An Unexpected Debt

by S. J. Pajonas

  I shake my head. “I have no idea. Whenever I tried to complain to her about it, about the utter unfairness of it all, she told me not to act spoiled.” I shrug. “I suspect now that the consorts lied to her about me.” I sigh again. “I just kept at it. Because I thought, someday, I would inherit the ship and the business.”

  Amira’s mouth is open, and her stare is wide. “I am shocked. Honestly. I want to deck your mother’s consorts.” Her hand closes in a fist.

  “What’s done is done,” I tell her, even though, deep inside, my gut burns with anger over it. “My childhood wasn’t much of a childhood. The dads had me taking care of the young kids when I was barely out of diapers myself. But I made it work, and I survived.” I toast her with the last of my beer. “But my mother may not survive if I don’t get her ships back.”

  Amira blows a short breath out between her lips. “I’m not sure why you’d want to help your mom after the way she ignored you for years.”

  I think on her statement for a moment, looking down at the concrete pavers below my feet. Do I really want to help Mom?

  I guess I should?

  I should.

  “Trust me. I have doubted my own sanity several times since this happened. But I want those ships back. She had no right to sell off my future, not after everything I’ve done for my family. I’m going to get them back. I’ll worry about everything else after.”

  “I’m going to give you a piece of advice, and you may not like it.”

  My neck prickles, but I trust Amira. “Shoot.”

  “Blood relations mean nothing if honesty and respect are not a part of the equation. Sure, I would do anything for my family, but that’s because I know they would do anything for me. If you can’t say that about your mom or her consorts or your brothers and sisters, then they’re not family. I don’t care how much blood you share.”

  I nod and take in this advice. And though it’s sound, rational, and even wise, it doesn’t apply to me. I’m a Kawabata, and family means more than anything to us. Whatever has happened with Mom and our family and our business, I need to fix it.

  “Done?” Amira asks, jerking her chin at my beer. I hand over my empty bottle, and she puts them in a nearby recycling station. She dusts off her hands. “Good. We have just enough time to go visit your new engineer before Mom lays out the dessert.”

  I jump to my feet. “My new engineer?”

  Amira turns and points at a building on the other side of the park. “Come on.”

  We wind through the park to a ten-story building covered in greenery. All the buildings on Palo Alto are like this. At first, I thought it was a little strange, but I really enjoy seeing green everywhere, and it keeps everything cool, even on the hottest days. Maybe someday, I’ll live on a planet too.

  I have no idea if that’s even something I want.

  Amira waves her wristlet at the front entry, and the security door clicks open after a few seconds. We skip the elevator and take the stairs up two flights to the second floor.

  A door is open at the end of the hall, and Amira trots up to it with a smile on her face.

  “Amira, darling. There you are!”

  “Jada,” Amira says, melting into the arms of the woman waiting for her. She pulls away. “This is the friend I was telling you about. Skylar Kawabata, this is Jada… uh, Nisrine. Sorry,” she says to the woman. “I’m so used to calling you Jada.”

  “Jada?” I whisper, turning my head to the side.

  “It means ‘grandma,’” she whispers back.

  Nisrine must be at least seventy years old, if not older. Age is so hard to tell when anti-aging therapies from Athens Industries are all the rage. Her waist-length silver hair is pulled into a braid, and she’s wearing a tank top and flowing pants. Damn. This woman is cut. She must lift weights. She looks great, but it’s her skin that shows her age. She spends a lot of time in the sun. One thing being on a ship is good for — young-looking skin.

  I freeze with my smile in place and try to lean forward to look into Nisrine’s apartment. Who’s this engineer Amira was talking about? Nisrine’s daughter? Granddaughter?

  When Nisrine offers her hand to shake, I snap back into my head.

  “You must be Skylar. So good to meet you,” Nisrine says, unclasping her hand from mine and gesturing to her apartment. “Come in. Come in.”

