The Mahkkra was finally departing.

  I ran through my checklist.

  Supplies? The two small cargo holds were packed with medical supplies and spare parts for the ship's critical systems.

  Personal effects? My cabin was overflowing. Okay, it was overflowing with clothes. A ridiculous amount of clothes, a couple of spare guns, and not much else. A man's got to have his priorities.

  Food? The mess hall only had a re-heating unit and a cold storage. So I had spent days making several weeks of re-heatable meals on the ChefPro. All were now safely stored aboard. I was not going to starve anytime soon.

  Fuel? Enough to last for years.

  Weapons? The heavy phased lasers were ready, disguised as intakes for atmospheric flight. The riftlance was operational, safely hidden in its under-nose compartment. I also had filled the torpedo chamber. Two quantum singularity torpedoes, four blink torpedoes and four “regular” matter-antimatter torpedoes. Enough to fight a small army.

  After exiting the hangar, I stopped the Mahkkra, turning to see Hyperion Deep. Floating in space, I admired the space station. The beauty of the asteroid it lay on. The clean white buildings emerging from the dark regolith. I gazed upon it, a surprising wave of nostalgia washing over me.

  "Goodbye for now," I murmured.

  With a sigh, I established a link from my console and put Hyperion Deep in standby mode, all security measures active.

  Slowly, I set a course to the edge of the star system. My first destination, the third gas giant, the one with a weird orbit.

  The Mahkkra, like most ships, had two faster than light propulsion systems. The first, the main one, was a hyperdrive. It was able to transition to a higher dimension called hyperspace and then re-emerge in real space. Hyperspace sounded like a bad trip. From what I’d read, navigating it was less about physics and more about not letting your brain melt. The drive generated a 'reality bubble' to keep you sane while the universe outside went psychedelic. Worse, it was home to dangerous phenomena I had zero interest in meeting. Without star charts and navigational beacons, flying blind was suicide. Yeah, no thanks. I'll pass on the suicidal cosmic acid trip.

  The other system was a warp drive, dubbed cheatlight. It was slower than hyperspace and also had a very limited range. That was why I only charted systems in a twelve light-years bubble around Hyperion Deep.

  I engaged the cheatlight at its minimal speed and made my way to the gas giant in three hours.

  It was my first flight that far from the station and I was nervous. I kept scanning for ships, stray asteroids or gravitational anomalies. Jump at every shadow, why don't you? This constant vigilance was starting to take its toll when I arrived.

  Sweaty and stiff, I left the cockpit for the mess. Time for a good meal and some entertainment. Need to unwind. The meal helped. The show should have been riveting. It was a classic tale of a lone scientist fighting a greedy corporation. He was trying to get the natives of a new world classified as sentient, saving them from strip-mining and extinction. But I couldn't focus. My own isolation felt too real. I switched it off after ten minutes. Great. I can't even enjoy fiction anymore. I finished eating in silence, then rushed to the cockpit.

  The scanners had finished analysing the planet. It was another gas giant. All blue, full of methane with very exotic materials in its core. I catalogued everything, admired the view, but, growing impatient, I finally tired of it and plotted a course to the next star.

  I did not know the names of the stars, so I came up with my own. They would be named in alphabetical order of their visits. The stars in Hyperion Deep’s system would be Prime a and Prime b. The next star system would be Ahmet. The following one would be Bertram. Then Carmine. Or Caroline. I had not yet decided.

  Flying in cheatlight was weird. The points of stars became lines, but the field of vision shrank to the form of a horizontal rugby ball, everything else pure black.

  To pass the time and calm my nerves, I constantly monitored every system on the ship. I developed a ritual of checking systems every hour, on the dot: the reactor output, shield integrity, hull pressure, life support efficiency, and navigation calculations. Then I would run a comprehensive diagnostic on a different major system. It was propulsion one time, weapons the next, then communications, and so on. Keeps my hands busy. Keeps my mind from spiraling.

  Then I just watched the horizon. The trip would take three days at top speed, but I was conservative. It was my first time actually flying faster than light. An absolute impossibility when living on earth, so I was nervous and decided to fly at only half speed.

  I was a nervous wreck at the end of the first.

  Five more days like that. I need to relax.

  I spent my first night on a foldable bunk in the cockpit. It was uncomfortable, but I was exhausted and still nervous at the idea of staying away too long.

  I kept my physical training, establishing a new routine for when I was flying. Most of the time was spent in the cockpit. Day by day, I was less stressed about leaving the cockpit, but my heart was still racing at the sound of any unusual sound and I regularly checked the ship’s status on my holobracer. Can't help it. Every creak sounds like hull failure.

  The Mahkkra’s interior consisted of two decks. The lower deck housed four rooms. Originally all personal quarters. I had converted one into a gym/infirmary. In the game, I was proud of having crammed all that equipment in one room. In real life, it was impractical, too cramped. I kept bumping on the medical pod while running on the treadmill. Seriously? I designed this. What was I thinking?

  To fill the monotony of the flight, I decided to fix the problem and move all the sports equipment in another room. It took me the rest of the flight to do it, but it was a necessary distraction.

