Legacy Audio Drama All call [Multiple parts]

A
humming noise drones its way into my little corner of hapless oblivion. 

I
groan.

“Sol!  Man, wake the fuck up!” Danther says, his words
fuzzy.

“Fucking
fuck, Danther,” I grumble as I roll over. 
“Shit man.”

“Get
up, kid,” a voice—a damned familiar voice—says, lazy amused drawl… th-the guy—The Artifact guy. 

My
blood runs cold and sobriety hits me hard and I scramble, sitting up. 

Nausea
runs through—.

I
taste—!

I
lean forward to throw up, but the man—Khal—grabs my shoulder with nonchalant
force.  “Here,” he says and holds up an
injector, eyes asking my permission.

I
nod, covering my mouth.

He
presses it to my neck and I feel the pressure jet force the liquid into my veins. 

I
lean back, trying to relax.  A minute
later, the nausea subsides. 

Khal
gestures to the couch I’m on and Danther scurries, taking a seat. 

I
swallow.

Staring
at him, I try not to let my fear show.  I
saw him once—he….  He’s dangerous—real dangerous, not some bender or thug.

“Mister
Starwind, your friend Mister Minth has racked up quite a tab,” he says with the
type of toothy grin one might expect to see on a—fuck, what are those things called? 
My head’s groggy.  Shorks, shakes—something like that.  “He’s requested your council.”

I
look over to Danther. 

He’s
white, staring down… fuck, he’s in shock.

I
turn to Khal.  “W-what kind of tab?”  I curse myself inside.  “—h-how much?”

“E-eight
hundred million,” Danther mutters. 

I
look to Danther and then to Khal.  I
stand.

Two
huge men edge forward, but Khal raises a hand. 
“That’s a lot of credits,” he says, almost musing the idea—th-the fucking guy.

“What
the f— …what are we supposed to do?”

He
raises an eyebrow.

“W-what?”

“We,” he says, grinning with what looks
like genuine respect—I—no, not now.  “I like that.”  He strokes his chin.  “Take the rest of the year—it’s the holidays,
after all—and ponder your situation. 
I’ll get in contact with you on the second.”  He beings out.  “Come time, we’ll settle our accounts.”

We
leave Dowin and ride to dock seven in a priority transport pod Voice somehow
obtained.  I try to absorb all that has
happened, but my mind keeps getting stuck. 

“I-it
talks?” Danther asks, the words pulling me out of my distraction.

“She talks,” Voice replies, aloud, and he shudders.

“She?”
he asks.

“She,” Voice confirms.

“Well
I suppose that isn’t terribly strange,” he says, seeming to latch onto the
idea; he doesn’t realize he’s half mumbling to himself. 

I
grin; I can’t help it.

“Are
you the ship’s A.I.?” Danther asks, still not getting it.

Voice
snorts.  “No,” she replies with
derision.  “I am and the ship is my
ship, not the other way around.”

He
turns to me, thunderstruck.  “She thinks
she’s alive, Sol.”

“Excuse
me, but I am alive—alive as much as
you, flesh nugget.”

And
just like that, he’s lost again. 

We
arrive at the dock a little while later, my mind still buzzing.  I stare at the ship, perplexed, and then turn
to Danther.  I laugh.  “Mind overdrawn?”  I ask, giddy. 

He
just nods.

“So,
uh… permission to come aboard?” I
ask.

 “Permission granted,” the voice replies,
amused, and the main hatch opens. 

The
vault-like hexagonal door shifts open and the walkway we’re on adjusts gravitational
orientation to match that of the ship. 
Danther closes his eyes as his skin turns white; for all his mental
aptitude, he can’t seem to rationalize the instinctual response to gradually
shifting to point at the southern horizon. 

“Can
we just go in already?” Danther asks through his teeth.

“Weak-stomached flesh nugget,” Voice mutters.

I
snigger.

“Shut
up the both of you!”

We
enter the security checkpoint, which is apparently also an airlock, an old
Earth portal-thing used to keep air from spilling out of the ship.  After the machines scan us, the main door
opens. 

I….

It
smells.

Not
bad, exactly—not good, either.

“You
go on,” Danther says and I turn, seeing him hunched against a wall.  I just roll my eyes and proceed.

After
a few steps—seeing a little more—I realize what the smell is. 

It
smells… old.  You don’t get that smell much anymore,
everything fabricated and refabricated as it is. 

Walking
through the ship, I feel a heaviness in my heart.  Pictures hang on the walls, furniture is
strewn about.  There are carpets on the
floors. 

This
isn’t a ship. 

It’s…
a home.

It’s…
it’s the fossil of a home. 

“Oh,
Voice,” I say, my heart
breaking. 

“When
are you going to stop calling me that?” she replies, but it is hollow… empty.

“This…
this was your home, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh,
Soma,” I say, immediately realizing
my slip up.  “V-Voice, I mean.”

The
little girl appears before me out of nothing. 
“How… how long did you know?” she asks, voice very small.

“I
recognized your voice as soon as you…,” I admit.  “You were just too convenient—too—.”

“Obvious?”
she asks, tone depressed.

I
grin, bittersweet.  “A little obvious,
yeah.”

She
looks down.  “I’m not very good at being
a person.”

My
heart, not nearly as broken as I had estimated, shatters.  I stoop down, wrapping my arms around
her.  “You’re not very good at being alone.” 
I squeeze her a little.  “I can’t
imagine being here—in this ship—all this time with every sight a memory and
everyone….”

“Gone,” she says, finishing what I can’t.

“You
can join us,” Danther says from behind, surprising me.  “I mean this is your ship and all, but Sol
and I lost our parents.”  He’s silent for
a moment.  “We’ve been like brothers—are brothers in every way that mattes.  You…,” he says, trailing off.  I turn to him.  “You could be our sister.”

“What
happened to me thinking I’m alive?” Soma asks, somewhere between spiteful and
curious. 

“I
understand now.”

We
are all silent for a little while.  “Do
you want me to show you around?” Soma asks.

“Yeah,”
I reply.

“Sounds
good,” Danther adds.

“A-alright!”
Soma says, looking at each of us in turn. 
“Well the room we’re in is one of the two cargo rooms—the other’s on the
starboard side.”

“So
this ship’s bilaterally symmetric?” Danther asks.

“What?”
I ask.

“Same
on both side,” he answers with offhanded ease.

“Yup,”
Soma replies. 

Danther
nods.  “Something about that is soothing—not
just to me,” he says when I look at him. 
“People have been designing most ships that way for centuries—at least
on the outside.”

“It
would make sailing easier,” I say.

“What?”

“You
know sea ships.  —even distribution of mass.”

He
nods, contemplative.  “I suppose the same
holds true for force distribution of modern engines—at least marginally.”

“That,
and it must be easier to only have to design half the ship and copy it over,” I
add.  Danther stares at me.  “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Sometimes
it surprises me how insightful you can be, is all.”

“Oh,
fu—!” I begin looking down to Soma, who gives me a hard stare.  “…nny.”

“If
it is all the same, I would prefer civil conversation aboard my ship,” she says
and Danther snorts.

