Kat’s fingers worked across her console at a rapid pace, but her flat expression belied any hint of exertion. Andre marveled at her still. Four years into their working relationship, and he continued to be amazed at just how good of a pilot she really was. The bridge he stood on was unchanged since the day he’d purchased the ship three years ago, it may be the only thing that was unchanged since they’d gotten her.

The ship, he’d named ‘The Venture’, was but a heap of forgotten rusting metal on that floating space barge Kat had dragged him to. She was adamant they needed to upgrade from their two-person fighter-sized retriever to a more crew-worthy boat that could actually hold real salvage. That’s the only way we’re going to make a profit in this little venture of yours, she’d said. She had convinced him.

Kat led him to an old friend of hers from the war, who’d made quite a name for himself as a scrapper, called himself The Baron Calhoun. Kat had said that was a far better name than his real one – Barnaby. The Baron owned the large floating mass of a barge that sat near the Sovereign planet of Dellis. Once aboard they’d found a seemingly endless sea of ship parts, ship hulls, and other random pieces of junk Andre was unable to discern. The man clearly was successful in the salvage and scrap business, this wasn’t your typical corner scrap market. The interior of the barge was a bustle of activity, scrap workers scurrying about, with some suspended overhead by personnel cranes so they could cut away large hunks of abandoned ship husks from the top down. Laying open the hulking beasts with laser cutters and determined expressions.

Hours seemed to pass as Andre found himself being pulled about on The Baron’s barge by Kat. She was looking for the perfect ship. Hard for Andre to imagine anything perfect ending up on this scrapheap but he was decidedly not the expert on spaceships that she was. Finally, after examining what seemed like a dozen different vessels, she pointed to a medium sized salvage scow in the furthest corner of the scrapyard and proclaimed: That’s the one.

Andre remembered being less than impressed at the time. All he could see of the ship Kat was so pleased about finding was rust, cracks in the hull, damaged compartments, busted engine casings, and the worst looking cream and violet paint scheme he’d ever seen. Clearly, the paint was the least of it, that would be easy enough to cover over, but it did nothing to enhance the already waning aesthetic. To Andre, this was a piece of shit, and undoubtedly going to cost quite a lot to get back into any sort of flying shape. Kat, however, was in love instantly.

She moved through the side airlock that rested near the ground, the ship’s landing gear was missing in that section or undoubtedly there would have been a ramp required to enter. As it were now, one need only pull themselves aboard with a slight hop followed by a crawl. The outer hatch was torn free, lying battered and rusted on the ground next to the ship. Yet another required repair to add to the list that Andre feared would end up miles long. Kat was already onboard and peering down at him from the open hatchway, before Andre could blink. Her face wore a grand smile he had never seen from her before. In that instant he knew they’d be leaving with this ship.

“If you’re going to lean over my shoulder the entire trip, you’ll hurt your back again,” Kat said, her words shaking Andre out of the old memory. She hadn’t paused to address him, her fingers still working away making calibrations on her console, her eyes fixed on the forward viewscreen. Andre realized he’d likely been perched on her shoulder in this fashion since they took off from Port Averice.

They were nearly clear of the system now and ready to jump to FTL. Andre decided he should find his way to his customary seat centered in the middle of the narrow but elongated bridge. He wasn’t fond of sitting in such a command style position behind his business partner and friend, but Kat had chastised him for feeling this way. You are the captain, she’d remind him on occasion.

Andre straightened himself. Glancing ahead through the large viewscreen that dominated the front of the cockpit. It curved and contoured to the shape of the bulkhead in front of Kat. The view was filled with stars, trajectory overlays, and numbers to either side that made sense to Kat but not him. He ignored the extraneous features required to fly the ship, his attention was on the stars and that was a sight Andre never grew tired of.

Andre had spent a lot of time world-bound in his youth. First as a child who could only dream of adventures; his time spent on his family’s small farm on the planet Krete was filled with holo-vids of spacefaring heroes soaring about the Systems saving those in need. This led to his adult choices no doubt, joining the military, first as an enlisted man in the old Arturian Empire. Later he earned an officer’s commission, no small feat for someone of such a lowly birth as himself.

After the collapse of the Arturian Government, due to financial ruin and overt corruption, Andre was adrift and decided it was time to finally take to the stars. Opportunity came with the rise of Sovereign and the Frontier Alliance, their war for power pulled many former soldiers back into service. When the recruiters came to Krete he was first in line, signing on with the Frontier Alliance as a warship’s first officer. His chance to see the Settled Systems had finally come.

