Lex kicked open the door to his tiny but rent-free apartment and trudged into the darkness within. He was wearing a heavy coat and boots, as Golana’s short but intense winter season was in full effect.
“Lights,” he said wearily, kicking off his shoes.
The voice control triggered a sluggish pair of high-efficiency bulbs to activate, shedding light on the futon and television that made up the key parts of his apartment. In the past it would have been layered with fast-food wrappers and other bachelor debris, but that had changed in the last six months. It would have been nice to suggest that he’d begun to keep his home neat once Michella had reentered his life, but in reality it was Squee who had motivated the change. Perhaps it was some holdover from the fox or skunk contributions to her brain, but Squee liked to hide things. Half-eaten sandwiches, various gadgets, socks, shoes, and anything else light enough for her to carry would mysteriously appear crammed into nooks and crannies throughout his home. Keeping the apartment neat was the only reasonable defense against it.
He dropped his bags and flopped onto the futon. The instant he did so, the video panel by the door produced a pleasant chime and displayed the word “Concierge.” Lex furrowed his brow.
“Answer, audio only,” he said.
“Hello, Mr. Alexander. I’m Mr. Stevenson, the concierge. I see from our access logs that you’ve returned from your trip. Welcome home. We’ve been holding some packages for you.”
“Uh, okay. Before we get into that, can I ask you something?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“When did we get access logs, and when did we get a concierge?”
“The owners of the building are improving the overall infrastructure and atmosphere of Gemstone Lofts.”
“Uh-huh. And what is Gemstone Lofts?”
“This building, sir.”
Lex mused for a moment about just how little time he’d been spending at home lately. He decided to set it aside for future consideration. “Okay, so what’s up with these packages?”
“There are three of them, sir. Two require refrigeration. If you’d like, we can deliver them to you.”
“Refrigeration?” He sighed angrily and glared at his fuzzy companion. “Any idea if they were ordered before I left?”
“They arrived a few hours after your departure, so most likely. Why?”
After grumbling under his breath, he said, “Never mind. Send them up.”
The video pad clicked off. Lex picked up Squee and held her in front of his face. She stared innocently back at him.
“Where is it?” he said. “Go get your slidepad.”
Squee’s head perked up and she struggled free. She dropped to the floor and wriggled under the futon, emerging a moment later with a slidepad that was much abused but otherwise identical to Lex’s. The screen was lit up and smeared with drool. The slidepad was her favorite toy, and while most creatures would do little more than gnaw on a piece of electronics, Squee liked to pin it to the ground or hold it between her paws and nose at the screen. At first he thought she was mimicking the general motions. It turns out she was a bit more tech-savvy than that. Lex took the slidepad from her.
“How do you keep turning this thing on?” He wiped it on his pants and flipped through the many open applications. There were windows filled with strings of random text, a few art programs with nose prints peppering the canvas, and a ’net browser pointing to the Cost-Mart site. There were a number of recent orders. “And where are you getting the money for this stuff? I don’t have my account information on here.”
A knock came from the door.
“That was quick.” He powered off the slidepad and dropped it on the futon. “Now leave it off. I mean it. You can play with it just fine while it’s off.”
He turned to answer the door. The start-up sound of the device signaled Squee’s disobedience almost immediately.
“Trev, it’s me. Open up, I need to talk to you,” said a voice from the other side of the door. Michella.
He tapped the door control.
“Sweetie!” she said, charging through and assaulting him with a hug and a kiss. She was dressed in layers. On top was a thin parka made from a silvery material that did the job of six centimeters of down, and beneath it a light hooded sweatshirt with the letters DZD in a stylized typeface. She had black pants with a slight sheen, made from the same material as the parka, and a sleek pair of boots. The lenses of her angular-rimmed glasses were still dark. When finished with her greeting, she ran a finger along one earpiece and the tint faded.
“Hey, babe. I thought we were meeting for dinner. That’s not for another three hours,” Lex said.
