Supergiant (Gigaparsec Book 2) (7 page)

“They’re gathered in the pilots’ lounge,” Kesh explained,
straightening his business suit as he trundled through the hall of the space
station. “As far as they know, we’re interviewing for the job of shuttle pilot
to pick up our last few loads from the surface.”

“But we don’t have a shuttle,” Ivy
said. She wore her flame-red, thoroughly impractical, gawk-at-me heels and
looked great doing it. Though Roz knew for a fact she had slept less than five
hours the night before. Roz had still been sulking and pouring her woes out to
Jeeves at 2:00 a.m. when Ivy stumbled back into their room.

“Still?” Roz said. “I thought you
were going to fix that.”

Kesh flipped his tail in
irritation, the way a cow would at a fly. “I told you cargo shuttles are very
expensive, and we don’t have the funds yet.”

Roz grabbed his clawed hand.
“There’s so much that could go wrong if we don’t have one.”

“We only sold half the cargo here.
You worry about picking the copilot and leave the rest to me,” Kesh assured.

Outside the lounge, Ivy brought up
the résumés on her computer pad. “Did you get a chance to screen the list of
candidates? Any favorites?”

“Eh.” Roz waved her hand. “Any of
them but that chucklehead Vern is a better pilot than me. We chased him out of
Eden Station for drinking on the job. This comes down to finding the best fit
personality-wise.”

“My specialty,” said Ivy, adjusting
her tight skirt and lipstick for the secretary disguise. “You chat with them
one at a time. The topic doesn’t matter. I’ll hang around the perimeter and
listen to what they talk with each other about.” She popped in a fresh piece of
gum.

The moment the door opened, Roz
scanned the ten pilots relaxing in the lounge. Only four wore regulation
uniforms. Vern stood behind the bar. Another pilot with dark facial hair and
pointed ears caught her attention immediately. “Him.”

“So much for subtlety and avoiding
stereotypes,” said Kesh. “You think just because he’s a Bat, he’s the best
pilot in this place?”

“Bat starships are composed of
seventy twin-Icarus-field pods. Each pod can be peeled off individually and
piloted by a crew member as part of an attack wing. If he was combat-rated by
the Bats, he’s in the top 10 percent of their pilots. So, yes,” replied Roz,
striding toward the alien candidate. Ivy and Kesh greeted the others, shaking
hands and making a pretense of fairness.

Roz held out her hands, palms up,
at shoulder height as she said in crisp Banker to the lean, dark-eyed Bat, “We
uplift one another. I’m Chief Engineer Shiraz Mendez”

The Bat flexed his ears forward.
From his build, he obviously spent a lot of time exercising in the gym. “I heed
the Voice of the Void. Call me Deke.”

“No patronymic?” Roz asked.

“Odd. Normally people ask about my
missing leg and how I can cope.”

“I’ve seen you in zero-g when I was
outside inspecting my vessel. You get around just fine out there.”

“I usually wear a prosthetic in the
gravity areas, but I’ve had a long shift.”

“You’re avoiding my question about
your name. Something you don’t want me to know?”

“I lost both my leg and second name
in a crash about ten years ago,” Deke said solemnly. “Our battleship was
stationed at Jotunheim until the resolution of the Gigaparsec War in order to
guard the shipyards and allow the Humans to commit all their resources to
planetary warfare. After peace was established, the ill-named Galactic Cup
races started up again. How could it be ‘galactic’ if only Humans competed? A
few of us decided to take the spare blades from our ship and enter.”

“The shuttle pods?” She had heard
of multiple interchangeable computing boards in a rack being referred to as
blades but never ships.

“Yes. The computer expert systems
are custom-fitted to us personally. The shuttles of our people are analogous to
the family swords of your ancient warriors.”

“The samurai,” Roz supplied.

“We are landed knights, sent by our
territories to contribute to the common defense.”

Roz knew nothing about the
government of Bat space. She would need to do her research before they crossed
the border.
Are they a feudal system?
“How did you fare in the race?”

“My cousins finished first and second.
I was passing the third-place Human when his team
bumped
my vessel.”

Human ships, built for up to twenty
passengers, had substantial cushion for such maneuvers. Bat shuttles were more
like one-man luges. Roz said, “A lesser pilot would be dead.”

