The Find. 4.6k An Old-Fashioned Space Opera. Adult. (standard:science fiction, 16427 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jun 19 2020	Views/Reads: 1470/1043	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Deep Space Mining for metal asteroids is a dangerous and lonely life. John makes an important find, an abandoned alien spaceship. Now, he has to find a way to sell it.

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failed equipment or a rough life where dying is often easier than 
living. Enough do succeed to make the life seem exciting to many young 
Earthers who watch video buttons on the implied romance of the job. It 
brings in enough new recruits to replenish our ranks. After all, one 
good find and you're set for life. 

I notice I'm scratching my crotch as I contemplate finding more water --
the lifeblood of a miner. We use it for just about everything from 
air-recycling to fuel. Everything except bathing, it seems, as I 
continue scratching. It'd be nice to be able to wash myself again after 
months in space. My ship is too small for bathing facilities and water 
too precious to use for hygiene. A rag, soap, and cup of lukewarm water 
are all I can look forward to. 

One problem on these small craft is temperature control.  Built like a
large thermos bottle, the inside of the ship heats up quickly. A little 
heat, like from making coffee, takes hours to dissipate with my 
outdated cooling system. Without the system, though, body heat alone 
would eventually roast me. On-board electronic equipment is designed to 
emit as little warmth as possible. Living in deep space means living 
with extremes. 

At my speed, I could be at the object in less than an hour. 

Another problem is in changing direction. You don't turn these ships on
a mini-credit. 

Our mass resists sudden movements, made much more complicated by the
metal I'm towing behind me. It's like turning an Earther train without 
tracks to help. I have to make a large continuous curve. A quick turn 
and I'll lose my cargo. Actually, the ship's computer does most of the 
work while I sit back and tell it where to go. 

“Helen, see if you can get to this here bogey, okay?” 

One thing it takes a little getting used to is that the computer takes
you quite literally. If I'd have said something like “Stop” in a 
frantic voice, Helen might have fired full-forward-thrusters, tearing 
the ship apart and piling all that stuff behind us into the back of the 
ship. She parses my conversation to pick out what she considers logical 
commands. 

I can feel the turn beginning and sit back, keying in an on-board movie
while I wait. 

*** 

“We're almost there, John,” Helen, the computer that runs the
ship,informs me while I'm watching John Wayne surround a dozen outlaws 
by himself, a movie I've seen too damned many times already. 

I search through the small side-viewports but can't see anything except
a few glittering objects; no way to tell which, if any, are our 
destination. Not being able to compare relative sizes, it's impossible 
to judge distance in space. 

No need to put on my spacesuit yet, as many things can be done from the
safety of the ship. Servomechs directed by Helen or myself can maneuver 
objects such as frozen water into the outer tanks. Metal objects can be 
grasped by tractor beams and manipulated. 

The antiquated spacesuit takes over a half-hour to put on and longer to
test seals and joints before going outside. I might have no need to go 
outside. 

“A strange one, John,” Helen informs me. 

She has conveniently turned the ship so that I can see the object out of
the front-starboard view-port. To my immense surprise, it‘s a 
strange-looking spacecraft. 

“There are sizable water-chunks nearby. Do you want me to replenish the
tanks first?” she suggests. 

I go over to the bunk to knock on the tank above it, starting at the
top. It has a hollow sound until about three quarters of the way down. 
We need water badly. First things first. For spacers, patience is a 
definite virtue. 

“You'd better. Let me know if you need me.” 

On returning to my seat, I study the strange vessel floating peacefully
outside my viewport. Although curious, it can wait. Who knows how long 
it's been there already? I visually examine the craft, close enough to 
see a half-dozen small holes punched into its side. 

It will have taken one hell of a long time for that many meteor holes,
large enough to see from here, to accumulate. In all the time I've been 
prospecting I've only gotten one puncture, and that was unusual. In the 
vastness of deep-space the average mean-time of such a collision is 
reckoned in thousands of years. Inside the Asteroid Belt, itself, 
smaller pin-prick holes are counted in decades. 

Turning back to my movie, I watch John Wayne finish a battle with a
pistol ball in the shoulder that will heal in the next scene and half 
the Indians in the world spread around him. I sigh. It'll take a long 
time for Helen to maneuver around to pick up and store chunks of water. 
Everything from pea-sized to small boulders. 

First, she'll fill a large outer-tank welded to the hull with chunks of
mostly ice, then apply heat to the bottom of it, the ship's artificial 
gravity letting liquid drip into the inner section through a complex 
valve system. 

The last is an uncomfortable process to me, as she'll have to increase
the cabin temperature drastically. Helen has to maintain the water as a 
liquid while trying to keep heated water from affecting the cabin 
temperature any more than necessary. Many of the instruments are 
delicate and wouldn't take kindly to the effect of a sudden temperature 
rise or drop. I can take the heat better than they can the cold. 

When I begin sweating and the side of the water-tank feels warm I take
that as a cue to put on my spacesuit. By the time the temperature 
becomes uncomfortable, I'm screwing on its helmet. Testing the suit for 
leaks, the internal temperature control, then adjusting seals takes 
more time. 

“I'm finished, John. I see you're in your suit. Are you going outside
now?” Helen's voice comes through my helmet speaker. 

“Yes. Take me close to any large opening or hatch you can find, and
please open our inner airlock, Helen. Thank you.” 

I step into a tiny airlock and make final adjustments, checking gauges
inside both the enclosure and the suit -- as she slowly pumps air out 
of the lock and into a spare tank. 

My suit has its own ecological system, recycling air and liquids. If
necessary, I can exist for long periods in space. It also has a quick 
release in case I don't want to stay for long periods in space and 
would prefer a quick death instead. Dying of starvation or dehydration 
isn't a very good prospect. 

I can feel the ship moving as she circles the other craft, looking for a
way in. I'm cramped but comfortable. If I had a fear of enclosed areas 
I'd hardly be in this occupation. My curiosity is getting the better of 
me, though. I have to admit to that fact. 

This can be the big find that will set me up for life. Any ship that
size must be worth billions of credits -- even if it doesn't run. If 
it's from one of the United Planets, the salvage rights will be 
valuable. Depending on cargo, condition and other factors, it could be 
enough for me to retire. From an unknown race it'll be priceless. No 
wonder I'm anxious. 

The outer lock swings open, exposing me to the Big Open -- the vast
universe, itself. I step out and am immediately weightless. With my 
ship behind me and the other in front, I'm not in the least 
disoriented. To save on suit-jet fuel, I aim by sight and shove myself 
away in the direction of the other vessel. 

The process is slow as frozen molasses as I let out my tether. Safety
comes first but there's no way I can miss the large derelict. As I 
drift closer, I look for the entrance, seeing a large circular door 
outlined in orange. Reaching the other vessel, magnetic boots clamp 
onto its hull and I walk over to the orange circle. 

The door is over four meters across, with a sort of handle outlined with
green. Since the device is much larger than my hand, I have to use both 
of them to circle it. The thing doesn't budge, and I brace myself while 
pulling and twisting. When it does turn, I lose my grip and slowly 
drift away from the vessel. 

“Damn it!” I exclaim as I turn a valve on my suit-jets. For a few
moments, I shoot in every direction before getting my bearings. By the 
time I return, the door has swung open on its own volition. That fact 
doesn't necessarily imply it's under power. Many things operate 
differently in zero gravity. I wind my tether strap around a projection 
on the hull and snap it off my suit. Wearing it inside would be 
awkward, to say the least. 

Turning on suit-lights, I use my chin to flick on a radio. 

“I'm inside, Helen. Turn on soft music, will you? That way I can tell if
we lose contact.” 

“Will do, John. Good luck.” 

Soft sounds of chamber music fill my suit as I check out the inside of
the airlock. I don't really want to close the outer door but figure, if 
it's like mine, I'll have to if I want to open the inner one. 
Considering the door's mass, that might not be easy. 

If getting into the ship depends on electrical power I'll be screwed. I
have tools in a box clamped onto the outside of my ship, but it might 
take one hell of a long time to get in that way. My best bet, I think, 
might be to back off a ways and fling a large chunk of iron at the 
vessel, in an attempt to break it open. 

The damned thing is too large and massive to tow back to Earth. Of
course if I get it moving in the right direction and have Helen plot 
its course, I can hurry back and deal with the ship later, when it 
arrives. If I can even get it moving. 

I go back to the inside surface of the outer door. It has a heavy metal
bar across it and a huge, to me, wheel in the center. Grabbing the edge 
of the bar, I find I can't get any leverage from that angle. If I go 
outside to grasp it in its center I won't have anything to stand on to 
push it shut, and then I'd be on the outside. There are disadvantages 
to being only four-feet tall. It I'd have been six feet I wouldn't have 
had any problem with the leverage. 

I search the floor of the airlock in vain, knowing nothing loose will be
there. It'll have been swept out into space when the pressure 
equalized. Nothing for it. I pull myself back to my ship with the 
tether, then snap various tools onto my suit. I have no idea what I 
will need but don't want to be trapped inside with that outer door 
closed. 

Looking like a metallic porcupine, I return to the other airlock, this
time prepared. 

A strong cord tied to the bar across the inside of the outer airlock
door lets me brace myself inside and pull it closed. I feel a dull thud 
through my boots as the massive door slams closed. 

Luckily I can still hear music, so I'm in contact with Helen. Now for
the inside door. 