“We were, but something came up.” She looked to the couch and squealed. “Oh, where’s my little angel? There’s my little angel. Come here, Squee sweetie.” The funk waited patiently to be picked up and gave Michella a few sloppy licks before scrabbling up onto her shoulder.
“Something came up,” he said flatly. “That’s Mitch-talk for ‘I’m canceling our date.’”
“Hey. You know I only cancel when I have to. And you canceled the last one.”
“Does that mean you aren’t canceling?”
“Well…”
A voice came from the still-open door. “Trevor Alexander?” He and Michella turned to find two overall-clad porters with a hand truck loaded with three large boxes. “Where do you want these?”
“Just put them anywhere,” he said.
“What’s with all the boxes, Trev?” Michella asked, eyeing them with curiosity as the porters wheeled them inside.
“I’ll explain in a minute. So what suddenly came up?”
“Did he agree yet?” said yet another new voice. This time it was Jon, lugging a decidedly feminine overnight bag over his shoulder and wheeling a larger matching suitcase. “The clock’s ticking.”
Michella shushed him. “I didn’t ask him yet.”
“Didn’t ask me what?” Lex said, frustration growing.
“Thumbprint here, please,” said the porter, datapad in hand.
Lex grumbled and pressed his thumb to the pad. “Mitch, what did you need to ask me that involves luggage?”
Michella glanced at the two porters, who stood patiently by the door, conspicuously failing to leave. Lex grumbled more loudly and dug out a few chips.
“For your trouble,” he said. “And Jon, come on in.”
“But we are going—”
“We aren’t going anywhere until someone tells me what’s going on. So come on in.”
“Okay then.”
Jon hauled the luggage inside of the now somewhat overcrowded apartment. Squee hopped down from Michella’s shoulder to the top of the stack of boxes and started digging at it. Michella wiped some frost from the side of the box.
“What do you need two cases of frozen burritos for?” she asked.
“If you think that’s bad, I think the bottom box is six dozen blue socks. Squee’s been shopping again.”
“Wait. The funk bought stuff?” Jon said.
“She does that sometimes. Allergy medication, blue stuff, and burritos usually,” Lex said.
Jon looked at Squee. “You are one whacked-out critter.”
“Nothing in my life is normal,” Lex said, pulling open the first of the boxes and attempting to transfer some of the burritos to his undersized freezer. “So what’s going on, you two?”
Michella looked to Jon.
“Don’t look at me, you’re the one with the doe eyes and feminine wiles,” he said.
“Trev, I need a big favor, but I think you’re going to like it.”
“Well, let’s hear it.”
“You know how I’ve been having a little trouble getting any really noteworthy information on the Neo-Luddites lately?”
“Yeah.”
“The network feels like that well’s run dry, so they want me moving on to something else. Something more interesting and less likely to upset people, which is absurd, because anything even remotely interesting is bound to upset some people. The good news is I think I’ve found a way to get the information I’m after, regardless. There’s this silly little story, just the kind of spineless time-filler they want me to focus on for a while, that they’ve okayed me to cover. And a lead I’ve been milking for almost two months finally agreed to a meeting that’s right in the same neighborhood if we can get there in time. The bad news is the network doesn’t feel time is of the essence for this one. They won’t charter a special flight or a particularly fast one. By their schedule I won’t get there until late next week. My lead will be cold by then. But, I mentioned that I might be able to find a certain pilot who would give us a bargain on a fast ride…”
Lex stopped cramming his freezer and turned to her. “Do you mean to tell me that after all of these years you finally want me to fly you somewhere?”
“That depends. You know planet Movi?”
“Not really.”
“Could you bring it up, Jon?”
“Already on it,” her partner said, pulling up the coordinates and showing it off.
Lex eyed it. “Okay. What about it?”
“Do you think you can have me there in four days?”
“I could have you there in two.”
“Feel like giving a girl a ride?”
“Always,” he said. “It’s just you, right? I only have one passenger seat.”
“That’s right, Mr. Alexander. I’m just here to give you guys a lift back to the dock,” Jon assured him. “I’m the designated desk jockey for this story, prepping reports and readying feeds.”
