Breakaway

Gia Solari drained the shot glass, then turned it upside down on the table to join the others. Only three—I could have one more, couldn’t I? No, she really couldn’t. The next charter would be leaving in six hours, which meant she had four hours to clear the alcohol in time for her pre-flight exam.

She reached into the pocket of her coverall for the tabs. If she took one now and another in two hours, she would enjoy a nice, slow fade of her current floaty buzz. If she took two at once, she would sober up faster as long as she didn’t mind dry mouth and an upset stomach.

And if I took three…yeah, no. That would put her in the hospital.

She shook the bottle, heard the loud rattle of a scatter of tabs instead of the muffled clatter of a filled scrip, and counted the days until her next reissue. Damn. If she asked for an early refill, the company medicos would ask her to come in for a talk, their euphemism for the evaluation with added testing that would dent her record. Tycho Charters pilots did not drink to excess on trip days. Officially.

Their passengers, however…. Like the crowd of teenagers she had just returned to the loving arms of their parents following their prom night circuit of New Valencia’s hot spots. They had brought out the liquor and drugs as soon as Gia had secured the cabin doors, and her announcement of the planet’s rules and regs involving illegal substances and underage indulgence had earned her hoots of laughter and the odd rude gesture. Protests to the Tycho trouble desk had done no good—New Valencia oligarchs did as they pleased and their spawn learned that rule as soon as they were old enough to throw a decent tantrum.

Hell with it. Gia beckoned to the bartender and raised one finger. She would pop a double dose, follow up with space sickness meds for the nausea, then hit up the other pilots for more tabs. Brodie owes me some. So did Allison and Fleck.

Unofficially, Tycho Charters pilots definitely drank to excess on trip days.

She didn’t look up when the shadow fell across the table. If it was the bartender, they would know enough to leave the fresh drink, take the empties, and leave her alone. If it wasn’t, well, if she ignored them long enough, they would eventually go away.

She watched the shadow, and waited.

“Commander Solari?”

Commander? Use of her former Corps rank meant a potential client, which in turn meant that she needed to be civil. “Booked through the end of the half-year.” She looked up and forced her professional smile—cool eyes, no teeth—and met a mildly amused gaze that moved from her face to the line of shot glasses and back to her.

“I would appreciate a few minutes of your time.” Tall and sandy-haired. Office pale. Good bones. He removed a card from the front pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table.

Mason Denton
Staff Investigator
Snellings-Lau

Gia picked up the card, which had the look and feel of heavyweight paper stock. An old-fashioned touch meant to imply tradition and stability, two qualities in short supply in the Outer Colonies. “If this is about the dock incident last month, I have nothing to say. Tycho fired that copilot. The insurance companies are handling the settlement.”

“No, Commander. This is about the Peregrine.”

Gia did her best to exude disinterest even as her heart stuttered. Shit.

***

Mason led her to a booth in a quiet corner of the bar. He had apparently been waiting for her for some time judging from the state of the table. A half-empty mug. A stack of data folders. A portable workstation.

He knew I’d come here after docking. Gia’s stomach clenched. Five years had passed since she had been stalked by investigators, but the feelings flooded back as though it all happened yesterday. She slid onto the bench seat, wiped her hands below table level on the legs of her coverall, took a few steadying breaths before speaking. “I thought that case was closed.”

“More like put on hold.” Mason shifted folders, activated his workstation, then sat back. “But the recovery of a one-of-a-kind ship filled with bleeding-edge tech? It has become a quest for some of us. A holy grail.” Another smile. “And the reward for finding it is still on the books.”

Gia flicked a finger at the stack of data discs. “If you have the old files, then you have my sworn statement. There’s nothing else for me to add.”

“The stress you endured during that time has eased. You’ve had a chance to ponder, rethink.” Mason rocked his head back and forth. “Remember.”

“How could I remember anything better now than back when it happened?”

“Call it ‘reassess,’ then.”

Gia gripped the table edge with both hands as the tabs started to take effect. Her buzz vanished and chills drove out the pleasant warmth as the ache in her gut ramped up. “I have nothing to say to you.” She pushed to the end of the bench seat, paused just long enough to steady herself, then stood and turned to leave.

“We can arrange for formal questioning, if you like?” Mason’s voice came low and even. “But then I would have to inform your employer that I found you in a bar downing shots on a work day.”

He knew I was here. He watched her drink. Let her set herself up. Then he came for her. Good job, Solari.  “Tycho doesn’t care what we do on our own time as long as we’re sober at breakaway.”

“Should we test that?”

Gia stilled. She didn’t want to fly planet-bound jaunts for Tycho forever, but promotion to planet hoppers required she keep her nose clean, and she was not a management favorite. “Difficult” and “arrogant” appeared regularly in performance reviews, and she guessed that Mason had somehow been able to access every single one. “Fine.” She returned to her seat. When the bartender came by with her shot, she waved it away and asked for ginger ale.

