Alien Harvest

but still on his feet. A hunk of meat to which he could mete out punishment.

Badger hit and hit, using the heel and sides of his hands. He knew he had this fight won; he just had to guard now against injuring himself. It wouldn't do to be incapacitated for this spaceship call. Big Ed turned and twisted and floundered, but he couldn't defend himself. A shrewd kick on the elbow brought down his left arm. He stood there, his face a mask of blood, while Badger hammered away at him like a man driving nails into a tough piece of wood. He hit and he hit, and Big Ed groaned with pain but wouldn't go down.

“Hell, I got no more time to waste on this,” Badger said. He stepped back and, measuring his man carefully, delivered a kick with his steel-capped work shoe right to the point of Big Ed's jaw. The men watching the fight winced as Big Ed's front teeth came flying out like a spray of broken china, and Ed himself crashed face-first to the floor. Badger turned on a tap and cleaned himself quickly but thoroughly. It wouldn't do to be all sweaty for his interview. He checked himself in the big mirror before he left the washroom to make sure he didn't have any of Big Ed's face hanging on his clothes.

16

“Hi, I'm Stan Myakovsky,” Stan said. These are my associates. I telephoned ahead. I need a spaceship crew for a hazardous mission.”

If the guard at the front window of the entry gate was impressed, she didn't show it. She was a squarely built woman with short bristly hair. She put down her biker magazine and said, “What company you with?”

“Sonnegard Acceptance Corporation,” Stan said, and showed his credentials.

Back before his troubles began, Stan had taken over the Dolomite by buying the controlling shares in Sonnegard, a spaceship holding company. The company was the real owner of the ship, not Stan, who had never bothered to have the ship reregistered in his own name. In fact, he had decided not to; that way, if the ship got into any trouble, he wouldn't be liable.

“You'll find my name on the list,” Stan said. He was hoping that the government hadn't gotten around to proscribing his company and red-flagging it on the computer. It was unlikely. As Julie had pointed out, it took government forever to bring their records up to date. The inefficiency wasn't strictly government's fault. There was neither the time nor the personnel available to record all the crimes, arrests, and dispositions that were taking place around the clock in an America more lawless than it had ever been in all its lawless history. Sonnegard Acceptance Corporation would probably be a legal entity for months to come.

The guard punched the name up on her computer. “Yeah, you're on the list. Go on through.” She buzzed open the heavy metal door leading to the prison.

“So far, so good,” Julie said.

Stan, accompanied by Julie and Hoban, went through into a long, brightly lit corridor.

“Oh, I didn't expect much trouble getting in,” Stan said. “It's the getting out that concerns me.”

“You worry too much,” she said. “Doesn't he, Captain Hoban?”

“He's worrying about the wrong things,” Hoban said. “What he should be thinking about is what if one of those men recognizes me?”

“You're not exactly a cover girl,” Julie said. “I don't think you need to worry.”

Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they went down the long corridor, following the flashing arrows that took visitors to the recruitment center.

There was a door at the end of the corridor. It buzzed open for them.

Within was a large office, plenty of plain metal desks and chairs, and a guard seated at a bigger desk in front of a computer.

“Come on in, Dr. Myakovsky,” the guard said. “I've got all the volunteers in a holding tank just behind this room. There are twenty of them. That is as you requested, is it not?”

“It's fine,” Stan said. “I'd like you to meet Miss Lish, my associate, and Thomas Hoban, my captain. He'll be doing the actual selection in my name.”

“As you know,” the guard said, “we have already made the preselection for you, giving you the top-twenty men on our Alpha List. You may reject any of them, and you do not have to give a reason. If you're ready, I'll have the people sent in.”

Stan nodded. The guard pressed a button. A panel slid up smoothly in the steel wall. There was a sound of moving feet, and then the prisoners came marching out in single file. Following the guard's commands, they formed a line across the room, stopped, and turned to face Stan and his party.

Captain Hoban walked up to the men. He paced up and down the line, peering into their faces. He came to one, hesitated, stopped, and stared.

Red Badger stared back.

Hoban said, “Do I know you? Have we ever met?”

“I don't think so, sir,” Red Badger said. “But of course I've got a lousy memory.”

Hoban kept on staring at him. Badger said, “I'm a good spaceman, sir. I just want a chance to rehabilitate myself.”

Hoban pursed his lips, frowned, then turned away.

“Anything wrong, Mr. Hoban?” Stan asked.

“No, everything is fine,” Hoban said.

“Do the men look all right to you?”

“Yes, they look fine.”

Stan could see that something was bothering Hoban, but now was obviously not the time to ask him about it. Maybe, he thought, the captain was just nervous.

Stan turned to the guard. “I'll accept this lot. I'm posting money to send them out to their ship.”

“Okay with me,” the guard said. “What ship is that?”

“The Dolomite,” Stan said, and waited.

The guard bent over the computer. “How do you spell it?” she asked, and Stan knew everything was going to be all right.

17

They were transporting the prisoners to Facility 12, where they would take the shuttle to the Dolomite, their new ship.

Hoban was thinking, “Damn it, I know I've seen that man before”. He knew who I was, I'm sure of it. So why did I pick him? Because I could tell from his look, if I didn't take him, he was going to tell everyone who I was. It's not just my imagination, I knew what that bastard was going to do. I should never have gotten myself into this in the first place….

Unexpectedly, Hoban found himself regretting his decision to go in with Stan. Some people might have thought it was crazy, but people just didn't understand.

He was grateful for this chance to redeem himself, get back on top, prove himself a winner. But another side of his character, knew himself for a loser and just wanted a soft place to lie down. Funny to think of Jersey City as a soft place, but it was. Somehow he always got fed, always had a roof over his head. And best of all, nobody expected anything of him. He could relax, take a drink or two, take a lot of drinks… He knew that wasn't how he ought to feel.

It was like there were a couple of Hobans, and at least one of them was working actively to undermine him. He tried to remind himself that good things lay ahead: he'd soon be piloting his own ship again. You couldn't do better than that. But somehow, it didn't have quite the savor it ought to. And Captain Thomas Hoban became aware that he faced a greater danger than whatever Stan was getting them into. You can guard against murder, but how do you guard against your own thoughts of suicide?