Chapter Text
Blue Light flares into the circular window spanning the entire wall of one end of the capsule.
The cylindrical research station sponsored by the Interplanetary University Syndicate is an easy to set up module with one big living space and a bathroom. In this older model, the bed is placed right in front of the window, allowing no respite from any light source outside - a remnant of times when interplanetary travel had not yet reached outside of the solar system.
In an undulating choir of noise, the amphibians of the nearby swampland start their day.
Professor Klay Bedrock stirs in their clinically white and blue sheets. Sighing deeply, they yank out the energy plug from their cybernetic leg and wait for it to power up with little hissing and beeping noises before sitting upright on the edge of the mattress. Soft blonde hair falls deep into their face when they lean forward to put a sock on. On a clothing line hung across the room the IUS issued olive green coverall fitted to neatly slip into the slot at the top of their leg hangs between colorful underwear that nobody will see today.
Fizzing loudly, the coffee machine starts up on a timer and fills the space with a pleasant scent. Klay stands in front of it, tying their hair with a rubber band they keep on their wrist as they wait. Some things never change. Next to the machine on the counter sits an assortment of flora in pressurized tubes filled with murky water. Strikingly luminescent blue and yellow algae pulsates consistently against the glass surface of the largest one. It moves slightly to follow their gestures as Klay grabs the cup.
“And a good morning to you, too.”, they mumble at the plant. Phosphyta , the briefing had called it, along with very little information. What it was and what it did or could do was for the professor to find out.
So far there were no conclusive results.
Breakfast consists of a handful of random nutrient capsules they choke down alongside their medicine with the filtered rainwater this module provides. Klay puts on the coveralls and their knee high-neoprene boot. The reddish-bronze finish on their cybernetic leg is not only fashionable but also seals the technology safely away from any liquid. Two shoulder-mounted bags filled with test tubes and equipment cross in front of their chest and hang off their sides like saddle bags. Grabbing their protective goggles for good measure, they open the door of their pod and step outside into the humid air of Eva 12, a small planet in a more isolated solar system far off from civilization. Eva 12 is not uninhabitable, it's just that so far nobody has bothered to inhabit it. Well, technically Klay Bedrock has been inhabiting it for the last cycle since the IUS placed the research pod on it and dropped them off.
They don't quite remember how long one cycle in the Eva system is but on their last video call Nyx mentioned it has been half a year since they've seen each other so it must be something along those lines. At first they didn't want to go. But knowing that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, a post they had only been offered because the first researcher had been incapacitated, they let Nyx convince them not to pass it up. Sebastian Ostovsky stayed in the hospital and Klay Bedrock took his job.
Accustomed to the numbing routine of research, the days fly by one blue sunrise after the other.
In actuality, it would be inaccurate to call the Eva light source a sun. All things in this system are illuminated by the blue hue of a burning gas giant. Thousands of years ago, two asteroids collided on its surface and, with one single spark, ignited all of it. It's an incredible life-creating coincidence. Some would call it destiny.
Klay wades knee deep into the tidal pools at the shore of a peaceful ocean where all sorts of deep rooted trees tower over the mellow waves to the point where it's impossible to see the horizon.
Phosphyta lives here, covering the sand beneath their feet as far as the eye can see and glowing so exquisitely when darkness falls. And when Klay reaches a hand out into the water, the algae wraps around it softly like a greeting, tracing the grooves along their skin in what could only be described as curiosity. They could swear they can feel it too, the need to know of it, that creature standing in our waters. Who are they? What do they want from us? But there's only the whisper of an idea, the barest hint of an emotion muted behind an unknown barrier. Trust.
There's a sort of saccharine quality to this ocean that makes it more viscous than the rivers in the swamp, pearls of it rolling off of their hands slowly as they pull them out. The arms of the plant do not resist.
Slowly, the professor retreats to the beach. They remove their bags. Step out of the boot. Take off the coverall. In just an undershirt and briefs Klay wades into the ocean. Unprotected, unhindered. One big breath before they dive under the surface, spreading their limbs out to let the organism touch them.
Like a warm embrace, the slick strands wrap all around them with a familiar comfort. Klay thinks about where they come from, what their name is and what it means and what their purpose is in this place, this beautiful place. And just like that, a bridge is crossed. They close their eyes and see images in their mind of the ocean floor, the sky through the water, deep sea dwelling creatures, they feel the ripple of an impact miles and miles away, the current pulling on them gently, bringing particles from far over and they hear the warbling and undulating of underwater songs. Somewhere further they understand the neverending waves of correlation and consequence, the responsibility to remain insignificant in the face of infinity and the beauty of synergy.
Just in time, phosphyta pushes them away. Although the water is shallow, it feels like an eternity before Klay's head comes up for air. This changes everything.
Time to get back.
They don't bother to get dressed. With all their belongings scooped up in their arms, the professor runs over the sand back to the pod, just dropping it all in a heap on the floor inside.
It's a small planet with short days and short nights which just means that the professor's circadian rhythm is obstructing a healthy sleep schedule by sleeping and waking with the change of light. Right now it also means they don't know what time it could possibly be at the research facility. Regardless, they send an express briefing to their superior.
Organism sentient. Communication possible.
In the big glass cylinder on the desk, the algae wriggles slightly as they approach. The professor puts a hand up to the glass, softly, carefully. Almost immediately, the organism inside mimics the shape, glowing brighter, so bright they can barely look at it.
“I can feel you, too.”, Klay leans in closer, their fingers feeling warm where they're touching the glass. “We’re just two folks living in cylinders. I'll talk to you soon.”
The paperwork required to document a new intelligent species is thirty-five pages long. The professor starts working.
Hours later, shortly before sunrise, Klay wakes up with their datapad underneath their head on the desk. Page 23 shines dimly at them, filled out halfway.
The entire pod is illuminated in red from the middle of the room, where the phosph yta presses against the tube with a purplish ruby glow.
“What is it?” the professor stands up to look around.
Where their foot touches the floor, a tremor rumbles through the ground. Abruptly, the plant kicks off of the glass and retreats into the middle of the water. Klay grabs the desk for stability, looking outside the window in search of the cause as the shaking increases. In the early sight of blue sunshine they see the horizon rise up rapidly. Muddy earth crumbles away outside and all things that aren't bolted down start sliding towards the window around their bed.
Glass tubes shatter against the walls. Without thinking, the biologist dives towards the cylinder that holds the algae, arms wrapping tightly around it just as the tipping point of their home is reached and all the rest of it comes crashing down in an instant. A metal beam comes loose from the construction and smashes through the window below and Klay has no choice but to fall through the splinters into the hole beneath their pod. With one last flicker of sparks, the electric light gives out and all that remains is the faint glow of the phosphyta through the bleeding arms of the professor.
Coming out of hyperspace, the freight ship 808, affectionately named “Bob” after its numbering, glides into the Eva System. Routinely, the crew unbuckles their safety belts and go about their duties. It's not the first time they've gotten away with a good chunk of illicit salvage and used the Eva System as a place of respite to collect themselves before traveling elsewhere. As one of the few discovered systems without surveillance or much traffic, it serves smugglers well as a temporary hiding spot.
