Conics Unfortunately: 31

Somewhere during the ship chases and stakeouts and long months spent in black, sparkling space, I turned fifteen. Fifteen was important because Andra debuted at sixteen, and that left me only a year to make some kind of mark on the universe, to maybe be as cool as Andra.

Without the constant news of Independent Titan attacking earth system targets, I lost interest in the rebels could spare more time and brainpower on science. Crane and Shell agreed to dish out money for the newest translated specifus physics textbooks, and though I never wanted to be a universal pop star, I did know there were other ways to match Andra’s fame. I intended to create a stir, preferably before turning sixteen, by creating a small fold generator and bringing the internet back to space.

But the next Titan attack put all of that on hold. When the story broke, I was swaddled in blankets, sitting on the floor of the Ink and watching a parody of an Andra song with the lyrics reworked to explain relativity. The headline popped up in a corner of my tablet screen, and when I spared a glance for the words, I jerked so hard that I got tangled in the blankets and had to take a few minutes to free myself.

I had been twelve the last time Independent Titan had made any kind of action, and the last leak about their plans had been released six months later and never came to fruition. Like every other person in the universe, I had been too swept up in Andra-Media’s rocket launch of a rise to power to remember that the war between the US and Titan was still ongoing. And then, just like everyone in the earthling system, I was drawn back to the conflict.

Once I disentangled myself from the blankets, I hunched back over the tablet and searched up information on the attack. The Huygens Times (owned by Andra-Media) article came up first, and I tapped the link, wary. I at least understood the basics of media bias at that point, unlike during the slew of earlier attacks.

According to Huygens, Independent Titan forces had finally taken out the hated colonial citizen registries—both the one orbiting Saturn and the one orbiting Earth. Fox announced that the Titan terrorists had returned and were endangering all of Earth by destroying a comprehensive terrorism suspect database. The BBC and Dainik Jagran were relieved that the US’s most extensive current human rights violation had been removed, but declared the violence unacceptable.

When I finished reading articles and watching clips, I flopped on my back, onto my pile of blankets, and stared glassy-eyed at the ceiling, trying to sort through everything. I knew the colonial registry existed, though I had no idea it went against international law, and I supposed that if the government saw a need to keep extra tabs on me I would be upset too.

I whacked my stubs against the ground a few times, just to get the brain cells moving quicker, and then pulled myself back up to a sitting position. If the database collected information on colonial citizen movement, then its destruction, however much of a good thing, would create an opening for people to create fake papers or escape undocumented from any place they might be trapped. And all of that would make a larger market for bounty hunters, who could track people without direct help from a database.

The war and the law didn’t matter as much as helping Crane and Shell, and so I skipped over thinking about bombings and morality, picked up the tablet in one hand, and scooted towards the cockpit.

There, in the too-cramped, too-bright room, Crane and Shell hunched over the ship’s dashboard, watching a simulation of a flight through the Un system. Their twin tails twisted together, as always, and they crouched so close together that, were they earthlings, Shell probably would have rested his head against Crane’s shoulder.

I knocked on the door frame, and like they had been expecting me, they turned in sync and paused their simulation.

“Yes, Tejal?” purred Shell.

I held up the tablet. “I think the earthling system is about to see an influx in bounty requests,” I told them.

“That’s a big word,” Crane said. “Influx.” He may have said something else; I mostly remember him picking on a word I used.

Shell shushed him with a playful growl. “Why do you think that?”

“Some record of Titan citizens was bombed. It’ll be easier for the shadier Titan natives to move around now.”

Crane swished his tail hard. “Or for innocent debtors to escape their creditors. I’m never taking a job in that line again.”

I must have quirked my eyebrow or frowned, because Shell picked up on my confusion and elaborated.

“Titan hasn’t had real laws or law enforcement for a few years now. We try not to take jobs there anymore, because you never know what sorts of unjust activities you might dip your paws into.” Shell swiveled his ears back—not all the way, but enough to show regret. “After a job that involved arresting an entire family for being unable to repay a debt, we became a bit choosier about work.”

I pinched my mouth shut, wondering if the news had been useless then.

“But I’m sure there will be some new high-paying jobs from governments or corporations,” Crane mused. Without looking, he shut off the simulation screen and nudged Shell to stand up with him. “We will stay here until the fold opens to the Earthling system again and new notices are transmitted.”

Letting out a purr of a chuckle, Shell leapt over Crane and joined me in the doorway. “Well, if we’re staying a while longer, why don’t we go eat something special?”

I think we ate a kind of spiced, cobalt blue cake, which Crane and Shell told me reminded them of their dating days. At the time, I liked it, but I tried it again while I was dating my would-be wife and decided it was a little odd, and not nearly as satisfying as fresh brownies or cheesecake.

When the fold opened to the Earthling system hours later, the three of us were lounging in our dock. Crane and Shell had tangled up in each other, and I sat on the floor in front of them, drumming my fingers on the metal floor and constantly tapping the refresh button on the bounty listing address. Outside, beyond the thick glass windows that cut through one wall, ships zoomed through the fold and disappeared past the rim of the earthling monitor.

The bounties piled in as the ship traffic slowed, and when at last I could hit the refresh button and without new jobs popping up on the list, I spun the tablet around and slid it to Crane and Shell.

They glanced at it and scrolled once or twice, tails waving in short, lazy strokes, and then looked back at me, eyes still with disinterest. Because he was on top of their tangle, Shell shrugged.

“Nothing of interest, I think. We will look again when we finish the job in Tubai.”

-A Life Unfolded: the Story of Tejal Sethi