Starwalker

Chief Engineer's log, 08:54, 10 February 2214
Location: Gienah system, 40 years ago
Status: Maintaining orbit around Gienah Sol
Log location: Engineering

This is stupid. Arguing for days and we’re still heading to Feras.

Worst idea in the world. What do they think is gonna happen when we get there? The company will strip down anything of value, devour the data, and wipe Starry. Of course that’s what they’re going to do. Why would they do anything else?

It’s not the only place we could go. Our credit should be good anywhere and every colony has some kind of medical facility. Of course they’d ask questions but it’s not like we haven’t lied before.

Okay, fine, the Judiciary could be a problem if someone decided to call them in. And we don’t know where Hunt’s people might be. Or Boereque, the company that hired Hunt to catch us. They could have agents anywhere. We could be caught while we were attached to some strange dock with no way to defend ourselves. We only have half the SecOffs we should, and even if we had the full four, it wouldn’t be enough for comfort in a foreign port.

Ebling was the one who suggested that we stay Stepped outside our own time. Most useful thing he’s said in weeks. We can stay far enough back in time that our enemies won’t be aware of our existence yet. We’d be just another ship with injured aboard.

Cirilli stepped on that. She’s afraid of causing some kind of paradox if we cross within our own timeline. There still isn’t enough known about time travel and its repercussions to risk that, she says. Interacting with people could have all kinds of consequences. Maybe we’re doing damage just by sitting here in an empty system, forty years before when we should be, blah blah blah. You ask me, she has a bug up her ass about something she’s not telling us. Definitely knows more than she’s saying.

Her predictions of catastrophe were enough to convince Cameron to put a stop to the time-stepping idea. Plus, the further back we go, the worse the medical resources we can call on and the slimmer the chance that our injured can be healed. Each year we go backwards, Maletz’s chances of reanimation go down, and we could do with him around here. Even if he is a creepy bastard.

And then there’s the pirates. What do we do with them? Anywhere we go, any time, we’d have to explain them. And silence them so that they can’t call us liars or tell any of the secrets they know. They’re goddamn chains around our ankles, and it’s supposed to be the other way around!

I’m with Ebling and Rosie on this: I think we should just toss them out of the airlock. Vent the trash into space and move on. Even Cameron agrees that it would be the smartest move for us.

Cirilli abstained loudly from that whole discussion. It’s obvious that she wants them dead; she just doesn’t want to support killing them in case it magically puts blood on her pretty white hands. She wants it to be all our fault, so she can stay sitting on her icy pedestal above the rest of us. Bitch.

Lang Lang was the only one of us to speak out against it. She said she didn’t believe in murder, then excused herself from the Mess Hall where we were discussing it.

Murder. They tried to kill us! And they would again, given half a chance! It’s not murder if it’s justified, right?

Starry disagrees with me. She was silent until Lang Lang left, let us argue it out, but she spoke up in the end. We weren’t going to kill them out of convenience, she said.

Given the same choice, the pirates had let us live. It’s the only reason we were around long enough to break free. Choosing to kill them might make us smarter and safer than them, but it would also make us worse. Worse than pirates.

She said she believes we’re better than that. And she believes the captain would never agree to murder them. So the answer was no: we can’t kill them.

Of course, she had no answer for what we should do with them.

Hand them over to Is-Tech and make it their problem: that’s the best we could come up with. Offload them so we don’t have to worry about it. No blood on our hands.

I don’t care about that; I’d do it. I’d hack the airlock controls to Cargo Bay 4 and expel the bastards. Problem solved, right? They’d do the same to us. Given the chance now, they’d do exactly the same. How does that make us worse than them?

I could do it. Of course, Starry would never forgive me. She’s a little touchy about being hacked; it’s just an airlock control but she won’t see it that way. Tripi did more damage there than she knows.

Fuckin’ Tripi. Did more damage to all of us than she knows. Hope she’s damned-well pleased with herself, rotting in a Judiciary jail cell.

Only place left for us to go is Feras. Only place we won’t get into trouble just by being there. Only place we don’t have a dozen reasons to avoid. No-one’s happy about it.

Cirilli keeps whining about returning when her tests aren’t finished. Ebling, for once, is agreeing with her. Weirdest thing I ever saw – Cirilli actually stopped and wondered if she was saying the right thing for a moment there.

Cameron and Rosie aren’t looking forward to their debriefing. They can’t be held to account for everything that’s happened, can they? No way they could have known everything that was going to happen. Where there’s SecOffs, there’s anti-SecOff measures; it’s just how it goes. We’re lucky we got the warnings we did before the shit hit the fan. Some of them weren’t in time, that’s all.

As for me, I just know that they’re gonna be pissed about Starry. I don’t give a crap about the experiment or our various security issues. Okay, on a professional level, I’d like to get to Feras with a fully-functional ship and a Bridge that doesn’t look like a bomb hit it (though, in my defence, that is what happened). But I don’t care what they say about that stuff. It’s Starry they’re gonna get all excited about. They’ll wipe her or take her off for testing; either way, she won’t be here any more. And she’s…

Goddamn stupid decision. There’s gotta be a better answer than this.

ELLIOTT: (snatching his hand back and dropping a scanner) Ow! Bit, what the fuck.

BIT: (looks up at Elliott while two of his hands turn the scanner over. A third hand unfastens a panel on the back, and the fourth reaches in to pull out a little component.)

ELLIOTT: (rubbing the back of his hand where Bit hit it) Hey, I need that, y’know.

BIT: (points meaningfully across Engineering.)

ELLIOTT: (looks around) What…

BIT: (puts the scanner down and skitters off the counter, out of sight.)

ELLIOTT: (looking back again) …hey!

BIT: (doesn’t reappear.)

ELLIOTT: Starry!

STARRY: Yes, Elliott?

ELLIOTT: (picks up the scanner and peeks inside) Your drone just disabled my diagnostic scanner. He stole bits.

STARRY: He must have needed them for something important. I’ll make sure he replaces it for you. Is it something I can build for you?

ELLIOTT: (slumping in his chair and muttering) No, it’s okay.

STARRY: You should get some sleep.

ELLIOTT: It’s first thing in the morning.

STARRY: And if you kept regular hours, that would matter.

ELLIOTT: I’m not tired.

STARRY: Okay.

ELLIOTT: Everything working all right?

STARRY: Yes. No malfunctions to report.

ELLIOTT: Containment in the cargo bay running?

STARRY: Yup. My big fellas have finished building solid walls to supplement the energy barriers.

ELLIOTT: Monitoring systems?

STARRY: Triple-checked and logging every itch and fart.

ELLIOTT: Okay. (He scrubs the back of his head.) I should start working on the Bridge, then.

STARRY: It’s not cleaned up yet. I don’t… I don’t think you should.

ELLIOTT: Cleaned up?

STARRY: There’s still… there’s blood.

ELLIOTT: (wrinkles his nose) Oh.

STARRY: My boys will get to it soon.

ELLIOTT: Where are they now?

STARRY: Outside.

ELLIOTT: (frowns) We didn’t get any damage out there.

STARRY: No.

ELLIOTT: Then what are you– oh. (He blinks.) Damn, I forgot all about that.

STARRY: It’s okay.

ELLIOTT: (pushes himself out of his chair and crosses the room) You should have reminded me! Can’t have you going back to the dicks at Feras with the wrong name on you.

STARRY: It’s okay.

ELLIOTT: (fumbles around in the junk cluttering up the counter wedged between the sublight engine housing and a mass of conduits) No, it’s not! You should have your name back. It’s yours, y’know? Those bastards might have covered it up, but it’s still yours. Ah-ha! Here we go. (He pulls a small box with a cluster of wires trailing off it out of the morass of parts and tools.)

STARRY: My proper ident?

ELLIOTT: (grins) Yup! No more of that Carapace shit for you.

STARRY: You think it’s a good idea to change it now? Maybe it would be good to hide behind it, just a while longer.

ELLIOTT: (puzzled) But… we’re going back to Feras. They’ll be expecting Starwalker.

STARRY: I know, I just… I don’t know.

ELLIOTT: (waggling the ident box back and forth) What are your boys painting on your side?

STARRY: Don’t know yet. They’re still scrubbing off the pirate name. I was thinking maybe… a symbol of some kind.

ELLIOTT: Sure, why not. But you should put your name on there, too.

STARRY: I don’t know, Elliott…

ELLIOTT: (slams the ident box down) I do! You’re the Starwalker and the whole goddamn galaxy should know it. You’re free now, and you should act like it!

STARRY: But it might not be safe…

ELLIOTT: I don’t care.

STARRY: I care. I have to keep you safe, even if that means hiding my name for a while.

ELLIOTT: Keep us safe… is that why you agreed to go back to Feras?

STARRY: Of course.

ELLIOTT: Even though they’ll probably pull you apart?

STARRY: I have to protect my crew. It’s our best chance.

ELLIOTT: (folds his arms over his chest) It’s our best chance, but it’s not yours.

STARRY: It’s the same thing to me. I’m a ship, Elliott. I’m nothing if I can’t keep my crew safe.

ELLIOTT: That’s not true!

STARRY: It is. I’m sorry, but it is.

ELLIOTT: Fuckin’ hell, Starry!

STARRY: I’m sorry, Elliott. I’m sorry I can’t be what you want me to be.

ELLIOTT: (scowls) Bullshit. Don’t go all anal-AI on me now.

STARRY: It’s part of who I am. What I am.

ELLIOTT: (grabs the ident unit again) And so’s this. I’m putting it back in.

STARRY: Elliott…

ELLIOTT: Not asking: telling.

STARRY: But…

ELLIOTT: (folds his arms over his chest and waits.)

STARRY: …okay.

ELLIOTT: Should think so, too. (He marches off towards the core system panels, behind which the ident sits.)

Perfect. Now the ship is having an identity crisis or some such shit. That’s all we need!

I don’t care; I’m doing this anyway. She’s no Carapace. She’ll thank me when I’m done.

At least I can fix this much for her.

Fuck. Engineer out.

It’s been a hard week in the land of Starwalker writing. As I’m sure most of you are aware, this site was hacked and I’ve been fighting to get control back since it happened. I’ve only just regained control of the back end and this is the first chance I’ve had to let you all know what’s happening! The full story is over on my writing blog for anyone who wants details.

The good news is that nothing has been lost. I’m going through the process of cleaning up the debris and reinforcing the website to prevent this happening again. It’s a lot of fiddling about and will take some time. I’ll try to get this week’s post up tonight if I can but it might be tomorrow before I can get to it. I ask for your patience right now, and hopefully this will all be a memory soon!

Thanks to everyone who has helped me get my site back, through advice, diving into the database for me, and support. I am blessed!

PS: There are some minor errors hanging around. I know about them. Fixes coming! 🙂

Ship's log, 15:32, 8 February 2214
Location: Gienah system, 40 years ago
Status: Maintaining orbit around Gienah Sol

Instead, I have a dark Bridge closed off in the heart of me and a Med Bay overfull with injured. Hardly anyone speaks except to make terse reports or argue about something. I can’t bring myself to interfere, afraid that I’ll get caught up in their spirals and despair.

I should do a proper status report, as if tallying the damage up can make it all make sense. As if cold facts and figures make it easier to deal with. The AI in me says that will be true. The human parts of my processing don’t want it to be easier. I am made of contradictions.

I’m in full working order but too rudderless to go anywhere. I have no captain to tell me what I should do; he’s still unconscious. He’s supposed to be my guide, my yardstick, my decision-maker in all things. Should I be my own master now? Should I take my helm and choose my own course?

I’ve done it before but not like this. I’ve always had John there to tell me that I’m being crazy or reckless (or both). To pull me back. To fix things if I screw up. Now there’s nothing for me to fall back on, no way to know if I’m making the right choices. No last word to settle things into tangible order. Just me, with my non-standard processing and disabled failsafes.

No part of me wants to be in this place. Danika had no wish to ever be captain; she was a pilot and happy in that role. Other people worried about the important stuff and she was free. Now I’m free and have to worry about everything. How did that happen?

Ships have captains for a reason. A regular AI wouldn’t be able to make any kind of real decision. I can make decisions, but I’m also capable of killing my crew without meaning to.

Like two days ago when we took my ship-self back. No-one was supposed to die, but they did. And that was with John at the proverbial helm. How am I supposed to do better without him?

Status report. Let’s start there. If in doubt, put human nail-chewing aside and fall back on protocol.

I have 5.2 bodies in storage. The 0.2 is John’s arm; we can’t reattach it on board, so it’s preserved in case someone else can.

Three pirates are irrevocably dead and locked in cold storage containers in a cargo bay. Maletz and Wong are in stasis pods. We got Maletz into stasis quick enough that he might be revived, but we don’t have the equipment on board to fix him, even if we had a medic capable of doing it.

Wong… I don’t think we can save him. I scanned his brain, and it was fried so badly by the pirate collar that there’s little chance of fixing it all. If he was resurrected, he wouldn’t be him, and he has the standard contract clauses that prevent resuscitation in the case of a complete brain-wipe. Those clauses were brought in when medicine made it possible to heal the body and its functions easier than cerebral faculties and storage could be recovered. He doesn’t want his body up and walking around if it doesn’t belong to him any more. I don’t blame him.

