Jet Black and the Escape from Culver City #1 Read online

Jet Black and the Escape from Culver City #1

  By John Stevenson

  Copyright John Stevenson 2013

  The asteroid didn’t have a name, only a number: a number four times as long as the locker code of the most security minded miner. The number wasn’t the product of some bureaucrat's finger strokes; it had a rationale, and was intended to specify a co-ordinate; but deep in space co-ordinates were just a bureaucratic fantasy, and to every single roughneck the number was superfluous: all they needed to know was that it was Culver City.

  Decades before; when a young geologist named Hiram Benedict came across it; it had been a pristine planetoid composed of enough ice water to make it habitable and enough nickel, titanium, gold, diamonds, and other minerals to make it worth inhabiting. In the next three decades the asteroid was drilled and blasted until it was no more than a rock-hard, a totally exploited sponge. But Hiram didn’t abandon it, instead he filled the tunnels and voids with the excavated wealth: created living quarters; a hospital and casinos, and it became Culver City. Neither did Hiram give up mining nor prospecting; he just moved Culver City wherever the pickings were greatest.

  In the following decades Benedict sought out likely asteroids; moored Culver City to them and exploited whatever he could; firstly in minerals and then from the roughnecks wages.

  Hiram asked no questions and needed no history of the men and women who stepped off the shuttles; so Culver City attracted the roughest of the rough. Anyone who was prepared to work would be fed, accommodated and paid: and paid very well; those that found it too hard soon left; one way or another. To many who arrived it was simply preferable to incarceration: as long as you didn’t think about the comparisons too closely.

  After their shifts, the scum of the system could drink at Hiram's grog cellars, fornicate at Hiram's brothels, and gamble in Hiram's casinos. It was as Hiram was often to say: with a big smile on his face; a circle of money: and sooner or later it all came back to him.

  Jet Black was one of the pieces of human wreckage. After ten years in the special ops of the Colonial Guard he had achieved distinction. He had been awarded the Star of Penrith and the Badge of Honour; but Jet had no honour: he had made the fatal mistake of looking an enemy in the eye: literally and emotionally, and disillusionment had consumed him.

  He knew the very moment; the exact second: he had been on the battlefield: cleaning up as the Colloquialism went, around him were scattered bodies and his buddies were walking along kicking each to make sure they were dead when Jet came upon a mother, she was dead but beside her was a child a young girl; still alive but barely. She had looked him in the eye, and he had looked back. He lifted his weapon to finish the job but couldn't and another soldier beside his had to step in. Her blood spattered his legs and boots. In that very moment Jet realized and hated what he had become. He realized he had been instrumental in the almost genocide of a race that simply wanted to be left alone.

  Jet was court marshaled: he was stripped of the Star and the Badge and dishonorably discharged, without money, home or future. Culver City seemed his only option.

  Jet stepped onto the rock of Culver City with a half full duffel bag over his shoulder that represented all his worldly possessions. He followed the other riff-raff to the processing building; was assigned a bunk in a dormitory with thirty other men, given a meal and after the briefest of instruction; and even less on safety, set to work as a labourer.

  It was there several hours later that he was introduced to Culvers unions. Three men: very muscled men approached him: he stopped working and waited.

  "You new?" said one; Jet scanned his tags: he was an electronics supervisor; indication he had more intelligence than his build suggested. According to the identification tag his name was Hubly.

  Jet nodded.

  "Welcome to the team," the man said affably. "It can be confusing; even dangerous," he said emphasizing the last word. "So we recommend new guys join the union; you know; for protection," again there was emphasis on the last word.

  "And this will cost me?" said Jet suspiciously.

  The man smiled. "A mere pittance, just ten percent of your wages and bonus's."

  Jet didn’t think that sounded like a pittance. "Thanks, I'll think about it," he said dismissively.

  "You'd be wise not to take too long," the man's smile had gone.

  Jet felt a searing pain in his kidneys as one of the two others dove his clenched fist into the small of his back. Jet fell to his knees gasping for air. Before he could recover the two were hauling him up.

  "Accidents can happen any time," the man said as he brought his fist hard into Jets stomach. This time Jet didn’t fall as they held him up.

  The smile was back. "Now; you had time to think about it or do you need more time?"

