Category: Science Ficiton

The cards snapped loudly against each other in Dan’s hands as he shuffled them while examining the three others seated about the table: Ren, Terry and Narfell. They held a sense of ease often absent in the last weeks. The Kuraffalin War was volatile in the sector of late. In fact, they hadn’t managed to steal an evening to relax in three shift cycles. Barely even sleep. Dan found the scene both familiar and strange with nerves that refused to completely relax. He doubted the others were different.

Terry’s brown, braided hair hung over her shoulder already unravelling even though she’d finished braiding it moment before. Ren seemed even less intent on the game than Dan himself. He sat slumped in his chair with his against the seat and arms dangling heavily on either side. Dan should have insisted that Ren went to bed instead of socializing, but Ren wouldn’t have listened. Those two were his oldest friends on the ship and a familiar sight.

Narfell sat at disease, the newest member of their group. He’d been on board the ship for only a week now, having replaced their previous comm controller and kept fidgeting with the edge of his cards as if he wanted to dart to the station in Dan’s room and pull up reports. If Dan had thought his shifts had been long, Narfell’s had been longer still.

“Narfell, you might as well stop twitching in your chair. We’re off duty,” Dan said. He flicked a card in Narfell’s direction before continuing around the circle. Narfell reached out with fingers too thin and too long for a human’s and drew the card to him. Dan knew those fingers flew over controls with a speed he couldn’t match. Dan wouldn’t complain about having him around for the worsening tensions.

Narfell held the card in front of his face appraising the design on it. “Pardon. I just feel the need to be monitoring the situation. Could not conditions worsen at any moment?”

Ren laughed mercilessly sly from his chair without bothering to raise his head from its slump. “We’re off duty. Doesn’t mean everyone is.”

“Who’s on duty?” Narfell asked. “Perhaps I could give them some scanning tactics.”

“He is.” Dan, Ren, and Terry all pointed to the feline lounging on a side table in the room. The cat glanced up as if sensing their attention and flicked his tail dismissively and yawned widely.

“Apologies. I understand even less now. How is that creature on duty?” Narfell raised his hands and drummed slender fingertips across his chin.

Terry chuckled and leaned forward to scoop her cards from the table. “When we’re not actively scanning, our cats are the best backup we can have. They know when there will be trouble aboard the ship.” She started sorting through her cards and scowled at them. Dan hadn’t even bothered to pick up his cards yet. He was watching Narfell’s reaction.

He reacted as Dan had hoped. At least he thought it was what he hoped for. As near as Dan could figure, the expression gracing Narfell’s face passed for perplexity in his species. “Why would those be better than my attention to the sensors?”

“Because they’ve a way about them, cats. Before we even left planet side, they’d already mastered quantum mechanics being both underfoot and not all at once,” Ren said, jabbing a finger into the air.

Terry chuckled, and Dan joined her in the old joke. Narfell blinked and peered at them quizzically.

“It goes back to Captain Susan Truffel,” Dan said, finally collecting his cards.

Terry picked up the story. “Legend goes that her cat escaped two days before she left the home world for her space assignment. When she finally reappeared, Truffel was so fearful she’d run away again she refused to leave her behind. She wriggled into bringing her fury baby along.” Dan grinned.

Narfell blinked at her. “Fur baby?”

“You’ll get used to our propensity for attachment to anything and everything.” Terry waved her hand dismissively.

“For instance, don’t even think about touching my mug,” Ren said. This time, he raised his head and glowered at Narfell who raised his hands and sat back in his chair.

Dan grinned at the pair. “Anyway,” Dan said, glancing at Ren to see if he was going to interrupt again. The man stayed blissfully motionless. “When they got aboard the ship, the cat started predicting problems before the crew could. a leak in the engine. A faulty transition. Coolant slowly seeping. Then the thing even predicted an attack. She became the fur baby to the entire ship.”

“Of course, it didn’t take long before she had actual babies,” Terry said grinning at Narfell.

“Appears that her fur baby had a bit too much of a good time in the days before they set out.”

“Her babies had more babies,” Ren said. “And now our ships are swarmed with cats that know when trouble’s coming.”

“Ah,” Narfell said, turning to look at the cat again. “So, when we are off duty, we pay attention to the fur babies to determine if we should revert to on duty.”

Dan laughed and kicked Ren under the table. “As good as any explanation we’ve got for them. We just know they know.” Ren sat up and glowered at Dan. “Stop glowering. Play or go to bed.”

