roots

Just like that, I was part of the crew. Stuck with the worst jobs, the smallest bunk, and no real Runs. I didn’t know any better. Learned to keep my head down and work hard, avoid getting dumped at the nearest dock. That threat eventually lost meaning, and Havers lost the annoyed tone in her voice when she called me “kid.” She taught me how to live like a Runner, how to plot a course to escape Feds, make deals, shoot double-crossers. Under her stern tutelage, I learned when to keep my mouth shut and when to break fingers.
Waller eventually let me fly his ship, and I’ll never forget the first time I pulled off a jump that made him lean back in his chair and exhale a string of Arabic curses. The look of pride on his face immediately calmed my rattling nerves, the amazement on Havers’ made me want to do it again.
Terence cut my hair, taught me to shoot, and fed me until I surpassed Havers in height. Beautiful Nawra never cared much for me, despite Ollie’s urging. Ollie was the mother of the ship, keeping us safe beneath his wings. He protected us all, in one way or another. He and Havers were sisters, or perhaps cousins, and when Sandy left for the military, Olivia had stowed away to watch over her. I never knew the whole story, and it pains me that it could be lost, and that I never really asked.
But I was young, then. I wanted to learn, to explore and see more each day. After almost two years I felt as if I needed to move on. Fly with other crews. I didn’t know then that other crews were not like the one aboard Bernice. Not every place was as welcome, as kind. The others must have known, but they let me go. Havers told me I’d always be welcome on her crew. Ollie smiled at me sadly, for him it must have been like sending his child out into the world.

In all my voyages, I’ve never seen any of them again. Scattered reports and Govweb flags, a few lines from Ollie here and there, when he could still track me. I don’t know why I’ve never tried, why I didn’t go back to them when I needed to go somewhere. I turned instead to the void, to the ferocity and desperation of Running. Was it pride that kept me from clutching their line when I was drowning? They were, in a very real sense, my family. They gave me everything, including my name, and I gave nothing in return.

It seems the only habit I’ve developed is a penchant for abandoning my family and never bothering to return. I’ve pushed forward, and forgotten. Of all the knowledge I’ve accumulated, the knowledge that I am a hypocrite is the most painful of all.

familiarity

Stowing away must be one of the most oft-repeated stories in this world we've made, in every new age there are those who simply do what they must do to move on, to move ahead.

I cannot describe the thoughts that ran their way through my mind as I sat hunched in the crate that I had stowed myself in. It was inconceivable that I had actually gotten that far at all, with a handful of food and water, a pocket light of coin, a head full of doubts. It was inconceivable that I was in a ship, in space, no one knowing where I had gone. My grandparents dead…try as I might, I can’t stop doing idiotic things when I am grieving.

It is terrifying, that uncertainty. Sitting in the dark, waiting. What if I were discovered and jettisoned? Taken to some warehouse and sold? Or if no one came, how long until I would emerge on my own? I didn’t know what to expect, I didn’t know what to do. Even now I can’t be sure how long I crouched there, until suddenly I heard a loud grating sound and the top of the crate popped off. I stared up into the brightness and saw a face smiling down at me.
“Surprise!” it said. Then it laughed at how foolish I must have looked, the deep chortle did nothing to reassure me. A fleshy hand reached down and helped me out of the crate. “Just so you know,” said the man, “I’ve known you were there since we left Earth. Thought I’d give you a bit of time to get adjusted. And believe me, its better that I found you than anyone else. I’ve got a soft spot for boxriders, I stowed away when I was a little girl, too.” He laughed again. “I’m Ollie.”
I introduced myself, barely clutching at my wits. Ollie took me by the shoulder and began to lead me out to the bridge. “Don’t be nervous, girl! I got your back!”
I took his advice until we set foot on the bridge, and a multitude of strangers turned to me. When Ollie announced me, there was a sudden hush, and then a woman stepped forward and locked me down with her eyes. She was my height, bony, with brownish-blond hair and a weary expression. Pistols hung at her hips, and the rank marks of her military jacket had been cut raggedly away.
“I am Lt. Sandy Havers. This is my ship, and you’re trespassing.”