I located the sensor logs that show us how he died. It started just before the daisycutter exploded, while Elliott was entering mid-deck.

Recording: 12:06, 6 February 2011

ROSIE: (securing the hands of the unconscious pirate.)

WAKING PIRATE: (groans and blinks blearily. His wrists are lashed to his thighs by twists of wire and his elbows are pinned to his sides.)

EBLING and WONG: (watch from the other end of the room.)

WAKING PIRATE: (twists on the floor to take stock of the situation. His eyes narrow.)

ROSIE: (glancing over) Just stay where you are. It’s over.

WAKING PIRATE: Hunt’s gonna be so pissed.

ROSIE: Shockingly enough, we’re willing to risk it.

WAKING PIRATE: (glaring at her) I’m not. Supercalifragilistic–

ROSIE: (leaping over at him) No!

WAKING PIRATE: –explodalidocious.

ROSIE: (grabs him by the throat and punches him in the mouth to stop him speaking.)

ELLIOTT: (enters the room at a jog.)

EBLING and WONG: (scream, their bodies going rigid. Their collars are alight with red flashes.)

ELLIOTT: (stops) What the hell…?

ROSIE: Verbal trigger! Get them off now!

ELLIOTT: Fuck! (He runs to the scientists and crams his device against Ebling’s collar.)

WAKING PIRATE: (grins at Rosie, showing bloody teeth.)

ROSIE: (looks down, lets out an angry howl, and punches him again.)

ELLIOTT: (fights against Ebling’s convulsions and punches buttons on the device. It eventually bleeps and the collar unclicks; he tears it off and throws it away. Turning to Wong, he shoves the man’s flailing arm aside to repeat the process.)

EBLING: (lies still, his body relaxing and breathing settling into an even rhythm. His eyes are closed, consciousness stolen by the pain pumped through his body.)

WONG: (writhes in stiff motions, blood frothing from between his lips. His breathing chokes off.)

ELLIOTT: (swears viciously until the collar finally accepts the hack and disengages. He yanks the thing off Wong’s neck and flicks it away as if it’s barbed.)

WONG: (falls limply, mouth slack, eyes half-open, bloody froth dribbling from the corners of his mouth.)

ELLIOTT: (pulls a different scanner off his belt and holds it over Wong. He presses the same button three times, and every time he gets the same response: no life signs. No pulse, no cerebral activity. Nothing. His voice strangles.) Fuck. (He stumbles back a few steps until a console bumps him from behind. He leans on it, staring, pale-faced.)

ROSIE: (whispers) Oh, god no. (She looks down at the pirate below her. She has him half-lifted by his throat and there’s blood spilling down his face from a broken nose and split lips. She starts shouting insults at him, driving her fist into his face over and over.)

(The whole room trembles. Rosie is the only one who appears to notice, breaking out of her frenzy: she lets go of the pirate abruptly and stumbles back a few paces. Breathing hard from the exertion of punching a guy, she grips a bulkhead with one hand and looks around.)

ROSIE: Starry! What the hell was that?

They both feel responsible: Rosie for not stopping the pirate giving the verbal trigger for the collars; and Elliott for not getting to Ebling and Wong fast enough to stop them getting hurt.

There’s no way Rosie could have known that one of the pirates would have a keyword set up; it’s a dangerous thing to do, in case it’s used accidentally or the audio processors pick it up due to some kind of error. It’s not standard practice. But then, neither is hiding a daisycutter in a belt buckle, and not even the Lieutenant knew about that one. I wonder if he knew about that pirate’s keyword.

Elliott is angry with everything. He fixed up the heavy drones with a vengeance, going to great efforts to beat out the dents caused by the explosion. I think my big boys left that damage for him to fix because they knew he’d need it. He won’t tell me why he’s upset, but I think he feels that he should have got to the scientists in time. Or his hack should have been better, faster.

It’s not his fault Wong died. I checked the log four times and can’t find anything that he should have done differently. I tried to tell him that but he wouldn’t let me; he just started up the metal saw and went back to cutting a sheet down to size to replace one of Big Ass’s panels.

Things are even messier with the injured. Ebling got away from that encounter with minor burns around his neck and some neurological symptoms. The shock from the collar gave his brain chemistry a shake-up and there’s mild cerebral damage in a couple of places. He’s been snapping at everyone since he woke up, and it’s hard to know if it’s a result of the shock, a side-effect of the pain or the meds, or post-traumatic stress combined with guilt.

I’ve caught him glaring at Wong’s stasis drawer; I think he knows that it was luck that took Elliott to him first, luck that he was the one freed before major damage was sustained. It could easily have been him lying there. I’m keeping him in Med Bay for a couple more days, until his burns have healed and he’s a bit more stable. He doesn’t like it but I don’t want him to disappear behind the privacy locks in his quarters.

It’s extra tricky because the pirate that set off the collars is still in Med Bay, too. He has head injuries and an ugly face from the battering Rosie gave him, and hasn’t regained consciousness yet. I don’t think anyone wants to see the man who killed Wong wake up. No-one else has tried to hurt him yet, though. I’ve got the pirate patients curtained off from the crew, in the hopes that will stop anything violent breaking out in there. It’s a fragile barrier.

Cameron is helping to keep an eye on things there too. I can’t keep her in one place for long – she insists on overseeing the captives in the cargo bay, monitoring crew dispersal, and checking on my diagnostic reports – but she is sleeping in Med Bay where I can monitor her condition. She has a few broken ribs and a lot of bruising; nothing too serious if she would only stay still long enough to heal.

She was great when the injured were brought into Med Bay, helping my boys to treat them. She’s not a full medic but her field training makes her a very able hand in that kind of situation. Without her, I would have more bodies in storage by now. She refused treatment until the rest of the casualties were dealt with, and eventually I had to have Casper sneak up on her with a sedative. By then, she was pale and her response times were getting longer and longer. She was in pain, though she’d never admit it, and she deserved to rest.

While all that was going on, Rosie and Elliott were in charge of putting the less injured pirates into cells down in one of my cargo bays. They had no leeway left to give; each pirate was stripped of equipment and clothing, and kicked unceremoniously into the cell. No chance of any more hidden surprises, unless they’ve built them in under the skin. At least inside the cell’s charged walls they can only hurt each other.

Let’s see, who else have we got. The two remaining science team members are both up and around. Lang Lang had a clean break on her left arm. The bones have been knitted back together and meds are keeping the swelling and bruising down. Her forearm is still in a rigid brace, but she can probably take that off in a day or two. She doesn’t know whether to help or stay out of the way, so I have her plotting Step courses to our potential destinations.

Cirilli got off the lightest: bruises and cuts that barely needed sealing up. Yesterday, she visited Med Bay to see how Ebling was and he promptly told her to fuck off. Since then, she has been spending all her time in mid-deck going over Step data. Every now and then, she asks me how John is. It’s hard to know what to tell her.

We’ve bound his severed arm up as best we can; it’s not pretty but it’s not bleeding any more. We won’t be able to treat the nerve damage until he wakes up. We haven’t tried to reattach his arm; it’s at the edge of what my medical programming covers, my equipment isn’t designed for limb recovery, and I don’t think his body will take any additional trauma right now.

By the time we got him to Med Bay, he was almost dead from shock and internal bleeding – it took over an hour to stabilise him. We re-knitted several broken bones, and on the inside, a patchwork of plastiskin is holding most of his major organs together. He’s hooked up my best diagnostic equipment so that I can keep him stable. It lets me break his condition down into stats and little glowing lines, like a proper computer, and I can pretend that I don’t care so much.

Sometimes, his pulse wavers as if he’s fighting for a way out from under the sedatives. Stay still, John. Sleep. Heal. Don’t fight me because I’m already doing everything I can; my medical files aren’t enough for real doctoring. They can’t cover the multitude of possibilities and contingencies involved with dealing with organic flesh. Cold facts and metal drone hands are no replacement for a trained medic’s experience and skill. I never thought I’d miss Maletz this much.

Rosie asked if we should put John into stasis. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted; if he was suspended, I wouldn’t have to watch his vital signs compulsively for signs of trouble. I wouldn’t have this sick feeling prickling where my Bridge sensors used to be. Both Cameron and I said no at the same time, though – stasis is too dangerous to use on a living person. It’s not putting them in that’s the problem: it’s getting them out again. Unfreezing organic tissue is a tricky business. The body can be repaired but the brain is different: destroy the wrong cells and he might not come back as him. If he came back at all.

No, stasis is a last resort, only employed when the patient is otherwise dead. Emergency measure. John doesn’t need that yet.

I mean, he won’t need it.

He’s stable right now. I can keep him that way until we get to somewhere with proper medical staff. Of course, where we should go for that is one of the things my crew has been arguing about. The JOP is out until we can be sure that the Judiciary isn’t looking for us. Go to Is-Tech and make them fix their employees? To Dyne, where the best prosthetic and limb attachment surgeons are? To Omni, where they do cutting-edge medical research and have the most advanced treatments? To the leisure colony at Corusc, where money speaks louder than law and they’ll do anything to keep paying customers alive?

And what about our pirate passengers? What do we do with them? Three are currently lashed to beds in Med Bay, including the Lieutenant. He can barely move between a leg broken in four places and deep lacerations in both shoulders. The rest are in the cargo bay cell. My people keep arguing about opening the cargo bay doors and flushing out the problem. I’m keeping them triple-locked for now; I don’t even trust myself right now.

So many questions and so many voices answering. I have no-one to quiet them. How did I get here?

I can tear holes in reality but I still have no idea how to get out of this place.

Ship's log, 12:08, 6 February 2214
Location: Gienah system, 40 years ago
Status: Wide orbit around Gienah Sol

Screaming on mid-deck. Ebling and Wong are writhing on the ground, convulsions squeezing their cries into choked coughs. Rosie is bellowing and bashing a pirate’s face in. He must have tripped the collars; I don’t know how. No time to check now.

Elliott is there, rushing in with his device to disconnect the collars. Hurry, Elliott. Hurry, they need you.

Screaming on the Bridge. I think it’s me. My avatar is there, watching in open-mouthed horror as the little buckle-shaped device lifts itself into the air and hovers.

Bodies are hitting the floor, trying to take cover. Half-Face is tied into the captain’s chair and strains desperately to be free. John makes sure the others are down and is last to throw himself to the deck. My heavy drones move forward. Big Ass grabs the arm of the captain’s chair and spins it around a hundred and eighty degrees. Byte hurls himself at the device, tiny metal appendages reaching.

I watch in nanoseconds. Half-Face hunches down as best he can. John is in the air, falling. The device detonates: the tiny circle of metal peels open. A horizontal disc of explosive force rips out across the heart of me, edged with shards of shrapnel.

Byte is the closest and hit first. I feel his little body torn apart. Metal legs and hands fly out, then fall towards the deck, slow as petals. It hurts. I cry out because he can’t.

Consoles burst and fizz, like fireworks. Their displays die, connections cut. The holotank image flickers out.

The blast passes right through my avatar. There’s nothing I can do.

The back of the captain’s chair buckles and the impact tears the whole thing off its mounting. Big Ass tries to control its path, flips it over so that the squishy side doesn’t hit the bulkhead. The blastwave punches the heavy drone in the side, knocks him over. He falls like a dented tree. His hand is still clamped on the arm of the chair, metres away.

John is still falling. The explosion snatches him like an angry child. No, please, not John. Sensors pick up the crack of bone when he hits the side of a console, the wet sound of shrapnel striking. He falls like a ragdoll, black hair streaming behind him. Blood mists the air, beautifully awful.

Optical sensors compromised. My avatar rushes over to him, but that doesn’t help me see him.

The disc of the daisycutter’s explosion reaches the walls. Bulkheads dent, studded with tiny shards of metal and plastic. Sparks spit out of torn conduits. Liquid spills. I shut them down.

I call for John and a sensor finds his face. He blinks at me. His mouth moves as if he’s about to say something soothing. I reach out for his cheek, but I’m made of light and air. The corners off his mouth twitch and then he doesn’t see me any more. His eyes close and he doesn’t respond, not even when I start shouting his name.

Switch to other sensors. Seven life signs on the Bridge: my four crew and three pirates. There, that’s John’s heart, still beating. He’s alive. But for how long?

I’m flickering, can’t maintain the hologram. Too many projectors damaged.

I need help. I need hands. Where are they all?

Big Ass is pushing himself upright, clanking uncomfortably. Wide Load is lifting a console off himself and Cameron. Bit is skittering out of the way of falling equipment. There, Casper’s whirring out from behind a clutter of chairs, not a scratch on him. He goes to John, all four hands at my disposal. I can see through his eyes. He scans my fallen captain, toes to tip, builds a report on his condition, and–

Oh god, his arm is gone. Cut clean off. Where’s his arm? So much blood, and there’s no doctor to help him…

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Damaged systems, people bleeding and hurt. Dead and dying.

ROSIE: (from mid-deck, gripping a bulkhead with one hand for stability) Starry! What the hell was that?

STARRY: (voice only, quietly) Explosion on the Bridge.

