"Allen Steele - Free Beer and the William Casey Society" - читать интересную книгу автора (Steele Allen)

No one noticed this story when it was published in IASFM. I was
still an unknown writer at the time, and it was overshadowed by a
Hugo-winning novella which appeared in the same issue, Judith
MoffettтАЩs тАЬTiny Tango.тАЭ Since then, it has been translated into Portuguese
and Japanese; when the British edition of Rude Astronauts was
published, the artist who painted the cover chose a scene from тАЬFree
BeerтАЭ as the subject. Yet this is only the second time this story has been
reprinted in the U.S. (besides Rude Astronauts...hey, did I mention that I
just published a small-press collection?). ItтАЩs one of my personal
favorites, and IтАЩm proud to have it reappear in Harsh Mistress.
-AMS
St. Louis, May 1993

****

Cowboy Bob told me this story one slow Wednesday night while we were
hunched over the bar in Diamondback JackтАЩs, so I canтАЩt make a strong case
for its veracity. If you drink and hang around in barrooms, you should know
that half the stories you hear are outright lies, and the other half are at least
slightly exaggerated. And one would have to be more than a little gullible to
completely believe a former beamjack named Cowboy Bob. Gullible,
stoned, or both.

If it werenтАЩt for the events which happened after Bob told me about
the Bill Casey Society and the Free Beer Conspiracy on Skycan, I wouldnтАЩt
be bothering to pass this yarn along. IтАЩm a respectable journalist; I donтАЩt
trade in hearsay. But maybe thereтАЩs a moral in the story. If not a moral, then
at least a warning.

Diamondback JackтАЩs was a hole-in-the-wall beer joint on Merritt
Island, Cape Canaveral, about two miles down Route 3 from the Kennedy
Space Center. ItтАЩs a dive for space grunts, which means that itтАЩs not the sort
of place to take the kids. In fact, tourists, space groupies, execs from the
space companies, NASA honchos and most media people are unwelcome
in JackтАЩs. Not that the place is all that attractive: windowless,
weather-beaten pine walls, oil-splattered littered sand parking lot, busted
plastic beer sign, clusters of Harley-Davidsons and GM pickup trucks
parked outside. It looks like the sort of northern Florida redneck joint where
you can get a cold stare for requesting a Vodka Collins instead of a
Budweiser or get hit over the head with a pool cue for fouling someoneтАЩs
shot. Appearances arenтАЩt deceiving, either. YouтАЩre better off drinking in the
fern bars down on Cocoa Beach.

But if you can survive a few consecutive nights in JackтАЩs without being
punched out or thrown out, youтАЩre on the way to joining the regulars:
professional spacers whose lives revolve around the Cape and the space
business. Shuttle pilots, launch pad ground crews, firing room techs,
spacecraft mechanics, flight software writers, cargo loaders, moondogs,
the Vacuum Suckers, and beamjacks.