Alvin Baylor Lives!_A 21st Century Pulp

by Maximilian Gray

  The text showed an odd return address. It looked like an automailer from the system.

  Finally some details?

  He opened it.

  Dear Valued Employee [Alvin Baylor],

  This notice serves to inform you that your supervisor has been changed. Effective immediately you will report to []. Your new supervisor will contact you about any changes to your work schedule.

  Thank you,

  The Service Desk

  He was dumbfounded.

  What the hell happened to Aimes?

  “Fuck! I need leadership and I get a stupid automailer that isn’t even filled out?” he said aloud. “I’m contacting Meyer.”

  He opened his recorder for a hurried voice message.

  “Meyer, it’s Alvin Baylor. What’s this about a new supervisor? You got me out here. Are you gonna get me home? It doesn’t say who to contact. Get back to me. I’m not interested in being another dead employee.”

  It would take at least an hour to get a response. He wanted a drink bad. He wanted Katy. He wanted anything but to be where he was.

  Trapped at work.

  He heard a knock at his door.

  “Come in.”

  The door slid back into the frame and Tosh floated inside.

  “You good in here?” he said.

  “No. They still haven’t sent me the manual and I don’t think they’re going to,” said Alvin.

  “I’m sure they’ll send it. I have more ketamine if you need it.”

  “I’m not going squirrelly. Check this out.” Alvin swiped upward on his smart-band. The message from Alteris displayed on the ceiling.

  Tosh gripped a handhold and spun himself to read the text.

  “Damn. That’s weird,” he said.

  “Especially for a mission they deemed so important. Something stinks,” said Alvin.

  “Hey! You guys holding out on me?” yelled Bossman.

  The security man bounded off the hallway walls toward the doorway.

  “We’re just talking,” said Tosh.

  “Don’t be holding out. You’re getting ready to vape again,” said Bossman.

  Tosh shrugged his shoulders in ignorance.

  “I know you’re growing it down in that greenhouse. Don’t make me bust you. Sharing is caring,” said Bossman through a mouthful of teeth.

  “What’re you, on a work release program?” said Alvin.

  “What chu say to me?”

  “I asked if you were an ex-con, Bossman.” Alvin’s voice hardened at the appellation and he glared at the man.

  “Hehe. You got nuts, little man. I’m on contract from the penitentiary, but we’re all friends here,” said Bossman.

  “Now you wanna be friends?” asked Tosh.

  “We did our thing. Now let’s chill,” said Bossman.

  “I have to do something with this restless energy,” said Alvin. He set his Opti-Comp for bathroom privacy with a peep.

  Tosh pulled an electric pipe from his zippered pocket and took a puff. With a mellow grin, he exhaled water vapor into the cabin. Then he handed it over to Bossman.

  Alvin snatched the vaporizer away from the big man’s hand.

  “Gimme that, you’re next,” he said.

  Bossman chuckled. “Where you from?”

  Alvin pulled a drag and exhaled.

  “Earth, muthafucka.”

  He passed it back to Bossman.

  “A company man.” Bossman inhaled.

  “Man, fuck the company. They think they own me,” said Alvin.

  Bossman exhaled. “Haha. I like this one. He different.”

  “As different as they come,” said Alvin.

  Tosh’s grin grew wider. “The company doesn’t care, so long as we make the deliveries on time. Check it out.” He tapped the wall and a video display appeared. “That’s where we’re going.”

  A gray oblong rock with red mottled streaks appeared. It turned on its long axis. A circle of lights surrounded a metal plate at its lower center. A few small lights floated near the asteroid.

  “Ida?” said Alvin.

  “243 Ida,” said Tosh.

  Alvin felt comforted by the lights that meant human life. He’d seen a ghost ship. And he’d half expected to find a ghost town at his destination.

  “That metal disc is the dock. The design comes from the Alteris 3-D print library. Everything is fabricated from locally sourced materials,” said Tosh.

  The miners were akin to primitive hunter-gatherer societies of the not-so-distant past. They lived in harmony with the most inhospitable environment ever braved by mankind and they were considered lowlifes by the people of Earth.

