by T.L. Charles
looked so real.”
Oddly enough, Zingfree's face broke into a wide, genuine grin that did little to make him look better. “It did? Damn it.”
“Damn it? But you're smiling.”
“Of course I am,” said Zingfree. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“Because it contrasts with what you just said.”
“Oh,” said Zingfree. “Right. You're a human. Humans smile when they're happy, whereas we Domans smile when we're sad. And I am quite sad right now. Sad that the hologram of the octo-griffin actually looked realistic, rather than invoking the falseness of the Classic Era holofilms.”
Galaxy wanted to say that she was actually a hybrid, but she supposed this was not the time nor place to mention such things. “Okay. I still don't think you're justified in getting angry at me, though.”
“Oh, but I am,” said Zingfree. “I am quite justified. That equipment was expensive and hard-to-find. I don't even know if it can be repaired now. I will have to have my technicians look it over, and if they can't fix it, you will have to pay for it. Or buy me a new one.”
“Me?” said Galaxy. “No way. I'm not paying thousands or millions of digits to repair your holosphere. And what the hell is a holofilm director doing all the way out here, on one of the least hospitable planets in the universe?”
“I was about to ask you the same question, woman,” said Zingfree. He pointed at her with one of his massive, slimy fingers. “If you refuse to pay for its repairs or to buy me a new one, I will drag you to the Universal Court and have them force you to pay me every last digit in your bank account. Don't tempt me, because I have sued for far less than this in the past.”
Galaxy was going to say something snappy about how she would gladly do it, but she realized that arguing with Zingfree further was not going to help her one bit. She needed to bargain with him; otherwise, Zingfree might very well try to drag her to the Universal Court and right now Galaxy just didn't have the money to pay for the kind of expensive equipment that Zingfree used.
“There's no need for that,” said Galaxy in as polite a voice as she could muster at the moment. “Listen, I'm a starship mechanic. I know a thing or two about fixing broken electronics. Maybe I can repair your holosphere for you.”
Zingfree looked highly suspicious. “It is delicate equipment. Unlike a clunky starship, a holosphere requires a gentleman's touch in order to work properly, especially these older models, which are works of art in their own right.”
“I know how to handle sensitive equipment,” said Galaxy. “And I won't even charge you for it. You just give me some time to fix it and when I'm done, we don't even have to see each other again. What do you think of that?”
Zingfree pursed his lips. He looked away and then looked back her. “Fine. I don't have time to get my holosphere to a professional holosphere repairman anyway, You may try to repair my holosphere, but on my ship.”
“Your ship?” said Galaxy. “Where is it?”
“I will send you the coordinates once we are done speaking,” said Zingfree. “It is not very far from where you are. Just remember to bring the holosphere with you and I will let you in immediately.”
Galaxy nodded. “Sounds good to me. Just send me the coordinates and I'll be on my way.”
-
That was much easier said than done. While Zingfree did indeed send Galaxy the ship's coordinates (which revealed that the ship was a few miles south of the canyon), Galaxy had a difficult time transporting the damaged holosphere (the other one that hadn't been damaged flew back on its own).
The holosphere had to weigh at least fifty pounds, perhaps more, and looked to be at least a century old. Coupled with Magna 5's heavier-than-usual gravity, Galaxy found the task of moving the holosphere to be far more difficult than it should have been. She tried rolling it, kicking it, and lifting it, but the large metal sphere refused to budge, not helped by Magna 5's heavier gravity.
In the end, Galaxy used a steel cord she had brought with her, which she had originally intended to use to drag rocks, and tied it around the holosphere. She then dragged it out of the canyon, up the steep incline that the coordinates said would take her to Zingfree's ship.
This took her hours, though it felt like days. The slope was steeper than it looked from a distance and more than once the holosphere slid out of the steel cable and went tumbling back to the bottom. She became so frustrated at the task that she almost called Zingfree to tell him to get his piece of lousy equipment himself, but she eventually succeeded in reaching the top of the slope and soon was on her way to Zingfree's ship.
This thankfully did not take as long as it could have. Zingfree's ship was the only structure in the vicinity for miles. And what a strange ship it was. Galaxy had always considered Doman starship design to be … creative, to put it one way, but Zingfree's little flyer actually caused her to stop and observe it for a moment.
