EU-4356: I don't know, Hank. That's a long haul with nothing but empty air(5) to keep you company.
EA-29384XB: Yeah, but once the burn is made you can just leave Newton in the driver's seat and do's you like. I've been tying my own flies; next cycle I get off, going to head to the woods for some trout fishin.
EU-4356: I guess if that's your thing. Me, I like the short hops between the pinballs.(6) Good money, decent company.
CA-936: And now actual beer!
IO-3698: I am sad to miss that. I'm burning outcycle(7) from the Flaming Pincushion (8) to the New Kid (9) with another load of hydroponic equipment.
CA-936: Hank, them rebs is just filling your wallet, ain't they?
IO-3698: Heh, that's an affirm, Jimmy. Every time the militants torch another station, I get to make another run. Their little crusade against dependence on the inner moons is just crazy talk, but it is lucrative.
EA-29384XB: Hey, Hank, I haven't been keeping up on you pinballs. What's going on over on the New Kid?
IO-3698: Oh, nothing but the usual. Every time there's a new colony, at some point they decide to get all political. It's fool-talk if you ask me, to call yourself independent and then blow up the machinery what keeps you fed.
EU-4356: Ain't nothing but a lot of hogwash. They'll settle down, soon enough. Once more people move to a colony, it starts to get domestic-like. It's just that the sort of folk who like to be first to colonize are also the sort of folk who don't want anyone to be second. It'll sort out in the long run.
IO-3698: In the meantime, I get to haul replacement equipment.
CA-936: Time you get back, like as not Jenny'll be sold out of Fat Squirrel's load.
IO-3698: What the hell was that?
CA-936: Aw, shucks Hank, I'se just pullin yer chain. I'll make sure we save a drop of...
IO-3698: No, not you. I mean what in tarnation just went past me? I had something long and narrow just buzz my rig.
EU-4356: Joyguzzlers? (10)
IO-3698: Maybe. They look to be on course for the Whisky Cooler(11), but if so they're way past Rubicon and still accelerating.
CA-936: Drunk Joyguzzlers? You think one of the Skypigs(12) can get them towed off collision?
IO-3698: Not sure. I'm about to head out of range of this sat, though; if someone else wants to try to get ahold of Skypig local about it, maybe.
EU-4356: Copy that, Old Henry. I'm on it. You have a good flight.
(Investigator's Note: It was at this point in time that Gladys McHavernathy, aka Hot Chicken, contacted Space Patrol HQ on Europa via direct com channel. Please refer to this report's Supplement C for a full transcript of that conversation. A pause occurs in the laser relay's recordings at this point, roughly the length of that phone conversation. It appears that the timestamps on our inboard calls and the laser relay station match.)
EU-4356: All right, the Skypigs are looking into Old Henry's contact. We'll let them deal with it.
GA-54: Breaker, breaker one-nine-six. This is Firebarrel. I just passed Old Henry goin the other way; any you have word on them joyguzzlers of his on a foxtrot-six(13) with the Whisky Cooler?
CA-936: Firebarrel, this is Puddlestomper. Always good to see your fine self flying into Europa local. I believe Hot Chicken's been on the line with the Skypigs about them joyguzzlers. You headed for an offload at Delta station?
GA-54: That's an affirm, Puddlestomper. You going to try to invite me for another round of greengrog? I don't recall the last time going so well.
CA-936: I think it went all right, but that's none to the point. We got us Fat Squirrel here in Europa local, and he's about to fill up Delta Station with honest-to-God beer from the blue dot.
GA-54: Jimmy, if you're pulling my leg I'm going to find you on Delta and smack you so hard your last remaining teeth will...
EA-29384XB: Firebarrel, this is Fat Squirrel. I can't vouch none for Jimmy's tolerableness on a date, but he ain't lyin' about the beer. I've got me a teralitre and a half of Big Larch Lager on its way to Delta, ETA 1:32.
GA-54: Well, if that ain't just a thing to get a girl's attention. Jimmy, I do believe I'll take you up on your offer to buy me one.
EA-29384XB: Puddlestomper, I think you owe me for getting you a second date.
CA-936: That's an affirm, Fat Squirrel. We'll catch up on Delta. Maybe I can set you up with my cousin Doreen. She's not as pretty as Leslie out there, but she's got most'er teeth an' she cooks a fine stew. Maybe I'll get her on a shuttle up to Delta, see's if you two...