Ren grabbed his cards off the table and huffed as he started sorting them. The next weeks would be long, and they all wanted a bit of time together outside of life-or-death antics. Dan glanced over at Tom laying contently on the side table. They had time before the next battle.

Governor Riddell loathed the overly melodic, toothsome music wafting through the town square before the Governor’s mansion and City Hall. Waving off his aides, he finished tugging on his jacket and fastening the last button as he hurried out to the square. In the center of the square where the gazebo once stood a long tube reached high into the sky. The music originated from the thing.

A regiment of the town’s guard fell in behind Riddell, spreading out about him as he halted before the elevator with his back straight and shoulders squared. Riddell raised his chin. Every wit the image of a competent governor ready to great dignitaries. He’d spent too many years filling the role to flee now.

Even if he wanted to be under his bed, hiding. He knew who would be descending the elevator. The reports from the other colonies had describe the thing perfectly.

He glanced at the numbers scrolling above the elevator quickly dropping ever lower. When they reached nine, they slowed dramatically. The governor glanced up and spotted the platform within the semi-transparent confines of the elevator.

A face pressed near the wall. Close enough to be mostly discernable, and the person peered over the edge at them and waved. A quick yoohoo twiddling of the fingers which seemed far to blythe for his nerves one. The person withdrew becoming one blur among many as the platform settled. The doors swooshed open.

“I am Governor Riddell–”

A man strode out and spread his arms wide. His voice boomed over Riddell’s. He must have had a speaker tucked into his long, fussy jacket. “Good people of Insert Planet Name Here–”. The man stopped, blinked, and glanced at one of his men. “Was that really supposed to say that?”

“We ran out of time to look up the place’s official name.” The man shrugged back at the leader. “Doesn’t really matter though, does it?”

“Good point!” He swung his arm in a jaunty agreement swirling back to Riddell. “Good people of wherever we are, we have come to relieve you of some of your unneeded–”

“Or otherwise!” a voice called helpfully. Riddell couldn’t tell who had spoken.

The leader nodded. “Items.” He waved his hand rolling his fingers. “Now if you’d be ever so kind as to cooperate, I’m sure we can come to an amicable agreement about what you’ll be parting ways with.”

Randall cleared his throat and stepped forward. “As I was saying, I am Governor Riddell, and we shall not be acquiescing.” He tucked one hand behind his back as he spoke, puffing out his chest a bit further. He kept tremors from seizing him by squeezing the hand tightly closed.

Holding up a finger, the leader sashayed forward. “Govy,” he said, “Is it alright if I call you Govy?” He waved his hand and continued before Riddell could respond. “I don’t think you quite comprehend how this is going to work.”

“I comprehend things quite well. You are here to rob us.” Riddell nodded his head once stiffly at the word rob, and the leader gassed, placing a hand to his chest.

“Rob you?” he said the words in a singsong voice. “No, that phrasing is just so negative. I prefer to call it… redistribution.”

“And why should I care what you choose to call it?” Riddell said, trying to keep his voice low with a deep and prestigious edge.

“Well, perhaps because I am Captain Bartholomew.” He pulled a hat off his head at that, a large, plumed affair, and swung it before him as he swept through grand bow to Riddell. “Perhaps you’ve heard of word my presence round abouts?”

Randell had indeed heard of his doings in the region. There wasn’t a planet in this sector who hadn’t heard of him. Bartholomew had been going about his redistributions for a bit now.

“Well yes, I have heard the pre-warning allowed me time prepare to greet you appropriately.” Raising both hands, Riddell snapped and the regiment about him raised rifles. Or rather, what appeared to be rifles. Because of Captain Bartholomew well publicized ransacking the planets, Riddell had managed to arrange for advanced laser weaponry disguised as ancient rifles to be delivered.

He wanted the colony to be defended. The people wanted to preserve their reenactment. Riddell, as governor, had been inclined, no, required to comply with that request, but he wasn’t a fool. These rifles fulfilled both needs.

Captain Bartholomew pulled back, rubbing his chin. “Ah, some lovely lasers there, but perhaps I should more fully introduce myself.” Raising his hands Bartholomew snapped and a loud hum drowned out the horrible music the elevator had still been emitting. Glancing up, Riddell saw three ships hanging in the skies above them with cannons open and pointed at the ground.

Swallowing, Riddell stepped back, and his eyes darted from the ships to Bartholomew. The captain grinned madly at him. He’d caught Riddell’s movement. Bartholomew had seen his fear. The pirate knew he had them outgunned.

