First Flyght – Chapter 11

The Flyght building is in what I term the hip part of Concord City. Right on the border of Japantown and the suburbs, the rent is cheap, and the walk from the subway is over five minutes, a veritable trek in this city. But the view from thirty stories up is a sight to see and worth every inconvenience. Green, sodded roofs undulate across the city, used to keep the buildings cool and create fresh spaces for employees or tenants. Three buildings away, the rooftop is covered with people sitting among potted plants, drinking coffee, and eating. I’m suddenly starving.

My eyes refocus on my reflection in the glass. My hair is the sleekest it’s ever been. Never have I been able to afford the processes, nor implants, for forever-straight hair, so it’s strange seeing it around my face now. Usually, my hair is a frazzled mess pulled back in a ponytail. Granted, forever-straight hair is something I could’ve spent money on, but Mom would’ve been pissed. Credits are supposed to be pinched, not spent.

I pause to think about that as I move a strand of hair from my cheek. Everything I ever did until now was at my family’s command. My schooling, my degrees, my boyfriends, my friends, the food I ate, the vacations I took — everything came down from Mom and Dad. I never complained about it though. I figured that was the way things were.

Now what? I’ve been charged with building my relationship network, finding Tomu, and bringing the family out of poverty. But can I do it my way? Do I even know what my way is?

I tip my head to the side and reposition my new side-swept bangs before turning around to sit in one of the lounge chairs in the waiting area. Other captains await their interviews just like me, but we’re nothing alike. One woman didn’t bother to put on anything nice for her interview. She lounges in a drab, brown flight suit, her red curly hair tied back, no makeup. Another woman waits in a business suit. She’s at least thirty years older than me, gauging by the wrinkles around her eyes and the extra weight at her waist. I bet she has a lot more experience in flying a ship than I do. What if only one person in this room can get a contract?

Try to think positive, Vivian.

I’m smart. I’m capable. I know their regulations and what will be expected of us. I can get us a contract.

The door opens, and the redhead is called in. I watch her enter the room, smiling and shaking hands with the men and women inside. I rearrange my seated position, crossing and re-crossing my legs, hoping my suit pants don’t crease in an awkward spot while I wait my turn. My outfit is one of Marcelo’s new picks, designed to enhance my slim figure and long legs. Code words for I have no hips and my legs may be the only feature worth showing off even though most men are intimidated by them.

While I wait, I try to study more, but my mind wanders back to the lists Marcelo wants from me. I don’t know what to tell him. What do I look for in men? Mostly that they’re not assholes. I mean, sure, guys have their hang-ups. Don’t we all? But I want someone who’s not going to be mean for mean’s sake. I’d like to meet guys who will make me laugh. I don’t even remember the last time I laughed at something truly funny. I want someone who will look at me and want me for who I am, not because of my family’s standing or because I’m going to be their sugar mama.

How do I explain this to Marcelo? My likes and dislikes are all personality based. Maybe I can come up with a few things though. Tall men? Yes, since I’m tall. I close my eyes and try again. What about hair? Eye color? I sigh as I open my eyes and return to my reading. I have no idea what I want in a man.

Another twenty minutes later, the door opens again.

“Vivian Kawabata?” A woman asks.

“That’s me,” I say, jumping to my feet. I cross the room with purpose and extend my hand to shake hers. My handshake is firm but brief, and I follow it with a bow.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Kawabata. I’m Beatriz Jurado, head of Flyght Transportation Acquisitions. Please come in and have a seat.”

My stomach is tied up in a tiny knot, but I do my best to smile as I cross the room and shake the hands of the two men sitting at the conference room table. I forget their names immediately. Shit. I hate when that happens. It’s like they fly in one ear and out the other. I dub them Pointy-Nose and Gray-Beard.

This is how I get through most days because I can’t remember names to save my life.

“When we saw your application come across our desk, we weren’t sure what to think,” Beatriz begins with a smile.

Oh no. How do I answer?

I force a smile to my lips. “Oh? Why is that?” Act oblivious, Vivian, because you are.

“Well, we know Fusako Kawabata owns the Amagi, and she has her own shipping company.”

“Yes, she does. But the Amagi is not owned by her anymore. It now belongs to her daughter, Skylar. My cousin.” I nod as I clasp my hands together on the table.

“We know,” she says, smiling and tilting her head as if talking to a small child. “Why then do you want to work for us?”

Okay, I went over this with Marcelo. He was sure they would lead with this question. I need to give him more credit.

“Fusako’s” — I hold myself back from calling her my aunt — “clientele have been with her for ten years or more. They all handle larger shipments on a steady schedule. None of her clients have any work for a smaller ship like the Amagi, and even if they did, we’d need to go through months’ worth of paperwork and licensing before we could be cleared for leasing docks in most major ports. So, since Skylar would like to be independent of her mother’s business, we agreed that Flyght would be a better fit for us.”

Good. I got that out in one go without stumbling.

Pointy-Nose and Beatriz exchange a glance.

“And,” Beatriz continues, “we’re curious also why Skylar Kawabata is not the captain of your ship. The Amagi is technically hers now.”

“Right now, she’s only interested in flying. It’s her thing. I swear that she was born in the cockpit.” I laugh, but Gray-Beard raises his eyebrows. The picture in my mind just went from Skylar at the helm to her mother bearing down and popping a baby out straight onto the pilot’s seat. Ew. Gross. “That’s a figure of speech, of course.” I hold out my hands as my body heats. “Babies were only born on that ship in the infirmary.”

“I’m sure that’s the case,” Beatriz says, laughing lightly. She pinches the bridge of her nose, and I wonder how many interviews she does per day.

