“Sal, Sal, did you hear? Your ship’s all cleared! We can go now!” Xeena chirped.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  “Come on Sal, you said you’d show me around, right?” She was vibrating in excitement, jaw snapping as her tail whipped about behind her.

  He had. Damn you earlier Salvador, damn you. It appeared to Sal that just by thinking about returning to Starheart he had twisted karma against him. The following morning, the crew of Fifth Spoke were alerted that boarding with Starheart would occur over the following hours, and that the investigation team there had safely removed the last explosives planted. Sitting by a bench in what was meant to be a park, with Xeena buzzing with excitement next him, Sal couldn’t help but feel a vice around his heart. Even the almost accurate but slightly too stiff blades of not-grass against his ankles couldn’t relax his feelings.

  “Yep. And I’m going to say it again: don’t get your hopes up. H&H couldn’t exactly afford a shapeshifting ship, so we had to make do with our regular metal one.”

  “I get it, no growing hot tubs, but that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of showing me around, ok?”

  “Nope, my word is my honour. Just trying to temper your expectations. Humanity isn’t all the glamour and glitz from the screens.” Sal was trying to both steel his resolve and push down the dread in his stomach. A turning point was approaching, a point of no return from which his decisions would be set in stone. Yet, when the announcement came that umbilical tubes had connected to Starheart and docking was now possible, Sal stood and walked towards fate. He would meet it head on.

  “So, Sal, you humans got any booby traps I should be careful of? Any animals that you need to give pets to otherwise they annoy you all day? Cyborg ninjas lurking in the vents?”

  “Heh, you wish we had anything like that. The closest we got to a pet was a rat one of the passengers brought with him. Idiot nearly brought it in the same green tank as himself during the first S-Jump, thinking it would be fine. Nearly cooked both of their brains. Either that, or he would’ve given Cronenberg a run for his money. Thankfully, it’s a bit hard to hide a flailing albino rat when you are sitting naked in a glass tube. Not a lot of pockets included in the naked human form. I think they might have dug an old tank out of storage for the thing.”

  Sal considered the goreskins found on Ruby Eye, and their survival after so many jumps. Each individual must have their own tank wired up to a backup generator and S-Computer, capable of bringing their QIS with them. Either that, or a Keeper was a traitor, and had been connecting to them for each jump. Honestly, considering what Thomas had described, Sal couldn’t blame a Keeper for turning on H&H after being used as a tool for their entire lives, though he couldn’t abide by the needless death of thousands innocent crew. Even with Starheart’s bomb removed, how many more Doctrine soldiers, bandits, or foreign corporate agents lurked amongst them?

  With much reluctance, Sal and Xeena met up with Marcus and his partner at the connecting tube. A small crowd had gathered, waiting eagerly. Giving a wave to his fellow engineer, Sal approached Marcus. The lightly hunched man was wearing fresh clothes from the Cambiar’s new production lines, giving him a rather classier appearance compared to Sal’s old jumpsuit and jacket. Sal had given specific instructions to the cleaners of his gear to use non-abrasive products for his coat in the right conditions. His jumpsuit could get shrunk or stained Delkar red for all he cared, but the jacket had to stay perfect.

  “Hello guys. You ready to step back into paradise?” Marcus’ smile was small but bright.

  A part of the younger man was seemingly desperate to return to the ship he had become familiar to. Starheart had become Marcus’ first real home after his torment at the hands of Heaven’s Doctrine. To Sal, it had been a bulky, rusted step in the right direction for a new life, but for Marcus, it was the epitome of his saviour in mechanical form. As such, Sal was hardly going to put a damper on the mood so close to their arrival.

  “Something like that. I only hope that Elijah won’t get pissy that everything will need maintenance. The ship can barely function without us dealing with its problems every five minutes.”

  “Heh, I’m sure he’ll find some way to get us back to work soon enough. What do you think, Cerella? Excited to see what’s been our home for the last half a year?”

  The gently swaying Cambiar piped up. “Yes, Marcus. I do hope your conditions were not as appalling as you made them out to be, especially your dormitory.”

  The Cambiar spoke without a translator. It seemed the number of them using the devices had dwindled dramatically, to the point that seeing them was more unusual. The Cambiar voice had a natural whispery, huskiness to it, but Cerella had a soft, almost material tone to hers. The plain cardigan she wore seemed to accentuate the air of modesty around the alien, which contrasted heavily with Xeena’s loose shirt and skirt she had donned as an experimental combo. Sal hadn’t quite figured out what Cerella and Marcus’ relationship was quite like yet, as both of them tended to play every social interaction cooly. Considering it couldn’t be any worse than whatever circus show Stannock was doing, Sal decided it couldn’t be all that bad.

