Another part, which I'm not really happy with yet but I'm posting anyway because otherwise I'll sit on it for months:
The good mood lasted until the Homicide detectives arrived. "Folks," the senior man said regretfully, "I'm real sorry to tell you this, but there's no way in hell the DA's office is going to run with anything we dig up. Not when the only witnesses aren't recognised as people under federal law."
"Can't you at least run that sketch through the mugshot database?" Tom protested. "You don't have to be specific about where you got it. If anyone asks, tell them he's a terrorist."
"Sorry, pal. It'd never fly."
"Fucking typical that is," he growled. "Someone tries to exploit teenage catgirls, Illinois invades Canada over it. Someone tries to exploit teenage bioroids, nobody gives two shits. Am I the only one who sees a bit of a disconnect here?"
"Tell it to Congress, dude."
"I'll be telling it to the State Governor when his office gets my report. So, d'you want to take some witness statements, or are those worthless too?"
"Tom, cool it," I said wearily. "It's not his fault. Let's just get these kids outta here so we can get the ball rolling on an APB to Space Patrol."
Tom nodded. "That bastard shows his face anywhere off-Earth, he'll wish the state police nailed him," he told the kids. "Forced biomodding's worth twenty-one to life in the really liberal factions. In most of them the penalty's death."
Tom was in a much better mood when we got to the little grass-strip airfield where we'd parked. "Holy cow! A real spaceship!" Cataleya exclaimed. "Awesome!"
"That's a Cobra! I've seen those in Elite: Dangerous!" Mikey piped up.
Tom beamed proudly. "Can we keep him? Yeah, she's based on the Cobra Mark 3 from the original Elite from way back in the 80s. I used to play it on my dad's BBC Micro 'til he got me a Speccy; that's a ZX Spectrum. Before your time, I guess."
Boys and their toys, huh?
"... I built her with my own two hands," Tom said proudly as we boarded the ship. "Uncle Greg -my godfather- had all the pieces in his barn, with an oil drum full of 'wavium, but he died before he could get to use them. Dad and I scattered his ashes on Mars together a while back. He'd have loved Fenspace...
"Anyway, want to see the cockpit? It's kind of cramped so you'll have to go one at a time."
I left him to showing Mike around and made for the galley to grab a much-needed coffee.
"I'd ask you two if you were plannin' on havin' kids, but I think yer boyfriend's found some," Adam joked.
I snorted. "Perceptive for a guy, aren't you."
"My dad's a preacher, ya pick it up. An' they could do worse. Goes fer you too, lady; ya know how many people got that many words outta Mikey the first time they met? Not many, I tell ya."
"This is a small boat, and the job comes with long hours and lots of travelling..." Not all that much,though,, a small traitorous part of me reflected, and not for longer than a week at a time.
"I can hear a 'but' comin', lady."
"Oh, hush you! Okay, okay, I'm not completely opposed to the idea. But they've already got parents, don't they?"
Adam looked away. "I dunno anymore," he said quietly. "My pa... he ain't gonna take this well. Frankie's folks'll be okay; heck, they coped with their kid teachin' 'em a whole new pronoun to use on faer, this ain't nothin'. Paul's a foster kid, lived with Mikey's mom... Ah, Jesus, what the fuck am I gonna tell her? An' Cataleya's folks? They weren't too wild 'bout her goin' steady with an Anglo, can't goddamn wait to tell 'em she got press-ganged into the fuckin' furry fandom." He sighed. "Can your robotics people fix it so a... what did ya call it... a bioroid can get drunk? Because I am not dealing with that shit-show sober."
"Hey, cheer up," I replied, patting his arm. "People can surprise you. My folks sure did."
He snorted. "Yeah, but you're cute."
"And trans. In rural Iowa, twenty years ago. Mom coped, and so did my aunt and my cousins. Dad didn't, but he's a jerk anyway." I took out my cellphone. "D'you wanna try calling him?"
"Maybe later," he replied, but he did look thoughtful.
"... never gave her a name. That's a Navy tradition, and I was in the RAF. The closest she has is a callsign, and that's 'Doorknocker'."
"How come?" Mikey wondered.
