No advancement for women, that was the problem with piracy. It had always been that way, but from the day she was born Jeliah had known where her destiny lay. The fact that it changed regularly made no difference in her surety. Piracy was a recent addition to her pantheon of dreams, and the only one she could be reasonably proud of her proficiency at. She’d been at it for about five Galactic Standard Years but she already had her own staff and a visual identity. It wouldn’t be long before she was officially a brand and she was perfectly aware of the groundswell that would generate. The Shadow Council awaited her: she just needed to stay in front of the curve. That was why she’d so readily agreed to take on the crew from the Albright- not because she was weak or merciful but rather because the advanced age in which she wanted to live featured human resource strategies which far outstripped the Outlaw Era practices of killing everyone who didn’t know your first name. The crew, she’d reasoned, probably had at least one gem and most assuredly had some good solid mid-management types. Simply being on one of those crews more or less guaranteed some level of mortality-acceptance. So there were benefits to be had. The weak ones would die off anyway… probably.
The fly in the ointment was Dave. He’d been a fashion student before his planet’s Great Depression, and when designing newer, more stylish rags for his fellow homeless hadn’t worked out he’d upgraded to theft. He was poor at it, but he had determination and whether out of gumption or sexism he’d tried to rob Jeliah- on a day, no less, when she was looking her most fierce. There was this epic leather coat that basically made her figure look like it had been carved out of marble by someone who only knew what perfect women looked like. The hem alone was staggering, and she’d cowed so many men in it the thing was basically a dairy farm. Dave, again, for whatever reason, had tried to take her wallet off her (the other great thing about it was that the motherfucker had so many pockets!) and just before she snapped his neck he let out a sigh. Bored and not at all worried, she inquired what he was looking at. He let her know the stitching was stupendous (which of course she already knew) but then asked if she really thought a red scarf was the way to go. She knew very well that purple would have been the best option but some idiot mechanic on board her ship to do minor repairs had gotten grease on her good one and she had to get it cleaned. Impressed, she let him live, figuring if she wanted to build a brand a guy with an eye for fashion might be handy to have around. The problem came when she realized he was so useless at actually pirating that his value failed to offset, and now she actively sent him on dangerous missions hoping and hoping he’d die… only to have him barely make it through every…fucking….time. She could only afford so many Daves on board.
At any rate the time had come to test out the new guys, and she assembled them for a pre-mission briefing. Surveying the group, she realized had a good feeling about the scarred one and the giant one. The shrimp who slept too much was going to be a problem. As for the rest, well, a lot would depend on where they stood when the airlock malfunctioned (as the saying went).
“Gentlemen. As you can see, I look particularly amazing. The veterans can tell you that means we’ll be seeing action, and I expect full cooperation. One of you will probably die, and while I know who I’m hoping it will be, realistically there’s no telling. The ship we’re tracking is carrying food, and we’ll be overtaking it in about six minutes. Are there any questions that aren’t stupid?”
She heard a small, quiet voice murmur “Probably not.” and while she was pretty sure she knew who it was she needed more before she ripped him a new asshole and instead quietly waited for any raised hands. The giant’s trash-can-lid sized palm rose above the rest, though in fairness it had pretty much started in that position. He could have just opened his fist and she’d have seen and acknowledged.
“Yes, big man. Go.”
“Righ’, are we gon’ be doin’ any killin’ of our own?”
“Excellent question.” Giant and to the point. A nice combo. She decided to answer him thoroughly, to encourage that kind of assertive thinking. “This is a grocery ship we’re following. Almost every person aboard is a teenager hired for the summer, and in my experience every one of them hates their job. Some are gonna try to join us, but most are gonna watch and laugh. The boss will come out and shoot, which is where the problem’s going to be because the people who own the ship know they’re not getting any help from the kids when the shit hits the fan. That means he’ll be good, and will take one of you down. Then the rest of us will be able to nail that guy, and your sacrifice won’t be in vain. Which I guess means the short answer is yes, but don’t fire unless they look like real dipshits. Then it’s fine.”
She saw the big man nod and lean down to talk to the moron. That meant there was probably a modicum of control there. Friendly but commanding. Certainly one to watch, but not now. Now they had a mission. She looked around and didn’t see any other hands raised.
“Ok then men. Get cozy- it won’t be long.”