A scrappy man with dark curly hair swivels in his seat, illuminated by the five screens at his station. He is wearing black baggy sweatpants, a blue t-shirt that says IUS CODING CHAMPION ‘82 and sleek glasses with yellow tinted glass to protect his eyes from artificial light. “Where to next, Walsh?”
“Who do we know who still buys this shit?” Captain Finian Walsh runs a hand through his unruly locks along the patterned undercut and puts his heavy working boots up on his console, “If we can get rid of it before anyone notices that would be great.” Sleeves of a denim overall are wrapped around his waist where a loose fitting muscle shirt is bundled up that, for its own lack of sleeves shows the tattoos on his ribcage and arms.
“I'd go with Louie.” A complete antithesis to the relaxed appearance of his crewmates, the comms officer Carter sits upright at his switchboard in a beige turtleneck and black corduroys. He is the only one whose brown hair goes neatly up in a deliberate tuft. And yet, it doesn't seem out of place next to the other two.
His cybernetic arm moves towards the keyboard to start typing. “He's still in the game as far as I know. And he buys anything. Still in the same place, too.”
“Yeah, let's do that.” Walsh leans forward and puts his feet down. “Nexus, let's give Bob an hour to recover and then get to Antiope.”
“Copy.”
The captain flicks a blue switch on his board. “Attention to all passengers: we will be stationary for about an hour before further departure. Next stop will be Antiope.”
“Ship's undamaged.”
Walsh turns to the large burly man in the corridor to the bridge. With the beard and shaved head he looks more intimidating than he is. His overalls are truly filthy and half destroyed and have been for a while. Nobody cares.
“That's what I like to hear!”
All of their faces are tinted blue in the light of the Eva sun coming through the huge windshield that faces the consoles in the middle of the room.
“How much do you reckon it is this time?” Bulk enters.
“A good five thousand maybe?”
“And how much for fuel?”
“Nexus?”
“Three hundred at least.”, Nexus says without looking up.
“So less than a thousand each.”
“Man, I'm sorry, Bulk. We were never gonna get rich with this.”
“I know, I know. Just doing some math.”
“You looking to buy something?” Walsh grins.
Bulk rolls his eyes. “Yeah Walsh, that's what I'm doing, I'm gonna go to the mall and do some sh-”
“Captain, we got a distress signal.”, Carter takes his headphones off and switches to loudspeaker. A haunting note swells on and off. It sends shivers down the captain's spine.
Nexus immediately opens several programs.
“It's IUS.” he remarks.
“That's unusual.”, Bulk leans over his shoulder, “Those folks usually have a response time of less than an hour.”
“This signal was first broadcast over six hours ago.”
“Shit.”, Walsh glances at his comms officer. “Where are they?”
“They're on 12.”
“How far is that?”
Nexus shrugs. “Twenty minutes, tops. It's that one.” He points to a dark green planet.
“We're going.” The captain hits three switches. Yellow, blue, red. Engines power on below.
“Attention all passengers: There's been a change of plans. Prepare for touchdown in fifteen minutes. Thank you.”
Slowly, he pushes the big lever in front of him. He'll never get used to the way the vast darkness of space moves towards him when he does that.
“What if they're dead?”, Carter asks.
“Then at least someone will know.” Walsh shoots him a worried look.
“Is that worth it?” Bulk sits down in the co-pilot seat even though he's never touched these buttons in his life.
“That's another 50 for fuel.” Nexus sighs.
Walsh turns his entire body towards him. “Do you have a complaint?”
“No.” He still doesn't look up. “Do you?”
“Yeah. Stop bitching in my fucking kitchen.”
“If you don't let me bitch I might stab you.”, the large man hums at his side.
“You better stop flirting with me.”
“Alright Bulk, get out of my chair.”, Carter shuffles over. “The adults have to work.”
“ He's the adult?” Bulk points to Walsh with a grin.
But he still gets up and straps down in one of the passenger seats on the bridge. Carter takes his place and is immediately in his zone.
“So there's a bunch of shallow water on this thing we could probably land on but it'll be easier to just find a beach so we don't have to guess where it's deep.”
“Nexus, do we have a topography scan?”
A hologram overlay appears on the windshield.
“There's a flat area not too far from the beacon. Here.” Parts of the map glow green.
“Cheers.”
“Looks like a manual job.” Carter disables the autopilot.
“Adjusting trajectory.”
“Modulating thrusters.”
“Going into approach.”
For a few minutes, silence falls over the bridge. Bulk watches intently how the pilots fingers dart over the controls with the ease of routine, touching the switches and buttons and levers in a gentle, almost loving manner. Often his gaze catches on the chrome blue glint of Carter's metal arm.
Crimson pools of blood, all over the floor, over his clothes, over his face. Someone is screaming. Is it him or one of the others?
“Attention folks, please buckle down at this point, we're doing a manual landing. Atmosphere break will start in about a minute.”
They all know there's only two other people and a dog on this ship and it feels silly to address them as one would a large group. But protocol is protocol. No redundancy. Every second counts, even if you have all the time in the world.
“Engaging atmo shields.”, Carter announces.
“Counterfiring engines.”
The thrusters outside rotate to point downwards to fight the sudden gravitational pull.
You never get used to entry. It feels like your body is dropping into an endless pit while someone is relentlessly spinning you around. Some do it thousands of times and still throw up.
Today nobody vomits. Bob kicks up the sand until there's a singed crater underneath and sets down with a loud thump. For a moment, neither of them let go of the controls, listening for sounds, feeling for vibrations.
“All good.”, Walsh says. He fiddles with the intercom. “Landing concluded. We'll be parked here for an undetermined amount of time investigating a signal. Please do not leave your communication range if you go outside.”
A tall, gangly man with long blonde hair in a tight bun enters the bridge. He's wearing red overalls with short sleeves and hundreds of pockets.
“We're investigating a signal?”, he asks in a judgemental tone. “Is that really the best use of our resources?”
In one motion, Finian Walsh undoes his seat buckle and swings out of his chair to stand almost chest to chest with him.
“If any of you have an issue with the way this ship operates may I perhaps suggest a mutiny?”, he growls.
“Are we gonna come running every time someone needs their mom? Because then I'll take you up on that.”
“You've changed, Blaze. You used to care.”
“And then we got fucked, Walsh.”
Walsh takes a step back and crosses his arms. “You're wasting my daylight. I'm going outside. Bulk, are you good to come with?”
Bulk gets up without a word and walks to the door. Walsh follows him, but turns on the threshold.
“It’s been hours. Something's wrong.”
Blaze shrugs. “You’re the captain.”
Finian strides back into his direction.
“Are we gonna have a problem?”
“You're wasting daylight.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Walsh, are you coming?”
It takes a while to get into the dark grey safety gear that comes with all freighter ships. As sort of a lighter version of a spacesuit, the main piece covers all skin up to the neck and protects from both heat and cold. A hood is attached that, like the rest of the garment, is liquid-proof. Walsh and Bulk opt for the fingerless variety of gloves to retain precision.
Upon stepping out of the ship's loading ramp, they are taken aback by the beautiful spectacle of the blue sun setting over the horizon while the algae in the water glows and sparkles in soft yellow and blue tones.
“I'll be damned.” Bulk leans slightly against Walsh. “We’ve warped into this system so many times and never took a look.”
“It's breathtaking.”
“Maybe we can set up a base here.”
