When your career ends up in a trash can, and you’re desperate, you reach in and save it, trying to avoid the rotting fruit, empty bottles, and used tissues inside before the recycler composts everything into a slimy mush. Gross, I know, but that reflected the true deepness of my dejection.
The company had shot down my request to direct and film a documentary faster than a noob whose gaming avatar spawns in an enemy base. No, the company fatcats had something else in mind—a reality show about a soldier-of-fortune called The Adventures of Captain Charisma, Galactic Hero. The primary audience would be teenagers on Earth, but with wider appeal to other species with a taste for melodrama.
And so, I waited to catch a starship, another depressed commuter bound for the ass end of the uncivilized galaxy. While awaiting the arrival of my actor, I planted myself inside a form-fitting chair at the end of a row, one of several dozen seats near the starport gate. A squat Ixorian econo-cruiser loomed beyond the glass separating would-be travelers from the outside world, awaiting fuel in the dark of a spaceport surrounded by mountain jungle.
The Katiri Prime space terminal was almost empty at this late hour, with only a single gate still in operation. Impatient sentients waited for the call to board. The fur, scales, and feathers in the menagerie mingled together in an evolutionary conglomeration that would’ve given Charles Darwin an intellectual boner. Grunts, whistles, and garbled speech came and went, overwhelming the universal communications transplant in my inner ear. I caught a whiff of disinfectant as a sanitary droid emptied the garbage can at my elbow. It chirruped as it devoured food wrappers, empty beverage containers, and soiled napkins.
An Alliance security guard in mechanized armor leaned against the wall near the gate. I met her gaze. Her flat expression let me know that she found my presence to be as threatening as the sanitary droid. She went back to scowling at every traveler who approached the robotic ticketing agent.
I couldn’t blame the guard for her sour disposition. There’d been tales of la’Karvian piracy across the galaxy’s outer systems. Alliance parliamentarians traveled with armed escorts. Although the government provided a common defense for a dozen worlds, including Earth, the military couldn’t be everywhere at once.
I sighed and worked on a crossword. Most folks used their data slates for entertainment. I preferred the real thing—paper and pen. I know it revealed my age, but it was too easy to fix wrong answers using a tablet. When you write your answers in pen, you had to be right the first time.
Inside my jacket pocket, a flask of chilled Euphorian whiskey kept me company. I pulled it out and took a swig, savoring the unique taste akin to apricot mixed with lime. The alcoholic burn tingled the tongue.
Based on the limited biography given to me by the producer, I recognized my thespian before he saw me. Joseph Drake, the newest “champion” of Galactic Entertainment, strolled toward a ticketing kiosk, a lopsided smile plastered on his face. He looked like a holovid king—tall, muscular, mid-twenties, with rakish looks and blue eyes that caused women to drool. While waiting for the automated vendor to spit out his boarding pass, he fluffed his black pompadour.
Sometimes the actors I worked with made me envious. A decade older than him and past my prime, with a dark complexion, balding head, and spare tire around my middle, I looked nothing like Joseph Drake. Galactic would allow me in his scenes but expected me to fill the role of shitty sidekick as well as director. It was enough to drive a person to drink, I decided as I took another sip from my flask.
With a sigh, I waved and caught his gaze.
He inclined his chin, acknowledging my greeting. He strolled over, dropped a green duffle bag at his feet, and offered his beefy mitt. “You must be Ian MacIntyre.”
I grabbed his hand, pumped it, and winced. He had a grip that would make a Martian miner weep. “Nice to meet you, Joseph.”
He grinned. “Call me Joe.”
I wiggled my fingers, trying to get some circulation back in them. He seemed friendly enough. “Will do. How was your trip? You flew in from Earth?”
“Yeah, Texas. My folks have a place there, so I stopped in for a visit. How about you?”
I shrugged. “Eh, I’ve been on Katiri Prime for about two weeks meeting with Galactic brass, cooling my heels while they arranged this assignment. You set for the trip?”
“You betcha. Wouldn’t miss this for the world.” He blinked and stared at his boarding pass. “Uh . . . I know our destination is Shengora, but I’m not familiar with the layover discussed on the ticket.”
“Minnix Ore Space Station 27.”
“A mining colony?”
“They process durophilox dust from the rings of a nearby planet into propellant.”