"It was suggested by a fen who used to be a cop, because it's what his team used to call those great big battering rams of theirs. It came about after we raided our first Boskone outpost in a hollowed-out asteroid; I used the main gun on their primary cargo airlock and it went through both hatches and two bulkheads on the other side. Made a terrible mess and simplified our job quite a bit."
Mikey whistled appreciatively. "That's one hella big gun," he declared.
"The barrel used to be the deck gun of a British destroyer." Tom looked a bit uncomfortable. "It's not really something I brag about, though. War sounds exciting when you're fifteen, I know, but it really isn't much fun for real."
"Oh, sorry."
"It's alright. I was young once too."
I couldn't hide a smile as I handed Tom a mug of tea. "We ought to take off soon," I told him.
"Yeah, guess so. There's only one jump-seat, so you guys will have to draw lots for who sits in it."
"Frankie gets air-sick, Paul can't and Adam's too grown-up and uptight to admit he wants to," Cataleya piped up. "So that leaves me and Mikey. And I can still fit in his lap!"
"Now, Chica, what would your mom say," Frankie retorted mock-sternly.
My high-school Spanish is pretty rusty, but I got the gist of a detailed and graphic description of where Cataleya thought her mother could go and what she could do when she got there. "And quit calling me that," she added. "Only Mikey gets to call me that."
"Hah. Well, I guess your full name is to pronounce when you've got your hands on his-"
"Don't make me tell the nice Great Justice troubleshooters your biological gender, pal!"
"Alright, alright! Sheesh, that firey Latina temper's getting the better of you today."
"Asshole," Chica retorted amiably.
"On some level, it bothers me that they bicker like an old married couple while she's actually dating me," Mikey remarked, "but the rest of me doesn't care because they're just too funny to watch."
"Fuel pumps to ON."
Tom flicked the appropriate switches. "Fuel pumps to ON."
"Battery isolator switch to OFF."
Another switch. "Battery isolator switch to OFF."
I couldn't quite hide a sigh. "Airwolf theme to PLAY."
Tom raised his eyes heavenwards and tapped 'play' on the MP3 player in a dock on the console. "Airwolf theme to PLAY." It had been a small joke the first time he took the ship out on a test flight, but now the engines wouldn't start if we didn't do it every single time and the novelty had worn off long ago.
"Main engine start."
Tom flipped one final switch and then throttled up. "Main engine start. Tower, this is Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. Request clearance to take off, over."
"Good evening, Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. Be advised, we have an inbound flight on final approach, proceed to runway and hold short, over."
Tom snorted. "Tower, we don't actually need a runway, over."
"Uh... Copy that, Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. Proceed to two thousand feet and make your heading zero four zero, then contact New York Centre on frequency one-three, over."
"Understood tower, have a good evening." Tom throttled up, pressing on the rudder to turn us to the assigned heading even as we ascended, then gently pushed forward on the collective. "Our top speed," he told our observers, "is a bit over eight hundred miles an hour in atmosphere. I won't be pushing her anywhere near that hard while we're over land, of course; sonic booms tend to frighten and annoy people on the ground. Now, then... New York Centre, this is Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. We are an experimental light aircraft currently proceeding on heading zero four zero at two thousand feet, our intention is to proceed out over the sea for a high-altitude test flight. Request further instructions, over."
"Good evening, Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. Continue on present heading and come to ten thousand feet. Is your aircraft equipped with collision warning systems, over?"
"Affirmative, we have primary air-search radar in addition to standard anti-collision transponders, over."
"Understood. Remain at ten thousand feet on your present heading until you cross the coast, then contact us for further instructions, over."
"Copy that, New York Centre. At our present airspeed you should hear from us again in a little under two hours. Over and out. Contrary to what some people would have you believe," Tom remarked, "real fen do communicate with air traffic control and otherwise play by the rules."
"It's not such a big deal way out in the Midwest or the desert," I added. "Heck, some places out there don't even have any ATC coverage. But this close to JFK it's a different story; New York City traffic doesn't get any better with altitude. Damn pretty at this time of night, though."
Mike and Cataleya looked out over the carpet of thousands of lights, and I took their awestruck silence as agreement.
