Chapter 1 #2
“Something like that.” The clerk sounded too casual now. “How wide is your piloting range?”
“I can fly any starship,” Torian replied, praying that her Certificate of Really Authentic Piloting from the prestigious School of Pilot Licenses was versatile, and not the “online scam” Celise claimed. “Why?”
“No reason.”
They kept walking. Every step, Torian expected he’d point out options, that they’d get to browse a few before she made her choice. But he seemed to know exactly where he was going, and it wasn’t here.
They finally reached the corner of the hangar, where a small cluster of ships remained. The others had been bigger, fitting crews of thirty to fifty hands. These ships could accommodate maybe three, which was a better fit for Torian anyway.
“These aren’t bad?” It came out as a question.
The dock worker laughed. “Those are fifty ionite bars.” He finally reached the edge of the hangar, a large metal wall with a single door, which he hauled open with ease. “Here’s what twenty bars will get you.”
The hangar beyond was oppressively dark—but dim emergency lights illuminated a single ship’s outline. The air was scented with something … earthy. It vaguely reminded Torian of the potted plants outside Celise’s clinic, but that was ridiculous, because they lived on a metal space station.
While Torian tried to place the scent, the clerk closed the door and stepped to a panel of knife switches, flicking them up. The bulbs overhead turned on one by one, flooding the space.
Torian stared at the singular ship, dread settling into her chest.
“Where are the others?”
She thought she’d at least have a choice.
“You’re looking at it. This is the only ship we have for twenty bars.”
“It’s alien,” she said helplessly. When he’d asked about versatility, she didn’t think he meant an alien starship. It was awkward, blocky in ways human starships hadn’t been in centuries. It had windows, for Heavens’ sake, which was just a structurally terrible choice.
The clerk crossed his arms, almost smug now. “Alien, yep. And ancient, far as we can tell. See that, there? Moss overgrowth. Ship is teeming with it. That’s why we keep it in the dark.”
The starship was falling apart: its panels were brown with rust, the moss overgrowth spreading in every corner. The round windows were dark, impossible to see through, so she wasn’t even sure it had internal power. The flight deck appeared dark and decrepit.
Torian had worked for seven fucking years for this. Six and a half in security jobs that literally almost killed her, and six months of physical labor in the belly of Amelia’s starship. Seven years trying to save her sister, and this was all she could afford.
Torian felt her heart breaking—but even as it shattered, she slapped a cage around it, crushing it back together.
There had to be a bright side here.
Had to.
“Ready for a refund?” the clerk asked, far too amused. “Less one ionite bar, of course, for the hassle.”
“I’m not leaving.” Torian gritted her teeth and ventured farther into the hangar. Celise couldn’t afford to wait for the magical moment when the perfect ship fell into Torian’s lap. If this ship flew, it still fit her needs.
Last week, Celise had coughed blood. She’d tried to hide it, but Torian saw.
With that in mind, Torian examined her new vessel.
It was blocky, yes, but that implied a spacious interior.
The moss was … something she could work with.
The windows didn’t look like glass, so Torian chose to believe it was some fancy alien material that was stronger, and thus didn’t compromise the hull’s integrity.
The ship’s name was printed in fading black lettering, written in a language Torian hadn’t even seen before.
She stared at it for a long, long time, wondering who’d owned this ship—and what they’d been doing on Colony 13.
The only aliens who visited the human solar system were tou’siil, an honorable, aquatic race who collected knowledge like coin, and draics, massive gargoyle-like aliens who typically contracted themselves out as fearsome mercenaries.
This language belonged to neither, by Torian’s limited knowledge.
It hardly mattered. Not now.
“How’s the engine?” Torian asked.
A ship this size would fit two, maybe three people, and Torian prayed it wouldn’t need that many to fly. Most starships had auto-nav systems, alien or not, but this one did seem ancient. She wondered if it had communication devices at all—if so, any radio antennae were long gone.
“We’re not great with alien tech, but the engine looks fine. Ship’s sold as-is, but we’ll tow it where you want.” The clerk shrugged.
So, it may not fly. Torian set her jaw. “Can I see the inside?”
He lifted a small red remote off a hook and tossed it to Torian.
She caught it—suavely, smoothly, definitely didn’t almost drop it—and examined it.
The remote was human in origin, likely programmed after the fact for easy access into the ship.
There were three buttons on it, and she pressed one curiously.
The windows on the starship faded from opaque to clear in a breath. Inside, the ship’s lights were on full bright. Torian knew of glass that did that, but … that felt like a fancy feature for a starship like this.
Torian stared, dazzled. “Oh, wow. It looks cozy inside!” She could catch glimpses of the interior—a center room with a table and a couch, a peek of stairs leading up and down. It seemed small and homey. Hope sparked in her chest.
Maybe she and Celise could create a life with this starship.
The clerk seemed perplexed. “We turned off auxiliary power…”
“It probably automatically reengaged to protect the engine. Mechanisms like that aren’t meant to sit dormant for years.” Torian pressed another button on the remote. A seam cracked along the cargo bay door, and a ramp lowered.
She jogged toward the new entrance, giddy with enthusiasm.
The double doors at the top of the ramp opened at her approach, and a plume of hot, humid air rushed out. Torian was again caught off guard by the smell—now it felt like stale oxygen and musky plant growth. Artificial and slightly sour. Torian covered her nose.
The clerk grinned, clearly enjoying this. “Yeah, that moss infestation is worse on the inside. My predecessors tried to mitigate, but it grew back every time. I gave up.”
“It’s nice. I bet this is what the terraformed planet smells like,” Torian insisted, even though she had no idea, not really.
The clerk raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t know. Never been to Rhymarra.”
Torian’s cheeks colored. “Me either.”
But she would soon.
That scent of moss, of nature, propelled Torian forward. Rhymarra was her first destination, but this wasn’t a bad place to spend the interim. Perhaps this ship was perfect for them after all.
One way to find out.
Torian drew a fortifying breath and climbed the ramp.