Chapter Four
REUNION
"There are two derelicts out here."

"Stop, Dave."

"Don't call me Dave."

"Sorry, Dave. I just thought you would like to know that there is a garbage scow in Sector Five."

"Sector Five?"

"Yes, Dave. Sector Five."

"There's nothin' but asteroids and debris out there! What the hell would a garbage scow be doin' in Sector Five?"

"Orbiting, Dave."

"Of course it's orbiting, and stop callin' me Dave! It's Geronimo, you… you…"

"I'm a Dig Tech Model Number Four Byte O'Matic, revision two-a, Dave, but you can call me Matt."

Geronimo Lavoriss twirls his Magno Swivel Chair(tm) to stare eye to electric eye with the Byte O'Matic(tm).

"Quit imitatin' that dumb movie or I'll have your memory swept from here to the Snappin' Sphincters of Bramada dot Six!"

He pivots back to the console. His fingers blur over the controls as he zeroes in on the garbage scow. The scanning grids lock. The detector begins to fart electronically. He whaps a red button on the panel.

"Visual!"

In front of him appears a three-dimensional Holo-Vis(tm) projection of the garbage scow.

"That's no scow, that's a derelict work barge."

"Incorrect, Dave," replies the Byte O'Matic(tm). "It is a Dustbin class one point four garbage scow belonging to the now defunct Galactic Gathering Company. Extremely ancient, I'm afraid. Classified as an antique."

Geronimo shakes his head, temperature rising. "Check your readin's, blikhead, and plot a course for the WORK BARGE!"

"Plotting… ready to initiate maneuver to the… garbage scow."

Geronimo scowls at the Byte O'Matic(tm). "Initiate."

The main MatterMovers(tm), the standard drive engines of most space-going vessels, fire up, gently forcing him back in the Magno Chair(tm).

The New Gnu sidles up to the antique, Dustbin class 1.4 garbage scow. A long, elastic Gooey Tube(tm) shoots from the side of the New Gnu, sticking itself over the scow's hatch. Air hisses into the transparent, jellied tube.

"Docking complete, Dave."

"Stop callin' me Dave."

Deactivating the Magno Chair(tm), Geronimo springs to his feet, which, in the ship's limited GravLite(tm) artificial gravity, causes him to bump his head on the ceiling. "Is the atmosphere stable in the… scow?"

The Byte O'Matic(tm) whirs. "Checking… negative in quadrant one… negative in bridge… unknown in garbage containment area."

"Matt, where's my Hand Cannon?" Geronimo zips the seal of his pressure suit.

"The weapon you seek is under the stack of Spleenrot Squashwort magazines."

Geronimo kicks aside the festering organic mags and plucks up the small, but powerful, Junior Hand Cannon(tm).

"Dilate door."

"Dilating… do you have your helmet, Dave?"

"Thank you," he returns, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice. Latching his helmet, Geronimo steps through the airlock.

Slowly, he flounders through the gravity free Gooey Tube(tm). Arriving at the derelict, he tries to open the hatch. The door refuses to budge. He draws the Junior Hand Cannon(tm) and blasts a hole in the door's control panel. The door seal pops.

"Well, what have we here?" Gladius Slate mutters.

"What?! What's that, Boss?" queries Snax, deftly tucking a Spleenrot Surfin' Dude(R) magazine under his console.

"We're now within scanner range of that derelict garbage scow," informs Slate, eyes intent upon the screen in front of him, "only it would seem that IDR control has been misinformed. There are two derelicts out here."

Snax waddles to the scanning station, peers over Gladius's shoulder.

"Look here," Gladius says, pointing out the two vessels displayed on the screen. "This one is the Galactic Gathering Company's Dustbin class one point four garbage scow mentioned in our orders, but this other wreck… I have no idea what it is. It almost looks homemade."

"Oh," Snax replies.

Gladius turns, becoming stern. "I can only assume, judging from its condition, that it is abandoned. But, due to the rash of Scow Cow hijackings that have been happening, we will be following strict procedural guidelines for our reconnaissance of the two vessels. Do you understand, copilot?"

Snax stares briefly, blinks once. "Sure, dude."

