“I must say,” a tall, green-eyed man says in his steely voice, stirring a drink in his hand, “thinking back to my old self, I never would’ve believed we’d come this far.”
He turns to the window and peers outside.
“Then again, I can only say that because I have the privilege of perspective.”
He takes a sip from his glass, followed by a long, contemplating breath. The alcohol-infused flavors rise to his nasal cavity. Shining greenish light reflects off his eyes as he gazes at something bright.
“I don’t think there’s anybody else sharing that privilege these days.”
He turns around to the empty room, sitting down on his lavish chair. He flicks his wrist above the armrest, where a small map appears. Flipping through the holographic Air-display menu, he chooses a destination.
“I wonder,” he says calmly, a low mechanical hum rising around him, “what would the people of today never, ever believe was coming next?”
W i l d s p a c e
GA 340 / 8 / 30 7:15
- Near the Westward Nios-B Warpgate -
Bathed in the mesmerizing blue light of the Oceancloud - a large reflective nebula in the Perseus galactic arm of the Milky Way - one massive structure of rotating concentric rings pulses intermittently with energy.
The Westward Nios-B Warpgate, one of three such gates in the Nios-B solar system, launches another volley of client ships towards their destinations.
Through these, spaceships entering and leaving the system find a faster, easier way to travel between stars.
Among streaks of bluish gas and dust and the angular structures of two small space stations - hundreds of ships, all miniscule in comparison to the gate, form lines and order in the hustle and bustle of daily life.
White light crests the edges of all in view, shining from an immense White Giant star, Nios-B itself. The rays are harsh yet softened by the wispy gas in the region where the Warpgate is situated. In the distance, the tail of the Sylph ice-cloud can be seen, twinkling with blue and white light. The Warpgate orbits the star close to the edge of this belt of ice asteroids.
“Arriving vessels,” a bright, masculine voice, the Warpgate Patron AI, broadcasts instructions on local comms. “Welcome to Nios-B. Please occupy the correct Gridlane. Vessels hailing from Norma territories, align and proceed through Border Control & Scanning Gridlane 3, heading Down-North from your entry point. Failure to comply will result in defensive measures.”
As lines of ships queue up into busy gridlanes to jump, a small, sleek-designed Lexon frigate exits warpcruise near the stargate and approaches it, intending to jump. On its side, the code ISF-FT-296 is embossed, indicating that it is a Frigate Training vessel hailing from the Institute of Spacefaring – the ISF.
“Approaching Frigate-class ISF-FT-296,” the Gate Patron calls the frigate over private communications, “please identify.”
“Alright, now we authenticate with the Patron,” Captain Tarren Voss speaks to an anxious Jules Andr, who is sitting at the helm of the frigate on his maiden training flight, piloting his first ever warp jump.
The rest of the crew are Grade A4 ISF cadets just like him, observing his training.
Cpt. Voss’ hand is on Jules’ shoulder, trying to imbue some confidence in him. “As we did in class, go ahead,” he says in his gruffy voice, gesturing for the young to-be-pilot to speak.
Jules nods and hesitantly clicks the Push-to-Talk button. “Patron,” he stammers nervously, “this is ISF-FT-296, plate number βδ42012-08. We hail from the ISF and are conducting jump-training. Requesting queue bypass.”
Cpt. Voss smiles and pats Jules on the shoulder.
“Bypass granted,” the Patron answers, “you may proceed.”
“As big as you are built,” Voss says, “you have a soft stomach. Toughen up, Andr.”
Snickering resounds from the crowd of students. “Alright now,” Voss says, “cut him some slack.” He pats the embarrassed Jules on the shoulder. “Proceed.”
Jules straightens himself, sitting up on the chair, “I just gotta settle into this huge thing. Feels like runnin’ a mining rig, but everything’s less analog - it’s harder to feel in the gut.”
He takes the steering yoke. Gently, hesitantly, he selects the correct gridlane and navigates to it, half-assisted by the Grid-based autopilot. Captaining a large vessel is one of Jules’ lifelong dreams – that, and maybe someday when he retires in his 80’s, creating a stew restaurant. He grew up on Pan-III Minor, in the Pan system of the Perseus arm. A massive, resource-rich superterra covered in an enormous desert. There wasn’t a single day when he wasn’t reminded of the importance of having a family. This developed a strong sense of community in him. It is why he always wanted to serve with a crew, aboard a Persean battleship, or a massive freighter, or other large ship classes. He didn’t mind as long as it would make his parents proud. When he became an Institute of Spacefaring Cadet, these desires started to become more and more real, and so did his challenges and hurdles. The latest one: Flying a Frigate on the Grid takes a lot of concentration and induces a lot of anxiety.
“It’s quite rigid,” he remarks about the feeling of flying the vessel. “More than the Free-flight sims. It feels like I deal more with Grid Etiquette and communication than I do with the steering yoke.”
“Grid-assisted piloting,” Voss says, “this is how life on the Galactic Supergrid works, simple and elegant. You’ll get the hang of it quick.” Jules nods and turns his attention back to piloting.
The frigate approaches the priority queue for warp, passing dozens of lined-up ships as it flies. Voss turns back and starts towards the lounge. “This should take about 20 minutes,” he says, “busy hours. Let’s all go grab a bite.”
The frigate’s crew, headed by Cpt. Voss, retreats from the cockpit, leaving the Frigate to autopilot the queue.
GA 340 / 8 / 30 7:17
- Aboard the Institute of Spacefaring, Nios-B, Perseus -
Jakk Konway sighs, sitting at the edge of her seat, staring at the floor, her feet tapping nervously.
Cold, fresh air flows gently into the dark dorm room from the vent below her. Her loose, pitch-black fringe flutters in the breeze.
Sen, silhouetted by blue light from the hallways behind her, appears at the entrance to their joint dorm room. “Jakk?” she whispers. “You in here?”
“Back from the party?” Jakk says, looking up at her.
“Oh, crap,” Sen, startled, knocks her head on the doorframe. “Your eyes look freaky in the dark. Scared me! Why’s the light off?”
Jakk sighs. “We get it,” she says, “my irises glow. You don’t have to be a pain in the ass about it.”
“’Pologies,” Sen says, snapping her fingers and triggering the room’s lights to come on.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry,” Jakk says, “I just got here too. In a shit mood, stressed out. Kinda just plopped down.”
“Oh, what else is new,” Sen says, shaking her head as she walks towards the mini fridge between their beds, setting down her hefty backpack of DJ gear. She flicks her wrist next to her massive ponytail of fluffy ashen dreadlocks, and her glowing magenta NanoCard hairband latches onto her arm. It forms a bracelet as her dreads are unleashed. She hands Jakk a ‘FiZ’ soda and sits in front of her. “Talk to me,” she says in a comforting tone, “let’s do this, who got on your nerves tonight?”
“It’s night for you?” Jakk says, popping the cap and taking a sweet sip from the cold bottle.
“Yup, it’s actually early morning,” Sen says through a short yawn, “never synced up well. Exhausted.”
“Sometimes I take being a Spacer for granted,” Jakk says. “Least I don’t have to sleep as much on this garbage station.”
“You’re missing out. Sleep’s pretty comfy,” Sen says. Her eyes look heavy as she opens her soda and places the cap beside her before turning back to Jakk. She takes a small sip and looks her in the eyes. “I’m still good to go. Come on, spit it.”
”Well, two things,” Jakk says. “I had two nukes dropped on me in rapid succession today.”
Sen rolls her eyes. “Go on?”
“I had a fight with Ana,” Jakk says.
“Oooo… Finally some drama with you two!” Sen says, smirking. “Go on, go on.”
Jakk frowns. “This is serious,” she says. “Like, we argued about where we intend to go after everyone is licensed and done with this place.”
“And?” Sen says, “you plan on leaving together in a tiny shuttle, go pick some space roses? Grind them into pure sparkly romance dust and snort it?” She giggles.
Jakk chuckles, smiling for a moment. “Come on, Sen,” she says, sitting back on her chair, sighing. “Of course I was planning on leaving with her. But her parents nuked it.”
“Alright, serious mode,” Sen says, curious.
“They’re taking her back to Sagittarius after the graduation,” Jakk says.
“And?” Sen says. “Oh. You’re not going.”
“Ana said she doesn’t know what to do yet,” Jakk says, “she said she’ll figure it out.” She scratches her neck for a moment, considering how she reacted to the news. “Oh man,” she says, “I took it harshly.”
“You mean you lashed out?” Sen says. “That’s you, being Jakk. I’d imagine Ana understands.”
Jakk’s knees come together as she stares at her soda bottle, rolling it in her hands. “I know,” she says, “I just, you know. I can’t imagine her leaving. I have no ship; I’ll have no way to see her until I save up the credits to go there. My family isn’t exactly funded; We can hardly afford renting our living space and my tuition.”
Sen puts a hand on Jakk’s shoulder. “I’m sure things won’t pan out as bad as you think.”
“Ana’s parents are Khans of the Sagittarian Clan Vex,” Jakk says. “They get what they fucking want. Which is to separate me and her.” She huffs in anger.
“Doesn’t she get a say in this?” Sen asks.
“She says she does,” Jakk says, “but from experience they hardly care. I hope she’s able to do something, her parents are so stubborn. Which leads me to my next thing: While we were talking, I got a call.” She smirks, gesturing for Sen to come closer. She brings her in to whisper in her ear. “I’m in.”
Sen’s eyes widen. “What? In what?”
Jakk stands up, chest puffed, arms on her waist. “Your Spacer friend,” she proclaims, “Jakk Konway, is in the ISF team for the Spacefaring Championship League of Galactic Year 340 to the Grand Arrival.”
Sen gasps with elation. “That’s amazing! Come on,” she shoves Jakk, “that had to do something for your mood.”
“It did,” Jakk says, sitting down. “It’s potentially the key to this whole bullshit tornado.”
“How so?” Sen says.
“The winning team gets a selection of highly expensive prizes,” Jakk says. “The league is being sponsored this year by none other than Lexon.”
“That’s cool,” Sen says, “what’s on offer?”
“Well, scholarships, credits,” Jakk says, “but you get to choose other stuff. One of the choices is the key. A factory-issue, GA-340 model, Lexon LX-22A series, single-seater shuttle,” Jakk says. “And here’s the kicker, it has its very own warp-capable ZEN drive.”
“Oh, no.” Sen says.
“What?” Jakk says, finishing her soda.
“Okay, listen,” Sen says, “the ship’s cool. Awesome and everything. But I know exactly what you’re planning, if you win.”
“You mean when I win,” Jakk says. “And yes, I’ll beeline directly to my partner in Sagittarius, obviously. What about it?”
“Just in case it doesn’t occur to you,” Sen says. “Nobody guarantees you winning. And more importantly – big fat difference, in terms of safety, between Ana’s family flying her to Saj in a giant royal cruiser with a small fleet, compared to a tiny wittle baby flying an unarmed ship across the Persean border into, basically, Wildspace.”
“I’m not going to fly alone,” Jakk says, “I told Ana to delay them until the end of the finals on the first month of GA341. And who’s competing, Sen? Some kids from other Persean and Centaurean academies. I’ll waste these nerds. And then, I take my new ship and join Ana’s fleet. They consider me valueless because I don’t contribute to their clan. Well, with me in my own ship I’m sure they’ll change their minds. All it depends on,” she says as she gets up, “is Ana managing to make them wait.”
She turns around, belches, and attempts to throw the empty bottle into the trash chute across the room. She fails - the bottle bounces off the wall and onto the floor, but the trash chute sucks it in anyway.
