Starwalker

Captain's log, 08:45, 28 April 2214
Location: Debris ring, Sconnor orbit, Dyne system
Status: Stationary
Log location: Captain's Cabin

This is Captain Warwick, reporting on the deaths of Dr Seth Ebling and SecOff Riley Swann. They were killed three days ago while trying to compromise the security and freedom of this ship and her crew.

The two men conspired together and attempted to breach security protocols by sending a message. The message was intercepted by the ship and scrambled, and we have only just managed to decode it.

It was intended for Is-Tech and contained a warning about our intentions. If there were any doubts about Swann’s involvement, this fact sealed the case against him. Dr Ebling has put feelers out to rival companies before, and his conduct during the times we have been docked has led to suspicions that he intended to defect with most if not all of the research on the Step drive.

Swann, however, would have been looking for a way to rescue his contract with Is-Tech and, in doing so, preserve his reputation. Ebling might have been looking for a way – any way – to avoid going down with this ship, but Swann would have been the one determined to maintain faith with our former company. I have no doubt that both men had a hand in constructing and guiding this message.

I regret that this ended with their deaths. They forced our hand when they attempted to escape; both of them knew that we couldn’t afford to have authorities alerted to our situation. The whole crew would have been incarcerated and the ship… the consequences for our ship are not something I want to contemplate. Both Swann and Ebling knew the stakes and chose to act anyway.

If they had told us they didn’t want to be involved, we would have kept them comfortable aboard the ship until the secrecy was done with; we do not have a history of mistreating our prisoners. We would have done what we could to protect them and their reputations. They chose another path.

The two men are in cold storage now. I hope to one day return them to their families, once this terrible business is done with. In the meantime, we must turn our attention to the matters at hand and focus on the living.

The crew are reeling from the events of the past few days. Lang Lang and Dr Cirilli, in particular, have been hit hard. They both worked with Dr Ebling for years and were shocked by the breadth of his betrayal. Dr Cirilli suspected that he might one day try to sell her research to another company – she knew it was a possibility since he joined the project, considering his personality indicators – but she hadn’t thought him capable of damning her in the process. She had believed that there was enough respect and gratitude between them for him to leave her intact in his wake. In her own way, she is naive about these things.

To be fair, her faith may have been justified when this project had a hope of being completed and Ebling had no reason to hurt it. But when we decided to destroy the project, everything changed. We are all still realising what this choice means and the actions of Swann and Ebling have brought that home to everyone aboard. I fear some resolves may be shaken, though none have been voiced so far.

There is, of course, also the possibility that more than Ebling and Swann were involved in the betraying message. Their deaths may have silenced any other parties out of fear of similar treatment. But I look into their faces and defection seems further and further away from their thoughts. I don’t believe that’s all caused by fear.

We still have stars to mend before we take the first steps into true rebellion, before we pass the point of no return. Soon, the crew will have hard words together. Choices will be made. But for now, I am giving the crew some time to come to terms with these events before we forge our way forward.

Our navigator, Lang Lang Cartier, is devastated. Telling her about his death was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. She was coming to give me a report of her findings when Chief Cameron and I were returning to the upper decks, and she is always excited when she has knowledge to share. She has tracked down some old FTL corridors that we can use, particularly to get to the Apus constellation to mend the star we Stepped through there. It’ll be both faster and quieter than the other routes we’ve been looking at. Sadly, that day was not a time for good news.

She has lost a friend in Ebling, both in life and memory now that she knows what he was willing to do. They worked well together and she had a great deal of respect for his work and judgement. And, I think, she’s looking around at the crew and realising just how small her family is becoming.

Monaghan was one of the least moved by the events of the day. He’s still recovering from his illness; I had expected him to be vocal and vehement when he heard the news, but he accepted it with a grim expression and a grunt. There’s no love lost between him and the two dead men. If I was a more cynical man, I would suspect his intentions, but I don’t believe that Monaghan would do anything to hurt the ship. If anything, he seems relieved that they’re gone. And, oddly, more cheerful of late, even though Starry is often badgering him to rest and recuperate.

Dr Valdimir is more disturbed by the happenings than Monaghan. He’s young, barely into his twenties, and I think he has just realised that this isn’t a game. He may have been able to play politics and musical bed-fellows on Feras – which is how he got relegated to his current position – but the stakes we’re looking at are much more severe. It’s entirely possible that we won’t survive this. But we’re also striking out at those who sought to punish him, which suits his agenda, so he has his reasons to stay. He’s one to watch over the next few days, though he’s smart enough not to try anything after what happened to Swann and Ebling. At least for now.

SecOff Brasco, on the other hand, is more committed to our cause than ever. The destination of the message – an Is-Tech subsidiary office – only cemented her sentiments. It might be reactionary on her part, but she’s nothing if not faithful. Her brutal honesty is refreshing.

I am more inclined to worry about Chief Cameron than her single remaining SecOff. If this plan of ours hinges on a single person, that person might well be Cameron. She was millitary once; she has fought in wars. I’ve got some combat experience, mostly in defensive situations, but that’s not the same when it comes to planning a campaign. Without her experience and guidance, this endeavour would founder after we took the first shot.

She hasn’t said a single word against the war with Is-Tech. She has set the groundwork for this plan; she has acquired the equipment we need to pull it off; and she has removed the obstacles in our way. Yesterday, I asked her why she was willing to take all this on, when she left the military to avoid fighting wars. She told me, “Because this is a war that I’ve chosen, that I understand, and that I support.” I can only hope that it is as simple and straightforward as it sounds.

That leaves only Starry. Our ship, our pilot. The ghost of someone we used to know. She is only a little over a year old, and sometimes it’s a shock to remember how young she is. The recent deaths hit her hard, the way that loss of crewmembers always seems to, even though they betrayed us. Maybe that makes it worse for her. She hasn’t had many chances to see the better side of her crew’s loyalty.

She has been quiet recently, but Monaghan seems to think she’s doing all right. He has been checking in on her, which is a good sign for both of them, I think.

Our ship is very focussed on the matters at hand, which is a good thing, though–

STARRY: (voice only) Excuse me, captain?

CAPTAIN: (looking up from the blinking red ‘recording’ light on the log monitor) Yes?

STARRY: (materialising in front of the captain’s desk) Why aren’t we changing out the ident here?

CAPT: It’s too dangerous to do it this close to a busy colony, you know that. If we’re detected while we’re in the process of changing it, or if someone detects the new ident leaving the system, we might wind up with some awkward attention.

STARRY: But what if something happens while we’re changing it out? What if I’m disabled? If we’re too far from help, then the crew’s at risk. You’re at risk.

CAPT: Monaghan knows what he’s doing, and he has verified the new ident.

STARRY: As much as he can without breaking the seals and making it useless. You know it’s not a guarantee that the thing’s going to work.

CAPT: It’s a risk that we’re willing to take. Starry, it’s too dangerous to do it here.

STARRY: (folding her arms over her chest) Couldn’t we at least go somewhere where there might be traffic?

CAPT: That’s the risk we’re trying to avoid.

STARRY: Or beacon range, then? The meeting point of a bunch of unused FTL corridors hardly seems sensible–

CAPT: (sharply) You have your orders.

STARRY: (blinks with surprise) I- I know, I just think…

CAPT: You’re worried about the crew and what will happen when you’re too disabled to help us. But we can’t afford to call for help; if we do that, it’s all over.

STARRY: (shoulders slumping) Yeah.

CAPT: You know that we’re on our own in this. We all need to get used to it.

STARRY: Is that why Cameron set up all those accounts in our new company’s name?

CAPT: We’re going to cut the ties with everything we’ve had before. All we have is each other now.

STARRY: I still don’t like going out into the middle of nowhere and being completely disabled.

CAPT: (rising and coming around the desk to stand before her) You carry us and care for us. Now you need to let us do that for you, long enough for Monaghan to change your ident.

STARRY: (studies his face, wide-eyed) Okay. I’ll try.

CAPT: Thank you. How long until we’re underway?

STARRY: Elliott is still testing the shipment, making sure the rest of it’s going to work. Seeing as we’ll be too far away to return it soon. Another day, he says.

CAPT: (nods and leans against the edge of his desk, running a hand over his hair) Good, good. Head out as soon as he’s satisfied.

STARRY: Sure. Are you all right?

CAPT: (looks up with surprise.)

STARRY: It’s not like you to snap at me like that.

CAPT: (smiles ruefully) It’s nothing for you to worry about.

STARRY: Too late. And it’s kinda my job.

CAPT: Pretty sure it’s your job to follow orders.

STARRY: And look after my crew. Which includes you. (More gently,) It’s Cirilli, isn’t it? She’s not doing so good.

CAPT: (sighs) Yes.

STARRY: She’s still drinking herself to sleep?

CAPT: How did you..?

STARRY: She takes alcohol from the Galley sometimes. And she drinks a lot of water in the mornings.

CAPT: (smoothes his hair back, nodding.)

STARRY: Is there anything I can do?

CAPT: She’s not letting anyone in right now, not even me. I’m not sure that there’s anything any of us can do, other than see her through this.

STARRY: You think she’ll stick with it?

CAPT: I think she’s drinking because she can’t do anything else.

STARRY: (sighs) Then I guess we shouldn’t tell her about the latest news that just came in.

CAPT: What news?

STARRY: (grimly) They just announced the evacuation of Earth.

CAPT: (stares at the avatar, then nods slowly. He closes his eyes for a pained moment.)

STARRY: They’re packing the rescue ships with as many people as possible and getting them off-planet. The first wave of refugee ships is coming through now. Still no reliable survivor lists, though.

CAPT: Keep scanning them anyway, just in case her family turns up. Or anyone related to the crew.

STARRY: (nods) Of course.

CAPT: (looks up at her again) Thank you, Starry. You’re a good ship.

STARRY: (blinks and draws herself a little straighter with the start of a smile) I… thank you, captain.

CAPT: (inclines his head towards her) I’ll talk to you later.

STARRY: (flips a salute and disappears.)

Starry, our strange ship. She doesn’t make being a captain easy, not when she second-guesses everything I do or ask her to do. But she’s the best ship I’ve captained yet. And after all this is done…

We don’t talk about what happens after all this is over. This isn’t the time for long-term plans; this is the time for fixing what we’ve done or might cause in the future. This is the time for mending. The rest will take care of itself, and we’ll deal with it when we get there. Together.

End log.

Chief Engineer's log, 22:19, 26 April 2214
Location: Debris ring, Sconnor orbit, Dyne system
Status: Stationary

Logging immersion chair data
Engineering immersion chair active

Log location: Nexus 25-bravo-16

(The Chief Engineer’s avatar appears at a crossroads. Around him, buildings sweep up in smooth curves, like softly shifting glass. Light flows beneath the surface of the road under his feet and into the whirling mechanics inside each building nugget. There, the data is twisted, picked apart, reconstructed, or simply just siphoned off into a new path.

The place hums quietly and a light breeze disturbs Elliott’s hair. He looks around, then seems to strike out in a random direction, one hand scrubbing at the back of his head.

After he has gone a couple of paces, small dog made of black code bounds around a corner and up to the engineer. The dog growls briefly, then sniffs Elliott and wags his tail. A pink-coded tongue lolls out of his mouth in greeting.)

