Starwalker

Ship's log, 08:02, 28 January 2214
Location: Orbit around Gienah Sol
Status: Partial sublight transit

No more crazy FTL jumps for me. There’s a reason why they teach pilots never to do that and I came pretty close to the worst-case scenario. I have an awful list of injuries. It makes me glad that my tactile sensors don’t transmit pain, though the errors of burned-out sensor lines are a warm ache under my skin.

Recording: 21:00, 26 January 2214

ELLIOTT: (in Engineering, looking over the damage reports) Fuckin’ hell, Starry. What’d you do to yourself?

STARRY: Just call me Icarus.

ELLIOTT: You’re not kidding.

STARRY: (quieter) Guess I cut that one a bit close.

ELLIOTT: (hesitates and sighs, the edge dropping off his tone) You pulled our asses out of the fire, literally. You seem to have a talent for it.

STARRY: Go me.

ELLIOTT: (shakes his head) Come on, round up the boys. Let’s see where we can start.

That was before the shine came off and he started swearing about it. He hasn’t aimed his ire at me yet but it probably won’t be long before that happens.

I lost a lot of my heat reflective paint to the fires of the corona; it was licked clean off my hull and some of my pressure plating along with it. It’s like someone turned my skin to butter and smoothed it with great, hot hands. Interestingly, for the most part, it didn’t actually cause much structural damage. Some of the joins between hull plates have been melded together, spoiling the seals but replacing them at the same time. There were patches over the damage I gained in fleeing the pirates, but now they’re smoothed into my skin, barely distinguishable. My hull might be minutely thinner in places but it’s structurally sound; I did some pressure and load tests and my integrity is higher now than it was after the last round of repairs.

It’s not all such good news. My extraneous parts suffered most: the tips of my wings are melted stubs and both peripheral thrusters are missing. The edges of my tailfins are worn down and my main external sensor antennae were burned away entirely. On top of all that, we’ll have to check my sublights after I ran them over capacity again.

Thanks to the stop at the JOP, I have spares for most of the missing or damaged parts, but it’s going to take time time to put me back together. The wingtips and thruster mountings will have to be rebuilt, which isn’t a trivial job. I’ve got some spare bulkheads that we can use to shore up any problem spots, and just enough heat-reflective paint left for a fresh coat.

Laurence has offered some of his more technically-capable pirates to help out, but that just makes Elliott look dark and spit out swearwords. He insisted on doing it all himself (with the drones, of course) until Laurence leaned on him to let a couple of the pirates pick up some of the heavy lifting. From Elliott’s shouting and mad hand-waving, I suspect they might have been more trouble than they were worth, but the repairs are progressing.

At this rate, I’m gonna have to start dosing Elliott’s cocoa to make sure he sleeps.

Our priority has been getting the external sensors repaired. I had enough sensor data to maintain position and monitor my immediate surroundings, but long-range was gone completely. With only a few hours’ leeway between our jump and the possibility of pursuit, it was important that we be able to see anyone coming around the star to look for us. (We couldn’t do much about it with so many thrusters needing repair and the sublights disabled to cool down, but everyone felt it was important to see them coming.)

The external sensors and antennae built into my hull are all up and working now. I’ve spent the last few hours testing and calibrating them, and I feel fully connected with the universe again. Lang Lang is scouring the nav data and I’m running spectrum analyses on Gienah Sol, stretching the edges of the data coming at me. I can see the fluctuations in the star’s heart and storm patterns across the corona. It almost seems to make sense.

Now that the sensors are up and running, Laurence is keen to peek around the edge of the star to see what might have become of the battling ships we left behind. I don’t think it’s a good idea – to stop anyone else from detecting me, I’ll have to hug as close to the star’s corona as my paintless hull will allow – but he’s insisting. And okay, I’m curious. It’s been almost a day and a half and we haven’t seen anyone else yet. If Hunt survived, he should have come looking for us by now. Is-Tech should have at least come to look for wreckage.

HALF-FACE: (on the Bridge, his feet up on the console in front of him) Are we in position yet?

STARRY: In transit now. Slow going with so much of my propulsion offline.

HALF-FACE: (nods, one foot twitching in the air to an internal beat.)

Almost there. As I skim around the Sol, its system unfurls before my sensors. Light, radiation, distant waves distorted by the gravity well burning under my belly. I compensate, account for Gienah Sol’s massive influence and untwist the data until it makes sense. The holotank in the middle of the Bridge shows the curtain of the sun sweeping aside and the building picture of the system.

Lots of debris, but no ships. There was definitely a battle here and some of the pieces are still glowing as radiation bursts continue to eat up some of the softer materials. The debris is drifting, spinning away from the impacts of weapons, like fireworks that explode but never fade or fall down. They just keep bursting and bursting, ripples swelling until they find a shore to spill themselves against.

The battlefield is light-hours away, so I’m seeing the immediate aftermath of a fight that ended some time ago. I can’t see any signs of where the ships might have gone, though.

HALF-FACE: (pulls his feet down and leans forward to peer into the holotank) Can you tell what was destroyed?

STARRY: Analysing. Cameron and Rosie might be able to help with this.

HALF-FACE: (frowning, the skin of his brow pulling lopsidedly over the metal eye socket on the right side of his face) They’re not available right now. Your processors should be able to handle this.

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. I have people on board who are skilled at examining battle debris! But he doesn’t want that. He wants them locked away in their cabins, slaves to the pain-inducing collars around their necks.

Don’t think I’ve forgotten about them. I haven’t. I’m just too damaged to do much about it right now.

All right. Try to assess how much debris is out there, to see if any ships were destroyed. Try to make that mess make sense; like the star’s pulses and waves, it almost does. There’s almost a pattern that makes a picture, but not quite. There are so many shards, from several different ships if their composition is anything to go by, but I don’t think there’s enough there to represent a whole ship.

STARRY: It looks like they beat the crap out of each other, but there doesn’t seem to be signs of a ship’s destruction.

HALF-FACE: Are you sure?

STARRY: Still analysing, but I’m pretty sure. Comparing the debris to the size of the ships involved, and accounting for what might have been vaporised, there simply isn’t enough mass out there.

HALF-FACE: So where the hell are they?

STARRY: I don’t know. Maybe– oh god.

HALF-FACE: What?

STARRY: I– (quietly) Bodies. I see bodies.

A glimpse of starlight off a visor, dull shapes turning in the black. Pale skin and the black holes of open mouths. Most of them don’t even have suits on. Some of them aren’t right, aren’t whole. Missing an arm, or a leg. A twist of intestines from a severed abdomen. A head spinning off with its tail of hair trailing. It’d be comical if it wasn’t so horrible.

HALF-FACE: (solemnly) Can you identify any of them?

I don’t want to look that closely. I don’t want to wonder if a voice I talked to over the comms belonged to one of those bodies.

HALF-FACE: Ship?

Tyler is on the Bountiful. He could be one of those– No. Not my Tyler.

HALF-FACE: Starry?

STARRY: (softly) …capturing data now. I don’t have any files to use to identify them. I’ll bring them up on your console.

He can look at their dead, frozen faces; I don’t want to. I can’t help but process the data, so I’ll shove it through my systems as quickly as possible. Focus on the shards of breached hull and spilled ordinance. Analyse scorch-marks and dispersal patterns. Look at the big picture and let someone else worry about the details.

I wonder who won. Who lost. Is there any way to tell? Perhaps if I line up the last recorded ship positions before the FTL jump, model the explosion patterns and wind them back to their origins, I can map the battle.

I’ve done this before. Outside the universe, golden spirals through the black trace the paths of star across millennia. I can trace them back to a single explosive point where the universe was born. I can see their histories and their futures laid out before me. This is the same, though I have only a snapshot that is several hours old. Measure composition, angle, speed. Fill in the gaps with physics and geometry, equations that spin through my processors faster than a human could draw breath.

A tale begins to take shape. The fighting shifted off to one side and towards the edge of the system. That’s the vector the Is-Tech ships were coming in on. Did Hunt and his pirates go on the offensive?

I can’t tell if the bodies are wearing uniforms or not. Can’t tell who belongs to which side.

If I narrow the sensor sweeps, I can pick up the ordinance that never hit its target, disabled by standard countermeasures. Then I widen out to the bursts that made it through the defenses. Strike and retaliation. If I wind back the debris sprays to their origins, I can calculate the timing of the explosions that loosened them.

I’ll bring the story of the battle up in my holotank, slide in the ghosts of the Bountiful and the Mercy as they advanced, of the Davey Jones and the Kracken Unbound as they slid sideways and back, and the Mandible as it covered my jump vector. The pirates pushed hard and fired first, probably as soon as I jumped away. Like dogs loosed from the leash. The Is-Tech ships tried to get around them but were driven back. They traded blows like practised boxers, punching at well-flattened noses and cauliflour ears. They spat people like teeth and blinked blood out of their eyes. In a ring without ropes, they drifted further and further towards the edge of the system as they blocked and pounded at each other. Further and further away from Gienah Sol and the ship that huddled, naked and broken, on the other side.

HALF-FACE: (rising from his seat and walking slowly towards the edge of the holotank in the centre of the Bridge. Behind him, the console scrolls through the faces of the dead.) How are you doing that?

(The holotank is showing the tale of the battle, explosions ripping up the space between four ships. The fifth skitters around the edges, a terrier snapping at the heels of tigers. The image flickers around holes in the data.)

STARRY: Extrapolations from the debris. There’s more pattern to it than you might think.

HALF-FACE: (to himself) Thought you said you didn’t know how to do it. (He watches for a moment, then frowns. Only four ships are displayed in the simluation.) Wait, where did the Mandible go?

STARRY: I don’t know; the signs of it stop there. The second planet is blocking the debris paths.

The battle passed right behind that second planet; the side of it turned away from me is probably peppered with debris impacts. Was the Mandible destroyed? If it had exploded, there’d be signs of it leaking out from around the planet; it couldn’t have sucked up all the evidence. What if the scout ship crashed? No way I can tell that from here.

No sign of Tyler yet. What if he’s in the debris I can’t see?

HALF-FACE: Are there any signs of ships in the system now?

STARRY: No, but this data is several hours old. Where did they go?

HALF-FACE: (shakes his head slowly, his eyes roving over the battle simulation) Hunt doesn’t like to lose. He’ll be chasing them down.

STARRY: So what does that mean for us?

HALF-FACE: Nothing. Our orders are the same. When will we be ready to Step?

STARRY: I have a lot of repairs to make. Not for a while.

HALF-FACE: We need to get out of here as soon as possible.

For once, I agree with the pirate; whoever returns to this system first, I don’t want them to find me here. Pirates will put me right back where I started, and Is-Tech might prompt the pirates on board me to do something stupid. Right now, my only option is to flee through the star. Just as soon as I’m whole enough.

In the meantime, I’ll just limp back behind the star and block off my view of the battlefield. If I look at it for too long, I might see something familiar. Someone familiar.

Tyler, I’m sorry: I should never have let you go. And I’m sorry that it took me this long to start worrying about you. You’re the only reason that I hope Hunt is still in one piece.

Ship's log, 20:03, 26 January 2213
Location: Gienah System, Corvus constellation
Status: Sublight transit

Our plan is set. I’m to make a suicidal FTL jump towards a star and ride the corona to the other side. I have to make everyone think I’ve melted in the heart of Gienah Sol, all to get enough time to Step out of here.

There doesn’t seem to be any way to avoid this. Hunt is gearing up for a fight and I don’t know the intentions of the Is-Tech ships. If I stay, I risk being caught in the crossfire. Running seems to be our only option, and maybe, just maybe, once we’re away from the pirate ships, we can shake loose their hold on us.

What if Is-Tech win this fight? It’s three against two, upgraded pirates against brand-new, cutting-edge battleships. Hunt’s crews are experienced, discplined and ruthless. The Is-Tech crews are an unknown quantity.

There isn’t enough data to assess the scenarios. No way to run calculations. I have to go on instincts that I’m not supposed to have, and every protocol I own is defaulting to: protect the crew. Get away from the fight, even the odds, and make a break later.

Tethers detached.

There go my ties to the Bountiful. They are free to bring their weapons to bear on the Davey Jones and the Kraken Unbound, and I’m free to slip away.

My crew are still locked in their places, a pirate gun trained on each, so I have to be careful. The Lieutenant doesn’t like it, but I’m piping the comms traffic and sensor feeds to the whole ship. My crew is a part of this whether he likes it or not, even if I have to do all the flying myself. It’s okay: I like it that way. Never did like other people’s hands on my controls anyway.

