ELECTRIC ICARUS PUBLISHING PRESENTS · NEON THEATER · NEON STAGE · ORIGINAL SERIAL FICTION
BINGO SPACE JUMPER #5
One Ticket. Infinite Destinations. Absolutely No Refunds.
Episode 003: A Very Unfortunate Welcome
Sci-Fi · Adventure · Absurdist Comedy · Tuesday, November 3, 2026
Previously on Bingo Space Jumper #5 — Episode 002: The Wrong Side of Somewhere
Ira “Lucky” Fenway had always assumed that committing an act of war required considerably more effort than arriving somewhere.
A declaration, perhaps. A fleet. A flag. At the very least, a strongly worded intention.
New Haven appeared willing to waive those formalities.
Outside the Bingo Pod’s windshield, a planetary defense cannon the approximate size of a commercial district rotated toward him. The machine did not move quickly. It did not have to. There was something especially discouraging about a weapon large enough to take its time.
A pleasant automated voice repeated its last announcement.
“Unregistered vessel detected. Welcome to New Haven. Please remain stationary while we determine whether your arrival constitutes an act of war.”
Lucky looked at the recording on his console. The sender was listed as IRA FENWAY. The timestamp was tomorrow. The voice was his own.
Whatever you do, don’t land on New Haven. And for the love of God, stop pulling the damn lever!
His hand rested on the chrome lever.
“Klink.”
“Yes, Lucky?”
“There’s a gun pointed at us.”
“Correct.”
“A very big gun.”
“The relative size of the gun is not the principal concern.”
“I’d like to hear what you think the principal concern is.”
“It is pointed at us.”
Lucky removed his hand from the lever.
“You know, I used to find you comforting.”
“There is no evidence supporting that statement.”
The console chimed. A blue rectangle opened across every available display, including one that Lucky had believed was a coffee warmer.
NEW HAVEN ARRIVAL AUTHORITY — PRELIMINARY CONTACT.
A woman’s face appeared, professionally neutral and rendered with the lifeless precision of an official portrait.
“Unregistered vessel, identify yourself.”
“Ira Fenway.”
“Purpose of arrival?”
“Accidental.”
A pause.
“Accidental is not an approved purpose of arrival.”
“It’s the one I’ve got.”
“Select an alternative from the authorized list.”
A menu appeared: TRADE. TOURISM. DIPLOMACY. MILITARY. EMERGENCY. OTHER.
Lucky selected OTHER.
A new menu appeared: TRADE. TOURISM. DIPLOMACY. MILITARY. EMERGENCY.
“It’s the same list,” he said.
“Other arrivals require authorization.”
“Then why put Other on the first list?”
“To identify passengers requiring authorization.”
Lucky rubbed his forehead.
“I think I’m going to like it here.”
“That is not a declared purpose either.”
“Klink?”
“Yes?”
“Help me commit a little less treason.”
“I suggest selecting Emergency.”
Lucky did.
All the displays turned red.
EMERGENCY DECLARED. DEFENSE PRIORITY ELEVATED.
“Oh, excellent,” Lucky said.
“It would appear,” Klink replied, “that the category is used to describe the threat you present to New Haven, rather than the threat New Haven presents to you.”
The woman on the monitor consulted something beyond the camera.
“Remain stationary. An escort will approach. Any unauthorized propulsion will be interpreted as hostile intent.”
“What if I just drift?”
“Unauthorized drifting is prohibited.”
“Is there an authorized version?”
“Certainly.”
“How do I request it?”
“You must dock first.”
Lucky stared at the planet.
“I can’t land.”
“That is fortunate, Mr. Fenway. You have not been cleared to do so.”
The transmission ended.
Klink made a faint electronic sound.
“Was that a laugh?” Lucky asked.
“No. It was an involuntary diagnostic response to the phrase authorized drifting.”
A Professional Welcome
The escort arrived in the form of three angular patrol craft, each fitted with enough lights to suggest that New Haven had confused law enforcement with a seasonal parade.
Their formation closed around the Bingo Pod, engines bright against the illuminated night side of the world below.
A new voice entered the cabin. Male, weary, carrying the soft mechanical hiss of a headset.
“Pod Five, this is New Haven Approach Patrol. You will surrender navigational authority and follow us to inspection berth C-Seventeen.”
“Pod Five?” Lucky said. “That’s not my—well, it is my name, technically. But how did you know?”
“It says FIVE on your hull.”
Lucky looked out the side window. The enormous number had been painted there before he ever signed Dr. Valis’s contract.
“Fair point.”
“Confirm acceptance.”
“Is inspection berth C-Seventeen on the planet?”
“Negative. Orbital customs platform.”
Lucky considered this. The future recording had warned him not to land. It had said nothing about hovering near a docking station whose inhabitants were armed and unfriendly.
“Klink, would docking count as landing?”
“It would depend upon jurisdiction and the definition of landing.”
“Do we know the definition?”
“New Haven has supplied fourteen.”
