Stepping Up (3 page)

I was able to sell all the stuff I’m not taking for seven
hundred credits.  I’m not exactly rolling in dough, but I wasn’t looking for a
profit. And it’s a little over half a week’s wages on the new job. The local
pawnshop has 9mm pistols with two magazines for four hundred credits. Boxes of
fifty rounds are priced at thirty credits each, so I get three boxes. The
salesman tosses a shoulder holster onto the counter to round the sale to five
hundred credits, after taxes. That leaves me two hundred credits.  It’s walking
around money, but not much more.  So much for being rich.

I may have been a bit hasty in handing in the key to my
apartment, though.  I call Jimmy.  “Hey, brother, I’m homeless.  Can I crash on
your couch for the night? I’ll buy you a Rison’s steak in exchange.”  I’m not
sure if Aria meant I could sleep on the launch or go up to the ship, but I’d
really prefer to not breathe recycled air until I absolutely must.

“Well, if there’s beef on the table, my answer is an
unqualified ‘you bet your sucrose infused posterior.’  What happened to your
place?  And how are you able to swing the expensive stuff? Didn’t I pay your
way into the cinema last night?  You’re not taking advantage of Jimmy B’s
generosity, are you?  Many have tried, few have succeeded, but none have
prospered.”

“The roaches repossessed it.” Damnit! I didn’t want to get
into this now, but Jimmy deserves the truth.  “No, that’s not true: I gave it
back to the landlord, it’s time for a change.” How do I tell him? “I’m shipping
out on
Night Searcher
.”   There’s a lot to be said for being direct, it
may be painful, but it’s effective.

There’s a pause on the line.  I’m about to ask if he’s still
there when he speaks in strained tones.  “Captain Prowse’s boat is a good ship.
Well, in that case, I insist you buy me a few rounds of whiskey to celebrate
your well faring.” 
And drown my sorrows
I hear him not say.

“Of course.  Should I meet you on your door step after
work?”

“Of course, dear one,” he hangs up without another word. I
had my perCom switched off while I was testing.  When I turn it back on, I see
that Morrie has called me eight more times.  I’ve been looking forward to
this.  I scroll to his last call and punch the ‘return call’ icon.  He answers
on the third ring. “Sonia, where in the nine hells have you been? You better
have a good excuse. You’re already cleaning the next four ionic scuppers.”

That’s a real shit detail.  The cleaning fluid is cold, foul
and plentiful.  Ideally, the tech wears a water “dry suit” to keep from ruining
coveralls.  The fluid is more messy than toxic.  Sadly, these cheap scoundrels
haven’t bought even one.  And the cost is prohibitively expensive for an
individual mechanic.  Here, most techs change into shorts and tee shirts with
the intent of throwing them away.  When Morrie trained me on the job, we were
in there together.  I can still remember the rolls of fat under his man-tits.
The bastard is threatening me with a wet tee shirt. A cold, wet tee shirt.
Alone.  For several hours.  And the event has to be monitored and recorded for
“safety” reasons.

“Hi, Morrie!” I respond with sunshine dripping from my
smile, “I’m calling in well.”

“You’re calling in
well
? What does that mean? When are
you coming in?”

“It means, Well, I’m not coming in.”

“What do you mean? Are you sick?”

“Yes, I have gluteal glaucoma”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I can’t see my butt being there. Ever again.  Good
bye, lardass.”

I have never enjoyed a phone conversation so much.  I just
wish I’d had the forethought to record it.  His expression was priceless.

I take Jimmy to as nice a place as one could ask without
reservations.  While packing, I kept out an outfit of mine Jimmy has always
liked. He’s happy for me, but he’s not happy I’m going.  I do everything I can
to keep either of us from dwelling on it.  We each order the Rison’s Filet with
all the trimmings.  But Jimmy is without his usual banter as we eat.  The
waitress clears the platters away to make room for dessert.  I put my hand on
his.  “I’m going to miss you, too.”

“Enough, my girl, ere you have me weeping. I propose a
toast!” He pours wine into our glasses.  “To Sonia MacTaggert, new Engineer,
and I’m sure within a year Captain of
Night Searcher
.  Open skies,
m’love.” Our glasses clink together.

“Me? Captain? I’ll be happy to be allowed to leave alive if
I don’t botch something.  Department Head is still a distant career goal. If
that’s in my future at all, I’m sure it will be years away.”