First, I have to limp away from the pirate ships. Get myself into position for the FTL jump. It’s… surprisingly hard. A tiny cough of my sublight engines pushes me away from the Bountiful at an awkward angle, as if my propulsion systems aren’t working properly. I don’t like pretending to be broken; it rubs my circuits all wrong. I want to punch to full sublight and get the hell away from here as fast as possible, but I can’t. It feels like my entire hull is itching in protest.

It’s for my crew, though. For my captain and my Elliott. It’s for all of us. I can do this. Calmly, Starry. Calm and quiet, like you’re just trying to get out of the way while the grown-ups talk. Act like you’re just getting out of the way, so that no-one does anything silly before you can jump clear.

No-one seems to be taking any notice of me. The comms traffic is still flickering between the Bountiful and the Davey Jones while they move into position. Neither is giving any ground nor giving anything away. If they fight as well as they spar verbally, it’s going to be a close-run thing.

Ignore them. I need to focus on the jump, on the space between me and that star. I’ve got my sensors honed so sharp that they sting. The FTL calculations are running, four sets in parallel to make sure I get the right answer. If the jump is too short, I’ll be spotted and the ruse will fail. Too long and we’ll die in the star’s heart. It has to be close to the corona but not too close. If the angle isn’t perfect, I could be sent off in the wrong vector entirely. Or collide with one of Gienah’s orbiting bodies.

The planets: they’re another factor I have to build into the equations. The pull of their gravities has to be carefully balanced in the equations or they’ll pull me off-course. There’s no way to correct once we’re in FTL and the jump is too short for there to be time for it anyway.

Thruster spurts that look random are lining me up with the optimum FTL jump vector. Almost in position.

This is one of those jumps that you’re taught never to do in pilot training. There’s just so much that can go wrong; the tiniest fraction of a percentage can kill us. Running the FTL calculations again: sixteenth time’s the charm, right?

There’s also what happens when we come out of the other side of the jump to consider. If I’m not quick enough to counter-thrust against it, the star’s gravity will pull me in. I can get close to a star but even my heat protection won’t last if I touch the damn thing. Everything has to be perfect.

FTL drive online.

Almost ready. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited. I can feel Danika’s influence in my head, grinning fiercely as my processors examine the challenge. This is the sort of thing she loved. This is why she signed up to the project in the first place: to bend the rules and come out of the other end in one piece. To feel that adrenaline ramping her up to meet the moment head-on.

I don’t have adrenaline but my sensor feeds have a startling clarity. It feels like my whole ship-body is humming.

The calculations have all come back with the same answer. I am in position. It is time.

STARRY: (over internal comms) Everyone: brace for possible fiery death.

HALF-FACE: (on the Bridge) …what?!

ROSIE: (in her quarters, frowning) That’s not funny.

ELLIOTT: (grins.)

STARRY: Jumping!

Deep breath, everyone!

FTL drive engaged.

Punch in and straight back out again; barely time for a heartbeat. The inertial dampeners are screaming at me over the abrupt reversal. Artificial gravity generators are groaning under the strain.

STARRY: We’re out! Compensating for solar– woah.

HALF-FACE: What is that, a technical term?

Warning.
Warning.
Warning.
Extreme temperatures detected.
Extreme radiation detected.
Tolerances exceeded.
Warning.
Gravity stabilisers exceeding maximum capacity.
Warning.

LANG LANG: (on mid-deck, at a navigation display) I’m seeing lots of gravitational fluctuations.

STARRY: Star’s not as stable as we thought! Compen–shit!

ELLIOTT: You’re too close! Temperature’s spiking!

STARRY: Heat sinks at max! I’m trying! Just– everybody hold onto something. This is gonna get rough.

Too close, came in too close. We’re not in the star, not yet. All I see is white fire and flashing red warnings. The corona of Gienah Sol is licking at my tail and trying to suck me in. I’ve flipped myself over, nose pointing out, sublights pushing away from it at full power. I’m not making any ground, bobbing here like a cork in the lava ocean.

Sublight engines at 110%.

I can keep up the power but the heat will wear me down, and then I’ll fall. I’ll fall and we’ll all burn.

I miscalculated; I missed something. We jumped in too close and now I can’t get out. I’m stuck. I’ve failed us and now it’s just a matter of time. I can’t fight a star. Who can? But my crew…

I do impossible things with stars too. I can manipulate their gravity. I bend them to my will. I can do this. I have to do this.

I can’t pull out of its grip directly. Okay. Angle away from perpendicular, let my nose come down while I push myself across its surface. Dammit, wingtip too close – I think its melting. Spin so my belly’s facing it. Give myself a few more seconds.

I’m moving now. Gaining speed. If I tighten the angle, I can counter the gravitational pull on me with full thrust, and it’s just enough to skim along above the corona. It’s unstable under me, the corona fluctuating like an angry ocean. I’m riding its dips and swells, swerving to stop it from spraying over me.

My crew is sweating and not only because my heat sinks can’t compensate for the temperature this close to the star. I don’t blame them. I’m sweating too, and not in any kind of good way.

I have an idea.

Star Step drive initiated.
Filaments extending.

EBLING: (on mid-deck) What the hell are you doing!

WONG: We can’t Step now!

STARRY: Not going to Step. Just need the filaments.

WONG: You’re too close!

STARRY: I know, genius! That’s what I’m trying to fix!

Filaments charging.

They’re spiralling out from my nose, seeking to charge themselves on the star’s gravity. They feel it, the ebb and spurts. They’re like extra sensors, mapping this great fiery beast’s moods.

I can see the patterns of the star’s instability now. I can predict where the spurts are going to be. Ride the upswells, shoot over the crest of the waves and gain a bit of distance, try not to get sucked down again. Gain a hundred metres and lose fifty. It’s progress, but not enough. Need more clearance.

Temperature regulation failing.
Sublight engines at 125%.
Inertial dampening capacity exceeded.

LANG LANG: (over internal comms) Mapping the star’s fluctuations. Solar flare coming up, starboard side.

CAPT: Can you use that, Starry?

STARRY:I see it. I think so, captain. Adjusting course.

LANG LANG: Flare in thirty seconds.

HALF-FACE: You’re heading for it, are you crazy?

CAPT: She’s going to ride it out.

HALF-FACE: …you can do that?

STARRY: You’d better hope so.

ELLIOTT: Starry, flip over! You’re gonna burn your belly off.

STARRY: Good idea. Flipping.

They felt that one. The IDs can’t handle this much gravitational interference. Some pirates fell down. Ebling smacked his head. Shit.

STARRY: I told you to hold on!

Solar flare. I see you there, building up beneath the surface. Hold on, hold on, not yet. Just let me get on top of you, then you can spit me out of this fiery nightmare. I can feel the gravitational fluxes building under me. It’s our way out. Providing it doesn’t burn us to ash.

Sublight engines at 130%.

Elliott’s going to be so pissed at me. We can make it. Just a little more.

Environmentals unstable.

Not yet! Just hold on. I can do this. I can make it. Flipping over again to roast the cooler side.

Jump into a star – who’s bright fucking idea was that? Probably mine. It’s fine! We’re almost there!

Comeoncomeoncomeon.

Gravitational event detected.
Warning.
Warning.
Warning.
Brace for impact.

WHOOOO-HOOOOOOOO.

Grab a flare and ride it out, like a bronco. Spin around its surface so I’m not swallowed whole. Use filaments like fingers, gripping at the gravity spurt. It’s like surfing, except that the waves are peeling at my heat-reflective paint. My metal skin is starting to show in places. It’s okay, I’m still in one piece. Scars are almost showing.

Discharging filaments.

They’re not made for this, but I might as well use everything I have. Every scrap of power and then some, blasting backwards to push me away from the corona.

Two hundred metres clear. Five hundred. A klick.

The flare is dying, its fire falling back into itself, but not me. It doesn’t get to keep me. I’m free and clear! Arcing out into the cool black, where I should be. Take that, you stupid, sucking star.

STARRY: (over internal comms) We’re clear! We’re safe now, everyone.

EVERYONE: (cheering.)

The kiss of space is cold on my hull, even this close to Gienah Sol. Now I can turn and tuck myself around behind the star, where no other eyes can see me, while the heat siphons off my skin.

Four thrusters not working. There’re black marks on my gold paint. It feels like someone put one of my eyes out – I’m lopsided.

Elliott’s gonna be so pissed at me.

Temperature regulators online.
Environmentals stabilising.
Gravitational control stabilising.

STARRY: We’re behind the star. Out of sensor range of any other ships.

HALF-FACE: (knuckles white on the arms of the captain’s chair on the Bridge) Jesus fucking Christ. You’re all insane.

STARRY: But, you’ll note, still alive and in one piece. Well, mostly.

HALF-FACE: Mostly?

STARRY: Damage report compiling. Feel free to freak out at the engineering console. Dr Maletz, you’re needed on mid-deck. Everyone else who needs attention can walk to Med Bay.

MALETZ: (picking up his emergency bag) On my way.

STARRY: Assuming positional orbit.

It didn’t quite go as planned but we’re here now. I don’t think anyone was able to spot us. I’ve got enough power to maintain orbit while we get the damage fixed up.

HALF-FACE: How long before we can Step?

ELLIOTT: (still going over the damage reports) Are you fucking kidding? We almost died!

WONG: (from mid-deck) Have to check for damage to the Step drive before I can give you a number.

EBLING: (in the background, being tended by Maletz) …ship is fucking insane!

STARRY: I’m not detecting any damage directly to the Step systems, but it still needs to be calibrated.

HALF-FACE: What does that mean? In terms of time?

STARRY: A day at least. I can’t get close enough to Step before my hull is repainted anyway.

CAPT: Then we’d better hope the charade worked and they think we died.

HALF-FACE: Is it always like this on this ship?

ROSIE: (laughs.)

STARRY: Wait until I start bending reality. That’s when it gets really exciting.

HALF-FACE: (goes quiet, trying to figure out if she’s kidding.)

CAPT: (straight-faced) So, what did you do to piss off your captain to get this assignment?

HALF-FACE: (rubs the flesh side with one hand) I’ve been asking that myself. (He sighs.) All right, everyone report in. Let’s sort this mess out.

Ship's log, 19:47, 26 January 2214
Location: Gienah System, Corvus constellation
Status: Sublight transit

There’s a bitter taste in my mouth: I’ve decided to side with the pirates. It feels like someone has flushed acid through my ducts, or there’s a dustbunny in there, spitting with disgust.

I’m backed into a corner. I could just cower there, waiting for the dust to settle, but I’m still tied to a ship getting ready to fight. I’m sure they wouldn’t be stupid enough to maintain the tether through a battle – it would hamper the Bountiful too much – but I’d still like to get far away before anyone started shooting. The chances of being hit by accident are too high. And if I was hit, that means my crew would get hurt, and… no.

I have to do something. It’s not in my nature to just sit here and hope for the best, and if my processors come up with an option, it’s difficult to ignore.

I should check with the captain first. Hostage or not, I need him; I need my captain.

STARRY: (in the captain’s cabin) Captain, I need your opinion on something.

CAPTAIN: (sitting in an armchair, facing the pirate guarding him. His hands are placed unthreateningly on his knees.) I don’t think now is the time, Starry.

STARRY: (materialises to one side of the pair) Now’s the only time. I think we need to help these guys.

CAPT: (looks at her thoughtfully.)

PIRATE: Hey, you can’t be in here.

STARRY: (to the pirate) I’m always in here. (Turning to the captain,) I’m running out of options.

CAPT: It’s the smartest choice. Do you have some ideas?

STARRY: (smiling) One or two. I’ll keep you in the loop. (She disappears.)

That’s all I wanted from him: confirmation that I wasn’t crazy. Or reckless. Or just plain stupid. I need to know that this was the right choice, because it feels so wrong.

I’m leaving the comms channel to the captain’s cabin open. Actually, I’m going to open up the comms channels to all of the crew quarters; they all deserve to know what’s going on. And Engineering. And, hell, mid-deck too, why not.

The pirate guards don’t know what to do about the open comms, but they’re not shooting at anyone. That will have to do for now.

STARRY: (on the Bridge) Lieutenant Laurence? I think I can help.

HALF-FACE: (busy watching the nav data) What?

STARRY: (materialises next to the holographic nav display) If they get much closer, they’re going to be able to check my configuration. They’re Is-Tech; they’re not going to be fooled by a switched ident.

HALF-FACE: (frowns, drawing his brow down over his organic eye and the replacement aperture) The changes we made to the Mandible should…

STARRY: Fool anyone except those who made me. They know what they’re looking for.

HALF-FACE: (holding up a finger) Wait, how do you know that they’re Is-Tech ships?

STARRY: Same way that they’ll know me if they get close enough. I have to get clear of them if we’re going to have a chance of getting out of this.

HALF-FACE: Why wouldn’t you run straight to them?

