A Bar Room Brawl On Ganymede

by Robert Scanlon

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  I stare intently at the holopanel as we approach Ganymede. The moon begins to fill the screen, though Jupiter’s marbled red surface still looms behind.

  I turn to look at Jordi, who is piloting our modified courier ship with his usual deft hands.

  He catches me looking at him, and smiles suggestively. “Having second thoughts, Indy?”

  “I told you, I’m not interested. We agreed this is now a strictly commercial relationship. Nothing more.”

  Something catches the corner of my eye on the main holo, and I swipe a section of the image down to my datapad. I gesture to zoom in.

  “What are you looking at?” Jordi says.

  “Mind your own business.”

  I zoom in closer, to see what appears to be an oversized spaceyard hangar under construction. “I wonder what they’re building that for?” I mutter under my breath.

  “What is it?” Jordi asks, still keeping his vision on the main holo.

  I shake my head, and a loose strand of my red hair drags lazily across my vision in the zero-grav. I remind myself to stuff my hair under a cap before we disembark on Ganymede. “Not sure. Looks like a giant space hangar. For what, I have no idea.”

  I let go my curiosity and turn my attention to our approach and the moon’s trading docks.

  “Take us in slowly,” I say. “We don’t want to be drawing any undue attention to ourselves.”

  He shoots a glance at me. “Then you’d better dye your hair and keep your mouth closed.” He gives me a wry smile, before returning his attention to our docking maneuver.

  The holopanel springs to life and a Ganymede official peers into the screen. She is holding a datapad. “Courier Class A vessel, please identify yourself and passengers.”

  I smile at her. “My name is India Jackson and I am the ship’s captain. Piloting the vessel currently is Jordi Snell. What other identification do you require?”

  “One moment please.” The official consults her datapad and then peers back at me, looks back down at the datapad, then back at me. “Madam India Jackson?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.” I wonder why she has to ask twice.

  “Age?”

  “26. Why do you require my age?”

  “Entry requirements. Please hold.”

  I glance at Jordi next to me, who is still guiding our ship down toward the Ganymede trading docks. He raises an eyebrow. “Problems?”

  I shake my head. “Just the Jovian mafia exerting their power.”

  The official reappears on the holo. “I’m sorry, there seems to be some irregularity. Your courier vessel is not cleared for entry, and our preliminary scan reveals the possible presence of unauthorized enhancements.”

  If only she knew.

  The woman continues. “Also Madam India Jackson appears to have never officially left the moon twenty years ago. We will need to take you in for questioning. Please proceed to the following coordinates.”

  The holo flashes with a set of coordinates: they denote the regulatory area of the Ganymede docks. Jordi and I exchange glances.

  I look back to the official. “Madam, I don’t understand. We applied for clearance from Mars, and were granted entry. What is the issue?”

  The official has the beginnings of a smirk on her face. “There are irregularities in your paperwork, Ms Jackson. Not only did you not obtain the correct exit codes twenty years ago, but your vessel has modifications, and your clearance out of Mars was never completed. We will discuss this further at the Customs offices.”

  Jordi butts in. “Please let me—”

  “No. I can handle this.” I turn back to the official. “Madam, if you’re able to supply the details of the irregularities, I’m sure I can complete the relevant paperwork prior to entry. We have a tight timetable and a scheduled meeting to attend. I believe it is not polite on Ganymede to be late.” She understands what I am implying. The Jovian mafia have never been known for their patience.

  The official holds my gaze. “I’m sorry, Ms Jackson. These matters may only be completed in person. You are required to attend to this at the Customs offices. Goodbye.”

  The holo blacks out.

  Jordi raises his index finger to shut me down. He knows I’m angry. “Let me try, Indy. What have you got to lose?”

  I mostly rely on Jordi for his excellent pilot skills, but I’ve also seen him talk his way in and out of anything.

  I let go a sigh. “None of your BS. And cut straight to the point. I’ll—” I pause for a moment. “Just don’t make things worse.”

  I turn away from Jordi and swipe the holo to open a channel back to the official.

  The official looks up, surprised. “Yes, Ms Jackson. May I assist you?”

  Jordi sweeps the camera around with a gesture so he is in her field of vision. “Madam, I am Jordi Snell, the ship’s pilot. I have been looking over the documentation since your call, and I’ve noticed we may have failed to make a payment for clearance. Would you please advise the amount and the lodgment details?”

  I shoot a quick look at Jordi, who seems to be holding his breath while he waits.

  The official’s eyes close momentarily with a slight wrinkle around them, as if she is smiling. She nods perfunctorily. “One moment, Mr Snell, I will obtain the details for you.” The holo turns black again.

  “What the …?” I say.

  “Wait.” Jordi is glued to the holo.

  It springs into life again. The official switches her gaze between the two of us. “Ms Jackson, I have examined your paperwork, and Mr Snell appears to be correct. We are missing a payment of”—she looks down at her datapad—“approximately 4,975 credits.” She looks up. “I will transmit the transfer details to you now. Once these credits are paid your entry should be problem free. I hope this is satisfactory.” She smiles, and leans forward to launch the transfer icon on the holo.

