Little Brother - Dione-Caelari

 

Little Brother - (Dione-Caelari - Circa 495)

Rhove was no pirate. Not in his own eyes, anyway. Pirates attacked ships outright and plundered what obviously belonged to others. They were ruthless, bloodthirsty and, well… mean. Rhove was not mean. No, Rhove didn’t go looking for trouble; he just didn’t pass up opportunities as he came across them. These were not manned ships. These were asteroids littered with various machines or old excavation rigs. Sure, they belonged to someone in the past, but they seemed abandoned, now. He sat watching them for a long time, days sometimes, to see if there was any activity or other ships around that might lay claim to them. If someone did drop by, then he would concede that someone was still using them and would leave. Usually. If no one came along, he would move in and take the things that were not ‘bolted down’ per se. If they were bolted down or locked, he would leave them behind for whoever left them there. Usually. But he was no pirate. He considered himself a scavenger at worst; a good Samaritan at best, cleaning the Dione system of abandoned debris. Hell, the Dione system could use a little cleaning up, he often told himself. It was part of his own personal pep talk that he gave himself just before doing something that the rest of the Dione system labeled ‘piracy’. He did this to alleviate his guilt, and it worked well enough for him.

“Chaunce, we’re going in now,” Rhove said over his shoulder.

Chaunce nodded, grinned a crooked grin, and secured his pressure helmet. Finally, he thought. Chaunce was a pirate, and he didn’t seem to care who knew it. There was loot out here waiting to be taken and if the owners didn’t want to lose it, well, they shouldn’t have left it out here in the open. He had no reservations about cutting open locks, hacking through hinges or unbolting fittings. There was stuff out here and he wanted it.

Their skiff was a small three-man craft though the scruffy pair had tweaked and modified the thing enough that they could fly it with just the two of them. It looked like what ancient arrowheads looked like though the world from which these two ruffians came from never really had arrowheads. The design made it look menacing as was its purpose since the inherent aerodynamics meant nothing in space. They had painted it flat black to camouflage it from curious and unwanted visitors and it worked well; those who they couldn’t intimidate (which were many), they could at least try to hide from. The engines had been highly modified from the stock military install and could outrun just about anything. For one, they had gutted any unnecessary equipment which gave it less mass to push so they could out-accelerate larger ships; the engine modifications they had done made them faster than ships their own size, and the newly increased fuel capacity meant that if they survived an attack from the smaller, faster fighters, they could outrange them.

Rhove kept the mineshaft in view as he rounded the mountain sized asteroid and came to a gliding stop above the excavation rig. The rig sat motionless against the ancient rock face and through the lattice framework of its construction, the light from the faraway sun cast spider web-like shadows on the terrain. Chaunce, with his tether attached, descended onto it like a spider claiming another spider’s web. He climbed down the web-work lattice and made his way to the storage tank on the back of the rig. He used his hydraulic shears to cleave the bolt from the doors. The door reverberated savagely and had there been air for sound to travel through, the noise would have rung Chaunce's sensitive ears painfully. He flung the now-useless lock into space where the lack of sufficient gravity would carry it away for thousands of years before succumbing to Dione’s gravity and falling into the star. Inside the storage tank was a full load of raw silver ore. He radioed Rhove with the news.

“Pay dirt, my friend!”

“Whatcha got?”

“About a ton of unrefined silver ore.” Chaunce hit a few buttons on the rigs control panel and some readings flickered across the small screen. “The fuel gauge readout says there’s half a tank of Perilium 4, too. That should buy us dinner at Mach’s for at least a month.”

“Hook up the pump and let’s get it out of there.” Rhove’s guilt was sufficiently alleviated as the profits from this new find could finance them for another two years. It was a great haul.

Another section of the screen lit up indicating a warning. Chaunce frowned at it and touched the notice but didn't have the password to proceed so he could disable it. They had triggered the alarm alerting the rightful owners but at the speed of light, the message wouldn't get to them for about fifteen minutes (1.8AU) and it would be another four hours before the nearest patrol could investigate. Chaunce kept this information to himself. He didn't want to worry Rhove since this might cause Rhove to abandon the haul and he knew transferring the treasure would only take about three hours. They had time and Chaunce really wanted this haul. He hooked up the fuel line Rhove had lowered and switched it on. Then, slowly, he attached crate after crate to the tether and Rhove reeled in the silver ore.

It was tedious work, but they were happy to do it. Rhove licked his canine-like snout and panted lightly, but happily as he reeled up load after load. He monitored the fuel flow and wagged his tail in his pressure suit. He looked out to see if Chaunce had filled the next crate to be hauled in and saw a shadow pass over his friend who immediately spun to see its source. Chaunce’s eyes grew wide beneath the glassed helmet and Rhove knew there was trouble.

Rhove spun pointlessly towards whatever it was that cast the shadow but from his position in the airlock, it was out of his line of sight.

“Chaunce…?” he started.

“Go, Rhove! Get us out of here!” his partner shouted back.

Rhove didn’t need any more warning than that. He simply shouted, “hold on tight, pal!” as he jogged down the narrow hallway towards the bridge. Chaunce hit the quick release on the fuel line. Stolen Perilium 4 splashed out of the hose and sublimated into the vacuum of space. He moved his tether clip from the drilling rig to the crate cable and leapt into space away from the ship to keep the cable as taut as possible to avoid the inevitable whiplash that would accompany the sudden acceleration. He timed it almost perfectly as Rhove accelerated the ship right as he reached the furthest extent of the slack and was suddenly flying after the ship on the end of the cable. The corporate security craft that had cast the shadow swung around in pursuit. It bore the typical blue and white bold stripes and unimaginative shield regalia of the Dione Private Security Corporation. If they followed their normal, predictable pursuit procedures, they would fire a warning shot after two broadcasted vocal warnings. Any second now, they would cut into all standard com frequencies and…

The radio receiver crackled and bled into the transmission between Rhove and Chaunce. “Unknown vessel,” it commanded, “power down your engines.”