  “Does the ’roiders’ reputation bother you?”

  “You mean mindless brutes mutated by the rigors of a thousand unfathomable hells careening through space?” said Tosh.

  Alvin laughed. “Yeah. That.”

  “It’s VR play bullshit. We’re machine techs, dude. We spend our time surveying in rock hoppers for suitable conditions. Then we send in drones to drill. Most of us are just here for the thrill of the frontier.”

  “Or work release,” said Bossman with a smile. “You all a bunch of robot tenders. Least I get to use my own hands.”

  “Yeah, for what?” said Alvin.

  “For beatin’ fools down. Sometimes I even strangle a muthafucka before I shoot him.”

  “Take another hit,” said Tosh.

  Alvin had only met only one ’roider so far. Toshiro Ito appeared to be anything but a brute. Corporate Security was another story.

  Bossman puffed and passed the vaporizer. “Can’t wait to put my feet down again. Tired of this floating shit. Makes you weak.”

  “I thought there’s no gravity there,” said Alvin.

  “Inside it’s Earth equivalent,” said Tosh. “Ida’s rotational period is fast enough to power a gyroscopic gravity drive.”

  “I’m good with that,” said Alvin. “The suit’s fun, but I’d like to feel my weight once in a while.”

  “You’re going to Dactyl,” said Tosh. He pointed to one of the tiny lights and zoomed the display to show a small gray ball. “Not much gravity there. Sorry.”

  Alvin nodded and took his turn on the vaporizer. It didn’t matter much. One week was all he was scheduled to spend there. No need to be preoccupied with atrophy. “What’s on Dactyl?” he asked.

  “A comm tower and a habitat dome,” said Tosh.

  Alvin stretched out in midair toward the image. He squinted at a sliver of red light emanating from a crater on the small moon.

  “And who’s there?”

  “Beats me. We aren’t allowed to set foot on it and there’s radio interference from that tower blanketing the place,” said Tosh.

  “Maybe it’s a hot lady,” said Bossman. He elbowed Alvin in the ribs.

  “I’ll let you know,” Alvin said with a smirk.

  “The rumor is the company’s testing automation,” said Tosh. “Something to cut the staff. So be ready for some hard looks. Some of the crew are worried about losing their jobs.”

  “Great,” said Alvin. “You know, I can relate. Maybe that thing doesn’t need an operator. Maybe I was just an errand boy. Aren’t you worried about what we saw back there? The lock was cut on that bathroom door.”

  “Don’t get paranoid. We have security,” said Tosh.

  He hammered his fist against Bossman’s chest.

  “There could be real danger coming,” said Alvin.

  “We live with real danger every day, dude. Besides, you and the device will be on Dactyl.”

  “Oh, thanks. How long till we get there?”

  “Eight hours. Time enough to get some rest before we meet the crew.” Tosh motioned to Bossman and the two floated to the doorway. “Peace out, Alvin.”

  Alvin gave Tosh the two-fingered peace sign, then turned it backward at Bossman.

  “Hehe,” said Bossman. “Don’t let your nightmares ruin the trip, little man.”

  The door sl
id closed.

  Alvin brought up the inbox in his Opti-Comp. Nothing new. He stared through it at the video display of Dactyl and watched it in a haze until he drifted off to sleep.

  Thirty

  Still no gravity.

  Alvin’s magnetic boots clung to the exit ramp as he followed Tosh and Bossman out of the shuttle and onto the floor of Ida’s cargo hold. The conical bay was a hundred feet in diameter and it narrowed as it drilled deeper into the asteroid’s core. He felt like he was descending into a hole.

  “So where’s the gravity?” he said.

  “Through there, it’s no help in here,” said Tosh.

  He pointed ahead to a door at the bottom of the cone. A long balustrade ran straight away from it and wrapped around the room in a circle. Parked all along the railings were rock hoppers. The shuttle was the largest vehicle. Nothing else could carry more than two people.

  My babies.

  “I calibrated those hoppers,” said Alvin.

  “Ain’t you special,” said Bossman.