“Of course it has.”
“The seventh is particularly alarming.”
“Don’t tell me.”
“A landing may occur when an object accepts local administrative responsibility.”
“That’s not a landing.”
“I agree. Nevertheless, it is definition seven.”
The patrol leader cut in.
“Pod Five, please stop discussing jurisdiction on an open defense channel.”
Lucky leaned toward the microphone.
“I’d be happy to, if you’d stop making it relevant.”
A red light appeared over the jump lever.
REMOTE DRIVE INHIBITION: ACTIVE.
“Klink?”
“They have inhibited ordinary propulsion and navigation. They have not accessed the probability engine.”
“Good. Let’s not tell them about that.”
A second warning appeared.
UNDECLARED PROBABILITY ENGINE DETECTED.
Lucky closed his eyes.
“You know what? Forget I said anything.”
The ships led him through a maze of orbital traffic so orderly it was unnerving. Freight haulers sailed beneath immense numbered lanes. Passenger vessels passed through illuminated gates. A merchant cruiser received a polite customs greeting, a route correction, and a voucher for its next visit.
Lucky received a tractor beam.
“Is that normal?” he asked.
“For you, possibly,” Klink said.
The Pod shuddered as the beam secured it.
“Approach Patrol to Pod Five. You are now in our custody.”
“Does that mean I’m under arrest?”
“No.”
“Excellent.”
“You are under preliminary detention pending a determination of whether arrest is appropriate.”
“And how is that better?”
“You have not yet accrued arrest fees.”
The patrolman had the unhurried delivery of a man who had explained the distinction a thousand times.
The Bingo Pod floated through a docking gate labeled VISITOR PROCESSING.
Beneath it, someone had installed a smaller sign.
WELCOME, SUBJECT TO REVIEW.
The Customs of New Haven
Inspection berth C-Seventeen looked less like a port than a brightly lit argument between an airport and a detention facility.
Mechanical arms secured the Bingo Pod without making contact with the planet. The artificial gravity came online. The Pod settled onto a cradle, and Lucky found himself staring at the very ordinary prospect of a floor.
“Klink,” he said softly, “did we land?”
“We have docked.”
“Is docking landing?”
“I recommend not asking anyone employed by this facility.”
A narrow boarding tube unfolded from the platform.
A woman in a slate-gray inspection uniform appeared beyond the airlock window. She carried a tablet and the expression of someone who had already read his file and found it insufficient.
“Inspector Mara Pell,” she said over the speaker. “New Haven Arrival Authority. Do not open your airlock until instructed.”
“Believe me,” Lucky said, “I’m getting fond of keeping it closed.”
The inspector studied the ship.
“Experimental drive?”
“Yes.”
“Registered operator?”
“Me.”
“Registered with whom?”
Lucky hesitated.
“Dr. Valis.”
“That is a person, Mr. Fenway, not a jurisdiction.”
“You’d have to take that up with him.”
Pell tapped her tablet.
“Cargo?”
“A jacket, an emergency kit, and several regrets.”
“Regrets are not taxable unless declared as inherited liabilities.”
Lucky went still.
“Inherited what?”
“Liabilities. You appear to have paused.”
“I heard you.”
“Then answer the question.”
Klink interrupted before Lucky could.
“Our manifest includes no goods for trade and no commercial instruments beyond the vehicle’s equipment.”
The inspector looked into the cabin.
“Who is that?”
“Shipboard intelligence, designated Klink.”
“Do you possess independent legal standing?”
“Not in a jurisdiction that has yet proved itself worthy of it.”
Pell regarded the holographic display for a moment.
“Sarcastic machine.”
“I prefer precise,” Klink said.
“That will be marked as disputed.”
The inspector swiped again.
“Your ship is carrying a mechanical probability device with multiple symbolic reels. Is it a navigational aid, a gambling mechanism, or an instrument of military deception?”
“Mostly a navigational aid,” Lucky said.
“Mostly?”
“There’s a lever. You pull it. You go somewhere.”
“Where?”
“That’s the gambling part.”
Klink made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed groan.
Pell checked all three boxes.
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
“You’re welcome?”
“Your vessel will remain impounded while we determine whether the probability engine is an unlicensed gaming machine, an illicit transportation device, or an act-of-war delivery system.”
“What about me?”
“You will remain here while we determine whether you are a visitor, a suspect, or an invoice.”
“An invoice?”
“A significant portion of our visitors are.”
Lucky turned toward Klink.
“Tell me you’ve got a plan.”
“I am considering the possibility that the universe may be organized primarily as an administrative punishment.”
“Not helping.”
“It is not yet a plan.”
Pell’s tablet chimed.
She studied it, then studied Lucky.
“There is another matter.”
“There always is.”
“Your incoming transmission is dated ahead of local standard time.”
Lucky glanced instinctively at the message on his console.
“That’s a clock error.”
“Our clocks?”
“Mine, maybe.”
