by Matt Verish
Cole nodded, looking around the cargo bay. “You’re probably right, but can all of this stuff be tied to us? I mean, could you and the others have had such a large inventory confiscated for investigation?”
“I don’t believe so,” Lin said, shaking her head. “There are too many crates for so recent an investigation.”
Cole approached a row of unmarked crates. “These are different.” He lifted a lid, and his brow bunched in confusion. “Huh.”
Lin was already at his side, intrigued. “Food?”
Cole sighed and shook his head at Lin. “He sure is proud of himself. By any chance did you forget to program an understanding of privacy and eavesdropping?”
Lin was not entirely sure how to answer. She may be CAIN’s “Maker,” but little of the AI’s recent behavior correlated with her initial program design. She never anticipated the possibility of it obtaining true awareness, if that was indeed what was happening. She decided not to answer as they walked back to the original crate.
“O-ho!” Cole reached down and procured a familiar sidearm and holster, both of which he immediately snapped onto his waist to complete his ensemble. “There. Now I’m back to being my old self again.” He dusted himself off. “The interstellar cargo cowboy space trucking pirate.”
Lin blinked. “How are you able to find amusement in a situation that has labeled you one of the System’s most notorious criminals?”
Cole looked at her. “Wisecracking is my way of coping with extreme pressure.” He held out his hand to help her up.
“That might be the biggest load of shit you’ve spewed out of your mouth since I’ve met you, Musgrave,” Emmerich said as she entered the cargo bay. “Don’t play coy with us; your true colors are finally showing, and you know it.” Her eyes fell to his hip. “And that’s my sidearm.”
Cole thrust his hip in Emmerich’s direction. “Not anymore, it isn’t.”
Lin felt a chill go up her neck and spine. She had hoped that any differences between the two would finally be overcome now that they had miraculously escaped from both SolEx and Terracom. The words tumbled out of her Rook before she could rescind them. “He found it packed with his belongings.”
Cole thumbed in her direction and grinned. Emmerich scowled, but the subject. It was then she realized that he must have cowed her into submission during the escape.
“Don’t worry,” Cole said to Emmerich. “The rest of your belongings are probably in here as well.” He slapped the side of the crate before moving back to the supplies. “I’m gonna try and find a hamburger before we make our destination.”
“And just why are we heading for the Moon?” Emmerich asked, her arms folded.
Cole shrugged in response. Lin, however, had a theory. CAIN confirmed it with an answer.
“Rig?” Cole asked. “Um, shouldn’t we be heading for Mars? I seem to recall last seeing him there.” He continued searching the supplies. “Though I’m still not sure how he managed to avoid being captured with the rest of us.”
“I just assumed he was dead,” Emmerich said. “Being a fugitive debtor would make him a marked man.” She crossed her arms and huffed. “Not that it matters; I would’ve put him in the ground myself had I the chance.”
“Aw, I liked the guy,” Cole said in Rig’s defense. “So he gave you a knuckle sandwich. Big deal. You definitely deserved it at the time.” He pulled out a small box and shook it. “Besides, I still haven’t heard a reason as to why we’re going to the Moon to find him.”
“That’s great, Cain,” Cole interrupted. “Why are we going to get him?”
“Yeah, because Rig is the almighty knowledge guru,” Cole said mockingly.
“Also...” Lin began, grabbing his attention. She swallowed hard, knowing what she was about to reveal. “I left my father’s Rook in his possession before SolEx authorities came and apprehended us. I entrusted the safety of my family’s legacy to a complete stranger. I would like to reclaim it.”
Cole cast her a queer look, as though he was weighing the validity of her words. He wagged his index finger at her. “Rig never hitched a ride with Forester, did he?”
Lin shook her head.
Cole’s finger was still wagging. “It was Forester who snuck back into the nature center to steal your father’s Rook. But the one you left down in the lab was real, wasn’t it?”
Still nodding, Lin said, “I anticipated a double-cross from the director at some point, and as such I kept the original Rook on my person. I made sure everyone witnessed me locking it away. I was not surprised when we returned to the nature center to find the lift had been accessed in our absence. That said, I was surprised to find an unconscious Richter Solomon on the floor. Sensing our incarceration was at hand, I left him with the real Rook and a set of instructions to serve as its temporary guardian. Then I sealed the lift with him still down there and hoped no one would discover his whereabouts.”
“But you told us all the transfer of your father’s...whatever,” Emmerich said, waving her hand dismissively, “had failed. You mean to tell us that the mind of the Singularity is inside a cube in that lowlife criminal’s possession.”
“Again, you’re proving why you deserved that love-tap,” Cole said.
“Shut it, Musgrave!”
“To what capacity the transfer was successful, I don’t know,” Lin said. “I’m fully aware that leaving the Rook in—” Her mouth twisted— “In Rig’s care was ill-conceived, though I had little choice, considering the circumstances. I only hope that he kept my father’s memory safe.”
“And didn’t sell it to the highest bidder?” Emmerich asked.
Cole lobbed the supply box at Emmerich, who easily sidestepped it. “Hey! There’s no point in arguing Doc’s decision. Better with Rig than with SolEx or Terracom.”