Rhove banked the ship evasively and Chaunce briefly flew in front of the security ship’s forward window. The occupants could not see Chaunce‘s grinning face behind the reflection on his helmet though his waving paw was as clear as could be.

“Haaaaaoooooooooowwwwwww,” Chaunce howled gleefully into the helmet transceiver. Rhove ignored him for the moment. He was concentrating on getting the ship as far away as fast as possible. Chaunce whipped lazily about as they sped off, but it was quickly apparent to him that if he didn’t get reeled in soon, he’d be dragged into the ship’s thruster exhaust.

“Uh, Rhove?”

“How ya doing, pal?

“This is fun and all but if you don’t reel me in right now, this ship’s going to cook me.”

Rhove reached over to the accessory controls and threw the appropriate switch which started the winch. He arced the ship to keep Chaunce out of the exhaust’s path as his partner’s distance from the ship closed. By now, the security ship was in solid pursuit and catching up. Chaunce spun dizzily on the cable as the stars twisted around in his view but the airlock was getting closer.

“Unknown vessel,” the security ship commanded again, “power down your engines or prepare to be fired upon.”

Chaunce held his two paws together and pointed them threateningly at his pursuers. “Pew pew!” He shouted. Then he splayed his arms out and lolled his tongue out of his muzzle. “Ugh! Ya got me!” he groaned, but as he rolled his head back in mock death, he noticed he was within reach of the airlock.

He grabbed the tether, pulled himself in, and tried to collapse but the zero gravity would not let him. Instead, he just floated inside and bounced off the walls until he could grasp the handrails. The gravity plating didn’t extend from the ship’s interior to the airlock. This entrance was less dramatic than I thought it would be, he thought to himself and sealed the airlock.

On the bridge, the airlock indicator light blinked “sealed” and Rhove shoved the throttle to full. They shot off into the void and the security ship slowly disappeared behind them.

~ ~ ~

The Aethon (page 351)

“Estimated time to egress: fifty seconds. I am getting some anomalous readings, however,” Rockwell intoned flatly. “The wormhole is becoming unstable. Prepare for turbulence.”

The Aethon shuddered violently. Alarms blared as gravitational forces pulled at the ship from every direction.

Outside the viewport, the typically uniform spiral patterns collapsed into a kaleidoscope of impossible shapes and shifting colors. The spiraling vortex of light stretched into infinity, its walls pulsating with streaks of electric blue, molten gold, and searing crimson. The wormhole was unraveling, its threads twisting and tangling into patterns that defied comprehension.

Nira gripped the edge of her chair, eyes locked on the churning corridor ahead. There was nothing she could do but hold on. Thaeron fought frantically with the controls, desperately trying to keep the ship centered in the chaotic tunnel. Rockwell continued reading the status in his typical monotone voice.

“Destabilization imminent. The wormhole will collapse in approximately fifteen seconds. Thaeron, please bring the Aethon to a full stop. If the wormhole dissipates at this speed, the ship’s hull may not be able to endure the transition into real space.

“Hang on!” Thaeron complied immediately. He killed the engines and jammed the reverse thrusters to full. The Aethon lurched and heaved. The chair restraints grew taught as they held the crews bodies in place.

“Ten seconds to collapse.” Rockwell’s voice was distorted as it echoed, appearing both before and after he spoke.

Around them, bursts of light exploded like fireworks, but they carried no sound—only a vibrating hum that reverberated through the hull of the ship. Tendrils of darkness appeared between the flashes - real space peeking through.

“Activating the distress beacon.” It was the only contribution Nira could offer.

On the ship's monitors, the navigational systems flickered and glitched, numbers spiraled so quickly that even Rockwell had trouble reading them. The ship shuddered violently as sparks erupted from the control panels and alarms screamed in panicked bursts. Finally, the spiraling vortex fractured like a shattered mirror, its vibrant hues bleeding away and fading into a sea of blackness. The Aethon tumbled silently in the void with an unconscious crew at their stations.

Outside the viewport, the vast, desolate starfield stretched out in every direction, indifferent to the violence that had just occurred. In the distance, the faint light of the Dione System’s star shown on them in the cold, lifeless calm of space.

~ ~ ~

Rhove and Chaunce Discover the Aethon (page 353)

Rhove poked at the monitor as he crunched the numbers from the haul. He was pretty happy with it.

“I’m running the numbers,” he said.

“Mm hm,” Chaunce replied absently. He lounged in the pilot’s chair of their skiff with his feet kicked up on the console. He lazily watched the distant glimmer of stars through the viewport and gnawed on a slab of jerky.

“We salvaged about two thousand kilograms of raw silver ore. The purity seemed to be one to one and half percent. That would yield about twenty-five kilograms of pure silver. At the current market rate, that could sell for about thirty thousand dionts, on the high end.”

Chaunce nodded approvingly. “That’s a pretty good take.”

“Yeah, but this is unrefined. We don’t have the facilities to refine it. We’d either have to pay someone to refine it or we could sell the unrefined ore outright and let someone else deal with the refining.”

“What's the going rate for under fine silver ore?”

Rhove shot a look at Chaunce. “Unrefined,” he corrected. “And it’s about seventy-five percent of final value, so our take would be about twenty-two five.”

“Uh huh, and what would it cost to get it refined?”

“Well, we’d have to find someone on the black market to refine it since the government has to certify precious metals and we’re not licensed or certified by the mining unions. We’d be looking at losing about thirty to forty percent.”

Chaunce stopped mid-chew. “Thirty to forty percent?! That’s robbery!”

“Well…” Rhove canted his head. They had just robbed a mining union contractor. They couldn’t really expect to get fair market prices.

“Okay, so thirty to forty percent, let’s call it thirty-five, of a thirty thousand diont haul is about ten thousand, leaving us with twenty thousand. I mean, that’s not bad, but come on. How much can we sell the raw ore for?”

“Maybe a bit more than that. Maybe twenty-two.”

“Okay, that’s not so bad, for an afternoon’s work,” Chaunce leaned back in the pilot seat and took another bite.

“A union refinery would get about twenty-eight.” Rhove continued.

“Twenty-eight’s better,” Chaunce mused.

