the smuggler’s bible

Neon Larry

Neon Larry trundles over and gingerly scrapes a soil sample into a vial that he places with the others in a white crate. Pallets and pallets of crates stretch out for miles into the lunar distance.

“When are you going to analyze any of these?” Clawbertron asks.

“To parse data, you must collect data.”

“You’ve collected enough, I think.”

“And that’s why you aren’t head of the science team,” Neon Larry says, popping the lid off a fresh box of vials. “Now, let’s try over there.”

Clawbertron hisses, but he goes along. At least it’s something to do between arguments.