Angeleyes - eARC (2 page)

“Loading, cooking, yes.”

“Engines?”

“No, sir. I don’t know anything about them. I can watch a gauge while someone takes a head break. That’s it.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “What do you think about the Hevi Six dash Four vs the dash Three?”

That was a loader on my qualification list. “I think they made it too complicated instead of doing an actual upgrade. Most of the display choices aren’t needed, and the controls for that are hard to reach while actually gripping anything.”

“You’ll be happy with our dash Threes, then.”

“Oh, good.” I’d work with either. I just left the monitor screen cold on a dash Four, and drove it by eye.

“We’re tight on funds,” he said. “I can offer two K flat for the trip. But, I’ll give you point five percent time saved on loadup and loadout charge as a bonus.”

Yeah, that wasn’t much. But the bonus would help a little. And it got me from here back to Caledonia, where I had some funds and some gear I could sell if I had to.

“Private berth?” I asked. I was hoping.

He said, “Yes. We don’t have any passengers this leg.”

“Deal,” I said. Good. Private berth, locking door, transit where I needed to go, and credits. I wasn’t going to find anything better.

Govannon wasn’t a bad place, but it wasn’t a place for my skillset.

“I have your berthing number. When do you need me?” I asked.

“We start loading at twelve seventeen local.”

That was in three hours.

“I’ll be there. Thank you very much, sir.”

He gave me a pass authorization for their ship. I took that to the office, and they crosschecked my ID, added my bond number and image, and handed it back. That would get me through dock control and customs.

I got to my bunkie, stuffed my clothes in my backpack, and my dress outfits in a garment carrier. My pocket tools and “lock adjustment tool” went into an outside compartment. My rolly contained my coveralls and tension vac suit. I punched for the rolly to evacuate and it sucked everything down for maximum compression. I had nothing that Earth stations could consider a weapon, but I could sure as hell adjust someone’s attitude with that wrench. I had three other tools in case I needed them, but I wouldn’t here.

I logged out, slipped the key, recovered my deposit, and was ready to go. I took another walk around the Zodiac. It really was impressive, and there was no way I could afford any of it. There was a Gio Leather shop, with shoes starting at Cr1000. They were fantastic. I could get handmade mechanical watches, very retro. There were engraved pens. There were more practical things, like licensed stun batons dressed as walking sticks, and handmade backpacks that were almost reasonable—M500. There were casinos, but most were above anything I could afford, and the luck games are for suckers, and I stink at placing bets on cards. I never went in them.

I stopped at a kiosk for food.

“Morning, ma’am,” the cook said. He was Turkish, of course, with gyro meat roasting behind him. “Donor kabob?”

“Chicken, please,” I said. “Veggies, tzaziki sauce, banana peppers and a Coke.”

I don’t eat mammals. I rarely eat birds. It’s a personal thing. I wasn’t sure what they were serving aboard
Kubik
, but it shouldn’t be more than twenty days, and I can manage on salad for a while. And I had some canned tuna and salmon.

I paid, and sat at a table watching people as I ate. It was good. The chicken was raised in system, actually in microgee. It was very tender, and nicely seasoned. The poor things probably
wanted
to die, as tight as they were penned.

I succumbed to temptation and bought some Austrian chocolate and authentic Italian cheese as I headed for the docks.

At the dock, it was like being home. There were lighted walkways, traffic lights, warning lights, loader lights, people in reflective suits shouting at each other, the throbbing of rams. It meant work and travel. I was happy.

Kubik
was much like other ships I’d been in. The drive section was aft and none of my business. The command deck was forward, and something I hoped wouldn’t be my business. In between was crew quarters and holds, and the davits that held towed cargo. The co-owner and first officer was the wife of Mr. Kubik, Sr. She greeted me at the ramp, which reassured me a lot.

She was slightly soft from a lifetime in space, but reasonably fit and shapely. Spacers get more arm and less leg from pulling stuff around. She had gray hair pulled back in a short tail, and a shipsuit with
Kubik Deep Space Transport
embroidered on it.

“Ms. Kaneshiro?”

“Yes. Ms. Kubik?”

“Yes!” she grinned as we shook hands. “Frame four zero starboard is your berth.”

