Bugs in the Software

[This is a short story fragment at the moment.  Sort of wrote myself into a corner.  That happens.]

“So, what do you think?”

I took a slug of rye from my rocks glass, enjoying the tinkle of the crystalline ice cubes as they tumbled against the side of the vessel, and looked at my companion.  “Think about what?”

“The PFMB?  You know, the missing missions!' he added with annoyance, as if the topic was so important that no other issue was worth discussing. 

I swallowed a mouthful of rye and shrugged.  Cuop Bien was really hopping tonight.  Almost every table was full, and the dance floor was grooving with youngsters dancing to the latest electro-beats, their bodies bathed in the joint's abundant neon lighting.  “The Pilot's Federation says it's just a glitch in the system and they're on it. Who am I to call them a liar?” 

Beaver just made a dismissive noise and starred gloomily into his rum and cola.  “Come on, do you really think that?  I mean, we're not talking about some nickle and dime corp using off the shelf software.”  He took a swallow of his poison of choice, and grimaced.  Honestly, I think Beaver hated hard liqueur but wanted to impress me by keeping up.  “This is the Pilot's Federation we're talking about.  Am I really to believe that the mission brokerage software just starting glitching?  Glitching badly enough for two entire classes of mission to be pulled from the network?”  Another slug of rum and cola, and another grimace.  “No way.” 

I forked the last dumpling from my plate and popped it into my mouth.  Ao Guang was a great place for authentic Asian food, and Cuop Bien, snugly situated in the commercial heart of Humphreys Barracks, was the best place to go to score some and to check out the night life such as it was on this iceberg known as “6 G.”   With a full alderman, I sat back against the booth's amply stuffing and fetched a cigarette and lighter from my blazer, silently thanking the stars that Ao Guang Jet Comms wasn't one of those busybody corps that took great pleasure in outlawing the simple pleasures in life.  I snapped open the base lid, triggered the flame, and brought it up to the cigarette in my mouth.  With a few puffs the cigarette was lit, the end glowing like a contented red dwarf.   I nonchalantly snapped the lighter closed and put it back in my blazer's pocket, all the while feeling the envious eyes of Beaver on me.  If he could stomach the idea of smoking, he already would have a flip lighter of his own.  Monkey see, monkey do.  But kids these days; its all pills and syntho-narcotics.  No stomach for the real stuff.

I saw Cam heading in our direction and gave her a wave.  The ever energetic thirty-something waitress – slim like a snake, with long hair as shiny and dark as a raven caught in the rain – waved back and hurried on over to our table.  “So, my two phi congs finished their meals, I see,” she said as she gathered our empty plates.  I smiled indulgently while Beaver beamed like he just received a great compliment from Aisling Duval herself.   If Cam said that she was going to disembowel him next, he probably would have continued to grin like an idiot. 

“I sure did, Ms. Cam.  I haven't had a good meal like that in far too long,” Beaver gushed, eager to please his mistress like a yipping puppy.  I just rolled my eyes as I looked away to the far side of the joint, my eyes coming to rest on a large holo-monitor that had a GalNet update on it.  Something going on with Ram Tah and his precious Guardians, but before I could make out what, the update was over and the programming returned the CQC quarter finals. 

“...and that is where Flambeur and I are heading next,” I heard Beaver conclude.  I love it when the kid spills our itinerary every time he gets dizzy with a dame.   He has a lot to learn if he was going to survive on his own in the black.   Honestly, I don't even know how I got stuck with this gosling.  All I did was hire the kid to fetch my Sidey from a station three light years away and suddenly he is following me around wherever I go, and talking as if we are now partners in some grand enterprise.  I still haven't decided if I should be flattered or alarmed. 

I will admit that he has come in handy, hence why I haven't given him the brush.  Truth is, I haven't been in this business for much longer than Beaver, but my gray hairs and my “life experience,” as they say, must appear as some sort of pilot elan to the kid.  Fine, I'll be happy to play that part and to take advantage of his naivete.  So, I've been putting the kid to work, giving him some solo milk runs with my castoff Sidewinder, and taking him along for a ride in my new Hauler when I could use some muscle with the cargo.  Kid seems happy enough with the 60-40 split I offer him on all payouts, so the “partnership” has worked out pretty good so far.  I've doubled my business capacity for little more than some crumbs and the occasional dime-store wisdom I throw his way. 