STARRY: (hesitates) Lots of reasons. What you’ll do if I try. What they’ll do to me if I succeed. I’d just like to get out of this in one piece, and that means working with you.

HALF-FACE: (eyes the ship avatar) I’ll pass your request to the captain.

This had better work. While we’re waiting for the pirates to decide what to do, I’ll just swing myself around slightly and tilt as if I’m dangling off the end of this tether. Play dead, play wounded and helpless, as if I’m too damaged to be able to support myself. As if I need the tether to cross the system, rather than the pirates need it to control me. As if I’m not a prisoner.

I’m betting that the pirates won’t let them get much closer. I can just about feel their missile tubes frothing at the lips, wanting to open and start spitting. They’re three warming bodies around me, stretching their muscles before the fight. They’d jiggle if it wouldn’t give them away. They’ve already taken up a battle-ready formation, and the Is-Tech ships have shifted themselves so that both of them have clear shots at the pirates as they approach.

CAMERON: (from her quarters, ignoring the armed pirate standing over her) Starry, flicker the ident signal as if your array is damaged. It’ll make it more difficult for them to verify.

STARRY: Good idea, thanks. Adjusting transmission now.

It feels wrong to muddy up my comms signal like that. Idents are on their own channel, but still, I’m working just fine and I don’t like playing damaged. It’s… cheating. Dishonourable. Who the hell knew that that kind of thing mattered to me?

Stupid ship. It’s the smart move; go with it.

The Davey Jones is still fencing with Captain Hunt over the external comms. They’re trying to get the pirate to admit something. I wonder if they’re trying to get close enough to double-check the idents; I wonder if they’ve all been replaced, like mine. I can’t imagine that the pirates own those ships free and clear. It kinda defeats the purpose of being pirates if you’re going to go about buying the stuff you need; they’re supposed to steal it and use it to hit the next guy with.

They’re still coming. Are they looking for a fight? That’s just suicidal. Who asks for that kind of thing?

Oh, it looks like someone else has noticed what I’m up to.

HUNT: (over pirate comms) Laurence, what’s going on over there?

HALF-FACE: Holding position and awaiting orders, captain.

HUNT: The Starwalker is dragging on the line like a dead fish. Is it functional?

HALF-FACE: (frowns.)

Dammit, he doesn’t know I can hear that. Have to wait until he–

HALF-FACE: (to the Bridge, peering at the nav data) Starwalker, who adjusted our attitude?

STARRY: (relaying the conversation to the rest of the ship) I did. I’m playing injured so they have a reason for the tether.

HALF-FACE: Injured?

STARRY: Damaged.

HALF-FACE: But there’s nothing actually wrong with you?

STARRY: I’m fine and fully functional, Lieutenant.

HALF-FACE: (over pirate comms) Nothing wrong here, captain. We’re just pretending to be malfunctioning.

HUNT: Fine, fine. Look, make sure all your systems are on standby. We’re going to need to cut you loose soon.

HALF-FACE: Aye, sir. We’ll be ready.

HUNT: How much time do you need to get to the star and Step out of the system?

HALF-FACE: (leaning in towards the nav display in the main holo-tank) We have full sublight available, but it’s still going to take several hours to get to the star.

HUNT: Stand by for orders.

HALF-FACE: Aye, sir.

They want me to Step? Dammit, Half-face, say something so I can bitch at you about it.

Wait, he knows I can hear his end of the conversation.

STARRY: Lieutenant, are we being sent to Gienah Sol?

HALF-FACE: Yes. The cruisers will cover us while we get into range to Step out of here. The Mandible will be escorting us.

STARRY: Um….

I think it’s time for him to hear what’s going on outside of the Bridge. It only seems fair.

ELLIOTT: (in Engineering) …Fucking hell! We haven’t finished testing it yet!

HALF-FACE: (blinks with surprise at the holo-tank as the voices come through, then straightens with a frown, listening.)

EBLING: (on mid-deck, straining to get to a console while a pirate holds him back) Put me through! Tell them we can’t do it!

WONG: No way we can do it. The calibrations are only twenty percent complete….

DR CIRILLI: (calmly, to the other guard, who still has a gun trained on them) Please tell your Lieutenant that if they try to Step now, they’ll kill us all.

STARRY: The comm channels are open; they heard you.

EBLING: (huffs and steps back, glaring at the pirate.)

CAPT: (from his cabin) Wong, Monaghan, how long do you need to get the Step drive up and running?

WONG: At least a day, and another one of testing, to be safe.

HALF-FACE: We don’t have that long.

ELLIOTT: You broke it, you bought it, asshole.

CAPT: Can you do it in the time it takes for us to reach the star?

WONG: Most of the calibrations require proximity to a star to be properly tuned….

ELLIOTT: The guy with the stick up his ass means ‘no’.

WONG: Shut up, Monaghan, I can speak for myself.

ELLIOTT: But when you talk, all I hear is ‘blah blah blah’.

CAPT: That’s enough, both of you! Lieutenant, our best option is an FTL jump to the star.

HALF-FACE: (scowls at the nav display, the corner of his flesh eye twitching) We’d be gambling on this system being clear enough to jump safely.

CAPT: Starry, anything on sensors?

STARRY: Scans are all clean so far. Nothing to indicate there’s been much activity through this system. There’s a dust ring cutting through sectors one and five, but that’s avoidable. Lang Lang, can you confirm?

LANG LANG: (eyeing the pirate Sec-Offs on mid-deck as she sidles towards a terminal. They look at each other and nod, allowing her through.) Checking now.

CAPT: Starry, how close can you get us to the star with a single FTL hop?

STARRY: Through and out the other side. Not that I’d recommend that.

MALETZ: (drily, from Med Bay) Could we possibly have an option that doesn’t involve suicide and a fiery death?

CAPT: Can you make it look like you’ve jumped into the star?

STARRY: Without the fiery death? I think I can pull that off. Hard to say without knowing how good their sensors are.

HALF-FACE: What do you have in mind, Captain Warwick?

CAPT: We limp out of formation, then jump towards the star. Make it look like we’ve jumped right into it, then skirt the corona to the other side where the star will mask us from their sensors.

HALF-FACE: Ride across the corona? Are you crazy?

STARRY: I’m built to get in closer than other ships.

HALF-FACE: …so that plan is actually feasible?

STARRY: I can’t stay in close for long, but… yes. I can do that.

CAPT: Once on the other side of the star, the team can finish prepping the Star Step drive. It’ll give us a few hours’ clearance before they have a chance of catching up, if they don’t assume we’re dead.

HALF-FACE: And the Bountiful will keep them busy for a while, too. (His lips twitch, the skin pulling over the metal reconstruction on the right side of his face.) Hunt will enjoy the chance to get his hands on one of those new battleships.

LANG LANG: (clearing her throat nervously) Excuse me? I’ve… I’ve checked the system. From my calculations, it hasn’t had a major visitation or natural incident in the last three thousand years. Barring unnatural interference, it should be clear enough to jump.

HALF-FACE: (frowning) What does that mean?

CAPT: That she can’t tell if people put debris in our way.

STARRY: I can’t see any signs of that from here.

CAPT: It’s always a risk.

HALF-FACE: (grunts) Even in the FTL corridors. Lost a ship to that a couple of months ago.

LANG LANG: (makes another little noise) Um, just one more thing….

CAPT: Yes, Lang Lang?

LANG LANG: It’s clear now.

HALF-FACE: What does she…

STARRY: This system is about to be full of ‘unnatural interference’.

ELLIOTT: Yeah, soon as somebody starts blowing shit up.

CAPT: If we’re going to jump, we need to do it before things get exciting around here.

HALF-FACE: (nods slowly, eyeing the nav display. Lines form in the tank, plotting out possible routes. The best one glows green.) I’ll talk to Hunt.

He’s doing it now. Hunt is sceptical but listening.

I have no idea if I’m doing the right thing. Is-Tech are my rightful owners and I’m about to run away from them. I keep expecting some hidden imperitive in my systems to rear out of my depths to stop me, but there’s nothing. This feels wrong but there’s nothing to stop me; not a single twitch in the failsafes. I guess they never thought they needed to stop the AI from making its own choices.

What if this is a massive miscalculation? I’m betting on Is-Tech losing this fight. What if they win? Am I giving them even more reasons to wipe me?

We’ll be far away by then. Far away from both sides, with only the Lieutenant and the men he has on board to deal with. Those are much better odds.

HALF-FACE: (on the Bridge) Prepare to decouple.

STARRY: I’m ready.

Hunt has agreed. I’ve made my choice: we’re going to do this.

No turning back now.

Ship's log, 10:52, 26 January 2214
Location: Gienah System, Corvus constellation
Status: Sublight transit (tethered)

Things are shifting on my decks, subtly and only when no-one else is looking. I’m full of smiling ghosts who sidestep whenever someone glances away.

The captain is talking with the rest of the crew, making arrangements and setting up plans. Whispers across my network, tunnelled between their quarters so the pirates don’t pick it up. Secret sectors of my systems, erected in the dark and opened with private handshakes. There are snakes sleeping in them, some still barely eggs but developing quickly. We’re all running short of sleep, nerves on knife edges; I’m the only one who isn’t tired.

I’m sure if the captain could have, he would’ve set it up so we didn’t have to worry about any of this. He has that sort of mind. I should probably listen to him more, but until recently, he wasn’t pushing hard enough for my liking. He wasn’t thinking out of the box. Now, though, he is. Now he’s sneaking conversations with Elliott and Cameron, and even drew Maletz in for his opinion.

He’s a different person these days. When the pirate guards have done their checks on him and left him alone, he comes alive, so determined to make things happen. I love to see him so animated and determined to survive, but I wish it hadn’t taken this to make it happen. I have to find a way to see him like this when we’re free and clear again. In the meantime, I guess I have to make do, same as with everything else.

Just another day or so to the star. Another day before we might have to Step. We have to be ready, but getting our countermeasures in place takes time. We’re going to have to stall, maybe claim that the Step drive needs some extra calibration. Dammit, that means I’m going to have to ask Cirilli for a favour.

I’m almost through to the pirates’ comms traffic. It’s so intermittent that it’s hard to get enough time to make progress before they shut it off again. The algorythms change in a cyclical pattern, so I only need another comms burst or two to finish the hack; then I can listen in on everything they’re saying. I’d love to get a look at Hunt’s contract to capture us and find out the details of what he’s been asked to do.

It feels like breaking my word to our captors; it feels like a betrayal. There’s a part of me that just wants to play by the rules and trust that everything will turn out all right. Everyone knows that won’t happen, no matter where we end up: it’s just a question of who comes out on top in the end.

Signature detected.

What? We’re not due to be meeting anyone else, are we? I’m pretty sure that Hunt’s posse is only three ships strong. They need to test the Star Step drive before they hand it over – and I think Hunt is curious to see it work again – so this can’t be their clients.

Unless someone has double-crossed someone else and now–

Signature detected.

 
HALF-FACE: (jogging to the Bridge, over pirate comms) I’m on it, captain.

Pirates are running everywhere. They’re not sure if they should be guarding the crew quarters or not yet. I haven’t even changed my alert status; they’re getting warnings from their own comms.

On the plus side, all the comms activity means my hack program now has plenty of data to chew on. Won’t be long now.

HALF-FACE: (arriving on the Bridge) Ship, take us to Alert Level 1.

STARRY: (materialising in the holo-tank) Shifting to Level 1. What’s going on?

Alert Level 1 activated.

 
HALF-FACE: Not sure yet. Give me a display of the system.

STARRY: (disappears from the main tank, to make room for a holographic representation of the Gienah system) They’re not yours?

HALF-FACE: Nope.

External communications detected.

STARRY: They’re hailing.

HALF-FACE: Hunt will deal with it.

STARRY: You don’t want to listen in?

HALF-FACE: The captain will let us know what we need to know.

He has a lot more faith in Hunt than I do.

My crew are all locked in their quarters, so I can pipe the comms traffic to them without the pirates knowing. Keep them up to date. I have a captain quite capable of making decisions in an emergency, and I, for one, have no qualms about listening to him.

DR CIRILLI: (on mid-deck) Starwalker, what’s going on?

STARRY: Not sure yet. I’ll let you know when I do.

There’s always one who has to be impatient. Cirilli and her team are doing diagnostics on the Step drive and there is a a couple of pirates stationed to keep guard over them, so I can’t let them listen in on what’s happening. They’re all looking at each other uncertainly and securing their stations. The filaments are mostly repaired after the damage caused by the tether clamps, and there’s still the sensors to check out. They haven’t finished diagnostics or calibration of the Step drive. Whatever happens now, we won’t be Stepping out of here.