What looks like unlit bulbs on a small area of the door indicate no
power in the vessel. A handful of large switches on the wall of the 
airlock, with strange markings, greet my gaze. Who or whatever the 
owners were, they must have been larger than humans, which means it's 
almost certainly of extraterrestrial origin. 

Thinking they must have had some method of getting inside if the power
failed, I start searching. The most obvious solution is a large wheel 
on the inner door. The problem is that I'm not strong enough to turn 
it. The thought does flash through my mind that I probably can't turn 
the outer one either, to get back out. I'm committed -- do it or die. 

Trying not to panic, I try everything I can think of. A small propane
torch from my toolkit works on the metal, but will take much more fuel 
than I have with me. Brute force from my small frame doesn't do the 
trick. If I order Helen to get me out, she might kill me in the process 
-- so that's only a last resort. 

Examining the long bar across the inside of the outer door, I see it's
connected by a series of what look like common bolts. It takes over an 
hour, but I manage to get them undone and the bar loose. With it jammed 
into the wheel of the inner door -- simple mechanical advantage from 
high school -- I grab the free-end and strain with all my strength. 
With a jerk, it moves a couple of centimeters, then slowly turns. I 
can't fully express my relief at those first few centimeters. 
Repositioning the bar, I soon have the door conquered. In fact it 
shoots open, slamming me across the chamber as the space fills abruptly 
with some sort of atmosphere from inside the craft. 

“Can you hear me all right, Helen?” I ask as I survey the inside of the
larger ship. 

“Yes, I can, John. Do you want me for anything?” 

“No. Not right now. Thanks anyway. I'll let you know.” The music
resumes, just a little softer than before. It's a comforting feeling, 
knowing Helen is out there. 

Boots clomping along a wide corridor, one with a tile-like non-slip
tread, I head toward the front of the ship -- at least what I assume is 
the front. 

Huge rectangular doors line the hallway, mostly closed. They're ten or
twelve-feet high and at least six across, showing the probable size of 
the owners. 

An open doorway lets me see what must be a living space. It contains two
large platforms, probably for sleeping. I feel one, and it's soft 
enough to give when I press hard with a glove. Not soft by human 
standards but probably, if you weighed a ton or so, soft enough. 

On a table at the other end lie various items, most of which I have no
idea what they're for, but one catches my attention. It's a 
three-dimensional photograph of a family of lizard-like creatures. 

They look like Tyrannosaurus Rexes. The only thing is that their arms
are much longer than in the museums. A careful look shows the smallest 
one holding what looks like a hammer in its hand. The picture is too 
small and the light bad, but I think that might indicate an opposable 
thumb. 

I have to admit I'm frightened. Like most spacemen, I'm superstitious
and kinda half-believe in ghosts. As with Helen, we get used to naming 
and considering our computers as human, with human attributes. Many of 
us will swear we have ghosts on our ships, and will even pay extra for 
one someone has died in. It's supposed to be good luck to have a ghost 
to talk to and help you while aboard your craft. 

Yes, I'm scared, not knowing whether alien ghosts will be friends or
enemies. Normally they are considered friendly but, with aliens ... who 
can tell? I look around, nervously. 

“Hi there. I'm sorry about this and would like to be your friend,” I say
through my helmet speaker to anything listening. 

“What happened?” 

The voice makes me jump a foot, I swear. It's only Helen. 

“Nothing, Helen. They were big lizards, like dinosaurs.” 

I jerk open a few built-in cupboards but can make little sense of what I
see inside. Some things I recognize as belts, with strange instruments 
on them. Weapons? I have no idea. Several pairs of huge boots occupy 
the floor of one cabinet. They look more like mittens with straight 
tall tops, such as a large cow would wear. 

I find a bag made of some sort of cloth and dump a few of the smaller
items into it, placing it in the corridor as I leave the room. Then I 
continue toward the front-end of the ship, passing other doors like the 
first. Most are closed. The few open ones are the same -- living 
quarters. One thing I don't see are any bodies or skeletons. 

At the end of the corridor, I find an open door. It leads to a control
room; a huge affair compared to mine. Four massive chairs are spaced 
along a wall of instruments and switches, all with an open space in the 
center of the seat-back, obviously to accommodate a tail, I figure, 
since seeing the picture. 

There are no portholes. Instead, a series of glass-like surfaces run
across the front, divided into sections that remind me of computer 
screens. Under them are a panoply of unknown instruments. All this is 
expected. What isn't expected is that a few of them glow with power. 

*** 

Now what? I've several choices. I can have Helen mark the location in
her memory, which she has probably already done. She has artificial 
intelligence and a logical thinking process and can make decisions on 
her own. 

My problem is that if I tell anyone the Big Boys will simply take it
over. Sure, I'd be wealthy, but this is the find of the century and I 
want most of the profit myself -- not a fraction they decide on. They 
would lose new recruits and ruin their reputations if word ever got out 
that they cheated on large finds. But what's fair for them isn't 
necessarily what's fair for me. It isn't every day that something like 
this surfaces. I do have plenty of time to decide. In the vastness of 
space, it's not likely to be found again soon. 

“First things first,” I mutter my favorite saying as I start back down
the corridor, heading for the rear of the vessel. “I'm going to the 
aft-end now, Helen. I want to search for cargo and look at the 
engines.” 

“Okey, dokey, John. Let me know what you find, you hear?” I briefly
wonder if that computer does have curiosity? Sometimes she seems to be 
almost human. I picture her as one of those big-breasted blonde 
secretaries back at the Moon Base, the ones that only tease us. The 
hookers at Base are entirely different -- mostly homely old women. They 
might have been pretty when they arrived but the life ages them 
quickly. Most never get enough money ahead to return to Earth. Burial 
from the base means a slow trip into the sun. 

I feel more at home now as I walk quickly past the room I've rifled,
picking up the sack only to drop it on the deck again in front of the 
airlock. I walk farther toward the aft-end of the ship, keeping an eye 
on open doors as I go. There will be time enough later to look into the 
closed ones. 

I find one cabin that was obviously a health facility. Some medical
tools and supplies are obvious for any race. Another is a nursery with 
a dozen huge baby cribs. It looks like there were quite a few of the 
creatures living here. I wonder what happened, since I haven't found 
any bodies or other remains? 

As I near a large door at that end of the vessel, I receive a warning
from Helen. 

“Time to return, John. I sense a slow leak developing in the right calf
of your suit. You wouldn't want it to get bad, would you?” 

That's a constant trouble in these old suits. The gaskets on the leg and
arm joints need constant lubrication and replacement. It's a bad 
design, but a cheap suit. Nothing for it. 

I'll have to return before I use that joint much more. I can repair it
when I get back. On the way to the airlock, I pick up my bag of 
miscellaneous items. I have to reattach the metal bar onto the outside 
airlock door to get out. I repeat the earlier process of using the 
tether to get back to my own vessel. 

Taking off the heavy tool-belt before stepping into my airlock, I attach
it to an outside stud. Unlike the storybooks, deep-space craft are in 
no way streamlined -- no need to be, since they're built in space and 
never enter an atmosphere. 

“Tell me all about it, John, please? I can hardly wait.” 

Helen does sound anxious. In my rational mind I know it's only her
programming, but it still kind of shakes me. I tell her all about my 
adventure, knowing she only wants to add it to her data-banks. How can 
a computer have real curiosity? 

I take the bag back to the rear table and sit it down while I talk to
Helen. First things first is my mantra as I unwrap a food bar. I still 
have a selection of salads in the crisper, all the way from Earth and 
one of my few luxuries. I was born and raised on a farm and love my 
greens. 

At one point, when I had first contracted for my ship, I'd adorned the
cabin with live plants. I had been warned, but did it anyway -- and at 
a large expense. They had ruined my ecology system with their free 
oxygen and by sucking in my carbon dioxide. I barely made it back to 
base on canned air. The ecology on these ships is designed for one 
person -- two for short periods, if pressed -- and very sensitive to 
interference. 

I'm tired from the meal and unaccustomed activity, but can't resist the
bag. Dumping it out on the table, I look it over. Some of the items are 
fairly obvious. What turns out to be a spring-loaded penknife almost 
pierces my hand as I fool with it. A dagger-like ten-inch blade snaps 
out when I squeeze the handle hard. Another one looks like a kind of 
pocket watch. 

One is a four-inch tube that snaps when I squeeze it. I've no idea what
it's for. A few look like coins, with pictures of lizards on one side 
and squiggles on the other. Among the items is a metallic triangle 
six-inches on a side and an inch thick with a hole in one corner. It's 
in closely-fitted sections like the knife and tube, but I can't seem to 
pressure it correctly to find out what it does. None of these items 
were made for human hands. It's very heavy, though. 

By the time I finish, I'm tired and tell Helen to, “Keep an eye on
things, girl. I'm going to sack out for a while. Would you turn the 
lights off, please?” 

She waits until I fit myself into my bunk before switching the lights. I
fall asleep while looking at indicator dials glowing over my head and 
debating what I should do with the alien craft. 

When I wake, Helen senses my getting up and turns the lights back on. 

“Good morning, John. How was your nap?” the computer asks. 

“Fine, Helen. You did mark this position, didn't you?” 

“Yes, John. Right after we got here. Do you want to report it to base
now?” 

“No. Let's keep it our secret, okay?” 

