Bad News from Orbit [Paperback]

Ken Rand (Author), Arthur Roberg (Illustrator)

Book Description

Publication Date: March 2004

Welcome to Berenson Corp. Station Number One--or "the One" as the locals call it. During your visit to this orbital city, which hangs around the blackened cinder once called Earth, make sure you stop by the Waeferer's Siding, that infamous bar owned by Stamper Clyme. Order a Teenan's Blend and listen to the stories about Pete Amundsen, a TSIN newsie with a thirst for independence and truth, and about the mysterious Collector who runs the One's underground. Just remember to watch your back, protect your wallet, and above all, enjoy your stay.

Editorial Reviews

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

I knew the instant I walked into the Waeferer's Siding that I'd more likely leave as an organ donor than as a Kirov Prize for Journalism candidate. An outer ring runway informant had tipped me that I'd find CMC Sgt. George Horiuchi in the pub. I wanted to be the first newsworker on Berenson Corp. Station Number One--or "the One," as everybody called the orbital city--to interview Horiuchi after what Colonial Marine Corp execs had called his "selfless bravery in the face of enormous odds, blah, blah," and "single-handedly securing an amicable resolution of the Spiratz Mining Division Altercation, etc. blah, blah." CMC media releases were pure static, so I wanted to talk to Horiuchi himself, away from his handlers, to get the real story, to find out how he really won the war. Many newsworkers covered the "Altercation," as the government called the rebellion on Spiratz, but maybe my runway sources were better than others were, or maybe I just got lucky, I don't know. Anyway, Slinky Tomasi, one of my contacts, earned his extra twenty-mark chip for being the first to find Horiuchi. I flipped Slinky what he called his "eyeball coin" and got to the Waeferer's quick. Who knew which of my rivals Slinky would deliver the same message to next or how long I had before the pub looked like an Intersystem Newsworkers' Assn. convention? Who knew if Horiuchi would talk to me at all? Still, I had to try. Waeferer's Siding is a notorious hangout for shipcrew, dockhands, stimpeddlers, thieves, smugglers, and various n'er-do-wells. It was on the city rim, heavier spin grav so cheaper rent. I'd heard that it once had a realtime view of Earthome, that smoking, toxic black cinder where people used to live, if you want to call it that. But those old transparent plates against the outer wall had probably been covered with posters and vids long ago. Who wanted to see that toxic wasteland, a sore spot in the spinning starscape? The Waeferer's Siding had become legendary as the place where Adrian "Doc" Kennedy lased his former shipmate, the outlaw Percy Diego, two years past. CMC execs had posted the place off-limits to grunts on R&R, but that didn't impress Horiuchi. Stamper Clyme, the Waeferer's owner-operator, became wary of the media after the Kennedy-Diego shoot-out. On the one hand, the publicity helped business. On the other, it drew too much attention from authorities. Company gendarmes descended on the pub and had a field day clearing out their "most wanted" files. Tourists, slumming, looking for local color, stole ashtrays and towels until Clyme started a gift shop next door as a sideline. He wasn't excited to see my ident on the entry keypad. "Peter Amundsen," he muttered as he scanned my card readout, "TransSystem InfoNet. Newsworker." He spat as if he'd just bitten into a rotten pitflower seed, and made no move to key entry. By Intersystem Convention Code, he couldn't deny entry to anyone not proscribed by a federal Interdiction Tag, but ICC regs didn't prevent him from making it clear with his unwelcoming gaze that he was the boss and he wouldn't tolerate anything or anybody harassing his customers. "You pleasuring, newsie, or you working?" He stood before the portal, folded arms and spread feet, a massive immovable rock, body language reinforcing a malevolent frown under a thick, black brow. "I'm entering, Mr. Clyme." My voice did not quiver. I'd been with TSIN for a few years. I started out in FashionWatch and moved up from there. I knew the ways. He hesitated, until I moved to key on my recorder implant at my left temple. He snorted something unpleasant and tapped the portal field to neutral. I stepped in. He closed the field behind me.

Product Details

• Paperback: 124 pages
• Publisher: Silver Lake Publishing (March 2004)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1931095817
• ISBN-13: 978-1931095815
• Product Dimensions: 8.5 x 5.5 x 0.3 inches
• Shipping Weight: 5.9 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
• Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #9,033,990 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)