Lex clapped. “All right, let’s go then!”
“Don’t you need to call the courier company to extend your time off? And the chauffeur service?”
“Yeah, about that. The courier company, not so much. We’ll discuss that over dinner.” He snatched up the remaining frozen box. “We’re having burritos.”
#
“I tell you, babe, you are going to love this. There is no other way to travel. Everything else is just sitting in a big moving living room. No connection to the stars,” Lex raved as he navigated his way through The Upstairs, the orbital section of the starport where he kept his trusty ship. He had his hands full wrangling Squee, a duffel bag of his own, one of Michella’s bags, and the case of burritos, but he was managing fairly well. Squee had forced him to improve his zero-g skills, and it was paying dividends.
“You didn’t tell me this part of the terminal was zero-g,” Michella griped. “Low gravity makes me nauseous.”
“The SOB is zero-g, too,” he reminded her.
“Oh…” she said. The usually confident and capable Michella wasn’t maneuvering very well, and she was looking more than a little green.
“Don’t worry about it. I have some of those free-fall patches in the cockpit for when I take on passengers,” he said. “Slap it on your arm and your stomach settles down. By the time it wears off, you’ll be used to zero-g, I promise.”
“Why don’t you just install gravity plates?”
“A pack of patches and a little patience is way cheaper and lighter.”
They drifted a bit farther along the claustrophobic corridors of the station until a scrawny jumpsuit-clad man with a crooked baseball cap appeared from around the corner. It was Blake, a friend from Lex’s racing days, and the SOB’s keeper whenever Lex wasn’t using it.
“You’re back soon. And is that Mitch? I never thought I’d see the day she’d show her face up here.”
“Blake! It’s been too long!” Michella said. She briefly attempted to finagle herself into a position to hug, realized it would require her to let go of the hand grips with both hands, and decided to give him an air kiss instead. “Trevor has been trying to get me into his ship for so long, he finally wore me down.”
“And right when she needs a ride somewhere. What are the odds?” Lex added.
“Where are you off to?”
“Watch GolanaNet News in a week or so, and you’ll find out, but only if we get moving,” Michella said.
“Well, the SOB is fueled up and ready to go. See you later, Mitch.”
“It’s Michella, Blake, not Mitch,” she said as she continued down after Lex to the docking bay. “Have you got everyone calling me that?” she whispered harshly.
“Hey, take it from me. You don’t get to choose what nickname sticks,” he said. They drifted a bit farther along until they came to the windows facing the docking bays. Before long, the slick black chassis of his personal ship revealed itself. “Behold, your chariot.”
Michella managed to right herself enough to look through the window. “I have to say, Trev, the ship is very pretty. I’m surprised you’ve managed to keep yourself from bolting a few more engines on to it like you did the last one.”
“Heh. Wait’ll you get inside. You’ll understand why I didn’t need to.”
He grabbed the handrails on either side of a large screen surrounded by an array of buttons and controls. A tap pulled the interface out of sleep mode and displayed a simplified view of the SOB. He selected something marked “Cargo Module Manipulator.” Outside the window, a spindly robotic arm unfolded from the dock wall and attached to the bottom of his ship. A sequence of clamps detached, and a sturdy box about one and a half meters square and a half-meter tall slipped free. It was maneuvered to a port beside the window that matched the profile. Hissing gas and flickering indicators marched through an automated sequence. The port slid open, and the box jutted a third of the way into the access way. In an efficient and practiced manner, Lex opened the end of the box and started to cinch their larger luggage in place with the straps attached to the module’s interior. In no time they were left with only their carry-on luggage. The module flipped shut, retracted, and was reattached to the belly of the SOB.
“Time to disembark,” Lex said, engaging the appropriate controls.
More mechanical arms deployed a deflated plastic sleeve with latching rings on either end. It was transparent, had internal ribbing, and was more or less perfectly designed to draw juvenile comparisons to a prophylactic. It was attached to the docking port of the SOB and the matching one on the space-station wall. The station-side port opened like a camera shutter, first just a sliver to allow the sleeve to inflate, then completely to allow them access.
