Last Flight For Craggy Read Free

show of changing
images of people showing a fresh one every ten minutes. Frost had
been called away on work duties so Cragg was spending time getting
up to date with them. Mars Base Commander Tagg Potts had finally
made an appearance and he hadn't wasted a minute sampling the
alcohol, conc diluted by one hundred to one, to give the desired
forty proof strength. He passed out drinks on the rocks to Cragg,
Misty Rivers and Fawn Dillow.
    Dillow was
naturally shocked that the Mars Commander, the man in charge of the
planet, was casually drinking booze, one of the most serious
offences on Moon that at least would get him a prison sentence, or
possibly even the death penalty. That she couldn't recall a time
that had actually happened was a testimony to strict laws which
worked. Revelations of an underground black market in all things
illegal shook the very foundations of her sheltered life.
    Potts had an
American heritage. His family was from a place once known as New
York. The hydrogen wars had left it a desolate and empty reminder
of how humans had once been masters of their environment, the
crumbling towers wrecked and filling what had been busy, vibrant
city streets.
    Too many dead
had been left by the survivors to crumble like the buildings, not
even scavengers around to help clear up the remains. Time and the
elements had eventually done the job and their dust had combined
with the city dust, fittingly becoming one with it. Any sadness and
bitterness Potts felt were buried deep and he had dedicated himself
tirelessly to creating a safe place to live.
    'Save some
booze for Frosty when he clocks off,' said Cragg.
    'I'm sure we
won't drink it all tonight,' said Potts. 'Fawn. You don't have to
drink it, if you don't want to.'
    Dillow sniffed
it, then cautiously sipped it. 'Jeez. That would strip paint.'
    Potts laughed.
'Just never accidentally drink the conc. Not unless you're tired of
living. That's why there are skull and crossbones on the labels.
How's yours, Craggy?'
    'Hitting the
spot, Pottsy. Who is this guy?' he asked, nodding at an unfamiliar
face on the slide show.
    'Ah. Joe Dogg,
One of the foremen on the mining gang. Died in an accident four
months ago.'
    'Mine
collapse?'
    'Not this time.
A hydraulic hose burst under pressure. It whipped back and smashed
his visor. Not a nice way to go on this planet. Remember this guy?
Andrew Foreman, the GenMop man?'*
    'Him?'
    'That's the
one.'
    'He died?'
    'No. This is
just to make sure he's not forgotten here.'
    'He's only a
couple of years older than I am,' said Cragg. 'I wonder what he's
up to these days?'
    'The last I
heard he's on Earth still looking after genetically modified
primates, the GenMops and other animals, what few are left. He
still has Monkly the GenMop's offspring with him. Hardly any of the
wildlife primates survived the wars, but the GenMop's in the
laboratories survived, and such rare creatures are sources of
wonder. He does okay, I heard. There's talk of him paying a visit
here one day.'
    'Fantastic.
Still active at his age. He's like me. Got years of useful work in
us. Ninety is the new middle age.'
    Misty said,
'Craggy. Let it go. Retire gracefully.'
    'Easy for a
youngster like you to say, Misty.'
    'Hardly a
youngster. But I do feel ancient next to this lovely young
woman.'
    Dillow guessed
Misty's age to be about the same as Cragg's, but she had worn much
better. Misty, working with Marcia Potts, Tagg's wife, was in
charge of supplies to keep the people fed, clothed and provided
with the basic comforts of life. On a world so underdeveloped, that
was a challenging occupation, and having seen troubled times on
Earth looming, they had begged, bartered and traded anything and
everything they could lay her hands on from there, and had built up
a significant inventory.
    This had been a
blessing others had often dismissed, but when Misty's and Marcia's
prophecies of harder times to come finally arrived and their
foresight had made everyone's life more