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I apologize profusely for the long wait, but I'd been swamped with a ton of projects that had kind of put this one at the bottom of my to-do list. Plus that snag is still being persistant, so the next chapter may be some time in coming. I also want to take things slower in order to write several chapters ahead, thus enabling faster updates in the future.
Ch. 4
It took longer than it should have for Matt's brain to register the man before him as being a captain, and that besides being higher ranking this particular captain was also his commanding officer now. Matt dropped his duffel to snap at attention and salute. He heard the thump of duffels and the shift of feet from his fellow crew members mimicking him from behind.
“ Captain Quincy sir,” Matt yelped. “ Sorry we didn't see you there, sir.”
Quincy's face screwed up in an expression of mild surprise, and he saluted back. “ Geez, if I'd wanted you to notice me I wouldn't have been standing near a really cool ship. At ease lady and gentlemen, and I don't mean into parade rest because we need to get moving here. The UTD wants us out of the atmosphere by tomorrow.”
Izzy stepped around Matt. “ Tomorrow? Are you serious sir?”
Quincy shrugged. “ I've come to translate 'we want you airborne yesterday' as 'as soon as possible so you're outta here by tomorrow'.” The captain turned and started leading the way down the hall to the elevator at the end. “ We've got today to take a tour, stash our stuff, and get to know each other all before dinner which is in four hours. And I don't like my dinner cold.”
The doors opened to the very spacious elevator and the crew plus captain piled inside. It was a short ride down to the catwalks stretched throughout the hanger like petrified metal vines. The doors opened up to the wider walkway hugging the wall several unnerving feet above the brightly lit bottom of the chasm. From their vantage they could see the black fuel-lines extending from the ship's belly, twitching with the gallons of fuel ripping through them into the storage tanks. The crew turned onto a narrower catwalk connecting to the platform leading to the lowered bay door where people flowed in and out like commuters from a tram.
A tall, broad-shouldered, scar-faced man dressed in standards without a jacket pushed off from leaning against the platform rail and approached the crew. Quincy stopped and stiffened with a salute, so Matt and the rest copied him.
“ Colonel Simmons, sir,” Quincy casually greeted. Col. Simmons returned the salute just as casually.
“ I see you found most of your crew, captain,” Simmons said, turning and starting toward the bay. Quincy followed, as did the rest of the crew. As of now, they went where their captain went unless told otherwise. They clattered up the lowered platform into the echoing bay dominated in the center by a single asp fighter. The Asp wasn't all that different in appearance to the Phantom, minus the extra set of frontal wings. The agile combat ship was just as pitch black and reflective, but had to sacrifice stealth for shields as there was no room for both. At the far end of the bay were two large doors, one open and one closed. Above the open door was a bright read sign reading ' Caution: Live animals', which meant that the closed door was the large storage closet for food as well as the massive meat locker where kriady feed was stored. Kriadys could eat just about anything but needed meat before and after hibernation.
Two sets of stairs on either side of the bay led up to the walkways along the smooth metallic blue walls, and from those walkways were reached the doors leading up to the main floor of the ship.
“ We already got the kriadys settled,” Simmons said heading up the left hand set of stairs. “ All you need to do is heat up some meat and toss it to them after arrival thirty minutes before going any kind of planetside. Food's still being loaded but'll be done tonight.”
The doors to the upper level were at the end of the hanger above the stables and storage room. Simmons pressed his palm to the glowing panel and the left-side door slid open. It was a short walk up a small flight of stairs to the door-less entrance of the upper level that opened into the huge bridge of the Phantom. The pilot and co-pilot station sat at the very front before the massive view-screen and lengthy control panel being looked over by two techs in blue-gray jumpsuits. From that panel was where the ship was steered manually, and weapons handled by the co-pilot. A small ways behind the two seats was another small console and the captain's chair. From the captain's chair was handled navigation since it was the captain's job to know where they were going. He set the coordinates and the pilot initiated the D-drive. On the right side of the cockpit was the communications station, but not for the purpose of establishing coms with another ship (that was the secondary quirk to the captain's chair). The communication seat was for monitoring all frequencies and waves, philtering them out in search of the elusive Murek signals. Where as the pilot seats and captain's chair was a necessity, the communication array was why the Phantoms existed. It was a recon ship, after all, making communications the heart of all BP missions.