  “Wait, hold on Marc’, what’s this about the dorm?” Sal thought that even if the general area the Torchers shared was a bit of a dump, it was still better than most quarters on Starheart, and definitely was better than the barracks that many low-end security and military staff were forced to stay in.

  “Well, sir, with all due respect, it wasn’t exactly the best living space, not with Xin being a complete slob and Stannock taking up the bathroom for hours at a time. That, and Dusty was always putting up his posters outside his bedroom. I know you love the kid to bits, but having five floor to ceiling posters of the same robot series was a bit much. I love all the guys to bits, but even you have to admit that it was a bit trashy.”

  “Oh, come on Marcus, I know you liked watching some of those episodes. Even if, well, Dusty did have to bribe us with extra drinks from requisitions to watch that first season. And hey, remember the couch! Aren’t you looking forward to the couch?”

  “Sal, I’m pretty sure whenever we sat on that thing, you could taste the mould spores getting kicked up in the air. Honestly, I’m hoping the couch has been removed as part of the ‘terrorist merchandise’ as the investigation team termed it.”

  Feigning exaggerated sadness at his teammate’s sour opinion of their old furnishings, Sal gasped dramatically. “How could you say such things, Marcus! I’ll have you know that couch is priceless!”

  Marcus laughed at his superior’s fake outrage. Sal took a moment to consider that felt he had been more jovial in the time they had spent on Fifth Spoke, a change he thought Xeena likely brought on. In reaction to their discussion of old sofas, the two Cambiar companions were clearly not as previously enthusiastic about to seeing their living quarters. It was hard for the Cambiar to fully express some emotions, lacking real eyes, but based on their attempts at revulsion their expectations had reached free fall. Passing through the connecting tube between crafts, white sealing layers circling all around them, Sal felt the weight of gravity slightly increase. The Cambiar’s preferred natural gravity of 0.87G had been increased slightly for their human crew’s convenience but hadn’t quite matched Earth normal gravity. Feeling the assuring tug of weight, Sal felt simultaneously more comfortable, but weighed down by the feeling of incoming decisions.

  If Starheart proved to be safe and functional, would Captain Curtin even continue to wait for reinforcements from H&H? Perhaps, unintentionally or not, the Cambiar’s fleet were somehow blocking messages, leaving the crew waiting for help that may never come. Sal not only dreaded the possibility of needing to make the various warp jumps back to Titanlock, but to also leave the aliens he had grown attached to. Even the aspect of himself that hated every laugh he shared with his new friends could not deny that Xeena and the others were no longer just some strange creatures to be gawked at. No, they had settled snuggly into his heart at some point. Damned if he could pinpoint when exactly. Was it maybe when he had first touched digits with Xeena, all those weeks before?

  Crossing the distance, the crowd of mostly humans but some Cambiar made their way onboard Starheart. Emergency lighting pulsed down the hallways, a dull red intermixed with weak chemofluorescent lighting. Shuckabrush was meant to be automatically grown, harvested and its extract deposited into the lighting system via a combined hydroponics and piping system, but without anyone to manage the plant-like alien life, their output must have decreased to a trickle. Harsh lighting above them, the crowd spread out amongst the various hallways. They had entered through a middle deck, likely entertainment or passenger housing. Not all those on Starheart were there to work on the ship itself. Many, such as scientists, ecologists, miners and financiers, were simply waiting out the trip until they arrived at whatever colony was established.

  Moving through the mostly deserted bars and gambling halls left Sal feeling uneasy. The dark lighting combined with creaking and groaning of the ship did little to soothe his nerves, and the same could be said for his companions.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “This feels weird. Like, it’s almost abandoned or left to rot. We’ve only been gone, what a few weeks at most right? So why does it feel so… spoilt?” Sal said.

  “Maybe our overwhelming hospitality has changed your standards, hmm?” Xeena smugly. Truthfully, Sal thought she had a point. The low ceilings, rough metal bulkheads, and utilitarian design of the H&H ship were depressing compared to Fifth Spoke once it had changed from a dark, alien environment to one mimicking more serene times from humanity’s past. Even as the group made their way past some of the standard passenger cabins, the tight spaces and rigid furniture made everything feel utilitarian.

  The team made their way lower into the ship’s bowels, coming to rest on one of the engineering sub-decks. They had made their way to the assembly hall, where the Torchers had once received their shift orders. The gloomy lighting made the room that once had character, with walls covered in posters and meeting notes, seem dead and dreary by comparison. The lack of other crewmates milling about did not help the atmosphere. As the quartet entered the room, another familiar face approached.