Unconvinced, Gladius addresses the bridge console. "Prepare for rendezvous maneuvers."

Geronimo threads his way through the decks and along the corridors of the dark scow, his Junior Hand Cannon(tm) at the ready. The weak beam from his helmet light reveals that the scow is in a state of floating turmoil. Clutter drifts randomly in the lack of gravity. A large, dead, alien rat-type creature, with its head secured in an alien rat-type creature trap, passes near his face. Surprised, Geronimo recoils, blasts the creature with the Junior Hand Cannon(tm), disintegrating it. Unfortunately, this is not a pleasant thing to do to a rotting organic creature in zero gravity. Smelly speckles begin to accumulate on Geronimo's suit.

"Shit."

"Are you all right, Dave?" queries an electronic voice over Geronimo's headset.

"Fine, and don't call me Dave."

"No problem. I am a Dig Tech Model Number Four Byte O'Matic, revision two-a, you will recall."

"Yeah, yeah. A quick sweep of these lower decks and I'll be headin' for the bridge, so stay alert would ya."

"My pleasure, Dave."

A thin shaft of light penetrates into the darkness of the silent antique vessel. The cavernous barrel of a Hand Cannon(tm), the gargantuan parent pistol of the smaller and more easily concealable Junior Hand Cannon(tm), intrudes into the stillness, followed by the imposing silhouette of Gladius Slate.

He pauses at the hatchway leading into the abandoned ship's port side airlock, the starboard side being blocked by the junk vessel docked there, and tugs at the cable spooling out behind him. Along the inside door panel he finds the emergency power receptacle and plugs in his Arachide Belly Cruiser's(tm) Super HiLite Emergency Umbilical(tm). The dim emergency lighting of the dead ship winks to life. Debris floats lazily throughout the cabin.

Gladius surveys the situation, then touches his Commucon Stay-Close(tm) communicator and calls to Snax on the Gladknight V. "Anything looking suspicious on-board, permittee?"

BONK!

Snax, who is caught off guard by his pilot's gruff command, bangs the back of his head on the under panel of his control console. He sits up and quickly begins to flip through the vacant ship's Holo-Cam(tm) stations, being fed to him by the Super HiLite Umbilical(tm).

"Snax!!"

"Er… um… nothin' so far, boss."

"Well, I'm making my way to the bridge, stay awake in there!"

"Yes, sir."

Geronimo is startled by the sudden illumination of the emergency lights. "Matt! What's goin' on?"

"Another vessel has arrived, Dave," whispers the electronic voice, "and it has docked on the other side of the garbage scow."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"I was maintaining radio silence because I didn't want them to know we were here, Dave."

"Know we were here!" Geronimo bellows. "Don't ya think they could probably see us?!!"

The Byte O'Matic(tm) remains silent.

"Jeez! Of all the stupid… they're probably at the bridge already, nabbin' all the juiciest data and layin' claim to the vessel! How the hell am I supposed to make a livin' when I got an idiot like you on my side, huh?!"

More silence.

"Fuck me. I'm headin' for the bridge, see if there's anything I can save from this mess… find out what I'm losin'."

Geronimo frantically grapples along the corridors in the direction of the bridge.

"Dave?"

"What?!"

"Sorry."

Slate flips up the red flap, breaking the security seal, and plucks the master ship's log backup disk from its disk drive. He slips it into one of the numerous pocket slits in his suit and makes one last quick scan of the dead bridge. In a dim recess he can see the skeletal remains of a crew member. He grimaces at the thought of the stench which must linger, millimeters from his nose, on the other side of his visor.

"For the record," he calls to Snax again, "I've retrieved the ship's log and I'm heading back. Anything out of the ordinary, so far?"

"Ah… hummph sheen unnyfing yep." Snax has been flipping channels with a pseudo-toe while stuffing his face with Hydroxilated Nutri-Chew(tm) biscuits. Crumbs litter his belly, a few cling to his cheek.

"What?!"

Snax swallows hard. "I haven't seen anything yet."

Gladius shakes his head and mumbles "permittee" under his breath.

"What? What was that, chief?"

"Nothing."

