“Where’s the pilothouse, Wolf?”
“Where Sky Pilot live,” says Wolf.
“Seriously I just want to know how to get there..”
“Come. You never see?” Wolf leads off. We work our way up the ship’s ladder to see Sky.
“Yo, Sky, nice pilothouse,” I say as I hand him his sandwich and a beer.
“Thanks. I am hungry. Cockpit is the term we use,” says Sky.
“Not pilothouse or bridge? Actually, I do like cockpit myself,” I say. “But what if a gal is flyin’?”
Sky and Wolf chuckle as they review words for the female equivalent of cockpit in their heads.
“Yeah, cockpit is nice, bridge sounds bigger, maybe for a ship with a flight crew of a dozen specialists. Cockpit is right for this size sucker, not so big it needs a committee to run it.” says Sky agreeably. “Hell, we’re in space. I am the Captain. Anyone want to get hitched?”
Wolf raises his eyebrows at me and winks. I ignore the savage.
“And when I fly?” I ask. “Still a cockpit?”
“You know how to fly?” asks Sky, changing the subject.
“Hell yeah, long’s there’s no planets or nothin’ nearby. Ain’t learned steerin’ so much yet, just a beginner,” I say. “Hey, lunch is ready fer everyone else too, Sky. You got a way to call ‘em all, announce it?”
Sky picks up a headset and says into the mike. “Food’s on in the galley.”
“Thanks, Captain,” I say.
“Ah. Captain Pilot. I like it,” I say as Wolf and I trot down the ship’s ladder toward the galley.
As we walk into the dining area, we see that there are newcomers at the table. One is a very posh, bedazzled lady. Wolf goes over and gives her a big hug. Then they turn to me.
Sir Jacob says, “This, my dear Annie, is my revered mother, Lady Beverly Bridbury. Mama, this is Annie Talks To Horses, our new compadre.”
“Oh, I say, I have heard mention of you. Yes, a great pleasure, Annie,” says Lady Beverly. “Jacob, er, his Lordship, has spoken very well of you.”
“No need for formalities, Mama, until we arrive on Pi,. We shall start the deception then.”
Deception? The plot thickens.
“Ah, yes, very good,” says Lady Beverly. “You have already met my young friend?”
Kiwaku looks up shyly and smiles.
Wolf looks at her sternly and asks, “Little sister, why was Painter not with you and the sheep?”
“He went to see his girl in town. The dogs and I can watch the sheep alone. He hardly saw her all summer. His loins were aching, brother.”
“He is but a child,” says Lady Beverly.
“Injin early starter, Lady Beverly. Wolf start early. Painter, thirteen? Um, how old?” asks Wolf. He looks quizzically at his sister.
“Fifteen, elder brother. I am thirteen. Painter is fully grown,” says Kiwaku seriously, rolling her eyes.
“Pfft,” says Wolf.
“Yeah, fifteen is no adult,” I say.
“Neither is twenty-one,” says Sir Jacob pointedly.
I roll my eyes, a lot like Kiwaku just did.
“Oh my, so young,” says Lady Beverly, fanning herself with a beautifully painted paper fan.
“Shit, Painter go town, which day?” asks Wolf.
“It must have been the day they set up the roadblock outside of MadDog or early the next, because the roadblock crew and Soames left with Spud that morning,” says Sir Jacob.
“Yes,” says Kiwaku. “Before Spud left, Painter went into town to see her.”
“And the day before we brought the winter camp in, Painter was with us,” I add. “So, ya reckon the roadblock crew stopped him, arrested him? Then took him on Spud’s ship? Must of been, wasn’t it the last ship to leave the planet? But what fer? He has papers, right?”
“No papers. Shit, they need scapegoat,” says Wolf.
“Sure, Wolf makes sense. They need someone to blame fer killin’ Jones. That will take the heat off of themselves, the real killers. But a kid? That’s low,” says Michael.
“Well, only a kid in his brother’s eyes. True, he is skinny still and looks young, but he has his height. So he don’t look too young fer the part,” I say. “Also, I heard Soames braggin’ about killin’ Jones. He wanted Jones job. Jonny sure ain’t a one to turn hisself in.”
“Yore right. They arrest people of any age for crimes,” says Michael. “Just don’t seem right.”
“Damn. Little brother,” says Wolf, looking upset.
“Not to worry, we will go out and reconnoiter. We shall investigate the circumstances and formulate a plan to get our boy back,” says Sir Jacob. “Positive thinking, planning, execution. Oh, sorry, not execution. Good lord.” He buries his face in his hands.
These folks really are a family.
8 Outpost
Cowgirl Thrillers Page 59