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” Jordi says. “We will send 5,000 to cover any other outstanding dues.” Jordi swipes the holo closed, lets out a deep breath, and looks over at me with a triumphant expression.

  “Okay, okay.” But I won’t give him any more praise. Too much, and Jordi becomes insufferable. “Thanks. Now take us in.”

  Jordi grins. “Hey, this is Ganymede. You may not have been here for twenty years, but I have. These are the Jovians we are dealing with here. It’s their way of life.”

  Not a way of life Papa would have endorsed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  We disembark after completing Ganymede’s bureaucratic entry requirements, where I list Jordi and myself as independent commercial traders. In reality I’m looking for a contact. Someone who knows someone who knows someone, who can set me up with a deal of 3He—helium three—energy cubes, which I will sell at a profit to boost my rapidly dwindling supply of Papa’s credits.

  “Where are we heading?”

  “To the nukeBall game,” I say, adjusting my cap and making sure my hair is well hidden. The interchange with the moon’s official surfaced a memory of the last time I was on Ganymede. I have a brief vision of my older brother, Mitch, and I holding Papa’s hands when he took us to our very first game. I was six and Mitch was eight, but we were both eager to see the acrobatic skills of the nukeBall
players in a real-life stadium, all the more exciting in low gravity.

  We descend from the dock to the surface in one of Ganymede’s packed droptubes, and into a transit dome. The tube’s doors slide open, letting the new arrivals out, and we emerge into a bustling crowd.

  Ganymede is far busier than I remember it. The Jovian mafia have entrenched themselves into the moon’s culture, their monopolization of the radiation belt’s energy production has brought the money to build these protective domes. They’ve also engineered the moon’s commerce into a melting pot of legal and illegal trades.

  It’s the latter that I’m here for, and why I have no wish to be easily identified.

  I spy what I’m looking for across the spacious transit hub.

  “There’s the gravbelt. Stick close to me,” I say. “I don’t need any of your antics to get in the way this time.” I don’t try to contain the scowl on my face.

  He grimaces. “Can’t help myself. It’s an addiction. It’s a well-known—”

  “I don’t care what it is,” I interrupt. “I have a limited supply of credits. I’m perfectly prepared to pay you to be my pilot. But I’m not willing to use my credits for anything else. Except—”

  “Except to make a deal, so that you can boost your credits, so that you can find someone to bribe who will tell you what happened to Papa. Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  Jordi splutters and tries to pull my hands away as I grab hold of his neck.

  People stare.

  “I thought you didn’t want to attract attention,” Jordi gasps.

  I let go, embarrassed at my reaction. “Say one more thing about Papa, and I will reconsider your position as my pilot.”

  “Ha! You already know you won’t find anyone as good or as cheap as I am.” Jordi grins.

  I stare at him for a while, then turn and walk off in the direction of the beltway.

  Ganymede’s gravity is low, only around 15% of the standard one-gee earth gravity used across our Galactic Sector. Travel across the multi-domed moon is by three-seater flaretrikes, gravbelts, or foot. Most people walk using gravboots or slip-on electromagnetic soles. We use the latter. I can’t afford gravboots. Yet.

  Since Papa’s death, I’ve used a huge chunk of his remaining credits to fuel my obsession with uncovering the circumstances behind his murder, and to find out who killed him.

  As soon as I do, I fully expect that I too, will become a murderer.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I step on the gravbelt, and Jordi follows in behind me. We are in a transit tunnel, heading toward another dome. All around us are crowds of excited people, speaking in loud voices, jostling each other, dressed in bright clothes, some clearly under the influence.

  I feel my body tense up in anticipation. Not of the impending nukeBall game, but of getting closer to uncovering information I’m willing to pay for. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around to see Jordi’s face close to mine, his brow creased.

  “These crowds can get nasty.” He indicates with his eyes around us. “Keep your eyes peeled, your pockets closed, and stick close to me. You don’t want to be a woman on your own at a nukeBall game on Ganymede.”

  I’m just about to tell him I can look after myself, when I see the end of the gravbelt arriving. We step off together and into the adjacent dome. This new dome is vast. Thousands, probably tens of thousands of people milling around, jostling, bumping, shouting, screaming. There are loud voices everywhere. I instinctively shrink back. It’s intimidating, especially when you spend so much time with only a few close crew members in deep space.

  “Who are we looking for exactly?” Jordi says.

  “A guy who knows where I can make a deal for 3He.” I scan the crowds as we edge toward one of the stadium entrances.

  “What does he look like?”

  “No idea. I was told to meet at the fifth pylon from the south gate, and wear this cap.” I tap my head.

  Jordi looks surprised. “I thought that was just to hide your hair.”

  I look at him as we walk through the entrance gate and into the roar of the stadium. “Thankfully it does that, too. Wait a moment.”

  We stop together and I get my bearings. The dome soars high above the stadium and the cacophony assaults my ears. The seating encompasses the entire circumference of the stadium and rises up for over a hundred meters. We are in one of the lower passageways in between the bottom rungs of seating.