After ice cream, or maybe sherbet (I never remember the
difference) we walk back to his place, hand-in-hand.  Pilgrim’s Park is a nice
place during the day, but at night, the “good people” really don’t want to be
there.  Jimmy steers us towards the park without a second thought. The “bad
people” aren’t much more comfortable. “It’s okay, beloved.  I am not exactly
unknown here.”  I don’t know what he means exactly, but the people I do see
look the other way when they see Jimmy.  Maybe the rumors are true. Maybe some
girl did help Jimmy with some heinous deeds in the  past. It just wasn’t me. It
couldn’t have been.  Could it?

After passing through the park unmolested, we continue down
Third street to his building.  He’s fortunate enough to have a flat that opens
onto the street.  Opening the door to his apartment, he says,  “Now, I ask one
great favor of you:  I will sleep on the couch.  I want you to take the bed. I
insist.”  I hear a loud squawk as the door opens, and then I see Jimmy’s bird
flap its wings in the cage.  He swears it’s a hawk.  I don’t think it’s big
enough, but it is a raptor—that’s evident by its talons and beak.  The cage is
very large, easily ten feet long, four feet wide and from the floor to the
ceiling.

“Jimmy…I can’t. This is your place, you take the bed.”  I
follow him into the apartment. 

“Pshaw, tut, tosh, piffle and tommyrot!” As he speaks, Jimmy
opens a small box beside the bird’s cage.  He lifts a mouse out and tosses it
into the cage.  The terrified mouse scurries a bit.  The bird watches it then
swoops down, catching the prey on the first go. There is a water bowl in the
cage but no food dish.  This animal doesn’t want to be fed.  It wants to hunt. 
I suppose Jimmy is accommodating it as best he can.  The mouse’s bones make for
a crunchy meal.

I prepare to argue some more.  After wiping his hands with a
sani-wipe, he silences me with a finger on my lips. “I have wanted to say for
years that I got Sonia MacTaggert into my bed.  Your morals and my ethics
forbade pursuit of fornication.” That’s not entirely accurate.  Jimmy
apparently has a very high opinion of me.  Hopefully, one day I’ll be able to
live up to it.  But I don’t think now is the time to tell him of my tarnished
past.  “And since matrimony appears out of the question and you are leaving me
tomorrow, this is apparently my last opportunity.  Therefore, when I say you
were between my sheets, and I will, have no doubt of that, it will be true. 
Off with you! If you wish, I have some oversized tee shirts.  Second drawer
from the top, center. I’m going to take a shower.”

He closes the door to the bathroom behind him.  I soon hear
the water running and then I hear Jimmy singing, at least I hope it’s singing. 
It’s probably not the key the composer had in mind, but what the heck, it’s not
like he’s selling tickets.  I find the indicated drawer and quickly shed my own
clothes, then slip a copy of a Rams jersey over my head.  It comes down to just
above my knee. I’m not an exhibitionist, but I do decide on the “commando”
route.  I’m not as certain of tonight’s outcome as Jimmy appears to be.

I walk into the living area and turn on some music:
whichever station Jimmy has it set to is bound to be good.  The indicator lights
say it’s a recording.  Good, no commercials. It’s soft, melodic—so Jimmy and so
not Jimmy at the same time.

“So, you’ve not only raided my wardrobe, but my tunage as
well? Is nothing sacred?” He has the back of his right hand to his angled head,
his left sweeping behind him.  What a drama queen.  I didn’t see him carry them
into the shower but he has traded jeans and Rugby shirt for gym shorts and tee
shirt.

“Dance with me, Jimmy.”

“As though there could be another outcome.”  He takes me in
his arms and we move together to the soft jazz coming from the stereo system. 
Time passes unnoticed while we dance; the songs segue into one another but we
don’t part.  If anything, Jimmy’s hand on my waist pulls me closer to him.  I
break contact with his left hand and wrap my arms around his neck; he in turn
encircles my waist with both of his.  I crane my head up and meet his gaze. 
Our lips touch for the briefest of moments.  He pulls away from me. I can feel
him trembling.  “Good night,” he says.  His hands are on my waist pushing me in
the direction of the bedroom door.

I’m confused.  He’s not a prude nor is he saving himself for
anyone.  He isn’t currently attached; he would have told me if he were.  He’s
had many lovers before; why not me?  He turns out the light in the den and
passes through my shadow as he reclines on the couch.  The floor creaks as I
step towards him.

“Close the door, Sonia.  Get some sleep.”