Communications was to be Matt's seat. His capacity to recall even the most complex sequence of codes had made him the automatic Listener when it came to philtering the signals. Philtering wasn't simply a matter of listening in on various messages, but to recall the particular waves and codes of a message containing Murek signals. It also meant listening in to trash broadcasts and waves – signals from mundane sources, like radio stations and banter between pilots of asp fighters, that get the right amount of boost from solar flares or whatever to let an entire quadrant in on the music or conversation. It was these supposed trash signals – usually seemingly weak and choppy – that the Mureks used to hide their messages.
It all sounded very mind-numbing, but Matt was up to the challenge. The majority of his life had revolved around the mind-numbing interspersed with the surprisingly dangerous. Sifting through com-waves would be no different minus the surprisingly dangerous part.
“ Welcome to your new home folks,” Simmons said as he spread his arms wide to encompass the bridge. “ Well, technically this would be more like your office.” Simmons turned and pointed to the wide corridor between the two hanger entrances. “ Down there is your new home. Quarters, recreation, kitchen, med-lab, and also a place to wash your clothes.” Simmons spun back around on his heels and clapped his hands together. “ The gist of this job is simple. You've been assigned a quadrant of the galaxy and it is your job to patrol that quadrant and keep the Mureks out. For that reason, and the reason of this ship being your home, I'd advise all of you to get to know it as quick as you can before departure tomorrow. Piloting is simple. If you've piloted an Asp and a carrier at some point in your lives, then just mash your experience with the two together and you can fly this baby. You've probably got a little experience through simulators, but let me tell you, simulators are video games compared to flying the real thing. Actually, a real Phantom is a hell of a lot easier to fly. These ships are so freakin' loyal when it comes to their pilot you'd think they were sentient. The communications array is just as simple, especially once you get the hang of knowing what to look for. Now I will leave you soldiers to get acquainted with your new friend, and remind you that a ship is only as good as her crew. Treat her with respect and when you tell her to jump she'll ask how high. Don't and she'll take a nose dive toward the nearest rock with you in her. Any questions?”
No one replied. It was all a given, and one didn't have to be a pilot to know that a happy crew meant a happy ship. Matt had heard rumors of some ships taking nose dives because the pilots made them.
Simmons gave a jerk of a nod. “ Good. All other details will be handled by your captain, who I suggest you also treat with respect since at the moment he's the only other person here with the codes to the weapons locker.”
Izzy snorted out a chuckle and Al lowered her face to hide her smirk. Matt just openly grinned.
Simmons started moving to the right hand bay door but kept his head turned looking over his shoulder. “ I kid, folks. You'll like Quince, he's a good guy.” He started down the steps into the bay. “ So long as you stay on his good side,” he added wryly.
Once gone, Quincy turned to his small crew, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jacket with the dragon logo.
“ All right,” he said. “ You heard the Colonel. Time to get acquainted with our good friend the Phantom here. Lts. Jimenez and Blackfeather your stations are right behind you. Jacobson, you're with me.”
Quincy headed off down the lengthy corridor, their footsteps ringing on the grated floor. Three doors on the left and the right led into the quarters, and the end of the hall opened up into what had to be the rec-room that was currently empty except for a rectangular metal table in the center. The room was almost as large as the bridge, tripling as the dining room and kitchen, apparently, as the kitchen was just to the right in a small alcove, consisting of a stove, refrigerator, sink, and cupboards. Left, taking up way more space being in a separate room of its own, was the med bay with metal cabinets of supplies and its own refrigerator unit. In the center was a table but not for eating; padded with a thin mattress, covered by a thin sheet, with body and limb restraints hanging from the side.
