I sit, contemplating. 

I sense some pattern—some manner of plot unfolding.  I’ve always had a mind for these sorts of
things; hell, half the time I’m head deep in several schemes of my own.  Nevertheless, doing a little more digging on
Sol and Danther, I found a connection between the two and the lovely miss Luna,
they all having lived in the same orphanage in Farshore.  That much, at least, checks out. 

What’s more, what she said to me when she thought it was her
A.I. did not indicate any collusion on their part—if anything, it supported the
idea that Sol and Danther really don’t have any clue that Luna had helped
them.  It’s actually rather sweet of her,
helping without expecting some manner of repayment; sweet and a bit foolish.

Even so, Sol’s been showing up at the port, talking to The Ship.  Most of what he says is just emotional
wash—bitching about this or explaining about that—but it has me wondering if it’s
some sort of strategy to get himself in. 

It’s been months since I tried, but the idea of getting into
an Earth-built ship still intrigues me.  Even
if my grandfather hadn’t ordered it, I suspect I would have found my way to
discovering The Ship and inevitably tried to get to its secrets.  Yet Grandfather did give the order and I am therefore inclined to regard the thing
with the utmost suspicion and curiosity.

I would enjoy the simplicity of a scenario where the endgame
of Danther, Sol, and Luna is to enter The Ship, but the facts just do not favor
the idea.  Luna has been with the company
for years.  Sol and Danther were targeted
by me after the snoopers discovered the latter’s design specs and only came to
this city after a long, circuitous route of others. 

They would have had to plan this in their teenage years and,
despite my own aspirations at that age, this seems to be an overly complex
scenario, Luna as a long-term sleeper, Danther and Sol performing a reverse
Trojan Horse, and all the time avoiding any direct connection with The Ship.

No, The Ship is not the goal here. 

Less unlikely, though still extremely convoluted, I myself
might be the focal point.  All the same
stipulations would apply, though there is no why.  Had I killed their parents?
—I the one who sent them to an orphanage? 
Seems unlikely, if possible.  Are they targeting the company?  Do they see me as some sort of linchpin?  Perhaps they have a coordinator?  —someone pulling their strings?

I shake my head, taking a sip of whisky. 

It’s only paranoia if one stoops to worry; considering
potentially wild notions for the sake of preparedness is an entirely different
story.  I’ll have a dryworks team perform
a deep probe.

I sigh, shaking my head and taking another sip.

I like Sol, stubborn little fuck that he is.  The kid’s got a sort of stupid smartness to
him—the type of intelligence that gets things done without spending too much
time second guessing.  He reminds me of
myself a little, a sort of lesser reflection in many ways, though with a mind
more able to work under the crush than my own; in essence, someone with the
makings perfect for an operative specializing in time sensitive maneuvers.  Yet… because of that, he reminds me of my
sister a little more, however, and having an ally with similar gifts would
prove valuable.

Then there’s Danther. 
He’s already provided the company with more than enough to prove his
value—that engine design of his swelled stock prices and it hasn’t even hit the
public.  I reckon if he got his hands on
a half decent setup, the kid’d excel. 

Yet then there’s Luna… Luna, that new, errant factor.  My interests in her are certainly not new,
but the way she’s managed to interpose herself complicates matters; it also
makes her all the more appealing.  

I lean back, finishing the whiskey, but then lean forward
again and pour more.

I nearly fell to the temptation of romancing her; preying on
so obvious a weakness would be like shooting one’s opponent in a game of chess
to claim victory.  I need to pace myself—enjoy
this most refreshing puzzle she presents; in this instance, I not only play
against her, but also myself.  I want to
manipulate her—corner her—so she can
appreciate and recognize just how masterfully I have outmaneuvered her.

I want her—I want her—but
sampling victory now would be… hmm, like partaking of food before it is done
fabricating.

It sickened me to send those gifts to her—delivering them personally
like some sycophantic little shit. 
Nevertheless, she surmised and summarized my plan so accurately,
that….  Fuck, I hate to say it, but I
panicked—I panicked.

Of course, I hadn’t taken the time to realize what I was
doing—that I was inadvertently putting one goal at risk to advance the
other.  I hate advancing without the proper precautions.

I drink the glass in one.

Yet I still do it.  I still fall to my own impatience.

I can almost hear my sister laughing—see that damned smirk—.

I throw the glass against the wall.

That bitch Luna
and her interfering, making things more complicated.

I close my eyes. 

No.

That prize Luna
and her interfering, making things more interesting.

It’ll be two weeks or so until I can start things up again
with our little game.  Danther’s mind is
too valuable to the company and I cannot let that suspicion of Luna’s
live. 