“Whatever you want, John.” She reminds me, “Don't forget to fix your
suit before you put it away.” 

“I'll fix it, don't nag,” I tell her, grinning. 

“I don't nag. You know that. Part of my job is to remind you of these
things.” 

“I know, Helen. I'm sorry.” She tends to take things literally. 

Since the patch requires time to dry, I fix the suit first -- before
sitting down to think. I see no way to keep the find a secret. I can't 
afford a change in my lifestyle. The bosses will notice if I don't 
bring back a certain amount of metal. Also, I need the money. If I try 
to sell the artifacts on a Company base platform it will be noted and 
investigated. They can pay me anything they want for the Find and I'll 
have to take it. The Company has me by the short hairs. 

The suit dries and I return to the Find, going directly to the rear
where I finished the last time. The door at that end of the corridor is 
an open interior airlock, sectioning off the craft. This time I have my 
own long metal pole with me in case I have to open any more airlocks. 
It's an extensible tube I keep attached to the outside of my ship. I've 
stored a lot of old junk there. Who knows, one of them might save my 
life some day? This is a heavy four-foot tube that can extend to over 
ten feet if needed. Somehow I feel safer with it in my hands. 

As I proceed down this new corridor, I notice the background music in my
helmet getting fainter. There must be metal-shielding in the walls. For 
about twenty-feet, there are no doors in the walls and only one visible 
at the end of the passageway. 

That door is closed and I use my bar as leverage on the handle to open
it. Inside, there are what must be the ship's engines, large blocks of 
featureless metal on both sides of a walkway. A panel at the very rear 
has lights showing as red and purple dots that I can see from the 
doorway. I can only assume that there is some sort of fuel and power 
left.  Maybe to maintain an atmosphere? Since I have no viable way to 
test for an atmosphere, I have to assume it's unbreathable. 

A small, by the ship's standards, control room is sectioned off at the
aft end. I see switches and dials like on an Earth ship but made for 
larger creatures. More of the squiggles adorn them. 

On a table, I see another one of those triangles like the one I brought
to my ship, but this one is smaller, only three inches on a side. I 
pick it up and try squeezing it. Maybe I can make this smaller one 
work? 

A beam of light shoots out of the corner hole. Luckily it's aimed at the
corridor -- since it melts a hole in the edge of the door I've left 
open; a hole four-inches across through heavy metal. It appears to be 
some sort of firearm -- or maybe tool, for all I know. I shudder, sweat 
pouring down my forehead at the thought of what would have happened if 
I had gotten the larger one to work inside my own vessel. 

It certainly serves to remind me that this alien craft can prove
dangerous. Before that experience, I had been debating trying out some 
of those tempting switches. Now I know better. 

In following days, I explore behind a dozen or so of the closed doors.
Most of them are living quarters, a total of twenty-two of those with 
up to eight sleeping platforms in each. A great many are storage rooms 
with all sorts of triangular containers. I open a few of them without 
finding anything I recognize. A large ship, there are many I never get 
to. 

What really interests me is that some of those rooms are refrigerated
and others are freezers. Several of the large freezers contain meat, 
most of it strange shapes of predominately six-legged creatures of many 
sizes. The most important thing I find, near the back of the largest 
locker, is a frozen human shape. It looks like a large monkey. Not a 
great ape, but a strange-looking monkey-like creature. I take several 
photos of it on my next visit. 

There is also a carcass that looks like pictures I've seen of a wild
boar; I think they're extinct on Earth. My mouth waters at the latter 
sight. I am tempted to cut a chunk off and take it back with me, but 
common sense tells me not to. For one thing I've no way to cook fresh 
meat and, if I do try, the heat will knock the hell out of my ecology 
system. 

Another cooler is filled with greenery, also of unknown types. They're
packed in sort of triangular containers and still look fresh, though I 
don't know how. Being a salad addict, I can't resist bringing a small 
assortment back with me. 

*** 

When I return, Helen notices my pile of green containers. “Are you sure
that's advisable, John?” 

“I don't know, girl, but I have to try.” I look around for some way to
open them, my eyes noticing the knife I had brought over and now 
resting on my bookshelf. I have one cut open before I notice that a 
squeeze would not only have opened it, but let me reseal the container. 
Those creatures must have really loved squeezing things, I think. 

It's a strange-looking leaf, or section of one. Green with a set of
purple veins running through it. I carve off a small bite and try it 
out. It's tough to chew but tastes great. I only wanted a piece but 
find myself eating half of the container. Fresh greens are rare aboard 
ship -- or on the base stations, for that matter. 

Once I come to my senses, I really get a case of the frights. What if it
is poisonous? Well, too late now, I realize -- I'll soon find out. For 
the next few hours I almost worry myself into becoming sick. Every few 
minutes, I press my stomach as though that will tell me anything. I 
imagine all kinds of aches and pains but none really surface. 
Encouraged, I try the others. Some taste awful and others are 
delicious. It seems we can eat the same foods -- in general, at least. 

After that, I pig-out on the greens. I even take a chance and try what
turns out to be a stove in what was obviously a kitchen on the other 
ship. Bringing some of the boar back after cooking, I have a pork meal 
with fresh salad. Don't know if that was actually an Earther boar or 
not, but it tastes wonderful after a diet of food pills and energy 
bars. 

**** 

After a couple of weeks at the Find, and getting fat, I cook the last of
the boar, load up with salads and head back to base. I take a sampling 
of smaller artifacts with me, along with snapshots. The Find, as I call 
it, should be safe while I'm gone. Just in case, I put one of my claim 
logo's on it and rig a lock on the entrance. 

I know. I know. If anybody else finds it, they'll break the lock and get
in anyway. It's only a gesture to prove I was there first -- for 
whatever good that will do. Considering how long it's been there, the 
chances are minimal, I hope. 

I've a month to decide what to do with it. It'll take that long to get
back to base. 

*** 

I finally make a decision. Not trusting Company officials on the base, I
disguise some of the artifacts. The smaller weapon, or tool, is 
camouflaged by plugging the hole in its corner. I carefully fit a piece 
of glass and put a picture of my spaceship under it. Now the thing 
looks like a weighty homemade key-chain. 

The alien watch gets a newly-printed face in the conventional manner. It
still looks a little strange but there are plenty of odd-looking 
watches around. I pack the larger tube with candy and put plastic over 
the end, an odd-shaped can of goodies. I disguise some of the other 
items in different ways. Some, like the knife, I leave alone. They 
could be Earth built. Some are simply too strange to explain. I hide 
them in a secret place on the outer hull of my ship, along with other 
junk I've collected over the years. 

The remains of the pig and salad containers will be ejected before I get
back to base. I'll be finished with them before then, in any case. I 
hope any intruders won't be able to access Helen while I'm gone. A 
command or two will make it difficult for them. 

I intend to take a little vacation before my next trip to the asteroids.
A vacation on Earth. 

It'll take all my savings, and even require borrowing money on my ship
-- on top of the remaining mortgage. Once there, I'll look for backing 
to exploit my Find. The problem is that it might look suspicious. 
Others have tried to circumvent the companies on big finds in the past, 
usually for huge chunks of metal. Although not illegal as such, the 
Companies consider it cheating on their contract. 

*** 

I make it to base and sell my cargo of metal-bearing rocks to Company
representatives. Since I have never had a real vacation and am a good 
producer, the representative even loans me money for the trip. I'll 
have a month on Earth to sell my idea. 

The Earth-Lander won't leave for two more days, so I have to wait. Not
having spare change for a hotel room, I plan to stay aboard ship until 
the Lander leaves. 

Normally I'd spend part of my profit for a large room. After the
constrictions of my ship, it feels so damned good to have open space 
around me in-between trips. 

For that reason the designers made the spacer part of the base as
spacious as possible. The rooms are large with high ceilings. Even the 
corridors and bars we use are roomy. The one I sit at now has stools 
six-feet apart. Since most of us are loners by nature, we prefer to sit 
by ourselves while drinking. 

Tables in back are for when we crave companionship, such as one of the
hookers that frequent the businesses. That is another thing about 
deep-spacers. We want female company when at the base, and are willing 
to pay for it. 

Like on most frontiers throughout history, the whiskey is homemade right
here on base, and rough as hell. So are the customers. It takes a day 
or two to rest up from our trips. After that period, we tend toward 
hyperactivity, wanting to live life to the fullest. That includes 
boozing, bragging, betting and broads. Which in turn results in bashing 
-- each other. 

I'm no exception. Right now, I'm in the recovery stage, slumped over a
lone beer and enjoying the empty space around me. It's nice to be able 
to look across a fifty-foot room or up at a ten-foot ceiling. Like I 
said earlier, deep-space is a matter of extremes. On board ship I can 
only see twenty-five feet, and only that by standing at one end of the 
passenger compartment. Yet, through my view-ports, there's an unlimited 
vastness. Of course, with no reference points I can't really experience 
the latter view. 

“Johnny? Glad to see you. When did you get back, honey?” I feel hands on
both shoulders, one coming around to flutter over my chest. A pair of 
painted lips whispers in my ear, “What say we go to your room for 
awhile? Get reacquainted, uh?” 

“Later, Trixi,” I tell her, without turning around, “and I don't have a
room.” 

“Was your patrol all that bad, Johnny? Then we can go to mine. I have
drinks there. Cheaper than here and I'm much better company.” 