Andre’s time in the war saw his dreams of childhood adventure dashed in short order. Death and destruction were all he knew for eight long years as an officer. Hardly the dream he imagined when he was watching holo-vids in his parent’s living room. The reality of it all was a far cry from the fictitious violence deemed suitable for children. No, this was the real thing, and he watched many men under his command die. Many of them he called friend. He imagined this was why it was so hard to take up command now, the trauma of those losses left many scars and the last thing he wanted was to lead his friends to their doom, again.

Andre turned from the forward viewscreen and seated himself in the captain’s chair. He punched a command into his personal console and it flicked to life. The ship's schematic greeted him. Readouts and visuals indicating each compartment’s status blinked their respective reports. He swiped it away, opting instead to mirror the stars from the forward display onto his own smaller screen. There was something calming about that view, something that stirred the child dreamer within him. His mind wasn’t focused today. He knew his thoughts were wandering, reminiscing even, about days long passed. He would have to force himself out of the nostalgia, they had a job to do.

Andre glanced over to the large integrated processing dashboard to his right that housed the Artificial Navigational Network Intelligence system. A required component on FTL capable ships. The system was humming in its usual droning way. Sounds of processor fans and system beeps indicating functions running in the background. After a moment he spoke to the console, “ANNI relay our current trajectory and system status.”

ANNI’s center display blinked, that which was previously blank now sparking to life. Images came in rapid succession, first was the same schematic readout the captain’s display had shown Andre moments ago, then came trajectory analysis numbers and other data. Then ANNI spoke, “Good morning, Captain.” The familiar docile feminine tone, one Kat had selected during the initial startup of the system, came from unseen aural projectors around the bridge.

“Currently,” ANNI continued, “all systems are running at expected values, save for the port docking thruster which seems to be disconnected and undergoing maintenance. Our trajectory is reading in line with optimal projections, we should clear the Reeche system in about fifteen standard minutes and can jump to FTL at that time. My FTL navigational analysis reads no known issues with the course plotted in our briefing and we should arrive at the asteroid belt coordinates within four hours of travel via FTL followed by forty-five minutes of sub-light travel to the asteroid belt. Captain, I must remind you that our FTL fuel reserves are currently at eight-percent capacity, and the course we have plotted through to our final destination, Dellis, will deplete our reserves to only three percent.”

Andre paused as if letting ANNI’s briefing sink in. In truth he was only half-listening, simply filling up his pre-FTL time with conversation. Something to snap him out of his own memories. Andre already knew all of the details the AI was recounting. Then his mind latched on to something ANNI mentioned about the port docking thruster being down for maintenance, that was odd. Their engineer hadn’t mentioned any need for repairs. He flicked a button on the comms panel on the chair’s armrest and spoke, “Bex, did we break something during takeoff?”

***

Bex Tyler was already frustrated with the early wakeup call they’d received this morning, as the ship lurched to life under them for takeoff from Port Averice and shook them from a much-needed slumber. The captain knew they were out all-night combing through every net conduit they could find. Would it have killed him to let them sleep in? Someone had to get more details on this job. It all seemed too simple and straightforward for their liking. On the surface the job was a dream, easy, quick, and likely to pay out considerably. Bex still didn’t like it. It had been far too easy to obtain the information that led to the beacon’s transponder, not to mention the tip came from one of their least favorite Net-Stalkers – Garon Minz.

Garon was a waif of a man who sat in his secluded storage container all day with wires and AR tubes connected to his head. He knew how to keep the authorities off his trail with multiple net-connection routing servers. But he certainly didn’t know how to behave around other humans. Rude, dismissive, arrogant, and boisterous to name a few of his qualities. Bex also figured the man hadn’t had fresh air or a bath in weeks most times they’d visited him. Still he had been reliable in the past when they needed to find work in a pinch at Port Averice, which unfortunately had become more frequent over the last few months.

After paying for the tip, all Bex had to do was search a few separate net conduits to find the information Garon had promised them. Finding the distress call that identified the location and payload was simple enough; a luxury liner by the name of Kalendis stranded in an asteroid field in orbit around one of the outer planets in the Wellington Expanse System. Beacon information obtained, Bex merely needed to find out who had responded to the distress call and the current status of operations for this Kalendis named liner.

After checking the CorpNet containing the logs of all commercial liners linked to major transit companies, Bex found a Flagged-as-Lost file for the Kalendis. The report suggested commercial recovery by the parent company, Galantis Transports, and noted only survivors were recovered – no cargo, ship marked as: Abandoned Unrecoverable. That was corp-slang for not financially worth the trouble. Galantis would simply cash in later on the insurance. A luxury liner like that, well, they’d probably come out ahead in the long run. Passenger lawsuit settlements notwithstanding.

