And while this was happening, every day, more and more people went on government-subsidized income. Many turned to illicit endeavors to supplement that income. Most had given up on the idea that an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay would get you ahead in this world. The American dream had died long ago, the victim of outsourcing, technology and globalization.
But there were still slivers of hope elsewhere. Maybe not here, but in other parts of Sol. Regions where the pioneer spirit still persevered. It was clear to him … if the human race was to survive, if humanity was to escape extinction, its future was out there somewhere. Mars. The Belt. The Stars. Somewhere, far away from here, he was going to have to reboot. And the further away, the better.
If humankind got a second chance, then Joe figured people like Junior Tuttle ought to get one too. Why the fuck not? He’d helped out a lot worse bastards than this.
He pulled out his PDC. “Lemme see yours,” he instructed. While he waited for Junior to produce his, he tapped on his touch screen several times to input some data then held it out.
Junior tapped it, and as the data transferred, Joe explained, “There’s a cargo flight out tonight to Mars, hauling material to the New Nawlins project. Show that pass to the pilot. And don’t be late. They won’t wait on your ass. And if you miss that flight … you damned sure better not show your face around here again.”
“I’ll be there …”
“I’m serious. This is a one-time offer. Non-negotiable. Non-refundable. And most importantly … no rainchecks.”
“I said I’d be there.” Junior was starting to get aggravated by his friend’s attitude. After all he’d done for him …
Joe ignored him, continuing his briefing, “There’s also a union card in your PDC now. Welcome to the local. When you get to Mars, go to the main hiring hall. Sign the general laborer’s book. It’s unskilled labor, but it’ll get you by ‘til you can get into an apprenticeship.”
“Thanks, man!” Junior stuck out his hand. “I owe you!”
“No, I’d say we were even, now.” Joe took his hand and shook it briskly. “Just remember … if anybody asks. This meeting never happened.”
“Fair ‘nuff!” Junior agreed.
“And Junior?”
“Yeah, Joe?”
“You’re not a babe in the woods. You get on that ship … you keep your mouth shut and eyes closed. Mind your own fuckin’ business. Understand?”
Junior understood all too well. One of those shipments. But what choice did he have? His mouth drew tight.
“Yeah! I understand.”
«◊»
Cody had offered to let him take Starr with him. He’d refused.
“This was her home,” he’d told Cody. “She always said she was willing to die for it. Wouldn’t be right to take her from here.”
Now, as he watches the last of the refugees load onto the remaining Chargers, he’s regretting his decision. He let his emotions get the best of him. She deserves better than a wartime grave. If she even gets that. She meant something to him, but what was she really to everyone else? Especially now that she’s terminated. There’s a lot of human dead that need attended to. Will anybody really waste time on a blown Andie? And that’s assuming it will be the Colonials who lay her to rest, however, they see fit. What if she falls into the hands of Authority troops? He has little doubt what they will do.
“Hindsight is fifty/fifty,” his Uncle Mud used to say. It’s too late to second-guess his decision now. The tram tubes were destroyed after the last train left the station. The line to Luna Three is severed. The only way off this dead hunk of dust and rock now is on one of the three Chargers left, one of them being Kentucky Belle. The other ships have all taken off in the last hour, hoping their scanner jammers still work against the blockading Authority gunships. If the Authority has decoded them, these ships filled with innocent women and children will be nothing more than target practice for the Grendels now roaming free over the cratered surface out there.
The hangar is as chaotic as the tram station was a few hours earlier. It’s been agreed that Belle will be the last ship to leave. The ground crew has set explosive charges at the main support beams that will be detonated once they’re clear. They’ll be the last flight out of a once-thriving, soon-to-be-doomed city.
He takes one last look around the dilapidated old structure that seemed like such a shithole when he first saw it. Hell, it is a shithole! But over the last few months, it’s grown on him. A lot of memories were made here, a lot of damned good friends, most of whom are no longer around. What they did here, their bravery and their sacrifice, it will soon be washed away by the tides of time, footnotes maybe, to a bigger story. That’s probably the biggest tragedy of this all. People will remember the likes of Alvarez and Cody. Nobody remembers the ones who actually did the fighting and dying.
The other pilots are loaded and firing their engines. It’s time. He turns and walks up into Belle’s cargo hold, where dozens of people are crammed, shoulder-to-shoulder. It’s going to be a long, uncomfortable flight for them. Some are wounded. Many of those will probably die of their wounds before they reach the Belt. They’ll have to be jettisoned out the airlock. It’s cold, and there’ll be some people upset about it, but it’ll have to be done for sanitary reasons.
A grim thought passes through his head. It’ll help
