir, this is not the best time for jokes.”

  Jason checked the side mirrors as he hugged another turn and almost made air off the hill that followed. “Just answer the damn door. Knock, knock.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Up.”

  “Up who?”

  “Up yours!”

  Another sharp turn presented itself, and Jason took it faster than was advisable for the average driver. Most people didn’t even bother getting a license these days, and the last gas vehicle had been made nearly forty years ago. Instead, people depended on electric and solar shit boxes with a top speed of exactly fifty-five miles per hour.

  Their loss.

  Jason caught sight of the air hummer in his side mirror and cranked the steering wheel, turning down a side street as he reached Christiansted. With any luck, the police drones would intercept Eduardo and his buddies for speeding.

  Lights erupted behind him, and Jason knew they had at least gotten the attention of the land drones.

  “Sir, I advise that you pull over.”

  “Zip it, Pal.”

  In the side mirror, Jason saw another police drone join the first, and he shot down another street that would lead them out of town. The robo-cops looked a lot like the Pal series, except for one leg rather than two, which ended in a wheel.

  “Driver, pull over, you have been recorded speeding through a residential area!” came the digital voices of the two cops speaking as one.

  “Sir…”

  “Do you really think that one of these times I’m going to say, you know what, Pal, you’re right. I’m going to pull over now?”

  “That is my hope, sir.”

  “You don’t have hope, you’re a microwave on a garbage can, so SHUT, THE, F—”

  One of the robo-cops exploded, and bullets rattled against the back of the car.

  Jason sped down main street, ignoring traffic lights and the honking horns of drone cars. The other drone cop took a hit to its wheel well and crashed into a building. The air hummer was hot on his tail, and Jason soon found himself out of ideas.

  “Where are the goddamned hover cops?”

  “They are en route, sir. But they are coming from far away. There is a house fire on the east side.”

  Jason glanced at Pal with trepidation. “Whose house?”

  “Yours, sir.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Jason slammed the dash, hit his head on the roof, and pounded on that a few times. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  Pal 2000 turned to him, and on his halo screen, a blinking cartoonish face offered him a pathetic expression. “I figured you had enough on your plate, sir.”

  Jason gulped down tequila and threw the bottle into the air above the car. Behind him, the bottle smashed on the air hummer’s dome window. Bullets rattled over the car in response, and Jason flashed them his middle finger again.

  “All right, if that’s the way you bastards want to play it, then that’s the way we’ll play.”

  He hung a right onto Hilltop Road, surging up it at fifty miles an hour. His pursuers were lost beyond the canopy of tangled trees for a moment, and Jason calculated the distance to the spot he had chosen.

  “Sir, we are leaving the town, and without the help of the local authorities, your chances of surviving this confrontation are 119 to 1.”

  “Never tell me the odds.”

  “Sir, from your bio, I know that is your favorite quote from Star Wars, but I must remind you; I am not C3P0, and you are not Han Solo.”

  “Thanks for crushing my dreams, man.”

  The road became worse the farther up into the hills they went, forcing Jason to slow down. With any luck, the air hummer would have flown ahead of them to the nearest spot where the canopy opened on the road. It was a corner that Jason knew well, and it was one he had imagined driving off many times.

  “Did I mention that you should hold on to your ball bearings?” he asked Pal 2000.

  “You did, sir.”

  “Then…kiss your oil hole goodbye!”

  They came around a corner onto a stretch of road that crept upward for thirty feet before abruptly hooking left, and there at the top of the hill, hovering just a few feet from the cliff, the air hummer waited. Jason floored it, waiting for the perfect moment to pop the nitrous. The air hummer’s twin guns spewed fire, and the windshield finally gave in. Jason hit the nitrous and the car lurched forward with a squeal.

  “Shiiit!” Pal 2000 screamed as they rocketed off the end of the road, into open air, and collided with the air hummer.

  Chapter 4

  Between a Rock and a T-27

  The wind sent the curtains dancing slowly, alluringly. Jason walked down the hall, the walls passing by like behemoths in a dream. It was dark, but the baseboard motion lights illuminated the gloom, shining down thinly, creating elongated circles on the hardwood floor. Melissa had insisted on the wide, thick boards. She had also insisted on shiplap, and pastel oranges and reds for the trim. Jason hadn’t cared either way. He just wanted her to be happy.

  He was beginning to see things in the shadows, though. The reds and oranges became easy to mistake for blood and gore, and his discomfort slowly grew as he walked down the hallway. He passed a black and white painting of a carousel. Far in the background Jason thought he could make out a fleck of red. He continued down the hallway. Darkness slowly grew, and the baseboard of the hallway gave way to LED strip lights, and the ground became metallic. The walls were bronze and shining. He heard Ember’s voice far ahead. Melissa was next to him walking sideways, face turned away. The walls became progressively lighter and the tunnel began to shake. He was blinded by the growing light, then he was flying.

  All he could hear was crashing.

  And then silence.

  Jason awoke hanging upside down from his seat belt in a world of hurt. He blinked heavily, his eyes adjusting to the broken, circular object in front of him. Even his eyes hurt, and they wanted to close rather than focus. His head throbbed, and blood slowly slid up his forehead. Weakly, he lifted his head from the steering wheel. His vision swam.

  “Pal?”

  He glanced over at the passenger seat. There was no Pal 2000, but what he did see was a bone protruding from his right forearm.

  “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled to himself.

  From his vantage point he could see little, but what he did see wa
s fire. It was about twenty yards away, likely chunks of the air hummer. He laughed to himself weakly as he fumbled with his seat belt release.

  After many failed attempts, he finally unclicked the seat belt and groaned as his weight pressed him onto the crumpled roof. Gingerly, and favoring his broken arm, he pulled himself out of the car. When he tried to push off with his feet, excruciating pain shot through his left leg, and with a trauma induced and cocaine fueled chuckle that turned into a cry, he glanced back to find another white bone sticking out of his jeans.

  “That’s going to hurt in the morning.” He laughed drunkenly, which caused only more pain. Something was sticking in his side. He felt it as he dragged himself out of the car window. The process seemed to take an eternity, but finally he emerged onto the still-warm dirt. He felt the prick of a cactus and recoiled, turning on his back and panting. He was on a small hill. Behind and above him was the roadway he had so valiantly launched himself off.

  “Dumbass,” he said, chuckling.

  A sound came to him then, a metal on metal grating that carried with it malicious intent. Slowly, ominously, the metal moaned. Jason sat up enough to see the T-27 emerging from the burning wreckage that had been the air hummer.

  “Hey you,” said Jason weakly. “Being as your boss is dead and all, I guess we can be friends.”

  “Terminate Jason Eriksson,” the T-27 droned.

  “Since when do robots hold grudges?” Jason searched the wreckage strewn all around him and saw one of the twin Gatling guns. It had been ripped from the air hummer in the crash and lay only a few feet away, its electrical guts exposed and sparking.

  But there was no time. The T-27 rose and pointed its lone eye on Jason. A laser beam erupted from the eye, aiming at Jason’s heart.

  “Use your bare hands, like a man, you pussy!” Jason yelled.

  The T-27 cocked its head to the side curiously. Expecting it to fire at any moment, Jason offered it a middle finger. But the T-27 was suddenly tackled by Pal 2000.

  “You have less than seven seconds, sir!” came Pal’s urgent voice as he grappled with the bigger, thicker, and heavily armed robot.