“Yeah, I'm sure it's perfectly safe.” The Captain pats his friend on the back. “Let's go look for the poor bastard.” He checks the small monitor attached to his forearm. “Gotta go east.”
Under their feet sand turns to dirt and dirt to mud until they're wading almost waist-deep through the swamp, hoping it doesn't go deeper. Here and there, bubbles of air pop on the surface of the sludge. The angle flashlights on their shoulder straps barely illuminate a five foot radius so they stay close to each other, neither admitting how unsettled they are.
Soon enough, the ground starts ascending again and they emerge, legs covered in mud, at the treeline leading to another beach. Walking forward slowly, Walsh checks the monitor again and calls out.
“This is Captain Finian Walsh of the Freighter Vessel 808. We picked up your distress signal. If you can hear me, please help us find you.”
His voice carries into the darkness on the slight wind and ebbs. Bulk stops walking to reduce sound pollution.
“I'm down here.”, another voice calls into the night. “Don't fall into the sinkhole.”
Walsh immediately halts. Scanning the ground with his flashlight, he indeed sees a gaping hole a few steps away.
“Alright, hold on. We'll come get you.”
“It's not like I'm going anywhere.”
Finian turns to Bulk. “Rappel me?”
“That's what I'm here for.” He smiles. Walsh loves it when Bulk smiles.
With the click of a button, Bulk's boots are anchored into the earth and a compartment in his suit opens to show a spool of thin but sturdy wire rope which can be cranked to slowly supply a safety line. There's a loop at the end where Walsh hooks a carabiner that's fastened to his waistline.
“Let's do this.”, Bulk encourages him.
Carefully, the shorter man lowers himself into the hole with the mechanic as his counterweight.
Once his feet are planted firmly against the dirt wall, he fumbles in his chest pocket for a flare. A loud hiss cuts through the silence as it lights up the area in bright red. Several meters below, a dirtied face looks up at him. Their eyes meet across the distance.
All space travelers are aware of the fact that every choice, however minor, can change everything, that every conscious moment can split into infinite paths. Sometimes, you'll think about it when you're torn about something. Or when you break a routine.
Few ever experience the overwhelming feeling of knowing that an occurrence they're living happens in every possible timeline. Knowing that the path never splits here but in fact, that all paths converge on this point. It's powerful, life-changing and dizzying. But of those who've felt it, even less will ever admit that they did. After all, it's a ridiculous thought.
With a gasp, Finian’s hands clasp onto the rope as Bulk starts unwinding it. The flare drops into the pit.
“You alright, Walsh?”, the baritone reaches his ears like a splash of cold water.
“Just caught me off guard, no sweat.”
Carefully, he rappels along the crumbling dirt until his feet touch the ground. When the line goes slack after he unhooks himself, Bulk walks over to the edge and sits down with his feet dangling in the air. Both men can now clearly see the predicament their distress caller finds themselves in. A metal beam is lodged deep into the earth, presumably shot downwards with the force of its own weight when the home modul that's now leaning against the wall of the hole at an angle, toppled over. Maybe one could consider it lucky that they weren't hit by the beam directly and that the cybernetic leg is taking the brunt of the pressure. As it is now, they are thoroughly trapped underneath.
“Hey, what's your name?” Walsh kneels down, already inspecting the metal.
“I'm Professor Klay Bedrock, doing research on behalf of the IUS.”
“It's nice to meet you.” He gestures above them. “That up there is my good friend Barry, but we all call him Bulk because he's huge.” The cone of the flashlight travels over the professor. “You injured?”
“Nothing bad, I think.”
“The leg still functional?”
“Short circuited.”
“Alright, can you move?”
“Probably.”
“If I try raising the beam, do you think you could crawl out?”
“Yeah.”
Walsh takes what's almost a squatting position with his shoulders under the metal and begins pushing upwards. Inch by inch, the beam rises. Finally, Klay feels their leg dislodge and scoots backwards. Watching the slow, clearly painful process of the professor pulling their body away over scattered glass shards, Finian wishes Bulk was down here while his legs shake from the exertion. As soon as they're clear, he steps forward and the beam snaps back into place. With his hands on his legs, he catches his breath before getting back to it.
“What's next?”
“Could you possibly,” Klay looks skeptically at their home, “If it's safe, that is - pack a bag for me?”
Walsh walks over to the pod and jolts it a little. “Seems stable enough. What do you need?”
“Most of my stuff is already in a green bag somewhere. And if you could get my datapad and the cable next to the bed, that should be it.”
“On it.”
He climbs in through the shattered window and finds the bag and datapad almost immediately among the things that landed against the bed frame. The cable is easily untangled. His gaze stops on a picture frame that's caught in a gap between the wall and what's left of the window. The professor smiles a wide smile back at him, an arm around a person from the planet Lerna, a mostly water dwelling species. Their scaled face projects a giddy happiness.
Walsh looks at it for a moment, taken in by the genuine joy of the picture. He decides to put it in the bag with the other things.
When he climbs back out, Klay has managed to stand up.
“Oh, thank you so much.” They accept the bag from him and gingerly place a large glass cylinder in it that they've been holding onto very tightly this entire time. It faintly glows behind their fingers but the captain doesn't get a good look at it. None of his business, really.
“Alright, Professor, this isn't our first run of this so let me just explain it to you. I'm gonna go back up and then we'll cast the rope down again. Put your foot in the loop like it's a stirrup and hold on real tight because pulling it up will wiggle you around good. I'll give you my gloves so your grip doesn't hurt.”
He hands them the gloves.
“Oh, uh-” Klay hesitates, “Don't you wanna use them and then toss them down to me after?”
“And risk losing them in the dark, making you shuffle all over the dirt with one leg?” He shoves the gloves at their chest. “I'll be alright.”
For a moment, both of them feel the warm awkwardness of a slightly too familiar touch - but there are more important things to worry about. When they grab the gloves from him, their hands touch and they can't help but notice how warm his palms are.
“Are you alright to get to the edge or should I give you a hand?”, Walsh asks.
“If you'd be so kind.”
He hooks their arm around his shoulder and his own around their waist to walk them over. Above them, Bulk gets up and into position.
“Everyone ready?”, his voice echoes.
“Let's go, bud.” Walsh connects his carabiner and turns to Klay. “See you in a bit.”
“Yeah.”
They watch him scale the wall with what seems like a complete lack of technique made up for by brute force. Several times, his feet slip off of the earth and he struggles to realign himself. His hands must hurt a lot but they believe now that he'll be alright. He will probably just brute force the pain away as well.
There's a long pause after his feet disappear over the ledge where they can hear another flare light up and both of them walking around, quietly talking to each other. A hearty laugh is exchanged and then Finian's head peeks down.
“Heads up!”
The rope smacks onto the soil. As instructed, Klay steps into the loop at the end and holds on.
“I'm in position!”
“Copy!”
With the first upwards jolt, they almost forget to keep holding on. It's surprisingly jarring to be tugged up so suddenly. Nevertheless, their fingers stay wrapped around, cut up palms protected by the gloves.
It takes nine tugs to the top where four hands immediately grab them by both arms to help clear the ledge. They all stay half sitting, half lying on the ground, entangled for a few minutes. Feels nice to be held after half a year alone on this planet.
