“Yeah, right. Okay.” I study the myriad buttons, trying to place them against the pictures I have in my mind — the diagrams I memorized of the systems present in every DS configuration ever designed. “Why does this look so different?” I ask half to myself.
“Gus mostly. He likes updating things.”
“Even things that don’t need to be updated?” I look up to see if Jeffers agrees.
He’s having a hard time not smiling. “There’s always room for improvement, says the mind of the engineer.”
“That’s great,” I say, wanting to punch the damn thing, “only I didn’t learn on this custom-Gus system. I learned the old-school systems.”
“It’s all there, just more intuitive.” He points. “You start the launch sequence here, then as you move through the stages of navigating off the dock and then steerage, your hand moves forward across the array instead of jumping around.” He mimics pushing buttons without actually doing it. “See? It’s designed for a skilled operator onboard. The older systems were designed with the buttons you needed around the same time spread across opposite ends of the array so that you wouldn’t press any two together or too quickly in sequence.”
“But that just slows down reaction time.” I never noticed that about the systems I learned before, but he’s right about how it makes your hand jump around.
“Yes, with someone skilled. But with someone not so competent, it keeps mistakes from happening that could damage the electronics. Our last pilot was quite well-qualified for the chair, so Gus made the changes.”
I nod, kind of seeing the method behind the madness. “I guess.” I’m not so sure we shouldn’t go back to the old array until I have more practice, though. I memorized a whole different arrangement in my sim training. Now I have to learn something completely new in real time on my first attempt at off-docking. Please don’t let me destroy my ship.
“Give it a try,” Jeffers says cheerfully. “What’s the worst that could happen?” He smiles at me encouragingly.
“Uhhh… I could smash the Anarchy into another ship, breaking its gyro system, sending it spinning into all the other ships and destroy this entire station?”
His smile slips. “What’s the second worst thing that could happen?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” I cringe, wondering if me launching and piloting this ship is such a good idea. Maybe I should watch someone else do it first. Could I stand the smell of my tour guide for a single tour around the Dark?
“Better not.” He gestures to the array. “Just do it. The worst isn’t going to happen.”
“You’re a seer too, huh?” I look out the clearpanel, dreading the difficult journey I have before me. Sad that it’s less than a hundred meters far.
“No, not at all. I prefer being deaf, dumb, and blind to the future.”
“Come on, let’s go,” my lieutenant Baebong says. He points to the clearpanel. “Isn’t that Langlade’s man?”
I see my former tour guide striding up the dock pedestrian tunnel toward the ship. Mister Stink looks like he’s on a mission.
“That’s the guy who used to sleep in your bunk,” I say to Baebong with no small measure of satisfaction. I can practically see his bad odor from here. He’s fogging up the tunnels with it.
“Eck. He’s probably coming to get his dead chicken back.”
“Dead chicken?”
Jeffers and I check to see if Baebong’s kidding, but he’s shaking his head with his hand up. “Swear to the gods of the universe. Fucking dead chicken in a box under the bed.”
Jeffers hisses, shifting his gaze to the floor.
“What’s up with the dead chicken?” I ask.
“Probably traded it for something.” Jeffers sits in the system monitor’s chair to my left. “Thank you for kicking him out before he asked me to cook it. Who knows where it was from or how old it was.”
“It was old enough to stink, I know that. I sent it through the incinerator,” Baebong says. “Come on, let’s go.” He punches a few buttons on his array, and all the panels at eye-level go clear. We have about thirty degrees of realtime visibility and another three hundred of virtual visibility thanks to the magecomms situated on the opposite side of the ship. The only spots we can’t see are right behind each thruster. It’s enough to nearly send me into a blind panic. I’ve got other ships on all sides of me and precious little room to maneuver out of here. Just one bump into a pedestrian tunnel, and I could cause hundreds of painful deaths before pressure and oxygen flow are re-established.
