Random Chance and the Paradise that is Earth
Shawn Michel de Montaigne
Copyright 2016 by Shawn Michel de Montaigne
Smashwords Edition
Thank you for supporting me and respecting my work.
~~*~~
The manuscript to
Random Chance and the Paradise that is Earth
has been time-stamped.
All Rights Reserved.
All characters in this novel are entirely fictional.
Any resemblance to real-life individuals is purely coincidental.
Cover designed by Shawn Michel de Montaigne.
This Novel is Rated PG-13 by the Author
Parents: Please Be Advised!
Dedicated to Mother Earth.
May her ostensibly most intelligent species
learn to respect and love her before it’s too late.
Random Chance and the Paradise that is Earth
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
When you crack the sky, ‘scrapers fill the air.
Will you keep on building higher
till there's no more room up there?
Will you make us laugh, will you make us cry?
Will you tell us when to live, will you tell us when to die?
--Cat Stevens
Prologue
~~*~~
Year: 3467 AD
Aboard the UOT Adelson, a day out from Mars
“Report."
The captain of the Adelson didn't look up from his palm-pad.
"Sir," said the officer. "I think we've found him."
"Found who, sailor?"
It wasn't that the information on his palm-pad was too important to look up from. It was, after all, nothing more than real estate listings on Rhea.
"Well?"
"We believe it's The Pompatus … er, The Pompatus of … of, er, Love, er, sir—"
One didn't speak such nonsense to the captain. And that included such words like "Pompatus" or "love." It was enough to release him from the technology in his grip, which he tossed on the table. He brought his glare to the sailor.
"Love?"
"Pompatus, yes, sir—"
"And this concerns me why?" demanded the captain of the UOT Adelson.
"It's his ship, sir," said the sailor quickly. "The traitor’s son’s ship. Random Chance's—"
The captain squinted. "You believe it's his?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're wasting my time, Lieutenant! I'm not interested in belief; I want certainty, do you hear me? Certainty!"
"Y-Yes, sir.”
"Make sure it's him. If it is, pursue and overtake. Now get out!"
Chapter One
Ninety Degrees of Arc
~~*~~
If I were the king of the world
Tell you what I'd do
I'd throw away the cars and the bars and the war
Make sweet love to you
THE SHIP’S interior was filled with song. Random Chance emerged from the shower singing:
Joy to the world
All the boys and girls
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me
A great song to wake up to! A true classic, fifteen hundred Earth-years old.
He trotted up the ladder-stairs to the bridge, a bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist, one with a huge peace symbol on it in red and black and surrounded with bright yellow sunflowers.
You know I love the ladies
Love to have my fun
I'm a high-life flyer and a rainbow rider
A straight-shootin' son of a gun
I said a straight-shootin' son of a gun
The bridge was a well-shielded transparent bubble forty feet in diameter that extended from the main body of the vehicle, and could be retracted for landings and emergencies. A walkway led from the stairs to its circumference. The captain's chair and propulsion and nav/grav controls were there; below the walkway were waste disposal and atmo control systems, redundancy systems, recycling systems and emergency power and life support overrides.
The Pompatus of Love was a recreational vehicle, a “Benito,” known by most as a “sea turtle" for its remarkable similarity to one. Benito was a defunct spaceship company, one that had been taken over by the Oligarchy when the Resistance began seven Earth-years ago. Only a handful of singleships of similar make and model had been made.
Random plopped down in the captain's chair, noticing the blinking red light on the console. He quit singing.
"Hewey, cut the music."
The music cut off instantly. He called up the data that had sent up the alarm. "Can you give me a picture?"
"Tryin', man," came the frustrated voice of the ship’s computer. A moment of silence followed. "It's Oligarchy, that's for damn sure. I can't seem to get a fix on 'em. All that military-grade shielding. What I know for sure is that they've picked up our scent."
Random worked at focusing the 'scopes. Water from his hair dripped into his lap. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Easy, Random. They popped up just as you stepped out of the shower. I was about to blow the horn when you wrapped up in the towel. I knew you were hoofin' it here."
He gazed up. The great orange-red globe of Mars filled most of the view, casting an angry glow on everything. He looked over the data on the center screen.
He was known to the Oligarchy. Being the son of arguably its most famous traitor did that. Too, he’d had a few run-ins for what passed for their version of the law.
"Six hours to landing. Best guess, Hewson: Will they overtake us by then?"
"Crunchin' the numbers," responded the computer. "It ain't lookin' good, amigo. Best case gives us three and a half hours before the piggies overtake us."
"Worst case?"
"Something closer to two."
He cursed under his breath. "Good times, bad times, you know I had my share …"
"What's the word, El Honchorito?"
He shook his head, sighed, and sat back. "No decision to make. Shift course away from Mars—but gentle-like, so that they don't think we're makin' a run for it. Cut deceleration and retract the bridge just in case their eggs florentine were spoiled and they aren't in the mood to talk nice."