“Four zero starboard, got it,” I said.

“If you want to stow your gear, we’ll be ready to load in about twenty minutes.”

“Roger,” I said with a nod.

I found the stateroom easily enough. It was a bit larger than a station bunkie, and included a comm and phone terminal. That’s not a courtesy aboard. It’s necessary communication for emergencies. I checked that it worked, established an access, dropped both my bags and went below.

The ship was old but maintained. It might be half a century and change. As long as they fly and can transit a Jump Point, they’ll stay in use.

They had three loaders, and Ted and someone I hadn’t met were on two of them. I took the third, flipped it on, checked all the op lights, and got to work.

I think I impressed them. They had twelve haulers delivering containers from the holding sally. Each one got imaged from all six sides so damage in transit could be accounted for. Each one pulled up, released the container, which dropped sides and exposed the cubes. We’d each grab one, back to the ship’s flank, spin, elevate on the loader’s scissor jacks, and stuff the cube into the hold, where two others snagged them with davit harnesses and swung them into stow. The haulers were scheduled five minutes apart.

After the second one, Captain Kubik called and told them to make it four minutes. He couldn’t go any faster, because they couldn’t position stuff internally any faster.

In fifty minutes we were done, so I’d earned .5% of whatever they saved on undocking. If you don’t pay flat rate, you pay by the minute. That matters for tramps.

On the last load, Ted and the other guy swung out, ran along their forks, and jumped aboard to help wrangle in the hold.

“Park ‘em and stow ‘em,” he called while pointing. I nodded, dropped mine to the deck, and drove it up into the lower hold. There were three slots, I noticed my lock fob was labeled “Kubik #2,” so I parked it in the middle, and ran back for each of the others. Ted was waiting on the hatch as I rolled in the last one, nodded and hit the release. I grabbed all three fobs and handed them to him.

“Thanks,” he said. “We’re shoving off. You’ve seen your couch?”

I nodded. “Yes. I’ll go there now.”

He said, “We’ll update over phone.”

I placed my bags in underbunk stowage, rolled into the bunk and pulled out the gee harness. I checked my earbud and my phone itself. You pretty much never remove the earbud, and I know some people have them surgically implanted. I just wear mine. The phone itself has better reach but isn’t always needed.

No one wastes mass or money painting a ship. Everything is bare extrusion or alumalloy. But sleeping spaces are the exception. Mine was a cool blue, which I liked. I’m not a fan of pink or puke green. So I had a bit of color for my space.

Mister Kubik’s voice came over intercom. “All hands, I show green. Any delays or alibis, let me know now.” Thirty seconds later he said, “All green, stand by for undocking and external loading.”

Departure wasn’t a problem. Hydraulics pushed us out, the maneuvering thrusters came on, then retroed.

They hadn’t told me anything, so I assumed the towed containers were being attached by station crew. I felt some faint vibrations, and a couple of slight shoves to the ship’s orientation. That meant they were attaching stuff. Trampers typically carry as close to safe margin as they can, anything that can be stuffed in or hung on the outside. Any gram of capacity not used is a gram you’re not being paid for. Cargo is easier to find than passengers, but they’ll take passengers, too.

Kubik warned us about thrust again, and I felt it hiss, then rumble. He moved us slowly, making sure the latchlocks on the davits were tight, the cargo secure and oriented. I knew he was satisfied when the screen over my rack warned me he was going to gas it. Thrust and G increased, adjusted, then main power came online and we were outbound for the Jump Point. It was seven and a half Earth days from here to there. In the meantime, I’d do any shipboard routine they needed.

“All hands may undog and start spaceside duties. Dinner at eighteen hundred in the mess.”

Ted’s voice came over, “Angie, you’re welcome to relax until chow. There’s nothing pending.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said. “Call if there is.”

Dinner was baked longtrout, and not bad. The crew was all family and inlaws. I’d flown on ten or more ships like it and they were in my log if I needed reference.

“Where are you from, Angie?” the engineer asked. He wasn’t ugly, but definitely not my type. Fit enough, but just, no.

Being discreet, I said, “Caledonia, but I’ve spent my life traveling.”

