“I have questions about what we’re looking at,” I said. “You can’t count those as questions against the tour.” I made sure to phrase everything as a statement, just in case.

  “That wasn’t our deal,” Keep countered.

  “We can’t make an informed purchase if we can’t ask questions,” Matt agreed, also as a statement.

  Keep hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Fair enough. So long as the questions are specific to something on the tour I won’t count them against you.”

  “So magnanimous of you.”

  “You have no idea,” Keep shot back.

  “What is that?” I asked, pointing at the central console.

  “That is the PCS. Primary Control System. The brain. All of the ship’s systems flow through that box, which monitors their status, adjusts power requirements, and handles hundreds of other tasks completely transparently.”

  “Is it artificial intelligence?” Matt asked.

  “Something like that,” Keep replied. “It’s not that important. You won’t need to touch it. Shall we go to the next deck?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  We took the elevator to the next deck down. I moved to block the doors before they opened, turning to face Keep and locking eyes with him.

  “Why me?” I asked for the third time. “That’s the question for this space. That’s the one I want answered. Why did you pick me?”

  Keep’s mouth spread into a wide grin, though he didn’t let his lips part to show any teeth. “Why you?” He lifted the pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, sliding one out and sticking it in the corner of his mouth. “Why you?”

  “I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t smoke,” I said.

  “What’s it matter to you, kid?” he asked, dropping the pack back into his pocket but not immediately lighting up. “You’re already dying, right?”

  “Matt isn’t,” I pointed out. “And besides, it bothers my eyes. The customer is always right, you know.”

  “Not always. By the way, you just answered your own question.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it back into his pocket. “Okay, let’s take a look at what’s behind door number one, and then I’ll spill some beans.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Is that what I think it is?” I asked, bending over to look through the small window to the interior of a thick metal cylinder that rested in the center of Deck Six. It wasn’t the only thing on the deck, just the most interesting. Additional machinery filled the open floor plan, wires running from the PCS on Deck Seven into the various pieces of equipment, the function of which I couldn’t begin to identify.

  The largest of the structures rested on either side of the elevator, a pair of thick columns wrapped by wires, pipes, and tubes. Square boxes affixed on their outer sides each sported a chunky cathode display that jutted out and downward, showing numeric soup on a green monochrome screen.

  Additional screens circled the center cylinder, offering more information about the state of things to anyone who actually knew how to read it. Mechanical keyboards rested on small ledges beneath the screens, allowing interaction with the system.

  “What do you think this cylinder is?” Keep asked.

  I moved aside to let Matt take a look. The window in it was only a few inches square, making for challenging viewing.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I would say it’s the sun,” Matt said. “Only miniaturized.”

  “Then it’s almost what you think it is,” Keep said. “It’s called the Star of Caprum.”

  “That’s—”

  “Impossible, right? You really need to stop saying that.” He smiled. “Not Earth’s sun, of course. That would be impossible. But it is a star in a box, a lead box that protects the crew from radiation.”

  “So this is the ship’s power source, and those…” I turned and pointed at the two columns on either side of the elevator. “…are the main engines. I take it the other machines are related to...life support?”

  “Bingo!” Keep snapped. “You nailed it. Badabing badaboom. Deck Six is home to what I call the essentials. Critical systems. Power, life support, gravity. You name it. Like I said, it’s all self-regulating. You’ll never need to touch it, or even understand how any of it works.”

  “So would it be fair to call Decks Seven and Six the brains of the starship?” I asked.

  “More than fair,” he answered.

  Matt straightened up and turned to face Keep. I could see by his face he was becoming more intrigued by the ship. “You promised us answers.”

  “I did,” Keep agreed. “Though to be honest with you, I’d much rather give them when we get to Deck Three. Maybe you have a different question?”

  “No,” I replied forcefully. “No more games. No more stall tactics. Why me?”

  “Okay, kid,” Keep said. “I’m going to put it to you straight. I’ve been trying to sell this ship since before you were born. Do you want to guess how many potential buyers I’ve had?”

  “Zero?”

  “Bingo! Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. No one. Do you know why?”

  “Because everything about this screams scam?” Matt said.

  “Enough commentary from the nosebleeds. It’s because, as much as I’d like to get this ship off my hands, I can’t just sell it to anyone. I’m looking for the right kind of buyer. An individual like yourself, with high upside potential and not much to lose on a risky play. But that isn’t good enough. I need someone who understands loyalty and sacrifice, plus isn’t a total schlub behind the controls of a starship.”

  I flinched at his last sentence. “You watched us play Star Squadron.”

  “If we were on Deck Three, I could show you the recording for proof,” Keep confirmed. “I didn’t actually observe your game from the beginning, but I did tune in once the criteria started the alarm bells ringing. You’re the kind of buyer I’ve spent a long time waiting for. There was just one problem.”

  “I’m broke.”

  “Bingo! It’s one of the most common reasons why prospective clients fall through. For what it is, the merchandise is extremely reasonably priced. But I do have certain expenses that need to be covered.”

