We made it off the glacier with barely any drama making it to a settlement that went by the weird and rather appropriate name of Chillybones after a couple of days of flying. The place was constructed in a series of lava tubes created by a long-extinct volcano and was home to around eighty people. They gave us an overwhelmingly enthusiastic welcome, having not had any other visitors for several months.

  Here we exchanged a few of our spare batteries for scrap metal, some leftover paint and as much hydroponically grown fruit and veg as we could carry. We borrowed some tools to make some minor repairs and adjustments and disposed of all traces of the noisome container toilet by the simple process of chopping out the bottom of the container and welding in new material. Then I had the bright idea of extending this new material under the module. The whole settlement came together to help us paint the whole lot in diagonal grey, green and white stripes, camouflaging the shape of the module nicely.

  We spent longer enjoying the settlement’s hospitality than we should have, and when we left the citizens pointed us in the direction of their nearest southern neighbours. We headed there, laden with good wishes and mail. We were welcomed at the next settlement with almost as much enthusiasm, and, after a bit of trading, we were pointed in the direction of the next friendly southerly settlement.

  We zig-zagged southwards from friendly settlement to friendly settlement, carrying mail, helping to fix stuff and trading odds and ends. We met other airships, all independent traders, some in family groups. Some recognised the airship as having belonged to someone else but accepted our story that we had purchased the airship from the former owners in Crystal Springs, the only other city on the planet and the place where Zia had been stationed. I got the impression their previous crew hadn’t been much liked and had been rumoured to be in the pay of one or possibly several of the Corporations which out here was the ultimate sin.

  The landscape we travelled through was jaw-droppingly stunning, if a little monochromatic. We flew through valleys tens of kilometres deep and hundreds of kilometres long. The settlements touched the landscape lightly, most of them carved out of ice or built into rock overhangs. Usually, there was only space to shelter two or three airships and the populations ranged from twenty to a couple of hundred souls.

  The settlements themselves were decorated with an eclectic mixture of weird, eccentric, beautiful, and sometimes disturbing art. Zia spent a lot of time and effort decorating the module with a tasteful collection of locally made throws, cushions and art. There were ‘other’ settlements that weren’t so friendly to outsiders. Places we were warned not to visit, and I had to do some fast talking a couple of times when the weather turned unexpectedly and we had to find shelter.

  I taught Zia how to fly the airship, or at least, how to fly it in a straight line. This gave me time to work on the FYT suit as we travelled between settlements. Not only did I manage to get the flight controls working properly, but I also managed to kill the annoying AI that stopped me from using the suit anywhere interesting.

  When we ran out of cargo to trade, I realised a lifetime of keeping barely functional spaceships running translated well to repairing the varied, often bodged, or even homemade machines and systems that every settlement relied on to survive and my talents kept us fed. Zia had studied medicine and she helped out where she could.

  People just assumed we were a couple. To tell you the truth, we had a lot of fun playing up to the ‘middle-aged townie having a midlife crisis with a young, naive woman’ stereotype. Quite a few people called us a cute couple which amused Zia far more than it should have. Others advised me it would all end in tears when Zia found an attractive younger model with a flashier airship or their own hydroponics farm.

  In every settlement Zia was taken aside by one or more of the older women and, according to Zia, asked if she was with me of her own free will, and she only had to hint that she wanted out of the relationship and they would ‘sort things’ for her. These women, Zia said, were the Priestesses of the theocracy, state religion controlling the government of Jeckon.

  Our relationship in private was more professional. We were both keen to get to Kacke. Zia had family and friends there that she missed. I was extremely curious about meeting with the Great Know-all who seemed to be some sort of High Priest/President/Monarch. I guessed they were likely enhanced with extremely illegal cybernetic AI implants given that they never appeared in public.

  I stopped complaining about Zia’s over-familiar attitude and lack of decorum, even when she wandered around the module in just a vest top and knickers. She persuaded me to ditch my suit and wear something a bit less formal, although, to her chagrin, she couldn’t find anyone to sell us a shipsuit. It was an easy, stress-free life. If there hadn’t been the possibility of someone recognising what the module actually was, our relationship may eventually have ceased being an act and we would have been absorbed into the diaspora as just another wandering airship trader. It would have been a nice retirement.

  We headed southward until the only thing between us and Kacke was the thousand kilometres of Ice Plains. There were no settlements on the Ice Plains, no airship travelled across them lightly, the weather being far too unpredictable. The safest way of crossing the plains was to wait for a big storm to blow itself out, grit your teeth and get across as fast as your engines would carry you, hoping the next weather front didn’t hit until you were safely across. The obvious solution of using a sub-orbital shuttle service to cross this frequently lethal natural barrier didn’t appear to have occurred to anyone.

  And so, at the end of the season that Jeckonians called summer, or what any other habitable planet would call a horrific natural catastrophe, we approached Inkloo, the only settlement of any size between Kacke and Crystal Springs. We only just made it too, blowing in on the front edge of the first big winter storm, entering the settlement’s hanger with our engines labouring and rigging screaming.

  The huge shutters slammed shut behind us with an air of finality and I cut the overheating engines with a sigh of relief.

