Zarqball was an awesome sport. The ball itself was a pulsating orb that could shift in size and speed at the drop of a hat, making it nearly impossible to predict.
The final moments of the match were insane. The ball expanded to the size of a boulder, the gravity cut out entirely, and what should’ve been a clean last-second goal turned into an all-out wrestling match in mid-air as players desperately grappled for control. The buzzer rang. The crowd went wild. Final score? The home team won by one point, but nobody could agree on whether that was justified.
“That goal should’ve been disallowed,” said Gravel as he, Xaxx, and Nastija blended into the crowd of people jostling at the exit.
“It was completely legal,” Xaxx’s voice echoed through the mask covering his face. The polished steel of his mask caught the flashing stadium lights as he turned. “The ball was still in play when the gravity cut! You can’t penalize someone for adapting faster.”
“Adapting?” Gravel scoffed. “He dropkicked the goalie. The guy celebrated mid-air before the ball even crossed the line. He knew they’d let it slide.”
Nastija shrugged. “Why do you have to be so opinionated about a sport you both watch for the first time?”
“It’s called competitive spirit,” Gravel said. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Oh, I get it,” Nastija gave him an amused upturn of her lips. “You’re just mad because your bet didn’t pay off.”
Gravel’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—Wait.” He checked the clock in his wristband. 14:22. Shit. I missed check-in time with the crew.
He checked the team’s private comm channel, but there wasn’t anything. No call log. No text.
Surely nothing bad could’ve happened in 3 hours, right? If anything happened, they would’ve called.
But it’s kind of weird that nobody checked in.
He typed out a quick message.
[Gravel]: Check-in. Everyone still breathing?
A second passed. Then two. Then five. No response.
Gravel frowned, tapping his fingers against his shoulder.
[Gravel]: I have root beer. Answer in the next five minutes.
That should suffice.
They managed to get out of the stadium after another five minutes. Xaxx, who had been standing beside him with the patience of a man watching paint dry, spoke, “Well, Captain Gravel, since you appear to be tragically homeless at the moment, I extend a most gracious invitation for you to experience what it’s like to exist inside a ship that doesn’t smell like burnt wiring and bad decisions.” He’d learned that the Black Fang was in the air at the moment.
Gravel rolled his eyes. “You really know how to make a good impression, Captain Xaxx.”
Xaxx led the way back to Karakoia with his casual confidence. Nastija followed a step behind, hands tucked into her coat pockets, her gaze darting toward Gravel every so often.
They moved away from the standard docking station, weaving through a quieter section of the port. Unlike the usual ship berths, where vessels were stacked in open-air lots or docked against towering steel platforms, this part of the facility had a different feel. The lighting was softer, the air smelled less like fission reactor waste, and reinforced shielding lined the walls.
Gravel raised an eyebrow. “You renting out private parking now?”
“They offer it,” Xaxx replied.
Xaxx led the way up the ramp, and the ship’s entry hatch sealed behind them without a sound. Damn. This kind of tech is too advanced to announce itself. Gravel didn’t trust anything that quiet. The South American blood in him only trusted hatches that rumbled, shouted, or at least played a guitar solo before sealing shut.
The interior greeted him with its smooth metal, disco dance hall lighting, not a single loose panel in sight. A lounge sat at the middle of the ship like a nerve center with what looked suspiciously like a game of interstellar chess running in the background. There were quite a few different paper posters on the wall, with the biggest one featuring a black-and-red spacecraft mid-drift through an asteroid field, a Republic-era racing poster with the tagline: “VELOCITY IS A STATE OF MIND.” Next to it was a vintage advertisement for some Old World luxury bourbon brand in golden lettering. The cockpit door was already open when Gravel walked in—or maybe there had never been a door at all. The lounge and cockpit blended together in one seamless space, and Gravel questioned the emergency protocol for when someone wanted to brute-force their way into the control room.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Nastija’s glance at Gravel wasn’t so subtle anymore. She was dead set on getting a certain reaction from Gravel, but he wasn’t sure what she was expecting. A ship was a ship. It either flew, or it didn’t. And Xaxx wasn’t exactly hiding his tendency toward extravagance.
Gravel took a slow glance around as they stepped into the main cabin. No third set of boots. No extra jackets slung over chairs. The entire ship was built for a crew, but no crew existed. Just Xaxx and Nastija.
He exhaled. “So when’d you fire everybody?”
Xaxx didn’t look up as he moved toward the cockpit. “Didn’t hire them to begin with.”
Gravel raised an eyebrow. “What, you run this whole thing with just the two of you?”