“Twenty-eight is better,” Rhove chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Alright, I can live with twenty-two. What about the Perilium?”

“Perilium 4 wholesales at about a hundred dionts a liter. We got about a hundred liters – ten thousand dionts worth. But our lack of regulation compliance and unions, means we can only sell if for about half that. Five thousand.”

“And if we were in compliance?”

“The full ten thousand.”

Chaunce sighed. “Twenty-two and five is twenty-seven, minus operating costs…”

“That little jaunt of ours yesterday cost about five thousand in itself.”

“Back down to twenty-two.”

“Yeah, so if we were legit… well, not legit, but if we were in regulation and union compliance, this would leave us with thirty-two thousand dionts after operating costs.”

“Is ten thousand biscuits worth going legit?” Rhove ask rhetorically.

Chaunce scoffed. Certification alone would cost twice that, and then their annual union dues would eat the rest. They didn’t have mining equipment – or mining skills for that matter. Their particular skills were never going to be up to regulation. No, he was happy being a criminal. Besides, there were ways to squeeze a bit more from those numbers.

After a bit of silence, he glanced at Rhove. “I think it’s time we called Myris.”

Rhove nodded his head in silent acknowledgment. Chaunce took his feet off the console and punched in some commands. The ship pivoted slowly, and the long-range sensors array came online. Chaunce needed to navigate a safe path to Dionysus. A safe path just meant avoiding security and police patrol routes. Long range sensors, and a modified military scanner, made that much easier. It could pick up radio and drive signatures up to a million kilometers away. Dionysus was about thirty hours away, and so far, the route was clear. When they got closer to Dionysus, the readings would be a mess due to the high traffic, but for now, the route was clear, and likely would stay clear for the next fifteen to eighteen hours – they were that far out in the darks. It was the perfect time to sleep off the day’s work. As such, it came as a shock when six hours into the trip, the proximity alarm sounded, and the pair was roused from their sleep.

“Hnnngh,” said Chaunce, as he turned around in his bunk and pulled his sleep sack closer to his chin.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhove waved dismissively at Chaunce. He fumbled with his own sleep sack as his fingers were still asleep themselves. He snagged a claw on the sack but was able to work the clasp. He rolled out of his sack, dropped to the floor, and walked to the console. He smacked the red light that flashed and the womp womp sound abated. He punched up the display and checked out the warning.

“It’s picking up a signal,” Rhove said over his shoulder.

“Mmm hmm.”

“Looks like a ship, but it’s dead in the void. Strange signal coming from it. Just a repeating pulse. My guess is a location beacon.”

“Dead in the void, you say?” Chaunce’s ears perked up. “Salvage rights.”

“There could be people on board,” Rhove pointed out. Chaunce shrugged. Rhove adjusted some settings. “They are four hours off course,” he pointed out.

“You got somewhere else to be?”

Boarding the Aethon

The skiff approached the Aethon, its utilitarian design looked dated compared to the vessels they were used to. It almost looked hand-built rather than the mass-produced models that were pumped out of the corpo manufacturing shipyards of Aphrodite. The ship tumbled lifelessly in space, its hull dark except for faint emergency lights blinking at irregular intervals.

“Now that,” Chaunce said, staring through the viewport, “is not from around here.”

Rhove shook his head. “It’s not a corpo job, at least. It looks like someone built that with their friends.”

“Those would be some good friends, but I don’t think I’d trust them with a wrench.”

“You think anyone’s alive in there?” Rhove asked.

“Only one way to find out,” Chaunce replied.

“That’s not a standard airlock. We’ll have to use the cage.”

“On it,” Chaunce said reaching for his suit.

He suited up as Rhove maneuvered the skiff to align their airlock with that of the Aethon.

“We’re in position,” Rhove said after locking the controls.

Chaunce nodded and cycled out of the airlock and maneuvered to the side of the skiff. He unlatched the cargo hatch and rummaged through their collection of pilfering tools, pulling out a collapsible latticework structure. With practiced efficiency, he secured it to the brackets that ringed their airlock.

The framework extended outward, scissoring open to bridge the gap between the two ships. He climbed inside the cage as a flexible, cloth-like skin unfurled over the structure. Chaunce locked the large magnetic anchors onto the ship’s hull.

He twisted a valve, releasing a thick, adhesive gel along the tunnel’s perimeter where it met the Aethon. The substance oozed into place, sealing any potential gaps. With another turn of the valve, a blast of pressurized steam activated the compound, hardening it into an airtight bond.

Chaunce eased back, inspecting his work with a satisfied nod. "That should hold," he reported. He moved back towards the skiff and turned another valve. Air filled the enclosure completing the pressurized tunnel.

“Bring the key and let’s see what’s inside this thing.”

Rhove cycled through the airlock and joined Chaunce in the cage. He held a pneumatic winch and together they moved to the ship’s airlock. Rhove tried the dog first but, as he suspected, it wouldn’t budge. He connected the winch to it and turned it on the lowest setting, and slowly gave it more torque. He could tell from the atypical design that the dog wasn’t going to be particularly secure. There are always safeguards to keep airlocks closed, and the corpo jobs all have locks. But ships like these, the work horses, the industrial types, they just needed brute force. That way, you can get to a crew quickly in case of emergencies like this one.

The airlock groaned as they forced it open and moved into the airlock chamber, and then again as the interior airlock door gave way. There was no rush of air either way, so the pressure was stable, at least. That was a good sign. The interior of the ship looked like a meat locker. The walls, floor, ceiling, and consoles were covered in frost.

Rhove checked his wrist computer. “Good pressure. Oxygen atmosphere, but heavy CO². They’ve breathed up a lot of their air. Our scrubbers should offset that. Just give it a minute.” They waited a bit while Rhove watched the numbers on his wrist computer update. He opened his visor and took a sample breath, waited, and then another. “It’s good,” he said, and removed his helmet.

Chaunce followed suit. “Alright, let’s get a look around.” Chaunce moved to the rear of the ship and started poking around in any cabinets he could find.

