I stared at my comp with disgust. 13 hours correcting idiot mistakes by customers with classic “Gummint School” educations were not the greatest way to “make my day”.

The message was enough to almost stop my heart! I quickly texted Mariana and asked “Just leaving job site, did you feed the dog this morning?” Having carefully concealed the fact that we had had to put down the dog the year before, I was sure it would not be noticed. Being the Vet’s network administrator helped greatly. Give someone something for free and they ask very few questions.

I then went to Grandpas old vault site and pulled out the carefully prepared boxes. Grandpas matched Colt Series 70’s and Grandmas left handed Randalls along with the two AMT Off Duties. Checked qiuckly that there are six mags for each and 500 rounds of .45 ACP per person.

The big Gerber Mark IIs were in there as well as the Bill Kane skinners.

Parking two blocks from the house, I went in through the back gate and retreived the two Max-Ruck back packs and carry bags we had brought home from the service.

I quickly called a friend at work and said “Bob, Mariana and I are going to run over to Dallas for the weekend. Could you watch the place for us? Naw, bussiness for her, hobby for me. Shes got some property in a deal and I want to play at the Dell/HP/Intel memorial. Yeah, see you Monday!” With everyone looking East, we were ready to go West.
I opened the home safe and removed 3 labels “UNWG Communications-Crypto Security”, the only good thing to come from Gummint contracts. Slapped them on the three retrieved cases and called the courier service for expedited pick-upat Mustang Corners.
Out the back door and 15 min. to Mustang Corners. Mariana was waiting there with her emergency kit already changed into her traveling clothes. 5 minutes later the courier pick-up arrived; they were used to this. Drops from here were a standard routine of mine for multi-customer trips. Two minutes after that the boxes were on the the way to HOR/Lancer ramp; with luck they would beat us there.

I changed in the public Rest room and the then it was on the road to Phoenix SkyHarbour SpacePort.

No problem at the check-in, with our bank accounts why? Glad to see that the big guy had actually created the “cruise” and all the relavent references. That made me a little more sure that this guy was not a UNWG plant. We were at max risk at that point.

Then of course, the bad point. Some Security Drone wants to know why Mariana is carrying fifteen circuit boards on the top of her ruck. Her carefully rehearsed answer is perfect, “Ask the damn inventor who can not leave his job behind for a damn vacation!” Looking fairly stupid I show the drone my ID and the microtool kit at the top of my ruck. ” I just could not fit them in the same bag I said and I am working on another patent.” I got the stupid GEEK look we were hoping for and moved on. Funny, they did not look any farther. Give the drones somthing easy to quetion and they think they have done there job
The idiots had missed the real treasure, the fruits of my first patent. A little HP 100020 with 240 Terabytes of memory built on my patent. People thought I had sold too cheaply, they did not know about that little baby. All I needed was a sun to keep it running, it and the four clones stashed throughout our rucks. In every root directory was a lovingly protected copy of “How Things Work”, Grandpas little boy was not going to run stupid.

Paranoid, of course we were. For ten years we had been the “Blue Helmets” best hitters. If we could not see the problem, who the hell could?

Finally arrivaing at HOR we were greeted by an obvious security type flashing StelCo ID.

“LTC Stuart and SFC Stuart I believe?”

“And who is asking?”

“A friend believe me and could you get you hand off of that CIA letter opener?”

Laughing we relaxed and told him we needed to go to the frieght ramp for Lancer.

He then laughed and said “for those three cases strapped on top of your rucks? And belive me, I do not want to know!”

I breathed deeply and relaxed for the first time in ten hours!

Free at last!!!

When I got the message that we were leaving right away I was out in the wild, unruly darkness, on top of Big Nose Mountain, foraging for food for my family in hiding. The wind was biting and cold for the time of year and you could feel rain in the offing. I had had a good night of it though. It is amazing how easy it is to steal from fat, complacent bureaucrats. I had already pilfered three power packs, enough food for weeks, from someone’s back porch storeroom, when I felt the PDA begin to whir. I always carry my special little homemade toy, mostly so my folks back at the cave can contact me if something happens.

