by Phil Geusz
"Poon Tang Six-Niner," a voice responded instantly. "This is Control. We have you loud and clear. Our computers have received your flight plan. Clearance is granted. You may fly the coop at will."
I clicked my beak together angrily. Damnit, I was a certified Command Navigator! I outranked this guy! Then I closed my eyes and counted ten. "Roger, Control" I replied, my voice cool and formal once more. I could be professional, even if no one else around Lagrange seemingly could. "I estimate departure in approximately three minutes. I will advise you when we up-ship."
"Roger," the voice replied. "We'll set our egg timer. Control out."
Once more my fists balled up. A launch was a launch, damnit, even it was just the Pussy Pod making a lousy hundred-click hop! This was serious business! There were human lives at stake! Then the door buzzer rang.
"Who is it?" I asked angrily. "What do you want?
"Commodore Tottson," a very deep voice said from the other side of the hatch. "Commodore Tottson, come to pay his professional respects. Would you allow me the honor of cockpit privileges, sir?"
III
"Holy shit!" I cried out, leaping to my feet. No one had ever paid me a courtesy call before, least of all Commodore Tottson! Heart racing, I pressed the intercom button. "Of course, sir. It would be an honor." Frantically I leapt around the cockpit, straightening papers and making sure that all was shipshape. Then I very carefully brushed back my comb, inhaled and exhaled slowly three times, and opened the hatch.
"Good afternoon," the Commodore greeted me in his deep bass tones. He extended his hand.
I took it in both of mine and shook it firmly. "Good afternoon," I repeated rather inanely. "I am deeply honored, sir."
He made a dismissive gesture. "The honor is all mine, Mr. Mackleschmidt." The Commodore paused for a moment. "I believe that we've rather gotten off on the wrong foot with each other. I've come to try and make things right."
My beak dropped open. The Commodore was apologizing? To me? "I… I…"
The big man smiled, flashing his perfect white teeth. "That, and I'll admit that I'm planning to cut off a little bit of trim, as well. I'm a single man, as you know. Deep space can be a mighty lonely place at times." He cocked his head to one side. "May I call you Marvin?"
Somewhere deep within my brain, important gears were spinning at high rates of speed without engaging anything at all. "Uh-huh," I replied dully.
"Great!" the Commodore replied. "I'm Alexander, or Alec to my friends." He looked at the copilot's chair, and I took my cue.
"Please," I gushed. "Please, be seated. Make yourself at home! I'm, uh, in final sequence and, uh…."
"Right," Tottson replied with nod. "Of course. I'll just sit and watch until we're under way."
I watched as he strapped himself in with practiced ease, then rang up Arnold. "How are the cattle doing?" I asked once I had him on the line."
"Just about… Wait! Peggy Sue is giving me the high sign now. You're clear on this end, Marvin."
"Roger," I acknowledged formally. "We are clear in the cabin." Then I checked in with Control. "This is Peter Thomas Six-Niner," I enunciated one last time. "I intend to up ship in three-zero seconds."
"Roger that," Control replied. "You are clear to fly, Poon Tang Six Niner. Another Venus expedition departs!"
"Those guys looked mighty horny to me, Poon Tang Six Niner!" an unknown voice added. "Watch out for Uranus!"
My eyes narrowed in rage; this was the usual drill whenever I left Lagrange, of course, and that was bad enough. But it was a hundred times worse with Commodore Tottson sitting beside me, silent as a sphinx. Once again, I forced myself to breathe naturally and behave like a professional. "Up ship in three, two, one… Now!" I declared as the computer released the docking ring at precisely the correct second.
In the old days, I knew, science fiction writers had predicted that transorbital craft like Aphrodite and Excalibur would inevitably dock in the center of spinning stations like Lagrange, for ease of navigation. They had not, however, anticipated either the overcrowding that had developed at Lagrange's poles or the degree to which fusion power and high-speed computers would simplify the art of celestial navigation. Only the very heaviest and most unwieldy craft docked at the poles; there simply wasn't room for anyone else. All other traffic docked at the rim, where there was plenty of surface area and docking space was therefore cheaper. When the computer released our docking ring, Aphrodite was flung like a stone from a sling, and we went from one gee of acceleration to free-fall conditions in nothing flat.