“Okay,” Lex said, grabbing the port with one hand and reaching out with the other. One by one he grabbed the remaining items and heaved them into the tube. “Carry-on one, carry-on two, burritos, Squee.”
The funk, upon seeing him begin the loading process, had clearly been eagerly anticipating her turn to be loaded. When he grabbed her, she coiled up, planted her feet on his hand, and sprang into the tube as he pushed her, sending the furry little cannonball bounding through the obstacle-filled tunnel.
“You are already teaching her bad habits, Trev,” Michella said.
“Hey, she’s in the cockpit already. I call speedy boarding a good habit.”
Lex climbed into the tube, plowing the various bags and packages ahead of him, and got to tying them down beside his seat while Michella climbed in. As with the rest of her maneuvering, it was less than graceful. She emerged headfirst into the cockpit and was forced to flip herself over in a space that was already mostly filled with Lex and the increasingly excited funk.
“This ship is really tiny, Lex,” she complained.
“The word is cozy, babe. Intimate even. Like a cottage in—ow!” He groaned in pain after his sales pitch was interrupted by a designer boot to the ear.
“Sorry!” she said, giggling a bit as she finally managed to slide into the single passenger seat behind him. “It’s just that this ship is so darn cozy.”
“Yeah, well buckle up. It’s time for the safety lecture,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Welcome to Lex Express Spaceways. You are sitting in a cutting-edge, state-of-the-art personal interstellar transport. In the event of a hull breach, an emergency force field can maintain a breathable atmosphere for up to three weeks. The CO2 scrubber and oxygen generator is rated for over three months of continuous atmosphere recycling. TymFlex technology will slow any debris to safe speeds, and in the event of a catastrophic failure of all safety systems, an emergency environmental suit can keep you alive for four days, more than enough time for rescue units to arrive. You will experience weightlessness for the duration of the flight. Please pay attention to all recommendations and instructions given by the pilot. They are for your safety. Meals will be provided during the flight. Between one and three times a day we will make stops at or near rest facilities. Our trip is scheduled for two days. Hygienic equipment can be found beneath your seat. Instructions available at request. On your left armrest are controls for the holographic privacy screen and sound dampeners, as well as odor neutralizer and the heat and vibration controls for your chair. I am legally obligated to inform you that I am not officially licensed by any of the major transit agencies, and thus when traveling in transit controlled space I, the pilot, am personally in violation of minor interstellar statutes. You the passenger are not legally liable. We are entering the departure queue now. Please enjoy the ride.”
“Do you have to say that every time?” she asked, plucking Squee out of the air and cuddling her close.
“More or less. There aren’t any rules except for the ‘I’m breaking the law’ bit, but people expect that stuff from a captain.”
“I’ve never once heard you refer to yourself as a captain.”
“I think technically I’m a skipper, but you just don’t get the same feeling of prestige with skipper that you do with captain.”
The ship lurched forward, causing Michella to instantly panic and grab both armrests. Squee took the opportunity to drift up to Lex’s seat and claim her usual perch. “What was that?” Michella yelped.
“We’re entering the departure queue, like I said.”
“But why did I feel it?”
“I dialed down the inertial inhibitor. What’s the point of flying if you can’t feel it?”
Michella shook her head and tried to ignore subsequent jostles, but it wasn’t easy. The sheer length of interstellar journeys, even at modern speeds, had encouraged starship designers to do their very best to make a ship feel as stable and comfortable as possible. The result of this technological evolution was the nearly universal tendency of starships to feel more like a hotel than a vehicle. As a result, most people reacted to unannounced ship tremors in the same way they would react to an earthquake.
“I’m going to need that patch, Trev.”
“Sure thing,” Lex said, pulling open a small hatch and catching the packet of bandagelike patches that drifted out. The label read Free Fall Brand Zero-G Patches, with the slogan “Helps Keep Things Down.”
Michella stripped away enough of her winter outfit to unearth a bare arm and slapped a patch in place. Moments later her stomach settled.
She sighed in relief. “How long do these things last?”
