“Weird Wednesday,” it had eventually become known as. No one outside of the Possum Works staff and the Feds really knew what went down on that fateful day. But it had been bad. Very bad! Employees onsite went missing, presumably dead. A large section of the complex had been destroyed. The military had moved in quickly and sealed off the area, even making the sky above the Works a “no-fly” zone. James’ entire operation was shut down and not long afterwards, construction of a large magnicrete dome could be seen rising over what had once been the Propulsion Testing facility. For the last decade or so, the entire site had been declared off-limits to anyone without proper security clearance, and guards had “shoot-to-kill” orders concerning trespassers.
Over the years, rumors swirled about what happened. Most centered on Schmidt conducting some kind of weird-ass experiments with faster-than-light devices. The bastard had always been obsessed with creating a drive system that would take man to the stars at hyper-light speed. Some said he’d caused a time anomaly and many people in the area claimed to have experienced unexplained incidences of “missing time” for an hour or so. Theories ranging from time travel devices, to doors, to alternate dimensions still remained subjects of conversation wherever alcohol flowed and politics and religion needed a rest.
But nobody really knew. At least nobody that was talking. The authorities detained Schmidt for several months. Then, in a bizarre turn of events, it was announced he would be joining the Genesis Now Project, man’s first attempt at interstellar colonization, as a scientific advisor and crewmember. One year later, he, along with six hundred other unfortunate souls, would vanish without a trace somewhere in the void between Earth and a star thought to have a habitable planet in its orbit. To this day, no one knows what happened to them.
As for Cap’n Reb, he accepted full responsibility for the tragic loss of life and agreed to leave Huntsville and Earth forever. His exile took him to the outer frontier, a quiet, remote corner of the Asteroid Belt, where he carved out a tiny colony of misfits and malcontents mostly known now as Dalton’s Dixie. Even the intrusive Space Authority seems content to leave them alone, for the most part.
“I believe you, man,” Tiger couldn’t argue. “I’ve heard people say the same thing you’re saying.
“It’s no shit, man!” Cutter fell back in his seat. “Who knows what that bastard may have come close to doing! A few more seconds and he may have wiped us all from this very plane of existence.”
“Well, he’s gone now,” Tiger pointed out.
“Good riddance!” Cutter reached for the bottle again. It was time for another toast.
“Yeah, but too bad he took 600 people with him.”
“Yeah! Who knows what kind of mojo shit he put on them!” Cutter held up his glass. “Enough about that devil! To the Cap’n! A fine man!”
“Can’t argue that! We owe him all we are!” Tiger replied as they drank to the one man Tiger felt Cutter might still do something right for, if it was ever asked.
“Damned right!” Cutter agreed. The glass went upside down on the table with a resounding thud. Small talk was over. “So, are we good to go when you blast back out?” he asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
“Ridley’s taking care of it.”
Cutter nodded his approval, picking up a tactical knife that had been laying on the table. “Good man to have on the inside!” Idly, he began cleaning his fingernails with the knife blade. “Speaking of good men, I was talking to some folks down at the Guild the other day. They say the roster’s still open for the New Nola project.”
“Not interested.” Tiger said flatly. Might as well nip this in the bud right now! “Besides, with the ships they got now … they wouldn’t have a need for one the size of Jenny.”
“They say they need all able-bodied pilots and ships,” Cutter wasn’t giving up that easy. “Say it’s gonna make the first colonization look like a trip to the market. Lots of OT … premium pay … all expenses covered. Meals, lodging … no sleeping in your cockpit like we used to. Actually put you up in a room with a real bed.”
“Don’t care. I’m retired and I plan on staying retired.”
“Well, you ain’t even heard my part,” Cutter held out his hands. “I’m gonna be moving stuff in and out too. A lot of stuff … both ways. And you know I pay just a wee bit better than Guild scale. I could use some good men once that gets going. We’re talking a very lucrative arrangement for everyone involved. Don’t wanna help an old friend out?”
Tiger knew exactly where this was going. Once this project got into full swing, hundreds of ships would be travelling back and forth between Mars, Earth, and Luna, at any given second. It would be a smuggler’s paradise. With the connections Cutter already had with the Martian underworld, all he needed was a few pilots he could trust. Tiger knew his name was at the top of that list. Ever since he’d heard about New Nola, he knew this day would come. He would stand at the crossroads and be tempted by the Devil. Cutter was right. There stood to be a lot of money made, legitimate and illicit. Maybe enough