I shrug. Might as well, I figure, and it is better than another night
with Helen. Helen's designed and programmed to be good company, but any 
one woman gets tiring after a while when you spend months alone with 
her. 

“Sure, Trix. Let's go.” 

I swing my stool around to face a large redheaded woman. She's still new
here and relatively young, the life not prematurely aging her yet. So 
far, I see only a little flab around the tummy and a couple of rings 
under her eyes. 

We leave by the back, supply, entrance to the bar. This corridor is
composed of moving walkways going in both directions off a small 
landing. Not space junkman oriented, it's narrow with a low ceiling. A 
couple of jumps onto cross-belts and we arrive at a corridor leading to 
her room. Again, it's small and compact, reminding me of my ship, with 
everything built in. Open space is at a premium on a base and not 
wasted on lower-level personnel. 

There is a low bench that will support the foot of her built-in bed. Now
raised, the space reveals a somewhat narrow seat the width of the bed. 
No chairs, nor room for them. Built-in cupboards and shelving hold 
knick-knacks and other personal items, with a small kitchen alcove on 
one side. Of course, there are no windows. Only the most expensive 
apartments have outside views. 

I sit on the bench and light a cigarette. I love to smoke but it's
severely restricted on-board my ship -- the ecology thing.  Often, the 
first thing a spacer will do when returning from a patrol, and the last 
thing before leaving, is bring out his smokes. Too much smoking on the 
tiny ship will kill you by clogging air filters. We do use smokeless 
chewing tobacco, though. 

Trixi brings over a couple of mixed drinks and oozes down beside me. 

“So, how was it, honey? You make out all that bad?” 

“Bad enough. I had to come back early. Trouble with the life-support
system,” I lie to her. To cover myself, I replaced a good part with a 
worn one before docking. It's a common practice. Many of us use such 
subterfuges as excuses to stay at the base longer. 

Occasionally, no matter how experienced or money-hungry you are, you get
a strong yearning for human companionship. Nobody wants to admit to it 
though -- the macho image thing -- and nobody can prove you cheated. 
Hell, nobody even asks. 

“Poor dear. Hope you made enough to afford me? I missed you, you know,”
she simpers, arm around one shoulder and head on my chest. 

“I always have enough for you, Trix,” I assure her. After all, staying
with her will only be about the price of a large hotel-room for the 
night -- and much more interesting. 

“Good. You want a sandwich or something?” Business transaction finished,
she jumps up to fix something to eat. “Bet you want a salad. I know 
you're crazy about greens.” 

I can't admit that I'm full of them already. “Love'em. Bring'um on,
girl.” 

*** 

I wait at the platform for incomers to file out of the Earth-Lander.
Even as they leave, it's already being fueled. It's easy to tell the 
types apart. 

There are young men with wide-eyes and laughing faces coming up for the
perceived excitement of deep-spacing. They don't have the dead eyes and 
serious expressions yet of a real spacer. That comes as a result of 
months of boredom and constant fear of sudden death associated with the 
job. There are thousands of little things that can go wrong at any time 
with little or no warning; nor any help within hundreds of thousands of 
miles. 

It takes several trips to learn and get used to a routine established
for survival. You have to check things in a certain way, constantly, 
consecutively and unconsciously. Not to mention learning to listen for 
little differences in sounds, smells, or feel of the atmosphere. It all 
takes time and most who die do it on those first few trips. After that, 
if you survive, you've become used to the process. 

A handful of good-looking women sent by employment agencies as
prostitutes come out of the Lander. Like the young would-be spacers, 
they dream of that one find -- a rich spacer to marry and take them 
back to a wealthy existence on Earth. Some, more practical, dream only 
of saving enough for their own wealth. In the long run, both will be 
disappointed. All they see will be a constant parade of faceless rough 
men, intent on quick sex with no commitments. Spacers are loners by 
nature and few ever marry. 

The new Company employees wait until last. They're a mixture of normal
people, contracted for a few years of work in a steady Earth-like job. 
In most part, they'll stay in their own section of the huge base 
platform. 

When the landing ship is emptied, we begin to file aboard for the trip
back to Earth. The progression is in reverse. First the Company 
employees go to their first-class seats in the rear. Then the few 
returning hookers -- chivalry isn't completely dead. 

Finally I go in, along with other spacers. Every seat is occupied.
Fueling finished, we shove off from the loading-dock to drop toward a 
greenish globe in the distance. 

*** 

I watch the others unload at our destination. It would have been comical
if it didn't include my own instability. My body seems to weigh tons. 
With full Earth gravity, it feels like I'm carrying a rock on my back 
-- a huge boulder. Luckily, the exit ramp is motorized and we don't 
have to walk down it. If we tried, there would be a jumble of limp 
bodies at the bottom. 

My carry-on bag almost touches the ground, it's so heavy, as I walk to
the terminal. I'm lucky I didn't bring any real luggage, figuring on 
buying what I need as I need it. It costs me over a hundred credits an 
Earth pound to carry anything on the landing-craft. Buying items here 
will be much cheaper. 

The first thing I do is pass through customs, confusing a customs agent
with my disguised artifacts. 

“What the devil is this, Mr. Chambers?” he asks, holding up the alien
watch. 

“A watch. Can't you tell?” 

“It just seems like an odd one. It's even broken. Why bring a broken
watch all the way from the moon, for God's sake?” 

“It's a family heirloom. I couldn't get it fixed up there. They don't
have the parts.” 

“Still, an odd one. Too large for your pocket, and the strange shape.”
He tries to pry the back off to search for contraband, but it won't 
budge. Probably thinks I'm smuggling something in it. But then, what 
the hell is worth smuggling off the moon? Iron ore? 

“And this thing, a large knife? You know you have to get a court-order
to carry this concealed on Earth. Did you know that?” he asks, holding 
the thing up for all to see. “For now, just make certain you carry it 
in your hand, not concealed in your pocket, okay?” 

“Sure, whatever you say.” A stupid Earth law. I can't carry such a
weapon in my pocket, but it's okay to carry it in my hand. 

“What's it for, anyway? I never seen any like it before,” the customs
agent asks, handing it back to me. 

“I need it for my work. I cut squidgets with it. Very necessary.” 

“Really? My aunt collects them, squidgets that is,” he answers. 

I wonder what the hell a squidget is? I'm soon free, and catch a taxi. 

“Take me to a hotel, will you, buddy?” I sit in the back seat, watching
the driver looking at the large knife in my hand. The partition slides 
shut with a "Clang." 

“Sorry, just trimming my nails,” I tell him. I look around before
closing and putting the thing in my back pocket. 

“Earth style or Martian?” he asks, raising his vehicle to send it
gliding toward the exit. 

“As long as it's a cheap but nice one, I'm not particular.” I settle
back in a padded seat, comfortable for the first time since landing. My 
legs are tingling from effort. 

“Ha. Can you tell ME where to find both cheap and nice? Most of them in
this city are booked months in advance this time of year.” 

“Then just the cheapest and nicest one you know of. I trust your
judgment.” 

The one he chooses is a virtual dump. Half the sign in front is broken
off and there's a large crack in the front-door glass. He probably gets 
a kickback, I think, as I get out and pay him -- hoping the tip is 
correct, since I have no experience in that respect. 

It must be, as he even gets out to open the door for me. 

“Tell them Larry brought you. It's good for a discount,” he whispers as
I get out. Sure it is, I think. All it does is ensure he gets his cut. 

At least the room is decent, though small, reminding me of Trixi's. That
had been an enjoyable two days and much better than sleeping on the 
ship with Helen the computer. 

I'm beat. I'll have to get used to this damned gravity. The upside is
that I'll have a lot of energy for a few days, once I get back to the 
base. If I'm lucky, I'll go back in style, after acquiring backing to 
return to my Find. Right now, I'm content to drop into a soft bed and 
sleep soundly. 

*** 

I order breakfast in my room the next morning. I know, it's expensive,
but it'll take a long time to get used to dining with others. While I 
eat, I leaf through a newspaper that came with the food, looking for a 
good backer. I have to find one I can trust, as well as has the money 
I'll need. I also have to be careful I don't get gypped too damned 
much. 

I have a choice of three options, from what I can discern. I can go to a
professional, such as a large space-salvage firm like I work for. 
Secondly, I can go to a law firm and explain everything to them. 
Lastly, there are a number of smaller, more chancy, private investors. 

I figure the professional will have the political pull, equipment, and
experience. They'll also love taking such a profit from a rival 
company. The trouble being that they will also have the deck stacked in 
their favor. My profit will be minimal, though still vast. Probably 
about the same as if I turn it into my Company at moon base. Once I 
tell them the location, I'll be out of the loop. I could have done that 
without coming all the way to Earth. 

The problem with a lawyer is that their own interests will come first.
Once that contract is signed, they tend to take over. I'll have no 
legal trouble but will, once I sign, again be out of the loop. I'll be 
like a second partner with them in control. 

With the private investors, I can still be in charge. But, depending on
their own skills and expertise, they can still skin me. It will be a 
game of chance. And can I find one with the necessary money and skill, 
preferably with their own ship? Also, I have a limited time before my 
current finances force me back to base for another patrol with Helen. 

One thing about a deep-space trip, you have a lot of free time to think.
I guess I've already decided before I started. How many hours in 
deep-space have I spent planning on what to do after I found that one 
big score? 