  In the living room, Nisrine has the same low table Amira’s mom had at her place. It must be a cultural thing to sit so close to the floor. We have similar tables back at Vivian’s house because they’re a thing in Japanese culture. She’s laid out the table with fruits, nuts, and coffee. The powerful aroma of coffee draws me forward.

  “I hope you love coffee as much as I do,” Nisrine says, drawing us through her living room. “I was hoping to share.”

  “Mmmm, it smells delicious,” I say. “I’d love some.”

  Amira smiles as she sits next to me. She bumps her shoulder against mine and tips her chin at the photos on the wall. I look past Nisrine to focus on the photos, and my heart speeds up.

  I take in each photo while Nisrine pours coffee. One is Nisrine, about twenty years younger, in an engine room, covered in grease but laughing at the camera. Another is Nisrine with a spaceship crew. Nisrine in wedding white, walking down a church aisle with a handsome man on her arm. Another similar photo with a different man. Nisrine holding two new babies with three men standing around her proudly. Nisrine posing on a spaceport tarmac next to a Tanuki class cruiser. Oh my god, it’s the Amagi. Or not the Amagi, but close enough.

  “Jada, I’m afraid I’ve been a little secretive,” Amira says, taking her cup of coffee. “I didn’t tell Skylar about you before we walked over here. In my defense, Mom kept serving us food, and there wasn’t much time to talk after dinner.”

  Nisrine sits down cross-legged on the cushion. She’s lithe, like a rubber band, and her leg relaxes down like I’ve only seen yoga instructors accomplish.

  “That’s okay. I’m sure your mother stuffed you to the gills. Skylar, Amira tells me you fly a Tanuki class cruiser, and you’re looking to find an engineer.”

  My heart migrates up my throat, and I leave the coffee on the table. “Amira is correct. I need an engineer. My previous one is now my cousin’s husband. He’s fantastic, and he put most of the systems together. But he’s taking care of other things.”

  Nisrine sips her coffee. “What’s your primary income for your ship? I’m sorry, I don’t think Amira told me its name.”

  “The Amagi. It means ‘raincoat’ in Japanese. All the ships in my family’s fleet are named after old Japanese naval ships. And I have two primary incomes. We possess a Diamond Level permit from Flyght, and we also have running contracts with my cousin’s company, Kawabata Holdings.”

  “Oh yes,” she says, tipping back her head. “I heard about Kawabata Holdings two years ago, didn’t I? Same last name. They’re back in business?”

  “Yes, back in business. Most of my income will come from them, and Vivian, my cousin, will pay the salaries of my employees for the first two years.”

  I hold my breath for a moment and decide to jump.

  “So, you know someone who would be a good fit for my ship? I see you’re an engineer.” I nod to the photos on the wall and sip my coffee.

  Amira chuckles, and Nisrine smiles at her.

  “Jada is not really my grandmother,” Amira says, leaning forward to grab a handful of nuts. “She’s my grandmother’s younger sister, my great aunt. All her kids and grandkids are grown and spread over the Duo Systems, and now she’s looking for something to do.”

  I raise my eyebrows. Wait a second.

  “That’s right. It’s time for me to get back into the engine room.” She flexes her right bicep, and I whistle. They both laugh. “Amira said you don’t want a man for an engineer, and I’m way past wanting to build a network. I have one of those and don’t need any more men.”

  “Where are your consorts?” I ask, glancing around the room. I
t looks like only she lives here.

  “Two of them have already passed on. The last is living in the north where he’s more comfortable.”

  And that’s all she’s going to say about that, huh? Well, let’s face it. Not everyone wants to live with their network forever.

  “We see each other, maybe, twice a year.” She waves her hand. “I spent twenty-five years in engine rooms, and I miss them. I don’t want to sit here for the rest of my life.” She glances around her tiny apartment. “And I never owned land. So… Anyway, Tanuki class cruisers are my favorite.” Her eyes twinkle with glee. “I would be honored to be considered. Any chance you’ll take me on for a provisional contract?”

  I glance at Amira to make sure this is not a joke. Amira’s grin is sincere, though.