Riddell had given them away. His regiment hadn’t. They’d stood firm about him unmoved at the sight of the ships. The company had hired their security well. But not him. Swallowing, he clenched his jaw tightly.

“Perhaps now we can begin negotiations about what items are to be redistributed, eh Govy? Captain Bartholomew inquired as he sashaying another step closer.

Governor Riddell nodded, a quick, stiff movement and turned toward the regiment. “At ease, men.” Riddell was governor, and his duty was to defend the people of this colony. The customers of this reenactment. Not their possessions. If he argued now, there would be bloodshed. “Stand down”

Riddell placed a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. The man glanced from the pirates to him and nodded. Lowering their rifles, the guards placed their butts against the ground and stood at attention as Captain Bartholomew strode forward.

“That’s it, Govy.” He smacked a hand on both the sergeant’s and the governor’s shoulders as he strode past them. “Keep up with that attitude and we’ll be out of your hair before teatime.”

Governor Riddell clenched his jaw again. He’d never liked tea. He’d been skeptical of reenactments before. If the pay hadn’t been amazing, he’d have rejected this job. One where the era selected had given the pirates a bold, flamboyant opportunity. No pay was worth going through this again, though. He’d have his transfer paperwork in before the pirates broke orbit.

“I can do this,” Dark Glimmer said as she kicked the abdomen of another of Amberbourne’s thrall. She didn’t pause to protest Control’s directive further. Instead, she ducked beneath the incoming punch of another thrall. Diving forward, she rolled between the pair, searching for a pocket, any space to regroup and appraise her situation fully.

“No, you can’t,” Control’s voice snipped in her ear.

Dark Glimmer raised her hands falling into a fighting stance as she saw the dozens of men and women moving toward her. Control may have a point, but she didn’t have to like it or accept his appraisal. “Give me a chance. Don’t pull me out now.” She glanced sideways, as if looking toward the earpiece would help bring Control bring him around to her point of view.

“I don’t need to lose you on this mission too. Get to the roof now.”

Dark Glimmer ground her teeth. Lunging forward, her fist connected with the knee of her nearest assailant, and she dropped him to the ground. But left her back open.

A knee slammed into her back dropping her. She fell into a roll and surged forward. She rose, ready to protest to Control again when more thralls intercepted her path. Too many. She’d never get through this.

Frustration tore out of her in a soft cry, and Dark Glimmer twisted and turned heading back to the staircase she had entered by. Damn control for being right. The number of people between her and the stairs was minimal, and she broke into a run weaving between them. They’d forcused on preventing her from entering the interior, but they weren’t in any position to prevent her withdrawal.

She thought the intelligence had been good. She’d thought Amberbourne had made a mistake and left an opening. She thought she could do this.

Dark Glimmer had been wrong.

She heard the thralls on the stairs chasing after her, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Couldn’t pause. Couldn’t let herself think. Not of what was behind. Nor what would lie before her. She just had to go.

Bursting onto the roof, she looked at the sky. Control’s plane wasn’t insight yet. Her extraction. Her mark of failure.

Swallowing, she turned back toward the stairs and the thralls who started spilling out. Dark Glimmer stepped backwards, taking advantage of the space. She thrust her arms open wide and brought them together in front of her, slamming them together with a thunderous clap.

A wall of dark light spilled out from her hands spreading before her. The light washed over the thralls, and they cried out and dropped to the ground. They clutched their eyes.

That would buy her a minute. Glancing up, she saw the plane in the distance. A minute was all she needed.

More thralls emerged from the stairs and Dark Glimmer backed away, engaging those who approached. Punching, kicking, spinning, she threw them to the ground. Anything to buy her the few moments she needed.

She lunged toward one thrall, whose eyes widened as she stared at dark glimmer. She leaped off the back of another to strike the woman from above. Inches from connecting, Dark Glimmer felt a force grab her back and yank her backwards and away from the compound. Control had control extracted her.

Dark Glimmer closed her eyes against what she knew would come next.

“You just had to call for help, didn’t you?” a voice said accusingly in her ear. Opening her eyes, Dark Glimmer gasped, staring at Earth Bolt. He floated in the air next to her, incorporeal and untangle, but there.

“I didn’t ask for this.” she whispered looking at him. Dark Glimmer couldn’t tell if she meant she hadn’t asked Control to withdraw her, him appearing next to her, or his death in the first place.

“But you still did it.” His accusation rang just as unclear as her denial. Dark Glimmer closed her eyes again, telling herself the voice was not real.

A lie.

