Ion Trail 16: Bushwhacked

Damn it, damn it, damn it, I swore to myself, staring blankly at the console in front of me. I could drop out of hyperspace right now, but they’d already know my destination, and Stroika wouldn’t be in any better position to defend against an attack than Kestrel had been. The listening post at Percyval’s Rest would be even worse, being little more than the mining station we’d visited in Proxima Tau, but used for military communications instead of mining. I stilled my restless fingers, trying to think of a plan that wouldn’t result in all of us dying, or anyone else if I could help it.

“Captain?” Clinton’s voice cut through my distraction, and the edge I heard stilled my own panic just enough to respond.

“Thank you,” I said, more calmly than I felt. “We’re already in hyperspace, so we’ll keep going for now, until I decide on a plan of action. Continue monitoring the nanites.”

I’d grown careless. That was the only explanation. But the insidious, self-destructive voice that was my ever-present companion found new opposition that I hadn’t expected. No I hadn’t, I realized. I’d kept someone on nanite-watch even after more than a week of silence. I’d made sure I always had navdata calculated in case we’d needed to run. I’d been as careful as I could be, which had resulted in catching the nanites as soon as they’d started transmitting again; it had just happened at the worst possible time. Calmer now, I keyed the intercom.

“Crew meeting in the galley. We need to talk options.” By the time I’d gotten myself back there everyone else was there and it looked like Clinton had given everyone the spoilers. Even Janice was there looking as surly as usual, but everyone else just looked worried.

“So, nanites,” I started. “We weren’t able to get rid of them entirely, and now they’re back to cause us trouble. Maybe there’s not enough of them left for a strong signal, but it’d be stupid to assume the best. So we assume they know where we came from and where we’re going.” There were several murmured comments of understanding, so I continued. “Obviously we can’t stop and make Stroika any more of a target, and Percyval’s Rest is just a listening post. No one can protect us there, and we’re likely bringing a world of hurt down on their heads.”

“So we stop again, scrape off the nanites, and try to make another run?” Diaz looked nervous, but he didn’t seem to be even considering the option of endangering others.

“That’s one option,” I said. “Any other thoughts?”

“Why do we have to stop?” Omar asked. He’d gotten the digest version of the events that led them to Proxima Tau’s mining station, so I took a moment to explain.

“The nanites are able to act as a transponder beacon. They’ll know where we’re going, and they’ll know if we stop. If we lead them to Percyval’s Rest, they’ll destroy the station there, same as they did Kestrel.”

“No, no,” he shook his head impatiently. “I understand that. Why do we have to stop to deal with the nanites?”

“Because it’s hyperspace,” I said, trying to be patient with him. “If we send someone out… there…” I trailed off as I realized where he was going with this. He grinned as he saw it hit me. “We could use the drones.”

“Yup,” he said. “So long as we have a way to tell them where to go, they can do most things that a person can do, and a few things a person can’t.”

“We’d still need to stop, to throw them off the path,” Diaz added, and I frowned. He was right. I didn’t see stopping as optional either, though I didn’t like it. We’d have to stop with the nanites still functioning so they’d know we’d stopped, deal with them, and then jump again. I didn’t like the delay, especially with the timing of the nanites’ reactivation.

“What if we hijacked the signal?” Janice didn’t seem condescending or bored for once, and I looked at her closely. “The nanites’ signal, I mean.”

“They’re too complex, aren’t they?” I felt like we’d covered this, but she seemed like a smart girl, so I was more than willing to hear her out.

“The nanites are probably too complex, but I’m not talking about decrypting their internal communications, just their sub-space transponder frequency.” I glanced from her to Clinton, who had a thoughtful expression on his face, and back again.

“If you think you can do that, it does give us more flexibility,” I admitted. “To be clear, you’re suggesting we clear the nanites out in hyperspace using the drones, and then..” I paused, momentarily taken aback at the audacity of the plan. “Then use our own transponder, with the nanites’ frequency, to tell the black ships where we are?” When she nodded, I exhaled slowly.

“It’s a plan with some balls,” said Omar, slowly. “It sounds risky.”

“It is that,” I agreed. “But better the risk be on us who accepted it, than on the unsuspecting people at Percyval’s Rest. I looked around and saw apprehension in every face, even fear, but also resolve. They were all with me. I clapped my hands together with more bravery than I felt and said, “Let’s get started, then.”

It ended up being a bit less simple than stated, but we worked through the challenges. The drones didn’t have sophisticated sensors of their own, so they had to be controlled by one person and their efforts monitored by another on the sensor console. I was finally able to confirm my earlier hypothesis that extreme heat would disable them, and the mining drones’ lasers, on a low setting, were a lot more efficient than scraping and scrubbing. We were also finally able to procure a sample of the disabled nanites, which we would be able to turn over to the TU along with the other data. Meanwhile, Janice worked on duplicating the frequency used by the nanites, she called it spoofing, and calibrating the ship’s own subspace transponder to transmit on that frequency. For most of this my only contribution was to offer encouragement as my active role would only begin when it was time to drop out. I did spend some time fretting about that, looking over the navdata from Stroika to Percyval’s Rest repeatedly, trying to guess where we would most likely drop out. It was a fairly safe route, with only a couple star systems in-line with our destination; I’d selected this route over a direct line to Terra Primus for that very reason. Hopefully it would bode well when we finally dropped out.

=+=

“Last chance to say you’re not sure,” I said, looking between Clinton and Omar. “We only get this one shot, so if you’re not one-hundred percent certain, say so now.” They exchanged a glance, and Clinton spoke for both of them.

“We’re sure, Captain,” he affirmed. “The nanites are gone. It wasn’t like before when the signal stopped, the last ones were still transmitting when we disabled them.” He glanced over at Janice, who frowned back at him.

“The ship transponder is ready,” she said. “The signature is identical to the nanites.” I looked around the galley at the rest of the crew; their parts, much like my own, had been peripheral, but they deserved a say.

“We’re really gonna do this, huh?” Diaz said. “Actually try to bait in one of the black ships.”

“Only long enough to jump back out again,” I said seriously. “It’s not like we need to wait for them. They’ll know as soon as we drop out, and will likely send someone after us. As soon as I have calculated the navdata, we’re gone.” I was proud at how confident I sounded because it was a complete sham, but it seemed to work. Everyone looked resolute. I shook myself, and pushed up from my seat. “Alright then, prepare for drop out in approximately thirty minutes.”

Back in the cockpit, I ran through my checks one more time, then leaned back in my seat, staring blankly at the ceiling. I’d just graduated flight school a month ago, and I was about to do my second premature drop out. Most pilots went their entire careers without even one. Interesting times, I thought drily, remembering another of my mother’s favorite sayings. Then I keyed the intercom, gave the crew a 30 second warning, and grasped the yoke. Let’s do this. I dropped the ship out of hyperspace.

Nothing.