“You can do this,” Baebong says. “Just take it slow. I’ll be your eyes.”
“I think I’d better use my own eyes.” I punch the button that will start our off-docking launch sequence.
The ship detaches with a hiss and some mechanical clanking from the dock’s entry bridge, breaking the seal between us, making it impossible for anyone there to come onboard without a really great jump, a darksuit, and some serious ability to hang. And if they’re still clinging to the side of my ship when I go into the airlock bay, a bio-alert will go off. I’m not worried. Not at all.
Okay, maybe a little.
A ginger’s voice comes over the speaker. “Hello, up there on Mount Olympus. It’s the brains down here in the engine room.”
Gus, I suspect.
“You ready to rumble?” he asks.
“Ready,” I say, my eyes glued to the clearpanels in front of me.
“Check we’re clear,” he says, by way of instruction.
I make sure there are no alerts about people too close to the docking mechanism. I don’t know where the rotten chicken man is, but he must not be there.
“All clear.” I press the last button in the sequence that will finish our off-docking maneuver. A hint of ice-crystal fog floats into view on one of the virtual clearpanels, as the release valves for Anarchy’s ramp securing itself into the bottom of the ship hiss out the water pressure. The ice-crystals float away, being gently sucked into the station’s freewaste containment system.
“You’ve got power,” he says. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be busy being awesome down here.”
“Out,” I say, cutting the transmission.
“Which one was that?” Baebong asks.
“Gus,” I say, before Jeffers can respond.
“How can you tell?” Baebong asks, like he doesn’t believe my answer. “I saw them both and talked to them, and they’re exactly alike.”
“Most people can’t tell them apart,” Jeffers says.
“They’re totally different,” I mutter, my concentration stuck on my next move. I prefer to back away, spin ninety degrees, and head out straight, but I know a more experienced pilot would just do it without the spin, leading by the ship’s portside. My spin will advertise me as a gloob, but I can’t let my pride hurt my ship. Next time I pull in here, I’ll be kicking ass all over the galaxy and taking names. They’ll forget I left with a ninety this one time.
A green light glows near one of the clearpanels and the frequency for the dockmaster floats just above it.
I press the TALK button at my left hand. “Anarchy, Captain Cass.” I like to keep my last name out of things if at all possible. No need to alert the entire universe to who I am when it’s totally irrelevant.
“Anarchy, this is the dockmaster. We have your former pilot here asking for permission to contact.”
I roll my eyes. Just when I thought things were going well. “Put him through.”
Baebong snorts. “Told you he wants his chicken back.”
“Hey, girly!” comes the voice over the speaker.
My blood starts to boil before the echo of his words has stopped ringing across the flightdeck.
“What do you want, Pilot?” I grind out.
“I need to get in my bunk. Get some of my things.”
“Too late. I told you when I was leaving.”
“Hey! That ain’t right! I told you I had a meeting!”
“With
a whore. I know. Poor girl. I’ll put your shit in a box and shoot it out for you.” There’s a delivery chute for just such things in the exit bays of the station. I remember seeing it when I was on the smaller transport craft that I hopped to get here.
“No! Don’t do that. Just dock up and let me on.”
“Sorry, no can do.” I cut the connection and move the joystick that will give us the tiniest bit of juice from the ship’s forward particle thruster. The landscape on the clearpanels begins to change perspective as we move away from our dock space.
“Easy does it,” says Baebong. “You got this.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say distractedly. The second joystick in my other hand comes into play as I slowly rotate the ship around on its vertical axis. The stacked openings to the station come into view along with the suns, stars, and planetary systems that make up the Triangulum Galaxy. Easy, easy, easy, easy. You can do this. You will not destroy an entire space station with one false move.
I press the transmit button that will connect me with the dockmaster’s hub.
“Dockmaster. Go ahead, Anarchy.”
“Thank you, Dockmaster. Anarchy requesting exit bay.”