The good mood lasted until the Homicide detectives arrived. "Folks," the senior man said regretfully, "I'm real sorry to tell you this, but there's no way in hell the DA's office is going to run with anything we dig up. Not when the only witnesses aren't recognised as people under federal law."
"Can't you at least run that sketch through the mugshot database?" Tom protested. "You don't have to be specific about where you got it. If anyone asks, tell them he's a terrorist."
"Sorry, pal. It'd never fly."
"Fucking typical that is," he growled. "Someone tries to exploit teenage catgirls, Illinois invades Canada over it. Someone tries to exploit teenage bioroids, nobody gives two shits. Am I the only one who sees a bit of a disconnect here?"
"Tell it to Congress, dude."
"I'll be telling it to the State Governor when his office gets my report. So, d'you want to take some witness statements, or are those worthless too?"
"Tom, cool it," I said wearily. "It's not his fault. Let's just get these kids outta here so we can get the ball rolling on an APB to Space Patrol."
Tom nodded. "That bastard shows his face anywhere off-Earth, he'll wish the state police nailed him," he told the kids. "Forced biomodding's worth twenty-one to life in the really liberal factions. In most of them the penalty's death."
Tom was in a much better mood when we got to the little grass-strip airfield where we'd parked. "Holy cow! A real spaceship!" Cataleya exclaimed. "Awesome!"
"That's a Cobra! I've seen those in Elite: Dangerous!" Mikey piped up.
Tom beamed proudly. "Can we keep him? Yeah, she's based on the Cobra Mark 3 from the original Elite from way back in the 80s. I used to play it on my dad's BBC Micro 'til he got me a Speccy; that's a ZX Spectrum. Before your time, I guess."
Boys and their toys, huh?
"... I built her with my own two hands," Tom said proudly as we boarded the ship. "Uncle Greg -my godfather- had all the pieces in his barn, with an oil drum full of 'wavium, but he died before he could get to use them. Dad and I scattered his ashes on Mars together a while back. He'd have loved Fenspace...
"Anyway, want to see the cockpit? It's kind of cramped so you'll have to go one at a time."
I left him to showing Mike around and made for the galley to grab a much-needed coffee.
"I'd ask you two if you were plannin' on havin' kids, but I think yer boyfriend's found some," Adam joked.
I snorted. "Perceptive for a guy, aren't you."
"My dad's a preacher, ya pick it up. An' they could do worse. Goes fer you too, lady; ya know how many people got that many words outta Mikey the first time they met? Not many, I tell ya."
"This is a small boat, and the job comes with long hours and lots of travelling..." Not all that much,though,, a small traitorous part of me reflected, and not for longer than a week at a time.
"I can hear a 'but' comin', lady."
"Oh, hush you! Okay, okay, I'm not completely opposed to the idea. But they've already got parents, don't they?"
Adam looked away. "I dunno anymore," he said quietly. "My pa... he ain't gonna take this well. Frankie's folks'll be okay; heck, they coped with their kid teachin' 'em a whole new pronoun to use on faer, this ain't nothin'. Paul's a foster kid, lived with Mikey's mom... Ah, Jesus, what the fuck am I gonna tell her? An' Cataleya's folks? They weren't too wild 'bout her goin' steady with an Anglo, can't goddamn wait to tell 'em she got press-ganged into the fuckin' furry fandom." He sighed. "Can your robotics people fix it so a... what did ya call it... a bioroid can get drunk? Because I am not dealing with that shit-show sober."
"Hey, cheer up," I replied, patting his arm. "People can surprise you. My folks sure did."
He snorted. "Yeah, but you're cute."
"And trans. In rural Iowa, twenty years ago. Mom coped, and so did my aunt and my cousins. Dad didn't, but he's a jerk anyway." I took out my cellphone. "D'you wanna try calling him?"
"Maybe later," he replied, but he did look thoughtful.
"... never gave her a name. That's a Navy tradition, and I was in the RAF. The closest she has is a callsign, and that's 'Doorknocker'."
"How come?" Mikey wondered.