She knew her powers. She blinded people with darkness, but if she retreated in that moment of reprieve they were always there. The ones she had known. The ones she had failed. They were there.

He was there.

Opening her eyes, Dark Glimmer stared at him and felt tears hit her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry, you can’t even avenge me.” His face tightened, anger twisting his features.

Dark Glimmer swallowed but couldn’t close her eyes again. She knew he was there, but she didn’t know if it was him or an angry echo of her own mind at her failures. Whichever created him was just as real as the voice haunting her.

As the hook drew her slowly up to the plane, they were there every time. Haunting her. Clenching her jaw, Dark Glimmer stared at him and took his words. She had survived. She owed him at least this. Next time, she wouldn’t retreat.

The Devonthrall Chamber Orchestra and Choir was considered the best in the sector. The conductor Janlee would have loved to take in pride in this fact. She had taken over when the previous conductor had retired and been delighted with the honor. She felt no delight that the reputation of the chamber had not suffered for her leadership. She would have been delighted, but even a week passed before she’d understood to dread each performance.

Now the cursed Devonthrall chamber was scheduled to perform on the home worlds. Janlee sat in her quarters on the ship carrying them toward the worlds’ doom and glowering at her wand. For all the good glowering would do.

We remind you that smiling helps with the conduction of the event and the atmosphere we are trying to create. The voices rang within her mind, overlapping and twisting. She couldn’t tell if the sound was one or many. Janlee could only fee the voice burrowing deeper into her brain every time it spoke ripping more of her asunder. Already, she could no longer sit straight at the table and instead slumped over it.

Janlee’s mind went back to the previous conductor and his last performance. He’d looked ancient, haggard. She’d ignored the whispers that he’d been far too young to look that old while doggedly pursuing the position herself. She’d brushed the concern aside trivializing it to the stress of the chamber or their schedule.

No, she knew know it had been the damned wand. She flicked her finger against the thin metal, and it rolled before coming to an unnatural stop mere millimeters away.

We would remind you that we cannot be banished. She pursed her lip and glowered at the wand. It could not be banished. It could not be separated from her. Not extensively.

Janlee had already gained the same reputation as per predecessor for being an eccentric and carrying the thing with her everywhere. No, it was no eccentricity. It was the grip of some alien race which had constructed the thing.

The plain metal exterior held the innards. She knew it had to contain circuits, wiring, and the voices. Wherever she went, they went with her. They demanded her to keep them close. They made her suffer if she dared part with the wand.

Already she could feel itching running up and down her arms from the slight separation. Her back tightened until the muscles wanted to protest and scream. Until she wanted to cry out.

Her hand darted out, and Janlee grabbed the wand from the table. It settled into her palm, and she felt the sensations relax. She hated herself for accepting the reprieve. Tucking the wand into her sleeve, she sighed and rubbed her brows. She’d wished she’d never taken the position of conductor.

She knew what happened with every performance. While the crowd sat in wonder, listening to the cello and drums rumble through the floor, to the wood winds and their melodic tune, to the strings mixing present and the past into one coherent whole, while all of it wrapped the audience in distraction the aliens nipped at them as well. They pulled away bits of souls with every performance.

Those in the chamber were affected quickly as well, but they rotated in and out. Resting and healing where Janlee could not. They’d heal while she wasted away. While she gave the aliens, lingering hidden within her wand, more souls upon which they fed.

Truth was, she didn’t know what they did with the bits they took, but she saw it happen every performance. The lines flowing through the air and power drawing from individuals to her. To the wand.

The first time she’d seen it and really understood what she saw, Janlee had wanted to throw the wand away from her. She’d lunged forward, waving the wand and frantic abandon. The chamber had kept up with her movements. And she had been unable to release it.

“Orbit will be reached in ten minutes.”

No, she could not, would not do this. They had taken the previous conductor. They prevented her from separating herself from the wand. But they couldn’t control everything.

Janlee felt the wand still tucked in her sleeve and stood. She had a choice left. Turning, she fled from her quarters to the dive bay. Space dives were the raging fade, and, though Janlee had not participated in any, enough in the chamber had she’d gain an understand of the mechanics.

Stop. You must not do this.

She moved to the controls and began the process for another dive. A dive where force ejected you from the ship and propelled you through frictionless space. Some said it felt like water slides of old. Others claimed it was more like sky diving. Janlee only knew it would shove her away.

Shoot her through the dark. She glanced toward the closet with the dive suits. Shoot her where there’d be no wall between her and space.

