Escape Read Online Free PDF

dangerously small.
    Kieran braced himself, gripping the arms of his flight chair hard enough to make indentations in the synthetic material. AI's don't make mistakes. AI's don't make mistakes. AI's don't —
    The Fat Chance sailed through the gap with seemingly only micró-astroms on either side. Kieran let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and then watched on his rear display screen as the hangar doors immediately began closing after him.
    He keyed his comm: “Control, what's the big idea? Trying to give me a heart attack?”
    A suspicious hiss of static came over the comm. Robotic laughter? “Sorry, prospector five sixty-seven, just trying to improve efficiency ratings. There have been rumors of a coming memory wipe.”
    Kieran snorted and shook his head. “Well, if you don't watch it, I'm going to come up there and do it myself.”
    Another hiss of static. “FMG company policy, article 11, section b, subsection II. On the treatment of automatons: Only a registered technician may perform maintenance on company automatons. Unauthorized modification is grounds for dismissal and punitive charges — in layman's terms — ” An electronic raspberry followed.
    Kieran silenced the comm with a stab of his finger. He had a pretty good idea about the reasons for the rumored memory wipe. Nothing to do with efficiency.
    The Fat Chance coasted through the cavernous hangar, past tiny flitters, boxy transports (freelance traders mostly), and even a few of the smaller yachts and corvettes of the company execs. With their smooth lines, and gleaming hulls, those corvettes, and to a lesser extent, the yachts, always gave Kieran a pang of envy to look at. Of course, these corvettes and yachts were nothing compared to some. The largest ships required a dedicated airlock or a shuttle to dock with the station.
    Finding an empty berth, the remote pilot turned his flitter around and reversed into the space, being careful to line up airlock to airlock. A few minutes after the Fat Chance came to a stop, Kieran felt more than heard the subtle clunk of the docking tube extending from the station to connect with the matching portal at the back of his ship.
    As Kieran unbuckled his flight harness and spun his flight chair around to face the airlock behind him, his comm crackled to life:
    “Docking successful. Welcome back to FMG Outpost 110, prospector five sixty-seven.”
    Was it too much to ask for the flight controllers to remember his name? They're AI's, after all, perfect recall and all that. Then again, there's probably a company policy about being too friendly to employees .   .   .   .
    Kieran stood up from his chair and cycled the airlock doors. His ship's sensors noted the presence of atmosphere in the docking tube, and both sets of doors inside his airlock cycled open at the same time, revealing the docking tube and the station beyond. Kieran started through the docking tube at a brisk pace. It was going to be quite a walk to get to the claims office.
     
    * * *
     
    “What do you mean you haven't received a transmission yet? I watched the buoy impact on the surface!”
    The claims officer, Dennis Liquay, was sitting at his desk, steepling his chubby fingers in front of his double chin. “I don't know what to tell you, Kieran. Did you remember to verify the signal strength?”
    “Of course I verified it! I mean, I didn't have to, right? How often does a buoy fail?” Kieran shot out of his chair, and began pacing around the office. A vein was pulsing insistently in his forehead. He impatiently massaged the area, squinting his eyes against an encroaching headache. Kieran stopped pacing and turned to face the claims officer.
    Dennis was shaking his head. “You'll have to go back and tag it again.”
    “You know how much that's going to cost me? I don't even have the money to do that!”
    Dennis shrugged and offered a mushy frown. He diverted his attention to some paperwork on his desk, as if the discussion were over.