Nastija plopped into a chair, and pulled out a few cans of drinks from somewhere. Gravel forgot to look. “I run this whole thing.” She tossed a drink to Gravel, and he caught it. It was Grosmunster, the cheap synthetic beer that was popular throughout the Gliese star systems because they were cheaper than water.
Xaxx replied, “She presses two buttons, sometimes three.”
Something about the fact that there were only two of them made his fingers itch. Gravel briefly considered the relationship these two might had or have had with each other, then was reminded that he and Hunter essentially shared the same space between themselves for years. With that in mind, Xaxx and Nastija weren’t that bizarre anymore.
“Okay, time for real talk.” Xaxx gestured toward one of the lounge chairs. “Sit down,” he said, his tone even. “We have a problem.”
Gravel took his time, scanning the place again before finally sinking into the chair. The upholstery had that unsettling too-smooth feeling of top-tier synthetic leather, like it had never been broken in by real people. Maybe it hadn’t.
Xaxx leaned back, resting an arm on the side of his seat, and propped one leg on his thigh. “Vanje has vanished.”
“That’s nothing new.”
“No,” Xaxx’s gaze sharpened. “He’s really vanished.”
Gravel tilted his head. “Vanje’s entire life is running and hiding. It’s his default state of being. That’s like saying a fish has vanished into the ocean.”
“For the last ten years, I’ve had a direct line to him. He never once begged for help. But a day before I went looking for you, he sent me his emergency contact list. There were no burner accounts and no shell companies rerouting his funds. That’s wack, but you know what’s more wack? Your name was at the top.”
“My name?” Gravel furrowed his brow. His posture stiffened. “I’ve barely talked to him since last year. His life must be pretty depressing if I’m his first emergency contact. I don’t know what the problem is. Do you?”
Xaxx’s voice dropped by a pitch. “If you don’t, you should. There are five other names on that list. They’ve all been crossed out.”
Gravel stared at Xaxx for a good second, then let out a gruff grunt. “Names crossed out can mean a whole host of things, Captain Xaxx. Maybe those who have pets aren’t invited.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he continued, “Maybe it’s a secret lottery where only the luckiest bastards get to claim a million ducats.”
“It probably means they’re dead, Captain Gravel,” Nastija said, cracking open her own drink.
Gravel’s fingers drummed against the can in his hand. “Dead, huh?” He wanted to find something clever to retort, but couldn’t find any. Instead, he found his fingers heavy, like he was losing control of them.
Vanje wasn’t a fighter. Vanje’s associates? Likely wimps as well. The potential serial killer, by association? Probably also a wimp. I could handle them. How might I be able to handle a serial killer knocking on my door? Could I handle them?
He didn’t like the ring to the word ‘dead’.
Then Xaxx sighed. “No, they’re not dead.”
Gravel blinked. “What?”
“They’re alive,” Xaxx said, leaning back against his seat. “As far as I know, anyway.”
Nastija made a small, amused noise as she took a sip of her drink.
“Didn’t take you for a jokester.” Gravel squinted as he turned to Nastija.
“She is, if you enjoy nearly dying from the so-called jokes she makes,” Xaxx also turned to her with the same squint Gravel had on his face.
“So what’s wrong with the other contacts?” Gravel cracked open the can of Grosmunster. The synthetic beer fizzed up like it was trying to escape the can. He took a sip and grimaced. It tasted like the color beige.
Xaxx knitted his fingers together. “They just turn out to be untrustworthy assholes. That leaves you, a wanted criminal, as our only lead.”
“Way to warm up to someone you’re asking a favor of.” Something crawled on the back of his head, like that stubborn strand of nose hair he would see on someone else’s nostril, lingering in your vision and you had no way to get rid of it. A pang of guilt. He had rarely felt guilty toward anyone who wasn’t part of his crew, but he couldn’t help but think that whatever trouble Vanje had gotten himself into might have been a result of their visits.
“I mean, I have your criminal status to thank. If your name wasn’t on that wanted bulletin board, I wouldn’t have pinned down your location that quickly.”
They had Sloan to thank for that criminal status.
“Alright,” Gravel put the can down. “If you show me proof of your relationship with Vanje, I’ll tell you where I last saw him. On one condition.”
“Spit it,” Xaxx said.
“How good are you at tracking someone down?”
’ve been working on editing existing chapters and adding more depth to the story. I’m dead set on making this the best version it could be. Also, I’ll be building up my Patreon backlog in the meantime and will end up with a fixed release schedule.
Thanks for your patience!
Who's your favorite crew member so far? (You can pick 2)