“A few hours. And they wear off slowly. Most of my passengers don’t need a second one. They’re used to it by then.”
“Well, I’m keeping the pack just in case,” she said, tucking it into her pocket. “Now, you’re sure we’ll be there by Monday?”
“We’ll be there by Friday, babe. What’s the concern?”
Michella paused. “It’s kind of a sensitive bit of information.”
“Mitch.” He flipped some levers and tapped some buttons, managing to swivel his chair around to face her. Their knees were almost touching, and he dislodged some of their carry-on bags, but at least they were face-to-face. “We’re locked in a vacuum-isolated booth slowly exiting the least popular part of a space station. This is the most privacy we’re ever going to have.”
“All right. On the record, we’re going to Movi to investigate claims that they’ve discovered an extraterrestrial.”
“Wait, hold on. Really?” Lex said with excitement.
“Really what?”
“They found an alien?”
Michella rolled her eyes. “As a journalist I’m supposed to keep an open mind, so my official answer is ‘we’ll see,’ but I fully expect to find some sort of a bovine birth defect or an escaped albino monkey.”
“You never know. The wait could be over.”
“I didn’t know you were so keen on the idea of little green men.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t been hoping we’d find someone out here eventually.”
“Judging by how well we tend to get along with each other, when the day comes and we meet someone else, I don’t think it will end well. Regardless, it isn’t really why we’re going. See, I’ve been in contact with someone, a double agent or a spy with the Neo-Luddites. He just got his hands on a veritable treasure trove of information, but he doesn’t feel comfortable transmitting it. He’s going to be in a system very near to Movi for a few days. As long as we get there with enough time to spare, I can interview him and still give the network their precious ET coverage. And as a bonus, you and I get to have a long-overdue getaway.”
“Long overdue.”
“So, why exactly didn’t you have to call in for more time off?”
“Right… I… sort of got fired a few days ago.”
“No. Mickey fired you?”
“Mickey retired. The new guy fired me for taking too much time off.”
“I told you this freelancing thing would cause problems.”
“Hey, it’s getting you to your secret rendezvous on time, isn’t it?”
Michella shook her head. “Well, at least you’ve still got the limo job.”
“Speaking of…” He tapped at the controls and brought up his contact list. “I’d better call in now. VectorCorp’s price hike has got a lot of travelers tightening their belts. Not too many celebrities coming through Golana these days, so I probably won’t be missed, but now that it’s my only job, I’d better take care of it.”
He selected the office number for his dispatcher and tapped it.
“Henderson Conventional Transport,” came the response, from a familiar weasel in a sweater-vest.
“Oh… I’m sorry, I thought I called—”
“Mr. Alexander. I imagine you’re calling to request time off from your chauffeur position. And you’re calling from inside your ship. I’m pleased to see your lack of planning and consideration for your employer is at least consistent.”
“Wait, you run this place, too?”
“Yes, Mr. Alexander. We here at Henderson Conventional Transport have decided that the local transportation business on Golana is badly in need of an overhaul. So we have consolidated ownership and management of most manually piloted transportation and delivery businesses in the vicinity of Preston City. We feel it will enable us to elevate them to the same standard of efficiency as our parent company.”
“Which is?”
“VectorCorp.”
“… Ah.”
“VectorCorp fired you? They’ve been breathing down our necks at GolanaNet, too.”
“Oh, is that Michella Modane? Hello, Ms. Modane. I look forward to speaking to you soon in my new capacity as the local representative for VectorCorp’s communications wing.”
“You’re doing that too? Why is this all one guy? What the heck is going on?” Lex said.
“Isn’t it obvious? VectorCorp’s decided their plate of revenge is now cold enough to serve,” Michella said.
“Be careful what you say, Ms. Modane. VectorCorp does not respond well to baseless accusations. We are a multiglobal company. Petty vengeance is beneath us. In an unrelated matter, you are formally terminated in your capacity as chauffeur.”
“Yeah, I figured that was coming,” Lex said.
“Have a pleasant day,” Ronzone said, cutting off the communication.
