Alvin Baylor Lives!_A 21st Century Pulp

by Maximilian Gray

  “And what happened to her face?” he asked.

  “She was ugly.”

  “Oh.” He seemed surprised by the answer.

  “I stashed her body in one of the protein recyclers and scrubbed her pic from the database. Her ex was a surprise. I had to leave her in a bathroom.”

  “A bathroom?” he said.

  “She was depressed. So depressed she took too many pills and died vomiting into the toilet.”

  “Jesus. All right, girl, keep your head down,” said Padre from his floating portrait. “I’ll send Cheng and Watkins to collect him at Armstrong Station. You know his shuttle number?”

  “Not yet. But you’ll need him to unlock that device.”

  “Watkins can fabricate the bio-key with some of his DNA. He dies at the station. Send over the number as soon as you get it.”

  “Sure, but how are we gonna sell it if we don’t know what it does?” she said.

  “There’s a thousand buyers who will gladly pillage Uncle Sam’s corpse.”

  “I suppose so. How close are you?” she asked.

  “I’m still babysitting the wreck. It’s a couple days away,” said Padre. “I’ll send Cheng and Watkins out tomorrow. They’ll meet you at Armstrong.”

  “That’s what I thought. I told you not to call me on this stolen relay,” she said.

  “Babe, don’t worry. It’s encrypted. Send over Baylor’s data the old-fashioned way if you want. I can wait the twenty.”

  He disconnected.

  Rouja felt the tension from the communications link leave her head. She breathed out heavily.

  Padre had grown so freaking cocksure and lazy over the years, and it was going to get them caught. And over what? A need for revenge. She had no interest in Washington. Their meddling in the Greco-Islamic War had cost her a daughter. The chance to correct that would not be sidelined by his feud.

  There was nothing to do now but wait out the four days while playing girlfriend. She pouted then reached for the hair curler. She needed to make the ends of her hair wavy. Alvin liked it that way.

  Hours later Rouja and Alvin lay in bed. He stared up at the ceiling, unmoving. He took long slow breaths.

  Something is wrong.

  “What’s buggin’ you?” she said. “You were quiet all through dinner. And you drank.”

  “I got a message from work. They found out about the tournament,” said Alvin. “I waited to see if they were serious.”

  “Serious about what?”

  “They pulled my winnings. My boss was apologetic. He said he had no religion about it, that it was the CEO’s choice.”

  She was shocked by his words. “What a fucking creep. Can they even do that?”

  “The funds are gone from my bit-wallet. They own me. They sponsor my citizenship. They hold the deed to my apartment. I can’t get even get home without them.”

  “Alvin . . . I’m . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

  “I can’t pay for us. I can’t quit,” he said. “No South America.”

  “I never expected that from you. That’s not why I’m with you.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Thank you for getting me into that game pod,” he said.

  She felt his body tense as he stared at the ceiling in silence.

  “I needed to know what I could have been. Even if it was . . .” His eyes welled up. He hugged her.

  Six months ago, Rouja remembered, playing him was easy, like always. Now she felt a gnawing inside. The more she came to see him as an innocent, the more the feeling grew.

  How cruel am I? How cruel has Padre made me?

  Her frustration turned to anger. “We can’t let them do that.”

  “How? How can I stop them? You think The Hope cares? They got their money back.”

  “Alvin . . .”

  “They’re going to stop me from coming home.”

  “Why would they do that? It’s nothing. So you played a game.”

  “They wanted to put me off Earth before I left. I fought for a return. Everything is a secret with this damn job and I think I know why.”

  She looked at him curiously.

  He does know more.

  “It has something to do with Mohammed Rinsler.”

  Rouja shook her head. “But he’s dead, Alvin. He was killed during the U.S. riots. I remember hearing it on the news.”

  “No. He’s alive and he works for Alteris. I broke into their personnel database and found a record. They poached him and covered it up.”

  Is this the scientist Padre killed?

  “How long have you known this?” she said.

  “I discovered it a few months back. I hit a dead end, so I buried myself in gaming sessions.”

  “Why would they risk that?” she said.

  “They told me it was a mining tool. Maybe it is. He cracked faster-than-light communication and artificial consciousness. So I imagine it does the job well.”

  “Al, this is so bizarre,” she said.

  “I know. Everything about this project is bizarre.”

  She felt the itch again. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I’m at their mercy. I hope I’m just paranoid. I don’t want to be stuck on Musk City or the Moon,” he said.

  “Would it be so bad? If you didn’t have to work anymore?”

  “To never feel the breeze or the sun? To live inside plastic bubbles and space suits? I think it would be,” he said. “They need me to get this package to Ida. I’m safe until I do.”

  She felt her insides burn with tension. “Al—never let anything get in the way of what you want.”

  “Easier said than done. I don’t even know what I want.”

  “You want me, don’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Then enjoy our last few nights on The Hope.” She kissed him.

  His mouth moved down her neck, stopping on the cool metal of her nano-collar. He tugged at it gently with his finger.

  “What is this choker you’re always wearing?” he said.

  She pulled his hand away and placed it on her breast. “It’s special. My daddy gave it to me,” she whispered.