I blinked at the viewscreen, scanning left to right, and glancing at my sensor array as well, and there was nothing. Well, not nothing; off in the distance, just close enough to be discernible from the backdrop of stars, was a single star, but beyond that nothing else. It was anti-climactic as hell even with the adrenaline still coursing through my body, ready to react to just about any possibility, except this one. Still jittery, I wasted no time running an analysis on the star and checking it against the few systems that were en route according to my navdata; it didn’t take long to calculate our location. Are you fucking serious? I thought. While drop outs were almost random, this seemed impossible; we’d been in hyperspace for barely a day and a half, but according to the data we were nearly half-way between Stroika and Percyval’s Rest, which would have been a week and a half’s jump in this ship.

“Captain?” I started, and turned to see Diaz poking his head into the cockpit. “We good?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re good. “I’ll have new navdata plotted in an hour or two, then we can go. Oh, tell Janice to kill the transponder. They’ll know we stopped by now, we don’t need to keep advertising.”

“Sure thing,” he replied easily and left me to work. As I worked through the calculations, my mind kept coming back to the improbability of our location. How could we have covered half the distance in a fraction of the time? I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I slid the window aside and pulled up a new query screen, looking for information on hyperspace research.

I’d read all of this as part of my training, but I wanted to refresh myself; maybe then I’d be able to focus on the problem at hand. What I found was all what I expected, the experiments, the lost ships and the eventual conclusions about hyperspace drop outs. Nothing unusual, but there was just such a big gap in our knowledge. On a whim, I checked the date on the research, and was surprised to find that it was last updated over a century ago, and most of the experiments mentioned were almost a century before that, barely following humanity’s expansion to the stars. Nearly two hundred years since we’d done any real research? It didn’t add up, but what really bothered me is that I’d never really noticed this before.

But of course now wasn’t the time, either. I could dig into this during the jump, which was still going to take almost a week, despite the fact that we were halfway there; although we had managed to somehow gain more than a day all the same, which also seemed impossible. I forced that aside for later too as I pulled the navdata window back to the fore. After about half an hour of distracted mistakes and starting over the habit of running the numbers and checking the geometries finally took over and I was able to fall into the work. When it was done, I rechecked it, found a small carrying error, traced it through a few calculations until it was all good, and then checked it one more time for good measure. I’d never been that seriously distracted while plotting navdata, but after the second check I was confident that we were good to go. I checked the time and it’d taken nearly three hours, instead of the one or two I’d predicted. I sighed and committed the navdata, figuring I had a moment to grab a quick cup of coffee before we jumped again.

“Hey Melva,” I said as I walked into the galley. She was, with Omar’s help, preparing dinner for the crew. He’d taken to acting as her assistant on dinner ever since we’d left June and the rest at Bekter’s Rim, and he seemed to enjoy it far more than he liked to admit. As I’d come to expect there was a fresh pot of coffee on, so I poured a cup and prepped it the way I liked it while exchanging small talk with them both.

“Hope you’re hungry, Captain,” Omar said. “We’re experimenting with trying to recreate one of my mama’s recipes.”

“I’m sure it will be-“

“Captain!” Clinton’s voice stopped me dead, and Omar’s expression changed from amused to alarmed; he’d obviously heard the bark over the commlink, even though it was in my ear.

“Was that Clinton?” he asked. I shushed him, and keyed my commlink.

“What is it?” I asked tensely.

“There’s something coming! The proximity alarms-” he was saying, but I’d heard enough. I spilled my coffee when I thrust it onto the counter and sprinted for the cockpit, nearly knocking Harper down as I caromed off a wall. I should have waited on the coffee, damn it. I threw myself into my seat, eyes seeking the sensor readings that showed that something was approaching, fast, slightly smaller than our ship. I didn’t have time to warn anyone, so I just jammed my finger down on the Jump button. The cover dropped into place over the viewscreen, but the telltale flash of light that meant we were safe in hyperspace never came.

“What the fuck!” I swore, and swatted the button again, harder than necessary, but still nothing happened. My eyes jumped to the screen, but it was closed so I slapped the key to open the cover, glaring out at the dark. Nothing visible, so I pressed the Jump button again, and again, nothing.

“Captain!” Clinton yelled, and the ship suddenly lurched with an impact. Finally I saw the indicator, the last thing I expected out in the middle of nowhere. We were interdicted. I threw the yoke forward and jammed the throttle to max, causing the ship to surge forward and down.

“Clinton!” I called over the commlink. “I need you to release the full sensor suite back to me! I can’t see where it’s coming from!”

“Done!” he yelled. “Fuck!” There was another impact, and I heard him continue cussing, but with the sensors back, I was focused on what was outside the ship. There was a smallish proximity blip to our port aft, but no radar or other signatures coming from it. As I maneuvered, another fast-moving signal was picked up. It was firing another missile. With an interdiction field and no weapons or defensive fields we weren’t going to withstand this for very long, no matter how small the enemy might be. The deflection shields on this thing were only there to deal with small space debris, and the second impact had completely overloaded them. This third was going to hurt.

“Brace for impact!” I screamed over the intercom. The missile struck and the ship shuddered and nearly threw me from my chair. I heard Clinton cry out, followed by more cussing.

“Captain,” he called, “we’ve taken a hit to our ion drive!” He was only confirming what I already knew, as the ship suddenly felt sluggish and seemed to want to pull to the left. We weren’t going to make it.

“Omar!” I yelled, as inspiration suddenly struck. “Omar, is the drone still in the airlock?” I paused for an answer I realized wouldn’t come, then just kept talking. “Space the drone, Omar, then get to the control console. Please tell me you hear me!” Again, I didn’t expect a response; the intercom only worked from the cabin and the cargo bay. If he heard me, he’d get to the engine room soon enough, where he could use Clinton’s commlink.

I continued to maneuver the best I could, and when the ship fired another missile, I waited until the last moment, then killed thrust and used the maneuver thrusters to turn the ship; as hoped the missile struck broad-side away from vital systems, but the life support system started screaming about a breach. Perfect, I thought sourly and gunned the throttle again. Come on, Omar! As if he’d heard my silent plea, his voice suddenly crackled across the commlink.

“Captain,” he growled, “Drone’s away, what do you want me to do with it?” He sounded like he was hurt, but I shoved that thought away. If this didn’t work, we’d all be dead.

“Ram it into that ship,” I told him. “Weapons array if you can, fucking anywhere if you can’t.”

“Gotcha,” he grunted, and I suddenly picked up another, slower moving proximity alert as what had to be the drone came to life. “Fuck! Captain, it fell too far behind. I’m not going to be able to reach the ship.”

“Leave it to me,” I told him. “I’m coming around.” Under the best of circumstances the ship moved like an elephant on ice; ponderously but smoothly. Now it juddered and groaned, but I used the tendency to the left to my advantage, and finally I saw the ship for the first time. It was much, much smaller than the last one I’d seen, but like that one, it was pitch, matte black; It was a hole in the sky, visible mostly because it fired another missile as it came into view. It was coming fast, as was the missile, but veered away as I drove the ship directly toward it. At the last second, I jerked the yoke up and felt the missile impact along the belly of my ship. I glanced over and sure enough, comms were once again offline. I could feel my face stiffened into an expression that felt like something between a mirthless grin and a snarl as I poured on as much throttle as I could toward the drone, watching on sensors as the black ship came around to follow me. Our chances were pretty slim, but damned if I wasn’t going to make that asshole earn it.