This “convergence” complicates both scenarios; though,
interestingly, matters might also make things work more smoothly.  It’s true the more complicated a process, the
more opportunity there is for failure; nevertheless, I’d prefer a pistol to a
throwing knife in most long range engagements. 

Back to the night’s original thought, though, I sense something…
something happening beneath the
surface and I’ll be damned if I will ever play the unwitting pawn again.  Tiles are moving and hands are being
played.  I have been comfortable for the
last couple months and the knife needs sharpening.

I crack my knuckles.

What am I not seeing here?

A comm. from my secretary comes over neural; it would seem I
have a guest.  I activate the door and he
shutters, apparently startled. 

“Mr. Minth; what a surprise,” I say, standing and spreading
my arms.  “What can I do for you?” 

“Tell me about this job.”

I rest my arm across Luna’s shoulder, she leaning into my
side.  The feeling of her pulls my
attention—a burning need for more making my brain fuzzy.  Yet, even so, both our attentions are fixed
on the race.  Ratings and viewership
swelled by the news of the Earth ship, all the feeds and pundits have begun
focusing on Legacy. 

If Legacy herself wasn’t
the spectacle of the moment as is, that brilliant purple thrust trail—some
exotic matter-antimatter mixture yet to be identified—gives the ship a
brilliance that the others—each just gliding through space—lack. 

The commentary has been amusing, race officials perplexed as
to how to react to the situation; they all agree that no rules are being
broken, but… well, that just isn’t
what was expected, now, is it?  It is
been particularly enjoyable to see them all skirt around the main problem: it
is hard to criticize a ship that’s abusing an advantage when every other ship
in the upper half of the rankings is doing the exact same thing.  Sure, they could admit this race is really just a place for companies to
demonstrate their products and have their names repeated ad nausium, but I have little doubt what would happen to ratings if
people realized it the whole thing was an advertisement.  The—.

“I’m not keeping you from anything important, am I?” Luna
asks.

I look down at her.  “I
would be quite impressed if you could name something that is as important to me
right now as you,” I say and she gives me an annoyed little nudge.  “It’s good to see them succeed,” I say,
grinning as I change the subject.

“Yeah,” she agrees simply. 

“Are you hungry?”  My
stomach growls, as if on cue. 

She looks up at me, smirking.  “Someone
is.”

“Would you like anything?”

“Perhaps something light,” she says, looking forward and
bringing up a holoscreen.  She loads a
pre-designed dish with small sandwiches of some sort, ordering it along with
wine.  “Would you like anything?”

“Hmm, I’ll have what you’re having.  —except,” I say, leaning in, navigating the
beverage menu, and making my own selection.

“Blackberry cider?”

“I find it quite palatable.”

She looks back to the menu and then gives me a sidelong
glance and smirk.  “I think I’ll try that
too.”  She gets up and I make to stand as
well.  “Please,” she says and I
pause.  “You have done enough for me
already.”  She smiles, the expression
significant somehow, and goes to the fabricator. 

I watch her walk… the way her hips move… the implications of
her legs under that skirt.

It hurt, sacrificing my little game with her.  And, while the simple romance is wonderful,
it pales before what it could’a been. 

Even so, that ship—Legacy—is
a prize beyond anything I have ever sought; it is no wonder grandfather ordered
me to gain entry it so many years ago. 
He must have known.  Even then.

Yet Luna, a prize all her own, is my surest in with the ship’s
new occupants—even if its A.I.—Soma­,
I should have known—seems to despise me. 
But taking Luna’s heart is no means a task lacking its pleasures—indeed,
she… she is quite a lovely woman. 

She returns, flushing as she sees me watching her.  “Stop.”

“Stop what?” I ask, grinning with a devilishness I know will
get to her.  “Appreciating you?”

She flushes more.

I grin more.

“Shift over,” she says.

“Pardon?”

 She gives little
twitch of her chin toward the side of the couch.  I tilt my head and oblige, shifting on the
couch.  She lets the tray holding our
food go, the force inducing holographics holding it aloft.  Sitting between myself and the arm of the
couch, she drapes her legs across my own. 
Entertained by her forwardness, I put a hand on her knee, sliding it up
her skirt.  She slaps it, glaring at me
with a mix of admonishment, invitation, and… something. 

“Feeling forward again, are we?”

“Says the one who’s quite literally placed herself on top of
me.”

She is a prize indeed.

The food hovers on over and we eat, I quite liking the
little sandwiches and she taking to the cider. 
I consider making another advance, but my thought is interrupted by one
of the announcers.

“It has just been confirmed by a racing official that
prefers to go unnamed that the Earth vessel—presently in first place—is
registered as ENS Legacy, ship
belonging to none other than Alexander Reynard. 
While it cannot be confirmed whether this is the actual Legacy or some cleaver imposter, the—.”