I hate it when he does that. I stand in the doorway for what
feels like a very long time.  All he has to say is, “Please stay.” And I
would.  I know it, he knows it.  That’s probably why he won’t say it.

He’s gone when I wake.  My clothes are folded on the arm
of the sofa; I wonder why he did that.  I make a quick breakfast, take a
shower, dress and leave.  I feed the bird and lock the door on my way out.

Before I released my apartment, I had a courier service
deliver my cargo trunk to the launch at bay 114.  It didn’t cost near what I
thought it would.  My nosey neighbor accepted Fuzzbutt with aplomb.  When she
asked why, I told her I was leaving town.  All of my baggage fit into the
container; there was actually room to spare.
That was one headache I did not
want.
 

This morning I plan to take my time walking to the bay, I
want to really see the parts of the starport I’ve always dashed past on my way
to work.  I have the day to kill, why not use it?  Morrie calls me a few more
times and I finally have to tell him in monosyllabic words that I’m not coming
back.  I look at all the places I used to take for granted; Jimmy isn’t my only
friend here.  I stop in a few other places and tell others I’m leaving.  All
congratulate me, a few are sad to see me go.  I take a deep breath and head for
the fuel wrangler’s booth.  I don’t recognize the man working it.  When I ask
where Jimmy is, he replies, “I don’t know exactly.  He called in sick this
morning.  I called his apartment, he didn’t answer.  He must have gone to the
doctor.  He’s not answering his perCom.”

I thank him and head for 114.  I’m disappointed.  As much as
I knew it would be hard, I wanted another…that scoundrel is waiting for me. 
He’s sitting on my footlocker.

“I didn’t really like leaving this morning without saying
good bye,” he says.

“Me neither.”

He stands up and I wrap my arms around his neck.  His arms
go around my back and waist.  I look up into his face; our eyes lock as I pull
his face to mine.  He’s got nowhere to run.

“Wow,” he says, “I haven’t been kissed like that since third
grade.”

That does it, I punch his shoulder and we both laugh.

“Let me help you, bag.” 

I punch him again.

“I’m sorry, I meant, ‘let me help you with your bag.’”  He
lifts my footlocker and carries it into the bay.  One of the spacers directs
him to a pallet they are preparing.  Once it’s in place he takes me by the hand
and we step to the edge of the bay.  “Now, I’m afraid I must depart as I’m
severely dehydrated and can ill afford to weep.  Good-bye Sonia.  I hope I will
see you again someday.”

“I hope so too, Jimmy.  But I doubt I’ll have much say as to
which ports the ship calls on.”  Another kiss and he’s gone.

I’m an hour early for the launch’s departure. A pair of
workmen—
spacers
, since they work for a starship—moves the pallets of
cargo containers into the launch and secures them for flight.  There’s a
shorthaired brunette walking around the craft.  She’s dressed like a pilot;
she’s probably doing her pre-flight inspection, she opens and closes various
inspection hatches.

Aria is there with two other people.  She introduces Ricky
Margoon and Twelia Starr on the ramp prior to boarding. They must be the other
two newbies. Ricky is a stocky, dark skinned man with a certain wild, untamed
look. Given his build and general air, I think he’s probably an infantryman.
Twelia is a full figured, short-cropped blonde wearing a chef’s jacket.  She
looks older than me, but it could also be due to harsher experiences.  Aria
introduces us to each other, we exchange handshakes and greetings.  Aria
announces, “Well, as we are all here I see no reason to delay.  If each of you
would find a seat, we will head up to
Night Searcher
.”  They’ve changed
the interior from when I was tested.  It’s set for transport now.  Where there
had been desks and walls, there are now only two rows of seats along the sides
of the craft.  Aria is just as nice as she was yesterday, but I get the impression
that discussion is not an option and argument will not be tolerated.

We all strap in for the ride. I take a seat towards the
center of the craft’s passenger area, next to one of the windows—view ports, I
remind myself. There are several pallets of cargo, our containers of personal
baggage strapped in among them, fastened to the deck between the jump seats. 
It makes sense; a boat this size is too much just to move a few people, but
with several tons of provisions also, the once roomy vessel is now a little
cramped. The launch takes off and heads for orbit on a leisurely course.  Either
the pilot is not in a hurry, or she is hoping for some unveiling effect.