Looking up, the professor sees the rope going around a tree with Bulk acting as a counterweight to secure the rope after Walsh pulls on it. They're a freighter crew after all, Klay thinks to themselves. This is their job.
“Now,” Bulk gets up and dusts his hands. “How are we gonna get you through the swamp?”
“Fuck me, you came through the swamp?”
“Yeah, is there a way around?” Walsh offers his arm.
“No, if you-” they let him help, “If you came from that side then you landed on the beach that's surrounded by it.”
“That's unfortunate.”
“What do we do?” Bulk looks around.
“Well, maybe…”, Klay furrows his brows. “I do have a small boat somewhere around here.”
“Oh, that could absolutely work.”, the large man's eyes glimmer in the red, misty glare that surrounds them.
“It should be near the sinkhole, really. I didn't keep it far from the pod. Barely used it.”
Bulk picks up the flare and heads off.
In the dark, still supporting some of Klay's weight, Walsh clears his throat.
“Hey, I hope it's okay to ask this, but… How come the IUS didn't pick you up?”
“You know, I kind of assumed the signal didn't go through. We all get this little device to carry around our neck and I just thought maybe it was broken. But if you got the signal, then… that's really strange.”
“Huh.”
“I'm sure there's an explanation.”
Making a substantial amount of noise, Bulk returns, dragging the boat behind him. It really is small, just barely big enough to hold one person and made out of fairly light fiberglass. He looks like a boy with a sled.
“Time to go!”, he says jauntily.
It doesn't take long to reach the swamp. Klay lowers himself into the boat, grateful that there's enough water among the mud to make it float. Nobody says anything. Bulk pulls the vessel along by its tether while Walsh pushes from behind. After a while, the professor turns around to face him.
He looks up, expecting them to say something, but they only survey him. Accepting the silent eyes on him, he resumes wading forwards.
It's almost peaceful.
“You’re back.” Carter pushes off the side of the ship where he was leaning as they approach. “I was getting worried.”
“You always worry.”
“You're easy to worry about.” He nods towards the professor. “I'm Carter.”
“Professor Klay Bedrock.”, they respond weakly from in-between the two other men.
“I can show you where you can get cleaned up while these two change.”
He leads them up the loading ramp into the cargo bay filled with crates that have definitely seen better days. They smell of rust and smoke.
From there the lower level splits off into two corridors and several different stairways lead upstairs. Carter proceeds along the lower left corridor. They pass two large hatches on the slanted wall before stopping at a spacious bathroom.
“Towels are on the rack over there. I'll see about getting you some clothes. Are you okay to stand?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“I see you have a lot of cuts. Do take care to check for any incessant bleeding or anything remaining in the wounds and I'll assist in tending to those. For everything else, the red cabinet has band-aids and disinfectant.”
“Alright.”
He nods and slides the door shut behind him.
Klay sighs and leans on the metal sink, looking at themselves in the mirror. Mud and soil are stuck to their face, caked in their hair and crumbling off of their coveralls.
They peel the gloves off, cringing at the glass cuts on their hands. Cold water rinses away blood and dirt with stinging intensity and they shudder at the feeling of splinters under their skin.
Before anything else, they reach into their bag to feel the tube until they sense the consciousness reach out.
We’re safe. For now.
They hope their message is conveyed to the organism and start tending to themselves. By the time they step into the shower, they can feel the engines rumbling to life.
Carter must have slipped in while they were showering because when they emerge, their dirty clothing is gone and a neatly folded stack of clothes sits on a stool in the corner. A wide knit sweater of a creamy brown colouration goes way past their fingertips as they slip into it but it's nice and cozy and they wrap their arms around themselves to savor it. It smells faintly of lavender. Black briefs and gray wool socks are a safe enough choice. They store the extra sock in their bag.
When Klay picks up the grayish workwear dungarees their breath catches. What looks like a job done well but in a hurry, someone has cut off a good chunk of the left pant-leg and sewn in a rubber band at the end of it. It fits well and they sit on the stool for a moment processing the idea that someone took the time to do that.
There's a soft knock on the door.
“Are you decent?”
“Yes.”
Carter slides the door open. He's holding two left shoes. Looking at him now, Klay realises that his arm is cybernetic. They hadn't seen it in the dark and haze earlier.
“I brought these, hopefully one of them fits. I did my best to guess-”
“Did you modify this?”
He looks at the dungarees.
“If I overstepped, I'm sorry.”
“No. Thank you.”
“You're welcome. I quite enjoy sewing.” Carter wiggles his blue metal digits around. “Walsh taught me how because it's good practice for the fingers.”
“Oh, it's new?”
“Two years soon.”
“I've had mine since I stopped growing.”
“Right on.” He hands them the shoes. One of them is a rugged hiking boot, the other a bright red sneaker. They all fit and Carter tells them to keep both. Klay opts for the sneaker for now.
“The cabin you can stay in is the green door at the end of this hall but I do want to take a look at your hands as well so please see me in the med bay around the junction there after you deposit your things.”
He takes off and they hear him talking quickly on his radio in the distance.
Klay limps slowly through the hall. One of the hatch doors, a red one, isn't fully closed and they notice some faint snoring coming from it. It's not a long corridor and they find that the cabins are not that big either when they enter the green room. It's mostly a bed with drawers and a small table, but they're quite used to that. Deciding to do it properly, the professor sits down on the bed and unpacks their bag: The glass tube goes on a safety holder on the desk designed to keep things from falling over in zero gravity; datapad and stationary go in the desk drawer; the cable plugs into the wall; the new sock and shoe in the bed drawer. Everything else is research gear and can stay in the bag. Or so they thought.
Their fingers brush against something else and fish it out. Stunned, they stare at the picture frame Nyx gifted them before they left - dried muddy fingerprints betray how it got in there.
Decidedly not cleaning it, Klay places the frame in the shelf that's built into the wall over the bed. Then they slide their bag into the drawer beneath it as well and leave.
In the big U shape that is the lower deck corridor, the med bay is on the other side of the bathroom. Bright, cold light reflects off of the many smooth surfaces and the softly padded examination table in the middle. The professor heaves themselves onto it and waits, leg dangling idly while they look around. All manner of medical instructions are taped to the walls. From here it becomes apparent that the entire room is slanted towards a drain in the floor to their right. It feels heavy in here.
The unmistakable viscosity of blood as it hits the floor in heavy drops makes his head spin. But he has to look at those drops so he doesn't look at the river of red flowing across the ground. His hands are numb from pressing down. Just don't look.
Through the window to the corridor, Klay sees Carter approach swiftly.
“My apologies for the wait.”
“You’re good. I've barely sat here.”
He smiles and pulls a lit up magnifying screen from above as he sits down.
“May I?”
Professor Bedrock presents their hands. Immediately, the screen highlights all cuts and splinters in different colours.
“The good news is, you don't need stitches.” He leans back to open a drawer and retrieves a pair of tweezers. “But we have some nasty pieces of glass stuck in there. Your face seems alright. Any discomfort anywhere else?”
“I didn't notice anything.”
“Lucky. I'm told you fell through a window.”
“I certainly don't feel very lucky today.”
“I suppose I wouldn't either if I had spent hours trapped in a dark hole.”
Carter grabs their hand and gets to work. Wincing at every pull, Klay tries to distract themselves by reading one of the medical posters.
