Alvin Baylor Lives!_A 21st Century Pulp Read online

  Alvin Baylor Lives!

  Maximilian Gray

  Peculiar Ephemera

  Copyright © 2015, 2018 Maximilian Gray

  First Edition, June 2018

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review.

  ISBN: 978-1-7324534-0-1

  Alvin Baylor Lives! is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons, living, dead, or not yet born is unintentional or satirical. If you’re named Alvin Baylor, I wasn’t thinking about you. I just made the name up. Cheers. Thanks for reading the fine print.

  Edited by Carolyn Haley

  Cover Illustration by Roger Betka

  JMH Savage font used by permission of [email protected]

  Published in the United States of America

  by Peculiar Ephemera

  aka

  maximiliangray.com

  First and foremost this is for you, Mom.

  Thanks for being my first fan and for putting up with my selfish bullshit. This book couldn’t exist without you. Neither could I.

  And to those I will not meet again…

  My father, who encouraged my love for the fantastic and instilled in me an indomitable strength of character. I miss you everyday.

  And Robert Copple, who saw me as an artist and helped me to finally see myself. Thanks for helping me finish growing up.

  I wrote you a fucking story.

  The obstacle is the path.

  Zen Proverb

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  December 2117

  One hundred ninety million miles from Earth, John Padre yawned. He rubbed his aching legs and looked up at the time. Seven hours, that’s how long he’d been stuck in a tiny cockpit staring at the same two asteroids. His feet were jammed up against the controls of the stolen ship and his knees were swollen. At six-foot-five, he barely fit in the egg-shaped cabin. A year of microgravity had caused his joints to separate and muscles to atrophy. The damage would make readjusting to Earth gravity difficult. He felt it was worth it, though. Today’s payday would cover his rehabilitation and anything else he would ever need.

  He’d stolen the little rock hopper from an asteroid mining colony over a year ago. It was the first in a series of jobs for a well-informed client. Tasks that had the feel of audition. Today was the main event.

  He wasn’t sure of his handler’s identity, but the promised billion in credits was evidence that this person was more than a disgruntled employee. Padre had spent his last few hours imagining the client’s motivations. Perhaps it was a Chinese competitor trying to cut into the Alteris Asteroid mining trade. Or maybe it was Alteris itself. Maybe the tech didn’t work, or an expensive employee needed to be wiped off the balance sheet. He’d seen contractors used for insurance jobs before.

  Shit. All the time spent waiting was messing with his head. Why steal this thing all the way out here? Why not hack the network, dupe the plans, and print up a copy? As he pondered the bleak machinations that allowed him an income, the communications channel crackled to life.

  “Yo, Pops! How long are we gonna wait? I’m running low on air and enthusiasm out here,” Samantha Watkins whined.

  That girl is a smartass.

  “Till the fucking mark is here. Don’t get your diapers in a bunch,” Padre radioed back in his gravelly voice. “Cheng, you still breathing?”

  “I do what I’m told and you told us to keep it radio silent,” said Ajax Cheng over the comm.

  Good-ol’ Cheng. Great at taking orders.

  “Good. Before this ship shows her sails, we need to be prepped. Are your lines anchored?”

  “Yes, Mr. Padre, they’ve been fastened and ready to go for three hours,” said Watkins.

  “Well, check ’em again. We get one shot at this.”

  Rouja, baby where are you when I need you?

  Padre pined for his usual girl. She was a better operative than either of these two, but she was on Earth and their relationship was strained. He’d have to make do without her today.

  Minutes later he saw a blip on the scanners. Something was coming through the field.

  “All right, kids, I’m going dark. Don’t fire till you see the whites of their eyes.” Padre chuckled. “Scopes show they should be in range within the hour.”

  He switched off nonessential systems to avoid detection and sat perched over his control console. Small lights danced across his face as he looked out the front window into the cosmos. He felt like a primitive hunter-gatherer stalking his prey. They waited in silence for the Zzyzx’s beacon.

  An hour later, the ship appeared in Padre’s view as it crossed between the asteroids. The bow was a massive solar collector that arched backward like a bronze umbrella. It was easily a mile in diameter. Padre furrowed his brow in anticipation and felt sweat roll down his forehead. He hated caring so deeply about something. It felt like weakness.

  A steady ping of the ship’s telemetry beacon sent Watkins and Cheng to their feet.

  “Finally,” Watkins whispered.

  The massive dome of the Zzyxz glided between the asteroids and moved into view, exposing the body behind it.