“So,”
I say.  “Uh, what are those hexagon
things?”

Soma
goes on to explain that the ship, a retired Earth-spec gunship that fits the
modern classification of F-Class Hunter Corvette.  It utilizes a “modular” design, whereby a lot
of the parts and systems can be rapidly interchanged.  The hexagons in question are four of sixteen
utility pods. 

We
reach a tall hallway that houses another, larger version of these hexagons—this
one of four—before heading down a cramped decline that empties into what is
obviously some sort of dining room.

My
mouth drops.

Within
the dining room—along with table and it’s implements—sits twin housings meant
to fabricate, ready, and fire ten-meter-long torpedoes.  Two sit ready to fire, another pair in the
ready, and two more within the fabricators themselves. 

I
turn back to Soma, only to see something even more… damn.  At first, I can’t exactly
tell, but my scanner indicates it’s some kind of weapon—a huge weapon.  It’s no wonder
this is designated a hunter class; the ship is practically built around this
monstrosity. 

“It
is a gravity dilation accelerator cannon,” Soma says.

“A
what?” I ask.

“I
swear, do you ever listen when I’m
talking to you?  Do you have any idea how
gravity works?” Danther replies, shaking his head.

“Well
it sort of just pulls stuff,” I
reply, a little sheepish.

 “I suppose that’s technically correct—in as much as a firearm just shoots stuff.”  Danther sighs, rubbing his temple.  He looks up. 
“Einstein described gravity less as a force than the universe’s reaction
to uneven distribution of mass and energy. 
Dr. Albert Heidman later discovered in 2123 A.D.—never mind the
history.  Gravity is essentially an
exotic force that leaks in from the endoverse as mass stretches space time.”

“If
you think of space in two dimensions as a porous membrane,” Soma says and a helpful,
colorfully designed holographic plane sort of just appears before her.  She then drops a ball onto the plain and it
creates a decline. 

“So
this slope is gravity?” I ask, dubious. 

“No,
no, no!” Danther says, rolling his eyes. 
“Look closer.”

The
hologram grows and I see the way the ball stretches out the membrane, exposing
little holes.  I point.  “So the gravity comes from those?”

“Gravity
comes from the endoverse,” Soma says. 
“It enters through the holes.”

“But
how does it work?”  I ask.

“Well,
mass is attracted to the holes—it’s sort of like a ‘vacuum force’ in the way
that it operates.  The holes open
independently—infinite points attracting everything around them—and as the
vectors align and create wells, the holes dilate, creating stronger points of
gravity.”

“So,
like singularities?”

Danther
nods.  “Yes, actually.  Those are gravitation singularities, the
dilation of which is directly proportional to the mass stretching the universal
membrane.  We call them gravitational
windows.”

My
head swims a little.  “So how does that
thing work, then?” I ask, pointing over to cannon thing.  “It sort just dilates stuff?”

“It
creates a region of intensely dilated monodirectional gravitational windows,”
she says and I can tell by her expression that my face makes it obvious enough
how lost I am.

“It’s
like dropping a projectile toward a ultra-massive black hole for thirty or so
meters,” Danther says, exasperated. 

“See,”
I say, the idea clicking.  “Now that
makes sense!  Why not just say that?”

Danther
sighs, eyes closed and brow furrowed. 
Soma just shakes her head, grinning.

I
take a more analytical approach, applying a more information-heavy filter to my
sight.  “I can see now why everyone
wanted to get here.  Look at all the
resources in that thing.”

“Holy
shit!” Danther exclaims, apparently only having just realized how ridiculous the
weapon actually is.

“Language!”
Soma yells.

“Sorry,
I…,” Danther begins.  “This thing… it….”

“Has
enough material to outfit a—quote unquote—modern
lineship, I know,” Soma says, the smug grin on her face downright
wonderful.  “Back in the day, we didn’t
spread resources so thin.”

 The two go on to discuss the gun, words
quickly devolving into math talk I neither understand nor care to
understand.  I meander about, inspecting a
torpedo rack with about as much appreciation as my limited understanding can
muster.  “Yes, Sol, torpedo go boom!” I can almost hear Danther say.  I roll my eyes.

I
move onto the next room and freeze.

My
mind doesn’t know where to start, though my eyes lock onto the obvious point of
interest.  A five-meter sphere floats in
the middle of a large room, some fish of species I have never seen before
swimming within.  A wash of different
blue shades illuminates the area, moving in gentle patterns, shadows cast by a
wild growth of bamboo and other foliage.

“My
mom had it fabricated to surprise my dad… had fish delivered from Earth itself,”
Soma says, a slight edge of emptiness to her voice.  I look over my shoulder, seeing Soma—another
hologram of Soma—speaking to Danther behind me. 
“She was a doctor, my mom.”  She
grows quiet and respect it.  “She died
before the war… treating people….”

“Soma…,”
I say, kneeling and putting an arm around her shoulder.

“I
tried to keep them alive, but… it-it’s been over three hundred years, and….”

“It’s
okay, Soma.”

“They
were my dad’s fish!” she says, crying.  I
wrap my arms around her.  “He really
loved those fish!  —named all of them
with my mom before she…!”  She sobs,
embracing me. 

I
start tearing up as well.  I never met my
parents, but the void is of a similar sort. 
Even so, I stay still for her… try to feel strong and breathe….  She stills after a while.

“The
coral’s still alive,” I whisper.

She
sniffs.  “I know.” 

She
pulls back, looking at me.  “Thanks
Soma,” I say.

“For
what?”

“For
sharing even though it hurts.”

A
bittersweet grin flashes on her face, disappearing a moment later.  “Thank you for listening.”

“Do
you want to tell me their names?”

She
nods and we head over to the tank, I getting stuck in the bamboo and making
Soma laugh.  She tells me about the
fish—Bob, the yellowtail damselfish; Star, the angelfish; Basil, Leaf, and Boo,
three inseparable clownfish, and many others. 
She tells me how they would swim about and do various fish things,
little subtleties of their limited personalities coming out over the
years. 

“What
are those?  —those clear things in each
of the fish?” I ask after a while, having noticed them a couple times
already.  “Are they like, micro-A.I. modules?” I ask, mushing
appropriate sounding words together.

“They
are what’s left over…,” Soma says, sad. 

“What
do you mean?” I ask, but I think I already know.

“They
are diamonds,” she replies simply.  “I
took their remains and turned the carbon into diamonds.”

“Do
you think… when we start traveling, I mean—you might wanna get more fish?”

“They
will just die too.”

“Everyone
dies, Soma.”

She
looks at me, a strange, sad forgiveness in her eyes.  “I don’t.”

We
get our final clearance a little while after I speak with Soma, who seems okay,
if a little shy; it’s quite cute actually. 
All the ships line up, Legacy
in the lower left of the plane a huge sphere-looking thing dead center,
surrounded by six identical ships Danther says are part of a study.  Miln says they paid extra for prime
positioning, all seven of them Dowin ships. 

“Incoming
communication,” Soma says and a large holoscreen shows up, light of the giant
aquarium shining through.

“Greetings
racers,” a subdued voice says.  “The
following is today’s route.  The race
will begin in five minutes.”