  “You cut that pretty damn fine,” the settlement’s designated Air Traffic Controller said over the radio as he waved us into a mooring. I held off replying as I concentrated on piloting the airship without any power. We drifted forward into the mooring until and the nose of the envelope hit the middle of the docks coupler perfectly earning a ‘sweet’ from the ATC.

  “We came from Ivy, up North this morning and hit headwinds that just wouldn’t quit,” I said.

  “That’s a long old trek for one day, risky when a storm this big is brewing. Your rig must be more capable than it looks,”

  “Nah, it’s a piece of shit, I’m just the best fucking pilot on the planet,” I replied. The ATC gave a bark of laughter.

  “There’s a few guys here who would call that fighting talk,”

  “Yeah, well, they didn’t ride the storm in,” I pointed out.

  “Whatever dude. You’re the last one in. As we’re full you’re gonna be the first one out, so if you decide that it’s still a little too blowy when everyone else is ready to leave you’re gonna have the whole hanger after your blood.”

  “Noted. How long do you expect the storm to last?”

  “We reckon at least a couple of days so you’ve got plenty of time to do minor repairs, get drunk, and get over your hangover. Oh, and just so you know, we’re trying to keep the Corp’s Airship crew and everyone else separated. Please don’t be the one to cause trouble.” I changed the screen view from the tight view of the mooring to a view of the whole hangar and almost fell off my chair. Zia gasped.

  People had mentioned that Inkloo’s hangar was impressive. Hangars carved out of the ice sheet normally were, but this was on a whole other level. It must have been a kilometre across, a couple long and almost a kilometre high to the top of its vaulted ceiling.

  Its architects hadn’t just come in here with a heat source, carved out a hole and forgot to stop either, they had carved decorations into the walls, they had carved pillars and impossible-looking bridges spanned the space making the whole place look like some blue and white fairyland. It was a wonder of the Galaxy that barely anyone knew about it.

  Currently, it was rammed full of airships, ranging from tiny single-person craft right up to the five hundred metre long brown and cream behemoth with the name Free Enterprise painted across its nose that was the Corporate contribution to lighter-than-air craft.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Now that’s what I call a Corporate sponsored penis extension,” I said, provoking a giggle from Zia.

  “That’s the sort of comment that makes us keep you lot and the Corp’s crew separate. And don’t tell me you wouldn’t sell your soul to fly that beast.”

  “Knowing the Corps, my soul is probably what it would cost,” I said bitterly. The airship’s owner Sahara Galactic wasn’t the worst of the Corps by any means, but they were still a Galactic Player, or they had been back in my day. We paid the docking fee and then spent the next couple of hours making the usual minor repairs and checks. We weren’t the only ones. The whole hangar was full of people working on their airships to the roar of jetpacks, the whine of power tools and the echoey murmur of conversation occasionally enlivened by someone having a good swear.

  When our chores were done, I decided to have a wander. Zia declined to join me, wanting some time to herself but promised to meet me in the local Flyer’s Club later. I spent a pleasant few hours exploring the walkways and bridges of the settlement greeting acquaintances that I’d met on our journey south, helping out with some heaving lifting on an engine rebuild on one airship, fixing a niggling electrical fault on another, all the while exchanging gossip and banter with the community I’d unexpectedly found myself a part of. Our late arrival had been noted and I repeated my claim of being the best pilot on the planet to much hilarity.

  The main subject of gossip was about the settlement’s unwelcome Corporate guests. The locals weren’t happy that the bridges over the Free Enterprise had not only been closed but were being guarded by a tense mixture of local militia and Corporate security. The Free Enterprise had only crossed the Ice Plains once before and that had been several years ago. It had left as soon as there was a break in the weather, its holds still full to the brim with unsold, overpriced tat.

  This time, however, they had stuff people here actually wanted to buy, at prices they could afford. They also were asking questions, lots of questions. I decided to wander over, pick up a bargain and see what sort of questions they were asking.

  The Corp had set up shop in their cargo hold, accessed via a lower-level, blue-painted metal bridge. Up close the Free Enterprise was not quite so impressive. Water and rust streaks marred its huge envelope and the gondola, built into the envelope, was badly in need of a coat of paint.

  Inside, the hold was brightly lit, but the light strips were mismatched and the floor was scarred and dirty. It was, however, stacked to the ceiling with new-looking products. I noticed several brand-new airship engines still wrapped in their protective coverings, giant rolls of cable and shelves full of practical-looking clothes. There were racks of tools and crates of every imaginable electronic product that could possibly be of use to people who lived in the outback. All of it was reasonably priced. Or so I’d been told. I couldn’t remember when I’d last actually purchased something from a Corporation.

  I wasn’t the only one looking for a bargain. An entire family were trying on shoes, chaperoned by a bored-looking cadet, a couple of serious-looking airship owners were deep in discussion with a lieutenant by the engines and, as I mentally reviewed our finances, I was approached by an overly made-up salesperson whose smile was as fake as the designer labels on the clothes. She smelt nice though.