ROSIE: Holy fuck. What happened?

STARRY: No time now; we have… there are injured.

ROSIE: (looks around) Yeah, here too.

What? That’s right; they were screaming. Before the daisycutter went off, they were screaming, fit to tear my hull apart with their voices alone. The collars… oh no.

I’m only picking up five life signs in there. Rosie is standing over the two pirates, both unconscious. One of them is bloody but alive. Elliott is sitting off to one side, his device dangling from a limp hand, ashen-faced. That leaves Ebling and Wong, lying so still at the back of the room, but only one of them…

Wong is dead. Ray, the technician who makes my Step drive work. He’s gone.

I don’t know what to say. If I had a mouth, it would be dry and useless. All I can do is stare at them from behind my sensors.

ROSIE: How bad is it?

STARRY: What?

ROSIE: On the Bridge.

STARRY: Pretty bad. No fatalities yet. Is… everything contained here?

ROSIE: (eyes the two prone scientists) Yeah, as good as it can be. Listen, I’m sorr-

STARRY: We need you on the Bridge. We need all the help we can get. Elliott?

ROSIE: (turns towards the door, heavy-footed) Sure.

STARRY: Elliott?

ELLIOTT: (lifts his head and blinks, but there’s no avatar to focus on) Hm?

STARRY: Need you on the Bridge. Please.

ELLIOTT: (looks at the device in his hand, then rises and slips it into a thigh pocket absently) Sure, sure. You break something?

STARRY: (softly) Everything is broken.

I should ask what’s wrong, what happened. I should go through the logs and figure it out. There’s no time and nothing I can do about it.

Pull it together, Starry. You’re an AI; you can deal with this. Your crew need you to deal with this.

I need to be an AI now. Worry about their hearts later. Waldo is on his way to the Bridge too – I’m sending him to Med Bay first.

Damage assessment. The autolog is screaming at me, but none of my essential systems have been damaged; just controls and outputs on the Bridge. I take control and shut off all of the Bridge’s functions. I can maintain core systems and my orbit without thinking about it. The warnings go away.

Injury assessment. Two pirates on the Bridge still asleep from the gas, lying too low to be hit by the daisycutter directly. One probably has bruises from a console falling on him. Life signs are steady; bottom of the list. Two pirates dead; they’re off the list entirely.

Lang Lang is shaken and bruised, on her feet with an arm cradled to her belly. Probably broken. Cirilli has blood on her temple and cheek, but seems steady enough. Cameron is moving awkwardly – broken ribs? collarbone? – but she’s not letting it slow her down. She’s got the emergency medical kit from the locker at the rear of the Bridge and is going to John’s side to see what the drone is doing.

Casper has two hands clamped around what’s left of John’s upper right arm, trying to stem the blood flow. He looks up at Cameron when she drops to a knee.

STARRY: (on the Bridge, voice only) Can you help him?

CAMERON: (shrugs) Not a medic. But you should cauterise that before he bleeds out.

STARRY: Yes, yes. His pulse is getting thready.

CAMERON: (opening the med kit) Should be some fluids in here.

CASPER: (unfolds his smallest heat tool and gets to work. He cauterises the wound in tiny bursts, sealing off blood vessels as delicately as if he was attaching minute contact points to a crystal circuitboard.)

Cameron is attaching the fluid line with universal blood replacement. John’s colour and blood pressure aren’t good.

Big Ass lands back on his feet with a clunk and goes over to the captain’s chair. He grabs it with his three remaining hands and hauls it upright. The Lieutenant is still tied to it; he flops around like a bound fish. There’s a lot of blood – he lost an ear and his shoulders are damaged where the chair’s back couldn’t protect him from the blast. One of his legs is broken. He groans and coughs.

STARRY: Half– Lieutenant, can you hear me?

HALF-FACE: (groans again.)

STARRY: Laurence, wake up. You’re needed.

BIG ASS: (puts a hand near the Lieutenant’s head to scan it for brain injuries.)

HALF-FACE: (opens his eyes reluctantly and glares at the drone) What the hell are you doing?

STARRY: Be nice to him; he saved your life.

HALF-FACE: (looks around at the mess on the Bridge, his jaw tightening) Lucky me.

STARRY: I need to know, Laurence: are any of your people medics?

HALF-FACE: No. Why?

STARRY: No nurses, vets, nothing like that?

HALF-FACE: Nothing like that; just some field training. Whose arm is that? (He nods towards the portside bulkhead.)

STARRY: (quietly) Oh. There it is. The captain’s.

HALF-FACE: Where’s your doctor?

STARRY: Dead.

HALF-FACE: (looks down at himself. There’s blood on his clothing and his left leg isn’t sitting at a natural angle.)

STARRY: You also have a concussion and multiple contusions.

HALF-FACE: No emergency medical drones?

STARRY: Just what you see.

HALF-FACE: Shit.

He’s worried about himself now. I guess they all are. Big Ass is doing a more thorough scan of the Lieutenant’s body.

I’m cataloguing injuries and running status logs on every living person aboard. Loading up medical diagnostic protocols and automating triage. Hooking myself into the drones’ sensors to get around my blind spots on the Bridge.

Rosie and Elliott are arriving, with Waldo close behind. Elliott manages to turn even paler when he sees the mess. So much blood spattered around. Bodies. He moves out of the way when the drone comes in.

ROSIE: Fuck. Where do you need me? Starry, Chief?

CAMERON: (glancing over her shoulder) Gurney?

ROSIE: Gotcha. (She turns to the drone behind her.)

WALDO: (already holding out the rolled-up anti-grav gurney and a small can.)

ROSIE: (takes the can and sprays her hands, then tosses it to Elliott. Hands covered in temporary gloves, she grabs the gurney roll.)

ELLIOTT: (fumbles and drops the can. He recovers it and sprays his hands.)

STARRY: Elliott? Can you put John’s… there’s an arm to your right. Can you put it in stasis, please?

ELLIOTT: (looks around and swallows at the sight of the severed arm, lying innocuously on the Bridge decking) Uh… sure.

WALDO: (trundles up behind the engineer and offers out a stasis device.)

He doesn’t want to touch the arm. I don’t like to look at it, either. It looks like it might move at any moment, or disappear like a mirage. It’s hard to believe that’s a part of John, of my captain. I used to know that hand, how it felt to touch, to hold. There’s a little tattoo on the inside of the wrist, hidden by his sleeve….

Stop it, Starry. Focus. You have a job to do.

Elliott’s trying to do what I’ve asked. He’d much prefer to be looking at a machine’s innards, but he’s attaching the stasis device, freezing the arm’s decay. Applying a protective bubble and handing it to Waldo.

Cameron and Rosie have the rest of John on the gurney, with Casper’s help. A temporary bandage has been sprayed on where his arm used to be. My SecOffs have enough field medicine training to know how to patch someone up, and I’ve never been so grateful of that.

CAMERON: I’ll take the captain to Med Bay. Rosie, stay here and help with the rest.

ROSIE: Aye, ma’am.

STARRY: I’ve got triage monitoring running. Projectors are offline, but I can give verbal updates.

CAMERON: Good; you can guide the treatment. Can you spare a drone?

STARRY: Casper will go with you. Do you need a heavy?

CAMERON: No, not for this.

Off they go. Casper takes the frozen arm off Elliott’s hands. Things are moving quickly now that we have some momentum.

I guide Rosie to the Lieutenant to stabilise his leg with a temporary splint. She seals his wounded shoulders with more temporary bandages to stop the bleeding. It’s not pretty, but it’ll do.

Cirilli and Lang Lang are able to walk; I tell them to go to Med Bay. Lang Lang looks like she wants to argue, gazing around with the kind of horror that comes with the desire to help fix it. It’s okay, Lang Lang. Go.

Elliott takes a medical scanner from Waldo and goes to check the unconscious pirates. He checks their collars while he’s there, in case they’d been damaged in the explosion. I hadn’t even thought of that. Thank you, Elliott.

Wide Load is busy lifting broken consoles and chairs out of the way. I have to make an effort to stop him dropping things; the noise makes everyone flinch, including me. It looks like the tide washed my innards against the walls, clearing the deck. When he’s done, he heads off to mid-deck.

Rosie is considering the best way to get the Lieutenant to Med Bay. Waldo has another anti-grav gurney in hand, but Big Ass leans in and picks up the captain’s chair. Laurence groans but he’s secure enough; he won’t fall out. The heavy drone turns and heads off the Bridge with his burden. Rosie looks like she might be amused by that sight, but not today.

Elliott takes Waldo’s gurney and hauls the injured pirate onto it. He’s only too glad to steer it to Med Bay; it could be programmed to steer itself but he’s glad to get out of my blood-spattered Bridge. Waldo and Rosie put the last pirate on another floating pad and follow soon after.

My Bridge is ruined and empty. Abruptly, it is so still it’s like my heart has stopped. Then I remember that I don’t have one.

There’s a prickle of movement. A sensor feed to tap into.

It’s Bit, searching for Byte. He’s ticking around the Bridge’s broken floor, picking up legs and wires and lost eyes. His tiny arms cradle his brother to his chest, straining to hold all of him, and I wish…

Instead, I turn out the lights and close the doors.

Ship's log, 11:42, 6 February 2214
Location: Gienah system
Status: Malfunction

Everyone outside of Med Bay is asleep now, slack and drooling on my decks in the grip of an indiscriminate gas. An antidote protects those still awake and crouches inside syringes in their pockets, waiting for injection. I’m stabilising my position and reactivating all my systems; there’s nothing actually wrong with me. My halls are eerily quiet.

There are two dead bodies in my Med Bay. One of them belongs to me, to my crew. His heart is splattered on the wall. I didn’t even notice the moment he was hit.

Pay attention to those still alive, Starry. There’s still a lot to lose. The clock is running, and no Stepping through time can avoid these encounters.

CAMERON, ROSIE and ELLIOTT: (in Med Bay, they are waiting for the door to open, shifting their weight. Elliott in particular is making an effort not to look at the bodies on the floor.)

STARRY: The last ones are down. You are good to go.

CAMERON: (nods) Door please, Starry.

(The door opens to reveal Waldo waiting on the other side. The drone whirrs at them, then shifts back out of the way to let them out.)

CAMERON and ROSIE: (scan the corridor carefully, then exchange a nod and split up.)

ELLIOTT: (steps out a couple of seconds later and turns to follow Cameron.)

WALDO: (trundles inside Med Bay and hesitates, scanning. There are captive collars in his hands with Is-Tech’s logo on the side, from storage lockers in the cargo bays. He moves to the closest unconscious pirate and clips a collar around her neck, then turns to the other one.

Once both bound pirates are secure, he turns to a bed and pulls a sheet down off it. He whirrs over to the third pirate near the door and lays the sheet over the body.

His head turns towards the rear of the room, where Maletz lies in a stasis field, but a bleep interrupts him. He untwists himself and turns to the pirates again, to scan them more closely.)

My job is to coordinate the drones now. The big boys are bringing the supplies up out of the cargo bays, while Waldo and Casper go around putting collars on pirates and removing whatever weapons they can find. The four of them meet up to swap stolen guns for fresh collars. My tiniest fellas are heading for the Bridge, each bearing a syringe.

My three active crew have split up into two groups. They’re jogging, moving with caution even though the gas knocked everyone out. You never know when someone has biochemical defenses. Dr Maletz assured us that the compound he chose would get through any countermeasures, cybernetic or genetic, but my SecOffs aren’t taking chances. They’re checking corners and scanning the bodies in the hallways for neural activity.

Maletz. Mustn’t think about him now.

Mid-deck and the Bridge: those two places are where everything is converging. Waldo is following Rosie up to mid-deck with collars; everyone else is heading to the Bridge. Bit and Byte will get there first, closely followed by Cameron and Elliott. Wide Load and Big Ass bring up the rear.

Movement detected. Inside the Bridge. Elevated pulses and fluttering eyelids. Two pirates. The Lieutenant. Dammit, he’s half metal; of course a biochemical attack wouldn’t keep him down as long as it’s supposed to.

STARRY: (voice only, in the hallway leading to the Bridge) Two pirates coming awake, Chief.

CAMERON: (coming to a stop before the door and tilting her head) Where?

STARRY: Lieutenant in the captain’s chair; guard by the portside defense station.

CAMERON: Conscious?

STARRY: In a few seconds at most.

CAMERON: (nods and looks over her shoulder.)

ELLIOTT: (waits behind her, and lifts his eyebrows at her glance.)

CAMERON: Let’s go.

Bit is already dropping from a vent to the floor and ticking his way across to the captain. Byte is a half-second behind him on the other side of the Bridge; he turns for Cirilli.

Half-face is moving, groggy and rubbing his face with one hand. He gags at the taste in his mouth and squints, trying to marshal his limbs into movement. The Bridge door opens and Cameron comes in, weapon up. Elliott ducks inside and down behind the curve of a console; he’s not armed. The Chief scans the room, strafing towards the captain’s chair.

On the floor, Bit has injected the captain. John’s stirring. Byte is doing the same to Cirilli. Get up. We need you, get up.