Rhove drifted toward the bridge, his movements slow and deliberate in the weightlessness. Two bodies hung eerily in the air, limp and motionless, gently bumping against the consoles, their limbs frozen in their last moments of life. They wore interesting flight suits. Again, not corpo flight suits, but at least they looked more modern. The patches on the suits were unfamiliar. They were a ring of three colors, each a third of the circle. Orange, green, and blue. In the center were a star with a planet partially eclipsing it, and three moons. Which planet was that? Both Aphrodite and Dionysus only had two moons each. Eros and Harmonia orbited Aphrodite, and Thoas and Staphylus orbited Dionysus. Gorgon had three moons, Stheno, Euryale, and Medusa, but those were hellish worlds too small and volatile for settlements.

The writing on the patch spelled out “The Aethon” and “The Tri-Council Protectorate”.

Who the hell’s that? Rhove thought. He’d never heard of a Tri-Council. He placed his hand on the pilot’s shoulder and turned the body to face him.

“Let’s see if you have a nametag, friend.” And then he yelped. “Ho!”

“Rhove,” Chaunce started. “You scared me, pal. What’s up?”

“You need to see this.”

Chaunce made his way to the bridge, hand over hand, and then steadied himself next to his partner. He looked at the ship’s pilot.

“What happened to you?” he whispered as he tilted his head to one side, his ears twitching as he studied the stranger. This person’s features were eerily familiar yet undeniably different.

"Well, he’s got weird fur," Chaunce muttered. He took the pilot by the jaw and turn him side to side, peering closer. "Muzzle’s a little shorter than ours. And look at those sharp ears."

Rhove’s tail flicked as he frowned. "Yeah, and his face is leaner. More angular. And his nose—" He pointed, eyes narrowing. "That’s not a normal Caelari nose. It’s flatter, more swept back."

Chaunce tilted his head. "And his eyes. Look at the shape—when he opens them, I bet they’ll be slitted. Like a predator’s." He grinned. "Think he hunts?"

Rhove huffed. “I hope not. I’m not in the mood to be prey.”

The pilot stirred, a faint twitch in his ears, his breathing shifting from the shallow rhythm of unconsciousness to something deeper. Then, with a sharp inhale, his eyes fluttered open.

Rhove and Chaunce both leaned in, watching as the pilot’s gaze slowly focused on them. The moment stretched; tension thick in the quiet cold of the ship. Then, just as predicted, Thaeron’s eyes—an intense emerald green—slitted as they adjusted to the dim light.

Chaunce smirked. “Called it!” And he nudged Rhove’s shoulder with his own.

 

Reviving the Crew (page 360)

 

Thaeron blinked sluggishly, his pupils narrowing as his senses returned. His ears twitched at the unfamiliar voices, his instincts immediately sharpening. His body tensed beneath the restraints of his seat, and for a moment, he was still—processing, calculating. Then, his gaze flicked between the two unfamiliar faces before him, both undeniably canine but not quite like anything he had seen before.

Rhove tilted his head slightly, offering a lopsided grin. "Hey there, stranger. Welcome back to the land of the living."

Thaeron’s ears flattened instinctively as he let out a low, raspy breath. His voice, though weak, was steady.

"Who... who are you?"

Rhove chuckled. "Funny. We were about to ask you the same thing."

“Nira,” Thaeron tried to spin around, but Rhove and Chaunce were practically sitting on him.”

“Your name’s Nira?”

“No, Thaeron. I need to get to Nira.” Thaeron pointed towards Nira, who’s body floated limply near her chair, her arms floating akimbo.

“Sit tight, friend,” Rhove smiled and moved towards Nira. “I’ve got him.”

“Her.”

“Her,” Rhove corrected.

Rhove stopped short as he turned his attention to the figure by the chair. If Thaeron had been strange, this one was downright bizarre. His ears flattened slightly as he took in the details—slender, almost delicate, but covered in sleek, layered feathers instead of fur. The texture caught the dim emergency lighting, casting a faint shimmer across what should have been a mammalian face but wasn’t. Instead of a muzzle, a sharp, curved beak extended from where a nose should be, smooth and elegant, like polished cherry wood.

His tail flicked uncertainly. “That’s... different,” he muttered.

Chaunce stretched his neck for a better look and let out a low whistle. “Now that ain’t Caelari. That ain’t anything I’ve ever seen.”

Rhove hesitated before reaching out, placing a gloved paw against her arm. Not fur, but feathers. Soft, but with an underlying structure that felt surprisingly solid. His fingers twitched slightly before pulling back.

“She’s got wings,” Chaunce observed, fascinated. “I mean, arms, but they’re—look at the way they’re built.”

Rhove nodded, his mind racing. “That’s not just decoration. Those are functional. She could probably fly.”

Chaunce snorted. “Not in here, she can’t.”

Rhove ignored him, his focus locked on Nira’s face. Unlike Thaeron’s, which had at least been similar, this one was something completely different. There was intelligence in the avian features, even in unconsciousness—a sharpness to the way her head was structured, a subtle intensity to the line of her beak. She wasn’t just some exotic Caelari. She was something else.

His mind was working, trying to piece together an explanation. The thought of aliens only briefly flashed in his mind, but it evaporated quickly. The writing on the uniform and the language Thaeron spoke was the common tongue. These people had to be local, which meant... what? A hidden colony? Some long-lost experiment? Mutants?

A slow cloud of breath escaped her beak.

“She’s alive! Rhove snapped back to the present. “We need to wake her up. Come on, let’s get her conscious.”

Chaunce wasn't a medic—hell, he barely had any training beyond patching up the occasional plasma burn—but he knew enough to tell that breathing was a good sign. Problem was, she wasn’t waking up. He moved beside them, tapping his fingers against his leg. “How do we do that?” He tilted his head. “Think we should shake her?”

Rhove rolled his eyes. “Yeah, let’s just rattle the strange, bird-faced person and see what happens.”

“Well, I don’t see you doing anything!”

Rhove frowned and reached for one of the small pouches strapped to his belt. He rummaged through it, pulling out a dented, unlabeled canister. He popped the top and waved it under Nira’s beak. A sharp, acrid scent filled the air.