SP-1: This is an activation of the Emergency Lightcast System. This is not a test. Please stay tuned to this channel for further instructions. Repeat. This is an activation of the Emergency Lightcast System. This is not a test. Please stay tuned to this channel for further instructions.
(Investigator's Note: This announcement is followed by a standard fifteen-second two-tone alarm. Once the ELS is activated, inbound and outbound signals from the relay station are blocked for the duration of the emergency broadcast. Therefore, we have no recordings of the assorted trucker's transmissions during this time.)
SP-1: This is the Emergency Lightcast System. An object accelerating at a high rate of speed toward the crust of Europa is hereby confirmed to be a rebel missile. Current analysis suggests that this missile is of the planet-cracking variety. We ask all citizens not to panic. We do not have Space Patrol craft on course capable of interception. We ask all citizens not to panic. All spacefaring vehicles in Europa Local, please forward vehicle specification and current vectors to 65.334.2305.67 for immediate processing. Repeat...
(Investigator's note: This message repeats itself three times prior to allowing normal conversation to resume. In the interest of brevity, I have not included all three repetitions in transcribing this recording. However, they should be taken into account given any potential analysis of timing.)
GA-54: Did he just say planet-cracker?
CA-936: That's an affirm, Leslie. New plan, how's about you and I burn our vector up to high orbit around the crush ball?
GA-54: Nice thought, Jimmy, but I'm way past Rubicon on the Ice to Ice run.(14) Gonna reaccelerate incycle and try to burn to low orbit.
CA-936: Damn it all, we just turned into ships passing in the night. T'ain't nearly as romantic-like as it sounds.
EU-4356: Give it up, Jimmy, it was never meant to be anyways. Firebarrel, I'm going to be joining you on that incycle burn; I'm swinging around towards Delta station and am about to burn to break orbit. Fat Squirrel, you got yourself an way out?
EA-29384XB: Well, I'm coming in hot, figure I'll bust past and back outcycle with Jimmy if I...
SP-1: EA-29384XB, This is Space Patrol One. Please copy.
EA-29384XB: Shit, boys, I think I'm in trouble for something. Ok, SP-1, this is EA-29384XB, Fat Squirrel in the driver's seat. I copy.
SP-1: Er, yes. Mr. Squirrel, you are hereby requested to vector towards X thirty-five degrees, Y seventy-two degrees, Z negative forty-eight degrees. Please confirm.
EA-29384XB: Uh, SP-1, this is Fat Squirrel. I copy your request of X thirty-five, Y seventy-two, Z negative forty-eight. Is this an official order? I am currently on a course confirmed in flight plan number...
SP-1: Standby.
(Sergeant Greg Wilicutty's report is available as supplement A. Based on timestamps it is reasonable to say that during the interim period when Sgt. Wilicutty is absent from this transcript, he is confirming the requisition order from his superior officers.)
EU-4356: Murray, them Skypigs trying to pull you over(15) in the middle of a planet-cracking attack? That don't seem right at all.
EA-29384XB: Not sure. They just went all quiet on me.
GA-54: Odds are the vacuum porkers(16) didn't even listen to their own emergency notice. Fat Squirrel's gonna get a load ticket, and we're gonna watch the Whisky Cooler blow while he does. Typical.
CA-936: Dammit all, Murray, just get the hell out of there. Let them match your vector if they want to board. Don
't let them get you...
SP-1: This is Space Patrol One to EA-29384XB. Fat Squirrel, you are hereby ordered, not requested, to set vector as previously mentioned, with an additional negative one-point-five Z.
EA-29384XB: Uh, SP-1, Fat Squirrel here. I copy your order and am complying. Course adjusting now. Can I ask the reason for this board?
SP-1: Mr. Squirrel, this is not a request to allow boarding. This is a requisition order under Space Patrol Charter, Section...
EA-29384XB: A requisition? What do the Skypigs need with a teralitre and a half of beer?
CA-936: Greedy sons of bitches, them Skypigs.
EU-4356: Hush now, Jimmy. Let the adults talk.
SP-1: Mr. Squirrel, please confirm that you have adopted the new heading and re-send vector data.
EA-29384XB: Uh, copy. Confirmed and complying, SP-1.
SP-1: Roger that. We are going to need you to make a 3.5G acceleration burn for thirty seconds at t-minus twenty-five...
EA-29384XB: 3.5G? That's max burn forward! SP-1, I am currently attempting deceleration for in-system docking... that kind of burn is going to wreak havoc with Delta station.