  Jet felt at a big disadvantage, but any delay was going to hurt more so he gritted his teeth, grasped the arms that were holding him and kicked himself off the ground; his steel toe cap sinking into Hubly's groin. The man immediately folded and his astonished friends eased they grip enough for Jet to squirm and spin taking one of their arms up behind the man's back: there was a sickening snap as his elbow leveled with his shoulder. The second was recovering from his surprise and lashed out his fist. Jet deflected it and smashed the heel of his hand into the bridge of the man's nose. Blood poured out and he fell back clutching at his face.

  Jet reached down and grasped Hubly by the hair and turned his face up. "Thanks for the offer, but as you see I'm not the kind of guy who has a lot of trouble with accidents."

  It was the next day Jet had his second union encounter; this time there were seven. Things had started to go bad when through blood a red mist and flying fists he saw Hubly arrive. It was the last thing he was conscious of.

  Jet woke in a bed, and not a bunk; there were crisp white sheets and a nurse. "How you feeling?" the man smiled in anticipation of the obvious answer.

  Every part of Jets body ached. "Probably the same as I look?" he replied.

  "Well the consolation is you're still alive."

  Jet wasn’t sure it was a consolation.

  "Finns boys generally don’t leave evidence."

  Jet wasn't sure being evidence was a good thing either. "They don’t?"

  "Never, if help hadn't arrived," for a moment the nurse fell ominously silent. "If I was you I'd get on down to the casino."

  Jet didn’t want to move any muscle, never mind walk. "I'll think about it."

  "You should, most folks who have dealings with Finn end up down the bottom of a disused mine shaft."

  "Here seems a better place."

  The man smiled. "Yea, but maybe you'll jump down one yourself when you get the hospital bill."

  A new voice came from the side. "He's covered by the union."

  The nurse looked nervously at the newcomer, and quickly left.

  Jet couldn’t turn his head to see who it was: he didn’t need to as the man came in front of him. Jet felt himself stiffen, and the resulting pain made him wince: it was Hubly.

  "How you feeling; as good as you look I'm guessing?"

  "Yea," Jet said cautiously: feeling very vulnerable.

  "I brought some fruit," Hubly said self-consciously. "Didn’t know if you prefer apples or oranges, so I brought both."

  Jet looked at the man's hands; he had one piece of fruit in each hand.

  Hubly saw his look, "Yea I know, but these two cost me almost an hour's wages."

  Jet had no idea why he smiled but he did.

  "You did well," Hubly have a look of admiration. "Still seven on one was never a win situation."

  "No."

  "Not really
fair seven."

  "But three is?"

  "Three was to test you, how else can anybody get your measure?'

  "That was test."

  "You should realize by now this isn’t kindergarten."

  Jet smiled. "I don’t know I've heard of some pretty rough finger painting."

  "Maybe so, but you won't have any more problems, now the others know your with us."

  "I'm with you?"

  "You recon you want some more?"

  "No,"

  "Anyway without union insurance you gunna be paying for all this, for a long time."

  "I was intending to arrange for some recompensation."

  "And if you have any sense you'll forget it."

  "It's not going to be easy to forgive and forget."

  "Then in that case you are a dead man. Look fella let's get down to some home truths. As I said this is not kindergarten. Individuals don’t survive; you have protection or sooner or later you disappear; end of story: and don’t give me shit about being able to look after yourself: your good, I'll give you that, but nobody is unbeatable. Sometime, someplace your guard will be down and your gone; but Finn and the other unions know that take out a union member and you start a war; they don’t want that; we don’t want than, and Benedict certainly don’t want that. If he sends in his goons were all dead. They have the only firearms in Culver and they don’t ask questions. They are the judge, jury and executioners. No, Benedict likes to keep us all at each other's throats; if there was the one union we might become a threat but fragmented he keeps control. Do I make myself clear?"

  "I guess so."

  "Look I'm not good at the smarmy bedside stuff. Get on your feet again, and we'll have a drink sometime and make bygones become bygones."

  Jet wasn’t a miner but he did have other talents. He knew how to organize men and being quick on the uptake soon knew enough about extracting materials to gain the respect of his crew; and his superior: soon he was a foreman. Jet also had another quality; he wasn’t seduced by the drink and the girls: not that he didn’t partake of both, but unlike most of his peers he knew when enough was enough.

