PART 3: Out Foxed

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In the movies, when a character saves someone's life, they owe them. It could be a grand favor, or just a plain old blood debt. I like the sound of that last one. So, when I saved Jake Towers from being shot in the back by Cameron, the wild west security guard, I expected something. Not accolades or even applause, but at least something substantial.

What I got was a thank you, which I'm grateful for, and a promotion to dish pig. That's right, I'm no longer the janitor but the guy who does the dishes. And why, no matter how many times you do them, are there always dishes to do?

I was going to be the cook, but after food poisoning most of the crew, Towers decided I was better suited at cleaning pots and pans. I can't help but feel a little betrayed, and I use that feeling to spur me on with my abduction plans.

I just need to keep clear of Glide for a while. That sushi was nasty.

The benefit of working in the galley though is the information I've been gathering. I've learned a little about the crew without having to interact with them. I don't think any of it is relevant, but you never know. Maybe there'll be a trivia night and I can win something, like respect.

To my surprise, Nelson Wasnotch, with his raggedy appearance, is actually the son of a notable business executive. I forget the man's name. I know, I know, I should remember. He was educated alongside the upper echelon of society on Trappist E, the planet Ananke. He even learned the piano. Wasnotch on a piano, what a strange image.

Trenton grew up on a ranch somewhere on the borders of human space and he was hesitant to divulge which. I think he's embarrassed. That might have something to do with Tink's mooing noises. I must admit, it was strange watching a serial killer looking man being teased by a five-foot-tall redheaded girl. I get it though, she scares the living life out of me and that's without her zap-zap pen.

The others, Tinks included, wouldn't share anything, but it's early days yet.

I place the clean plates on the drainer and jump as the nearby intercom blasts me with noise.

"Fox, get to the cockpit," says Glide, obviously still angry at me for the sushi incident. I really don't blame him. I wouldn't have eaten it myself.

I finish what I'm doing and enter the cockpit. It's alive with sparkly lights, switches, and dials, and I suppress the urge to push something, or flick a switch or even scream the word "Buttons!" at the top of my lungs.

Instrument panels excite me, so sue me.

Glide side eyes me in the evilest way possible and I instinctively watch his hands, making sure he's not reaching for a weapon. I used to trust this guy, to a point, but trust works both ways and I haven't been the greatest symbol of that. If he knew why I was really here, he would break me in two in a heartbeat.

The avian rises slowly from his flight chair, hunches toward me, and says, "For your inspiring bravery in saving the captain, he's bestowed upon you the privilege of piloting the Unbound for a ten-minute period." He straightens and with a deadpan expression, adds, "I wish I could be as inspiring as you."

There's a moment of awkward silence before he motions me to sit.

I immediately consider the offer a trap. There is no way this crew would or should let me near any controls, ever. But I don't argue, and I sit in the chair, surrounded by buttons and panels. My grin reaches my face so hard it hurts.

This is what I've always wanted.

I could take us anywhere, anytime. Tower's words when we met reverberate through my mind, and I now understand his meaning. The Unbound means freedom, not just physically but mentally and emotionally. Why bother with the small stresses in life when you have this?

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