by Watts Martin
This is a view of Kismet she hasn’t had since she bought the ship: the view you get when you can physically walk up to her, not see her through a window or on a monitor. Floor-mounted braces, wall-mounted struts and ceiling-mounted cranes suspend her in the air about five meters off the bay’s floor. The coziness of the cabin belies the ship’s true size, twenty meters from bow to stern. Most spacecraft enthusiasts refer to the Arcturus, with its weirdly ovoid nose and boxy back end, as “ungainly,” and that’s when they’re being tactful. They’re wrong. She’s beautiful.
“Kis,” she says aloud. “How’ve they been treating you?”
“Repairs are progressing on the schedule the repair company provided, Gail.”
“Everyone’s been following the right procedures? No shortcuts?”
“The service has been at a very high standard so far.”
The coyote’s ears are perked up, and the smile is back, even broader than before. “You’re really having a conversation with the ship AI?”
“Don’t tell me I’m the only pilot you’ve met with transducers for this.”
“No, you’re not, but most of the pilots I’ve met with implants still just use viewcards when they’re not on board.”
“Why? Kis makes a better interface for, well, everything than a viewcard.”
“I can see that. But it’s your style,” the coyote says, simultaneously with Kismet replying, “Thank you, Gail.”
Wow. That’s not the first time the ship’s responded when she didn’t expect her to, but it still throws her for a loop. “Um. My style?”
“You’re not saying ‘ship, give me the current status,’ you’re asking her how she’s feeling.”
“We have a good relationship. So you think everything’ll be finished by today?”
“It might be tomorrow, but no later. Which brings me to the part where we have to talk about payment.” The coyote’s voice becomes studiously offhanded, but an ear flags. “Something came up doing a pre-payment check I need to clear with you.”
Of course it did. She doesn’t trust herself to sound equally offhanded if she tries to speak, so she grunts inquisitively. “Mmm?”
“Your bank indicated we wouldn’t be able to complete a transaction for your first installment amount.”
“There’s, uh, I’ve been working through a kind of bank error they’ve had. It’s a little complicated.” She stops herself from blathering details; the mechanic can’t help, and explaining that the mistake involves a fraud accusation won’t do her any favors. “I’ll check with the bank again. I think everything should be fine by tomorrow.”
“I can talk to the accounting department for you if you need to set up some kind of alternative payment plan.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I mean, thanks, but you shouldn’t need to.”
“Okay.” The coyote smiles again. “If there’s anything I can help with, let me know.”
“Thanks again. Uh, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Dani. D-a-n-i.” The coyote’s smile gets more impish. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask your ship. She knows me pretty well by now.”
Gail laughs. “You make that sound kind of saucy.” Dani’s smile grows more, maybe because she’s looking right into the coyote’s eyes. She clears her throat. “Anyway, thanks. Uh—” Oh, hell. This has been bothering her since she got here. “How do you—”
“Singular they.”
What? Oh. Gail laughs. “I was curious, but that wasn’t what I was going to ask. How do you—I mean—people don’t, like, learn my mom’s name in school or something, do they?” Nevada’s students might, but that’s Nevada being Nevada, isn’t it?
Dani’s head tilts. “I guess it’d depend on the school. But when I learned about institutional prejudice, how River society deals with totemics…I learned her name. And I learned yours, too.”
Gail gives the coyote another weak smile. God, she’s going to need a history lesson in her own life, because the class she’s agreed to speak to in two days may know more about her mother than she does.
Chapter 15
“I told you, I haven’t been on Carmona in years.”
Gail’s back to the Sonora River Inn, but hasn’t gone in yet. She’s pacing on the boardwalk in front of it, speaking with a real live person at her bank. They called her. Initially she’d thought that was a good sign; now she’s not so sure.
“I understand, Ms. Simmons, but as I said, the disputed transactions are from nine years ago.”
“Oh, come on. How can that even happen?”
“It’s rare, but it’s not unheard of.”
“After nine years?” She grips a wooden dock piling with both hands, glaring into the water.
“It’s not unheard of,” the voice simply repeats. “Can you tell me anything about a sale you might have made in this time frame for thirty thousand six hundred dollars?”
That’s all? “No.”
“It was a private transaction, if that helps jog your memory. Equipment?”
She tries not to scream. “If you know what it was, just tell me!”
“Used equipment sold to a private buyer.”
God, how is she supposed to remember anything from nine years ago—wait. She sighs heavily. “A water pump?”
“Yes. Can you tell me anything about that transaction?”
“What am I supposed to have that you don’t? They’re your records!”
“As I said earlier, we don’t have the records to disprove the allegation, Ms. Simmons, because you weren’t our customer then. If you can just send corroborating information from your previous banking partner, we can move the resolution process forward.”
“I asked my former judiciary on Carmona to get in touch with you. Haven’t they?”
“I don’t have that information.”
“Well, what makes you think I do?” Silence. “And they waited nine goddamn years to file a complaint? You don’t think that’s kind of odd?”
“The transaction has been flagged as fraudulent. That doesn’t mean the flag was triggered by a complaint from the original customer, Ms. Simmons. This came up in an internal review.”