Sen bursts out laughing. “Do they 3D-print every Spacer as shiny and arrogant as you?”
“Oh, pipe down, dust-breath,” Jakk jokingly slurs back at her friend. They share a laugh.
“Seriously though,” Jakk says as she paces towards the viewport window, “it’s not like I’m not stressed. Like, I don’t know how I’ll handle getting separated from Ana.”
“I get that,” Sen says.
Jakk comes up to the window and slightly opens the blinds, peering outside. The Oceancloud’s blue light floods into the room. Outside, hundreds of star-vessels of a myriad size-classes and colors cloud the vista. The ISF is a very busy space station, pulsing with life.
To many people, this is life as it is known. Schools of stellar vehicles protecting soft humans from the harsh environment that is the average vacuum-state of the universe. To Jakk, though, it is a beautiful, entrancing world full of ageless landmarks and discoveries to be had. Up to a point in the very near future, she will be locked away from this world, due to her young age. She yearns to feel the thrill of flying on her own - going wherever she pleases with Ana. When she looks at sights like these, she feels a need - an ache - to know, like a pull towards the place beyond the horizon. It was never enough for her to see pictures, or to read all the astronomy-related Pedia articles she blows through every week. She wants to see the wisp of a planet’s dust rings as her ship cuts through them. She wants to bathe in the light of unfamiliar stars, to be entranced by the magnificent beauty of nebulae, to get lost in ancient, mysterious asteroid fields. To find new worlds.
This deepest desire, she and Ana Vex share. They have been partners since before they would admit it. They spent countless hours sharing stories about the world’s wonders, ever since they met for the first time as ISF Cadets, two years ago in Grade D. Jakk would tell tales of war, valiance and brilliant discovery from Perseus; while Ana would share stories of legendary explorers and beautiful landmarks from the mysterious Sagittarius. They share the deepest bond, one not just of love, but of a shared dream. They wanted to escape together, to become explorers. But sadly, the reality of adult life seems to slowly etch away at that dream, threatening to stretch them too thin to hold together.
Ana is a noble, her parents rulers of a Sagittarian Clan, a nation controlling hundreds of worlds and star systems - an entire Region. With her position comes an enormous weight of responsibility. She was sent to the ISF as part of an exchange program - never meant to find any serious relationship there. To her parents, their partnership seems inconsequential. Even worse is their treatment of Jakk specifically, given that she comes from such a lowly background. She and her parents, simple Persean citizens, moved to the culturally rich ISF from the cozy safety of her homeworld space-city, Gea II Orbital. While the ISF is full of a rainbow of human colors, only a miniscule percentage of Perseans are Spacers, and all of them are from Gea - the only Persean Spacer colony. The rest of them are from the lawless, Grid-less spiral arm, Norma. Which just so happens to share horribly hostile relations with the other spiral arms: Perseus, Centaurus and Sagittarius. This gave Spacers a bad reputation, which meant that her parents’ choice to move to the ISF has changed a lot about her life. Many interactions with other cadets, and even Perseans at large, are constantly polluted with some remnant of prejudice against her kind.
And then Ana happened. Someone who embraced her for who she is – a dreamer, an explorer, and a damn good space pilot. Even though she didn’t have much opportunity to prove the last one yet. Their relationship quickly turned from innocent chats in the academy Plaza, into a relentless search for the best places on the ISF to isolate themselves together. At first, to share candy, but eventually, to share cuddles under fancy blankets Ana brings from her dormitory suite. They talk about everything. Ana seems to understand her pain – she has a way of seeing into people’s hearts and empathizing with points of view she has never encountered before.
Jakk takes a deep breath. She hangs onto the belief that it’s all planned out. Once they get to Sagittarius, she’ll become an explorer for Clan Vex, install another seat in her new ship, and fly away with Ana to see the world.
Their Cadet peers would call that a very simple desire. Some want to trade goods in enormous freighters. Others want to fight valiantly in Wildspace for territories. Still others want to build a corporate empire, and some have even greater aspirations. Jakk, though, just wants to see the world with her partner, at least for the near future.
Back in her homeworld of Gea, when she would gaze out of the canopy zone, and now, gazing outside the ISF’s tiny windows, she would dream about all that she could find out there. It never failed to fan the fire in her heart. These days, it seems like the world only wants to put that fire out.
“Hey, chin up,” Sen says, slipping under her blanket, “I know you two. You’ll be alright, I’m positive.”
Jakk scoffs, turning her head back to Sen. She would reiterate how desperate she feels, but she decides to do what Sen always does, and move onto happier things for now. “Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll try to keep myself busy.” She closes the blinds and looks back at her sleepy friend. “I just have to be patient,” she says.
Sen snorts. “An impossible task.”
Jakk’s NanoCard pendant flashes and vibrates with an incoming call. ‘Dasmen Poll’, the screen reads.
“I have to go,” she says, “enjoy your sleep, tired-ass Landie.”
Sen laughs, “alright, Porcelain-face.”
“Isn’t that, like, a compliment?” Jakk smirks as she hurriedly puts on her long-sleeved, loose grey shirt.
“Shut up, I’m tired,” Sen says, clicking off the lights. “and if you open the blinds while I’m sleeping, I’ll throw one of my dusty rocks at you, watch you sneeze for 20 minutes!”
Jakk chuckles. “Sleep tight,” she says as she walks out of the dorm room into the hallways. “And thanks for the pep!”
There’s another reason Jakk is strung out - a good one. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell that to anyone but Ana.
She bursts full-speed into the ISF’s crowded hallways, unhooking the gleaming sky-blue torus that is her NanoCard out of her pendant and bringing it up. It flares open in her palm, flowering into a small screen displaying the incoming call. She puts the device to her ear, and it snaps into place.
“Dasmen?” she says, “I’m coming, I’m coming!”
“I can see you’re excited,” Dasmen’s gruffy voice comes through. “Tone it down until you’re here and don’t tell anyone, or I’ll have every cadet from here to the end of the ISF on my back for a flight, eh?”
“Don’t worry,” Jakk assures him, “I’m running!”
She hurriedly crisscrosses between the many people walking through the hallways, much too crowded to run through, as her dormitory is in one of the busiest parts of the station. To her right, the entire wall of the hallway is a window, showing the inner ring of the ISF space station’s massive torus, filled to the brim with ships and freighters going out and about. The azure light of the Oceancloud nebula shines into the hallway, draping everything in a faint blue glow.
“Oh, and please don’t take the, uh, ‘detour’,” Dasmen begins, but Jakk cuts him off.
“Yeah, no,” she says between breaths, “it’s way too late to tell me that, Daz.” She finds the door that says ‘MAINTENANCE ONLY’ and rams it open. A small alarm rings out as she runs through.
An unloading hangar for freighters stretches in front of her, the ceiling a kilometer tall and the other door more than a kilometer on the other side. She runs across the railed walkway and jumps, full speed, into the zero-gravity dock area. She passes over the tips of the control towers of a few enormous docked freighters while in her peaceful drift. Blue light shines through the docking bay vacuum shields. They keep the atmospheric pressure at almost-breathable levels, guarding her from the absolute emptiness of space. The feeling of floating calms her, some silence and peace in all the busyness of the ISF, as the depressurized air runs through her hair and clothes. Surviving in low-pressure environments is a perk of being a Spacer.
“You Gea kids are insane,” Dasmen says in the call, probably shaking his head, Jakk thinks.
“Dude, I lived this back in the day,” she says.
Dasmen never had an easy time understanding Jakk’s quirks. Their relationship began when he joined the ISF as a teacher during her first year. His class was her favorite – not because of the subject, which was Persean Culture, but more for how he presented things. He was a veteran pilot, with more than 18 Galactic years of experience under his belt, which is a very long time on the scale of a human lifespan. He’s been all over Perseus, sometimes even beyond, and every lesson was sprinkled with stories from his past. Jakk saw her own passion, and Ana’s, in the way he told them. With time, they became friends, as he had much to tell, and she soaked up the tales of deep Persean hauling and terrifying Warpath adventures like a dry sponge.
She would nag him in the hallways, telling him about interesting articles that she read on the Pedia, and sometimes, he would shoot back at her a spicy hidden detail about them. One that you could only know from first-hand experience. It blew her mind every time.
She also knew that Dasmen happened to have a real, actual ship, so obviously she pestered him for a ride - begged, even. Yesterday, he finally broke. He told her he has a window in his schedule, and that before he leaves for next month’s haul, he’d like to let her aboard. In the copilot’s seat. Aboard his real spaceship, the frigate-class Kestrel.
They visited the ISF faculty office and had it approved. He told her to keep it low profile and not tell anybody, but she couldn’t stop daydreaming about it since.
Jakk sees the wall on the other side of the chasm and flips herself over with a belly crunch and an accurate arm-flail, preparing to impact the wall. She softens the hit with her tense legs and gently pushes off towards the doors below. Flipping again as simulated gravity accelerates her fall, she lands gracefully onto the platform. She exits into the hallway and looks up at the signage. “It says here to take a right to get to the frigate drydock?” She asks, “is that the place?”
“Yep,” Dasmen says. “I’m in dock C38.”
Jakk rounds the corner and sees a sign that says ‘C1’. The entrance to the first dock is over 50 meters long, followed by a door with a sign saying ‘C2’ above it.
“Wait,” Jakk says, “this hall goes all the way down to C38?”
“Ah yes, the autowalks,” Dasmen says, “just get on it. You can run on it if you want, should make it in no-time.”
Jakk sees two flat conveyors. One of them runs slowly and the other extremely fast, marked with yellow lines and guarded by a railing. She smirks, an obvious choice. She jumps over the rail onto the fast one, crouching down as the momentum carries her forward. She grabs a railing, gets back up and starts running on the walkway.
“I can see why you’re in such good shape at your ripe age, Daz,” Jakk quips between her breaths.
“Not funny,” Dasmen says, “I’m 25. 25 is the new 20 these days.”
“Keep telling yourself that, old boy,” Jakk says as she blazes past drydocks. The air resistance is so harsh that it almost lifts her off with every step.
“Why do I hear so much wind coming from your end, Jakk?” Dasmen asks.
“I took the fast one ,” Jakk says, running out of breath. “Um, how do I get off?”
“Wait, did you get on the high-speed one?” Dasmen stammers. “That’s for cargo! Don’t you read warning signs!?”
“What? It was moving faster! I’m already at C-32!” Jakk says.
“Oh crap, you’re crazy!” Dasmen shouts over the line, his usual laid-back tone gone. “Hold on,” he says.
A few moments pass as Jakk hears urgent shuffling on the other side of the call. The conveyor violently jerks, slowing down considerably. She stumbles, hitting her nose on the ground but catching her fall with her hands, “ow, fragile cargo!” She says, as the conveyor slows to a halt. She gets up, wipes her face off on her sleeve and spits, looking up at Dasmen’s exasperated face. “Hey,” she says casually.
“I’m shocked, sometimes,” Dasmen says. “Let’s try to survive these final few meters to my ship, eh?” He tucks a greying hair strand behind his ear as he turns back towards the doorway.
“I’ll do my very best,” Jakk smiles, rubbing her nose.
Dasmen taps a few commands into a panel next to the bulkhead and clenches his right hand into a fist as the deep green, glowing NanoCard ring on his middle finger expands into a stripe. He scans the card over the panel and the doors fling open.
