Alvin Baylor Lives!_A 21st Century Pulp

by Maximilian Gray

  He stepped back into the white room. Aimes stood up near the reception desk. The well-dressed man was now patting him down.

  I’m sick of this shit.

  Alvin walked over slowly.

  “Arms up,” said the man in an accented voice. He looked at Alvin with disdain.

  Alvin stared blankly at the man’s sunken cheeks as he was poked and prodded.

  “Your bag stays with me,” said the guard.

  “Can I trust you with it?” said Alvin.

  “What’s that?” said the security man. He said it like he didn’t care to hear the answer. Then he pulled the bag from Alvin’s shoulder.

  Fuck this guy.

  “Nice work if you can get it,” said Alvin.

  Aimes’s eyes went wide.

  The guard glared at Alvin. He finished his pat-down and motioned toward the door.

  “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Then I won’t tell her you kept me,” said Alvin.

  Aimes grabbed Alvin’s arm and ushered him forward.

  They stepped inside a small alcove, leaving the security man behind.

  “Jesus, did you not take your meds today?” whispered Barton.

  “I don’t take meds. I’m fine.”

  “That’s right, Mr. Baylor. You were a cyber-athlete,” said a stately female voice. It echoed from the next room. Alvin froze.

  Shit.

  Aimes tugged him forward over the floor and through the next doorway. His shoes stopped squeaking when they hit the carpet.

  “Minor issue with security, Ms. Meyer,” said Aimes.

  She smiled broadly from behind a golden desk. Her blue eye shadow didn’t move. She radiated cold.

  “The male ego is so fragile,” she said.

  Alvin stared awkwardly.

  She was in her eighties, but easily passed for sixty. A bright-yellow collar rose up around her neck and stopped just below her blond bob, framing her head and giving her a regal look.

  Alvin flinched against the power of her presence but continued with Aimes toward the golden desk and extended his hand to her. She looked at it and said, “Have a seat.”

  Alvin broke off eye contact as he sat down. The wall behind her was all glass. Off to the side, a wooden case housed a menagerie of awards in mismatched styles and sizes. He looked back and his gaze fixated on another award sitting on the corner of her desk. It was a silver slice of pizza perched on a stump, which recalled his train station snack. The plaque read, “People’s Choice for Best Synthetic Pizza—Sabrina Meyer/QuickFoods.”

  Yuck.

  “Mr. Baylor, Barton tells me you’re the standout in synaptics. No doubt due to that cyber-athletics career.”

  He turned to grab a look at his boss, who nodded in agreement. Alvin did not want to discuss his past.

  “Thank you. I always put the team first. That’s what any job’s really about,” he said.

  Her eyebrow raised.

  “To what do I owe this meeting, or should I say . . . opportunity?” Alvin smiled.

  Barton looked on, expressionless, while Meyer spoke.

  “Indeed, Mr. Baylor, this is a very important opportunity.”

  “It must be to get me here at this hour,” Alvin joked.

  No one laughed.

  She looked over at Aimes and he began speaking as her gaze returned to Alvin. “We have a research-and-development project at 243 Ida and we need someone self-directed. Someone with excellent synaptic skills,” said Aimes.

  Ida? That’s where the hoppers end up. “That’s a long haul,” Alvin said. “I thought this was just an orbit job.”

  Barton said, “It’s a six-month trip and a week of work. As I said, we need someone who can execute without assistance. You’ve got the necessary tool set and you’ve been supporting LA solo.”

  Meyer stared on silently. Her head fidgeted occasionally. Alvin wondered if she was conducting other business in her Opti-Comp.

  “Who will support the hopper calibrations?” he asked.

  “Mr. Baylor”—Meyer tapped a finger on her desktop—“we have someone to cover your duties here. You are needed up there.” She pointed toward the ceiling.

  Alvin’s mind raced over thoughts of a miserable haul to deep space. He admired the resilience of asteroiders, but he wasn’t one of them, nor did he wish to bump elbows with a bunch of maniacs.