She rubs her face. “So should I talk to my old bank, not just my old judiciary?”
“It might help.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to that bank. Meanwhile, you have to lift the spending restriction on my account.”
“I can do that as soon as the dispute clears—”
“Look, I need to pay an unexpected repair bill tonight. It needs to be lifted tonight.”
“We’ll clear it as fast as we’re able to, assuming the transactions check out, Ms. Simmons.”
“Which needs to be tonight.”
“I’ll note that in the dispute log, Ms. Simmons. I can check on extending a line of credit to you in the meantime, if you’d like.”
“Yes, fine.”
Another few seconds pass. “I’m sorry, I can’t extend your credit past where it already is. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
There’s nothing they’ve helped her with yet, so why start now? “No.” She disconnects the call and channels the energy she was going to put in the scream into slamming her hand against the piling repeatedly. On the fourth slam she gets a sharp jab in her palm. Cursing under her breath, she stomps into the inn, using the side of her index claw to work the splinter out of the pad.
When she opens the room’s door, Ansel and Sky are still arguing. Jack’s looking between both of them with a weary expression. Mara’s Blood, it can’t be the same argument, can it?
It isn’t. Rather, it is, but the tenor’s changed.
“—all the engines in the damn solar system and it’s going to be a month if you’re lucky.” Ansel’s ears are flat.
“Only if you care about doing it undetectably.”
“I do care about that, and even if I didn’t—”
“Hi, Gail,” Jack says loudly, stepping around the other two and walking toward the rat. Both
fox and wolf stop and look over at her.
“Hey. Should I come back in a bit?”
Sky looks up at the ceiling, closing her eyes. “Every time Ansel describes the databox’s encryption he makes it sound more uncrackable than the last time he described it.”
Ansel makes an exasperated groan. “No, I described it as impossible to break this morning. You just didn’t want to hear it then, and you still don’t want to hear it.”
“And Agent Thomas doesn’t want to see the box unlocked at all, despite knowing what’s on it.”
Jack lifts his brows. “I don’t want to tamper with evidence in an investigation Interpol still does have direct involvement in.”
“Of course not.” Gail rubs her temples. “Have we ruled out just returning the thing to Keces and calling it a day?”
Sky and Jack speak at the same time. “That’s not an option.” “We can’t do that yet.”
Gail groans. “Of course not.” She drops into a seat. “You know that socius indignus order is going to be filed against me tomorrow, right?”
“It will not.” Sky’s voice is firm. “Both Keces and Quanta will have representatives here in the morning.”
She looks up. “What?” She feels the blood leave her ears. “You’ve told Nakimura you have the databox?”
“We’ll have a meeting tomorrow, select two neutral parties to fill out the panel the next day, and hold the tribunal a day or two after that. Mr. Nakimura can’t hold you responsible for returning the databox now.”
“No, he can hold me responsible for handing the databox over to you!”
Sky tilts her head. “You didn’t. Agent Thomas did.”
“Not helping, Sky. Not helping.”
“I think we can convince Mr. Nakimura your role in this is largely over.” Jack sounds soothingly reconciliatory. “Assuming he’s told you the truth, he’s likely to get the databox back.”
“That’s not a best outcome, but it’s preferable to giving it Quanta.” Sky’s tone seeps with bitterness.
Jack furrows his brow. “Those are the only two outcomes.”
“Perhaps.”
“Oh, Mara’s Blood.” Ansel leaps to his feet. “If you’re even thinking about co-opting Shakti in the name of some greater totemic good, you’re going to do it without my help.”
“Why isn’t that an option?” Sky’s voice grows just as heated. “We know—at least on the Ring, we know—that some things should be owned by everyone. And if there’s anything, anything, that applies to most of all…” She trails off, shaking her head.
“Clean air and water? You can make a great case for that. But transformation is not a goddamn public good. Totemics have gotten along since before the River existed and we’ll keep getting along just fine choosing whether to transform ourselves or our children.”
“That’s not what we’ve wanted for—”
“That’s not what you’ve wanted. You don’t speak for every other totemic, Sky. If I was going to violate my principles by not returning Shakti to Keces, I’d rather do it by shooting the fucking databox into the sun. Excuse me.” He storms out of the room.
Jack runs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to go to the front desk and see if they have an ansible available. As much as I’ve been avoiding the home office, I think it’s time to bring them in.” He heads out, too.
Gail swallows, watching her sister quiver with rage, the wolf’s eyes squeezed tightly shut. Sky slowly sinks into a seat on the sofa.
After a few seconds, Gail gets up and sits down by her, touching her hand to Sky’s lightly.
Sky takes a shuddering breath and looks down at her. “I’m wrong to have even mentioned that, aren’t I? Maybe I’m wrong to want it.”
“I…” Gail shakes her head. “This is all heavy enough to be way past my tow rating. I don’t think anyone can blame you for what you want. But I don’t know if we can just say ‘hey, this invention of yours that people have literally been killing each other over is too important to return to you.’”
“It’s something Earth governments do all the time.”
