To Err is Azrin by J.S. Morin

Author:J.S. Morin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-939233-67-7
Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press

The Mobius climbed into orbit at a leisurely pace, leaving the azrins’ take on Fiji far below. The crew was gone, off playing savages in the snowy wilderness. Carl was checking into his sword-fighting resort. Roddy had the ship to himself. All he heard were the mechanical sounds of the engines, the life support, the hum of the computer coolant system. It was bliss.

He’d never liked the ship’s control layout. It had come as-is and configured for human comfort. The seat was too long and too far back from the yoke, and everything just seemed to be spaced wrong on the panels. It was hard to pin down exactly why, but the ship clearly had not been built with laaku ergonomics in mind. Ignoring the mild annoyances, he keyed the comm for the local ARGO patrol fleet.

“Orbital control, this is Earth-registered vessel Mobius. Request long-term orbit.”

“Vessel Mobius, state your reason for orbital clearance.”

Roddy shrugged, though the comm was voice only. “I’ve got some maintenance to do, the ship to myself while the crew’s planetside, and I just wanted the view.”

“Will your maintenance interfere with your ship ID broadcast, engine signature, or involve deviation from a proscribed orbit?”

“None of the above,” Roddy replied. “Sub-system overhauls and preventative maintenance only.”

“You are cleared for long-term orbit. Transmitting a trans-polar orbital path. Enjoy your sightseeing.”

“Thank ya kindly,” Roddy replied and shut off the comm. “I give those boys too much shit sometimes. This garrison seems pretty laid back.” He followed the transmitted heading, then rolled the ship up so the forward windows looked down on Meyang.

By the side of the seat, Roddy found his guitar case. Of late, it had seemed more like Carl owned it—he certainly played it more these days. But it belonged to Roddy, and it was past time to brush the rust off his fingers and play it a little. It was a double-neck, a style invented by humans even though they couldn’t play both at once. It was the laaku that had taken the design and made a proper instrument out of it. His guitar had been made on Phabian, in a little factory just outside Kethlet. It was as old a friend as he had.

He strummed both sets of strings and cringed. Carl had an ear for good music, but he was as good as tone deaf when it came to playing it. Roddy spent the next few minutes with an acoustic analyzer, tuning each string to mathematical perfection. Each chord he tried rang beautifully. “There ya go, baby. That’s the guitar I know.”

He reclined the pilot’s chair and slouched back until he could comfortably balance while all four hands played. He picked a human song. He’d grown up on human music, thanks to his old man. It wasn’t one that was supposed to have a guitar part, but it was the first thing that came to mind, so he made it work. Before human contact, laaku music hadn’t had lyrics except for hymns; it had just seemed sacrosanct to those laaku from way back.

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