by N M Tatum
The relief was apparent on Reggie’s face. “First grade, I think. So, like, six years old.”
“You and Joel were in the same first grade class,” Cody said. “I didn’t meet you guys until I moved onto Reggie’s street the next year.”
Reggie nodded like he’d just remembered.
Sam watched as they jogged each other’s memories and recounted the tales of their early years. She was struck with a sense of disjointed nostalgia, a yearning for a past that she never had. She was filled with the warmth of a crackling fireplace on Christmas morning, the dull light of dawn filtering in through the windows as an elderly woman, a grandmother to someone, rocked in a chair and knitted a pair of mittens. It was a fictional history belonging to a storybook child who had her skinned knees kissed by an adoring mother—not the street rat who’d once cauterized her own abdominal injury.
“I never went to school.” Sam hadn’t intended to say that. She hadn’t intended to say anything at all, but there was a force inside her that pushed the words out, that compelled her to share. “I just mean…you guys were talking about first grade. I’ve never been to first grade. Or any grade.”
The guys went quiet, and Sam wished she could climb under the table and disappear. Every second that passed without acknowledgement made her lungs fill a little bit more with smoke.
“Sorry,” Cody said.
Sam had hoped someone would speak, but that is not what she expected to hear.
“Yeah, that’s real shitty,” Joel added. “I mean, I never liked school all that much, but, looking back on it, I wouldn’t have skipped it.”
Silence again. Sam breathed it in, tried to use it instead of allowing it to choke her. When she exhaled, she found that she could speak. “I’ve never missed those kinds of things because I never realized what I didn’t have. But listening to you guys...” Her voice trailed off.
“We can stop,” Reggie said, moving his hands like he was cleaning the table, trying to brush something away.
Sam shook her head. “No, I’m not asking you to stop. It doesn’t bother me. It just…it makes me curious.”
The waitress set their monstrous burgers in front of them, but not even the gargantuan meat patties could distract Joel from the look on Sam’s face. The expression was so vulnerable for a woman he’d watched slice through alien monsters with a sword.
“Curious about first grade?” he asked. “It’s mostly nose picking and learning to color inside the lines.”
Sam stabbed her burger with the knife on her plate and cut it in two, an act that, in the context of the moment, she realized was overly violent. She set the knife down, the clank of it on the plate seeming alarmingly loud. “Curious about all of it. All the normal stuff.”
Reggie spoke through a mouthful of the most delicious burger he’d ever eaten. “We’re curious about life as a mercenary. We were probably pretending to be soldiers of fortune while you were actually being one.” He swallowed and felt his face get hot. “Was that insensitive? It felt insensitive as soon as I said it.”
Sam absentmindedly twirled the knife on her plate. She suddenly realized that she had been drawn back to the knife and clenched her fists to keep from touching it. “No. My life is probably just as alien to you as yours is to me. I’ll never understand what video games on a weekend morning is like. Just like you’ll never know what having to win a merc contract at the age of fifteen is like.”
Reggie set his burger down. “What is it like?”
Sam tilted her head. She’d opened her hand as soon as Reggie spoke, but she caught herself before she touched the knife.
“Trying to win a merc contract,” Joel added. “At such a young age. I mean, I thought Physics class was a pain in the ass. To be fair, Mr. Collins was a real douche. The guy had crazy ear hair and enjoyed watching kids squirm during tests. He was a real sadist. But I never had to, like, kill a guy or anything.”
Sam could feel them tiptoeing around her. She both appreciated it and resented it. The inherent concern in the act was touching, but she didn’t like that they felt it necessary. It meant they saw her vulnerability. Her weakness.
She pushed the knife away. It slid out of her reach. “Look, we can talk about this stuff. I don’t have a problem with it. We’re a team. Teams need to trust each other. To trust me, you need to know more about me. I get that. But you guys can’t have those sad fucking puppy dog faces the entire time. I’m not a victim.”
