Free Aloft (Petronaut Tales) by Ben Rovik

said, adjusting her welder’s goggles.
    “Believe me, I’d go to Lethton myself if I could clear it in my schedule.”  Upforth ran a hand over his hair and sighed.  “An overnight in a seaside hamlet; a quick morning of maintenance work at the town mill; back in my own bed twenty-four hours later?  That sounds refreshing to me, Mister Carper.  Wouldn’t you call it refreshing?”
    “I’ll let you know, sir.”
    His boss just looked at him for a moment, his mouth half-open.
    “You must be one of the sourest, most negative people I know, Carper,” he said at last.  “It’s really pathetic that you have so little in your life that makes you happy.
    “You know what, Carper?  We’ll play it your way.  If you’re determined not to see a day away from the city as a gift, I’ll make it a punishment.  Go pack your things and hit the road to Lethton now, before I make you pay your own carriage fare.”
    So Cooper left Upforth’s Hydraulics and shuffled his way to his tenement, navigating the cobblestone sidewalks and weaving through the crush of people without seeing them.  He didn’t even have a good way to get word to Ensie why he wouldn’t be there at her test tonight.  I could put a letter in the post for her from Lethton tomorrow morning , he thought as he packed.  But his note would arrive at least a day after he was back in Delia.  The seaside village was only six hours by carriage along the coastal road, and the threadbare stagecoach Upforth’s was hiring for him would be leaving the hamlet as soon as his work was done tomorrow.  At least I’ll be back for her test tomorrow evening, if all goes well.
    Funny .  He folded down the flap of his leather bag and slung it over his shoulder.  It isn’t too long ago that I would have loved the chance to get out of the city for a change in routine.  Now, all of a sudden, I’ve got a reason to want to stay.
    The stagecoach was loitering outside his four-story tenement when he came downstairs.  The driver was picking his teeth with his unlit pipe as his pair of gristly horses fidgeted in their traces.  Cooper looked west towards the Petronaut corner of Workshop Row, the sinking sunlight getting in his eyes.  Ensie and Ignatia would be starting their test flight soon.
    “I’ll miss you,” he whispered before getting in the coach.
     
     

 
    Sir Tomas turned the knob and the gaslight popped on with a hiss.
    The hallway was empty.  Drafting rooms with their well-worn brass knobs flanked him on either side as he walked forward, boots echoing on the tiles.  Room 26D went past on his left, though he didn’t recognize it as his team’s designated workspace.  He had no business in the drafting wing; he was just on his way to the mailboxes at the center of the administrative building, and had decided to come in out of the cold.  Things tended to get cold in Delia after midnight this time of year.
    Something Iggy had said earlier that day—or perhaps yesterday—had annoyed him.  Most of what the senior tech said tended to blur past him, too uninteresting to hold his attention for very long.  But there was some jibe about never staying current on her reports that had gotten under his skin.  The taunting implication was that he wasn’t ignoring his team’s activities because they were on a dead-end project; he was avoiding the reports because he couldn’t understand what his own techs were doing.
    Sir Tomas smiled to himself and took another draught from the bottle of fortified wine in his hand.  I know this burning Flicker better than you do, senior tech , he thought.  And don’t think you’re rid of me just because I’m working with the thrust pack team by day.  “I’m all yours at night, girls,” he crooned aloud.
    Tomas snickered with disgust at the thought of pressing flesh with that stringy old crone or dumpy little Ensie. His bottle tipped up and sank down again as he came to the grid of cubbyhole mailboxes along the