>>5192182>>5192211>>5192232>>5192261>>5192473>>5192579“So, abut the guy that I’m replacing…” you say with a grin, “…what happened to him? Or her?”
Gully blinks, seemingly caught off-guard. Whatever she’d been expecting, it clearly isn’t that. But the ghost of a smile dances across her lips as she releases a quick snort of amusement. Not that it lasts long before she schools herself back into a professional, disaffected demeanor.
“I’m not gonna name any names,” she says dryly, “Gossip isn’t becoming of a pilot. But I can tell you right now that the bar’s set so low, it’s gone pelagic.”
Yikes. It’s been a hot minute since oceanography classes, but you can vaguely recall that being an incredibly deep part of the ocean. “That bad, huh?”
She shrugs. “Considering that our last pilot left half of their PUEXO on the ocean floor along with said bar and two-hundred-fifty thousand ducats’ worth of salvage equipment…”
“No!” you gasp, and you aren’t even exaggerating the horror in your voice. “Half a PUEXO? How the hell…”
“The idiot ignored the warning from the ACCOMS coming back up,” Gully says candidly, no different than one discussing the weather as opposed to a near career-ending mishap. “And got the power umbilical tangled up around the legs and the anchor chain. Oxygen was running out, the winch was starting to spark and smoke…only thing the last guy could do was jettison their left arm and leg.”
A tactic used only as an absolute last resort to save the pilot’s life. And even then, one not recommended. Advanced as Babylonia is, the level of industry and science isn’t nearly at the point where the city can easily make either new PUEXOs or replacement limbs.
“Don’t worry,” she assures you, “I did find the arms and his tools. Tracker kicked in, and the tide didn’t them out too far. But we lost two days and that PUEXO’s deep-diving capabilities until our engineer could McGyver the limbs back together. And even then, the fixes wouldn’t survive past two hundred without proper repairs in a dock. The captain wasn’t too happy.”
Of course. The last thing that any leader wants is dead weight, especially in the middle of the ocean.
Gully hums, almost note-for-note in approximation of her father’s musing lilt. “But I’d be here forever going on about the last pilot and all their shortcomings. You’re already an improvement just by not strutting around like a rooster.”
You chortle. “I always found myself more partial to draft horses, anyway.”
“Indeed.” She pauses, once again revaluating you. “You certainly look like you’re cert’d.”
“Thank you. I worked very hard for them.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re here. It isn’t easy to impress the captain. But beyond Mister Stolze’s recommendation, you seem to have made a good impression.”
“Good, the bribe worked,” you say straight-faced.
(cont.)