“What the hell is that?” Chaunce asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Ammonia,” Rhove said. “Or at least I think it is. Whatever. Close enough.”

Chaunce pulled his head away. “That smells like death.”

“Yeah, well, if it doesn’t wake her up, she might be dead.”

Rhove held the canister a little closer. For a few agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Then, Nira twitched. Her beak clicked softly. A slow, rattling inhale.

Then she jolted awake with a sharp, panicked gasp, and Chaunce steadied her body to keep her from floating away.

Rhove yanked the canister away as Nira's golden eyes flashed open, wild and unfocused. Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts as her arms—or wings—flailed slightly before she got control of them. Her chest heaved, and she sucked in another deep breath, the panic in her expression shifting to something more alert.

Rhove tilted his head. “There we go. Welcome back.”

Nira blinked rapidly, her pupils contracting as her mind caught up to the situation. Her gaze darted between the two strange figures looming over her - canine faces, fur, loppy ears. This was not her crew.

“Who are you?” she rasped; her voice still thick with disorientation.

Chaunce smiled. “We were about to ask you the same thing.”

Rhove gave an exasperated glance at his partner. “I already used that line.”

He turned back to Nira and gave his best attempt at a reassuring smile. “We’re the guys that found your ship floating dead in the water. Name’s Rhove, this is Chaunce.” He gestured to his partner, who gave a two-fingered salute. “We figured you might prefer waking up instead of, you know, not.”

Nira took a slow breath, gathering herself. She took hold of the armrests of her chair, testing her limbs. “Thaeron?”

“Right here,” Thaeron called weakly from the other side of the bridge. He was sitting properly now, rubbing the side of his head, still groggy but recovering.

Nira exhaled in relief, then her feathers flared suddenly. “Rockwell,” she said sharply, head snapping toward the console.

Rhove’s ears twitched. “Who?”

Nira struggled to rise; her movements still sluggish. “Rockwell. Our engineer. He—he’s—” She turned, searching frantically. Her eyes locked onto the unmoving form that had settled into a corner near one of the bulkheads, his metal frame eerily still. “There!”

Rhove and Chaunce followed her gaze.

Chaunce recoiled. “Okay. That’s new.”

Rhove narrowed his eyes, looking toward the inert machine. “What the hell is it?”

“He’s not an ‘it’,” Nira snapped, already moving toward Rockwell. She steadied herself beside him, hands pressing against his chassis. His normally luminous eyes were dark, his body inert.

Rhove scratched his chin, eyeing the machine with intrigue. “Looks like he ran out of juice.”

“He needs to be rebooted,” Nira said urgently, running her fingers over a hidden panel on Rockwell’s torso. She found the manual override and pressed it, holding it down for several seconds. Nothing.

Thaeron eased himself up, wobbling slightly but making his way over. He steadied himself along the console as he moved. In the weightless environment, this wasn’t so taxing. “His core system must have shut down to preserve energy,” he said. “Try forcing an auxiliary start.”

Nira nodded, adjusting her grip. She tried spinning Rockwell around, but his mass was so much greater than hers that she spun herself around him instead. She noticed a cable that connected from his back to a port on the bulkhead. She glanced at the panel’s label.

“’Life Support’,” she read aloud. “Rockwell plugged himself into the aux power of the life support system. He drained his battery to power the system to keep the system going. Rockwell bought us time and saved our lives!”

“Well, I mean,” Chaunce mumbled, “We came along conveniently enough, yeah?”

“You’re right,” Nira quickly composed herself. “I’m sorry. Thank you. If you hadn’t come along when you did, we’d have never made it.”

Chaunce waved her off.

“Accolades later,” Rhove chuckled. “What do we need to do to get your friend, uh… rebooted?”

“If we can get the engines back online,” Thaeron explained, “We can dump power back into Rockwell through the same port. But I don’t know what’s wrong with the engines, yet.”

“We can help with that,” Rhove offered. “It might take a while, though. Is your friend going to be okay if it doesn’t happen right away.”

Thaeron and Nira looked at each other. They had no idea. They had only known Rockwell for a short time, and he’d never gone down before. They shrugged.

“He’s a robot, so probably?” Thaeron suggested. “We don’t really have much of a choice.”

“Okay, then let’s put Rockwell and your ship on hold for the moment.” Rhove’s thoughts kicked back into business mode. “We’re a bit close to Dionysus. Let’s get off the main travel lanes and get you to a safe place where we can get a better look at your ship. I know a spot. Chaunce, get the anchors ready. We can attach their ship to the top of ours and haul them to Mach’s Rest. We can patch them up there and regroup.”

He turned to Thaeron and Nira. “You guys can ride with us. It’s a bit cramped, but we’ve had company before. Is that alright with you?” They nodded. “Good, then we’ll have a couple of days to talk, and you can tell us all about yourselves, because I have a lot of questions.”

~ ~ ~

Rhove, Thaeron, and Nira cycled through the airlock while Chaunce remained outside to put the cage away and anchor the Aethon to the skiff’s roof.

“You’re still a little woozy, so grab the support rail when you step through,” Rhove advised.

Thaeron obliged without much thought and pulled himself into the main cabin. The moment he crossed the threshold, his stomach lurched as an invisible force yanked at him. His knees buckled, and before he could process what was happening, he dropped heavily to the floor.

Rhove was already there, catching him by the elbow before he could hit too hard. “Easy,” he said, easing Thaeron upright.

Thaeron’s ears flicked wildly, his body stiff with confusion. He wasn’t disoriented from exhaustion anymore—he was heavy. He glanced down at his feet, then back up at Rhove, his emerald eyes wide with shock.

“What the hell is this?”

Rhove tilted his head. “Gravity.”

Thaeron opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked around the cabin as if the answer might be hidden in its walls. “Yeah, but how? We’re in space.”

“Yeah,” Rhove said, tapping a few keys on the nearby display panel. “I should probably turn it down a little, considering you just woke up.” The force lessened slightly, and Thaeron found himself able to stand more easily, though the sensation of weight still felt bizarre.

