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The Elyurias was perfect. It was small, with the loading bay already open as the last of the automated hovering crates of cargo glided into the ship. It was run down, with what must have once been a beautiful gold-and-black chrome detailing faded into dull and brassy shades. And best of all, it was unguarded.
After the incident when Shion was younger, it had become obvious that he and his mother would never leave No.6, the utopian Jovian moon settlement—a completely artificial moon built into orbit to become the perfect support of new human life in the universe, unencumbered by the drawbacks of natural soil and planetary formations.
That same incident was what had made Shion aware of more out there than the conceptual knowledge of other settlements on other moons around other planets.
So when Safu had been taken, her mind repatriated by the scientists on one of the heliocentric outposts who had cultivated her for use in new living-AI integration, Shion had immediately determined that he had to get her back.
Which meant he had to stow away on a ship.
That morning, when Safu was taken, Shion had tried to protest. One of the scientists had stabbed a needle into his collar to stop him; the time it took Shion to pull it out, panicked that it was a knockout drug, had been enough for Safu to be bundled onto the transfer pod and flown away.
Whatever he had been injected with, it itched.
The cargo hold of The Elyurias was dark and cramped, with a smell unlike anything Shion had ever smelled before. He had managed to stow away until after take-off, buffeted between crates as the ship left the simulated atmosphere. The smell was dark and rich, making Shion inhale again and again. He was pressed against one of the crates, hidden between it and the wall—the smell emanated from the inside, making Shion wonder what it could possibly be.
Squeak.
He looked up and froze. A small, mouse-shaped robot peered into the space that Shion hid, its eyes glowing in the dim light of the room. It was no doubt connected to the ship AI, which would communicate his presence to whoever else was on board.
Shion hoped very, very much that he would not be sent into space through the airlock when he was discovered.
The robot didn’t move, and so neither did Shion—as if staying still would prevent it from spotting him, no matter the night-vision and object identification capabilities of the AI. It was illogical, but he couldn’t help himself, knowing that there was nothing he could do when the pilot finally appeared.
The door to the cargo bay hissed open and Shion jolted. He sprang up, ready to defend himself, and practically fell over the crate that he’d been wedged between the whole time. When he steadied himself over it, his hand slid across the biomechanical lock; against all logic, the top of the crate slid open.
Instead of defending himself to the figure stepping through the door, Shion was left staring into what could only be a crate of potatoes.
“How did you get these?” Shion asked, unable to tear his eyes away. “Organic vegetables are only for the premium upper-class; no one else should have access to anything other than engineered and printed meals. What are you doing with these?”
“Growing more,” responded a voice as smooth as honey; when Shion looked up, he was struck by a man with startlingly grey eyes leaning in the doorway of the cargo hold, arms crossed as he looked at Shion with an inscrutable expression. “Distributing to the masses. Anything to make your stupid little colony mad. Now, kid, tell me—what are you doing aboard my ship?”