The large hull of a frigate-class spaceship is retrieved from the drydock. Heavy dark grey paneling adorns its curves, patterned stripes of interconnected plates. The bridge area of the frigate is a dome of armored space-glass among the tough alloys. To the sides, two large engines are tucked neatly under navigation wings, giving the ship a triangular appearance. On the back of the ship is an array of carrier rails supporting multiple cargo crates, stretching out into the drydock. The ship is about 25 meters in length and 7 wide, with the bulk of its length taken up by the crates. On its side, a stylized crimson logo reads “Kestrel”.
“This is my baby,” Dasmen says, gesturing with his hand.
Jakk nods in silent awe, her mouth slightly agape. She continues to scan all over the glorious frigate, admiring its details, when Dasmen loudly slaps the hull, startling her back into focus.
“She’s a cargo frigate,” he says, “I make some spare credits when I’m not running classes for the ISF.”
He looks back at Jakk with a proud smile. “We’re going to fly her out for a spin, you ready?”
Jakk smiles wide-eyed at Dasmen. “Hell yes!” She says, jumping up and down ecstatically.
Dasmen approaches the door of the ship and raises his Nanocard-laden hand towards one of the door panels. The door slides open with a clunk and a hiss of pressure stabilizers, equalizing the internal airlock with the rest of the room. “Since I hail from here,” Dasmen says, jumping inside and holding out his hand, “I had the pressures set equally so as not to pop your ears. I guess a Spacer wouldn’t notice, though.”
Jakk shrugs and jumps aboard. As the airlock finishes cycling, the other side opens up to reveal the Kestrel’s interior. The inside of the ship is a comfortable and homely-looking corridor. Padded seats, enough to seat 4 people. Small viewport slits that would show the outside were they in space. She looks behind her to see a bulkhead with a massive door. “What’s behind here?” she asks, pointing at it.
“Cargo racks access,” Dasmen says, “this is a sealed, detachable bulkhead, in case I get taxed by pirates.”
Jakk raises a brow inquisitively. “Taxed?”
“Colloquialism for getting robbed,” Dasmen says, “you’re surprised that can happen?”
“Pirates? In Perseus?” Jakk says.
Dasmen sighs. “They might not be drilling this into your heads in Gridspace Security lessons, but you can’t allow yourself to be naïve here.” He comes up next to her and puts a hand on the thick alloy doors. “You may come from peaceful worlds like Gea, but Nios-B and Nios-A are Tier 6 systems at the very edge of the Warpath region. You know what Tier 6 means?”
“I hear security tiers mentioned a lot,” Jakk says, “but I don’t have a grasp on every single one just yet.”
“It means this system has a past when it was contested,” Dasmen says, “the Nios pair has only been Perseus for a few solid decades. Before that, it was Wildspace, probably even Norma territory. Things are still political here and interplanetary security isn’t as tight as your home system.”
“That’s a cool detail,” Jakk says.
“Cool?” Dasmen raises a brow. “The Warpath is a scary region, Jakk. The ISF would have you thinking Nios-B is a hell of a Persean stronghold. But really, it’s a political play to keep this station here and ‘bring the Galactic Arms together’ by exchanging students like they do. Strengthens Persean presence. Why, ten Galactic years ago, I was hauling Canka leaf extract, when it was still considered contraband here, across the Sagittarian border into Perseus. My route went right through the eastern side of this very system. They didn’t even have enforcer patrols over there at the time, Imagine that. Anybody could warpcruise right on through.”
“Wow,” Jakk says. “How dangerous was it?”
“Awful. Every other week you’d hear stories of an Incursion from Norma. It’s better today, much better, but you’ll never know when you might get caught by people with bad intentions. This bulkhead here is my security, and if I ever have to make a run for it I can snip!” – He startlingly slaps the door – “snap it off and get out quick.”
Jakk takes it in. “I guess it’s smart,” she says. In all her daydreaming, she didn’t imagine danger lies so close to home. Or that people have to deal with this kind of risk on a day-to-day basis.
“You’re young,” Dasmen says. “Savor it. Once you get out in space, you’ll grow older very fast.”
“It can’t be that bad, dude,” Jakk says. “I’ll just try my best to stay out of trouble.”
Dasmen smiles mercifully, patting her on the shoulder as he turns towards the cockpit. “I’ll hold you to that promise,” he says, wagging a finger at her. Jakk rolls her eyes.
“Come,” he says, “we have about two hours until your next class and I’m not planning to stay around the ISF.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jakk says.
“The space around the ISF is boring,” Dasmen says. “You want to see real things, not a bunch of advertisements and fat freighters. So, I’m taking you to my favorite spot in the system.”
“What?” Jakk pauses in shocked surprise, then runs after him. “What place? Do we get to warp there?”
“It’s a surprise,” Dasmen says, smiling. “And yes, we get to warp there.”
Jakk nearly shrieks with elation, but she purses her lips, trying to maintain her composure. “Yes,” she says, “sounds pretty good!”
Dasmen chuckles. “You’re jumping in place. Settle down, I’m going to need your focus. Copilot,” he winks.
“You’re going to make me pass out,” Jakk says.
They reach the bridge, sealed by a mechanical door. Again, Dasmen lifts up his Nanocard, opening the passageway. Inside, two seats wait empty. As the pair passes through the door, it closes behind them with a vacuum-sealed hiss.
“Oh, this is so cool,” Jakk says, skipping excitedly over strewn-about equipment towards the control panels. She gently runs her hands over screens, knobs and buttons, just to feel what the real thing is like.
The bridge is littered with stacks of crates and gear. She approaches one of the boxes and sees the friendly, rounded-letter ‘Medco’ logo stamped on it.
“Running some medical equipment and pill fabricators to the border worlds,” Dasmen says. “It’s good money, and the people out there need it. I’ll be headed out next week.”
“I see,” Jakk says.
“Come here,” Dasmen gestures towards the right-side chair. Jakk carefully skips over boxes and sits down.
Various control panels loaded with instrumentation line the chair’s armrests. The Kestrel’s human interface systems pick up Jakk’s measurements, and with a hiss, the control panels from farther away move close to the chair, within her reach. Dasmen chuckles at her stunned expression. Then, the most exciting interface approaches: A steering yoke. Slowly it clanks towards her, locking into place in front of her. She immediately grabs it.
Dasmen cracks up. “You look like a baby getting their favorite toy,” he says. “Not so fast though,” he presses a button, and the steering yoke moves backwards out of her reach. “That’s for later. First, I’ll show you the ropes.”
Jakk frowns and crosses her arms. “Do it fast,” she huffs.
“Oh, don’t give me that attitude,” Dasmen plops into his chair. “You’re grateful. Sit back, time to turn the keys.”
He puts his hand down on his input sphere, and his Nanocard ring unwinds, clicking gently into the surface. Light surges through the cockpit. Notifications bleep as automatic pre-flight checks are run. These are followed by mechanical clanks, hisses and whirs resounding throughout the cockpit. Jakk’s heart races at the visceral feeling of a real ship, she can feel the machinery, hear it work, and it is absolutely nothing like the simulator bays she trains in all the time. The shuddering beast of the ship’s ZEN Drive spins up behind them. The cycles become so fast that they smooth out into a hum.
Out of the bridge’s viewport, Jakk sees the dark docking bay’s airlock doors reveal a gentle crease, the opening through which she will get to venture, aboard a real ship, for the first time, into open space. Suddenly she notices her feet have been tapping with excitement this entire time. She composes herself and looks at Dasmen, who takes a breath before putting an earbud in.
“First,” Dasmen begins, “we need to run some confirmations so that the Grid lets us undock.” He points to another earbud. Jakk nods and puts it in.
“ISF Patron,” Dasmen says, “this is Kestrel A8, requesting undock.” Dasmen moves a lever and Jakk’s seat lurches, moving towards the controls, and the embrace of the bridge’s space-glass canopy as it covers her field of view. She can’t stop herself from shaking with excitement, her feet tapping again.
“Undock approved,” a voice answers back after a moment, “be advised, there are training vessels in the region, by undocking you are agreeing to strictly follow Grid etiquette and guidelines found on-”
“Yeah, this is the part I usually skip,” Dasmen slaps the input sphere to skip the dialogue. Jakk giggles for a moment and gasps as the Kestrel’s navigation thrusters and propulsion engines roar to life. She feels the docking gear retract from under the hull as balance shifts, artificial gravity removed from under them and replaced by the ship’s lighter, less powerful frame-drive gravity.
“Have you strapped in?” Dasmen looks at her. “Don’t be an idiot,” he says, “this isn’t one of your floating ass-cushions in Gea.”
Jakk takes the straps at her sides and closes the latch over her stomach. The straps, sensing her size, cinch down to a firm, but comfortable grip on her body.
“Stay that way,” Dasmen says, “or you’ll get smeared across the walls.”
Jakk nods.
Then, with a clank and a hiss, the docking bay doors unseal. The air around the ship condenses for a moment as the wispy filament of a vacuum barrier shoots across the thin opening. Jakk squints as the blue light of Nios-B and the Oceancloud floods into the docking bay, and the scintillating hulls of hundreds of ships adorn the scenery outside. Local Grid chatter fades in, filling the air with communications, but Dasmen turns it down. “I don’t usually have it on in this area. This is what local chatter sounds like,” he says. It remains a faint chattering in the background.
Jakk nods, clearly at a loss for words to express her excitement.
Without another word, Dasmen pushes the steering yoke, and the Kestrel emerges into space.
Jakk’s eyes widen, her body gently pushed back against the seat from the thrust. A little bit like the sim bays, she thinks, but crisper, deeper. Real, but she still can’t believe it. The dark toroid shape of the ISF envelops clear, open space through which scores of ships flit about. From small single-seater shuttles to kilometer-long freighters. The glorious white light of Nios-B and the golden shine of its distant sibling Nios-A cast rays from above, cut through by the ISF’s pylons. Immediately, the nature of the Persean corporatocracy presents itself: The vicinity of the ISF is mottled with a tapestry of advertisements, hologram signs and logos for Persean corporations & products, ranging from private business ventures all the way up to giants like Lexon, Edifice, Starsight and many, many others. The abundance of signage paints the area in a hypnotizing neon rainbow, all of this tinted by the beautiful blue of the Oceancloud nebula in the background.
It’s almost too much for Jakk to take in, trying her best to contain it all at once. It’s better than her wildest dreams, being in the cockpit of a real, actual star-vessel. Seeing the outside world like this, in all its glory, makes her feel like a pinprick. She immediately wants to consume all the sights there are to see, she wants to grab the yoke from Dasmen and push the pedals all the way to the floor. Suddenly, she’s jerked sideways, the view shifting as the Kestrel assumes a trajectory. She looks back at Dasmen.
“Woops,” Dasmen says, “we’ll have to be gentle. The Kestrel’s dampeners were damaged last week by a warp-shock from an asshole freighter.” He maneuvers the ship in a gentle loop, perhaps tighter than advisable in this state.
“Worrying, but I’m okay,” Jakk says, more to assure herself than Dasmen. She holds onto her seat a little tighter.
“It’s fine,” Dasmen says confidently. “Just a bumpy ride, is all.”
“Warp-shock?” Jakk back-tracks.
“We have another Grid etiquette lesson next week,” Dasmen says. “Short of it is, he jumped while being too close to me and fried some circuitry. Frame drag is a bit off.”
“Oh.”
“Now here’s the deal,” Dasmen says. He presses a button on his console and an Air-display materializes, showing a three-dimensional animated model of Nios-B, with orbits. Jakk gasps with astonishment.
A green star-shaped marker appears on the far side of the ice belt known as the Sylph.
Jakk’s heart skips a beat. “The Sylph?” She says, looking back at Dasmen.