I see the ship soon.  And my heart almost stops. 
This
thing is huge!
 I’ve been working with starship engines for years now, but
I never get to see the whole thing.  I’ve never really thought about how
massive the ship must be to need something with the power of seven fusion
reactors to push it beyond the speed of light.  And most ships reflect light.  This
one seems to absorb it.  She is a large dark colored cruiser, probably at least
a Class 2000 ship, and looks pretty scary.

I remember the last time I left the planet.  Jimmy and I
would often go up on rental flights, but those were always going back to the
starport.  We’d spend hours just spotting the ships in their much higher
parking orbits, and wondering about them before we went back to our less than
exciting lives on Tammuz. We would dream of what it must be like to fly between
planets and solar systems. This launch isn’t going back to Tammuz. This is a
one-way trip for me.

For all the bad that’s happened lately, I will always have
some very fond memories of Tammuz.  I can’t help but shed a tear.  If Twelia or
Ricky hears me crying, they make no sign of it.

The launch lands in a large bay—a large Ship’s Craft bay in
a huge ship.  A man stands in the middle of a marked traffic corridor staring
at us, his arms crossed.  His tunic is light blue of a simple cut, the sleeves
don’t reach his elbows and the pants terminate mid thigh. I want one for
myself; it has a sporty look to it.  But leaving the warmth of the launch, the
room is a bit chilly, so maybe it’s not such a good idea.  He’s wearing
gauntlets and heavier boots than the other crewmembers.  The gauntlets
terminate at the midpoint between his elbows and wrists.  His boots likewise
end mid-shin.  He has a certain air about him.  Given the way everyone moves
around him rather than asking or telling him to step aside, he’s clearly
someone of consequence.  His tunic has a loose hood pulled over his head and
down to his brow.  The hood shades the top of his face.  I can see what looks
like a respirator over his throat, a grille just below his Adam’s apple.  With
no obvious tank, he doesn’t need anything added to the ship’s atmosphere, just
performance augmented maybe. Aria steps over to him and—I’m not making this
up—curtsies to him. He looks at the three of us as well as the cargo that rode
up with us and simply nods his head; then he walks away without a word.  I get
the feeling we’ve just been accepted, but brushed off at the same time.  I’m
used to not being taken seriously; I’m unaccustomed to being ignored.  And I
can’t say it’s a feeling I enjoy.  Nor is it one to which I intend to become
accustomed.

The small craft bay is abuzz with activity.  A handful of
spacers remove the pallets from the launch and release the straps holding the
various parcels down.  Another group busies themselves building different piles
of the cargo for distribution through the ship.  Someone has brought us each an
anti-gravity cart.  Aria claps her hands together for our attention.  “Okay,
later on members of your respective departments will provide tours.  Grab your
gear and move out! Through those doors.” She points to a pair of double doors
at one end of the compartment.  We all load our baggage onto a cart and follow
her.  Ricky and I are the light travelers.  We have only the footlockers. 
Twelia has a few more boxes, probably of various and sundry kitchen
implements.  We get into the stern elevator and ride six decks up to Deck C.
“All of you, please adjust your personal chronometers to ship’s time.  On
Tammuz it is currently 1830. 
Night Searcher
time is currently 1925.”  I
don’t wear a watch, but my perCom has already detected the time pulse and is
prepared to reset itself accordingly.  I press a button allowing the
over-write.

Aria continues speaking: “Directions aboard are given
relative to the ship’s bow, or forward end.  Rooms are designated by their deck
first.  For example: Sonia, you are in stateroom C-11. You will find it on the
port side of the corridor.  That is to your left as you exit the elevator.  You
two are on deck B. You will all get an orientation briefing at 2100 in the crew
Commons, deck A forward.”

After exiting the elevator, I do my best to find Stateroom
C-11. 
Oh, here it is.
I open the door and start moving in the whole
time pondering,
Girl, have ye bitten more’n ye can chew?

For a ship this size, the rooms are cozy. It appears I have
a room to myself.  I hope so, since there’s only one bed.  I must have
impressed someone. Jimmy always said that a solo room on a first cruise simply
doesn’t happen.  I have a bed, my own refresher, a desk with a holographic
communication system, or holoCom, and a locking storage cabinet with separate
pistol and rifle racks. The locks will have to be programmed to accept my
thumbprint.  My refresher consists of a toilet, shower, and sink. The room has
minimal storage space.  I suppose the towel will dry over the same rod that
holds the shower curtain. I can’t imagine two people trying to be in the
refresher at the same time, much less the shower.  There are plenty of hangers
for clothes and gear. I can stand in the middle of the floor space, extend out
both arms and not touch the walls. But with one hand on the desk, I can easily
put the other hand on the bed frame.  I’ll hang up what “pretty” clothes I
brought and stow various and sundry items. Lacking direction, I secure my
pistol in the rack. The lock chirps at my thumbprint.  I didn’t see everybody
packing, but some were.  Hopefully, that will be covered in Orientation. My
holoCom beeps.  I press the button to answer it. “Sonia MacTaggert.”