Matt didn't suppress a shudder. Having nasty dreams in a psyche ward tended to get one on the wrong end of those straps. Thank heavens for eventual mental discipline. Just don't wake up screaming and all is well.
“ Matt?”
Matt flinched, and with another start realized he'd stopped moving. Quincy was standing by the door at the other end of the room, the one that led inevitably to the engine room. The captain expressed no impatience or even inquisitiveness. He was just standing there with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching Matt and waiting as though Matt were finishing up with something. Matt cleared his throat and took long, quick strides to catch up with his CO.
“ Sorry sir.”
Quincy gave him a quick once over. “ You all right?”
Matt swallowed uncertainly. “ Of course sir.”
Quincy gave him another once over, obviously searching him out, looking for something that wasn't in plain sight, which made Matt's heart start to double time it.
“ I hear you kick ass, Jacobson,” Quincy said.
Matt shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back to keep them from fidgeting. “ Combat seemed to be what I best excelled at.”
“ If that's how you put kicking ass, then yes – you excelled. Your file didn't go into the details except to put it rather lightly. Colonel Simmons had a talk with your drill Sargent and he said you showed skills normally only seen in marines – after they've been in the service for five years. And I'm talking the special Ops guys, the ones that go in undercover.”
Matt shrugged again. He wasn't sure where Quincy was going with this, which only made the unease escalate. “ I-I suppose.”
Quincy grinned. “ Modest too, I like that. The reason I bring it up – and I apologize if it seems like I'm dumping extra duties on you – is because I'd like to have you on hand as tactical support. As a private you're also going to be my second, which means you'll always be accompanying me on any planet side missions. The difference is - I don't want you there just to back me up. If you've got advice for a potential combat situation then I want to hear it. If a certain situation's - not exactly combat but not exactly stable either - strikes you as needing to be handled in a certain way - then don't be afraid to speak up. Silence isn't all it's cracked up to be.”
Matt was struck momentarily dumb. His mouth worked, his voice croaked a little, but no words would come out. He was mostly amazed, even a little touched, but a part of him was also suspicious. This could be sincere or simply a pity act. If Quincy remembered him, then the only reason Matt was here was because Quincy was feeling bad for him, felt that getting him out of that Stalag hadn't been enough. Matt's insight into the Mureks had gotten him into the UTD, but like hell he was going to take a desired position just because he was being pitied.
Except Matt knew pity when he saw it. He'd seen pity betray itself in the eyes of the most stoic and indifferent of people, from psychologists to doctors, even in the eyes of his drill Sargent. People who knew what Matt was couldn't hold the pity back forever. At the moment, this very moment, however, there was no pity in Quincy's eyes. Actually, he was looking kind of hopeful, reminding Matt of those guys always trying to slap a basketball team together and waiting with bated breath for the more highly coveted players to say yes to joining their team.
Matt played down his fighting skills but he knew very well what he was capable of. Langley hadn't doled out the praise for Matt's abilities out of pity, that Matt knew for a fact. Langley had had the same gleam in his eye that Quincy had now, though Quincy was being a bit more contained about it.
Matt relaxed, just a fraction. “ Yes sir.”
Quincy smiled. “ Cool.” He then turned to the door and palmed the panel. “ Nice to see I was right about you, kid,” he said. The door slid open filling the room with the steady heartbeat hum of the Phantom's engine. “ You never were a whack job.”
..............................................................................
Izzy dropped his duffel behind the black chair – his chair, secured to the floor in front of his console. He dropped himself into the padded seat making it creak and swivel. He spun the seat once getting a feel for it before sliding his fingers around the smooth grips of the controls that wouldn't budge until the ship was brought to life and auto-pilot was disengaged. Auto-pilot would be the chief driver of this bird except for take-offs, landings, and combat situations; then it was all Izzy.
“ I want my shot at flying this thing from time to time.”
And Al, of course, on occasion. Izzy looked over at his co-pilot leaning back in her chair staring out the window as she swiveled back and forth.