“Ah—a glorified gas station.” He frowned. “Where’s it located?”
“If there’s a more remote place in the galaxy, then I’m the Headmistress of Hedonism on Erogenous Prime.” I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. We’re only staying for a day before we catch another commuter—not long enough for you to care.”
Joe shrugged. “Okey dokey, Ian.”
“My friends call me Mac.”
He smirked. “What should I call you?”
“Mac is fine.”
“Gotcha, Mac.”
I offered Joe a seat next to me. “So, the boss tells me this is your first professional gig?”
Joe dropped into the form-fitting chair and stretched his legs. “Faustwright explained the situation?”
“Just the bare bones. Thought I’d hear it from you.”
“Uh, yeah. I took drama classes in high school, but that was years ago.”
“Any roles I’d recognize?”
Joe frowned. “Narrator in Death of a Salesman. A Capulet extra in Romeo and Juliet. Most of my work occurred behind the curtains.”
My face fell. With a resume like that, what did Galactic expect from this show?
He adjusted the collar on his jacket. “Anyway—then the war started, just before graduation, and I enlisted with the Alliance Mobile Infantry.”
“Why’d you leave the military?”
“Uh . . . a misunderstanding about protocol.”
“Galactic says you slept with a general’s daughter.”
Joe’s face reddened. “Well . . . yeah.”
I frowned. Typical playboy. “And afterwards?”
Joe coughed into his hand. “Tour guide. Worked the lunar docks. Some mercenary stuff.” He smirked. “Nothing as cool as this gig.”
“Why not stay on Earth? Economy is booming. You could work in Hollywood or India.”
He snorted. “Boring. Everything they do is on a set. No real risks. Here, I get to shoot bad guys, right?”
“Good grief, I hope we don’t end up in that kind of situation. We manufacture more conflict than happens in true life. Taunt folks into heated discussions. Fake an unpleasant situation. This is supposed to be a reality show.”
Joe cracked his knuckles. “I’m ready if my mouth gets us in trouble, Mac.”
I winced and reached for the flask. “Hmm.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. “I’m detecting some concern.”
My hand retreated from the Euphorian ale. “Yeah?”
“You don’t seem happy to be here. I’m excited about this show. Aren’t you?”
My shoulders slumped. I looked away from Joe, gathering my thoughts. This conversation had gone sideways in a hurry. Did I dare express my worries?
“Mac? Hey, you okay, man? I know I just met you, so if you want me to butt out—”
I shook my head. “This job wasn’t my first choice of assignments. I’ve never directed a reality show.”
Joe sat up in his chair. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
He stared at me. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’ve got a director at the end of his rope, Joe.”
Joe paled. “Uh . . . you gonna be up to the task? I’m depending on this show to make some money, ya know.”
His words stung my brain—of course he was. What the hell was wrong with me to not realize it? Rule Number One—a director looks out for his actors. My face flushed. “You’re right . . . I’ve been feeling sorry for myself. I apologize.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
I pulled my shoulders back and sat up straight. He seemed genuine, but I wasn’t ready to bare my entire soul to a stranger. “No, this one’s on me.”
The station’s intercom chimed, interrupting my confession with an automated message. “Now boarding Cygnus Universal Flight 216 passengers in economy class.”
“That’s us.” I grabbed a suitcase and hefted my backpack over my shoulder. “Come on.”
We shuffled down a short, glass tunnel leading to our transport. The air inside crackled with static electricity, cold and dry. A wide-eyed human steward checked passes outside the ship. A bottleneck had formed in front of him. At the head of the line, an angry Katiran loomed, leaning toward the station employee on oversized haunches. In a cage beside the leonine hominoid, a fledging grunter, this world’s equivalent of a hairless guinea pig, cowered.
“I am entitled to extraordinary accommodations because of a disability.” The Katiran bared his sabertooth fangs and shook his mane. “Special diet.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” The steward raised his hands, palms up. “No live prey allowed on board in trips to the outer systems.”
A heavyset, male, human passenger in line behind them put his hands on his hips. “Come on! What’s holding things up?”
The Katiran spun around on cat-like reflexes. His yellow eyes narrowed, and his tail twitched. “Stay out of this, you pink-skinned simian.”
The thick-necked guy crossed his arms over his chest. “Dude, step out of line and scarf down your breakfast so the rest of us can board.”