“I can’t not do this,” she growled.

Do this and we will merely choose a new conductor. There was an edge of panic in the voice.

Janlee grinned, knowing she’d guessed right. They’d never panicked before, but this scared them.

“I don’t think so. I think, like me, atmosphere will be your doom.” She positioned herself in the dive chute and glanced at the screen. A countdown ticked away to release. Until the chute thrust her into space without a suit, but with the damned wand. Thrusting her toward atmosphere where she would burn up. As would the wand.

Janlee didn’t have to separate herself from the wand anymore. She’d carry them to her home world as they wanted, but the arrival would be her choice. Ash in the atmosphere.

The number hit one, and Janlee closed her eyes.

Brandell hoped that whoever had invented the marketing for Tearfall IX had been awarded a great lump of money from the company. He doubted that a better marketer had ever lived. He’d certainly been sold on the lie, and their agent hadn’t tried that hard. He supposed a doomed world lent to the desirability of the world which otherwise might be more difficult to come by.

Brandell hadn’t meant to be the citizen of a doomed world. He hadn’t picked the planet he’d been born on. That choice had been his parents’ brilliance. They’d selected a planet just a touch too close to a black hole. A phenomenon which had yanked at the planet’s orbit until it left the Goldilocks zone. Or rather was irrevocably on the way out. A slow process which left plenty of time for evacuation, but not an equal number of preferrable locals.

Giving up his world for one he’d never known had also not been Brandell’s idea of a good time. He would have preferred to live and die there, but the government loudly protested this plan. Those who complained the loudest had someone ended up at the end of the lottery. Brandell had landed among that lot.

Forced to leave with nowhere good to go. Or so he’d presumed when he’d sat down with the agent who would sort out his relocation details.

Brandell quickly pushed aside the swamp planet. He’d never been a fan of bugs and didn’t relish having his blood sucked by ones he couldn’t even name. The desert world was another quick discard. The sun and him had never particularly been friendly, and he didn’t want to learn how to endure it now. The agent presented five other planets. Four more rejections from Brandell. One he placed in a maybe pile. Then she’d shown him Tearfall IX.

“Don’t let the names deceive you,” the agent said watching him with an intensity which borderlined psychosis. “Tearfall IX was named after the gentle rains which mark the spring and fall season. The world is quite lovely. Temperate with a industry solid base and vital industry already developed.”

Brandell pulled the file close and lazily swiped through the satellite imagery. He didn’t expect anything astonishing. There were cities, not insignificant ones with parks and housing. Everything looked green. Beautiful, but not so green that he’d be eaten by bugs. The world looked perfect.

Perfect had to have a catch. “What’s the catch?” He drummed his fingers over the edge of the pad.

“Catch?” the agent asked, widening her eyes, and blinking as if she could not comprehend the question. “What catch?”

Brandell chuckled mercilessly and set the pad on the table. “I’m at the tail end of the lottery.” He shoved the pad back towards her. “Every other planet left has obvious flaws, and yet, Tearfall IX is paradise? What’s wrong with it? A high mortality rate?”

The agent pursed her lips and turned the pad back to him. “Do you see any graveyards in those photos?”

Glancing down, I perused the photos again. There were graveyards, but only what you’d expect from a colony. The whole point was to move to a place until you croaked. But not enough if Tearfall IX had been around long. “How old a colony?”

“She’s a newer colony. Just three decades.” The agent folded her hands in front of her. “One with a thriving industry that desperately needs additional personnel.”

Brandell ran his finger over the screen before he let his mind catch up with his impulses. A new colony with in-demand products? One that looked arguably paradisical. At least better than the other options. “Send me there.”

#

Brandell packed up and caught the next ship to Tearfall IX. The planet looked as tranquil as the photos when the ship hit orbit. Landing, Brandall followed the line with the rest. Processing, quarter assignment, and work arrangements followed quickly. The last stop finally revealed the catch.

Tearfall IX needed citizens, truly. Desperately. For the second Brandall received his work detail he learned another secret of the whole sector. A secret his agent had withheld, and he hadn’t guessed. A secret they didn’t want to get out and meant no transports out.

Too many colonies in the sector were failing, and Tearfal IX’s claim to fame was being the mass graveyard for them all. How better to hide the dead then in Tearfall IX’s other feature: A plethora of pocket dimensions they’d turned into graveyards. One no one ever saw from space. But ones vaster than the planet already.

