The Outer Ring (2 page)

Jack laughed, as he overplayed testing
his jaw. Then, he touted the benefits of the delicious pancakes, to
another round of laughter.

None of them heard the woman behind
them, two tables over, who said under her breath, “You won’t be
laughing this time tomorrow, motherfuckers.”

***

Barcus went up to the main
maintenance shop with Jack, after breakfast. They each signed out a
Heavy Maintenance Suit (HMS) that they would use tomorrow. The HMS
were called Heavy, for multiple reasons. First, and foremost, they
were really fucking heavy. Maintenance Chief Owens, consequently,
referred to them as RFH suits. For some
reason,
this confused
the dispatchers and amused the hell out of the chief.

Barcus went to
bay
forty-two and selected the same HMS he always picked. Jack
picked number forty-one, based
on
its
proximity to Barcus.

“
Barcus, do you have any
idea how much one of these things actually weighs?” Jack asked, as
he activated the diagnostic program and ran down the
checklist.

“
I think, empty, they
weigh just under a metric ton. Just over, with water and a driver,”
Barcus said. “Doesn’t mean shit, though. Most of the work is in
zero gravity. ”

“
Ever run in one, on the
surface of a planet? I hear they are fast on foot and fun as shit,”
Jack said, hooking up the water line, to top it off.

“
Just once, on
a moon
. Some dumb-ass had a dish fall on him and, despite the low
gravity, it broke both his legs. I ran the two kilometers to be the
first one on the scene.” Barcus paused, remembering, “That asshole
never thanked me. He was a miserable bastard; it was always about
politics with him.”

“
I’m driving forty-two
down to the flight deck today, as always. But, that’s me. You may
want to use the tractor rig to get your suit down. Today or
tomorrow. They prefer it that way. They say it’s ‘safer’.” Barcus
laughed.

Jack knew he just gave him a way out,
to save face. All the HMS jocks walked them down. The key was NOT
to damage anything on the way down to the flight deck.

“
You came aboard
on
that last rotation? Four months ago, right?” Barcus asked, as
forty-two detached from the clamps and powered up. “How long have
you been
an
HMS maintenance guy?”

“
Counting the last four
months, let me think.” Jack thought, for a moment, before he
answered, “Four months.” He smiled at his own joke.

More men and women now
entered the maintenance shop, to begin their day. Most knew Barcus
and said good morning to him. No one seemed
to even notice
Jack.
“JAFMG,
” Barcus said, prompting an
instant reply.

“
Just-another-fucking-maintenance-guy,” Jack
drawled.

“
Here’s a tip for
you,
Jack,
” Barcus said, as he stepped up
and into his suit. “Move your suit down to your assigned shuttle
the day before, in the morning. After it’s docked in the
shuttle,
then you’ll have the rest of the day to organize and to clean
up your bay in the maintenance shop.
It's
way
easier without the HMS in
there.
Otherwise,
you’ll be so busy, you may
never get to it.”

The HMS closed over Barcus’s head,
revealing just a black, faceless thing. As it stood and saluted, it
caused Jack to shudder. They had to be so careful when inside the
damn things. It could wreak havoc because it could tear through a
bulkhead, without pausing.

Barcus entered the elevator and simply
said, to the other passengers, “Good morning, ladies. Flight deck,
please.” The voice sounded ominous, like a cinder block dragged
over cement.

Jack watched as two women
caressed the suit, and one said, “Hey handsome. Where
you
going? Want some comp—?” The door closed.

One of the techs walked
up, shaking his head. Jack had the impression he walked over,
specifically, to watch Barcus take the elevator in the
three-meter
tall suit.

“
Why doesn’t his suit have
a number stenciled on the chest?” Jack looked at his suit. It had a
large, bright yellow ‘41’ emblazoned on the chest.

“
Everyone knows that’s
him,” the tech said. “For luck, I guess. You never heard the
story?”

Jack shook his head. “What
story?”

“
Barcus,
in
suit number forty-two, was performing maintenance on a low
orbit satellite, when a stupid, rookie pilot blew him off the sat
with his exhaust. The dumb-ass lit his main engines too close.
Everyone thought Barcus was dead, except Chen.” The tech walked
closer and said the next part, quietly, “I heard Chen did an
emergency, unsanctioned launch and chased after forty-two in the
STU, somehow.” He almost whispered, “She pulled a ‘Jonah’ at
Mach
23,
in the
atmosphere
.”

“
A ‘Jonah’?” Jack
questioned, just as quietly.

“
She opened the STU’s
cargo bay, while in flight, and ate him from the sky.” The tech let
it sink in. “The number forty-two burned off while he was in the
atmosphere. All the melted, exterior tools were repaired or
replaced. Chen and Barcus were docked pay, by the former captain,
for the repairs to the STU. That was about five years ago. I’m glad
that asshole is finally gone.”

“
He never painted the
numbers back on?” Jack asked.

“
Go ahead, paint them back
on. I dare you.” The tech laughed and walked away.

Jack went back to work. He
never took the advice to pre-dock his suit. Because of that, his
last thoughts were
about
his numbers burning
off…

***

As the elevator doors
opened, the HMS sang “Daisy Bell” and the women laughed, as they
left the lift. Wes Hagan, the
Ventura’s
senior engineer, entered
the lift and said, “Morning, Barcus.” As he turned to face front,
he said, “
You
look tired—” The doors closed, as the suit
laughed.

No one else got on the lift, as it
descended the final 200 meters. The flight deck was 2G and the
traffic was light. They were both headed for Chen’s shuttle, this
morning. Chen was just closing another panel in the bottom of the
Emergency Module. She spoke a few words and the spider-like
all-terrain vehicle ascended the cargo ramp and rotated, in prep
for locking into its spot on the roof of the cargo bay.