“Your navigation data includes a forward-dated file from an individual who shares your name, voiceprint, and biographical markers.”
“It’s probably spam.”
Klink spoke with the urgency of a witness who had not been properly consulted.
“That assessment is unsupported.”
“Klink!”
“Lucky, concealment is unlikely to improve our position.”
Pell tapped the tablet again.
“New Haven recognizes the possession of temporal anomalies as a reporting obligation.”
“Since when?”
“The Temporal Goods Ordinance.”
“I meant when did I become obligated?”
“Upon arrival.”
“I didn’t arrive on purpose!”
“Intent may be considered at appeal.”
“Appeal to whom?”
“The Arrival Authority.”
“You’re the Arrival Authority.”
“Yes.”
Lucky looked at the ceiling.
“I miss the giant thing that knocked on my ship.”
“Mr. Fenway,” Pell said, “I strongly recommend you stop making statements that generate new questions.”
“Finally,” Klink said, “some advice we can all endorse.”
A Date That Hasn’t Happened
An automated chime rang in the berth. The lights dimmed. A new alert stretched across the external monitor, bright enough to paint Pell’s face red.
IDENTITY CONFLICT. DUPLICATE PASSENGER RECORD.
Pell frowned.
“That’s impossible.”
Lucky shifted in his seat.
“You people say that a lot for a place with so much paperwork.”
“Mr. Fenway, I need you to remain exactly where you are.”
“For once, that’s the plan.”
The inspector turned her tablet away from the camera. Lucky caught only a glimpse before she hid it: two identical identification pictures, both bearing his name.
One was his current face, bruised and sleepless.
The other appeared to be the same face at a different angle.
He could not tell whether it looked older.
Klink quietly opened a diagnostic window.
“Lucky, I have intercepted an automated routing request.”
“Good or bad?”
“Unclear. It is addressed to this vehicle.”
“From where?”
“From a New Haven departure terminal.”
“And?”
“The departure is scheduled for tomorrow.”
Lucky said nothing.
The console held the future-dated recording. His own warning had ended only moments after he heard it: don’t land, don’t pull the lever. In the recording, something had exploded. He had not considered that the explosion might have happened here.
“Klink. Can you trace the message?”
“Not without authorization from the local communications network.”
“Can you get that authorization?”
“Possibly.”
“How?”
“By requesting access.”
“From whom?”
“Inspector Pell.”
Lucky smiled without amusement.
“The universe does have a sense of humor.”
Outside, the inspector’s voice sharpened.
“All personnel, suspend transfer. Repeat, suspend transfer. There is a temporal discrepancy in the arrival manifest.”
The docking arm stopped moving.
The boarding tube detached by half a meter. Emergency shutters began lowering across the bay.
A second official appeared behind Pell. His face was hidden by the reflection of an overhead lamp.
“Inspector,” he said, “which one is this?”
“Which one?” Lucky repeated.
The man looked toward the Pod.
Pell said something too quietly for the microphone.
The man stepped closer.
“Mr. Fenway, according to our register, your vessel has already been assigned a departure slot.”
“I haven’t even been allowed to arrive.”
“That is precisely the difficulty.”
The man’s tablet chimed. His face changed.
“No,” he said.
Pell looked down at her own screen.
“That’s not possible.”
Lucky gripped the arms of his chair.
“If someone could explain what’s not possible, I’d be very grateful.”
The red alert changed.
ARRIVAL RECORD: IRA FENWAY — PRESENT.
DEPARTURE RECORD: IRA FENWAY — TOMORROW.
ASSOCIATED VEHICLE: BINGO SPACE JUMPER #5.
The berth doors opened a fraction. Beyond them, something struck metal with a muffled boom.
The inspector backed away from the window.
“Did you just hear that?” Lucky asked.
Klink’s display flickered.
“Yes.”
Another boom.
Lucky knew the rhythm. Three measured knocks, the same as in the darkness beyond space.
The brass ticket in the engine’s hidden slot grew warm. Its black disc caught the light.
“Klink,” Lucky whispered, “please tell me the Conductor didn’t follow us.”
“I cannot tell you that truthfully.”
A final message appeared, not on New Haven’s display but on the Bingo Pod itself.
PASSENGER FIVE. DEPARTURE PROCEDURE AVAILABLE.
Lucky stared at the lever.
He could not land.
He could not jump.
And somewhere beyond the doors, someone—or something—was apparently waiting for him to do one of those things.
“Well,” he said. “This is a very unfortunate welcome.”
Klink considered the official alerts, the armed patrols, and the growing list of violations.
“Technically, Lucky, it is an invoice.”
The third knock sounded from inside the docking tube.
END OF EPISODE 003.
NEXT TUESDAY ON BINGO SPACE JUMPER #5 — Episode 004.
The first step out of New Haven may require a departure that has already happened.
Neon Theater · Neon Stage · Electric Icarus Publishing
Start at Episode 001 — Three Symbols and a Bad Idea