Lex sat quietly for a moment. “Well that sucks.”
“What are you going to do now?” Michella asked. “You’re fresh out of jobs, aren’t you?”
“Well, there’s still this, for starters. The alternative transport biz is booming. Hell, I’ve even started ferrying worlds-famous newscasters around.”
“I think you should probably look for something a little more stable. And a little more legitimate. Have you got any prospects?”
Lex hesitated for a moment. “One or two.”
“Oh!” Michella said. “Maybe I can talk the network into putting you on the payroll. My personal driver. You could drive around one of our utility ships once the budget crunch is over.”
Lex scoffed. “Utility ship? No, ma’am. It’s SOB or nothing.” A beep on the console alerted him that the mandatory departure queuing was complete. He grabbed Squee from around his neck and handed her to Michella. “Hang on to the fuzz ball, and I’ll show you why.”
Squee calmly snuggled in Michella’s tense grip as Lex returned his seat to piloting position and took manual control.
“I used to think you couldn’t do any fancy flying in and around a starport without getting in trouble,” he explained, maneuvering his ship out of the line of those who were content to let the computer finish off their departure. “See, there are all sorts of minimum proximity requirements you are required to obey, or else you face big fines. Hence the tendency for people to stay in their designated lane. Then I realized there were so many of them that the places you could slip a ship between must be pretty tight. If you switch on the nav-trainer, it visualizes them for you.” He tapped a button, and a network of wire-frames seemed to appear around the ship. Produced by holographic displays embedded in the cockpit windows, they were meant to give first-time pilots a visual indicator of where not to go, placing neon bubbles around ships and virtual fences around off-limits sections of space. In a place like this, the myriad of departure lanes, arrival lanes, delicate structures, sensor arrays, and other navigational no-nos traced out a rainbow web of “do not cross” lines. “Tada! Instant obstacle course, and technically legal, which is my favorite kind of legal. Now keep your eye on that blue cargo hauler there. He was right in front of us. If I beat him out of the port, I beat the computer. First one to the white perimeter line wins.”
He unwrapped a stick of gum, tossed it in his mouth, and put his skills to work. To an outside observer, it would have appeared that he was making pinpoint turns and smooth pivots for absolutely no reason. From inside, he was skimming along the perimeter of lanes and slipping through gaps with centimeters to spare. As he coaxed his ship into improbable maneuvers, he heard telltale gasps and giggles from Michella.
“Once you get past the lack of gravity, this is just like when you’d take me around the track while you were prepping for the Tremor Grand Prix.”
“Why do you think I do it? Gotta get the juices flowing one way or another.” A warning tone sounded. “Uh-oh. Hang on tight. Looks like there’s a detour.”
One of the largest virtual threads crossing the path of the ship pulsed three times, then split apart into no less than a dozen new ones, the port’s system automatically routing the various ships to new departure and arrival lanes accordingly. The change drastically altered the course ahead, forcing Lex to compensate. He wove frantically between the new routes as they extended, twisted, and merged. His maneuvering took him within a meter of a departure lane, where he briefly matched speed with a commuter shuttle. They lingered there just long enough to be noticed by a family of passengers who seemed more than a little confused by the out-of-place ship. As they fumbled for their slidepads to record the moment, he peeled away and skimmed along the top of one of the detour routes.
“This is going to be a close one,” Lex said, spotting the blue ship. It was approaching his designated finish line and beginning to accelerate for the jump to faster-than-light that would be happening just after its exit. He pushed the SOB hard, cutting even closer to the imaginary obstacles. Despite being lessened by the ship’s safety systems, the acceleration forced Lex and Michella into their seats. With seconds to spare, he blazed through the perimeter of the starport.
“The winner!” he proclaimed.
“You really are a child sometimes,” Michella said with a shake of her head.
“Why should I let kids have all the fun? Unfortunately, we’ll be at FTL for the next six hours, so no more fancy driving for a while.” He turned back to her, adding with a wink: “We’ll have to find some other way to keep ourselves occupied. Anything you might want to try in zero-g?”