Nira had watched this and was better prepared. She came slowly through the airlock next, gripping the rail as she transitioned into the cabin. She felt the pull immediately and let out a sharp click of her beak, her wings flaring instinctively. She managed to stay upright, though her steps were unsteady.

Nira took another slow step, adjusting, and turned to Rhove with wide, wary eyes. “How?”

Rhove chuckled as he leaned against a console, watching them with an amused grin. “It’s gravity plating. You don’t have gravity plating in your ship? I mean, there are ships that don’t have it, sure, but it’s not that expensive, and it’s certainly not uncommon.”

Thaeron and Nira exchanged glances.

“You control gravity?” Nira asked, incredulous.

“To a degree,” Rhove said with a shrug. “Not like, planet-level stuff, obviously, but enough to make ships and stations a little more livable.”

Thaeron’s mind reeled. In all his years traveling between Gaia’s moons and stations, every vessel had been built around zero gravity. This… They had nothing like this.

“So, you don’t need mag boots, or harnesses, or inertia tethers?” he asked.

“Well sure,” Rhove shrugged. “But we use those in the cargo holds or on EVAs when I’m working on the ship’s hull. But in the cabins, everyone has it.”

Nira shook her head in astonishment. “This is… incredible.”

Thaeron exhaled, still wrapping his head around it. “If this is just a ship, what else do you have that we don’t?”

Rhove grinned. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He pulled out some jump seats from the wall and gestured toward them. “Sorry these aren’t more comfortable. It’s a two person craft. Come on, sit down before you fall down. If you need to lie down, there are bunks back there. We’ve got a long trip ahead. I’ll get you some water and some snacks. As soon as Chaunce is done outside, we’ll head out.”

Thaeron settled into the jump seat, still adjusting to the sensation of gravity as Rhove turned to the galley to gather food and water. Thaeron exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He was still struggling to believe what he was experiencing—artificial gravity, built into a ship, something they had never even considered possible.

Nira slowly walked around, eager to see the inside of what was essentially an alien spacecraft. The interior of Rhove and Chaunce’s skiff was an abrupt contrast to the Aethon. Where the Aethon had been sterile, modular, and built purely for functionality, this craft felt alive—sleek but well-worn. It was reminiscent of Inwari design, in that much attention had gone into the aesthetics. The lines were smooth and easy on the eyes. The edges where the wall met the floor were rounded smoothly. There were no sharp edges. The seems were clean, and there was no evidence of how they were attached. On the Aethon, the panels were riveted in place, but here, they flowed from one to the other; and when she ran her palm along the consoles, the cross-hatched texture was smooth. The display panels were recessed into the console behind smokey glass and the readouts on the screens were crisp and well organized. There were no buttons or switches. In fact, the only controls she saw were a yoke and two levers. Everything else was… was where? Would the display respond to touch? She reached out to a panel without thinking.

“Uh, I wouldn’t poke around there, please.” Rhove startled her, and she jumped.

“I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I got lost in the…” She gestured to the console.

Rhove handed her a canister of water. “I understand. When I first boarded this baby, I wanted to touch everything too. She’s a beaut.” He gestured to the jump seat.

Embarrassed, she took the canister and sat down.

“It’s an FR-17 ‘Vanguard’. It’s an older design, but tried and true. We’ve done some modifications to her, though. She’s not bone stock.

“Yes, the panels are touch activated. I fly by stick, though.” He gestured at the yoke. “It’s necessary for forward recon vessels. They respond better when you can feel it. For long journeys, we can just point her in a direction and leave her be. I’ve had this baby for four years now.”

Nira wondered how long four years was. For the people of Gaia, it was all the same. They based their year on Themis’ revolutions around Gaia, but here? Was it longer or shorter, and by how much? That would come later, she guessed.

The airlock hissed and Chaunce cycled through. “Almost everything is secured. We can take their ship to the shipyard and then stop in at Mach’s.”

“Almost?” Rhove tilted his head.

“Yeah. I don’t know what to do about their robot.” Chaunce jerked a thumb towards the airlock. “That guy’s got a lot of mass, and he’s hooked into their ship with some weird coupling I’ve never seen before.”

Rhove nodded. “Thanks, Chaunce. He turned to Thaeron and Nira. “What do you think?”

Thaeron shrugged. “He doesn’t need life support, and the low temperature is typical of his world. I suppose he should be fine right there.”

“Okay then,” Rhove rubbed his paws together. “Let’s get moving.”

 

The Trip to Mach’s Rest (page 369)

The skiff hummed softly as it cruised through the void with the Aethon secured to its top putting Dionysus at their back for the time being. The cabin was quiet except for the occasional flicker of a status light or the gentle hum of the ship’s systems. Thaeron and Nira sat in the jump seats, slowly recovering from their ordeal.

“Now that we’re all settled in, do you mind if I ask you some questions?” Rhove leaned back casually on the console, his arms supporting his weight, He crossed his feet. Thaeron nodded. “I’m not trying to be confrontational, mind you. I’m no authority figure.”

“The opposite, actually,” Chaunce offered.

“So, the uh, face,” he gestured awkwardly, “it’s uh…”

Thaeron waited. He knew what the question was, but he was enjoying this a bit. He rubbed his chin innocently. Nira shot Thaeron a look, but he ignored her.

“You don’t… It doesn’t.”

“Why don’t you look like us?” Chaunce jumped in. “Where are you from? Who are you? What’s up with the wings and feathers?”

Thaeron grinned a little.

“Oh, for the love of,” Nira shook her head. “We’re not from here, obviously. We’re not even from the same world,” she gestured between her and Thaeron. “I’m from a moon called Clotho. He’s from Lachesis.”

“A moon?” Rhove leaned forward and pointed to her shoulder. “The patch. It’s a planet with three moons. We don’t have a planet with three inhabited moons.”

“The other is Atropos,” Nira twisted her arm to give Rhove a better view. She pointed at the orange moon on the patch, and then to the planet in the middle, then to the star. “This is Themis, and this is Gaia. Our system’s sun. My people are called the Inwari. His people are Sylvans. We came here through a wormhole looking for someone, but that wormhole collapsed and stranded us here. We have no way back. Currently.