“Bringing
up route analyzer,” Soma says, appearing before us by the screen.  “Potential routes plotted.”

“Thanks,
Soma,” I reply.

She
turns, grinning and avoiding eye contact.  “It
wasn’t that difficult.  Hmm,” she
says, turning back.  “Calculating,” Soma adds,
several paths showing up in a large planet’s atmosphere.  “Hmm, I’m going to need to run scans when we
get closer for weather conditions, but based on previous data, I have a
tentative optimal route.”

“You
are going through the atmosphere?” Tavin asks.

“Yes,
Tavin,” Soma replies, obviously still
annoyed at the man.  “Sol, it looks like
today’s race will consist of several stages. 
The first is a straight shot to Delan IV, presently 3,514 light seconds
away—but we’ll take a rift gate to within 12 light seconds.”

I
nod.

“Next
is a near complete loop around Delan IV, then a warpfield, then a short jump
through dedicated rift gates, and finally a trip around Delan proper, this
system’s sun.”

“Sounds
good,” I say, as a big “60” appears on the holoscreen, counting down.  “Everyone take your seats; I fly with
inertia, so—.”

“You
what?” Tavin exclaims.

“It’s
on a logarithmic scale,” Danther replies and that seems to calm the man, though
I’m not sure what that means.

“Ready Sol?” Soma whispers over neural a
little while later after I run through all the final checks, holographic
representation of her giving me a significant look from the holoscreen.

I
give her a nod.  “Hell yeah.”

She
narrows her eyes.  “Language.”

3
flashes red; I crack my neck.

2
flashes orange; I ignite the antimatter engines… the ones no one expects to see.

1
flashes blue; a shiver runs through my spine.

Green
all across the board; I push the accelerator to max.

“Oh,
come on, Sol, you’re going to see like a hundred of these over the next couple
months.”

“You
can join us,” Danther says from behind, surprising me.  “I mean this is your ship and all, but Sol
and I lost our parents.”  He’s silent
for a moment.  “We’ve been like
brothers—are brothers in every way
that mattes.  You…,” he says, trailing
off.  I turn to him.  “You could be our sister.”

Sol
takes a bite of the turkey steak as the quadlevs take us to the commercial
district.  It’s night by now, but in a
city like this that hardly matters; sleep schedules as screwed up as ours are, it’ll
be a couple hours until I’m tired enough for bed, so it makes sense to check
out the ship listings.  Who knows, maybe
we’ll get lucky and not need to get an apartment at all.

I try to put on a reassuring face, but the prospect of
having strangers in my ship bothers me. 
I have already begun running thorough background checks on the two
arbiters and they seem acceptable, but I cannot help thinking this is the final
step in some elaborate trick by Khal… it
kind of makes sense, at least.

As the small docking craft with the arbiters and their
sensor equipment approach, the main one begins interacting with me via
neural.  I reluctantly give him clearance
and the ship docks.  After they pass
through the security airlock, I lead them via neural to the main room, Sol and
Danther in the makeshift operations area.

“Greetings, racers,” says man with a blonde mustache and a
somewhat bored expression, he accompanied by a younger, more eager compatriot
with an exited air.  “My name is Tavin
Jorr.  I will be your onboard senior
arbiter and this is Miln Hornsvether, junior arbiter,” he says as he looks
around.  “Hmm, cozy,” he adds, before Sol
has a chance to speak.  “Traditional,
single plane layout—that’s inefficient, but well suited for first flyers.”

“Excuse me?” I ask over comm., indignant at the man’s
indecent bluntness.

“Hm, that’ll be the ship’s A.I. then?  What mod—.”

“I’m not the ship’s A.I.,
Tavin; the ship is mine.”

“It sounds as though your A.I. has personality,” he says with a grin.

“I—,” I begin, but then growl, annoyed.  I manifest before him. 

He looks at me, letting out a patronizing little “hm.”

I kick him in the shin.

The man spews a litany of profanity I filter away.  He stumbles after me, but I dissolve the
hologram.  The other man tries to speak
up, but Tavin, furious and unable to find me, rounds on Sol, pushing his way
through the overgrown path, bamboo creaking. 
The other one—Miln—rushes in front of Tavin, putting a hand on the older
man’s chest.  Tavin tries to get past
him, but Miln shoves him.  “Do you have any idea where we are, you
idiot?” Miln asks in a terse whisper, Sol and Danther staring in
bewilderment.

Tavin’s eyes widen. 
“How dare—!”

“This is the ENS
Legacy—bloody Alexander Reynard’s
ship.”

The man freezes and I reappear.  “I’m glad someone
has manners at least.”

Tavin stars at me. 
“I’m so sorry, Soma—the Soma—I…
I didn’t know!  I—.”

“Just maybe try not to be such a… a…,” I say, waving my hand
like the humans do.

“Dick?” Sol asks.

I turn around, narrowing my eyes.  “Sol, language.”

He smirks.

When I turn back, Tavin’s right in front of me, inspecting
me; I take a jerky step back, uncomfortable. 

“I—oh, sorry!”

Completely weirded out now, I disappear again, content to
watch without being ogled. 

The four talk as the two arbiters set up their scanning
devices and Sol fabricates seats for the guests, Miln telling everyone how the
junior arbiters had set up a bidding war to see who could be on this ship.  Tavin, meanwhile takes on an almost reverent
aura, though only barely follows along as Danther and Miln chatter about the
ship, I having to contact Danther via neural several times to keep him from sharing
anything too important in his zeal.  I—.

“Soma?” Sol asks,
a silent question made audible to me through neural. 

“Yeah?”

“Well, for one,
there’s a lot about you and this ship I didn’t realize,” he says with mild,
amused accusation.

“I… well….”

“Don’t worry about it,”
he says, warm.  “Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah.”  I smile. 
He can feel it.  “I like people.”

[NOT HER PERSPECTIVE]

“You shouldn’t trust
him, Sol,” a voice says over neural.

I open my eyes to blackness, the room remaining dark despite
my commands otherwise. 

“Who is this?” I
ask back, hand clasping the pistol under my pillow.

“Look to your left.”

Despite myself, I do and see noth—.  No… a small speck—far beyond….  I zoom and…. 
“W…walnut?”

“The A.I. inside, nugget, and I do wish you would stop
calling my ship that,” she—she—says,
a little annoyed.

That voice.

“What would you like
me to call the ship?”

She pauses.  “I’m not sure.”

“It doesn’t have a
name?”

“It does,” she
replies, this time contemplative.  “I just don’t wish to share it yet.”

“What about you, then?”

“I don’t want to share
my name, either.”

“Okay, Voice,”
I answer.  I… I already think I recognize
the voice, but… well sometimes you let….

“What?” she says,
but sounds a little amused.

“Well you were Walnut—your
ship was Walnut—when all I had to go on was stories.  Now I have a voice.”  I make reflexive gesture she probably can’t
see—then again, the lights in my room won’t work, so who knows.  “Voice,” I conclude, mind getting back on
point.

I can almost feel her in my mind—like a guest AI—rolling her
eyes at me.  “I like you, Sol.  You remind me
of someone.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you
someday.”  She pauses again, somehow
both amused and serious.  “That is another secret.”