“I only wish I had been.”

“Why? Did you do something wrong?”

“My captain bet a rather large sum
that his men would all finish in the top four. Because he was already winning
the bet, he had ordered me not to pass the Human.”

Roz snorted. “Tell him it’s called
a
race
for a reason. I would’ve aimed for number one.”

The Bat leaned back against the
bar. “Admirable sentiment, but I had no chance to speak at my court martial for
disobedience. The battleship left me in a Human hospital, stripped of rank and
title for losing my ship. The team that fouled me was supposed to pay for the
repairs, but they declared bankruptcy. To finance my medical bills, the
administrators of the race salvaged the wreckage of my family blade. The
shipyards converted my precision racing craft into a secondhand grain hauler
and sold it to the breeder guild. I followed it here as soon as I could move so
that no other pilot would touch my blade. I’ve been working every day since,
trying to repurchase the vessel. But even if I do, I’d never be able to afford
transport fees home. Since then I’ve tried racing for money and even won.
However, I was disqualified because I wasn’t wearing two regulation boots.”

She touched her finger to the scar
on her forehead. “A greedy landlord and my father’s idiot mistake left me brain
mute. You don’t hear me whining.”

“Excuse me?”        

“Do you want to sit here and
boohoo, or do you want to head back home?” Deke seemed to have difficulty
processing the offer. “My crew and I are heading deep into Bat territory. We
could use a guide who knows Bat worlds, trade practices, and politics. If you
pass the audition, that is.” Roz didn’t want to promise too much too soon.
“We’ll hire you for a few days of simple cargo work first so the others can
evaluate you.”

“Other than your pleasant
personality and conversation in a non-Human language, why would I be
interested?”

Roz jerked a thumb at Kesh and Ivy.
“Because we’re going to be rich and famous. All of us are the best in our
field, except we’re missing a decent pilot. You could be a part of that. Think
of it. The Bats who snubbed you will have to kiss your butt to talk to us.” He
smirked a little, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Given Grady’s response
to the medal, she held the dolphin pin between her fingers. “My friend Max
earned this. If anyone can help restore your honor, he can.”

After a moment’s hundred-meter
stare, Deke replied, “You make a persuasive argument. I will meet your captain
and this Max.”

The crew of
The Inner Eye
left the lounge together.

Kesh remained on the space station
to obtain bulk discounts on souvenirs. He showed her a tiny cheese wheel and
how it opened into a terabyte data device.

“Why would anyone want a Cheese
Festival fob?” Roz asked.

“The novelty gives us an excuse to
charge more for them in Bat space. We’ll really be selling the data we’ve
placed
on
them,” Kesh explained.

“What kind of data?” Roz asked
warily.

“Just old-fashioned music, no
copyright violations. Trust me. They’ll be worth their weight in gold.”

On her way back to the ship, Roz told
Ivy about the Bat’s interview.

Ivy whispered, “You were right
about Deke being the best.”

“How do you know?” Roz asked.

“You didn’t notice him
straightening bar napkins?”

“Um … no. What does that have to do
with piloting skill?”

Ivy remained silent through a
crowded region and a security checkpoint. Once back in the cargo bay of
The
Inner Eye
, she explained, “About a quarter of Bats manifest
obsessive-compulsive disorder. That’s a sign of their gift. In Humans, it would
be called Simplification—where we find the patterns in something, from the
stock market to genetic markers.”

“And Deke did this with piloting?”

“Or he’s borderline insane,” Ivy
said. “Specialists are supremely arrogant.”

Roz nodded. “I think he fits the
bill. Tell me more about specialists.”

“The largest portion of our brain
goes unused. This talent fills the unused portion of the Bat brain with
something vital to survival, etching new neural pathways and finding the
essence of something. About age thirteen, these OC children are encouraged to
find something that sparks their interest, such as math, the law, medicine, or
sports trading cards. By age twenty, they know everything about that subject.
Not all of the options are pure mental disciplines. It can branch into
hand-to-hand combat or sports—whatever their society needs the most at that
moment. Bat criminals can be almost impossible to catch if they slip into Human
space.”

