the smuggler’s bible


Clawbertron slithers through the lunar dust at eighty miles-per-hour. His trail winds back to the horizon, and farther. But the horizon is closer on the moon, so maybe that’s not a big deal.

Back at base, he reports to Neon Larry, whose turn it is to be commander for the day. He hisses: “Still cold and still empty.”

“And you still have a bad attitude.”

“Aw, c’mon. Don’t make me—”

“You’re on patrol duty, soldier,” Neon Larry beeps and boots like a dial-up modem.

The good news is, this time Clawbertron finds a half-buried human probe and eats it.