  I led her on a merry dance through the hold as she probed me with questions and I answered with our well-rehearsed cover story. I admitted I had come from Crystal Springs, where I’d been working as a maintenance contractor for the Jeckon government until my contract had run out, whereupon I’d blown my life savings on the airship and eloped with Zia. We were on our way to Kacke to see her family, and no, I wasn’t looking forward to that meeting.

  In return, I learnt they were searching for a VIP who’d ejected from their spaceship, somewhere up North. An unrejuvenated old man, probably in possession of an unusual spacesuit and suffering from serious health problems. I hadn’t heard of anyone like that on my travels, had I? There was quite a large reward for information that led to his rescue, or the recovery of his body.

  I regretted I hadn’t heard any rumours of any lost old man, but I’d buy that tool kit if she threw in the socket set, those unisex, one-size-fits-all colour-changing ship suits, the cleaner that claimed it would get any stain off anything, even blood, and that hot drinks maker. To my surprise, she agreed if I bought a pallet lifter, which she’d do half price for me.

  I paid for it on Zia’s account as that was the one we used for expenses, and lugged the stuff back to the airship. Zia wasn’t on board so I left the stuff in one of the containers, just in case any of it was bugged.

  You never knew with Corporations. Sometimes they were so incompetent that a passing stranger could, just for example, wander aboard one of their fast courier vessels, steal it using codes that should have been discontinued decades ago, and then pose as a Courier for nearly a year before they even noticed someone was reading all their mail. Other times you only had to detonate one tiny little, small-yield nuclear device on an almost completely evacuated space station and you couldn’t stick your nose into Corporate space for years without an entire fleet turning up.

  I changed into my formal suit and went looking for Zia to give her the good news I’d spent almost all her money. I found the Flyer’s Club without any trouble and was directed to the Owner’s Lounge, the main hall having been colonised by the crew of the Free Enterprise with a burly bouncer and what looked like a genuine battle droid enforcing the cultural division between the two rooms.

  I saw Zia immediately. She was the only person in the room wearing a dress. One she’d bought on our journey south, a slinky green number decorated with grinning skulls. Her hair was no longer the giant puffball of red hair but had been cut down to manageable levels, straightened, and plaited, something I’m sure she must have had done professionally. She sat at an out-of-the-way booth, her back to the wall, talking with a tall, thin, pale-skinned man with cropped blonde hair. His clothes were the genuine versions of the fake designer stuff they were selling on the Free Enterprise and to my eyes he couldn’t have been more of a Corporate Special Agent if he’d tried.

  Zia saw me and waved me over with a look of relief on her face, I sat down next to her, and she embraced me and kissed me, not something she’d done before in our charade. Special Agent or not, I guessed the guy was being an arsehole.

  “I like your hair,” I said.

  “Good. you won’t mind that it cost a fortune then,” she said, fluttering huge fake eyelashes at me.

  “Worth every penny,” I replied.

  “Did you have a nice walkabout,” she asked, pushing a large mug of something that steamed in my direction. I took a sip. It was some sort of mulled wine.

  “Oh, yes, I spent the rest of our our money with his lot,” I said, deigning to notice the man.

  “His lot?” Zia asked, playing stupid as she put her hand on mine as a warning. She’d had her nails done too, and they matched her dress.

  “You are part of the crew of the Free Enterprise, aren't you? I asked the man who winced theatrically.

  “I would rather not be lumped in with ‘that lot’, as you put it, but, yes, I did come here on board the Free Enterprise.” he nodded in a half bow towards me and held out his hand, “Well spotted. Vilden Smath of Sahara Galactic at your service.”

  “Del Bird, at yours. But not literally, you understand.” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Likewise, we are just being polite, heaven forbid we actually do something to help each other out,” the agent said dryly.

  “Vilden here was very interested in our journey south,” Zia said, glaring at the agent.

  “No doubt. They are looking for a little old man who crash-landed somewhere between here and Crystal Springs. He’s not hidden under the table is he? There’s a huge reward if we find him,” I asked Zia.

  “He’s obviously not under your dress,” Vilden interrupted. Zia poked him with a skull-emblazoned finger. I wondered if one of her new nails had been adapted to inject poison.

  “No, he’s fucking not. Are you actually familiar with the landscape between here and Crystal Springs Mr Smath?” Zia asked the Agent.

  “I have done very little over the last few days but study the satellite images. I take it you didn’t come across any trace of our man. Or anything unusual. Or anything really?” The hint of desperation in the Agent’s voice sounded real.

  “I don’t think you will. What your precious satellite images don’t show is that the landscape is mostly vertical,” she told him.

  “Well there goes my hopes of being back in Kacke before Winter,” the agent said, then turned to me, for a second I thought the gig was up as he leant in close. “You know, after this mission, I believe we will be looking for a new airship crew. From what I’ve heard, you have skills we could use. You’re no mean pilot and you’re friendly with the natives. When you get to Kacke, get in touch with Sahara Galactic’s embassy,” he said in a low voice.

  “Is there a job for me too?” Zia asked, glaring at me.

  “I’m sure we can find a job for a pretty thing like you too,” he leered and wandered off to speak to the men propping up the bar. Zia shuddered.

  “Ugh. What a creep. Let’s go back to the Airship. I need a shower.”

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