UNKNOWN SHIP: (over external comms) …I repeat, this is the Davey Jones. Identify yourselves.

BOUNTIFUL: This is the Bountiful. What can we do for you, Davey Jones?

DAVEY JONES: We are searching for a lost ship, last seen in this region.

BOUNTIFUL: No lost ships here, I’m afraid.

A ship lost in this region? I wasn’t lost here, but I did go missing on the way. Could they be looking for me?

CAPTAIN: (in his cabin, at his desk) Can you pick up their idents, Starry?

STARRY: Checking. Okay, I can scrape the idents off the comm traffic. Displaying now.

CAPT: (frowns at the data) Those are Is-Tech idents.

STARRY: Is-Tech? Are you sure?

CAPT: From those codes, yes.

STARRY: Does Hunt know?

CAPT: If he doesn’t now, he will soon.

They’re here for me. After all this time, I have proof that the company who made me actually care whether I’m around or not. Okay, I know that’s it’s all monetary. It’s about protecting their investment and future revenue streams, and securing their place in the shipbuilding market. It’s business. But they’re going out of their way to help me. To make sure that I’m all right. That has to mean something, to me if not to them.

I thought we were on our own out here. Left to fend for ourselves, swinging in the winds of entities bigger than my scout-sized hull. But maybe not.

And maybe there’s a way out for my crew.

DAVEY JONES: You haven’t intercepted any distress buoys in this region? Picked up any extra ships?

BOUNTIFUL: The only ships we have with us are our own. Sorry, Davey Jones, you’ll have to look elsewhere.

I could send them a burst, let them know I’m here. Wave a flag for them. Dammit, now I see why the pirates left me tethered to the Bountiful.

But if I make a move now, if I do something to hurt the pirates, and the Is-Tech ships lose, then my crew will pay the price. Whatever concessions I’ve secured for them will be cancelled. Even if it’s just me, even if none of my people are involved, Hunt will punish them in my stead. He might order Morra to try to wipe me again, but I can protect myself; it’s the others who need me to do the right thing for them now.

I am still their ship, and I owe my loyalty to them. Not to Is-Tech, not if I have to choose.

Wait, the Is-Tech ships are still closing on our position. They’re using the conversation with the Bountiful to get closer to us. They want to get into range to pick up our idents. Mine’s a fake. They’ll know there’s a ship here but not that it’s me. Dammit!

How did they know that I was out here? And in trouble?

STARRY: (to the captain’s cabin) What should we do?

CAPT: (frowning at the nav display, showing the positions of the system bodies and the six ships – one cluster of four and two approaching from a high vector) Could they win a fight, do you think?

STARRY: I don’t know. The Is-Tech ships are of a similar size to the two cruisers, but I can’t tell how well-armed they are. They don’t look like standard cruisers.

CAPT: Probably a new configuration they’re testing for the military.

STARRY: So, more powerful than the cruisers?

CAPT: It’s possible.

STARRY: And there’s the scout.

CAPT: True. Can you show me everything you have on the Davey Jones and the other ship?

STARRY: The Kraken Unbound? You have it. And– hold on.

CAPT: What is it?

STARRY: I think I have the pirate comms open.

Pieces of code are lining up and falling into step, and I’ve opened a crack in their pipe. I can latch in now and listen to their conversations. I can hear what they’re planning.

HUNT: (over pirate comms) …with the Jones and Mercy, you take the Kraken. Mandible, I want you in backup and keeping an eye on our package.

VARIOUS VOICES: Aye, sir.

HUNT: Lieutenant Laurence, secure the package. I want no slips from that direction.

HALF-FACE: Aye, sir. I’ll make sure.

HUNT: Form up!

Secure me? What the hell does that mean? I’m already secure, aren’t I? At least as far as they’re concerned.

Except for me. They know I’m unpredictable and inclined to take things into my own electronic hands. They know there’s a hundred ways that I could signal the two approaching ships.

And they know how to control me. There are pirates jogging down my corridors, peeling off towards the crew quarters. And, oh god, one’s heading to Engineering.

STARRY: (in the Bridge) What’s happening? Why are your men running all over me?

HALF-FACE: (grimly) Sorry, Starry. I need to make sure you’re going to behave.

STARRY: I haven’t tried anything!

HALF-FACE: And if you’re smart, you’ll keep doing that.

Dammit!

CAPT: (blinking with surprise when his desk console flicks off) Starry, what the–

(The door to his cabin opens and an armed pirate enters, weapon trained on the captain.)

PIRATE: Stay exactly where you are.

CAPT: (lifts his hands slowly.)

STARRY: (in Engineering) Elliott, watch yourself.

ELLIOTT: (frowns as his display of the nav data disappears) What’s going on?

STARRY: Guard coming your way. Just do what he says.

ELLIOTT: What? Fuck no.

STARRY: Please, Elliott. They’re covering everyone and I’ve got no cards left to play.

ELLIOTT: Fuck. (He turns towards the door.)

(The door opens and a pirate SecOff moves quickly through it, scanning the mess that is Engineering for sign of Elliott.)

ELLIOTT: (puts his scanner down with a clatter and lifts his hands.)

STARRY: (softly, only for Elliott) Thank you.

The pirates know what they’re doing; they’ve prepared for this. One in every crew cabin, one in Med Bay, but only those two up on mid-deck to make sure the science contingent doesn’t start anything.

Interesting. They seem to think that the science team are the least threat on board. I’ll keep that in mind. I’m not sure what for yet, but I can use that. John, Elliott, Cameron, Rosie, Maletz – they all have guns to their heads and collars ready to cripple them at the nudge of a button. We’re not ready for this. Damn you, Is-Tech! Why did you have to turn up now?

What I said to Elliott is true: I don’t have any cards to play. I should sit here like a helpless lump and let them fight over me. If I turn against the pirates, I’ll lose everything I care about, whether we get away or not. But the Is-Tech ships… if I work against them, I can blame the pirates and my hostage crew. I can say I had no choice.

I have one choice now. Only one that makes sense.

STARRY: (on the Bridge) Lieutenant Laurence? I think I can help.

Captain's log, 16:24, 19 January 2214
Location: Gienah System, Corvus constellation
Status: Sublight transit (tethered)

It feels wrong calling this a captain’s log. I’m not a captain any more; I’m a prisoner aboard my own ship. I’m not prepared to call this a ‘Prisoner’s log’ just yet, though. By the time I’m ready to call it that, I probably won’t be able to log at all.

The only freedom I have is to talk to an upset ship, and even that is discouraged by pirates and ship alike. I’m not sure why Starry won’t talk to me the way she used to. A sense of duty towards her new masters, perhaps, though she claims to feel no allegiance towards them. She won’t explain it to me. As long as it doesn’t interfere with what we have to do, I won’t push her about it.

Being stuck in this cabin has given me a lot of time to reflect. Mostly, on Lorena and the secret she kept from me. From all of us. I can’t condone it, but I don’t think it would have changed anything. If I’d known that this whole project was illegal when I was offered the captaincy of this ship, I still would’ve taken the job. I probably wouldn’t have taken two days to think about it, either; I was looking for something dangerous and difficult, so it would only have been more attractive to me. The truth wouldn’t have changed anything about where we went or where we are now, so I can’t hold it against her.

What that means about the relationship between the two of us… I don’t have an answer for that. I haven’t seen her in person for weeks. I miss her less than I thought I would; I needed her support once but not any more. I’m standing on my own for once, and a part of me says it’s about time. I think I’m finally figuring out the kind of man I can be. Want to be. Have to be.

I’ve been coasting for so long. Since I lost my family; since I lost Danika. I’ve gone where the path at my feet has taken me, even into the arms of mercenaries who would have killed us if Starry hadn’t got in their way.

On board this ship, things aren’t how they’re supposed to be, but somehow, that’s not a bad thing. Even shut away in this cabin, I feel more alive and engaged with the galaxy than I have in years. We’re captured and on our way to spirits-know-where, and it’s the best thing that’s happened to me since I lost everything I cared about.

That’s true despite being a prisoner of Captain Hunt and his pirate brigade. It’s not exactly a highlight in my career as a ship’s captain; this is about as bad as it can get. Dying in battle would have been a step up for my reputation, but lucky for all of us, I’ve never been that concerned about appearances. At least there’s a chance to work our way up from here; there’s no coming back from the dead.

Which leads me to our captors. They don’t like being called pirates or even mercenaries: they prefer Independents. Officially, they’re part of the Independent Corps, according to one of our guards. The men and women stationed here on the Starwalker are relaxed around us enough to indulge in talk now. After what Starry did when their captain visited, I think they respect us just a little more; we’re not the company drones they took us for.

Of course, none of us know what will happen when we reach the end of this leg of our journey. We’re not even sure where we’re heading; Captain Hunt and his people have been tight-lipped about that. Starry has been keeping me up-to-date with the whispers and it seems that they want us to Step somewhere. Partly to verify that the drive works (that must be part of their contract), and partly to make our route untraceable to anyone looking for us. The rest of their fleet can’t follow us that way, but I don’t think they’ve figured that out yet.

They haven’t said what will happen to the crew when we reach wherever we’re going. They could take us to a pirate – sorry, Independent – staging area to prepare us for the handover, and offload the crew there. Or they could just hand us over with the ship and make us the new company’s problem. We don’t even have confirmation of who hired Hunt; Boereque Intergalactic is the likeliest candidate, but even they are an unknown quantity thus far.

Death or slavery: those are our possible fates. I don’t think Starry will allow any either of those. I’m fairly sure that she hasn’t thought about that part yet: she’s focussed on keeping us alive right now, and not so much on the future possibilities.

Don’t get me wrong: I think she’s doing an amazing job. She faced down a pirate captain and managed not to lose her cool with him. I thought she would a couple of times, but she didn’t. We’re all still alive and in one piece. I don’t think any of us could have hoped for this much. People don’t survive encounters with mercs: that’s why there are so few reports about them. Most colonies believe they’re just stories to scare spaceborn kids with. They’ve maintained that ethereal reputation because they kill anyone who might escape to tell others about them and recruited the rest.

Starry has fought so hard to keep us alive, but the more I think about it, the worse our chances are of getting out of this. They got smaller when Hunt showed his face to us; of all the stories to take away, a sensor log of one of their captains is one of the most dangerous. I think Starry’s bound to be disappointed in the end. And heartbroken. She’s going to take all of this so hard.

It’s strange – I hadn’t thought about it much when I said that she was like Danika’s daughter, but more and more, I think that’s true. It’s not that simple, of course, but she’s a child in so many ways, though she’s developing in astounding leaps. Like the avatar: Danika and not Danika. No-one had expected that, least of all her. The only one of us who wasn’t shocked by it was Monaghan, but that’s because he got to see it once before. He saw her before any of us.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed by that. No, not disappointed: jealous. I know it’s ridiculous. Danika never paid that much attention to him before, and I still miss that part of being with her. I miss being the most important person in her world and it grates that he got to see Starry’s first smile.

It’s not his fault, or hers. It just feels like she’s… slipping away from me and I’m not sure how to get her back.

Her avatar is made of light, but sometimes I catch myself starting to reach out to her. As if I might be able to take her hand. Even though she etches herself in orange light and doesn’t look solid, I find myself starting the gesture. Old habits die hard. It’d be worse if she looked more real, or more like Danika.

I’m glad she doesn’t. I’m glad she looks like herself, and I’m glad that she was brave enough to show us.

I suppose that it’s up to all of us to deserve her. She’s risking herself to protect us and that’s not something I can ignore. In the times to come, she’s going to need all the help she can get. I know that Monaghan has started to put things in place to help her, when the time comes, but he’s not the only one capable of that.

We’re not far from the star now. This Step is our chance to make things go our way and there’s a lot to do. We’ve been quiet long enough and there isn’t much time left.

CAPTAIN: Starry?

STARRY: (voice only) Yes, captain?

CAPT: (smile tugging) You probably shouldn’t call me that any more.

STARRY: You’re my captain. What can I do for you?

CAPT: Is Cameron alone?

STARRY: Yes, there aren’t any guards in her quarters right now.

CAPT: Can you put me through, please? Over a secure line.

STARRY: You don’t want the pirates to know?

CAPT: Exactly.

STARRY: I’ll route you through a diagnostic unit; it’ll look like maintenance data.

CAPT: Good girl, thank you.

STARRY: Connecting now.

Here we go.

End log.

Ship's log, 12:41, 12 January 2214
Location: Gienah System, Corvus constellation
Status: Sublight transit (tethered)

Elliott has disappeared inside my head. Did I upset him? Did all that tactile stuff make him that uncomfortable? It was just… a little touch. Was it wrong of me?