How to apply a tourniquet
Place 2-4 inches above the wound
Tighten windlass until pulse cannot be felt below tourniquet
Secure Windlass in place
If improvising, use a 2-3 inch strip of cloth and place strong, straight item in the knot as windlass
But what do you do then, Klay wonders. Cauterize?
Carter sprays some disinfectant onto their hands and pats them dry, also removing the small drops of blood that have formed.
“All done.”
“Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. We're gonna lift off soon, so I'd recommend going to the bridge. I'll accompany you if you'd like.”
“Please.”
As they exit the corridor to continue upstairs, Nexus comes out of the other end.
“Good nap?”, Carter asks fondly.
“So good.” He looks at Klay. “You're Professor Bedrock? I'm Nexus. I studied at an IUS facility, too.”
Before they can respond, he runs up the stairs.
“I would call him out for being unintentionally rude again but he really should be up there.”, Carter sighs.
“I didn't take offense.”, Klay shrugs and ushers both of them forward.
On the bridge, the other three men have already assumed their positions. Walsh and Nexus are facing each other and talking, Bulk is checking the seat buckles on the three seats at the side of the room.
“We could do a simple jump just to solar and fly the rest.”
“Is that really worth what we're saving with fuel?”
“How's our food stock?”
“Low.”, Bulk interjects.
“Then I'll just calculate right to Antiope.”
“I think that's smarter, yeah. I don't like sitting on cargo anyways.”
“Cool, I'll start doing the math.”
“You're my hero, Nex.”
Carter clears his throat.
“You're here!”, Walsh smiles brightly at both of them. “Have a seat over there, Professor. Welcome on board the Bob . We'll take you on our business trip and see if we can contact someone from IUS for you from there.”
“Sounds great, Captain.”
"Marvelous. Have a seat.”
Bulk shows them how to buckle the safety belt and sits down next to them.
“You alright?”, he asks quietly.
“You know”, Klay replies, “I’m surprisingly okay.”
“I'm glad we found you.”
“Me, too.”
“Attention to all passengers”, cheerfully, Finian's voice reverberates around the ship. “We'll be taking off momentarily. As soon as we leave 12’s orbit, I will fly until Nexus has finished calculations, at which point we will be jumping to hyperspace. Please stay strapped down until we exit FTL. Thank you and don't throw up!”
He presses his buttons.
Yellow, blue, green.
At the communications station, Carter peers over. “You don't need me for that, right?”
“Mostly auto, you're free.”
“Copy.”
Klay watches Bulk become transfixed on the pilot console. He looks like someone desperately trying to internalize instructions, like students leaning forward while someone presents an experiment.
Incredibly smoothly, the ship glides upward. They barely feel it accelerate to impossible speeds around them and only realise the intense velocity when it hits the atmosphere. For a second, the professor worries they will faint. They're so tired. Maybe fainting would be nice right now.
They feel Bulk squeeze their hand. “Don't you do it, Bedrock.”
Klay tries to swallow but their mouth is dry.
Burning tears stream from their eyes and they shut them tightly because it feels like they'll pop out if they don't.
When they shoot into open space like a beach ball out of water, their stomach drops and suddenly they're very glad they haven't been offered any food yet. Presumably that was intentional.
They wonder if the phosphyta even felt any of that.
Shakily, Klay wipes their face with their free hand. As long as Bulk doesn't let go, they won't either.
“Oh, what the hell.” Carter leans forward to get a better look through the front shield. “Someone's coming.”
Sure enough, the blue electric fizzle of a hyperspace exit point grows bigger in the distance. Walsh glances at Klay but says nothing.
A huge, dark red vessel appears out of nothingness and ends in an anticlimactic floating halt.
“You're kidding.” Carter gapes at it.
“Fuck.”
“Shut up and math faster, Nex. Your life may depend on it.”
“What's going on?”, Klay whispers to the man next to them as they watch the captain fiddle with his controls.
“The Dread Ambusher belongs to one of the most effective bounty hunters in the galaxy.”
“Why would he want any of you?”
“You never know. Nobody wants to fuck with that guy.”
“He's hailing us.”
“Yup.” Walsh grinds his teeth. “Gotta let him.”
A holographic screen pops up. In a small corner, the captain is projected with the empty seat next to him. The rest of it is filled with a man that can only be described as edged. All his features are sleek and angular, up to the short gray hair. Even all the scars seem measured out. His dark eyebrows and red eyes make him look like a hawk and he smiles a toothy grin that reveals all his teeth to be filed into points.
“Walsh!”, he bellows, “What a surprise.”
“Sterling.”, Walsh looks so casual it makes Klay feel sick to see him pull at the inflamed skin of the terrible rope burns on his hands just out of frame. “What can I do for you?”
“Right to business, that's why I like you. Look, you have something of mine.”
“I do?”
“Oh, don't misunderstand me. You couldn't have known. You picked something up, as you always do and it just happens that it was meant for me.”
“Is that right? Well, if you want one of these crates…”
A hoarse laugh clips the audio of the transmitter. “I know you have my little scientist on board. I'll take them off your hands.”
Klay's head shoots up. They see Carter look at them, wide eyed. Not a second later, his attention is pulled by Walsh tapping at the armrest of his own seat. His fingers move.
Five. Four.
“ Interesting. I bet the bounty is good on that.” Three. Two. “What's in it for me?” One.
The screen goes to static at the flip of one of Carter's switches.
Voices overlap instantly.
“If you're thinking about conning the Sterling Hunter-”
“I was against it from the start.”
“You never fucking learn, it never changes-”
“We're absolutely fucked”
“Shut up, shut the fuck up.”, Walsh's words cut through the yelling. “Carter, I need my co-pilot. Pretend you're fixing the comms. Nexus, how long do you need?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Make it eight.”
“Heard.”
The captain flips the intercom on. “Blaze, where are you? You wanna shoot something?”
Without pause, another man comes on the speaker. “I always wanna shoot something.”
“Get to gunner station immediately. We're flipping the bird.”
“Heard.”
“You can't be serious.”, Carter raises his voice. “You’re signing our death warrant.”
“I'm only gonna say this once.” Walsh leans in towards him. “People are not for sale. I would sooner die than take that money.”
“Great, because now you will.”
“Sit down and help me save us.”
“You're lucky that we fucking love you, asshole.”
“It's gonna be alright. Let's get it done.”
Carter stands over the console and looks past the camera in an intense focus. The static ends.
“-king piece of shit.”, Walsh curses. “Ah, here we go. Sorry about that. You know how it is.”
“Twenty-five thousand.” Sterling raises an eyebrow.
“You're low-balling me. Thirty.”
“Sure.”
“Deal.”
“Should I come to you?”
“Easier for us to dock than be docked with the size of you.”
“Copy.”
“See you in a moment, then.
“Hey, Walsh?” Sterling moves in close. “If you fuck me on this, I'll have your head.”
“Stop flirting.” Walsh ends the call.
Carter buries his head in his hands.
Green. Manual drive.
“Get ready.” The captain's voice hardens.
Creeping ever so slowly towards the Dread Ambusher, Bob 's engines burn hot.
“What if he was sent by IUS to rescue me?” Klay feels Bulk's hand shake a bit. They grip it a little tighter.
“Hey, Professor?” Walsh doesn't look at them. “No offense, but I need you to stay quiet.”