“I bet. Your accent doesn’t sound Caledonian.” He slid over the food dish, and I decided he was just being conversational.

“Probably not anymore,” I said. He didn’t press the issue. “It’s what my passport says, though.”

“Have you been on land?”

“Not really. My parents did the wandering thing.”

“That’s not common.”

“No, and look how I turned out. I can’t stay anywhere more than a year.” I stuffed fish into my face to avoid more convo.

They didn’t push me for more details, and I sat out of their family convos. They were friendly enough, but this ship was their world. It was just a job and a cubby for me.

I spent the time until jump, and after jump, doing routine shipboard maintenance—flushing compartments for pests, checking seals, checking batteries on the loaders. Much of it was automated, but it still called for eyes on to make sure the automation was connected.

When we docked at Station Orkney in Caledonia system, we raced to pull the cargo. We were done in thirty-seven minutes. The terminal hadn’t finished with the external pods.

Mister Kubik came down as we stowed the loaders.

“Thanks for crewing with us, Ms. Kaneshiro.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” I said.

“I could use one more leg to Earth if you’re free.”

“I appreciate it, but I have things to do here,” I said. I didn’t want to go to Earth again, unless I knew I had passage back out.

“Very well. Possibly we’ll cross flights again.”

“Possibly.”

He handed me a draft for M2000 and the bonus of almost 800. That would keep me going a couple of weeks, and I had accounts here I could draw on.

Ted and his mother came by. We shook hands and parted as professionals. I’d definitely keep their info in case we did cross flights. It does happen.

I found a bunkie off-dock, stowed my gear, then went to a small stowage I keep in a traveler’s locker. They’re meant for personal belongings that might violate code as you change systems—drugs, weapons, porn. I keep all those, and some valuables, and clothes.

With better clothes, I was ready to go clubbing and see who I could find. A girl can only deal with toys for so long, and as I said, crew are off limits.

I took the case to my bunkie, and pulled out magenta hair dye, and a straightener. I gave it a quick brushing to neaten it up, then grabbed a blue catsuit and white bolero. I didn’t bother with underwear. I did wear boots with low heels that gave me a little lift but had plenty of support. Gravity at the club level was mid, so I chose a bra with a little lift, but not the superstructure I used back on Grainne at 1.18G. Now I had cleave, and I painted my lips for fullness. That was a hint.

I hadn’t been here in six months, but Club Eden was still open.

The guy at the door might have recognized me. He squinted slightly, scanned my chit and nodded. I smiled a little and walked in, with just a trace of strut. I wanted to look confident, not arrogant.

It was dark, with flashing colors. There was even a magenta flood similar to my hair. They had a gym of chromed bars, and four dancers were weaving through it. They were in very sheer skintights. I’m not much into women, but I eyed the brunette. She was slinky but lush. Her cheeks were fantastic. All four of them.

Much of the crowd were younger. Some military, some crew, some station, and probably some corporate, either interns or adult children of execs. I was probably one of the poorest ones in the place.

I got a cola with just a dusting of Sparkle in it. I wanted to heighten things slightly, not affect my judgment.

I don’t know much about music, but I know they can tweak the waveforms so they’re constantly shifting and basically resonate in the brain. They were doing that. The beat was hypnotic and sexy, and whatever was playing lead was complicated and oddly classical.

I got out on the floor, under the cage, and just started moving. I noticed the lights were running in sequences, and followed them with my eyes, and my feet. I occasionally bumped someone, and most of the dancers were couples, but there were some other singles.

I danced with three guys, and decided two of them were worth considering. The other one just felt desperate to me.

One was younger, fitter and had fine maneuvering technique. He twisted me between the other couples and gripped me with a firm touch I appreciated.

The other one was older, probably had more money, and was still in good shape. He had green eyes, hair shot through with gray, and I got a veteran vibe from him. I liked how that added up.

The most important question was: Did I want this man crawling over my naked body for several hours?

Oh, Gods, yes.

The Sparkle had worn off enough I was sure I was thinking straight, and I filed a pic of him in case I needed to ID him.

“I’m Angie,” I said, giving him a card that had a throwaway contact in case I needed to dump him.