  “Um, pardon this question, but wouldn’t you rather live out your retirement in comfort?”

  She laughs as she sets down her coffee mug. “Oh honey, I am seventy-seven years old, and I have at least another thirty years ahead of me. Let’s not be boring, shall we?”

  “No, let’s not,” I say, lifting my cup again for a sip. “Boring is the worst.”

  Amira nudges me with her elbow, and I roll my eyes at her.

  “Okay, then, Nisrine. The provisional contract is yours.”

  11

  It’s been a long morning full of spa treatments, thanks to Marcelo. My hair is cut, styled, and silky soft. It flows over my shoulder in dark, wide waves. The staff shaped my eyebrows, waxed my legs, and painted my nails pale pink, not a color I usually go with. I’m more of a wine red or black nails kind of girl, but this is a pleasant change of pace. I just have another hour to go with more body hair removal and a light massage before I’m released to return to my hotel room and get dressed.

  I’ve spent the time thinking about what Amira said about family and blood relatives. In a lot of ways, she’s absolutely right. Family should not treat me the way I’ve been treated my whole life. My skin crawls just imagining what would happen if Vivian found out. I’ve done nothing but lie to her for years about my situation. At first, I kept the secret because of the way Dominic would shame me into silence. Then, as I grew older, it became easier to just stay quiet and not deal with the questions.

  Ugh. I hate this. I’m already sick of my older brothers and most of Mom’s consorts, but I don’t want to disown anyone because I’m worried about Ana and the younger boys. Where will they be if Mom’s not taking care of them? Goodness knows none of the dads can get a job or earn money to support any of them.

  There’s really no way out for me.

  I access my messages as I wander from the nail salon to the café. Great. Dominic has sandwiched his message on top of all of my other messages in my family inbox. I stop in the middle of the hallway, tip my face to the ceiling, and let out a giant, whining sigh. For fuck’s sake. With him as Communications Director, he has far too much power over Mom and what she sees and hears, and I can never get a break from him. I steel myself and play the message.

  “Skylar, I hear your first meeting with Takemo Diaz did not go well, and we are still in this predicament that your laziness has gotten us into.”

  All the calm I had built up over the morning evaporates away in a puff.

  “Going away to flight school was a privilege,” he stresses. “And we didn’t have to pay for it, either. We did it out of the kindness of our hearts.”

  Bullshit. When I went to flight school for the first time at twenty years old, I could only be away for a month because I didn’t have my own money or independence. I had to do almost everything remotely except for the sims. I am a grown fucking adult. I don’t need his permission to do anything.

  “So, you will now be paying us back for flight school. It’s obviously not gotten you anywhere of value if you can’t get your mother out of this situation. I am submitting a balance due to you. Don’t make me take you to court over this. Your family would be so disappointed in you.”

  I find a seat in the café, way over in the corner, and access my inbox. Yep. There’s an invoice from Dominic and Kawabata Shipping. Eighteen thousand credits. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against my hand. Who does this? Who reneges on school tuition like this?

  Assholes like Dominic, that’s who.

  I open the invoice and choose the option to not pay. I add the comment, “I’m not paying you, not one fucking credit. Take me to court.” Send.

  There.

  Debts, debts, debts. Why does it feel like I will always be indebted to someone?

  I take a deep breath and shrug off the tension that’s crept into my neck as I cross the café to get some mint water and a few cookies. Thanks, Dominic, for ruining my cool. I could have been relaxing. I could have been sitting and wondering what this man is like, who I’m about to meet and spend the evening with. I could have been doing anything else but stewing over his petty and cruel ways to make my life a miserable mess.

  If I weren’t in a quiet spa, I’d scream at the top of my lungs.

  That would feel really awesome right about now.

  Okay, time to calm down and find my zen again.

  I read on my datapad while I wait for my next appointment. Nothing too taxing, just a white paper on the technology that powers the jump rings used to travel the Duo Systems. They have fascinated me since I was a kid, but learning about their technology and power systems was never a top priority for me until recently.