Joel leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I beg to differ. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up, remember that you don’t have to go to school, and then spend the entire day playing video games, getting out of bed only to pee. That is a true tragedy.”
The night alternated between fun stories of the guys’ childhoods, growing up so intertwined in each other’s lives, and glimpses into Sam’s broken life. She told them what it was like growing up on the street, having to fight for food. She told them about her first mercenary job, hunting down a smuggler who tried to renege on a deal with his client and make off with the merchandise he was hired to transport. Turned out the merchandise was a flock of endangered Titan Turkeys from the Jupiter moons. Not only did she have to subdue the smuggler, who was twice her age and size, but she then had to figure out how to wrangle a flock of birds that each weighed two hundred pounds.
The laughter outweighed the shock and looks of pity. At the end of it, Sam felt lighter, and the guys felt closer to her.
And they all felt like they might vomit four pounds of beef.
Chapter Twenty-One
To their surprise, the team all agreed on what to buy first with their newfound wealth—a new ship. Sonic had served them well, but its history would mean nothing if it released toxic gases and killed them all in their sleep or exploded and incinerated them.
They took it slow and steady to a space station called Riordan. The place was huge. Seven levels, all made to hold dozens of ships, ranging from shuttles to battlecruisers. The team may have agreed that they needed a new ship, but that’s where the agreement ended. Cody wanted a stealth ship equipped with the latest networking and computer systems. Reggie wanted something fast. Joel wanted a pleasure yacht. Sam wanted something with firepower.
The Riordan staff greeted them with indifference. The man in the pinstripe suit and with slicked back hair likely thought they were a waste of time. Reggie could hardly blame him. They looked like four hobos who’d just climbed out of an alley, not like four millionaires.
“If you’re looking for cargo shuttles, they’re on level seven,” the dealer said. “And there’s a public shuttlebus line that runs by here. It could take you to a junkyard that probably has something a little more in your price range.”
Joel pushed past Reggie and stood in front of the man. “We’re here for the rich people shopping experience. You know, the one where we sip champagne as you show us around and kiss our asses?”
The man laughed humorlessly. “I’m sure you are. Fortunately, you have to actually be a rich person to take the rich person’s tour. Otherwise I’d waste my entire day on people like you. Now, excuse me while I call security. They’ll give you the poor people’s shopping experience.”
Joel nodded to Cody. “Show him the thing.”
Cody raised a window on his wristcom, a screenshot of Intergalactic Pest Control’s account balance. He shoved it in Greasy Hair’s face.
The team watched as the information registered on the salesman’s face. His smarmy expression changed from that of petty tyrant to utter disbelief to forcibly humbled.
He straightened his tie and his posture, plastered on a fake smile, and said, “My apologies, gentlemen, ma’am. If you’d just follow me?”
Joel sipped his champagne. The bubbles danced an entire Broadway number on his tongue. He kicked his feet up on the oak table and felt the leather couch squeak under him as he sank his ass deeper into it. “The rich people shopping experience. I understand now why rich people like to shop so much. Wai
t, are all experiences like this for rich people?”
“Pants shopping?” Cody said. He sank into his own section of the leather couch. “If this is how the rich buy pants, then I’m going to buy tons of pants.”
They’d been waiting in the VIP room for half an hour. They were happy to wait longer. The greasy-haired salesman, who had identified himself as Craig, escorted them in, sat them down, and then proceeded to lavish them with champagne, coffee, and a fruit and cheese platter.
Reggie popped a grape into his mouth and smiled as he, too, sank into the couch. “I won’t lie, this is awesome.”
One wall of the room was almost entirely comprised of windows that looked out over a showroom full of ships. The floor of the showroom was a massive conveyor belt, which the salesman would use to bring the ships in front of the client, cycling them out depending on their interests.
Sam stood at the windows, looking down on a midsized starfighter, a ship no bigger than Sonic, but packed with ten times the firepower. The environment put her ill at ease. The pretense, the ego, the luxury. She’d been in places like this before, places that catered to rich men drinking champagne, their desires displayed before them. Merchandise.