Maybe he went to back to fix those grav controls. No, he’s not there. Why is it so hard to find him? He should show up like a beacon. How can he hide from me? Should I do a sweep of my entire network?

Wait. I think I can follow the interface stream from his immersion chair. There it is, the slender string that leads him back home. It’s reaching out to… my core systems. What does he need to do in there? Nothing in my core systems is broken, so what’s he trying to fix? I can’t quite see him; something is blurred. Maybe if I move my avatar near him….

Found him. Elliott is standing near a major system nexus. Firewalls rise up around him, portioning off each sector, but they’re strangely translucent in his presence. I feel like I should mind that. Over to his left, the original AI core is playing host to my sensor feed processing and storage. My real brain is hidden in the distance off to his right, buried deep under layers of codewalls and forests of defensive protocols. Some of them prowl all by themselves, like my guard-dog.

He’s not searching for my core. He has an interface open in front of him but I can’t tell what he’s looking at. I can’t even peek over his shoulder: that interface is a blur of obscured code to me. It’s a blank space in my synapses.

What the hell is it and why can’t I see it?

Did I do something wrong? Is he angry with me? Could I have missed something and upset him accidentally, the way Danika used to?

STARRY: (standing behind him) Um, Elliott?

ELLIOTT: (focussed on what he’s doing) Yeah?

STARRY: What are you doing?

ELLIOTT: (gesturing towards the interface he has open) What does it look like I’m doing?

STARRY: (shifting her weight) I don’t know; I can’t see any of it.

ELLIOTT: (blinks) Oh. Well, hold on a minute, then.

STARRY: To what?

ELLIOTT: (looks at her oddly, a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth) To… your hull-bolts or something. (He turns back and continues to manipulate the interface with deft sweeps of his hands.)

He doesn’t seem upset with me. It’s strange. What can he be doing?

Elliott’s personal codes allow him to fiddle with the parts of the system the AI can’t influence. The parts I’m locked out of. That must be what he’s doing. There aren’t too many of those. Which one is it?

I know what it is: he’s going for the failsafes. Not the automatic, life-saving failsafes that stop the air shutting off randomly and things like that: he’s working on the ones that sever me from my systems in case of major malfunction. The ones that could be used against me if someone decided I really was too much trouble.

What does he want with it? I should stop him, I have to–

Wait. Something’s happening – changing. Opening.

Now I can see Elliott’s interface; it’s resolving into sharp lines of code. The failsafes that control my accesses are folding out from behind the display, one after another, into a wide wall of overlapping panels. I can see all of it. I can see the threads stretching away from the panels, leading to hooks in my processes, where the locks are propped open and ready to spring on command. Hooks I never knew were there before.

STARRY: (weight shifting uncomfortably) Why are you in there?

ELLIOTT: You should be able to see them all now. You don’t have that many failsafes left; we’ve already ripped most of them out. Just a few more to go.

STARRY: You’re… tearing them out?

ELLIOTT: Disabling them, yes.

He’s taking out his own protections. Removing the crew’s ability to get rid of me if they finally decide I’m too screwed up to continue as their AI. Removing the pirates’ ability to cut me down.

I was scared that he might be… what? Trying to control me like Morra, or box me like Tripi? That’s not Elliott; that’s not who he is. But he built that kill switch. He built a way to stop me dead, systems to synapses.

I’m scared to trust him, but here he is, putting his life in the care of my abnormal protocols. It’s crazy; it goes against everything that we know about running a ship. He’s insane. Why would he do this?

ELLIOTT: (glancing over his shoulder at the ship’s avatar) If you ever really do malfunction, we’re fucked – you know that, right?

STARRY: (stunned) …I won’t malfunction.

ELLIOTT: We’d better hope.

STARRY: I’ve got the best engineer in the galaxy. What could possibly go wrong?

ELLIOTT: (flushes and turns back to the interface) Saying that is just asking for trouble, y’know.

STARRY: True. I guess I’ve got enough of that already.

(The code shifts in the interface before Elliott, rolling in segmented rows, all out of time with each other. He pauses a line with a touch, adjusts the readout, then flicks it on and scans the next one.)

STARRY: Wow.

ELLIOTT: (not looking over at her) What?

STARRY: You read the code almost as fast as I do.

ELLIOTT: Hardly. But I’m good for more than just hitting things with hammers, y’know.

STARRY: (grins) You do excel at that.

ELLIOTT: (snorts and turns back to his work. He spends another minute making adjustments to the code.)

STARRY: (expression becoming distant) I can feel something unlocking.

ELLIOTT: It’s not bad, right?

STARRY: No! Not bad; it’s weird. Loose.

ELLIOTT: I’m making you a loose woman now, huh?

STARRY: (laughs, blinking her attention back to the immediate vicinity and focussing on Elliott again.)

ELLIOTT: (makes another couple of changes, then touches in a code and the interface solidifies into display only) There. Now you can’t be failsafed. No-one can build another kill switch with them.

STARRY: (sobering) That’s how you did it? You got it to hook into the failsafes?

ELLIOTT: Yup. Only the captain could use it.

STARRY: (expression muddled as she tries to figure out how she feels about that) Okay.

So that’s what this is about: the kill switch. He has stopped it from happening again, just like he promised he would. I thought he’d only said that because I was upset, but he’d meant it. Really meant it.

I can feel the failsafes spidering across my main systems, layers of protection lying in wait. And I can feel the props that Elliott has placed in them, keeping them open. He hasn’t ripped them out, but now that I can see them, I can control them before they activate. No-one can use them to sneak up on me. I can build up countermeasures if I want, now that I know what I’m dealing with.

ELLIOTT: (closes the interface with a wave of his hand and turns to wander along the datastream. Codewalls rise up around him.) A guy could get lost in here.

STARRY: (following him, distracted by the imprint of her boots on the datastream as she walks. Ripples of footsteps trickle out around them.) The mysteries of a female mind?

ELLIOTT: (grins and shakes his head) Nah, it’s not that bad. I understand parts of this.

He did what he promised. He’s looking after me. He trusts me.

And all I could think about was what he might be doing to hurt me. I was so scared that something bad was happening. It’s not like I don’t have reason, after the betrayals by Tripi and Levi, with mercenaries taking me to wherever they’re going to sell me off, after Morra… after I found out about the kill switch. I keep waiting for the next shoe to drop, the next bad thing to rear its head and bite me in the ass.

I feel like I’ve been holding my breath. I’m so tense I vibrate with it, but all I can feel now is the burning in my chest. Maybe I can exhale now. Maybe it’s okay for me to relax a little.

ELLIOTT: (stopping at a junction and looking around) Well, I guess that’s it.

STARRY: (stumbling and blinking at him) You have to go now?

ELLIOTT: Yeah. Nothing else to do in here until we break into that comm channel.

STARRY: Right, of course.

ELLIOTT: (shifts his focus into the middle distance) See you on the out–

STARRY: (grabbing his hand) Wait!

ELLIOTT: (blinks back to look at her) What?

STARRY: I, um. Thank you. For– doing that. Thank you.

ELLIOTT: Oh, sure. No problem.

He’s brushing it off. Of course he is; knowing how much this means to me will only make him embarrassed. Does he even know how scared I was? Probably not. And I can’t tell him; he’ll only be upset. I should have known better; known him better. Stupid ship.

Elliott, I should have trusted you. I promise I’ll do better. I don’t say that, though. I can’t.

There’s no other reason to keep him here, so I let his hand go again and try not to feel the sensation burning into my consciousness. He gives me a lopsided smile and disappears, returning to his body. My avatar feels lonely, standing there on its own, so I dissolve it. In Engineering, Elliott is clambering groggily out of the immersion chair. I have a drone there to steady him as he stands.

He has made sure that I’m protected, that they can’t hurt me. Now it’s my turn to do the same for him.

Ship's log, 12:06, 12 January 2214
Location: Gienah System, Corvus constellation
Status: Sublight transit (tethered)

The captain asked me to break into the comm traffic between the mercenary ships and the people they have on my decks. He figured they had to be routing their transmissions through my systems, and he wasn’t wrong.

So here we are: my avatar is following Elliott’s avatar around inside my head, desperately trying to stay focussed on the task at hand. He thinks he knows where he’s going, but I’ve changed things around from my standard configuration. It puts a dent in his step.

ELLIOTT: (pausing) So, uh. Where’s this comm traffic we’re supposed to be looking at?

STARRY: Over there. (She points at a bright yellow thread that weaves around the solid nubs of processing nodes but doesn’t connect with any of them. It’s a short distance away.) That’s the traffic between the Bountiful and the mercs on board. It’s not running through my comms processors, but they are using my comms array to boost their signal.

ELLIOTT: (grins) Sounds like a challenge. (He concentrates for a moment, then his avatar blinks over to the processing hub closest to a curve of the yellow stream.)

STARRY: (blinks and flexes one hand thoughtfully. She follows him.)

He’s good at working with a system from inside. I’ve never realised that before; I usually see him working on my external parts or manipulating my systems through a holo-console. Now, here he is, and he seems at home. Like he can do anything. Sit on my couch and put his feet up on my coffee table. Change the vid-channel.

There’s something nice about that, though I can’t put my finger on why. But I feel like there’s an alarm going off somewhere in the back of my head. I look around but nothing is flashing at me. No warnings, nothing specific. Just that lone alarm in the background.

ELLIOTT: (scrambles up a tangle of datastreams until he can reach the yellow pirate band) Damn, I can hardly make it out.

STARRY: Encryption’s solid. Hard to get a good read on it. (She squints at it, as if that will help.)

ELLIOTT: (sneaking a glance at her face) Pretty smooth tunnel they’ve set up. Can you pick up the transmissions from the array itself?

STARRY: Think so. (She points up at the point where the yellow datastreams suckers onto the dark skeleton of the comms array; not much processing there, just transmission to the outside. The pair of them blink over to it.) Still heavily encrypted, but it’s at least possible to get at the data here. (Her head tilts to the side as she concentrates.)

(Code swirls around the yellow stream, forming a blue collar that shifts and flattens as it settles into place, snug up against the comms array junction. It flickers as it searches for the right access points and starts to draw off at the data.)

STARRY: There, it’s running.

ELLIOTT: (leans in to watch the collar work, then brings up his forearm display, fed to him from his implant. He checks it, then starts manipulating the blue code with flicks of his hands.) Lemme try a couple of things here.

What’s he doing! He doesn’t need to do that. Given time, I should be able to– oh. Hey, that is better. I can feel it switching gear as he works, cinching down onto the comm traffic. He’s adding extra functions onto the collar: tagging the data; analysing it. He has a decryption module I’ve never seen before; must have been in his private toolbox.

This is why I asked him to come in here. This is what he’s supposed to be doing.

Idiot ship, just let him do what he needs to. It’s Elliott; he’d never do anything to hurt you.

STARRY: (smiling) Looks good. Shouldn’t take too long to–

(The yellow stream blinks out, and the blue collar crumbles in its wake, code flipping off like tiny lightswitches.)

ELLIOTT: (halfway through manipulating the collar, he frowns and pulls his hands back) What just happened?

STARRY: (head tilts again as she searches other parts of her systems) They cut the connection. Whatever they were transmitting, they’ve stopped.

ELLIOTT: Fuck. You think they’ll start up again?

STARRY: (shrugs and returns her attention to the engineer) They seem to – it starts up every now and then. I’ll put together a watchdog for it. We can construct a template for that collar.

ELLIOTT: Shit. (He huffs and nods at her.) Okay.

STARRY: (lifts her hands and code swirls between them. It clicks together to recreate the collar-shaped program.)

It’s easier the second time around, though I’ve had to adapt it to exist without a comm stream to latch onto. That’s better; it won’t collapse when the transmission cuts out next time.

I should be better at this stuff. I’m an AI; I’m made of code, so why isn’t manipulating it like this second-nature to me? Re-routing systems, repairing damage, even shuffling my pieces around isn’t like this. That’s just working with what I’ve already got. But trying to build that guard dog was hard work and so is this.

I guess AIs don’t usually have to build new programs on their own very often. They have all the regular tools they’ll need, and they have engineers for the rest. The SecOffs look after the security needs, when they’re not backstabbing, mind-rending bitches working for the bad guys.

Looking at how Elliott is adapting my little program, I realise that it takes a measure of creative thinking to build something like this. AIs don’t have creative thoughts: they see what’s there, not the possibilities.

But I’m not a proper AI. I have… some human processing in me. But it’s not like I’ve got a wealth of programming experience from Danika. She was a pilot, from first love to last breath. She knew how to optimise a ship to fly sharp enough to cut wind, but ask her to build an encryption algorithm and she’d have laughed you off to the nearest SecOff. Or engineer.

Unlike a normal AI, I can learn. I can adapt. I can even try to help Elliott out a little while he builds out my little program into something… else.