This time is wasn’t my family calling.

I whistled softly to the dog and slipped back over the edge of the mountaintop.

Truly packing was the easy part of leaving behind everything I have ever known. We had only been able to bring essentials when we went to the hiding place in the caves across the river from the home farm anyhow. It has been months since the food and livestock inspectors came to arrest my father for insubordination. Luckily we got wind of it beforehand, took what we could carry, and hid in the limestone caves in the mountain. We only had to brush aside a couple of hundred rattlesnakes denning in the main cave to make a sort of comfortable camp. (Did you know how bad snakes stink?) We weren’t the first to use that hiding place.

The caves made a safe hideout and means of secret travel for the Mohawk Indians before the American Revolution, back when our ancestors were getting ready to fight for the liberty that is lost to us now. Anyhow, I have been living out of a container for months now. All I had to do was close the lid and latch it.

In the case are my few clothes, some herb seeds from Mama’s medicinal garden back at the farm and a couple of my grandfather’s journals. I don’t have much in the way of modern technological toys. Not even one of those wrist pad communicator things, just that clunky little PDA that my uncle built over for me. You would be amazed what that little chunk of plastic can do though. My uncle was the pure-D king of code back in his day and there isn’t much in the hands of the UNWG that could begin to touch the capabilities of that teeny tiny outdated-looking toy computer. I’m glad I have it.

Family good-byes were brief. Dad is so sunken into himself now that nothing seems to even register on his consciousness any more and Mama spends all her strength tending to him. I had her braid my hair for me one last time though. There was always a sense of special closeness between us, when her strong brown fingers wove their magic and tamed my tangled mess of curls. I shouldn’t have taken the time, but I needed to feel her touch.

I will have to hack it off before we leave I guess.

I am staggered by how much I miss them already. We have always been together.

Always.

I pray we can bring them along later, although I suspect that it won’t happen. I wish there had been space for them. I wish the powers that be had at least let me tell them I was going. They think I am just heading off planet to try to renew the farming permits.

I suppose it seems wrong but it’s even harder to leave Nero, my Border collie. He was born into my hands ten years ago, from old Neara’s last litter. He has been following about two paces behind me for most of that time, keeping me safe and lucky. I must have turned around and tripped over him a thousand times today. He knew, somehow, that something was happening and followed me around the hiding place as I packed the last bits, whining softly. When the time came, I knelt beside him, looked deep into his chocolate eyes and hugged him. He leaned his long, dark face against my chest and sighed. He knew all right. At least they are letting us bring DNA from our pets on this wild and crazy journey. I have samples from him and from Mama’s cat, Chubby. Not that he is chubby any more, but he still an old sweetie. We also brought material from most of the farm animals when we went to the caves. I am bringing that too.

Still cloning never produces the same creature, just the same potential. Geez, it is so hard not to bawl. I know I will never see my dog again. Odds are my family will be lost to me forever too. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I should do this. But how can I not?

Uncle also left us an ancient transporter and I am just praying that it will get me where I have to go. And quickly.

So it is finally here. I stared at my portable communicator and without opening the message I knew, by the header address, what it meant. I had been cooling my heals for the last 3 months at the cabin. I have owned this cabin at the edge of an abandoned military reservation since my early days in the force. My wife and I had come here with our son many a weekend for fishing and BBQ. This was in the days before open fire cooking was outlawed. Before it was deemed by the powers that be that the smoke from BBQ was dangerous to the environment and could cause cancer in people downwind. It was way before eating animals was outlawed and fishing, even in my private pond, was deemed cruel to the fish, therefore a violation to the human rights of the fish.

This was before I lost my wife to an undiagnosed uterine cancer growth. The doctor lamented that had she gotten a test 6 months before, he could have saved her. Too bad there was a 2 year waiting list for pap smears.