“Anarchy, Looks like Bay K, that’s Bay Kilo is open for you.”
“Awesome,” Baebong says quietly. “That’s big enough for a CS.”
I’m left to wonder if the dockmaster gave me a bay twice the size of my ship on purpose. Is my gloob status that obvious?
“Thank you, Sir. Have a good one.”
“Same to you, Anarchy. We’re all rootin’ for ya.”
Baebong snorts.
Dammit. Gloob status acknowledged. “Thanks.” I cut the comm and focus on my thrusters. “Going up thirty-two meters.”
“All clear above,” Baebong says, checking the monitors for someone who might be above us and in the way of clear sailing.
When we’re level with the exit bay, I shift the aft thruster’s power to conduct forward motion. Using only two-percent strength, we glide through the space inside the station into the gaping entrance of the launch bay. Once there, the initial door closes behind us. The Anarchy hovers with a quick jink of the forward thrusters to keep us at equilibrium. Now is not the time to bang into the sides of the bay when so far I’ve done pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.
“You got a box of the old pilot’s stuff to put in the chute?” I ask Baebong.
“Not unless you count that chicken. There were no clothes, no shoes, no nothing in there. The engine parts I assumed belong to the Anarchy, so I kept ‘em.”
“I’m pretty sure he wore the same thing every day,” I say remembering the smell. “And those parts are ours, you’re right.”
“You are correct about his wardrobe,” Jeffers says. “And good riddance to that.”
“If the pilot needs to reach us, he can leave us a message at the station. We’ll catch it next time we’re here,” I say, leaving the last part of my thought out: assuming we ever come back.
The green lights on either side of the secondary doors go on just before the big exit bay begins to open to the Dark waiting just beyond it. My blood pressure spikes, making me feel like there’s a body of water rushing through my head. I can hear the waves crashing over and over.
“Aft thruster, five percent,” I say, easing the joystick toward the open space before us for three seconds before letting up on it. The Dark is ready to swallow us whole, it seems. Never before have I been so nervous leaving a station behind. Normally, I can’t wait to be rid of their restrictions and control.
“Watch it!” Baebong yells out, pointing to a small craft zipping in front of us.
Impact alarms start squealing, giving me the heart attack they seem designed to encourage. I quickly tweak the joystick back, throwing some fore thrust into the mix to slow us down.
“Who’s that bozo?” Jeffers asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, easing the aft thruster back into play, “but he’d better get the hell out of my way.”
“Are you sure…?” Jeffers doesn’t have time to finish his thought before I’m right in the flight path of the little zipper. We miss him by less than the length of his stupid craft.
Dumbass. What would have been a mere scratch to the Anarchy would have spelled the end of him.
“That was close,” Baebong says. “Too close.”
The criticism in his tone is clear, but I’m not taking it personally. “So? Go change your underwear and come back. We’ll wait.”
“Ha-ha, very fucking funny.”
I try to keep a straight face, but it’s impossible in the presence of his outrage. A grin sneaks out for a second or two before I can smother it.
“Did I mention I’ve come up with a new stun system?” he asks. “Yeah. Straps to the wrist. Go to shake someone’s hand and drop ‘em like a rock in super-gravity.”
“Sounds fun. Touch me with it, though, and you die.” All of my attention is on getting away from the station without a scratch, so I can’t spare him a glance, but I know he’s considering whether to try it out on me or not. “I’m serious.”
“There’s that PC again,” Jeffers says, pointing out the starboard side clearpanels.
I shake my head at this idiot pilot’s persistence. Even a kid knows better than to move a personal craft into the path of a drifter ship. “He’s going to become a small pile of space junk if he’s not careful.”
“I think that’s…” Baebong touches some buttons on his array, and a voice crackles over the speaker, cutting in and out.
“Kinsblade … pilot … dammit to hell…”
“It’s that guy again,” I say when I recognize the voice. “Langlade’s pilot. What in the hell is his problem?”
