Quoted By:
It’s a cozy space, but one that’s well-aired and kept organized to a fault. The six deckhands already present, idly chatting or performing other business, stand ramrod straight to attention upon your and Holt’s entry.
“At ease,” she says, and they all relax. With a light slap to your back, she pushes you forward. “This here’s Pilot Unami. From this minute onward, you’re gonna be the crew in charge of keepin’ his machine well-oiled and operational. Y’all got that?”
“Yes, ma’am!” they all shout as one.
“Don’t call me, ma’am!” she snaps back, but her severe tone doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She scolds them, growling, “Ma’am’s for old and crusty ladies, which I most certainly ain’t!”
“Yes, ma’am! Sorry, ma’am!”
Holt groans, drawing a hand across her face. “For every white hair I find tonight, that’s an hour of time each of y’all are scrapin’ barnacles on the underside of the hull. With a goddammed toothbrush.”
“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!”
She shoots you a long-suffering, exasperated look that all but says, “See what I have to deal with here?”
Beyond the banter, each and every one of them looks capable enough. And Holt hasn’t given you a reason to doubt her discretion and judgement. In all the five minutes that you’ve known her, but still. One by one, the maintenance crew introduce themselves as Holt taps away at a terminal to bring the flatbed up at an angle.
Not nearly enough time to get backstories by the time she’s finished, but you establish a good enough baseline between your new team. Three natives of Babylonia – Carter, Kiril and Mehra – and three foreigners – the Galapagan Nasazi, Nordling Sabine and the Andean Darius. All of them seem fairly competent and well-versed in the finer points of both mechanical engineering and PUEXO operations.
“She’s a real beaut,” Holt says with a whistle, stepping in front of the flatbed to admire the <span class="mu-i">Magellan</span>. “Didn’t think that there were any left around, let alone in active service. Most of the pilots that blow our way ride in Threes or Fours.”
“Babylonia has a few,” you answer slowly, “Three, by my last reckoning, mine included.”
“No shit? How come I haven’t seen any of ‘em?”
“…Maggie’s are best suited for industrial deep dives. I used to be on the Duck before coming here.”
That, as well as the fact that there are newer, flashier generational models that perform slightly better than the <span class="mu-i">Magellan</span>. Ones that are doled out to the best of the best, not debt-slaves at-risk. Better to risk losing an old Mark Two than a newer Mark Three or Four.
Not that you’d trade her for anything in the world, or sabotage her in a fit of pique. She’ll get the job done, even if she definitely shows her age at times. And for one thing, Stolze, the bastard, would never let you hear the end of it.
But Holt tilts her head, a confused frown on her face. “The Duck?”
(cont.)