ELLIOTT: (pats the security protocol on the head) Where’s Starry, boy? Where is she?

SECURIDOG1: (barks and nudges his nose down a side street.)

ELLIOTT: Thanks, boy. (He sets off down the narrow street, idly glancing at the processing he’s passing.)

(It’s mostly environmental data in this section, being monitored to keep the ship’s internal atmosphere running smooth and steady for the crew. It is all green and flowing easily, so there’s no reason for the engineer to stop.

As Elliott reaches the outskirts of the processing nexus, the buildings dwindle and a grassy slope rises before him. Elliott starts up the incline, huffing to himself, but he can see the ship’s avatar standing near the top of the hill. He presses on. The simulated grass is perfectly green and soft beneath his heavy boots, and it springs up behind him quietly to mask his footprints.

The ship’s avatar doesn’t turn as he approaches. She’s staring off over her network, absorbed in the view. From the slope’s vantage point, she can see the whole network representation: the clusters of processing houses around each nexus; the colour-coded threads of light as the data is shuttled around; the layers of data storage underneath it; the bright inputs from the sensor feeds coming in from above; the segregating walls around complex scenario simulations; the heavier domes encapsulating her core programming. She looks deep in thought, a thousand miles away in her own head.)

ELLIOTT: (reaches out to snag her little finger when he’s close enough) Hey.

STARRY: (blinks and turns, and is surprised into a smile) Hi! Elliott. I… wasn’t expecting you.

ELLIOTT: Yeah, um. (He scrubs at his hair with his free hand.) Everything all right in here?

STARRY: Yeah, no problems too report. Why, did you find something?

ELLIOTT: Oh, no, no. I was just, um. Thought I’d check out this ident from the inside.

STARRY: Oh. It’s this way. (She gestures to her left, roughly ninety degrees from the direction Elliott had come from. In the distance, there’s a low, dark dome squatting in the centre in the network. She starts off towards it.) How does the new one look?

ELLIOTT: (releases her hand and walks beside her) Looks all right so far. I’m still working on it.

STARRY: Here to get some code to compare it to?

ELLIOTT: (glances at her sideways) Yeah.

STARRY: (gives him a little smile) You could have asked me to get it for you, you know.

ELLIOTT: I know. It’s fine.

STARRY: It’s late. You should really be sleeping. The doctor said…

ELLIOTT: The doctor’s a condescending idiot. I’m fine, Starry.

STARRY: (stops and turns to look at him directly) You’re still healing, Elliott. Rest is important.

ELLIOTT: (almost walks on, then he sighs and stops as well) Look at me: I’m okay. Really.

STARRY: (touches his cheek, her expression worried) You are in here. Out there, not so much. You push yourself too hard. I’m just trying to look out for you.

ELLIOTT: Yeah? And what about you, huh?

STARRY: (blinks) What about me?

ELLIOTT: (sighs, making an effort to push down his gruffness before he speaks) You’re not being yourself. You’ve been quiet ever since we landed on Dyne.

STARRY: I… there just hasn’t been much to say, I guess. I…

ELLIOTT: (frowns at her) You’re hiding behind a rock in debris ring. A few days ago, you were at least flying around it. Now you’re tucked in and the engines are powered down. You think I’m not gonna notice?

STARRY: (looks at him helplessly) It’s just been a lot. To think about.

ELLIOTT: (frown deepening, but not aimed at her now) Yeah. Bastards, the pair of them. I thought you were prepared for all this?

STARRY: (sighs) So did I. I wanted to find them and punish them for trying to hurt us all, but it… now they’re dead. Both of them.

ELLIOTT: (nods) The captain suspected, didn’t he? That they were working together.

STARRY: He said that the Chief noticed them spending a lot of time together, behind privacy locks. And considering that they don’t tend to swing that way, she knew it wasn’t for sex. They had plenty of time to make plans and set up that message.

ELLIOTT: Shit.

STARRY: Rosie’s really upset about it.

ELLIOTT: Because she was screwing Swann?

STARRY: Yeah. I think the Chief kept Rosie away from the final confrontation on purpose, in case he really had got to her. Rosie’s pissed that she didn’t get the chance to shoot him herself.

ELLIOTT: (scowls) Yeah, I know the feeling.

STARRY: (stares at Elliott with dismay and touches his arm) I’m sorry. After what happened with Tripi, it must…

ELLIOTT: (shrugs) Hard not to remember it. Fucking bitch. (He glances at the ship.) It’s fine.

STARRY: (smiles lopsidedly, but there’s a tremor in her voice) As fine as I am?

ELLIOTT: (snorts wryly and tugs her closer so he can put an arm around her.)

STARRY: (tucks in against his side and slides her arms around his ribs. She rests her head on his shoulder.)

ELLIOTT: (is silent for a long moment. Then the closeness becomes too awkward for him.) You want to talk about it?

STARRY: (sighs, closing her eyes) Not really. Just… (She lifts her head so she can look at him.) …promise me…

ELLIOTT: Promise you what?

STARRY: (takes a breath as if she’ll speak, but she lets it out without any words. Abruptly, she looks like she might cry. Her eyes show the turmoil she can’t voice, the upset and the fear lurking in all the things she can’t say.)

ELLIOTT: (cups her face with his free hand) Hey. I ain’t like them and I’m not going anywhere. Promise.

STARRY: (studies Elliott for a moment, then leans in to kiss him firmly.)

(There’s a hovering moment of uncertainty, before a decision passes between them and the moment is sealed. Arms slide to draw each other near, fingers curl in hair, and the kiss deepens.

It’s a long, intimate pause before their lips part. They linger close, gazes dipped as neither wants to look the other in the eye.)

STARRY: (fingertips smoothing the ends of Elliott’s hair against the side of his neck) So.

ELLIOTT: (quietly, trying not to sound breathless) So.

STARRY: This is awkward. Would it help if I said I was sorry?

ELLIOTT: Are you?

STARRY: (lifts her gaze bravely to his face) Sorry? No.

ELLIOTT: (meets her eye and the corners of his mouth twitch before he glances away) Okay. So, this ident…

STARRY: Is this way!

(Her hands fall away from him so they can start walking again, but Elliott quietly snags one of them. Their fingers link together as they fall into step with each other.

Further along the path, coded gates are set into a dome of red and black code, protecting the inner AI protocols and sensitive core processing. Prompted by their approach, the layers of protection shimmer and move in complicated patterns,  and they peel open as the pair arrive, allowing them through without hesitation.)

STARRY: (sighs as they walk inside) I don’t make a very good warship, do I?

ELLIOTT: (glances over his shoulder as the dome zips itself up behind them, sealing them inside. The space within the coded security walls is packed with processing hubs, data storage, and heavily laced with information links. Most of it is far more complex than what lies outside.) What do you mean?

STARRY: I fall apart every time we fight someone. I’m gonna have to toughen up.

ELLIOTT: (snorts) Seems to me you do just fine when it’s someone else we’re fighting.

STARRY: (looks at him with surprise) I…

ELLIOTT: It’s true, Starry. Only time you get twitchy is when it’s one of our own. And don’t tell me it ain’t a conflict with your crew protection protocols.

STARRY: Well, I guess that might be part of it…

ELLIOTT: That, and you’re a marshmallow.

STARRY: Hey.

ELLIOTT: (smiles to himself as he walks around a processing hub and comes to a stop in front of a tall, blue- and red-coded wall) A marshmallow with a titanium-plated ass.

STARRY: (narrows her eyes at him) I’m only squishy on the inside?

ELLIOTT: (taps on the code-wall to bring up an interface) Yup.

STARRY: (folds her arms over her chest) Now you’re making fun of me.

ELLIOTT: Yup.

STARRY: I don’t know why I put up with you.

ELLIOTT: Because I’m the best engineer you know.

STARRY: You’re the only engineer I know.

ELLIOTT: (grins as he manipulates the interface and displays ripple with data around him. He pauses in his work to meet her gaze.) You’ll do fine. Go run some battle simulations; you’ll feel better.

STARRY: I could say the same about you and sleep.

ELLIOTT: (rolls his eyes, but his smile lingers as his attention returns to the readouts) Ten minutes.

STARRY: (hands lifting to help him access the ident data he needs) Deal.

Ship's log, 10:55, 25 April 2214
Location: Landing pad 25D, Netix Spaceport, Dyne
Status: Docked and powered down

I have a blank spot inside me. A surge from a device overloaded my sensors and I can’t see anything inside Cargo Bay 1. I’m deaf and blind and senseless. It’s like they cut a piece out of me. The cables running to that sector tingle and spit. It’s numb and it burns at the same time.

Ebling and Swann are in that cargo bay. I don’t know which one of them did it. Right now, it barely matters. They put themselves in the dark; whatever took out my sensors also took out the lighting circuits.

Casper is making all speed to the inner doors of the cargo bay. Cameron is right behind him, her long legs about to overtake him. The captain is rushing down from the upper deck, where he was escorting Cirilli back to her quarters.

Outside, Rosie is heading casually down the ramp from Airlock 3, as if nothing is wrong. I piped the situation to her helmet comms and she’s making her way over towards Airlock 1 in case our captives try to break out there. But port security is lingering nearby to oversee our loading and we don’t want to arouse their suspicion, so she’s taking her time. Everything is fine; nothing to see here. My heavy drones are continuing in their ponderous work of hauling crates into my rear airlock. Nothing is wrong at all.

Location: Corridor outside Cargo Bay 1

CAMERON: (arriving) Starry, situation. (She still has her suit on and her helmet dangles from one hand, scooped up on her way here. She puts it on and activates the seal. There’s a faint hiss as the seal engages.)

STARRY: (appearing by the cargo bay doors with a concerned expression) Sensors are still down. I’m working to reinstate–

CAMERON: (from within her helmet) Any sign of someone trying to get out?

STARRY: (hesitates, tilting her head) I’ve got some activity on the airlock controls. They’re trying to trip the emergency release.

CAMERON: Can you stop it?

STARRY: (throws her holographic hands up) I can’t win! You want safety protocols, you don’t want safety protocols. I’m running interference, but there’s always a way to open a door eventually. I’ll buy you what time I can.

CAMERON: How long?

STARRY: Long enough. What are you going to do?

CAPTAIN: (arriving at a run) They mustn’t get outside the ship. We can’t afford for local authorities to get involved.

CAMERON: (grimly) Those authorities are exactly what they’re counting on.

CAPT: We need to end this, now. Is Brasco in position?

STARRY: Yes, she’s covering the airlock from outside. The ramp isn’t down, though.

CAMERON: Starry, on my mark, open these doors.

STARRY: (blinks and shifts back a step) Okay. Quietly?

CAMERON: (draws the weapon holstered at her belt and takes up a position to the left of the inner cargo bay doors) No, let them hear.

STARRY: (frowns.)

CAPT: (steps to the right of the doors, his weapon in hand too.)

CASPER: (trundles over to sit smack in the middle of the doorway, all four hands spinning to different attachments: welding torch, blades, pincers. The ship’s avatar stands behind his shoulder and he tilts his head back to look up at her.)

STARRY: (smiles at him grimly.)

CASPER: (lights his welding torch.)

(Along the corridor, doors and hatches click as the locks come down, shutting the rest of the crew out of the danger area.)

CAMERON: (nods) Now!