“Yep,” he smiles. “And you’re taking the lead and plotting the jump course.”
“Ana’s going to explode,” Jakk says, gingerly putting her hand down on the input sphere. “Now, um,” she hesitates slightly, “I highlight planet Nios-B-II and select Gridlane pathing?”
“Other way around. Choose a lane that reaches The Sylph and include the Nios-B-II planetary complex in the calculation.”
“Ah,” Jakk says. With a few twitches of her fingers, points are set and the Kestrel gently pitches upwards and slightly to the left.
Dasmen confirms the selection, smiling. “Now,” he says, “we fly out of the ISF’s control range and wait for the station’s Patron to allow the jump.” He pushes the pedals, and the Kestrel boosts forward gently.
Every touch of the controls sends so much information into Jakk’s body as she feels the ship boost, cut, thrust in different directions. “When do we actually like, get to fly?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” Dasmen says, confused. “We’re doing it.”
“Well, yes,” Jakk says, “but, you know. I mean doing some loops. Dodge some rocks and shit.”
Dasmen cracks a smile in disbelief. “This is a frigate.”
“You know what I mean,” Jakk says. “Don’t you want to grab the yoke and just… Do stuff?”
Dasmen sighs. “Jakk, we’re going to get to the Sylph, do a little round there on a preset trajectory, then turn around and safely waddle back to the ISF before your next class. Got it?”
Jakk folds her arms and sinks back to her chair. “Okay,” she huffs.
Not long passes before she loses focus, delving into the amazing view again. Every time she looks out into the wild skies, it feels like the walls are keeping her from flying away into eternity. She wants to see every star, every speck of light her eyes can touch, but it’s as if she’s stuck in her own skin.
She remembers what Dasmen told her about Nios-B’s past and decides to question further. “So, wait,” she says, turning back to him, “you hauled contraband?”
Dasmen chuckles. “I’ve been all over the Oceancloud. I used to take quiet trade routes, roads less traveled, carrying all sorts of interesting things here. I liked the quiet. Didn’t care much if what I was hauling was the most profitable. You could say I enjoy long, quiet flights at the edge of nebulas.”
“That’s funny,” Jakk says sarcastically. “So why contraband? Isn’t it risky?”
“Oh,” Dasmen says, “I had a friend posted on a remote deep-field station in the Oceancloud. They liked it a lot, and generally Canka extract was just a good deal to carry back from Sagittarius. So, I’d sneak some through Nios-B, give them a small box and sell the rest at my living station at the time, in the Fourna system. Actually, Fourna remains a pretty shady place to this day.”
“And you could just fly through Nios-B like that?” Jakk says.
Dasmen smiles. “Remember Azure Song, the Persean battleship that’s pushing the frontier these days?”
“Yeah?”
“Back then, they had it parked on the western side of this system while they were building the Warpgate there. Every week, when I would sneak through on the eastern side, I’d come up on their charts. They would hail me and ask ‘hey, whatcha carrying bud?’ and I would go, ‘diodes and water, the usual,’ in the most boring tone I could muster.”
“And it worked?” Jakk says with surprise.
Dasmen snickers. “Those lazy goobers couldn’t afford to patrol the eastern side of the system. They never scanned my cargo. They were absolutely sure that I led the most boring life ever.”
“That’s crazy,” Jakk chuckles. “You know, yesterday, Ana told me an old story about a captain from Norma that fed his corpse to his ship’s crew. How gnarly is that?”
“There’s a shred of truth to all of those stories,” Dasmen says. “That’s an old tale about someone from the Razer Caste, from like 200 Galactic years ago. Norma can generally be quite… Culturally different, from the bigger arms. For lack of a better term.”
“That’s for sure,” Jakk says. “Eating people? Trading in gold? No Grid?”
Dasmen chuckles, shaking his head. “You kids are absolutely confident that Norma people are a bunch of savages, aren’t you?”
Jakk raises a brow. “I mean, yes, that’s what it looks like.”
Dasmen gives her a look. “Don’t limit yourself to seeing the world through the eyes of a Grid citizen,” he shakes a finger at her. “It makes things easy, connects everyone in the world, Nanocards and all that. But you have to think, does it adequately reflect the infinity we all live in? Or is it taking you a step backward from the truth, just to shrink it into something you can comprehend?”
“You sound like Suné, the dorky Astrography teacher,” Jakk says, chuckling.
“Suné has a lot of knowledge,” Dasmen says. “Your teachers weren’t selected for being a bunch of dorks. Think about it - I’m one of them.”
“And you’re a dork,” Jakk laughs. Dasmen shakes his head.
Jakk calms down and looks at him, trying to understand. “Really though,” she says, how do they manage? I hear about all that weird Norma space travel tech and their funky communications and it all seems so stupid to me. I asked Ana, too, but her clan uses the Grid, so she doesn’t have much input on this either.”
“Well, for one, don’t judge people for using or not using the Grid,” Dasmen says, “and it truly is a long, long story. I think what you should understand first is that there are so many ways to live and get by. Learning to respect them is part of life.”
As the Kestrel trudges along towards the end of the ISF’s control zone, the path ahead of them clears of other ships.
“Okay, here’s something cool,” Dasmen says. “I want you to spool the ZEN Drive as we accelerate to subcruise.”
“Yes!” Jakk beams, “where are the controls?”
“Under the input sphere,” Dasmen says. “I’ll tell you when to start.”
Jakk looks at her right armrest and sees a large button, glowing white. “Found it.”
The view in front of them clears completely, and Dasmen maxes out the throttle. Jakk feels the pressure of acceleration against her, and while it becomes harder to judge how fast they’re going by looking at the clear space outside, she can tell from the visceral force that they’re accelerating fast. After a few moments, the button glows blue. She presses it.
“Warp spool initiated,” the ship’s computer proclaims. The low hum of the ship’s ZEN drive rises in pitch as its spin accelerates. Jakk listens closely to its sound – never having heard anything like it. She never had the chance to sit so close to one, having flown in space only once when her family migrated. The transit freighter was so large, they sat nowhere near the engine room.
ZEN drives are a mystery to her. The Kestrel’s sounds curiously like a cross between flowing water, a jet of steam and the harsh noise water makes when it hits her head in the shower. It seems to only get richer in layers and higher in pitch as time goes on.
“Kestrel’s pretty slow to accelerate,” Dasmen says, “so it takes a moment to spool all the way up. But the upshot is we’re very well-protected – she has more armor plating than most civilian frigates her size. Just gotta wait for it to get moving.”
Another few moments pass and the noise reaches an apex, the button on Jakk’s armrest starts blinking bright blue.
“Ready to go?” Dasmen says.
Jakk looks him in the eye, twirls her finger and smashes the button down.
Outside the canopy, Jakk sees a flash of brightness, and a ring blinks into being made of what seems to be space folding over itself, bending light in strange patterns.
“Whoa!” Jakk exclaims. Dasmen giggles.
Over a few seconds, the ring grows thicker and thicker, until a sudden boom resounds around them and they’re pushed back into their seats. The ring expands into what seems like a tunnel around the Kestrel, composed of scintillating, contorting light and color. All in view outside seems to smear back as the ship explodes into superluminal travel, and harsh white light showers them from ahead. Everything Jakk can see out of the canopy seems to be tinted slightly bluer.
She could never, ever imagine how beautiful this would have looked in first person. Images and videos she has seen don’t do it justice. She can swear she has never seen some of these colors.
“This is amazing,” she yells over the roar of the ship’s ZEN drive.
“I know,” Dasmen says. “It’ll be a few minutes, so find something to do. Surf the Net or something.”
Jakk detaches her Nanocard, and it fans out into a square-shaped picture mode. She starts snapping pictures of the beautiful warp bubble enveloping the ship. Dasmen laughs.
- Near the Westward Warpgate -
“Your queue has arrived,” the Patron says, “please align for jump.”
“Alright, Jules,” Captain Voss claps the burly cadet on the back. “Sit down, grab the yoke. The rest of you, sit down and take notes.”
The other cadets proceed to their bench behind the pilot and copilot seats.
Voss’ tone sounds so humdrum to Jules, that his insecurity feels out of place. He’s quite excited about this flight, but at the same time concerned about making a good impression on the venerable Persean Captain. The environment around the Warpgate is quite complex, with many ships spread about and too many Grid regulations to leave room for error.
He grabs the yoke and pushes the foot pedals to engage boost. The frigate responds, gently accelerating towards the waypoints on the canopy display.
The warpgate lights up with energy as its gigantic ZEN-drive rings begin to spool. A small warp bubble forms at its center, bending light into a ring of refracted strips of color. It halts at a stable level, as the training frigate has yet to emerge from the swarm of ships in queue around the gate.
The waypoints suddenly disappear as a notification sound rings out. “Unscheduled arrival,” the Patron says, “please clear proximity region 1.”
Voss taps Jules. “Decelerate,” he says, “let’s hang back for a moment.“
A space-tow frigate slams out of warp under the gate, carrying above it an oblong asteroid, hundreds of meters in diameter, which crashes directly into the Warpgate’s ring structure, causing the warp bubble to violently collapse. The implosion sends out a shockwave of rippling spacetime and exotic energy that blasts apart the gate’s rings and sends the surrounding space traffic hurtling about. The wave slams through the training frigate, tumbling Voss and the cadets about as systems are disrupted.
The cockpit fills with panicked yelling. Jules’ stomach turns, a sick feeling, as the ship’s gravity distorts and loses alignment. He grabs the control console in front of him and pulls himself up. As the shock and haze clear, he turns to Voss. “Galaxies, what is this?” he says.
Voss gets up and looks at Jules and the cadets, concerned. “Warp shock,” he says to them, rerouting power through the ship’s systems. “Recollect yourselves.”
Jules notices a streak of blood coming from under Voss’ hairline. “Are you hurt, sir?” he asks.
“Strap in,” Voss says, “hit my head, it’s nothing.” He grabs the yoke, turns the ship around and starts boosting away from the dismantled warp gate, towards the Sylph.
Panic and shouting fill local chatter as a few squadrons of shuttle sized vessels spill out of warp following the tow vehicle. A moment later, the gigantic hull of a Cruiser-class ship arrives. It dwarfs many of the ships in the area and is by far the most heavily armed. Bright green stripes adorn all of their hulls.
- Silence among the Sylph's ice shards -
The Kestrel gently decelerates out of warp. The ship’s ZEN drive slows from a turbulent, strained shrill to a low hum. As the cover of distorted light around the ship breaks, the view clears, and thousands of sharp, snowy white rocks, bespeckled with reflective crystalline shards of pure, solid water are revealed. Nios-B’s rays glisten and break off the shiny surfaces into different colors, a glorious shower of light through the mist of ice dust.
Chills run down Jakk’s spine as she looks around, speechless. She looks down at the navigation display. ‘THE SYLPH’.
“Ah,” Dasmen sighs with contentment, “the Sylph.” He smiles over to Jakk. “What do you think?”
“Wow” is all Jakk can muster. “It’s so… Like, I’ve seen pictures.”
“I know, right?” Dasmen says, staring at the view. His smile is wide, and his eyes are full of the same reverence he has every time he talks about his past adventures. “Pictures don’t do any of this justice.”
They both just look around for a short moment, Jakk taking photos with her Nanocard for Ana. “She’s going to love this,” she says.
“And this is a rather quiet region,” Dasmen explains, panning the local map and showing Jakk how devoid it is of other ships. “Other regions of the Sylph are crowded with hydrogen miners and traveling deeper into the belt poses a hazard for Frigate-sized ships like this one. So, Nios-B government keeps it clean for shuttle tourism, and coincidentally, it happens to be an off-season,” he winks.