  They made love and Alvin didn’t ask about it again.

  Twenty-Three

  Alvin hated waiting. For the last several days, his mind had drifted over the pretense of caring about his job. The last two hours aboard had been the longest. Time enough for anxious thoughts to creep back. Now the day had come. Six months of living it up ended here, at the casino bar. His bag was as light as the day he’d left Earth. No knick-knacks, no new clothing. Just memories . . . and Katy. She was up at the pods. She’d be down soon to see him off.

  “Another Mexican Coffee, Zeus?” asked the bartender.

  “No thanks, Ryan,” said Alvin. “I’m taking off soon.”

  “So this is it, huh?”

  “Yep, time to get back to work.”

  “It was amazing to see you back in action,” said Ryan.

  Alvin smiled. “It was good to get that feeling back.”

  “Amen, Zeus. Sometimes it’s the journey, not the destination, that gets us where we need to be. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Alvin bumped his wrist to the table, paid for the coffee, and left forty thousand for the tip.

  Fuck you, Alteris.

  He thumbed through the newspaper projection displayed on the bar top. It was current as of thirty minutes prior. He felt like a dignified man of the past reading old news with his coffee. An alert flashed on the screen. Something from the ship’s local news service. Usually, a lost earring on the pool deck or a big win at the sports book. This was different—Chico Perez had died. He’d won his middleweight match a few weeks before. It had been a clean fight. He’d put on a clinic, really, but there it was—he’d died from a cerebral hemorrhage.

  Wow, he was young.

  Chico had given him and Katy a pair of rings
ide seats, and he liked the guy despite the foul play at the tournament. Perhaps they might not have become buddies, but in this fancy world they were brutes in solidarity. He wondered if he’d have it as easy with the asteroid miners. Was he salty enough after six months of the good life? He could get on well with the worst types, but felt a rising apprehension.

  I coulda been a short-timer with those winnings. Fuck. Just finish this and get back to Katy.

  She was worth more than any pile of money.

  “Hey sexy!”

  Alvin turned around to see her walk down the short steps into the bar. His face lit up.

  They kissed and he lifted his bag up onto his shoulder.

  “You got time to walk me out?”

  “I’ll take you into the station. It’s kinda confusing in there. I’m on a break, though. Someone booked a match at two and, of course, he demanded me.”

  “I would have,” said Alvin.

  They began the trek across the cylindrical floor. He looked back at the bar as it came over his head and the bartender waved.

  “Aw, you made a friend,” she said.

  “I’m not that disagreeable. Besides, he was a fan from way back.”

  “Oh, okay, then.” She giggled.

  They continued on in silence for a bit.

  “Did you hear that Chico died?” said Alvin.

  “Chico? Oh, the MMA guy. Died from what?”

  “Cerebral hemorrhage. I guess he must’ve been hurt during that fight.”

  “Live by the sword, die by the sword,” she said. “He wasn’t that great, anyway, just a rock-paper-scissors fighter,” she said.

  “Damn.”

  “Sorry, I’m not at my best saying good-bye.”

  “I get it. I don’t want to go, either.”

  They approached the exit tunnel and stomped up the narrow corridor. At the door to Armstrong Station stood the same two greeters he’d met when boarding.

  “We hope you enjoyed your stay Mr. Baylor,” the man and woman said in unison.

  The woman looked at Katy. “Ms. Macintyre, your ID lookup appears to be corrupted. The picture isn’t there.”

  “I know. I reported it when we left, but no one has gotten to my ticket yet,” said Katy.

  “We’ll make sure to take care of that,” said the male greeter.

  “Thanks. I’ll be back soon, just wanna make sure he finds his way.”

  They stepped out into the hallway of the space station. The wall showcased a video mural depicting the history of space exploration. It began with a funny ball with four antennae and ended with an image of stacked discs rotating in space—the station itself.

  They made their way to the end where the hall opened into a lounge area with red and orange seats. Guests of The Hope bustled about the room looking at curios celebrating Neil Armstrong. A couple of waiters walked around handing out drinks. Alvin found it ironic that he had made it farther into space than Armstrong himself.

  “Over to the right,” said Katy.

  Alvin looked to see a glass doorway, beyond a downward sloping hallway that lacked aesthetic design. The party ended at the door. He snatched up a champagne flute from a passing waiter, then downed the bubbly and put the glass back on the tray.

  Anxiety showed on his face.

  “It’ll be over before you know it,” Katy said. “C’mon.”

  They walked through the door and down the sloping hallway. It was silent. At the terminus Armstrong opened up into a multilevel spoked hub; once again centrifugal force substituted for gravity. The soft rumble of people movers could be heard all around. They wrapped the curved white walls of the station. One escalator sloped down, another up, with long stretches of flat conveyor belt looping overhead in all directions. There was no one around.

  “Whoa,” he said.

  He looked up his boarding pass with an eye blink. The shuttle bay was listed out on the mercantile hub, and a floating arrow appeared in his Opti-Comp directing him forward.

  “I told you. This place is a maze,” Katy said. “First we head down, then back up.”