Izzy grinned. “ Fact number two about me – beyond the multi-tasking deal – I'm not an air hog. You'll get your space time, Al, no worries there.”
Alice continued to stare out of the window almost wistfully. Blackfeather was hard to read, and Izzy had yet to determine if she harbored any sort of liking toward him yet. Not that he wanted to pick curtains with her or anything. Izzy just never liked the concept of anyone hating him. Dislike happened, even without probable cause, no matter how much Izzy did to try and counter it. When that happened, his only course of action was to make himself scarce.
Which wouldn't be possible on this ship. Professionalism would keep Al cooperative when it came to flying, while every other time would be up for grabs. If she ignored him, that was fine. No skin off Izzy's teeth. If she didn't, then she probably wouldn't be his co-pilot for much longer. Smaller ship, smaller crew. Anything she tried to do to him would be found out eventually...
Izzy looked away down at the console. Al hadn't even acknowledged any disdain toward him and here he was, jumping to conclusions. Always jumping to conclusions because he could never read people and actions correctly. He had his SOB, bigot grandfather to thank for that. In a fit of love misinterpreted as rebellion, Izzy's white mother eloped with his Hispanic father, and when daddy died and mom needed a place to stay, it was Izzy granddad took his frustrations out on for the rebellious acts of a wayward daughter.
And Izzy had actually bought into the belief that he'd deserved the crap granddad had laid down on him.
A bitter smile turned up Izzy's mouth. Grandpap, if only you could see what your daughter's useless mulato spawn is doing now. You decrepit, heartless son of a...
“ Hey Jimenez.”
Izzy snapped his head around to see Alice staring at him with a furrowed brow.
“ You're not in space already, are you Jimenez?” Then she smiled lazily. “ Come on. I wanna move in before dinner time.” Al jumped out of her seat while grabbing her duffel along the way and start heading for the crew quarters. Izzy mimicked her, breaking into a trot to catch up. He found Al to be staring at him again, oddly, searchingly.
“ You okay?” she asked.
Izzy smiled. People who don't like you usually don't start a conversation with that question.
“ I'm great.”
...............................................................................
It took longer than it should have for Matt's brain to register the man before him as being a captain, and that besides being higher ranking this particular captain was also his commanding officer now. Matt dropped his duffel to snap at attention and salute. He heard the thump of duffels and the shift of feet from his fellow crew members mimicking him from behind.
“ Captain Quincy sir,” Matt yelped. “ Sorry we didn't see you there, sir.”
Quincy's face screwed up in an expression of mild surprise, and he saluted back. “ Geez, if I'd wanted you to notice me I wouldn't have been standing near a really cool ship. At ease lady and gentlemen, and I don't mean into parade rest because we need to get moving here. The UTD wants us out of the atmosphere by tomorrow.”
Izzy stepped around Matt. “ Tomorrow? Are you serious sir?”
Quincy shrugged. “ I've come to translate 'we want you airborne yesterday' as 'as soon as possible so you're outta here by tomorrow'.” The captain turned and started leading the way down the hall to the elevator at the end. “ We've got today to take a tour, stash our stuff, and get to know each other all before dinner which is in four hours. And I don't like my dinner cold.”
The doors opened to the very spacious elevator and the crew plus captain piled inside. It was a short ride down to the catwalks stretched throughout the hanger like petrified metal vines. The doors opened up to the wider walkway hugging the wall several unnerving feet above the brightly lit bottom of the chasm. From their vantage they could see the black fuel-lines extending from the ship's belly, twitching with the gallons of fuel ripping through them into the storage tanks. The crew turned onto a narrower catwalk connecting to the platform leading to the lowered bay door where people flowed in and out like commuters from a tram.
A tall, broad-shouldered, scar-faced man dressed in standards without a jacket pushed off from leaning against the platform rail and approached the crew. Quincy stopped and stiffened with a salute, so Matt and the rest copied him.
“ Colonel Simmons, sir,” Quincy casually greeted. Col. Simmons returned the salute just as casually.