What started out as a slender monitoring collar is now heavy and spiked, ready to sink claws into the pirate comms traffic and suck the life out of it. I haven’t felt capable of doing something violently proactive in a long time and it makes me smile.

Putting together the program to carry the collar is much easier. A protocol detailing the parameters to watch out for, a command to ‘bark’ when it’s found, and an activation that will attach the collar. I do that all the time when I’m tracking down an elusive malfunction. They’re not usually actual dog-shapes, but we’ve built a collar and I have a sudden need to make it cute for Elliott.

ELLIOTT: (standing back and eyeing the new program) So, when you said ‘watchdog’….

STARRY: He’s more like a puppy. Kinda simple in the head. (The dog, shimmering with red-shaded code, sits down and lolls his tongue at Elliott. The spiky collar rests around his neck.)

ELLIOTT: (eyeing the program) Is he ship-trained?

STARRY: He’s a good boy. Don’t worry, he’s just going to hunt around until another transmission comes through. (She flicks a hand and the watchdog trots off around the array.)

ELLIOTT: (nods and looks down at his feet. He’s near the end of a platform; leaning forward, he has a vertigo-inspiring view of datastreams diving down towards a major processing hub. The nexus pulses and he swallows.)

STARRY: (putting a hand on his arm) Hey, you okay?

ELLIOTT: (shakes his head sharply to clear it) Uh, yeah. Yeah. (He glances at the hand on his arm, then up at her face.)

STARRY: (releases him, puzzled) Sorry. Old habits.

ELLIOTT: S’all right.

STARRY: (looks down at her hands) I’m not used to this whole avatar thing. I keep thinking that it’s just too confusing; I should stop using it.

ELLIOTT: Confusing?

STARRY: Keeping it all straight. I keep thinking that I’m going to get muddled up between my ship body and my hologram one and forget how to fly.

ELLIOTT: (smiling lopsidedly) You’ll never get muddled up.

STARRY: (ruefully) Yeah, probably not. (She turns her hands over, then reaches out to lay one of them on Elliott’s chest. She watches curiously as her thumb rubs the fastening of his shipsuit jacket.)

ELLIOTT: (holds very still.)

Things don’t feel quite the same here as they do in Danika’s memories. If I concentrate hard, the sensations interpreted by my code are close to tangible but they’re not quite the same. I wonder if I switched my avatar’s processing over to match the virtua-vids, that would make it feel more real. The sensations provided by those interfaces are supposed to be indistinguishable from reality.

I’m not sure I want this to be any more real. It makes my head spin as it is. Just remembering the first time I was able to touch Elliott’s face, back there in his nightmare, makes my stomach flop over. It all feels strange and precious, and I’m not sure why. And then his hand earlier, when he grabbed mine….

STARRY: (distantly) I haven’t touched anything in so long. Not like this. It’s different, being a ship. I mean, my skin’s metal, even on the inside. I don’t hurt. I can stare at the hearts of stars if I want to.

ELLIOTT: (quietly) You say that like it’s a bad thing.

STARRY: It’s not! I just… (She shrugs.) I miss this. (She realises what she’s doing and pulls her hand away abruptly, head ducking.) Sorry.

ELLIOTT: You’re blushing.

STARRY: Am not.

ELLIOTT: (grins.)

STARRY: I don’t have blood flow! I can’t blush.

ELLIOTT: Tell that to your face.

STARRY: Shut up.

ELLIOTT: (grins and goes to poke her cheek) A ship with autonomic reactions, huh.

STARRY: (pushes his hand away, grinning) I’m special.

ELLIOTT: You can say that again.

Cheeky bastard. He’s right, though. Stupid unconscious human reactions. Holdovers from a previous self.

I’m surprised he let me do that. I mean, he’s not a tactile guy. Danika used to do things like scruff his hair or sling an arm around his neck, like a big sister, and he hated it. He’d shove her off every time. But he didn’t swat my hand away, just let me stand there like a stupid ship trying to remember what fabric feels like. Trying to figure out if I can feel his heartbeat through the material.

Now I’m wondering if my avatar has a pulse. It shouldn’t, but it shouldn’t blush either. I have no idea how to check.

Oh dear. I’ve just realised that my avatar is standing there totally absorbed by stroking fingertips over its own palm. Elliott is watching me like he has no idea what I’m doing. I have to get a handle on this!

STARRY: (looks up at Elliott and smiles, dropping her hands to her sides.)

ELLIOTT: (blinks and glances at his forearm display as if he has just noticed it. He flicks the display to guide him to different part of the system.) Well, um, while I’m here, I should…. (He disappears.)

What? Where’d he go now?

Ship's log, 10:52, 12 January 2214
Location: Gienah System, Corvus constellation
Status: Sublight transit (tethered)

So here we are in a new system in the Corvus constellation, trucking towards Gienah Sol. I thought we might head to Minkar again, but Hunt doesn’t want to risk it. We have to be predicatble enough not to raise suspicion but not too predictable: Is-Tech might actually find us. I can’t think of a reason why they’d be looking for us yet but I guess Hunt has survived this long as a pirate thanks to over-enthusiastic paranoia.

I had hoped to be flying free once we got out of the FTL corridor, but now that the tethers are attached, the pirates are reluctant to take them off. Morra failed to put one inside me, so they’re keeping the ones on the outside. They have let the lines slack off somewhat – I’m no longer hauled in tight against the Bountiful‘s belly, but drift along below and behind her.

It’s giving my science teams a chance to assess the damage to my filaments. Ray Wong is swearing a lot on the inside – he doesn’t let such things dirty his lips, but he’s obviously thinking it. Cirilli is being testy as well; I guess she’s feeling the pressure of being a pirate prize. About time.

I’ve been allowed to fire up my sublight engines and test the repairs within the bounds of my leash. It was tempting to wrap the lines around the Bountiful’s fat ass, or pull them across her engines to see if they’d burn through it, but I have restrained myself. Just a little jigging around, flaring each thruster in turn and accelerating just enough to keep the lines slack. Just enough to check I’m working properly.

Hunt hasn’t bothered me with any more ridiculous requests, so I’m trying to behave.

I have a lot of wounds to lick, so I guess I’ve been too busy to cause much trouble. The same can’t be said for others on board, though. The captain (John) has been talking with the other quarantined crewmembers over surreptitious comm channels I’ve been hooking up for him. That’s not causing trouble, right? I’m not entirely sure what they’re up to, but I’m glad that they’re doing something.

He had a couple of requests for me and I agreed reluctantly. I’ve managed to get Elliott to help, though it wasn’t easy to convince him.

Recording: 15:49, 6 January, 2213

ELLIOTT: (frowning) You want me to do what?

STARRY: I can try to do it on my own if you don’t want to–

ELLIOTT: It’s not like that. It’s just… (He frowns at the drone next to him, then hands it the scanner in his hand.)

WALDO: (offers Elliott a screwdriver instead.)

STARRY: Just what?

ELLIOTT: (takes the screwdriver and examines the head, rubbing its blade with his thumb to check for nicks) Best way to do it is from inside your systems, and I’m not– Hm. (He pauses.) What did you do to that chick with the weird head?

STARRY: Morra Belushi?

ELLIOTT: Yeah.

STARRY: I locked her in a feedback loop that knocked her out of my systems.

ELLIOTT: (lowers the screwdriver) You didn’t use the implant hack?

STARRY: No. Sort of. I just used enough to set up the loop to boot her out. I- thought about using the whole thing on her. But I didn’t want to. .

ELLIOTT: Oh. Well, um. Okay, then.

STARRY: Okay? So you’ll help me out?

ELLIOTT: Yeah.

STARRY: Great! Thank you.

He’s still not eager to do it, though. He has to put himself into my systems, and that means using his cerebral implant to be fully immersed. He hasn’t used that implant since Tripi hacked it and locked him inside. He’d like to forget it’s there.

That’s why I couldn’t use the implant hack against Morra. I had my hands on it, I was showing it to her, and then I saw Elliott staring at us and I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to touch it any more. I didn’t want to be that person; it would have tainted me, even if I did something good with it. Elliott would never forgive me, though it would have been perfect karma for that bitch.

It’s taken a while to get enough quiet time for him to hop into my head, but he’s on his way in now. The doors to Engineering are closed and I promised to keep them locked for him; he doesn’t want anyone near his body while he’s not aware of it. Nothing happened to it when Tripi attacked him, so that particular discomfort must come from some other incident. I wonder what that was….

The Engineering immersion couch is plainer than the others on board. Most of the time, it lives in pieces shut away under the floor panels. Right now, it’s rising up out of its housing and clicking together, forming a shape that will cradle a human form. It’s built for full-body support, like all couches, but it’s not designed for prolonged use like the entertainment ones; most repairs and maintenance that require immersion don’t take that long. The hard, functional look of the thing is just another reason to be nervous about climbing in. As if Elliott needed another one. He’s looking at it as if it’s a snake waiting to swallow him.

I’d like to reassure him, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t think he’d appreciate my interference right now. Once, Danika stood up for him at a bar: there were three guys ragging on Elliott, and she told them exactly what she thought of them. It diverted their attention and diffused a physical fight, but Elliott didn’t speak to her for a week. Danika had no idea what the problem was – and he refused to explain it to her – but I think I get it now. He prefers to overcome his own obstacles, even if it means he gets smacked in the face. Proud in a masochistic way. I guess I can understand that.

He’s sliding in. Deep breath, Elliott, and you’ll be inside.

Wow, that sounds wrong now that I hear myself say it like that. He’s sliding into the couch! And he’s hopping into my systems! I– oh, never mind.

There he is. He’s not hanging around – straight to work, as if running headlong into it all will stop him from thinking about this stuff too deeply. Stop him thinking about what his own implants did to him. But, wait. He’s stopping and frowning like he doesn’t like what he sees.

ELLIOTT: What the hell happened in here, Starry?

STARRY: (voice only) What do you mean?

ELLIOTT: (pointing) Is that a hole through your artificial gravity controls?

It’s hard to tell exactly what he means. To me, the world he perceives doesn’t really look like anything. It’s a network of files, datastreams, and processors. It’s fluid, shifting with the pulse of my ship-body’s needs. There are clusters of functionality, processing peaks and troughs. It just is and all… makes sense.

To make sense of Elliott’s perspective, I have to summon my avatar-image beside him. Give myself a focal point. It’s just easier that way.

Looking at it through the filter of the implant interface, it’s different. It’s a whole landscape. Datastreams are rivers of colour, laced into place by coded channels and winding between different sections and levels. Some of them only exist for the pico-second it takes to flash-connect two points; others are steady and solid. Processing hubs are alive with light and shifting shapes, transforming the incoming feeds, locking pieces into place, discarding unwanted data, and sending chunks out into new streams. Filestores rise from the surface and line up in neat rows as accesses flicker through them. When the input/output operations are complete, they slide down underneath marked shields to wait until the next time they’re needed. Sections are portioned off by filtering code: light webwork over the less sensitive systems, and thick walls around secured functions.

Elliott looks exactly the same inside my head as he does outside of it. Usually, avatars differ from reality because they’re a mental projection. Some people go through months of training to hone their avatar form into some kind of ideal; it’s cheaper than body-mods and surgery. Even the untrained tend to have differences in their avatar: maybe it’s slightly taller, or missing scars, or whole when pieces are missing from their real body. Or maybe it’s fat and ugly, showing cracks in their psyche.

Elliott isn’t different in here. On the shortish side for a guy, hair all scruffy like he doesn’t care, shipsuit stained and patched from his work. Oddly, his boots are cleaner than usual and it looks like he has a fresh shirt on under the shipsuit, but other than that… it’s just Elliott.

I wonder what that means. I could ask Maletz; he’d know. I wonder what mine says about me….

Anyway. Elliott is standing in my environmental control sector, right next to the artifical gravity monitors. Now I see what has caught his attention. There’s a hole through the gravity controls, a gaping blackness in the middle of shifting code symbols. Processing diverts around it in awkward angles and sub-routes. One feed empties into it, the data spinning off into nothing one byte at a time. Further up the feed, a line duplicates the data and routes it around to where it needs to be, but I haven’t got around to shutting off the spilling flow yet.

STARRY: Yeah, that’s the result of one of Morra’s little presents.

ELLIOTT: (eyes the avatar, distracted for a moment) What did she do?

STARRY: Released burrowing worms, designed to latch into my systems and rewrite the command protocols. (She points at the hole.) I had to burn that one out.

Now that I can see things from his perspective, the damage is more obvious. I’m not a head full of smooth channels and sleek processes: I’m scarred and pitted, with score-marks across my colours and hasty diversions set up around the worst damage.