Brandall retreated to his quarters at the end of the first day. A basic setup for entertainment, and one he could work with. They should have checked his relations before sending him here. Brandell’s uncle had been the greatest hacker in the sector, and he’d taught Brandell. They setup was enough he could hack the comm network and get a signal out.

With time.

Since the dead were the only tourists in the place, Brandall had the time.

Mark had not expected the chorus of “No” to greet him reaching for the trap door in the engineering room floor. Snatching his hand back, he straightened and stared at the five crew members arrayed about the room. Each had lunged toward him, and, seeing him pull back, paused glancing at each other. They shuffled back several steps in discomfort, as if surprised by their own reactions. All this over one trap door?

“Does the not work?” he asked, pointing toward the trapdoor. It riled him having to ask the question. He was accustomed to knowing his ships, but he’d only just bought this ship. He didn’t even know the crew. His old crew hadn’t come with him. A fact wrinkled at him more than not knowing the ship.

The crew didn’t know him either. They glanced between each other with various shifting and scratching of necks and other movements. All of which indicated they weren’t entirely comfortable with the question themselves. That and that they hadn’t elected a spokesperson yet.

“I wouldn’t say that it doesn’t work,” one of them finally spoke up. The chief engineer, if Mark recalled the introductions correctly. Those had been harried and quick. The man shrugged. “It opens just fine.”

“Do engine fumes vent into the crawl space?” Mark let a bit of incredulity seep into his tone. Gasses in the crawl space would only spell trouble, and that certainly hadn’t been disclosed to him when he’d purchased the ship hiring aboard the current crew. Mark didn’t have the coin to fix that type of issue. Not in a timely manner.

The engineer’s face tightened and scrunched as if insulted by the implication. As well he should be. Maintaining the systems before and now would have been his primary duty. Assuming Mark had the position straight. “Of course, she vents just fine. Nothing’s going into the crawl spaces.”

“Then what could possibly be wrong with me opening the door?” Mark blustered. Kneeling quickly, he grabbed the latch and yanked up on the slim metal loop.

The trap door snapped up easily in his hand. No gas vented out. Nor did anything jump out at him. But the second he broke the seal, Mark understood why they hadn’t wanted him to open it.

Screaming filled the ship’s speakers, echoing throughout the section. Raising his hands, Mark clapped them over his ears, trying to drown out the sound. The motion did little more than keep the clamor tight in his skull. Echoing, vibrating, and threatening to drive him mad.

He saw the engineer swear when he pulled open the trap door open. At least from the expression, abrupt hand gesture, and general deportment, Mark assumed that was what he had done. He couldn’t hear him even at close proximity. The engineer turned from Mark, grabbed a pad off of the nearby counter, scribbled something on it, and held it up for Mark to read.

Mark wished that the screen had flickered, hiding the message from him. He really hadn’t wanted to know it was going to be two days before they could get the wailing to shut off again.

Another of the crew members grabbed his arm and tugging him away, even as the engineer tossed the pad to the side and took a sharp stepped toward Mark. He did not protest the crew members jostling him about this time.

Mark retreated through the ship following the crew member’s direction. Eventually they reached a small, plain compartment far from engineering, far from the bridge, far from anywhere as far as he could tell. But the sound seemed softer here. Soft enough he could hear her.

“You just had to go and open it.” Raising her hand, she rubbed her brow. “Well, this is the only room on the ship that’s going to be worth sleeping in for the next few days. And everyone’s gonna be grumbly.”

She shrugged and moved past Mark. When the door swung open, the welling increased substantially. Still not so bad as in engineering where he hadn’t heard a thing. Although again perhaps that would have been preferable.

The crew member looked back at him. “It’s no wonder your old crew voted you out. You’re just lucky we’re in deep space. Perhaps tempers will cool before we reach port,” she said and thudded the door closed behind her.

Mark turned to investigate the room again. There wasn’t even a port to see the stars, just plain metal, some crates, and an angry crew beyond. Mark slumped down onto the nearest crate and cradled his head in his hands.

They’d heard.

They’d heard he’d been ousted from his previous ship which he’d captained for five years with great success. Great renown even, and then… one mistake.

One mistake which had cost them their cargo and nearly their lives. Now he hed’ been reduced to starting over on a barely function freighter. And his first day here he’d triggered this. Starting over with a mistake again.

When was he going to learn? He couldn’t bluster his way through everything. Right now the whole ship screamed with his failure. He was going to have to pull off a miracle to win them over now.

Good thing he’d built his reputation before on miracles. He just needed to engineer the right one. Pulling out a data pad, he began to look through the routes.