What we know from a previous chapter: LunaCon. The largest Science Fiction Convention on the Moon, gathering notable SciFi authors from around the globe. When things went bad on Earth LunaCon refugees fled to Mars. Read more here.
“Ow! OW! Stop hitting me!” Harlan is pounding the older man fiercely with a paperback book.

“Where is that shuttle to Mars, L. Ron? Where?”
“STOP IT!” L. Ron cowers in his seat under the blows. “STOP!”
Harlan’s teeth are out, bordering on full Werewolf Mode. He draws back for a moment, waving the offending volume, crouching down in the moon bug pilot seat. “You and your fucking cult books. What is this, anyway?” Harlan draws the paperback for a closer look at the cover. “Diabetics?”
“Dianetics, It’s like important… life stuff.“ squeeks Hubbard.
“It’s crap, is what it is L. Ron.” Harlan roughly tosses the battered paperback over his shoulder. “If you hadn’t insisted on stopping to load six cases of this shite, this stench-ridden boil on a leprous ass we’d be off this rock and on that shuttle to Mars with everyone else, L. Ron.”
Hubbard starts to peek fearfully between a small gap in his arms. “Hey Harlan, it’s not my fault the only transit bug left had a loose wheel. And stop calling me ‘Elron’, I’m not some Elf from Tolkien. It’s just ‘Ron’.”
“Fine. It’s weasel-dick from now on. EL-RON.” Harlan scowls. “FINE! What else is back here?” Harlan twists around, awkwardly held back by his sport coat as he reaches behind the seat of the moon bug. “Oh, what do we have here?” He pulls out a liter plastic bottle and holds it to the light.
Scribbled in what looks like black sharpie over the clear plastic is written “Moon Gin – Special“. “Hey, hey. It’s not all bad news. Now we’ve got something to drink while we watch the oxygen supply go to zero EL-RON.”
“I said it’s not my fault.” But you can tell from the tone of his voice. It’s his fault. “Neither of us blew up LunaCon.”
“Tell your Thetans to go outside and fix the wheel. Get Xenu to help, while you’re at it…” Harlan sets the bottle down and rummages through his pockets.
“That’s not how it works…”
With a satisfied smile Harlan pulls a pair of LunaCon branded conference swag shotglasses from a pocket. “Aha! I knew I had these somewhere.” He settles back in his seat and cracks open the bottle and fills the little cups. “At least we can die with a little style.”
The big blue marble of the Earth hangs large through the moon bug’s forward screen. Harlan is quiet for a moment. Hubbard straightens up. “It’s like I’m seeing it for the first time, for the last time.” Harlan hands the second cup to Hubbard and salutes the Earth with the other.
“To Earth – our home. And to Luna, our grave. Salut!” Both men slug down the oily liquor and are quiet.
Harlan refills their cups. “Now what. What do you want to talk about?”
Author’s note: I’m taking suggestions from where to go from here. What do L. Ron Hubbard and Harlan Ellison talk about while facing certain death from asphyxiation on the moon? Email me here.
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