by Imogene Nix
The woman before him bared her teeth. “Enough, but not so much as I am incapable of carrying out the duties of a pilot. Are you interested in my skills, Captain Daria, or shall I leave?”
His lips thinned as he fought with himself. A woman aboard the Golden Echo... Yet, here was a pilot with skill. “Mechanics?”
“I can take apart any vehicle I am classified as competent in piloting.”
“I can’t pay…”
Her gaze whipped in his direction. “I’m not after anything more than the remuneration quoted. I’m interested in finding employment away from this sector.”
Sandon’s gaze pierced Secombe, and he cringed from the fire he probably saw flickering in Sandon’s eyes. “I only quoted—”
“You and I will discuss this later, Secombe. When can you start, Endrado?”
The tension in her shoulders disappeared at his words. “Immediately, sir.”
“Good. Get your things. I’m offering you a trial.” And God help me, he thought once the words were said.
Chapter 2
Levia piloted her tiny personal shuttlecraft to the surface. The ZZ8 was modified, kind of like herself, she thought. The computational in-ports drew information and instructions direct from her cybernetic syntha-derm. It made piloting and downloading updates a simpler affair.
Though she’d acquired abilities in piloting, driving, riding, and sailing, among many other skills, during her time with the militia forces, this time alone remained the one thing that made her life bearable. She could look out at the stars and planetoids and think.
In the distance and growing smaller was the inter-spatial cruiser, Golden Echo. It glowed in the reflected light of a small sun. Up until several days before, she hadn’t known anything about it. A chance meeting in a bar had brought the fact that they were seeking a replacement pilot for their craft.
“Hey, Endrado! Heard you’re looking for a new gig.” The bartender, Cample, plonked the brew down before her, and she watched as the froth spilled over the sides of the cup.
“Don’t know. What have you heard?”
“The Golden Echo is looking for a pilot. They need someone with deep space and long haul experience.”
She rubbed her hand across the scar at her left temple. “I might be interested. What more do you know?”
He grinned and tossed a tiny data chip in her direction. “It’s all on there. Don’t know much about the ship, but from what I’ve gleaned, it’s an all male crew.”
He leered and it was a trial not to roll her eyes. Like she was chasing any kind of romantic situation. After all, in her experience, once people learned exactly what she was, they turned tail and ran in the opposite direction.
Her hand closed around the chip and she carefully scanned it, taking a gulp of the brew and lowering her eyes so no one knew she’d given in to her interest already.
“I’ll get this back to you—”
Cample waved her away. “Got plenty more where that came from. But…” He patted the syntha-wood bar. “You could always drop it off after hours.”
This time she surrendered to the burble of laughter that rose in her throat. “One of these days, you’re going to do that to the wrong woman, and she might just take you up on it.” She grabbed the cup, downed the rest of the bitter ale, and slammed it down on the wood. “Good brew! Thanks.”
Then she turned and left the bar.
For the next twenty-four hours, she’d hunted for information on the Golden Echo. At thirty years old, the ship should have looked dated, the outer skin pitted and marked. Instead, it had been cleaner than expected, well cared for, and the exterior in pristine condition.
As for its owner? Captain Sandon Daria was an enigma. He’d been running cargo for the last five years in this sector, and she’d found no listed infractions or fines. Before that, he’d been running the Sigma route, working with well-known and reputable companies. Again, his record was squeaky clean. His cargo registration was paid on time, and it seemed he was rarely without cargo.
Levia tapped her fingertip against pursed lips, thinking back over how she’d heard of his need. Once she’d made contact with Secombe, via text-tran, he’d extended the invitation to meet with himself and the captain. She’d gone in with high hopes. Hopes that had nearly been dashed by the enigmatic captain who didn’t want a female pilot.
“I should be thankful for the opportunity to even have a trial, I guess.” Shooting through the darkness, she was able to embrace her real self. The Levia she kept hidden, obscured by the glowing green implants and syntha-derm. Her fingers shook on the throttle. “At least now I have a chance to be someone real, not just…” An assassin.