He stood, took his towel from around his waist and wiped down the chair, then re-wound it about his hips.
"Where you off to, amigo?"
"The kitchen. I'm starving."
~~*~~
Even up close the UOT Adelson was hard to see. Perhaps a hundred meters away, its great bulk was obscured by its shielding, which distorted the space around it and made his eyes water.
"Piggies at the doorstep," reported Hewey. "Damn strange they haven't hailed us, doncha think?"
"They want us to run," said Random. "I know the trick. Dad warned me about it. They're lookin' for an excuse to blow us out of the sky. They want to scare us into making a rash decision. I'm guessing that the Martians have got their eyes on the action up here—and not all those peepers are Garkies. They're loathe to ruin their PR."
"What, that they're scum-sucking bastards?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"What're your orders?"
He shrugged, nodded. "Hail 'em. Send the standard info—license, proof of insurance, and registration. But make the comm beam wide, and
turn it all the way up."
"How wide you talkin'?"
"Oh, ninety degrees should cover it."
Hewey chuckled.
~~*~~
It's not that the Oligarchs didn't have a sense of humor. Well, at least they'd once heard of something called humor, because it took over forty separate hails before they answered—hails that, turned up all the way and broadcast to half the universe, would be heard by every 'scope this side of the Oort Colonies. For that reason it was illegal. It tended to muck up the works for passing ships.
Which was precisely what Random wanted.
Hewson was still laughing.
"I gotta tell ya, Captain,” said Hewey between chuckles, “you've got kahonies. I just hope they don’t turn The Pompatus into so much scrap after this is over and lock you up on Phobos …"
Random had eaten breakfast (scrambled eggs and sausage) and gone back to his bedroom. He lay now on his bed reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X, a banned book in Garky space. Random's father, before he had been incinerated for treason, had, without Random's knowledge, uploaded his entire library to The Pompatus of Love before the Garky courts had it deleted, including Malcolm X. Random looked away from the ghost screen, which floated just above his head.
"They won't."
"Well, it's about time …" said Hewey.
Random looked away from the screen. "They finally decide to answer?"
Hewey didn't respond, but played the incoming message:
"Civilian recreational vehicle, you will dock in bay five. Prepare to be boarded."
The female voice was cold and unemotional.
"Can you handle it?" asked Random.
"Already on it," said Hewey. "You should probably get dressed. We'll be expectin' company within fifteen minutes."
Random touched the ghost screen, which flickered out of existence, and sat up. "What's the word on the local fuzz?"
"Three out from Phobos, headin' straight this way. Ground has ordered us to land at Olympus Southeast I-mmediately."
"Good, good," said Random, pulling on a black Whitesnake T-shirt and button-up denims.
"Like starvin' pigs to the trough," chuckled Hewey. "Funny how piggies never learn."
~~*~~
At least they didn't cuff him.
He wasn't sure that was a good sign.
Three armed guards led him from The Pompatus' airlock. Random greeted them with index finger and middle finger extended and splayed. "Peace, baby. Take me to your leader."
He could hear Hewey chuckle in his ear.
He was marched down austere and sterilized halls. A soothing color, taupe, he thought. Or so he had heard. To him it looked like last night's hangover.
Soldiers (sailors? He wasn't sure what to call them) uniformed in black and olive green passed without noticing him. Good ol' Garkies. Random greeted some of them as they came within earshot.
"Peace, man." "Make love not war." "Women. Can't live with 'em, can't cut 'em in half with your little ray gun." "Flyin' straight ain't no way to live, son …" "It's time to show your cards, buzz-cut."
The escorting soldiers did nothing to shut him up.
Hewey laughed the entire time—except for the comment on women, to which he said: "Random, c'mon now, man. This is serious. You gotta have your 'A' game goin'."
Another hall, this one much longer and wider than the others. Random wondered why he wasn't simply whisked to his destination on a lift.
At the end was open space. Mars glowered in the window.
This had to be the bridge.
He had never been admitted to a warship's bridge before, not even when his father was alive. It was a very large room, with soldiers or sailors or whatever you call them sitting in a wide circle around him, manning God-knows-what computer stations to God-knows-what ends.
At the other side of a catwalk stood a man inside a raised horseshoe-shaped control panel. They crossed the walk, approached him.
The guard directly behind him spoke up. "The detainee, sir." He pushed him in the back with the point of his gun.
The captain turned around. He was a medium-sized middle-aged man with a severe crewcut and grizzled countenance. His mouth looked as though it hadn't smiled since he was a boy, if ever. He regarded him as one would a rotten piece of meat, blue eyes squinting.
Random, for his part, couldn't hide his surprise.
"Uncle Bartlett," he said, blinking. "Well, rock me like a hurricane …"
Chapter Two
Trust Me, Uncle
~~*~~
GUARDS LED him off the bridge. Captain (Uncle) Bartlett walked ahead, but not before ordering the men to cuff him.
