Duck tape and Thrust

  "97," Andie said, excitement still rising in her voice as her red eyes stayed transfixed on the numbers on the screen, still climbing but slowing down considerably. Tyler had a feeling that they were actually going to make it this time.

  She was hovering over him, leaning against the back of his chair in a way that you could practically feel her tail thrashing. “98,” she said, waiting in anticipation before she could say the next number. “99.” Each new number came out at a higher octave. When it reached 100, she didn’t say the number so much as squeal with an excited girly giggle.

  Tyler leaned back in his chair while Andie bounced around, screaming excited expletives at the sky. He wasn’t overwhelmed by the thrill of excitement so much as satisfaction. After a couple of years of work, they had finally hit the Kármán line.

  The rocket, made of literal junk, made it to 101.48 kilometers before it ran out of fuel. Fifteen seconds later, it detonated, hopefully turning the large chunk of metal into smaller chunks of metal that would cause little to no damage when they rained back to the planet. They were halfway through pouring shots of whiskey when they heard the sirens.

  ***

  Roughly four hours later, a middle-aged human male in a dapper three-piece business suit walked into the slightly too-warm interrogation room. The slightly pleased smirk on his face faded when his eyes landed on Tyler and Andie. They had to have made quite the sight. Tyler was an average-sized human of lighter skin tone, with average brown hair and brown eyes, and a scruffy beard that really needed to be shaved. He was dressed down in just his work boots, a dirty pair of blue jeans, and a sweat-stained, faded green tee.

  Andie was doing slightly worse in her form of dress. Pink flip-flops and ridiculously short cut-off jeans, along with an equally sweat-stained tank top that at one point had been white. Perfectly fine attire for the middle of a junkyard with the only person around being Tyler; not reasonable attire for the public, where nearly every one of her white tattoos and stainless steel piercings were revealed like stars and constellations across her deep purple, almost midnight-colored skin. She’d been very upset that she had not been allowed to change before they took her in, and had very loudly voiced her displeasure to the two law enforcement officers over the entire trip to the precinct.

  A redneck human male and a trailer trash Tel’ani female, handcuffed to steel chairs and guarded by two brown-uniformed law enforcement officers, perfectly fit the interrogation room scene. The only odd ones out were the dude in the business suit and the woman following closely behind him. Literally everyone in the room, except the man who was presumably her boss, leaned to one side or the other to get a better look. In a region where nearly one-third of the population was Tel’ani, Horns and tails weren’t that notable. Demonkin, however, were rather rare, and while this one wasn’t particularly exotic-looking, the combination of a Tel’ani shape with burnished bronze skin and polished copper eyes certainly made her the most interesting person Tyler had ever seen in real life.

  “Why are they handcuffed?” the businessman asked as he settled himself into the interrogator’s chair.

  “Because they’ve been detained,” responded one of the officers.

  “Well, uncuff them and get them something to drink.”

  There was a momentary exchange of looks between the businessman and the officers. “We’re already breaking protocol by keeping them together.”

  “Right, right,” said the businessman, waving a hand as though dismissing the objection. “We’ll be paying for any fines and whatnot anyway, so just uncuff them and get them some drinks.”

  The two officers looked at each other, exchanging an almost comical game of charades between them, a mixture of expressions and gestures, until one sighed and started uncuffing Tyler while the other made his way toward the door.

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  When the cuffs were off, Andie rubbed her wrist and leaned in close to Tyler. “She’s kinda hot.” Andie whispered, shooting a look at the demonkin girl.

  Tyler furrowed his brow. “Not really into the corporate look,” he mumbled back.

  The law enforcement officer took up position near the door, presumably to watch the two criminals, though he was busy glaring holes into the back of the businessman’s head. If they had allowed Andie to get a change of clothes, Tyler might have felt some sympathy for the man—but they hadn’t, so fuck him.

  The demonkin girl, on the other hand, was glaring disapprovingly at both him and Andie, clearly understanding that they had been talking about her.