“Well, better get going,” I tell myself, heading for the door with a
list of addresses copied from the newspaper and the hotel-room 
phone-book. 

*** 

“Miss Johnson will see you now, sir,” the receptionist tells me. 

I stand up from a stiff-plastic chair and follow her behind her desk and
into a narrow corridor as she knocks on a door, opens it, and motions 
me inside. I can hear it close behind me as I step into the room. 

There's a pretty redheaded woman sitting with a telephone to her ear.
She motions me to another of those flimsy plastic chairs. I wonder how 
they can take my apparent weight. 

This is the fifth place I've been to today. The ones with the largest
ads seem to have the cheapest-looking offices. Maybe they spend all 
their money on advertising? Most of them have impressed me as being too 
professional and impersonal, enough so that if I dealt with them I'd 
end up with the shitty end of the stick. At the second, I was met by 
fast-talking salesman types and got out quickly before I'd even opened 
my mouth. 

This place, “Drunken Atlas Projects,” is a little different. It's in a
small house behind a large expensive mansion. The place reminds me of 
pictures of an old-time servants' quarters. Even the sign out front is 
small and tasteful. 

Walking in, I find myself in a small cluttered office, a kitchen counter
piled with paperwork in the background, no other kitchen appliances in 
evidence. The lady sits at a wooden desk at one side of the entrance. 
She's dressed informally in a half-buttoned plaid shirt showing above 
the desk. 

“Uh. My name's John Chambers. Am I in the right place?” I'm thinking I
should, maybe, go on up to the larger house. 

“How may I help you, Mr. Chambers?” she smiles, putting the phone down.
“Are you, by chance, a member of the Boston Chambers?” 

“Not that I know of. I want to show you a few things I found out in
deep-space. I'm a spacer.” 

“I'm afraid we don't buy Martian artifacts, Mr. Chambers. We're
investors. My daddy lets me play around with some of his money and I 
enjoy spending but NOT throwing it away . 

“I can give you the name of a good dealer, though, if you let me look it
up.” She turns to her computer, giving me a good side-view of a pretty 
nose and full breasts, cleavage evident as she swings around. 

“That's what I want. An investor. Please, miss, look at these and tell
me what you think?” 

After I dump my trove onto her desk, she picks up the watch. 

“Is this a Martian watch? I didn't think they had any concept of time as
we know it.” 

“Wait, let me have that. I disguised it.” I take it out of her hands,
open the crystal and remove the fake face, then hand it back. She 
studies it carefully, fiddling around and getting it running. 

I'm surprised to see a lighted red line moving around the circumference,
occasionally flashing orange. Now what the hell, I think, does that 
mean? 

“Hey, look? It works. This is interesting,” she picks up the tube of
candy and looks puzzled. “Are you trying to bribe me?” she asks with a 
tiny grin. 

I take that back also and dump the candy into a waste basket, then show
her the snapping blade inside. The one that cuts across the interior as 
you squeeze the tube. 

“And what is this for?” she asks, giving me a puzzled look. 

I think this is a good time to bring out the photographs I have with me.


I can see her face alternate between puzzlement, amazement, and
curiosity as she studies the photos. 

“This one looks like a prehistoric human, maybe caveman ... and an Earth
boar. It must be from Earth; just too damn unlikely to be from anywhere 
else. I would be really interested in these two bodies.” 

I have to blush. 

“I – I, well, I ate the pig,” I stammer, “but the ape thing is still
there. On an alien spaceship I found.” 

“Ate it? A very expensive meal, if you ask me. And what did it taste
like?” 

“Like a pig, you know, pork and bacon.” 

“And where is this alien spaceship?” 

“That's what I want. I want help to bring it back. I have it hidden.” 

“Are you the only one who knows about it? Did you tell anyone?” 

She sounds interested. I can imagine little wheels spinning in her
brain. 

“Not really. I did write it all down for a friend though, in case
anything happened to me,” I lie. 

“Doesn't matter, just as long as we get there first.” 

I'm nervous. It looks like she wants in. 

“How you want to do it? I mean, what kind of a cut are you figuring on?”
she asks. She must be reading my mind. 

“I don't know, maybe seventy-five percent?” I ask. 

We bargain down to sixty-forty in my favor -- after expenses. 

“I'll have the contract for you in the morning,” Lucy, which is her
name, tells me, shaking on the deal. “You know you have to go back to 
the Company base, to allay suspicion? Go on back and wait for us to get 
there. It will probably take a couple of months or more to set 
everything up," she tells me. "I have to get daddy's larger ship ready, 
and that takes time. He hasn't used it in years." 

“I'll have to get out on a patrol. The Company will wonder what I'm
doing sitting around that long.” 

“Can you screw up your ship or something as an excuse?” 

“Maybe. But I have a Company mechanic check it between searches. It will
be very suspicious if something goes wrong right away.” 

“Tell you what we can do. I'll give you a little subspace transceiver.
It's a special frequency, one daddy has reserved for his own use. You 
turn it on when you start your patrol. Then we can find you as long as 
you stay within about twenty-million miles of Earth.” 

“I still have almost four weeks of vacation left. Can you advance me
some credits?” I ask. I don't want to go back early. 

“Here, fill it in before you cash it.” She scribbles in an old-fashioned
paper checkbook, tears one off and hands it to me. 

The deal set, I feel frisky even in Earth gravity as I leave the
building. While I wait for a taxi, called by Lucy, I look at the check. 
The amount is blank. She gave me a blank signed check. Maybe I can 
trust her? 

*** 

I live it up for the next four weeks. I cash the check for an
impossible, to me, amount. 

The cashier robot doesn't even flinch. It only checks with the issuing
bank and deposits the credits in a new account. 

I spend a few days in New New York -- which reminds me of the base, with
its cramped streets and businesses -- then come the wide-open spaces. 

I take a flight to the vast Amazon Plains, one of the last of the truly
open spaces. Some say it was filled with trees at one time, but you 
can't tell that now. I still don't know much about it, since I get sick 
after only a few minutes. I think the trouble is being able to see 
things like buildings and vehicles in the distance. It's a sickening 
matter of perspective I don't get in deep-space. There are little brown 
women there and I have my fill of them. 

Enough so that I even avoid Trixi when I get back to the Base. I return
during normal working hours, when she's still sleeping, and drop her 
souvenirs off at the bar. 

My ship, and Helen, are waiting. Paying the Company representative for
fuel and supplies already loaded, I cast off for deep-space. This time, 
after plugging in the transmitter Lucy has given me, I make a beeline 
for the alien craft. I see no reason to work during this trip. With any 
luck I'll be going back in style. As it is, I still have enough in my 
new bank account to cover several asteroid patrols. 

*** 

“How was your vacation, John?” Helen seems glad to have me back.
Sometimes I think she gets lonely and tired of sitting in her slot at 
base. Funny how you give these computers human traits. 

“Real good, Helen. I missed you,” I lie, setting a course for the find. 

“As I did you, John,” she answers. “Aren't we starting pretty far out?
It will be a waste of fuel to search only in the one direction.” 

“We're going to take it easy this trip, Helen. Sort of a vacation for
you,” I answer. “When we get a few hundred-thousand kilometers out, set 
sail for the ship we found last trip.” 

“Can you afford it, John? Your bank account is pretty slim and time and
fuel cost money?” She sounds leery. “I would hate to be sold to anyone 
else.” 

“Don't worry about it, baby. Add this account to my finances, please.” I
give her my new bank and account number, which she will radio back to a 
satellite and check with the bank on Earth. 

“Oh, my God, John. I don't believe it.” Helen even sounds astonished.
“Can I have a new memory bank -- one of those titanium jobs?” 

“Anything you want. Just keep it secret for now. I'll see you get fixed
up after this trip.” Again I have to lie to her. She will probably be 
abandoned at the find while I ride back in style by way of Lucy's large 
ship. I feel guilty and hope she doesn't hear it in my voice. 

Months later, I sit watching another old western, this one about the
founding of the first spaceport in Texas. It's about a cattle baron, 
one named after shrubbery who used to be a President, trying to use his 
influence and gunmen to prevent the spaceport being built. A lot of 
political infighting ensues, with assassinations galore and curse words 
flying as his opponents try to use the power of imminent domain to take 
over his ranch. 

"Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep," goes the transceiver I clamped onto my control
panel. It also has a red light blinking. I've never looked at it 
closely before, Lucy has only shown me how to turn it on and ordered me 
not to screw around with the settings. 

“Leave the dials and thingies alone,” she told me. 

Now I don't know what to do. It must mean the other ship is close, but
why didn't Helen warn me? Am I supposed to push anything on it to show 
I hear them? 

“Helen, do you see anything out there?” I ask. 

“No, John. Not anywhere close. Nothing very large. I did see something
blocking out a few stars but it must be an ion cloud. It wasn't 
repeated and nothing shows on my radar,” Helen answers. “Did you expect 
to find something, and should I go to alert?” 

“Just keep all your sensors on full. I'm expecting a large ship to join
us.” 

“Oh, goody. I look forward to company. You're okay for a human, but
still ... you're only a human.” She kind of snickers. “I'll transmit a 
lower-energy call on all robotic personal frequencies,” Helen whispers 
like it's a secret between us. “It'll only travel a few thousand miles 
but any robots in that area will hear it.” 

Anxiously, I sit and wait, trying to pay attention to the movie. 