It only lasted for a second or so, however; almost immediately Aphrodite's engines began to fire, and presently we were keeping station and watching Lagrange's huge hull spin merrily by. I turned to Tottson. "We're routed via the South Pole, sir" I informed him. "I didn't know that you were going to be aboard, but it worked out quite well."
He flashed his smile again. "Indeed."
Presently the computer fired the engines once more, and Lagrange's nearly featureless hull began to crab sideways beneath us. Then we were past the Rim and crossing over the station's ever-shadowed South Pole.
"Ah," I heard Tottson sigh in pride and satisfaction as we passed over his mining Fleet and the fruits of their last expedition. A dozen huge snowballs, each of them miles across, floated solemnly like oversized pearls in the shadows, waiting to be processed into air and fertilizer and water and all of the myriad other needs of spaceborne humanity. Two of the snowballs were very bluish in color.
"I still can't believe that you guys found methane out in the Kuiper," I said, the pure wonder of the sight loosening my tongue.
Tottson chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. "It's giving the astrophysicists fits," he acknowledged. "Even the refinery folks are having trouble dealing with the Blueberries. I don't care a whit, though. Those bergs are the richest ore that we've ever found. They'll support every Station in the sky for months, each of them. Next trip, I intend to seek out more of the same."
I nodded dreamily. The Kuiper was the far frontier of the human experience, the dividing line between what was known and what was unknown. It was dreams of the Kuiper that kept my tongue civil when others were making wisecracks at my expense. "They're so very beautiful," I murmured.
"Yeah," Tottson agreed. "There's so much beauty in space. Far more than most people ever realize." Slowly we drifted past the Pole, and then the wondrous sight was gone. "There's a tremendous amount of wonder out here," Tottson said once his treasure trove had passed below the horizon. "Even for the Pussy Pilot."
I flinched visibly, but said nothing.
"I've taken the liberty of checking up a bit on you," Tottson continued remorselessly. "With Sister Mayberry and with a few others. You've had a pretty rough go of it."
I shrugged. "Mom and Dad were murdered," I explained. "It happens. You get over it."
"Yes," the Commodore agreed, peering at me intently. "You do." There was another long silence. "You're consistently at the top of your class, in pilotage matters at least. Yet this is the best job that you could find?"
"I don't have any connections," I replied honestly. "Most pilots, or at least most pilots who actually have jobs, are the sons or daughters or nieces or nephews of pilots." I turned and looked Tottson in the eye. "Your mother was a Command Navigator. A very fine one. Very well-connected, too."
He looked away. "Ouch," he said softly. "But it's true. So very true. We keep our little society very tightly closed. Too tightly, in my opinion."
"I might have found something better," I continued, "if I'd had the money to hold off just a little longer. But school's expensive. I had to take whatever was open, right away, or else default on Mrs. Mayberry. And that wouldn't exactly have been a proper way to thank her for helping along so much, now would it?"
"No," Tottson agreed. "I suppose not."
"And I want to be more than a pod pilot someday," I continued. "I want to go into deep space. Then beyond, even. You've heard the rumors about a star drive too
, I'm sure."
The Commodore narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I've heard them." Then he paused a moment before continuing. "But son! You've had yourself made over into a chicken, for heaven's sake! You're the butt of half the jokes in the System, and you know it! Do you really imagine that you're ever going to be chosen to go interstellar after making a start like this?"
Once again, I shrugged. "You said it yourself, sir. I've made it ninety days without a single incident. In another ninety days, I'll with luck have made it half a year, and so forth. Even more, I'll have been honoring my debt to Mrs. Mayberry and thereby paying a pilot-Sister what I owe her. Would you rather have me try to pave my way to the stars by turning down paying work and defaulting on what I honestly owe?"
The Commodore pressed his lips together, then looked away and sighed. "I suppose not," he said eventually. "Not when you put it like that. But still…" He turned to face me. "Son, you have such promise. And you're throwing it all away!"
