ELECTRIC ICARUS PUBLISHING PRESENTS · NEON THEATER · NEON STAGE · ORIGINAL SERIAL FICTION
BINGO SPACE JUMPER #5
One Ticket. Infinite Destinations. Absolutely No Refunds.
Episode 001: Three Symbols and a Bad Idea
Sci-Fi · Adventure · Absurdist Comedy
There were three things Ira “Lucky” Fenway knew about space travel.
First, the universe was enormous.
Second, it was almost entirely indifferent to whether you lived or died.
And third, if a man named Dr. Valis offered you a contract involving experimental transportation technology and the words statistically survivable, you should probably ask what happened to the previous four test pilots.
Lucky had neglected to ask.
Which was unfortunate.
Because he was now sitting inside something called a Bingo Pod, staring at a chrome-plated lever that appeared to have been stolen from a casino in the middle of a nervous breakdown.
“Are we certain this thing works?” Lucky asked.
“Define works,” replied Klink.
Klink was the onboard artificial intelligence, navigation system, life-support supervisor, and, according to the documentation, an emotionally adaptive travel companion.
So far, his emotional adaptation consisted primarily of disappointment.
“Transports us somewhere,” Lucky clarified.
“Almost certainly.”
“Somewhere survivable?”
“Less certainly.”
“Somewhere we intended to go?”
Klink paused.
“I don’t believe you understand the fundamental premise of the equipment.”
Lucky sighed.
He looked down at the contract folded inside his jacket.
Five jumps.
That was the agreement.
Five successful jumps in an experimental vessel, with payment upon completion and no guarantee that any destination would be geographically, temporally, or legally recognizable.
Lucky had flown experimental spacecraft before. He’d been a test pilot for NovaCore, where the occasional catastrophic malfunction was considered an unfortunate but statistically valuable contribution to technological progress.
But NovaCore had at least possessed the decency to disguise its suicidal engineering behind complicated instruments.
This thing had a lever.
And three spinning reels.
And a sign that said:
GOOD LUCK!
Below it, in considerably smaller print:
Luck not included.
“Who designed this?” Lucky asked.
“The original designer is unknown.”
“Who built it?”
“Disputed.”
“Who approved it?”
“Dr. Valis.”
“That explains absolutely nothing.”
“Correct.”
Lucky leaned back in the pilot’s seat.
The cockpit was cramped, with enough room for one reasonably sized human, a collection of controls that seemed to have been installed according to personal preference rather than necessity, and a beverage holder that had been welded directly over the emergency oxygen release.
A small brass plate was mounted beneath the primary navigation console.
BINGO SPACE JUMPER #5
Lucky ran a thumb across the lettering.
“Why number five?”
“There are several possibilities.”
“Such as?”
“It may indicate a production sequence, an experimental designation, or a deeply concerning survival statistic.”
“Comforting.”
“I am programmed to provide accurate information, not comfort.”
“Clearly.”
Klink illuminated the main display.
BINGO POD SYSTEMS JUMP CONTRACT: 0 / 5 DESTINATION: UNASSIGNED PROBABILITY ENGINE: ACTIVE PASSENGER CONFIDENCE: DECLINING
“Did you add that last one?” Lucky asked.
“Yes.”
“Remove it.”
“Your confidence?”
“The display.”
“Of course.”
The line disappeared.
Lucky took one final look around the launch bay.
Beyond the windshield, the station’s maintenance lights flickered against the industrial walls. Somewhere behind them lay the rest of civilized space: regulations, reliable engines, established hyperspace corridors, and transport vessels built by people who understood the difference between navigation and gambling.
For one brief moment, Lucky considered abandoning the contract.
Then he remembered why he’d accepted it.
The money was part of it. Certainly.
But there were questions that money couldn’t answer. Questions that had followed him since his father’s disappearance. Questions Dr. Valis had suggested might have answers somewhere beyond the established routes.
Lucky didn’t know whether to believe that.
He only knew the possibility had been enough to get him into the chair.
“Okay, Klink.”
“Yes, Lucky?”
“Let’s do something stupid.”
“That instruction is consistent with our operational parameters.”
Lucky pulled the lever.
The reels began to spin.
The first landed on a star.
The second landed on a black hole.
The third kept spinning.
And spinning.
And spinning.
“Is that normal?” Lucky asked.
“No.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Not yet.”
The final reel clicked into place.
A clown.
Lucky stared at it.
“A clown?”
“Yes.”
“We’re navigating the universe with a star, a black hole, and a clown?”
“Apparently.”
“What the hell does that combination mean?”
The cockpit went dark.
For one terrifying second, nothing moved.
Then every instrument lit up simultaneously.
BINGO POD · FIRST JUMP ★ ● 🎭 DESTINATION LOCKED CARNELIAN DRIFT CARNIVAL NEBULA · KARNOK TERRITORY
“Karnok,” Lucky repeated.
“Oh dear,” said Klink.
Lucky turned toward the speaker.
“Oh dear?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not a navigation report.”
“It is the condensed version.”
