The days before leaving were a whirlwind. Heath had another drink with Raquel. This time the older Spacer was resigned to his choices, rather than critical. Progress. They made promises to meet up if they were ever in the same system. She even said she would sign up for a stretch if the Loon ever reached what Walt had created. Heath acknowledged the subtle challenge for what it was, a vote of confidence that he wouldn’t fail outright. He promised himself and the Loon that he would meet that challenge and then some.

  He’d also sent off a long overdue message to his mother. There had been a terse note weeks before, telling her what had happened but not much else. If Heath knew her, she would be a stewing mess, debating whether or not to come drag him home by his ear by. Hopefully the more in depth explanation of what he’d done and why was enough to head her off. Maybe when his finances were a bit more in order, he’d stop by to see her. It had been over a year, Walt hadn’t been able to find a good contract to take them back in time for the Festival of the Nine like they usually did.

  Pawning off some of the random stuff he had no room for, and immediately turning around and spending the rest on what supplies he might need took him another couple of days.

  The last part of his to-do list was also the most crucial, it was time to load up his cargo. Heath watched on his viewscreen as a loading dolly hovered its way across the dockyard towards the Loon. When he confirmed with a ping to the man’s comm that he was there for the contract, Heath met him by the loading bay doors.

  Everything was already packed in standard shipping crates, labeled and in perfect order. A twinge in his instincts reminded him that cargo was never that well prepped for transport. But he was in too deep now. The money for the contract was already spent.

  “Just you?” the man asked. It was like he was designed to be anonymous. Average face, average voice. Heath was sure he’d never be able to identify this man again.

  “Just me,” he confirmed.

  They worked in silence after that. Heath dutifully scanned each crate while the man placed it in one of the cargo beds. Gravity controls would prevent any sudden moves or jostling – Heath cut the thought off. They didn’t have regional gravity controls for cargo any more. He grabbed the good, old-fashioned straps and started tying down the crates.

  The general boost in his Skills from the sailor tree that the class upgrade gave him made the whole process smooth as silk. Halfway through, the buzz of a system notification distracted him, causing him to almost drop the buckle he’d been securing. A quick look when the other man’s back was turned confirmed that his plateaued [Knots] skill had increased a level. Made sense, he never used it for practical purposes.

  When the last crate was stored, the cargo hold was feeling cramped. There was still more room, and his uncle would have found a way to fill it, he was sure, but Heath accepted it for what it was. A start.

  “The rest,” the man stated, suddenly next to Heath though he would have sworn he had been outside a moment before. He was holding a smaller version of the same cargo crates, plain and Empire-standard. Tiny cargo that Heath was sure could get him into big trouble if he wasn’t careful.

  “I’ll stow that one on the bridge.”

  The man grunted and left without another word.

  Shaking his head, Heath did one last check of the cargo bay. Everything was strapped down and in perfect order.

  “How are we looking?”

  “Everything appears to be ready, Heath. I have flagged four areas that require you to double check.”

  A message appeared in time with the words and he pulled the information up, mirrored onto his HUD. A few loose objects and one panel that needed closing. It was the work of five minutes to address them all.

  “Good?”

  “We are ready for departure,” the Loon confirmed.

  He reached the bridge and stowed their delicate cargo in one of the storage areas beneath the telemetry station. Strapping into the Captain’s seat for the first time on a real job was a heady feeling. His Class instincts shouted with joy, this was where he belonged. The empty seats surrounding him grated against those same instincts. He knew deep down he would need a crew before he could feel truly satisfied as a Captain, but for now, it would do.

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  “Let’s get out of this shithole.” Heath’s hands danced across the controls.

  “Aye Captain. Disengaging with mag-locks and pinging station AI for departure.”

  There was a brief pause while the engines whirred to life. The faint hum was a comfort, one Heath hadn’t realized he’d been missing. The station was too big for the same feeling of adventure beneath his feet.

  “We are cleared for departure. Estimated time to jump, two days, fourteen hours.”

  The days were easy to spend. Without their normal self-clean functions, Heath killed time by using [Ship Maintenance] on every nook and cranny, cataloging what they still had left that he could sell on their next stops, and strategizing for the future with the Loon. Then there was regular maintenance to keep the engine running smooth, and the twice daily checks of all their critical systems and for any changes to sensor readings that would require a course adjustment. He was forced to split his sleep periods in half to accommodate. He couldn’t wait until he had an actual crew to take on some of the load.

  Faster than he would have thought, it was time for their first jump away from this cursed system.