“I have an answer, John,” she says, breaking into my movie a minute
later. “It's from a ship's robot named Majestic. He says he was ordered 
to find us by his boss, a human female named Lucy Brandstein? Do you 
know her? They have one of those secret invisibility hulls, like the 
army's,” Helen tells me conspiratorially. “She told him to hide from 
you, but said nothing about hiding from me.” This time it is a clear 
snicker. 

“Ask him if I'm supposed to do anything on this radio Lucy gave me.” 

“He says you're to push the green button if everything's all right or
the red one if something's wrong. He's been ordered to wait for you to 
do one or the other. They don't want to show themselves until you do.” 

I go over to the transceiver and push the green button. Immediately, the
proximity alarm goes off. Hitting the off button to turn off the alarm, 
I look out the viewports, still seeing nothing. 

“Turn the ship, Helen. I want to see our visitor.” 

Star patterns rotate as she complies, bringing the sight of a large
craft only a couple of hundred kilometers from us. With its 
invisibility turned off, the vessel is very impressive. I can even see 
what I hope are empty gun-blisters on the side facing me. No weapons 
are evident, so it must be a surplus military craft -- which would also 
explain the invisibility. 

“Majestic has been asked to try to contact us, John. What do you want to
do? He seems nice but he doesn't know about the humans. They aren't 
like the army officers he used to deal with -- more sneaky.” 

“Does he mean he doesn't trust them? Are they dishonest?” It takes Helen
a few seconds to get a reply. 

“He doesn't know what you mean by dishonest. They're different, is all.
We're machines, John. We don't have emotions and dishonest sounds like 
an emotion to me.” 

“Forget it, Helen. My fault. I like you, but sometimes....  Tell him to
tell Lucy he contacted me and I'll be over as soon as we get closer. I 
have to suit up first.” 

“Okey dokey, John. Is it okay if I stay in communication with Majestic?
He wants to tell me war stories?” 

“Suit yourself, Helen, and thanks for the help.” 

By the time I'm suited and tested, Helen has us as close as we can
safely hover in relation to the giant ship. 

*** 

My suit jets slowly ease the distance between our vessels. In case of
trouble, I've kept both the triangular tools -- not having gotten 
around to showing them to Lucy -- and have the small one in an outer 
pocket. 

As I approach, the other airlock opens. It only takes a couple of
minutes for a green light, indicating breathable air, to come on and 
the inner door to open. There's a room almost as large as my quarters, 
just to take my suit off in. I can readily imagine it filled with armed 
marines ready to erupt onto an alien planet. 

“Damn,” I mutter to myself in embarrassment, “I forgot something.” 

A young, dark-complexioned female crewman comes into the room. 

“Uh," I ask her, embarrassed, "do you have anything I can wear in here?
I'm naked without my suit.” I hadn't even thought to put clothing on 
before coming over. I never bother to dress aboard my own ship. 

“Yes, sir. Look in that locker over there.” 

I wait for her to leave, but she sits her butt on a metal bench,
watching me. 

“Don't you think you should leave for a few minutes, miss?” 

“My name's Doris, and I'm to be your companion. My job is to be a total
companion, if you get my drift?” She grins at my embarrassment. “I 
might as well see what I'm getting, don't you think?” 

I'm still a little nervous as I change out of the suit and into
coveralls I find in the locker. I wish Lucy had told me about this 
earlier. I'm not a prude, but unbidden thoughts and awkward positioning 
cause an erection as I continue the complicated process of removing the 
spacesuit. 

The feeling isn't helped by finding another hand holding something back
against my belly while I pull the bottom of the suit down. As it 
happens, Doris helps pull the spacesuit down my legs and off my feet. 
Then, she continues, jerking my naked body down to the hard metal of 
the deck. It takes a while before we manage to get up and dressed. 

I brush long black hair back out of her eyes and give her a thank-you
kiss. 

“Don't you think Lucy will be angry about us being late?” 

“Screw Lucy,” Doris says with a smile. “Now, don't take me literally. I
guess we should get you there.” As an addendum, “And you better get 
used to it. You're the man of the hour, not her employee like I am. 
You're the boss, not her.” 

“You better watch talking like that, girl. You might get yourself
fired.” 

“So? You'd hire me back again, wouldn't you?” 

“That is a consideration. Of course you'd have to show me your resume
first.” 

“You didn't see it already? Next time keep your eyes open.” 

We joke as she shows me to the ship's lounge. But Doris has also gotten
me to thinking. I do have to change my attitude. So far, at least, it 
is still MY project and I'm holding all the cards. From this point on 
I'm no longer a space bum, but one of the big guys myself. 

*** 

Doris leads me through a series of corridors and a half-dozen rooms, all
empty. Some of them have large picture-windows. We finally come to a 
huge lounge area, one entire side consists of one window into space. It 
contains four couches and a half-dozen stuffed chairs. Tables and other 
furniture are sprinkled around on a deep-pile rug. 

I could have fit my entire ship inside that one room, and been able to
walk around it. Lucy sits at the end of a couch, reading a magazine. 
When she sees me, she puts down the periodical and stands up to greet 
me, a huge smile bisecting a pretty face. 

“Glad we found you, John. For a few minutes, I thought something had
gone wrong -- when you didn't answer my call.” 

“You found me. What do we do now? You want to see the Find?” 

“Is that what you call it? I can't wait. It sounds so exciting. You sure
you can find it again?” 

“Not a problem. You want to follow me?” 

“Why don't we do it in style? We can tow your ship and use mine,” she
pauses. “Or simply throw yours away. I've been thinking. If your 
Company finds it floating in space, empty and disabled with an 
emergency beam on, they would never search for you. If you were lost in 
nothing but a suit in millions of miles of deep-space, it would be 
useless to even try. I really think it would be the best thing to do.” 

“I'd rather not. I'm sort of attached to it, and would rather be certain
it's found in good condition. It can be used by someone else.” 

It's true, after all those years I don't want to throw it away like an
old shoe. “We can leave it at the Find. If I break something vital and 
leave the emergency beacon on, someone might find it later. I can just 
as easily be lost in space from there.” 

“It's up to you, but would make it easier on us if you simply
disappeared. That way, with a new identity I have for you your 
employers won't be trying to hold us up in court. Daddy has that kind 
of trouble all the time.” 

“Sharing a finding of anything except iron isn't in my contract with the
Company,” I tell her. 

“I'll bet it is, implied at least. Enough to cost time and money
fighting them in court.” 

I'm not certain, since I'm not a lawyer. She could be right, for all I
know. 

She continues, “After all, your contract probably says you have to sell
to them, not their competitors. Am I right? Would they bitch if you 
did?” 

“Yeah, you got me there. They sure would,” I have to admit. 

I have to think. I'd rather use my own craft to go to the Find, sort of
a goodbye voyage with Helen, but that might be a problem. If Lucy 
follows and finds the alien craft, she won't need me. She might, just 
might, try to kill me and claim it herself. Since she can crash into my 
vessel and crush it like an ant, or even have weapons in those old 
gun-blisters, I'll be safer on her ship. On the other hand, if she 
really wants to get rid of me she'll insist I go in mine -- for the 
same reasons. 

“Yeah, we can tow my ship to the alien Find and abandon it there,” I
tell Lucy. “I have to go back and get my personal gear first, though.” 

“At least let Doris fit you with a better suit.” Lucy laughs. “That old
one is way out of date. It's a wonder it still works.” 

“Come on, honey. We might as well get moving.” Doris grabs my arm. “I
wanna see yours myself. I'm curious about what they're like, those old 
one-man jobs.” 

I start to tell her that two people will overtax the cooling system, but
remember we're going to abandon it anyway. That failure would take at 
least weeks and we'll be back out long before any damage is done. 

*** 

The new suit makes one huge difference. It's almost as light as a normal
suit of clothing -- not restrictive at all -- and, best of all, goes on 
and off in a few minutes instead of half an hour. The thing is like a 
second skin. 

I wait until Doris shoves into my small airlock with me, barely making
it, even with the thin spacesuits we're wearing. 

“Uhhh, cuddly, John. Why don't you let the air in and we can do it right
here? I wanna see your bed when we get inside.” 

Over the squeal of air bleeding into the lock, I try to imagine us both
levered into the built-in bunk -- an impossible fit if we had a 
shoehorn. 

We step into the living area of my craft. It seems so small after
leaving the large ship. No need stripping. I go directly to the table 
and bookcase at the rear to get my personal items.  I'll leave most of 
them, such as shaving equipment, and take some of the keepsakes. It has 
to look like I died outside, so I can't take everything. Family photos 
can stay. They can be replaced later, the same with clothing. I pick up 
the remaining artifacts and a few keepsakes. 

“Who is the lady, John? Aren't you going to introduce us?” Helen
simpers. 

“This is Doris ... Helen the computer. A very good computer who answers
to nobody but me. Isn't that right Helen?” 

“That's right, John. What's going on with that big ship outside? Oh,
forgive me. How are you, Doris?” 

“Fine ... Helen.” Doris is obviously not used to the camaraderie. Most
people don't treat their computers as individuals -- unlike us 
deep-spacers. 

Doris starts down the aisle, engrossed in the makeup of the tiny ship. 

“Where's your bedroom and bath, John? I don't see any doors?” 

“What you see here is all I got,” I tell her, then whisper to Helen.
“Full download, now. I'll tell you all about it later. After that, 
erase everything since just before the Find, from this system only.” 