“Do you think it really is…? 
That the ship is Legacy, I
mean?” Luna asks, voice priority overriding the holoscreen’s volume.

“That I do,” I reply and she looks at me.  “That ship’s been around for centuries.  It’s impressive enough that it’s an Earth
ship.”  I pause, looking at her.  “There’s no need to lie beyond that, I
reckon.”

She grins.

“What?”

“I love the way you talk.”

“Do you, now?”

“It’s both sophisticated and deliberate, yet somehow… dirty and full of insinuation.  What is it?”

“High American Southern, it’s called.  I chose my A.I. tutor with care,” I
reply.  “As did you, I suspect.”

She tilts her head.

“I could listen to you talk all day.”

“Could you now?”

“Oh, yes,” I reply, reaching out and stroking her
cheek.  “English Received is a charm to
the ears, indeed.”

“Hmm,” she says, leaning into my hand.

“You, let the
alcohol take hold,” I reply, letting my hand slide down to her neck. 

She stares at me, eyes inviting… daring.

“You, are
altogether possessed.”

“Are you feeling possessive?”

“Oh, I’m feeling something.”

“What’s this!” an announcer says, vocal priority high enough
to interrupt us.  “Is Legacy having some sort of engine
trouble?”

“No!” another cuts in. 
“They are taking a path through the atmosphere deliberately!”

I watch, disbelief permeating though me in waves, transfixed
as Legacy, enveloped in a blue,
crackling shield that extends more than a kilometer out in front of her nose
like some sort of spearhead, sinks into the swirling gas giant’s atmosphere.  Tracking scanners adjust, gradually piecing
together what she’s doing until….

A simulation shows up on screen, Legacy using its shields to shunt the atmosphere out of a region of
space, creating a vacuum for itself to traverse.  If those shields fail for even an instant,
the damage would be significant—fettrium armor or no.  Yet the route she takes is, of course, the
fastest one.

Those shields must….

I take a moment to monitor Dowin company communications;
chatter has risen considerably, this ship one surprise after another.

I expect this stunt will make some waves over the next
couple years… that, and get a whole lot of idiot pilots killed. 

The simulation zooms out, switching to actual
recording.  I can see Legacy’s shields as speck of light
shining through the gas.  Yet, ship
moving at that speed through a dense atmosphere, a colossal swath of eddies and
storms trails in her wake, lighting surging in cascading blooms.

“Damn….” Luna mutters.

“Yeah,” I agree.

Legacy surfaces gradually, a graceful
tip at the head of thousands of kilometers of chaotic storm behind.

The back of Legacy
explodes as the thrust engines ignite again—downright archaic devices discarded
centuries ago in favor of fuel-free and stealth friendly gravity engines—light
bright enough to blind—or perhaps even burn—any first-hand observer.  Legacy’s
acceleration rises, rapidly approaching the next task before letting the thrust
die off as they achieve proper entry velocity. 
The commentators babble over one another in an excited fervor, but I
tune them out, curious as to what will come next.

The warpfield is ahead.

It takes ten seconds for Legacy
to reach the bounds and they nimbly and efficiently navigate.  Nevertheless, after the eight minutes it takes
for the X183-Prime—my company’s own
test ship which utilizes Mr. Minth’s engine design at full capacity—to catch
up, it’s clear that Legacy can’t hold
up to the maneuverability and ships entering the field rapidly gain. 

Then again, this is the
test—the one designed to show off
just how much engines can handle.  It’s
like watching a queen hold up against a knight on a board of chess with out of
bounds squares favoring the latter’s specific utility; it is a simple matter of
scenario verses reality.

It almost hurts watching… to see such an inspiring ship
after such an unexpected ploy begin to lose her lead—especially knowing how
poorly people will interpret it and how marketing will spin the whole damn
thing. 

I know having our ships overtake Legacy will send stock prices through the roof—this is a huge boon
to Dowin… but it just feels… is “wrong”
the right word?  These are ships
designed to maximize efficiency—ships with zero practical use and peak
structural integrity at the expense of almost everything else.  Even the new engines—Danther’s design—won’t
generate enough acceleration to tear these ships apart, assuming all the
vectoring is implemented correctly.

“No, no, no!” Luna
whispers, but the X183-Prime
overtakes Legacy near the end in the
immense, shifting field.  Luna sighs,
anguished.  I look over; she’s
crushed.  “I hoped they would….”

I put an arm around her shoulder, surprised by the
instinct.  “Yeah.”

We watch as test ships—even those from other
companies—overtake Legacy, the craft
just too stable, weaving through the
obstacles with maneuvers that would tear normal ships apart.