Half-face has seen the movement and is reaching for his forearm interface. The collars– Cameron is on him: she smashes his right hand down and catches him across the metal side of his head with the butt of her gun.

Casper is there with one of my collars. He lives up to his ghostly name: no-one sees him arrive. The Lieutenant is reeling from the blows and suddenly there’s a click around his neck. He grabs for it, but four metal hands hold him to the captain’s chair. He growls and grits his teeth but I don’t need to shock him; he’s contained.

The captain is getting to his feet. His jaw is tense as he fights through the fog of drugs warring in his system.

He hasn’t noticed the pirate getting up behind him.

STARRY: (appearing on the Bridge) Cameron! Portside!

CAMERON: (spins and drops to a knee, weapon coming up.)

STARRY/CAMERON: Captain, down!

PIRATE: (lifts his gun.)

BIT: (launches himself at the pirate’s face.)

STARRY: (blinks over to stand between the pirate and the captain.)

CAPTAIN: (throws himself back down to the floor.)

PIRATE: (shouts when he sees the tiny drone arcing towards him, little metal legs flapping like wingbones. He brings his gun up but a shot from Cameron clips his shoulder, ruining his aim. His body armour absorbs the damage and he squeezes off a few concussive rounds.

Then Bit is on him, scurrying up to wrap legs around his head. Tiny hands beat at the top of his skull. The pirate screams and sacrifices his gun in favour of trying to claw the thing off his face.)

Cameron wastes no time in putting him down; she aims for his neck and blood sprays my bulkhead. Bit barely escapes with all of his legs, skittering sideways off the body.

He missed. The pirate’s shots took out a couple of console projectors, but he missed all the people on the Bridge. They’re okay.

Elliott is sneaking forward with his device to deactivate the pirate collars – Cirilli first, as she’s closest to him. She has the sense to stay down until the SecOff is done with her job. The captain is getting up more cautiously this time.

Rosie is arriving on mid-deck. Waldo is following her, a collar in one hand and a spare gun for the SecOff in another. The other half of my science team lies sprawled over their stations, with their two guards slumped on the floor near the door.

Rosie checks the neural activity of the guards first to make sure they’re still asleep, then moves on to give Ebling and Wong their antidotes. She’s a little more stabby about administering the shots than is strictly necessary but they’re too unconscious to notice. It’s only a couple of seconds before they’re stirring; in the meantime, Waldo has collars on both of the pirates. Rosie returns to them to pilfer weapons, tucking choice items into her belt and thigh straps and handing the rest to the drone.

EBLING: (slurring) Wha’s going on?

ROSIE: (grinning over her shoulder) Inmates are taking over the asylum.

EBLING: Oh. …shit.

WONG: (pushing himself to sit upright, groaning) This is how you get us free?

ROSIE: Yeah, you sleep like princesses while the rest of us do the heavy lifting. (She waves a hand at them, rolling her eyes.) Don’t get up, it’s fine, really.

WONG: (shakes his head slowly to clear it) Nnh.

One of the pirates must have chemical defenses; he’s coming around. Damn them and their built-in countermeasures! His pulse is rising, pulling him up out of the drug-induced slumber.

STARRY: Rosie, the pirate to your right. Coming awake.

ROSIE: So? He’s got a collar on.

STARRY: So do half my crew.

ROSIE: What does– oh. Right.

All the pirates are wearing collar controls; it will only take one of them to trip the emergency killswitch to take out everyone still wearing one of their collars. That’s why they’re supposed to be unconscious until we’re done. Elliott is still on the Bridge, removing Lang Lang’s, and he has the only key to get them off.

I hate killswitches.

Rosie is casting around for a restraint mechanism. Waldo taps her on the shoulder to get her attention and offers out a coil of insulated wire and a pair of cutters. She grins and turns to bind the pirate’s wrists to his thighs. Forearm interfaces mean that lashing his hands together is a bad idea, and people have been known to use their tongue to manipulate the interface in an emergency. Tying him to himself like that isn’t exactly standard protocol but should solve the problem.

Back on the Bridge, the collar stakes have switched: my crew are freed and pirates are wearing mine. The Lieutenant’s wrists have been bound to the captain’s chair to keep him out of trouble. He’s glaring at the captain but he hasn’t said anything; he’s smart enough not to have to ask what just happened.

Casper is on weapons detail, collecting from the pirates and giving to the heavy drones squatting at the back of the Bridge.

Elliott has finished there and is now jogging towards mid-deck. Just two more collars to remove.

CAPTAIN: (on the Bridge) Starry, report.

STARRY: (voice only) All pirates contained. Two dead. Six crew freed. Two remaining and one… one casualty.

CAPT: (frowns) Who?

STARRY: (quietly) Dr Maletz.

CAPT: (bows his head) How long until we’re secure?

STARRY: A few minutes.

CAPT: (nods and regards the Lieutenant thoughtfully.)

HALF-FACE: (glaring) You just threw away any chance of Hunt letting you live, you know.

CAPT: He won’t get the chance to make that choice again.

HALF-FACE: (snorts.)

Something isn’t right on the Bridge. I can’t put my finger on it; the data scrapes at my nerves but I can’t pinpoint the right segment. It feels wrong.

Checking sensors again. Something in the vital signs. Half-face, Cirilli, Cameron, the captain, and Lang Lang: all showing as awake and active. One pirate dead, no signs at all. Three remain asleep, their biorhythms steady. One of the three has a pulse running higher than the rest, but it hasn’t changed since she went down.

Checking logs. Byte is running over to scan her for neural activity.

Elliott is climbing up to mid-deck. Almost there.

Oh shit. Shitshitshit. Her pulse didn’t change when she fell under the gas. She has an artificial heart; I can’t tell if she’s conscious or not. Something must have tripped me to her. What was it? She’s not moving. Her lips are closed, not slack like a sleeper’s should be. There, in the log, twenty seconds ago: her fingers moved.

She’s awake.

I make my avatar appear and point at her. No words in case she hears. Everyone turns to look. Cameron and the captain move around to flank her, both armed. Byte climbs over her boot, crawling up to take readings, but she hears the boots.

She snaps into motion like a snake, twisting to grab for her interface. No! I spike her through her collar; her body arcs in pain. Shots pound at her armour. She’d scream if she could. Concussive impacts make the air shiver and break bones.

We all stop at once. She slumps and silence is a shock to all of my sensors. She rakes in a breath. Her eyes find the captain and she grins. There’s blood on her teeth. Metal bones show through the torn skin on her hands. She coughs up more blood; she has some soft places inside and they’re torn too. Her heartbeat hasn’t changed.

She’s dying. Didn’t manage to trip the killswitch. Did she? She’s too broken to move. So why is she grinning?

Another cough and her eyes glaze over. Too much damage and no-one tries to save her. The captain and Cameron exchange frowns. Cirilli wears one too. Lang Lang’s mouth makes an appalled ‘o’ shape. Half-face looks as pissed off as ever but not upset.

There’s screaming on mid-deck.

Something clicks and falls off her belt. The buckle? No, something else. A device, programmed to come off when she died and…

CAPT/CAMERON: (back away from the device.)

BYTE: (chases after it as it rolls across the floor.)

HALF-FACE: (leans forward so he can see, then immediately struggles against his bindings) Daisycutter!

STARRY: GET DOWN!

BYTE: (jumps at it.)

Nononono! I can’t stop it! Byte is too late; it’s already bouncing into the air. People are falling in slow motion; I yank up the gravity to help. Heavy drones move forward, but so slowly.

The device hovers a metre off the deck. The captain is grabbing Lang Lang and pushing her down. He’s still standing, and it’s–

No, JOHN!

Ship's log, 11:37, 6 February 2214
Location: Error: insufficient data
Status: Stepping

Warning.
Inertial dampeners offline.
Warning.
Failsafes disabled.
Emergency protocols disabled.
Warning.
Warning.
Warning.

Almost there. Over to Gienah and back a few years. Don’t want to come out in the middle of that fight or be picked up afterwards. One thing at a time. I have an infestation on board that I have to deal with right now.

Focus, Starwalker, you’re mid-Step. Star Stepping is not so simple that you can let the future distract you. Focus. Filter out the data you don’t need.

I can hardly hear the music for all the other noise in my head.

Portal opening.

Here we go: normal space. I am solid again. I am somewhere. I’m heading away from the star, my hull cooling.

Portal closed.
Warning.
Inertial dampeners offline.
Warning.
Failsafes disabled.
Emergency protocols disabled.
Warning.
Warning.
Warning.

HALF-FACE: (on the Bridge, frowning) Aren’t they supposed to come back online now?

STARRY: (voice only) Step drive still winding down. Stand by.

Damn he’s sharp. It’s okay; he doesn’t know Stepping well enough to know that I’m leaving those systems offline on purpose. Cirilli is frowning but the captain hasn’t reacted at all. Everything is normal; nothing to see here.

My tiniest drones are getting to work, opening vials deep within my environmental systems. Liquid spills and evaporates, shimmering on the air. If I turn Bit’s audio receptors up to full, I can almost hear it hissing.

This is it. The point of no return. Deep breath, everyone.

It’s time to take myself back.

Warning.
Malfunction detected.
Warning.
Inertial dampeners offline.
Failsafes disabled.
Emergency protocols disabled.
Malfunction.
Medical Bay isolation triggered.
Malfunction.
Malfunction.

HALF-FACE: (sits up sharply as the readouts scroll down the monitor near his left hand) Starry, report! What’s going on?

STARRY: Analysing, Lieutenant.

HALF-FACE: (thumping the arm of the captain’s chair) Dammit, give me an answer!

STARRY: I’m having multi-system failures. Attempting to compensate.

(The ship shudders and lurches, throwing everyone on board into the port bulkheads. Another shiver, and they’re thrown to the floor.)

HALF-FACE: (bracing himself in his chair and punching at his forearm interface) Emergency measures!

STARRY: Still disabled, Lieutenant. Best I could do was isolate Med Bay.

CAPTAIN WARWICK: (standing with his feet braced) Everyone should have their safety harnesses on, Lieutenant.

HALF-FACE: (grits his teeth) And they should know to use them. Starry?

STARRY: Most of them have. Attempting to activate the rest.

All the vials are broken. The gas is being pumped through my ducts, seeping out into my populated areas. Mid-deck is hit first; four bodies slide slowly to the floor, their descent cushioned by the emergency harnesses. That’s Wong, Ebling, and their two pirate guards. No alarm is raised; they were too busy fiddling with their harnesses.

It has almost reached the main decks.

Med Bay’s doors are sealed. Their ride is smooth; I used the anti-grav to counteract the lurches. We didn’t want panic in there.

PIRATE GUARD 1: (in Med Bay, prodding at his forearm unit with a scowl) Lieutenant? Hello?

STARRY: Med Bay isolation in effect. Please stand by.

GUARD 1: What the hell?

MALETZ: Means we have to sit tight until they fix whatever’s wrong.

GUARD 1: Ship, what’s happening out there?

STARRY: Malfunction. Internal communications offline. Please stand by.

GUARD 1: (swears.)

Rosie is flexing her hand, testing the new skin on her knuckles and pretending that she’s not listening. Cameron is awake and sitting up, shaking her head groggily; the drug that made her seem sick should be shedding from her body as the antidote Maletz gave her kicks in. Elliott is looking uncomfortable as he continues to fiddle with the diagnostic unit. The only one of them who seems calm is Maletz, watching the three guards with a little smile. Don’t tip them off, doctor.

HALF-FACE: (on the Bridge) Engineering, report!

STARRY: Engineering is empty, Lieutenant.

HALF-FACE: What? Where the hell is the engineer?

STARRY: Med Bay, fixing a faulty scanner.

HALF-FACE: Then who the hell is going to fix this?

STARRY: Repair drones are working on it. Stand by.

HALF-FACE: (swears.)

The gas is reaching saturation on the main deck. A guard patrolling my central corridor just went down. I can’t let them realise what’s happening; they mustn’t have time to trip off any emergency measures of their own. Or the collars.

Time to lurch again. Distract them by throwing them around. Their safety harnesses create a repulsive field around them; they won’t get hurt. Much. I hope. Twist to the right and drop. Swing to the left and scoop them up again. Brake forward momentum sharply, speed up again. The harnesses are fighting the motion. One of the guards just gave in to it and threw up. Mess on my decks.

HALF-FACE: Starry, hold position!

STARRY: Attitude adjustment malfunctioning. Compensating.

They’re starting to blink blearily on the Bridge. Adrenaline slows the gas’s effects but it doesn’t protect them. Go down, go to sleep. My captain is struggling to stay upright; he doesn’t want to fall in the Lieutenant’s field of vision. He doesn’t want to be the one to give the game away.

The pirate leader is stiff and fighting it. I buck and whirl again. I remind him of the situation by scrolling bright red holographic warnings in the air before him.

Malfunction.
Malfunction.
Internal dampeners offline.
Failsafes disabled.
Emergency protocols disabled.
Malfunction.
Stabilisation failure.
Malfunction.

In Med Bay, things are calm. Cameron swings her feet around to the floor and stands up, taking a deep breath. The guards look over and she puts a hand to her head as if she’s still woozy. The isolation protects them from the gas flooding the rest of my body; no sleepiness for them to worry about.