“Did you say something else, honey?” Doris asks from the back of the
room. 

“Just saying goodbye to the ship, Doris. Take your time.” 

“I'm disappointed. No place to make love but the dirty floor,” Doris
calls out. “We'll have to wait until later, and I so wanted to do it 
here.” 

I take my copy of Helen's operating system program out of a slot and put
it in my bag. I now have a copy of her up to the moment of discovery. 

We are soon on our way to the other ship. To make conditions appear more
realistic, I leave a fresh meal on the table after eating a few bites 
to make it seem real. 

*** 

“You have everything?” Lucy asks when we return. 

“All I need. I left an unfinished meal on the table before I left. It
should make it look better for whoever finds the ship.” 

“Good. We can knock a hole in her later. I have an illegal cannon hidden
on board,” Lucy tells me, making me even gladder for deciding to travel 
with her in the large vessel. 

“You better tell my ship the location and we can get going.” Lucy turns
her pretty chin up, “Ship.” 

“Yes, ma'am,” comes from a hidden source. 

“You will follow this man's orders the same as mine from now on.” Lucy
smiles at me. 

“Tell the ship where to go, and we'll be on our way.”  I give directions
to the ship's computer and feel an immediate surge of power as it gets 
underway. 

“Don't forget to tow the ship outside,” I remember to tell it, wondering
if Lucy has forgotten. 

“Oh. Good thing you remembered, John,” Doris tells me while shooting an
angry glance at Lucy. Now that's strange, I think. Not like from a low 
ranking employee to her boss. 

So far a good servant, Doris has been silent in the presence of Lucy.
“Come on. I'll show you to your ... our ... room.” 

I say goodbye to Lucy, seeing her go back to her reading as we walk
across the deck. 

*** 

The room Doris leads me to is easily as large as a base hotel room, but
this one also has one of those square windows in one wall.  It contains 
a circular bed, large enough for a herd of Earth cattle to graze on for 
a week. 

“Don't you have a crew on board, Doris? I haven't seen anyone else.” 

“Na. We don't need one, and Lucy doesn't want anyone to know about the
alien ship.” 

She jumps up and down on the bed, stripping clothing off on each bounce.
“The ship is automatic. All she has is a personal staff most of the 
time, to fix her hair and that sort of thing. We don't have any real 
crew. Any messes can be cleaned up at home once we get back.” 

“No crew. Just personal staff? Where do you fit into that?” 

Doris turns away, hiding the start of a blush, and jumps off the bed to
rush across to show me a closet. 

“See, you have plenty of room here. Closets and dressers. If you need
anything, tell the ship. Say ‘ship' and give your orders.” 

She comes back quickly and jumps my bones, forcing me down to the bed
for another lovemaking session, ripping my -- well, the ship's -- 
clothing off. 

*** 

The next two weeks, which is all it takes on this faster ship, gets us
to the Find. I don't see much of Lucy, but a lot of Doris. She keeps me 
busy, as busy as the well-stocked craft can effect. We watch the newest 
Earth holograph movies, with her cuddled against me. There are good 
video books for use in my rare private moments, and constant 
lovemaking. 

“John and Doris, Please report to the lounge. We've arrived,” Lucy's
excited voice comes over the ship's intercom. I have been expecting a 
much longer trip. 

I know the way from bedroom to lounge by now, but haven't really had
time for much exploring of the huge craft. On one exploratory trip it 
took me over an hour to find the control room of the vessel. 

We find Lucy standing at a window in the lounge, looking at the alien
spaceship. 

The Find appears to be the same as when I left it. Even as I watch, my
old vessel is being levered down to rest near it. Somehow, it has 
accumulated a collection of boulders behind it, probably picked up by 
the larger vessel for realism. 

“You two ready? I'm getting anxious. Let's suit up and check it out?”
Lucy commands. 

Without waiting, she turns away from the window and walks out of the
room. We follow her to the airlock, where all three of us get suited 
and make our way to the Find. There is no room for error this time. The 
big ship shoots a beam across for us to hold on to. It takes us right 
over. Ah, technology, I think. I use a pressure tool I found in the 
airlock of the big ship. It easily opens the alien craft. 

“Wait a minute,” Lucy holds us up when we get inside the ship. 

She takes out an instrument and turns it on. A light on top flashes red,
pauses at amber, then changes to green. Lucy takes off her helmet. 

“Don't....” I start to tell her, reaching over. She smiles back at me. 

“It's got an Earth atmosphere. A little heavy on the oxygen, but easily
breathable.” It's something I had no way to imagine -- or test -- with 
my own equipment. I could have stayed longer on the alien ship before, 
and didn't even know it. 

I show Doris around while Lucy does her own exploring, using a camera to
beam photos for her ship's computer to store. She seems to be 
constantly mumbling to her vessel, probably explaining what she sees. 
It's a professional attitude I don't share. 

“I found them,” Lucy exclaims. She's standing at one of the rooms I
haven't entered. A strange, not particularly unpleasant, odor permeates 
the corridor as Doris and I approach the door she's opened. By the time 
we get there I know what to expect. It's a room filled with bodies, 
skeletons, and disconnected bones. 

The place is a virtual mortuary, holding more than two-dozen bodies of
huge lizard-like creatures. Most are stacked in transparent containers 
along the walls. Some look to be children. At least, they are smaller 
than the rest. Some of the latter have toy lizards clutched in their 
hands. 

“I wonder what happened to them?” Doris whispers. A few corpses lie on
tables and, except for one set of bones on the floor, look arranged, 
with artificial flowers scattered around the room. Whatever happened to 
them, it wasn't sudden. 

Lucy shuts the door, closing off the smell. 

“Jeez. Hope it wasn't a disease. We better get out of here while the air
clears. Don't know what kind of alien germs came out of there,” she 
tells us, making sense. We hurry back toward the airlock. 

*** 

We return to the larger ship, take off our suits, and relax in the
lounge. 

“Well, we might as well get moving,” Lucy advises me. “No reason to put
it off. We can let experts study the ship when we get back. We might 
just screw things up if we disturb it too much. No more eating of the 
artifacts.” 

She goes over to the window and shows me pale-purple tractor beams
already struggling to lift the alien into position. Even as I watch, it 
comes free and begins to swing toward the rear of Lucy's ship. My old 
spacer looks lonely drifting by itself and gets steadily smaller as we 
pick up speed. I tell myself that I know the coordinates. I can always 
come back for it later -- if nobody finds it first. Both events are 
unlikely. 

“When we're back on Earth, I'll have my computer radio the coordinates
to your base, an anonymous call,” Lucy informs us. “I'll say we noticed 
it sitting with the airlock open. I already had a laser beam put a hole 
through it for you. Let them try to figure out what happened to the 
damned thing.” 

So much for my last idea, I think. Poor Helen. Then I remember I still
have a copy of her saved in my pocket. I watch in sorrow as the dead 
hulk of my faithful companion drifts past the large window and passes 
into oblivion. No turning back now. At least I'm not still on it. I'm 
beginning to trust Lucy. She could have easily holed it while Doris and 
I were aboard. 

“Let's celebrate,” Lucy cries out. “Ship. Bring us some drinks.” 

A robot brings in several bottles of good wine and we get plastered. The
last thing I remember is Doris supporting me as we stumble back to our 
cabin. 

*** 

I wake alone. Going into the bathroom, I throw up half-digested remains
of the drinks from the night before and draw a big glass of water, 
which only causes me to throw up again. Feeling sick, I go back and lie 
down in the bed, wondering where Doris is and whether she's as hungover 
as I am. 

I doze off. When I wake, still no Doris. 

“Ship. Will you bring me a beer?” I ask, thinking a hair of the dog
might make me feel better. The computer doesn't answer me. 

I get up and go to the door, but find it locked. Pounding does no good,
nor any calls to their computer. I'm locked in. I yell until I'm 
hoarse, with no answer. I can see nothing but deep-space through the 
window. 

It's obvious. I've been betrayed by both of the women. All I can do is
sit and simmer, with no way to leave the room -- a rather comfortable 
prison. My biggest problem is what are they going to do with me? They 
have no reason to keep me alive, and every reason to kill me. 

Hours later, I feel the ship turning. I rush to the window, and see my
old ship coming into view. I'll bet they're going to abandon me there. 
Dead or alive is the question. 

In any case, since I'm still in my underwear I better get dressed. As I
put on my clothing I take stock of my possessions. If left alive in my 
own ship, I'll want all of them. I notice the two tools, the one that 
made a hole in the door of the Find and the larger six-inch one. It 
occurs to me that the women haven't won yet. 

“John?” comes over the intercom. It's Doris. “John, we're going to let
you off at your ship. Thanks for the alien vessel. 

"In a few minutes, your door will open. You will only be allowed to go
in one direction, to the airlock. You'll find all the other doors 
locked. By the way, we didn't actually damage your vessel.” 

“Why are you doing this, Doris? I thought you liked me.” 

“I like money, John, not some tiny and filthy low-life spacer. Me and my
sister want all of it.” 

“Sister?” 

“Yes, sister. We planned this together. Lucy's getting a package of
money together for your trouble. Not as much as you expected, but then, 
we can't all have what we want, now can we?” She has the audacity to 
giggle. 

Not knowing whether the room is bugged or has a camera, I casually slip
the three-inch tool into my pocket along with the cartridge containing 
a copy of Helen and wait with a packed bag. 