“He must have something pretty valuable in that bunk of his,” Jeffers says. “Maybe you missed something, Baebong.”
I press the controls that will isolate the comm signal broadcasting from his craft. Two seconds later his voice comes in loud and clear.
“You little bitch better open up that airlock and let me in there, or so help me…”
I sigh and look over at Baebong. “You ready to do some night crawling, my friend?”
“Hell yeah, I am.” He touches a few buttons and then turns around to watch me.
I tap into the engine room with the comm system. “Time to play night crawler, boys.” Hitting the all-ship comm button, I make the mandatory safety and preparatory announcement. “All hands, we are night crawling. I repeat, we are night crawling in ten. Going to Xylera. Better buckle up.” A flick of my finger turns the all-ship comm off and the engine room comm on over a single frequency.
“Fucking A!” a ginger yells. “Just let me check one thing…”
“We good for Xylera?” I ask, assuming because Langlade was docked for supplies that the Anarchy’s set for travel.
“Yep, all levels topped off.” Tam says. “Well, mostly. Could use some more water.”
“Water, got it. We’ll hit the ice fields on the far side. Make sure we don’t drag anything in with us.” Ten … nine …. eight…
“Isolating now. You see that PC starboard, right?”
I know I’m talking to Tam, but I’m not sure how I know.
“Yes, Tam, thanks.” Seven…
“This is Gus.”
“Don’t lie. I’m not in the mood.” Six…
“Dude, how does she know?” comes another voice at a whisper.
“Shut up,” Tam whispers back before putting his normal voice back online. “Okay, milady. Whenever you’re ready, we are.”
“Captain will do,” I say, shaking my head. I feel like I’m trapped on a ship full of brain damaged renaissance actors.
“All the captains I’ve ever worked for had hairy chests,” Gus says. “Sorry, but I just don’t see it.”
“Tam?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Are we ready?”
“Yes, we are. Let ‘er rip.”
“Going in five.” I press sever
al buttons, responding lightening quick to the prompts I’m given by the computer. I’ve done this a thousand times in the simulator and another ten thousand in my head. I’m ready. I can do this. Breathe, Cass, don’t forget to breathe.
“Four.”
More buttons. More questions from the computer. More panic.
“Three.”
Sweat droplets pop out on my forehead, upper lip, back, neck, chest…
“Two…”
I think I’m about to have a heart attack. I hope Jeffers can get my friends back where they belong when I’m dead.
“One, we are nightcrawling, people.” My hands are shaking from nerves and excitement. I’ve been a passenger for this but never the one calling the shots. Not even close. I really hope we don’t die.
There’s a muffled boom, then a whoosh, and finally silence as all sound is stolen from our eardrums. The pricks of light that indicate the stars and planets become white lines, bending down toward the center of a hole we created — the wormhole we’re using to pass through space-time, skipping over millions of Earth lightyears in mere minutes and seconds. Something pulls at my center, filling me and sucking everything out at the same time.
And then… everything goes black.
Chapter Eleven
WHEN WE COME OUT OF the wormhole, I’m nauseated, but that’s nothing new. At least my face isn’t green like Baebong’s. I put the ship on one percent aft thrust to allow for a short drift-recovery for the crew as the wormhole closes behind us.
“Oh, shit, I’ll never get used to that,” Baebong moans, leaning back in his chair, letting his head hang over the top of it.
Jeffers rests his head in his arms on the console in front of him. I leave him to his recovery because I know going through a wormhole means different things to different people. As I wait for my nausea to pass, I look through the clearpanels at the Dark around us and the planet that will give us water. The surface of Xylera is still thousands of kilometers away, but its white and blue, ice-laden surface is clearly visible even from this distance.
I activate the all-ship comm. “Everyone okay?” As I wait for the crew’s responses, I brush the sweaty hair off my forehead. It's been way too long since I've had a shower. That water collection feels even more important now.