The nerves that had plagued her since the aborted mission to Omega V rose; her pulse drummed and a droplet of sweat made its way down her back.
“I survived. I’m stronger, fitter, and more capable.” The words helped to keep her emotions level. “I have nothing and no one to fear. I’m building a life of my own choosing, one day at a time.” The fear subsided beneath the layers of carefully built affirmations.
With a shock, she realized alarms were blaring. She dragged herself back to the matter at hand.
“Vessel Gamma-Vega-Gamma-Alpha-Zeta, confirm your trajectory immediately.”
Her mind carefully, yet almost instantaneously, calculated the most efficient route to the surface. “Air traffic control, Kalistera, this is the vessel Gamma-Vega-Gamma-Alpha-Zeta seeking re-entry on route Zero-Alpha-Five. Requesting bay allocation at location Nine-Theta-Gama-Phi.”
Static filled the tiny cockpit as she moved her craft into a holding pattern, waiting for the confirmation. “Vessel Gamma-Vega-Gamma-Alpha-Zeta, you are cleared for entry, and your allocation of bay will be confirmed once re-entry is complete.”
A whispered sigh of thankfulness filled the air as she laid her hands over the console.
* * * *
Sandon watched, amazed as the tiny craft hurtled toward them. It was a ZZ8, modern and sleek, built for speed and maneuverability. The dark gray camouflage paintwork bothered him, but his mind couldn’t grasp the why. On the side, the call sign GVGAZ-0071 glared raucously in the usual fluorescent orange tones of space identification numbers.
“She’s coming in damned hot,” Secombe muttered.
Sandon watched as the pilot laid his fingers against the control pad, as if preparing to shunt the Echo to the side should her tiny craft careen dangerously. He held his breath as it finally slowed, then incredibly, it turned alongside the hull of the Echo. Since slowing, every move was elegant and controlled, and the tiny shuttle slipped past the ship as if she were carrying out an exterior inspection.
“Well, blast me. Did you see how she brought that beast under control?” Secombe’s hushed voice betrayed his awe at the way the woman made the craft dance beneath her fingers. As if it were an extension of herself, Sandon’s mind whispered.
“And I fully intend to tear strips off her for the speed of her approach.”
Secombe snorted. “Not even I could have pulled that off. It’s as if she’s part of her ship. Amazing.”
Sandon rose and stalked off the bridge into the small hyper-lift, which would take him down to the shuttle bay. He didn’t want some show off jump-jockey taking control of the Golden Echo, and he was fully prepared to tell her that.
The craft touched down like a lover’s kiss on the plastic coated floor of the bay. Hydraulics hissed loudly in the confined space as the whine of the engines ceased. Through the viewing screen, he could see her rising from the chair, the shadow of her perfect form capturing his attention and momentarily scattering his senses.
“Damned fine, huh?”
He spun around as the unmarried tech officer, Jorgenstein, rested his hip against Sandon’s aging LGZ-9.
“What do you mean?” If this was a precursor of things to come, the thought bringing a picture in his mind’s eye of the woman, then he’d have problems on his hands.
“Well, I’ve wanted
to get my hands on one of them for a long time.”
Sandon wracked his mind. Surely Jorgenstein had been downside recently? He was notorious for his penchant for the women. “Your hands…” He let the words die away, an invitation to the man to confirm his suspicions. His stomach turned in knots.
“Those ZZ8’s are the bomb. Wicked fast with integration systems that would give a tech like me a hard-on.”
The craft, you idiot! He’s talking about the blasted ship! Sandon focused hard, bringing his mind back to the conversation as his body released the suddenly pent-up tension. “Secombe’s of the opinion that the ZZ8’s are ex-military.”