  They took the escalator down. Below, he spotted a maintenance bot cleaning the floor.

  “I guess the union never made it out here,” he said.

  His palms were sweating. Fewer than a thousand humans had ever ventured to Armstrong Station. The number who continued to 243 Ida was lower still. He would be number fifty-two.

  They reached the bottom. The arrow directed him across the concave floor and back up an escalator on the far side.

  “Hey, wrong way, buddy. That’s a private terminal,” said a redheaded woman.

  Next to her stood a muscular Asian man. He was armed and didn’t seem friendly. Neither did the gal handing out directions. There were no other people around.

  Alvin paused. He looked at the freckled redhead, who pointed to another escalator beside her.

  “It’s okay. He’s a company man,” said Katy.

  The redhead narrowed her eyes. The muscle-man’s lip twitched and he gave a permissive nod.

  “I’ll take you up, then I have to say good-bye,” said Katy.

  “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

  Katy nodded and they stepped onto the escalator. “Don’t worry. The folks out here are just soft on social skills.”

  He looked back down at the soldiers and smiled. No smiles came back his way.

  Guess so.

  At the top they were alone again. Alvin stopped walking and hugged her.

  “I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

  He didn’t want to let go. He felt a silly sense of paranoia, like she might disappear the moment he turned around.

  “You’ll be so busy with work. This will all seem like a dream,” she said.

  “I will think of you every day, Katy.”

  He felt her tense in his embrace.

  She pulled away, her hands gently cupping his face.

  “I love you too, Alvin,” she said. “Go now and don’t look back.”

  She took the downward side of the escalator, riding it backward. He watched for as long as he could see her. Before she left his sight, she waved then turned around and cracked her neck from side to side.

  She’s as upset as I am. She just hides it better.

  He turned around and stepped onto the people mover. The long conveyor belt took him to the end of the open area. The arrow in his Opti-Comp pointed ahead through a glass door and into another beige hallway. He passed through. This one grew narrower as he continued toward the door at the far end. There were no murals depicting the history of exploration. No cushy seats, no drinks, no babes, and certainly no casinos.

  The frontier is on the other side of that door.

  He peeped the station map and tried zooming out past the door ahead of him, but the map ended there. When he reached the door an announcement sounded. “Warning. Alteris personnel only beyond this point. Entry requires authorization.”

  The door had Alteris’s swooping asteroid logo emblazoned upon it. Below that a red circle with a slash through it and inside a stick figure hitting its head on the ceiling. “Zero-g Zone” was written above the image.

  Alvin tapped his wrist to the door panel, which informed him, “An escort has been summoned.”

  He was no pro at zero gravity. He’d slept off his hangover on the shuttle ride to the Moon. Other than a long nap, he’d had no experience at all. He just hoped he didn’t puke.

  Twenty-Four

  Rouja stepped off the escalator. Jax Cheng and the redheaded woman, presumably Padre’s newbie, were waiting near a maintenance door below the hub of people movers.

  “Inside,” said the redhead. She tapped her band to the wall and a short panel slid aside. It was half the height of a person, used by the maintenance bots.

  They ducked down and went inside. The room was large and wide with low ceilings. There were dozens of bots sitting idle. A service tech’s body was dead on the ground.

  “What’s the deal?
We were supposed to take Baylor here,” said the woman.

  “You must be Watkins,” said Rouja.

  “Yeah, and you better explain yourself,” Watkins said.

  “Change of plans. Washington had an undercover agent on The Hope. He was masquerading as a pro fighter. I killed him last night. We’re going to have to let Baylor retrieve the device first. They’re watching us.”

  “How?” said Watkins.

  “They were able to track the FTL link you encrypted.”

  “Impossible,” said Watkins.

  “You’re not as good as you think,” said Rouja.

  “Padre said you might try something,” said the redhead.

  Cheng eyed Rouja with suspicion.

  “Please. I’ve worked with John for longer than you’ve been alive. I get a billion. How much is he paying you?” said Rouja.

  Surprise showed on Samantha Watkins’s face.

  “You’re lying,” she said.

  “No. He’s been lying to you all along and you didn’t notice. Where’d he get you, some cheap hacking school?”

  “Listen bitch . . .” said Watkins.

  Rouja threw a left hook and knocked the redhead over a parked bot and onto her ass.

  “How bad do you want to fight me, little girl?” said Rouja.

  Watkins sat upright and wiped blood from her mouth. Rouja looked at Cheng. The muscles in his forearm started to twitch. He was no dummy.

  It’s time.

  Cheng’s crossed arms opened up and he lunged at Rouja, knife in hand. She sidestepped and struck him in the nose with her palm.

  It knocked his head back long enough for her to kick him in the ribs. He winced.

  She went to swing her rear leg at his head, but felt the weight of Watkins’s grip on her ankle. The girl was fighting from the floor. Rouja’s leg came halfway up, enough to keep Cheng out of range as he whipped his knife at her throat. She bent backward as he extended his reach and fell over on top of Watkins.

  Rouja lifted an elbow and brought it back down on Watkins’s temple. The redhead went still, and Rouja rolled off as Cheng stomped right on the woman’s unconscious body.