  He soon saw that accidents were very common and not just those inflicted by the unions; most were just down to fatigue and the dangerous conditions. He realized the hospital wasn’t all it was supposed to be either; certainly they did treat injuries but the cost was horrendous and he encountered many who simply bandaged wounds up and kept on working. Culver City had a veneer; below that it was every man for himself.

  Jet was eating his evening meal in the cafeteria when Hubly entered and saw him; there was a moment's hesitation and then the man walked directly over and put his hand on the back of the chair. He looked at Jet and Jet nodded. Hubly pulled the chair out and sat down. "What's the fish?" he said looking at Jets plate.

  "I'm told its Grunter."

  "What's it like?"

  "Fish."

  "Can never tell with fish: frozen or not by the time it gets here it's as good as off already."

  Jet nodded.

  "What they, what a lot of places like this need is a reliable, regular supply."

  Jet nodded again.

  "It's what I'm gunna do when I get away."

  Jet was intrigued, a few weeks ago the man was beating the shit out of him, and now he was talking about his aspirations as if they were old friends. "Do what?"

  "Courier."

  "Courier?" Jet almost spat out his food in surprise.

  Hubly looked at him, "What's funny about that?"

  "Nothing."

  "No there aint."

  "No," Jet was wondering if he should leave.

  "All a man needs is a good team."

  "I thought you had that?"

  Hubly smiled. "Gorillas," he looked at Jet. "No not them, somebody like you."

  Jet stopped eating and looked at him.

  "I've been checking on you," said Hubly. "By all accounts honest: can look after yourself when it's needed, smart and ambitious."

  "Well then I guess you got the wrong man; I have no ambition beyond what's for breakfast tomorrow morning?"

  "So what was it a woman?"

  "No I just realized that life was pointless."

  "Then maybe I have got the wrong guy," Hubly stood. "I'll pass on the fish."

  "Probably for the best."

  "Yea well so long Jet, keep clear of accidents."

  "Yea; you too...?"

  "Charlie Hubly, but my friends call me Chub."

  Two months later Jet was made transport supervisor. He had an office on the asteroids surface where he oversaw a fleet of automated dump trucks that brought that last of the ore to the surface and the ancient processing plant. It was shortly after that he first saw the Silver Flyer.

  From gossip he knew about Hiram's yacht and how it was supposedly acquired from an alien race during one of Hiram's dubious schemes. It was certainly unusual: every spacecraft Jet had seen looked like something put together from a scrap yard; the Flyer was sleek and glossy silver; hence the name. While other spaceships thrusters seemed to grunt and wheeze the Flyer was effortless. If the talk was to be believed its technology was revolutionary, and powered by some strange process where light was refracted or split through a diamond. Gossip was that it was Hiram's interest in the gem that had given him the opportunity to get his hands on the spaceship. Once he did, he had, had it converted into a luxury personal transport while retaining its cargo carrying capacity. Whatever the true story it mesmerized Jet and only the urgent warning sound that a dump truck had rolled brought him back to reality.

  It was over two years since Jet arrived that he at last felt normal; or as normal as anyone could be in a place like Culver City. He had claimed the ranks and now was division manager. For the first time in a long time he began to think of a future, and one was offered by Hiram.

  Hiram shook his hand. "I've heard good things about you Mr. Black; very good things."

  Jet wasn’t sure how to reply, so he just smiled.

  "In fact I'd be willing to say you are potential executive material."

  Jet had even less of a reply but the smile faded with surprise.

  "I need men like you in positions where they can use their talents at an advantage." Hiram paused, probably Jet thought for emphasis. "This isn’t the time and place to discuss detail, but the head of customs and cargo has to attend meetings on the planet; there is a deputy but I'd like to give you the chance to show your mettle by taking over the position. I stress it isn’t long term; just while he's away, but do well and I'm sure something else will come up that will be yours."

  Jet was flabbergasted, "I don’t know what to say."

  "Well I expect you to say yes, but as I said it's not the time and the place; I'll see you tomorrow in my office at eleven and we can discuss it in detail. Right now you will have to excuse me I have others to meet and duties to do." Hiram shook his hand again and walked away leaving Jet stunned.