The VMR Theory (v1.1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

dirtside.”
    A horrible thought struck me. “Oh, my God. We’re going to have to give our crew shore leave while we’re here.”
    Spacers traditionally let off steam dirtside, and the steam my bunch generated could power oceangoing vessels. Rosalee shed her inhibitions after the Scupper changed owners, and Harry had none to begin with, so the two of them had approximately the same impact on a town as Attila and his Huns. While most of the places we visited took this sort of thing in stride, I had a feeling the Macdonalds might get a little upset.
    Catarina looked up into the artificial lighting. “You’re right, but there’s no way around it—it’s in their contracts, and it’ll look strange to the Macdonalds if we don’t let them go.”
    Bunkie patted me on the wrist. “Be brave, sir.”
    I looked at her. “Uh, Bunkie, would you consider—” She shook her head. “No, sir. Somebody needs to supervise the Macdonalds unloading the cargo, so I’m going to stay up here where it’s safe.”
    “All right,” I sighed, and I heard Catarina mutter something that might have been a prayer.
    After we got back, Clyde volunteered to help Bunkie watch the ship. I gathered the liberty party on the bridge to read them the riot act. Pulling the prybar out of Rosalee’s pocket, I banged the deck plates. “All right. Everybody listen up.”
    An expectant hush fell over my merry band of Visigoths. I’ve noticed that holding a blunt instrument in a suggestive manner is the best way to appeal to my crew’s better nature.
    “First things first, gang. No riots. None.”
    “Not even a little one?” Rosalee wheedled. Strangers often chat with her on the street, probably on the theory that if they don’t, she might attack.
    “Not even an itsy-bitsy, little one,” Catarina said firmly.
    “That brings me to the subject of cops—no picking fights with the cops.” I folded my arms. “This is not a Confederation planet. If you so much as look at a cop cross-eyed, they’ll throw you in the slammer.”
    “It’ll take about twelve of the oily little toads,” Harry muttered under his breath.
    “Don’t even think about it,” Catarina admonished him sternly. “They’ll shoot you, and they’ll send us a bill for the ammunition.”
    “What a bunch of weenies,” Wyma Jean said.
    I banged the deck plates again with my borrowed prybar. “That brings us to the next item. No insulting language. Do not refer to the locals as ‘oily toads’ or ‘greasers,’ and avoid singing songs that they might find offensive. There’s one song the Macdonalds are particularly sensitive about, and singing it is a felony offense. Even saying ‘E-I-E-I-O’ is enough to land your tail in jail. So let’s not.”
    “Bunch of party poopers,” Rosalee muttered.
    “One moment,” Catarina interrupted. “Harry, are you packing?”
    Harry owns a 12mm Osoro, the kind of weapon that almost qualifies as a handgun but can do double duty as antiaircraft artillery and, if you’re as big as Harry, you can almost conceal it. “Yes, ma’am,” Harry admitted. “Sorry, Harry. It stays, or you do.”
    “Aw, come on, if I leave it, I’ll practically be unarmed down there!”
    She smiled. “That’s the idea.”
    Harry solemnly handed it over to Clyde.
    “Think of yourselves as guests here. Pretend you like these people. Make friends,” I said.
    “And don’t get caught,” Catarina added.
    On that high note we trooped off to the commuter terminal. Like most planets with a real space station, Alt Bauernhof ran regular shuttles from the station to the surface, and Bunkie had booked us seats.
    “Don’t you worry about a thing while you’re at that party, Ken,” Harry assured me as we watched the station recede on the overhead vision screen, “we’re going to do cultural stuff.”
    Minnie and Mickey nodded their heads up and down in unison, which confirmed my worst fears.
    On the viewscreen a small rocket gracefully leaped away from the