The Best Damn Pilot in the Galaxy

There must be something I hate more than being disturbed when I’m enjoying shoreleave. I can’t think of anything at the moment.

There’s this really sweet looking guy I picked up in the bar. He’s got this almost Gennie look, (because he is That much younger than me, so hair is just starting to grown on his face) and he was Good In Bed, and I was going to get another dose, when I get the hail from my Captain.

“This better be good,” I say to him.

“Cilla, join me on the boat in…an hour?”

“Two hours, give or take a weekend,” and I shut communications.

Sweet face is looking at me with those big brown eyes, and I just smile. It was just as good the second time around, and I decided to let him go back to his mother, and I’d go to the Presidium.

I grab a flyer to the Pier, flounce in, wearing a dress that looked like it shrunk in a whore red color. I wanted Donnie not only to know what he was missing, but what I was missing by answering his damn hail.

Everyone else was there, looking around, probably just dragged in, so it wasn’t as if everyone was waiting for me.

Donnie half sat on a rail and told us we would be transferring to the Invictus.

No one believed it, at least for the first ten minutes, and then when it was clear that it wasn’t fleege, we went into collective shock. The Invictus was the greatest ship in the galaxy. And me…I would pilot that?

The orgasm I got just thinking about it, made Sweet Face a tampon, and it was probably the only possible summons that was better than what I’d been doing.

After we all got to ground on the idea, Donnie than showed us the shiny new lanes we’d be flying.

I’d never been anywhere near Sagir Space. I didn’t know how many planets were in its system, or whether it was one two or nine; that’s how out of it Sagir was.

No one should of mentioned Gye. But Frank, being a damn fool would. That made Donnie kind of reluctant to speak.

Shelly, an asshole, but a lovable one, changed the topic and in a minute we were back enjoying what was left of our leave, knowing that when we left, it would be on a ship so fantastic it made the Presidium look like a bathtub.

I was dying to find someone, anyone and slap my breast saying, “I’m the pilot of the
Invictus!”  but of course, at times of greatest boast, all you got is a sleepy eyed barman,
or the drunk beside you.

Sweet Face wouldn’t know the Invictus from the Scooter, and I supposed, it being close to midnight on my piece of Cyberus, it was past his bed time.

I went up to my room at a reasonable hour, actually slept a good nine, then to the beach to swim, feeling kind of disconnected.

I actually went looking for Frank Guthrie, who I didn’t like on general principles, but figured I better talk to him. The guy was at some sporting event, or so he said, and I had to kick heels for two hours until he sauntered in with a look on his stupid face like I wanted his bod.

He babbled about being hot and tired, and needing to go up to his room. Lamest come on ever heard.

We got into the lifter, others there keeping him on his side, then out in the corridor, to his door, opened, we stepped in, and I shoved him so he went splat into a table, bounced to the floor.

“Listen asshole, you don’t mention Gye to the Captain, hear? Not Gye, not Sagir, nothing. The wound is still bleeding.”

“Hey, Cilla, who you think you pushing?” he says late.

“You, asshole. If you open that rectum you think is your mouth and ever say the name Gye,
I’ll put my boot up your butt…you got that?”

And before he collected himself I was through the door.

I didn’t want to be in the same hotel as Frank, in fact, I wanted to be on Invictus, but it
hadn’t made port. I did the next best.

I researched the ship and Sagir space, which pretty much filled the next two days, so that when my leave was up and I went to see my new baby, I was familiar.

Despite the preview, I wasn’t ready for a ship as incredible as the Invictus. From the cabins to engineering to the galley, and especially the Bridge; this was it.

After a few hours we got the go and with a sense of awe I took the Conn, moved her out nice and slow, for the feel.

The A.I.’s voice annoyed, I changed it and threw in a few remarks, inflections, to get it
sounding like someone I wanted to hear. Ian wanted to make an avatar but Donnie was
not into it. “It’s a ship, not a pal,” he said.

The Twin Cities, the newest MileLong, chugged beneath us and I wasn’t making much distance.

A pirate who takes one Milelong never has to commit another act of Piracy, for the value in that ship is in the trillions.

I was glad the ride was Smudge, cause I could fly it asleep.  It was ‘hand middle’.

I loved piloting the Invictus; although it didn’t ask anything of me. It could move from A to B on auto, but I liked the way it felt, just loved being in that seat, doing the tests, making sure I knew what every thing did and how.

The crew was enjoying the ship. The galley, the amusements, the rooms, even the way the air recycled with hint of mint, so clean and fresh.

As we got a lune from Smudge we made contact, and up comes a yacht.  Shelly and the others
make the meet and greet.

Now it’s palm sweat time.

I’m about to move in a direction I’ve never been, going to where I don’t know.

No one travelled Sagir space but Sagirs. The journey had to be extra careful.  Rhyse should of
given us a Gennie navigator, even pilot for this ride.

Why was she sending me out to Columbus without a scout?

There wasn’t a time frame, I’d take forever if necessary to get this boat safely through.

Shelly, probably thinking I needed the gossip came to blather about all the ‘diplomats’ and ‘entrepreneurs’ and whomever had tumbled out of the yacht. I had to chase her because piloting the Invictus through unknown regions, took all my brain.

I sent out a ten hour tachy revision to get a map, slowed the ship, created a cautious course,
then took a lie down.

I slept long and refreshed, raced to galley then bumped Donnie from the seat.  He’d been there all of my sleep time, and looked it.

I did my adjusts, slid on and maybe it was an hour when popping up were five Sag ships,
looking hostile. I sent someone to call Donnie, and he got on the horn, told them who he
was, more importantly, whom he worked for.

