Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 105 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: science fiction, fantasy magazine, short story, science fiction magazine, fantasy, magazine, novelette, short stories, clarkesworld
Publisher: Wyrm Publishing
Published: 2015-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

“See?” said Wu. “We’re not just dealing with an incongruent neotopological metaeuclidean adjacency. We’re dealing with a periodic incongruent neotopological metaeuclidean adjacency.”

“Which means . . . ”

“The adjacency comes and goes. With the Moon.”

“Sort of like PMS.”

“Exactly. I haven’t got the figures adjusted for daylight savings time yet, but the Moon is on the wane, and I’m pretty sure that after today, Frankie will be out of the illegal dumping business for a month, at least.”

“Perfect. So we come back next month.”

“Irv, I don’t want to take the chance. Not with a million dollars at stake.”

“Not with a what?” He had my attention.

“That LRV cost two million new, and only three of them were made. Once we get it out, all we have to do is contact NASA. Or Boeing. Or the Air & Space Museum at the Smithsonian. But we’ve got to strike while the iron is hot. Give me a couple of hundred bucks and I’ll give you a fourth interest.”

“A half.”

“A third. Plus the P1800.”

“You already gave me the P1800.”

“Yeah, but I was only kidding. Now I’m serious.”

“Deal,” I said. But instead of giving Wu two hundred, I plucked the five hundred-dollar bills out of his hand. “But you stick to the numbers. I do all the talking.”

We got it for six hundred. Non-refundable. “What does that mean?” Wu asked.

“It means you boys own the dune buggy—whether you get it out of the cave or not,” said the old man, counting his money.

“Fair enough,” said Wu. It didn’t seem fair to me at all, but I kept my mouth shut. I couldn’t imagine a scenario in which we would get our money back from the old man, anyway.

He went back to work on the engine of the 122, and Wu and I headed for the far end of the yard. We found Frankie rolling tires through the shed door: pop, pop, pop. The pile by the fence was as big as ever. He waved and kept on working.

Wu set down the shopping bag and pulled out two of those spandex bicycling outfits. He handed one to me, and started taking off his shoes.

I’ll spare you the ensuing interchange—what I said, what he said, objections, arguments, etc. Suffice it to say that, ten minutes later, I was wearing black and purple tights under my coveralls, and so was Wu. Supposedly, they were to keep our skin from blistering in the vacuum. Wu was hard to resist when he had his mind made up.

I wondered what Frankie thought of it all. He just kept rolling tires through the doorway, one by one.

There were more surprises in the bag. Wu pulled out rubber gloves and wool mittens, a brown bottle with Chinese writing on it, a roll of clear plastic vegetable bags from the supermarket, a box of cotton balls, a roll of duct tape, and a rope.

Frankie didn’t say anything until Wu got to the rope. Then he stopped working, sat down on the pile of tires, lit a cigarette, and said: “Won’t work.

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