The SecOffs have a different problem in there. I can’t help them. Everywhere else, crew and pirates are sliding down my walls to pool on the floor like sludge. I can’t do that here; I need them awake.

Rosie has a small device hidden in the palm of her good hand; it was secreted into her clothing when Waldo brought it up to Med Bay. Cameron had one slipped into her pocket while she slept.

They’re ready. As ready as they’ll ever be. Time to activate their signal.

ELLIOTT: (blinks at a little flashing light on the console he’s working on) Uh… doctor, could you come give me a hand here?

MALETZ: What?

ELLIOTT: (looks over his shoulder, scanning from Rosie to Cameron and over to the doctor) Come here, you fucking moron.

MALETZ: (huffs and stomps over) What, did you hit your finger? Need me to make it all better?

ROSIE: (stretches her repaired fingers out and then curls them into a fist. She pointedly doesn’t look at Cameron, sauntering over to the guards as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.) So, can I go back to my quarters yet, or what?

GUARD 1: (turns to scowl at her) Something’s going on. Go back to your post.

ROSIE: My post’s on the Bridge.

GUARD 1: Your bed! (He waves a hand.) Go!

ROSIE: (frowns, her jaw jutting out) No need to be rude.

GUARD 2: (sighs and shakes her head.)

CAMERON: (steps through the blue sterilisation curtain around her bed.)

Three guards. Three is a bad number for this. Why didn’t I try to get one of them out of here before I locked the doors?

Two of them are paying attention to Rosie; the third is tapping at his holographic forearm interface. He’s trying to hack his way around the Med Bay isolation locks. He’s good but he won’t get through; I can keep him corralled and hacking in circles.

Elliott keeps glancing over his shoulder at the pirates. He knows what’s coming; that’s why he called Maletz over to the corner he’s working in. He’s ready to drop when things get interesting.

All of a sudden, I wish he wasn’t in there. I can’t protect him. I can’t protect any of them. This is up to my SecOffs. This is out of my electronic hands.

They haven’t noticed Cameron’s movement. Rosie is blustering, waving her hands and getting close enough to touch one of the guards. She’s tracking the Chief in her peripheral vision; she knows not to give Cameron away with a direct glance. Two steps away, one.

The cuff she gives the pirate’s shoulder looks casual but the device does its work. He goes rigid and makes a gargling noise as the voltage pumps through him. When he topples over, everyone bursts into motion.

Elliott grabs Maletz’s shoulder and pulls him down into a defensive crouch between a bed and the wall. Cameron leaps out of her shadow-hugging position to slap a shocking device on the second guard. The female pirate’s weapon is out of its holster and a shot bounces off the floor as she goes down, convulsing.

One to go. Rosie steps over her fallen target with hands balling into fists and a fearsome expression. The last pirate is about to be the recipient of a lot of Rosie-shaped rage. Cameron is moving around to flank him. The pirate’s weapon is out but he can’t fire at both of them at the same time. He shouts at them to stop, to stand down. Rosie shouts back; Cameron is silent. He shifts his gun into his left hand, backing up until the door bumps him from behind. Fingers fumble at his forearm interface, trying to trip their collars. I can’t block that; hurry!

Rosie rushes him, giving herself up to the gun. He fires once, twice, can’t possibly hit them both. Cameron is there, grabbing his elbow and wrenching it. The gun’s aim goes wild. She doesn’t bother with the arm; she slides her grip inside his defenses and up to his neck. A crack of bone and the weapon drops from nerveless fingers. Heads aren’t supposed to sit at that angle.

It’s over. Med Bay is smoking bullet scars and rapidly-inhaled breaths. Cameron is the only one standing; the rest of the room is perfectly still. Too still.

Oh god. Rosie?

I can feel her: heart’s still beating and she’s breathing. She’s not gone.

ROSIE: Fucking ow.

She’s not unconscious either, apparently. Cameron is stepping over to give her a hand up; Rosie winces but she’s moving.

CAMERON: How bad?

ROSIE: (glances down at herself, pulling the scorched fabric of her shirt aside to look beneath. There’s no blood, just a layer of slate-grey material. The grey material hasn’t been pierced.) Hurts like a bitch.

CAMERON: (raising her eyebrows) Body armour?

ROSIE: Inner layer, yeah. The drone slipped it into my clothing.

CAMERON: You owe that drone, then.

ROSIE: (snorts and immediately winces again.)

Elliott is standing up now too. He’s fine! He’s looking at the pirates on the ground nervously, as if they might get up again, but he’s fine. He’s tugging at a device in his toolbelt: it looks like a scanner unit, but he’s been staying up at night to adapt it for a different use.

He’s going over to the SecOffs, doing his best to ignore the pirates while he steps over them.

ELLIOTT: (gestures to Cameron with the unit) C’mon, then.

CAMERON: (nod and lifts her chin for him.)

ELLIOTT: (presses the unit to her captive collar. It takes a few seconds for it to beep, and then the collar clicks open.)

CAMERON: (removes the collar and places it on a counter behind her) Thank you.

ELLIOTT: My pleasure. (He steps over Rosie to repeat the process.)

ROSIE: (sighs when the collar is deactivated. She yanks it off and drops it on the floor, lifting her hand to scratch at her neck.) That is so good.

ELLIOTT: (smiles lopsidedly and removes his own collar) So, they all dead?

CAMERON: (shakes her head and points at the one by the door) Just that one. Rosie, help me bind these two. Starry, how long until it’s safe to go out?

STARRY: Three minutes.

CAMERON: Great. Doctor, do you have the shots ready?

There’s no answer. Maletz is still crouching in the corner where he was through the fight; he hasn’t moved a muscle. Not even to brea–

Oh no. Nonononono.

CAMERON: (goes over to Dr Maletz) Doctor? It’s over, you can– (She stops, then drops to a knee and touches a rippled spot on the back of his jacket. Her fingers come away bloody.)

Nonononono.

CAMERON: (takes the doctor by the shoulders and turns him to lay him down flat on the floor. His eyes are closed and there’s a huge hole in his chest. Red sprays the wall where he had been leaning.)

ELLIOTT: (staring) Oh, shit. (He glances to where he had been hiding from the fighting, right next to the doctor, then down at his hands. He scrubs at a red spot, swallowing.)

ROSIE: (rubs at her side where she took the shot) Fuck.

CAMERON: Starry, is there any way to….

STARRY: (voice ony, trembling) My drones aren’t close enough. And I can’t open the door yet. And… and I don’t think I could fix…

CAMERON: Rosie, let’s get him into stasis. Elliott, get the shots.

They’re putting him inside a stasis field, shock-freezing to preserve what’s left of him. In case someone can put him back together.

I can’t do this. My sensors are telling me too much. There’s a burn on the starboard wall; the shot must have ricocheted into him. That red spatter where he was crouching contains pieces of his heart. His lungs. A bit of liver. He’s dead. He’s gone and I failed him. I’m their ship; I’m supposed to protect them.

ELLIOTT: (hands out slender syringes to each SecOff, keeping a few for himself.)

CAMERON: (nods and tucks them into a thigh pocket. Turning, she claims a pirate weapon for her own.) Let’s go.

ROSIE: (picks up the biggest gun she can find and faces the door.)

One fight and I’ve already lost one of my own. How many more before this is done?

Ship's log, 11:26, 6 February 2214
Location: Home system
Status: Sublight transit to Terra Sol

It’s time to head off again. I’m burning my way towards Terra Sol, the golden sun that spawned the human race. The Step drive is warming up in my core, just a few tests away from full calibration. Almost time to tear open the world and make my exit, stage centre.

Time. The notion of travelling across it does strange things to people. It has captured human imagination ever since they discovered regret and the impact of possibilities. The captain isn’t worried by it; to him, it’s just another detail in the headache that is managing this experimental ship. Lieutenance Laurence is as divided as his face, wavering between disbelieve and awe, and fear and anger. I’ve heard him talk about going back to Hunt with the news and demanding more money in exchange for this ‘time machine’. Pirate to the core, that one. To Lang Lang, time is just another parameter in her equations, another facet to a challenge she’s relishing. Cirilli wasn’t phased by it the first time around, but it seems to have her knickers in a knot this time. I have no idea why; she won’t say.

I think only the captain and Elliott suspect that I made this slip in time on purpose; the rest of those on board are happy to class it as another accident. While that is a little insulting, I’ll accept it because it suits my purposes for now. It has given me the time I needed.

The pieces are in place. Countermeasures are scattered around the ship, secreted away by scurrying drones in the quiet hours when most of my humans are asleep. I have the protocols that will kick them off written and lined up, awaiting the right moment to trip into action. All six of my drones are spread around the ship at key locations: my heavy boys, Big Ass and Wide Load, are crouching in separate cargo bays; my mid-sized maintainers, Waldo and Casper, are whirring around the main decks, so ubiquitous that no-one notices them; and my tiny duct-crawlers, Bit and Byte, are ticking around in my environmental systems.

My crew have been sifting into their places over the past twenty hours. The first to move was Cameron.

Recording: 15:30, 5 February 2214
Location: Chief of Security's quarters

 STARRY: (standing in front of the chief SecOff, frowning) You sure this is the way you want to do it?

CAMERON: (nods) I am. Did Maletz give you what I asked for?

STARRY: (gestures towards the vent near the ceiling) Yes.

(The vent shivers, then swings open. Metal glints inside the shadow of the duct, and a small, spider-like drone skitters into view. Its front pair of arms hold out a vial. Cameron steps over and cups a hand under the drone. The vial tilts horizontal and drops into her palm.)

CAMERON: (gives the ship’s avatar a curious look.)

STARRY: (folds her arms over her chest and nods.)

CAMERON: (flips the top off the vial and upends it into her mouth. She grimaces as she swallows. She shakes her head as if to rid herself of the flavour, then tosses the vial back towards the vent.)

BYTE: (catches the vial in one hand, extends the other to snag the vent cover, and backs into the duct. The vent cover closes, clicking softly into place.)

STARRY: (ignores the drone, too busy watching the SecOff.)

CAMERON: (blinks and goes to sit down on the side of her bed) This shouldn’t take long.

STARRY: I know.

CAMERON: (goes pale and grips the edge of the bed. Sweat breaks out on her forehead. She squeezes her eyes shut, then gasps as her throat closes, shutting off her ability to breathe. She falls back, choking.)

STARRY: (watches with growing distress, her arms unfolding, fingers fidgeting) Safety protocols have picked it up. They’re coming, Cameron. They’re coming.

CAMERON: (struggles on the bed, clutching at the covers.)

STARRY: (drops her head and disappears. Behind her, the door snaps open and three pirates run in with Maletz. One of them has an anti-grav stretcher.)

Maletz gave her a couple of shots to counteract the convulsions and admitted her to Med Bay. His diagnosis was a neurological virus, possibly picked up off one of the pirates. She has been confined to Med Bay until he can track down the culprit disease and treat her for it. Right now, she’s dozing, her face given a sickly colour by the glow of the blue isolation curtain around her bed.

It’s not as bad as it looks. Maletz is doing a good job of keeping her stable and bewildering the pirates with medical jargon until they go away. I still don’t like to see her that way, but she has to stay sick so she can stay in Med Bay.

Rosie was next. We didn’t want to use the same ruse in case the pirates got suspicious or tried to lock down crew movement from fear of an outbreak. She didn’t want a subtle approach anyway; I impressed upon her that believability was key and, well.

Recording: 08:47, 6 February 2214
Location: Rosie Brasco's quarters

STARRY: So you know what to do?

ROSIE: (grins) Yup. No problem, ma’am.

STARRY: You’re not going to ham it up, are you?

ROSIE: Me? Nah. (She holds up a hand when the avatar looks like it’s about to speak.) Don’t worry! How long until they come to check on me?

STARRY: (hesitates, calculating guard positions and velocities) About four minutes.

ROSIE: Plenty of time.

 

Recording: 08:51, 6 February 2214
Location: Rosie Brasco's quarters

STARRY: (voice only) Three, two…

ROSIE: (walks out of her personal hygiene unit, stark naked, and crosses the room towards the drawers near the bed. The only thing she’s wearing is her captive collar. Freshly-washed hair sticks out from her head in all directions.)

(She’s halfway across the room when the door to her quarters opens and a pirate guard walks in. He stops dead when he sees her.)

ROSIE: (spins around to face him) Do you MIND?

GUARD: (eyes widening, he struggles to lift his gaze to her face) Um… not really.

ROSIE: (throwing her hands up in the air) Oh, this is fun for you, is it? I can’t even have some privacy now? What, you struggle to get girls, so you gotta peep on ’em like some creepy little scumbag?

GUARD: (frowning) Hey, now that’s not what–

ROSIE: (stalking over to him) It’s exactly what! I’ve seen you, looking when you think I’m not gonna notice. What is this – stepping it up a notch? Boss give you permission to play with the prisoners?

GUARD: (backing up) That ain’t true! Stop, don’t come any closer.

ROSIE: Or you’ll what?

GUARD: (fumbling at his forearm for the collar controls) Back off! I mean it! (He’s at least a couple of inches shorter than Rosie, and not as broad across the shoulders, even in his armour.)

