I understand you own the ship, the Human will say in a moment, in its ponderous way, when it has managed to tear its eyes away from what Sandy has hanging on her wall.
I do, Sandy will reply. What will go unsaid, and yet will be understandable to even a two, is that this makes the Human a guest. It has no more right to its cabin than it does to the food bars it’s been metabolizing or the oxygen it’s been consuming. This is Sandy’s ship, and those are gifts. The Human, and the other two, are no more than passengers.
I have a proposal, the Human will say next. It will attempt to hide its anger, but Sandy already knows that it is sullen and irate. It is a Human with Widow memories and more than a touch of Widow nature. Sandy’s research has shown her that this could be a potent combination. Take a Human’s inflated sense of self, its lack of respect for boundaries and order. Combine that with a Widow’s hunter focus, weaponized rage, and love of violence. Blend well, and you get this thing standing in Sandy’s doorway. This Human has its own goals, and it wants to make its own decisions to get there. It wants control of its own destiny. However, it has yet to learn one very important lesson. In this galaxy, no one has control of their own destiny. Go ahead, Human. Ask that thing on the wall you’re so fascinated with: did he have control of his own destiny?
No, would say Hood’s spare faceplate, fastened to Sandy’s wall through two of its four eyeholes. I did not.
The bounty hunter had not realized that he was subject to the whims of higher minds, and he was easily a full tenth of a tier above this Human. His death on Watertower became inevitable over a Standard year ago, before he ever met Sandy. It was decided at the academy, the night Sandy’s chief rival visited her dorm to gloat.
[Hello, Sandonivas], said her rival, crouched in her doorway. [I assume you’ve seen the scores?] Her rival was a mere two-nine. That meant her statements were simpler than Sandy’s, but still must be sifted for meaning. What this particular sentence meant was: There is now documentation of what both of us already knew: I’m better than you.
[I haven’t had time], said Sandy in return. What she meant was: I don’t care about the scores any more than I care about you.
[I am First Student], said her rival, smugly. What she meant was: Of course you care. You care that it will be me going to the exhibitions and not you. I—and not you—will represent the shining pinnacle of what the academy—and our species!—can accomplish. I will be honored, I will be feasted, I will be allowed free travel anywhere in the Network. A hundred years from now, when our class has matured, I will be given a mate and you will not. That is because you, Sandonivas, are in second place. I am First Student, and you are not.
[I wish you luck], said Sandy. What she meant was exactly what she said.
A year later, to the day, Sandy was awakened from her mandated afternoon nap by an urgent message. The academy’s prized First Student had experienced a bit of bad fortune: she had been injured by an overzealous sanitation station, of all things. As Second Student, it was Sandy’s duty to travel to the exhibition in her place. But as Sandy found when she arrived at the dock, her rival was not the only one experiencing some bad luck.
[How could this happen?] demanded her handler of the dock intelligence. It was generally agreed that Sandy had the worst handler in the academy: petty, low-tier (two-point-three), and always shouting. Xe was shouting now, jabbing a bony limb once for every word. [We had this ship reserved fifty days ago! We launch in two hours or you will be collecting scrap for the rest of your existence.]
[You reserved a ship], returned the dock intelligence (a one-nine) coldly. [You did not reserve a pilot intelligence. The only one available today is cleared for that ship.] It highlighted the ship in question, a small four-passenger at the edge of the dock. [If you still wish to launch today, you may. I have one window remaining, in twenty-four minutes.]
[Oh yes, we’ll go in that thing], said her handler. Xe stamped a bony foot. [Are you an idiot? What will the other academies think?]
[Hopefully not what I’m thinking right now], replied the dock intelligence. [Take a window in twenty-four minutes, or in four days.]
Her handler wasted two of those minutes screaming further, but the dock intelligence was implacable. Xe dragged Sandy to the ship in question and spent two more minutes whittling the First Student escort from twenty down to three—including xerself. Sandy watched innocently as the irate messages went out. But when the launch window arrived, the other two did not show.
[An elevator malfunction?] shrieked her handler with less than a minute to go. And then, as the launch warning began flashing: [I will not miss this exhibition. We shall go alone, the two of us.]
The handler did not ask Sandy her opinion. No one ever did.
But the run of luck that began with her rival’s injury did not cease. The second day of the voyage, her handler was scandalized to learn that the ship, the one the academy had seen fit to give xer, had missed its last maintenance entirely. Due to several uncaught issues, said the pilot intelligence, the ship required emergency service.
[How could this happen?] demanded her handler again.
[Things happen], said the pilot intelligence. [But we can still make it to the exhibition. The next waystation is tiny, but the caretaker says he can fit us in.]
[Oh, how fortunate], snapped her handler. [See if he can get us another pilot intelligence as well.]
The approach was uneventful—if you don’t count the ceaseless pacing and muttering of her handler. Sandy stayed out of the way, making herself as small as she could. As the ship came to rest in the cramped hangar, she opened a food bar as quietly as possible.
But it was not quiet enough for her handler. [Must you eat so loudly?] xe demanded as xe paced.
[I’m sorry], Sandy said, chewing so gently that she was making almost no progress on the bar.
[Of course you’re sorry!] cried the handler, ripping the bar from her paws and hurling it to the floor. [You are sorry, my associates are sorry, every intelligence I’ve had to deal with in the past two days is sorry. Your whole goddamn stinking species is sorry. How does sorry help me?]
[Hey, here comes the station keeper], said the pilot intelligence, clearly trying to defuse the situation. [What are the odds he’d be the same species as the little one?]
[Oh, is he?] said Sandy’s handler, whirling away. [Then I have something to say to him as well.]
It was at this exact moment that Sandy began to choke. She pointed, with every paw, to the lump of food bar lodged in her throat. Her many eyes opened and closed in desperation as she thrashed off her seat and onto the floor.
[Oh, no, you don’t, you little furball!] cried her handler, forgetting the keeper and turning back to her with sudden ferocity. Xe lifted her bodily and turned her upside down, as if xe would shake the obstruction from her windpipe. [You will die when I say so—and not a moment sooner!]