Hello, Space Friends: 1
Cold Open
By A. D. Won

“I’m sorry, player. We’re not taking on new passengers,” the starship Emphasis said.
For Dirac’s interface, it presented itself in the form of an italic lowercase i spinning in one of the dock’s grimy kiosk screens. The ship’s real body blimped a few meters off the ground, with a dock ramp rising to meet a cavity in its hull. Autonomous carts wheeled in new supplies and, to Dirac’s annoyance, obvious passengers.
“My dear ship,” Dirac yelled as politely as a yell could be. Planetside docks always drew a huge chirping crowd on a ship day. “Am I mistaken in thinking you just took on a passenger now? The tentacled fellow over there.”
“Who?”
“The planty-looking guy over there.” Dirac gestured a cursor to a green fronded alien carting into the cargo cavity. “He looks all planty.”
“That is a plant,” the ship sighed bodily. “Her name is Cheryl. And she’s not a passenger, she is crew.”
“Sorry, Cheryl!” Dirac withdrew the cursor from the unamused fern. “So, Emmy, may I call you Emmy? No? Emphasis. Emphasis, it sounds like you are taking crew then! That’s very good news. My skipsuit and I can be very — ”
“Player! Player…” Emphasis tried to query Dirac’s ID implant, but found it much slower than expected. The only reason Emphasis knew Dirac was a player was because of the occupational icon floating over her head.
“Ah, ship, my implant is rather out-dated and slow. My names are Dirac. Dirac Dirac, same first and last. Professional player, free agent. Highest Elo rating on five habs, grandmaster level at seven games, master level at —
“Player Dirac.”
“That’s me.”
“Player Dirac, I’m sure you do very well for yourself, but we have no need for a player on our crew, let alone one who hasn’t been signed to an agency yet.”
“Have you had a player serve on your crew before?”
“No, but ships talk to each other, you know. We’re aware of how players operate. The last thing I need is another variable near my luminal organs.”
Gross. Dirac didn’t have a good history with capital-S ships. They had all sorts of reminders that they weren’t nice sterile boats but living organisms with a monopoly on fast space travel. But, given the circumstances, Dirac had to pinch her nose and make do.
“That’s very good news, because I shouldn’t have need to go near your organs at all. All I would need is a tethered tug to your next hab. My skipsuit and I ride along your wake, pay full fare, but barely connect with your support system.”
“You want to surf with a baby ship in trans-luminal space? A moment ago you wanted to crew up. Now you want to expose an infant to such hazards?”
“I’m not an infant,” Dirac’s jacket meekly countered.
“Yes you are,” Emphasis chided.
“No I’m not.”
“It’s okay, Apple.” Dirac petted her sleeve.
“I don’t know why the Participation bonded this ship to you —
“It’s a long story.” Dirac and Apple said at the same time.
“But that you would propose a trans-luminal tug with a baby ship is not endearing you to me. Now, please stand back. My attentions must be focused on the pre-flight operations and checks.”
“She has money!” Apple blurted out. Apple dropping all pretense, which was a shame. Dirac loved a nice pretense, then Apple went and dropped it like an ice cream scoop.
The crowd around her paused a moment before returning to their bustle. Dirac knew her hand had been played for her, and much too soon.
“Having money doesn’t seem like a problem, Player Dirac.”
“I have too much money.”
“Oh dear. That really is a sorrow. My sympathies are boundless, but it would seem a pair of behemechs would like to relieve you of this burden.”
“Sorry?”
“Turn around.”
Two gray humps heaved up from the crowd. They muscled their way directly toward Dirac. Dirac turned back to the kiosk screen with renewed urgency.
“Emphasis, listen. I have too much of the wrong people’s money. I need to get off this rock, with Apple, and yours is the only itinerary going far away from Participation space. If you care so much about Apple, I can assure you those behemechs will be much more hazardous to her health than a quick jaunt to the next hab.”
Emphasis was silent. The i rotated along its vertical axis on the kiosk screen. The behemechs’ trunks would reach her in 45 seconds. (The remainder of their very large, potentially violent bulk in 60 seconds.)
“I have some conditions, Player Dirac.”
“Yes, anything!” Dirac tried to hide the urgency in her voice, but Apple could easily feel her raised adrenaline.
“As you noted, my itinerary is away from the core. I am on a religious pilgrimage, so you may not find well-paying opponents on the fringe habs. You will have to be useful as crew in other ways.”
15 seconds.
“With every neuron, now please let me sign your user license agreement.”
“Very well. Please read this.”
5 seconds.
Dirac let the agreement blur past her until she reached a checkbox, indicating her agreement to Emphasis’ terms.
Her overhead icon updated to indicate her new status as ship crew.
“Dirac!” A rumbled voice came up behind Dirac. She took a breath to get her game face on, then spun on one heel to face her new opponents. They were a bonded pair, left and right.
“Howdy!”
“You owe Kursk.” Left said.
“Do I? As I recall, I won that pot fair and square.”
“The pot is the problem.” Left again. It must have the vocal cortex between the two of them. “Dirac supposed to feed Kursk’s pot. Dirac supposed to lose. Kursk say, ‘get money from Dirac.” So, here is Dirac.”
“Look, I know that was the plan, but he knew the risks. The odds weren’t in his favor in that last hand. There was no sense in both of us losing all those coins.”
Left looked up at Dirac’s icon. Right laughed, at least Dirac thought so. A deep, guttural shake from trunk to tail. Then both of them turned to melt back into the crowd.
“Wait. Where are you going? Not even a shakedown?”
“Nothing to shake. Dirac doesn’t have money. Money belongs to ship. Kursk said nothing about ship’s money.”
“Emphasis, what did I just sign?”
*
“What did you sign, mom?” Dirac asked, twenty years ago in a subterranean compartment of Old New Old New York, Queens.
“It’s for your own good, corazon. There’s nothing for you here. Girl smart as you deserves better. The Participation is taking refugees on special visas and you qualify.”
“You can’t even speak Participation! How do you know what you signed me up for?”
“Aya! They have translators, you know.”
“And what does ‘qualified,’ even mean? What did they ask you? Why didn’t they ask me?”
“Mira, they will soon, you just qualified for an interview. You’re not even gone yet, so save that mad for when you got something to be mad about. When they take you off this rock, you can be mad at me then.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just afraid. What are the ships like? Did you talk to one?”
“They sent an agent to my work because of your leaderboard. Listen, just be yourself. Your record speaks for itself. Just don’t go putting on airs. The ships can read your mind, eat your guts, and they hate liars.”
“Mom. They do not.” Dirac couldn’t stifle her laugh.
*
Ah. Emphasis said to herself.