  Heath strapped himself in and double-checked the harness was secured. This would be his first jump ever without the dampeners, and it was better to take precautions than stumble and hit his head like an idiot.

  “Jumping in five, four, three, two, one.”

  The universe disappeared.

  ********

  “I’m dead. I died and now I’m dead.” Heath was slumped in the Captain’s chair, still strapped in some unknown amount of time later.

  “You are not dead, Heath.”

  He whimpered at the volume of the Loon’s voice, grating against his sensitive ears.

  “Why do I feel like I died? Did something go wrong on the jump?” The drives had been in perfect order beforehand but who knew if the Shipwright had messed something up.

  “No. All readings indicate a flawless jump.” If he focused, which he didn’t want to do, he thought there might be a hint of pride coming through in the Loon’s report. “Biological scans indicate no damage. Mana scans indicate no damage.”

  “You’re saying that was just a normal jump without the dampeners. Great. We’ll never get anyone to sign on.”

  “Don’t be so pessimistic Heath. There are always desperate folk, looking for a change.”

  That startled a laugh out of him, despite the headache.

  “Post jump checklist,” he said. “Cargo?”

  “Secured.”

  “Diagnostics?”

  “All systems operating at standard levels.”

  “Shields?”

  “Engaged.”

  “Great. Where are we again?”

  “The Canoptis system. One habitable planet, partially colonized. Main trades appear to be centered around fishing, with a larger than average number of oceans. Three gates. We will be traveling to the farthest. Estimated time to jump, thirteen days, four hours.”

  “Thanks Loon.”

  After unbuckling he got up and stretched lightly. Class instincts were nudging him to move in order to relieve the jump hangover. For the first of what he was sure would be an absurd number of times, he missed the training room. Ignoring a Class was rarely a good idea, so he tromped off to the cargo bay, where they had managed to keep a single treadmill and a small square of empty space for physical fitness. It was going to be a long leg.

  *********

  “Come on, come on, come on,” Heath chanted to himself.

  Pressing down on the controls, he ticked their acceleration up one more time, to the top of what their grav systems could counteract for a sustained amount of time.

  His teeth clenched as he focused on the gate. “Time?”

  “At our current acceleration, assuming no deviation, we will hit the gate in seven minutes and twenty seconds.”

  “What’s the gate broadcasting?”

  “Five to ten minutes.”

  Flicker gates were the worst. Not every jump gate was created equal. Quirks abounded across the wider universe, but every Captain held spite for the unreliable versions deep in their heart. Winking out intermittently, the spatial warp was stable when it was open, and simply not present the rest of the time.

  Heath looked at his readings. The engine could be pushed a little more, but only for a few minutes if they were going to be at safe levels to actually make the jump.

  “Time?”

  “Four minutes.”

  He flipped the engine to its maximum output. The steady purr turned into a whine, but it only had to hold through this jump.

  The gate came into view. A megastructure of metal and mana-polymers and enchanted with liquified argo crystals, it was a sight to behold. The first time. Heath barely noticed the detail, focused as he was on the swirling eddies of energy contained within.

  Produced by Classers working for the Imperial government and shipped out to the Rim, big enough for any ship to go through with a few friends and room to spare, they were the reason the Empire and the rest of the universal powers were able to exist at all.

  “Two minutes,” the Loon said, unprompted. Heath could hear the edge in her voice.

  “What’s the gate reading?”

  “Broadcast says: closure imminent, Captain’s discretion.”

  Heath’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, overwhelming the engine’s complaints. They could make it.

  The energy winked out.

  “No!” Heath shouted and leaned back as the Loon passed through the dead gate. He slumped back in his chair. “Frozen hells, we were so close.”

  “I apologize, Heath. I was not enough.” Anyone could read the Loon’s guilt in her tone, a fact Heath was still getting used to after years of the ship AI being an emotionless computing mechanism.

  “Not your fault, Loon. It was a bad schedule, making it was always iffy.”

  As the readings on his station slipped into the red, Heath eased back on the engine, gradually bringing their acceleration back to more manageable levels. He would let them coast for a while and see to the engine, before bringing them around.

  “Gate broadcast?”

  “Six hours until expected jump capabilities.”

  Plenty of time for him to get a little maintenance in. The engine had not liked his maneuvering back there, even with the System and [Piloting] covering the gaps. On the plus side, he felt the Skill tick up a notch from the attempt.

  Core worlds had enchantments that stabilized flicker gates, even when the underlying spatial fold didn’t want to comply.

  Must be nice.