It has been 8 years since I lost Jenny. The lost hit me hard. I had lost troopers in the far out corners of shit hole countries. But at least my troopers died doing what they believed in. The love of my life died for lack of a 30 credit test. All that kept me going was my son, daughter in law and 3 grand kids. I am still shocked that my son had actually won his fight with the UN Population Control Agency and gotten permission to have all 3; 2 girls and a boy. My son was determined to have a boy and refused to allow the doctor to do a gender selection procedure on his wife Linda. The third time was the charm. John Patrick Henry Seaworthy III or little Jack was a bright boy and the pride of his grandfather. Little Jack held my hand during Jenny’s funeral and sat quietly and strong by my side. Jack was strong and smart. He was fiercely independent, just like his father. And that independence is what cost him his life.

The PoliScy teacher had started a discussion praising the confiscation of all privately owned firearms. Little Jack, using history and the constitution as his guide, argued that the confiscation was unconstitutional. The shocked teacher forwarded the e-com to the BATFE-C with a note claiming that Jacks family must be a bunch of illegally armed radicals. I was in an offsite dig when the vid arrived via wireless. The UNWG enforcers raided my son’s house in the middle of the night. Fearing a home invasion, my son ran downstairs armed with a flash light and a baseball bat. The UNWG-E responded with fully automatic fire followed by rifle grenades into the bedrooms. They claimed it was necessary for their safety, since junior had shown overt aggression. There were no weapons in the house (my guns are buried out here in the cabin). They issued no apology. They claimed the officers committed no crime.

After staring at the five white coffins, laid side by side at the family plot, besides my Jenny’s tombstone, I have had enough. An old friend from the force, works security for the CEO of the mining company I work for. He pulled me to the side after the funeral and offered me a way out. I would travel in secret to an off site and start over. My only entry fee is going to be the labor I can provide once we get there. A fresh beginning, away from the ghosts of my past. I have nothing left on earth. Nothing left to loose. I have lost it all.

Packing was easy, as I had nothing to take. My years in the force had taught me to travel light and do with very little. The material things on earth only give me pain. I carry a back pack with clothing, a memstick with my favorite vids and family photos, and my Jenny’s wedding ring. I need nothing else. As I flew away from the cabin I fought the urge to look back. Too many memories, too much pain. It was time to go.

November 23, 2052 2:27am.

     The 90 decibel blast of Stan Roger’s “Witch of the Westmorlands” blaring from my alarm immediately got my attention. Yelling “OFF!“ a bleary eyed glance at the 6 inch letters scrolling across the ceiling brought me totally awake. The first thing I thought was, “12 hours, 2 bags, and my personal craft to “HOR-Sat“. Can I Even do it?” It would have been much easier if I actually owned a personal craft that could reach orbit rather than an 18 year old syn-fueled roadie. The transponder ID codes would never let me take a borrowed flier to orbit so that was out of the question. I suppose I could have gotten a friend to take me up to the Hilton, or even to Chicago Port, but I couldn’t put that good a friend into the position of abetting something that was fast on it’s way to becoming a criminal act. A Net check showed that if I made Green Bay by 8:50 a flight would get me to Chicago’s Spaceport in time for the 11:42 Getaway Special . I was able to book a seat on both flights, maxing out the credit line on both of my cards, and printed out the confirmed boarding passes. Since it was a bit under four hours to Green Bay that left me left me with just over two hours to pack. No Guts No Glory….I‘m Going!

     First the Clothing, Boots and an Extra Pair of Hiking Shoes. That took up most of the Suitcase. Then… Stuffed in the extra space and Carry On Bag:

     Real Paper Notebooks, Pens and Pencils, Chocolate, Tin of Peanut Brittle, Solar Cloth, (Six Square Yards folded into the bottom of the Suitcase took up about 3/8^th of an inch of height). Personal Comp and Spare, Photos no Frames, a Bible, Pen Knifes, Data Cubes, Fly Tying Fishing Supplies in a couple of Plastic Boxes including Three Tubes of Glue, a Miniature Vise, and Small Toolkit, (If anyone asks it’s my life long hobby and even on a cruise I must indulge). A Magnifying Glass, Sewing Kit, Bow Strings, they look like fancy twine, tying up the gift wrapping on a Bottle of McPherson’s Scotch, and a Package of Shot Glasses. Shaving Kit, with a few First Aid Supplies, Extra Belt.