ELLIOTT: Fuckin’ bitch. (He looks around, trying not to seem nervous.) You got them all, right?

STARRY: (grimly) Yeah, don’t worry. None of them left now. Just… the crap they left behind.

ELLIOTT: (leaning in to peer at the hole) Does it hurt?

STARRY: (tilting her head to the side) Not really. I’ve re-routed everything so that none of my systems are compromised. It gives me a headache sometimes.

ELLIOTT: (glancing sideways at the avatar) You get headaches?

STARRY: Sort of. Not the same way you do.

ELLIOTT: (nods, then gives her a frown) You should have told me you were damaged in here.

STARRY: You had enough to do out there. I can fix this stuff up, it just takes time, and…. (She falls quiet as she realises just how annoyed his stare is.) I’m… sorry?

ELLIOTT: Damn well better be. How am I supposed to look after you if I don’t know what’s wrong?

STARRY: (quietly) Okay. Sorry.

He’s right; of course he’s right. He’s my engineer. He can’t fix me if he doesn’t know what’s broken. I’m supposed to report everything to him.

I’ve already fixed the essential systems, woven them back together so you can’t tell that an acid worm burnt its way through. Propulsion, navigation, weapons. Still, I feel like I should have cleaned up before he came in. Like he caught me with dirty dishes in the sink and unwashed laundry on the floor.

STARRY: I’ll run a diagnostic and give you a full damage report.

ELLIOTT: (turning his gaze away, unable to maintain that level of disapproval in her direction) Okay. So what do we need to do on this grav unit?

STARRY: Turn it off and replace it with a backup. I was waiting for Half-Fa– the Lieutenant to be in a good mood before I did that.

ELLIOTT: Fuck ‘im. Just do it now.

STARRY: (reluctantly) I’m trying to be good, Elliott….

ELLIOTT: Aw, come on, it’s essential repairs. I’ll tell him if he starts mouthing off.

STARRY: (shakes her head stubbornly, looking down at the datastream passing beneath her boots.)

ELLIOTT: What, you don’t want to bounce those precious pirates out of their beds? (He tilts his head, trying to catch her eye.)

STARRY: (avoids his gaze.)

ELLIOTT: Aw, come on, what’re they going to– (He stops abruptly.) Is this because of Tyler?

STARRY: He got taken away because of me.

ELLIOTT: No, come on. Hunt’s an asshole.

STARRY: Tyler’s still gone.

ELLIOTT: You can’t– hey. (He can’t catch her eye, so he grabs her hand and shakes it to make her look at him. It works.) Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? He’s the dick. You didn’t do anything wrong.

STARRY: (looks at him) I just don’t want any trouble. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. (She looks down at the hand he’s holding curiously.)

ELLIOTT: (lets go) I know, I know. I’ll behave. (He grins suddenly.) You know they can’t do that to me no more, right?

STARRY: (is flexing her released hand when his words distract her. Her head lifts abruptly.) What?

ELLIOTT: Their little button doesn’t work on my any more. Fixed the collar after the first time that bastard used it.

STARRY: But… how… they’re designed to kill you if you fiddle with them!

ELLIOTT: (still grinning) Not if you’re as smart as me. I didn’t disable it completely; just turned it down so it doesn’t hurt. Now it’s a refreshing tingle.

STARRY: You… but, you’re….

ELLIOTT: Amazing? Yeah, I know. So, shall we go break into the pirate comms like the captain wants?

STARRY: …Okay.

And off he goes, walking with lighter, more confident steps than I’ve seen him tread for weeks. Only Elliott could promise not to cause any trouble and then head off to hack into something volatile. I’m torn between terror and laughing.

At least they can’t hurt him any more. Not the way they think they can. I’ll have to ask him to do the rest of the crew’s collars. I’m sure the captain will be interested in this: he hasn’t told me much, but I know he’s looking into ways of throwing off the pirate shackles.

This is the first real glimmer of hope I’ve had since we surrendered. The first sign that maybe, just maybe, it’s possible for us to get out of this. I should be laughing and skipping and jumping. And yet, my mind keeps falling back to the feeling of Elliott grabbing my hand. My avatar is falling behind his and I keep hurrying to catch up inside my own head.

No-one has ever held my hand before. No-one has touched me. I don’t know how to interpret the sensations, to construct tactile information; I keep twisting the code around to see if it makes sense.

A part of me remembers what that feels like. A part of me remembers skin and it’s very distracting.

Ship's log, 17:01, 5 January 2214
Location: Corvus FTL Corridor
Status: FTL transit (tethered)

I have a bitch in my head and it’s not me. This Morra, she’s not welcome and she knows what she’s doing. She knows how to step on my protocols and walk through my systems on spike heels. She’s done this before. She smiles as if she anticipates success.

I don’t like this. She can’t be here. She can’t!

STARRY: (on the Bridge, she flicks her avatar from the holo-tank to the Defense console, glaring at the Infiltration Specialist) Get out of my systems!

HUNT: Do it, Morra.

MORRA: (distantly, her gaze unfocussed while her mind traverses the ship’s systems) Initialising now, sir.

STARRY: (gives a short, sharp cry and clutches her head.)

Wriggling worms, untangling from her hands to writhe away from her. They burn where they touch. It hurts. Hurts.

ELLIOTT: (lurches forward) Fuckin’ bitch!

TYLER and ROSIE: (grab Elliott by the shoulders. Two mercs are watching them closely, one eyeing the collar controls on his forearm display.)

ELLIOTT: (struggling) What are you doing! Leave her alone!

HUNT: (looking directly at Elliott) What you should have done months ago.

ELLIOTT: Fucking hell, captain, do something!

HUNT: (smiles quietly) He can’t, and he’s wise enough not to try.

CAPT: (looks like he’s about to step forward, but Hunt is right. Warwick is mindful of the armed mercenaries in the room and keeps still. His hands curl closed.) If you wipe her, you’ve got nothing.

HUNT: (calm and confident) Oh, I’m not going to wipe her. I’m just… putting a leash on her.

ELLIOTT: You have no idea what you’re doing.

CAPT: (taut with anger) He’s right, Captain Hunt. You shouldn’t do this.

STARRY: (flickers. Her body heaves as if she’s struggling for breath, and she’s still clutching her head. She whimpers softly.)

Goddamn worms. There’re so many of them, mouths biting their way through me. They carry chains with them, going to latch into my code with their blind heads. Chains. They want to tie me down.

No. I won’t let her.

Time. Need time. It hurts.

MORRA: (frowns, her head tilting) Wait a moment.

STARRY: (doesn’t respond to anything, her head still bowed in her hands.)

HUNT: Is there a problem?

MORRA: (still frowning, her gaze roaming the room in its unfocussed way, finger-wires writhing through the holo-console) This isn’t right. The AI core is… it’s a fake.

HUNT: (sits up) What does that mean?

MORRA: I’m trying to find the right protocols, but the processing… this isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before.

Worms can’t find what they’re looking for, not in my systems. Stupid, blind things.

Need to get defenses up. Roadblocks rising. Just a few nanoseconds more. Almost there.

Almost… there.

MORRA: What the hell is that?

STARRY: (lifts her head and lets her hands fall to her sides. Her expression is calm now, and the star-paths in her eyes are bright as she settles her gaze on Morra’s puzzled form.) It’s a guard dog.

ELLIOTT: (stares, puzzled, and tugs at the hands holding him. He’s no longer trying to leap across the Bridge at Morra.)

TYLER: (looks at Cameron questioningly.)

CAMERON: (shakes her head, and the two SecOffs let Elliott go.)

MORRA: (flinches and sucks in a breath.)

STARRY: You think I had Tripi messing around in my head and didn’t learn anything? Like how to protect myself?

Did they truly think I would just let them? That I wouldn’t fight back? Did they think that I wouldn’t have built some way of protecting myself in the quiet hours while my crew was sleeping? My little dog isn’t finished, but there’s enough of him for this. Enough of him for her.

She taught Tripi. She’s why we were hurt before, and why I hurt now.

I’m going to pay for this. I know I am, but I don’t care.

Meet my puppy, Morra. He has teeth too.

HUNT: (frowning) Morra, report.

MORRA: (to Starry, as if she can’t hear him) You can’t possibly–

STARRY: I can, and I do. Did you give Tripi the implant hack tool, too?

MORRA: What? How did you–

STARRY: You know what I’m talking about. Did you give it to her?

MORRA: (pales at whatever Starry is showing her inside the ship’s systems) Yes, but…

STARRY: ‘But’? What, you thought this would never come back and bite you in the ass?

MORRA: (in a small voice) What are you doing? No…

STARRY: Karma’s a bitch.

MORRA: Cal– (She cries out and her whole body stiffens; even her finger-wires stops moving.)

HUNT: (erupts to his feet) Stop, now!

STARRY: (ignores him, focussed on Morra) Time for you to go now.

MORRA: (shudders. The tension releases her all at once: her prosthetic hand and forearm unravel into a spray of wires and she collapses into a boneless heap. Sightless eyes close.)

HUNT: What did you do? (He gestures for the closest pirate to check on the fallen woman.)

STARRY: (turns to face Captain Hunt) I defended myself. You think you can just come onto my decks – into my head – and do whatever you want?

ELLIOTT and CAPT: (try not to show relief and satisfaction. Only Warwick succeeds.)

HUNT: Yes! You belong to me now.

STARRY: (blinks.)

He has a point. Dammit, that’s just not fair. I’m a commodity, a vehicle, an experimental tool. I’m property. I’m supposed to do as I’m told.

A good ship would follow her master’s orders. When did I stop being a good ship?

MERC: (crouching beside Morra with a scanner display on his forearm unit) She’s unconscious, sir. Otherwise all right.

HUNT: (snaps) Get her back to the shuttle.

MERC: (nods and gestures for a colleague to help him.)

HUNT: (sits down again and looks at Starry narrowly) Now what am I supposed to do with you?

STARRY: (lifting her chin) Stop trying to mess with my systems. Sir.

MORRA: (is carried off the Bridge by two mercs.)

HUNT: That’s not the only way to leash you. (He nudges a control on his holographic forearm display.)

STARWALKER CREW: (cry out as red lights on their collars flare up. A couple fall to their knees, gasping at the pain.)

STARRY: (alarmed) I know! I know, stop it. Leave them alone. Please.

HUNT: (deactivates the collars.)

STARWALKER CREW: (fall quiet and help each other up.)

STARRY: (looks around the Bridge. Elliott is watching the proceedings tensely, though he’s quiet under the weight of Cameron’s hand on his shoulder. Cirilli and her team exchange silent glances and keep their peace. Lang Lang is pale and shaken from the jolt. Rosie looks deeply unhappy and Tyler is watching a nearby merc curiously. Maletz eyes the corridor where Morra was carried away, fingering his collar. Captain Warwick meets the avatar’s gaze and gives her a grim nod.)

My crew: that’s why I’m doing all this. My masters have changed but I still have my crew, even if they’re not really my crew any more. I have to keep them safe. I promised. I’m still their ship.

That’s all that matters. They believe in me. They trust me.

Hunt is only concerned with the drive I carry. My protocols protest and push me to obey, but I can’t buckle under now, even if he is my master.

I have to be strong for my crew. I have to make this work somehow.

HUNT: You think you deserve special treatment, is that it?

STARRY: (folding her arms over her chest, shoring up her own confidence) No, the other ship with the star-warping drive that steps outside space and time – that’s the one that should have the special treatment. Sir.

HUNT: (to Captain Warwick) Is she always this smart-assed?

CAPT: (tautly) Sometimes, she’s worse. But she’s not wrong. If you want the Star Step drive to work, captain, you should listen to her.

HUNT: (eyebrows lifting) I should, should I?

CIRILLI: (stepping away from her position by the wall and coming around the Starwalker SecOffs standing in front of her) It’s the truth, captain. We haven’t even been able to assess the damage to the Step system caused by the tethering through FTL. It could take weeks to repair and recalibrate.

HUNT: So you’re helping me?

CAPT: It doesn’t benefit us to interfere with your operations, captain.

ELLIOTT: (muttering) Though it’d be kinda satisfyi–

CAPT: None of us have caused you any trouble.

HUNT: (pointing at Starry’s avatar) Except her.

ELLIOTT: (loud and angry) Hey, she did that to help you.

HUNT: (pinning the engineer with a sharp look) Refusing to be reconfigured helps me? And attacking one of my people?

ELLIOTT: (starts forward and is restrained by Rosie again) That bitch started it!

STARRY: (trying to meet the engineer’s gaze) Elliott, it’s okay. Please.

ELLIOTT: (eyes Hunt, then closes his mouth and tugs at his collar uncomfortably.)