Joe sighed, dropped his duffle bag, and patted me on the shoulder. “Be right back.”
My brow furrowed. “Joe, what are you—”
“Don’t worry, Mac. I’ve handled worse.”
“What about security? Shouldn’t she handle this?”
“Nah.” Joe shook his head. “This is small stuff. Go get her if you want, but this thing will be over before she gets here.”
As much as I wanted to call for help, my curiosity kept me rooted in place.
Joe strolled toward the bickering travelers. “Folks, can you take this argument into the waiting area?”
The Katiran puffed out his chest, raised a claw, and poked Joe in the stomach. “Butt out, hero. I’ll decide this matter.”
Joe’s hand snapped up and snagged the Katiran’s paw. Pivoting forward, Joe completed a wrist lock.
“Don’t touch me, chief.” Joe applied pressure. “Now, are you gonna apologize and move out of the way, or am I gonna break this off?”
A snarl formed on the Katiran’s face. “If I—”
Joe pulled on the paw. “Where are your manners?
“Gah!”
For all my surprise, I found my voice after I cleared my throat. “He’s Katiran. Being polite comes second to law of the jungle in their society.”
“Oh, right.” Joe twisted the Katiran’s paw. “How could I forget? Long live the King.”
The Katiran howled. “Ow! Ow! All right. I apologize.”
“You sure?”
“Ah! Yeah. Let go.”
Joe released his hold on the angry alien, inclined his chin at the steward, and grinned at everyone else in line. “His Majesty has deigned to allow boarding to proceed.”
The furry feline moved off to one side, rubbed his wrist, and glared at Joe. With a huff, he picked up the cage and other baggage and stalked back toward the lobby.
Clank. Clank. Clank. A bronze mechanized exo-suit entered the breezeway. Its female occupant frowned when the Katiran bypassed her in the hallway. “Everything okay in here? I thought I heard raised voices.”
Joe smirked. “Just a minor disagreement about cuisine. Not everyone was looking forward to the hardtack and swill on board.”
Everyone else in line nodded.
“Nothing to see here.” A hairy Goloth nodded, the brown shag obscuring his eyes.
The guard’s eyes narrowed. “There better not be an issue. I’m in a bad mood. You’ll eat whatever this spacefreighter has on board and like it.”
The starline employee cleared his throat. “Everything’s fine, corporal. It’s all under control.”
“Hmmph. See that it stays that way.”
Clank. Clank. Clank. The guard retreated to her post outside the gate.
The steward returned to checking boarding passes. He nodded at Joe. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Joe adjusted his bomber jacket and rejoined me. He shook his head. “The only thing worse than an angry Katiran is a vengeful pride of them. Hope he doesn’t have friends here at the spaceport.”
I gulped and stared at my actor. “Do you always act this impulsive?”
He frowned. “I don’t like bullies.”
“Uh-huh. Do me a favor next time, let me know what you’ve got planned.”
“Oh, right. So, you can record it?”
“And find a way to help . . . or plan an escape if things go bad. Things will go a lot easier between us if you learn to follow the cues I give you.”
Joe shrugged. “I thought this was supposed to be a reality show? Lots of improvisation?”
I shook a finger at him. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m the director. You’re the actor. You follow my lead.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
The steward scanned my boarding pass with shaky hands. His brow was damp. “Welcome to Cygnus Universal.”
I’m not sure what came over me. Maybe it was my earlier conversation with Joe—guilt because I let feeling sorry for myself interfere with my job. I recognized the steward’s symptoms of excess adrenaline and leaned in close. “You okay?”
He swallowed. “My heart is racing. Thought that Katiran was gonna tear me apart.”
What the hell. My world was shit, but this dude needed a boost. I nodded, pulled my flask, and handed it to him. “He’s gone now. Relax. This should help.”
“What is it?”
“Euphorian whiskey. Aged ten years. Real smooth.”
The ticketing agent stared at the flask and licked his lips. “Are you sure?”
I was sure. No more booze while I was on the clock. Joe needed mentoring, and so I would give it to him. “Yeah. Looks like you need it more than me.”
“Thanks.”
Moments later, we boarded the starship. Its interior provided more room than I expected—a central cavity a dozen paces wide and perhaps a hundred deep. Other passengers had already claimed spots near the beverage station and restrooms at the rear of the cabin. We hustled toward the starboard side and took two passenger pits. Descending three steps into my repository, I put my luggage on a circular raised platform in its center.
