The Sam Gunn Omnibus

Statement of Clark Griffith IV (Recorded at Lunar Retirement Center, Copernicus)

That’s right, I’ve known Sam Gunn longer than anybody still living. Except maybe for Jill Meyers.

How long? I knew the little sonofabitch when he was a NASA astronaut, back in the days when we were first setting up a permanent base here on the Moon, over at Alphonsus.

I was his boss, believe it or not. It was like trying to train a cat—Sam always went his own way, fractured the rules left and right and somehow managed to come out smelling like a rose. Most of the time. He stepped into the doggie-doo now and then, but usually he was too fast on his feet for it to matter. By the time we’d catch up to him he was off somewhere else, raising more hell and giving us more trouble back in Washington.

Another thing about Sam. He’s not that much younger than I am, yet he was off flitting around the goddamned solar system like some kid on pills. How did he do that? And from what I hear he was still chasing women from here to Pluto when he fell into that black hole. At his age! Well, maybe it’s because he spent so much of his life in low-gravity environments. Keeps you young, so I hear. That’s why I retired here to the Moon, but it doesn’t seem to be helping me much.

Digressing? I’m digressing? I was talking about Sam. That’s what you want, isn’t it?

No, I don’t believed he’s dead. Never believed he fell into that mini-black hole out there past Pluto, either. It’s all a fraud. A load of bullcrap. Pure Sam Gunn, another one of his tricky little gambits.

He’ll be back, you can bet on it. Mini-black hole my great-grandmother! It’s a scam, the whole thing; don’t think otherwise.

When did I first meet Sam? God, let me think. It was back… never mind. Let me tell you about Sam’s last days with NASA. I got to fire the little pain-in-the-butt. Bounced him right out of the agency, good and proper. Happiest day of my life.