“Going in!” Omar yelled. I could hear Clinton cussing and banging on something in the background, and my grin split into a maniac laugh as I leaned hard into the yoke, trying to bend it to my will. We were going to fucking die. “Shit!” Omar cursed and I watched the drone’s signature wink out just as it neared that of the black ship. “It fired a missile just as I was bringing the drone in, blew it before impact!”

“One less for us, I guess,” I told him. “Can you deploy the other drone?”

“On it, Captain,” I heard Diaz’ and Shanna’s voices faintly through the commlink.

“Be careful!” I yelled stupidly, as if it would matter. I counted seconds, still doing my best to make the ship a difficult target, fighting against the increasingly obstinate controls. No more missiles came, though. Instead, the black ship came alongside and just seemed to wait, pacing us as we slowed down. It was then that I realized something that gave me hope.

“Wait!” I yelled over the intercom. “Don’t deploy the drone. I don’t think it can shoot anymore.” I jinked the ship toward the black ship and watched the proximity reading smoothly move away, keeping a steady distance between us. It couldn’t fire on us and didn’t want to risk an impact; that meant that they were most likely going to try to board.

“Okay,” I said, feeling a sudden calm. “I think I know how to survive this.” I slowly decreased throttle until we were drifting aimless through space, and watched as the black ship sidled up alongside. I stood up and hurried out of the cabin. We might still die, but we were going to go out fighting.

Ion Trail 15: Calm Before the Storm

“Alright folks,” I said over the intercom, “We’re about ten minutes from drop out into Stroika. It’s a small station, so it won’t take us long to taxi in and get docked.” I verified fuel reserves and coolant levels; we’d need to refill on the latter here, but we’d be good for another month or so of travel before fuel became a concern. The ion drive was idling and ready for regular space, and I’d rigged the cover to open as soon as we’d dropped out. Normally this would be a manual task, but I didn’t want the delay; I’d read about similar settings for freighters who jumped into hostile areas a lot. I’d been doing a lot of reading about stuff like that, including a combat jocks message board which was nearly a month out of date, but the archived posts were solid.

The alarm chirped and I settled my hands onto the yoke, ready for real space. There was almost no chance of trouble, as I’d done a quick HyperWAN ping yesterday, but I’d decided it was always better to be ready, whether or not you expected problems on drop out. I watched the countdown decrement own to zero and felt the slight lurch as we reentered real space. The cover slid open, revealing the station directly ahead in the distance. I alerted the crew that we were taxiing, then hailed the station for docking authorization. Once received, I brought us in to our assigned berth, where we’d offload our cargo for turnover to Kristina’s factor at Stroika and we’d get paid. I told Diaz to have everyone disembark and I’d drop the ramp from the cockpit before joining them.

In the star dock I found the factor waiting for us, already talking to Diaz. I joined them and listened as they finished the arrangements, then nodded to him when he offered the datapad.

“I’ll take that,” I said. He passed it over and I checked over the information. “Everything seems to be in order. Will you need assistance transporting the cargo to your warehouse, or can I release my crew once we’ve offloaded?”

“You should be fine to release them now, if you like,” he replied. “I can manage the offloading and transport.” I glanced at Diaz who nodded slightly, so I agreed.

“Sounds good. Anything I need to know about Stroika Station?”

“Don’t go drinking with the locals,” he said, quite seriously. “It’s something of a point of pride and it rarely ends well if you’re not from around here.” I snorted.

“Got it.” I handed him back the datapad after keying in my acceptance, which would also authorize payment to my account. “Could you point me to a public terminal?” He looked at me strangely, but gave me perfunctory directions before turning his attention to unloading the cargo. I told everyone they could take off, but to be back to the ship by 2100 station time. I’d disbursed a bit of money from the last payout to everyone, and most of them still had personal accounts as well, so they’d want to get some comfort items. I intended to do the same, once I’d had time to check my messages.

It turned out that was a waste of time, with no new messages at all; it seemed that StyxRatt hadn’t contacted me yet. I followed the signs to the commercial district, which was, like everything about this station, small and rustic. Suited me fine though, and I ran into Sister Estrada and Clinton walking into a small restaurant and hurried to join them.

“Aww, man,” Clinton said as we were seated, “I’m looking forward to this. I did some research, and Stroika’s known for a few things: Meat, potatoes, and booze.” He snatched up the menu and started scanning it avidly as he continued talking. “No offense to the cook, but I’m getting me a big ol’ steak and enough vodka that you ladies will have to carry me home.” Sister Estrada chuckled, and I poked him in the ribs.

“If you think you’re getting carried home, you’ve got another thing coming,” I told him. He laughed and looked around the restaurant, where it seemed the afternoon crowd was just starting to trickle in.

“Maybe I’ll just find someone else to take me home then,” he said, waggling his brows suggestively. I knew exactly what he was getting at; it’d been a long several weeks for me too, so I just winked at him before picking up my own menu.

“It does appear that your assessment of their culinary strengths was accurate,” Sister Estrada commented, looking at her own menu. “The stroganoff and knish sounds good.” Clinton nodded approvingly, but when the time came, he stuck to steak and potatoes. He didn’t go quite as strong on the vodka as he’d suggested, but against my better judgment I decided to join him in a couple shots. It had me feeling warm and loose before the meal was done; I’d probably also need to apologize to Sister Estrada later for the direction our conversation took.

“You know, if I wasn’t your Captain,” I teased him after a particularly ribald and improbable story about a fellow salvager and a recovered box of ‘marital aids’, “you might not need to worry about finding someone else taking you home.”

“Flattering, Cap’,” he slurred a bit, “but you’d be barkin’ up the wrong tree.” He glanced over at a trio of tall, well-muscled men at a nearby table, then turned back and grinned wickedly at me. I blinked at him a few times before his words sank in.

“Oh!” I said, a little dismayed. “So you and Kyle-?”

“Nah, nah, nope,” Clinton said, shaking his head so hard he nearly overbalanced himself. “Kyle’s definitely not my type. Too soft.” He took another shot. “Besides, he plays for the other team. As I recall, him and Kris have an on-again, off-again thing.” I nodded solemnly, as though this were some grave pronouncement and he laughed. Sister Estrada, who’d managed to slip in her share of sly quips from time to time was looking at me with a half-smile, and blushed a little bit. She recognized I’d been putting myself out there a bit, even if Clinton didn’t seem to. Woman was far too observant sometimes, I thought uncharitably.

“On that note,” she said, rising from her seat, “I think it’s about time I got you two home before I really do have to carry you.”