James felt this captain seemed very confident in herself. The knowledge that one of them would die was particularly worrying to him because looking around at the other men in the room he was quite positive that an oddsmaker wouldn’t look upon him particularly favorably in the current situation. Then there was the strategy itself. He’d never robbed a ship before, but the trees knew how many of them he’d blown up and the very fact that he was still alive after all this time told him there had to be a way for none of them to get killed- especially given the (apparent) apathy of nearly the entire opposing crew. He looked at Gareth, who was grinning.
“There has to be a better way.”
“Well, I don’ know ’bout that. But she does look good right now, so I’m inclined to believe her on account of she’s clearly prepared.”
“No, I mean- what?”
“Yeh heard me. Look at her. Not a hair outta place.”
“Ok, yes, but this is different-”
“Not really. She could kill me if she wanted, I think.”
“Yeah but why does anyone have to die?”
“Aw, I hardly think this’ the time to start tellin’ yeh ’bout mortality if yeh didn’t know already. There’s a time and place fer philosophy and whatnot.”
“No you….grrr…” James gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. “I’m saying, right now, why does anyone have to die? It’s a bunch of teenagers, right?”
“’S what she said.”
“And they hate their jobs?”
“’S what she said.”
“So why couldn’t we get one of them to help us?”
“’S what she said.”
“Exactly- wait, no it isn’t. Are you listening to me at all?”
“Nope. She stood up again. I’ll be honest, I’s just lookin’ at her before but she’s got herself a great speakin’ voice. Makes me feel comfortable. Now shut up.”
The captain was standing at the front of the ready room, and James could feel the ship’s gravity generators shifting with the backward thrust of the engines as they slowed. The moment was close. She moved toward the airlock as the vice-captain started shouting orders from the back of the room.
“RIGHT THEN, MATES! MOVE FORWARD, MOVE FORWARD! SPACE IS WASTE! ROOM IS DOOM! SQUEEZE! READY FOR AIRLOCK ENGAGEMENT, THIS WILL BE QUICK!”
James, who was right in front of the man, turned.
“Listen, I get that you need to be heard but there’s about twenty of us here, including your guys, so if you wouldn’t mind maybe not yell-” but before he could finish he found himself shoved forward into a mass of humanity all trying- rather inefficiently, James thought in a final moment of clarity- to force themselves through the single-person airlock. While he understood the need for movement he didn’t appreciate the vice-captain’s need to shove him by his face, and made a note to discuss it with the man after all this was over. Assuming they both lived. He hadn’t forgotten the odds. He just hoped he’d figure out the better plan before the firing started.
The grocery ship was gigantic and far too brightly lit. James had to shield his eyes for a moment to allow them to adjust, but when they did what he saw blew his mind. Grocery ships never landed on Malyria- so the ordered rows filled with food were startling to say the least. There were several terminals with small conveyor belts and self-contained computer units, behind which stood the aforementioned teenagers. Most were talking and using spray bottles to coat the metal components of their computer terminals with a blue liquid that smelled like antiseptic. Some straightened magazines. One carried no fewer than sixteen baskets stacked inside one another to a rack containing fifty more. James was astounded.
“Milk?” One of them, a particularly helpful looking blond teen, shouted.
He heard the captain counter: “What?”
“You want milk?”
“Uh…”
“It’s in the back, just head through aisle sixteen and then take a left.”
“No, we don’t want milk. Well, actually we do but-”
“Through aisle sixteen here, and then take a left. If you’ll follow me ma’am, I’ll be happy to-”
Another teen spoke up. “Brad- shut up. They’re robbing us. Right? You guys are robbing us?”
The captain found her voice again. “That’s right, now give us all the money.”
“Cool.” the second teen answered, and opened a drawer on the back of the terminal he was standing at. He dumped it on the counter and then went back to reading a magazine he usually kept hidden beneath the counter on which he leaned. The one called Brad dove between the captain and the money.
“No! Call Mr. Piett!”
“Come on, man…”
“Armando! Call him! They can’t have this!”
The captain stood back, not entirely sure what to do. James watched as she leaned back on her heels- one heel, really. The left one was striking a really cool pose that James had to admit gave her an air of control over the situation even though she pretty clearly had very little- and crossed her arms. Armando looked up from his magazine.
“Brad. My God, dude. Just move. They can have this crap. Why do you care?” he flipped a page.
