Jenny Waterson's stomach growled, placing her previous anger at Stuart and Galen's delays on hold as her thoughts turned to food. She had eaten little for eight hours; the food on-board the space craft, while packed with nutrients, tasted like cardboard.
Not that replicated food on Earth was any better.
She arrived at one of HJA's four self-service canteens, nestled in the eastern part of the station. The long room with enough space for eight hundred seated workers was divided up into several rows of black tables and white chairs. Jenny grabbed a tray and joined the shortest queue for dozens of silver-and-black replication machines along one wall.
Her order to the machine kept growing: beans on toast, with a side order of sausage, a chicken pot pie, two black coffees and three pieces of chocolate cake. She could eat twice that amount and it wouldn't matter; the replicator food was calorie controlled. Finding a quiet spot, she dropped into a seat. Her schedule was killing her. The work she could handle, but the exhaustion? Not so much. Actigen was the go-to drug of choice for other pilots, but it made Jenny nauseous to take it.
She barely paused between bites as she wolfed down her main meals and one piece of chocolate cake. She sipped on her coffee, hoping it would give her the energy to finish her shift. One last run to Sydney, then she could sleep. At least the journey from Sydney to Brisbane and her riverfront apartment would take only forty minutes by high-speed Maglev train. She would put her eight hours off to good use.
Stuart sauntered into the canteen and she felt her previous irritation with him return, but with food in her stomach it didn't feel as venomous. The man with chestnut-brown hair, blue eyes, and a face no genetic manipulation clinic had touched, spotted her and made his way over. Jenny had no such reservations about using the Glamour package. Sometimes a girl needed a little help.
She and Stuart had worked together as controllers in the docking station at Auckland, New Zealand. After a divorce and raising her only child, Jenny had enlisted at the Air and Space Control Academy to pursue her passion for flying. At fifty-five, she began her training as a pilot, having completed just four years as a controller. Stuart remained where he was, eventually being offered the role of Operations Overseer in Auckland. He'd worked in HJA for nearly ten years now.
'I see you found me then.' She glanced up as Stuart reached the table.
'Not hard in this place,' he said, holding up both thumbs where their chips—both identity and security—were located. 'Our very own tracking devices.' He sat down opposite her. 'What happened to your hair?'
Jenny brushed her fingers across the nape of her neck. 'I fancied a change.' With back-to-back shifts, she had no time for personal grooming.
'Looks good on you.'
She held up her hand. 'Stuart, just stop with the small talk, alright? I'm still pissed off with you.'
He raised a brow. 'I can't imagine why.' Several empty dishes sat on the table in front of her, most licked clean. Stuart eyed one plate with a piece of chocolate cake on it.
'Galen almost cost me my job, you asshole! I can't afford another time infraction.'
'Jesus, Jenny. Calm down.' Stuart glanced around and whispered, 'The cameras.'
Her eyes stopped on a single roving camera hovering over a group of trainees in one corner of the room. It turned around to look in their direction.
Jenny leaned forward. 'Do you know what Calypso Couriers said to me a month ago? That my job is on the line. Apparently, Charles Deighton is looking closely at the budget and pilots of a certain age. I knew the risks when I reached Grade Four but now, it feels like I've got a target on my back. I can't take risks, Stuart. Not anymore.'
'I'm sorry, Jen, I didn't know.'
His apology soothed the rough edges of her mood.
The roving camera gave up on them and turned back to focus on the trainees again. Several shifted nervously in their seats; others tried to act brazen, as if the camera's presence wasn't an issue.
'Why couldn't you have given me Maria?'
'I did. She was supervising him. Look, if wouldn't have mattered if Galen held you up or not. Calypso are a bunch of shits and you don't need their drama. Why don't you go out on your own again? You still have that rust-bucket in storage, don't you?'
Yes, her old spacecraft. It was a long time since she'd done freelance piloting work—it was how she'd started in the industry after getting her pilot's licence. But giving up a steady monthly wage didn't appeal to her, not at her age.
'I don't know, Stuart. Seems like a lot of hassle.'
He grabbed her hands. 'If they're causing you such grief, then quit before they try to fire you. You deserve better.' He let go.
Jenny stabbed a piece of chocolate cake with her fork and put it in her mouth. It had the texture of sponge but tasted like dirt sprinkled with cocoa powder. She had the privilege of tasting real chocolate cake once, in Cantaloupe restaurant. But now, as she forced herself to swallow this replicated mess, she wished she hadn't. Places like Cantaloupe weren't for people like her surviving on a pilot's income. Replicated food had become a painful reminder of what real food tasted like.
'I'm sorry, Jenny, but I have an obligation to let my trainees loose. Galen still needs to learn.'
'You're taking unnecessary risks, Stuart. You know that.'
'It wouldn't be the first time.'
She looked up. 'What do you mean?'
'Nothing.'
'Shit, what have you done?'
'Nothing!' He pushed the plate closer to her. 'Eat your food.'
She shoved another lump of cake into her mouth. She needed the calories. 'Promise me you won't use him on my schedule again, now that I'm high risk.'
'I wouldn't have allowed anything to happen, you know that.'
She did.
'Take a few days off. Get some rest. I mean more than the eight-hour layovers they give you. Things might look brighter.'
Jenny eyed him.
'I'm just saying. Calypso Couriers and the World Government don't give a shit about you. You need to think about your health.'
'And if I take time off now, I might as well hand in my resignation. Not an option, I'm afraid.' The camera turned around again, seeking them out.
Stuart glanced at it and changed the subject. 'How's your daughter?'
'Eleanor's doing well.' Jenny put down her fork and pushed her plate away. She couldn't eat another bite. 'She's thinking of starting another course in college, decided to change career paths from law to politics. She can't sit still for five minutes, that one. So like her father. How about you? Any decent women made an honest man of you yet?'
'Never going to happen. I've had my fill of wives, ex-wives, the lot. I'm planning on living out the rest of my life as a single bachelor.' Stuart remained stubbornly single after his last wife had almost bankrupted him. He'd been married three times before that and was still paying for his mistakes. At least he had no kids.
'So what's going on with you? You seem on edge. Are you okay?' Jenny pushed all the plates to one side and propped her elbows on the table.
'Yeah fine, why?'
'You look tired, that's all. Maybe you're the one who should be taking a break.'
'Name one person who gets decent sleep on this hellhole,' he said.
Jenny tapped her finger to her lips, then smiled. 'Calypso Couriers.'
'I'll toast to them burning in hell.' They both raised an imaginary glass.
She grinned at the light-hearted play between them, but couldn't shake the feeling that Stuart was hiding something. 'I'm serious. Is everything all right with you?'
'Yeah, why?'
'I don't know. You've been on edge for a few months now. I thought it was this place, but... I don't know.'
'You're just looking for things that aren't there.' Stuart smiled and grabbed her hands, a little too tight. 'I'm fine. When's your last shift?'
'One last run to Sydney and a layover for eight hours. I've had no time off for two full weeks now.' She yawned.
'Wow, they really know how to look after their old age employees.'
'Hey! Less of the old. Seventy-five is the new forty in this genetic age of ours.'
Stuart pulled the plate with cake towards him. 'Bastards. They don't give a shit about talent and experience.'
Jenny agreed but she couldn't see that changing soon. If she kept her nose clean, she reckoned she could work for another twenty years. The alternative to work was living off World Government replicator rations and living in some communal property.
Stuart fidgeted as he polished off her dessert. She studied her friend who was acting strange today.
Stuart McWilliams was hiding something. She wanted to know what.