SP-1: EA-29384XB, acknowledge 3.5G acceleration burn in t-minus thirteen...
EA-29384XB: On your head be it, then. Order acknowledged.
GA-54: Holy crap, anyone else look at the flight vectors on that burn?
SP-1: t-minus five
EA-29384XB: Firebarrel, this is Fat Squirrel, what do you...
SP-1: Initiate burn.
EA-29384XB: Burn Initiated. Firebarrel, what do you mean the flight vectors?
GA-54: Fat Squirrel, pull all incoming up on navcomp. I think the Skypigs are putting you on foxtrot six with the planet cracker.
(Investigator's Note: A moment of silence follows this. An examination of the consoles of Leslie Malera aka Firebarrel, James Wotenheim aka Puddlestomper, and Gladys McHavernathy aka Hot Chicken show they all ran this simulation at roughly the same time. Judging by the following transmission, Mr. Williams ran a similar program, but due to the EM pulse of the blast we were unable to reconstruct his navcomp's memory.)
EA-29384XB: Well, I'll be. SP-1, you got any idea how I'm gonna...
CA-936: SP-1, this is CA-936, Puddlestomper piloting. Request that I be given vector to foxtrot six with incoming missile instead of Fat Squirrel.
GA-54: Jimmy! That's one hell of an offer. You sure you want to do that?
CA-936: We can just emergency blow away from our loads once the course is set; shouldn't get us caught in the blast. Only problem is, Murray's about to blow up the first chance we had at real beer. I ain't gonna drink no more kelp ifn's I can help it.
SP-1: Puddlestomper, that's a negative on your request. EA-29384XB is the closest vessel. In addition, we show that the cargo of EA-29384XB is almost entirely liquid, which should provide less dangerous shrapnel post-explosion. Fat Squirrel, we show appropriate course and speed. You may detach your cab at any time.
CA-936: (Investigator's note: At this point in the recording, there is an open transmission from CA-936. No actual words can be heard, but closer inspection reveals a choked sob at one point during the transmission.)
EA-29384XB: Cargo away.
EU-4356: Goodbye, sweet lager. We hardly knew ye.
CA-936: And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
GA-54: Jimmy, you know Shakespeare?
CA-936: Who?
GA-54: Nevermind.
EA-29384XB: SP-1, permission to vector away and burn an acceleration to avoid that blast?
SP-1: Standby.
EA-29384XB: Ummmm...SP-1? What, exactly, do you mean "standby"?
SP-1: Projected impact in t-minus three...
EA-29384XB: Oh, shi....
(Investigator's note: At this point, the impact occurred. See our main report as well as the vector analysis of the remaining beer in Supplement D and the meteorological report detailing the pattern of the rain of beer on Europa for details on the explosion.)
EU-4356: Murray?
(Investigator's note: A thirty-second silence follows this)
EU-4356: Fat Squirrel, this is Hot Chicken, please respond. Repeat, Fat Squirrel this is Hot Chicken, respond.
GA-54: I'm coming in from that side of the Whisky Cooler. Space Patrol One, this is GA-54, Firebarrel piloting. Request vector information to make visual check on projected intercept with Fat Squirrel.
SP-1: Standby.
GA-54: Of course. Another Standby.
(Investigator's note: While there is a significant amount of displeasure at Sgt. Wilicutty displayed in this transcript, a review of this report as a whole should recommend him for significant commendation in his quick calculations. It is this investigator's opinion that, without the heroic actions of Sgt. Wilicutty, Europa may very well have been victim to the Ganymedean rebel attack.)
EU-4356: Sons-of-bitches.
GA-54: Exactly. Ooo, I can see the blast site on my scope now. It's a giant, expanding star, made of freezing beer. Here, I'm streaming it; check your visuals.
CA-936: It's... beautiful.
SP-1: Firebarrel, permission to vector granted. Come to X negative twenty-two, Y twelve, Z eleven.
GA-54: Roger that. Initiating vector shift.
EU-4356: You see him, Leslie?
GA-54: Ummm... not yet. SP-1, do I have an ETA on contact?
SP-1: Stand...
GA-54: ...by? How did I not see that coming. Ooo, there's his cab. Pulling it up on scope now.
EU-4356: Do you see Murray? Is he OK?