Her hand never strayed far from her sword.
“We’ve been waiting too long,” she said. “Where the hell is Craig?”
Joel patted the empty seat on the couch next to him. “Chill. Have some bubbly. Eat some cheese. We’re rich now. Rich people know how to chill.”
Sam didn’t turn away from the windows. She watched the techs scurry like ants, prepping ships, shining them to please the discerning eye of potential buyers. “No matter how rich I get, I will never like waiting.”
“Then let’s do something productive,” Cody said. “Let’s talk about what kind of ship to get.”
Joel groaned. “You mean, let’s fight about it? I was having such a nice time.”
Cody set his glass down and joined Sam at the window. “I think we can work out a win-win here. I want something with powerful networking capabilities. Reggie wants something fast, with FTL. Sam wants weapons. Joel wants…”
“A hot tub,” Joel said, only half joking. “And a real workshop. Not a board balancing on stacks of milk crates.”
Cody looked out at the showroom floor. “I think we can do that.”
Craig entered the room, carrying with him the scent of old man deodorant. He gestured for everyone to join Cody and Sam at the window, then stood next to them. “I’ve assembled a selection of ships that I think you will be quite pleased with.”
He pressed a red button on the remote he was holding. The showroom floor began moving. The starfighter Sam had been studying rolled away, and a bulky freighter replaced it.
“This model focuses more on space,” Craig said. “I know that is a concern of yours. This ship has five cabins, so you’d each have your own with one to spare. Full size galley and adjoining dining area that sits twenty people, so you can entertain. And, speaking of entertaining—”
Sam interjected. “Where are the weapons?”
The question caught Craig off guard. “Well, to be frank, with the amount of money you have to spend, you can focus on either space or offensive capabilities. I have a few models I can show you that strike a nice balance between the two, but a focus on one area will mean a drawback in the other.”
Joel crossed his arms. “So we can have weapons or space. But not both.”
Craig nodded. “That’s right.”
The team looked confused. They suddenly felt the weight of foolishness pressing down on their chests, leaving them short of breath and red-faced.
Cody pulled up the dealership’s website on his wristcom. As he spoke, he couldn’t bear to lift his eyes and look at his teammates. “Your luxury models are in the hundreds of millions of credits.”
Craig smiled and nodded. “That’s correct. With your budget, you can comfortably afford one of our higher-end modest models.”
Joel looked at his champagne glass. “So this isn’t the rich person experience? This is just the higher-end modest person experience?”
“We don’t officially have separate experiences for different classes of customers,” Craig said. “But yes.”
The team huddled away from Craig, suddenly feeling like they’d been thrust into a position where they were required to negotiate.
“This is not going how I thought it would,” Joel said.
“It just requires a shift of expectations,” Cody said. “We still have plenty of money to buy a ship. And any ship we buy will be a huge upgrade from Sonic. It just won’t have a hot tub.”
Reggie stroked his chin. “We need to focus on features that will add value to the business. What will help us make more money?”
“Speed,” Sam said. “Both in travel and killing.”
Cody nodded. “FTL drive and weapons. Then we’ll have to forfeit living space.”
None of them would say it, but they didn’t mind the trade. The guys had been crammed in that one room since they’d bought Sonic. The thought of having their own cabins, though appealing, also meant a further degree of separation. They would never acknowledge outright how comfortable they were at that level of codependence, but they nodded along, whimpering half-hearted objections at losing their new rooms before acquiescing.
Sam had spent years in an orphanage, sleeping on the floor, sometimes in a literal pile of children. The sheet was all the privacy she needed.
They returned to Craig.
“Show us the ones that can tear shit up,” Joel said.
Craig cringed. He pressed the button again, and the bulky freighter slid out of sight. The ship that replaced it was a sleek fighter. Shiny in all the right places, but lacking in firepower. It was meant for finesse. They needed something with a little more brute force.