Now that Mason had her where he wanted her, he took his time. He asked the bartender for more coffee, then sorted through the data folders and read over handwritten notes as though Gia wasn’t there.

Interrogation 101. Let me stew in my own juice. During the earlier investigation, Gia had suffered through enough questioning to memorize the plays. She sat back, hands folded in her lap, and watched the action around the bar. It was a few hours past sunrise so most of it was in silent slow motion, a handful of serious drinkers nursing their low-viscosity breakfasts.

“Name?” Mason answered Gia’s glare with a shrug. “Standard introductory questions, Commander. I know you know the drill.”

Fuck you. “Gia Martina Solari.”

“Age?”

“29 and eleven twelfths.”

Mason’s hands stilled over his touchboard. “I’ll round up.” He shot her a sharp glance over the top of the workstation display. “At the time of the theft of the prototype dual air-spacecraft Peregrine by one Lieutenant Kendell Morehouse, you were—“

“—with the Twelfth Expeditionary Corps, attached to Brainard Research Labs.” Gia’s stomach had begun to settle, which made it easier to breathe, to talk.

“You knew Lieutenant Morehouse well.”

He hated his name. He used to introduce himself as Kendell-call-me-Del. Gia sipped ginger ale. Nodded. “I did.”

“You were…close.”

“For a time.”

“Time enough for him to rub off. I understand the feeling was that he was a bad influence on you.”

Were her fitness reports part of the original investigation? Gia didn’t recall. “He didn’t belong in the Corps. He just wanted to fly.”

“He was reckless.”

“No more than the rest of us.”

“Did the rest of you get pilots killed?”

“That was a bogus charge.”

“History of disciplinary problems. Couple of demotions before they finally booted him out.” Mason held up one of the data discs. “You saw him the day he stole the Peregrine. You encountered him outside the research dock control room. He had just emerged after unlocking the Peregrine slip and initiating launch.” He paused to take a swallow of coffee. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

Gia struggled to recall how she had answered that question five years before. “I didn’t know what he had done. There was a pilots’ message board and mail drop in the room because we all went in and out of there every day. A place to leave jackets and such. I thought he went to collect the last of his stuff.” That sounded right. That made sense.

“According to the security vid, you spoke to him. What did you say?”

“You have the transcript.”

“I’d like to hear it from you.”

“Why?” Gia knew why. To see if I remember what I said. “I asked him what the hell he was doing.”

“Because you knew he didn’t belong there.”

“Because I had told him before that I would bring him his things. I didn’t want him to get into any more trouble than he already was.”

“He’d been kicked out. How much more trouble could he get into?”

“He could’ve been arrested. For trespassing.” Gia’s heart skipped. Her stomach ached again, but she didn’t think it was the tabs this time. “I have a flight in a few hours, and there are some things I need to do beforehand. Could we continue this at another time?”

Mason studied her for a few moments, then closed his workstation. “Day trip pilot for Tycho Charters. One would think someone with your background would be flying private for one of the oligarchs. Corporate fleet.”

Gia twitched a shoulder. “If you shut down one-third of the Expeditionary Corps, that’s a lot of pilots dumped on the colonial job market. Most places required you to be a captain before they even thought about an interview.”

“You were a captain.” Mason flipped through his notes. “Got demoted. Something about not informing site command that a recently-discharged pilot had wandered into their control room and did something sufficient to trigger dock alarms.”

“I feel as though you’re fishing, Mister Denton.”

“I feel as though I caught you at a bad time.”

“Talking about the Twelfth upsets me. How it all ended.” Gia’s eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly, hoped like hell that the tears wouldn’t spill.

Mason shrugged. “Expeditionary is a dream. Busywork for disaffected youth. Probes are faster, not to mention a lot cheaper.” He sniffed. “And they don’t steal expensive experimental spacecraft.”

Gia breathed deep, then sat back. She thought Mason Denton an asshole, and could tell from his attitude that he would never understand. But even so, she had to try. Because if she could get through to him even a little, maybe it would be enough to make him ease up, possibly even see a tiny bit of her point of view. “My longest solo jaunt lasted three months. I got as far as a suspected gateway in the Sol 4 sector when I got called back. They didn’t want to risk the ship.” She had loved that ship, a Wild Cat cruiser with an AI voice that reminded her of her grandmother. “Between the gateways, I’d pass through solar systems, close to planets. I’d fly over settlements, and I’d see lights blink on and off. I found out later that they were all tracking my route and lighting up when I passed over. Just saying hello. We see you. Godspeed.”

Mason listened, head cocked slightly. Then he opened his notebook and took a stylus from his jacket pocket. “How sweet.” He started writing. “I’ll be in touch.”

… … …

Stories:

Breakaway
Pirate Ship
Gift Exchange
Robin Red
It’s Not the Face
Learning Curve
The Repairer of Lost and Broken Things