“ I see you found most of your crew, captain,” Simmons said, turning and starting toward the bay. Quincy followed, as did the rest of the crew. As of now, they went where their captain went unless told otherwise. They clattered up the lowered platform into the echoing bay dominated in the center by a single asp fighter. The Asp wasn't all that different in appearance to the Phantom, minus the extra set of frontal wings. The agile combat ship was just as pitch black and reflective, but had to sacrifice stealth for shields as there was no room for both. At the far end of the bay were two large doors, one open and one closed. Above the open door was a bright read sign reading ' Caution: Live animals', which meant that the closed door was the large storage closet for food as well as the massive meat locker where kriady feed was stored. Kriadys could eat just about anything but needed meat before and after hibernation.
Two sets of stairs on either side of the bay led up to the walkways along the smooth metallic blue walls, and from those walkways were reached the doors leading up to the main floor of the ship.
“ We already got the kriadys settled,” Simmons said heading up the left hand set of stairs. “ All you need to do is heat up some meat and toss it to them after arrival thirty minutes before going any kind of planetside. Food's still being loaded but'll be done tonight.”
The doors to the upper level were at the end of the hanger above the stables and storage room. Simmons pressed his palm to the glowing panel and the left-side door slid open. It was a short walk up a small flight of stairs to the door-less entrance of the upper level that opened into the huge bridge of the Phantom. The pilot and co-pilot station sat at the very front before the massive view-screen and lengthy control panel being looked over by two techs in blue-gray jumpsuits. From that panel was where the ship was steered manually, and weapons handled by the co-pilot. A small ways behind the two seats was another small console and the captain's chair. From the captain's chair was handled navigation since it was the captain's job to know where they were going. He set the coordinates and the pilot initiated the D-drive. On the right side of the cockpit was the communications station, but not for the purpose of establishing coms with another ship (that was the secondary quirk to the captain's chair). The communication seat was for monitoring all frequencies and waves, philtering them out in search of the elusive Murek signals. Where as the pilot seats and captain's chair was a necessity, the communication array was why the Phantoms existed. It was a recon ship, after all, making communications the heart of all BP missions.
Communications was to be Matt's seat. His capacity to recall even the most complex sequence of codes had made him the automatic Listener when it came to philtering the signals. Philtering wasn't simply a matter of listening in on various messages, but to recall the particular waves and codes of a message containing Murek signals. It also meant listening in to trash broadcasts and waves – signals from mundane sources, like radio stations and banter between pilots of asp fighters, that get the right amount of boost from solar flares or whatever to let an entire quadrant in on the music or conversation. It was these supposed trash signals – usually seemingly weak and choppy – that the Mureks used to hide their messages.
It all sounded very mind-numbing, but Matt was up to the challenge. The majority of his life had revolved around the mind-numbing interspersed with the surprisingly dangerous. Sifting through com-waves would be no different minus the surprisingly dangerous part.
“ Welcome to your new home folks,” Simmons said as he spread his arms wide to encompass the bridge. “ Well, technically this would be more like your office.” Simmons turned and pointed to the wide corridor between the two hanger entrances. “ Down there is your new home. Quarters, recreation, kitchen, med-lab, and also a place to wash your clothes.” Simmons spun back around on his heels and clapped his hands together. “ The gist of this job is simple. You've been assigned a quadrant of the galaxy and it is your job to patrol that quadrant and keep the Mureks out. For that reason, and the reason of this ship being your home, I'd advise all of you to get to know it as quick as you can before departure tomorrow. Piloting is simple. If you've piloted an Asp and a carrier at some point in your lives, then just mash your experience with the two together and you can fly this baby. You've probably got a little experience through simulators, but let me tell you, simulators are video games compared to flying the real thing. Actually, a real Phantom is a hell of a lot easier to fly. These ships are so freakin' loyal when it comes to their pilot you'd think they were sentient. The communications array is just as simple, especially once you get the hang of knowing what to look for. Now I will leave you soldiers to get acquainted with your new friend, and remind you that a ship is only as good as her crew. Treat her with respect and when you tell her to jump she'll ask how high. Don't and she'll take a nose dive toward the nearest rock with you in her. Any questions?”