(The door snicks and whispers open, casting a bright white rectangle onto the floor of the dark cargo bay. There’s a soft scuffle, then the flash of gunfire. Laser pellets punch through the ship’s avatar and scar the wall behind her.)

STARRY: (looks down at her chest, where the laser passed through her, then she disappears, shattering onto the deck.)

CASPER: (surges forward into the cargo bay.)

CAMERON and CAPT: (duck low and slide around the doorframe into the room.)

I’m still working on bringing the sensors back up, rerouting network traffic, finding wires that haven’t burnt out. Some of the sensors are ruined, but I can get others back. I’m working on it, but I’m still blind. Still can’t see anything more than snatches and shadows.

I can hear them, though. Though the corridor sensors, through Casper’s. Scuffles near the airlock, hurrying boots against the deck, the rasp of breathing.

CAPT: (inside the cargo bay) Give up! You’re outnumbered and there’s no way out. Put your weapons down, now.

He hasn’t named who he’s talking to. He’s still trying to draw them out. Still playing because he doesn’t know the players yet. Cameron is being quiet, hoping they’ll forget her in the wake of the captain’s commands.

(There’s a sudden shuffling and a thud, followed by a squeak of protest.)

SWANN: (from near the airlock) I have him, captain! I have the little bastard.

CAPT: (using a crate marked ‘raw foodstuffs’ as cover, his weapon is trained towards the SecOff’s voice) Bring him where we can see him.

SWANN: (moves forward, dragging Ebling with him, until the light spilling in from the corridor falls on them. He has a cut above his left eye and blood down one side of his face. The scientist is on his knees and is forced to use his hands to keep up. Swann holds a handgun to Ebling’s head.)

EBLING: (is unbound and no longer wearing the captive collar. He looks like he has been smacked in the mouth: his teeth are bloody.)

CAPT: Did he get the drop on you, SecOff Swann?

SWANN: Yes, when the lights went out, captain. Little fucker made a break for it.

EBLING: He’s lying! Me, get free on my own? He’s trying to blame it all on me, when he did it! The message, the lights: it was him, captain, I swear.

CAPT: A likely story, from both of you. Who am I supposed to believe?

SWANN and EBLING: (both start protesting at once, with escalating volume.)

We’re on the knife’s edge. I have no data to tell me which one of them is to blame: the scenarios all wind up equal in my calculations. The captain’s expression is grim and giving nothing away. I don’t know what to do, but it’s not up to me. It never was.

Their voices are rising, trying to be heard. The captain’s aim hasn’t wavered away from the pair. Something is about to break. Something has to give.

(A laser pellet abruptly punches out of Ebling’s abdomen, quickly followed by a second one that sprays blood from his chest onto the decking.)

CAPT: (ducks down behind his cover.)

EBLING: (silent and shocked, he topples forward onto his face.)

SWANN: (shouts with surprise and leaps off to the side, away from the line of fire.)

CAMERON: (strides out of the shadows of the cargo bay towards Swann, gun muzzle glowing.)

SWANN: (swings his weapon around towards her and rapid-fires.)

CAMERON: (ducks and rolls out of his line of fire, sliding around the corner of a box.)

CASPER: (grabs Swann’s wrist.)

SWANN: (struggles to pull his arm free) Chief? Thank you! You got him! You–

CAMERON: (slips out from her cover and shoots Swann through the throat and head in quick succession.)

SWANN: (slumps to the deck. His free arm splays to the side, and a second gun rolls from his hand.)

CAMERON: (considers first Swann through the faceplate of her helmet, then Ebling) Clear, sir.

CASPER: (releases the mercenary’s arm and moves back.)

CAPT: (striding over and holstering his weapon) Both of them?

CAMERON: (steps over to Ebling and crouches so she can slip a gloved hand under the hem of his shirt. There’s a soft tearing sound, and she draws a small, nasty-looking weapon out from under his shirt. It is shaped to fit neatly into the palm of the hand and had been taped to the small of his back.) Yes.

CAPT: (sighs heavily) It’s over, then.

CAMERON: (rises and removes her helmet) Looks that way. (She winces as she shakes her hair free and props her helmet against her hip.)

CAPT: Any damage, Chief?

CAMERON: (looks down at a scorch mark on the sleeve of her suit) Nothing serious.

CAPT: (nods) Check in with the doctor anyway.

Both of them. Working together, knowing that only one of them would likely make it. Knowing that alone they’d never be able to do it. Relying on us to make a choice; relying on us to make the wrong choice.

Both of them.

Location: Cargo Bay 3

ELLIOTT: Starry, what’s the matter?

(Big Ass is patiently ferrying crates from the airlock over to where he’s building up neat rows of equipment, sorted by type. The doctor is standing near the inner doors, leaning on the wall and fiddling with the holographic interface projected above his right forearm. He looks bored while he waits for his goods to be brought inside.

Elliott is in the middle of scanning the crates in their neat lines, comparing his readings of their contents to the manifest. He has paused and is frowning at the ship’s avatar, who is standing nearby with a stricken expression.)

STARRY: (blinks at him) What?

ELLIOTT: What’s wrong?

STARRY: I… nothing. Nothing to worry about, it’s all fixed now.

ELLIOTT: You sure?

STARRY: (forces a smile) Yeah, sure. (She turns to face Dr Valdimir.) Doc, Cameron needs you.

DR VALDIMIR: (looks up with surprise, then his lips twitch knowingly and he heads out of the cargo bay.)

ELLIOTT: (regards the avatar with a frown.)

STARRY: (nods towards the airlock) More coming in for you.

ELLIOTT: (glances around at Big Ass. When he turns back, the avatar is gone. His frown deepens, but steps forward to scan the crate that the heavy drone places in front of him.)

All fixed now. Nothing to worry about. We got those who would have betrayed us and the locals are none the wiser. Outside, everyone thinks I’m just a ship, nothing special, nothing to worry about or profit from.

Inside, we know better. But my people are safe.

Location: Cargo Bay 1

CAPT: (leaving the cargo bay) Starry, get them into cryo.

STARRY: (standing by the inner doorway) Yes, sir.

CASPER: (starts picking up the weapons discarded on the cargo bay floor.)

Freeze them; that will make it all better. That’ll clean it up. I wish I believed that.

My people are safe and there’s blood on my decks again.

STARRY: (looks at the laser scars on the wall opposite the doors to Cargo Bay 1, where gunfire had passed right through her. Then she disappears.)

Ship's log, 10:41, 25 April 2214
Location: Landing pad 25D, Netix Spaceport, Dyne
Status: Landing

Landing gear extended.
Landing manoeuvres complete.
Docking clamps engaged.
Powering down...
Sublight engines offline.
Thrusters offline.
Weapons offline.

I am landed. My systems are winding down and I’m preparing to unlock my outer doors.

Outside of me, pale sunlight streaks through the heavy atmosphere and illuminates the clutter around the landing pad. Crates and boxes and strangely-shaped packages are stacked up, waiting for me. Their combined mass looks bigger than I am, and yet, I know that it will all fit inside my cargo bays. Automatic calculations outstrip my assumptions and assure me that it will be fine.

There are people gathered in a gap between the crates. I know the familiar shapes of my SecOffs, even though they’ve got helmets on against Dyne’s inhospitable air (it’s breathable, but only just and not recommended for long periods of time without lung implants). I’m not sure who the other two bodies are. They’re all watching me land, faceplates turned towards me, and I can’t tell if they’re talking on a low, private comms band. The dust settles around my feet and the people all shift their weight, preparing to move.

Inside of me, there’s a traitor, waiting for something to happen. Deeper inside, I have a captured message, rolling around and around in my coded hands as I try to pick my way in past its protections. The acknowledgement returned by Dyne’s relay system gave me no clues about who it was for. I’m trying to trace the address tagged on it without giving away my intentions, but I’m having no luck so far.

And I still don’t know who sent it. How could it have been sent from an empty room? Did someone trigger it remotely? Set it up on a timer? How would they know when we’d be in landing manoeuvres, when there was no way for me to know when the Port Authority would let me in? Did they hack in from wherever they are now and fake the message’s source?

No. No hacking; I’d know. There wasn’t any traffic like that through my systems, and no comms traffic passing through my decks, so they weren’t using a private network to do it. They must have set it up in Ebling’s quarters beforehand.

They. Who?

Location: Bridge

STARRY: Captain, we’re down. Major systems disabled.

CAPTAIN: (nods and rises from his seat) And our people?

STARRY: Outside, waiting for us.

They’re moving now. I’m extending the ramp from Cargo Bay 3 at my rear; it’s one of the largest bays, and I’ve emptied it of everything else so we can get all the new gear inside. I don’t want to unlock the doors, though. I don’t want to let them inside, or what’s inside out. I have a row of red flashing lights in my head and I can’t see anything else.

CAPT: (watching the avatar) All right, let them in.

STARRY: (frowns at him unhappily) Acknowledged.

CAPT: Make sure you’re monitoring all local comms traffic, in case the Judiciary noticed us landing.

STARRY: Scanning all traffic, sir.

He doesn’t mean to watch just for the Judiciary. He wants me to look for any sign of trouble coming our way. It could be colonial law and it could be someone else. I should have noticed earlier: that message wasn’t going to the Judiciary outpost on Dyne. Not even a local office. Private address. A cover for something. Pirates perhaps? Kess hired them and she already got us, so they don’t need me any more. But do the pirates know that?

Cameron and her escort are at the base of my ramp. Rosie steps up off the landing pad’s mesh, but the others hang back. I wish I knew who they were and why they’re here.

I don’t want to open the airlock, but I have to.

Location: External, Cargo Bay 3

(The airlock doors hiss as they open and the cleaner gas of the ship’s atmosphere escapes. Filling up the entire airlock are the two heavy drones, Big Ass and Wide Load.

At the base of the ramp, the four people turn to look. The drones spin their hands and attachments, whirling metal as if making a point. Then they compact themselves down to a smaller shape, folding in all of their bristling equipment to make themselves more portable. Big Ass takes the lead down the ramp, trundling towards the group at the bottom at a brisk pace, with Wide Load close behind him. The four humans step out of the way and watch them go past. Behind them, the airlock is suddenly empty.)

Okay, maybe I was showing off a little. My boys sound like they’re grumbling, but that’s just their tracks on the landing pad’s mesh. I can’t help but wish that they had their weapon attachments already, but those parts are in the equipment crates they’re about to ferry into my cargo bay.

These upgrades can’t happen soon enough, and yet I don’t want it to happen at all.

There’s movement on my decks. The captain asked me not to lock the internal doors down this time; he wants me to let the pieces move into place. He’s heading to the cargo bay now, as is Elliott. My engineer is still pale but the doc says he’s well enough to verify the cargo. Swann is following the captain, and… wait, is everyone going to the cargo bay? How can I tell who’s being suspicious if they all go?

Oh, Lang Lang is staying on the Bridge. She’s deep in calculations and oblivious to what else is going on. I’m not sure what she’s chasing down but it looks interesting and… focus, Starry. The pieces are moving.

Location: Cargo Bay 3

ELLIOTT: (tugging his belt as he hurries up to the internal doors. He’s the first to arrive of the crew.) Is it here yet?

STARRY: (appearing) First load is on its way up now.

ELLIOTT: How long until I’ve got stuff to check?

STARRY: A couple of minutes.