I don’t know what to say. 

“You and Danther,”
she says, voice trailing off. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re… friends,
right?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… okay.”  She grows silent for a minute.  “Can…?  I just wanted to know…?”

“‘Can an A.I. have
friends?’” I offer.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t see why not,”
I say, laying back as I think.  “No—purge that—they absolutely can.”

“I—o-okay!” she
says, voice bubbling with joy. 

I laugh. 

“What?”

“Oh, it’s just you
remind me of someone too, is all.”

“Who?”

“A little girl I used
to know.  Her name was Luna.”

“You’re very nice,
Sol,” she says and I look up out of habit, realizing there’s no one
there.  I relax again.

“Why’s that?”

“You told me your
name, even though I won’t tell you mine. 
You told me about who I reminded you of, even though I wouldn’t say who
you reminded me of.”  She
pauses.  “I’m sorry, it’s just—.”

“Don’t worry about it,”
I say, laughing a little.  “Sometimes it’s good to keep secrets.”

“Like how you and
Danther were hiding from the bad man—Mr. Khal?”

I look up again and, again, realize there’s no one to look
at.  “How
do you know Khal?”

“He’s tried to get in
my ship over a dozen times,” she says, sounding afraid.

“That man terrifies me,”
I whisper, truth of the words heavy.

“Me too,” she
says, the words almost a whisper.  “He tried to cut his way in and I defended
myself.  After that, he tried to destroy
me.”

“Well, he didn’t
succeed,” I say, warm with pride.  “Good for you.”

 “Yeah.”  She laughs, but it
dies away.  “He’s lost interest for now, but I don’t think he’s the type to let
things go.”

I chuckle, but it also fades quickly.  “Yeah,
that’s the truth of it.”

She is silent for a while. 
“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t worry, Voice.”

“Stop calling me that!”
she says, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it.

“Sure thing, Voice.”

“Will you come see me
tomorrow?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good, it’s just—well
you said….”

“That it might be the
last time I came back?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry.  Something happened and… well, our situation’s
different now.”

“Okay.”  She pauses. 
“Sol?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you not tell
anyone I was talking to you?”

“Why?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“You’re afraid, aren’t
you?”

“I …yeah.”

“Okay,” I say,
pausing.  “I won’t.”

“Ms.
Veriley,” Dern June says, appearing in my office. 

“One
second please, Mr. June,” I reply, bookmarking my thought and letting my vis
windows go transparent.  “Please,” I say,
gesturing to a chair.  “You have
something to report, I expect?”

“Yes,”
he says, the A.I. hologram chuckling as he sits.  “Always with your little games at humanizing
me.”  He clears his throat and
grins.  “Two flagged individuals have
entered the city.”

“Who?”
I ask, well able to get the information myself, but enjoying the
discourse.  “Officials?  Criminals?”

“Personal
interest,” he says with a grin.

I
raise an eyebrow.  “Who flagged them?”

“Why, you did.”

“I…?” 

June
chuckles and takes a sip from a teacup that materializes in his hand as I forgo
further conversation.  The video feed
appears along with the two profiles. 

“It
has certainly been a while, has it not?” Dern asks.

“Almost
a decade.”  I lean back in my chair,
staring.  It’s amazing, but they’re just
like I would imagine—memories all grown up. 
Sol walks, slouched forward, hands in his pockets, brown hair just as
disheveled as always; I switch the feed and see those dark bored eyes….  I grin, bored or alight with excitement, his
mind is only rarely anywhere else. 
Danther, short and striding to keep up with Sol, still retains his
customary air of bemused irritation.  The
sight makes me feel young again.  “What
could they be doing here, I wonder?”

“Perhaps
they seek you?”

“If
that were the case, I suspect they would have contacted me first.”

“Then
they do not know you are here?”

“Not
inconceivable, as far as coincidences go,” I reply absentmindedly.  He says something, but I only just
realize.  “Pardon, what?”

He
chuckles again.  “I shall put the rest of
the day’s schedule on hold.”

“What
you obviously don’t understand, Ms.
Veriley,” Mr. Khal says, intoning my name with an altogether irritating
mixture of thirst, amusement, and patronization, “is that one does not
interfere with a superior’s business.  I
spent quite’a’bit’a’time—.”

“If
I may?” I interrupt and the assembly stares at me.  “As you can see, I leveraged my personal assets to fulfill Mr. Minth’s
debt, namely because this, to me at least, is a personal matter.”  Viron
Dowin—the CEO, for stars’ sake—regards me, interested.  “I grew up with those two… they are family.”

“Then
why have you not told them?” Mr. Viron asks, his emotionless, piercing eyes
boring into me.  

“They…
well, they are the independent sort and….”

Mr.
Khal snorts.  “Well, she certainly seems
to know them well enough—very well…,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.  “I withdraw my claim.”

Mr.
Viron’s mouth flickers a brief, strangely emotionless smile.  “It is refreshing to see a smooth resolution
to this conflict.”  His gaze comes to
rest on me again, this time severe and empty. 
“Though perhaps, young lady, you will have the foresight in the future
to approach Mr. Khal with your concerns before jumping into action.  The time of this council is valuable.”

“I-I—yes,
sir,” I reply, bowing.

He
leans back, taking in a great long breath through his nose.  “We do not need a vote on this matter; it has
been resolved.  Go about your business,
ladies and gentlemen.”

He
waves a dismissive hand and the holograms dissolve.  I collapse to the floor, shaking.  It takes me several minutes to regain my
composure.  I won’t use chemical aid; I
shouldn’t—don’t—need to rely on it
for something as trivial as—.

“Hello,
Luna.”  Shuttering, I turn, seeing Mr. Khal leaning
against the door frame.  He raises an
eyebrow.  “You look good on your knees… distracting, I dare say,” he says and I
scowl, scrambling to get up.  “Ow, come now; I meant that as a
complement… after all, is distraction not a useful tool for a negotiator such
as yourself?”

“What
are you doing here?  —in Red Heaven?”

His
amusement dies away.  “I was here to oversee the last stage of a
plan I set in motion—painstakingly, I
might add—come to fruition.  That is…,”
he says, spreading his arms, “until one of my associates deemed it her business
to interfere.”

“He
was going to kill himself!”

He
waves his hand.  “Nao,” he says, accent flaring.

I
shake my head, moving to walk past him. 
He presses himself out a little and I’m forced to choose between staying
in the room or brushing up against the man. 
I refuse to let him affect me, pressing forward.  I begin walking away.

“I
could have pressed for more, of course, but that’s not sporting.”

I
stop.

He
chuckles.  “My, it’s so easy to
manipulate you.”  I turn, staring at
him.  “One carefully crafted sentence and
I can push you wherever I want.”  He
reaches up, stroking his goatee.  “Yet you’re
a smart one—always seeing through—always fightin’
back,” he says, the drawl in his voice more pronounced.  “That’s…
what makes you so fun.”

I
shake my head; anything I could say is just more of what he wants.  I begin walking away again.

“I
like our little chats—feels like foreplay.” 
I can almost feel his grin.