Gladius cautiously begins picking his way back across the bridge, but stops short at a glimpse of movement to his extreme left. He whirls, as fast as zero gravity will allow, and trains his Hand Cannon(tm) on a human figure struggling across the bridge toward him.

Geronimo works his way by the control panel, nonchalantly eyeing the empty master log disk drive as he passes. He waves politely as he recognizes the Company colors of the IDR space suit. The operative offers a slight nod of the head in return.

Obviously the pilot of the clunker parked outside, muses Gladius, noting the scruffy suit. His plan is to make sure the buffoon hasn't lifted any Company property and escort him off the derelict as soon as possible. He watches the other man make some adjustments to the Commucon Stay-Close(tm) transmitter on his belt, and suddenly his voice crackles inside Gladius's helmet.

"Hey, howzit goin'?"

Synapses fire in Gladius's brain as he tries to place the nasal quality of the voice.

"Quite the ship we've found here," crackles the voice again. "Antique, I understand."

Gladius lowers his weapon as the ragged figure comes to a stop before him. In an effort to see Gladius, the other man tilts his head allowing the light to strike his face. The two men lock eyes. A wave of recognition and nausea consumes Gladius as he remembers…

…Geronimo Lavoriss drifting slowly past the view port. A tether connects him to the external airlock of the Arachide Belly Cruiser(tm), Gladknight III. He is doing extravehicular maneuvers to retrieve a burned out AttiTooter(tm) drive that has been lost from a passing freighter. They were having trouble with a manipulator arm and Gladius Slate has sent his copilot outside to do a manual reclamation.

"Make sure you get those tow cables secured tightly," calls Gladius over the intercom. "We don't need a mishap out here."

"Tow cables? Shit! I forgot 'em in the airlock. I'm just gonna pull it, reel me in, Gladman."

"Lavoriss! Get back in and get those cables. We've got procedure to follow, here."

"Nah, nah, I've got a good grip. Reel me in, let's go."

"Look here, Lavoriss, these procedures are specifically defined. Years of trial and error, dozens of lost lives, have gone into forming these precise exterior maneuvers policies. Get those cables or I'll report you and you'll be reprimanded and fined."

Geronimo releases his grip on the Tooter and turns to face the view port. "Fined! You're gonna fine me. You can't fine me. I've earned my money. And those Company policies are bullshit for sissies. I don't need any tow cables. Just reel me in, let's go!"

"No."

"Then I quit! I could do better on my own, anyway."

"Fine."

Geronimo, using the tether, begins to tug and nudge the lost AttiTooter(tm) drive toward the Gladknight III. Once moving, he manipulates himself into a position with his back against the motor, his feet ready to brake against the Gladknight's hull. He brings the load to a gentle halt.

"I'm coming in, Happyass," Geronimo announces.

Gladius, who has been observing through the view port, remains silent.

"Gladius, come on," growls the annoyed Geronimo.

Still no answer.

"Okay, have it your way." Geronimo squirms around in the small gap between the ship's hull and the drive. Bracing his back against the hull, he uses his legs to push the drive, with all his might, sending it tumbling gracefully into deep space.

Gladius grits his teeth, glaring at the receding AttiTooter(tm). Red faced, he slowly rises from his Magno Command Chair(tm) and heads to the airlock.

Geronimo has pulled himself into the airlock's outer alcove. He punches the sequence to dilate the door. It refuses to open.

"Gladman, the door's stuck."

"It's not stuck." Gladius is standing next to the airlock's interior controls.

"Open the door!"

"No."

Geronimo bangs uselessly on the metal barricade. Sighing, he tries to think of a way to make his obstinate commander open the door.

"Gladius, it's a Company infraction to keep a crew member on external maneuvers if he wants to come in. You can't force me to stay out here."

"This is an IDR vessel, Lavoriss. You no longer work for the IDR. You just quit, remember? Therefore, I don't have to let you in."

Geronimo kicks the door, his mind drawing a blank. Then he recalls an obscure footnote in the IDR Employee Handbook(tm).

"Hey, Gladman! Accordin' to the handbook, no resignation will be accepted unless it is written and submitted for approval. I haven't written it yet, Snickerbutt. You have to let me in."

