Chapter 3. The problem.

If it wasn’t for the experience of seeing two suns in the sky, there wouldn’t be much to recommend the encampment at Proximi Centauri 3. Even then, there weren’t that many windows or skylights to take advantage of the view. It was a puny little planet, with just 60 percent of the Earth’s gravity. The main encampment was more or less like several huge shopping malls linked together — enough to keep about 35,000 people comfortable.

It still was a pretty small town in those days, so tourists preferred the resorts of Barnard’s Star or the Sirius 4 cultural attractions. Of course, the Sirius 4 declaration of independence put a little bit of a question mark over its tourism industry, seeing as how nobody was sure whether the Powers That Be were going to let Sirius 4 just up and be free and all. But for the moment, we’re on Proximi Centauri 3, so we’ll leave that subject be — for the moment.

The Betsy Ross hovered over the launch pad for several seconds, and then Whelan touched her down and cut the ImagDrive. It was the next day and they were light years from Earth — people were still getting used to the idea of spaceships that rushed through space at twice the speed of imagination, even though that pretty nifty trick had been around long enough to colonize a few planets in nearby star systems. The trip to PC-3 had taken a little under 12 hours, kind of long by today’s standards, of course, but in those days it was almost miraculous time.

Pete Wong was quiet as he helped Whelan settle the ship into the dock. Whether his partner’s leering suggestions about Pete’s private moments with Snooky were accurate were, of course, none of our business. Still, there was no denying Pete’s mind was on the small, deceptively slight woman whose well-being brought them to this encampment.

“Bob,” Pete said as they keyed the final shutdown command into the computer, “do you think you and Baxter could handle things for a little while? I want to check out the tavern as soon as I can.”

“Yeah, sure, maybe Bax and I can get some work done while you go off and rub noses with Snooky,” the skipper replied. “The work can wait, old buddy. We don’t have to unload right away, and I’d just as soon guzzle a beer and get the latest on your lady’s little problem.”

“I wouldn’t say she’s specifically my lady,” Pete said with a grin, “but I guess I was hoping we could all get over there first.”

PC-3 may have been a pioneer outpost, but it wasn’t without the comforts of home — it did have a Wal-Mart and a small tourist industry. Alpha Centauri and its twin had, after all, been the closest and therefore the first destination outside of our own solar system, so it had quickly joined Plymouth Rock and Tranquillity Base as places to go for history-minded tourists. And now that Tranquillity Base and the rest of the moon had quietly dissolved into rings around the Earth, the PC-3 Science Park was the best off-Earth space frontier museum.

Still, as I said, Barnard’s Star had more luxurious and romantic resorts, and Sirius 4 grew a lot faster because that planet is more suited to the human animal. PC-3 had come down in people’s esteem from the bright new hope in the sky to just another nice place to live, not necessarily to visit. As such, walking its corridor was more like striding down the streets of a small, solid blue-collar town than a gleaming city of lights in outer space.

And perhaps the most blue-collar square footage in all of PC-3 were the confines of Snooky’s Tavern. Walk through its doors and you were back on Earth at your favorite corner bar, except for the point-six gravity. And after the long drive from Earth — well, OK, it was a short drive compared to what it would’ve been without the Imaginary Space Drive to zap them four light years, but it was a long drive compared to say, Milwaukee to Chicago — the doors to Snooky’s sounded extremely inviting.

“By golly, that looks like Jeff Hamilton,” Baxter Hetznecker said as they got close to Snooky’s but not quite shouting distance.

“Who does?”

“That guy there, who just came out of the bar,” Baxter said. “Ah, I can’t see him anymore. He musta turned the corner.”

“So who’s Jeff Hamilton, if we may be privy to such information?” Whelan asked.

“Old buddy of mine from Special Forces,” Hetznecker replied. “We used to run the kids through commando training together. I wonder what he’d be doing out here.”

The first thing they noticed when they entered Snooky’s Tavern was that several items of glass were broken, including the big old-fashioned mirror behind the bar. The second thing they noticed was that Snooky wasn’t immediately in evidence. The third thing they noticed was the groan behind the beautiful oak-finish bar.

Pete Wong rushed back to find Snooky lying in the remains of the mirror. Her lip was swollen and bleeding, and she had a lot of little cuts on her skinny but powerful arms from the glass. The famous bat tattoo on her bicep looked like it had taken a bite out of something and was dripping blood from its fangs.

“What happened, Snooky?” Pete asked, lifting her gently by the shoulders. She brushed bits of mirror from her apron.

“Some dumbass just beat me up and tossed me into the mirror, what does it look like?” said the toughest lady on PC-3. “He just went out the door.”

Baxter’s usually rubbery face set itself into a steely look of disbelief and sudden determination. He dashed out and raced around the corner, where he thought he’d seen his former colleague go.

“How much did the guy get away with?” Whelan asked over Pete’s shoulder.

“Nothin’ but my pride. I only got in a couple of licks with this,” she said, brandishing a small club. “Guy wasn’t after money, just me. He’s gotta be from Creative Leisure.”

“Is that the bunch that wants to buy your place?” Pete said.

“Yeah. He said if he has to come back, the next time he won’t stop at cuts and bruises.”

Baxter Hetznecker returned. “I lost him.” That was not a good sign. Only a master could elude the master tracker who used to be commander of training for Special Forces.

“They’re going beyond threats now, Snook,” Pete said. “You better call the police.”

She snorted. “I don’t need cops. He’s gonna need an army to make me give up this place.”

“If he’s who I think, you need all the help you can get,” said Baxter Hetznecker, his putty face suddenly set in stone. “This guy is an army all by himself.”

Next: Chapter 4. The detective.