  “Hey now brother, you aren’t thinking of going back to work so soon?” Abel said, widely grinning. He had Pippa riding on his shoulders, though he had had to crouch through the tight doorways to fit both his own height and Pippa’s head. This time, the small alien was patting his head.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m just visiting. For now.” Sal looked around the room, almost expecting to see the deck manager on the stage, reading off how some fool from the upper decks had broken a water pipe or some other mishap. “Still, good to catch up on this place. It feels…” Sal trailed off.

  “Crappy?” Marcus interjected.

  “What? No, I was going to say almost nostalgic. Reminds me of when we first boarded, when we got first dibs on the inspection. Before everyone got on, and we had to check it was safe after it had been constructed.”

  “Expect it had better lighting back then.” Abel said, smirking.

  “Yeah, true.”

  As the Torchers chatted, with Xeena, Pippa and Cerella asking each other about their partners different thoughts on revisiting the ship, another face Sal recognized passed by the assembly hall’s doorway.

  “Thomas?”

  The mechanical man stepped back and looked inside. Recognizing the senior engineer, he marched over.

  “Ah, hello everyone. It is good to see you all. How goes revisiting the old quarters?”

  “Yeah, pretty good. It’s kinda dark though. Might give a quick look at the shucka-trays and see if we can turn the emergency lights off. Kind of ruins the mood a bit?”

  “Indeed, I agree. If you were not aware, some others have returned to the ship. I passed Dr. Michaels on the way here, and he mentioned something about an inspection, though his tone indicated a joke.”

  Sal groaned. Gods, he was not in the mood to deal with the doctor’s shenanigans.

  “Additionally,” Thomas continued. “Some of the bartending crew have set up O’Malley’s again, so if you would like some service, I believe Erohin will be ready.”

  Sal internally hid an even larger groan. He made a mental note to stay clear of the bar, at least until the weird bartender had changed shifts. Were people returning to their old roles so quickly? He felt apprehension to become an engineer quite so soon, still wanting to make the most of Fifth Spoke’s many facilities. He hadn’t even tried swimming yet. Well, he’d had a splash with Xeena at one of them, but that didn’t count. He hadn’t mustered the courage to fully submerge himself yet but was working up to it.

  However, before Thomas could speak again, a cutting alarm sliced through the rumbling hum of Starheart. A voice echoed down the ship-wide intercom a moment later, feedback from a mic being moved kickstarting the message.

  “I said, give me that! Listen crew, immediate orders. Evacuate, now! The initial announcement was faked, we only just got word it was hacked.” Elijah’s voice sounded strained as it echoed around the room.

  “We don’t know where, but there is another bomb detected on the scanners, and its activated. There isn’t much time. Make your way to the docking ports, that is a direct order. Move!”

  A heartbeat passed, and everyone stood still. Sal felt his pulse rise into his throat. The tension cracked, and everyone sprinted for the door. Dashing down the hallways, everyone was silent aside from their quick breaths. Sal’s mind was a rollercoaster. How the fuck did someone hack the announcements? Why hadn’t command verified the ship’s safety?

  Deeper than these questions resonated another thought to Sal. If Starheart was at risk of destruction, then everything onboard could be gone, spread across the void. In his mind’s eye, he saw his trunk in the Torcher’s dorm, still locked from months before. No other item on the ship stood out to him aside from that one case. Could he reach the dorms in time and escape? No, it was a winding hallway down to his quarters, frustratingly close to the bottom bulkhead that bordered on the cargo bay.

  Even more than the trunk stood the very idea of Starheart. It was his duty to ensure that the ship remained safe and operational. To lose Starheart was to lose his sense of self responsibility. If the ship died, whatever future laid ahead with H&H would likely die with them. His idiotic, idealized life of fortune, almost certainly worse off than his current life with the Cambiar, was soon to be a candle snuffed in the wind. A life free to support himself, without needing others to help him. A life, alone.

  Still darting around corners and slim corridors, an idea came to Sal, one that once planted could not be dislodged.

  “Thomas! You have the records of Ruby Eye, right? Where the bombs?”

  The cyborg was easily keeping pace with the others, lacking lungs to wheeze through. “I do. Sending them through to your comm-device. Why?” Even using a speaker as a voice box, the worried tone was clear.

  “Gotcha.” Sal sped through the data on his device as quick as possible. “Do you know where the bombs removed from Starheart have been removed so far?”

  “I don’t, but I can get them. Unofficially, of course.” A couple quick taps later, and Sal had a map of the two ships and where the bombs were on each. Glaringly, a bomb removed from Ruby Eye’s inner workings, on the lower-mid deck in a maintenance area, was not present on Starheart’s chart. A bomb that Sal might be able to reach.