Wes asked Chen, “Why do you stay down
here, all the time?”

“
Because I hate
people,
” Chen replied. “The 2G keeps them away. And, if they must
come down here, it’s hard for them to breathe, so they don’t talk
so fucking much,” she continued, wiping her hands as Barcus climbed
out of the suit.

“
Mind if I use the suit to
carry and stow my tool
chest?
” Chen asked Barcus.

“
Knock yourself out.”
Barcus stepped away from the suit. It still knelt under the chin of
the STU.

“
Stu, initiate remote.
And, don’t fucking drop them, this time.” Chen said, as she stepped
away.

The HMS closed up as it stood. All by
itself, it walked up to Chen’s full-size, double tool chest,
crouched and lifted it, as if it were a dad carrying a cooler to
the beach. The suit moved, easily and smoothly, to the toolroom in
the back of the cargo bay.

“
Nice,” Wes said, a rare
compliment from him. “It’s why I’m here, really.”

Chen was surprised Wes gave her no
shit about avoiding his messages.

“
Have you noticed anything
odd in the AIs around here, lately?
Caisy
or Pal, Stu, Em,
Rain?” Hagan combed his fingers through his hair. Chen knew it was
serious. Nothing ever puzzled this man. It was one of the
foundation rules of the universe that Chen had grown to rely on.
That, and the fact that he let her do whatever she
liked.

Wes knew she did a good job. He also
knew she did that job better with less management.

“
I only interact with Stu
and Em. It’s daily and it’s for hours, every day.
Caisy
and Pal are of little use to me,” Chen said, thinking hard.
“In fact Em and Stu have been better in the last few months. I
guess,
more
aware
. I’ve been working on them a lot,
though. I shudder to think how much extra code I’ve added
to
their advanced AI routines.”

“
Chen, can you help me,
tomorrow, with a code review on Caisy?” Wes asked. Wes never
asked.

“
Sure, but it will cost
you. I hear Peck has some excellent bourbon.” Chen smiled. Both Wes
and Barcus covered their eyes, just to be assholes about it. Wes
feigned staggering away.

“
We’ll be done with our
maintenance run by lunch. I will help you in the afternoon,” she
called out to his back. "If this asswipe doesn’t sleep too late,”
Chen called, as she pounded a fist on Barcus’s chest with a
solid
thunk
.

“
OK, OK. I’ll buy you some
bourbon, later, at Peck’s Halfway.” Wes retreated to the
lift.

None of them knew they were being
watched from thirty-two angles.

***

Peck’s Halfway was the closest bar to
the ship’s outer ring.

All of the heavies, (the people that
lived in the outer 2G ring), went to this bar. They called it a ‘1G
Joint’ and they all liked Peck, the owner. Peck had run this bar
for as long as anyone could remember. He was fat, old and gay. He
ate and drank too much. He slept in .5G all night and sat in his
bar on a padded grav-plate stool that must have cost a mint. He had
gout, a missing tooth, and all the ladies loved him. Well, the men,
too. Even the heavies.

Barcus walked into the
Halfway, wearing his typical after work clothes:
jeans
and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. He saw where the heavies sat and
moved through the crowd toward them.

“
Hey, Barcus, you bucket
of spit, get your ugly mug over here before I come over this bar
and kick your ass!” Peck loved talking like that to Barcus; it made
the newbies wonder.

“
I’d like to see that, you
fat fuck. You better give me a bottle of this bourbon I have
heard
about or I’ll knock out another tooth,” Barcus yelled back,
as he approached.
Reaching out
, their hands slapped
together in a handshake that turned into a hug, causing
Barcus
to,
literally,
almost
come
over the bar.

“
How goes it, old
friend?
” Barcus said, sitting down to talk, as Peck set two fine
crystal tumblers on the bar and withdrew a dusty bottle from
somewhere, as if by magic. With a flare, he pulled the cork from
the bottle with his teeth, spat it onto the bar and poured for them
both.

“
It goes very well. It
will be going even better, soon.” He raised his glass, and said,
“To sipping the joys of
life,
so they last longer.” Peck raised
an eyebrow, waiting.

Barcus sipped the bourbon.

“
Peck. You’ve just ruined
my life. I now know I’ll never have another bourbon this excellent.
I might as well die tomorrow.” Barcus sipped again.

Peck downed his in one tip of the
glass.

Before his chin lowered, Barcus
snatched the bottle from Peck’s hand and said, “You
savage!”

“
Wait!” Peck stopped him,
smiling. “Remember our discussion, Thursday last?” Once again, as
if by magic, he produced a glass test tube about fifteen
centimeters long and four wide. It had a humidity control stopper.
Inside was a large cigar.

“
Are you nuts? Where’d you
get that?” It disappeared into Barcus’s pocket.

“
Never you mind. And, you
didn’t get that from me. That goes to the outer ring and stays
there.” Tobacco was forbidden on the ship. This created a thriving
black market for it.

“
Thanks,
Peck,
” Barcus said. “Put it on my
tab.”

He knew Peck wouldn’t. Barcus’s money
wasn’t good in Peck’s Halfway and Barcus allowed it. He learned to
live with it. He never took advantage, though. It made Peck happy.
Barcus knew that Peck’s life was worth more than a big bar tab.
But, that’s not why Barcus saved it.

He approached the table and around it
were the usual suspects, plus a few others. Chen, Rand and Jimbo
sat in the back of the huge booth. Everyone knew that if you gave
Jimbo shit about drinking OJ, you’d have to buy the next round. It
looked like Jack Miller recently learned that lesson. Barcus
wondered if he was stupid enough to make that one arm chin-up bet
with Chen.