I remember her exact words, but I don’t remember mine. I said something, a string of somethings, I am sure they sounded frantic and hollow. Her eyes didn’t soften, but her hand relaxed on her holsters.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Junkheap, kid. How old?”
“Sixteen.” Caught in my first lie, and even with the second answer she looked skeptical.
“What do you propose to do?”
“I’m a navigator.”

Then she quizzed me, testing my knowledge of different systems and controls. Suddenly I realized that she was, in truth, treating me like an adult. I did not know then how incredible this was. I must have passed the test, because she bit her lip and looked at me carefully.
“Waller?” she said loudly, and the thin man behind the controls spoke in reply.
“Heap me if she flies this ship.”
“Terence?” Havers said, still looking at me but managing to ignore me. The dark-skinned man sitting behind her grunted. “Fine. Don’t care.”
Ollie cleared his throat and announced that he liked me, and wanted to keep me.
Havers pressed the com unit on a control board. “Nawra?” she said, her voice echoing strangely through the ship. “Nawra, we got us a stowaway.”
After a moment, a high, girlish voice came back over the com. “Trouble. Too much bother.”
Havers smiled, briefly. “Need a job, kid?” she asked.
“Whatever you can give me.” I replied. Finding a job is easy if you don’t care what it is you’re doing.

anywhere

She is nothing but trouble, this new one. Crawling everywhere, tinkering and toying with the ship despite our threats and pleas. We continue to feed her, and without drugs she becomes more coherent, but no less strange.

“Boxrider spaceling” sneered Kon.
“Cratecatcher!” announced M, almost proudly. As a result of the massive shipping industry, stowaways are not unusual. Professionals emerge, learning all they can before their careers are inevitably cut short by one mistake, one airleak, one change of plans. Boxriders usually have so little left to lose that they leave it to luck. Fate: simply not having enough information to make a good decision.

The world we’ve created is crawling with a generation of spacelings, those born in the dark with no planets on which to set down roots. Stories of children birthed in transit were at first horrifying to the settled people of Earth, now it is a common occurrence. Mines turn out loads of ore and unwanted, dark-born children that end up flowing from station to station, orphanage to mine. They are raised surrounded by the metal walls of space stations and ships, some never knowing the feel of unrecycled air. Is there a difference between the spacelings and those who remember the sky?

I wonder how long she's been out here. I wonder if she's ever been anywhere else.

catch of the day

Crouched in the corner of the crate was a small figure that blinked up at us, clearly dazed. He? She? It? Seemed little more than a bundle of rags, bony knees protruding from torn pants, pale skin mottled with scabs and bruises. A fringe of hair poked out from a cap jammed tightly down to huge dark eyes. It appraised us quickly, then the small mouth opened.
“M is here!” piped a high voice, a woman’s or girl’s, raspy with thirst and desperation.

Caban tightened his grip on his gun. “You’re trespassing.”
“Just passing!” the girl replied. Caban raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“What I mean to say,” he went on angrily, “is this is my ship, and you don’t belong here.”
“You don’t belong with this crate” she replied, truthfully, as it was stolen goods.
“Well. You still owe me what should have been in the crate.”
“Not a speck of cash. Not a speck!” the girl replied, picking at the ragged spots on her baggy shirt.
“A fine start at thieving” said Caban.
“We all get our start somewhere.” She replied shrewdly. At that moment the bay doors burst open on both sides and Ice and Kon ran in, guns drawn. The girl jumped in surprise but Caban stopped all movement with an upraised hand.
“We have a guest,” he said, “No cause for alarm.” He shot me a look, knowing I had pressed the alert, and in the look I saw the memory and forgiveness for all my past disobedience. “We’ll decide what to do once we’ve slept, clear? No sense shaking over this.”