  Padre saw Watkins’s laser signal illuminate first. He shifted in his seat and looked over to Cheng’s asteroid perch. The soldier signaled, as well. Padre took a deep breath and turned on the rock hopper’s systems. The craft spun in a somersault as its lights came up in the dark of space.

  “We are go. Fire!” he yelled into the comm channel.

  Two small rockets arched out from the asteroids and blew through either side of the Zzyzx’s umbrella sail. The bolts unfurled, releasing metal hooks that tore the solar collector in half as the ship passed between the asteroids.

  Padre dabbed at the sweat running from beneath the black skullcap on his head. He felt a slight buzzing. His brain was linked to the hopper’s controls and he willed it forward. It felt like an extension of his body as it shot toward his prey.

  Luminescent appendages trailed from the rock hopper like the tentacles of a squid as it raced over the giant umbrella sail. The tendrils went rigid to form jointed legs and touched down at the rear of the ship. It ran six-legged toward the port side.
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  Padre was in the shit again, happy as a pig.

  He wriggled his fingers and two of the tendrils split into claw-like pinchers. They reached over the stern and wedged into the top of the airlock door. Then a push with his fingertip cracked the seal.

  The edges of the frame started to buckle as air poured out of the opening. Padre willed the rock hopper away from the door. Atmosphere flowed outward from the airlock, and in moments the metal door was whipped violently out into space. A belch of gas and debris followed.

  “She’s open for business, kids,” he boomed.

  He kept an eye on the airlock below while his team’s camera feeds floated in space before him.

  Watkins and Cheng fired up thrusters and lifted off the asteroids. They covered the distance to the ship using the jets built into their suits.

  Cheng touched down first and affixed his magnetic boots to the hull. He looked ahead with his pulse gun at the ready. Sam Watkins came next. Her camera lingered on her feet as they snapped to the ship.

  The duo made the sticky-footed walk to the airlock. Each took a side of the round opening, and Cheng leaned over to peer inside. The inner door was still sealed tight. He motioned to Watkins.

  “Beginning system intrusion,” Watkins said.

  She stepped into the airlock then pulled a thumb-sized card from her belt and connected it at the inner door. Watkins took control of the ship’s systems and began scanning for life.

  “Okay, I see the crew,” she said. “Five readings, they’re in the central cabin.” She used eye movement and blinks to lock down the cabin doors using a menu that floated in her view. “I’m ready to crack the inner seal.”

  Watkins stepped out of the airlock to join Cheng outside. They scuttled away and she opened the inner airlock. A furious vortex of air and glittering debris twirled out of the cargo hold and into space. They waited for the discharge to stop and moved back toward the opening.

  “Proceeding with boarding,” radioed Cheng.

  He stepped through the airlock and into the cargo hold. Cheng scanned every crate and rippling tie-down strap through the sight of his pulse gun.

  Watkins followed him into the hold.

  “No gravity on the cargo deck,” said Cheng.

  “Of course not, only in the crew quarters on this model,” said Watkins.

  They continued to clomp forward with magnetic steps. They scanned the rows of pallets strapped to the deck, and Cheng fired a few laser blasts to disable the nested security cameras. They popped apart in a spray of plastic and glass confetti that drifted through the air.

  “You know I can just turn those off,” said Watkins.

  Cheng huffed and kept walking.

  “Comin’ up on bio forms,” radioed Watkins.

  Padre watched through the camera feeds. He examined the cargo bay and spied a bulkhead door ahead. “There,” he said. “Get to that door.”

  The pair moved forward and Watkins sealed the inner airlock again. The cargo hold began to repressurize. She kept an eye on the loading dock’s environmental status in her heads-up display. When the pressure equalized with the crew cabin, she nodded to Cheng. He tightened his grip on his weapon and hunkered down at the crew door. Watkins pulled her sidearm and began breathing heavily in her helmet.

  “Okay, opening it.”

  “Remember, we need the guy alive,” said Padre.

  A moment passed as Watkins examined her heads-up display, her breath quickening.

  “It’s not opening,” she said.

  “I thought you had control,” said Padre.

  “I do. It’s unlocked. It should have opened.”

  “Try to push it, then,” snapped Padre.

  Cheng rammed his shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge.

  “They must’ve barred it,” said Watkins. “They have gravity on the other side.”

  “I got an idea,” said Padre.

  He turned his rock hopper around and ran it along the top of the ship. Ahead, an oblong capsule, thirty feet long, revolved around the ship on a metal line.

  Cutting that should dislodge whatever they used to bar the door.

  “Get ready,” said Padre.