He pauses, then adds, “That man is a killer. He doesn't do anything else.”
As requested, Klay stays quiet. They can't help but feel like they're being kidnapped.
“One minute.”, Nexus announces.
“Carter, are you with me?”
“Yeah, fuck it.”
“Blaze, forty-five seconds. On my signal.”
“Heard. I'm locked on to his thrusters.”
“Copy.”
They're so close to the Ambusher now that it's filling out most of the window.
Carter moves a bunch of dials and places his hand on a lever, waiting. Walsh is in the same position.
“Ten seconds.”
Both pilots take a deep breath.
“Last chance to tell me to go fuck myself.”
Carter smiles. “Let's make a mortal enemy.”
Nexus looks up. “Ready.”
“Hit it!”, Walsh yells through the intercom as he slams his lever.
Brown handle, down.
Everything happens in the span of five seconds.
Soundless, an enormous green explosion fills all of their views to the outside as they hit the Dread Ambusher point blank.
Bright orange mixes in from Bob 's thrusters that have turned 180 degrees and with Walsh pushing another lever fully up, are propelling the ship backwards at immense speed.
Carter switches to faster than light travel and immediately, none of it matters.
Everything outside turns pitch black. It's so dark that the light in the bridge seems to be sucked away, like dust into a vacuum.
“Turn now!”, Nexus almost screams with an urgency Klay hadn't thought him capable of.
As if shifting gears, the captain rips the lever around.
Brown. Up, left.
Immediately, the ship careens to the right. Or is the darkness turning around them?
Bob starts spinning in place, faster and faster and faster. Klay feels themselves get pushed against the back of their seat unable to move. They don't know if Bulk is still holding hands with them, they can't feel their skin, only the pressure of centrifugal force on all receptors.
There's a loud grinding noise and with the impact of a car crash, everything stops moving. Already, the professor can feel bruises form along their chest where they were slammed into the safety belt.
The ship must be in motion, because they can see streaks of colourful energy whizz past the front shield like lightning. But they find they cannot physically notice Bob traveling.
Without comment, Walsh undoes his safety belt and gets up in one fluid motion.
“Nexus, is it possible he's tracking them?”
“What's the model number of that leg?”
“Professor?”
Klay finds themselves too busy trying not to throw up, still reeling from the sudden centrifuge and quite possibly whiplash.
“Pitch!”, Carter yells and his hands tighten on the controls.
The ship drops just about a meter and all of them get held in place violently by their harness.
They watch Walsh get flung against the ceiling with an awful noise that must be heard all the way through the vessel. Air gets pushed out of him in a strangled cough but he doesn't stop moving, using the momentum to shove off of the metal paneling. No time to waste. Halfway to the ground, the effect ends and he drops unceremoniously when gravity returns, barely catching himself.
He slides towards Klay, one hand gripping onto a clasp in the floor as he kneels in front of them, out of breath.
“Professor, what's the model number?”
Forcing the words out, they croak, “V14 Tactical Leg.”
“Fuck me, that's military grade?” Walsh fully sits down on the floor. “That definitely has one. Can you get me the schematics?”
“Can I get you the schematics.”, Nexus scoffs. A detailed three dimensional hologram of the technology appears between the consoles and the window, slowly turning.
“You're not a freighter vessel.”, Klay finally breathes out.
Their eyes lock in a moment of hostility.
“You're being hunted by the most deadly man in the galaxy.”, Walsh replies. “We have no time for this. If we don't remove the tracking device, we'll be dead as soon as we exit FTL. Do I have your consent to open your leg up?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“If you want to live, then you don't.”
“Just don't break it.”
A hand flayed by wired rope reaches past their knee and closes around the small screw gun that Bulk pulls out of a pocket.
It's chipped and scratched and stained with rust but it works.
“Do not let us exit hyperspace before I say so. I don't care how much fuel it is and how many loops you have to force, you will keep us in FTL.”
“Heard.”, Nexus and Carter say in unison.
An intense focus falls over the bridge.
“Walk me through it.”
“Maybe I should-”
“Nobody else gets up!”, Walsh barks, “It's bad enough that I did.”
Bulk thinks about it shortly, then leans forward. “Start with the screws on either side of the knee. Then work your way up, until you can get the thigh plate off. Any screw that isn't concealed by plating will be covered with a nub you have to pry out first.”
He hands him some small pliers.
Nexus looks up with the twelfth screw nearly undone. “Three minutes.”
“What next, B?”, Walsh mumbles, carefully wiggling the thigh plate to loosen it.
Bulk deposits the screws and nubs in a tin box. “There’s a shaft between those knee screws. You need to push it out to be able to remove the shin plate.”
From in between the lacing of his boots, Walsh pulls out a needle-thin stiletto knife that protrudes with the push of a button. His hands shake, but his focus is unwavering.
The shaft that the knee mechanism bends around falls into his hand on the other side and Bulk nods to himself.
“Now, we want to get to the shank above the foot. You'll have to unhook the springs on the outside.”
“Hey, Barry?” Finian sets the shin plate aside. “What the fuck is a shank?”
The bearded man looks at him blankly. He's never used any other word for it in his life.
Klay looks down at their open leg. “It's a piston. The cylinder there.” They point. “It contains the motor that lets the ankle move.”
“Don't- !”, Bulk yells immediately at the sight of Walsh moving to release the springs, “-do that with your hands.”
“No reason to panic, my man.”, Walsh says as he takes the tool from his hands.
“I wish you would.”
“Excuse me?”
“I wish you would panic sometimes. This would be a great time, for example.”
“Oh, you would like for me to lose my mind? Would you enjoy it if I gave up and left us all to die?”
“I’m so sick of watching you pretend like nothing can ever touch you.”
“Barry.”
“We might all die today and you're touching metal springs with your fucked up fingers like it wouldn't matter!”
“Barry.”
“I wish you'd stop playing the hero all the time and just let someone else save the day because you're really not all that!”
“Barry!”
In the silence, Carter’s buckle clicks open. He doesn't stand up. Everyone knows what he means.
The captain takes a deep breath. “What do I do next?”
Red.
Klay barely registers the chain of events. They definitely feel Bulk whip out of his seat to lunge at Walsh and they do hear the impact on the metal floor as they both crash down in a heap. When or how anyone got into a standing position again is beyond them. The next image that makes sense again is Carter pressing Bulk into the wall with the metal arm at his throat and Walsh half kneeling, half standing a few feet away. He has one hand on the ground and the other holding his jaw, hair sticking to his face.
“Nobody”, the co-pilot hisses, “is at the helm right now.”
The professor cocks their head. They've been staring at the floating diagram of a limb for most of the disassembly, fixating on the little disc marked in red. They're not sure if it was disclosed that it had a location tracker and they just didn't care back then or if CTS tracks their customers in secret.
It's not easy to bend down in the Y-shaped safety belt but their fingertips reach the top of the shank and they fiddle a bit to get it out. It fits neatly in their hand. Easy to believe there's an entire motor in there when you feel how heavy it is.
The floor beneath them starts tilting as the ship's nose tips forward without supervision. Autopilot is not made for the whims of hyperspace.
“Will you pipe down and leave the mess for later?” Carter presses harder while his feet slide backwards. “Or are we gonna have a problem?”