I thought that it was just as well she did the next morning when I woke up with only a minor headache. It’d been far too long since I drank more than a glass of wine or two, but it’d been fun cutting loose for a bit. I’d risen early and taken advantage of a few automated kiosks to pick up the stuff I’d meant to the night before, as well as making an order for food resupply. I didn’t know where we were going yet, but I wanted to be ready to go as soon as I did. I stopped off at the public terminal on my way back to the ship, and found another message stripped of sender and subject. Instead of abrupt, alarming sentences it was a series of numbers that after a few moments I recognized as coordinates. I typed the coordinates into a note file on my commlink and returned to the ship.

The crew was barely stirring, though Clinton seemed none the worse for wear after last night’s antics. I glared at his cheerful smile in passing as I made my way to the cockpit to check the coordinates. It turned out that they weren’t too far out from the station, but a check of the charts showed nothing in that vicinity. I guess we’d need to go and see. I gathered the crew together to tell them what I was about and most of them elected to stay aboard ship. Shanna wanted to go aboard the station to check back with a contact, and Lorna would go with her; Shanna’s health was a lot better, but Lorna wanted give it another week before she was confident in her recovery. I told them that we’d be back in less than an hour and bid them luck before they disembarked.

I requested temporary clearance from traffic control, citing drive testing and we lifted off. It was only about fifteen minutes to the coordinates with the ion drives at full, but we didn’t know what to expect when we got there. I saw nothing on approach, and asked Omar to monitor sensors as we got closer; it was only when we were nearly there that he detected an extremely weak radio pulse, and deployed one of the mining drones to investigate. When the drone returned, it brought back a small hand-cobbled radio buoy. I, along with the rest of the crew, crowded into the airlock to see it.

“Well, let’s see what SR left for us,” I muttered as I knelt down by the buoy.

“SR?” Janice’s voice was suspicious as she challenged my comment.

“StyxRatt,” I clarified. “I feel stupid saying it out like that.” I stared at the buoy, barely paying attention to the cluster of people behind me.

“StyxRatt is a deepsphere legend,” she protested, outraged.

“So you’ve said,” I agreed amicably, reaching out to poke at what looked like a panel on the side, then pulling at it until it opened. Janice grumbled behind me, things I was probably better off not hearing anyway, as I pulled out a small datastick. Its size was deceptive; Higher-end datasticks had capacities similar to my ship’s local datasphere. This one didn’t look high end, but you could never tell. I turned and offered it to Janice. “Care to do the honors?” I asked. “See what StyxRatt has for us?”

“Yes,” she said, and snatched the stick from my hand. “You’d probably fall for whatever minor traps they put into it anyway, to keep it out of the wrong hands.” Without another word she stalked out of the room. She certainly does a lot of that, I thought wryly.

=+=

We were back in the star dock and receiving our food resupply before she came back with the decrypted data. Shanna had also just returned with a list of possible cargos she was able to put together; She’d sold our services pretty well, and any one of the jobs would be good for us, if we found we were going in the right direction. Apparently Stroika didn’t get a ton of freighters passing through.

“This is great, Shanna,” I said, waving the roll of plas sheets that she’d procured. “I think you’ve found your new calling.” She was smiling and about to respond when I heard a curt voice from behind.

“Captain.” I turned to find Janice standing near, staring at me with those deep, unblinking brown eyes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen the girl blink, honestly. “Come, I have decrypted the stick.” Before I could I more than consider delaying to see if I could get her to blink, she’d turned and was gone back inside the ship. I had little choice but to follow her.

“What you got for me?” I asked as I caught up to her in the engine room. She’d moved in there after Bekter’s Rim, despite the empty cabins we had. I’d decided not to fight it.

“Look,” she said, and stepped back from the console, where there were lines and lines of SR’s unformatted text. After several minutes of trying to parse it, I keyed in a basic formatting pass to put it in proper case, determine some sort of sentence structure, and basically manhandle it into something a person could read without giving themselves a headache. Then I sat down to read what appeared at first to be some sort of tract or manifesto, and ended up being something… else. Even with the machine-assisted formatting it was a difficult read, and when I was done, I sat back and shook my head.

“What is it, Captain?” Diaz leaned forward to peer at the document, but then just looked at me.

“It’s a lot,” I temporized, trying to digest what it all meant. “It’s… something useful, I think.”

“Can you give us the digest version?” Sister Estrada’s calm presence did what it did, and I felt my mind clearing.

“I’m not sure I can honestly, but if I had to sum it up, it’s that there’s a pattern to the black ship attacks,” I told her. “Something the TU can use to predict their next attacks, and with enough time, maybe figure out where they’re attacking from.”

“That’s great news,” she said, but her voice was reserved. “Why do I feel that there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere?”

“Because there is,” I agreed. “SR’s too paranoid to give the data to the TU themselves, or transmit it over the datasphere. Says the whole datasphere is compromised.”

“So they want us to deliver it for them?”

“Yeah,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “They want us to go to Terra Primus.” Terra Primus was the headquarters for the Terran Union, where their ship yards were located, and where they had several planets devoted to their administrative infrastructure and training grounds. It was also the last place I’d ever wanted to go.

“Are we going to?” Diaz’ voice seemed relieved, though it was obvious that he was picking up on my distress, even without understanding the reason. I didn’t know how to even begin to explain my deep-seated distrust of the TU, or my desire to somehow strike out at the black ships myself, despite being an unarmed freighter.

“Yeah,” I said again, laden with reluctance, but seeing no other reasonable alternative. I couldn’t keep this sort of information from the TU simply because I didn’t trust their governance. There was literally no one else with the strength to oppose the black ships. Terra Primus was a bit longer jump than we’d done previously, so I knew we were going to need to recalculate our food supply, and go ahead and make sure we were topped up with extra coolant. We’d have time to worry about fuel once we arrived at our destination. Plus, of course, cargo; a ship flying without cargo was a ship throwing money away, and we didn’t have any to waste. I looked up resignedly at Shanna.

“Tell me you’ve got something good?”

“Captain,” she said with a bright-eyed, self-satisfied little smile, “I’ve got something that’s going to make you happy to be headed to Terra Primus.”

In the end, she was almost right. We ended up having to disassemble some of the empty rooms, but we ended up with three separate cargo loads all bound for Terra Primus, and a fourth, smaller load for the listening post at Percyval’s Rest that would only add a day to the trip. With how competitively Shanna had worked the various vendors, we would also receive premium rates for the trip. While the destination made me less than happy for a few reasons, I couldn’t help but smile when I looked at the transaction summaries. She didn’t know how narrowly she missed getting a big fat kiss when she told me the total fees we’d receive. Now we were on our way, headed out of the interdiction zone.

“One minute to jump,” I announced over the intercom, watching the station recede behind us on sensors. “It’ll be a week and a half into Percyval’s Rest and most of a day from there into Terra Primus, so hopefully everyone’s comfy.”

“Captain?” I was surprised to hear Clinton’s voice come over the commlink. We hadn’t been using it much since we’d left Bekter’s Rim. His tone set off alarm bells in my head.

“What’s up?” I asked apprehensively.