The name Hawking was magic. The Sag ships became our escort. Piloting was just linking to their grid.  Gave me some time off to eat and bathe and sleep, but I was unlinking when I felt the cool, cause I needed the feel.

Finally there’s Sagir.

My Navigator, a newbie called Max, was making the maps, so our back was already keyed.

The hard part is to get the ‘Vic berthed at their rickety looking Space Port, the worst I’d ever seen. Seemed to have been built a hundred years ago and patched only after a disaster.

It was far too small for a Milelong to link, so Donnie and the Dips and whomever else had me connect so they could palaver and get some kind of port.

I didn’t even think of leaving my baby for a sight see not seeing anything on the station I’d like to sight.

In some block of time I got the order to move from the station so that the Milelong could crossways, as they’d be tearing off a chunk of bulkhead and moxing a connect.

Considering that I was going from spa to pool to other sensuous pleasures on board the ‘Vic, I don’t know how long this took.

We all had swoon beds; not the dope ones, the real Swooners. Lie down, head on pillow,
and you are out for nine perfect hours to wake fresh and alert and ready and energised.

The food was great and there were endless selections. There was real liquor in the hold, and lots of sex.

Then Ian poked me to take a gander at what had played at the Sag Station.

From an Ob port I saw an enormous ‘glass corridor’ extending from the Station like half klic. Ian output he’d hacked was that the Sags were using a sealed train corridor.

Then, like ants we could see thousands of Sags moving into the Mile long unloading. By the next day, they were loading what I’d call worthless junk.

On a real planet it takes six months to properly load a Milelong, but on Sag, it was two days, cause the entire pop was carrying some piece of crap and parking it somewhere inside.

When I looked at the manifest, what we’d delivered was ten year old weapons, every kind of manufactured good that had no doubt been taking space in warehouses all over the galaxy.

I didn’t need Ian to printout that Hawking had been buying unsold obsolete
or that stuff we were taking was just as worthless. I suppose it was fair trade.

Then Donny and the Dips came back with six Gennies. Six Gyes. Six almost exactly the same Gyes. I just stood there until they moved away, and I think it was Ian who grabbed my arm and used the word ‘clone.’

I somehow got into the pilot’s seat, told to set course for Savorn, a minor world.

It was taking me and Maxi forever to prog the com cause it was a new route and why one of the Gye’s didn’t join the Bridge to give a bit of direction….

The Gennies, Frank kept barking, were in security. If they were in Security, what was he doing here?

“Yeah, what?” I finally flung, and he shut up because he guessed I’d rather the Gennies;
all six clones then him.

On Savorn we killed two weeks while the Sagir junk was off loaded, Savorn stuff loaded and some kind of dip scene played.

We went back to Sagir.  The prime war boat in the galaxy, the prime exploration vessel, used as escort to a cargo ship. It made me puke.

Donnie, aware of my attitude came with cheer up noises. After all, I was just learning how to pilot such a complex ship. I pretended I was listening, but he wasn’t thrilled about his deployment either. But the money was good.

The biggest suss was Dalmar begging Hawking to forgive the ‘incident’,  claiming to have executed the crew of the three cruisers that had attacked the Presidium.  I’m sure they didn’t execute any Dal. Nothing was more important to them then their genes. That Rhyse wasn’t buying it upped her in my grid.

We reached Sagir, Donnie and the Dips went into the Space Station with the Cargo Ship’s store keeper.  When Donnie came back with six Gyes; maybe the same ones, maybe not, but he was different.

Cause our Gye was dead.

Donnie went to his cabin, I followed.  He was doing some serious drinking.

“One of them told me, Gye died a hero. Told me they were Gye and would take their brother’s place. You see them? Clones. Replacement parts…like…” Donnie poured another drink. “If that’s how they see themselves …how can I…”

“How did Gye die?” I asked.

“He got away in the Viper, he got to Sagir. Told them his adventures. He was on one of their ships. Dalmar attacked. They all died.”

Yeah, that’s about right.

“..I knew he was dead. He would of been here…he’d of contacted me.”

“How close did you get to him?” I asked.

“I don’t know. But I felt that…I don’t know what I felt. I don’t know what I feel.”

I know what he feels. Grief. Mourning. Loss. Our Gye was as close to me as this one. Meaning, wide berth. But Donnie had tried to make friends. Maybe he had.

We all lose people in life. But I think, when you lose someone who has made you his
only friend, it’s kind of more painful.

There wasn’t much I could say or do, so I left him. Warned the crew.

When the Milelong was loaded, we went on to Earth. Flying the most dangerous corridors
like it was an Earth to Mars.

There weren’t Pirates.

Of course, since most pirates were Sagir…

I almost lost control of the Vic. That one thought answered every question I ever had, starting with Madame Rhyse demanding we take a Eugenic on the Presidium.

She’d put Gye here for the purpose of annoying Dalmar. Hoping they’d attack our ship.
Knowing that when they did she’d have the opportunity to link with Sagir.

Once she’d linked with Sagir, that was the end of Piracy. Sure, send a nice big war boat to play security, but know that no one was going to attack.

It wasn’t a gift to Sagir, it was buying protection for Hawking. I bet, if I got Ian to hack into
Hawking, their usual losses due to Piracy, and the Insurance they had to pay, was more in
one year than the Invictus cost.

It wasn’t spying…I knew that when Lenny output…but I didn’t know what it was…thinking…

And Donnie was mourning Gye, as if he’d died for a purpose.
Yeah.
Sure.
He died so Hawking could save on Insurance Premiums.
Everything else was gravy.

Over by the weapons array is standing a Gye. I bet he didn’t shed a half a tear when our Gye
died. After all, he has the same genes.  No loss. Not to him. Not to me either.

I guess Donnie is the only mourner. But then, he’s not as mercenary as the rest of us.