Bulk chokes out his words, “Of course you're taking his side.”
“I take the side I'm most likely to survive on. Clearly you have a different agenda.”
Captain Walsh loses balance. His body slides gently along until it stops at the center console.
His hands raised in a surrender, Bulk gasps as the arm moves away from his throat. “I just don't understand how the two of you came out of what happened less scared than before.”
“I am scared all the time, man.”
With those words, Carter falls forward, instantly caught by his friend who is holding on to a rail above them. Both men are suspended, hanging off the wall of the bridge like cartoon characters from a cliffside.
Fingers feel around on the controls until they make purchase and Walsh pulls on a familiar handle.
Groaning, the ship raises against the pressure of its own velocity. It doesn't take long for everyone to get back on their feet.
Brushing the hair out of his face, the captain looks around to take in the situation.
“Time?”
“Ten minutes.”
Walsh pinches the bridge of his nose. “Everyone sit down. I will not ask again.”
Just as Bulk closes his buckle next to them, Klay turns over the empty cylinder in their hands and a small disc falls into their lap next to the motor.
“Got it.”, they say, loud enough for the captain to hear.
Walsh practically sprints over to them and snatches the tracker out of their hand.
“Thank you.”, he nods. Then he takes off down the hallway.
“Holy shit.”, Bulk whispers as Klay hands him his tools back.
“Where is he going?”, Nexus shifts uneasily in his seat.
As if in answer to his question, an alarm starts ringing. A robotic female voice speaks softly through the speaker system. “Warning. Air lock opened.”
“Mother-”, Carter disables autopilot, “Fucker.”
As suddenly as it started, the alarm stops again and moments later, the captain returns.
“You did not just open the airlock in hyperspace.” Carter turns in his seat to scowl at him.
“Just buying us some time.” Walsh finally sits down. “Nex, we can leave.”
“Music to my ears.”
It's generally considered bad practice to warp close to a planet. There's been many accidents where one spaceship warps into another and rips it apart from the inside.
But technically, it's not illegal and technically, Antiope is not a planet and therefore, Nexus is not at all concerned about it. It saves fuel to warp right to the front door, after all.
With one press of a button, their view changes from indiscernible darkness full of dizzy colours to the flickering neon lights of Antiope.
Very recently, about thirty years ago or so, a group of scientists were forced to perform an emergency landing on a double asteroid. Coincidentally, these were the researchers that developed ATMO, the synthetic atmosphere - and Antiope became the first successful test subject. A sphere of pale white glowing hexagons wraps safely around the two asteroids that are connected by extensive scaffolding to allow vehicles and people to commute between what is essentially two cities, appearing like a sort of bizarre dumbbell.
Antiope is a home to smugglers, a haven for criminals to exist without prosecution. After a gruesome fight to remain an independent nation, all forces of law were banned from it as part of a signed agreement with the Interplanetary Federation to prevent further casualties. Because of its neutrality, Antiope has also become a vault for weapons of mass destruction with an enormous research base where scientists work tirelessly to make sure they are never used. It's no secret that when weapons are seized in wars that they end up here. And while it's been sworn to oath that they will be disabled and dismantled here, there is also the unspoken threat: If you fuck with us, we'll destroy everything.
Behind all the debauchery and illegalities, the independent nation of Antiope is a queen on the chessboard of intergalactic politics.
It's a good place to be if you're being hunted.
“We'll dock on Antiope in around five minutes. I'll expect around ten minutes of processing before we can exit the ship.”, Finian sighs into the speaker system. “Sorry about the turbulence, Ronnie.”
Bulk starts putting Klay's leg back together in silence.
The professor stares at the two pilots.
“You're smugglers, then?”
“Scavengers, more like.”, Walsh replies without turning around. “We find old shipments floating around in space and sell them.”
“And that's illegal?”
“It's technically theft, but normally nobody goes through the trouble of persecuting it. We clean up and they leave us alone, that's the deal.”
“I see. Then why did you say it's a freighter vessel?”
“Old habits.”
“Here's your culprit.”, Bulk interrupts, pointing at the upper portion of their leg. “Wire snapped.”
“Probably from the fall.”, Klay offers.
“I’ll just solder it and it should be fine. Maybe there's even some charge left.”
Sure enough, just as they easily pass through the lightscape that is the atmosphere here, Klay's leg powers on with a friendly hiss.
It's good to be able to stand up.
Carter starts speaking to someone on his comms, declaring the purpose of the visit and the state of the ship. He never says a call sign. Next to him, the captain hits the red button for the autopilot and gets out of his seat.
“Glad to see you on your feet, Professor.”
“Professor, huh?”, a scoff intrudes from the doorframe. Blaze enters, hands in the pockets of his overalls and, despite his skinny form, does his best to tower over Klay. “So you're the reason we're all gonna die.”
“Alright.”, Walsh raises his voice, exasperated. “If I could have my crew's attention, please.”
The men all turn to him.
“I have made decisions today that have put us all in danger. And for that, I am sorry. However,” he stands up straighter, “Let me be very clear. This is my ship. As long as I own it, it will not be a stage for human trafficking. Or any other people, for that matter. That is non-negotiable.”
“You're the captain.”, Blaze shrugs sarcastically.
Walsh's eyes narrow. “You're goddamn right I am.” They glare at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. “That means I am responsible. All of you,” he looks around, “You're my family and I love you very dearly and it pains me that I've put you in a life-threatening situation.”
He sighs heavily before continuing. “I want you here. You're my people. But if you are not willing to take this very real risk that I have created in making an enemy of the Sterling Hunter, I will not take it personally if you elect to leave my ship. No hard feelings.”
A slight rumble goes through the ship as it gets docked by huge mechanical cranes.
“Think it over.”, Walsh says, “And there is no reason or sense in antagonizing Professor Bedrock, who is not only a passenger but a refugee on our vessel.” The way he says it sounds like a threat more than a reprimand.
“Well, I'm staying.”, Carter cuts through the almost solemn silence. Klay sees the tiniest bit of tension release in Walsh's face.
“I had them park us right in Louie's workshop. We have clearance to enter Antiope.” Carter gets up.
Blaze leaves at those words, followed immediately by Nexus.
“Walsh, I'm sorry.” Bulk offers an arm. “I panicked and I didn't mean any of those things I said.”
“It's okay if you did, B. We all got fucked up by that shit, I haven't slept well a single night since then. Of course I get scared. But I'm the captain and I'm responsible and so I have to keep it together, there's no other choice.” He leans into the bear hug. “We're okay, Barry.”
In that tender moment, the sound of paws on the metal floor echo through the hall.
“Mayhem!”, Carter shouts fondly, right before the pet jumps at him, excitedly barking.
It's certainly a dog, looking quite like a golden retriever - if a golden retriever had wings. Beautiful shiny feathers cover the entire body and form a bushel at the end of the wagging tail.
She runs around greeting everyone, sniffing at Klay curiously and nestling her head into their hands for pets.
A slender woman in a formal business outfit, brown curls bound in a tight updo that spills into her face over her round glasses, steps into the room, smiling.
“Who is this?”, she asks Walsh.
“Ah, Professor Bedrock, this is Veronica Merit. She's renting our escape pod as her office.”
“Nice to meet you.”, she shakes their hand.