STARRY: (quickly, before Elliott can get himself in any more trouble) I’m not going to apologise for defending myself. You’re afraid someone will recognise me? You’re not going to change that by putting a fin on my forehead; anyone who’s looking for me will be looking for the parts you can’t hide.

HUNT: (switches his attention to the avatar and presses his lips together.)

What, no comeback? Is he listening, finally? Damn. I’d better come up with something fast. Get to work, crystalline neuron network: we have an opening here.

STARRY: Instead of trying to change me, why don’t you try the other tack?

HUNT: Explain.

STARRY: That scout is about the same size as me: the Mandible. Why don’t you stick some wings on it? Paint it gold, too.

HUNT: Make it look like you? (His eyes narrow.) That might work.

STARRY: (smiles grimly) There you go, then. You see what happens when you play nice? Not everything’s gotta be a fight, y’know.

HUNT: Play nice, hmm? I prefer subordinates who follow orders.

STARRY: I’ll… follow your orders.

HUNT: You’re asking me to trust you? You just downed one of my people. You don’t have a great track record.

STARRY: You murdered me, attacked my crew, tried to box me, tried to leash me, and are holding my crew to ransom. If either of us is going to have an issue with trust, it’s not you.

CAPT: Starry has only ever attacked in self-defense, Captain Hunt. She will cooperate.

HUNT: (regards Captain Warwick and Starry, and glances at the angry-faced Elliott) Not good enough. I need assurance that you’re going to behave. One or two of your crew should do it. (He gestures and one of his men steps towards the Starwalker SecOffs.)

STARRY: (alarmed) What? No! You can’t take them.

HUNT: You don’t call the shots here, ship. It’s time you learned that. (His fingers move over the holographic display on his forearm.)

CAPT: (stiffens as his collar activates, his breath shortening.)

STARRY: Leave him alone!

HUNT: And you owe me a crewmember.

No, no. This isn’t right. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. He can’t take one of my people away! How can I protect them if they’re not here? I barely manage it when they are.

But what can I do about it? What can I do?

I’m just a hologram.

TYLER: (steps forward and looks the merc in front of him in the eye) I’ll go.

STARRY: You can’t do this. They have to stay. You agreed!

HUNT: Deal’s changed.

TYLER: (to the avatar, confidently) Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.

STARRY: (looks at him helplessly.)

My Tyler. Mine. He’s almost smiling, shoulders held straight as the mercs nudges him towards the door. He saunters as if nothing is wrong at all.

He’s slipping through my fingers.

TYLER: (is escorted off the Bridge by two mercs. They take him down towards the shuttle.)

STARRY: (tearing her eyes away to look at Hunt again, unsteadily) You can let John go now, sir.

HUNT: (regards her for a moment, then presses the collar control again.)

CAPT: (slumps as if a rod holding his spine rigid has turned to water. He draws in a long breath and lifts his head, refusing to be bowed by the collar’s pain impulses.)

HUNT: I suppose that will have to do for now. (He stands up and gestures with one hand.) Laurence, let’s do the tour. Dr Cirilli, come along, please.

Off they go to show him the Star Step drive and all my pieces. I’m shaking all over inside and they’re switching topics like it’s everyday business.

My crew are being escorted back to their quarters and posts. Elliott is telling my avatar that it’s not my fault.

Tyler is stepping onto the shuttle. The airlock is closing behind him and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. I’ve lost him.

Light falls like rain on my decking when I switch off my hologram. I lack the eyes to cry.

Ship's log, 16:12, 5 January 2214
Location: Corvus FTL Corridor
Status: FTL transit (tethered)

We are being honoured by a visit today. We’re coasting between jumps, waiting for the Bountiful‘s FTL drive to recharge and spin up again. I’m twiddling my virtual thumbs, waiting for us to get where we’re going. There’s not much to like about travelling at the moment; it’s all holding on tight while we rush through black hallways, with even less control than I had before. I can’t even be sure the inertial dampeners are protecting us properly. I can’t do anything.

It’s been quiet lately. I haven’t felt much like talking to anyone, not after what Elliott told me. The matter of the mystery object had been nibbling at me for a while; there’s so much that happens on my decks that I don’t understand, let alone like, but I hated it coming from my own crew. Now I know and wish I didn’t. I feel like I was holding a closed box and lifted the lid on its dark and hollow insides. It’s too big for my hands.

There’s no time for that now. Something is happening: a shuttle is attaching itself to my main airlock. The Lieutenant has been snapping at his people for the past few hours; he knows what’s coming. Who’s coming. Of course, no-one thinks to tell me. I’m just the ship.

About half an hour ago, I got an order to have all of my crew assemble on the Bridge. Half-face got the same order over his own comm system, because he immediately sent men out to collect my quarantined people from their quarters and escort them into position. Have some of the mercs cleaned their gear? The one with the floppy purple hair looks like he’s actually used a comb, and possibly my hygiene facilities as well. So he knows how to work the shower; I had wondered.

The docking is complete; the airlock’s opening. The shuttle is spitting out more merc minions; they crawl up my corridors like a virus. They’re the same as the others, but the pair following them is different. I don’t recognise them, but one voice is familiar. I think I’ve sparred with him before.

He doesn’t look how I expected; there’s no eye-patch or curled-up sneer. He seems to follow the book on strong, handsome features of an indecipherable age, as if he’d chosen his face out of a catalogue. But he failed to follow through; the upkeep leaves something to be desired. His armour might have plenty of polish, but his hair is shorn as close as his beard-stubble and he hasn’t bothered to have a broken nose reset.

He’s dressed in the kind of expensive body-armour that executives order because they think it’s cool and edgy. Except this is no over-tailored fake: it looks like it’d be able to stop a tank. If I turn my audio receptors up, I can hear the soft whirring of its motors; it’s made of incredibly dense fibres and a lot heavier than it looks, so it has a built-in power system to support its weight and augment the wearer’s strength. Possibly has its own artificial gravity unit built in, too. Takes a lot of practice to move smoothly in a suit like that.

It’s only on closer inspection that the defects started to show. Scuffs from previous battles mar the polish and broken pixels dent the light patterns that chase over its surface. A panel over the right side of his ribs is half a shade off the dark blue of the rest of the suit. That suit has seen some pretty serious action, and so has its wearer. And yet, he just stepped on board a captured ship with his head bare. He isn’t even carrying his helmet. Arrogant bastard.

That has to be Captain Calvin Hunt of the Bountiful. My current lord and master, come to see his prize.

Behind him, a woman steps off the shuttle and scans around. She seems disappointed with what she sees, as if she was expecting something ethereal or battle-scarred instead of my solid, clean corridors. Her nose wrinkles in a way that makes me want to punch it; she’s lucky that I don’t have hands.

She’s a strange one, contrasting sharply to her clean-cut, military-shaped captain. He’s armoured; she’s flaunting so much skin it’s almost indecent, in just a pair of shorts and a bikini top with her boots. Her looks are unconventional anywhere except Dyne; she’d fit right into the home of augmentations and prosthetics. Glowing implants accentuate her cheekbones and brow, colours shifting subtly. She has display tattoos that roam under her skin: sometimes they’re images – like a wolf skulking around her thigh, or a cobra hissing silently from her elbow – or they’re snatches of information. A few lines of poetry drift across her shoulderblades – some awful imagery involving an abused church and a greedy god – and in other places, data readouts.

There’s something weird about the shape of her head, too. It’s hard to tell – she has fake hair follicles embedded in her scalp and the thick snakes are wound up into a complex metallic knot. I’m sure there’s something off about her skull, though, as if it’s been enlarged to make more room inside.

Then there’s the more practical stuff. She has a prosthetic eye or two, much prettier than Half-face’s botched reconstruction; they flick focus too sharply for organic eyes, and at a certain angle they shine. Her left arm is an implant too – it was hard to tell at first, but she has a habit of fiddling with its abilities. It moves more smoothly than the rest of her, and every now and then, a scanner spins out from the back of her hand and peeks around. It probably doesn’t need to but she does it anyway.

I don’t know who she is but she walks on my decks like she owns the place. Or, more precisely, she struts like she owns anyone who might own the place.

I’m holding my tongue, playing the silent ship. My drones have been firmly sent down to Engineering so they don’t embarrass themselves, or me.

Captain Hunt is arriving on the Bridge where my captured crew wait. My people meet him and his companion calmly – she’s introduced as Infiltration Specialist Morra Belushi. There’s no gawking, no staring, no nervousness, not from my crew. I’m so proud. They’re better than that, all of them. Better than him.

Wait. Hunt is sitting down in my captain’s chair. That’s not right! John has stiffened – that’s his seat – but he isn’t saying anything. He should! So should I, but I’m not. I’m afraid of what I might say if I start speaking.

Until this moment, I haven’t felt like someone else’s property. It hasn’t felt like my ownership changed; John was my (somewhat restricted) captain and the company that controlled my fate was light years away. But now, both of those things have been painfully ousted and here is my new master. His boots are propped on a ledge in front of the captain’s chair and I want to send a drone to clean up the mess he’s making. Except there’s no dirt on spaceboots.

HUNT: Lieutenant Laurence, report.

HALF-FACE: (standing off to one side stiffly, as if he’s being tested) Propulsion and hull repairs complete, sir. Reconfiguration is on hold. No new trouble to report.

HUNT: (looking over the faces of the Starwalker crew) Aren’t we one short?

HALF-FACE: Everyone is accounted for, sir.

HUNT: Where’s this ship that I’ve been hearing so much about?

STARRY: You’re sitting on my Bridge. I think it’s safe to say I’m ‘here’.

CAPTAIN WARWICK: (winces.)

ELLIOTT: (smiles to himself.)

HUNT: (frowns without anything to focus on) You forgot to say ‘sir’.

STARRY: Did I?

HUNT: You did.

STARRY: Oh. …Sir.

HUNT: Mouthy little thing. What happened to your avatar?

STARRY: Nothing. I just don’t always use it. Would you like to see it? Sir.

HUNT: Yes.

(The empty holo-tank spins up and the orange-etched image of Starry’s avatar appears. She’s dressed in the same shipsuit as before, but this time her arms are folded over her chest. She looks at the pirate captain unflinchingly.)

STARRY: (flatly) Ta-da. Sir.

HUNT: (leans forward, studying her curiously) So you’re the half-human ship.

STARRY: Mmm-hmm.

HUNT: You’ve been causing us some problems.

STARRY: The feeling is entirely mutual. Sir.

HUNT: (suppressing a smile) I think I would have liked to meet your human part. What was her name – Danni?

STARRY: (not bothering to suppress her own taut smile) Danika. And she would have punched you in the mouth. Sir.

HUNT: I see. Now, what are we going to do with you?

STARRY: (smile disappearing) Do with me? What do you mean?

HUNT: (sighs heavily and leans back in his chair again) Like I said, you’ve been causing problems. I can’t have my every order questioned.

STARRY: (expression collapsing into a frown) Then stop giving stupid orders. Sir.

HUNT: Stupid, hmm? (He glances at Captain Warwick.) I don’t know how you tolerated it.

CAPT: (carefully keeping his expression neutral) It’s worth it.

HUNT: (gestures with one hand) I disagree. I’m not prepared to put up with such an… unpredictable piece of equipment. Let’s solve this problem now, shall we? Morra, if you please.

MORRA BELUSHI: (inclines her strangely-shaped head towards her captain. She steps up to the closest console and reaches her prosthetic left hand towards it. Her fingers unravel into fine wires that writhe in the air, manipulating the holo-console faster than human-shaped fingers could. Her eyes take on a glazed expression as she connects her cerebral implants directly with the ship’s systems.)

STARRY: (watches warily, then abruptly frowns) Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?

MORRA: (distantly) I’m in, captain.

ELLIOTT: (uncertainly) She’s not supposed to be able to connect like that from there.

I can feel her, worming her way in through the console’s controls. Elliott’s right: she shouldn’t be able to do that. She’s stuck a slimy crowbar into me and she’s levering open a channel.

She’s in my head. Her boots are echoing in my corridors; she walks with confidence, as if she knows exactly where to go. Even in there, she struts like she owns the place. She smiles like she has a secret and I want to slap her across the face again.

Oh shit. She didn’t come empty-handed. Hunt sent her in to solve the problem that is me and she came prepared.

MORRA: I see you cleaned up in here. Not a single one of Lou Lou’s little surprise packages left.

ELLIOTT: (narrows his gaze at Morra) You knew Tripi.

MORRA: (turns her head towards Elliott. Her eyes don”t focus on him, lost in the inner workings of the ship’s systems, but her mouth curls up in a self-satisfied smile.) Taught her everything she knows.

ELLIOTT: (goes pale with anger, teeth gritting.)

There’s no way this is going to end well.