Back to Work
13 May 2016TheDarkLord
Leesti. October 3296.
Buoyed by my trip to the observation dome, I am now determined to get myself a job that gets me back into space. I’m not entirely sure how to go about this, but figure that one of the best places to get a job on a spaceship would be to hang out in the places where the spaceships hang out.
Accordingly, I head down to the dock zone.
Although it feels right to be here, I’m wracked with nerves. I know instinctively that this is where I should be, but without a ship, or cargo, or mission, I feel like something of an imposter. But I’m running out of money, so I need to throw myself back into work. And there’s no time like right now.
The docking bay area is vast. I have no memory of this from my previous time as a pilot. I’m in awe, and gawping like a feckless tourist. It’s easily the most epic thing I can remember having seen in my whole life. Ships of all shapes and sizes are coming and going. The large transports make the air thunder. I spot a Fer-de-Lance, with its fancy red & white paintwork. Its pilot seems to be in an awful hurry, lighting the place up with drive thrust. A few seconds later I hear the shriek of its engines.
Around me, everyone is bustling. There is lots going on. Trucks zipping hither and yon carrying cargo to or from ships in the bays. A Mark 3 Cobra, like the one I used to fly, and whose sale paid for my medical bills, slides in through the mail slot, rotates to align with its landing pad, then settles in a perfect landing. At the adjacent pad, a Python rotates up out of the hangar, then lifts off and exits, its docking thrusters flaring with each correction its pilot makes.
“Are you gonna just stand there like a tourist getting in the way, or do something useful?” The question jerks me out of my reverie. In front of me stands a short stocky man with a wild shock of grey hair. He’s in stained but unmarked grey coveralls, and he’s holding a cable remote for a cargo cart. I’m blocking the cart’s path. In front of me sits a Keelback, with a shape only a mother could love, vast directional thrusters sitting in the stowed position.
“Lookin’ for work, actually.” I reply.
“Ain’t ev’ryone.” He beckons to a Type-7 in the distance. “Over there. Type-7. Bay 33. Ask for Percy.”
I step aside, and he walks past, the cart following him. On it are six racked canisters of gold.
I make my way across to Bay 33. The Type-7 is still there. It’s being loaded. Around me are pallets and pallets of cargo canisters. Automated carts are moving around the bay, following lines painted on the floor. They pause under the Type-7’s cargo hatch, which scoops up the pallet, allowing the cart to move on and be replaced by another. And another. And another.
“Help you?” A voice calls from over toward the rear of the tall transport ship. It belongs to a woman. She has a pale face surrounded by black hair with iridescent blue streaks. She’s thin and long-limbed, sitting atop a canister, smoking a roll-up cigarette.
“Ah, yeah. Looking for work. Dude over there told me to come here and ask for Percy.” I gestured towards the bay where the Type-6 had been sitting.
“You gonna then?” she replies.
“Gonna what?”
“Ask for Percy.” She eyes me suspiciously. There’s a definite distrust in her demeanour. She sees me looking at her, and immediately looks down, pulling at a thread on her worn denim jeans.
“Er. Yeah. Is Percy about? I’m looking for work. Heard Percy might be able to give me some.”
“Who’s askin’?” she says, without looking up.
“He won’t know me. My name’s Tony de Lamont.”
“There’s no ‘he.’ There’s no Percy,” she says. She looks up at me, and I hold her gaze. The streaks in her hair are coloured to match her eyes. There is sadness there. It’s beginning to look like this is not going to be a fruitful line of enquiry, and I start to shape up to move on.
“Sorry to bother you ma’am. I’m new to this, and was just following what looked like a lead.”
She looks down again. “Fuckers here call me Percy 'cause it pisses me off. And they think that’s funny somehow. I’m trying to make a living, and they’re just trying to piss me off. Fuckers. Name’s Persephone.” That wasn’t sadness I saw in her eyes, more like bitterness.
“Ah, Persephone. Got it. Like I say, my name’s Tony.” It looks like Persephone might not be a good source of steady employment, but maybe there’s some experience and some credits to be gained anyway. And she looks like she could use a hand. “Anything I can help you with around here in return for some credits?”
I look around me again. The canisters are all marked up as containing Land Enrichment Systems.
“Nah. Autoloaders doing everything. I’m outta here in about three hours. Heading West. You attached to this place? You can come with me if not. I ain’t coming back. I’ll pay you if you make yourself useful.”
“Where are you headed?” I ask, more in conversation than anything. It would probably suit me to leave Leesti behind right about now. I just want to make sure that she’s not going to check out on some godforsaken rock, leaving me stranded.
“This lot’s going to Zarece. From there, tea to Hilla. From there, who knows?”
“What do you need from me?”
“Help. Company. Someone who can lift heavy weights.” She looks me up and down, and sees my lack of obvious physique. “You’ll appreciate the zero-G for that last part. Pay you 2% of the profits, as long as you don’t piss me off.”
“Awesome. I’ll grab my stuff, not that I really have anything. See you back here.” She waves dismissively in my general direction.
I’m going back to space!