Young Writers Society

A/N: Skylar and her father are almost finished repairing a spaceship, and Skylar's father has just asked Skylar to record the expenses of this repair in one of their accounting books. 

"Stats?" Skylar asked as she half-skipped out of the workroom.

"This was a 2-hour repair, and we had to spend 3 silvers on supplies."

Skylar was already halfway out of the room. “Got it!"

Skylar jumped over the piles of spare parts and old accounting books that showed the records of all their expenses, their profit, and the price they charged. Her father liked to keep things orderly, and he was meticulous when it came to official records. While most of the time the records were kept purely for organizational reasons, there had been a time or two that Skylar could recall when outraged customers returned to their shop and demanded proof that the transaction had happened. Occasionally those people had legitimately forgotten, but most of the time they were attempting to prey on the poor accounting habits of most shops and score a refund. Skylar’s father had taken considerable steps to make sure that never happened to them. She was certain that her father had kept a record of every transaction from the past 20 years, when he took over the business from his father.

Skylar found the notebook they were currently using—marked “Repairs from 3/20/3182-___”. She flipped to a blank page and wrote the date in the top right hand corner, exactly like every other page in the notebook. She made a table to show their expenses, with two columns and four rows. She titled the left column ‘Expenses’ and the right column ‘Reason For Expenses’.

With the table completed, Skylar closed the book and made her way back to their workroom to make sure her father approved the records.

She dodged the piles of books and old equipment and almost collided with her father, who had finished his repairs and was now stepping into the main part of the shop. “Our costs amount to 21 silvers. If we charge 35 silvers, we'll make a total profit of about 14 silvers. Does that sound fair?" she asked.

“That’s about standard pricing for a repair job like this,” her father agreed. “All we have to do is take a rag to it to polish it up a little. This was just a standard fix-up. Ships need ‘em every once in a while."

“This one didn't have anything wrong with it, though. How come they brought it in? They coulda waited a few months, at least."

“Could be lots of reasons. Maybe it’s about to go on a voyage. Maybe it needs to pass an inspection. Maybe the owners are preparing to sell it. Maybe they want to make sure it's in top shape. I don’t really know, and it's not our job to know why, Skylar. We're mechanics, not detectives."

Skylar nodded, some color rushing to her cheeks. “Okay. Are all my stats accurate?”

Skylar’s father offered her a slight smile. “Yes, that’ll be good. Go ahead and write it in the books. We’re meeting with the owners later today. Maybe I’ll let you handle some of the negotiations.”

“Oh, would you, Father? That would be such an honor!” Skylar bounced on the tip of her toes. “It would be such an amazing experience," she gushed.

"Don't get too excited,” Skylar’s father cautioned. "I said maybe, not definitely. I would still have to be present for the negotiations, of course, and if I interrupt you for any reason or have to take over, then I expect you to obey without objection, understood?”

“Of course, Father." Skylar’s excitement was slightly dampened, but not even this imposition could completely spoil her good mood.

“Now go home and help your mother,” Skylar’s father ordered.

“Yes, Father.” Skylar’s hopes of staying late with her father plummeted. She was hopeless at cooking, and she hated it with a burning passion. Nothing she did ever seemed to be good enough for her mother, and yet her mother wouldn't accept that Skylar was never going to be good at cooking.

"Father, couldn't I stay for a few minutes longer? I'll help you polish up the ship and prepare for the negotiations tomorrow," she pleaded. Anything to get out of dinner prep.

"I'll take care of it. Go help your mother." it was clear from her father's voice that this was not up for negotiation, but Skylar wasn't ready to give up.

"But father—"

"Go help your mother, Skylar." Mr. Rennedon's voice was firm, and Skylar accepted her fate with a drawn-out, resigned sigh to make it clear how much she disliked this.

She pulled her hand-me-down coat off the hook and shrugged it onto her shoulders, securing the few buttons that remained from the coat’s better days. As she opened the door and slipped outside, she almost collided three men wearing the official uniforms of the NUS Militia.

“Can I help you, officers?” she asked, her voice shaky. The presence of even one soldier was never a good sign, and three meant certain bad news.

“Are you the owner of Rennedon Repairs?” The soldier on the far left asked, sneering a little as he said it. Skylar immediately disliked his bitter sarcasm.

“No.” Skylar was not about to volunteer information to these soldiers.

“Is the owner here?” The same soldier asked.

“Yes.”

“Would you take us to him, please?” The frustration was obvious in his voice.

“Yes. Follow me.” Skylar felt a hint of satisfaction at upsetting the soldier, but it was short-lived as she considered what this visit might mean for their business. She led the soldiers inside to the workroom door and opened it, poking her head into the room. Her father had started the long and tedious process of polishing every inch of the ship until it practically sparkled. “Father? These men have some questions for you.”

“I’ll be there in a second, Skylar.” Her father was so immersed in his work he didn’t even turn around.

“Father, they need you now.” Skylar prayed that her father would sense enough urgency in her voice to at least turn around.

Her father sighed and glanced over his shoulder. The second he spotted the soldiers, he dropped the rag and jogged across the room. “Can I help you, officers?”

“Are you the owner of Rennedon Repairs?” The same soldier who had interrogated Skylar started to question her father.

“I am.” Skylar’s father straightened proudly. “This business has been owned by my family since the late 2900s, and—”

“I don’t care.” The soldier’s tone was shockingly cold, even for a member of the Militia. “I’m here on a random inspection. We’ll need to ask you a few questions, see all of your permits, and tour your facilities. Make this easy for us, and we’ll make it easy for you. Am I understood?”

“Yes, officer. Do whatever you need.” Mr. Rennedon swallowed, and Skylar could see that he was just as nervous as she was, if not more. He had good reason to be fearful. These inspections, despite what the officers said, were rarely random. It meant that he was suspected by the government, and that meant that he was under an unnofficial investigation.

“Excellent. Let’s get started.” The officer clapped his hands together and grinned with the same malice he had shown Skylar, and Skylar’s nerves skyrocketed.