I
close my eyes, trying not to show my disgust. 
“Your unprofessionalism is becoming more and more pronounced, Mr. Khal.”

He
grows silent, but I hear footsteps behind me. 
Having taken a couple steps, I instinctively turn, regretting it.  The cold expression on his face makes me
shiver.  He grins.  I clench my teeth.

“You’re
oh, so easy to predict, Luna.”

“Ms. Veriley,” I correct.

“Ms. Veriley,” he replies.  He looks away, aloof and a bit bored.  “One of these days, you’ll indulge me.”

“Excuse
me!” I ask, the unprecedented forwardness insulting.

“One
of these days, I’ll have something you want and it’ll be important enough for
you to trade.”  He grins, staring back at
me.  “And we both already know what I
want.”

“I
think we’ve both seen today that I can protect my interests,” I reply with ice
in my voice; I can only hope he can’t tell just how much he terrifies me.

He
stares, the weight of his amused leer making me shiver.  “The only thing, Luna, that I saw today, was a delectable specimen of a woman
showing me exactly where she’s vul-ner-a-ble.”

I
freeze.  “I…. i-it’s Ms. Veriley!”

“Tell
you what, Ms. Veriley,” he drawls,
stepping up to me—close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body—looking
down to meet my eyes.  He reaches down,
fingers unfastening the top button of my blouse. 

I-I
freeze. 

I-I do nothing.

“Don’t
stop me… that’ll be enough—” he unfastens another “—to distract my attention
from your… family… for, hmm…,” he
moves for the third, “a week, say?”

“I…,”
I reply, my hand shaking as I push him away. 

He
laughs.  “You’ve already showed you’re
willing to sacrifice to protect those two. 
It’s only a matter of time until—.”

“Fuck
you, Khal!”

“Ah,”
he says, laughing.  “It seems we have the
same idea.”  

I
glare at him, seething.

But
then his demeanor cracks.  He sighs,
almost sullen.  “I apologize.  That was a bit too far—more than a bit to far.”  He
looks out the window, growing still. 
“Not the comment, but using this…,” he twirls a hand.  “I should not have relied on such underhanded
blackmail to get what we both want. 
Sometimes I just get lost in the game and just….  I’m sorry.”

I
stare at him, trying to….

“Family…,”
he says, almost as if thinking to himself. 
He turns, eyes meeting mine.  “I
don’t expect you to understand, but… well… let’s just say I have my reasons for
failing to realize and appreciate how important family should be.”  As smile
flickers on his face for a moment, but then disappears.  “What you did was sweet.”

I
look away.

“Well, I’ll be off.” 
I can almost hear his grin.  “Got scheming to do.”

“Pardon,
what?” I ask, getting into my express transport.

“You
have been reassigned to Lanver Station for the day,” Mr. June says, as my
transport alters course, beginning toward Dowin’s corporate shuttle bay.  “A client of Dowin needs a clandestine negotiator,
I expect.”

“Hmm,
any details?”

“None
listed.”

I
make my way to the nearest shuttle when I arrive, Mr. June taking care of all
the details as I prep the ship for planetary egress.  A minute later, I’m off.  Opening a holo window, I look down on the
planet as I ascend.  Whoever first called
them “jewels of the void” was inspired, the phrase so apt.  I just love the way Delan III’s oceans
display that deep, ultramarine where it’s deep, lightening its way to
aquamarine at the shores.  I adore the
greens of the forests: rich, verdant, and dark in the boreal regions and alive,
tropical, and light near the equator.  Even
the white at the tips of mountains and the poles are magical.  Yet, almost as soon as the sightseeing has
begun, it ends, final approach notice coming over neural. 

I
leave the shuttle, but keep the holo window open, passively following my neural
nav to what I assume must be a briefing; it has been quite a while since I have
had such an undocumented assignment, the only logical explanation some sort of
cooperative project either with sensitive security concerns that bears only a
single explanation in an isolated room or perhaps something last minute.  I reach my destination, entering what appears
to be… a posh suite.

Khal
stands before me. 

“Ms.
Veriley,” he says with a grin.

“Mr.
Khal,” I say, not entirely annoyed with him, remembering the chocolates,
Champaign, and roses.  “I should have
expected this.”

“Should
you have?” he asks, grin growing to a smile. 
“Have I become that predictable?”

“I
suppose not.”

“Furthermore,
do you know what this is?”

“I
should have expected you,” I correct,
narrowing my eyes.  “What are you up to
this time?”

“I
noticed you haven’t taken vacation since you began working for Dowin.”

“And
are you my vacation?” I ask,
unamused.

“Not
exactly,” he says though a laugh. 
“Though I would not be averse to the notion.”

I
don’t reply. 

“A-ney-way,” he says with that annoying
way of his where he breaks up a word’s syllables.  “Mr. Starwind and Mr. Minth are in today’s
race,” he says and my annoyance disappears.

“They’re
what?”

“Yeah,”
he says, amused.  “They got their hands
on a ship and I sponsored their entry.”

I
narrow my eyes.  “Why?”

He
shrugs.  “Hmm, motives.”

I
roll my eyes, grinning despite myself; I try to turn away, but a glance his way
shows me he’s already seen.  “You’re so
determinedly vague.” 

“Well,
what can I say other than your mind’s worth the effort.”

I
flush a little.  “Why have you brought me
here?”

“To
watch, sweetheart.”

“Don’t
call me—.”

“Yes,
yes, Ms. Veriley.”

“I…
I wasn’t going to say that,” I say,
hoping he gets the hint.

He
sighs and I stop myself.  “I meant that as a complement.”  He pauses. 
“You want to see those two succeed. 
I…,” he begins, but smirks, looking away.  “I think that’s sweet’a you.”

I
blush more, but this time I don’t think he sees.

“I
pulled some strings and put you on ‘assignment’ to ‘observe the races’ as Dowin
has assets—yaddi-yadda—but, in reality, the point is to just, well—to just have
some time off… enjoy yourself.”

“That’s…,”
I begin, thinking.  “That’s rather sweet of you.”

“Don’t
go calling me sweetheart, now.”

I
roll my eyes. 

He
walks past.  “Well, enjoy.”

“Khal?”
I ask before I realize what I’m doing.

“Yes?”
he asks, a twinkle of knowing pleasure in his voice.

“Could…,”
I begin, trying to think of something. 
“Could you show me… how to set up the feeds?”

“Of
course,” he says, coming back.  He walks
over to a plush couch and I sit as he brings up a number of holo screens,
announcers, pundits, and other spokespersons appearing near feeds of ships,
diagrams of engines, and other various things. 
A moment later, he looks back. 
“Good?”

“Perfect.”

He
begins out.  “Well—.”

“You’re
going already?” I ask, accidently interrupting him, though continuing on
anyway.

“I
was.”

“You…,”
I begin and he tilts his head.

“I…?”

“You’re
not going to make this easy, are you?”

“When
have you ever made things easy for me, Ms. Veriley?”

“L-Luna,”
I say, shaky.

“Pardon?”
he asks, grinning ear to ear.