GA-54: No, not yet. It's pretty dark in... wait, there he is! He's got a handlight, shining back and forth. It looks like he's alive, but no power systems. SP-1, are you copying this? Fat Squirrel is alive but stranded on your projected course. No idea how much air he has in there.
SP-1: Copy that, Firebarrel. Deploying fast rescue units now.
EU-4356: Oh, thank God.
CA-936: Hey, SP-1, when you haul him outta that dead can of his, can you get us an ETA on the next shipment he'll have coming in?
SP-1: Uh... standby.
(Investigator's note: This transcript largely confirms all other reports contained herein. However, it does specifically contain the requisition language Big Larch Brewing has asked about. It would appear that, given Mr. William's reticence to respond prior to being ordered, we are liable to Big Larch for the cost of one tanker truck and 1.5 Tl of beer. As this investigator is currently quartered on Delta Station, it is requested that recompensation be made with all due haste).
-END TRANSCRIPT-
(1) "Long haul from the Blue Dot"—Jargon for making the trip from Earth to the colonies on the Jovian Moons.
(2) Jupiter
(3) Slang for the fermented kelp beverage currently used as the primary intoxicant on the Jovian moons.
(4) Someone who works primarily from Earth
(5) "Empty air" does not refer to actual air. Rather, it refers to "air waves" of the late twentieth century, where atmospheric radio communications were the primary method of communication. Empty air simply means noone to talk to.
(6) Jovian Moons.
(7) To a higher orbit around Jupiter
(8) Io, so named because of its many mountains and volcanoes.
(9) Ganymede, so named due to its very recent colonization.
(10) A person who drives at maximum acceleration until Rubicon, then maximum deceleration. A practice reviled by the truckers, as it tends to be out-of-control wealthy teenagers who can afford the massive fuel expense.
(11) Europa; presumably so named because it is a giant ball of ice.
(12) That would be us, the Space Patrol.
(13) Collision course. "Foxtrot" bears here the same meaning it does in the more common term "Charlie Foxtrot." "Six" refers to direction. Thus, putting oneself on a course for a foxtrot-six means, delicately, to invite fornication from the rear.
(14) The run between Ganymede and Europa.
(15) Another term ado
pted from ground-based trucking. Colloquial for executing a standard boarding check.
(16) i.e., Space Pig. Us again.
Of Hops, Malt, and Pee
Bruce Taylor
Looking at Maxwell (“Mac”) Horace (didn’t like to be called Maxwell or Max) you’d never, ever guess this six-foot-six, 250 pound bear of a guy with ruddy face, full head of black hair, and the greenest eyes that would make even plants blush, could ever have anything—anything wrong with him. Boisterous laugh, loved blue jeans and pearl buttoned monochrome shirts of vivid color—looked like he would not only be the life of a party, but the life of life itself. And you’d think him the happiest, healthiest person you’d ever met.
However, if you went out to the Lumber Jack Tavern, out there in Darrington, this little town huddled near the base of the vertical, 6000 foot vertical, jagged wall of brooding, ice-capped Whitehorse Mountain just an hour northeast of Seattle, it became obvious—he had a problem. Especially noticeable after he had a beer or two. I didn’t pay much attention to it at first.
I met him in the evening at the opening of the coffeehouse, The Mountain Loop. Beautiful place with blond, wood floors, walls painted magenta; one section a book store, the other, for snacks and coffee with round, glass-topped tables and behind the counter with low open cooler next to it, a big, black board with menu written in bright, orange chalk, the prices in white.
Anyway, I got there later than planned and found it unexpectedly crowded for a Sunday evening. I looked about and finally saw an empty seat at the table where this fellow sat. And as I sat, I plopped on the table a long-sought copy of Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles and then proceeded to wrestle off my coat. The book caught this fellow’s attention. “Oh, hey, you a Bradbury fan?” His eyes got big as he drank in the cover art of Thee Bradbury.
“God,” I laughed, “who isn’t? Fantasist superb and one of those folks who I think wrote magic realism. He wrote everything—even wrote for The Twilight Zone.”
“Magic realism?” He leaned back, plopped hands on the table, then picked up his latte. “Heard about that. Fantasy, right?” He sipped his drink then slowly put it down on the table.
I smiled. “Actually, it’s not a lot different than lucid dreaming where the strange and real co-exist. You don’t think anything about how strange the dream may be, except when you wake up and remember it.” I then added as an afterthought, “Been thinking recently that maybe ‘magic realism’ is code for ‘lucid dreaming’.”
How Beer Saved the World Page 5