“Who are you looking for?”

“A people called Man.”

Chaunce’s ears perked up. He glanced at Rhove, but Rhove ignored him.

“Who are Man and why are you looking for them?” Rhove pressed.

Nira settled back in her seat and took a breath.

“Hundreds of years ago, a race of people called Man created our people. They gave us our moons and let us live our lives. They watched us. Observed and recorded us. They had provided us with worlds filled with everything we needed to live and grow. To develop,” she paused.

“Then they left. One day, they just disappeared. We don’t know why. They had kept themselves hidden from us, but then they just disappeared altogether. We found various traces of them all over our worlds. Scraps. Hints. Hell, they left us with a common language,” she pointed between her and Thaeron again. “But they left before we even knew about one another. It was just chance that some of our own people, our own scientists started studying the other moons and found evidence of other people there. Once that was proven, we just sort of,” she shook her head.

Thaeron continued for her. “We banded together, in whatever ways we could. We learned to communicate, shared technology, and then eventually we built ships to meet. That was what?” He looked at Nira.

“About forty years ago.” Nira explained. “Well, seventy years ago that we discovered one another. It took another thirty-five years or so before we could finally meet.”

“Okay,” Chaunce pressed, as he sat on the console next to Rhove. “But how did you get here and what prompted you to look for Man?”

Nira continued. “Remember I said we found traces of Man?” Rhove nodded. “We found more. We discovered one of Man’s derelict ships still in orbit around Themis. It was on that ship where we discovered they were our creators. We wondered what happened to them. Why they left. We didn’t find the answers there, though we did learn about our worlds. And that seemed to be the end. But then we found something else. Also in orbit around Themis we found a jump gate.”

Chaunce shot a look at Rhove. Rhove raised his eyebrows.

“It wasn’t in bad shape, but it wasn’t working, either. We had our scientists dig through the schematics we found on the derelict and were able to repair it. It anchors wormholes, but only on one end. The other end needs a similar jump gate. Without it, the wormhole is unstable and unpredictable. We’ve been lucky until now. We’ve been able to get the jump gates online in the other systems we’ve been to. We’re hoping to find this system’s jump gate so we can activate it and continue our search.”

 “You haven’t found a system without a jump gate, yet?” Rhove asked.

“No. So far, every system has had one, but we’ve only been to five. The systems are catalogued, so each system on record is supposed to have one. The wormholes tend to be stable enough to get us into the system. They are usually drawn to gravity systems, or perhaps they need a gravity well to form, so a star is a good spot to have a wormhole. After we force it open, we usually have a few days or weeks to get the jump gate on the other side active and lock the wormhole in place. If we can’t, then we have to reenter the wormhole and head home; try another day. Usually, it’s just a matter of supplying power, or repairing circuits or wiring. Pretty quick work. The hard part is finding it. Star systems are big. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but we only have days or weeks to search something like fifty octillion cubic kilometers of space for a metal ring that’s only about a hundred meters square. A grain of sand in the ocean.”

“What happens in this case? The wormhole you came through collapsed. Can you open another one?”

“Not from here. Or guys at home can reopen it, but it’ll take time.” Thaeron explained.

“Then what’s the problem? After a while, they realize you’re stuck and just open new one.”

“Sure. But without the anchor, we don’t know where it’ll open, or how long it stays open. We search for jump gates by scanning for signature traces of metals, magnetism, and radiation. Wormholes don’t have metals or magnetism, and the radiation they put off is irregular and hard to detect against existing radiation. We have to be close to it to detect it, and we don’t know where in those fifty octillion square kilometers of space it’s going to turn up in. We’re far more likely to miss it than not.”

“Your best bet is to find the jump gate, get it active, and then lock in a stable wormhole.”

“Yes.”

“Then we have good news and bad news.” Chaunce said. “The good news is we know exactly where your jump gate is. The bad news is that it’s an historical site, closed to the public, and guarded by the Dionysus Interplanetary Navy.” He gestured to Thaeron and Nira. “You guys will certainly draw the attention of the Navy, no doubt, but they might be hesitant to let you near that gate with your welding torches.”

“Yeah, and they won’t care that you’re basically space aliens,” Rhove said. “There’s going to be a lot of bureaucratic red tape you’ll have to cut through to get near it. In fact, your foreigner status might work more against you than for you. If nothing else, it’ll add time to the whole process.”

“Okay, wait,” Thaeron said and leaned forward. “The jump gate is an historical site?”

“Sure,” Rhove explained. “It’s not some mysterious artifact that happened to float along. Man left it to us to keep safe until they came back.”

“But they never came back.” Chaunce said, his voice low.

“You knew Man?” Nira clicked her beak excitedly, but Rhove shook his head.

“No,” Rhove crossed his arms over his chest. “No one does. I mean, we know the stories, but Man hasn’t been here in about two-hundred and fifty years.”

“They were like gods,” Chaunce had perked up. “They built this, you know. Our worlds. Our society. They knew everything. They were tall, and smart.    They took care of us. They governed over the system. There were no wars. No crime to speak of. But they left, and when we realized they weren’t coming back, we had to pick up the reins.

 

Man and Caelari - (Dione - Caelari - Circa 225) (page 374)

The drop ships descended through the cloud speckled sky by the dozens marking the first moments of permanent settlement on Aphrodite. From the colony hub, Kerem Yılmaz could hear the roar of fusion engines echoing across the vast, grass-swept landscape.

The Caelari workers were already in motion, securing landing zones, marking out infrastructure points. They worked without complaint, without hesitation. That was the way of things. Man led. The Caelari followed.

Kerem wiped the sweat from his brow, watching as the latest wave of settlers disembarked—scientists, engineers, and industrial workers. Aphrodite was thriving, its jungles alive with the hum of newly introduced life. But the colony needed more. More food, more power, more hands to build the future.

A deep, growling voice interrupted his thoughts.

“We’ve completed the first aqueduct, Administrator Yılmaz.”