“Isn’t that why we’re out here and not back there?”
Sky summons a brief, sad smile. “I’m not used to you being the one to talk sense into me.”
“I’m sure it won’t happen again. Will Agent Thomas be on the tribunal?”
She shakes her head. “The three parties will be Quanta, Keces and the Ring.”
“That’s going to make both Interpol and the PFS real unhappy.”
“It might.” She shrugs, then stands up. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do here now. I’m going to go by the RJC office and then go home.” She starts to walk to the door, then turns. “Are you going to spend the night here?”
“I don’t know. But I want to come by to talk with you about what I’m going to say to Nevada’s class, and if you’re gonna be up to your whiskers in tribunal stuff tomorrow maybe we need to do it tonight.”
Sky smiles. “I’d like that.”
Once she’s alone, Gail looks around the hotel room. It’d be nice to just nap. Maybe she’d better make sure that Ansel hasn’t spontaneously combusted, though.
She finds him—naturally—in the bar, with some kind of outrageously orange drink in front of him. He still looks pissed. She sits down by him and he doesn’t say a thing.
The bartender comes over to her. How adventurous is she feeling? Not at all. “Rum and Coke.” He nods, moves off, returns with the drink a minute later.
She takes a sip, then another. Ansel still hasn’t spoken. Okay, up to her. “I didn’t know you felt that strongly about not having inheritable transformation.”
He takes a too-long sip of his drink through the straw, then coughs. “I didn’t, either.” At least now he just looks morose. “There are so many mixed-species couples. What’s the child of a rabbit and a fox look like? What would you have looked like, with a rodent totemic mother and a cisform father?”
“I guess we can ask whoever Keces sends to the tribunal.”
“It’s rhetorical. I mean, it’s important, but it’s just…God.”
“You know, if someone’s born a totemic and wants to be cisform, they could just get a transformation to do that.”
“A reversal is always more expensive and more complicated.”
“But it wouldn’t be a reversal, it’d be a first transformation. And even if losing fur is harder than adding it, the cost would come down, assuming enough people say, ‘No, I’d rather have duller senses and exposed skin.’” She touches his shoulder lightly. “You know, if Jack can’t use you and you won’t work for Sky, you can probably bail now. You’ve gone above and beyond already.”
He snorts. “Even if I’m not working for her, I may still be a witness at this tribunal, so I shouldn’t leave. Besides, until this is all over I don’t know if my apartment’s safe. Quanta knows I’m involved, and as much as I hate to say it, I distrust the police here a little less than the police on Panorica. So I may be on vacation in New Coyoacán for a while.”
“It’s a prettier place than I remember.”
“It’s a prettier place than you told me. You really undersold it.” He sighs. “You also undersold how much of a force of nature your sister is.”
“Some things you can only learn by experience.”
He laughs, finally cracking a smile.
“So.” Sky sets down two mugs of coffee she’s made on the table in front of the sofa, then sits down beside Gail. “What have you been thinking about telling the class?”
“Let’s see.” She pulls out her viewcard and pretends to read notes off it. “What I have so far is ‘something mom something RTEA something something something any questions.’”
The wolf picks up her mug. “That might need some more work.”
She puts the card away. “No kidding. I met the mechanic who’s working on my ship and they said they learned about mom in school. In school! She’s a lesson, Sky!”
“
We learned about totemic history in school.”
“But this isn’t history, this is—this is our mother. I mean, I know she’s important, but what am I going to tell them that’s new? Mom stuff? ‘Well, she wasn’t really the best housekeeper, and I bet she let Sky and me play outside unsupervised way more than your parents do.’”
“That might be a start.” She smiles. “You’re the only one who knows about your relationship with her. You know that even better than I do. And have you kept up at all with the Equality Association?”
“Less than you have, I’m sure. I mean, it’s not that I haven’t been interested. I’ve kept tabs, I’ve sent money sometimes. I even volunteered at outreach days a couple times on Panorica when I still lived there.” Only to humor then-Linda, but she probably doesn’t need to mention that.
The wolf leans back, cradling her coffee loosely and looking thoughtful. “You didn’t get involved when you were young the way I did.”
“You came to New Coyoacán to meet mom. You were a radical at fourteen.”
“I was a radical at twelve. By the time I was fourteen, mom had talked sense into me.” She turns, giving Gail a curious smile. “You know she wasn’t that radical, don’t you? There are a lot of voices that say otherwise, but I was there. She was the voice of moderation a lot more often than I think people know.”
“You were there and, even though I’m her daughter, I really wasn’t.” She shakes her head. “I told Nevada you should be the one speaking.”
“I think you’ll do a wonderful job, but you’re right, you’re going to have to learn more about what you missed.”
Gail smiles wryly. “I haven’t missed it at all. You know I hate politics.”
“I know you keep saying that. Then you go and get shot at by old guard Purity, do smuggling work around Lariat—”
“I was a courier!”
“My point is that for someone who says she hates politics, you haven’t done a good job of staying out of them. Look at what’s brought you back here now.”
“Intersolar corporate espionage and an old schoolmate with a pathological grudge?”