“And you.”
“Hey, Ronnie?”, Walsh looks at her sheepishly. “My ship isn't safe anymore.”
“It never was, Fin.” Veronica whistles sharply and Mayhem darts to her feet. “I don't rent this space because it's safe, I rent it because it's interesting.” The two of them exchange a knowing glance. “How long are we staying here?”
“A day, maybe two?”
“Okay, see you later then!” She smiles brightly and waves. As she walks away, Mayhem bounces around her.
Carter crosses his arms. “Walsh, we should change our registration.”
“I'll make some calls. Bulk?”
“Hm?”
“Talk to Louie, see if we need repairs. Fill her up, too. And tell him we want a paint job. Something flashy. I'll send the details later. Here.” He hands him a data card. “It's on me. But I trust he'll get us a good deal on the haul.”
Carter turns off the comms. “I'm going to get some sleep before I do anything else. Send me the paperwork and I'll get it done when I go into the city.”
“Yeah.”
Both men stomp off.
“What now?” Klay runs a hand through their hair.
“Now,” Walsh grabs a bag from the wall and slings it over his shoulder, “We are going to go get coffee and talk.”
Klay has never been to Antiope before but it's less intimidating than they expected. Yes, there are loads of flickering lights and shady establishments but other than that, it's like any bustling city.
And when they sit down at a table on a rooftop overlooking the rich vibrancy of mundane life below, it almost feels like a normal day.
An older man with a five o'clock shadow and a stained apron shuffles over to them and raises an eyebrow expectantly.
“Oh, I'll have some Liquid Air.”, Klay smiles at him. The man's face drops into the clear annoyance of a service employee.
“Uhh, no, they won't.”, Walsh glances at the menu. “They'll have a cup of your Meridian Blend and I'll get whatever coffee is cheapest.”
With a nod, the waiter trods off.
“What's wrong with my order?”, Klay pouts.
“You haven't eaten in, what, at least twenty-four hours? You're not having air .”
“You're right - but I don't like that.”
“Noted.”
“Alright, so what are we talking about?”
Walsh leans forward. “You're in some real trouble.”
“So I gathered.”
“Any idea why?”
“I really don't, I swear.”
“I believe you, alright? I'm not grilling you, I'm just trying to figure this out. Does the leg belong to you?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, is it paid off in full?”
“Oh. Yes.”
“Good, then you can't be penalized for modification.”
“I meant to ask, is the ship actually yours? Or did you steal it? No judgement, it's just…”
“We don't seem like the type to buy one, I know. Here's the deal: We did work as a freight crew for CTS.” He stops talking as two cups of coffee get set on the table in front of him. “Thanks.”
They both instinctively wrap their hands around their mug but Walsh pulls them back quickly as it heats up his rope burns. He sighs. “About two years back there was an incident with a shipment. Tech came online, shit went sideways, Carter lost the arm. We were fucked. So Cybertech offers a payoff: We don't sue them publicly or tell anyone their new project is faulty and they do us some favours. The ship, the arm, our freedom, it's all part of the deal. Everyone got something. Of course we all got money, too. Most of us sent it to family. I still have mine, for rainy days. So yes, the ship is rightfully mine. I'm not a thief. Unless I get paid for it.”
“I understand.” Klay pulls the sugar shaker closer, unscrews the lid and pours their coffee into it. Finian watches this happen without blinking once. “So I guess I'm gonna find someone to pay to get me as far away as possible.”
“Why would you do that,” Walsh downs his coffee like it's a shot, “When I'll take you for free?”
“No, I've put you in enough danger as it is.”
“So you wanna get another crew in trouble? I'm already on the Sterling's shit list. Let me help you get to the bottom of this.”
“Yeah, right. What's the catch, then?”
“No catch.”
“You expect me to believe that you're just gonna drop everything to help me, a random stranger, for free?”
“Call it bad judgement. I can't just leave you behind. It's not right.”
“Bulk was right. You do play the hero.”
“Can't help it.”
“Well,”, Klay starts eating their coffeed sugar with a spoon, “How could I refuse such an offer?”
Walsh nods slowly and smiles. “Let me make a call.”
He takes out his comms device and dials a number from memory. It immediately gets picked up. The phone is not on speaker but it's loud enough for the professor to hear a young woman at the other end.
“Devon Law Office, how can we help?”
“It's Walsh.”
The line instantly disconnects. A moment later, a man's voice softly comes through.
“Finian. How have you been?”
“I'm okay. Listen, I've run into a sticky situation and am hoping for a favour.”
“What's up?”
“I'm looking to get a new registration on my ship without record of the old one. A clean slate.”
“Oh, I can draft that up and have it sent in ten minutes, that's easy enough.”
“You're an angel, you know that?”
The lawyer scoffs. “Hey, should I be worried?”
“No. How are you? How is Dalton?”
A long sigh draws out on the other end.
“We're moving into separate apartments.”
“That's rough, man, I'm sorry.”
“No, it's alright. Probably the right thing to do. Hey listen, I'm gonna get you that paperwork and we'll see each other in the fall, yeah? And if you run into more trouble you let me know.”
“Thank you, Corey. Tell Dalton I said hi and you take care now.”
“What name am I putting down for the ship?”
“The one I've always wanted.”
“Copy that. Walsh?”
“Yeah?”
“Don't die.”
“Yeah.”
Corey hangs up.
Finian types out a quick message before looking back up at Klay.
“Let’s go get some food.”
By the time they get back to Louie's Parts and Hearts , Bob is unrecognisable. The hull shines in a bright green that distracts completely from anything else and taking center on both sides is a dark four-leaf clover.
“Captain Walsh!” A small child with rust-red hair runs through the hangar to hug his leg. “I helped paint your ship!”
Finian gasps and picks them up. “You did a fantastic job, Maxie.”
Maxie grins from ear to ear and their freckled nose scrunches up.
“There he is.” A man with a strawberry blonde ponytail and goatee wipes his hands on a towel as he walks over. “No more Bob ?”
“ Bob has become a person of interest.”
“I thought as much. You know I'll lie to anyone for you, chief.” He winks.
“If you weren't married, Louie, I swear.”
They both chuckle and Louie takes Maxie into his own arms.
“I’d invite the three of you for dinner but we're not staying.”, Walsh adds.
“That's too bad. Keira will be sad to have missed you.”
“Captain Walsh, I wanna be like you when I grow up!”, the kid chimes in.
“Maxie, when I was your age I wanted to be just like your dad.”
“He's pretty cool, too, I guess.”
“He's the coolest. Give my love to your mom, kiddo.” He ruffles their curls. “We'll be out of your hair in the morning, Louie.”
Klay smiles. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, I'm-”
“No, no, dear.”, Louie stops them, warmly but firmly. “The less I know about who you are, the better. Go on. Fly safe.”
Maxie waves to them as Klay follows Walsh to the ship.
In the loading bay, four men look up as they enter. Carter is standing in the middle, arms crossed. Nexus sits on a crate that Blaze is leaning against and Bulk has his legs crossed on the floor. The tension is palpable.
“So?”, Walsh asks, “Do I still have a crew?”
“We're with you.”, Bulk replies.
“Alright, then.” Walsh hits the button to close the bay. “Welcome on board The Lucky Clover. ”
Carter grins. “Let's ride.”