  “My apologies for the harsh treatment. My name is Mike Roland. I’m a representative of the Corbin Electronics Company. We’re looking to expand our business to areas more…” He paused and looked up at the dull gray ceiling. “Out there, I suppose. And we’ve been searching for individuals with the talent to help us out with that. We’ve been watching your progress for at least six months now.”

  “You’ve been watching us?” Andie asked, as though she had just found out she had a stalker.

  “Yes—and congratulations on hitting the Kármán line.”

  Tyler and Andie looked at each other with the same “what the fuck is going on?” expression. The businessman continued, “We have a large number of contracts already lined up—various city-state projects, company research and development contracts, and a large number of university test cases. The issue we’re having is that we’re running on a shoestring budget, and we lack experts in the field.”

  The businessman stopped talking for half a moment and blinked. “Actually, could you answer me a single question before I continue?”

  “Sure,” Tyler responded.

  “What exactly is your relationship with each other?”

  Tyler and Andie looked at each other and then responded in unison.

  “We’re partners/friends.”

  There was a heartbeat’s pause before they each corrected the other.

  “Close friends/Business partners.”

  “So you are a package deal?” Mike asked.

  “I don’t even know what the fuck we’re talking about.”

  Tyler pointed at Andie. "Yeah, what she said.”

  The demonkin girl standing slightly behind and to the left of the businessman stifled a chuckle as the other police officer re-entered the interrogation room and unceremoniously dumped two bottles of water on the table before joining his partner.

  “Sorry,” said Mike. “I kind of thought the context was obvious. We want you to run a space program for us.”

  “Uh, what?” said Andie and Tyler in unison.

  “We’d like you to run a space program,” he repeated.

  “Don’t you think that should be done by, you know, experts?” Andie asked.

  Mike leaned in, placing his elbows on the table and folding his hands together. “You see, there’s the problem. Most experts are essentially grown internally by their respective companies. There are all kinds of non-disclosure agreements and non-compete clauses. Experts that work for non-company entities tend to fall into government, and that’s where you get into state secrets and such. So, as far as hireable experts go, you’re kind of it.”

  Tyler and Andie shared a look before she spoke. “Can we refuse?”

  Mike nodded. “Oh, sure. We can’t force you to work for us. However, that does mean that we’re handing you back over to these fine young gentlemen, whose bosses aren’t particularly happy with you launching what essentially amounts to a ballistic missile over their heads,” the businessman said, motioning toward the two law enforcement officers guarding the door.

  “Well, that seems like a threat,” Tyler mumbled.

  Andie pointed a finger at the older man and came back with a gotcha. “Isn’t there a treaty that says you can’t do this?”

  Mike smiled. “Well, I’m glad you asked that.”

  “Oh shit,” Andie said, slumping in her chair, knowing full well that any canned answer already pre?figured out meant bad news.

  “Any company attempting to do anything more than launch low Earth orbit satellites would indeed be in violation of the treaty between the Anorian Empire and the Northern Confederation of City-States. Unless…” Mike held up a single finger and gave a dramatic pause. “Unless we were to invite the Anorian Empire to work with us.”

  Tyler cocked an eyebrow. “You mean like a spy?”

  Mike shrugged. “Think of them more like a competent co-worker—paid and judged competent by somebody else. We’re not expecting to launch any top-secret military satellites with orbital weaponry, and due to political issues, we’re going to have to keep most of this stuff in the public anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

  “Okay, so we don’t really have a choice, but you’re gonna pay us to launch rockets, so that’s pretty cool. And we’re gonna have an annoying spy working with us, so that’s interesting. What now?” Tyler asked.

  Mike grinned. “Well, we sign some paperwork and you get to know your new company liaison.”

  “And who’s that gonna be?” Andie asked.

  “Why, Wren here,” Mike said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

  The woman behind him looked surprised. “Wait, me?”