Artemis

We puttered along the lazy path toward the Visitor Center. By now you’ve probably figured out my plan. The posse was guarding all the Artemis airlocks, but had they thought to guard the one at the Visitor Center?

Even if they had, they couldn’t beat me there. This was the first train.

The trip took forty minutes, as usual. I managed to sit sort of comfortably on the wheel housing. It wasn’t too bad.

I spent the trip brooding about my predicament. Even if I could make it back inside without getting caught, I was screwed. Trond had hired me to destroy four harvesters. I only trashed three. Sanchez’s engineers would undo my sabotage to the survivor and get it back to work. Their production would be reduced, but they’d still make their oxygen quota.

Trond wouldn’t pay me for this debacle, and I wouldn’t blame him. Not only had I failed, I’d made things harder on him. Now Sanchez Aluminum knew someone was gunning for them.

“Damn…” I said as my stomach knotted up.

The train slowed as it approached the Visitor Center. I hopped off and stumbled to a stop while the train continued on to its alcove.

I bounded over to the Visitor Center and worked my way along the arc of its dome. The Eagle came into view as I rounded the hull. It almost seemed to disapprove. Tsk, tsk. My crew would never pull shit like this.

Then I saw a glorious sight: The EVA airlock was completely unguarded!

Hell yeah!

I rushed to the airlock and opened the outer door, hopped in, and closed the hatch behind me. I cranked the repress valve and heard the hiss of glorious air come at me from all directions.

Even though I was in a hurry, I waited through the air cleanse. Hey, I may be a smuggler, saboteur, and all-around asshole, but I’d never leave my EVA suit dirty.

The cleanse finished and I was clean as a whistle.

Back in town! I’d have to find somewhere in the Visitor Center to hide my EVA gear, but that wouldn’t be a problem. I’d stow it in as many tourist lockers as it took, then come back later with a big container. I’m a porter—I’d just say I was there for a pickup. It wouldn’t even look weird.

I opened the inner airlock door and stepped into salvation.

Except it wasn’t salvation. It was shit. I stepped into shit. The smile on my face quickly changed to a “freshly caught carp” expression.

Dale stood in the antechamber, his arms folded and a half smirk on his face.

Dear Jazz,

Are you all right? I’ve been worried. I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks.

Dear Kelvin,

Sorry, I had to shut off my Gizmo service for a while to save money. I’ve got it back on now. It’s been tough. But I’m starting to get above water.

I made a new friend. Every now and then I scrape together enough money to get a beer at this hole-in-the-wall in Conrad. I know it’s stupid to spend money on booze when you’re homeless, but booze makes homelessness bearable.

Anyway, there’s a regular there named Dale. He’s an EVA master, mostly working out of the Apollo 11 Visitor Center. He does tourist EVAs, stuff like that.

We got to talking and, I don’t know why, but I ended up telling him my problems. He was shocked at my fucked-up situation and offered to lend me some money. I assumed it was a play to get in my pants so I turned him down. I don’t have a problem with prostitutes, but I don’t want to be one.

But he swore up and down that he just wanted to help me out as a friend. Accepting that money was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Kelvin. But I was out of options.

Anyway, I had just enough to pay deposit and first month on a capsule domicile. It’s so small I have to step outside to change my mind (rim shot!) but at least it’s a home. And true to his word, Dale never expected anything in return. Perfect gentleman.

And believe it or not I’m even dating a guy. His name is Tyler. It’s early days, but he’s really sweet. He’s kind of shy, polite to everyone, and sort of a Boy Scout when it comes to rules. So the opposite of me in every way. But we really click. We’ll see how it goes.

You know what? I’ve been selfish lately. I’ve been so focused on me I didn’t even ask about you. How are you handling things?

Dear Jazz,

Good for you! I was worried your experience with Sean would put you off men forever. See? We’re not all bad.