First Flyght – Chapter 20

What is it about this ship that sucks the will to sleep out of me? Granted, I’ve never been a great sleeper, but this is getting ridiculous. I stare at my ceiling for almost six hours straight before I give up. I thought the alcohol would knock me out, but no. Instead of falling into a deep, deserved slumber, I’m stressing about our situation. In my head, I’ve gone through every number, every expense, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to end up coasting home on fumes despite my confident assertion to Skylar that we’re fine. While the Amagi is hooked up to the orbital station, it’s drawing power from the main grid for less than we pay for fuel, but it won’t be enough. It just won’t be enough.

Between the avalanche of numbers, Ken’s face pops in to tell me little tidbits of info he didn’t confess the night before. “Vivian, I think about you all the time.” “You look lovely.” “I’ve never seen you so confident, so sure of yourself.”

I press my hands to my burning eyes and chastise myself. He didn’t say those things. I’m only imagining them. He probably never once thought of me after we broke up. He didn’t even compliment me once when he helped me escape, and I thought I looked good. And hell, I’m not confident.

I’m not sure of myself.

I am scared shitless.

Smoothing out my silk sheets, I flatten my body into a long log and close my eyes again.

Sleep, goddammit!

Why am I not surprised it’s not working?

Maybe what I need is food. I haven’t eaten in eight hours now, a long stretch for me. And considering I rage-ate that lamb, I’m sure I didn’t enjoy it to its fullest potential. It’s 0700 on the ship’s clock, synchronized with time in Concord City. I could get up and start making breakfast.

Inside my wardrobe, I bypass all the fancy new clothes and reach for my ratty sweatshirt. I’m glad I hid it when I arrived on board because I’m pretty sure Skylar would’ve airlocked it along with my trusty cardigan and my dirty sneakers if she found them. I breathe a sigh of relief pulling it over my head. This sweatshirt has been with me through thick and thin. I bought it when I was living with Ken, and we always studied in the over-air-conditioned halls of the library. I wore it for five days straight when we broke up, and I spent every Sunday morning in it at home when Dad would make me breakfast. Now it’s my time to make breakfast for the crew. I couldn’t get them the Flyght permit, but I can feed them.

Grabbing my wristlet from the hatch above my bed, I notice its buzz as my fingers connect with it. I access Hecate and see the alerts I set up when we arrived at Palo Alto. My inbox has twenty new messages, but I gravitate to my proximity alerts first. Marcelo is back on the ship, his shuttle having docked forty-eight minutes ago. Perfect. Now’s the time to talk with him about my date last night.

I make my way through the ship quietly in my slippers. I don’t want to disturb anyone, but I needn’t worry. Skylar, Carlos, and Lia all appear to be in bed still. Through the galley to the port airlock, I sniff the air as I request access at Marcelo’s shuttle. Chickens and pigs — the smell of home.

The door slides open, and Marcelo is dressed down for the first time ever, loose pants, a cotton t-shirt, and bare feet. He smiles as he raises a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Ms. Vivian. Coffee?”

“Definitely yes. I haven’t slept in two days. I’m going to need the caffeine.”

His smile turns into a frown as he steps to the side and lets me in. The living area of his shuttle is swanky. Right now, he has a table with chairs set out that secure into the wall when he doesn’t need them. I’ve never seen his bed, but I assume it folds out of the port side wall. His tiny galley is all bright, spotless metal, and a carafe of coffee steams on the hot plate. The bathroom, smaller than mine, is on the starboard side, clean and darkened.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Marcelo tries to ask without sounding concerned.

“Life. I can’t fall asleep because I’m constantly thinking about how to get us all out of this mess.”

“That’s not good. Have you spoken to anyone about it?”

I rub my face again, trying to inject some life into it. “Who would I speak to?” The answer is no one. My parents set me on this mission, and they don’t want to hear from me unless I’m making progress on finding my relationship network or Tomu. Skylar knows what’s going on, but I know what she wants to hear. She wants to hear that her ship will keep flying, no matter what. And, that’s it. That’s all the people I can talk to. I should think about getting a therapist, but I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow, next week, next month.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the table, “and how do you like your coffee?”

“Light and sweet, thanks.”

I wait for the coffee to be in my hands and past my lips before I relax. My body is so tense, it hurts to let my muscles go.

“So, how was your date with Devos Tite last night?” Marcelo asks, sitting across from me.

“Yeah, about that…” I start, but Marcelo laughs. “What?” I laugh too. “I was just about to fire you, you know?”

He sets his coffee down to continue his chuckle. “And I would rightly deserve it. He was a monumental asshole, wasn’t he?”

“Monumental is a good adjective for the size of his asshole behavior.” I shake my head and sip my coffee. “Did you know about his desire to return women to domesticity?”

“Ah! He’s a Reformer?” Marcelo sits forward, eager for information. “I didn’t know that.”

“It must be new, or he’s kept it hidden, but he couldn’t stop talking about it last night. How women no longer know their place, that we’d be better off raising children, et cetera, et cetera.” I wave my hand in a circle and roll my eyes. “Dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. Especially considering the circumstances.”