“Just
call me Luna, you insufferably difficult—!” I say, sighing.  “Man.”

His
grin becomes a smirk as he sits.  “I
suppose I could stay a while,” he says through that stupid expression.  I try to pay attention to the holo screens,
but I can’t keep his annoying smirk out of my peripheral gaze. 

“Stop,”
I finally say.

“What?”

“Stop
grinning.”

“Do
me a favor first?”

“What?”
I ask, despite myself.

“Stop
being so adorable.”

I
catch a rather unladylike comeback before it reaches my lips and shove him
instead.

“Oh,”
Khal says, interest caught.  “The, uh, ENS Legacy has given itself clearance
for takeoff.”

“Did
you just say ENS Legacy?” I ask,
staring at him.

“Yeah.”  He turns, giving me a significant look.  “And neither of them has any idea.”

I sit, contemplating. 

I sense some pattern—some manner of plot unfolding.  I’ve always had a mind for these sorts of
things; hell, half the time I’m head deep in several schemes of my own.  Nevertheless, doing a little more digging on
Sol and Danther, I found a connection between the two and the lovely miss Luna,
they all having lived in the same orphanage in Farshore.  That much, at least, checks out. 

What’s more, what she said to me when she thought it was her
A.I. did not indicate any collusion on their part—if anything, it supported the
idea that Sol and Danther really don’t have any clue that Luna had helped
them.  It’s actually rather sweet of her,
helping without expecting some manner of repayment; sweet and a bit foolish.

Even so, Sol’s been showing up at the port, talking to The Ship.  Most of what he says is just emotional
wash—bitching about this or explaining about that—but it has me wondering if it’s
some sort of strategy to get himself in. 

It’s been months since I tried, but the idea of getting into
an Earth-built ship still intrigues me.  Even
if my grandfather hadn’t ordered it, I suspect I would have found my way to
discovering The Ship and inevitably tried to get to its secrets.  Yet Grandfather did give the order and I am therefore inclined to regard the thing
with the utmost suspicion and curiosity.

I would enjoy the simplicity of a scenario where the endgame
of Danther, Sol, and Luna is to enter The Ship, but the facts just do not favor
the idea.  Luna has been with the company
for years.  Sol and Danther were targeted
by me after the snoopers discovered the latter’s design specs and only came to
this city after a long, circuitous route of others. 

They would have had to plan this in their teenage years and,
despite my own aspirations at that age, this seems to be an overly complex
scenario, Luna as a long-term sleeper, Danther and Sol performing a reverse
Trojan Horse, and all the time avoiding any direct connection with The Ship.

No, The Ship is not the goal here. 

Less unlikely, though still extremely convoluted, I myself
might be the focal point.  All the same
stipulations would apply, though there is no why.  Had I killed their parents?
—I the one who sent them to an orphanage? 
Seems unlikely, if possible.  Are they targeting the company?  Do they see me as some sort of linchpin?  Perhaps they have a coordinator?  —someone pulling their strings?

I shake my head, taking a sip of whisky. 

It’s only paranoia if one stoops to worry; considering
potentially wild notions for the sake of preparedness is an entirely different
story.  I’ll have a dryworks team perform
a deep probe.

I sigh, shaking my head and taking another sip.

I like Sol, stubborn little fuck that he is.  The kid’s got a sort of stupid smartness to
him—the type of intelligence that gets things done without spending too much
time second guessing.  He reminds me of
myself a little, a sort of lesser reflection in many ways, though with a mind
more able to work under the crush than my own; in essence, someone with the
makings perfect for an operative specializing in time sensitive maneuvers.  Yet… because of that, he reminds me of my
sister a little more, however, and having an ally with similar gifts would
prove valuable.

Then there’s Danther. 
He’s already provided the company with more than enough to prove his
value—that engine design of his swelled stock prices and it hasn’t even hit the
public.  I reckon if he got his hands on
a half decent setup, the kid’d excel. 

Yet then there’s Luna… Luna, that new, errant factor.  My interests in her are certainly not new,
but the way she’s managed to interpose herself complicates matters; it also
makes her all the more appealing.  

I lean back, finishing the whiskey, but then lean forward
again and pour more.

I nearly fell to the temptation of romancing her; preying on
so obvious a weakness would be like shooting one’s opponent in a game of chess
to claim victory.  I need to pace myself—enjoy
this most refreshing puzzle she presents; in this instance, I not only play
against her, but also myself.  I want to
manipulate her—corner her—so she can
appreciate and recognize just how masterfully I have outmaneuvered her.

I want her—I want her—but
sampling victory now would be… hmm, like partaking of food before it is done
fabricating.

It sickened me to send those gifts to her—delivering them personally
like some sycophantic little shit. 
Nevertheless, she surmised and summarized my plan so accurately,
that….  Fuck, I hate to say it, but I
panicked—I panicked.

Of course, I hadn’t taken the time to realize what I was
doing—that I was inadvertently putting one goal at risk to advance the
other.  I hate advancing without the proper precautions.

I drink the glass in one.

Yet I still do it.  I still fall to my own impatience.

I can almost hear my sister laughing—see that damned smirk—.

I throw the glass against the wall.

That bitch Luna
and her interfering, making things more complicated.

I close my eyes. 

No.

That prize Luna
and her interfering, making things more interesting.

It’ll be two weeks or so until I can start things up again
with our little game.  Danther’s mind is
too valuable to the company and I cannot let that suspicion of Luna’s
live. 

This “convergence” complicates both scenarios; though,
interestingly, matters might also make things work more smoothly.  It’s true the more complicated a process, the
more opportunity there is for failure; nevertheless, I’d prefer a pistol to a
throwing knife in most long range engagements. 

Back to the night’s original thought, though, I sense something…
something happening beneath the
surface and I’ll be damned if I will ever play the unwitting pawn again.  Tiles are moving and hands are being
played.  I have been comfortable for the
last couple months and the knife needs sharpening.

I crack my knuckles.

What am I not seeing here?

A comm. from my secretary comes over neural; it would seem I
have a guest.  I activate the door and he
shutters, apparently startled. 

“Mr. Minth; what a surprise,” I say, standing and spreading
my arms.  “What can I do for you?” 

“Tell me about this job.”

I rest my arm across Luna’s shoulder, she leaning into my
side.  The feeling of her pulls my
attention—a burning need for more making my brain fuzzy.  Yet, even so, both our attentions are fixed
on the race.  Ratings and viewership
swelled by the news of the Earth ship, all the feeds and pundits have begun
focusing on Legacy. 

If Legacy herself wasn’t
the spectacle of the moment as is, that brilliant purple thrust trail—some
exotic matter-antimatter mixture yet to be identified—gives the ship a
brilliance that the others—each just gliding through space—lack. 

The commentary has been amusing, race officials perplexed as
to how to react to the situation; they all agree that no rules are being
broken, but… well, that just isn’t
what was expected, now, is it?  It is
been particularly enjoyable to see them all skirt around the main problem: it
is hard to criticize a ship that’s abusing an advantage when every other ship
in the upper half of the rankings is doing the exact same thing.  Sure, they could admit this race is really just a place for companies to
demonstrate their products and have their names repeated ad nausium, but I have little doubt what would happen to ratings if
people realized it the whole thing was an advertisement.  The—.