  “Like parking?” Matt asked.

  “For one. But there’s more to it than that.”

  “Because nobody sells a starship just to sell a starship,” I said.

  “Not true. Lots of starships are bought and sold every day. Just not to someone from Earth.”

  “And you need someone from Earth because…” I trailed off, proud of myself for making sure to use statements instead of questions.

  “That’s a long story.”

  “We’re listening.”

  “No. You need to see the rest of the ship first. I answered your question. Why you? Because you fit all of the criteria I’ve had in place since I smuggled the ship in. Except for one.” He jabbed a finger at Sherlock. “He has the missing piece.”

  “You mean the money,” Matt said.

  “Exactamundo.”

  “Star Squadron is a pretty new game. You couldn’t have been watching the players for long.”

  “No. But starship simulation games are hardly new. I’ve been tracking gameplay since Wing Commander.”

  “What?” I said in disbelief. “No way.”

  “Yes way. The trouble back then was finding confluence with all of the other traits. That got easier with online multiplayer, and I started getting closer to the perfect candidate. But of course funding is always an issue. So was the high upside potential but not much to lose. Most people at that stage of their lives have already burned all of their upside. But not you, Ben.”

  “I don’t know what kind of upside you mean.”

  “Just so you know, I see how you’re framing questions as statements so they won’t count against you. No more backstory until we move on.”

  I smiled sheepishly, glancing at Matt. His excitement over seeing the first two decks of the ship had faded somewhat with Keep’s response to my question. His role in this as purely the coin purse had obviously left him feeling uneasy. Maybe that shouldn’t have bothered me, but he had pushed me forward when I balked at using his newfound cash as collateral. He couldn’t just reverse course so quickly.

  “Lead the way,” I said.

  We returned to the elevator. I noticed Keep hit the button for Deck Four rather than Five.

  “You skipped one,” I said. “You told us you were working top-down.”

  “Deck Five is storage,” he answered. “Spare parts, tools, mops and cleaning agents, that sort of thing. Kind of boring, really.”

  “Or there’s something on Deck Five you don’t want us to see,” Matt said. “After you made a point to tell us we’d see everything eventually anyway.”

  “Not so, Sherlock. As a professional salesman, it’s become obvious to me that I need to punch up the wow factor if I’m going to land this deal. Looking at scrap metal and paint isn’t going to get me there.”

  “Now I know you’re lying. Nothing inside or outside this ship was recently painted.”

  Keep sighed and reached for the elevator controls. “Fine. If you really want to stop on Five…”

  “Wait,” I said. “If we’re skipping around now, I want to go to Deck Three. I want to see the footage of the Star Squadron match.”

  Keep’s eyes lit up. “Badabing badaboom! I think that’s an excellent idea.” He tapped the Deck Four button a second time to cancel it before the doors opened and he selected Deck Three.

  “Ben,” Matt said, trying to warn me not to skip Five.

  “We’ll circle back to it,” I said. “We won’t make a decision until we’ve seen everything.”

  He nodded reluctantly, still willing to humor me at least. I was sure he could tell my interest in the ship continued to advance while his receded.

  Was he overly cautious, or was I too impulsive? Keep was right. I don’t have much to lose. But Matt did, and I had to take that into account.

  When all was said and done, would we both be happy with the results?

  Chapter Nineteen

  I knew something was off as soon as the elevator doors parted. The first two decks were well-defined if messy, and had easily fit into my mental construct of the available space in the robotic head’s interior. Deck Three, on the other hand, was in obvious defiance of that construct. The corridor that stretched out from the elevator was easily two times longer than the space that should have been available. It stretched nearly forty feet until it reached the lower of the two transparencies I had identified from outside the ship.

  “Bigger on the inside,” Matt said, glancing at me. “Like Doctor Who.”

  “Doctor who?” Keep asked, looking back and forth between Matt and me.

  “Yes, Doctor Who,” I replied. “He’s a character in a British television show. He has a starship, the Tardis. It looks like a phone booth on the outside, but the inside is full-size. I’m surprised you aren’t familiar with it.”

  “Oh. Doctor Who,” Keep said, as if he’d known who the character was all along. “Of course. I’ve seen that one. Funny, I never made the connection. Anyway, this isn’t like that. The inside of the ship isn’t any larger. It’s the perspective that’s changed.”

  “What do you mean? This corridor is twice as long as the ship is wide,” I countered.

  “It isn’t twice the size. We’re half the size.”

  “What?” Matt said, lifting his hands in front of his face to look at them. “That’s…” He trailed off before he said it. “I don’t feel any different.”

  I looked back at the elevator, its proportions relative to us remaining the same as it had been on the other decks. “The elevator hasn’t changed.”

  “It’s also half the size,” Keep stated.

  “The ceiling is the same distance above us.”

  “Deck Three is actually two decks. Three-Below and Three-Above. You can only reach the upper level via a stairway at the end of the corridor, in the primary living space.”

  “I’m sorry, I have to say it,” I said. “That’s impossible.”