“The nanites,” he said. “They’ve just reactivated.” Instantly, I reached for the key to cancel the jump but I was too slow. The cover had already slipped shut, and I caught the brief flash of hyperspace through the viewscreen before it closed.

Ion Trail 14: Open Eyes, Ready Hearts

The drop into Bekter’s Rim was routine, though my nerves were buzzing anyway. This would be the first time we’d seen anyone new, aside from Omar, in two weeks. While that wasn’t all that long a time in the regular course of things, it felt like it had been forever. As the ship glided in toward the large, bustling space station, I responded to the hail from traffic control and gave them my identification. While it might come out eventually that I was most likely presumed dead and my ship destroyed, I doubted there was a flag in the system for either. All the same, I waited tensely until they came back on the line.

“Star dock seven, berth twenty-three,” the traffic controller stated in a bored monotone. “Ensure that you submit a declaration if you’re carrying any cargo from a bio-restricted planet before docking.”

“Acknowledged,” I replied and breathed a sigh of relief as the connection dropped. I brought the ship in and executed a sidewise flip so I could back into my assigned berth. My preference for docking aft-first had been assumed to be a quirk, one that my fellow pilot trainees had ribbed me for; it was additional work and time that only served to delay getting aboard the station where all the fun was. I hadn’t known how to explain, so I’d never bothered, that for me the ship was the whole point; it was the crowded, noisy stations that I wanted to escape from. After Kestrel, it seemed like basic survival sense.

“All passengers who wish to debark, please report to the cargo bay,” I announced over the intercom. I flicked it off just as I brought the ship to a smooth landing, barely feeling the bump as we settled to the ground. I ran my shutdown checklist, skipping the step where I’d normally activate the datasphere update, instead just leaving it powered down. My personal devices were also in offline mode and I’d directed anyone staying with the ship to do the same. Everyone else had received the same warning, but they’d do what they chose to do with it. It would limit our freedom of mobility aboard station since we’d not be able to contact each other if we got separated, but I was going to take Styxratt’s advice until I had a reason not to. Once the ship was fully powered down, I pushed myself out of the seat and headed back for the cargo bay.

“Captain,” Diaz acknowledged me when I entered the bay. Everyone was waiting for me and I took a moment to look at them all, one by one.

“This is it, then,” I said, addressing those who would remain aboard the station. “It’s been good getting to know all of you, and I wish you the best of luck out there. Keep your heads down and stay safe, all of you.”

“We’ll do our best, Captain,” said June, moving forward to give me a hug. “You be careful out there too, and don’t hesitate to drop Alan and me a line whenever you get a chance.” Others stepped up to shake my hand and wish me well, or to exchange final farewells with those who’d be leaving with me. Then it was time, so I dropped the ramp, letting in the sounds and smells of a busy star dock.

“Diaz,” I said, catching his eye. “Make sure the docking boots are in place, but don’t actually lock them, okay? I don’t want to have to fight with them if we need to leave in a hurry.” He nodded and Clinton went to help him. Meanwhile, the passengers were milling around in the berth, staring around at the hectic docks. I smiled sympathetically; that feeling of being overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of so many people may have been new to them, but it was an old, uncomfortable friend of mine. Shanna stood nearby waiting for me, so I made my way over to her.

“You ready to go, Captain?” she asked. I glanced over and saw Harper standing nearby, as she’d be accompanying us on our foray.

“Yup,” I said. “Let’s go see if we can find a buyer.”

At her suggestion, we’d spent a chunk of the last day removing Dion’s branding from the crates and loose cargo, which would make it easier to sell on the open market. As a former sales clerk, Shanna knew the best places to look for buyers of general cargo and had volunteered to help me find a buyer. I followed her now as she wove somewhat unsteadily through the crowd. When a larger woman bumped her and she nearly lost her balance, I caught her elbow to steady her. She shot me a grateful look, so I stayed close thereafter, until we finally made it to where we were going.

The Bazaar was an honest to goodness open-air market on a broad concourse connecting to the station’s inner ring. It was largely a tourist-trap, with lots of kitschy little gift shops, but Shanna said that the merchants here also did a brisk trade in more substantial merchandise; the bazaar served as a side business and neutral ground for buyers and sellers to meet. We moved slowly up and down the aisles while she scanned the business placards, looking for a likely buyer.

“Here we go,” she said, pointing to a stall filled with real wooden furniture and woven rugs; this place would mostly appeal to middle-class tourists or the well-off looking to furnish a vacation home. Harper and I followed her into the booth. The merchant himself gave us a quick eyeball and his expression made it clear that he didn’t like what he saw, but Shanna approached him before he could have us shooed off. “Hi, good morning,” she said, giving him a sunny smile. He stopped mid-scowl and looked at her, his eyes lighting up at the pretty girl smiling at him.

“Good morning yourself,” he said. “Is there something specific you’re interested in?” He glanced over at me and Harper, his eyes saying clearly that he didn’t think we could afford anything he had to sell, but there was something about Shanna that made you want to be nice.

“Actually, yes,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers, drawing his complete focus back to her. “I couldn’t help but notice how many lovely things you have here and I thought you’d be just the right guy to help a girl out.”

“Oh?” he said, smiling broadly at her. “I’d be happy to give you whatever help you need.” I rolled my eyes, but said nothing. Honestly watching Shanna work was a joy, and I was frankly glad she was on our side.

“Well, my associates,” she tossed her head toward Lorna and me, her auburn hair bobbing as she did so, “have some cargo that they’d like to offload, but unfortunately, there are so few discerning buyers here.”

“Oh,” he said again, his expression becoming more guarded. “I’m not sure-“

“It’s legitimate salvage,” she interrupted. “You’ve heard of PRC Salvage?” I jerked a bit as she said that, though I tried to hide it; that was Clinton’s old crew. I hadn’t known that she knew that. He cautiously nodded and she rushed onward in that way that was so uniquely hers. “Well, they just got rights to the Kestrel Station wreckage, and this is their first haul. They’re trying to get back out there before any other salvaging operations have a chance to pick it clean, but they don’t have a warehouse here.”

At the mention of Kestrel Station, along with the name of a reputable salvage company, the merchant’s trepidation eased. Instead, it was replaced by a more predatory gleam in his eyes. She’d made it seem like there was some urgency, which he knew he could take advantage of. Of course we’d known going in that we weren’t going to get fair market value for the cargo without significant delays and uncomfortable questions. Still, Dion didn’t deal in cheap trinkets and it looked like Shanna had this man eating out of her hand. We would probably be okay.

=+=

The bargaining and the appraisal had taken longer than I’d like, but the final numbers were more than enough to replenish our food stocks and other supplies. The next step was to try to get a cargo for Stroika, if we could find anything that needed to go that way. I had fretted a bit over this, but realized that without an employer paying the bills I would need to find a way to make money, or else my new crew would soon be starving; we’d already had enough of that. Kyle had said he’d talk to some contacts here on the station and get back to me about that, so we were going to be here at least overnight.