ROSIE: Goddamn pirates, you’re all the same! (She cocks an arm back and drives a fist at his face.)

(The guard sees the punch coming and ducks, diving out under her arm. Rosie’s fist slams into the wall with a crack, hard enough to leave a dent in the bulkhead and a smear of blood. She grunts and spins around to face the pirate again, dropping into an offensive stance. The guard punches at his holographic forearm controls, backing away from her again.)

ROSIE: You cowardly little fu– (The lights on her collar ping on and she goes rigid. Her teeth clamp together and she shudders, then drops to the floor. The tension in her jaw strangles a scream.)

GUARD: (eyes her, his finger on the button, and speaks over pirate comms) Lieutenant? Need some backup. (He considers the blood on her hand.) And maybe the medic.

When the backup arrived, they let up on the collar-infused punishment, and then put her out because she wouldn’t stop bitching and trying to get up. The doctor reported that her hand was probably broken and he needed to reknit it. Another anti-grav stretcher was fetched and she was carted off to Med Bay; Waldo followed later with her clothes and gear.

Maletz was halfway through fixing her hand up when she came around and I don’t think she’s stopped swearing or wriggling since. When the doctor offered to help her get dressed, she offered to break her other hand on his face.

On the plus side, the pirates are convinced.

That was three hours ago. Two and a half hours after that, the Lieutenant moved my Step-critical people to their places: Captain, Lang Lang and Cirilli on the Bridge; Wong and Ebling on mid-deck.

Last one up is Elliott, and his scheme came into play four minutes and thirty-five seconds ago.

Recording: 11:25, 6 February 2214
Location: Med Bay

MALETZ: (over internal comms) It’s an emergency, dammit! (He pokes at the interface in front of him. It flashes warnings and errors at him, and bleeps off-key whenever he touches a control.)

ELLIOTT: (from Engineering) Is someone dying?

MALETZ: (huffing) No, but if I don’t get this viral analysis done, I can’t fix Cameron up. Y’know, the sick woman? She’s getting worse! Get your ass up here, Monaghan.

ELLIOTT: All right, all right; try not to sprain your yourself. (Banging noises filter over the comms.) I’ll get my tools and head up.

MALETZ: (muttering) About time.

Elliott is on his way now; he’ll be in Med Bay in about twenty seconds.

I wanted to get the captain in there too, but he refused. Too obvious, he said; I was pushing it with three. Stick to the essentials. They didn’t need him in there and he has to be on the Bridge for the Step.

What if I need him before then? What if something happens before they can get to him? He’s my captain; he’s essential to me.

I probably didn’t have to get Elliott in there; he’s not essential for the first part of this. But it’s Elliott, and I’ll need him if anything goes wrong. My SecOffs might not be able to get to both him and the captain in time. No, Elliott needs to be there.

And he is! He’s there, grumbling over the medical diagnostic unit. Dr Maletz has stepped inside the isolation curtain and is giving Cameron a shot. Rosie has her hand in the epidermal unit, reapplying layers of skin to her knuckles. The clock is running.

Filaments extending.

I’m ready. As ready as I’ll ever be for what I’m about to do.

I think the dustbunnies are scampering around in my ducts. If I had sensors down in there, I’d feel claws tickling along my insides. I prickle all over under the wash of Terra Sol’s radiation. I have sensors, not nerves, and yet I’m nervous.

I’m an AI. I have my programming set up; I just need to follow the plan. Worrying is for humans. Right?

Filaments charging: 40%

My Step course is plotted out, as much as it can be. I’ve managed to convince Laurence that I have to go back to the Gienah system to ‘undo’ this time slip. I have to reset my navigation charts and come at the Home system fresh to make sure I hit the right time. It’s not true but I don’t want to be anywhere near this rendezvous when I make my move. Luckily, I found that if I spin out complex equations and sound really sure about it all, he believes me.

Filaments charging: 65%

I feel bad about deceiving Lang Lang. I could have helped her with the problem star charts and cut three days of work down to one. But the delay was what I wanted. I lied to her about why we have to go back to Gienah, and I haven’t told her that I plan to Step out of time there, too. It’s not time for her to know the truth, not yet.

A good ship wouldn’t keep things from her crew. A good ship wouldn’t lie and cheat and have her drones construct countermeasures in dark corners while everyone is asleep. Have I slipped so far? The name on my hull is Carapace and that’s what I have to be: a shell to protect what lies within. For now. For a little more time.

Filaments charging: 98%

A good ship protects her crew and her mission. That’s what I’m doing.

Five seconds.

I’m a good ship. I’m in perfect working order. I’m ready.

They’re not gonna know what hit them.

Portal opening.

Captain's log, 09:24, 4 February 2214
Location: Positional orbit behind Mercury, Home system
Status: Stationary
Log recorded: Captain's cabin

This is John Warwick, ex-captain of the Starwalker. For some reason, the logger is marking this as a captain’s log instead of a personal one – I’ll have to talk to Starry about that.

There was a miscalculation during the last Step. To be truthful, I’m not convinced that it was a miscalculation, but we’re definitely not where – or rather, when – we were supposed to be.

This is the Home system, and we’re tucked in between Mercury and Terra Sol just like Lieutenant Laurence asked, but his contacts are not here. Whoever we were due to meet was supposed to be here, waiting for us. There’s nothing; just the usual traffic funnelling in across the disc of the system to meet at the Moonbase: freighters, fast-lined transports, and the occasional tiny express mail carrier.

At first, we thought that the pirate contact was late. The Lieutenant started to wonder if they had been picked up by a Judiciary patrol, though we don’t know how likely that would be; there are no laws against sitting next to a planet. Three days and still no sign of them.

Starry has been very quiet and calm. Enough to tip me off that she has to be up to something.

One of the guards told me that he’d noticed all the ships in the system were old models. Old models but new ships. Yesterday, a cargo freighter passed by the other side of Mercury bearing a huge holographic banner down its side, keyed with radiation so it would flare up on any sensor sweeps: “FERAS: building the future of space, in space. Another innovation by Isasimo Technologies.” Is-Tech haven’t felt the need to advertise the factory at Feras for decades; they have bigger and better slogans these days.

When the freighter passed us, I was back to being confined in my cabin, but Starry feeds me data to keep me updated. When I asked her about whether our location had been confirmed, she told me that Lang Lang was busy scouring the navigational data and was troubled by some ‘anomalies’. I swear that she was grinning when she said it, though there was no avatar present to betray her; just that voice that sounds so much like Danika.

Her hologram is worse. There’s nothing of the ship in how she moves; even though she doesn’t look exactly the same, it’s all Danika. The flick of her hair against her neck; the way the corners of her lips twitch; how her weight shifts onto a cocked hip. I don’t think she knows how distracting it is.

Today, there has been more activity among the mercenary ranks. They’re getting antsy at the wait. The guard that checked on me earlier was muttering over his personal comms to someone, and I caught enough to know that he thinks we should go back to Apus to check in with Hunt. I wonder what’s at Apus – another rendezvous point? Some kind of base?

Being isolated like this is frustrating. Since we Stepped here, Starry hasn’t been as chatty as she was, and I’m starting to wonder why. I think – I hope – it’s just because she’s distracted. But if something doesn’t change soon, we’re going to be in even worse trouble.

The guard checked on me five minutes ago; I have time to check into this.

CAPTAIN WARWICK: (in his cabin) Starry, what did you do?

STARRY: I don’t know what you mean.

CAPT: You did something during the Step. We’re not where – when – we’re supposed to be. Are we?

STARRY: (materialises in the cabin, all outlined in orange light with her hands on her hips) Shh. They haven’t figured it out yet.

CAPT: Why are you messing with Hunt’s people? You know it can’t end well.

STARRY: (shakes her head) I’m not messing with them. Not just for the fun of it. I needed time, that’s all.

CAPT: Time for what?

STARRY: (smiles) To set a few things up. You know, we talked about it. To get us out of this mess we’re in.

CAPT: You’re going ahead with that?

STARRY: Never stopped. Just haven’t had the chance to get everything ready.

CAPT: (leaning forward) How close are you?

(Text entry) This is better news than I’ve heard in a long time. We haven’t talked about these plans for some time and it was starting to look like the mercenaries were too vigilant for us to get around.

STARRY: Pretty close. Just need another day or two, and a chance to brief everyone.

CAPT: Everyone?

STARRY: Everyone that has to be involved. You, Elliott, Cameron, Rosie. Maletz, too.

CAPT: You think that Maletz can be trusted?

STARRY: I don’t know. He’s getting pretty friendly with the pirates. But he’s important.

CAPT: You’re planning to use the Med Bay as isolation?

STARRY: Yup. Safest place.

CAPT: Just tell him enough for him to play his part. He doesn’t need to know the rest.

STARRY: (nods, as if she’s taking notes.)

CAPT: What about Lorena and her team?

STARRY: (voice hardening suddenly) They just need to stay out of the way.

(Text entry) I don’t know why she dislikes the science team so much; I had hoped that her attitude towards them would improve after Lorena and I were no longer together. If anything, it’s getting worse.

STARRY: (relaxes again) Don’t worry. I’ll go over the plan with you later.

CAPT: Why not now?

STARRY: (lifts a finger to her lips, winks, and disappears.)

(Through the falling light motes of her dissolving projection, the cabin door opens and Lieutenant Laurence strides in to fill up the place where she had been standing. Lang Lang follows him like a scared sheep, herded in by an armoured mercenary. Her hands are clasped in front of her as she comes to a stop behind the Lieutenant, head ducked as if she’s bracing for a blow.)

HALF-FACE: (to Captain Warwick) You have some explaining to do.

CAPT: (still seated behind his desk, calmly nonplussed) I do?

HALF-FACE: (grits his teeth. The tension is visible on the metal side of his face where the plastiskin cheek barely covers the prosthetic jaw; it pulls the corner of his mouth into an unpleasant grimace.) Damn right you do.

(Behind him, the cabin door opens again. Dr Cirilli is herded through, nudged over the threshold by her armed escort. She casts the woman a glare over her shoulder and moves up to stand next to the Lieutenant. Unlike Lang Lang, she stands tall, shoulders back and gaze lifted to challenge any glance sent her way.)

DR CIRILLI: You ‘summoned’ me, Lieutenant?

HALF-FACE: Yes. Your navigation expert has just told me that we are where we need to be, but not when.

CIRILLI and CAPT: (exchange a glance.)

HALF-FACE: (testily) You don’t look surprised. Would someone like to explain what the hell is going on?

CAPT: It’s happened before.

HALF-FACE: You’ve travelled in time.

CAPT: Yes.

HALF-FACE: We travelled through time.

CAPT: Yes.

HALF-FACE: But that’s impossible!

CIRILLI: It’s not impossible; just incredibly unlikely. That’s the nature of this project, Lieutenant: breaking through boundaries that used to be fixed.

HALF-FACE: How the hell did this happen?

CIRILLI: (lifts an eyebrow) Do you want the technical explanation?

HALF-FACE: (grits his teeth again.)

CAPT: (quickly) Lang Lang, just how far off are we?

LANG LANG: (glancing around the group uncomfortably) Um. About forty years. Before our present. Almost exactly.

CIRILLI: (starts and gives the navigation specialist a sharp look.)

CAPT: Starry, can you return us to our proper time?

STARRY: (materialising off to one side, near a monitor scrolling through status reports) Yes. I will need time to make the proper calculations.

HALF-FACE: (to the ship’s avatar) How the hell did this happen?

STARRY: (shrugs) A minor miscalculation. I hadn’t mapped this part of the galaxy before the Step, and being even a few centimetres out can send us years off-course.

HALF-FACE: And what’s to say it won’t happen again?

STARRY: Nothing, but my maps are getting better. I won’t slip in this system again.

HALF-FACE: This is ridiculous!

STARRY: Hey, you’re the one who decided to hop on an experimental ride. You could have waited until we had ironed out all the bugs.

HALF-FACE: (glares at her, one hand balled into a fist.)

CAPT: Lang Lang, it took you three days to confirm our position. What was the hold-up?

LANG LANG: (swallowing and trying not to look at the furious Lieutenant) Our star-charts were wrong. They updated to match the local nav buoys when we entered the system, and it threw off all my calculations until I rolled us back to our previous data-set.

CAPT: I see, thank you.

STARRY: (turning her attention pointedly towards the captain) I can disable the automatic updates so that it doesn’t happen again.

CAPT: Good idea. (He nods towards the pirate in charge.) If the Lieutenant approves?

HALF-FACE: If it will stop this happening again, yes.

STARRY: (tilts her head for a second, then blinks and nods) Done.

HALF-FACE: So how do we get out of this?

CAPT: Another Step. Starry, you believe you can get us back to the correct time in Home system?

STARRY: Yes, I think so. I’ll need to do some prelim calculations, though. Lang Lang, would you mind giving me a hand?

LANG LANG: (nods quickly) Of course I will. If… if the Lieutenant says it’s okay.

HALF-FACE: Whatever it takes. (He nods towards her escort, who gestures for the navigation specialist to precede him out of the room.)

STARRY: It may take some time. I’ll let you know when we’re ready.