  He moved in close to the spinning tether, then manipulated one of the hopper’s legs out before him. He watched the capsule swing swiftly round and round. The cable anchoring it swung past his tendril. He paused his open eye over the icon for the plasma cutter. He felt the sweat on his brow again.

  Ah, fuck, it. Rouja, baby, I’ll be home soon.

  He blinked and a white-blue plasma stream shot out of the tip of the rock hopper’s limb. The cable swung through the heated plasma and melted through in an instant.

  “Now!” Padre yelled.

  Cheng ran forward and smacked against the door. It swung inward. Beyond the doorframe, everything was embroiled in a dizzying physics experiment as the centrifugal gravity drive failed. The five men inside lifted into the air and slammed violently into the far wall. A coffin-size med pod followed after them and splattered one of the men’s heads on the ceiling as the gravitational focus moved around in the small space. The crew was sent pinwheeling in changing directions.

  Topside, Padre had only melted partway through the thick spinning cable. Suddenly the capsule arced toward him. He fired the hopper’s thrusters and darted off. The giant pod careened into the spot where he had been, then snapped loose and flipped end over end into the black starry expanse.

  Everyone was quiet for a moment.

  “Uh, how’d that go?” asked Padre.

  He looked down to make sure he hadn’t shit himself.

  The camera feeds of Cheng and Watkins peered into the open room. Splotches of red smeared the white walls. Battered bodies floated about the cabin surrounded by red bubbles and debris.

  “Door’s open,” said Cheng.

  Five of the bio readings in Watkin’s display went dark. A sixth was still pinging.

  “Fuuuck!” said Padre. “Move, now!”

  “Stepping in,” said Cheng.

  He crossed the threshold and went straight for the nearest floating body.

  “You know, I could have disabled the gravity using my access,” said Watkins as she followed.

  Padre scowled and shot back, “There was no time.”

  Little redheaded know-it-all. Did I just blow it?

  Cheng knocked debris out of the air with his elbows as he trod around with his weapon at the ready. Watkins ducked and bobbed to avoid floating blood bubbles.

  “All right, give me the roll call,” ordered Padre. “We’re looking for an engineer named M. Rinsler.”

  “Mohammed Rinsler? The brainiac who invented quantum intelligence? Didn’t he croak in ’07 before the secession?” asked Watkins.

  “Enough with the smart talk,” said Padre. “This guy’s bio-locked to a mining prototype.”

  Cheng pulled the closest body toward him by the lapel. He scanned the face with his Opti-Comp. “Goswami,” he read off the identity lookup that appeared in his view.

  “No,” growled Padre.

  Cheng pushed the body back through the air, where it drifted into a corner. One by one, they scanned the corpses—Crown, Kim, Montenegro, Frist.

  “I’m still reading another one,” said Watkins as she paced the small room.

  “It’s our mark, find him,” said Padre.

  There was little more than six hundred square feet in the cabin and the man was nowhere to be seen.

  “Got him,” said Watkins.

  She pushed aside the floating medical pod to reveal an obscure alcove. A flashing light appeared in the center of her view. It read, “Occupied.”

  “Ha, the fucker’s taking a crap!” said an elated Padre. The lights from his console lit up his pearly whites like a Cheshire cat’s grin. “Get out the can opener.”

  Cheng took up a ready position beside the door while Watkins navigated the ship’s control system with eye movements.

  “I can’t peep it,” she said. “T
his lock’s manual.”

  Cheng stepped forward and pulled a small handgrip the size of a box cutter from his belt. It produced a six-inch heated blade that wavered in space as he moved it around. He stuck it between the door and the frame and quickly swiped down, cutting the bolt. Black fumes obscured Padre’s view.

  “I can’t see shit,” said Padre.

  Cheng whipped his hand through the smoke, clearing it away. Then he reached forward and pulled the door open.

  Inside the cramped zero-g toilet sat a shaggy-haired, unshaven man. His black hair floated about his head and face in the microgravity. His eyes were still open and in his hands he grasped a black sphere, three inches in diameter. He gave a final exhale and the bio-light on Watkins’s display went out.

  The man was dead.

  “Pops, that’s him,” said Watkins. “That’s Rinsler. The famous one.”

  Padre wanted to cuss, but all that came out of his mouth was air.

  “I’ll be damned,” said Cheng.

  What the fuck?

  “I’ll check his med log,” said Watkins.

  “Looks like a heart attack,” said Cheng.

  Watkins fidgeted with the man’s wrist to initiate a download of biometrics.