  “It’s not something I’m trained for. Six months in zero-g on a mining frigate—”

  “You’re going on The Hope,” said Aimes.

  “What?”

  “That’s why we need you here this morning. The Hope is the only ship that meets our time frame,” said Aimes.

  “The Chinese luxury cruise?” asked Alvin.

  Aimes smiled. “Yes, you can relax and study up in the VR trainer before you reach 243 Ida. We’re prepared to give you an asteroider’s retirement for completing the job.”

  “What?” Alvin was stunned.

  “This is a generous offer for a man of your skills,” said Meyer.

  This can’t be about rock hoppers.

  “You’re going to send me to the edge of civilization on a pleasure cruise and then retire me out there?”

  “Alvin, you’ll retire at Luna Colony or Musk City. No one stays in the belt. It’s only a week’s work,” said Aimes.

  I’d never go outside again.

  “A week plus everything I ever planned to do,” he said.

  Meyer leaned in. “This is an important project. What is it you require?”

  Don’t push her too far.

  “I like Earth. I like . . . air. I don’t want to live with retired ’roiders on Mars. I have an apartment. I waited six years in the housing queue to get it.”

  “That’s what this is about? Your apartment?” said Meyer.

  She didn’t move in her seat. She sat there staring at him with her head cocked.

  “I’m not sure a person of your stature can relate, but it is damn hard to get an apartment in LA as a single male. I literally waited six—”

  “Yes, six years, Mr. Baylor. And who sponsored you? Who holds the deed? Hmm?”

  Fuck. “Alteris, ma’am,” he said.

  She began again, “Complete this task and I’ll give you the apartment deed.”

  Holy shit, they need me bad. “And the retirement pension?”

  “Good housing is reserved for workers, Mr. Baylor. If you don’t wish to contribute anymore, you can do so off Earth. Or we can simply take you off the payroll altogether.”

  “I’ll take the apartment. I have a lot left to contribute,” said Alvin.

  “I’m glad you were able to come to that realization. Gentlemen, you are excused.”

  She waved her hand toward the door. Then her eyes went blank. Nothing but breathing and the batting of eyelashes remained. She was in her Opti-Comp.

  Meyer’s security man entered and ushered them out.

  Alvin felt uneasy. Did I really just close a twenty-five-million mortgage? What kind of equipment test is this?

  They stopped in front of the elevator.

  “This must be serious,” said Alvin.

  “It is, and you’re the guy for it,” said Aimes. “Welcome to the middle class, Alvin.”

  Alvin Baylor smiled.

  Holy shit. I wonder if I can sell the apartment when I get back?

  Aimes went rigid. “Hello,” he said. He was in his Opti-Comp on a call. “Yes, okay.”

  “Oh wait, my bag,” said Alvin.

  He turned around and the guard tossed it at him. He caught it with a smirk.

  Aimes abruptly returned to the conversation. “We’re headed to your briefing now.”

  “Good, I’m curious.”

  The elevator arrived, and Meyer’s security man eyed him dourly as they boarded.

  “The pizza lady’s not so tough,” said Alvin as the doors closed.

  Inside the elevator, Aimes spoke up. “You really like to ride that line, don’t you?”

  �
��The guard was asking for it,” said Alvin.

  “He’s unpleasant, but he’s licensed to play alpha male. You’re not.”

  “Yeah, I know the rules.”

  “Good, then keep it between the lines. There are other synaptic engineers,” said Aimes with an annoyed shake of his head.

  The elevator chimed and they exited and walked into a conference room. A red-haired man was waiting for them. Alvin’s Opti-Comp identified him as Stephen Grimes, an executive travel planner. He had beady eyes that broke away when Alvin looked at him.

  “Mr. Aimes, Mr. Baylor, please have a seat. We have a tight schedule,” said Grimes.

  Alvin took a chair and stared at the soft white glow that hovered over the conference table. A moment later, a 3-D model of the solar system floated above it.

  Grimes began speaking. “Your launch is today at 5:00 a.m. CST. The shuttle to Luna Base will take eleven hours. There you’ll board The Hope en route to Armstrong Station for one hundred and thirty-five days. At Armstrong you will take another company shuttle bound for 243 Ida.”