“I’m so lucky,” Jakk says, “so, what’s the plan?”
Dasmen taps an air-display menu, and the canopy overlays a flight vector over the surrounding environment outside, with several virtual waypoints floating in space. “Fancy, isn’t it?” he says.
Jakk nods excitedly. Flying a real, veteran ship is quite a bit more luxurious than the sim bays in the ISF would have her believe. “Is a canopy display like this what all ships are like?”
“It’s custom,” Dasmen says, “doesn’t come factory issue on Cykon ships like this one. Told you, the Kestrel’s my baby. Nothing stock about her. Look,” he points out the canopy towards the Sylph.
Jakk notices that the farther into the field she looks, the denser the ice shards grow. Denser and denser, until it becomes hard to see the Oceancloud behind them. “That over there,” Dasmen says, “is the deeper region of the Sylph. It’s a hazard, so we’ll dip into the lighter regions, loop back and jump home to the ISF. 30 minutes, easy peasy.”
“Easy peasy,” Jakk repeats. She rubs her hands together excitedly and whoops. “Let’s do this!”
Dasmen pushes the pedals and the Kestrel boosts forward, gradually gaining speed. “Woo!” Jakk exclaims, looking out the canopy to see the ice shards flying past them as the Kestrel’s engines spin the wispy dust into gentle shock fronts behind. Dasmen skillfully paths around shards, but miniscule ones are unavoidable, and bounce off the ship’s repulsion field. It emits ripples of purple light as it launches them away.
As the Kestrel accelerates more and more, the growing speed starts to scare Jakk. Of course, there’s no chance in hell she’d let Dasmen know she’s scared, but her grip does tighten ever so slightly on the armrests. She looks at him. He looks so calm and confident on the yoke. His stare seems focused, but his face is plastered with a childish, joyful smile. As the field gets denser around him, he only seems to enjoy cutting through it more and more.
The two uncomfortably sway in their seats with every turn. Jakk notices a detail in Dasmen’s flying, he adds a roll into each turn, making it a bank instead of a straight yaw.
“Why are you rolling the ship?” Jakk asks.
“It’s the bad frame shift dampers,” Dasmen explains. “The raw G’s can make Landpeople like me sick. So, it’s an old habit, from when dampers weren’t as good. I’m rolling to point our heads into the axis of the turn. I don’t suppose a Spacer could tell that it’s helping.”
“Can’t feel a thing actually,” Jakk says. “I’m just blown away by this place.”
“I know,” Dasmen says, “me too. Every time. But here’s an aspect that’ll make you like this maneuver – by banking, I get more of my thrusters pointing towards or away from the turn. It makes my next decision easier to execute on.”
“Now you’re talking,” Jakk says, “you have a point.”
A few moments pass as she daydreams again. She wants Ana to be here so bad – why, the Sylph is just as beautiful as she describes so many places in Sagittarius to be. And here it is, in Perseus. She grows giddier with every realization, that there are probably hundreds- thousands- no, an uncountable amount of places like this to find. Despite her elation, she’s still weighed down by her feelings about her relationship with Ana. She decides to tell Dasmen.
“You know,” she turns to him, “Ana told me her parents are taking her away when we graduate. We had a fight.”
“Your little Saj princess girlfriend?” Dasmen says. “Do yourself a favor and cut it off. You’re setting yourself up to get hurt. Don’t you think it’ll be better?”
Jakk sighs. “You know that isn’t an option for me,” she says. “I love Ana. But I have a plan: Win the SCL, take the ship prize and join them.”
“That’s crazy,” Dasmen says. “Okay, look, I believe you have an actual shot at winning that thing. But you should do things for yourself. You’re a Persean, you’re young and have your whole life ahead of you. Listen to me when I say this – if your partner can’t guarantee anything, don’t commit.”
Jakk shrinks a bit in her seat. She can’t just give up her dreams, but what if it really is hopeless? “I wish I could just know if it’ll work,” she says.
“That doesn’t happen,” Dasmen says. “The key is patience. Play it as the options come. Have no ideal, because life can throw you off just like that. Your problem is patience.”
“That’s what everyone says,” Jakk sighs. “You don’t understand how hard it is to just sit and wait. I don’t sleep like all of you, I just spend all of my day thinking and thinking, sometimes completely alone. It sucks.”
“Here’s what I feel about patience,” Dasmen says. “Having patience is not as simple ‘sitting and waiting’. It’s knowing that things have their time and being capable of coping with that.”
Jakk raises a brow. “You said the same thing twice.”
Dasmen chuckles. “You’ll get me,” he says.
“Hmph,” Jakk ponders for a moment, watching the ice shards fly by. She purses her lips as an idea comes to her. She looks back at Dasmen. “Can I take the yoke?” she asks.
Dasmen pouts for a second, obviously having fun. He thinks for a moment as Jakk’s feet tap with excitement again. “Okay,” he says. “But you have to be very slow and careful.”
He presses a button and the yoke on Jakk’s side of the cockpit unlatches and starts coming towards her. “Relax!” he says, as she reaches towards it like a child, squirming against the seatbelt. Jakk relents. The yoke clanks into place and Dasmen slows the Kestrel to a halt.
Jakk stills her racing heart. Surprisingly to her, her trepidation and concern transform into new feelings. Inspiration. Glee. She feels confident. Even brave?
“You know the control vectors, right?” Dasmen asks. “Pedals for th-“
“Pedals for boost, yoke for thrust.” Jakk cuts him off, feeling the yoke with her hands. “Have you even been following my VR matches? I’m certified.”
“You can fly a fighter like crazy,” Dasmen admits. “There’s a thick line between that and flying a frigate, like a sane person.”
Jakk chuckles. “Oh come on,” she imitates him, cinching down her seatbelt. “Have a little fun sometimes, eh?”
Dasmen raises a brow. “Of course I have fun. But I can see the look in your eye- oop!” he stops mid-sentence as he lifts off the seat. The Kestrel dives downwards at full boost.
“Jakk!” Dasmen looks at her and pleads. Her eyes are full of sharp focus. She rolls and banks the Kestrel, avoiding ice shards haphazardly, her maneuvering becoming riskier and riskier.
Dasmen can feel the nausea, his stomach turning. “Slow down,” he says.
“Dasmen, glue your ass back to the seat. I have this,” Jakk says arrogantly. Her excitement builds more and more as the ice belt grows thicker around them, maneuvering becoming more challenging. Small impacts resound throughout the cockpit as tiny rocks clank against the repulsion field.
Dasmen looks outside to notice Jakk is – perhaps unintentionally – flying into the depths of the Sylph. He turns back to see she isn’t slowing down at all. “Alright,” he says.
“Oof!” Jakk grunts. Her body slams forward into her seatbelt, which extends and retracts like a spring, cushioning the force. She settles back into her seat, bracing her stomach. “Why?” She looks at Dasmen, who is glaring back angrily. His finger lays pressing a big red “ABSOLUTE HALT” button on the control panel.
“You’re irresponsible,” he begins, “and we’re having too much fun with a ship I can’t replace. Time to turn back.”
Jakk deflates. “Oh, come on, man!” she whines, folding her arms in frustration as the yoke recedes from her.
“Chill,” Dasmen says. “That’s enough for a first time. You had me shitting my pants. This isn’t my kind of thing.”
“Fuck,” She huffs. “I understand. I just really, really want this.”
“You fly well,” Dasmen says, “a little ridiculous, but well. If you so much as get my paint scratched, though, I’ll kick your ass. Have you thought of doing something else with all that energy you have pent up?”
“Closest thing to this is VR piloting sims,” Jakk says, “and I do hours and hours of those every day, outside of classes.”
“Yes, yes,” Dasmen says, “I see you floating in the seats with the wonky goggles. Have you tried challenging yourself though?”
“What do you mean?” Jakk says.
“Oh you know,” Dasmen says, “instead of trying to improvise all the time, you can learn single-seater shuttle maneuvers. Just practice until you have them nailed down.”
“But the starter ones are so boring,” Jakk says. “I destroy them.”
“Try the mil-spec ones, you arrogant twerp.” Dasmen says. “I’ll bet you a bag of Sourbombs you can’t get over 70% on those.”
“I like the citrus ones, thanks,” Jakk smirks, self-satisfied.
Dasmen chuckles. “I’ll take those purple ones when you faceplant and get a little humble. Alright,” he takes the yoke and starts maneuvering the Kestrel around. “We’re jumping back.”
Jakk frowns and looks out again. Patience, she thinks. Exhausting.
Suddenly, she notices that three faint dots seem to move differently from the rest of the ice shards, way out in the field. She stares at them, focused, and notices faint chattering coming from somewhere. “What’s that sound?” she looks at Dasmen, who seems to be calmly daydreaming as he pilots the Kestrel.
“Oh?” Dasmen looks at her. “Oh, that’s local chatter. Somebody’s talking within range. Let’s turn it up and see.”
“…F FT-296,” a thick, masculine voice hollers into the comms. “We are under attack! Please assist! We are under fire!”
“Jules?” Jakk rises out of her seat, her eyes widen.
“Oh boy,” Dasmen frowns.
“Turn him up,” Jakk says. “And what’re those?” She points out the dots in the skies, now closer.
“Those are… Engine trails.” Dasmen says worriedly. “They look like shuttle-class.”
They seem to grow with each passing second, getting closer. “Yeah,” he says, “they’re tearing towards us. Are you strapped in?” He tightens his seatbelt and checks Jakk’s. “You’re strapped in. Tighten it.”
Jakk’s heart pounds. “Dasmen, what’s going on?” she says meekly.
Dasmen pauses as he brings up the contacts panel. It lists 37 different ship designations, some Frigates, some Shuttles. And 20 more ships, unsigned. One of which is a Cruiser-class. “It’s a predicament,” he says, and not a moment later, a shrill alarm activates.
‘ORDNANCE ALERT – Weaponry deployed in immediate vicinity – ORDNANCE ALERT.’ The ship’s computer repeats the last two words.
The engine trails, moments ago only small motes, coalesce into white-hulled ships with blaring blue and red lights. Shrill, sweeping sirens fill local comms, followed by muted echoes throughout the dust and rocks of the Sylph.
“Enforcers. We’re getting behind them,” Dasmen says, accelerating.
Jakk braces in her seat. “Holy shit.”
“Civilian vessel,” A commanding woman’s voice blares at them through a hail channel. “Please maintain distance, an incursion is advancing towards this location, you are advised to attempt to escape the Sylph and jump to the nearest station once safe. We repeat, maintain distance from our destination.” The squadron rips through space, passing above and below the Kestrel. Jakk and Dasmen wince, a low thump shakes the Kestrel as they fly past.
“Where are you going?” Jakk asks.
“Away from that,” Dasmen says, pointing back.
Jakk settles in her seat, looking at the screens. More records of unsigned ships. “Are you keeping an eye on this?” She says.
“Oh yeah. We’re getting the hell out of here,” Dasmen says nervously.
Jakk’s heart drops as she looks out to the distance. “More fucking engine trails, Daz.”
“What?” Dasmen glares at her in disbelief
“In front of us. Still far,” she says worriedly.
“How do you see them?” Dasmen says, bewildered.
Jakk stammers. “Just turn around! Go to the Enforcers!”
“Galaxies, are you strapped in!?” Dasmen slams the pedals, turning the yoke around.
“You already checked,” Jakk reminds him, “let’s go!”
