Safety Tests Read Online Free

license too, and technically I should take her to the same ship I used for LaDingdong. But that ship’s old, and Iva’s experienced, and chances are that she actually flew that type of ship before.
    So I take her to our newest baby, a repossess with every bell, whistle, and gadget known to man. There’s not one, not two, not three, but four shadow controls on this thing, and it took me nearly a week to figure out how each part of the ship worked.
    It’s gold and sleek and moves like an eel in water. If larceny actually lived in my soul, I’d steal this son of a bitch and use it to get me out of here.
    Only if I do that, I’d have to leave my very comfortable bed behind, and I’d be on the run for the rest of my life, neither of which really appeals to me.
    We stop in front of the dock and Iva tilts her head back, looking up at my beautiful baby.
    “You’re shitting me, right? Do you know how much this thing is worth?”
    It unnerves me that she does. Maybe I should’ve taken her to the older vessel.
    “You want the test or not?” I ask.
    “Stop asking me if I want it,” she snaps, then sighs. “I’m sorry.”
    I want to tell her never mind, that attitude isn’t an issue, but it is. That’s one mark against her because no one likes working with a mouthy pilot, particularly one who went off the deep end and lost her previous job due to some creative insubordination. Except me, of course.
    “Yes,” she says somewhat meekly into my silence. “I want the test.”
    Then she walks around the ship like she’s done it all her life, which, I suppose, she has. Hands clasped behind her, inspecting not the dings (there are a few) or the small scrapes, but the actual equipment, from the life pod releases to the outside engine access to the docking clamps.
    A true professional.
    When she reaches me, I sweep a hand toward the ship, indicating that she should board ahead of me. She nods, and does. It takes her the required minute or so to figure out the entry mechanism for this thing, and then she strides inside like it’s her ship.
    If, of course, she meant to go to the sleeping quarters instead of the cockpit. Her cheeks are just a little red as she turns around and heads in the correct direction.
    I follow closely, watching her absorb the ship. She’s never been inside it, nor has she been in a ship like this, but she’s acting like it’s not new to her. Her head moves slightly as she takes in the paneling, the extra monitors on the walls, the closed doors.
    Then she turns left into the cockpit as if she’s done it a million times before.
    By the time I get in there, she’s in the pilot’s seat, strapped in, and examining the controls, hands on her lap, just like she’s supposed to.
    I expected her to be hands-on already. I’m a little surprised she hasn’t touched anything.
    Either she’s taken some refresher courses or she flunked a previous test way back for moving too quickly. I’ll vote on the previous test. Pilots like her don’t take refresher courses.
    I sit in the co-pilot’s chair, noting as I do every time, how very soft and plush it is. Would that I could always run tests out of this ship. I almost—almost—shut off all four shadow controls, but I don’t. I don’t trust anyone that much.
    “I’m going to release the controls to you,” I say, of course, not mentioning the shadow controls.
    She nods and listens as I speak to the folks on the Traffic Desk. Then I tell her to take the ship gently out of here.
    I’m not sure which route to take—the fast ones to Mars or the standard cargo test routes to the Moon. It’s a shame to make this beautiful ship do something standard, but she hasn’t signed up for a racer license. She signed up for cargo and a renewal at that.
    “Here’s your route,” I say and punch Route Three on the control panel, just like a co-pilot/navigator would.
    She nods, eases this ship out of the docking area with an ease I haven’t experienced in years. Not even