The holoCom display has one window with Aria speaking. 
Another window displays the “for public” information from her personnel
record.  It oddly shows no surname.  It lists her as Operations Officer and
deputy head of Security. “Hello, Sonia. Someone from Engineering will come by
to take you to chow and show you around. I will see you in the crew Commons
area at two one hundred.”

I look at the chronometer on the holoCom screen. 
Is it
really only 1945?
I’ve not been here a half-hour yet. “Thanks, I’ll see you
at twenty one.  MacTaggert out.” I busy myself with more moving in and other
such nervous puttering.

After about thirty minutes, while I’m moving my toiletries
into the ’fresher, there is a beep at the door. The doorcam automatically
flashes the person’s picture on the holoCom screen. He waves. I see a short,
young, fat, bald man with blue coveralls and big black boots that shine like
mirrors.  In a side window the holoCom displays his personnel record.  Like
before, it’s just the basics.  I wonder if it keyed on his perCom or if it uses
facial recognition.  Either way, it’s pretty cool.

“Hi, Shownya,” I hear through the holoCom. He waits for me to
answer the door.  He looks to be about thirty, but he has a childish air about
him.  I open the door.  “It is you!” He exclaims and claps his hands, twirling
and dancing a little jig.  He remains in the corridor.

“Hi, I’m Sonia.  Did Aria send you?”

“Uh-Huh. Awia said to find Shownya with pwetty red hair. And
your hair is pwetty red.  I sposed to show you around,” he says, “don’t worwy,
I’m not bad guy.”

“Okay, I’m happy to meet you.  What did you say your name
was?”  It was on the personnel record, but I don’t remember it.  I close the
door as I step into the hall, reassured to hear the lock click as I close it. 
In person I see that he isn’t bald but has a sparse covering of blonde hair.

“I’m Gorb. I fix stuff.  ‘Gorb loves to help!’ Everyone says
it; so it must be true.  Let’s go this way.” He grins, turns and leads me to
the elevator. It takes us down to the next deck, where the galley is bustling.

Two women are busy taking orders and shuffling plates over
the short order bar. One of them sees the two of us coming. “Hey, Gorbie!! Have
you dumped me? Is she your new girlfriend?”

Gorb blushes and says, “They just kiddin’, Shownya. I
wouldn’t dump her.  She cooks too good.” She doesn’t sound like she’s just
kidding to me.  I’ve known him less than ten minutes, but I’ve already decided
I like him.  I try to decide: Is she just teasing him or is she being nasty
about it? If it’s just ribbing, that’s one thing.  But if he has mental issues,
well, that’s different. I finally decide the girl is just playing around,
trying to make the best out of working twelve-hour shifts. 

The crew cafeteria contains a handful of people: a few
technicians, three hard-core looking soldier types, Gorb and me. One of the
women points at me and speaks. “Whatllyahave?” sounds the same in any language.
 Then each says hello and welcome. I can hear the claws slipping back into
their sheathes.  There will be no catfight tonight.  Gorb orders soup and a
sandwich. I see about every kind of diner cuisine going across the bar, so I
quickly decipher that I can order just about anything I’d expect in any short
order place. I keep it simple. “Hi, I’m Sonia.  A cheeseburger and fries
tonight.   Any chance you can make a milkshake?”  I can see the beer bottles
with the Troopers, but I want nothing alcoholic, not with a 2100 meeting.

“Milkshake it is, sugah.  Anything else?”  She passes a
plate across with a saucer-sized cheeseburger and what must be a pound of
fries, followed by a huge vanilla milkshake with a big straw and a mound of
whipped cream crowned with a cherry.

“That will do it, thank you.”

“Yer welcome.  Now you behave around Gorb, ya heah?  He’s my
bud.  I’d hate to have to hurt ya.” I just smile.  If I see her coming, I might
be able to take her, but I’ll keep it civil for the time being.