Page 22 of Life-Debt

“Absolutely,” Delta replied.

“You’re biting off more than you can chew, Little Cousin,” the Veloc warned. To my amusement, the feathered predator braced.

Smart.

I activated both my forward and rear thrusters to maintain position, throttled the engine to seventy-five percent power, and with a wicked grin, killed the forward thrusters. With a thrum I felt more than heard, my ship zipped into space, left the spaceport’s gravity, and bolted in the general direction of Cremora Delta 005-23. Using my link, I brought up the space chart for the area, established the correct trajectory to slingshot around the planet, and increased throttle to ninety percent.

At long last, due to persistence, new parts, and careful calibration, I’d gotten my baby to hit close to max engine capacity without a bone-rattling vibration. Delta would carry some of the credit, although I’d gone over every piece of his work, checked it to my satisfaction, and if it hadn’t been to my satisfaction, I’d made him dismantle the part in question and start over until he did it right.

In the seven days the project had taken, I’d come to appreciate his patience, his attention to detail, his willingness to learn, and his somewhat twisted sense of humor, especially when we’d gotten a face full of oil thanks to one of his errors.

It had taken him three hours to clean up that mess to my satisfaction, and I’d laughed the entire time.

I hadn’t been much different the first time I’d taken oil to the face.

Once I confirmed the engine wouldn’t break apart on me near max capacity, I lowered the throttle and eased the ship to a saner traveling speed. In my co-captain’s seat, Delta clutched the armrests. Mystoran had restrained himself, thus leaving my ship without any new holes, but his feathers stood on end.

“Problem?” I asked, careful to keep my amusement out of my voice.

“I don’t think that was legal,” the Veloc whispered.

“It was legal. The traffic controller knew I wanted to do a full engine test, which is why she cleared space near the quarantine bay and had a tug nearby. If there was something wrong with the engine, I would have stalled leaving the bay and would have needed the tug. By testing the hover and throttle, I gave the engine a workout in a safe environment. Shiftgem drives don’t typically explode—not in the way a combustion engine does. As such, the only thing to be damaged would be my engine room if something went wrong. Seventy-five percent thrust is the maximum I can depart a spaceport in this specific ship.”

“Are you sure it was legal?” the predator asked in a wavering tone.

I giggled and nodded my head. “Had it not been legal, you would have heard the traffic controller verbally tear me to pieces for the entire spaceport to hear. You all right, Delta?”

“Do I have to be insane to pilot a spaceship?”

“Not insane, but a little crazy helps. That was a fairly standard maneuver. You need to master it to gain sufficient acceleration to break free of a planet’s gravitation pull. Exit velocity varies by planet, and no one planet has the same exact exit velocity. Some planets are harder to escape than others. Spaceports are a good way to learn how to handle controlling a ship when transitioning from gravity to no gravity. Spaceports are different in that they have set zones. The bay had gravity right until the doors, after which there was only the natural gravitational pulls of nearby planets and stars. You’ll learn to love and hate gravity.” I confirmed my trajectory would send us directly to Cremora Delta 005-23 before unbuckling and relaxing in my seat. Pressing the intercom button, I said, “Pandora, you’re free to roam.”

“That was standard?” Delta blurted.

I laughed. “If you decide you want a piloting license, you’ll be pulling a lot nicer stunts than that one. I was just stress testing the engine in a safe place. If that test had failed, the tug would have retrieved us, pushed us back in the bay after they cut gravity, put us in position, and restored gravity, where I’d be spending the next few weeks repairing her to be flightworthy. That was a successful stress test. I wouldn’t be surprised if the traffic controller assigned us an escort to make sure we didn’t have engine troubles since they’re aware I just did an overhaul with a baby mechanic. That’s you.”

“Well, you proved I knew nothing, but now all I have rattling around in my head are part names, bolt sizes, and a memory of what oil tastes like. I’m making it my mission to never taste that again.”

“That’s a good goal to have. It only takes once. So, piloting for beginners.” I pointed at the star chart I’d brought up, giving me a view of the space in front of the ship. “Ships come with autopilot, so I set a trajectory using that. The ship then changes directions unless I’m manually piloting. Right now, I’m running the autopilot, as I want to make certain all my systems are working properly.” I directed my finger out the front window. “Space is full of debris. This section will be relatively clean, as they hire ships to destroy space trash and monitor for rocks and so on. But debris can happen at any time.” I pressed a button to bring up the information panel on my ship’s weaponry. I gestured to the activated weaponry system. “That is our first and last defense against small space debris. If it’s too small to vaporize, I dodge it, which is when I override autopilot. My detection systems can pick up space debris two minutes out if it’s a dangerous size, which will trigger various alarms. Autopilot is smart enough to dodge—usually. But if an alarm goes off, I take over and make certain we avoid a collision. For me, usually isn’t good enough, and I stopped counting the number of derelicts I’ve salvaged because they gambled on the usually and lost.”

“And my ship?” Delta asked, his tone quiet.

“Bad luck. Just infernally bad luck.” And someone with something to hide and the realization there was no other way out. For all I knew, it could have been a situation where they’d intended the ship to be picked up by someone else and the cargo stolen, with Delta as an additional prize.

Until I hit up one of the black markets, I wouldn’t know, not for certain. But soon enough, I’d go to the distant parts of space where the smart survived, the cunning cheated everyone else of their hard-earned tokens, and I might be able to review the black market logs through calling in a favor from an operator I’d bailed out from trouble in the deepest reaches of space.

What I learned would dictate my future choices.

I pushed the thought aside and began the tedious process of teaching Delta how my ship worked, how to control her, and gave him a taste of what it meant to be wild and free, slingshotting the vessel around the desert world of Cremora Delta 005-23 and back to the spaceport.

EIGHT

He could read the manual and listen

As promised, I filed an application for Delta to have a legal lesson in captaining my ship. The spaceport authorized a three-hour cruise. The flight path amused me, as it would take us on a tour around the spaceport. Traffic control asked me nicely to avoid slingshotting around Cremora Delta 005-23, as there would be other ships in orbit who would appreciate not having heart attacks.

I laughed and confirmed I would not have a beginner attempt to slingshot any planet, star, or other stellar object.

To my delight, the spaceport authorized him flying my ship out of the quarantine bay, something most disallowed due to the higher risk of a novice pilot making a critical error. Delta sat in my seat, and the poor man sweat.