“MacIntyre, Ian,” I said, projecting my speech. “Checking baggage.”
A soft whir began under the dais. A pleasant androgynous voice came from a speaker. “Acknowledged, Mr. MacIntyre. One suitcase. One backpack.” The dais sunk into the floor, taking the gear with it. “Please confirm seating preference.”
“Humanoid lounge, extra padding on the seat.”
“Processing.”
Joe eyeballed me from his own passenger pit.
I stared back. “What? It’s a long trip.”
“I didn’t say anything—just jealous about the upgrade.”
The deck opened. A cushy recliner emerged out of the cargo hold, unfolding as it telescoped into place. A fluffy, pink pillow lay on the seat.
“Drake, Joseph. Checking baggage.” Joe deposited a canvas duffel on his own platform.
Another whir and the ship swallowed Joe’s luggage. The machine repeated its programmed mantra. “Seating preference?”
I cleared my throat. “Humanoid lounge, two extra pillows. Charge to Ian MacIntyre.”
“Processing.” The computer console hummed. “Authorization for upgrade confirmed.”
Joe blinked. “Really?”
I grimaced. “Like I said, it’s a long trip.”
He smiled. “Thanks, Mac.”
“No problem.” I stared at him. “You give me respect, and I’ll treat you well. Comprende?”
“Si, jefe.”
“Excellent.”
“Hey, look. I know I don’t have lots of acting experience, but I promise I’m gonna give this gig my best effort. Gonna be a big star.”
I forced myself to smile. He had no idea how difficult learning acting could be under my tutelage. “Okay, Joe.”
I let the matter drop. It made sense to make sure I got off to the right start with Joe. After all, there’d be lots of times I’d yell at him . . . once the camera started running. I dropped into my seat, forced myself to relax, and took out my crossword puzzle. The next clue must’ve been a premonition—four-letter word for prima donna? My pen scratched out the answer. Diva.
Around us, other passengers set up their own seating preferences depending on their physiology. A Tigerian mother set her mewling, striped kittens into a crib. Next to her, an unfamiliar species resembling an Australian koala hung from an artificial tree. Further up the port side, a frog-like aquatic squatted in a tub. True, the accommodations were crude approximations of what each traveler might find on their own home worlds, but commuter transits had never been idyllic.
Beside me, Joe fluffed his pillows and settled in. His eyelids drooped.
The ship filled, and before I’d finished my puzzle, a familiar rumble began in the engines. We taxied to our lift. I don’t like flying, so the crossword helped distract me from the queasiness I always experienced.
The intercom system crackled. “Greetings, gentle beings. I am Greet Threebop, the artificial intelligence controlling Cygnus Universal Flight 216. Prepare for departure in . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . launch.”
Our transport lurched into the air, the ascent palpable even with modern inertial dampeners. This part of the trip always bothered me—a feeling that gnawed at my gizzard.
Joe reclined back in his seat. “I hate AI pilots. I don’t care what some folks say about them being the safest way to travel, a human can do it better.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a pilot?”
“One of the best.”
The vessel bucked up and down, hitting a patch of turbulence. I white-knuckled the arm of the chair. “I have to agree with your complaint about AI pilots.”
Joe snorted. “Yeah, they’re all programmed to be efficient, with no thoughts about comfort. Lucky for us, we should be leaving the atmosphere soon. Smooth sailing after that.”
The engines roared. The ship rattled. Several minutes passed. Swallowing back the taste of a late dinner, I glanced over a Joe, wondering if he shared my trepidation.
His soft snores answered my question.
Finally, the craft leveled off, and my stomach calmed. The AI pilot announced we would arrive at our jump gate in twenty minutes. The stable wormhole would shorten the distance to our destination. I reflected on what I’d learned from Joe during our short conversation. He displayed some decent martial skills. He claimed to know how to pilot a starship. Both gave me reassurance. But based on his limited acting experience, I expected to do a lot of coaching over the next several weeks.
Unlike our starship, it was a safe bet the show would never get off the ground. There’d be a mediocre first episode reviewed by management. And then they’d likely pull the plug on both our careers. How was I going to save them? Was a career change to filming Katiran rage porn in my future? God, that would be a fate worse than death.
