Random Chance and the Paradise that is Earth

Random Chance and the
Paradise that is Earth

S
hawn
M
ichel
d
e
M
ontaigne

Copyright 2016 by Shawn Michel de
Montaigne

Smashwords Edition

Thank you for supporting me and respecting my
work.

~~*~~

The manuscript to
Random Chance and the Paradise that is Earth
has been time-stamped.

All Rights Reserved.

All characters in this novel are entirely
fictional.
Any resemblance to real-life individuals is purely
coincidental.

Cover designed by Shawn Michel de
Montaigne.

This Novel is Rated PG-13 by
the Author
Parents: Please Be Advised!

Dedicated to Mother Earth.
May her ostensibly most intelligent species
learn to respect and love her before it’s too late.

Random Chance and the
Paradise that is Earth

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

When you crack the sky, ‘scrapers fill the
air.
Will you keep on building higher
till there's no more room up there?
Will you make us laugh, will you make us cry?
Will you tell us when to live, will you tell us when to die?

--
Cat Stevens

Prologue
~~*~~

Year: 3467 AD
Aboard the UOT
Adelson
, a day out from Mars

“Report."

The captain of the
Adelson
didn't look up
from his palm-pad.

"Sir," said the officer. "I think we've
found him."

"Found who, sailor?"

It wasn't that the information on his
palm-pad was too important to look up from. It was, after all,
nothing more than real estate listings on Rhea.

"Well?"

"We believe it's
The Pompatus
… er,
The Pompatus of
… of,
er,
Love
, er,
sir—"

One didn't speak such nonsense to the
captain. And that included such words like "Pompatus" or "love." It
was enough to release him from the technology in his grip, which he
tossed on the table. He brought his glare to the sailor.

"
Love
?"

"
Pompatus
, yes, sir—"

"And this concerns me
why?
" demanded the
captain of the UOT Adelson.

"It's his ship, sir," said the sailor
quickly. "The traitor’s son’s ship. Random Chance's—"

The captain squinted.
"You
believe
it's
his?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're wasting my time,
Lieutenant! I'm not interested in belief; I want certainty, do you
hear me?
Certainty!
"

"Y-Yes, sir.”

"Make sure it's him. If it is,
pursue and overtake. Now
get
out!
"

Chapter
One
Ninety Degrees of Arc
~~*~~

If I were the king of the world
Tell you what I'd do
I'd throw away the cars and the bars and the war
Make sweet love to you

THE SHIP’S interior was filled with song.
Random Chance emerged from the shower singing:

Joy to the world
All the boys and girls
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me

A great song to wake up to! A true classic,
fifteen hundred Earth-years old.

He trotted up the ladder-stairs to the
bridge, a bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist, one with a
huge peace symbol on it in red and black and surrounded with bright
yellow sunflowers.

You know I love the ladies
Love to have my fun
I'm a high-life flyer and a rainbow rider
A straight-shootin' son of a gun
I said a straight-shootin' son of a gun

The bridge was a well-shielded transparent
bubble forty feet in diameter that extended from the main body of
the vehicle, and could be retracted for landings and emergencies. A
walkway led from the stairs to its circumference. The captain's
chair and propulsion and nav/grav controls were there; below the
walkway were waste disposal and atmo control systems, redundancy
systems, recycling systems and emergency power and life support
overrides.

The Pompatus of Love
was a recreational vehicle, a “Benito,” known by
most as a “sea turtle" for its remarkable similarity to one. Benito
was a defunct spaceship company, one that had been taken over by
the Oligarchy when the Resistance began seven Earth-years ago. Only
a handful of singleships of similar make and model had been
made.

Random plopped down in the captain's chair,
noticing the blinking red light on the console. He quit
singing.

"Hewey, cut the music."

The music cut off instantly. He called up
the data that had sent up the alarm. "Can you give me a
picture?"

"Tryin', man," came the frustrated voice of
the ship’s computer. A moment of silence followed. "It's Oligarchy,
that's for damn sure. I can't seem to get a fix on 'em. All that
military-grade shielding. What I know for sure is that they've
picked up our scent."

Random worked at focusing the 'scopes. Water
from his hair dripped into his lap. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Easy, Random. They popped up just as you
stepped out of the shower. I was about to blow the horn when you
wrapped up in the towel. I knew you were hoofin' it here."

He gazed up. The great orange-red globe of
Mars filled most of the view, casting an angry glow on everything.
He looked over the data on the center screen.

He was known to the Oligarchy. Being the son
of arguably its most famous traitor did that. Too, he’d had a few
run-ins for what passed for their version of the law.

"Six hours to landing. Best guess, Hewson:
Will they overtake us by then?"

"Crunchin' the numbers," responded the
computer. "It ain't lookin' good, amigo. Best case gives us three
and a half hours before the piggies overtake us."

"Worst case?"

"Something closer to two."