It was my turn to look away. "Maybe," I agreed after a time. "Maybe I am throwing away my future. But if so I'll have done it honestly according to my own lights, and in the end that what's matters most. It matters even more than the stars." I smiled weakly and fingered my beak; I still wasn't used to it, not really. "Besides, it's probably too late to worry about it now. Once the Pussy Pilot, always the Pussy Pilot."
"Heh!" Tottson's chuckle was a single explosive snort. We drifted along in silence for a while longer, and then the Commodore stood up to leave. "Well," he said at last, clasping his hand on my shoulder, "I can honestly say that I'm proud to have met you, son. You've made me think about some things that maybe I needed to think about."
It was against the rules for me to stand up while Aphrodite was under way, so I had to remain seated. I did, however, extend my hand one last time. "Sir," I said. "You've always been a hero to me. Thank you so much for coming by."
"It was my duty," Tottson replied, smiling again. "My duty in the greater sense of the word." He released my hand, but still clasped my shoulder. "Keep at it, son" he urged me. "Don't give up on school, and keep right on pecking away at what you owe. You'll get it paid off someday, and then you'll be free to move on."
I suddenly went stiff at Tottson's choice of words, and then he too realized what he'd done. "Shit," he mumbled, releasing my shoulder. "Damn! I mean…"
"It's all right," I said resignedly, turning back towards the forward port. "Don't worry; I'm pretty much used to it by now."
For just a moment longer Tottson stood stock still, trying to find something more to say. Then he finally slumped in defeat, clasped my shoulder one last time, and retreated to the main cabin.
Docking at the Henhouse was a far simpler matter than at Lagrange; since Aphrodite was the only pod to utilize the lock on anything like a regular basis, there wasn't any crowding at the axis and rim docking wasn't necessary. I stood by and watched carefully as the computer first spun us to exactly the same rate as our dumbbell-shaped destination, then eased us up to the lock and latched on. "All secure," I said into the log recorder. Then I called up my friends at Lagrange. "Control, this is Poon-I mean, this is Peter Thomas Six-Niner," I intoned formally. "We are coupled and secure."
"Confirmed, Six-Niner" the controller acknowledged. "You are coupled and secure. I certainly hope that you're wearing a condom. Control out."
I sighed aloud, then powered everything down and slipped out before the cattle could begin their stampede into to the Rooster's Roost, our saloon. I made it, barely, the elevator door slamming shut in the face of the very first hungry-looking customer as he floated around the last corner. Perhaps my thumb on the override button had something to do with how quickly the door closed.
It was just as well that I'd made sure to be first. The Dragon was waiting for me at the other end of the docking tube, dressed in the full regalia of her specialty and ready to get to work. I winced at the sight; the Dragon was intimidating enough without her black leather hood, stiletto heels and whip. "Damnit, Marvin!" she exploded in my face before I could flinch away from the blast. "That fan that you fixed is squealing again! How am I to concentrate? Your work is miserable, you are disgusting and you are unfit to be a pilot!"
I closed my eyes and sighed; the Dragon was a petite little Cambodian girl, with attractive almond-shaped eyes and a nearly perfect face. She was also one of the most skilled dominatrixes in the entire System, and our highest-priced attraction. Even when not dressed for work she tended to pour out torrents of abuse at the slightest provocation. When all done up in leather, however, she was absolutely intolerable. The Dragon seemed to instinctively know what really hurt and what did not. Even worse, she didn't seem to care.
"I'll get right on it," I assured her. "Just give me a few minutes to-"
"You will do it now," the Dragon declared flatly, her eyes flashing behind the black mask. "And this time you will do it right, to my entire satisfaction." She fingered her whip threateningly.
Jeanine was standing just behind the Dragon; she was an ex-male with seven fully functional vaginas inset into various parts of her anatomy, and the nearest thing that the Dragon had to a friend. I met her eyes and she nodded slightly, then placed her hand on the Dragon's leather-clad shoulder. "All right," I agreed. "I'll go make my walkaround, then get right on it. I have to do the walkaround, for safety reasons. You know that, don't you?"
The Dragon looked at me suspiciously. I was technically the captain of the Henhouse, as the only certified pilot and able spacer. The dominatrix knew this, though it pained her deeply to be reminded of it. "All right," she agreed at last, placing her black-gloved hand delicately over Jeanine's. "But this time, you will fix it properly!"