“Klink.”
“The Karnok Syndicate controls much of the surrounding territory. Their interests include entertainment, gambling, debt enforcement, contractual servitude, and several activities for which civilized languages have not yet developed adequate terminology.”
Lucky looked back at the screen.
“And the clown?”
“Possibly a warning.”
The Bingo Pod lurched.
Space folded.
For an instant, Lucky saw his own hands stretched across the control panel like ribbons of translucent glass.
A dozen versions of the cockpit flickered around him.
In one, the dashboard was on fire.
In another, Klink was screaming.
In a third, Lucky appeared to be an elderly man wearing a crown made of kitchen utensils.
Then everything snapped together.
And the universe punched him in the stomach.
Lucky woke to the sound of applause.
Not metaphorical applause.
Actual applause.
Thousands of cheering voices poured through the cockpit speakers, accompanied by trumpets, whistles, and what sounded suspiciously like a man being struck repeatedly with a frying pan.
“Congratulations!” boomed an enthusiastic voice.
Lucky opened one eye.
“Am I dead?”
“Unconfirmed,” Klink replied.
“Is that good?”
“Comparatively.”
Lucky sat upright and looked through the windshield.
Before him stretched an impossible carnival.
Massive orbital platforms rotated around a glowing red nebula. Towers of neon rose from asteroid-sized casinos. Ferris wheels the diameter of moons turned lazily against the cosmic dust.
Ships of every conceivable shape drifted between them: luxury cruisers, freight barges, weaponized yachts, and one enormous vessel resembling a rubber duck with military-grade thrusters.
At the center of everything floated an immense structure shaped like a circus tent, its striped towers piercing an artificial atmosphere.
Across its enormous entrance flashed a message in seventeen languages.
WELCOME TO CARNELIAN DRIFT!
WHERE EVERYONE’S A WINNER!
Terms and conditions apply.
Lucky whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Unfortunately,” Klink replied, “we have arrived.”
The cheerful voice returned.
“Greetings, travelers, degenerates, and financially adventurous individuals! Welcome to the Carnival Nebula’s premier destination for entertainment, opportunity, and legally binding regret!”
A holographic face materialized above the dashboard.
It belonged to a smiling gentleman with purple skin, golden teeth, and six eyes.
All six blinked independently.
“I am your automated Karnok Hospitality Representative! Please state your name, species, available credit, and whether you have any organs you’d like professionally appraised.”
Lucky stared.
“Klink?”
“Yes?”
“Turn that off.”
“I am attempting to.”
The hologram leaned closer.
“Oh! A human! How delightful! We haven’t had one of you arrive unaccompanied in quite some time!”
“I’m just passing through,” Lucky said.
“Wonderful! Our shortest visits typically last between forty-five minutes and three generations.”
Lucky glanced at Klink’s display.
“Can we leave?”
“Not immediately.”
“Why?”
“The jump engine requires stabilization.”
“How long?”
“Unknown.”
Lucky pressed his fingers against his forehead.
“Of course it does.”
The hologram clapped all four of its visible hands.
“Now then! Before docking, we must establish your entertainment classification!”
“My what?”
“Entertainment classification! Are you a spectator, contestant, employee, debtor, fugitive, or miscellaneous biological novelty?”
“Pilot.”
The hologram froze.
One of its eyes twitched.
“Pilot is not an available classification.”
“Visitor.”
“Visitor is a premium designation. Will you be paying in credits, assets, memories, or descendants?”
Lucky looked at the display.
“Klink, tell me that’s a joke.”
“The system does not appear to possess a humor indicator.”
“Of course not.”
The hologram tilted its head.
“Perhaps I can assist! Are you currently in possession of a gambling license?”
“No.”
“Commercial entertainment license?”
“No.”
“Independent transit authorization?”
Lucky hesitated.
Klink interrupted.
“Technically, we are classified as experimental equipment.”
Every eye on the hologram widened.
“Oh!”
A bell rang.
Then another.
Then what sounded like an entire orchestra falling down a staircase.
“UNREGISTERED EXPERIMENTAL VEHICLE!” the hologram shouted.
Lucky flinched.
“Why are you yelling?”
“YOU HAVE BEEN AUTOMATICALLY ENTERED INTO OUR EXCLUSIVE FIRST-TIME ARRIVAL SWEEPSTAKES!”
“No, thank you.”
“YOUR PARTICIPATION IS MANDATORY!”
A tremendous spotlight struck the Bingo Pod.
Across the carnival, enormous screens flickered to life.
Lucky saw his own face appear above the casinos.
His expression was not flattering.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer thundered. “We have a new arrival!”
The cheers became deafening.
“An independent human traveler! An experimental vessel! And judging by our preliminary scans, an absolutely catastrophic understanding of contractual liability!”
Fireworks erupted around the central platform.
Lucky gripped the controls.
“Klink. Get us out of here.”
“Working.”
“Preferably before something explodes.”
“An ambitious requirement.”
Three vessels detached from the nearest station.