Roz badged through the airlock
doors, opening them for her friend. “Do you think Professor Crakik is a
specialist in physics?” Echo seemed more certain than ever that the mysterious
Bat theoretician could provide the missing piece that would make her
subbasement equations usable.

“Most likely.”

“What about their leaders?”

“Well, Deke’s captain could have
been an expert in yacht racing or some other team sport before the war. He
might have been able to hold a ship of pilots together better than most.
Usually, leaders are skilled generalists for two reasons. First, specialists in
the same area are too competitive to get along with each other. Second, do you
really want to be led by a manipulative compulsive who’s planned to rule the
world since age thirteen?”

****

While Roz continued repairs with Grady, the other partners
met with Deke.

For dinner, Roz planned to prepare Chicken
Parmesan, but when Max didn’t show up to help, she went a little overboard
hitting the chicken with the tenderizing hammer.

Only Ivy noticed. “Max isn’t
blowing you off. He’s meeting with a lawyer to make arrangements for Deke.”

Roz stopped pounding. “He’s a great
pilot, isn’t he? I watched him take off and land twice today. Flawless.”

“You called it, honey. His legal
situation is a little tricky, but we’re offering to make him the seventh member
of the company. Kesh and Max are handling the details. Reuben and I are
managing what little cargo and supplies remain. We need you focused on
The
Inner Eye
.”

Roz nodded, pulling out eggs,
cheese, and crumbs for the batter. “We’ll be ready ahead of time. Grady isn’t
brilliant, but you could trust him with your life. Here, grate this cheese into
a bowl.”

“Can’t. Nails,” Ivy said, holding
up her fresh manicure.

“Fine. Start the spaghetti then.
Bring the water to a boil before throwing the noodles in.”

“Rules, rules, rules.”

“It’s how I live and how I’m
built.” Roz reflected on her friend’s spontaneity. “Do you think that’s a
turnoff for guys?”

“Depends on the guy.” Ivy filled a
container with water. “Some fellows can’t get enough mashed potatoes. They eat
them with every meal, which isn’t half bad if you use enough butter, spice, and
milk.”

Roz frowned. “Is this a dirty
metaphor?”

“No, a shopping list. That sounds
really good, but I’ve been trying to watch my weight since I’ve moved to the
ship. I’ll order some of each after dinner. Never buy food by the ton when
you’re hungry.”

“In that case, add just a little
garlic and sour cream. If we’re stocking up on butter, do you think Max would
like cookies?”

“Wicked temptress,” Ivy accused.

“This is my last meal, and I wanted
to go out with a bang. Evidently, Herb’s wife, Alyssa, made meatloaf for the
guys over lunch, and they all voted to accept her.”

Ivy nodded. “Max spoke with her
alone for a few minutes and claims our crew won’t be complete without her.
Don’t worry. Reuben informs me Alyssa’s in her late forties and obviously in
love with her husband. Kesh said her cuisine was only a three-star attraction,
but her plebian appeal makes up for her lack of originality.”

“Which means everyone had seconds,
and she doesn’t garnish with carrot sculptures.”

Cracking the spaghetti in half, Ivy
said, “I don’t care, as long as we won’t be stuck cooking anymore. In addition
to loading cargo, I think Herb is even doing the dishes. Here’s to well-trained
men.”

“Amen.”

****

The ship departed Prairie Station a little overweight but a day
early.
How many Cheese Festival souvenirs did he buy?
Kesh warned her
not to say anything about Deke on the radio because he took the weekend off
followed by terminal leave in order to garner the maximum pay. “The station has
a non-competition clause in his contract. To adjust for this wrinkle, our
partnership with him isn’t official until we enter Bat space. Planet-based
Human contracts aren’t enforceable at that point.”

“That seems fair,” Roz replied.

She spent the next couple days
training Deke on her ship. Deke eked more power out of the system by turning
off everything unnecessary. Then he pushed the envelope on the engines as they
accelerated into the gravity well of the nearest sun, which seemed to waste
more fuel than she had allotted. When she objected, Deke explained, “Growing
power gems thrive on the bursts of radiation from the pulsar-like star in the
Phoenix system, but visitors need to get in, swap containers, and leave as soon
as possible. Trades are generally agreed to via radio before a ship even
lands.” Supplies generally weren’t purchased at the sparse, corporate outpost.