Free Crescent by Phil Rossi Page A

word.
     
    (•••)
     
    Gerald didn’t wake up so much as he half jumped out of his bed. The creaking ceiling fan cooled a sheen of sweat on his bare chest. The dream faded fast from his memories—tatters of red and engine-oil black. Violet stars and dust. Planets. Death. Gerald shuddered. His mind wouldn’t form anything substantial from the dream other than a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and the urge to shit. He looked at the time display that floated on the screen of the wall terminal. It was 3:45 in the morning.
    He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned so suddenly that a hot lance of pain shot down his neck. A pudgy kid, clutching a small flashlight in one hand, dashed into Gerald’s washroom. The narrow door slammed shut behind him.
    “Hey, kid! What the hell?” Gerald shouted.
    A heartbeat later, Gerald was standing; any hope of getting back to sleep fell to the floor like the cast-off bed sheets. If this kid was trying to rob him, he’d have more success going out the front door, not into the bathroom. Stupid. Gerald pulled the door open and snapped on the light.
    The bathroom was empty. Every single hair on his body stood on end. Gerald’s reflection stared back at him from the mirror. He had seen the kid go in there, plain as day. Gerald swallowed hard. He pulled back the plastic shower curtain. Empty.
    He dropped his eyes to the floor. A metal object sat on the oval bath mat. Gerald knelt down and picked it up. It was an aluminum soda can. The thing looked old; the material had begun to oxidize. Gerald felt another chill coming on and tossed the can into the garbage.
    He stepped out of the washroom and looked at the bed. There was no way he was going back to sleep. He clicked on the rack light and rummaged around in his discarded clothing until he retrieved Donovan Cortez’s card. Gerald went to the terminal and inserted it into the reader. It went directly to voicemail.
    “Donovan. Gerald. Send me the coordinates and send me the cash. I’ll leave as soon as Bean is ready.”
    Getting off the station as often as possible would be a good thing.

(Part V)
     
    Gerald frowned and ran his hand over welding points that were both bloated and ugly. Bean might not have been the prettiest ship in the galaxy, but one thing was for damn sure: he’d been a hell of a lot prettier before the colony-ship-turned-slagheap rearended him.
    “Good morning, Gerald.”
    “ It’s afternoon,” Gerald countered and turned. Donovan Cortez stood on the flight deck along with Ina at his side; his bespectacled eyes examined the hauler.
    “Actually, it is morning,” said Donovan.
    “Whatever. I got your coordinates. You didn’t have to come and send me off. I do appreciate the gesture.”
    “We’re coming with you,” Cortez said and took a step toward the ship, a bright smile on his face.
    “That is entirely out of the question.” Gerald held out a warding hand.
    “Gerald, I’m paying you quite well. Well enough that you should have no problem taking two passengers with you.”
    “Bean is a hauler, not a transport vessel; she can’t hold more than two passengers. Sorry, pops.”
    Donovan looked back up at the ship. His brow creased for a moment before he spoke again.
    “Well, in that case, I’ve never enjoyed space flight. You’ll just have to take Ina with you. I’ll wait here.”
    “No.” Gerald didn’t want anyone green on his ship. Different people reacted to space in different ways. He didn’t want to take the chance that Ina Cortez would go nutso on him.
    “Gerald, I need to send someone along to make sure my interests are kept in mind,” Donovan insisted.
    “Are you saying you don’t trust me?” Gerald raised his brows.
    “Would I place my daughter’s safety in your hands if I didn’t?” Donovan said. “I will pay you an additional fee for taking Ina as a passenger.”
    Gerald sighed—more money was more money. A dock hand holding a welding torch stood at the far