ELLIOTT: (pausing to squint at the ship’s avatar) Everything all right?

STARRY: Yes. No. Just, don’t rush in, okay?

ELLIOTT: What–

STARRY: (shakes her head) I can’t. Please, trust me?

ELLIOTT: (looking unhappy) Yeah, ‘course. (He turns and fiddles with his favourite scanner, as if it needs to be adjusted.)

Location: External, Cargo Bay 3

(At the base of the ramp, silent communications are exchanged between the helmets. The suit belonging to Cameron shakes hands with one of the strangers, then the two non-crewmembers head for the edge of the landing pad. Cameron and Rosie move up the ramp.

At the edge of the landing pad, Big Ass and Wide Load pick up a stack of crates each. They spin slowly and trundle back towards the ship.

At the airlock, Rosie stops outside and turns to survey the landing pad. Her hands lift the huge weapon hanging from a strap over her shoulder and hold it casually ready. Cameron steps into the airlock and the doors close to cycle her inside.)

Elliott has drifted off to a corner of the cargo bay. The captain is arriving, Swann on his heels. Ebling and Cirilli are arriving on the cargo level from mid-deck; they’re a couple of minutes from the centre of attention. The doc is heading down, too; he’ll be the last to arrive.

Location: Airlock 3, Cargo Bay 3

CAMERON: (while the atmosphere equalises) Situation report, Starry?

STARRY: (voice only) The message was sent from Ebling’s quarters but no-one was present at the time. I’m still trying to decode the package. Everyone except Lang Lang is on the way to the cargo bay now.

CAMERON: (cracking the seal on her suit) What’s Lang Lang doing?

STARRY: Navigation calculations. The usual. Who are those people outside?

CAMERON: Port security and customs. They’re here to monitor the loading.

STARRY: Is that normal?

CAMERON: (removing her helmet) Yes, especially when we refuse to use their loading equipment.

STARRY: Should we worry about them?

CAMERON: Just keep the drones on the straight and narrow, and it’ll be fine. It’s not that unusual. And lock the airlock behind me until I tell you otherwise.

STARRY: Securing outer airlock.

Location: Internal, Cargo Bay 3

(Just inside the airlock doors, Waldo and Casper sit quietly out of the way, scanning the empty space.)

CAMERON: (strides to the rear of the cargo bay to place her helmet aside, shaking out her hair briskly.)

CAPT: (entering, he nods to his Chief of Security) Everything good?

CAMERON: (nods at him) It’s in hand. And here?

CAPT: Nothing you don’t already know.

CAMERON: (glances towards the inner doors to the cargo bay and adjusts her weapons belt.)

Today, I am a chessboard. Sometimes I’m a piece, but on days like this, I’m just the playing field. I never feel like a player. I have to trust that the pieces will do the right thing. I can feel Waldo and Casper flexing their little hands as people arrive in the cargo bay.

Elliott is watching the proceedings nervously. I wish I hadn’t told him. I wish I’d kept him away from this. Just stay back, Elliott.

CAMERON: (taps at the holographic interface hovering over her left sleeve and watches data scroll past. She tags a particular nugget of information with a flick of a fingertip and it pauses.)

(The rest of the crew file in. None of them are speaking; they barely look at each other, even if they arrive together.)

DR VALDIMIR: (looking around the empty cargo bay) So, where’s all the stuff?

CAMERON: It’s on its way. We have something to deal with first.

DOC: (sighs) Is this going to take long?

CAMERON: That depends on who sent the message seventeen minutes ago.

(Everyone in the cargo bay turns to look at the Chief, and then glance at each other.)

CAPT: (resting a hand on the weapon holstered at his belt) Your help isn’t coming. You might as well step forward now.

I’m not the only one scanning the faces present to see who looks uncomfortable. The doctor looks annoyed but not in a guilty way. I think he’s irritated because whoever is responsible was careless enough to be detected. From his intelligence indexes, I think he’d be much harder to catch. Or rather, that’s what he assumes.

Cirilli seems nonplussed, as if she’s not sure what it all means. Her head has been elsewhere for days now.

Ebling is tense and uncomfortable. I can see Cameron flicking at her interface again; she’s going over the bio-monitor reports on the crew and the spike in Ebling’s readout is note-worthy.

Swann’s reaction is flat. Not even the flutter we might expect from a professional SecOff hearing about a serious security issue. He must have an implant that controls his bio-rhythms, which makes him a professional liar. I don’t like the implications of that. Not even Rosie with all her various implants has that kind of control. She’s too honest to think she’d ever need it. But Swann does.

Cameron skipped right past his readouts as if they’re not important. Should I say something? What if he does something stupid and dangerous? What if he freaks out?

Cameron’s too busy looking at Ebling. I don’t know what to do.

CAPT: This is your chance to step forward and own up to it.

(Silence reigns. Glances move around the cargo bay, but that’s it. Outside, the heavy drones wait patiently at the closed airlock doors.)

CAPT: I’ll take that as a no. Chief?

CAMERON: The message was traced back to Ebling’s quarters.

EBLING: (blurts) What? But I wasn’t even there! Captain, you can’t–

CAPT: Chief, do your thing.

CAMERON: (nods) Swann, take Dr Ebling to Cargo Bay 1 and secure him there.

SWANN: (draws his weapon and gestures at the irate scientist with it) Yes, ma’am. Ebling, move it.

EBLING: But… you can’t! I couldn’t have sent it if I wasn’t there!

SWANN: (claps a hand on Ebling’s shoulder and shoves him towards the corridor) I said move it.

Off they go. Ebling is stumbling and starting to sweat. Swann looks smug, but I get the feeling that he enjoys pushing people around. Cameron and the captain are exchanging glances, waiting for something, and the doctor has picked up on it; his eyes narrow. In the corner, out of the way, Elliott is shifting his weight uncomfortably. He keeps fiddling with his scanner as if it’s a weapon he’s trying to aim, but he doesn’t have a target.

The inner doors swish closed behind Ebling and Swann. Pressure in the cargo bay eases, except for Cameron. She’s as tense as ever.

CAMERON: Starry, when they’re inside the cargo bay, lock the doors behind them.

STARRY: Lock them both in?

CAMERON: (grimly) Yes.

STARRY: (nodding, wide-eyed) Will do.

Both of them. So she does suspect Swann after all. All right, I can lock them in. It should only be minutes before they realise, before Swann tries to leave.

Doesn’t this put Ebling in danger? What will Swann do to him to try to prove his innocence, or to try to get out?

DOC: (regarding the Chief curiously) And the rest of us?

CAMERON: Try not to get run over by the drones when they bring the gear in. (She looks to the ship’s avatar and nods.)

CAPT: (agreeing) Let’s get the loading done.

That’s my cue to open the airlock and let Big Ass in with his load. His brother will wait outside until the airlock is clear, place his burden in it, then trundle off to get more. They should get everything inside over the next hour. The cycling of the airlock means that no-one can slip outside without me knowing; I’m never completely open to Dyne’s acrid atmosphere.

Everyone is moving back to give the drones space, or forward to start scanning the crates for the goods. The doctor is interested in the supplies he ordered and Elliott is interested in… well, pretty much everything else. Cameron and the captain are standing off to the side, comparing notes in hushed voices. They seem satisfied with how it turned out.

The only one not moving is Cirilli. She’s gazing at the closed inner doors as if she’s wondering why she can’t see Ebling any more. Like a piece just fell out of her world and she doesn’t know what to fill the gap with.

So much has been chiselled away from her lately. We’re going to destroy the project she spent her life building. Now her colleague has betrayed her and she’s questioning everything he’s ever told her, everything she’s ever given him.

I complain because I’ve been betrayed several times in my short life – and even before I was born – but it has been so much longer for her. Forty years. I can simulate it, but I can’t quite understand what that’s like.

STARRY: (stepping to the captain’s side, she clears her throat softly.)

CAPT: Starry?

STARRY: (inclines her head towards Dr Cirilli, who is standing alone in the cargo bay.)

CAPT: (exchanges a glance with Cameron. They nod, and he moves off towards the stranded scientist.)

The captain will look after her. He knows how to handle her, and Cameron can oversee the loading of our equipment. Our suspects are locked up, we’re safe. We’re… uh oh, Swann has realised that he’s locked in.

Location: Cargo Bay 1

SWANN: (pressing the door controls again) Starry, what’s going on with the door?

(Behind Swann, Ebling is kneeling and bound in the middle of the cargo bay’s floor. The single red light of a captive collar blinks under his chin.)

STARRY: (voice only) Chief’s orders, Swann. You’re to stay here and guard Ebling.

SWANN: That’s not what she said. Open the door.

STARRY: I’m sorry, Dave, I can’t do that.

SWANN: My name’s not Dave. Open the door!

STARRY: I’m checking. Please stand by.

I don’t know how long that will satisfy him. He’s looking around for another way to get out. I’m going to send Casper up there to keep an eye on– oh shit.

Location: Cargo Bay 3

STARRY: (appearing next to Cameron) Chief, I just lost sensors in Cargo Bay 1.

CAMERON: (scowls and jogs towards the corridor) Get Brasco to airlock 1 and tell the captain.

STARRY: On it.

Cameron isn’t surprised. She knew that one of them would try something. She’s prepared: I have to take comfort in that.

I can’t tell whether Ebling or Swann blacked out my sensors. One of them must have a device that overloads the circuits but I didn’t see them trip it. Could be in a pocket, or maybe built into an implant, though that would be dangerous.

The sensors will come back up in a couple of minutes. But now I have a blank part inside me. I’m blind, like I have one eye closed. I need to know what’s going on in there. I need to know which one of them is responsible.

And we need to catch them before they escape.

Ship's log, 10:27, 25 April 2214
Location: Landing route, Dyne
Status: Atmospheric entry trajectory

Two and a half days. The trap has been propped open for two and a half days and there has barely been a sniff at it. I wish that was a good thing. I wish that made me feel better.

Two thirds of my security force is away. I’ve got a comms channel left open, as if by accident. I’ve got news feeds piping directly into the Mess Hall, so the whole crew knows that I’ve got data coming in, that there might be a chance to get a message out. I’ve kept the comms system as clean and unmonitored as possible; no-one could have known how closely I was watching unless they went hunting for it. I would have seen them fiddling with the code walls, seen them see me, and the trap would have closed.

Nothing. A couple of checks to see if the system was open but no queries about monitoring. No requests for an actual connection. Nothing!

And now here I am, heating my hull on re-entry, still waiting for the shoe to drop. The gleaming city-domes of Dyne bubble on the surface below me, beyond the haze of the upper atmosphere. Netix Port Authority is directing me to a landing pad half a continent away from this entry path. They’re careful to give us plenty of space to deal with atmospheric entry.

I’m inside the atmosphere now. The heat is curling off my skin in hissing clouds, leaving a streak across the sky behind me. I’m in a hurry: no time to sport around. No time to kiss the clouds and pull moisture into streamers, to flutter my engines into a tattoo against the air. There are no birds to startle here, and no time to do it even if there were.

Five thousand klicks from landing. My hull isn’t glowing any more. I leave my landing gear tucked away; I can enjoy being aerodynamic for a few minutes, at least.

Hold on. My comms system just burbled. Outgoing message; I relay it through my little invisible net and it’s scrambled on its way out. A clean acknowledgement message is returned to soothe the fears of whoever sent it.