The ship felt empty after weeks with so many people; even sitting with Sister Estrada, Shanna and Harper in the galley you could feel the silence. Two weeks ago that was all I’d ever wanted in the world, but now it didn’t seem so attractive as it once had.

“You’re looking much better, Shanna,” Sister Estrada was saying as I brought my attention back to the present. “Your color has improved and you don’t move as though you’re afraid you’ll break anymore.”

“Well,” she laughed a little, “I’m trying to not be afraid of anything anymore.” She looked at me and smiled. “I’ve got a good example to follow.”

“What?” I scoffed. “I’m afraid all the time,” I argued. “You really have no idea.”

“Well, you don’t show it, at least,” she replied. “That’s not nothing.” I shook my head, feeling my face flush at the unexpected compliment.

“You seem to already be doing pretty well in that regard anyway,” said Harper. “The way you handled that merchant was something to watch.” It was Shanna’s turn to blush and I glanced at Harper gratefully.

“Oh, that,” she said modestly. “I’ve always been able to work a potential buyer. I was top in sales at my old job for three months running, before…” she trailed off and the smile faded quickly.

“Is it something you want to talk about?” Sister Estrada inquired gently. I shared a glance with Harper; we both knew what it was in broad strokes, but we’d never heard the details.

“I, well,” she wavered, but never got to finish the sentence.

“Captain!” I looked up to see Clinton coming in, with Kyle following behind, accompanied by a young woman in business attire. I stood, seeing we had company.

“Hello,” I said to the woman after giving Kyle a smile.

“Hey Captain,” Kyle said easily. “This is an associate of mine, who I talked to about a cargo, like I said I would.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand. She took my hand firmly.

“You must be Captain Rickard,” she said. “Kyle has told me so much about you.” The emphasis she put on the words ‘so much’ instantly put up my guard and I looked at Kyle.

“Sorry Captain,” he replied with only a trace of penitence. “Didn’t have much choice. Kris knows where I used to work and she wasn’t having any of my stories.”

“It’s a remarkable tale,” she said. “Kyle has lead me to believe that you’re an equally remarkable woman.”

“Well, uh, thanks, I guess,” I stammered, still trying to come to grips with the situation. “So, how can I help you?”

“Kyle said you need a cargo to Stroika and as it turns out, I have interests there. Among other places. Kyle also tells me you’re a dedicated pilot. If he trusts you, I trust you.” Kyle’s expression behind her warned me to be careful, so I played it safe.

“Kyle’s trust means a lot to me. So what do you need me to haul?”

“A replacement fission generator will be the bulk of the cargo, but we have several other boxes of miscellaneous parts for our retailer in Stroika, as well.” I thought about the space left in the cargo bay and bobbed my head.

“Sounds like something I can handle,” I agreed. “You need this out soon, I hope?”

“As soon as you’re ready to receive it,” she said. “I’ve got my factor putting together the shipment now, at our warehouse in star dock twelve.”

“Gotcha. I’ll request a berth reassignment over there for first thing in the morning,” I said.

“Excellent. I’ll have a contract for your review sent to your message box immediately.” I hid a frown and indicated agreement.

“Sounds great. I’ll look it over tonight,” She offered her hand this time, and I clasped it, looking her in the eye. “Look forward to doing business with you.” Kyle saw her out and I dropped into a chair, breaking out into a cold sweat as soon as she was gone. “Damn it, Kyle,” I growled, then turned my glare on Clinton. “You could have warned me,” I accused.

“Whoa, Captain,” he said defensively, “I didn’t know he’d told her!” I stared at him for another second, then pressed my hands to my face with an exasperated exhalation.

“I guess we’ll just have to trust his judgment,” I grumbled. “We don’t have much other choice.”

I’d had to go find a public terminal that night to check my messages and review the contract but the terms and offered compensation were standard for this kind of job, so I transmitted the contract back with a digital signature and my personal code for credit transfer. The next morning went smoothly enough, with a quick move to the new star dock and then everything was inventoried and loaded up. The generator was bulkier than I’d expected but we managed to fit it into the reduced cargo space. The smaller crates were stacked up on and around it leaving little room to enter through the cargo bay, so we’d have to use the airlocks to get aboard ourselves.

Once the cargo was all loaded, the ramp was locked in place and everyone else was aboard, I took a moment to stand behind my ship, alone. I looked around the busy star dock, nearly identical to the one we’d fled at Kestrel Station, and watched ships in the other berths around me being loaded, unloaded and receiving routine maintenance. An era had ended and we’d all been too busy to notice; I had a feeling that eras often passed unremarked by anyone until the historians got around to it. So I just stood there and breathed it all in, the rote, repetitive actions of people who weren’t in fear for their lives. I looked up toward the large blast doors that separated the star dock from the outer ring of the station, and wondered where June, Alan, Craig and the rest were right now. I hoped they would all be okay, wherever they ended up. With one last glance around, I turned back toward my ship, eyes still unfocused, and took a few steps toward the air lock before I stopped abruptly. Janice was standing there in front of me, her hands up in a “what gives?” gesture and looking at me like I was crazy. I stared back at her for a second, then just laughed.

“Come on,” I said. “I’m ready to go, now.”

“What are you even doing?” she groused I made myself ignore the irritation in her tone. I’d spoken to her a few more times since she’d demanded to stay with the ship and I’d begun to realize the chip on her shoulder was permanently attached.

“Just saying goodbye to things I never realized I’d miss,” I told her. She rolled her eyes.

“You’re weird.”

“You’re right,” I laughed. “But maybe I’m weird enough to get us through this alive.” She shot me a look from beneath lowered brows, then mumbled something before picking up her step nearly to a jog, then practically leapt up the ladder to the airlock.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I said ‘probably’,” she shot back over her shoulder and disappeared into the ship.

“That sounds like a vote of confidence!” I called after her as I mounted the ladder myself. She didn’t answer so I just chuckled, climbed inside and secured the door. “I’ll take it.”

Thirty minutes later we’d cleared traffic control and were on our way toward the edge of the interdiction field. It was a much smaller group now and instead of strangers, they were friends; a bit older, wiser and tougher than two weeks should have accounted for. We weren’t fleeing for our lives this time, but running toward a possibility; maybe a threat, maybe a solution, only time would tell. Whichever it was, we’d meet it with open eyes and ready hearts.

Ion Trail 13: Set it On Fire

I closed the message and initiated a HyperWAN query for headlines regarding Kestrel Station or Proxima Tau. There were no relevant mentions of Proxima, but Kestrel showed up in several headlines; the unsettling thing was the headlines seemed to refer to a series of events, rather than the singular one we knew about. Rather than downloading these articles right away, I ran an unfiltered query for top headlines. The results that came back this time were even more disturbing.

“The cat isn’t just out of the bag,” I said in a low tone, referencing an ancient saying my mother always liked. “The cat has set the damned thing on fire.” Clinton and Omar, no longer able to resist, crowded around me and gaped at the list of headlines. I turned to Omar and said, “Can you go look for Diaz? Tell him I want the crew in here. He’ll know who I’m talking about.”

