I know where I am before I even open my eyes. A powerful odour, like a pair of unwashed feet sitting in a rusty bucket of week-old pus, hangs heavily in the air. It’s a stink that I know will take days to be rid of. Chopper Vench has got to be the only pirate I’ve ever met who ferments cheese in his own quarters. It tastes as bad as it smells. Not something I want to experience again, and the last place I expected to find myself now. On the whole, I think I’d rather be dead.
I slide myself gingerly out of the bunk and stand up. The floor is cold, but still. There’s no tell-tale hum of engine vibrations. The clothing draped over a chair in the corner of the cabin is suitably non-descript. I could search the room for clues, but one of those drawers might contain the cheese, and I’m in no state to deal with that right now. Then I catch sight of myself in a mirror.
“Aw hell,” I groan.
This jumpclone is ridiculously old. I have to think way, way back to figure out when I could possibly have got it made. A fat-faced fool stares stupidly back at me, daring me to remember him. There are no tattoos. When did I get the scar on my chin fixed? And those teeth, I got them fixed an age ago. I can’t even look at my belly. This is from before… well, everything.
Vench fixes me with a grim stare as the door to the common room slides open.
“Well?” he grunts, and holds out a palm expectantly. I go through the motions of patting my pockets and then shrug. He scowls and shakes a finger at me.
“You owe me money, you scheming rat,” he spits.
I should really be going along with anything Chopper wants. After all, he has just saved my life. He is also completely unhinged, excessively violent and very unpredictable. But I do have standards to uphold, fat clone or not.
“Don’t be absurd,” I say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes you do, you lying dog,” bellows Chopper, “Don’t tell me you don’t. Vart’s Bar, the Chemal Factory in Renyn. We were playing Three Stack all night.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, “I won that night.”
“I know that. And that’s why I bet you three grand you’d fleece them CreoDron Execs right back at the beginning. But you seem to have conveniently forgotten all about it.”
“Chopper, the drinks in that place were twenty-five grand apiece. Why would I make a bet with you for just three thousand?”
“Not the point, is it? A bet’s a bet. You owe me money.”
“You’re delusional,” I mutter, “You’ve been breathing space-cheese fumes too long.”
Like a flash, Chopper’s on his feet, slamming my head against the table, the muzzle of his gun pressing against my forehead.
“Are you mocking my cheese?” he whispers, “Are you?”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I say, slowly and carefully, “Furthermore, if it seemed like I was mocking your cheese, then I want to make it very clear that I didn’t intend to give that impression and apologise wholeheartedly if you thought otherwise.”
“It’s a hobby,” Chopper growls, “It’s a craft, a skill. How many people you know can make their own cheese, eh? How many?”
“Not a single one, Chopper.”
And like that, the gun’s back in its holster and he’s walking away from me, the lunatic. I look around the room. Nothing here I recognise.
“Chopper, where the hell are we?”
“3GK-WS,” came the prompt reply. “Wicked Creek. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s where we are. Trying to keep a low one, you know? Can’t really be out wandering at the moment.”
“Huh,” I say. Weird. “You got a station out here?”
“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “Habitation module.”
I’m actually shocked. Chopper Vench, arch-villain of the high-sec mining community, out of his ship? I would have thought that he’d rather freeze in space than be parted from it. He sees me thinking this, and shrugs.
“So what about you?” he asks. “Last I heard, you were about to get appointed CEO or something. What was the name of that corp? Comfy Toga or something?”
“Comutopia.”
“That’s the one. Anyway, wasn’t expecting to see your clone start up any time soon. What happened, you screw up or something?”
“Quite the opposite,” I say. “Unfortunately, they weren’t expecting someone competent. It turns out, we were supposed to fail, and dismally. Actually succeeding messed their plans up a bit, and you know how megalomaniacs hate it when you do that.”
“Yeah,” he says, master of the understatement.
Yesterday – or whenever it was – I was aboard my Chimera. I was wearing Velochem Silk, with a Flickshow 5400 on my wrist and the latest Looking Glass ocular. I had enough cash to buy a planet and the resources to populate it. My wife – oh man, I’d forgotten about her, damn it – who knows what had happened to her. All of it, gone. My whole life. And I didn’t see it coming until it was too late. Half a day of suspicion, five minutes of utter panic, about twenty seconds where I thought I could get away… and then one bright, cold flash. And now, here I am, wherever that may be, with nothing but some borrowed clothes, an ancient clone and, apparently, a gambling debt.
“Coffee?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, taking a chair. He goes over to the food module. There’s a long pause while each of us waits for the other to speak. Chopper starts humming, so I guess it’s down to me then.
“So?” I say.
“So what?”
“So what’s the deal?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I say, waving my arms at him, “You’ve brought me here. You’ve gone to some trouble to keep me alive, and don’t tell me it’s because I owe you a measly three thousand. You spent a billion times that on the clone vat, not to mention transportation costs. And speaking of clones, where did you find this thing?”
“Don’t remember?” grins Chopper. “Verge Vendor.”
“Verge!” I yell, clapping myself on the forehead. “Thank you. So, you track down one of my very first clones, drag it all the way here and revive me… Obviously you want something from me, so what is it?”
There’s a long pause. I’m a bit worried he might pull his gun on me again. With Chopper, you never can tell.
“Nah,” he says at last, “It’s not like that.”
“So what is it like?”
“Nothing, it’s not like nothing. What, I have to have a reason for everything?”
“Chopper, you’re a dirty bloody pirate and I, well I used to be… well, never mind that. We got drunk one night, what… a hundred and forty years ago? There’s got to be something. What is it, a job? I’m your slave now, or something? I have to kill someone? What?”
“You know something?” Chopper says, “That was a good night, that night. That thing you did to the guy… you remember? I don’t think I’ve laughed like that since. It was a good night, that’s all.”
Then he shrugs, and it all makes sense. See, you get these moments, when you’re immortal. They’re sad little moments, but infinitely precious. They cut through all the stuff we do to distract ourselves while we’re living forever. You see behind their eyes, and through to the being that they are. Chopper and me, we’ve been kicking around the galaxy an awful long time now. We’re old. And every now and then, you get a moment that explains why a pirate would save the life of someone like me just because I made him laugh. The answer’s simple. With forever ahead of us, what the hell else are we going to do?
He doesn’t pull a gun on me the rest of the time I’m there, but I still sample the latest batch of cheese. We don’t talk much. He gives me a Rifter. It’s a bit bent out of shape, but its functional. He throws in two thousand rounds of iron ammo and a crate of Quafe. As I undock, I feel small and insignificant, sitting in this tiny hull. I immediately regret leaving so soon, and look down at Choppers module. It peeks out from behind the rock like it’s hiding. Looking ahead, there’s nothing but stars. I have no idea where I’m going, or what I’m going to do for money, shelter or food. Nobody knows I’m here, and hopefully, no one is looking for me. I’m back at the bottom of the pile. I’ve got to start again, from scratch and claw my way back up.
I have to admit, I can’t wait to get started. I bloody love this part.