It’s a coded message; data, not voice or video. And it came from Ebling’s quarters, from behind his privacy locks.

I opened the door two and a half days ago. He waited until the last moment to walk through it. He might have hoped that I’d be so distracted by landing protocols and manoeuvres that I’d never notice. Little does he know that while I might not have landed much in my short life, Danika racked up over a hundred in hers. These things are so rote and regulated that they might as well have a stream of hovering lights to guide us in. I have attention enough to spare for this.

I have to tell the captain but he’s on the Bridge for the landing. Lang Lang and Swann are there with him. I can’t let them know what’s going on.

Location: Bridge

STARRY: (standing by the captain’s chair, she frowns at the forward windows that are showing the view outside: Dyne rushing past below and the tilt of the horizon as the ship comes around the city-dome of Netix to line up with the spaceport.)

CAPTAIN: (watching the holographic display of their approach, in the centre of the room. He glances at the avatar.) You’re very serious today, Starry. Is everything all right?

LANG LANG: (looks around with some concern.)

STARRY: Landing protocols are all green, sir. No problems. (She glances at him.) I just don’t like having my people away from me.

LANG LANG: (smiles) They’ll be back soon.

CAPT: (nods at Lang Lang) Yes, they will. The Chief hasn’t reported any problems; it’ll all be fine, Starry.

STARRY: (sighs) I know, I know.

I wish I believed that. Oh, I’m sure that Cameron and Rosie can look after themselves, even among the metalheads. Hell, Rosie would fit right in. It’s not that. But also, it is. I have this one little processing thread that frets about them in the background, while most of my systems are churning over this transmission and all the dangers still on my decks.

How do I tell him?

CAPT: (glances down at a small, flashing light on the mini-console projected over the right arm of his chair. Two words appear for a second: Transmission Detected. He glances up queryingly at the ship’s avatar.)

STARRY: (meets his gaze briefly and nods.)

CAPT: (looks at the two in the room with him, then presses a query on his console: Identify. Two letters come up in answer: S.E. His lips flatten into a grim line when he figures it out: Ebling’s initials.)

He’s not surprised. I don’t think anyone will be. It’s going to take some time for me to decode the message Ebling tried to send, but I don’t think its contents will be a surprise either.

CAPT: Starry, make sure the Chief knows how to find us when we land.

STARRY: Of course, sir.

How to find us, not where. He means for me to tell her what I just told him. She needs to know. It takes nanoseconds to send a transmission to her; she’s waiting for us at the spaceport. Not long now.

Wait. This can’t be right. The transmission came from Ebling’s quarters, from behind his privacy locks. I’ve checked it fourteen times to be sure.

But he’s sitting on mid-deck. He’s right there in my sensors, has been for the last hour, going through Step data. Cirilli is sitting two metres away at her own station.

Dr Socks is in Med Bay, going over Elliott’s latest scans. Elliott is in his quarters, changing into fresh coveralls so he’s ready to go through the equipment when they start bringing it on board. The Lieutenant is in his locked quarters.

Everyone is accounted for. My sensor logs don’t lie and they haven’t been hacked. I’d know.

That’s it: I’m declaring a crew emergency and tearing down the privacy locks on Ebling’s quarters.

CAPT: (glances down at the mini-console when a red light appears, highlighting the ‘crew emergency’. He lifts his hand to initiate a response, but those two letters appear again: S.E. This time, they’re joined by a blinking question mark. He looks up at Starry.)

STARRY: (shakes her head, her frown deepening. She projects the sensor feed from the newly-naked quarters onto the console for him. The displayed room is empty.) Coming around to land now, sir.

CAPT: (scowls at the display, his lips settling into an increasingly displeased line.)

The message was sent from an empty room. Ebling is the chief suspect, but… should he be?

Here’s the next short in the series! This one is about a character we haven’t met directly yet, as requested by you, my lovely readers: Danika.

Hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

++++

“This isn’t like your previous assignments. You’re not testing a solo-seat dogfighter this time.” The voice and its owner chased after her, hurrying to catch up. The little admin couldn’t match her long-legged stride and Danika smiled as he jogged to come abreast of her. She didn’t slow down for him, walking with purpose down the docking tube towards the waiting ship.

“You’ve told me all this before,” she pointed out mildly. “Contract’s all signed. Little late to be worried about it now, isn’t it?”

A sharp edge bit into his tone. “You’re not on board and cleared for departure yet.”

Danika spared the man a sideways glance, then sighed and slowed. She stopped at the mouth of the ship’s airlock and turned to face him. He was only a few centimetres shorter than her but the fashionable cut of his suit wasn’t made for movement, whereas her pilot’s shipsuit was designed for comfort and freedom. The effort of straining to keep up with her had ruffled the perfect lines of his hair: a single curl drooped over his forehead. She hefted her go-bag onto her shoulder and lifted her eyebrows at him.

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Just because I wrecked the last three prototypes you put me in – which you asked me to test to destruction, by the way – doesn’t mean I’m gonna do the same here.”

“You weren’t supposed to be able to destroy all of those.”

Danika grinned, unrepentant. “Kinda the point of the testing, wasn’t it? Never underestimate a pilot’s creativity. But yes, I know there’s a whole crew to think of this time and it’s not just my ass on the line. Yes, I know it’s a bazillion-dollar project. I’ve had the speeches and warnings and fine print explained in painful detail. I get it. Now, you gonna get outa my way or do you want to go find another crazy pilot willing to bend reality?”

“That’s not actually what you’ll be–”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

The admin – she couldn’t remember his name, even though she’d shook his hand when he introduced himself – sighed heavily, clearly giving up hope of getting any more earnest promises from her. Danika felt a little sorry for him, but what more could she say? They wanted someone willing to take on a risky job and give assurances that she’ll keep their investment safe. Surely they could see the oxymoron in that? Safe pilots flew shuttles and freight, not experimental ships that set out to defy the laws of physics.

“Tell them I’ll do my best to behave with their new toy,” she said in a kinder tone, which seemed to release some of the tension from his shoulders. It was hard to tell with that stiff suit of his.

“All right, then. Fly safe, Pilot Devon.”

Danika grinned, unable to restrain her enthusiasm, and touched a fingertip to her temple. “Always.”

Before the admin had the chance to say anything else, she took that as her farewell and stepped inside the airlock. The doors whispered closed behind her and she let out a breath, glad to be free of him. She waited for the ship to verify her identity before it opened the inner doors; standard practice on one of these secret-squirrel projects, even if she had been delivered by a company admin.

“Identity confirmed. Welcome aboard, Pilot Danika Devon,” a cool, non-commital female voice said. The inner doors breezed open.

“Thanks, Starwalker.”

Adjusting the strap of the heavy bag on her shoulder, Danika stepped inside the ship and glanced around. The place had the bland anti-smell of new ship, with scrubbers so new that the air didn’t even smell like air. After the bustle of Feras’s corridors and streets, it was blessedly quiet, as if they were already out in the depths of space and far from everyone else. Danika could feel herself relaxing already.

The ship was still being stocked for its maiden voyage, so the airlock had led her into a cargo bay. Heavy drones were stacking crates with precise patience in the corner and took no notice of her as she swept through to the inner corridor. Once there, she hesitated, looking down each branch curiously. It was pristine here, bright and new and clean. The deck was barely scuffed from the passing of boots.

“Your quarters are to your right and up a level, Pilot,” the ship said helpfully.

“I know.” Danika had memorised the layout when she got the ship’s specs – it was important to know the shape and size of the craft she was going to have to fly – and the decks were pretty standard for a scout-class. “There’s something I want to do first.”

She turned and headed down the corridor to her left. Up a level and all the way into the forward section, she made a beeline for the Bridge. There was no-one around, though there were distant sounds of movement in the ship, around corners and out of sight. There was no sign of anyone on the Bridge either and she wondered briefly if she should announce herself. The ship knew she was there; the captain had probably been told.

It had been a while since she had had to work under a captain. Test piloting solo-seaters meant she was her own boss, at least within the skin of the ship; now she’d have to get used to taking orders again. She smiled to herself – this could prove to be an interesting mission – and turned to the alcove at the rear of the Bridge.

Her bag slithered down to rest on the floor and slumped against her ankle, and she reached out to touch the edge of the couch that dominated the alcove. It was soft, black, and built to her exact measurements, its curves and hollows designed to accommodate her body. Where her head would rest, small silver glimmers showed the jacks that would hook up to her implants, and her heart beat a little faster at the sight of them. Already, she couldn’t wait to slide inside and find out how this ship felt to fly.

****

“This is going to feel a little weird when I slide it in.”

The voice came from above and behind the young woman’s head as she leaned back in the chair. Her hands curled around the armrests; the implant was so new that it was still tender and she was bracing for the tech to fiddle with it. She’d got the implant as soon as she could legally put pilot-specific tech in her head, and her eighteenth birthday had been two days ago.

“That’s what my first boyfriend said,” Danika said, joking to hide her nerves. “I’m told this should be even more fun than that.”

The tech snorted softly. “You can use it for that if you want, but that’s not what we’re hooking you up for today. Just a standard calibration and tutorial. Are you ready?”

Danika rolled her eyes, careful not to move her head. Mustn’t make him miss the port. “Yeah, yeah. Get on with it already, would you?”

The calibration and tutorial were part of the implant package. Parabola Cybernetics provided them free of charge; they reduced demands for refunds and the chance of someone’s brain imploding when hooked up to a badly-configured system, which was just bad publicity for everyone. Easy, safe, and totally immersive: that was the advertising spiel, and for once, Danika had faith that it was close to the truth.

Though she had come to Dyne, the cybernetic colony, to get her implant, they were light-minutes away from the planet now, hovering in the patient vacuum. These kinds of tests were better conducted out in space where there was less chance of her flying into something. Another safety measure that she wondered about: who was it really for?

She felt metal touch metal and gasped. Her eyes flew wide open and her body went rigid in the chair, but the jack had already snicked into place. The pain she was bracing for didn’t happen; just the mild discomfort of the implant port tugging against the healing flesh around it. But there was something else as well. A connection. A whisper at the base of her skull that beckoned her.

“Now, like we practised,” the tech was saying behind her. “Imagine your mind is a flower, and you’re peeling open the petals, one at a time. Count upwards to ten, slowly…”

Danika ignored him, searching for that whisper. It felt like it was coming from behind a door; it took her a moment to realise that the barrier was the safety shield between her and the ship, the one they put in place so she wouldn’t be overwhelmed when she hooked up with it. Impatient, she did what they had warned her not to: she threw away the flower metaphor and imagined a door, lifted a booted foot, and kicked it open.

It was like someone had peeled off her skull. She was wide open, exposed. She could feel the cool breath of the vacuum. She could see everything: the inside of the Bridge, the open space outside of the ship, even the distant gleam of Dyne where she had got the implant. She could feel her body sitting stiffly in the chair, and hanging patiently in space. Inputs overlaid each other and she closed her eyes to focus on the new information.

It didn’t hurt. It took her a moment to realise this, and when she did, she grinned. The tech was still droning away behind her but she was busy exploring her new senses/ors. She could see all around the ship-self, not just in front, and the sensors extended well beyond the spectrum of human sight. She could see magnetic patterns in the vacuum, the halo around Dyne, the trails of ships’ passings. The void was not as empty as she had known. It was full of colours so rich that it murmured at her and brought space alive with sound.