  Keep didn’t crack a smile. He shrugged instead. “And yet, here we are.”

  “Okay. How does it work?”

  “What, do you want me to recite the technical specifications? It works, kid. That’s really all that matters.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. What if I’m on this deck and someone blows out the window up there and I’m pulled out of the ship? What size will I be?”

  “Half size. You would need to go through the expansion process to be restored to full size, and that occurs in the lift shaft. But that’s a contrived case. If someone were shooting at you, I would think you’d be on the flight deck, not down here.”

  “And who would be shooting at us?” Matt asked.

  “Is that your question?”

  “It’s one question,” I said. “There are a lot of compartments on this deck I want to ask about.” From here, I could make out multiple doors and archways off the main corridor, not even counting the living spaces in Six-A.

  “Okay. Badabing badaboom. Let’s head to the living area first. The primary display is there.”

  We started down the hallway. Unlike the interior of the ship we had seen so far, the corridor was clean and brightly lit, and felt more like being in a luxury apartment building than a robot’s head. Thick maroon carpeting covered the floor, and framed prints of classical masterpieces lined the walls between open archways and what had to be doors to the bedrooms.

  I glanced through some of the open archways. In one, I spotted a room I believed to be a break room based on the arrangement of tables and cabinets. We also passed a gym, stocked with weights and other equipment that looked to have been deposited there more like fifty years earlier, judging by their totally outdated designs.

  “Did you decorate this place yourself?” I asked as we reached the end of the corridor.

  The living area was slightly sunken, three steps leading down to a hardwood floor, the center covered by an orange shag rug, over which sat a long, lime green chesterfield sofa and glass topped coffee table. A pair of cloth recliners capped the sofa ends, standing lamps beside them and a crystal chandelier hanging overhead. A grand piano sat in the corner on one side of the room, while the primary display hung from a wall mount positioned next to the window on the other side. The stairs, I quickly noticed, were behind me along the side of the piano. A door occupied the matching space on the display side.

  “I scooped the furnishings up at garage sales. I didn’t have a lot of money to spend on comfort. Do you like it?”

  “Not really,” Matt said. “It’s very…”

  “Retro,” I finished for him. “I think it’s fine. You don’t buy a starship for the interior design, right?”

  “What do you buy a starship for?” Matt asked. “Oh, that’s right. The adventure of a lifetime.” He didn’t sound as excited about the prospect as he had when he goaded me into continuing the tour. “Who would be shooting at us again, Mister Keep?”

  “You mentioned someone called the Duke before,” I said. “Who is that?”

  “One question at a time,” Keep replied. He pointed at me. “I’ll answer yours first. Duke Halver Sedeya. He’s trying to stop me from selling the ship, and consequently, his minions and forces are the most likely to shoot at you, as they already have.”

  “So if we buy the ship, we’ll be heading out there with a target already on our backs?” Matt asked.

  “Part of the reason why a reasonable proficiency flying a spacecraft is part of my selection criterion.”

  “And you’re basing that solely on a video game?”

  “Certainly. It’s not as if I can base it on real world starship piloting experience, now can I? This may be a surprise to you, but simulations are approximately seventy three percent accurate in predicting real qualification and aptitude. Not ideal, but we take what we can get. Badabing badaboom! Hold on, let me pull up the footage.”

  He picked up a chunky black remote from the coffee table and pointed it at the display, the buttons on the remote clicking loudly with each press. It took him three tries to get the display to turn on, at first showing white noise.

  Putting the remote back on the table, he took his phone from his pocket and tapped on it about a dozen times. Finally, a capture of the Star Squadron match appeared on the big screen.

  “That one is you,” Keep said, pointing to one of the three identical ships on the Green side.

  “Wow, how original,” Matt said. “Good choice.”

  Keep let the footage play, surprising me when audio of Green’s comms blasted out of speakers mounted around the room. I watched from an outside perspective as I clashed with Bloodstain, tried to save PrattLord from destruction, and generally looked pretty good out there, if I did say so myself.

  “I’m not sure this is a good test of skill,” Matt said. “It looks great, don’t get me wrong. But we were playing against other newbies, not skilled space fighter pilots. I don’t think there’s a good direct comparison.”

  “Matt,” I said, annoyed by his comment. Watching the match now, I was proud Keep had texted me based on the performance.

  “I know you’re teetering on the edge of having a total death wish, but let’s try to keep things in perspective. What if I buy this ship, we go to space, and subsequently get blown to bits? I think we have to consider that a very real possibility after what happened with Baron Von Asshat’s minions outside.”

  I shrugged. “At this point, I’m okay with that. Matt, come on. This is a freaking starship. A real starship. Nobody gets this kind of opportunity. We can go to space! Man, I’d rather spend twenty minutes out there and get blown to bits than die in bed at home, sick and frail.”

  “I get that,” Matt said. “I do. But something about this isn’t sitting right.”

  “What you need is a little more information,” Keep said. “I assume you believe me about why I contacted you?”