Дэвид Нордли - How Beer Saved the World

Jack and Chad just looked at each other and smiled. Both glanced at the souvenir jacket draped over the couch.

“Best I not say, Honey. Military secret,” Chad replied.

Emma began to glare at Chad, so Jack switched subjects by commenting on the neighborhood’s new look. The mood in the room took a nosedive as Chad heaved a sigh.

“Riot,” his friend answered, “About a month ago. The rebels scored a big victory in the swampland south of Central City. Scared the living crap out of the Regime. Next thing you know the news is full of anti-mutant hysteria. You know, the usual bigoted bullshit. Anyway… a gang of sovereign citizens came ’round here with firebombs, and a lot of hate. I used a sonic-screamer that the government didn’t know about, and they kept away from my house, but it was still awful. Our kids still wake up crying every now and again.”

Jack heard that the mutant rebellion had gained speed, but he had no idea how close to the starport the fighting had gotten. “Chad, you’re staying out of this right? I know you got that secret squirrel training, but it won’t do you any good if things get real bad. The Regime shoots spies. This is the perfect time to just mind your own damn business.”

Chad gave Jack that half-twist of a smile he always gave before he lied. “No problem, shipmate. I’ve got no business getting mixed up in the movement. That would just put my whole family in danger, and where would we run to if that happened?”

With the coffee finished, Jack made his goodbyes and headed back to the starport. After all, he had a schedule to keep.

Back at the starport, Jack walked past the customs cops and onto the Sundancer ’s docking pad. He took a moment to let his gaze sweep over her as the sun of Isis set below the horizon, its dying rays twinkling off her red hull. Man, such a beautiful ship.

When he took his eyes from her, he turned his head to the sound of a maintainer truck approaching the pad. The driver, an old lady Jack had met before, gave him a quizzical look and Jack replied with a thumbs-up. She smiled as she dismounted the vehicle, lunch box in hand, and unraveled the hose from the back of her rig. The side of the truck read ‘water,’ but Jack knew its tank was empty. He watched as the driver screwed the hose into the portside access of the Sundancer’s life-support panel. She pulled the release handle and the beer flowed secretly into the truck.

Jack and the driver sat by the pad and chitchatted about nothing in particular for a few minutes. When the tank filled up, she disconnected the hose and drove away. Funny thing, she left her lunch box on the docking pad. Jack wouldn’t want anything to happen to it, so he picked it up and took it aboard his ship. Sure enough, it contained cash for 10,000 liters of beer, a very nice sum indeed.

In another week’s time Jack found himself back on Tortuga, and what should be parked next to the Sundancer but that old rust bucket, the Vagabond . Well, this was just too good a chance to pass up. He went to his pantry and got his best bottle of whiskey and marched right over to the next docking pad to pay his neighbors-of-the-moment a visit.

“I buy the first drink, and YOU buy every one after. Is that the deal I recall you making, comrade?” Jack said.

Captain Lulu looked down from the top of the Vagabond’s gangway at the black leather clad space bum and smiled. “Da, something like that. You get ass aboard. I find some glasses.”

The Vagabond’s common room showed real old school space travel design. Back when she was new, couches that doubled as acceleration safeties and cupboards that secured shot glasses in dura-foam probably seemed trendy as well as practical. Now the whole thing just looked obsolete. Still, Jack knew the difference between heaven and hell is the people you meet. The Vagabond’s spacers were all-right guys by him. He threw his jacket onto a chair and took a seat.

Lulu handed him a glass while she undid the bottle’s cap. Short Stack Mack, the Vagabond’s diminutive navigator, went to get a deck of cards as soon as he saw Jack enter. Deirdre, the ship’s pilot, jumped in Jack’s lap and gave him a big sloppy kiss on the forehead. “Good to see you too, kiddo,” he said to the cute mutant girl.

Drinks were poured and cards dealt. This was Jack Galloway in his natural environment, hanging out with a bunch of spacer bums without a care in the galaxy. After all, what’s freedom if you can’t enjoy it? The whiskey bottle soon emptied.

“So, what’re you guys hauling to Isis these days?” Jack asked as Short Stack opened a bottle of vodka. “Can’t be making too much money. We’re betting less than ten credits a hand here.”

“Nothing,” Deirdre answered. Lulu and Short Stack shot a look at their pilot that said ‘shut-up’, and the room got quiet.

Jack looked at his hand, a king, a queen, a pair, and a jack of the wrong suit. Nobody flies from star to star for nothing. He ante’d-up one credit. “Well that would explain your obvious affluence. Tell you guys what. I got a real sweet set up. I run beer past the customs goons. Make a forty-five percent profit every time. Don’t mind expanding the franchise if you’re interested?”

The Vagabond’s crew eyed each other for a moment. Lulu spoke up, “Thanks Jack, we know you all-right-guy. We don’t need any more risk. We okay for now.”

Jack thought about that. Risk is part of life. Sure, you didn’t go into a vacuum without a space suit on, but risk came to everyone, whether they faced it or not. The only question was, which risks were worth taking and which weren’t. He poured a shot and took a sip of the vodka. He preferred the whiskey, but it hadn’t lasted long.

“Yea, sure… it’s a risk. I get caught and I lose my ship. Customs takes the Sundancer , and I spend maybe thirty days in the slammer for tax evasion. But at the rate I’m pulling in the dough, I can have the ship free and clear in just a few more years. Look at this crate,” he waved his arm about the Vagabond’s common room. “I bet the first spacer to fly in a ship like this has been dead for seventy years or more! It’s held together with spit and chewing gum for Christ’s sake. You flat out need the cash, and I’m just trying to help.”

Lulu looked at her crew as they each gave their silent answer with a shake of their heads. “No. You trying to help folks so are we. We can’t afford to have Vagabond found with cargo of beer when we already carrying so much.”

“What is it? Drugs? Weapons for the resistance? What the hell can you be carrying that is so damn risky but pays so damn bad?”

“People,” Deirdre spoke out as her shipmates glared at her with exasperation. Lulu turned to Jack with an alarmed look and a steel gaze.

“You keep this quiet, yes? You not let this get out,” Lulu pleaded.

Jack’s jaw had dropped. “People? You’re trafficking in humans?”

Short Stack spoke up. “Not humans… mutants.”

Then it all made sense. Mutant refugees would pay to escape Isis, but few had any real money. Most smugglers wouldn’t touch a job like that. But Lulu always had a soft spot in her center. It would take a lot of refugees to make the trip worthwhile, and you could probably make just as much with a legit cargo.

“You stupid sons of bitches,” Jack exhaled. “Do you know what the Isis Regime will do WHEN they catch you? The Confederation doesn’t give a damn what happens on Isis, they got fifty worlds to worry about! The Public Protectors will take your ship, yes, but that ain’t the worst of it. You’ll be treated like enemies of the state, political prisoners, not common criminals. They’ll send you to some damn penal colony for life, and that’s IF you’re not summarily executed.” Jack looked at Deirdre, “It’ll be worse for you, kiddo. You know that.”