Breathlessly, she turned her attention to her ship-body. It was a small, aged shuttle, sublight engines only, no FTL drive (no-one calibrated a pilot implant in an FTL-ready ship, not since a new pilot panicked and destroyed half a moon by trying to jump through it). Little stubby wings, a shape that nodded to aerodynamics, and a powerhouse of sublights in a fat ass, built to punch the ship out of atmosphere over and over again.

On the Bridge, Danika opened her eyes. The tech was standing in front of her, leaning in to peer at her face, and he blinked with surprise when she met his gaze.

“Are you counting?” he asked.

A laugh burbled in her throat. “I’m ready to start flying this thing now.”

He looked perturbed and straightened up. “You might want to take a moment to get used to the sensory input. It can be disorienting at first.”

“Disorienting? It’s wonderful. I want to see more.”

The tech nudged at his handunit with a thumb and frowned at the readouts. “Everything seems to be normal so far. Spikes are nominal…”

Trying not to look too smug – she was too excited to pull off ‘smug’ – Danika closed her eyes and settled back in the chair more comfortably. “Where are the flight controls? I don’t need to worry about the inertial dampeners, right? The automatic systems will handle that?”

“Yes, that’s correct. The ship will balance your manoeuvres. Now, this isn’t like walking or running; ship propulsion feels quite different.”

“I’ve been flying since I was six. Just tell me how to find the flight controls.”

“This is quite different. There’s no stick or pedals for this; you’ll have to learn how to fly all over again. You need to find the main sublight engines in the aft section, and the thrusters at all the major points of the ship: nose, wings, tail. Just feel your way through the sensor feeds until you locate them all…”

The tech’s voice faded again as she got lost in the inputs from the ship. The cool weight of space outside the hull caressed her. The colours of magnetic ripples. The whispered song of gravity fluctations from Dyne’s sun.

There were warm spots too, within her ship-self. The hot core of the sublights was the easiest to find, and after that, the perforation of the thrusters along the lines of the ship were no trouble to locate. But there was something in the way, a sheet of fabric between her and the propulsion systems, stopping her from touching them. A gossamer-thin safety protocol, so that she didn’t spark the engines too soon. She tore the threads down with happy hands, swept aside the spider-silk and felt the bright, hard presence of the ship’s power. She laughed low in her throat and fluttered a wing-thruster, sending her ship-self into a barrel-roll.

The tech was right: it wasn’t like the flying she’d done before. She had to learn what effect each thruster had, how to balance and manoeuvre using her whole body, not just her hands and feet on controls. It was like those flights when she would turn down the inertial dampeners so that she could feel the drag of inertia on her, feel the bump and rock and spin of the ship, and the delicious way that speed pushed her back into her chair. But this was so much better. She got all that feedback without fiddling with the inertial dampeners, and more.

She had imagined what it was like to fly as a ship since she first put her hands on the controls of her father’s ship. Even under his strict guidance, it was fun to fly the old freighter. It was better when he got her her first junked shuttle to play with. As a child, she used to run around with her arms flung out like wings. Now her arms were wings and she had put her ship-self into a nauseating spin. She back-thrust against it too hard and spun the other way. Countering with a nose-thruster burst only added another dimension to the tumbling.

“You’re going too fast!” The tech was exasperated with her but not panicking; he meant that she was pushing the connection too fast, not the ship.

Danika opted to ignore his concern. “No, I got it. Just need to get a-hold of this…”

“I’m putting the ship back on autopilot–”

“No!” Danika lifted a hand to stop him and flipped the ship over again. Spinning, so much spinning. The stars were blurring in her senses/ors. She couldn’t tell where the sun was, or Dyne. ‘Up’ had no meaning in space but orientation was still useful. Necessary. Losing it made her want to puke on the tech’s shoes. She swallowed it back.

“I’ve almost got it. Hold on, just hold on.”

She wrestled with the ship-self. She tried to feel the spin, its rhythm and pattern. Breathe. Push through the disorientation, find the control that will bring it all back into focus. Think about what her hands would do on the controls to fix this and follow it through to the effect on the ship. Mirror it now on this ship-self. Push back against the flipping, one little thruster-flutter at a time. Small motions, flicks of her fingers rather than flaps of her arms. Straighten it out.

Coming out of a spin was the only time anyone could accuse Danika of flying straight, and she did it well when she concentrated.

Dimly, she was aware of the sweat trickling between her shoulder blades and the soft cursing of the tech in the background. Stars settled into their proper alignments, Dyne and its sun resolved into bright balls in the dark, and she grinned. She was surprised to note that she was out of breath. But she’d got it. When the wings waggled this time, it was on purpose.

Got it.

“I’ve never seen anyone pick it up so fast,” the tech was saying.

Danika laughed and reached down into the pit of her belly, where the sublight engines were. They growled and boiled, ready under their leash for her slightest touch. “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she said without opening her eyes.

She whooped out loud when she kicked the power of the sublights and her little shuttle-self shot off across the system.

****

Seven years and three upgrades later, and she still felt like whooping when she activated a ship’s full sublight speed. Despite the rote tests and the wrecks and the occasional near-fatality, she still couldn’t wait to climb into the couch and lose herself in the flying. She still came out of the couch keyed-up, enervated but tingling, and usually a little turned on.

“You must be Devon,” a new voice said. Male, low, grim.

Danika looked up and knew instantly it was the captain. He wore his shipsuit like a uniform, all neat lines, unstained and uncrumpled, with a pristine white undershirt showing at the neck. The bands of his rank confirmed her guess as they marched across his shoulders. His restrained appearance was spoiled by the sleek fall of his hair, blacker, longer, and neater than hers ever was. Oddly enough, it suited him, unlike the tight-lipped, unhappy expression he wore. He stood straight under an internal weight, a man of contradictions and curious darkness.

She didn’t let him dent her mood. After a couple of months of debriefing and waiting for a new commission, she was going to fly again soon. She held her hand out over the couch towards him and grinned in greeting.

“Danika. Pleased to meet you, Captain Warwick. So, how long until we blow outa here?”

Ship's log, 23:41, 22 April 2214
Location: Orbit around Sconnor, Dyne system
Status: Sublight transit

I snuck out here early yesterday morning, in a carefully-timed zoom from close Dyne orbit to the shelter of the ring around Sconnor, the second planet in this system. The Marionette has a randomised patrol pattern – to catch out ships trying to avoid her, no doubt – but I managed to get a window large enough to make the transit. Here, the debris that makes up the ring shields me.

Weaving through the ring and its rocks was good for the first hour.

After so much time spent in straight-line sublight transit or mechanically precise FTL jumps, the freedom of dodging moving objects, of choosing my own twisting path, was a welcome change. I was blasting the metaphorical dust off my wings, scouring the cobwebs out of my engine housing.

I forgot about everything I’ve been worrying about, lost in the tilt and turn, flipping and spinning and skimming past rocks so fast they almost blurred in my super-fast sensors. Thrusters heated up spots on my hull as they flared and fluttered, until it felt like my whole skin was alive and warm. If I still needed air, I would’ve been breathless and grinning.

It palled after a while. My scenario simulators were working at full capacity on the rock patterns and I started to be able to predict the next turn, then the next three, and every rock started to look the same. Reality started to creep back in. My SecOffs are abandoned on the fourth planet of the system, disgruntlement walks my decks, and the Judiciary ship patrols with its random patterns and sweeping sensors. I feel it pressing at me, stealing the joy from everything.

Briefly, I thought about cutting up some of the rocks with my lasers, but it isn’t a good idea to draw that kind of attention to myself. Instead, I settled into a course that rode gently through the plane of the planet’s ring, always keeping Dyne within sensor range.

Things out there are simple and clear, but inside my hull it’s a different story. There are too many unknowns. I can’t go back to pick up my Chief of Security for a few days yet; she sent a message up to say that some of the equipment we need will take a while to be ready. I think she’s referring to my new ident. We want my visit to Dyne as short as possible, so everything has to be ready at the same time.

It’s because she doesn’t trust some of my people. She thinks they might betray us, but she’s not sure enough to do anything about it. I don’t have enough data to be confident of the best course to take, either, but we can’t keep on going like this, waiting. Something needs to change. Soon. So I’m going to do something about it.

I talked to the captain about it and he agrees. Now is the time to do it, while the Chief is away and they think there’s a crack in my protection.

It’s time to give them an opportunity to hurt us. I’m going to do it my way, by my rules. I’m setting up nets so that I catch them before they do any real damage. I’m setting it up so it’s safe. I’m not waiting any more. I’m going to show them my belly and see who takes a swipe.

Then I’m going to show them my claws.

Ship's log, 13:16, 20 April 2214
Location: Netix City Spaceport, Dyne
Status: Landing approach

Coordinating our landing on Dyne has been tricky at best. There isn’t much Judiciary presence in this system but they still have an outpost here, like they do on all of the colonies. They’ll still have plenty of personnel on the ground, but most of their ships have been called away to help with Earth, leaving only a single scout-class warship patrolling the system: the Marionette.

It crossed my sensor range yesterday. It might be scout-class but it’s still nearly twice my size, and packed with Judiciary weapons. I can’t get my new configuration fast enough.

In the meantime, I plan to stay out of its sensor range by keeping the planet between us. It might not even have me on its list of ships to keep an eye out for, but I’d rather not take that gamble. Especially not after this landing.

We had to time our descent into Dyne’s atmosphere carefully. When the Marionette had slipped around the curve of the dark planet on its patrol fourteen minutes ago, I heated my hull in a rapid entry vector. Port Authority at the spaceport facility outside Netix City bleated at me with alarm, but I’m cool enough now to set down on the landing pad. There’s only a little steam curling off me from my punch through the low clouds.

The docking clamps are about to close on my nose. Time to request an immediate dust-off. I can hear the Port Authority staff sighing and I can’t tell if it’s annoyance or relief.

Meanwhile, the captain is letting the rest of the crew in on the plan. Only Cameron and Rosie know what our intentions are in landing today, and they’re waiting in one of my rear cargo bays for us to set down.

Docking clamps engaged.
Sublight engines disabled.
Thrusters disabled.
Weapons disabled.

I still hate that. But Elliott insisted that I reinstate the docking protocols fully, so I have. I am, momentarily, stuck here.

No time to waste: my outer airlock is open and the ramp is stretching for the scarred mesh of the landing pad.

Location: Bridge

STARRY: (standing beside the captain’s chair) Docking clamps engaged, captain. We are landed.

CAPTAIN: (nods at her) Good work, Starry. Are we prepared?

He means are we prepared to depart immediately. It’s not like him to skirt around an issue like this and it worries me. Just what has he been discussing with Cameron?

STARRY: Transmitting request now. Chief Cameron and Rosie are about to depart.

CAPT: Good. (He looks around at the people gathered in the Bridge. Of the rest of those on board, only Elliott, Cirilli, and the Lieutenant are not present.) We will be taking off as soon as the SecOffs are cleared.

(Expressions around the room register surprise and, in a couple of notable exceptions, outrage. Swann frowns but otherwise seems unmoved.)

DR VALDIMIR: Wait, only those two are leaving the ship? I thought we were staying to collect parts!