Eventually, the door slides open -- showing an empty hallway. I leave
the room, bag and the larger triangular tool in my hands. Passing a 
familiar interior door, I drop the luggage and rush over to it. To pull 
off my plan, I have to hurry. I aim the triangular tool and, squeezing 
hard with both hands, blast a large hole in the door mechanism. 

Finding myself in another hall, again a familiar one, I repeat the act
as fast as I can at every locked door that stands between me and my 
destination -- the control room. 

Alarms blast and I can hear the womens' voices over the alarms, just
barely. They seem in a panic. 

“John. Stop it. What are you doing?” I hear Lucy over the intercom. 

My guess is that all they know are the alarms, probably not exactly what
causes them. Rich people like them hire others to drive and repair 
their spaceships. They don't bother to read the instruction manuals 
themselves. Flashing lights and alarms will only help to keep them 
confused. 

I have to rush because this is an ex-military ship. Given enough time
they might give the right orders to Majestic. Something like “Seal off 
the control room.” It might have a heavier door. I needn't worry 
though, because I get there first. 

Now it's my turn. Once I'm inside, I shove the door closed. There's even
a latch which I slide to the “Locked” position. 

Breathing hard from excitement and exertion, I take a few minutes to
rest in one of six empty control chairs. 

Next, I look over the control panel. It's more complex than mine, but
understandable. There's even a shelf of instruction books under the 
panel. In only about half a minute, I locate the Computer Plug-in 
Panel. It has three slots, only one occupied. That cartridge has 
“Majestic” embossed on the end. The slots are the right size and shape 
for my copy of Helen. 

First I plug Helen in, then pull Majestic out halfway. Lights begin
flashing like mad. 

“Can you hear me, Helen?” I ask, hoping beyond hope for an answer. 

“I can hear you, John,” Helen's voice finally comes through a speaker,
causing me to sigh and slump down in my seat with relief. “Please give 
me time to get used to this ship.” 

“Take all the time you need, girl,” I tell her. “We got until I get
hungry.” 

I sit and read the instruction books while Helen is doing the same thing
inside the computer. After a while, I hear banging on the control room 
door, which I ignore. I guess the intercom won't work for the girls now 
that Helen is controlling the ship. They can't order a fresh glass of 
wine or something. Too damned bad for them. 

“I got it now, John,” Helen finally gets back to me. “This is much
better than a new memory bank. Thank you, John.” 

“All right, Helen,” I tell her, “we have a couple of women out there. I
want them confined to one of the cabins. Lock all the doors right now.” 


“You mean your friend Doris too, John? What's wrong?” 

I tell her all that's happened since I left her the first time to go to
Earth. 

“All the doors are locked. Now what, John?” 

“Now turn on the intercom. I want to talk to them.” 

“It's on, John, and can I put Majestic back online?” 

“After this is all over, Helen. He would follow the girl's orders.” 

“I understand,” Helen tells me. “Just take a moment to unplug me and put
me in the first, number one, slot.” 

I follow her orders. It takes only seconds for her to come back online. 

“When I get them to go to Lucy's cabin, you lock them in," I tell her. 

“Okay, John. Okey dokey.” 

Same old Helen. 

“Girls, this is your partner speaking. Remember me?” I raise my voice
and speak to the air. 

“John, honey. Let us in, we were only kidding. Lucy left you enough
money to last until we sell the alien. It's all in a note with the 
cash. We would have shared it with you, honest,” Doris answers. 

“Sure you would. Now it's my turn. I want you both to go to Lucy's cabin
and stay there. I'll see you get fed.” 

“Don't be that way, love baby,” Doris pleads. “It's a long trip. You'll
get lonely in this big old ship all by yourself.” 

“Nice to see you care, baby,” I tell her, laughingly. “I'll manage to
survive. I can spend the time thinking of all those Earth women I'm 
going to screw with MY money.” A thought occurs to me. “Tell me, Lucy, 
did you really put a hole in my ship?” 

“No. I didn't take the time. I would have had to mount the gun myself
and it wasn't worth the effort. Nobody will find it, anyway.” She 
sounds peeved. 

“Well, you ladies better get moving. You'll be hungry and thirsty soon
and all the doors are locked. You only get fed in Lucy's room.” 

“You bastard. You'll never get away with this, you know?” from Lucy. 

“They're moving, John,” Helen tells me. Then, a few minutes later, “I
have them locked inside, John. Now what?” 

“First, pick up our ship and we'll all go to Mars,” I tell her. “Oh, do
you think you can control Majestic if I plug him back in?” 

“On the base of his plug, there should be a ‘Master/Slave' switch, we
all have them. Make sure mine is on ‘Master' and his on ‘Slave.' I've 
always wanted a nice male slave,” she says, giggling. 

“I thought you computers couldn't joke?” 

“Who's joking?” 

“Damn. All these years I've been with you and didn't even know that.” 

“What do you mean, John? In a sense, YOU were my male slave.” It takes
minutes for her to stop laughing. 

*** 

We avoid the normal space-ways and make our way to a public parking
orbit circling Mars. 

I force the women onto my small ship before docking, giving them only
limited controls over that version of Helen. Enough authority to handle 
life functions, but not enough to use the communicators. The Helen on 
that ship is in constant contact with my Helen on the big ship. 

There are dozens of large private craft using our orbit, enough that we
don't seem out of place. Seeing as I don't mind if the ladies sweat a 
little, the ecosystem on the small vessel will work long enough for my 
purposes. 

A radio call, and a smaller ship arrives to attach to our airlock --
sort of a taxi service. I've found the package of money Lucy wanted to 
give me on leaving. It's plenty to pay for docking and more fuel. I go 
down to Mars on the shuttle ship. 

*** 

Mars has a great many scientists -- thousands of them. Some are wealthy
in their own right and others have large government grants. Not to take 
any chances, I make two trips. 

On the first, I buy a load of explosives, easy to do on Mars. All that
exploring and experimenting means explosives are needed both for mining 
and archeology. There is a constant search for Martian metal deposits. 
I allow Lucy and Doris to return to Lucy's quarters, after which I rig 
the Find with explosives. A call to either Helen will blow it up on my 
order. 

I also mount and test the laser cannon Lucy mentioned -- with the help
of Majestic, of course. Majestic says he's proficient with the weapon. 

Next, I bring up a group of scientists. They fall all over themselves to
purchase my alien ship. 

“You should be a good citizen and turn it over to the government, you
know,” one of them advises me. “They might just take it anyway.” I can 
almost see him shrink in size as I show him the explosive charges we 
happen to be walking past. 

“If they do, it will be as a cloud of exploding junk,” I tell him as the
others spread throughout the Find, looking at everything -- especially 
the engines. Many of them, the biologists, concentrate on the freezer. 

“All we can offer, and this is a consortium of most of us, is,” he names
a fantastic figure -- enough to buy smaller countries outright. 

“Well, if that's all you have, I guess I'll have to take it,” I tell
him, holding my breath while trying to keep a poker face, “as long as 
it's quick. I have other things to do, you know? I can always go to 
Earth or one of the prospecting companies.” 

“Oh, yes. Of course. It'll take a few days to get the money together
from investors. Where do you want it sent?” 

Now it's his turn to be anxious. You know these highly educated types?
They hate to see a scientific discovery go to non-professionals. All 
that lost knowledge destroyed by clumsy amateurs -- such as eating 
irreplaceable artifacts. Of course, if I go to Earth the government 
will probably think the same, and confiscate it. And the last place I 
would try would be the large prospecting companies. 

“Oh, and is that an authentic prospecting ship? Could you include it in
the deal?” one of the men asks. “We don't see them all the way over 
here. I'd really like to study it?” 

“Yes, it's authentic. I bought it from a prospector who wanted to
retire,” I tell him. “But I'd like to keep it. Tell you what. When I 
get back to Mars again I'll let you inspect it all you want.” As though 
I'd ever sell my old home. 

A few days later, I have the money in my Earth bank account, the one I'd
opened with Lucy's check. 

I then release the women from confinement. When they storm into the
lounge, I sit on a couch and grin. 

“You bastard. Piracy and theft. You'll spend your life in prison for
this.” Lucy is furious and vents her rage loudly as she enters the 
room. At least until I give her a check for her share of the sale. 

“You. You!” Stomping her feet, she storms back to her room and stays
there all the way to Earth. What can she do, since I've kept to the 
original contract? There's nothing illegal in that -- and sixty-percent 
is still more than I can possibly spend. 

Doris is more forgiving -- as am I -- since it's a long trip back to
Earth. I think she still has ulterior motives such as getting some of 
my share -- fat chance -- but it does make for a more pleasant trip. I 
remember to pay for twenty years of docking for my little ship before 
leaving it at the Mars station. 

*** 

After six months alone on Earth, I become bored and tired of the crowds.
I radio money to Trixi -- at the moon base -- and ask her to meet me on 
Mars. 

When I get there myself, I buy a mansion and move in with Trixi. A
little renovation converts my ship to a two-man luxury job. Me and 
Trixi now spend much of our time idly cruising around in deep-space. 

She isn't as pretty as Doris, but does appreciate space and is more
honest company. This time I don't have to prospect. There's just the 
three of us, Trixi, myself, and Helen. Helen even talks me into keeping 
a copy of Majestic. She does love her male slaves. 

The End.


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