"Yes, ma'am" I agreed humbly. Then I climbed the drop-shaft just as quickly as I possibly could. I got quite enough abuse just being the Pussy Pilot, thankyouverymuch.. I didn't need any help from the Dragon.
"Hey Marvin!" Marilyn called out as I tried to sneak past the bar. "Wait up a minute!"
I sighed and complied, even though the first elevator-load of guests was already making its way down to our level. "What?" I asked, probably more abruptly than was necessary.
Marilyn pouted her lips. She was a living replica of Marilyn Monroe, and the effect was impressive. "It's nothing," she said softly. "Just that you're due for a pill. And that I was hoping you could play something special for me tonight."
Oops! I'd forgotten all about the pill. The Rooster's Roost sold a lot more than just alcohol, much of it in the form of various traditional powders to be inhaled. There were hallucinogens, amphetamines, downers, and a thousand different aphrodisiacs of varying qualities and potency. As our customers grew more and more inebriated, they tended to become quite sloppy with their drugs. Anyone who worked anywhere in the Henhouse had to take a special pill once a week lest the second-hand effects render them hors de combat just when they were needed most. I smiled at Marilyn with the flexible corners of my beak, then took the proffered pill and followed it down with a cup of cold water. "Thanks," I said. "What do you need me to play for you?"
"'Happy Birthday'" is all," she explained modestly. "Just at midnight. It's for a very special customer, you see. I'd use a recording, but…"
"Right," I agreed, nodding sadly. I had a love-hate relationship with the piano these days. I'd always been a moderately talented pianist, and loved the instrument deeply. Indeed, Beauregard had spent a lot more time listening to my piano playing than checking out my piloting credentials before hiring me. On the other hand, I'd never exactly aspired to be a whorehouse pianist, and even worse it was because of my musical abilities that Beauregard had inserted the chicken-thing into my contract. The only good thing about it was that it earned me some extra pay that I needed very, very badly. "I'll take care of it for you, Mar" I said with a smile.
"Right at midnight!" she insisted. "Please?"
"Unless I have to be somewhere else," I promised. "You know how that goes."
She dimpled, just exactly like her
namesake. "Sure," she replied. "We all understand, Marvin. You work so very hard!" Then she threw me a kiss, and I sort of melted inside. There were probably a thousand Marilyns working in the bordellos of the System, I thought to myself as I dropped down through the boudoir level and into the tiny control room. Maybe more than a thousand. But ours was certainly the sweetest.
Interplanetary safety standards required that certain automatic readings be verified manually at least once a day, and I usually took care of this chore right after docking. The Henhouse was equipped with the two widely-separated duplicate control rooms required by the same law, but I almost always took my readings in this one. That was because the duplicate control room was in the Henhouse's other half, which nowadays was almost never occupied. It was taken up with various storerooms, tankage, air plants and the like, along with the now-defunct and derelict gay bar. Indeed, probably no one ever visited the other half at all except me on my standard monthly checks. The last time that I'd visited the other control room, everything had been covered in a thin film of dust.
Today everything checked out quickly; the machines' readings agreed with my own down to three decimal places. The intercom rang just as I was finishing up. "It's the Dragon," Jeanine whispered into the phone. In the background I could hear a woman's voice screaming incoherently in rage, along with the sound of things crashing and breaking. "She's supposed to be trussing up her first client right about now, and I think she's a little upset at the delay."
"Right," I agreed, allowing my head to collapse up against a bulkhead. "I'll be right up."
Our star dominatrix was indeed a little upset, I could tell when I climbed up the single flight of stairs to The Dungeon. Various bits of porcelain and plastic littered the normally spic-and-span floor, and the Dragon herself was exercising her whip, making it snap and crackle in a blood-curdling fashion as I stepped in.
"The damn thing is still squeaking!" she declared angrily, not deigning to face me. "I am supposed to be humiliating five of the most disgustingly inferior creatures I've ever attempted to train! How can I possibly work amidst all of this clamor? I am an artist, not a mere whore!"