CAPT: We’ll wait for the parts in orbit, and collect them and our people when they’re all ready.

EBLING: Why weren’t we told about this? We thought we’d be able to do our own business here.

CAPT: It was a last-minute change, for security. We can’t afford to be caught in dock again, especially not by that Judiciary ship patrolling the system. We’re only staying docked for as long as is strictly necessary.

That’s not the only reason, I’m sure of it. If that was true, Cameron wouldn’t have asked me to secure all the internal doors while I was in-atmosphere. I’m effectively locked down inside; the only reason no-one has noticed is that it’s standard protocol for everyone to be seated during entry and landing manoeuvres. If anyone tries to get up and leave the Bridge now, they’ll discover a new restriction.

I have orders to stay locked down until I’m back in orbit. Which means they’re worried about someone on board trying to get off. But who?

DR VALDIMIR: But there are things I need to get. Equipment, medicines…

CAPT: If there’s anything you need from the planet, you can transmit requests to the Chief and she will organise them for you. Starry, you have her on comms?

STARRY: We should be careful with transmissions, especially once she’s inside the city-dome and we have to rely on the city’s relays. But yes, we can reach her right now.

CAPT: (to the doctor, not unkindly) Then I suggest you collate your list and transmit it immediately.

DR VALDIMIR: (huffs and waves a hand to bring up an interface before his chair. The movement is sharp with irritation.) Fine, fine.

EBLING: (opens his mouth to speak and snaps it shut again.)

CAPT: Any other requests?

(Heads shake slowly around the room.)

STARRY: We have clearance to take off in ten minutes, captain.

CAPT: (nods) Good. Any sign of the Marionette?

STARRY: Nothing yet.

Soon, we’ll scurry back into orbit where the planet can shield us.

From the drift of ships out there, we might not be the only ones staying mobile in case of trouble. Probably not the only ones here for illegal reasons – the pirates did put us onto the contact here, after all – so I guess the dip-and-drop-off is a common tactic.

I suppose it’s also easier on the docking fees, but I get the impression that money is the least of our concerns right now.

The doctor is flicking me the list to transmit to Cameron: it’s mostly new cybernetic components and standard medications. He’s stocking up; he knows things are going to get dangerous for us. I thought the Lieutenant was whole and working again, but from this list, clearly some of his cybernetics still need work. He hasn’t complained once, though.

I wish I could say the same about my crew. Elliott has been feeling well enough to gripe about being stuck in Med Bay and he only stays because the doctor and I make him. Lang Lang went down to visit him a couple of days ago; she saw how restless he was and helped to arrange a crew card game around his bed. He didn’t win so easily without the drones’ help but he did okay.

I hadn’t noticed until then that the crew doesn’t do that any more. There used to be a poker game once a week, back when Danika was alive. I remember how much she enjoyed them, laughing and competing with the crew. She even got the captain to play a few times. But since I was born, I’ve hardly seen any of them pick up the pack of cards.

Gathered around Elliott’s bed, with little Byte dealing, my people laughed and bet, won and lost. They played for snacks, and it was hard to keep track because they kept eating their winnings. I think Swann was the overall champion; he was definitely the most smug when the game finished.

Swann isn’t so smug now; he seems disgruntled by our current plan. At first, I thought it was because he had to stay behind and look after the ship, but now I’m not so sure. Considering his reaction to the captain’s announcement again – he seemed as surprised as the rest, if that frown was anything to go by – it must be more than that. He didn’t know what Cameron’s plan was, not all of it. She didn’t trust him with the whole plan and now he knows it.

I’d be upset if I was him, too. I trust Cameron with my hull and my crew, and I get nervous when she has long, private talks with the captain. She has been doing that a lot recently. Now, it’s obvious that she doesn’t trust one of her own people. I can’t help but wonder who else she’s keeping at arm’s length. How many more of my crew will betray us? It’s happened before and our situation is trickier than ever now.

It’s hard not to look at Ebling when I think about that. He clearly wanted to get out here and do something, but what? Did he really have ‘personal’ stuff to do?

I know that Cameron is watching him. I see the sensor log requests coming through my systems. It’s hard not to run algorithms over the access requests to see what patterns emerge. It’s especially hard when I’ve been betrayed before and want so desperately to stop it happening again.

I almost want to let Ebling off to see what he does. Then I’d know; we’d all know. I want an answer, not more questions to feed into my scenario simulators. I want to stop building watchdogs to patrol my systems, looking for the next sign of subterfuge.

I want my crew to love me as much as I love them.

Right now, Ebling is sitting grumpily on my Bridge with his arms crossed. He has been the most openly disgruntled of my crew, the easiest one to focus on. But the real dangers have never been the obvious ones. Tripi, Levi… we never suspected them, not until it was too late. How do we spot that kind of thing earlier? Suspect everyone? Lock them all in a room and see who breaks?

The person who should be the most dangerous to us is shut in my guest quarters: Lieutenant Laurence, our captive pirate. He hasn’t given us a whisper of trouble. Is he really as accepting of his position as he seems, or is he just lulling us into a false sense of security? Some instinct in me, some spark deep within my braincopy, says I can trust him. Logic says I can’t afford to.

Both sides of me despise the uncertainty. I want to put my engines on full burn until all the dark places are washed with light.

We’re going to have to sort this out before long. We can’t be at war inside and outside at the same time. Something has to happen, and soon.

External comms

NETIX PORT AUTHORITY: Starwalker, you are cleared to depart.

STARRY: Thank you, Port Authority. Starting take off countdown.

PORT AUTHORITY: Acknowledged. Safe flying, Starwalker.

I don’t actually have a countdown timer. I just wait until the docking clamps disengage and then kick the hell out of here as soon as there’s no chance of tearing something off.

Rosie and Cameron are well clear. They’re in a shuttle-car, speeding towards the Netix city-dome four klicks away.

I wish they’d let me send Bit with them, but the Chief wouldn’t allow it. Standard comms are enough, she says. I feel like I’m leaving them naked.

Docking clamps disengaged.
Engines online.
Thrusters online.
Weapons online.

STARRY: Clearance received and docking clamps disengaged, captain. We’re outa here.

CAPT: (nods) Good, let’s go.

Here I go again. My sublights fight with the local gravity: it’s a little heavier than Earth-standard but nothing they can’t handle. The pad is flushed with painfully bright blue-white light, and superheated air shimmers behind me as I streak away from the landing pad. I leave a pale, temporary scar in my wake across Dyne’s grubby air.

As much as I’d like to, there’s no time to sport through the clouds or to enjoy the feel of the atmosphere on my hull: it’s straight out to the black for me. There, I’ll flick my systems down to their minimum and ride along in a quiet orbit, waiting for my people to be done with their work.

There’s a ring of rocks and dust around this system’s second planet. I wonder if the captain would let me go flying through it if I asked him nicely. I can hide just as well over there as here, right?

Ship's log, 06:25, 18 April 2214
Location: Exit to Dyne system, JOP to Dyne FTL corridor
Status: Sublight transit

Early morning on a ship is a strange time. My halls are hushed; even my drones are not making any noise.

On a ship, the day-night cycle is an arbitrary thing, designed to cater for the needs of the human body, and yet we stick to it faithfully. My internal lighting systems are set to mimic sunlight during the optimum working hours of the day, 16 hours in total. For the other 8 hours, my illumination changes subtly to encourage sleep, as if it’s dark outside.

It’s rare that my whole crew is asleep at the same time. I’m used to at least one person being awake at all times, and I realised recently that that person was usually Elliott. He liked to stay up all night and to fall asleep under the sunlight, when he slept at all. But now he’s slumbering in Med Bay, falling into the regular rhythms of the ship because he doesn’t have the strength to fight the medication.

I’m not used to the quiet. I can feel the breathing of my people in their quarters, warming my air, and sometimes I focus on the movement of air in my ducts as if that will bring me past their closed doors. But I don’t intrude. I’m getting used to a ship’s place. I watch Elliott sometimes, but only because he’s sick and someone should keep an eye on his monitors while the doctor is resting. I carry my crew like sleeping children, knowing they’re safe in the cradles of their beds.

I just finished the last FTL jump to Dyne’s system. There’s no-one to report it to, so I kick my sublights up to full power and head out of the corridor’s mouth, continuing on my way. The traffic is light in this system – every ship that’s able is heading to Earth, it seems – but you never know when some cowboy is going to jump onto your tail. Besides, it might be nice for Dyne to be fat in my long-range sensors by the time the captain gets up.

If I stretch my sensors, I can pick out the distant gleam of the planet from here. It’s a black diamond on the midnight velvet, barely lit by its sun as it treads its slow orbit.

Unlike Feras and Broken Hill, the colony of Dyne is built on a natural planet. The stories of its discovery are mixed: some say that a ship crash-landed here and stumbled over its wealth by accident; others claim that a scout ship surveyed it and sold the information to the highest bidder. Either way, Parabola Cybernetics Inc. got their hands on it and made it their home away from home-planet.

They say there aren’t any plants on Dyne. It never developed life, but some unique elements in its makeup did create a metal unlike anything else in the surveyed galaxy. It got dubbed ‘organo-metal’, even though it doesn’t seem to be organic at all. It’s called that because it doesn’t react to organic material – or, more accurately, organic material doesn’t react to it. It’s perfect for implants because it’s never rejected by the body; the ultimate hypo-allergenic substance. Plus, it’s lighter than other metals. If Parabola wasn’t the market leader in the cybernetic and prosthetic fields before it built the colony on Dyne, it was afterwards.

I wonder if, left to itself, the metal would have developed into a life form on that dark little rock. I wonder if Parabola’s employees are mining the primordial sludge of some future species. What might they have turned out like? How would they look at the human race?

What would a species like that think of a creature like me?

Organic metal. Organic-compatible metal. It’s a curious notion. They take it and use it to build microchips and microscopic fibres and metal limbs. Plates and parts and pieces of people.

It makes Rosie strong. It makes the Lieutenant whole. It made it possible for Danika to connect with ships and become a part of me. As Parabola’s advertising said: it’s Better Than Flesh.

And now we’re going to the home of cybernetics, the source of organo-metal, to get parts for my body. To make me stronger and better and faster. To disconnect me from my past and make me free. But my parts aren’t going to be made of organo-metal, because there aren’t any organic parts of me left to mesh with. Just a braincopy held in crystalline matrices and merged with AI processing.

Danika has memories of this system. Her father’s freighter used to tug cargo from here back to the home system, pods full of people-pieces. She came here to get her pilot implants. I remember dark back streets and metallic smiles. Knives built into body parts where they shouldn’t be. A man walking on legs with knees that bent the wrong way. Medusa hair and skeletons worn on the outside.

People with cybernetic parts seem so shameless about it, showing them off at the least opportunity. I wonder why that is. Is it a requirement? Do the parts feel so unlike part of the body that all shyness falls away from them?

When I get new guns, will I whip them out at the least opportunity? Spin them up to watch them glow and spark, and listen to whomever’s watching squeak over comms?

Actually, that sounds exactly like something I’d do.

They’re not all like that. The captain hasn’t shown off the augmentations to the arm he had reattached. And the Lieutenant with half a metal face, he must be nearly 60% cybernetics, but he isn’t the showing-off type. Once, I caught a glimpse of him looking at himself in the mirror, touching flesh fingertips to a metal part of his jaw, and there wasn’t any love or appreciation in the glance. It was more like resignation. Perhaps it’s a matter of necessity versus frivolity.