  “Excuse me,” Alvin cut off Grimes. “If I’m going on The Hope, am I getting a stipend? Because there’s no way I can expense—”

  “You’re going first class and you’re fully comped,” said Aimes.

  “First class . . .” Alvin’s voice trailed off as Grimes nodded excitedly.

  “Mr. Baylor, everything you’ve heard is true. The accommodations are outstanding. You’re clearly a valued member of the family,” said Grimes. He looked jealous.

  “That’s amazing, but may I ask, if this mission is critical, why wasn’t a private ship sent?”

  Grimes paused with an inquisitive face and looked toward Aimes.

  “Alvin, there are elements of this project that cannot be revealed until you reach Ida,” said Aimes.

  “So what will I be doing for the next six months?”

  “Enjoying the ride,” he said. Then he motioned to Grimes to continue.

  Fucking weird.

  Alvin sat back as the man resumed his dull description of navigation routes through the solar system.

  Alvin would spend half a year on a luxury cruise for trillionaires with nothing to do but enjoy himself. Sounded too good to be true, but he wasn’t going to beg to be put in medical stasis. He caught Aimes eyeing him and he focused back on Grimes.

  “At a distance of 1.769 AU, you will reach 243 Ida. It’s a binary asteroid in the Koronis belt between Mars and Jupiter. It has a small moon named Dactyl,” Grimes continued.

  The AR solar system model zoomed in on an odd peanut-shaped asteroid. A small object orbited around the peanut, stately and spherical by comparison. The projection zoomed in further. A round metal plate resembling a screw head was buried into the rock.

  Must be the entrance.

  “Record,” said Alvin quietly. He saw the text “Recording Disabled” flash in his Opti-Comp.

  Aimes leaned in and said, “We don’t want this going anywhere.”

  Alvin nodded. “Got it.”

  He reached down and pinched his smart-band. He kept his fingers depressed until he saw an options menu floating in front of him then he blinked quickly three times in his newly hacked operating system. The text “Now Recording” was visible only to him.

  “243 Ida has low density, allowing for underground deployment of the mining camp.” Grimes pointed toward the giant metal plate. “The entry and egress point is found here near the southern pole. The regolith provides solar shielding as well as a supply of basic life support materials. Due to the odd geologic formation of Ida, there are some characteristics you should be aware of. Any trips topside will require accompaniment by an appointed safety officer.”

  “A what?” said Alvin.

  “A safety officer. The gravity is minimal except at the poles, and safety precautions must be adhered to.”

  “Minimal how? Like, I float away?”

  “Yes, sir. A jump could take you into orbit. EVA suit thrusters must be used at all times. As I said, a safety officer will be assigned to you for any EVAs.”

  “And will there be any extravehicular activity?” Alvin probed.

  “I can’t say. I do not know the nature of your business. However, we have provided you VR training materials to familiarize yourself with operational practices. You should have plenty of time to review them on the trip.”

  “Right,” said Alvin.

  They’re not gonna tell me anything.

  “That will be all, Mr. Grimes. Please enjoy the holiday,” said Aimes.

  “Thank you, sir. Enjoy your trip, Mr. Baylor.” Grimes grinned and bounced on his toes before exiting the room. The table went dark.

  Aimes turned to Alvin. “Go ahead, ask.”

  “What exactly will I be doing?”

  “You’re delivering company assets.”

  Alvin made a face.

  “So where’s this asset?”

  “You’ll pick it up on the way to Ida. The shipment is locked to you with a new synaptic encryption. I’ll send you a tracking app. When you reach the pickup point, run the tracker.”

  “Where’s the pickup point?”

  “It’s on the way. That’s all I can say for now. Just consider that this may be the last job you’ll ever need to take.”

  “Oh, I have,” said Alvin.

  Aimes gave him a look, then stood and offered a handshake. “You’re a good engineer, Alvin. I trust you can handle this job, but don’t be late for the shuttle. The Hope won’t wait for you.”