  I look behind me to ensure that we have actually entered via the south gate. We have. People rush past me, glancing at me wondering why I’m looking the “wrong” way. I turn back, look up and see the first pylon. I count a further four pylons on.

  “There,” I point. “We need to head down this passageway and get through the crowds.”

  “Good luck with that.” Jordi’s face is grim.

  We begin to push our way through the densely-packed mass of fans. Some people are put out by our persistence.

  “Hey!” A squat but muscular guy looks back at me as I shove him out of the way. “Watch it, lady.”

  Jordi steps between us and faces the guy. “Or what?” Jordi can be intimidating at times, and this time it works. The guy backs off, and holds his hands in the air in apology.

  I move forward, though it is slow-going through the crowds, even in the low gravity. NukeBall is one of the Jovian’s most favored sports. They love the violence, they love the jeering, the jostling, and occasionally … the deaths.

  I spot the fifth pylon in the distance. I pick up the pace and head toward it, forcing my way through a group of five overexcited Jovian teenagers who immediately leer at me. I whip around to glare at them.

  “Hey boys, watch your manners.” I turn my back to them and resume my march, ignoring the jeers and wolf whistles behind me. Jordi catches up with me, loping along, using the low gravity to pick up speed.

  “What’s the big deal? Why are you so uptight?”

  Uptight? I need this deal. I made a promise to Papa; I had no idea it would be the very last time I saw him. It was a promise to continue his energy trading connections, and to prevent the growing criminal monopolization. Jordi thinks I only need the money to track down the man who killed my father. A partial truth; but perhaps he is right, I need to watch myself.

  First I must find my contact.

  The roar of the crowd escalates dramatically. The players have arrived on the field.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Papa died, my brother Mitch and I inherited millions of credits. We have no idea how father amassed quite so much, but all I knew was that I wanted to continue his legacy. Papa built a substantial trading business, dealing in 3He energy cubes. He often complained that if energy were free, then none of these power plays would happen, yet still he insisted on making money from it. One of his many contradictions, I guess.

  We are making slow progress. The crowds thicken and strain to see the players entering the field. The noise is incredible, and the structure of the dome causes the sound to rain back down on us. The excitable crowd makes it hard to keep track of the passageway, but fortunately at almost two meters tall, I tower over most Ganymedians. I keep my eyes firmly focused on the fifth pylon in the distance.

  I hear Jordi grunt heavily behind me, and I twist around to see what’s happening. Two guys have just shoulder-charged him from either side. Both are beefier than the average native. Jordi is winded and turns to yell at the two thugs, but they disappear into the crowd. He stares after them, then slowly turns back to me. He shrugs. I beckon him on, and we push further forward through the crowds.

  I can see the two teams of fifteen players spreading out across the arena, over which is deployed a gravitational distortion matrix, matching the size of the playing field.

  With each team assigned a set of either twenty red, or twenty blue, high-density, handspan-sized nukeBalls, the aim is to prevent a succession of balls of your team’s color from descending down the intense gravitational well set in the middle of the field.

 
The game is a race against time, and the team left with the most—or any—balls at the end of play wins. There are only two rules: maximum continuous ball hold of twenty seconds, and try to sink the opponent’s balls while saving your own.

  And then there’s the reason for the game’s name and deadly nature: If two players and one or more balls fall into the well at the same time ... the ball will implode, with fatal consequences.

  It’s brutal, and I can only assume Papa brought us here at such a young age to show us his distaste for humanity’s entertainment choices.

  The crowd is turbulent, and we are bumped and pushed left, right and center as we make our way. I see we have only one pylon left to go.

  “Wait!”

  It’s Jordi. I stop and turn around. “What?” I shout over the noise.

  He looks confused, and digs around in his right hand suit pocket. “Those guys … one of them stuffed something into my pocket. Hold on.” He rummages deeper and then drags out a plastisheet which unravels. I can see writing on it, but I can’t see what it says. Only that Jordi is clearly very disturbed. He screws the sheet up, and thrusts it back in his pocket. Then looks up at me, his eyes wide. He begins to back away from me. “Sorry, Indy. I have to go.” His face is white.

  “Jordi, wait, we need to talk.”

  But Jordi is backing away further, holding his arms out toward me as if to ask for forgiveness. He shouts over the racket. “Meet me in the Blue Bar. It doesn’t have an official name. Just ask for it down in the Xpress. Everyone knows it.”

  Jordi turns and shoves his way through the crowd, and he is gone.

  I am left alone in the heaving mass, momentarily stunned.

  I collect myself, draw a deep breath, and plow on.

  The Xpress district. I’ve heard there is nowhere seedier on Ganymede. But I must focus back on my situation.

  I arrive at the fifth pylon, and the noise has abated somewhat as I tuck myself away from the crowd. I hide behind a massive metalloy girder and wait.

  Several minutes pass and then I see three broad men hustling their way toward me. I step forward to meet them, but they muscle me into the dark recess under one of the grandstands. I feel the tension in my body heighten.