The cuffs—not electronic, but the ancient steel variety—bit into Random’s wrists. He looked over his shoulder at the one cuffing him. "You're good at this. But I bet your girlfriend's side squeeze is better—gentler."
The soldier next to that one brought the butt of his rifle up into Random’s chin.
He fell to his knees. Blood filled his mouth.
"That one gets what's comin' to him," murmured Hewey.
They picked him up by the hair and shoulders and pushed him behind Bartlett, who didn’t bother turning around to watch. "I think that's enough to convince you to behave, isn't it?"
"Not ever," replied Random, fighting to stay conscious. He spat, aiming for the wall to his right.
The soldiers did not respond. He expected them to.
Down a short corridor, then into a small room with a table and two chairs.
"I'll be just a few minutes," said Captain Bartlett.
The men saluted and the door whispered closed.
"Sit down," ordered the captain, who sat.
Random remained standing.
"Would you like me to call the guards in here and force you to sit? I'll do it, and when they're done you'll be lucky if you can sit at all!"
"Asshole," grumbled Hewey.
Random sat.
It was obvious that Uncle Bartlett was used to cowing men simply by staring at them. Random stared back, uncowed.
The captain grunted contemptuously and motioned at him. "Look at you. Back in the days when your father had some sense, he'd've whipped you for dressing like this."
Random said nothing.
"You got contraband in that RV?"
"They're tearing this place apart looking for some," said Hewey. "They've got a tracer running through the interface, too."
"I'm talking to you, boy!" yelled the captain, slamming his fist on the table.
Once, long ago, his dad had demanded respect this way, too. Once …
Generals gathered in their masses,
just like witches at black masses.
Evil minds that plot destruction,
sorcerer of death's construction.
He shook his head.
"No? No contraband?"
He swallowed bloody spit. "Do you know what he said to me before he was arrested?"
"Who?"
"Dad. Jameson."
"I'm not interested in what he said," said Bartlett with a scowl.
"Yes you are."
Uncle Bartlett's hand lashed out and slapped his face. "You are being investigated for aiding and abetting the enemy! I could have you charged! You'll be incinerated inside of a day, do you hear me?"
"You've got nothing to say worth hearing," said Random. He spat blood on the table.
Uncle Bartlett ignored the bloody saliva and stood. He walked to the wall and barked, "Bay 5."
The wall disappeared. In its place was The Pompatus of Love floating within the bay's confines. The bay was so large that it could probably hold ten more of her and still have room to spare. Men walked in an out of her landing ramp, which extended from her belly to a walkway.
"I'll do it, you know," he said. "I'll push that stupid turtle into space and blow it to bits. And I'll make you watch."
"No you won't."
"Yeah? Why won't I?"
"Because you pig Garkies need
to present a peaceful front, and blowing up a civilian vessel would really throw a monkey wrench into the works. The posse storming out of Mars right now wants a piece of me, too. Their cameras are rolling, bet on it. You’re in civilian space. The military isn’t welcome—"
Bartlett was on him in an instant, his face red as a plum. He pulled Random up by the collar with two fists and shook him, his teeth bared. He went to say something, but stopped. He threw him back into the chair.
"You think you're so damn clever."
Random spat blood on the table. Hewey said, "They made a mess, Rand, but they're leaving. I hacked the report. They're going to say you're clean. They didn't find the library, thank your dear ol' Dad.... Several wanted to frame you, set you up with some microsoft ... but the lead pig told them you weren't worth it. I think it was his stash and he didn't want to part with any. They should be there pretty quick."
Random looked up at his uncle. "No more so than Dad."
"I knew that asshole wasn't right in the head when he named you, his only son, Random. What a stupid, nonsensical thing to do."
"Well, Uncle, he told me before he was executed that he always thought you were a ball-less, pathetic excuse of a man." Random grinned, his teeth stained red. "Conscience? Principles? A moral center? He got those before he died. You, on the other hand, Bartles ..." He shrugged indifferently.
"That's rich. You, a trust-fund baby, lecturing me on morality, on having a conscience ..."
The door buzzed.
"Come!" the captain roared.
The door opened and a Garky regular entered. He handed Bartlett a thin tablet which the captain looked over.
A moment passed in silence.
"Says you're clean," he said. The disappointment in his voice was evident.
Random smirked. "Not like that skank bot you sank your soggy toothpick in back on Europa, eh? You really got into her, huh?"
Hewey laughed. "Hoo boy, Random! He's gonna knock your teeth out!"
But Uncle Bartlett did not strike him. He gave the tablet back to the sailor (soldier?). "Five minutes," he said to the man.
The regular saluted and left.
Captain Bartlett stared.
"How do you know about Europa?"
Random didn’t answer. He spat more blood on the table. He waited for fists to come raining down on him, but his uncle did not move.
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