Free Earth vs. Everybody by John Swartzwelder

finger in your ear all the time?” he asked, suddenly.
    “I think there’s
something in there,” I explained. “I’m pretty sure there is.”
    “Leave it alone.”
    “All righty.”
    “And stop singing
that song about something being in your ear. It’s annoying.”
    “I think singing
the song helps me find it.”
    “Stop it.”
    “Right.”
    After a few more
drinks he spoke again. “I came to Earth long before you were born.”
    “When?”
    “1970.”
    “Well, actually…”
    “Long before you
were born, I came to your filthy little planet.”
    “In 1970?”
    “Yes. January 9 th .”
    “Well, actually,
I was born in 19…”
    “It was a flawed
world. But I put it right.”
    “Good for you.
But you see in 1970 I was…”
    “Do not interrupt
me ever again.”
    “Oh, right.
Sorry. Go on with what you were saying.”
    He finished off
his bottle, then looked up at me with bleary, hostile eyes. “Hmm? What’s that?”
    “You were telling
me your life story. We’d gotten up to 1970. Go on from there. Give me the whole
story, in your own words.”
    “Shut up.”
    So that’s all I
found out about him that day: 1970 and shut up. It wasn’t much, but it was a
start. I felt I was getting to know the man.
    As we began our
long approach into the spaceport at Alpha Centauri I asked Buzzy why he had
brought me along on this voyage. Did he like me or something? Because I sure
liked him. He said he thought the reason was obvious. He had used me as a
shield on Earth to get to the ship. And, because he was a wanted man all over
the galaxy, he might need to use me as a shield again when we reached the
spaceport. And no, he didn’t like me.
    When we reached
the spaceport and disembarked, Buzzy kept me in front of him at all times, looking
around warily. But no one in the crowded terminal paid any attention to us. If
an alarm had been sounded about Buzzy’s escape from Earth, no one had heard it
here yet. We began re-provisioning the ship and getting it refueled. It looked
like we were preparing for a long journey.
    When everything
was ready to go, Buzzy started climbing back up the ship’s ladder. I followed,
saying: “Where to now, Chief?”
    He pulled out his
gun and shot me. I fell off the ladder, landing on my back on the tarmac. He thought
I was dead, and I tried to play possum, so he’d keep thinking I was dead, but I
talk too much for a possum.
    “You still
alive?” he asked, bending over me and examining me closely.
    I kept completely
still. Not moving a muscle. Not even breathing. “I’m not saying anything,” I
said.
    He
shot me again. This time I really was dead. Or so we both thought.
     

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    I came to in my
usual pool of blood. Not dead, just wishing I was. Not only was my chest sore
from all the ammunition rattling around in it, but I had a splitting headache.
I looked around and found that I was on the floor of the terminal, being kicked
in the head by busy travelers who were hurrying to catch their flights. They
weren’t saving a lot of time by going through me instead of around me, but they
were picking up a few precious seconds. I didn’t blame them. I like shortcuts
too. Judging by the number of lumps on my head, I had been out for two, maybe
three, hours. And judging by the trail of blood, I’d been kicked about 400
yards so far. I was too weak to get to my feet right away, but I found that if
I moved just a little to one side, at an angle, the kicks to my head would push
me out of the main flow of traffic. I could rest up there.
    Buzzy was nowhere
to be seen, thank heavens. I’d had enough of that guy’s company for awhile. And
he had taken our rocket with him, so there was no way for me to get back to
Earth. That was okay with me. Nothing good had ever happened to me there. I was
glad to get away from it. Anyplace in the universe had to be better.
    I couldn’t stay
where I was, of course. Couldn’t stay in the spaceport for the rest of my life.
There were signs