They were small, angular craft decorated in red and gold, each bearing the unmistakable insignia of the Karnok Syndicate.
“Security?” Lucky asked.
“Collection vessels,” Klink replied.
“Collection of what?”
“Unspecified.”
“Excellent.”
The ships moved into formation around the Pod.
The hologram returned, still smiling.
“Congratulations, Mr. Fenway!”
Lucky went very still.
He hadn’t given it his name.
“How do you know who I am?”
“Your arrival has triggered a special account notification!”
“What account?”
“Wonderful question!”
The hologram’s smile widened until it was physically uncomfortable to look at.
“Please remain calm while our representatives escort you to the appropriate department.”
Lucky leaned forward.
“Listen, pal. I don’t have an account. I don’t know you. I don’t know this place. And I certainly didn’t agree to participate in your little circus.”
The hologram blinked.
Then all six eyes narrowed.
“According to our records, Mr. Fenway, someone did.”
A new message appeared.
KARNOK SYNDICATE ACCOUNT RECOGNITION NOTICE SURNAME: FENWAY ACCOUNT STATUS: DELINQUENT TRANSFER ELIGIBILITY: PENDING CURRENT ARRIVAL: ACCEPTED WELCOME BACK TO THE GAME.
Lucky stopped breathing for a second.
His father had disappeared years ago.
There had been no body. No wreckage. No final transmission that explained anything.
Only a trail of rumors, unfinished records, and the occasional stranger who grew uncomfortable when Lucky mentioned his family name.
And now, on the first jump of an experimental spacecraft, a criminal gambling syndicate apparently knew exactly who he was.
“Klink.”
“Yes?”
“Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”
“I would need to know what you think it is.”
“My father.”
A silence settled inside the cockpit.
For once, Klink didn’t answer immediately.
“I cannot establish that connection from the information available.”
Outside, the three collection vessels closed in.
The lead ship deployed an enormous magnetic coupling device.
“Klink?”
“Yes?”
“Can we outrun them?”
“Not with our current propulsion system.”
“Can we fight them?”
“We possess no weapons.”
“Can we negotiate?”
“We possess no money.”
Lucky looked at the lever.
A particularly terrible idea began forming.
“Klink.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re looking at the lever.”
“It got us here.”
“That is not an argument in its favor.”
“What if we jump again?”
“The probability engine hasn’t stabilized.”
“What happens if we try?”
“Any number of catastrophic outcomes.”
“Give me the best one.”
“We arrive somewhere else.”
“And the worst?”
Klink paused.
“We arrive everywhere else.”
Lucky considered that.
Outside, a metallic clang echoed through the hull as the first collection vessel attached itself.
A red light began flashing.
EXTERNAL BOARDING IN PROGRESS.
The announcer’s voice returned, softer now.
Almost intimate.
“Mr. Fenway? The House would greatly appreciate your cooperation.”
Lucky wrapped his fingers around the chrome lever.
“Yeah?”
“Of course. Your family has been very important to our operations.”
Lucky felt something cold move through his chest.
“My family?”
“Indeed.”
The hologram grinned.
“And we have been waiting an awfully long time to settle the account.”
A second impact shook the Pod.
Someone was cutting through the airlock.
“Klink.”
“Yes, Lucky?”
“New plan.”
“I am confident I will dislike it.”
Lucky pulled the lever.
The reels spun.
Alarms shrieked.
The cockpit lights turned crimson.
Outside, the collection vessels began to disengage in panic.
Klink’s voice rose above the noise.
“LUCKY, THE DRIVE IS NOT READY!”
“THEN TELL IT TO HURRY!”
The first reel stopped.
A star.
The second reel slowed.
A black hole.
The third reel flickered between symbols, moving faster instead of slower.
The Karnok announcer screamed something incomprehensible.
Lucky laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because he had reached the particular stage of terror where laughter seemed more practical than screaming.
“Come on, you beautiful piece of garbage.”
The final reel clicked.
A single word appeared on the dashboard.
BINGO.
Then the entire carnival vanished.
For precisely 0.0003 seconds, the Bingo Pod existed outside conventional space.
Klink registered sixteen contradictory position reports, three distress calls originating from their own future, and a navigation response stamped with a date that had not yet occurred.
The probability engine returned an impossible result.
Not zero.
Not infinity.
Five.
Then everything went black.
And somewhere in the darkness, something knocked on the outside of the Pod.
Three times.
Lucky opened his eyes.
“Klink?”
No answer.
“Klink?”
A crackle.
Then, very quietly:
“Lucky.”
“Yeah?”
“I believe we have made a mistake.”
Lucky stared into the darkness beyond the windshield.
Something enormous moved.
Something that had been waiting there long before the Karnok Syndicate built its first casino.
“Which mistake?” Lucky whispered.
Klink considered the question.
“All of them.”
END OF EPISODE 001
NEXT ON BINGO SPACE JUMPER #5
002 — The Wrong Side of Somewhere
A serialized Neon Stage production.
Electric Icarus Publishing · Neon Theater · The Unveiled Universe
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