     Pack clothing in a Light Canvas Carry Bag inside the suitcase.. Brass Folding Telescope, Harmonica. 2 LED Penlights, 3 Key Clasp Rings, (house, car and luggage). Digital Cam with detachable lens and flash. Another Suitcase with Dress Clothing for the supposed cruise (that‘ll get left behind). Wish I could take Grandad’s Pistol but never get it through the boarding screen. Wait maybe there is a way.

     The bags full but not bulging. I didn’t need anyone wondering why I hadn’t packed another one. Should I message anybody? A call into the Papermill telling them I had to go out of town on a family emergency. It was Saturday and I wouldn’t be missed till Monday, and only then if I got a call in, but still a good idea as I didn’t know how secrete the departure was. Laura? I’ll decide in Chicago. Out the door and gone.

     I was twenty minutes ahead of schedule but blew five of those at the Automail in Marquette, sending two smallish, under 1lb each, packages to myself. Bill Bartlett, care of the Lancer. I would mail the two others from Green Bay. They held, of course, Grandad’s old Glock and 4 extra Mags, broken down in in small enough packages so as to avoid the normal inspections. They ought to make it to the Lancer before I did. At least I hoped they would. The light snowfall wasn’t a problem so I kept it on cruise at five over. I made Green Bay with time to spare and left my roadie in the short term lot. Considering the time of day, 8:30 in the morning, there were surprisingly few people about the terminal. I presented my pass at inspection and was on my way.

     Chicago was a different story. The terminal was packed with travelers, it was the weekend before the Thanksgiving Holiday Week after all, and I was thankful the suitcases were already in the baggage handling system. These days almost none are lost, (cross your fingers Bill), which left just the carry on to get through check in . It contained a strange assortment of stuff but nothing on the proscribed list. The boarding guards had used a lot of time hassling the Couple ahead of me, so except for the few dozen standard personal questions which were pro forma, I thought I had gotten through easily. Didn’t even trip the stress monitors. A couple of quick shots at the Spaceport Grill probably explained that. Then the woman at the data terminal looked up.

     “Mr. Bartlett” she said, “I see here your cards are maxed out. Just how do you intend to pay for all the incidentals on an outer system cruise?”

     I looked at her and said the first thing which came to mind. “It’s all paid for in advance”, and then with a silly grin, “I bought the package plan.”

     She glanced down again at the terminal and punched a few keys, looked at the screen, and then, with a dull perfunctory stare, back to me. “I see, and 3500 on account. Have a nice trip Bill.”

     I hate it when they get friendly. Old man Hamilton, or his AI program, got that part right anyway. Out to the ramp and onto the shuttle, I hadn’t even messaged Laura. What would have been the point?

     Lift off was to the second, (maybe the micro second), and with a powered flight all the way I never even experienced zero gee. It’s amazing when you consider the piloting difficulty of docking with a rotating orbital stations outer rim. All done automatically no doubt. But at “HOR Sat” only the best. We exited the shuttle through a hatch in the roof stepping onto the Resorts outer rim floor. Baggage retrieval first, then I had 40 minutes left to get aboard the Lancer. I made it with minutes to spare towing both suitcases and following the floating holographic arrow. All seemed orderly no alarms, flashing lights, or any outward signs of disturbance. I wondered how those with their own transportation had made out as the flight attendant approached, clipboard, (how archaic), in hand, and welcomed me aboard.

They say that “Getting there is half the battle” but I’m really hoping it was much more than that. Leaving the old solar system left all of us bruised, in more ways than one.Finally, the colonists have been revived and we are two days from orbiting our new home. It will be interesting to see what name we finally give to our world…

It’s a pretty planet with two small moons. I look forward to our making landfall shortly.