Read Online Project Sail by Anthony DeCosmo - Free Book Online Page A

corporate security arrived they killed two hundred workers, and half were beaten to death.”
    Hawthorne bounced the ball, announced, “Tied at ten,” and served an ace at Horus’ left.
    “About eight months ago as we delivered food to an energy research complex on Dione, a worker threw an explosive at our drop ship. When they caught him, he said he did it because he was bored. Then again, he might have been sick. With people crammed in tight quarters, any bug that gets up from Earth goes through colonies like wildfire. Last year they ran out of body bags at the deuterium harvester floating around Saturn because of a respiratory virus.”
    “That’s horrible,” said Hawthorne without an ounce of sincerity. “Eleven serves ten.”
    Horus countered the serve but Hawthorne still scored thanks to another expert kill shot. Now he needed only three points to win the game, but his opponent appeared more interested in other pursuits.
    “What do you think explains the rioting every day on Mars?”
    Hawthorne said, “Taxes and inflation; the Martian economy is a mess.”
    “No, it is because people should not live in domes. Mars was supposed to be terraformed years ago. The government lured those colonists to Mars with promises of land, jobs, and wealth. Instead, they are stuck inside breathing stale air. The suicide rate on Mars is twice the rate on Earth and the favorite method is not an overdose or a bullet to the head but opening an airlock and walking outside.”
    “Can I serve now?”
    Hawthorne slammed the ball and it came back across court low and fast for a quick point that put him within two of winning.
    “Thirteen serves ten.”
    Horus countered the next serve with a ceiling shot that drove Hawthorne back. After a short volley, the Captain regained the serve line, trailing by three points.
    “Mankind is failing out here, Commander. Most people living and working in space want to return home, but they are trapped.”
    “So write a letter to your congressman.”
    Horus’ serve led to a volley that exhausted Hawthorne and caused him to miss an easy shot.
    “I don’t take passengers often, so I knew something was up when UVI threw a big check at me to transport a corporate executive, a war hero and three specialized scientists. I doubt they need a quantitative biologist or an expert in exo-meteorology on Uranus.”
    “I need a serve, Captain,” Hawthorne said between heavy breaths.
    Horus obliged and sent an ace down the right side that Hawthorne should have reached, but he did not want to crash into the wall.
    “I understand you cannot tell me what is going on, but it is big otherwise you would be sailing on a commercial liner or a private corporate ride, not in secret on a cargo ship.”
    “Look, Captain, I don’t care. I was drafted by a press gang, subjected to contractual blackmail, and thrown on this tub—no offense—with only a hint about the big picture. Now let’s play handball, you need three points to win.”
    Horus scored the twice, setting the stage for match point, which he served. Hawthorne took two lazy steps and missed, resulting in Horus winning the game, to which the Captain immediately said, “You could have had that. Looks like you gave up.”
    Hawthorne wiped sweat from his brow and extended a congratulatory hand but instead of shaking, Horus held tight.
    “You didn’t try, Commander, I just had to keep the volleys going and sooner or later you would give up.”
    “My days of taking this seriously are over,” and he wrenched his hand free.
    “Space has become nothing more than mining, harvesting, and fighting; our spirits are wearing down. The further out I travel, the more it feels like a descent into the circles of Hell.”
    “Captain, I do not know why you are telling me this.”
    “It needs to be more than resource exploitation, corporate profits, and war. I don’t know what you are up to, but if there is a chance to change things then you must, or eventually all our