“We don’t have the fucking dampers for this,” Dasmen says.
Jakk holds onto her chair, her heart racing. Their bodies thrash in their seats as the heavy Kestrel reverses its flight path. Boxes are thrown around the cockpit, slamming into walls, medical equipment spilling out and flying around.
“Augh, fuck my life I’m going to vomit,” Dasmen says, his gut wrenching.
- Not far away… -
“Oceancloud Phantoms?” Jules says as Voss navigates the training frigate through what has become a debris field of ruined ships and ice shards.
“Yes,” Voss says. He smashes the pedals, accelerating as fast as possible. “Norma Caste occupying the northern, coreward side of the nebula. ‘member Astropolitics?”
Jules’ arms fall to his sides as he stares at the screens in panic. “What do we do? That thing after us is huge!”
“Get your ass back to work, Cadets, continue to call out on comms, keep raising the enforcers, order the civvies to follow us,” Voss says. “This isn’t my first tussle and won’t be my last. I’ll fly, you do the yelling.”
The incursors start opening fire on civilian vessels. Alarms blare throughout the cockpit.
“Oh, Galaxies, these guys are nuts!” Jules yells.
Voss chuckles in panicked disbelief. “This is fuckin’ new.”
The familiar shrill of Persean Security Force sirens fill local comms.
“Enforcers!” Jules’ voice cuts through ordnance alerts. He rises off of his seat, his eyes frantically shifting between the view out of the canopy and his screens.
A massive dogfight breaks out behind the frigate as two wings of enforcer fighters exit warp behind them. A third wing grows closer, coming from the Sylph towards the escaping Civilians.
“Let them handle this,” Voss says. “We’re just running. This ship isn’t armed.”
“Why are they doing this?” Jules asks.
Voss shuts off the alarms and focuses. “It could be for cargo, scraps, gate parts, it could be for control of space, or even just a flex.”
“They don’t just kill people, do they?” Jules shakes his head, his eyes wide.
“Not every Norma Caste is a bunch of psychos like the Phantoms,” Voss says. “But I can’t understand why they’d assault a Warpgate like this, no. And shooting civvies, no less. Let’s get the hell out of here first, yeah? Agencies will have this figured out and I’ll tell you where it develops.”
“Okay,” Jules says.
“Watch the rear cams,” Voss says, “tell us if there’s incoming fire, I’ll focus on dodging debris and rocks.”
“This is ISF-FT-296,” Jules hollers in local chatter, “we are under attack, please assist! We are under fire!”
Jules’ Nanocard vibrates, receiving a close-proximity private chat. He lifts the bracelet up - the display shows Jakk Konway at a distance of less than 3 kilometers. “What in the Galaxy?” He says to himself, answering the call.
“Jules? The fuck’re you doing here, man?” Jakk Konway says.
“Konway?” Jules stammers. “What?”
“I’m with Dasmen Poll,” Jakk says, “we’re approaching you from inside the Sylph!”
“Why in the Verse did he let you on a real ship?” Jules raises a brow.
“Dasmen?” Voss says with surprise.
Searing plasma bolts fly past the training frigate as the chaos rages behind them. “Whoa!” Voss and Jules react to the harsh light and heat as they pass them by. “Get off the card Jules,” Voss says shakily, “we need focus.”
Jules turns back to the screens. “Go away!” He hollers at Jakk. “Something’s going down, it’s dangerous, we’re under fire!”
“Yeah, no shit, Dustass,” Jakk says. “Whoever these people are, there’s a whole squadron of them right behind us!”
Voss turns to Jules in shock. “How many?” He says.
“Like 10 of ‘em,” Jakk answers back.
“Notify the enforcers!” Voss commands Jules. “Get off the fucking card, you idiots, call the enforcers and get out of here! Where’s Dasmen?”
“Dodging shards, man,” Dasmen says coolly over the chat, though his voice betrays concern. “I’ll explain later, just stay safe, alright? Please.”
“I’m going to strangle you,” Voss says. He smacks Jules on the shoulder, “get off the fucking card!”
“This is the Persean Security Force,” an enforcer’s commanding voice booms over comms. “Incursors: Cut your boost and clear your weapons, or you will be executed.”
There is no answer.
- On the Kestrel -
“These guys are quiet,” Jakk says as the Kestrel flies toward the raging battle.
Dasmen laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation. “I have no idea what’s going on,” he says, “they have a fucking Cruiser. Look at the colors!”
Jakk looks at the assailants and sees that their hulls are decorated with bright green stripes. Oceancloud Phantoms, she remembers from her reading.
“So what’re we even doing?” Jakk says as they are literally flying towards the battle.
“I’m agreeing with you,” Dasmen says. “Safest place is where the enforcers are. We just have to try to make it through this.”
He looks at Jakk. His eyes are full of concern and fear. “Please brace yourself, Jakk.”
As if on cue, bolts of plasma hit the Kestrel’s hull and they scream in terror. The sound of the impacts is ferocious. Heat, the crunch of metal and searing gas as it melts through layers of armor.
“Fuck!” Dasmen shouts in anger. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” His façade of confidence breaks.
He flips a few switches and pushes on the yoke, sending the ship into a dive. “We’re tough,” he grunts. “The Kestrel’s tough. Just gotta keep moving.” He flies the Kestrel evasively towards the enforcers as bolts of plasma shoot past them.
They arrive at the battle, which is slowly moving deeper into the Sylph. Jakk watches the space around them fill with shards and dust particles. The light of Nios-B casts rays through the wisps that turn the battle into a confusing light show. They cut across the battle as ships flit chaotically about, searching for cover from the relentless fire. Some ships, from both sides of the fight, crash straight into shards, ending their existence in an icy death.
More and more enforcers spill out of warp to fight the exceedingly large incursion. Fighter-classes, even frigates armed with large plasma cannons and shining enforcer lights start to appear. Jakk loses count of the ships involved, but unfortunately, none are big enough to face the cruiser. It feels hopeless – whatever it is the Phantoms are here to do, they will achieve it. But what is it? Jakk asks herself. Kill a bunch of civilians? Create chaos at the cost of lives? And is this it? Is this all she gets of the world? After dreaming about it her entire life, she gets one measly flight? Less than a minute of touching a real steering yoke? Is it just going to end here?
The thing that gets her the most is the near-silence, considering all the mayhem. In the sim bays, audio cues are presented to the pilot, presumably to create immersion. But here, the only thing carrying sound from outside the craft is the dense dust of the Sylph. This results in a muted soundscape – when she sees a ship destroyed and life extinguished, all that resounds is a low boom. These are contrasted by the sounds of civilians pleading over local comms and the Kestrel’s chassis struggling under Dasmen’s maneuvers. This presents to her a massive difference from the sim bays – the ability to absolutely focus.
She finds herself seeing more and more pathing opportunities between rocks. Some would give her cover, others would confuse attackers, causing them to change their own trajectories predictably, which she can use to her advantage. Her mind finds more and more levels of complexity, like a game of Axis. Dasmen seems to control the Kestrel with virtuosity, flying smoothly and maneuvering with expertise, but Jakk finds herself making a different decision every time he commits to a move. She stares down at her hands, curling them into fists. She’s helpless. If she could only affect things in any way, if she could only make some kind of difference, maybe she could get to see tomorrow, or even save a life.
She sees Jules’ training frigate dodging fire, among dozens of other civilian ships. Explosions, screaming and pleading drown local chatter. Bolts of plasma fill the space around the small Frigate as the exchange of fire, just like the ice fields, grows thicker and thicker by the moment. Jakk has no idea if they’ll emerge alive out of this situation - she should be terrified, but she can only feel anger and pain at her helplessness.
She looks to Dasmen, who still seems to be trying his best to save them. She would have said something, but terror has taken away their conversation, and there is a silence between them, filled with internal pleading.
“Are you handling this alright? Are you okay?” She calls over to Dasmen.
“I’m trying.” Dasmen says. “Trying real hard. I’m sorry I put you at risk. This shouldn’t have happened. I hope I can get us out.”
Jakk glares at him. “Dasmen,” she says, “how could any of this be your fault? I can’t thank you enough, Daz. Just please keep us alive!”
“I know,” Dasmen says in a panic. “I’m sorry, I know!”
More fire continues to strike the Kestrel. The impacts plink against the Kestrel’s heavy armor, but they both know that if the cruiser ever hits them, they’d be toast. Jakk looks out the window to see the dark, angular structure of the enormous ship. Its cannons unleash huge bolts of fire at civilians and enforcers alike. Any ship hit by those weapons immediately breaks apart, shreds of searing metal spray out into the void. She scans across the terrifying beast of a vessel, locating what looks like the bridge structure. Compared to the rest of its armored hull, this small tower looks to have much more windows and antennae on it. “If I could do anything,” she says, “I would probably aim for that. Get those fuckers where it hurts.”
“We can’t,” Dasmen says, “I’m not licensed for weapons. We’re completely helpless. All we can do is run around until the enforcers make the area safe. I can’t see how they handle this beast of a ship, though.”
“Please, please make this stop somehow,” Jakk grabs the screens and pleads. A teardrop floats away from her face. She thinks about Ana, about all that she imagined waits for her in the galaxy, about the ship she wants to have, the future that was supposed to be. She has to send her a message.
She lifts her Nanocard and starts recording a voice-clip. “Ana,” she says, “I left the ISF for the trip with Dasmen. He took me to the Sylph. There’s a massive fight. Jules is also here and…”
Her attention is diverted as more alerts fill the cockpit. Plasma fire continues to slam into the Kestrel, weakening its armor, and the damage starts to accumulate into loss of the ship’s functionalities. What little gravity and motion dampening they had gives way as they float in their seats. Jakk stares stunned at Dasmen as his shoulders and facial features rise in response to weightlessness. The smaller, untied crates behind them lift off the floor and begin to float around the cockpit.
“We’ll make it through this!” Dasmen yells. Through the blaring alarms slices one sharp, ear-splitting signal.
“What is that?” Jakk asks.
“Missile lock,” Dasmen says, wide-eyed. The alarm rises in tone as the incoming missile grows closer and closer.
Jakk goes back to her card. “I’m a bitch for hurting you. I love you like nothing else! Please, tell my parents, I love you all!”
She sends the message. The missile alert rises into a smooth, shrieking tone.
Dasmen looks at her. His face is white with terror. He opens his mouth. “I’m sorr-“
Blank.
‘Is this death?’ Jakk thinks to herself. ‘How can I think..?’
But she can still open her eyes, and she does.
Dark smoke and red lights flood the cockpit as hull breach alarms blare. The canopy is cracked and leaking pressure, fast. Her neck stings and a terrible whistle fills her ears. She looks to Dasmen – she shouts out to him, but he seems to have taken a crate to the head. Droplets of blood float away from an open gash in his right temple as he floats unconsciously in his seat.
She hacks up soot, looking around the cockpit for something to aid in the situation, and then she sees it – a canister of emergency sealing foam. She must create a seal to vent the cockpit. She rips off the seatbelt and her Spacer instincts take hold, her head subconsciously leveling with the Kestrel’s floor. She puts her right leg against the copilot screens and leaps off them, twirling gracefully in the air to angle herself for the next jump.
She grabs the canister with a flip, and launches herself against the ceiling, back towards the canopy. She grabs a railing with her left hand to stop herself, her legs folding under her, and sprays a thick layer of expanding, black foam against the cracks. The foam seems to grab onto the glass, at the same time pulling it together and expanding outward to seal more of the damage.