He cursed under his
breath.
"Good times, bad times, you know I
had my share …"

"What's the word, El Honchorito?"

He shook his head, sighed, and
sat back. "No decision
to
make. Shift course away from Mars—but gentle-like,
so that they don't think we're makin' a run for it. Cut
deceleration and retract the bridge just in case their eggs
florentine were spoiled and they aren't in the mood to talk
nice."

He stood, took his towel from around his
waist and wiped down the chair, then re-wound it about his
hips.

"Where you off to, amigo?"

"The kitchen. I'm starving."

~~*~~

Even up close the UOT
Adelson
was hard to see.
Perhaps a hundred meters away, its great bulk was obscured by its
shielding, which distorted the space around it and made his eyes
water.

"Piggies at the doorstep," reported Hewey.
"Damn strange they haven't hailed us, doncha think?"

"They want us to run," said Random. "I know
the trick. Dad warned me about it. They're lookin' for an excuse to
blow us out of the sky. They want to scare us into making a rash
decision. I'm guessing that the Martians have got their eyes on the
action up here—and not all those peepers are Garkies. They're
loathe to ruin their PR."

"What, that they're scum-sucking
bastards?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"What're your orders?"

He shrugged, nodded. "Hail 'em. Send the
standard info—license, proof of insurance, and registration. But
make the comm beam wide, and turn it all the way up."

"How wide you talkin'?"

"Oh, ninety degrees should cover it."

Hewey chuckled.

~~*~~

It's not that the Oligarchs
didn't have a sense of humor. Well, at least they'd once heard of
something
called
humor, because it took over forty separate hails before they
answered—hails that, turned up all the way and broadcast to half
the universe, would be heard by every 'scope this side of the Oort
Colonies. For that reason it was illegal. It tended to muck up the
works for passing ships.

Which was precisely what Random wanted.

Hewson was still laughing.

"I gotta tell ya, Captain,”
said Hewey between chuckles, “you've got kahonies. I just hope they
don’t turn
The Pompatus
into so much scrap after this is over and lock you
up on Phobos …"

Random had eaten breakfast
(scrambled eggs and sausage) and gone back to his bedroom. He lay
now on his bed reading
The Autobiography
of Malcolm X
, a banned book in Garky space.
Random's father, before he had been incinerated for treason, had,
without Random's knowledge, uploaded his entire library to
The Pompatus of Love
before the Garky courts had it deleted, including
Malcolm X
. Random looked
away from the ghost screen, which floated just above his
head.

"They won't."

"Well, it's about time …" said Hewey.

Random looked away from the screen. "They
finally decide to answer?"

Hewey didn't respond, but played the
incoming message:

"Civilian recreational vehicle, you will
dock in bay five. Prepare to be boarded."

The female voice was cold and
unemotional.

"Can you handle it?" asked Random.

"Already on it," said Hewey. "You should
probably get dressed. We'll be expectin' company within fifteen
minutes."

Random touched the ghost screen, which
flickered out of existence, and sat up. "What's the word on the
local fuzz?"

"Three out from Phobos, headin'
straight this way. Ground has ordered us to land at Olympus
Southeast
I-mmediately
."

"Good, good," said Random, pulling on a
black Whitesnake T-shirt and button-up denims.

"Like starvin' pigs to the trough," chuckled
Hewey. "Funny how piggies never learn."

~~*~~

At least they didn't cuff him.

He wasn't sure that was a good sign.

Three armed guards led him
from
The Pompatus
'
airlock. Random greeted them with index finger and middle finger
extended and splayed. "Peace, baby. Take me to your
leader."

He could hear Hewey chuckle in his ear.

He was marched down austere and sterilized
halls. A soothing color, taupe, he thought. Or so he had heard. To
him it looked like last night's hangover.

Soldiers (sailors? He wasn't sure what to
call them) uniformed in black and olive green passed without
noticing him. Good ol' Garkies. Random greeted some of them as they
came within earshot.

"Peace, man." "Make love not war." "Women.
Can't live with 'em, can't cut 'em in half with your little ray
gun." "Flyin' straight ain't no way to live, son …" "It's time to
show your cards, buzz-cut."

The escorting soldiers did nothing to shut
him up.

Hewey laughed the entire time—except for the
comment on women, to which he said: "Random, c'mon now, man. This
is serious. You gotta have your 'A' game goin'."

Another hall, this one much longer and wider
than the others. Random wondered why he wasn't simply whisked to
his destination on a lift.

At the end was open space. Mars glowered in
the window.

This had to be the bridge.

He had never been admitted to a warship's
bridge before, not even when his father was alive. It was a very
large room, with soldiers or sailors or whatever you call them
sitting in a wide circle around him, manning God-knows-what
computer stations to God-knows-what ends.

At the other side of a catwalk stood a man
inside a raised horseshoe-shaped control panel. They crossed the
walk, approached him.

The guard directly behind him spoke up. "The
detainee, sir." He pushed him in the back with the point of his
gun.