“Why not? When did we become journalists?”
“We’re talking about a lot more than that, and you know it.” He sighed. “I don’t know why Rachel was so rattled any more than you do. But we can’t just let this go.”
“I can.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Chase?”
“I don’t know what went on with her. But as far as I can see, nobody ever got hurt. Until we stuck our noses into it.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“It’s not the way I feel. It’s the reality.”
“We don’t know that. Chase, we’re being blamed for what happened. Rainbow is. I am. I have to be able to show there was a reason.” Alex is a good-looking guy. A little taller than average, nice features, good smile. But that night he looked old. Worn. “There has to be a reason she’s hiding the tablet. And it’s not personal. It can’t be personal. That makes no sense.”
“I understand that. But I don’t care anymore. Enough’s enough.”
“Chase, I’d walk away if I could. I owe you that. But this is—”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“All right. Look, I’ll keep you out of it. I’ll take care of everything myself. I might need you to provide transportation, but otherwise—”
“No,” I said. “You need to find somebody else to do this, Alex. I don’t want to be any part of it.”
“Chase, you’re not leaving?”
We stared at each other. “Yes. I’m leaving. I can’t deal with this anymore.”
TWENTY-TWO
Count that individual extraordinarily fortunate who can make a living doing what he loves.
—Adam Porterro, Rules for Life
I packed and was out of the country house next day. Alex came down and stood around looking frustrated and unhappy. When I was ready, he helped carry my gear out to the skimmer and told me he’d hold the job open as long as he could in case I changed my mind.
“I don’t think I’m going to change my mind, Alex.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. In any case, I wanted to say thanks. I’ve enjoyed working with you. And I’m sorry it’s ending like this.”
By that point, I’d been with Rainbow a long time. And in case you’re wondering, it wasn’t just the business with Rachel that drove me out the door. There was a tedium to the job that had begun to weigh on me. I’d been trained to navigate between the stars. Instead, I spent most of my day doing accounting and negotiating with people whose idea of a rousing time was connected with antique clocks. I wrote schedules and chased down spurious leads on old pieces of jewelry.
I was at the beck and call of a guy who made his living by assisting a trade in artifacts that should have been regulated and probably prohibited by law. I was tired of having experts in the field sit down on talk shows and call us vandals and thieves. And I hated the endless round of dinners while we entertained those same narrow, judgmental people.
And I know: Maybe when I got older, I’d become one myself. But in the meantime, I wanted to get out and head for the horizon.
I got hired by Rigel. I’d upgraded my license a year earlier and was qualified to handle some of their larger vehicles. I got the impression they’d have preferred somebody older, and more experienced with the big interstellars. But they had to make do with what was available, so they took me on as a temporary. Within a week I’d begun hauling passengers and cargo on the run to Earth, with layovers at Arkon and Arcturus. I enjoyed it. I hung out on the bridge while the passengers came forward and called me “Captain.” I’d forgotten what that was like. I had a uniform and a brimmed cap, and a crew of four. And I could feel the rumble of the engines in my blood.
It was, I decided, a nice life, a distinct improvement over what I’d been doing. What I should have been doing all along. The money wasn’t close to what I’d been earning with Rainbow. But I loved the sense of freedom.
When I got back to Rimway after the first flight, a message was waiting from Alex. He congratulated me on my new position. And he hadn’t hired a replacement yet. If I wanted my job back, it was still there. With a raise.
I told him thanks, but I was happy where I was. “If you like,” I added, “I can recommend a couple of people, either of whom would be good in the job.”
He didn’t respond.
Robin came up to Skydeck, and we had two days together before I was off again.
Actual travel time for the round-trip was only twenty-one days. But the layovers and approaches took their toll. From departure to return required six weeks.
I liked not having a boss. Technically, of course, I did have one: Rigel’s director of operations, but since I almost never saw him, he didn’t really count.
The company set me up on Skydeck in the Starlight Hotel. After the second run, I caught a shuttle groundside. Robin met me at the terminal and took me home. The meeting wasn’t as warm as it had been after my first flight. Which I guess is an understatement. He was distant, and his tone was formal, and I knew what was coming.
We got out of the car and stood at the side of the building, beneath a clutch of trees, looking up at my apartment. The Melony was bright in the sunlight.
“This isn’t going to work,” Robin said.
I’d been rehearsing my answer, assurances that we could find a way, that the current situation wouldn’t last forever, that we should just ride it out. But it all seemed suddenly hollow. “I know,” I said.
“I thought I was having a problem with your working for Alex.” He smiled. It was one of those restrained, tentative smiles. See you around, baby.
“I know this is creating some problems,” I said.
“Creating some problems? Is that what you call it?”
“I’m sorry, Robin.”
“Me, too.”
“Robin—”
“It’s okay. I think maybe this was inevitable. One way or another.”
I could see no point in keeping the condo. It was an expense that had no payoff. I had, in effect, moved into the Starlight.
I spent time with Shara, and visited a few friends. Took a ride out to see my folks. Looked into what it would take to put my condo up for sale.
Then I went back to Skydeck. I wandered down to the docking area to look at my ship. It was the Jack Gonzalez, a ULS Lightning, with comfortable facilities and a good performance record. I’d never piloted one before going to work for Rigel. But the ship was one of the benefits of my new posting. It provided an exhilaration I’d never felt on the Belle-Marie. And I know how this sounds, but at that moment, somehow, it felt like the only friend I had.
The AI was, of course, named Jack. I went on board and talked with him. I can’t remember the substance of the conversation. I recall asking him whether he ever felt alone, and he said not since I’d taken over the helm. This is a pathetic thing to admit, but it was the brightest moment I’d had since getting off the ship almost three days earlier.
So we sat and traded stories. And afterward I retreated to the Pilots’ Club, where I wandered through the place, looking for company.
In the morning, my flight attendant was waiting when I got to the Gonzalez . His name was Marv, and we talked for a few minutes. About the menu, mostly, which was being changed. Then the passengers began to arrive. Marv greeted them at the door while I took my place on the bridge and began running through my checklist. I caught snatches of the conversation from the passenger cabin. “How far you going?” “You ever been on one of these things before?” “Last time they lost my luggage.”