Emmerich’s face bloomed. “It will find its way to Terracom. He’s still tied to their debt colony through his lenses, remember? It’s only a matter of time before they track him down.”
“Which is why we should reclaim it before they do,” Lin said. “If they haven’t already.” She sighed. “I never thought I would have the opportunity to actually attempt a recovery. I can’t let my father fall into the wrong hands.”
“Well, Rig’s obviously on the run if he’s managed to make it to the Moon in so short a time,” Cole said. “I suppose we should pay him a surprise visit. We wouldn’t want to deny Cain his answers.”
~
The dark side of the Moon was thrice-aptly named. The original referred to the hemisphere that always faced away from Earth—a mystery for the majority of humankind’s existence. The second and better known context came from a popular rock album recorded during the late twentieth century by a band known as Pink Floyd. Its most current connotation was a negative one, rooted in the shady dealings and dark intentions of its inhabitants.
The Moon was Terracom’s and humanity’s first attempt at space colonization. Devoid of most elements necessary for proper terraforming, the Earth’s smaller sibling was initially a cluster of domed colonies connected by tunnels. Over time, with the advent of inexpensive interstellar travel, the transportation of the “necessary elements” helped shape the Moon into a more habitable destination. It was a haven from the watery clutches of a ruined planet.
The dark side, however, became a breeding ground for criminal activity. Because that early colonization of the Moon grew at an alarming rate, and because it lacked a sound government, typical human tendencies veered toward malfeasance.
So it was no surprise to the crew of the ICV-71 to lear
n that Rig’s choice of residence was in the shadowy recess of the Aitken basin crater the epicenter of criminal activity throughout the System. Cole knew this place well, for it was on his delivery route for several years. Unofficially, he knew his time in the crater was penance for the actions leading to his dishonorable discharge.
Supplying an updated entry code—courtesy of CAIN’s temporary control of SolEx—the ICV-71 entered the Aitken basin crater without incident. Security was lax on the Moon’s dark side, making for easy navigation. It was the underworld presence of which one had to be mindful. Delivery vessels had to be especially aware of crooked logistics personnel. Fortunately, Cole had nine years of practice mingling with the locals. Unfortunately, he was piloting an expensive, state-of-the-art prototype cargo ship. Thankfully, CAIN was able to override the mimicry function to replicate a nondescript, dilapidated hull to avert any wandering eyes.
They successfully docked at a congested commercial port near the heart of the city. Aitken had precious few safe zones, and the port was one of them. Here, CAIN and the ICV-71 would draw little attention while the others searched for Rig. Cole made sure to zip his jacket overtop his sidearm before exiting the ship. Weapon checks were rare and hardly ever enforced, as anyone with any common sense was packing some sort of heat for protection. That said, open carry was frowned upon and seen as an invitation to gang violence.
CAIN said via Cole’s reconfigured earpiece. The comms he had acquired from the officers had been apportioned to Emmerich and Lin.
“That’s swell, Cain,” Cole interrupted, “but I already know the place you have marked. Used to deliver around here before I was promoted, then turned Most Wanted.”
“Let’s not forget you decided to turn your back on an honest living,” Emmerich said, falling in line behind him. “Nobody twisted your arm.”
Cole slowed and looked back at her. “Did that Ocunet lens solution seep back into your brain and give you amnesia? Apparently you don’t recall practically begging me to switch sides and save your ass when we were stuck on the S3.”
Emmerich blushed. “Like it or not, you still made a choice. Don’t pretend to be honorable.” She pushed past him.
Cole glowered at her. He waited until she stalked far enough ahead to sigh and swallow his pride. She’s right, he thought, recalling the moment he took command. Why am I pretending to be a victim?
“You were faced with an impossible situation,” Lin’s Rook said to him. She caught up to him. “Had you chosen to turn on us, you would have faced the debt colony for certain—regardless of your actions prior.”
Cole forced a smile and headed in the direction on his lens. “Thanks. I’ll keep telling myself that until I begin to believe it.”
The trio made their way off the dock and out of the nearly vacant port. It was as Cole had said: low security presence. The few workers and cargo pilots they did see avoided eye contact and kept a wide berth as they passed. They made a short pit stop at the receiving office to visit an old acquaintance.
“Man, they’ll just let any old slob run this chickenshit operation,” Cole said to the large man sleeping in a lounge chair on the verge of collapse. “Howerton, you don’t look capable of coordinating nap time, let alone logistics for the USCT.”
The logistics coordinator stirred and snorted. He grabbed hold of his desk for balance and turned his bleary-eyed gaze toward Cole. The slovenly man looked anything but professional. His powder blue button-up United System Communal Transport shirt was old, frayed, and covered in food and coffee stains. He gingerly lowered his thick legs from the desk and slipped his feet back into his badly worn loafers.
“Musgrave?” he asked, breathing sharply to clear his sinuses. “Thought you got transferred off the Moon. Promoted, right?”
Good. He doesn’t know yet. “I did,” he said, leaning against the creaky desk. “Filling in for some rookie.”
Howerton’s eyes narrowed as he processed the response. “Pretty sure your old route was covered today.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You need something?”