  “They’re nice machines. Couldn’t do the job without them,” said Tosh. “Let’s jet.”

  The men stepped off the ramp to the deck and then lifted off with their suit thrusters. They flew toward the door at the bottom, passing between straps of black fabric that crisscrossed the midsection of the hangar like a spider web. Restrained in the web were metal shipping containers being prodded by drones. The drones resembled alien insects as they loaded chunks of rock and minerals into the bins with tentacled limbs.

  A few miners floated about, directing the action with hand waves. They watched him.

  The men reached the door and it opened automatically.

  “Set down,” said Tosh.

  They affixed their boots to the deck before stepping through the doorway. As they passed through, Alvin felt the weight hit his knees first. The sudden sense of up and down disoriented him. He unlatched his helmet and tucked it under one arm. The sphere was safely hidden in the travel bag slung over his other shoulder.

  “This suit’s heavier than I thought,” he said.

  Tosh nodded and removed his helmet. “Release your boots,” he said.

  Alvin disengaged the mag-locks and felt his knee shoot up with ease. They were under artificial gravity now and the magnetic boots were unneeded torture.

  “It’s leg day,” said Bossman. He puffed with each step as he pulled his magnetic boots away from the deck.

  They began trekking down a sloped hallway that swirled into the asteroid like a corkscrew. The angle was steep and disorienting.

  At the bottom of the slope the ground flattened out. A line of people in gray jumpsuits were waiting for them in a room with ceilings thirty feet high.

  Three levels of catwalks wrapped the asteroid walls in metal. Bunk beds were embedded in the rock face. Smatterings of people leaned over the railings and watched him. He felt every eye on him.

  Under the white lights, his lightning bolt paint job made him look like an action figure. He removed his helmet and a musty scent hit his nostrils.

  “Folks, I give you Alvin Baylor,” said Tosh.

  He saw eyes narrow into slits.

  A short, balding black man stepped forward from the group.

  “Nice suit,” he said in a pinched tone as he reached out for a handshake.

  Alvin awkwardly tucked his helmet under his arm and shook the man’s hand.

  “Welcome, Mr. Baylor. I’m Jamie Beckman. We’ve been anticipating your arrival for some time.”

  He was dressed in brown slacks and a button-down shirt, unlike the other jumpsuits.

  Must be the Man around here.

  “Thank you. I’m glad to finally be here. It’s been quite a trip.”

  “I understand The Hope is spectacular,” said Beckman. “I expect to ride it home one day.”

  “I got a contract!” yelled a voice from up above.

  Beckman turned on his heel with military precision.

  “Stow it, Chickowski,” he shouted up at the catwalk behind him.

  Alvin followed the voice up to see a shirtless man with rippling muscles grip the railing. He was bald with a tattoo of a cog on his forehead. Beside him stood a tall, mean-looking brute with long black hair and a goatee over olive skin. He took a hit on a vaporizer and passed it into shadows to another man beside him. That guy took a drag and a blue light lit up curly gray-white hair that framed a buck-toothed grin. It sent a chill through Alvin.

  I know that grin.

  After all that had happened, he had forgotten about the discovery of his old gaming coach in the crew logs for Ida. The man whose son had died from overclocking. The man who had made him a pariah.

  Carroll Henry.

  The buck-toothed man continued to smile as Beckman yammered. “These individuals form my administrative staff. I am the executive in charge.”

  Alvin brought his attention back to ground level as Beckman motioned toward the gray jumpsuits. He exchanged nods with each in turn. A woman in a lab coat, made no expression while she waved her fingertip through the air. She was taking notes of some kind. Another man with intense green eyes stared at him. None of those assembled seemed welcoming so he greeted them with a simple nod and turned back to Beckman.

  “Come with me. I’ll show you to your room,” said the executive.

  “Peace,” said Tosh.

  Bossman gave him the two-finger up yours gesture.

  “Later, fellas,” said Alvin.

  He walked with Beckman. The man spoke in a casual tone as he asked about the weather on Earth. He seemed starved for someone to talk to. All the while, Alvin stole glances back at the catwalk above as they crossed the room.