  As the final day of travel approached, my hourly system checks increased to every thirty minutes, then every fifteen. I found myself unable to sleep during my designated rest periods, instead lying awake in my cabin, staring at the ceiling, imagining all the possibilities that awaited me. Pirates? Aliens? Nothing at all? Which would be worse?

  When the navigation system finally announced our imminent arrival at the Ahmet system, I was already seated in the cockpit, hands positioned on the controls, ready to disengage the cheatlight drive and face whatever lay ahead. This is it. The moment had arrived. I took a deep breath and prepared to return to normal space.

  When I exited cheatlight, I instantly raised the shields and conducted a short-range scan. It was one of the first lessons taught to pilots in Life Among the Stars. Transitioning back to normal space made ships temporarily vulnerable, and many an unwary traveler had emerged from faster-than-light travel only to find themselves facing pirate ambushes or automated defense systems.

  There was no one around. The sensors showed clean space in all directions, no energy signatures, no artificial structures, no propulsion trails. I activated all the long-range sensors and began a comprehensive inventory of the Ahmet system.

  It consisted of a blue giant star at its center, radiating with intense luminosity that dominated the viewscreen even from this distance. Orbiting closest to this stellar furnace were two telluric planets that I dubbed Ahmet b and Ahmet c. Both were tidally locked and scorched by the relentless heat of their parent star. Their surfaces glowed with a dull red in some areas, indicating temperatures high enough to melt certain metals. No atmosphere to speak of, just barren, superheated rock forever facing the merciless blue giant. Hell would be an upgrade.

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  Further out orbited a truly gigantic gas giant. I called it Ahmet d. It had no fewer than 67 moons of various sizes. The planet itself was a swirling maelstrom of atmospheric bands, predominantly in shades of deep blue and violet with occasional streaks of crimson. Its immense gravitational influence had clearly shaped the entire system, likely capturing many of its moons rather than forming them naturally.

  Beyond that massive world circled Ahmet e, which appeared to be a clone of Saturn. It sported a spectacular ring system that glittered in the blue star's light. The rings were more extensive than Saturn's, stretching outward in concentric bands that transitioned from dense, bright inner rings to gossamer, nearly transparent outer rings.

  The outer system contained two substantial asteroid belts, likely composed mostly of ice given their distance from the star. Ahmet d’s intense gravity probably prevented planets from forming here. Interspersed throughout the system was a remarkable number of comets, many with tails stretching for thousands of kilometers as they approached the blue giant. It made for quite the spectacle, and I found myself genuinely enjoying the view.

  But once again, I was alone. I spent two days in the system, going from planet to planet, performing surface scans and also enjoying the view. Tourist and explorer. Living the dream, right? I had taken hundreds of pictures of every planet. Sunrise, sunfall, eclipse, weird weather patterns. The gas giants back in the Sol system had spectacular hexagonal storms at their poles. Ahmet d, however, had a nine-sided, nonagonal monster. Its eye was an abyss, a swirling hole plunging thousands of kilometers into the planet's depths. I took photos of it in every spectrum from every angle I could think of.

  Just for the sake of thoroughness, I navigated into the asteroid belts, randomly scanning objects I passed. The Mahkkra's sensors analyzed composition, density, rotation, and trajectory of dozens of asteroids, but there didn't seem to be anything particularly interesting. Some contained common metals, others were primarily silicates or carbonaceous materials, but nothing rare or valuable enough to have attracted mining operations. Ice, weird ice and weirder ice. Fantastic.

  The complete absence of traces of miners or pirates could mean two things. Either I was really far away from civilization, too distant for even pirates to use as a safe haven to escape pursuit, or the neighboring star kingdoms were so efficient in their policing that pirates had fled to greener pastures.

  I carefully logged all the data, recording atmospheric composition, pressure gradients, radiation levels, and the precise locations of the most valuable materials.If this system hasn't been catalogued, this info could fetch a decent price when I reach civilization. Exploration data had to be a valuable commodity, particularly details about exploitable resources.

  As I completed my survey of the Ahmet system, I found myself experiencing a curious mixture of emotions. The scientific part of me was fascinated by this pristine, untouched system with its dramatic features and natural beauty. But another part felt slightly disappointed. I still had more systems to visit, but I was really hoping to not be alone anymore.

  At that moment, I realised that more than being curious about why and how I was there, or finding maps. I was just lonely and wanted to talk to someone.

  I set the ship on a holding pattern and retreated to the mess hall, where I re-heated a cup of a fruity tea and just stayed there, sipping my tea, trying to use its delicate fragrance to fight loneliness.

  With a sigh, I started the cheatlight drive again and set course for the next system on my list: Bertram, a binary system consisting of a red giant (Bertram Alpha) and a brown dwarf (Bertram Beta).

  This time, I pushed the drive a bit more, adjusting the warp field parameters to achieve greater efficiency. The ship responded beautifully, accelerating to a higher cheatlight velocity without any strain on the systems. Good girl. At this enhanced speed, it would take me four days for the trip.