“I’m not keeping you from anything important, am I?” Luna
asks.

I look down at her.  “I
would be quite impressed if you could name something that is as important to me
right now as you,” I say and she gives me an annoyed little nudge.  “It’s good to see them succeed,” I say,
grinning as I change the subject.

“Yeah,” she agrees simply. 

“Are you hungry?”  My
stomach growls, as if on cue. 

She looks up at me, smirking.  “Someone
is.”

“Would you like anything?”

“Perhaps something light,” she says, looking forward and
bringing up a holoscreen.  She loads a
pre-designed dish with small sandwiches of some sort, ordering it along with
wine.  “Would you like anything?”

“Hmm, I’ll have what you’re having.  —except,” I say, leaning in, navigating the
beverage menu, and making my own selection.

“Blackberry cider?”

“I find it quite palatable.”

She looks back to the menu and then gives me a sidelong
glance and smirk.  “I think I’ll try that
too.”  She gets up and I make to stand as
well.  “Please,” she says and I
pause.  “You have done enough for me
already.”  She smiles, the expression
significant somehow, and goes to the fabricator. 

I watch her walk… the way her hips move… the implications of
her legs under that skirt.

It hurt, sacrificing my little game with her.  And, while the simple romance is wonderful,
it pales before what it could’a been. 

Even so, that ship—Legacy—is
a prize beyond anything I have ever sought; it is no wonder grandfather ordered
me to gain entry it so many years ago. 
He must have known.  Even then.

Yet Luna, a prize all her own, is my surest in with the ship’s
new occupants—even if its A.I.—Soma­,
I should have known—seems to despise me. 
But taking Luna’s heart is no means a task lacking its pleasures—indeed,
she… she is quite a lovely woman. 

She returns, flushing as she sees me watching her.  “Stop.”

“Stop what?” I ask, grinning with a devilishness I know will
get to her.  “Appreciating you?”

She flushes more.

I grin more.

“Shift over,” she says.

“Pardon?”

 She gives little
twitch of her chin toward the side of the couch.  I tilt my head and oblige, shifting on the
couch.  She lets the tray holding our
food go, the force inducing holographics holding it aloft.  Sitting between myself and the arm of the
couch, she drapes her legs across my own. 
Entertained by her forwardness, I put a hand on her knee, sliding it up
her skirt.  She slaps it, glaring at me
with a mix of admonishment, invitation, and… something. 

“Feeling forward again, are we?”

“Says the one who’s quite literally placed herself on top of
me.”

She is a prize indeed.

The food hovers on over and we eat, I quite liking the
little sandwiches and she taking to the cider. 
I consider making another advance, but my thought is interrupted by one
of the announcers.

“It has just been confirmed by a racing official that
prefers to go unnamed that the Earth vessel—presently in first place—is
registered as ENS Legacy, ship
belonging to none other than Alexander Reynard. 
While it cannot be confirmed whether this is the actual Legacy or some cleaver imposter, the—.”

“Do you think it really is…? 
That the ship is Legacy, I
mean?” Luna asks, voice priority overriding the holoscreen’s volume.

“That I do,” I reply and she looks at me.  “That ship’s been around for centuries.  It’s impressive enough that it’s an Earth
ship.”  I pause, looking at her.  “There’s no need to lie beyond that, I
reckon.”

She grins.

“What?”

“I love the way you talk.”

“Do you, now?”

“It’s both sophisticated and deliberate, yet somehow… dirty and full of insinuation.  What is it?”

“High American Southern, it’s called.  I chose my A.I. tutor with care,” I
reply.  “As did you, I suspect.”

She tilts her head.

“I could listen to you talk all day.”

“Could you now?”

“Oh, yes,” I reply, reaching out and stroking her
cheek.  “English Received is a charm to
the ears, indeed.”

“Hmm,” she says, leaning into my hand.

“You, let the
alcohol take hold,” I reply, letting my hand slide down to her neck. 

She stares at me, eyes inviting… daring.

“You, are
altogether possessed.”

“Are you feeling possessive?”

“Oh, I’m feeling something.”

“What’s this!” an announcer says, vocal priority high enough
to interrupt us.  “Is Legacy having some sort of engine
trouble?”

“No!” another cuts in. 
“They are taking a path through the atmosphere deliberately!”

I watch, disbelief permeating though me in waves, transfixed
as Legacy, enveloped in a blue,
crackling shield that extends more than a kilometer out in front of her nose
like some sort of spearhead, sinks into the swirling gas giant’s atmosphere.  Tracking scanners adjust, gradually piecing
together what she’s doing until….

A simulation shows up on screen, Legacy using its shields to shunt the atmosphere out of a region of
space, creating a vacuum for itself to traverse.  If those shields fail for even an instant,
the damage would be significant—fettrium armor or no.  Yet the route she takes is, of course, the
fastest one.

Those shields must….

I take a moment to monitor Dowin company communications;
chatter has risen considerably, this ship one surprise after another.

I expect this stunt will make some waves over the next
couple years… that, and get a whole lot of idiot pilots killed. 

The simulation zooms out, switching to actual
recording.  I can see Legacy’s shields as speck of light
shining through the gas.  Yet, ship
moving at that speed through a dense atmosphere, a colossal swath of eddies and
storms trails in her wake, lighting surging in cascading blooms.

“Damn….” Luna mutters.

“Yeah,” I agree.

Legacy surfaces gradually, a graceful
tip at the head of thousands of kilometers of chaotic storm behind.

The back of Legacy
explodes as the thrust engines ignite again—downright archaic devices discarded
centuries ago in favor of fuel-free and stealth friendly gravity engines—light
bright enough to blind—or perhaps even burn—any first-hand observer.  Legacy’s
acceleration rises, rapidly approaching the next task before letting the thrust
die off as they achieve proper entry velocity. 
The commentators babble over one another in an excited fervor, but I
tune them out, curious as to what will come next.

The warpfield is ahead.

It takes ten seconds for Legacy
to reach the bounds and they nimbly and efficiently navigate.  Nevertheless, after the eight minutes it takes
for the X183-Prime—my company’s own
test ship which utilizes Mr. Minth’s engine design at full capacity—to catch
up, it’s clear that Legacy can’t hold
up to the maneuverability and ships entering the field rapidly gain. 

Then again, this is the
test—the one designed to show off
just how much engines can handle.  It’s
like watching a queen hold up against a knight on a board of chess with out of
bounds squares favoring the latter’s specific utility; it is a simple matter of
scenario verses reality.

It almost hurts watching… to see such an inspiring ship
after such an unexpected ploy begin to lose her lead—especially knowing how
poorly people will interpret it and how marketing will spin the whole damn
thing. 

I know having our ships overtake Legacy will send stock prices through the roof—this is a huge boon
to Dowin… but it just feels… is “wrong”
the right word?  These are ships
designed to maximize efficiency—ships with zero practical use and peak
structural integrity at the expense of almost everything else.  Even the new engines—Danther’s design—won’t
generate enough acceleration to tear these ships apart, assuming all the
vectoring is implemented correctly.