“Daz!“ she calls out, floating down to him. He seems to be alive, so she shakes him. His eyes flutter open and he looks around, dazed and choking on smoke. He bleeds out of his head injury, so she grabs a floating med-gel packet and bandages his wound gently, putting pressure on the gash. Now that the cockpit is properly sealed, Dasmen’s screen pops up a large notification that says ‘VENTING RESIDUE’ – and it floods with a strong wind as the smoke clears. She looks outside the canopy to see the massive hull of the cruiser is under them, and its menacing bridge structure, not more than a kilometer below. Every few moments, Phantoms fighters make another pass, putting a few more holes in the Kestrel’s armor.
“Hey,” she says, holding his head between her hands, “are you up?”
“Yes,” Dasmen blurts. “My head…”
“Yeah, you’re hurt. We’re still in it. Can you work with me?”
“Yes,” Dasmen says. More consciousness flows back into his eyes as he looks into hers. “Jakk,” he says, grabbing her shirt collar, “snip snap.”
Jakk’s brows furrow. He’s obviously still out of it. “Snip snap? The fuck does th- oh!”
She looks back at the rear of the ship to see the large bulkhead release lever.
Dasmen’s words echo throughout her head – ‘In case I get taxed by pirates,’ he said, ‘all I have to do is snip! Snap if off and go buy Jakk her Citrus Sourbombs –‘ Or something like that. A smirk spreads across her face as an idea comes to her. She wipes a tear off her face and looks at him.
“Listen, if we’re snapping it off, aim at the cruiser’s bridge.”
“What?”
“Dasmen,” Jakk gently slaps the uninjured side of his head. “Aim at the bridge. Get ready to stomp the paddles. You with me?”
“Yes,” Dasmen wheezes, nodding.
He grabs the yoke, centering the view on the cruiser’s bridge structure, and gives her a thumbs up.
Jakk snaps her Nanocard to her ear and raises a call to Jules. Alarms blare through the comms at her when he answers.
“Hey! Kind of busy, are you alright?” Jules says.
“Good to hear,” Jakk says, coughing. “We took a massive hit, Dasmen’s hurt badly. I thought I was dead, my head is swimming…”
“Oh. Galaxies, Jakk,” Jules says.
“We’re still getting shot at,” Jakk says. “We’re going to try something extremely stupid. Please tell everyone on the ISF I love them, if we don’t make it.”
“I-“ Jules stammers out, “please, Jakk –“
She hangs up and launches forward, signaling Dasmen. He floors the pedals. The Kestrel lurches violently, and Jakk slams against the wall in the back. She kicks a floating crate away from her, lunges and takes a grip on the large bulkhead emergency release lever.
- Aboard the training Frigate -
Jules looks out of the canopy to see the Kestrel, while taking fire, for some reason flying full boost towards the hostile cruiser’s bridge.
“What are they doing? Voss, we have to do something!” Jules cries.
“Sit back down,” Voss commands. “I have no idea, but it’s out of our control, Jules.”
The training frigate flies evasively through the battle, ships exploding into pieces around them as plasma bolts fly all around.
It occurs to Jules what Jakk is trying to do. Save the situation. With a lack of anything else to do, Jules rips off his Nanocard bracelet and expands it, pointing the device towards the smoking hull of the Kestrel, in the distance, as it tears through space towards the cruiser. If nothing else, then at least he can capture Jakk’s brave attempt at saving them.
- Aboard the Kestrel -
Jakk and Dasmen watch as the bridge structure draws closer. More and more fire hits the cargo crates behind the Kestrel as it barrels forward, trailed by fighters. The Cruiser attempts to accelerate away, but it’s far too heavy and slow compared to a Frigate, so the Kestrel gains on it quickly. Proximity alarms resound throughout the cockpit, indicating that the Kestrel’s flight vector is becoming increasingly more dangerous. Waiting for the right moment, Jakk takes a deep breath to calm herself. The bridge draws closer and closer, proximity alarms increasing in frequency. Will they be able to even make it?
“Pull up! Pull up!” Jakk yells, slamming the release lever down. A huge CLONK shakes the frigate’s hull, followed by hissing, as the massive cargo crates are detached, now flying free from the Kestrel.
Dasmen gathers all of his strength to push the yoke up, flooring the paddles. The Kestrel lifts upwards as Jakk launches herself back towards the copilot’s seat. The Medco boxes, which were floating a moment ago, slam against the floor along with Jakk, but she scrambles along it, slamming into the seat. She flips into it, buckles her belts and grabs the armrests, screaming. All that’s left for them is to pray it works, but as the heavy Kestrel tries more and more to climb out of colliding with the tower, it seems less and less probable that it will. Jakk looks at Dasmen, for what may be the last time.
- On the Training Frigate -
Jules stares at the Kestrel, confident it will crash completely into the Cruiser’s bridge. At the very last possible moment before it hits, the triangular ship breaks from its cargo, hopelessly attempting to lift away from the trajectory of the, by now, utterly perforated cargo crates. It pitches upwards and boosts extremely hard, trying to avoid getting crushed between the crates and the tower, but it’s too late. The crates slam violently into the bridge underneath it as it escapes, sending waves of gas and fire that envelop the ship completely. The tower’s space alloy and glass rip apart as the crates break into the bridge, depressurizing its decks. Explosions ripple through it, fiery bits of the Kestrel’s medical supplies fly off into space with more debris. The bridge breaks in half, rendering the crew aboard detached from the cruiser. The rest of the hull continues forward, now dark.
Jules’ heart drops. Jakk did it, but she didn’t make it. Voss’ shoulders droop.
Suddenly, the Kestrel, sans cargo crates, flies off the top end of the bridge. It had scraped the bottom of its hull and engine ports against the structure all the way up. It loses steering, its engines giving out, and starts drifting in an uncontrolled angle into space. The charred ship looks lifeless as it flips over and over slowly.
A wing of enforcers arrive to secure it against the remainder of the Phantoms, but the latter start jumping away once their main vessel has been disabled. One of the enforcers uses a tow-wire to stop the Kestrel’s drift.
The firing having stopped, Voss immediately boosts toward the tumbling Kestrel. “Dasmen, Dasmen!” He calls over local. “Do you hear us?”
No answer.
Jules surveys the state of the damaged ship. It’s offline, full of scorch marks from plasma hitting its armor plating, and a morbid, gaping hull breach in its upper rear end from what could only be an explosive missile strike. “Oh no,” Jules says. “Look at that.”
Voss nods grimly. The Kestrel’s cockpit looks strange. The space-glass canopy seems to be utterly cracked and compromised, but it’s completely blacked out on the inside, almost solid. “What do you think happened?” He asks.
Voss shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s a big, big hunk of sealant foam.”
The enforcers hail the training vessel and Voss answers the call. “This is Cpt. Tarren Voss of the ISF training fleet,” he presents himself.
“Cpt. Voss,” an enforcer pilot says, “we have information that this vessel, the Kestrel, hails from the ISF. Are you familiar with its crew?”
“Yes,” Voss says, “we know both of them.”
“They’re heroes,” the enforcer says. They pause for a moment. “We will need a tow ship and tools to get them out, but we don’t know what condition we’ll find them in.”
“I… We understand,” Voss says grimly.
Jules notices his Nanocard has been vibrating for a solid minute and he lifts it up. Among 63 anguished texts from Ana Vex, one message from Jakk Konway arrives.
“W’ere fuine,” the shoddily typed message reads, “damsen k.o. where are you?”
“Voss!” Jules shouts, “they’re fine, Jakk’s texting me!” He calls her up and she answers, coughing.
“Jules!” She yells, “wet us the fuck out of this thing, we’re drowning in fucking sealant foam –“
“What were you thinking, are you crazy?” Jules says.
“I had to glue the canopy together, Dasmen would’ve choked to death! The canopy’s busted, he’s out cold and -”
Jules facepalms. “I meant ramming the cruiser!”
“Oh, oh yeah,” Jakk chuckles nervously, “is it over? I thought we were dead. We had to try something.”
“It seems to have worked,” Jules says, “the cruiser’s completely still.”
Jakk breathes a sigh of relief, coughing. “I was shitting my pants the whole time. I think I may’ve actually broken a couple ribs. And Dasmen is out cold, like, he needs attention fast.”
“We’ll get you out,” Voss says, “Jules, connect her with the enforcers please, let’s get out of here so I can punch Dasmen in the face.”
As the last of the Phantoms leave the premises, search & rescue vessels arrive to extract survivors from their ships.
- A few hours later, aboard the ISF –
A reporter presents themself on the Nios-B Systemwide Newscast, as a bold title scrolls under them: ‘BATTLE OF THE SYLPH’. “We are being told the Kestrel, responsible for a key shift in battling the incursion, has been delivered onboard the ISF. As extraction of its crew, and additional survivors from the Sylph continues, Edifice and Lexon representatives have arrived to survey the damage to the Westward Nios-B Warpgate. Westward jumps, deeper into Perseus territories, are expected to be unavailable for at least 4 months. Citizens in the system are advised to reroute via the Southward gate.”
Ana Vex, tearful and concerned, turns off the stream as she walks down the ISF’s crowded halls toward the docking bay where the Kestrel is being delivered. She scrolls down on her Nanocard to see opinionated articles and other conversation streams about the battle. Some sources, she sees online, claim it was a territorial grab by the Phantoms. Others claim it was just plain terrorism. She snaps the Nanocard to her puffy white scarf as the card changes shape, blooming into a bright blue flower brooch. She couldn’t understand the preposterousness of this situation; What Jakk went through goes in such stark contrast to these beautiful, peaceful images of the Sylph she sent her moments before. How could she go out and put herself in such danger? Did she have a choice?
Even a call from Jakk, explaining that she is marginally okay, did not help calm her down. And the video stream from the cockpit was too dark and bleak – Dasmen looked horrible. A few hours ago, Ana was confident her last conversation with her partner before she died would’ve been a heated argument. She needs to see Jakk safe – in the flesh.
She enters the docking bay where a small crowd of worried families has gathered, hoping to find their kin among the survivors of the attack. Jakk’s parents, Kyth and Deanne Konway, wait near one of the entrances. It calms her to see them here.
Her relationship with them has been an immense learning opportunity. She is a planet-born person from Sagittarius, a galactic arm of planet-born people. She had rarely heard of Spacers on her homeworld in the Sevine system before she came to Perseus, to Nios-B, and met Jakk. At first, Jakk’s small family seemed so exotic and alien to her, in contrast to the rest of the ISF’s population. Apart from their heads, they have smooth, hairless skin. They’re always in perfect physical condition, they have glowing irises, they’re short in stature and seem to have an overall lack of regard for vacuum safety, among many other things. But they have shared many meals and experiences together in their comfortable, albeit small ISF home, or Ana’s luxurious dorm-suite. Deanne and Kyth had taught her so much about Spacer culture in part, as well as Persean culture at large, that she could never be more thankful for having their point of view. They are kind people, and Ana found that in a way, they practice kindness the way she and her Sagittarian peers had always been taught in their early childhood. But they seem to do so intuitively – without having been taught the Way by some grand spiritual mentor.
They seem at peace here on the ISF. It would’ve been so much more convenient to spend their lives on Gea, but they always said that they ‘wanted to live their own life’, outside of that comfortable box, as good as it may have been. Unfortunately for Jakk, she had to spend a vital part of her upbringing dealing with prejudice due to that decision. It would have taken immense parental energy to handle her shenanigans anyway, Ana can say from experience, but with that additional challenge on top, she is more than impressed. She is thankful for such good people, because aside from loving Jakk immensely, she could see that she has a way of lighting a fire in people’s hearts – or under people’s asses – that was worth whatever challenge it was to raise her. And that property is only a miniscule reason as to why Ana is so concerned about her safety right now.
