CAPITOL CITY, AZTEC COFFEE SHOP
Isabel Klashnikov
The Aztec Coffeeshop is a recognized hangout of trade students, artist despots, techno-hipsters, and political avengers. Lately, it’s also been the hangout of one out-of-work pilot with a background in heavy-lifting equipment.
I like the vibe in here. Nobody in here is the cookie-cutter image of a Capitol denizen. There are more digital tattoos on arms and necks than probably anywhere else. I like it in here.
What time is it? I blink my eyes, looking at the clock display inside my eyelids. He’s still got a few minutes to be on time. Strangely, it makes me uncomfortable that my backer would want to meet me in my element. If we met in some corporate setting, I would be on my most nail-polished behavior. But in this place, I have no choice but to be me.
Mr. Troy entered the coffeeshop. He didn’t scan the place for me. He seemed to know where I was even before walking in. He didn’t wave. He didn’t give a head nod of acknowlegement. He just made his way between the tables and booths as if he belonged here. He sat down at my table- no, he took the seat before the introduction. He was dressed in black as if he was just another scenester in here. He looked around us.
“Is this table okay?” I asked him.
“Perfect,” he replied a the cappuccino machine began hissing. “This is the best seat for this meeting.”
I exhaled slowly, trying to calm my senses. Everything was heightened; my vision, smell, taste. I knew I was feeling some kind of event horizon.
He leaned forward. “I trust you’ve considered the offer. Not that there’s that much to contemplate.”
“Yes. If I understand the offer correctly. You are offering me a piloting opportunity. A commission, if I remember correctly.”
He blinked at me as if I said something ridiculous. “This isn’t just any commission. This is a seat in a Raven
I cleared my throat, tilted my head and watched my finger trace the pattern on the table. “So, you’re not just saying it’s a possibility. You’re actually putting me in a Raven? I don’t understand. What’s the game?”
“No game,” he replied. “The company I represent won the bid for one of the Ravens. We own the commission on that pilot seat. According to our roster, you’re the highest-ranking pilot. That is, unless you want to pass. In which case we’ll go to the next candidate.”
“Wait! I’m definitely interested! I just am a little wary when someone offers me the wings to the greatest vehicle to ever fly. I mean, obviously.”
“I promise you I am serious. We would just need you to keep your end of the bargain.”
I felt a subtle red glow of alarm inside. My first reaction was to vow I’m a team player. I had my mouth open to swear allegiance no matter what. I would be a faithful employee to Star Cage. If they were going to put me in a Raven, I would do anything they wanted. Anything.
At least, that was my first reaction. Emotionally, I’m smarter than that.
“Look, I want to seal this pact and start piloting. But how can I agree to this? I don’t even know what you want.”
“Star Cage wants you to act in our bests interests.”
“Which are?” I asked quickly. Years of emotional training taught me that if someone is vague about what they expect, it’s impotant to wait until they explain something about themselves- anything. That’s when you ask rapid-fire questions. The time to find vulnerabilities in people is when they start explaining themselves.
“Our interests are pretty much parallel to yours. You have the same philosophical leanings that we have. At the start, we vetted you very carefully. Your values are the same as ours.”
“There is no public information on your company. There is nothing on The Register. You don’t even have a page anywhere. You’re mentioned in a couple of other pages as a sponsor. But that’s it.”
His eyes narrowed and his tone grew cold. “You’re having doubts? Maybe you aren’t the right person for the job. ”
“No,” I fluttered my eyes and spoke sweetly. I looked deep into his eyes. “After all you’ve done for me- all you’re doing for me, I just don’t want to disappoint you.”
I held his eyes. I tilted my head to show him my neck. I rendered myself submissive. I wasn’t really going to give myself to him. But I wanted to exhibit body language that would communicate compliance.
His reaction was curious. He put both palms of his hands on the table and closed his eyes. “At Star Cage nothing is more important than our culture. We do things differently. We are not beholden to profit margins nor shareholders. We do not operate by business plan. We operate according to values. That is how our board makes decisions. What is good for the universe is good for us.”
“’What’s good for the universe?’ My, my! Your company does have some ambitious plans for expansion.” My snarky observation was a test to see if he got really upset. I had to see how stiff this guy was. If I couldn’t get away with a little jab with humor, it could signal how austere this company is and how strict how they would be with me.
He smiled. It was slightly forced. “We may be principled, but we are still ambitious.”
“How can your company have large ambitions and not have a page on the Register?”
He scratched his chin and looked consternated. “Look, I don’t want to come off as ill-tempered. But there isn’t a whole lot you’re going to learn about the company until you work for the company. So, the choices are sign the contract or don’t.” I huffed. He smiled. “Your psyche eval said you’d be leery of leadership. You don’t have to be with us. We are the good guys. We wouldn’t be extending you this offer if we thought you’d have hesitations to serve our interests. We are sponsoring a pilot to fly this particular Raven. Your skills are deft in piloting and dexterous in operating machinery. You are stable and reliable. Your core values line up with ours. Trust me. You are at the top of our list. But just as we are trusting you to operate a Raven. We need your trust in us.”
“Hand me the contract,” I said. Who was I kidding? My moral compass is weak when someone dangles a golden opportunity in front of it. They could ask me to go on a bombing run over the shopping mall and I’d do it.
He handed me the digital paper. I sighed as I read through it. It was a surprisingly short contract and devoid of legal talkfoolery. I even tried to flip the digital over to see if there was more on the back.
“That’s all to it. You’re a pilot for the Raven Division. And every now and then, you’re a pilot for Star Cage. You do what we tell you to do. That simple.”
“Sounds remotely reasonable.” I put the stylus to the paper and pixeled my name.
“Good.” He took the paper back and folded it. Then, he took out his stamp and pressed the paper. The digital fibers merged and the contract was sealed. “Our underwriters will submit your files and paperwork and once we get the green light from Raven Division we’ll contact you.”
He got up to leave.
I walked out of the coffeeshop. I looked up through the dome to where the shape of Mars was suppose to be. Instead, there was a matte blackened circle, crowned by the terminus of orange where the sun was hitting the edge of the planet. The lights of Capitol were all determined and bright. According to the astrology reports, this was the new Mars of the season. It was supposed to astrologically usher in new opportunities and new focus. As the planet begins to wax, it intensifies personal relationships as well as our standing in social settings.
Ridiculous. It’s just corporate media trying to whip everyone up in a frenzy to go out and buy new clothes.
That was it. That was the moment I became a Raven pilot.
This is a short science fiction story from the sci fi cartoon series Ravens of Mars. All content copyright D.S. Meyers 2016. www.RavensofMars.com