  At the next corridor junction, Sal stopped and turned. “Everyone, head to the docks. I’ll be right behind you.” They responded with confusion and a flurry of questions, with only Thomas giving a wordless stare. Without giving them a chance to fully take in his words, Sal turned and sprinted towards the likely location. As he leaped up a staircase, two at a time, he heard Abel shouting for his name.

  Dashing through the maze of a vessel, Sal patted his jacket. Thankfully, he still had his regular tools sequestered away in pockets and pouches on the inner lining. It was not his full kit, but he prayed it would be enough. Another announcement cried through the ship, but Sal couldn’t pay attention; there was work to be done. Lungs burning with exertion, he found the maintenance corridor that would lead him to his prize. Slamming his hand against the ID console, the door recognized his fingerprints and gave him access. Quickly, the tunnels closed in around him, like some predatory animal’s gullet. The two-man wide passage narrowed to one as Sal squeezed through the tight corridor. Shoulders brushing against pipes and electrical runners, he came to a ladder, one that would take him into the vents. Breathing heavy and strained, he came to the top and wormed his way into the tight hole, crawling on all fours.

  If he was wrong, and Sal hated to be wrong, he would have wasted too much time to escape. From the sounds of it, Elijah was already late with the information and based on how quickly Ruby Eye was destroyed after seeing the Out-Han fleet, he only had minutes left at best. Elbows aching and mind racing, he turned through an S-bend, and came to a halt. Glinting in the light of his handheld flashlight sat a wide, black and white metal box, two cylinders planted at either end.

  Unlike the proto-wave movies, there was no handy indicator for time, and the unknown countdown to his likely demise made Sal’s heart hammer in his chest. Following the best dogma for maintenance work, he panted aloud as he removed his tools for work. “Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.” He removed the outer lining of plating around the main chassis of the box. From within, a mass of wires and circuits sprouted before him. In the dark, tight corridor, he stared down at the complex bomb, numerous circuit boards and layered sections glowering back.

  If he had time, and a full toolbox, this would be a piece of cake. But in the dark, holding a flashlight in his mouth and hands shaking with nerves, Sal could feel death mechanically buzzing before him. As he disconnected a section of wiring that would obfuscate his work, he found a series of soldered circuits that likely activated whatever compact explosive or nuclear payload was in both silos. Bit by bit, he disconnected them until he found a problem. A big one.

  The current wire he was working on prevented a failsafe from activating the bomb, and if removed before another circuit, would prematurely set it off. However, he needed to remove the backup for this failsafe, and that would require him to lift a heavy lining plate whilst simultaneously working on the wires underneath. Enraged about his lack of tools and additional hands, he thumped his foot against the wall in frustration. Fuck! Was this how he died? Unable to save himself? For a second, Sal sighed. Maybe that was what was what best described his life in a nutshell – a man unable to help even himself.

  Just as he considered putting the tools down, and waiting for the end, a scrambling noise filled the tunnel. Had the traitor returned to ensure that his efforts would not be halted? Sal was hardly in a position to fight, but at the very least he could show the man who had killed him a thing or tw-

  “Sal!” Xeena screamed.

  “Xeena?! What the fuck are you doing here?” No, no, no! This wasn’t what was meant to happen. She should be back on Fifth Spoke, safe and alive. This was a nightmare, a culmination of his worst mistakes come to life.

  “You need a hand. Let me help, we’ll talk about your behaviour later.”

  “Fine.” Sal steadied himself. “Lift this plate, I can’t… I can’t do it alone.”

  Xeena followed his instructions and lifted the thick plating. To Sal’s surprise, there were even further screws below this plate that held it firm. This was no shoddily put together bomb, it was clean, intricate, and professional. With no time to admire the craftwork, Sal went for his screwdriver for this size screw, only to find an empty pocket. He had misplaced it last time he loaded the jacket up with equipment. Before he could even vocalize his stupid, stupid mistake, Xeena was already ahead of him. Though her arms looked thin, thinner than Sal’s, she shifted her prone position to lift the thick plate with only one hand and carefully used her claws on her other to remove the screws.

  Sal wheezed a surprised gasp out as he gained access to the failsafe’s backup board. Smoothly, with precision, he lanced the backup power to the main failsafe’s processing system and, fingers shaking wildly, he severed the failsafe wiring and the bomb buzzing stopped. A check from a voltmeter found the current was restrained to its own battery system, sealed off from the explosives. The pair were still for some time, awaiting an eruption of flames any second. When death held its hand. The two relaxed.

  A soft, panting chuckle grew in their chests, rising as a laugh before surging into a raucous bellowing cry of victory. The two embraced in a hug, banging against the tight walls of their surroundings.

  “Holy shit! You did it! Sal, you really did it!” Xeena cried. The thumping of her tail echoed around the ventilation shaft.

  “No.” Sal locked eyes with Xeena. “We did it.”