Omar went without another word. I considered calling him back to caution him on what he said to anyone else, but decided not to bother; I couldn’t sit on something this big for long, so if he talked, he talked. While I waited, I downloaded a few of the more likely looking articles and started reading. I could feel Clinton hovering close, reading over my shoulder but I let him be. I didn’t really mind his proximity, and it’d just be mean to make him wait for everyone else to get here before he got the bad news.

And it was bad; really bad. Bad on a scale that humanity had literally never seen before. The black ships had decided to give up on their stealth incursions in favor of an all-out declaration of war. Dozens of stations and planets had been attacked, several more had gone silent, and there had been at least one major fleet battle; The TU ships hadn’t fared well before the much smaller force of black ships had abandoned the fight. It was obvious that we were facing a foe with far superior technology. Every single article used a word that had me groaning as I read about otherwise very grim events: Aliens.

Diaz is never going to let me hear the end of this, I thought. Fucking Aliens.

The crew arrived shortly, and I looked at them gravely for a moment before I spoke. Diaz was there looking worried as he always did, but resolute. Harper’s face was unreadable as she looked at me searchingly. June waited patiently and Sister Estrada wore the same serene expression that she always did. Kyle had scooted in next to Clinton and they were talking quietly, with Clinton shaking his head at whatever Kyle was asking. Omar had returned too and while he wasn’t someone I considered ‘crew’ yet, I didn’t begrudge him his seat at the table; we wouldn’t have this news without his labors.

“I don’t know any better way to say this,” I started slowly, picking my words carefully. “So, I’m just going to say it plain: Humanity appears to be at war.” I saw the words hit them and watched as expressions shifted through a plethora emotions, shock, disbelief, realization, guilt and horror.

“It’s them, isn’t it?” June asked first. “The black ship.”

“Ships,” I confirmed. “There are dozens of confirmed attacks, and the TU has tangled with them at least once as well. I guess they decided it wasn’t worth keeping a low profile anymore.”

“Where?” she asked. I could tell she was trying to be calm, but she had a ranch and extended family on Montañoso, so I knew where her thoughts were. Unfortunately, I couldn’t reassure her.

“I don’t know,” I said. There’s no pattern to the attacks so far as anyone can tell, and they’re spread out across human space.” I reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll run a query for Montañoso as soon as we’re done here, and I’ll let you know.” She gave me a grateful smile as I stepped back to address everyone else. “I didn’t see any mention of Bekter’s Rim and with the TU garrison, I think it’s likely to be as safe a place as any. But there is something else; someone contacted me. Someone knows we’re alive, and they’ve told me to avoid space stations, says we’re not safe.”

“Someone?” asked Sister Estrada.

“Yeah, whoever they are, they call themselves ‘Styxratt’ and they managed to leave no traces when they left a message in my box. They said that if we wanted help to go to Stroika, and they’d contact me again.”

“Do you trust them?” This was Harper. I took a moment to ponder the question before I answered.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. But they went through the trouble of seeking me out, so it might be worthwhile to hear what they have to say, and to heed the warning in the meantime.”

“So what’s all of this mean?” Diaz asked.

“It means that the world we know has gone to shit, and I’m not quite sure I’m ready to just turn my fate over to the TU,” I replied, surprising myself. “We were at what may have been ground zero of this attack, and we escaped, somehow. We know about the nanites, and their MO for attacking stations. Until I know that whoever I give this information to can use it to help keep us safe, I just…” I trailed off. I didn’t have a plan, not yet. I just knew that I wasn’t sure how much I trusted my life or the lives of my passengers to the Terran Union, who should have seen this coming somehow. Whether these black ships were a technologically advanced colony disgruntled by TU control (there were more than a few) or some completely new threat, the whole reason for the TU’s existence was to protect the lives of civilians. We had already seen thousands of lives destroyed and the news reports indicated that potentially millions or billions more were suffering the same fate.

“What are we going to do?” Diaz again, looking scared, more than I’d seen him in a while.

“We’re going to go ahead to Bekter’s Rim,” I said. “Anyone who wants to get off can get off. Anyone who wants to stay can stay. After that, I’m going to Stroika. I’ll leave a report with whoever stays to give to the TU after I’m gone, but I’m just… I’m not ready to stop running yet.” I stopped talking and I looked at each of the people in front of me and suddenly it was too much. The last thing I wanted was for anyone here to tell me that they wanted to disembark at Bekter’s Rim. Not now, anyway, though I’d just given them the opening to do just that. I hadn’t even realized exactly how I’d felt until the words were out of my mouth, but now I wasn’t ready to see any of these people, who’d put their trust in me so completely, abandon me to what was probably a foolish decision. So I walked out. I left them standing there, crowded into the engine room and walked straight to my cabin and locked the door once I was inside.

“This is stupid,” I told myself, aloud, once I was in the safety of my room. “I should just turn everything over to the TU and let them deal with it.” But I didn’t believe that. Whatever the black ships were, the TU should have prevented this in the first place, but here we were. I lay down on my bed and just stared at the ceiling, my thoughts awhirl. I realized that, down deep, I’d never really trusted the TU. Can colonies like the one I’d grown up on were largely populated (or over-populated) with people who didn’t want to bow to the TU’s rules, so they chose to pack themselves into massive ships that drifted from place to place, never calling any one system home for long. I thought I’d divested myself of most of the backwards attitudes I’d grown up with, but I guess this one stuck it out; maybe it wasn’t even all that backward. The TU was too much of a bureaucracy, conveniently ignoring countless atrocities committed right under their nose ever since they’d formed after humanity’s diaspora to the stars. Hell, if even half of what I’d learned growing up was true, they’d committed more than their share.

I would share what we’d learned with them, little as it was; whether I liked them or not, the TU was the only force big enough to deal with the threat that the black ships posed. But I wasn’t going to come in from the cold, yet. I wanted to find a way to strike back at these bastards myself and if this “Styxratt” had anything that could help me do that, I was going to take the chance.

=+=

I rubbed at the bridge of my nose, feeling the migraine coming on for the first time in a while. The rest of the passengers weren’t taking the news well, especially after I told them that I wasn’t going to re-enable the HyperWAN connection. I told them that I’d downloaded several articles detailing the events of the past couple of weeks and they were welcome to read those, but I was limiting further queries. We were going on to Bekter’s Rim where anyone who wanted to could disembark, which I fully expected they’d want to. I also passed on the cryptic warning about the datasphere; maybe there was nothing to it, but they could do what they wanted to with the information once they were off the ship.

“So what are you going to do, then?” asked Shanna. I was better prepared for the question this time.

“I’m going to go on to Stroika,” I said simply. “If this person can help me against the black ships, I want to see how.” I shrugged. “It could be a trap for all I know, but that’s why I’m stopping at Bekter’s Rim first. I can understand anyone wanting to go their own way, but anyone who wants to stay on and see where this goes is more than welcome.”