“I agree. Women need to be out making deals, doing business, fulfilling their dreams and the dreams of their families. And since we’ve outlawed gene manipulation, this is our best way forward to populate the Duo Systems and bring equality.”

It’s nice to hear the things I want to hear from a guy like Marcelo. He’s seen all the Seven Worlds and had dozens of clients from every walk of life. If he thought this wasn’t the best way forward, I would listen to him. He’s more worldly than I’ll ever be.

“So, Devos was definitely not your type, which is good because it means I’ve been reading you correctly, even without any direction from you.” He clears his throat.

“I have those lists you asked for. I was just waiting for the right time to send them.” I lift my coffee cup in a toasting gesture, then set my cup down to access my wristlet and send him the files. “There. Now you have them.”

“Thanks. I’ll get started on finding better suitors for you.”

“Just so you know, I could never go for someone like Devos. I don’t care how pretty he is.” I’m hungry for real food, so I take a generous sip of coffee. Caffeine first. Food next.

“Is Ken Mata more your speed?”

I inhale in surprise, choke on my coffee, and half of it spills out of my mouth. Marcelo jumps up, grabs a towel, and runs back to me.

Well, it was nice knowing everyone. I’m going to choke to death on coffee.

“Are you okay?” Marcelo pounds on my back as I hack into the towel and mop up my mess. Fuck, I got it on my sweatshirt too.

I inhale a few breaths between coughs and try not to feel so embarrassed.

“Kind… of…” Coughing is beginning to hurt but slow down. I push the coffee mug away from me.

“I shouldn’t have surprised you. Sorry.” Marcelo hands me a new towel, and I use it to wipe my weeping eyes.

“How did you know? When did you know?”

He shrugs as he sits back down. “Ages ago. I think your mother told me back when she and Fusako hired me.”

Ugh. I drop my head to the table and continue my coughing.

“Ken and I are done. Over. Beyond over.”

“That’s not what I saw last night.”

I raise my head to look at him. He’s reclined back in his seat, his mug cradled in both hands.

“I knew Ken would be there, and I hoped you’d run into each other. Devos was the best I could do on short notice. It was all a setup.”

Thinking back on the night, I run the restaurant through my head.

“Were you spying on me? I didn’t see you there.”

His smile is small and devious. “I have my eyes everywhere. What did you think of the executive club?”

“It was… nice.” My responses are becoming tighter and tighter.

He raises a hand. “I only know you visited there with Mr. Mata, and you stayed maybe thirty minutes.”

I stare down at my hands on the table.

I hate being manipulated. I hate being spied on. I can’t believe Marcelo did this.

But then again, I kept the fact that I had dated Ken a secret from him.

“I have an idea, Ms. Vivian, and you can say no if you like. I’ll completely understand.”

When I don’t say anything, he continues. “I would like for you to think of me as someone you can talk to.”

I raise my eyes, and the smirk I give is involuntary. I regret it right away when he comes to a screeching halt.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Go on.”

“Someone you can talk to, about anything. I will listen, happily. I can give advice too if you like. And I can be a sounding board for choosing your future husbands and consorts.”

I return my eyes to my hands.

“I’ve noticed something since I came on board. Everyone is counting on you, yet… you have no one to count on.”

My sight is beginning to blur.

“You and Skylar have been friends since you were babies, good friends, the best of friends. But I know for a fact that she’s not very good at being a shoulder you can cry on.”

“Ha,” I rasp out then clamp my lips shut.

“Need someone to kick ass or have a late night drink with or go out searching for men, and Skylar is your woman. Having a heart-to-heart? Not as much. Everyone I have ever worked with has had a confidante, someone they trust to listen to their issues, give strength or peace or opinions or whatever. I have not seen or heard of you consulting with anyone since I took on this job. How is it that you’ve been left so alone?”

Why do I feel so… ashamed? I thought this was my great strength, being alone.

I lift my head. “I did what I had to do. I loved my farm, my home. I wanted it to be my life someday, so I was told, ‘Go to school. Study hard. Don’t get distracted,’ and everything would be fine. And I screwed up. I fell in love, and I almost lost everything. I lost him, and I completely lost the ability to make friends. Not that I was great at it at any time in my life.”

I hurriedly stand up, knocking over my chair. My legs shake like I’ve been running for a hundred kilometers without stopping.

“People have come to rely on me. They need that shoulder to cry on, and it’s me. They need to bitch to someone, and it’s me. This is my calling; it’s my strength.”

His stare is piercing. “It’s going to lead you to an early grave if you have no outlet for yourself. This is not even remotely healthy. You’re going to break, and then where will you be?”

“Fuck you, Marcelo.” I point straight at him. “I don’t want you here if you’re going to judge me.”

He doesn’t even flinch because I’m sure he saw that coming. Usually, I can be cool, but my temper always gets the better of me when I’m being criticized.

“Ms. Vivian,” he calls out as I walk away, “please come back and let’s talk. I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Yeah, well, good fucking job, then. You deserve a raise,” I mumble on my way out.

Nope. I’m not having any of that judgmental shit. I’ve got too much else to deal with.