It was hot pink, which if Galaxy remembered correctly was the color of the Doman flag. The ship itself was as round as a sphere, but easily larger than the Adventure. Twin wings stuck out on either side, much like that of an insect, but they probably couldn't flap. Zingfree's face was painted on the front of the ship, heavily stylized in an apparent attempt to make him look cool, but it really just made him look ridiculous and ugly. Not only that, but there was an odd flag sprouting from the top, which Galaxy at first took to be the Doman flag but which she quickly realized was actually yet another painting of Zingfree's face.
Nonetheless, she made her way over to the ship, struggling to pull the holosphere along behind her. Though Galaxy was by no means out of shape, she was quite happy when she reached Zingfree's ship. Along the bottom of the portrait of Zingfree's face, the words Artistic Sail were painted elegantly, almost flamboyantly, which looked like something Space would write, if he was here; though Galaxy was too tired to think deeply about it.
The airlock opened in front of her and Galaxy went inside, dragging the holosphere inside the last few feet. The door slid shut behind her without a sound, which meant that Zingfree at least kept his ship in good shape. She supposed that he was too vain to let it look or sound like a rust bucket, unlike some starship owners out there.
The airlock itself was rather tiny, almost forcing her to bend over to avoid scraping her head against the low ceiling. The light that signaled the air level was red when she entered, but then it turned yellow and finally green, indicating that it was safe for her to remove her helmet.
This Galaxy did, removing her helmet even as the door in front of her opened silently, revealing a man wearing coveralls over his blue jumpsuit standing before her. The man was scrawny, looking more like a snake than a human, but he didn't look very old at all, perhaps in his early twenties.
Galaxy smiled and held out a hand. “You must be Zingfree's mechanic. My name is Captain Helena Galaxy, Captain of the Adventure. Pleased to—”
The man simply walked past her, like she didn't even exist, and bent down over the holosphere. He was looking it over, poking and prodding it, turning it over and over as easily as he would a ball of yarn. Galaxy looked down at him, scratching the back of her head awkwardly, holding her helmet under her right arm.
“Um, hello?” said Galaxy. “What's your name?”
The man looked up at her briefly. He had brilliantly golden eyes, eyes so gold that Galaxy thought they literally were made of the precious metal, before returning his attention to the holosphere. “Name's Jeff.”
Before Galaxy could respond, a loud, arrogant voice that she immediately recognized said, “Ah, Captain Galaxy. Welcome aboard my fabulous ship, the Artistic Sail.”
Turning around, Galaxy saw Zingfree Drifle, who, like all Domans, had a slug-like lower body with a vaguely humanoid upper body. Though it was perhaps politically incorrect to say so, Galaxy had always found Domans to be rather creepy. Zingfree moved with more grace than the Domans she had known, true, but he trailed a thin layer of slime behind him and his red skin glistened in the lights of the ship'
s hall. His face looked deformed and melted, but as it was not right up in her face like it had been before, it looked a little less ugly.
“I wouldn't call hours of dragging the holosphere 'timely,' Zingfree,” said Galaxy, shaking the Doman director's outstretched hand. She was glad she was wearing gloves, but even then she could feel the slime he secreted clinging to her hand. “But yes, I am glad to be here. Much better than Magna Five.”
Zingfree laughed. “Of course. The Artistic Sail is a masterpiece of Doman engineering, as I am sure you have already noticed. After all, you are a starship mechanic yourself, are you not?”
Galaxy nodded. “I am, yes. But I honestly can't say anything about how well it's designed yet, seeing as I just got here.”
Zingfree looked like he'd been hit by a truck, but he shook his head and said, “Well, Jeff here can tell you all about it later. Right, Jeff?”
Without looking up from what he was doing, Jeff nodded. “Yes, sir, Mr. Drifle.”
He spoke with a Southern accent that Galaxy found kind of cute. Still, something about him creeped her out; not in the same way as Zingfree's ugly body, but it did make her feel a little uneasy just the same.
“He's our mechanic,” Zingfree explained to Galaxy. “A highly gifted young man from Georgia, Earth, I believe he told me. He's been working on my ship for six months and even I, as
