The conversation flows easily and quickly. After some pleasantries, I get the details about Lemming. There aren’t many. Sparrow worked with him on a few asteroid survey jobs almost three years ago. Their interactions were mostly confined to data uploads and the occasional casual conversations. Apparently, she nicknamed him Lemming because he piloted his probe into rock cleft, where it got stuck. He piloted purely following the pre-planned route. Ok, that one made me laugh.

Unfortunately, no contact with Lemming since then. Her temp augment is pretty basic, but she can link in directly to her ship. She fed me his profile from the Chimera, so at least I have that. More info to flag. I had expected some crusty old rockchaser, but she’s funny, and knows the Jovian as well as anyone I've met. I tell her a bit about Luna and its bustle, about the Core and the latest tech dropping back there. I talk a bit about my Code’s work, but she seems to have a good grasp of it already. I guess a CI learns a lot of this on the job.

Thankfully she doesn’t ask about my family, or why I transferred out here. Besides, I much prefer hearing about her. "Well, growing up out here, I tended to hop stations alot. My folks worked at the drydock at Io, but I've been all over," she says, finishing her drink and ordering a second.

"Oh? Military brat then?" Not so different from me.

She nods. "My mom, she enlisted. She was a mechanic, and was stationed at the drydock during her rotation. That's where he met my dad. He was a civilian engineer consulting with the Navy," she says, before I hold up a hand.

"Oh please, let me guess. One late night, repairing engines together, their hands touch..." I tease. It's too perfect.

She laughs at that, dimples forming. "Actually, no. Pure coincidence. She loved jazz, and he played the saxophone at the local club. She was in the audience one day and swooned for his beats, for real," she giggles.

I laugh with her; I can't help it. "Sparrow, that's a load of scrap-code if I've ever heard it."

She places a hand to her heart. "I swear, no lie. When she mustered out, they bounced around a bit, flying a converted Lunar shuttle between the Jovian stations. They took me with them, doing contract work, til they retired back to Io," she says, smiling wistfully.

That must be nice. "And close enough to visit. They still live there?" I ask casually.

Her expression darkens, and I wonder if I fucked up. "Mom does. Dad passed eight years ago. A stroke. I kinda had to leave after that," she says, shrugging. Her lips tighten. "I couldn't keep living on that station. Mom couldn't leave. Same reason; everything on that station reminded us of him," she says. Her eyes lower to the table.

My heart seems to miss a few beats. "I'm sorry. Really, I get it. I know what it's like to... need to get away from a place. From the memories there," I say softly. I mean, kinda why I'm here.

She gives me a sad smile. What's the word, melancholy? That's her expression, distilled. "Thanks, but I've come to terms with it. And now, I've got the Chimera, so home is wherever I dock. That's always a bonus,” she adds.

"Something you share with turtles and hermit crabs then," I tease back, to lighten the mood. "And what kind of work do you take?"

She rolls her eyes, but she smiles. "I've done survey runs in the past, before I had the cargo hold, but lately I've been transporting the more esoteric ores or materials that aren’t cost-effective for the larger corps. Especially some of the iridium-heavy stuff they're pulling up from Europa. Hence... I'm here," she adds.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I blink a few times at that. "Before you had a cargo hold? I'm sorry, you might have to explain that part..."

***

Ok, it's a tangled tale, but it makes sense now. From her telling, the Chimera was originally the Lioness, her parents' shuttle. For complicated reasons, after her dad died, it sounds like her mother didn't want it. Sparrow begged her not to sell it, though. Guess she arranged to buy it out herself? Or maybe her mom just gave it to her clear and free. I don't really ask any follow up questions there; family is a touchy subject.

From there, it's more straightforward. It's a career as a contract pilot and private vessel; a life of scrimping on fuel and using gravity assists, of scavenging water-ice for reaction mass and air, of saving every fraction of a credit until she had enough to purchase a commercial transport vessel, a piece at a time. Though not just ship pieces, apparently.

I can’t stop laughing at it either, as I lower my third drink. “Wait wait, let me decompile all this. You’re telling me that the Chimera essentially is an old Taiwanese station reactor wired onto a Lunar service shuttle, with a Jovian colony ship’s fabbing and electronic packages, and a salvaged storage module bolted onto it?” I put a hand over my face.

She grins and chuckles as she takes a sip of her own. A different cocktail this time, something blue called a Keter Starburst. “Oh, it’s more than that. Over the years, she’s got a little of everything added; I’ve got components from a dozen different manufacturers. I picked the name Chimera for a reason.” The tattoo has morphed into shifting interlocking hexagons, and I again work to keep my eyes from wandering.

“Should have named it Frankenstein, since it’s made of dead ships,” I tease, tasting more of the cocktail. And you know, maybe this Luna Synth isn’t that bad. “And no problems integrating all that diverse tech?”

“Frankenstein was the doctor,” she say, sticking out her tongue. It’s petulant, but somehow appropriate on her. “And I picked the components for a reason. Colony ship systems are super simple and robust, you know? Can’t run much on them, no AIs or VIs, but they’re malware-proof and idiot-proof. Can’t have the colony’s water chip failing,” she says with a wink. “And the shuttle gives enough thrust, just takes longer to accelerate.”

I lean back, whistling appreciatively. “Must take a lot of technical knowledge. Building yourself a working commercial ship from spare parts? Color me impressed.” I smile at her, and she flushes a bit pink.

“Well, my mom was an engineer, my dad was a mechanic. I picked up a lot from them, and had some connections who do the heavy work for a good price. Everyone out here in the Jovian helps each other out. We run on favors just as much as credits,” she says, shrugging as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

I wish I could relate to that. “Yeah? That sounds nice. Luna is so busy, the domes so packed these days, nobody would spare a nano for a stranger.” I finish my drink. “A bit too packed for me, when there's plenty of space out here.”

“You’re telling me. I’m used to being out in the black. Just myself, maybe one other person,” she says, hand waving back and forth.

My head picks up at that. “Oh? Are you flying duo in the Chimera?”

She shakes her head. “Not at the moment. Some jobs need another set of hands. Or sometimes, you know, you find someone you want to fly with for a while. But nobody lately,” she says with a shrug. A signal?

“I know the feeling. A partner having your six? There’s no substitute, when your back is against the bulkhead.” I push my empty glass forward and sit back, wondering if I should order a fourth drink. And wondering a few other things as well. Bad idea. A CI? Pens and company ink and all that.

***

The rest of the evening was a little more subdued. Maybe I killed the mood a little, I don't know. Sparrow promises to keep in touch if she hears anything, but the promise sounds empty. Lemming hasn’t reached out in years and isn’t likely to now. Still, it’s nice to make a contact, and maybe a friend.

I upload the data to the casefile. Well, at least I can show some progress to the Captain. Even if I can't find Lemming, I want to give a good, thorough account of my efforts. Hmm, how am I going to write this report out? Probably leave out the drinks. Eh. That's tomorrow's problem. I guess day two is a qualified success.

I peel my uniform off and stretch before I climb into the cot. It's small and not built for comfort. I can say this; basic quarters are nothing if not functional. As in, they are functional and nothing else. I turn a few times, pulling the blanket up. I wonder what Sparrow's setup is in the Chimera. It's got to be more comfortable than this. She's got style, probably has some pretty sweet digs. And that tattoo... is it... everywhere?

Aw crap. I've got it bad already, don't I?