Caban dismissed us and took the helm, telling me to take care of the guest before going to bed myself. I took the stowaway to the medbay, a stop clearly necessary. After wiping away the first layer of grime I saw a young woman emerge. She’s small, but older than I first thought, more than half my age at least. Too skinny, a common trait of boxriders and station heapers. Dehydrated, but something more…jaundiced. As she sat in the medbay, I tried to remember how to be gentle, how to talk to this stowaway…an experience we both shared. She looked at me with her smudgy eyes, taking in my vest and boots, the holster at my side and the bullet at my throat, my dark smooth hair and pale eyes not meeting hers. This one has seen a thousand women, and dismissed them all.
I am no more inclined to trust women than men. I do not trust this one, she is wild and we both know it. She mumbled to herself, chewing over my name after I gave it to her, focusing and unfocusing her attention. Not just jaundiced, then, but chemmed over. Like so many heapers and spacelings, this one appears to be a Chemmie recently removed from the source of her deviation and delight. This one will be trouble. Kon won’t want her aboard, Ice will seethe either way. Caban is soft-hearted, but won’t endanger us. I can’t bring myself to speak out against a stowaway, and something in her gaze begs for consideration.

I left her locked in the spare room across from mine, curled tightly on the bed there. When I left she was humming to herself. I cannot think this is unusual, for tonight I will read myself to sleep.

mercy

“Lets open it, then.” Caban said, sighing and reaching for his gun. I had to interject.
“Caban, be…”
“Careful? Of course.” He always shakes off my concern, but it wasn’t what I meant to say.
“No. Be…merciful.”
He looked at me strangely.
“You’re worried about the stowaway?”
“It’s an understandable position. Most likely, they’re terrified.”
“Or homicidal.” He countered, not inaccurately. “I’ve dealt with ‘em before.”
“So have I.” I replied, and finally he understood. I saw him bite back a grin, and he said, “You didn’t. When?”
“Fourteen years ago. Tickets were expensive.” Maybe someday I’ll tell him the story, if he asks me. “Do we call Ice?”
“I learned right away not to call that woman from sleep unless it’s an emergency.”
“And this is…?”
“A situation we can easily handle.” He said cheerfully, grinning and hefting his gun. All I could do was sigh and walk with him into the cargo area. As we passed the security panel, I pressed the silent alarm that would bring Kon and Ice to the bridge. Disobedient, as usual. Caban stopped before the crate I had pointed to, and considered his options. There was a good chance that the occupant was well-armed and dangerous, so it was best to stand aside. However, he was angry, and wanted to express his indignation at having been robbed of an entire crate of profit. A good first impression was important. I could only imagine how the stowaway must be feeling, about to be plummeted into a bright world of confusion and chance. It had been so long since I had been the one inside the box, blinking in fear at the ominous figure and uncertain future looming outside.
Caban pressed the release button and the side popped out and clattered against the crate in front of it, and when nothing moved for several seconds, we leaned in to peer in surprise at what was inside.