  Seven

  “We’re here Mr. Baylor,” said a voice.

  Alvin felt a tap on the shoulder. He opened his eyes. The flight attendant was over him.

  “Feeling rested?” she said.

  His Opti-Comp showed eleven hours had passed. There was no location status.

  “Yes, good nap,” he said. He yawned.

  “We’ll be docking shortly. I’ve called a transport for you. The Hope departs in thirty minutes.”

  “All right, thanks again.”

  She glided away.

  Am I already here?

  He opened the shaded porthole window beside him. The monotonous repetition of stars that had helped put him to sleep was gone. The Moon occupied his view. He marveled at it.

  Floating above it in space was the giant white ring of Luna Base. It was divided into marina-like inlets for docking ships. The outer edge was dotted with industrial ships transferring cargo. Yachts and shuttles circled the inner spokes of the ring. Some were attached to the structure at airlock ports, others were simply tethered to keep from drifting away. Alvin thought there must have been nearly a hundred different vessels.

  At the centerpiece of the ring was a cluster of enormous towers that stretched downward to touch the lunar surface. Alvin recognized them as elevator shafts built to heft payloads into orbit. The bold design had been a theoretical possibility for years, but it found its realization on the Moon when the Chinese went crazy for helium-3 production.

  Then he saw the unmistakable form of The Hope.

  On the far side of Luna Base, a long yellow cylindrical body shimmered and writhed in space. It was divided into rotating slices with uneven surface features, giving the ship a corkscrew appearance. At either end sat the torch-shaped laser propulsion engines. Alvin thought The Hope looked like a yellow sapphire.

  “Now approaching Luna Station,” a recording announced.

  Alvin’s heartbeat quickened.

  While he admired the romanticism of the frontier, the limitations of man-made ecosystems were disconcerting. Death in such fragile environments was only an accident away. To add insult to potential injury, communication with Earth had slowed gradually as he traveled out into the stars. He checked his smart-band. The content downloads he’d queued before leaving were still running. Damn. By the time he reached 243 Ida, his Opti-Comp would showcase old data. He would be out of touch and surrounded by ’roiders.

  “Now docking at Luna Station,” sai
d the recording.

  The porthole window shutters closed and he felt reverberations as the shuttle made contact with the dock.

  “Time to disembark, Mr. Baylor,” said the flight attendant. She was floating in the aisle above him.

  She reached across to unfasten his seat belt and his butt floated up off the seat. He felt his stomach drop.

  He was now the farthest distance he had ever traveled, and eleven hours was all it had taken. The next leg was unfathomable.

  I need a drink.

  She handed him his bag then took his arm and pushed him toward the exit. His head began to spin.

  “Mind the handholds, Mr. Baylor.”

  He grabbed onto a ladder affixed to the door and a platform ascended.

  “Have a pleasant trip,” said the woman. “And enjoy the holiday.”

  He nodded as he was lifted through the ceiling. “You, too.”

  What fucking holiday?

  He rose into a brightly lit airlock with walls lined in dark rubber. He felt the weight of his body return gradually. The floor sealed below him. Thank god. He walked to the end of the rubber tube and the door slid into the wall. An Alteris employee was waiting in a gray jumpsuit. She was beautiful with dark-brown skin and long black hair.

  “Only the one bag, sir?” she asked in a prim English accent.

  “Yeah,” he said with a smile.

  She did not return his smile.

  They walked toward the center of the concourse. A small four-wheeled transport was parked there. They climbed aboard and drove down the wide walkway. The station’s walls were punctuated by expensive artwork and gaudy Christmas shopping displays. The ground curved up ever so slightly. It was quiet. He’d expected more people.

  “I guess they want me there in a hurry?” said Alvin.

  “Yes, sir. That was the request.”

  He didn’t like being called sir, at least not by her. It made him feel old.

  “Call me Al. So where is everyone?”

  “Having Christmas supper I imagine,” she said.

  “Thanks for doing this, then. I’m sure you have better places to be.”