The captain had leapt at the opportunity this tip promised. Of course he had. The Venture’s resources were nearly depleted, and this was just at the edge of what their fuel reserves would reach. This job, if handled properly, could pay docking fees, feed the crew, and repair the ship for months. At least that’s what the captain believed. Bex was not so sure, something didn’t feel right about it all. The captain was usually cautious in his approach to new tips gleaned off the Net, having Bex check and recheck every server they could to verify the details. They weren’t afforded that luxury this time. Well, to be blunt, they quite literally couldn’t afford to pass on any job right now.

Bex was half coiled around a bulkhead in a narrow crawl space just behind the starboard engine housing. They were perfectly content in this manner of working, as they’d grown accustomed to it. It had been two years now since they climbed aboard The Venture and began working as a full-time crewmember. It was tight work in the engine room of this mid-sized scow, but it was a damn sight better than their previous gig working for the corporate underground of Neo-Tokyo. Here they were treated fairly, equal shares, equal respect.

Corporations in Neo-Tokyo made a habit of adopting street orphans at young ages, Bex was one such adoptee. The corporations would lure in children around eight to ten years of age, offering food, shelter, and the promise of credits beyond their imagination. Once they had a half-dozen or so, starving hopeless children, they would test them; aptitude, stamina, and resiliency were all tested and only the toughest and brightest made it through. The rest, well Bex didn’t know for certain what happened to the rest, they had tested at the top of their group. Some good that had done for them. For their efforts, they were implanted with a Bravo Circuit and NeuroData store that enhanced their mind, granting exabytes of storage capabilities and processing speeds on a multi-quantum level. Ports were added into their skull at the temporal lobes for direct access to net conduits. The implant was just behind their left eye socket and an AR optical sensor replaced the eye itself. They were forever part computer, and seemingly forever a slave thanks to the binding contracts they were forced to sign.

Bex was put to work as a Net-Strider, one of many in the parent company’s stable. Used as a corporate data spy able to retrieve digital information stored in seemingly secure data vaults, to be net-trafficked in black market corners of the HyperNet or for blackmail and leverage in business dealings. It was the way of things, Bex had thought then.

Bex dropped the tool they’d been working with, and it clattered to the steel grating and rolled under the thruster casing. “Gannit” they swore in typical Neo-Tokyo street slang, to no one in particular, then finally contorted their long slender body to straighten and backed out of the tight bulkhead space they were working in. They turned around to face the console panel on the back wall of the engine bay and found the comm switch deciding they should probably respond to the captain.

“The usual lately, Cap, I’ll get it sorted before we reach the Kalendis,” Bex said, letting their finger slip away from the comm link switch and using their other hand to brush away an errant strand of hair that dipped into their eyeline.

An audible sigh came first through the comm, followed by the captain’s typical calm and reassuring tones toward them. “I know you’ll handle it. I promise we’ll upgrade whatever it is after this job. If anyone can keep this boat together ‘til then, it’s you. Just do me a favor and let me know if you need to take something offline for repairs in the future, yeah?”

Bex shook their head and let out a small chuckle to themself. They weren’t sure they’d ever get used to the caring, almost fatherly tone with which the captain addressed them. Their previous life was such a stark contrast to now; corporations on Neo-Tokyo had Handlers who set objectives for their stable of Net-Striders, and severe punishments were doled out for failure to meet those objectives. Aboard The Venture, life was far from perfect, but everyone genuinely seemed to work as a team for a common goal… maintaining their freedom. Or at least what passed for freedom nowadays.

Bex glanced back at the thruster casing they’d just crawled out from and could see the handle of the tool they’d dropped. They felt as if it was laughing back at them, as it glinted, catching the dim yellow lighting that engulfed most of the engine bay from overhead. “Gannit…” they mumbled under their breath. Then they pressed the comm switch again. “Copy that, Cap,” they said, masking their frustrations and moving to return to their work.

***

Kat leaned back in the pilot’s seat and took a moment to crack her knuckles, relieving them from their navigational duties. This job has to pan out, we’re all-in this time, she thought. “Clearing system border, Captain, we can jump to FTL on your order.” Kat’s voice broke the otherwise general silence prevailing over the bridge, save for a few beeps and low hums given off by the various working computer systems.