exhale

The ship rose up quickly from the docking bay at Merita, another clean getaway with our cargo. Caban collapsed in the seat next to mine, passing a hand over his exhausted face. We had all been awake all night waiting out the deal. Ice was in her quarters, having run a secret mission behind the dealer’s back, ensuring that there would be no double-cross. This probably means destroying anyone who stood in our way. I wonder how many bodies are lying in hidden corners this morning. But for all anyone knows, Caban’s hands are clean and his name trustworthy.
“A good nights work, that.” he said, smiling and stretching. Good missions always give him a rush, energy radiates from him and he remains in high spirits for days afterward. He’s distracting when he’s like that, I was trying to stay focused on navigating but he tends to make things difficult. He knows I hate talking during take-off, but can’t help it.
“Do you have a place to unload it?”
“Of course! With Dubley, he has a good price for me. Can’t believe we got such a deal, didn’t know what they were sitting on.”
“You never know.”
He grinned boisterously. “Yes, I do! That’s the beauty of it, Scout. So plot a course-"
“Already plotted. Just getting us into space first.”
“Why do I bother giving orders anymore? You already know them.” He leaned over and punched my arm, the way he does, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Seems I got myself a damn fine crew.”
“Don’t know how you managed.”
“Well. Luck, I suppose.” He believes in it so firmly.
“With enough information, you make your own luck,” I shot back, it had become a familiar argument. He just laughed, and I knew he didn’t believe me, not really.
As the ship bounced out into space I leaned back and rubbed my own eyes. No jumps for a while.
“You’ve been up all night, Scout. Take some rest.”
“You first, Caban.”
“No, I won’t be able to sleep now. And we need the First Mate to be sharp if the Captain’s not.”
I wondered, suddenly, if he had meant me or Ice. She had seniority, and had assumed that her position had been the same when she came on-board again. Had Caban told her that he had me promoted when we thought she’d gone? I suppose it doesn’t matter, I had accepted the automatic demotion, having never put much into ranks. He counts on me, he trusts me, I balance him. The look on his face was unreadable, he was studying my course program. He wouldn’t clarify even if I asked, he’d probably pretend he didn’t understand what had just happened.
“Ice had a full night. I’m freshest.” I finally said, dodging the issue entirely.
“No, you’ve got reading to do.”
I must have looked completely puzzled, he grinned in satisfaction as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a packet, which he threw into my lap.
“Picked it up in town. You like old things.” he said dismissively.
The bundle was a worn stack of pages, the remnants of an old book. A book. How had it come to the dock market out here, why had Caban spotted it and laid down coin for it?
“’The magnificent honesty of space’” he said, gesturing at the first page. “Couldn’t make front or back of it, figured you would. Its not…its not informational, but…”
“No,” I whispered, taken completely aback. “No…thank you, Caban.”
He grinned again, pleased with my reaction, and dismissed me for six hours. As I moved back through the cargo bay behind the bridge, I undid the binding around the sheets of paper, wincing at the crackles. One page fell free and to the ground, and as I leaned over the pick it up I stiffened. Something was different, something was wrong. My hand found the page and I glanced at it, reading ‘How soon Hath Time the Subtle Thief of Youth’ before putting the stack on the nearest crate. It wasn’t danger, but it was something. A noise, a smell? I listened fiercely, trying to hear despite the ship’s customary buzz and clank.
There. The tiniest of shuffles, like something moving in amongst the crates. I waited, trying to pinpoint it, but it didn’t come again. I looked for the nearest large crate, and as I suspected it had small holes near the top. I put my ear against it as quietly as I could, and heard it: breathing, just a light inhalation and exhalation.
I moved back to where Caban sat and surprised him with my hand on his shoulder.
“We have company.” I said. He blinked, confused, and then angered.
“Get Ice. Where are they? Call Kon.”
“No. It’s a stowaway, in one of the crates.” He frowned, and I saw a dozen thoughts flick through his mind.
“Well.” He said finally. “That certainly cuts into profit.”

Welcome

Everything is different once again, we're moving forward and backward at the same time. Ice came crashing back into out lives with considerably more drama than she left it. We answered the call to hear her voice, tinged with panic as she barreled toward us, chased by the agents of our last contact. Who knew he would have such a vengeful tenacity?

Caban barely hesitated. Just barely, but he did. He snapped back to Ice that she couldn't come in, but simeltaneously ordered Con to ready the shuttle bay. The cold fury in her voice did not change his mind, it was already made up. In that moment he was powerful and decisive, not the eager and easy captain we have known.

Roller is barely a centimeter within the right size to fit in the secondary cargo bay, the one down by the engine, but it takes careful manuevering to get it inside. We didn't have time for that: no sooner did the hatch open than she arrived with a rending metallic shriek and a sickening crash. Lights flashed all over the sceens, and there was no time for a jump before I knew something was wrong. I was floating in my chair, the sudden loss of gravity shuddering my stomach and bubbling my blood. I managed to strap myself in before the secondary grav went online and we were able to fly free of Ice's (ours, I suppose) assailants. Once were were free, Caban and I went down to the docking bay. Ice was waiting there, glaring at Kon with clear venom. She seemed somehow smaller, diminished.
"Well. You're here, then." said Caban.
"Thank you for the kind response" she shot back. Her eyes flicked to me, and I nodded, remaining neutral.
"You stole my ship" he stated, not accusing, simply sharing.
"I ran into some trouble"
"And brought it back to us. No reason to welcome you"
Ice did not respond, and they stared at each other a moment.
"Well." he said, finally, "I suppose there is. You're crew."

The air of the room seemed to relax, perhaps she hadn't known he would allow her back after all. I could see it in his eyes the entire time: forgiveness.