  The journey passed uneventfully. I maintained my routine of morning physical training and regular system checks, though with less anxious frequency than during my first interstellar voyage. I even managed to watch an entire docu-fiction about the development of hyperdrive. It was fun but heavily dramatised. I had watched other accounts of it and this one was definitely on the soap opera end of things. It painted Rosalya HeavenRain, the first ever being to build and fly in hyperpace as a tragic slave, driven by passion, altruism and desperately in love with Fredegard, the genius scientist who came up with the concept. Entertaining, but I won’t rewatch it.

  When I exited from cheatlight at the edge of the Bertram system, alarms suddenly blared throughout the cockpit. The communications array had automatically intercepted a transmission directed at my ship. A message window opened on my main console, showing the source as an automated buoy orbiting at the very edge of the system.

  The message was clear and direct: "IMPERIAL NOTICE: Restricted system. Protected pre-FTL civilization. Your vessel is logged. Depart within 3 hours or face penalties. Failure to comply will result in fines up to 2 million credits and vessel impoundment. Proceeding past the seventh orbital body will activate automated defense systems and authorize use of force."

  My heart raced, though not from fear. Civilization! I was laughing, a wild, unrestrained sound that was equal parts pure joy and hysterical relief.

  "Shit," I gasped, a wide grin splitting my face. I'm not alone. There are people out here. Real, actual people.

  This system was apparently a preserve for an emerging civilization. I was familiar with the concept as it seemed a common plot point in many space adventure shows. And the Empire takes this seriously. Very seriously.

  I wanted to make contact with Imperial authorities, but not as a potential violator of their preservation laws. Last thing I need is a criminal record before I even say hello.

  I quickly plotted a course away from the system and as I engaged the cheatlight drive once more, I felt a surge of optimism. I set course for my third target system, Capella, another binary system consisting of a red giant (Capella Alpha) and a yellow dwarf (Capella Beta) and was so close to the Bertram system that their Oort clouds were even merging in some places.

  This time, I went full throttle, pushing the drive to its operational limits. The Mahkkra responded admirably, the cheatlight field extending to its maximum efficiency as we accelerated to the ship's top sustainable faster-than-light velocity. Let’s see what you can really do. At this speed, I could complete the journey in just 2 days. But I wanted to check those Oort cloud collision regions.

  As the stars streaked past on the viewscreen, I found myself filled with a newfound excitement. The Empire's real. It exists. Which means billions of humans. Civilisation. I'm not the last person alive. My steps were lighter, and I started to whistle while doing my routine tasks.

  As the hours passed, I meticulously prepared for potential first contact scenarios. I mostly ensured my appearance was presentable. I shaved carefully and selected the most good-looking attire from my limited wardrobe. Cover story: sole survivor, hyperspace accident, ship ejected, crew lost, memory fragmented. Classic for a reason.

  The survey of the Oort cloud's collision zone was a bust. Cosmic nursery? More like cosmic desert. Scientists on old Earth described it as a cosmic nursery for comets. In reality, it was just an endless ocean of nothingness, with a slightly higher-than-average concentration of water molecules. Fascinating for a physicist, maybe, but a total waste of my time. I quickly went back to my journey.

  I entered Capella on the far edge, raising shields and cautiously probing the system. Capella Alpha had three planets, all gas giants, while Capella Beta only had one huge telluric planet, a rock almost as big as Jupiter. There was also a peculiar asteroid belt orbiting both suns, its shape a deformed circle, bent to follow where the stars' gravitational fields collided. Of course, we couldn't see it with the naked eye, but I had a nice 3D rendering and it was fascinating.

  I started my long-range scan for signs of civilization when I detected several ships near Capella Alpha d. Ships! Actual ships! And one of them was sending a distress signal!

  "This is the Reizen, we are under attack by pirates. We are hit, requesting assistance!"

  Excitement built in my chest as I planned a course to join as quickly as possible. This would be my first actual combat in this reality. I engaged the cheatlight drive and prepared for a combat exit, laughing like a madman.

  The Mahkkra's systems automatically began pre-combat preparations: power redistribution to weapons and shields, tactical displays activating, targeting systems warming up. My hands flew across the controls, confirming weapon selections and defensive configurations while the ship accelerated toward what would be my first encounter with other people in this universe.

  Not how I imagined making first contact, but feels right. Feels like fate, though. In Life Among the Stars, I had built my reputation as a relentless pirate hunter, pursuing the scum of space across dozens of systems. The rush of intercepting a raider mid-attack, the satisfaction of seeing their shields fail under my barrage, these had been the highlights of my gaming experience. Now I get to do it for real.

  If I planned to make my way in this universe, becoming a mercenary specializing in anti-piracy operations seemed the perfect fit.Got the skills, got the mindset, got the ship. This isn't just first contact. It's my first job interview.

  As the cheatlight drive propelled me toward the conflict, I felt an almost electric anticipation. After weeks of isolation and uncertainty, Timet to enter the wider universe and show off skills: weapons hot, coming to the rescue.