“Break. Five minutes, lads. Countdown begins now.” I hit the clock and twisted, trying to get the kink out from between my shoulder blades. Every trip, knots bury themselves hard beneath my skin, like a strange sort of game of marbles. My body plays itself, using my stress to raise the stakes.
Don’t get me wrong. The money after a successful trip is wildly generous, and I take full advantage. I’m fresh as a daisy – not that anyone remembers what that means these days, but that’s the saying – by the time I have to cross the Sewers again.
“Cap’n.” The slurred word isn’t a question, but there it is. The indicator that precedes the question.
Technically, I should be an admiral by now. If we were still in the Milky Way, close to Mother Earth, I would be, but then I’d be trapped in bureaucracy and screaming with boredom. Out here with a ragtag fleet cobbled together with duct tape and wire? You get what the crews’ll give you, and this one comes with a bob of respect along with the inevitable question.
It’s the same every time. The new guys all ask. “Why the break?”
I grunted and kept my eyes on the scanner. Pointed at some blobs on the screen. “Piki, you see this?”
A nod, caught in peripheral vision. He hovers, trying to see without getting closer.
“Move up if you want to.” I don’t mind giving away my tricks. I do this because I want the challenge and to get away from the world, not for the money. The more of us out here in the Sewer, the more chance of rescue when I’m the one who bites it this time.
Usually I’m the one doing the rescuing. Apparently I’ve got a reputation.
And so, the question, every time. Asking why we stop isn’t literal. They want to know how I do it. How I’ve gotten so many fleets through.
He inches over with a shuffle, and I hear the slight wheeze of his breathing.
“Look, this here is our fleet. Everyone’s transiting real slow through this shit.” That’s why they call it the Sewer. Everyone has the same reaction when they see it. Wrinkled nose, trying to dodge, hoping you make it through without an explosion. A crappy path, mined out and filled with debris. Moving debris.
Supposedly the companies that drilled out here were going to clean it up before an asteroid strike had them cut their losses. I’d believe that if they hadn’t mined in a damn asteroid belt to begin with. It’s still the best way from point A to B, at least until they come up with a better starship drive that can skip it entirely.
I keep my eye on the tech developments. Too young to retire, dontcha know. But wormholes or gate jumping in space, that’ll be the sign. Retire or head west, no-longer-young-man, until the next planet ends the adventure with an ammonia atmosphere or an alien melts my brain.
“That’s the fleet. We’re waiting for them to catch up.”
He rubs a hand over his nose and leans toward the screen. “Because everything backs up in the Toilets.”
I pull my lips back in a grimace. The safe path is ridiculously narrow, and this is the worst of it. It’s why I stop just past when I’m escorting a fleet through. “Yeah. So we wait to see if we’re needed for rescue.”
I stab a finger at the screens and the view switches to our plotted course with a bright red, dotted line. It’s the safe path specific for this particular flight through the asteroids, charted with more AI than is good for anyone and updated continuously with my personal VFR. The ships don’t join the fleet if they aren’t willing to follow it precisely.
“Flow like water, around obstacles. But make sure you clear the path behind you, not just in front of you.”
The countdown flashes the one minute warning. Piki bobs his head again, thin shoulders shuffling. “So you remember you’re human.”
“Yeah.” I flip the screen back and lean back with a satisfied grin. “That’s really all there is to it. You see the dots onscreen? I see the same number as when I went in.”
He lets out a whoop that echoes weirdly with the countdown buzzer, then heads back to his station with his head down when the others return. It’s the loudest I’ve ever heard him.
I’m relieved, too, but can’t let that show in front of the crew. They expect calm and steady, just as they know rock-solid that five minutes is all it’s safe to pause, because that’s all I gave them. Every contingency planned for and thirteen different types of anticipation for any eventuality.
Also, cleanup’s a bitch. Especially when it’s a euphemism for salvage, not rescue. It’s easy to lose your humanity out here when mistakes will kill in ways you can’t anticipate. To get callous about things you never dreamed you’d laugh about, even though we came to the stars to ensure humanity survived.
But you’d think more people would get the point about treating the spaceflow path of a fleet like water, and the Sewer like plumbing. Especially given the name of the ship.
I reach for the comms and let the relief channel through my words. “Alligator Fleet, this is Plumber Actual. Damage assessment requested…”
***
“When the sewers backed up, the alligators started coming out of the toilets…” I knew I wanted to do something different than the obvious with ‘nother Mike’s prompt this week, but all credit for this idea goes to The Husband.
My prompt went to Cedar Sanderson, and I can’t wait to see what she does with a penguin attack!
