Eighteen days after leaving Rimway, we docked at Earth’s orbiter. Everybody disembarked, including the happy couple. I wandered down to the local Pilots’ Club.
There was a four-day layover. Then, with a new load of cargo and new passengers, the Jack Gonzalez was on its way back.
The SOP as you approach Skydeck is to turn control of the ship over to Operations, and they bring you in. Minutes after I’d done so, they were back on the circuit. “Chase, we have a message for you.”
I thought it would be from Robin. Hoped it would. “Go ahead, Ops.”
“Eliot Statkins wants to talk to you as soon as you get in.”
Statkins was Rigel’s director of operational personnel. “Any idea what it’s about?”
“Negative. Maybe they’re going to promote you.”
“I’m sure. Okay, thanks, champ.”
Statkins was a little guy who’d lost most of his hair, and who, on the couple of times I’d seen him, looked confused. He did nothing during the meeting to change my impression. He had to think about why I was there. He glanced down at his desk as if checking on his lines. Made the sort of faces you might when arriving at difficult decisions. And all this before he even said hello. Finally, he got settled. “Hi, Chase,” he said. “Have a seat.” He was probably somebody’s brother-in-law. The rumor was that he’d never been off-world.
I sat down.
“I have good news for you.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m glad to hear it.”
He opened a folder. “We’re going to make you permanent, Chase. And we intend to raise you to a grade twelve. Congratulations.”
A twelve was one level above the base grade for a pilot, but I was glad to take it. “Thanks, Eliot,” I said.
“You’ll be happy to hear you’re going to stay on the Blue Route. That’s the one you have now, of course.” Did he really think I might not know that? “You’ll run on the same schedule, so you can start making whatever long-term plans seem appropriate. We’ve already arranged permanent quarters at the Starlight.”
“Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. Glad to have you on board.”
TWENTY-FOUR
In the end, all matters of significance emanate from, or are relayed through, a bar.
—Kesler Avonne, Souls in Flight
I had three days off before going back on the Blue Route. Without leaving Skydeck, I put my condo up for sale. That drew a call from Robin. “I was sorry to hear about it,” he said. “I was hoping you’d change your mind.”
“I guess I could get a job somewhere as a secretary.”
“I’m serious, Chase.”
“I know.”
“Are you coming down? I can’t get away to go to the station.”
“I thought we’d broken up.”
“I was hoping you’d decided you couldn’t get along without me.”
“Oh, yes. I can see why you’d expect that to happen.” I didn’t really want to go down. I’d use half my free time traveling. But I needed a distraction after the Gonzalez. “Tomorrow,” I said.
“Good. You want me to pick you up at the terminal?”
“That’ll work.”
“Give me a time.”
“I’ll be on the midmorning flight. Be there around eleven.”
“I’ll be in school.”
“Yeah. I forgot. I’ll take a cab. Let’s just make it for tomorrow evening. Maybe we can go to a show or something.”
“I’d like that.”
I was tempted to call Alex. See how he was doing. But it seemed best to leave him alone. And in the meantime I had the rest of the day to relax. I decided to do what professional pilots always do when they have time on their hands.
There were about two hundred of us based at the station. Approximately half frequent the Pilots’ Club or at least show up there on occasion. Even among those who don’t, who are married or who for one reason or another don’t socially fit the scene, there’s often operational contact. What I’m trying to say is that we know one another fairly well. Running vehicles through the void can be a lonely business, especially, as I’d been discovering, when you have a shipful of passengers. And I know how that sounds, but it’s true. So we tend to stay in touch.
On that evening, the day before I would be heading groundside again, about thirty people were in attendance. Most were pilots; a few were friends or spouses. Soft music filled the place, the volume kept low to allow conversation. There was a lot of laughter, and occasionally some loud voices.
I guess I looked unsure of myself, or worried, or something, because Bill Wright, who’d gotten certified at the same time I had, appeared out of nowhere and asked whether I was feeling okay.
“Sure,” I said. “I’m fine, Bill.”
He was easygoing, quiet, a guy who had never quite gotten over the fact that he was piloting interstellars. It had been a dream since he was four years old, and it had actually happened. He owned an amiable smile, had pale skin, and the kind of jaw you associated with leading men. “It’s good to see you again, Chase. Can I buy you a drink?”
Absolutely.
He wandered over to the bar while I grabbed a table. He came back balancing the drinks and some nuts. “How you doing, Chase? Haven’t seen you for a couple years. You still working for that antique guy?”
I hadn’t really met Bill until the night of the commissioning ball. We’d swapped numbers and gone out a few times before he took off for some distant place. I didn’t remember where. “No,” I said. “Not anymore, Bill. I’m working for Rigel now.” The drinks were white rainbows, with a dash of karissy and two cherries on top. “You still with Intercon?”
“Yes,” he said. “Best job on the planet.” Intercon provided tours. But they were strictly in-system two-day operations. Out and back. Nothing like World’s End. “How do you like Rigel?”
I tried my drink. “It’s good.”
“I don’t hear a lot of enthusiasm.”
“I’m still getting used to it. Just got hired, in fact.”
“I worked for WebCor for a while. Same kind of slot, hauling freight and passengers back and forth. Mostly to Dellaconda and Toxicon.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Got bored. Always the same run.”
We talked about old times, and I bought the second round. A young woman came over and made off with him, and I found myself wandering around the room, talking to old friends and making new ones.
Some of them knew about my connection with Alex. “You left that cushy job, Chase? You must be out of your mind.”
And: “You went out to Salud Afar, right? My God, Chase, I’ve been in this business for almost a century, and I’ve never gotten farther than the run out to Valedor.”
And: “Chase, you know if Benedict is looking for a replacement? He is? Would you be willing to put in a word for me?”
I was surprised to see Eddie Kirkewicz, who’d married one of the women I’d gone through training with. Eddie recognized me and waved me over, without stopping what he was saying: “—been out to the City on the Crag. My favorite spot out there is Archie’s. You haven’t? They especially like pilots. If you get there, tell Marty I said hello. The big guy behind the bar.” He jabbed a finger in my direction. “Chase, you haven’t changed a bit. How you doing?”