“They can’t just have it! We worked for it!”
“We didn’t work for anything. You aren’t getting any of that. Besides, they probably-” he cut himself off and looked at the captain “-nice coat. Do you have guns?” She nodded, and Armando turned back to Brad. “-yeah, they have guns, man.”
“But…but..”
“Jennie- do you care?”
“What?” A girl, who looked to be about Brad’s age and who had not yet stopped absent-mindedly spraying her terminal, spoke without looking up.
“They’re robbing us. Brad says no. They have guns.”
“Brad, who cares? Just move.”
“Fine! I’ll call him!” Armando shrugged and looked at the captain.
“I tried lady. Whatever. I’m gonna go sit down over there, if that’s cool?”
Bewildered, the captain nodded. Armando walked to a counter off to the side labeled “Customer Service” and hoisted himself up onto it. A loudspeaker erupted.
“Mr. Piett, can you please come to Register 12? Mr. Piett to register 12.” James looked away from the men who were now emptying the registers one by one and saw Brad hang up a plain black telephone. Armando had taken some candy from his pocket and began eating it. James sidled up to him, and as he did he saw a middle-aged man walk calmly down one of the aisles; tan shirt perfectly tucked into plain black pants. A nametag pinned to his shirt said “Manager.”
“Yes, Brad? What is it? You know we’re putting away that new shipment of-”
“Sir, these people are robbing us!”
“What?”
Armando chipped in from his counter, speaking around a mouthful of candy- “Yeah CP. They got guns, man. Go get ’em!” Then he chuckled to himself. The man dove behind a counter and pulled out a very large pistol. James turned to Armando.
“Hey.”
“What’s up, man?”
“So…you seem pretty calm?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Well…you’re a hostage.”
“Really? Cool.”
“You think that’s cool?”
“Sure, man. I just started my shift. It’s better than working.”
“What?”
“You never worked in a grocery ship before, have you?”
“I hate spaceships.”
“Me too but that doesn’t answer my question. I’m gonna go with no, so I can say what I wanted to say: it’s garbage, man. The worst job you can imagine.”
“Uh…”
“Yeah, you’re not gonna get it. It’s not a surface thing. Anyway, look at Piett, man. He’s barricaded pretty good over there.”
James looked, and the manager had pulled two of the register stations into a triangle, giving himself cover. He and the captain were now arguing about which was going to shoot first.
“Looks like it. Hey not to encourage you or anything, but, shouldn’t you be helping him? You know him, after all…”
“Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m not helping him. That guy sucks. He’s new, doesn’t really know how stuff works here. Just makes my job harder.”
“Brad seems pretty eager to help him.”
“Yeah, Brad would. Such an idiot. I said before about how much this job sucks? Some people get way too into it, and then try to, like, do it their whole life. It’s pretty bad.”
The captain had now started to organize the men into flanking positions, and was clearly getting ready to begin her assault. She motioned James to the front of her left line.
“Looks like your captain’s calling you, man. Tip of the spear, bro. I’m jealous. Piett’s such a dick.”
James nodded and took two reluctant steps. Then the idea hit him. He turned back to Armando. “You want in?”
“What?”
“You want to help us?”
“Eh. Why?”
“You can shoot Piett.” Armando perked up.
“Done.”
“Take my gun and go act like you’re helping him. Then shoot him.”
“Got it. Thanks.” James handed him the gun. Armando wiped his hands on his pants and jumped from the counter. The captain was red with apopleptic fury. James hoped she could refrain from killing him for another ten seconds, though from the look on her face and the rising state of her gun he felt that might be optimistic. Then he heard Armando.
“Piett! Don’t shoot man, I just remembered I had a gun too! I can help!”
“Armando! You had a gun on your shift?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You’re fired! Go back to your bunk.”
“Man, whatever.” Then James heard two shots in quick succession. Piett shouted and James saw his gun fall between the two bulky counters he had created his fort out of.
“No one cares about your lawn business! And if you’re wondering what the second one was for: you fired all the good sackers. It just backs up constantly now. No one wants this job- you can’t fire people who are good at it!” There was a muffled thud, and then a groan. “This one’s just because I hate you.” A third shot. Everyone on the ship had stopped. James’ jaw dropped as Armando walked back around the makeshift bunker, handed James back his gun, and calmly hopped back up on his counter.
“All yours, man.”