It seems like they’ve both left their respective workplaces to come here – Deanne is still well-dressed in a sharp suit and metal mag-sneakers, while Kyth is wearing his mechanic’s harness and has a toolbox in his hands. Kyth is deflated and sobbing - he seems to be handling the situation roughly, while Deanne is trying to be strong, pacing around nervously. They notice Ana, calling her over.
Ana wipes her tears in a steri-fabric handkerchief and cleanly folds it away into one of the pockets of her scarf, trying to be more presentable. She approaches them.
“Ana, you’re looking good as always,” Deanne says, trying to maintain a casual tone, but her shaky voice betrays her emotions. “Are you okay? We have word that they’re doing fine in there, but they couldn’t cut them out of the ship in space.”
“My poor baby,” Kyth says between sobs. “They said she sprayed the whole canopy full of sealer, do you know how disgusting that stuff gets?”
“I told you,” Deanne says, “this Dasmen Poll guy is a Landie, she had to keep the pressures up.”
“She did it for nothing,” Kyth says, “I’ll strangle him anyway when they get him out of there.”
“Oh, stop it, Kyth,” Deanne pushes his shoulder.
“We talk to Dasmen a lot,” Ana says, “he never stops bragging about how tough the Kestrel is. They were lucky to be in it.”
“I’m sorry,” Kyth says. “I’m just so… Mega pissed. They called me to help with the extraction, but it’s been hours!” He sighs. “Let me go wash my face,” he says, stepping off to the restroom. Clearly, he’s the one Jakk inherited the impatience from.
“What are you feeling?” Deanne asks, putting a hand on Ana’s shoulder.
Ana sniffles, pulling her handkerchief out of her scarf pocket. “I’m still not entirely sure,” she says, wiping her eyes, “I’m obviously furious, but considering the circumstances, it really is nobody’s fault. Rationally, we shouldn’t be mad at anybody except the Phantoms. But I’m distraught. We argued before she left – my parents want to take me back to Sagittarius for an extended period for traditional celebrations. I was terrified it would’ve been our last interaction.”
Deanne grabs Ana’s hand tight. “She has zero doubt you love her like nothing else. You’re a part of our family.”
Ana wipes her tears in the handkerchief. “I know. I just want to see her in one piece. From what we’ve heard so far, we are so blessed that she managed to survive.”
Deanne sighs anxiously. A few silent moments of waiting pass before she asks, “do you know anybody else that was involved in this mess?”
“A Grade A4 cadet, Jules Andr,” Ana says. “He was on a training vessel with a retired captain, Tarren Voss, at the warpgate. They’re mostly unharmed.”
“Good,” Deanne says, her breath shaky. “Good.”
Ana can see the pressure Deanne is under – her knuckles are white on her suitcase handle, she’s playing with her collar, and her brows are furrowed in sadness.
“Oh, come here,” Ana says, embracing Deanne. “Let it all out, I know how bad it feels.”
The Spacer mother’s floodgates open and she cries softly into Ana’s shoulder. “I just want things to be okay,” she sobs, “Kyth is so stressed…”
“I know,” Ana says, “me too.”
On cue, Kyth returns from the restroom.
“Look,” Ana says to him, “you can’t be mad at Dasmen. Jakk is mature, fit enough to make her own decisions, et cetera. And of course she would jump on an opportunity to fly a ship. We all know that.”
“You’re right,” Kyth says, sniffling. Around his glowing blue irises, his eyes are red from crying and wiping his tears. “I’m just worried. I never thought this kind of thing could happen in this system.”
“No one else did,” Deanne says. Ana nods.
A docking bay steward drone approaches them. “We have an arriving vessel,” it says.
“Oh!” Deanne says, “Kyth, get your stuff ready!”
“Please do not follow the rescue team onto the platforms”, the drone says. A medical crew and a technician arrive to see the Kestrel come in.
Kyth clears his throat, picks up his tools and does his best to straighten himself up and look professional and confident, though he doesn’t really succeed.
Ana puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles kindly. “She’s strong,” she says, “and so are you. Just help her out of there and we’ll get through this together.”
“Yes,” Kyth says. “Okay. let’s see what we have to work with. Wish me luck.” He tries to smile, to give his family some confidence, but his face is heavy with concern. He turns to follow the drone towards the drydock platforms.
Ana looks up to the docking bay doors, which slit open to reveal the glorious blue light of the Oceancloud. The Kestrel, charred and battered, is pushed by a tow-vessel into the drydock.
“We got shaken around pretty hard. Docked?” Jakk types to Ana on her card.
“Yes,” Ana answers.
“Fuck yeah,” Jakk says.
Ana chuckles. “It seems like she’s doing okay,” she tells Deanne, showing her the messages. Deanne smiles, but it fades quickly back into concern.
They turn to look at the Kestrel as the rescue team and Kyth get on a large platform. It rises to the top of the frigate’s hull and the team walks onto it, talking among themselves, trying to find the best point through which to cut into the ship and extract the crew.
They decide upon the canopy, which is already completely compromised and would have to be replaced.
Cutting drones slice a clean entry through the shattered glass, which is plastered underneath with a thick layer of sealant foam. The team of technicians tears off more layers of foam in chunks, using special tools. They climb into the dark, smoky opening and a few moments of silence pass.
Ana cannot stay behind the lines anymore. She steps closer, Deanne in tow, as they try to see what goes on inside the dark, smoky cockpit of the Kestrel. Is Jakk doing alright? She asks herself. How injured is she? What will her eyes say when she looks into them?
A technician’s arm comes out of the cockpit, signaling a stretcher drone, which hovers over. Two people outside help the rescuers pull a battered, bloody Dasmen, now unconscious, out onto the floating stretcher.
“Oh, no. Look at him,” Deanne says.
“I hope he’ll be okay,” Ana says.
A few moments pass as another O.K. sign comes out of the cockpit. Kyth emerges dusty, smiling for real this time. Ear to ear. He gives Ana and Deanne a nod and reaches inside.
Jakk, covered in dust, soot and bruises, grabs his arms, and steps up onto the platform. She leans onto his shoulder for support.
Ana breathes a sigh of relief. She scans her partner from afar, trying to assess her condition, wringing her hands.
Jakk’s shirt is torn at the side, revealing a big bruise on her ribs. Her face is covered in soot markings and dust, and her hair is in a tattered ponytail. But somehow, despite all the trauma, she’s grinning.
As the platform reaches the floor, Jakk’s legs collapse under her and she falls over.
“You said you don’t need a stretcher!” Kyth says, catching her fall and easing her to the floor as she’s surrounded by medical personnel.
“Please,” Jakk laughs nervously, “save the equipment, I’ll walk.”
The medics clear her with a pass to go to the station’s Medco for her ribs. She looks up at Ana, smiling.
She’s okay.
Ana and Deanne walk over. They all sit on the floor and after a few long hugs, Jakk’s parents give Ana a moment alone with her.
“Are you out of your mind?” Ana says. “Do you want me to kick your ass? Why did you go there?”
“I’m sorry,” Jakk says. “Dasmen was just showing me his favorite place. It was supposed to be safe – it had nothing to do with you and me. It was complete chaos.”
“Can you promise me you’ll be safe from now on?” Ana says. “For me. I just have to try to sort things out with my family, I promise I’ll try my best.”
“I will,” Jakk says. Tears flood her eyes as she looks into Ana’s. “I’m terrified,” she says. “For real. When this ends, and everyone graduates, I don’t know where to go without you. I really am afraid it won’t work out the way we want. But I’ll be patient.”
“Okay,” Ana says.
“But also,” Jakk says, “I can’t deny that that was the coolest, wildest fucking thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.”
Ana pauses for a moment, looking into Jakk’s eyes in disbelief. She can’t be selfish about this, she thinks to herself. Jakk did an undeniably amazing and selfless thing. She plants a big, long kiss on her partner’s lips.
“I can’t fix you,” Ana chuckles, looking into Jakk’s eyes. “This is just… How you are.”
She helps Jakk up to her feet. Jakk leans onto her shoulder for support as they walk over to Kyth and Deanne.
Deanne puts a hand on her daughter’s cheek. “We’re so happy you’re okay,” she says.
Kyth hugs his daughter tight. “I couldn’t relax until I saw you in the flesh. My head was spinning. We were told you two rammed a cruiser into submission!”
“It was crazy,” Jakk says. “Okay, let’s go, I feel lightheaded.”
Kyth scans his Nanocard at the door. “Let’s get you fixed up,” he says, “go to Medco, get some food in you, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jakk says. “Let’s go.”
- A few minutes later –
The FT-296 docks aboard the ISF.
As the frigate’s crew steps off the ship and onto the walkways, they find teams of journalists hunting for information from arriving refugees. Voss, utterly exhausted from the battle, shoves them apart assertively to clear way for his crew of ISF cadets. He scans his Nanocard at the docking bay gate that leads to the academy and shows them inside.
“Cadets,” Voss says, voice raised as they walk down the hallways, “today was a golden opportunity to teach all of you about inter-arm relations. That was what a Norma Caste looks like. Welcome to the fuckin’ Galaxy.”
The cadets murmur among themselves in response.
“Although,” Voss says, “I’ll add that they’re usually not this level of crazy. With that in mind, the enforcers are conducting an investigation into what’s behind the pandemonium that just transpired. We will be doing a debrief with them, whereupon we will begin to formulate theories on how Perseus would have approached the path of retaliation.”
‘Retaliation’ – the word echoes through Jules’ thoughts. Two different feelings come to mind. For one, he would love to learn more about combat after today. He never wants to find himself without anything to do in situations like this again. On the other hand, what do today’s events mean? He knew Nios-B wasn’t pristine, but this was a real act of terrorism. It has been almost a decade since any violence has occurred across the Warpath, much less a Norma incursion into Persean space.
And what about Jakk Konway? And Dasmen Poll? They most likely saved their lives. He decides to ask.
“Voss,” Jules calls.
“Yes, cadet,” Voss answers.
“What about the Kestrel?”
Voss stops in his tracks. “After the meeting, you and I will be going to Medco.”
Jules nods.
__________________________________________
“…This just in on the Warpath Regionwide Newscast: Contact with Norma representatives is proceeding regarding the recent incursion into the Nios-B system. On-site reporting identifies the incursors as the Oceancloud Phantoms Norma Caste and confirms that a cruiser-class ship carrying their colors was involved.
This incident represents a massive 5-year peak in incursion materiel, prompting a full investigation and reinforcement of the nearby border regions. As a result of the lethal attack, several civilian casualties were reported and a Persean Warpgate was temporarily disabled. Persean Security Force sources state that while a military response was fully prepared to subdue the threat, an unarmed civilian frigate – Kestrel A8 – was successfully able to disable the attacking cruiser using heavy cargo crates, causing the invading force to abscond. For privacy concerns, the ISF refuses to disclose the identities of the ship’s crew as a cadet was on board. Condolences from around the Path to the families of those whose lives were lost, and well-wishes to the heroic crew of the Kestrel, who are currently receiving medical attention aboard the ISF.
Our analysts explain that the strategies utilized in the attack have not been seen for several Galactic decades, and that beyond temporary gate outage, its purpose remains unclear. What is your opinion, listener? Is this related to the Nios pair or just coincidence? Planned aggression or an act of terrorism? More information to come as we are updated.”
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