  I stare out into space as I remember the mission I went on with Vivian to Neve, the frostiest planet in the Brazilianos System. In the basement depths of the military base we broke into, there was a jump ring connected to other places… and other times.

  Where were they hoping to go?

  I glance back at the white paper and skim through it, looking for more information on who developed the technology. There must be scientists and engineers associated with the project I can track down and talk to once I get past this nonsense with the debt my mom has incurred.

  Flipping through page after page, skimming data and information, faster than I usually would, I’m hoping to find a name or two. I could ask Ai to do this research for me, but I’m keeping my ideas close to my chest until I’m sure I know what I’m doing.

  Skim, skim, skim, stop.

  My eyes focus on a name I recognize. Not a name of a person, but a company.

  Patras Technologies. Wait. Is that the same as Patras Agriculture? That’s India Dellis’s company on Ossun. India’s sister is Renata Dellis, CEO of Athens Industries. Up until the auction of Vivian’s farm, we thought India would try to buy it.

  But India turned out to be more of an ally than an enemy.

  Patras Technologies. What do they have to do with the jump rings?

  I slow down my eyes and read the next paragraph. “Patras Technologies provided the proprietary technology that boosted the jump rings into everyday usage. The technique is simple. The algorithm helps focus the jump ring wormholes once they’re open by matching star charts to various levels of subspace with a 99.99 percent accuracy.”

  Jesus. I wonder what happens to the point-zero-one leftover?

  As if to answer my question, the paper continues, “Focusing one sending-ring on the coordinates of a receiving-ring improved accuracy a hundred fold. Patras Technologies has been supplying and refining the technology since its inception in 185.”

  I’ve always known the jump rings were old technology, but year 185? That’s hundreds of years ago at this rate. Is Patras Technologies still around? Or are they just an agricultural conglomerate now?

  Is this the technology they want to use to colonize other systems?

  I have far too many questions.

  “Skylar Kawabata?”

  I tear my eyes from the white paper and look up at the woman hovering over my table. My breathing is fast and labored from all the thoughts swirling through my head, and I didn’t even hear this woman approach.

  “Yes,” I say warily.

  She doesn’t look li
ke a spa employee, but plenty of people in here are not employees. A few spa customers are sitting on the couches at the far end of the room, and a couple of men sit at tables, reading and drinking coffee.

  The woman slips into the chair across from me, and I hold my breath, leaning back. Am I going to have to call the management?

  She reaches across the table and snags a cookie from my plate.

  Hey now. Cookies are sacred items, especially chocolate chip ones.

  “Hi, I’m Kenzie. Sorry I couldn’t join you and Amira last night for dinner. I had other plans.”

  I set my datapad down and grab my mint water while she munches on the cookie she just stole from me. The mention of Amira’s name sets my nerves at ease, though I have no idea who Kenzie is. Amira didn’t suggest anyone else was supposed to join us for dinner, except for her potential boyfriend.

  “Okay,” I say, dragging out the word into several syllables. “I’d love to say we missed you, but who are you?”

  She places her hand on her chest. “Me? I’m Kenzie. Didn’t I just say that?”

  I sigh, roll my eyes, and grab my datapad and plate. “I’m out.”

  I don’t have time for this, especially when I had found my zen again and was getting somewhere with my research. I hate being interrupted.

  “Wait,” she says, extending her hand with a chuckle. “Sorry. Amira and I are always fooling around. I thought you’d be game.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “I fool around with friends. I don’t know you.”

  “Got it.” She finishes the cookie, dusts off her hands, and raises them in surrender. “Please, sit.” She waves to the chair I vacated, so I slide back in. “Amira and I are old friends. I’ve done work for both her and her family’s shipping company, so you can talk with her mom too if you need a reference. I’m what you would term a ‘finder of things.’” She traces circles on the table with her finger. “Things like rare ship parts, people who go missing…” She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “Weapons.”

  “Ah,” I say, tipping my head back. “I see. You’re that friend.”