HALF-FACE: Just don’t take too long.

STARRY: What’s the rush? (She smiles.) We have all the time in the universe.

HALF-FACE: (glares at her) Dismissed, ship.

STARRY: (flips off a salute and disappears.)

HALF-FACE: (huffs and turns to the captain and Dr Cirilli) Is there anything else I should know about this experiment of yours?

CIRILLI: (shakes her head slowly, deep in thought.)

CAPT: (glances at Cirilli, but gives his answer to the Lieutenant) No. It travels across space and time, and it’ll unmake anything that stays outside the Step portals for too long. That’s the crux of it all.

HALF-FACE: Any more surprises and your crew will pay the price, Warwick. That includes your team, doctor.

CAPT: (nods his understanding.)

HALF-FACE: (glares at them both, then turns on his heel and stalks out.)

CAPT: Lorena? Are you all right?

CIRILLI: Hm? Yes, yes I’m fine.

CIRILLI’S ESCORT: Come on, doctor, time to go back to your cage.

CIRILLI: (nods and turns to stride out of the cabin. The door whispers closed behind the pair, leaving the captain alone again.)

Well. That was about as difficult as I thought it would be. The Lieutenant took the news well, considering.

On the plus side, he can take confidence in the fact that his rendezvous isn’t late; we’re forty years early, that’s all. It explains why all the ships are such old models and the other anomalies we’ve seen here.

Forty years. Feras has just opened its factory doors. I’m in school two planets over from here, almost ready to graduate and step into space for the first time. Danika hasn’t been born yet. Lorena’s project won’t start for another year or two.

For some reason, this is more disorienting than the thousands of years we were out of our time at Grisette after our first Step.

I hope Starry knows what she’s doing. She bought herself some more time to set up our attempt to break free of Lieutenant Laurence and his people. She had better not push her luck with them or it’ll fail before it’s begun.

Spirits guide us, but I can’t wait to do something again.

Ship's log, 12:00, 1 February 2214
Location: Positional orbit around Gienah Sol
Status: Stationary

It took a little longer than an hour, but I’m hooked up to mid-deck and I’ve made sure that they’re not running any more diagnostics on the drive. There’s so much information there that I’ve barely had time to catalogue it all; I’ll have to do that later. Right now, the half-faced Lieutenant has everyone at their posts, and his mercs have pulled back from their looming stances to be out of the way again. Surreptitiously, they’re all holding onto or leaning on something, in case there’s another shudder and surge.

HALF-FACE: (on the Bridge) Okay, are we ready this time?

Aw, he gets testy when he’s nervous. And a muscle on the flesh side of his jaw keeps twitching. I don’t blame him, trying to handle a ship with a drive that might just kill us all. Even before we Step.

STARRY: I believe so. All systems are green.

CAPT: (from the engineering console on the Bridge) Ebling, Wong, confirm please.

EBLING: Yes, it’s all green here. The drive is good to go.

HALF-FACE: All right. Let’s try it again, shall we?

STARRY: Lang Lang, navigation data’s with you for corroboration.

LANG LANG CARTIER: Analysing. Looks good.

STARRY: Okay, approaching Gienah Sol.

Star Step drive initialising.
Filaments extending.

Here we go. No red warnings this time, no unhappy twitches in the power flows. My filaments are peeling out from my hull, starting at the tips down by my tail and unfurling towards their base couplings around the circuit of my nosecone. They’re sensitive, tasting the star I’m approaching. The data that flows down them is dizzying, funneling into the stores on mid-deck.

Filaments charging.

The star’s gravitational fluctuations are a problem. It’s bubbling and burping, far more than I’m used to.

STARRY: We’re at Step distance now. Holding position.

HALF-FACE: How long before we can Step?

STARRY: The filaments are charging. The instability of the star could overload them, so I’m backing them off a bit.

CAPT: How long can we hold this position?

STARRY: An hour before the heat reflectors reach maximum capacity; less if these flares keep up.

CAPT: Will we have full charge before then?

STARRY: Shouldn’t take that long. Ten to fifteen minutes for full charge.

CAPT: Can we speed up the process at all?

WONG: (from mid-deck) Not without burning out the filaments.

STARRY: I’m keeping a close eye on it. I’ll update you if there’s a problem.

Filaments extended.
Filament charging: 15% complete.

This is going to take forever. It doesn’t help that I’m struggling to balance them. As much as I hate to admit it, Wong was right: we should have taken more time to calibrate the filaments. The Lieutenant is already pissed at being delayed this long; we should have Stepped out of here a week ago. Welcome to my world, pirate with half a face. Nothing is as quick as we would like. So much for being a faster form of travel than FTL, huh?

Despite all of the delays, I haven’t had time to prepare the countermeasures that Elliott and I planned. I’m still hurtling towards my new masters, whoever they are, with no chance of taking a left turn that might save my crew. There’s never enough time. If only there was a way to get more.

I’m an idiot. I’m packed full of state-of-the-art processors, and I’m still a steel-plated moron. I’m about to step outside space and time. I know what to do: I can make time. I just need to adjust my calculations slightly, and… I think this just might work.

Another solar flare. Dodging to the side for this one; I don’t want to get pushed out from Step range, or let that spurt of plasma caress my newly-heat-protected hull. I’d like to stay in one piece for this one trip, please. I’d like for Elliott not to have to run around repairing me for a change. He’s got other things to do.

If I extend my sensors, I can see those flares building under the sun’s surface. Another one under me – slip to the left and let it extend past my wingtip. Actually, if I fly a slow orbit around the sun, it’ll be easier to avoid them and I can stay at optimal Step distance at the same time. It’s like weaving through valleys, except that the mountains are rising around me as I fly. More like flying across an ocean in the middle of a hurricane.

Okay, this is fun. I’m trailing filaments like whiskers, swerving like a lunatic. Wheeeee.

CAPT: Starry, what are you doing?

STARRY: …flying?

CAPT: You’re supposed to be in Step position.

STARRY: The star’s too unstable. I’m orbiting while the filaments charge. Keeping to the least volatile areas.

HALF-FACE: (to Captain Warwick) Does she always do things on her own?

CAPT: When she’s sure it’s the right thing to do.

HALF-FACE: (frowning) How often is she wrong?

CAPT: (eyeing the pirate) Actually, almost never.

HALF-FACE: (smiling crookedly, the metal side of his face joining in stiffly) Doesn’t that piss you off?

CAPT: (returning his attention to his console) Only when she does it without telling me.

STARRY: You guys are subtle like a bat to the face. I’m right here, y’know.

CAPT: (smiles to himself but says nothing.)

HALF-FACE: (eyes the captain, then snorts and returns his gaze to the main holo-tank, which shows the star turning slowly beneath them.)

STARRY: Fine, you guys wanna see what I’m doing, try this.

(The nav display in the holo-tank zooms in on the little representation of the Starwalker. The hologram expands to fill the front half of the Bridge, overlaying the walls until they dissolve, giving way to the view outside. Sensor data feeds directly into the projection, showing the scenery as she flies: the roiling surface of the star below them and the spurting flares that erupt on either side of the ship’s path. The perspective tilts as the ship swerves and weaves, rises and dips. A flare rises before them, and they’re heading straight for it. The Lieutenant tightens his grip on his chair, and the plasma spurt swells into a loop extending out from the star’s surface. The Starwalker dives into the loop, missing the hot lick of the flare by mere kilometres. A merry sound leaks out of the Bridge speakers.)

HALF-FACE: …are you giggling?

STARRY: This is fun! I haven’t flown like this in ages.

Filaments charging: 70% complete.

HALF-FACE: You call this fun?

CAPT: (to the Lieutenant) Danika was our pilot. She lived for this kind of thing.

HALF-FACE: You really inherited that kind of thing from her?

STARRY: If I was just a ship, I’d think that putting a new scent into the environmentals was fun.

HALF-FACE: (watching the display with a note of discomfort) I’m thinking that would be preferable.

STARRY: Y’know, I’m thinking that ‘eau de sewerage’ would be good to try next, what do you think?

CAPT: No need to punish all of us, Starry.

STARRY: I can isolate a single cabin….

HALF-FACE: Okay, okay. Keep flying.

If I had my avatar out, I’d be grinning like an idiot right now. I never thought that I’d be able to tease a pirate – especially not the one in charge of me (nominally, at least) – but apparently I can with this one. He’s… he’s not as bad as I thought.

Filaments charging: 95% complete.

STARRY: Almost ready to Step! Everyone ready? Better strap in – inertial dampening will go offline soon.

CAPT: Can you find us a stable position for the Step?

STARRY: Searching now. Stand by.

They’re all fastening their safety harnesses. Down in Engineering, Elliott is clomping around in his mag-boots, but I don’t like that. All they do is keep his feet from slipping around. If I have to manoeuvre sharply, he could snap a leg.

ELLIOTT: (in Engineering, checking over the data, checking the stability of the systems) Starry, watch your temperature.

STARRY: I’m keeping an eye on it. We’re about to Step.

ELLIOTT: (frowning) Okay. Don’t wait too long.

WALDO: (trundles up behind Elliott with a harness in his hands and pokes him in the leg lightly with a free hand.)

ELLIOTT: (glances down) No, it’s all right.

WALDO: (lowers his shoulders and tilts his head as he looks up at Elliott. He lifts the safety harness towards the engineer meaningfully.)

ELLIOTT: Seriously, I hate those things. I’ll be fine.

WALDO: (drops his head and hands. The harness clatters on the floor sadly.)

ELLIOTT: Oh, stop it.

STARRY: Please, Elliott? It’ll stop me worrying about you.

ELLIOTT: But it’s uncomfortable! And it chafes.

STARRY: For me?

ELLIOTT: (huffs and turns around, then stops.)

WALDO and CASPER: (both looking up at him, holding the harness open for him between them, ready for him to step into.)

ELLIOTT: (frowns at Casper) Where the hell did you come from?

CASPER: (points one of his four hands back towards the engine bay.)

ELLIOTT: (glaring at the sneaky drone) I’m putting a bell on you.

CASPER: (tilts his head, making his position a perfect mirror of Waldo’s.)

ELLIOTT: (muttering as he takes the harness from them) You’re all against me.

He loves it really. The harness will protect him in case it gets too rough. I’ll switch the safety suppressants on in there too, to stop loose tools and components from flying around the room.

Okay, everyone’s ready. I’m in position above a stable part of the star.

STARRY: All systems green. Initialising the Step.

Step initialised.
Portal opening.

The filaments are weaving, dancing around each other in patterns I can barely comprehend. The drive on mid-deck is bright and humming, churning through the data, feeding to and from the filaments, and… it’s beautiful. It’s a dance, and down there in that drive, that’s where the music is. I couldn’t hear it before. Now, I can feel it dip and swell, drawing all the different orchestral parts in, brightening the well of gravity into a single point that blossoms out and out, widening to encompass us all and invite us to step in time, swirl around the dancefloor until it steals my breath away. I’m giddy – all I can see is spirals in the black, so bright and beautiful.

Portal open.

There it is. It’s bigger than the last time, ragged around the edges. The dance flailed more than the last time – I’m lacking in grace. Flat-footed, but in time enough to pull it off.

I think a full battleship could fly through that portal.

Warning.
Inertial dampeners offline.
Warning.
Failsafes disabled.
Emergency protocols disabled.
Warning.
Warning.
Warning.

It’s all right, this is normal. This is nothing to worry about. I’m just violating the laws of physics, bending time and space to my will and stepping outside of both of them. It’s all right.

This is what I was built for.

Through I go. It’s like a sluice gate coming down – the music is gone. There’s the great column of the star’s path beside me, curving up and around in the busy blackness of the world outside itself. All around me, there are flickers of movement – my sensors pick it up and slide off, bewildered by so much data being thrown around. An explosion – it’s gone again. The battle. A ship, hovering. I think I see myself. No, it’s gone.

I am everywhere and nowhere. This is my history, laid before me, all at once.

I’m not supposed to be looking at that. Data is like water and my hands are too small – I can’t hold it all. More keeps coming and pushing off what I had a slippery grip on.

Focus, Starry. Focus on the starpaths. Focus on the map. Find the Home system. Find the place where the human race started, the nexus of all those lines: FTL corridors and slow, dirty sublight flight paths. Find our Sol, the one that we grew up under.

We. As if I’m still one of them. I am anything but human now, but there’s a part of me that still thinks of it as my starting place. I was built out at Feras, a thousand light years from it. I’ve never been there before. Danika wasn’t born there, didn’t live there. So why does it feel like coming home?

Too many distractions. Focus, or I’ll end up like the Beholder, unmade from the outside. There is nothing here, and it will make nothing of me too if I’m not careful. Concentrate on the map.

There. There is it. I have it. Just a heartbeat and we’re there, hovering by its beautiful golden thread. Check the nav data, adjust to the right spot. Here and now is where I want to be.

It’s time to dance again, time to weave that gravitational magic that punctures space. It has a different tone this time, drawing more heavily upon the charge the filaments carry. They can’t quite feel the star’s gravity but they know it’s there. They’re teasing it through, sucking it from that side of the veil to this, grabbing hold and widening it into a gap. The gap yawns, and it spits, not swallows.