  Beckman continued on to work details when Alvin didn’t grab at the small talk. Something about material drop-offs to be made at Armstrong for The Hope to ferry back to Earth. Alvin couldn’t focus on Beckman’s words. He was distracted by the man who had ruined his life.

  Beckman returned to comments about The Hope itself, eager to discuss its grandeur.

  “Yes, it’s quite nice,” said Alvin.

  They arrived at a group of doors located across from the toughs on the catwalk. They appeared to be private quarters. Everyone else had a bunk on the wall.

  “Take the room on the left,” said Beckman.

  Alvin turned around, his back to the door. He looked up again. Carroll Henry and his two pals were staring.

  “Don’t worry about those shitheads,” said Beckman. “Henry, get your men back to work!”

  The buck-toothed man hunkered down over the rail, illuminating his entire face for the first time.

  “We’re on a smoke break, don’t cha know!” he said.

  His face and Philly accent were unmistakable.

  Carroll Fucking Henry.

  “Your associate is waiting on Dactyl, Mr. Baylor. You can rest for a few hours until breakfast. Then we’ll prep you for transport,” he said.

  Associate? You don’t know who it is, either.

  “Thank you,” said Alvin.

  “I am here to assist the company in any way I can,” said Beckman.

  The officious little executive departed and Alvin stepped inside the room. Henry and his goons were still watching when he shut the door.

  Alvin lay on his bunk pondering his anxieties for nearly two hours. No new communications came from Alteris.

  Did Meyer see my message? What the heck do they expect me to do? I should just head to Dactyl. But what if someone is after this sphere? They might kill me there. But who might they be? And who’s up there waiting for it?

  Five minutes before, he had ignored the blaring breakfast announcement. He wasn’t interested in eating.

  Henry’s gonna cause trouble.

  He rolled over and grabbed his head.

  When is Katy going to get back to me?

  He felt a buzz at his wrist. The sight of a new message banner made his heart jump. He peeped it open. It was from Meyer.

  “Hope everyt
hing is going well. We had to let Aimes go. I’m sorry I can’t say more now. I’ll have someone assigned to you as soon as possible. What I will say is that I am pleased with your progress. Please send an update when you reach Dactyl. And try to keep a low profile. We don’t want any grumblings from the union about your work. I’ll be in touch.”

  That’s it? Who the fuck am I meeting and what am I doing?

  A banging at the door startled him. He sprang up off the bunk and answered it. Beckman’s face was shoved right up close to the frame. A Star of David swung from his neck and glistened in the light. Alvin stared at the necklace rather than make eye contact. His mother had worn one just like it.

  “Mr. Baylor, you didn’t answer the breakfast call.”

  “Yes, that’s because I was asleep.”

  “Space lag, no doubt. After breakfast we’ll need to discuss transit to Dactyl.”

  “Yeah. Let me get myself together and I’ll be out.”

  “Good.”

  Alvin shut the door on Beckman and fell back on the bed. Despite his apprehension he needed to get on with it. Whatever it was. He sucked up his pride about the lack of response from Katy and went to put on his shoes. Then he peeped out a message.

  “Yo, Tosh! Where do I find something to eat?”

  The reply came quick. “Come meet up.”

  A map of the base was attached. Alvin stepped out the door and a floating arrow appeared in his Opti-Comp. He stopped to push his arms into the sleeves of his hoodie. The crew deck was sparsely occupied. There were about five to ten people spread across the walled bunks. Most of them looked at him discreetly. By the time he went down the exit ramp, all of them were staring. He wanted away from them. He’d go to Dactyl and get his head straight. A little work would focus him.

  He walked down the sloping metal halls, and a short jaunt later a flashing “X” appeared in his view. The door said, “Survey01.” He knocked. As he waited his eyes drifted up to a hand-scribbled sign above. “Abandon all hope.” There was no mention of “ye who enter here.”

  An alert young man with a plume of blond hair and an avian look answered the door.

  “Password?”

  Alvin shrugged his shoulders.

  “I’ll give you three guesses.”