Andre’s reply came through the bridge’s aural projectors. “Prepare for FTL, thirty-seconds,” he said, announcing their status ship-wide.

After the announcement ANNI switched the bridge lighting from its usual bright white to a low blue hue, this indicated power being transferred from unnecessary systems to the power-hungry FTL Drive. Kat could feel Andre peering over her shoulder at the forward viewscreen again. He seemed so youthful and naïve sometimes, taking joy from something as mundane as space travel.

To be fair it was a fascinating transition from sub-light to faster-than-light travel, the stars seemed to disappear, and a vortex of faded and blurred space surrounded the ship. There was no physical lurch that anyone could truly sense, the ship would shudder slightly as the engines engaged, but FTL technology didn’t work like a typical increase in speed. A bubble, for lack of a better term, enveloped the ship emanating from the FTL Drive. Within the newly formed lightspeed bubble the ship would be unphased by the speed changes happening outside its protective properties. Consequently, pilots could make no course correction and were unable to navigate once the ship jumped to lightspeed. That’s where ANNI came in. ANNI’s primary purpose aboard any FTL Drive capable ship, was to make the quantum calculations necessary to handle the nanosecond course corrections required to safely navigate space at lightspeed. The AI, unconnected to outside sources was in a sense, the ship itself, and the crew were simply passengers.

After the ship had safely made the transition to lightspeed and ANNI had taken control of navigating The Venture, Kat was free of her duties. She turned her pilot’s seat about to face Andre’s position in the center of the bridge. She regarded him for a moment, he wore his favorite leather flight jacket, dark and aged from years of wear. He was quite handsome in his own way, even with the scraggly unkept beard he’d been growing for the last few months. His gaunt facial features heightened somehow by the beard’s whiskers that flecked outward away from the center of his face. Grey was setting in around his temples and in small patches of the beard, but it suited him, granting the appearance of wisdom that was doubtless earned over the course of his life.

At forty-four Andre was by all accounts in his prime as a man and as a leader, but behind his greenish brown eyes where one expected to see a commanding certainty Kat saw something wearier. Regret perhaps? She realized at that moment that she really knew very little about his past. This man she’d spent the last four years traversing the Settled Systems with and spending untold hours beside, seldom shared details of his former life.

Kat never spoke of her past, beyond surface level conversations. Growing up her family had been quite wealthy, all things considered, and had held a mining claim on Barister, a small planet in the outskirts of the Settled Systems. Her father had been a Governor for the previous regime, her mother a socialite. She, however, was always more fascinated in the cargo vessels landing and taking off from the small port near their home in the central city. She wanted to fly them, vessels of all shapes and sizes, much to the dismay of her family. You should be considering political alliances and attending formal functions, they’d said, chastising her disinterest in her duties. It did not work to sway her. She was born a Pilot.

Kat had held on to that belief from an early age. The day the military came to Kat’s world so many years ago, she remembered being in awe of the warships and frigates as they dropped down into the atmosphere. Little did she know then, however, that it would be the worst day of her life. The day Sovereign came to Barister marked the day her family was slaughtered. She was only fifteen at the time and memories of that day now came to her only in flashes of horror, blaster fire, death and sadness. It was also the day she found the Frontier Alliance and became the pilot she had dreamt of.

Kat ended what felt to her an awkward silence, “This is it you know?”

Andre’s eyes slowly shifted from the forward viewscreen to meet Kat’s. “I know,” he said quietly in response to her ominous question.

“This could be a one-way trip, if the Kalendis doesn’t pan out, we could be back to scrapping for the Baron at twenty-percent salvage rates for months just to…” Kat continued, but stopped as she realized this was nothing he didn’t already know. With a sigh she stood up from her seat.

“It will pan out, Kat. It has to,” Andre said after a moment, his eyes didn’t leave hers as he spoke. He had a way of connecting with people that he probably didn’t realize. It worked, to calm her as it no doubt did others. He was quite the negotiator in their business dealings, and she could easily see why. He could be both reassuring and firm in his tone. This had lent itself well over the years when trying to barter with scrap peddlers or ship mechanics for the best deal.

“All right,” Kat said, letting the matter rest. With her job done for now, until ANNI brought them safely out of lightspeed and relinquished control back to the human pilot, she needed a break from the bridge. “I’m going for some breakfast,” she said as she moved past Andre, patting him on the nearest shoulder. “Want me to bring you something?” Andre shook his head and returned his attention to the viewscreen. To Kat it sometimes felt as if he was far away, someplace she couldn’t follow. She often wondered where that place was. Would she get to go there with him someday?