“No, no, no!” Luna
whispers, but the X183-Prime
overtakes Legacy near the end in the
immense, shifting field.  Luna sighs,
anguished.  I look over; she’s
crushed.  “I hoped they would….”

I put an arm around her shoulder, surprised by the
instinct.  “Yeah.”

We watch as test ships—even those from other
companies—overtake Legacy, the craft
just too stable, weaving through the
obstacles with maneuvers that would tear normal ships apart. 

"I shall put the rest of the day’s schedule on hold.”

“Yes,” he says, the A.I. hologram chuckling as he sits.
 “Always with your little games at humanizing
me.”  He clears his throat and
grins.  “Two flagged individuals have
entered the city.”

“Who?” I ask, well able to get the information myself, but
enjoying the discourse.  “Officials?  Criminals?”

“Personal interest,” he says with a grin.

I raise an eyebrow. 
“Who flagged them?”

“Why, you did.”

My
name is Tavin Jorr.  I will be your
onboard senior arbiter and this is Miln Hornsvether, junior arbiter,”

“Hm, that’ll be the ship’s A.I. then?  What mod—.”

“I’m not the ship’s A.I.,
Tavin; the ship is mine.”

“It sounds as though your A.I. has personality,” he says with a grin.

“I—,” I begin, but then growl, annoyed.  I manifest before him. 

He looks at me, letting out a patronizing little “hm.”

I kick him in the shin.

YES!  YES!  YES!

“Do you have any idea where we are, you idiot?” Miln asks in a
terse whisper, Sol and Danther staring in bewilderment.

Tavin’s eyes widen. 
“How dare—!”

“This is the ENS
Legacy—bloody Alexander Reynard’s
ship.”

“Sounds
a lot better than ‘Flavor Pattern 034-B7,’ eh?” 

“We’re in the process of aging some alcoholic selections at the moment,” he says, laughing, “but I’m afraid it will be a couple years before that’s ready; believe it or not, that’s how long it used to take.  Anyway, there’s not much point in not fabricating any standard drinks—nothing to be gained.”

“If
there’s any worthwhile wrecks within two gates, we’re probably already
processing it for resale.”  

I look at the listing, apprising it.  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, staring
at the older representative.  “Sixty
million for that?” 

He stares at me, patronizing. 
“Sixty-one million, five.”

“There’s nothing cheaper?” Sol asks, mouth open.

“Nothing meeting your specifications and operational,
no.”  He sighs.  “Like I said, we primarily deal with retired G-Class
ships of a military lean and all our ships
on the listings.  Ours and every other
reputable shipyard’s listings are all posted, per regulation.  If I might
be frank,” he says, a look of concern on his face, “you two are going to
waste a lot of credits traveling around looking for something that isn’t
there—that is, if you don’t intent to enjoy the journey.”  

“If you can figure out how to get rid of her, she’s free!”

“Like I said, she’s been at the docks for as long as anyone
can remember.  Over the years, people
have tried to get rid of her, but she just comes and goes as she pleases.”

“Without a crew?” Sol asks, genuinely confused.

“Near as we can tell,” Jin says, grin widening like this
is some sort of amusing game.  “Every
so often she’ll leave for a while and come back.”

“Why not revoke the ship’s access to port?” I ask, just
about ready to unravel the story.

“They’ve tried,” he replies, laughing now.  “She just gets back into the system and
returns the registry.  One time another
vessel took her dock while she was away and, upon return, she just moved the
other ship—hacked into the piloting system or something like that and moved it.”

[ENTIRE PART]

“Then why have you not told them?” Mr. Viron asks, his
emotionless, piercing eyes boring into me.  

“They… well, they are the independent sort and….”

Mr. Khal snorts.  “Well, she
certainly seems to know them well enough—very well…,” he says, waving a hand
dismissively.  “I withdraw my claim.”

Mr. Viron’s mouth flickers a brief, strangely emotionless
smile.  “It is refreshing to see a smooth resolution
to this conflict.”  His gaze comes to
rest on me again, this time severe and empty.  “Though perhaps, young lady, you will have
the foresight in the future to approach Mr. Khal with your concerns before
jumping into action.  The time of this
council is valuable.”

“I-I—yes, sir,” I reply, bowing.

He leans back, taking in a great long breath through his
nose.  “We do not need a vote on this matter; it has
been resolved.  Go about your business,
ladies and gentlemen.” 

[ENTIRE ROLE]

“Excuse me, sir?  Who
are you?”

I ignore her, heading to the door.  It doesn’t budge, let alone open.  I turn to the secretary, who raises and
eyebrow.  “My name’s Mr. Starwind,” I
say, even this minimally formal iteration of my name unfamiliar to my lips.  “I need to speak with Khal.”

“Mr. Khal is in a meeting at the moment.  If you could just—.”

“I know—I’m here with regards to that meeting.”

“I am afraid I have instructions not to disturb him.  Mr.… Starwind,
you say?”

“Yes.”

“Well we have several employees across The Order with that
name, but none of them matching your likeness,” she says, sharp, though
still inquisitive.

“That’s because I’m not an employee,” I reply.

“Well, at least you’re honest.”  She crosses her legs.  “Where did you get your security access?”

“Stall,” Voice
says over neural.

“It is provisional,” I reply, having learned a long time ago
that people telling the truth tend not to spend words justifying
everything.  “Got it today.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No,” I say, not able to come up with anything else.  “No, it doesn’t.”

She seems to accept this, but then tilts her head, “hmm.”

“What?”

“I’ve been instructed to let you in.”

[ENTIRE ROLL; everything pronounced]

///

System
Soft Startup

              Hardware:                          Fabricator
17: ENS Whitehorse

Firmware Version:             6.06.008b

              Software Version:              287c – A.I. Whiterider, initiator

.

Query:
                 Startup Ping Authority

Source:                 Probe
28075

Protocol:              Anomaly
Detection

.

..

Query:
                 Anomaly confirmed

              Source:                 Reach

Location:              Tidal
Arm

17° 26’ 37”

894.274  LY

+17 LY

“E27-BTG”

              Protocol:              Stellar collapse in inhabited system

              Response:            Immediate, Priority 1

Query:
  Bloodrider…

              Online

Query:
  Blackrider…

              Online

Query:
  Palerider…

              Online

.

Connections
established 3/3

Query:
                 Bid

              Packet:                 Credentials sent

Query:
                 Reference

              Packet:                 Received
Bloodrider coordinates

Packet:                 Received Blackrider coordinates

Packet:                 Received Palerider coordinates

Query:                  Cross reference

              Result:                  Proximity priority

Contract
Acquired

System
Hard Startup Initiated

(Reactor:
             Online)

(Sensors:              Online)

(Weapons:           Online)

(/All
Systems Nominal)

End

///           

“It has just been confirmed by a racing official that
prefers to go unnamed that the Earth vessel—presently in first place—is
registered as ENS Legacy, ship
belonging to none other than Alexander Reynard. 
While it cannot be confirmed whether this is the actual Legacy or some cleaver imposter, the—.”

*Say something you think would fit*