“Oh, they are, and a few well placed officers have them. Along with the BioCybes.” Jorgenstein jerked upright, his face alight with interest. “Hey, you don’t suppose she’s—”
BioCybes. Legendary enhanced fighters and assassins for the Juran Commonwealth. Whispers of these scary warriors had traveled far and wide, but he’d never met one. Most said they were easy to spot, with bright green or blue laser circuitry spanning their bodies. He sure hadn’t noticed any of that on her skin. In fact, his memory reminded him of porcelain perfection, and soft red lips.
“I doubt she’s anything other than purely homo-sapien. After all, why would a Cybe…”
“Well, I’m glad those aboard the Golden Echo have such interest in my craft. However, a word to the wise. This one? It’s not worth messing with.”
Sandon wanted to cringe, realizing she’d probably heard the last few minutes of his conversation with Jorgenstein.
“I, uh…” What was there to say? One quick glance in her direction told him that there likely wasn’t anything he could offer her as an explanation. Her face was tight, her eyes narrowed, and her body stiff beneath the gray, leather bodysuit she wore. “Look, I was just explaining to Jorgenstein…” His voice wobbled a little, betraying his discomfort.
“Explanation received and understood. If you could show me to my cabin? Then I can stash my things.” Her voice was cold and remote, and the don’t-touch-me air she carried like a cloak left him frowning.
It wasn’t quite the way he planned to start their relationship of captain and pilot. He shook his head, clearing away any illusions. Practical and businesslike was probably the best way forward.
“Fine. Along the way, I can apprise you of my plans.”
She gave a short, jerky nod, and picked up the large duffle at her side and slung it over her shoulder.
“Do you require—”
“I’m fine.” Then she stalked in the direction of the shuttle entrance.
He cast a look back at Jorgenstein who shrugged nonchalantly. Great start, idiot. He followed her into the corridor.
* * * *
The door clattered open and Levia stumbled into the tiny cabin. The speculation in the tech officer’s voice gutted her. He’d heard of BioCybes, and the captain had too. She’d heard his dismissive use of the term Cybe and had nearly gagged.
What would happen if he learned she was one of them? Her soul ached. She belonged nowhere. With no one. After all, Cybes were just machines. She’d heard that often enough to understand most people weren’t just terrified of them; they seemed to live in some kind of constant fear that they’d kill and destroy everyone around them. Not that they usually did anything like that. No, they were given a target, pointed in a direction… She abruptly stilled the thought. “I’m not one of them anymore.”
She knew of the stories that were told to little children. The stories where Cybes would come if they didn’t follow rules and instructions ranked highly among those willing to scare children into submission.
Everyone knew Cybes weren’t real people. Hell, even the Federation had seen them as tools rather than people. It had been one of the reasons she’d bailed as soon as she could on the militia.
But here, she’d hoped to escape the degradation and taunts. “You fucked that up.”
Her eyes stung, and not for the first time she was glad of the lenses that blocked her tear ducts. Crying right now would compromise her carefully applied makeup. She wasn’t about to let that happen though. Not now, and certainly not on board this ship.
Levia placed her duffle on the narrow bed. She’d need to find some way to jerry-rig her bio-system into the ship without it being noticed. Glancing around, she noted an electronics board and set to work, making the minor modifications that would let her plug in and replenish her power systems without anyone being any wiser.
Once that was complete, she turned back to the bag and tugged out the action suits she wore. They allowed her free movement, and while she had noted the majority of the crew wore loose ship-suits, she’d already considered and discarded the option of wearing them. Quickly, she slid the suits into the bare cupboard.
Lastly, she tugged the small satchel of theatrical makeup from her bag. It was long lasting and hadn’t yet failed her. “I’ll need to replenish soon though. Otherwise, I’ll run out. Then they’ll know.” Butterflies took to wing inside her stomach, and for a moment, the hysteria rose. “Control it. Don’t let it control you.” Panic attacks had been a constant companion since Omega V, but she’d learned to focus on what she could do to beat back the terror that clutched at her.
“Pilot Endrado, please report to the bridge.”
The alert system jolted her from the worry, and she took a moment to calm herself, to find the balance she relied on.