I took a puff on my cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke, using it as a screen from which to surreptitiously peer at Cam as her sharp eyes danced over Beaver's body like a spider deciding which part of her mate to devour first.  Poor Beaver.  He had no idea what he was asking for.  With one last wicked smile, Cam turned and left, Beaver's hungry eyes following her the whole way.

“So, what do you think is going on then, kid?” I asked while dipping the filter of my cigarette in the rye and putting it back in my mouth. “What's the rumble?”

Another swig of soda and rum, another grimace.  Beaver leaned forward conspiratorially.  “Well, I heard from this longshoreman over on A Dock, you know, by the power gen facilities, that he heard from a guy that works in admin that all this Guardian tech that pilots are recovering is screwing with the PF's hypernet.  It's doing...something.”

“Something.” I repeated.  “Something...what?”

Beaver got all fidgety.  “I don't know!  Something.  Something...bad.”

“Oh,” I replied.  “Bad.”

He nodded.  And then he leaned close to me, and began to whisper, something not at all necessary in a joint bouncing with music and conversation.  “And then I heard something...else.” His eyes darted conspiratorially, forcing me to bite my tongue or risk laughing in his face.  “I heard from my pal Van that GalNet was censoring stories on the hypernet, stories that claim to have proof that the brokerage is being hacked by....” I held my breath in anticipation. “...Thargoids.”  Beaver solemnly sat back after unburdening himself of the secret of the galaxy.

I took a swig of rye, and a drag of my cigarette.  “Van told you this.”  He nodded enthusiastically.  “Van,” I repeated.  “The kid who works in station sanitation.  The kid who told you last month that Jet Comms was going bankrupt.  Van, who the month before that, told you that SynthaMeat is harvested from Thargoids.  That Van.” 

“But he's been right plenty of times, too!” Beaver protested. 

'When?” I challenged.

Beaver got sullen and just stared into his glass again. 

I finally allowed myself a chuckle, and drank the last of the rye.  “Listen, kid.  I've been around this galaxy a few times and I can tell you one thing you can usually count on.  Know what that is?” I asked.

Beaver just shook his head without looking up at me.

“When it comes to figuring out what goes on in this galaxy,  always believe the boring explanation over the exciting conspiracy.  It's a sad fact, true, but a fact nonetheless.  And it will prevent you from making a fool of yourself too often. Thargoids,” I laughed.  I fished my SmartSlate from my blazer and paid the bill, leaving a generous tip for Cam.  The girl worked hard for her money, and saved as much as it as she could so she could afford to bring her two siblings over from the rust bucket of an anarchy outpost they now slave away on.  She was a private person, but sometimes she bared a bit of herself in the dark of her cabin right before slipping into sleep.  “I'm gonna take a walk  before turning in.  You gonna stay in the Sidey again?”

Beaver nodded.  He was such a spaceship groupie that he even slept in the tiny pilot's quarters on the vessel rather than rent a room in the port.  It was like he was afraid that his ship – my ship – would sneak off if he didn't keep an eye on it at all times.  

“Okay doke.  I'll see you in the morning then.”

* * * *

I gladly exited Coup Bien if for no other reason than to escape the incessant boom-boom-boom of the bass rhythm of the electronica that was pumped into the joint to keep the crowd comfortably numb.  I paused outside the entrance, a red neon Jolly Roger smiling balefully from above the door, and took a another drag on my cig.  I looked at the late night crowd that drifted past the entrance:  drunks seeking their next watering hole, pro-skirts looking to roll their next johns, and night shift zombies shambling home.   What a mess.

I should have just headed back to my berth and called it a night, but damn that kid.  I couldn't get what he said out of my mind.  I mean, it was a damn odd thing for the Pilot's Federation to have such a glitch.  I couldn't recall it ever happening before. 

I started walking, lost in thought as I followed the crowd.  Without realizing it, I eventually made my way to Commerce One,  Humphreys Barracks' central shopping distinct.  It was an extravagant waste of space in a lunar colony where every cubic foot of atmosphere was carefully measured and managed so as to not overtax the port's environmental system.  Residing within the core of Jet Comms Tower, the tallest building on the moon, Commerce One was a large, open air park surrounded by six levels of shops run by the most favored of small businessmen.   With nowhere else to go, I headed into the park's greenery and found a quiet bench next to a water fountain.  Water fountains are mesmerizing experiences in low gravity environments as the water takes on a more viscous appearance.