"It was suggested by a fen who used to be a cop, because it's what his team used to call those great big battering rams of theirs. It came about after we raided our first Boskone outpost in a hollowed-out asteroid; I used the main gun on their primary cargo airlock and it went through both hatches and two bulkheads on the other side. Made a terrible mess and simplified our job quite a bit."
Mikey whistled appreciatively. "That's one hella big gun," he declared.
"The barrel used to be the deck gun of a British destroyer." Tom looked a bit uncomfortable. "It's not really something I brag about, though. War sounds exciting when you're fifteen, I know, but it really isn't much fun for real."
"Oh, sorry."
"It's alright. I was young once too."
I couldn't hide a smile as I handed Tom a mug of tea. "We ought to take off soon," I told him.
"Yeah, guess so. There's only one jump-seat, so you guys will have to draw lots for who sits in it."
"Frankie gets air-sick, Paul can't and Adam's too grown-up and uptight to admit he wants to," Cataleya piped up. "So that leaves me and Mikey. And I can still fit in his lap!"
"Now, Chica, what would your mom say," Frankie retorted mock-sternly.
My high-school Spanish is pretty rusty, but I got the gist of a detailed and graphic description of where Cataleya thought her mother could go and what she could do when she got there. "And quit calling me that," she added. "Only Mikey gets to call me that."
"Hah. Well, I guess your full name is to pronounce when you've got your hands on his-"
"Don't make me tell the nice Great Justice troubleshooters your biological gender, pal!"
"Alright, alright! Sheesh, that firey Latina temper's getting the better of you today."
"Asshole," Chica retorted amiably.
"On some level, it bothers me that they bicker like an old married couple while she's actually dating me," Mikey remarked, "but the rest of me doesn't care because they're just too funny to watch."
"Fuel pumps to ON."
Tom flicked the appropriate switches. "Fuel pumps to ON."
"Battery isolator switch to OFF."
Another switch. "Battery isolator switch to OFF."
I couldn't quite hide a sigh. "Airwolf theme to PLAY."
Tom raised his eyes heavenwards and tapped 'play' on the MP3 player in a dock on the console. "Airwolf theme to PLAY." It had been a small joke the first time he took the ship out on a test flight, but now the engines wouldn't start if we didn't do it every single time and the novelty had worn off long ago.
"Main engine start."
Tom flipped one final switch and then throttled up. "Main engine start. Tower, this is Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. Request clearance to take off, over."
"Good evening, Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. Be advised, we have an inbound flight on final approach, proceed to runway and hold short, over."
Tom snorted. "Tower, we don't actually need a runway, over."
"Uh... Copy that, Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. Proceed to two thousand feet and make your heading zero four zero, then contact New York Centre on frequency one-three, over."
"Understood tower, have a good evening." Tom throttled up, pressing on the rudder to turn us to the assigned heading even as we ascended, then gently pushed forward on the collective. "Our top speed," he told our observers, "is a bit over eight hundred miles an hour in atmosphere. I won't be pushing her anywhere near that hard while we're over land, of course; sonic booms tend to frighten and annoy people on the ground. Now, then... New York Centre, this is Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. We are an experimental light aircraft currently proceeding on heading zero four zero at two thousand feet, our intention is to proceed out over the sea for a high-altitude test flight. Request further instructions, over."
"Good evening, Golf Echo Lima Tango Echo. Continue on present heading and come to ten thousand feet. Is your aircraft equipped with collision warning systems, over?"
"Affirmative, we have primary air-search radar in addition to standard anti-collision transponders, over."
"Understood. Remain at ten thousand feet on your present heading until you cross the coast, then contact us for further instructions, over."
"Copy that, New York Centre. At our present airspeed you should hear from us again in a little under two hours. Over and out. Contrary to what some people would have you believe," Tom remarked, "real fen do communicate with air traffic control and otherwise play by the rules."
"It's not such a big deal way out in the Midwest or the desert," I added. "Heck, some places out there don't even have any ATC coverage. But this close to JFK it's a different story; New York City traffic doesn't get any better with altitude. Damn pretty at this time of night, though."
Mike and Cataleya looked out over the carpet of thousands of lights, and I took their awestruck silence as agreement.