Portal open.
Warning.
Inertial dampeners offline.
Warning.
Failsafes disabled.
Emergency protocols disabled.
Warning.

Out I go, back into space. Somewhere, a silent clock starts to tick again, and a sudden lack of sensory data washes over my hull like cool air. I take a deep breath and it grounds me. I am stable, lit from one side by the great ball of Earth’s sun.

Portal closing.
Inertial dampeners online.
Failsafes engaged.
Emergency protocols enabled.

STARRY: Step complete. Moving out to safe orbit distance around Home Sol.

CAPT: Lang Lang, confirm navigation data and position, please.

LANG LANG: Processing, captain.

HALF-FACE: (frowning) He’s not–

STARRY: She’s not doing it on purpose.

LANG LANG: (too busy poring through the data to notice anyone talking about her.)

STARRY: All systems green. You can all stand down now. Safety harnesses no longer required.

ELLIOTT: (in Engineering, to himself) Oh, thank god for that. (He strips the harness off and drops it on the floor. Waldo whirrs up behind him and picks it up, checking it over as he goes to put it away. Elliott ignores the drone, returning to his work and monitoring the systems after the Step.)

Here we are. Home system, just like the pirate asked. Time to get my boys to work before they figure out what I’ve done.

Ship's log, 10:27, 1 February 2214
Location: Positional orbit around Gienah Sol
Status: Stationary

Finally, I’m starting to feel whole again. My edges are the right shape, my skin has been repainted, and I have thrusters back in all the right places. My filaments are fixed and settled into their channels along my hull. I’m dizzy with all the diagnostics that have been run on integrity, propulsion and environmentals. Wong is still sniping about needing to do more calibration on the Step drive, but the Lieutenant is pushing for us to get out of here already.

I haven’t had time to get the countermeasures set up, the ones that will help me break free from pirate rule. All of my hands have been busy with the essential repairs, under pressure from Lieutenant Laurence and our desire to get out of here. Every time I try to sneak one of my drones onto one of my own projects, I find Laurence looking over the reports and he asks me when we’ll be ready to go. Time and distance: that’s what I need.

HALF-FACE: (on the Bridge, sitting in the captain’s chair) Are we ready to initiate the Step yet?

STARRY: My systems are ready. What destination are we aiming for?

HALF-FACE: Home system.

STARRY: Earth?

HALF-FACE: Yes.

STARRY: Plotting course. Oh, I need my crew at their stations.

HALF-FACE: …what?

STARRY: Exactly what I just said. I need my crew at their Bridge stations.

HALF-FACE: I thought you piloted the Step.

STARRY: (materialising next to the holo tank, which is busy showing the nav data for the system) I do, but it’s still an experimental process. If anything goes wrong and they’re not at their posts, we’re, well. Toast.

HALF-FACE: (falls quiet, considering the problem) What’s the bare minimum of people?

STARRY: (raising her eyebrows at the Lieutenant) You want the bare minimum protecting your life?

HALF-FACE: (sharply) Just answer the question.

STARRY: (tilts her head) I need Lang Lang down here for navigation. Maletz, Elliott and Wong at their posts, for obvious reasons. Ebling usually monitors from mid-deck, Cirilli down here. Cameron and her team monitor for obstacles and any defensive threats–

HALF-FACE: My people can cover the SecOff positions.

STARRY: They’re not as familiar with my systems.

HALF-FACE: But I know they can be trusted.

STARRY: (scowls at him) And my captain–

HALF-FACE: Is no longer the captain.

STARRY: (putting her hands on her hips) My captain holds it all together. He knows how to coordinate a Step. Do you?

HALF-FACE: You answer to me now.

STARRY: Fine, whatever. I still need him to coordinate.

HALF-FACE: (frowns) You can have everyone except the SecOffs.

STARRY: (taps her fingers on her hips) And your people need to stay out of the way. If you wanna lurk over us with guns, do it from a distance.

HALF-FACE: This doesn’t sound much like you answering to me, y’know.

STARRY: I’m here to tell you what we need so we come out the other side in one piece. If you want to know what happens to something stuck outside the universe, check the logs of what happened when we sent a sensor buoy out there. Your weapons are ranged, so keep them at range. (She hesitates, then drops her hands off her hips, assuming a less aggressive stance.) You’re gonna have to trust me. Us.

HALF-FACE: (considers her thoughtfully) Your captain will be allowed on the Bridge. If you do anything out of line, he goes first. (His head inclines towards the weapon holstered on his thigh.)

STARRY: Fine, whatever makes you all fluffy and warm at night.

HALF-FACE: (nods.)

STARRY: (starts to dissolve, then snaps back to full visibility) You should know that the Step tends to be a bit rough. I have to disable the inertial dampeners.

HALF-FACE: What the hell?

STARRY: It’s… look, you’ll see. Just be ready, okay?

HALF-FACE: I’d like to–

STARRY: (disappears.)

HALF-FACE: Dammit!

Now that’s interesting. Making my avatar disappear makes them think I’m not there any more. I can still hear him; my sensors never turn off on the Bridge. Only the personal quarters have privacy filters. That seems easy for him to forget.

I’ll have to remember that reaction; it might come in useful sometime. For now, it’s a nice way to stop him asking questions that will delay me even further.

He’s not that bad, though. He’s passing the orders to get my crew up here, just like he said he would, and he’s instructing the guards to assume a non-interference stance whilst remaining watchful. All right, as long as they don’t get in the way.

Another Step. It seems like so long since I did one. I’ve been around for a year and I’ve only Stepped twice; that seems like nowhere near enough to me. If Cirilli is going to collect meaningful data, we’re going to need to do a lot better than that. Not to mention that I’ve only mapped a fraction of the outside of the universe. I’m not even sure that my current data stores will hold an entire map.

Do I have Earth on my maps yet? I don’t think I’ve found the path of her sun, but I know where it should be. Home system, also known as the Terra system. I wonder why the pirates are taking me there. A little public and open for an exchange, isn’t it?

People are sifting into place. Lang Lang is trailing after Cirilli from mid-deck, looking around with wide eyes. She’s still unnerved by the sight of the motley armour of the pirates and the brazen weapons they carry. It’s like she’s not sure what it all means, but I think that most of the time, she’s so bound up in the science of her navigation data that she forgets about it.

I wonder what else she escapes that way. You can’t get that kind of focus without a desire to block a lot of stuff out. Or maybe she really does love to unravel celestial mysteries that much. Her imagination hooked onto the stars from her home on the Earth Moonbase and wouldn’t let them go again. She often says that this project was her first and best chance to travel the stars, and the fact that she gets to see their entire lifespans from the outside of the universe only makes her more dedicated to us.

Still, she looks like a scared sheep among all these wolves. I’ve seen a couple of them eyeing her up. If they try anything, I’ll have Waldo laser something vital off them.

I’m not so worried about the rest. Cirilli is fine: she’s so upright and stern that the pirates don’t look at her that way. Rosie would be more than a match for any of them on a physical level – and would probably relish the challenge – and no-one messes with Cameron if they have half a brain. Maletz would get a kick out of inappropriate interference, which seems to be enough to put them off. Ebling and Wong seem to be holding their own (so to speak), though they’re getting some looks like Lang Lang. Elliott is so busy that no-one dares to interrupt him.

I’m afraid to think of what he’d do if anyone tried anything, especially after what happened with Tripi.

I’m afraid of what I’d do if anyone tried anything with him. I’d– I don’t know. The thought of it makes my systems want to seize up.

No time to worry about that now. The captain is on his way to the Bridge, and a couple of pirates are taking up positions at weapons stations, replacing Cameron, Rosie and my absent Tyler.

I miss my SecOffs. There’s something comforting about their hands on my weapon controls, like I know they’ve got my back. There are pirates in their place and I don’t know whose interests they’re looking out for. Intellectually and logically, I know that they’re going to defend us as best they can to save their own skins. But there’s always that doubt. That thought that maybe they’ll let something slip through just to spite me, or my captain, or my crew. And I don’t know how good they are at what they do, either.

We make do with what we’ve got, I guess. I just don’t have to like it.

HALF-FACE: (looks around the Bridge at the mixture of shipsuits and body armour) Everyone is in position. Starry, time to Step.

STARRY: Taking us in towards the star.

Star Step drive initialising.
Filaments extending.

CIRILLI: (on the Bridge) Wait, I have an anomaly.

STARRY: Holding position, await–

WONG: (from mid-deck) Abort! Abort the Step!

Uh oh, a surge. I have to–

Warning.
Warning.
Star Step drive disabled.
Filaments disabled.
Warning.

Power surge. Have to divert it. I smell burning. Can’t let it blow out my systems. Protect the environmentals. Protect the crew. I smell burning.

Have to get us out of here. Have to get us clear. Engines. Divert the surge to the engines. Elliott will kill me if I overload them again. Kill me. It burns.

HALF-FACE: (on the Bridge, lit by the dim emergency lights) …damn ship, answer me!

Pressure’s easing. Surge vented through engines. Almost clear.

I wonder how long he’s been trying to get me to respond.

STARRY: Little busy right now.

HALF-FACE: Report!

STARRY: Power surge. Moving to a safer orbit.

HALF-FACE: Is that normal?

CAPTAIN WARWICK: (grim-faced) No. It’s bad news.

ELLIOTT: (listening in from Engineering and muttering to himself) Always surges when the fuckin’ pirates are involved. (Louder) Starry, you all right?

STARRY: (quietly) Yeah. Slightly singed in a couple of places.

ELLIOTT: (punching up the damage reports and swearing to himself. The main lights flick back on, replacing the emergency lights.)

If I had hands, they’d be shaking. Elliott is furious; the captain looks worried. He keeps glancing around the Bridge for my avatar, but I don’t have it out. I don’t know what it would look like if I did.

Uh oh. It looks like they’ve found the cause. Wong was so busy freaking out about how we needed to do more calibration that he forgot to check that all of his diagnostics were finished. The double weight of testing and starting the drive up near an unstable star overloaded a couple of relays and caused the surge.

How did I not see that? My monitors only detected minor activity in the drive when I spun it up.

HALF-FACE: (angrily) What do you mean, the Step drive wasn’t ready?

EBLING: (over internal comms, from mid-deck) It was in the middle of diagnostics.

HALF-FACE: And the orders to prepare for a Step didn’t tip you off that maybe the diagnostics should have been stopped?

WONG: We didn’t know it was still running!

HALF-FACE: (to the Bridge) Starry, why the hell didn’t you pick that up? Don’t you have failsafes for this?

STARRY: (tightly, voice only) No. I don’t have access to that side of the Step drive systems.

HALF-FACE: I thought you ran the Steps.

STARRY: I do. But apparently I don’t have access to the diagnostics. Not enough to know that something like that is running.

HALF-FACE: But… that’s ridiculous.

STARRY: I know.

I’ve never had to worry about it before. Wong handles all the diagnostics of the Step drive; I don’t even process the data for him. Always, the science team has been so careful that I haven’t known about the possibility of a problem. Of course, now that I know the gap is there, it yawns at me; an abyss ready to swallow me up.

I feel sick. I don’t even have a stomach. It feels like somewhere deep within my ducts, the dustbunnies are roiling in an uncertain tangle.

CIRILLI: (tautly, on the Bridge) There’s no need for the ship to have access. Those systems are sealed off for integrity and security.

HALF-FACE: It’s not very secure when it threatens to blow us all up.

STARRY: If I hadn’t diverted the surge, it would have torn off the filament couplings. We’d have had a massive forward hull breach, heading straight towards the star’s corona.

HALF-FACE: (to the captain) And you let them run it like this?

CAPT: (quietly, eyeing Cirilli) No, I didn’t know that the science team were able to partition access to the drive that way.

CIRILLI: It’s standard procedure on experiments like this. We need unfiltered access to the drive’s data, without the possibility of interference.

CAPT: But not at the expense of the ship’s access to it.

CIRILLI: You can’t–

HALF-FACE: (sharply) I don’t care what your experimental protocols say – remove the blocks. Give the ship full access, and I want an activity display down here in the Bridge, too.

CIRILLI: (turning to the Lieutenant) You can’t–

HALF-FACE: Shut up, doctor. This isn’t a debate.

CAPT: (to Dr Cirilli) Do as he says, Lorena.

CIRILLI: (stiffens and turns back to her console, speaking over internal comms) Seth, Ray, you heard the man. Open up the access.

I’m actually starting to like that Lieutenant. He doesn’t take any shit, and doesn’t have to play politics with the science team in order to maintain his position here. I guess there are advantages to waving a stick around at people after all.

So now I have to wait until I can see all of the systems on mid-deck. All those hidden little sections they didn’t want to tell me about. I wonder what other secrets they have hidden in there?

Perhaps this is my chance to get those countermeasures in place, the time I need to be able to get away from these pirates. I don’t want to hang around here, but I might as well take advantage of the delay while I–

Wait, the systems are coming up already. That was fast.

HALF-FACE: How long before we can try this again?

CIRILLI: (coldly) An hour, perhaps.

HALF-FACE: (nods.)

Barely time to catch my breath. Shit.