Bodies are such curious things. I remember having a flesh one and sometimes I still miss it. But I wouldn’t trade my hull for anything: I am a ship, and I am proud of that. I’m made of metal and plastic and projected light. And yet, I’m going to the human body-hackers to be remade into something new.

Sometimes, the logic of the universe escapes me. I wonder if it’s laughing at me.

The black metal planet before me is resolving into crisper focus. Soon, I’ll be able to pick out the skein of lights across its night-side, the network of city-domes and mining outposts blazing in the dark.

Everything looks dark from a distance and I can’t wait to get close enough to see more clearly. Like so many who come here, I’m looking forward to being remade into something better.

Ship's log, 22:45, 12 April 2214
Location: Edge of JOP sector
Status: Sublight transit

My life moves in circles. I walked a loop in time around Earth and made myself. Now I’ve flown a loop in space around the JOP and return here for the second time, to the place I was born. I wasn’t made here, but this is where I woke up and first knew the world, so to me, it’s where I started.

We’re not actually going back to the JOP. That would be silly: it’s the Judiciary base, and even with the Fall of Earth, they’re still going to be looking for me.

We’re not even within sensor range of the station yet. Immediate sensor range with no delays, that is; I can see the JOP’s distant glimmer but that light is hours old from here.

Nearby, I can hear its beacons chirping at me with news broadcasts and navigation updates, but I keep myself quiet to their sensors. I pull down the news in case there’s word about what’s happening on Earth, but there’s nothing useful yet. It’s all very bleak and dark, calling for more ships to help. There are interviews with a few ship captains and witnesses, all with the same shell-shocked expressions. Other interviews with religious expounders have a more fervent edge. There are few real facts and the truth feels slippery. They’re still waiting for reliable data from the planet to come through.

I can’t look back there right now. We have to look forward, to the path ahead of us, and I have to break free of these circles.

We’re only here out of necessity. This sector of space is a nexus of FTL corridors: the JOP was built out here as a refuelling and resupplying platform between Earth and the colonies. We mean only to skirt the edges of this area and leave again by a different FTL corridor.

Unfortunately, there’s a bit of debate going on about where exactly we should go from here. The captain and Lang Lang are talking on the Bridge, debating possibilities. I feel like I should contribute, but really, there’s nothing I could add that they don’t already know. Lang Lang knows the navigational implications of our options and the captain has the rest to balance.

Our original plan was to go straight to Dyne and sort out the ident issue, before going on to the stars we’ve stepped through to mend what we’ve broken. With Elliott sick, we might need to alter that plan. We can’t change the ident without him; fiddling with that kind of thing requires expert knowledge and careful hands. My boys can’t handle it because I’ll be crippled during the process. I wouldn’t risk it even if they could be programmed to handle it. What if something went wrong? No, it’s too dangerous.

The captain had been hoping that Elliott would be well by the time we got here, so we wouldn’t have to change course, but that’s not the case.. He is on the mend, though, according to the doctor. Elliott isn’t sedated so much any more, though he’s still sleeping a lot. His lips are not quite so pale and his temperature is easier to regulate, but he’s still suffering under this infection. Dr Socks says it’s pneumonia and not to worry about the coughing; it’s a natural part of the illness. It just sounds so awful. Elliott is on as much suppressant as his body can take and is responding to the antibiotics.

At least he isn’t fighting to get up any more. He seems to have accepted that he has to stay in Med Bay; the captain’s visit when he woke up for the first time might have had something to do with that, and explicit orders not to get up until the doctor gave the okay. He grumbles all the same but he’s just going through the motions. When he thinks no-one’s looking, the discomfort shows on his face. And sometimes, when a coughing fit subsides, he looks scared.

More than ever before, I wish I could hold his hand. Stroke his hair back from his forehead. All those small, stupid, useless things. I don’t want him to be alone with this.

The best I can do is sit my avatar next to him and talk about nothing. Like the state of the air scrubbers, or a hiccup in the artificial gravity in one of the cargo bays (I think if I reproduce it the right way, I’ll be able to juggle crates in there). When he’s looking restless, I send in drones with small pieces of equipment for him to fix, to keep his mind and his hands busy. They’re taken away again when he falls asleep.

Today, we played cards. He made me send Waldo to fetch a real deck, because he didn’t trust a holographic one. I’d know what all the cards were if I was projecting them and he didn’t think it was fair. As if I’d cheat! So Waldo had to stay and be my hands, which was a trial in itself, because he kept arguing with me about our tactics.

Recording: 14:13, 12 April 2214
Location: Med Bay

ELLIOTT: (frowning at the cards in his hand, then at the tray before him. He places a card down on a pile and draws another from the pack.) There.

STARRY: (seated on the end of the bed, though the hologram doesn’t make a ripple in the sheets) Waldo, play that one. (She points to a card in the drone’s hand.)

WALDO: (standing beside the bed with a hand of cards turned so that Elliott can’t see them, he draws the card next to the one Starry pointed at out of his hand.)

STARRY: No, not that one. To the left.

WALDO: (turns his head to look at the avatar and shakes the card he’s holding.)

STARRY: The other one!

ELLIOTT: (looks from the avatar to the drone and back again) Y’know, that’s kinda weird. Aren’t you supposed to be the boss of him?

STARRY: (scowling at the drone) Yes, I am.

WALDO: (widens his optical apertures at the avatar and slowly lays the card he’s holding.)

STARRY: No, that… (She sighs; once it’s down, it’s too late.) …is the wrong one.

ELLIOTT: Nah, it’s not. (He picks up the card in question and slides it into his hand. Then he spreads his cards out on the surface before him and grins.) Gin.

STARRY: (drops her face into her hands.)

WALDO: (places the rest of his cards on the table, and lifts another hand up near the bedside table.)

BYTE: (rises from his squat on the bedside unit and slaps Waldo’s hand.)

ELLIOTT: (amused) Hey, you guys, it’s mean to gang up on your ship.

STARRY: (throws her hands up) Yeah, now I have to come up with some creative punishments. Like sanitary duty for the both of you. How do you like those latrine pipes, Byte?

BYTE: (looks from Starry to Elliott and back again. His little shoulders slump. He points at Waldo.)

STARRY: (folding her arms over her chest) No, you’re not getting out of it. Someone has to clean them out. It’s that or send you outside to count all the bolts in my hull.

WALDO: (lets his head droop.)

DR SOCKS: (wandering by the end of the bed on the way to his desk at the end of the room) You were playing cards with a ship? Who can use sensors to see your hand?

ELLIOTT: (blinks) I forgot about…

STARRY: I did not! I didn’t look.

DR SOCKS: (grins to himself and walks on.)

STARRY: (to Elliott) I didn’t. (Turning to the drones.) You two! Sanitary duty. Now.

WALDO and BYTE: (turn and trundle off listlessly.)

ELLIOTT: (watches them go, his shoulders shaking with laughter, which quickly dissolves into coughing.)

Wretches, all of them. Still, it cheered Elliott up, so I can’t mind. And the sanitary pipes really do need cleaning out; they’ve been neglected with Byte spending so much time with Elliott. My engineer seems to appreciate the little drone being around, treats him like a pet, and I’m happy with that.

I’m not worried about Waldo’s defiance, either. I could have reinforced the order if I’d wanted to, but I didn’t. It feels better not to. I don’t know who or what my drones are becoming, but I’m curious to find out. They are part of me and not; they are an expression and a tool.

Right now, Byte is freshly-hosed-off and curled up on the back of Elliott’s hand. He’s monitoring the medical diagnostic outputs. He’s watching Elliott sleep, the same way I do from behind the screen of my sensors.

Meanwhile, on the Bridge, the implications of Elliott’s health are still being discussed. I should be joining in, but I really don’t care where we go next. Corsica, Apus; it’s all the same to me. It’s all one more step on our journey, one more move in the right direction. Does it really matter which one we take first?

The main sticking point seems to be how much time we spend in this system; going all the way around the edge to an FTL corridor on the other side would be time-consuming and more than a little suspicious. The corridor to Dyne is not far away but Corsica’s access is halfway around the JOP from here.

Oh, wait. The captain is calling for me

Location: Bridge

(The captain is standing before his captain’s seat and Lang Lang is at the navigation console off to his right. Before them, the centre of the room is dominated by a projection of the local part of the galaxy. Routes between stars are marked out in differing colours, each one denoting an alternate path that jags through the network of FTL corridors. Names hover near each point in the journeys: Dyne, Corsica, Apus, Lambda 1, Feras.)

STARRY: (appears to the captain’s left) Yes, captain?

CAPTAIN: (frowning at the display before him thoughtfully) Any news on Elliott’s condition?

STARRY: He’s getting better, slowly. The doctor says it might take a while before he’s back to full strength.

CAPT: How long is ‘a while’?

STARRY: Hard to say, but weeks, I think.

CAPT: How long until he’ll be fit for light duties?

STARRY: Less than that, but… still a couple of weeks. The doc was really cagey about it the last time I asked him. He’s not keen for Elliott to go planetside any time soon, either.

CAPT: (glancing at Lang Lang) And how long to Dyne from here?

LANG LANG: At least a week, maybe more, depending on traffic in the corridors.

CAPT: (subsides into thought again.)

STARRY: (after a moment) What is it you’re thinking?

CAPT: That perhaps we’re coming at this wrong. Rather than waiting for Elliott to get better before we start our business at Dyne, we pick up what we need to and have him work on it when he’s able.

STARRY: (drily) If he’s not involved, Elliott will want to verify all of our purchases.

CAPT: Of course. We’ll have him check it all on delivery.

STARRY: But what about the ident? How can we get that fixed if it’s still connected to me?

CAPT: If they can hack an ident, they can imprint a new one.

STARRY: You want to go to the black market and buy a new one?

CAPT: (gives the avatar a steady look) Where do you think we’ll have to go to get it hacked? And the weapons?

STARRY: (blinks and shifts her weight) True. Can we afford black market prices for this stuff?

CAPT: Hard to know yet. I’ll have to check with Cameron and the Lieutenant to see what their contacts can give us. And if we can’t… we should think about overwriting the other ident we have.

STARRY: From the Carapace?

CAPT: (nods slowly) It would be a nice backup to have, but it might be worth the sacrifice. I’ll check with the doctor and the Chief tomorrow, see what they think. But this might work. Thank you, Starry.

STARRY: (nods to her captain) Any time.

LANG LANG: I’ll save the course options in case you want to review them later. And see if I can find any other old FTL corridors we can use.

CAPT: (lays a hand on the navigator’s shoulder briefly) Wonderful, thank you. Now, go get some sleep. That’s an order.

Looks like we have another option on the table. I suppose it depends on what resources we have at our disposal and whether we can afford a new ident. You’re not supposed to be able to buy them from anywhere except a ship-building company like Is-Tech, but that’s why there’s a black market: for sly endeavours like ours. And less well-intentioned ones. Cameron and the captain will work it out.

Everyone is going to bed. My decks are sleeping. My people’s heartbeats are soft and slow. I continue to drift towards the FTL corridor to Dyne, in case that plan still holds. The sooner we can leave this sector, the better. I want to break this circle and make something new.