For another ten minutes, we go over the ship’s specs, how old certain parts of the ship are, and what areas of the Amagi were upgraded last. I have all the specs loaded to my personal account, so I’m able to interface my wristlet with the room’s system and show them exactly what the Amagi is made of. I’m proud of Skylar and how much work she put into this ship. It’s still not luxurious by any means, but it has everything we need — plenty of room for a dozen crew members plus extra for guests. The Amagi is the perfect planet-hopper.

Then come the personal questions I sail right through. Questions about my schooling and my classes are all easy to deal with. I’ve led a fairly boring life up until now, and I didn’t have any friends for them to do background checks on. I don’t mention my previous relationship with Ken Mata, their boss, and they don’t bring it up, so I guess that liaison is buried in the past.

Questions about my family are harder to answer, especially why I’m choosing to captain a ship instead of taking over the family farm. I tell a convincing lie that my parents would like for me to make more business contacts before settling on Ossun for the duration. They’re happy to run the family farm until I’m ready.

I’m surprised that I lie so easily. I’ve always been a ‘good girl.’ Never cheated on an assignment or exam, never told my parents lies or stolen even a piece of candy, and I’m an open book to pretty much everyone.

Should I be worried? Am I being corrupted?

Nah. It’s probably time I took some risks.

At least, I hope so.

“So, if you were to become a Flyght ship, what would your ideal client be?”

Another question Marcelo knew ahead of time. Bless him.

“We’d be happy with a wide range of clients. Families and children who need to move to other systems or small businesses that have smaller cargo requirements would work best, but we can be flexible. My ship is also well-equipped to handle livestock or animals. I grew up on a farm,” I say, pressing my hand to my heart, “so I can’t be far from animals for very long without feeling homesick.”

I smile and mean it. I love my dog, all the rabbits, the chickens and ducks, Sally the Goat (and her goat’s milk), my pig, Stella, and the chaos that comes with flying with animals. Lia is doing a great job of keeping the animals in line, and soon we’ll have the coop set up, and we’ll be collecting and reusing the animal droppings for growing our own plants. It’s going to be awesome.

And for a short minute, I believe that. Skylar has given me the freedom to make the Amagi my own personal experiment in sustainable living, and I’m going to take us there.

Pointy-Nose pauses typing up his notes. “Do you currently have animals on board your ship?”

I pause, thinking about all of my notes. I don’t remember there being any regulations against allowing animals on board, and I’m sure Marcelo would’ve said something had this been a problem.

“We do have some animals on board right now. My dog, a goat, a pig, some chickens, and ducks.” Am I missing anything? I don’t think so. Skylar had a cat growing up, but Whiskers has been dead for a few years and she never replaced him. My own cat, Pepper, went to live with my parents. She would not like the ship. Not one bit.

Pointy-Nose, Gray-Beard, and Beatriz look at each other.

Uh oh. The room becomes frosty, and the fine hairs on my arms stand up straight.

Beatriz rearranges her expression into a smile, and I curse my inability to read minds.

“Can you give us a moment, Ms. Kawabata?” The three stand up from the table before I’m able to respond, so I push to my feet and bow as they exit the room.

Shit. What did I do? Panic runs my nerves at light speed, and my foot taps out a fast beat. Do I have time to call Marcelo and ask for help? My fingers hover over my wristlet, desperate to rush to someone who knows better than I do. I’m not good at being on my own, am I? This is what life is like outside of the university and the family keep.

This is my new life, filled with uncertainty.

I pace to one side of the room and back again before I distract myself by looking out the window at the city instead. I try to lose myself in the busy ways of its citizens, shuttles zipping back and forth from the spaceport, automatic vehicles in the streets, people streaming from the train station several blocks away.

Before I do anything more, the door opens, and Beatriz returns with the two men.

“Thank you for waiting,” she says as we retake our seats at the table. “I’m afraid that, at this time, we cannot offer a Flyght license to the Amagi.”

My stomach drops to my toes, and my upper lip sweats as I try to take a shaky breath. “Oh… Really? Um…” Grasp for something! “Is there a reason our license is being denied? I was sure all our documents were in perfect order.”

Beatriz sighs, and perhaps I imagine it, but her reaction seems sincere. “We had an incident just two days ago where an animal attacked and killed a client flying from Rio to Avenal.”

“Oh no. How horrible,” I say, pressing my hand to my mouth.

“Yes. So I’m afraid that, right now, we cannot permit licenses to ships carrying animals of any kind. At least, until we figure out the new insurance implications of transporting uncrated animals.”

“What if,” I interrupt, holding out my hands, “we remove the animals from the ship? We can return them to Ossun.” We’d miss out on things like fresh eggs and milk, and I would miss Frogger, but this is important. I’m willing to make sacrifices.

“That would be best,” Beatriz says, nodding and standing up. “Please return the animals to their home planet and resubmit for a license.”

I pop out of my seat. “Resubmit? How long will it take to get a license then?”

She accesses her wristlet and scrolls through the data presented while Gray-Beard opens a door on the opposite side of the room from where I entered.

“The current wait list is three months.”

“Three months?” I squeak out.

“Three months,” she repeats. “We now have a backlog of license applications because one of our smaller competitors recently declared bankruptcy, and Ampla closed to new licenses three weeks ago.” She crosses the room to shake my hand again, and this time, my grip is weak. “It was so good to meet you. Good luck with your future business ventures.”

I watch her walk away, my brain in shock.

I blew it. Oh man, I totally blew it.

Marcelo is going to kill me. Skylar is going to be so upset.

Gray-Beard waves me to the door with a sympathetic smile. There’s no going back and fixing this.

We are so screwed.