Steven Campbell - Suck My Cosmos

“What’s your name, buddy?” the cabbie asked.

“Hank.”

“ The Hank?”

I had done some work for the Taxi Union in the past.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“The one dating the wife of that dead City Councilman,” he buzzed.

“No,” I said.

“Oh. That guy’s got some nerve, huh? What, did he wait a whole five minutes before shacking up? I heard she found him in prison.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You think they killed the husband? He was worth a mountain of credits.”

“Just drive, okay?”

“Hey, fine. Just making small talk.”

As fast as we were going, it still took quite a while to get around. We were just entering the Education Sector. It was always easy to tell because of the derelict dreadnaught, Shelter, sitting there. Damn, that thing was big. Probably as big, or bigger, than Belvaille itself, and it was a warship.

“You think they’re ever going to fix that?” I asked.

“Shelter? Nah. It would bankrupt us. I say we scrap it. Use the metal. Make some more living quarters. Void knows we could use the space,” he said.

“Yeah, I guess. I think we got too many people here as it is.”

“Don’t you know it,” he agreed. “There must be 10,000 ships waiting to join Belvaille, too.”

“That many?” I thought it was less, but I wasn’t in space a lot.

“Oh, yeah, they’re coming every day. The Central Authority warships have a hard time corralling them at the edge of the System. A lot of black market trading goes on between here and there.”

“I bet. They got to eat somehow.”

“Right. And buy normal stuff. But it raises the prices for all of us.”

I was thinking about that when the ship bumped and suddenly I could feel myself falling forward as rockets fired from the front of the shuttle.

“Damn,” Zzzho said.

“What?” I asked, panicked.

“Lost my steering.”

“ Lost? What’s that mean? Did we stop?”

“Yeah. That’s the way all ships are designed.”

“What are you talking about?” I was very concerned about drifting in space in a broken ship being piloted by a surly storm cloud.

“Whenever a ship loses any of its major controls it comes to a stop.”

“Why? That’s a terrible design!” I said.

“If we kept going in a straight line without steering that would be a lot worse than stopping. Think about all these ships out here and if we ran into one. They’ve been doing this for centuries.”

“I don’t care what they’ve been doing. Do we call someone? What happens now?”

“Calm down, I almost got it fixed.”

I peeked forward. I was sweating profusely and in the light gravity of the shuttle the water was wicking off me and falling in slow motion.

Zzzho had taken up the whole front cabin. It was filled with him. I had heard Keilvin Kamigans could expand or collapse at will. I just couldn’t see how he could “fix” anything though. He had no hands. He had no anything.

I was about to make a joke about getting out and pushing, but I was scared. Next time I wasn’t going to get in such a beat up cab—or ride with a disembodied driver.

I was slammed back in my seat as the taxi took off again.

“There, good as new,” he said, which wasn’t saying much.

I sat silently the rest of the trip despite Zzzho’s attempts to talk about trivial things.

They say you’re much more likely to die of a heart attack than in space transit, but I’ve had a lot of heart attacks and as terrifying as they were, they were nothing compared to the thought of dying on the urine-soaked back seat of a cab two miles from the nearest dust particle.

Ship X0113B wasn’t anything special. A big ship. Like countless others floating out here.

Maybe a bit older than some. Not the oldest.

“150 credits,” Zzzho said, after almost killing me in space. It seemed awful expensive.

“I need a receipt,” I said.

“And how do you expect me to write you one? You got a helium pencil?”

“Send me a tele. I know you can answer teles because that’s how you got the call.”

“I don’t have time for that,” he said.

He had stopped the cab just short of docking. He was stranding me here waiting for payment.

“I’m paid by the hour, buddy. You’re paid by the fare. I got all week to sit here,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Hank on Belvaille. What building?”

“One. One. Hank Block. It’s in Make District.”

“You got your own street? In Manufacturing? What the hell do you make?”

“No, it’s a legacy. I just have a sign out front. You know how Belvaille is, it’s all mixed up.”

“How would I know? They don’t let me in, like I’m going to track mud on the carpet or something. I sent the receipt,” he said.

I waited and it popped on my tele.

“Put down a twenty credit tip, too,” I said. I thought that was enough for this ride.

“Delete the other one though,” he said.

“Why do you care?” I was going to use them both.

“So you don’t bill your boss for both. I run Make crew chiefs all the time and I don’t want them to think I’m a crook.”

“Fine,” I said. “Done.”

“Let me see.”

“I’m not showing you my tele,” I said.

“Why? I just want to see the receipt, not your love letters.”

“Then send another receipt. 150 on the dot. Screw your tip,” I said.

“Not until you delete them both, cheapskate, and show me.”

I finally deleted them all and held my tele forward as proof.

“You know, I broke my back helping your union get set up. You got a job because of me,” I grumbled.

I put the 150 credits in the slot and sat back.

“I knew you were the Hank dating the City Councilman’s wife. Here’s your damn receipt. And don’t call me again. I don’t want whatever trouble you got.”

“Like I called you specifically. I asked them to send me a deathtrap piloted by a lightning fart.”

He flew up to the ship and we docked. I got out as quickly as possible, which wasn’t tremendously quick because of all the safety mechanisms.

I was in a black mood as I walked along the corridor.

A skinny deck attendant approached.

“Can I help you?” he asked pleasantly.

“Shut up,” I answered.

I shook my head.

“Oh, wait,” I corrected. “I need to find the head…head techs here.”

“Head what?”

“I don’t know. Who is in charge?”

“In charge of what?” he asked, thoroughly confused.

“Like the ship? I don’t know. What’s this ship even do?”

“It’s a working environment and habitat.”

I paused and took a breath to calm myself.

“Yes. People work and live here. Technical people. In the Education Sector. What do they do specifically?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I just work the dock. You’ll need to talk to the Machinists,” he said.

“Machinists? Do they make…machines?” I shrugged. Not because I was teasing him, but because it seemed so abstract. A machine could be anything.

“You’ll need to speak to them.”

“Can you take me? This is my first time here.”

“I have to stay at the dock. But there are directions posted throughout the ship and most people you meet will be happy to help.”

I had my Gravitonic gun with me and a few concussion grenades inside my jacket pockets—which were totally ruining the line of my suit. I wasn’t sure if I would need them, but I couldn’t exactly stop a fight, call a cab, go back to Belvaille, and come back with weapons if I got into trouble.

I walked some distance to the first junction and looked at the directions printed on the wall.