A small communication system sat beside the bunk and she tapped the button. “Pilot Endrado. Instruction confirmed.”
She checked that her bio-net was out of sight then opened the door and stepped into the corridor. A quick look assured her no one was around to see.
She used the neural implant to call up the specs of the ship and set a course for the bridge, then blinked it away, thankful that she hadn’t been gifted lighting to her corneal implant that would give away her actions.
Before she moved, she set in place a tiny tracer that would alert her if someone accessed her bunk. If anyone became aware of what she was, she’d need to know.
Levia moved quickly, not quite jogging down the long walk to the hyper-lift then activated it. It was silent and swift, and she smiled in appreciation. Too many of these older ships had been left with substandard systems.
As the bridge came into view, the smile on her face became a beaming grin. The ship might be thirty years old, but the bridge had been upgraded recently.
The doors slid wide open and she stepped onto the bridge to meet Secombe, Daria, and another man. “The systems. These are the new Holo-Nine’s, aren’t they?” She indicated to the shining control panels.
Secombe nodded. “Yeah. The latest ones. Sandon here, he says it pays to be cutting edge. Our speed and efficiency, with the newest and best engines and circuitry, give us the edge on our competitors.”
“Yes. I can understand that. It will also give you a faster response time. I heard that the Holo systems can more than halve the energy usage too. Is that right?”
This time she turned to Captain Daria, and he smiled thinly. “Energy efficiency is important in space. But you already know that.” He wasn’t asking her a question, so she inclined her head to show she understood.
“So, you called me to the bridge. What would you—”
“We have a pickup scheduled for 0900 hours. I want you to fly the ship while Secombe shadows you in the co-pilot’s position. If I’m happy, then we can get you involved in the route planning.”
If I’m happy. He still wasn’t sure about a female and her skills. For a moment, she wanted to roar with anger, but there was nothing to be gained by a tantrum. She’d just have to suck it up. “Fine. Secombe, I’ll require the codes.”
He gave them to her, and she memorized them all before taking the captain’s seat, settling herself comfortably and tugging on the safety restraints. With controlled movements, she entered them into the system then turned on the comms. “Passengers and crew will take position.”
; “Uh, aren’t you missing something? Like setting a course?”
She blushed a deep red. Too used to interfacing directly with the ship’s computers, she’d forgotten this time she’d have to manually reconfigure the directions.
Her hand hovered over the system. Shame I can’t just plug into the systems. But with people on the bridge, she’d have to hand-fly the ship.
Swiveling the captain’s chair, she looked over the star charts. At least this wouldn’t take her long. She used the micro processing abilities in her implants to compute the necessary information, accounting for known issues and fuel loads before settling on a plan. “Fine by me,” she muttered to herself, sure that her plans would be the most effective.
She started when Captain Daria addressed her. “What?” His eyes burned into her, as if seeking the truth she hid. How had she made such a decision so quickly?
It was something she’d rather ignore, so she took great pains to clear the charts before grunting, “I have the route planned.”
He raised an eyebrow, but she ignored that too.
She knew exactly what he wanted to know. It was easy to avoid. “It’s a habit, Captain.” Turning away from the charts, she laid her fingers to the controls. “Engaging all engines now.” And she did.
* * * *
Sandon settled himself at the small desk in his office. It might not be big, but it was his. Just like the whole Golden Echo. And the crew…especially Levia.
He pushed away the lock of hair that had dropped down into his eyes. Levia. She was damned fine as a pilot, but his crew thought she was fine in other ways too. Jorgenstein from the shuttle bay had wolf whistled at her just this morning when Sandon returned from the planet’s surface. Not that she seemed to notice, but he did. Regularly.
Even Gorthos had cornered him in the galley yesterday.
“Captain Sandon, sir? The new pilot…the Zerana... Levia? Is she partnered?”
Sandon shot a surprised glance in his direction. The honorific title of Lady or Zerana ricocheted through him like a bombshell. “Oh, come on, Gorthos. You don’t really mean to ask that, do you?”