No one replied. It was all a given, and one didn't have to be a pilot to know that a happy crew meant a happy ship. Matt had heard rumors of some ships taking nose dives because the pilots made them.
Simmons gave a jerk of a nod. “ Good. All other details will be handled by your captain, who I suggest you also treat with respect since at the moment he's the only other person here with the codes to the weapons locker.”
Izzy snorted out a chuckle and Al lowered her face to hide her smirk. Matt just openly grinned.
Simmons started moving to the right hand bay door but kept his head turned looking over his shoulder. “ I kid, folks. You'll like Quince, he's a good guy.” He started down the steps into the bay. “ So long as you stay on his good side,” he added wryly.
Once gone, Quincy turned to his small crew, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jacket with the dragon logo.
“ All right,” he said. “ You heard the Colonel. Time to get acquainted with our good friend the Phantom here. Lts. Jimenez and Blackfeather your stations are right behind you. Jacobson, you're with me.”
Quincy headed off down the lengthy corridor, their footsteps ringing on the grated floor. Three doors on the left and the right led into the quarters, and the end of the hall opened up into what had to be the rec-room that was currently empty except for a rectangular metal table in the center. The room was almost as large as the bridge, tripling as the dining room and kitchen, apparently, as the kitchen was just to the right in a small alcove, consisting of a stove, refrigerator, sink, and cupboards. Left, taking up way more space being in a separate room of its own, was the med bay with metal cabinets of supplies and its own refrigerator unit. In the center was a table but not for eating; padded with a thin mattress, covered by a thin sheet, with body and limb restraints hanging from the side.
Matt didn't suppress a shudder. Having nasty dreams in a psyche ward tended to get one on the wrong end of those straps. Thank heavens for eventual mental discipline. Just don't wake up screaming and all is well.
“ Matt?”
Matt flinched, and with another start realized he'd stopped moving. Quincy was standing by the door at the other end of the room, the one that led inevitably to the engine room. The captain expressed no impatience or even inquisitiveness. He was just standing there with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching Matt and waiting as though Matt were finishing up with something. Matt cleared his throat and took long, quick strides to catch up with his CO.
“ Sorry sir.”
Quincy gave him a quick once over. “ You all right?”
Matt swallowed uncertainly. “ Of course sir.”
Quincy gave him another once over, obviously searching him out, looking for something that wasn't in plain sight, which made Matt's heart start to double time it.
“ I hear you kick ass, Jacobson,” Quincy said.
Matt shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back to keep them from fidgeting. “ Combat seemed to be what I best excelled at.”
“ If that's how you put kicking ass, then yes – you excelled. Your file didn't go into the details except to put it rather lightly. Colonel Simmons had a talk with your drill Sargent and he said you showed skills normally only seen in marines – after they've been in the service for five years. And I'm talking the special Ops guys, the ones that go in undercover.”
Matt shrugged again. He wasn't sure where Quincy was going with this, which only made the unease escalate. “ I-I suppose.”
Quincy grinned. “ Modest too, I like that. The reason I bring it up – and I apologize if it seems like I'm dumping extra duties on you – is because I'd like to have you on hand as tactical support. As a private you're also going to be my second, which means you'll always be accompanying me on any planet side missions. The difference is - I don't want you there just to back me up. If you've got advice for a potential combat situation then I want to hear it. If a certain situation's - not exactly combat but not exactly stable either - strikes you as needing to be handled in a certain way - then don't be afraid to speak up. Silence isn't all it's cracked up to be.”
Matt was struck momentarily dumb. His mouth worked, his voice croaked a little, but no words would come out. He was mostly amazed, even a little touched, but a part of him was also suspicious. This could be sincere or simply a pity act. If Quincy remembered him, then the only reason Matt was here was because Quincy was feeling bad for him, felt that getting him out of that Stalag hadn't been enough. Matt's insight into the Mureks had gotten him into the UTD, but like hell he was going to take a desired position just because he was being pitied.