Cole grinned. “Just a dedicated pair of eyes whilst I conduct some business downtown.” He tapped the monitor on his desk and indicated the ICV-71 in one of the many camera angles being displayed. “I shouldn’t be too long, but I’m not piloting my usual bird today, and I wouldn’t want any curious passerby to lighten my load.”
Howerton frowned and examined the vessel. “Shit, did you get demoted? She don’t look safe to skirt overtop the city, let alone navigate open space. You sure anyone will even notice?”
“Can’t be too careful these days. You never know when some dishonest inspector might slip aboard and abuse their power.”
Howerton shook his head and laughed. “I’d be more worried about the janitor than that happening.” He clapped his hand, amused with himself. “Sure thing, Musgrave. But don’t take too long; I’ll be heading out shortly. Duty calls.”
“Operation Drunkard?” Cole supplied.
“Sorry, but that’s classified information, son.” Howerton interlocked his hands atop his bulbous belly and smirked.
“Much obliged.” Cole pushed off the desk and headed toward the door. Outside he met up with a curious Lin and a furious Emmerich. He held up a hand to silence the former inspector. “Just securing a little bit of insurance.”
Emmerich was shaking her head, disgusted. “Maybe we can all stop by the Bar afterward and have a round of drinks with that fat slob when we’re all done here.”
Cole nodded. “Or we can go there first!”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You were eavesdropping on my conversation.” Cole started away from the USCT office. “We’re going to a bar because that’s where Rig will be waiting for us. Take a closer look at the red marker if you don’t believe me.”
Emmerich squinted. “How do you know he’s waiting for us and not just getting blackout drunk?”
“I don’t.”
Cole looked at Lin. “You hearing this, Doc?” She nodded, a look of consternation on her face. “Your pet project just keeps getting more interesting by the minute.” He headed for their destination. “Let’s hope his preemptive contact doesn’t come to bite us all in the ass.”
The trio made their way out of the port without incident. Cole theorized the familiar SolEx company apparel worn by each of them kept them camouflaged in a cargo-driven environment. It seemed no one noticed or cared they were even alive. Cole hoped to keep it that way during their stay on the Moon.
The massive adjoining corridors were cylindrical in shape and unsettlingly dark. The corridors, lit by fluorescent light, branched off every quarter mile or so and led to different sections of the domed city. As they made their way toward more populated areas, the bland décor gave way to vivid, animated digital displays on storefronts and the raucous noise of congregating people.
The “Aitkade,” as it was referred to, was one the first true colonized marketplaces erected away from Earth. Once revered as the Moon’s Mecca, it now resembled more of a slum. Decades of disrepair, increasing vacancies, and unethical sales practices constituted the failing market. Most of the hydroponic farms no longer cultivated produce, instead maintaining the booming narcotics trade. Business was giving way to organized crime, and it was only a matter of time before the far side of the moon went dark as well.
The red beacon in the corner of Cole’s vision began flashing as they neared one of the Aitkade’s numerous watering holes. The universal clock read early A.M., but he knew spirits were still flowing. From a short distance he could see that patronage was low, as most Lunarites were already passed out somewhere within the domed complex. Rig was not yet in
sight.
“ ‘Misty Mountain Hops’ ?” Emmerich asked, reading aloud the small sign above the narrow establishment. “Is there some obscure reference here?”
“Zeppelin,” Cole said, hesitating outside the entrance. “You need to bone up on your archaic Earth tunes if you’re to keep pace with me, Inspector.”
“I don’t like this,” Lin said, moving close behind Cole.
“What’s not to like about Led Zeppelin?” Cole asked, aware of her proximity. He could feel her warmth and fought the urge to bridge the gap. “I place them right up there with Deep Purple.”
Lin sighed. “The pub.” She pointed into the dark, uninviting space.
“I wouldn’t worry so much, Doc,” Cole said. “I can navigate us out of most trouble this rock can throw at us. The only reason we’d have to worry is if my brother’s people showed up. But they haven’t been ‘round these parts in years. He’s moved onto bigger and better things.”
“And here you are, following in his footsteps,” Emmerich said.
Cole smiled, not wishing to respond to her statement with colorful commentary. He cleared his throat and walked into Misty Mountain Hops. Inside, the wall behind the counter displayed videos of current news events, sports, and games of skill. The bartender was nowhere to be seen, though a single waitress was happily sipping from a small tumbler on her tray, watching the myriad of imagery. A couple of the tables were occupied by drunk or nearly inebriated patrons, all seemingly without a care in the System.
And there, at the back, in the far corner all by himself, was Rig. Cole recognized the skunk stripe in the stocky mechanic’s hair. He wore nondescript, long-sleeved coveralls covered in grease and oil stains. His grin was infectious, dispelling any fears Cole might have had before entering. CAIN had delivered yet again.
“Looks like you just got off the third shift at the factory,” Cole said as he approached the waiting mechanic.
Rig’s smile widened, though he did not respond. He merely watched in silence as the apprehensive trio occupied the remaining seats. The mechanic eyed Emmerich warily, and she, in turn, glowered back at him. He downed the contents of his shot glass and belched a greeting.