I've been with a fair number of crews these past years. Some of them hired me on and off for a job, some got broken or shot up. There are some, though, that I just left. Slipped away or abandoned. I've always figured that there was no returning once I'd gone. I don't plan on leaving Caban, but he'd take me back. Maybe there is redemption, the chance for an open door with a welcome waiting inside.

floating fast

We were coasting past Merita when we got the comlink call. It didn't take more than a few minutes to meet up with the ship and its angry pilot, and then we were too kind-hearted not to take her in and set out on a more hurried route.

Ice is back.

This requires much more explanation, but I don't have time to devote to logging right now. I wouldn't have even thought of it had I not found this in among my things as they floated around my quarters.

Roller managed to crash into the grav system on the way in.

airtight

Drifting out past the Point, near enough to the Merita station to get help if repairs go wrong. We've been airlocking in and out all day in shifts, fixing the hullscrape from the last jump away from the Point. Not a bad mess, it could have been a lot worse. Kon's shift just ended, he stumbled in complaining of spaceache, the malady of grounded flesh suddenly stressed by lack of gravity. He tossed a piece of rock into my lap, just now. A chunk of the asteroid stuck in a bent piece of plating, he grumbled. Its solid, made by something other than a human, and probably never expected to be touched. That it was crumpled into the hull frightens me. The ship may look like something more of a junkheap now, but its still airtight. Beyond anything else, that is what matters most out here.

Later:

It is ponderous work, crawling around on the outside of the ship, tethered like infants to the floating womb of our own design. Everything takes twice as long as internal repairs, moving is more difficult and much more hazardous.
Caban caught my arm right as we left the airlock and gestured out into the black. He thinks it is beautiful, and in that instant of silence, in the glancing blow of his grin against the helmet's facemask, I could see it too. For just a moment before turning my mind to mechanical work, I was able to imagine something more than the cold airlessness against my skin and fragile lungs. Space is not all empty night, instead there are countless beacons, stars disrupting the darkness with their endless blaze of fire and light.

exit strategy

I managed to slip into a jump just before the seek missile hit us. It wasn't a clean jump, as the ship scraped the spaceside of a debris asteroid on the way out, but it got us far enough to manage another jump. Doubtful they would--or could--follow us, as there are not a lot of ships that would risk anything this close to Hadrian's Point for something as petty as a deal gone slightly wrong.

It didn't go wrong for us, as we managed to profitabley unload all our smaller cargo as well as make the deal with the water processor. The only thing that went awry was the timing of the miners, who didn't wait until we were out of the system before reminding our contact that they had yet to purchase the assembly instructions. Our contact reacted with more ire than even Caban expected, and decided that they could trap us at the check point. There were no other ships in the queue, or else Conrad might have gotten to blast them out of the way. The scan seemed to take forever, with the three of us anxiously watching the pursuing ship come closer...closer...it caught up with us just as we disconnected from the checkpoint, the hardest act of legitimacy we've done. I pushed Oberon into speed and jumped as soon as possible, hearing the surprised shouts of the men as I dialed in the coordinates and leapt. The missiles behind us didn't make a sound on the scanners, but they were there, bearing down on the heart of the ship. Caban saw the flash on the screen just before we jumped, though I don't know if Kon knows about them. He bellowed at me for rusting our bolts, for trying to turn the ship into a junkheap scrapboat, until Caban silenced him.

As soon as we're far enough out, we'll have to suit up and repair whatever damage was done. We got off easy, considering the ever-shifting location of the asteroids around Hadrian. We might have slipped by clean, or we might have ran straight into one. I knew we'd be safe, and a hull scrape is a better price to pay than a one way trip to the vacuum.

It was an insane move to make, looking at it from a safe distance. If anyone is paying attention, they'll see it. Ice always said that she could see where I was in the 'verse by scanning the jumptracks. She said she always recognized mine, knew that I was still out there. If she is anywhere nearby, she'll see it, and have a chance to find us again. We didn't make any tracks between here and Target City, I flew it so we wouldn't even catch sight of another ship for a month. I hope that if she finds us, she won't be upset that we told our contact on Hadrian that our ship's name is Roller. Either way, we all have our business done.