Except Matt knew pity when he saw it. He'd seen pity betray itself in the eyes of the most stoic and indifferent of people, from psychologists to doctors, even in the eyes of his drill Sargent. People who knew what Matt was couldn't hold the pity back forever. At the moment, this very moment, however, there was no pity in Quincy's eyes. Actually, he was looking kind of hopeful, reminding Matt of those guys always trying to slap a basketball team together and waiting with bated breath for the more highly coveted players to say yes to joining their team.
Matt played down his fighting skills but he knew very well what he was capable of. Langley hadn't doled out the praise for Matt's abilities out of pity, that Matt knew for a fact. Langley had had the same gleam in his eye that Quincy had now, though Quincy was being a bit more contained about it.
Matt relaxed, just a fraction. “ Yes sir.”
Quincy smiled. “ Cool.” He then turned to the door and palmed the panel. “ Nice to see I was right about you, kid,” he said. The door slid open filling the room with the steady heartbeat hum of the Phantom's engine. “ You never were a whack job.”
..............................................................................
Izzy dropped his duffel behind the black chair – his chair, secured to the floor in front of his console. He dropped himself into the padded seat making it creak and swivel. He spun the seat once getting a feel for it before sliding his fingers around the smooth grips of the controls that wouldn't budge until the ship was brought to life and auto-pilot was disengaged. Auto-pilot would be the chief driver of this bird except for take-offs, landings, and combat situations; then it was all Izzy.
“ I want my shot at flying this thing from time to time.”
And Al, of course, on occasion. Izzy looked over at his co-pilot leaning back in her chair staring out the window as she swiveled back and forth.
Izzy grinned. “ Fact number two about me – beyond the multi-tasking deal – I'm not an air hog. You'll get your space time, Al, no worries there.”
Alice continued to stare out of the window almost wistfully. Blackfeather was hard to read, and Izzy had yet to determine if she harbored any sort of liking toward him yet. Not that he wanted to pick curtains with her or anything. Izzy just never liked the concept of anyone hating him. Dislike happened, even without probable cause, no matter how much Izzy did to try and counter it. When that happened, his only course of action was to make himself scarce.
Which wouldn't be possible on this ship. Professionalism would keep Al cooperative when it came to flying, while every other time would be up for grabs. If she ignored him, that was fine. No skin off Izzy's teeth. If she didn't, then she probably wouldn't be his co-pilot for much longer. Smaller ship, smaller crew. Anything she tried to do to him would be found out eventually...
Izzy looked away down at the console. Al hadn't even acknowledged any disdain toward him and here he was, jumping to conclusions. Always jumping to conclusions because he could never read people and actions correctly. He had his SOB, bigot grandfather to thank for that. In a fit of love misinterpreted as rebellion, Izzy's white mother eloped with his Hispanic father, and when daddy died and mom needed a place to stay, it was Izzy granddad took his frustrations out on for the rebellious acts of a wayward daughter.
And Izzy had actually bought into the belief that he'd deserved the crap granddad had laid down on him.
A bitter smile turned up Izzy's mouth. Grandpap, if only you could see what your daughter's useless mulato spawn is doing now. You decrepit, heartless son of a...
“ Hey Jimenez.”
Izzy snapped his head around to see Alice staring at him with a furrowed brow.
“ You're not in space already, are you Jimenez?” Then she smiled lazily. “ Come on. I wanna move in before dinner time.” Al jumped out of her seat while grabbing her duffel along the way and start heading for the crew quarters. Izzy mimicked her, breaking into a trot to catch up. He found Al to be staring at him again, oddly, searchingly.
“ You okay?” she asked.
Izzy smiled. People who don't like you usually don't start a conversation with that question.
“ I'm great.”
...............................................................................
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Date: 2008-11-15 10:21 pm (UTC)From: