The sunlight boiling in through all the viewports on the bridge dazzled her, so Kitty barked an order at the ship to polarize the glass as she rose the last few steps. She sighed in relief as the glass darkened itself and Deacon shifted around in the captain’s chair.

  “Welcome back,” he said, turning back around to face the front.

  She flopped into the seat beside him, looking out the windows to see unending water stretching out before her to the horizon in every direction. The sea was calm, and they were moving south-south west according to the compass.

  “Where we goin?” Kitty asked, frowning. “Best I can tell, Hong Kong is the other way.”

  “Repairs, I’m sorry to report. I wasn’t able to cut that last countermeasure entirely before Harbor Police activated it.” Deacon reached down by his side and lifted a small plastic bag, shaking it to her. The bag held salted dried corn, an unreasonably popular snack food in certain circles.

  “No thank you entirely. What are these countermeasures, exactly?” Kitty cracked a window for some fresh air, sticking her face right up to it and breathing deep. It felt good to be back in the real world.

  “Malicious AI. It’s actually impressive Senator Graham was able to afford something like those. Once harbor police activated them, the AI’s core programming was to stop the boat by any means. I had cut most of its access by then, so it used the only system left available to it and blocked the cooling system for the engine.” He crunched a nugget of dried corn, the sharp crack causing Kitty to wince.

  “So our hydrogen powered engines were allowed to critically overheat. Sounds like we should be ash.” She closed her eyes and leaned into the fresh air, reveling in the cool sea spray.

  “I cut the countermeasure free in time, quite literally speaking, by the way. Had to use a plasma torch. Once it was off, the emergency systems cut in and cooled down the engines. It wasn’t actually all that close, but the cooling system is damaged, and the computer safeties won’t let us travel at any kind of speed until it's fixed.” Deacon glanced at her. “You ok?”

  “Yeah, I’m good, that game is just intense,” Kitty answered. She blinked hard a couple of times, bringing herself back to the present. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Well, we’re racing the clock. A hurricane is forming off the southern coast of Florida and the nearest unaffiliated repair station that has what we need is an old repurposed oil rig off the coast of South Carolina. They assured me they can get us patched up with plenty of time to outrun the storm, and we’re most of the way there already. Shouldn’t be more than a few hours.” He said.

  “Good work. Wake me when we’re there.” With that, Kitty left him to the bridge, heading back below decks. After a quick search of the kitchen, she realized they had no food. Well, almost no food. The emergency ration printer was fully charged and stocked with slurry.

  “Oh goody,” Kitty grumped while taking a bite of her ration. It was just a block of dense bread-like material, with a crossed scoring pattern that allowed her to break off a quarter of it at a time. She looked it up on her phone as she meandered back to the master bedroom, chunk of ‘bread’ in hand.

  The advertising for the product touted statements she would have normally discounted as nonsense, like “one small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man.” But when she read the informational packets, that was all true. The tiny corner of bread-like substance was loaded with vital nutrients and proteins, and would expand significantly once eaten, providing a full, satisfied feeling for hours. Everything she needed to exist, except a decent flavor. Damned stuff tasted the way a brewery smelled.

  With her ration eaten, and a bottle of water fresh from the desalinator guzzled, Kitty flopped into the bed and passed out. She dreamed of rushing water, surrounding her at a distance on all sides. As she looked, the walls of water moved, closing in on her slowly but surely. Within moments the water had her pinched into a tiny space, moving closer and closer, the currents splitting just before her face.

  She awoke with a gasp, Deacon’s voice over the onboard com cutting through her nightmares. “Heads up, we dock in five.”

  “Exquisite news, thank you.” Kitty glanced at her wrist. She’d gotten three and a half hours of sleep. With an appreciative nod, Kitty shrugged and rolled out of bed. “Wow I have to pee.” She visited the restroom and cleaned up a bit, anticipating being around other humans soon. Once her teeth were brushed and she had ensured she didn’t smell bad, Kitty covered her tangled hair with a wool knit beanie she found in a drawer and headed up on deck to watch their approach.

  The oil rig was a repurposed relic of the past, the giant orange amalgamation of spindly limbs and boxy structures rising from the ocean and the web of its own floating root system. Several connecting gangways spiderwebbed out from the central construct, forming small workplaces and areas to dock.

  Most of the docking areas were covered with huge puffy white inflatable tents, and a series of smaller tents punctuated the gangways at varying intervals, presumably living spaces for workers or customers. The oil platform itself seemed mostly used as anchor points for ionic thrusters. Four oversized connected thrusters hovered over the top of the rig itself, pushing off against the helipad on top. They were attached by a thin length of extreme tensile wire. Kitty wondered briefly what they were useful for.

  The answer presented itself when they docked. As she watched, Deacon piloted the Ural’s Sum into the largest docking tent. The yacht’s sleek nose slid through hanging strips of plastic intended to keep out the wind and Kitty was amused to see another vessel floating in mid-air, its hull clearing the water entirely. All of the repair and work areas in the tent were about six feet above them, with gangways and catwalks crisscrossing the building far higher. A thin metal structure could be seen lacing through the tent material from inside, giving it strength, acting as a movement counter for the swell of the sea, and allowing for a crane to operate across the ceiling. Kitty took it all in appreciatively, the mixture of high technology and industrious jury rigging quite to her liking.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Really need to figure out how they make the boats fly . . .” Kitty smiled widely, looking all around the repair dock. A man in a dinghy caught her attention as the yacht came to a stop. He had emerged from underneath the main platform against the back wall and was guiding the small craft directly up to their ship. The man held up a rounded device, moving it across the hull until a small light shined from it. He would then leave it in position on the ship and move on, producing another from a large black duffle bag on the seat behind him. She peered down at him as he approached.

  “Hey!” She waved to get his attention, leaning over the rail as he looked up. “Hi, yeah me. I’m just really curious about this whole setup. What are you doing?”

  After the look of abject confusion on the younger man’s face went away, he smiled up at her. “I’m attaching the mag anchors. That’s how we dry dock.” He waved a hand in the direction of the rig’s silhouette though the tent behind her. “These synch with the thrusters up above and let us lift the ships.” With that, he went back to work, ignoring her again.

  “Innovative!” Kitty beamed. This was her kind of place. Deacon appeared from the doorway behind her as a gangplank extended down from the side of the tent and lightly attached itself to their vessel. A middle aged woman wearing grimy coveralls and a set of welding goggles on her forehead approached them, her wrist up in front of her face. Her sandy hair was up in a messy bun, and Kitty was amused at the way it wobbled as she walked.

  “Deacon and the celebrity herself. Welcome aboard.” She stopped in front of them as they disembarked and nodded. “You don’t look like much, no offence.”

  Kitty raised an eyebrow, frowned, and gave her the most sarcastic curtsy she could muster. The other woman snorted in approval.

  “All we need is a fresh supply of coolant, and some repairs to the heat sinks.” Deacon spoke up.

  “Yes. I know. Your message was quite clear, and we have all the parts here and ready to go.” There she paused for a moment. “Assuming you have payment.” She scratched at her scalp under the bun on top of her head.

  “Half up front, half upon completion?” Deacon was swiping at his wrist.

  “Goodness he’s sharp. Seems like you did your reading alright.” Making fun of Deacon endeared this woman to Kitty a small amount, but her bored expression seemed a bit fake. The woman tapped wrists with Deacon and nodded to confirm the payment was good.

  “Yes, he’s a wonderful asset to anyone on the move. For an ape, anyway. How long will these repairs take?” Kitty delivered it in a flat tone, arms crossed.

  “Ten hours, no sweat. Unless we find something else broken. But I’ve seen these malicious AIs before. They can only damage the system they’re physically attached to, and the standard coolant system attack is to dump the coolant and overload the syncs. Sounds textbook, we’ve done this repair a dozen times maybe.” She was back to her wrist, not bothering to look at who she was speaking to.

  “Didn’t realize piracy was still a boom trade. I shoulda gone with my childhood instincts after all.” Kitty sighed in whimsy.

  That got her attention. “Ohh no you’re a special case, doctor. This operation turns out hundreds of repairs a year, and piracy is quite rare indeed. I’ll admit, we did get the occasional stolen craft, but we operate outside of all jurisdictions aside from Blacklight’s. As a neutral third party, they don’t require reports of criminal activity. That said, you’re the first pirate I’ve had come through here in over a decade. Congratulations, you’re the last of your kind.” The woman was staring at Kitty hard, obvious distaste in her eyes.

  “Figures. Oh well, guess that makes me pirate queen by default. I’ll take it.” Kitty smiled at the woman.

  She looked confused for a moment, before a big smile broke out on her face. “I think I might like you after all. You’re an asshole, but you know what they say about glass houses. The balls it must have taken to call that senator a coward on live broadcast.” She shook her head slowly.

  “Yep, my testicles are the stuff of myth and legend alright. This is a hell of an operation you have going. I love the rigging. You’ve got a stabilized ion thruster-cluster giving you dry dock through magnetic matching? How many ships can that support?” Kitty nonchalantly gestured around.

  “A dozen at a time. Runs the power a bit short, and the rig is always needing reinforcement after a good run that size, but it works.” She stopped, fondly glancing back at the oil rig silhouette at her back. “Came up with it myself.”

  “Well, I’m calling it genius. Kinda wish I could steal it, actually . . . this place is great.” Kitty said, half serious.

  “Let’s get you to a lounge. Shipboard power has to be cut to get the work done, but we’ve got plug in couches all over the rig. I’m Amilia, by the way, just ask for me on your phone if you need anything.” She cast back over her shoulder, snapping her fingers for an aid. A young man nearby trotted over.

  Deacon backed up a step. “I’m staying with the ship and supervising repairs. That was part of the message I sent earlier.”

  “Yes yes, that’s fine. Paranoid, but fine.” Amilia waved at her crew as they began hauling parts over to the yacht. The young man who had been placing the magnetic anchor nubs to the ship climbed up a ladder behind them and waved an arm at Amilia. “Oh good, all set. Hey, Dr. Hardage. Wanna do the honors?” She held out a small black control box with a series of dials and buttons all over its face.

  “Mmm?” Kitty accepted the box but raised an eyebrow questioningly at Amilia.

  “Just push the big green button, it’s all set up,” Amelia said. She turned her back on them then, going through the parts being brought over and talking to her repair crew.

  Kitty flipped a small plastic box over the button and pressed it. Without a sound, the Ural’s Sum lifted out of the water. One moment it was rocking comfortably in the water, the next it was floating in mid-air directly in front of them. “Okay, that is impressive. How the hell do you manage to get a good enough hold with the magnetic anchors for that much weight?”

  “They attach molecularly. Once powered up, they extend microscopic tendrils into the structure of the ship, reaching in between its molecules. That’s why we have to attach them to the hull at frame points, so the tendrils reach into the bones of the ship. Those magnetic anchors are officially part of the ship while powered, they may as well be grafted onto the damn thing’s structure.” Amilia turned back as she spoke, hands on her hips and a prideful smile on her face.

  “This place is great. Thanks for the crash course in mechanical jury rigging.” Kitty flashed a grin at her, and Amilia snorted a laugh.

  Then she was walking through the various gangways and catwalks to the rig itself, looking up at the towering structure. The rush of air from the ion thrusters above them became louder as they climbed, until her guide led her to a room directly below them. He had to yell to be heard above the vaguely thunderous sound. “Sorry for the noise! This room is great for plugging in, but not much else! Water over there!” He pointed at a mini-fridge in the corner of the otherwise barren room. “Food is extra, sorry!”

  She shook her head and yelled back. “What?”

  The young man’s face twisted in frustration and he took a breath to start again. Kitty held her palm up to stop him and let her amusement show. He scrunched up his face but smiled as he was leaving. She took in her surroundings, meager as they were. The room appeared to have been some kind of office before being repurposed. It was now mostly empty, a row of five plug in couches against the back wall, and a mini fridge with bottled water. Kitty shrugged. It would do.

  She sat back down and plugged in, drawing the plug from its cleansing gel and shoving it home in the side of her skull. The world went black and silent again as she went to load into Deadeye.