Gladius fumes. How dare a junior employee spout the Handbook to him.

"Open the door," Geronimo taunts, "or I will report you."

Gladius slams his fist into the airlock controls. The door opens with a whoosh, admitting Geronimo…

"Lavoriss, you schmuck," yells Gladius, his voice piercing into Geronimo's helmet.

"Well, well, if it isn't the ol' Happybutt himself. How ya doin' chief? What's a dork like you doin' in a place like this?"

"I'm doing my job, Lavoriss. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Uh, like, pardon me?" Snax's voice interrupts.

"Shut up Snax, I'll deal with you later."

"Oh," Geronimo counters, "a new toadie to kick around, have you?"

"I said what are you doing here, Lavoriss?"

"I happen to be workin' also, as a freelancer, I might add."

"Well, I've already claimed this derelict for the IDR, so if you'll just vacate the premises we can all be on our merry way, understand?"

"Ooh, not still havin' bitter feelin's about that nasty grievance, are we?" Geronimo eyes Gladius warily. "Look, Gladman, that was a long time ago. You're obviously still doin' the kinda work you love. I'm certainly happy. Why not just let bygones be bygones? Whadda ya say?"

Gladius stares at his former copilot, shakes his head, incredulous.

"Fine," resigns Geronimo, not wanting to cross the big man for a second time, "I'll be on my way, then." He begins to head in the direction of the New Gnu, stops to glance back at Gladius. "See if you can't whup that copilot of yours into shape, will ya." He laughs, waves, and disappears through the bulkhead.

Gladius looks down at the Hand Cannon(tm), turns it over slowly in his hand.

The Gladknight V's Gooey Tube(tm) seats itself in its storage cell. Gladius waits for the green 'HATCH SECURE' light to come on before removing his external maneuvers suit and equipment. Snax is quickly tidying himself, brushing away crumbs, which are still sinking to the floor as Gladius enters the bridge.

"Set the computer to receive this log disk."

Snax swings his bulk out of his Magno Chair(tm) and waddles to the main computer console. Running a digit along the rows of toggles, he ponders which ones to engage.

Gladius storms to the console, snaps a couple of switches and glares at Snax.

"Heh, heh," Snax replies, sheepishly.

Gladius jams the log disk into an available drive, keys a short sequence of instructions, and strides to his Magno Command Chair(tm). Mawhoooba watches the big guy settle into his seat. Feeling Snax's gaze, Gladius turns to look at him. Snax snaps his attention to the blinking lights of the computer, pretending to understand its operation.

The big man sighs and checks the console. The poor excuse for a space-going vessel, the New Gnu, is rapidly receding, heading out of the sector. Gladius watches it disappear from the monitors, then begins to rub his chin methodically, deep in thought.

"Okay, Matt," Geronimo says, "lets hold up here for awhile. I wanna circle back once that egotistical behemoth splits, nab a copy of the ships log, see just what the heck we should be lookin' for. Old Gladass Slate usually gets the more interestin' assignments, as I recall."

"Your wish is my command, Dave," replies the humbled Byte O'Matic(tm).

Lavoriss rolls his eyes. "Just shut us down to minimum power requirements, would ya. I gotta go take a crap." He ducks through the bulkhead toward his cabin.

BING!

The Gladknight V's computer signals its completion of uploading the foreign ship's log into its memory. Gladius begins to call up pertinent information about the abandoned ship: registered owner, personnel, functions, destination, orders… searching for some clue to the vessel's demise. Snax stands on tiptoe, watching over his shoulder, breath moistening Gladius's uniform.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, here," Gladius says, whipping around and bumping into Snax.

Snax's corpulent form does a complete somersault in the weak GravLite(tm) gravity of the ship before thumping into the back of his Magno Chair(tm).

"Sorry, sir," he mumbles.

"Prepare to move out," orders the commander. "We'll leave the deciphering of the log to head office. Let's go."

Gladius has already fired up the MatterMovers(tm) and is beginning to point the ship in its new direction. Snax's digits transform into rigid pincers as he scrambles to get into his Magno Chair(tm).