This announcement was met with silence at first and I stood there, braced for their reactions. Most of them were pleasant enough people whom I would miss, but I could stand to see them move on. Others would hurt. It had taken me a lot of deep thought before I came to terms with it, but this was one choice I had no right to make for them.

“What did you say the name was?” Carla had stepped forward to ask the question, pulling my attention back to the present. The question hadn’t been the response I’d expected, so it took me a second to answer.

“Uh, Styxratt,” I said. “Probably just a datasphere handle, unless they had very eccentric parents.”

“Interesting,” she said. “Those were the names of a couple of rock bands from the latter centuries of Earth.”

“StyxRatt?” Janice Patel, the dodgy teenager, had pushed through the crowd, her intense gaze trained on me. “You said it was StyxRatt?”

“Uh, yeah,” I replied. “You know that name?”

“They’re a hacker,” she said. “A deepsphere legend.” She took a few more steps forward, still staring at me, almost accusingly. This was the most anyone had heard her speak since one of Carla’s early presentations on the Transhumanist Rejection. “You’re saying StyxRatt is the one who warned you?”

“Yeah,” I said, starting to get a little irritated. “That’s what I said, a few times already.”

“If StyxRatt is involving themselves, it’s serious.”

“Okay,” I replied, drawing out the second syllable, wondering where this was coming from. “I kinda hope that it is serious, because I’m not trying to go off on a jaunt for fun.”

“I’m coming with you,” she demanded, glaring at me as though I’d told her she couldn’t. She was honestly the last person I would have expected to want to stay, but I’d made the offer.

“Fine,” I said. “Welcome aboard. Again.” She jerked her head downward in acknowledgment, before turning and stalking out of the cargo bay. I stared after her for a minute in consternation, wondering what I’d just gotten myself into until someone else spoke.

“Captain.” I turned back to look at Diaz as he stepped forward. “I’ve never been a first mate before, but if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay on, too.” I smiled, relief banishing my trepidation about Patel. Despite the fact that I still caught him staring at me with puppy eyes from time to time, I was glad Diaz would be staying on. He was loyal, practical and had a good way with people, and I’d have missed him if he’d gone.

“Of course you can stay,” I said, still smiling. “I might have had to knock you out and stowed you in the galley if you’d tried to leave.” I turned and looked at the rest, letting the smile fade. “Anyone else want to stick around?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” said June, stepping forward with her husband. He nodded, which meant they’d likely discussed it after the earlier meeting in the engine room. I had expected this, but acknowledged them only briefly; I didn’t want to see the disappointment in my eyes. June was going to be missed, but I knew she’d want to get back to her ranch.

“I think I’ve had enough flying about to last me a lifetime,” added Alan. “I guess I’m going to learn how to get my hands dirty.” He smiled at his wife, who returned it with such a look of love that it was clear the rest of us had ceased to exist for the moment.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to do the same, Captain,” said Kyle. “It’s been an honor flying with you, and I hope I’ve been some help on this… interesting trip.”

“You’re going to be a rancher,” I said in mock disbelief, covering up my disappointment. “You?”

“What?” he stared at me in confusion until he caught on. “Oh, no, no, no. I spend too much on manicures to ever get these hands dirty or- ugh- callused.”

“I understand,” I agreed. “You’ll be missed, Kyle.” My heart sunk a little lower when Clinton stepped forward next, and I smiled bravely at him, too.

“I think I’d like to stay,” he said, surprising me. “My old crew was still on Kestrel Station so they- er, well I wouldn’t mind getting some payback, if that’s in the cards.” I was so happy to hear him say he wanted to stay that I barely restrained myself from giving him a hug.

“Can I stay too, Captain?” Omar’s voice was hesitant as he interjected. “At least for a little while?”

“Of course, Omar,” I answered. “You’ve been with us the shortest time, but you’ve been a help. I’d be glad to have you.”

“It’s been interesting aboard, but I have work I should get back to, as soon as I’m able; this conflict with the black ships will only create more work rather than less, I think.” Carla’s smile was bittersweet; it was obvious that she’d enjoyed the attention her presentations had garnered and that she would miss the friends she’d made. I got the distinct impression that libraries and archives weren’t the best places to meet people and socialize. I stepped forward to take her hands.

“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done,” I told her, meaning it. “I think we might have all gone insane without your efforts.” The gesture turned into a hug and when I stepped back, her eyes weren’t the only ones that were a little too bright.

“I think I shall also take the offer to stay for a while,” said Sister Estrada. She turned and smiled at June. “Especially with Ms. Hamilton-Gonzalez going home, you’ll all need someone who can cook.” Her eyes twinkled as she said this and I laughed in agreement. A few others had tried their hands during the last week, but the results had been mixed at best.

“Me too,” said Harper, stepping forward abruptly, and nodding firmly. “You’ll need a medic if you’re going to keep getting into trouble, and I’d rather do that here than deal with the TU.”

“Oh, you’re both so, so welcome,” I said, starting to feel a little overwhelmed. Most of my ‘crew’ was staying, and while I’d miss those who left, my heart was full at the number of people who’d elected to stay.

Craig was the next to step forward and say he’d rather get off at Bekter’s Rim. He’d been a steady hand, always willing to help, so I thanked him and wished him good luck. One by one, the others stepped up to say that they’d rather go, and I likewise wished them the best. Caroline winked at me when she said that it had been fun and I’d flushed at the suggestion in her tone, but I was just as happy to see her go. A general round of goodbyes followed, despite the fact that we wouldn’t reach Bekter’s Rim until the next day. It was the beginning of the end and everyone felt it. While there would likely be final goodbyes once we reached the station, we all knew that this was it.

Eventually I made an excuse to head back for the cockpit; the heavy emotions and contact with so many people at once had completely drained me and I needed some time to recharge. June told me in parting that she and Sister Estrada were going to get to work on one last community meal. I smiled weakly and fled as soon as I could.

“Wait,” I heard as I rushed out of the main cargo area that still served as a meeting area for bigger meetings like this, and into the makeshift hallway between the constructed rooms. I made myself turn back and saw Shanna hurrying across the crowded room toward me. I recalled that I hadn’t actually seen her step forward to say anything. “Captain, wait,” she repeated as she caught up.

“Shanna, what’s up?” I asked, feeling only slightly less edgy, still needing to get away for a while.

“I’d… I’d like to stay,” she stammered. “If you’ll have me. Um, if that’s okay with you, I mean.” I glanced around the room, floored by the unexpected request. I saw Craig standing not too far away, staring at her with apparent surprise, but the big man turned away quickly when he saw me looking. I looked back at Shanna.

“I said anyone who’s willing is welcome,” I told her, “but I have to ask. Why?”

“Well, it’s like I told you,” she said, then continued in a rush. “I’m tired of being afraid. If I get off at Bekter’s Rim, I’ll just always be another victim. I want to go with you, I mean, go do something. Strike back, you know? Something.” She seemed slightly out of breath and red-faced as she finished, but I couldn’t help but smile. Breathless onslaught seemed to be her primary communication style.

“Good enough for me,” I said warmly. “Welcome aboard, Shanna.”