The next ship packed serious heat, but didn’t have FTL. The ability to travel faster than light meant they could take jobs farther away and cut down on travel time in between. It also meant that, should they find themselves being chased by a moon-sized bug, they could outrun it with ease.
Craig sighed as he sent the third and fourth ships away. They were fine, but that was all. Just fine. The team was about to sink more money than they’d ever dreamed of having into a ship… The future of their business depended on it; their futures depended on it. It needed to be perfect.
The Notches sucked in a collective breath as the next ship rolled out. Craig breathed a sigh of relief.
“This is the Excalibur model. The perfect balance between beauty and function, speed and offense. It boasts one of the most impressive offensive packages of a ship its size. It comes standard with twin torpedo tubes and magazines for three-photon torpedoes for each, plus a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree firing range, with manned blaster turrets on the top and bottom, and a full battery of autocannons on port and starboard.”
Craig moved to the left and gestured for the others to follow so they could get a better view of the bow. “This is my favorite feature, and the reason for the name.” He pressed a button on his remote, and the bow began to shimmer. Then a blade of hard light shot out and protruded like the horn of a unicorn.
Joel jumped and kicked his heels together. “Sold! I want it!”
Cody grabbed Joel’s shoulder and forced him to the ground. Then he said to Craig, “We’d like to take a look inside, if you don’t mind.”
The interior of the ship did nothing to dampen Joel’s enthusiasm. The bridge was twice the size of Sonic’s, with seating for everyone. The computer and networking systems weren’t as cutting edge as Cody would have hoped for, but they were leagues beyond Sonic’s. The galley was outfitted with the newest appliances available, including an espresso machine and food rehydrator. And chairs. Enough chairs for them all to sit. At the same time.
They passed through the galley, minds still on the beauty of it, and into the common area. Sonic was so cramped that most of its spaces had been taken over for other purposes. Soni
c’s lounge had become the bedroom. The galley often doubled as a conference room. The maintenance closet was Joel’s workshop. But this common area, this was glorious.
A horseshoe couch looped through the center of the room and faced the entertainment center. A fifty-inch monitor was built into the wall and plugged into a sound system to rival any cinema. VR ports screamed at the guys, demanding their attention, while the VR headsets hung on hooks under the monitor. Between the couch and the monitor sat an oval coffee table that appeared to be the most ordinary thing about the room. Until Craig touched it.
The surface of the table shimmered and transformed into a touchscreen console that could do everything from change the channel to monitor communications to access the ship’s main controls.
“This is basically a secondary control hub for the entire ship,” Craig said with a satisfied smile.
Cody fell onto the couch and stared at the coffee table control center. “I can pilot the ship from the couch?”
Joel leaned over the back of the couch and whispered in Cody’s ear. “Are you with me now?”
Craig led them out of the common area and into the cabins. The two rooms faced each other, a small alcove separating them. Each room was about the size of the common bedroom on Sonic. The guys wouldn’t be gaining any room, but they wouldn’t be losing any, either. Sam would get a door and a wholly separate space for herself. She welcomed it, but it also brought with it a bud of loneliness.
Sensing that they weren’t as enthusiastic about this feature of the ship as they were the rest, Craig led the team toward the back of the ship, down a long, narrow corridor. Before reaching the end of the hall, he stopped at a seemingly random and nonessential spot.
“The designers of the Excalibur model understood the balance between fashion and function. As you’ve seen, the ship is beautiful. At first glance, that may be all you see.” He pointed at the floor. “Now, let’s take a look under the hood.”
The spot where Craig pointed seemed to be no different than the rest of the floor. Then he tapped a previously unseen panel with his toe, and a ring of light shone on the floor, outlining an access hatch. It slid open to reveal a ladder that descended into the bowels of the ship. Before climbing down, Craig tapped another, similar panel on the wall. Another ring of light appeared, and another hatch opened. “This is a dumbwaiter that leads down to the engine room. No lugging tools and equipment up and down the ladder.”