Kerem turned to see Takar, a broad-shouldered Caelari, his fur matted with dust from the day’s work. His ears flicked back in subtle deference, a custom bred into the Caelari long ago.

“Good work, Takar,” Yılmaz said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re ahead of schedule.”

Takar’s tail flicked slightly—a Caelari sign of pride.

“More settlers are coming,” Yılmaz continued, nodding toward the transports. “We’ll need another five housing units by next week.”

Takar’s ears flattened, but he nodded. “It will be done.”

Yılmaz sighed, watching the workers move in synchronized motion, building a world they would never rule. The Caelari did not complain, not openly. But as he looked at Takar—his strength, his intelligence—Yılmaz couldn't help but wonder:

How long before they start to question their place in all this?

“Tell your people that your break will be extended by another five days upon completion. You are all working hard, and you deserve the time off.”

Takar smiled slightly and bowed, “They will be well pleased.”

 

Flashback to Dione as the One War looms.

The Dione system was home to the Caelari people. They were relatives of the human/canine hybrids that had failed to flourish in the early days of the BioTech/Gene Metrics experiments. Through further research and advanced technology, BioTech and Gene Metrics pinpointed the problems and eventually the Caelari were born. Unlike the other hybrids, the Caelari worked side by side with Man, as best friends might, and together they settled the Dione system. It was a paradise system with two worlds inside the habitable zone of the star Dione.

The first planet they settled on was Aphrodite. Aphrodite’s atmosphere was heavy in oxygen and nitrogen and even had liquid water oceans. It had the perfect conditions, but the spark of life had never occurred. Once it was introduced, however, life thrived and within a decade, a planet wide ecosystem flourished. Young forests, jungles, and plains spanned the five great continents. Pearl white silicon beaches framed nearly every coast and housed hermit crabs and seagulls. Electric green oceans bathed those crystalline sands with warm waters rich with schools of fish. The lands were settled, and colonies quickly grew into cities. Civilization had its permanent foothold.

The second planet, Dionysus, had once held life but a comet had struck eons ago causing a mass extinction event that killed ninety-nine percent of life. BioTech and Gene Metrics nursed the land and seas and brought the planet back to life. Vegetation once again climbed the kilometer high cliffs and lined the wide deep canyons. Rare birds could only reach halfway up the looming mountains, and great whales thrived in the deep purple waters between the many small island continents.

Dionysus was settled less than a decade after Aphrodite, though the cities of each world were very different. Aphrodite’s wide lands allowed for far spanning cities that bled into one another, while the jagged landscape of Dionysus kept cities packed, tighter and long superhighways were built to connect them.

Together, Man and Caelari built an industrious society. Man presided over the flourishing Caelari people who, though numbering ten times more than man, were second class citizens. But they were content, even happy in their status and the Caelari people lived peaceful lives. Someday, they might have sought equality and perhaps power, but they never had the opportunity. Only three decades after the founding of Dione, man left to fight the One War and never returned. The Caelari inherited the throne and, despite all attempts to save mankind, the remaining handful of humans fell prey to disease and became extinct within thirty years. The technology for interstellar travel had died with them and the Caelari would never discover it on their own. Reluctantly, they took the seats of power and the inherited technology and forged their own lives on the two, living planets. They eventually placed colonies on various moons, asteroids, and space stations and forged on without their friends. Life goes on.

~ ~ ~

Catalog number HD-142093. 103 ly from Earth. The Dione System has five terrestrial planets, two gas planets, two ice planets.

The Dione system is a paradise system with two worlds inside the habitable zone, one of which, Aphrodite, needed next to no terraforming to settle and the second, Dionysus, was terraformed rather easily. The system has nine planets and many of them have outposts on them or their moons. The inhabitants travel freely between their worlds but have not yet unlocked interstellar travel. Luckily, they have no need since all the resources they could want are provided for them among the planets and moons within the system.

Aphrodite has sprawling cities peppered with corporations of all types. Aphrodite also boasts the largest orbital shipyard in the system. It orbits the planet and mass produces spaceships for five major corporations.

 

What to do about the Jumpgate and the recruiting of Myris (page 377)

“We need access to the jumpgate. How do we get access.”

“It’s under the control of the Dionysus Interplanetary Navy which is the military branch of the Dionysus Parliamentary Republic. And we, well, are just a couple of guys without real jobs. However, we do have an in with someone.”

“Back to Myris?” Chaunce said.

Rhove nodded. “It’s always back to Myris, isn’t it? But this time, all those years of favors and bargains are all about to pay off.”

Thaeron shook his head. “I’m not interested in getting involved in back-alley deals with, and I mean this with all possible respect, the criminal underworld. We’re talking about gaining access to an advanced technological artifact guarded by the star system’s military.

“Well, first off, the Dionysus Navy isn’t the only military power in Dione. They have the Aphrodite forces to deal with, too, but we don’t have to worry about them.

“But no, Myris is legit. She’s a Member of Parliament, duly elected, and everything. I think she’s on her third term.”

“When you say legit,” Chaunce edged in, “you mean that yes, she’s an actual elected official, but she’s helped us cut through some unnecessary red tape.”

Rhove sighed. “You make it sound worse than it is. Myris knows the system and knows how to navigate the branches, and how to lobby her colleagues. She’s the quintessential politician.”

“So as legit as pretty much any politician is expected to be,” Chaunce smirked.

“Anyway,” Rhove raised his voice an octave, “we were on our way to meet with her to…”

“Cut through some unnecessary red tape.”

“So, this would the perfect opportunity to see what kind of pull she has with the Navy. I mean, a member of parliament with direct access to people from another star system? That’s huge. We’ve been waiting for Man to return for a couple hundred years, with no way to know what happened to them.”

“Why couldn’t you activate the gate and find out for yourselves?” Nira had been burning to ask this question. If the Navy was in possession of the gate since Man left, what prevented them from using it? Two hundred and fifty years of isolation from other systems, knowing what the gates were. Why would they not just switch them on and use them.”

“No one knows,” Rhove shrugged. “And the people stopped asking a long time ago, but parliament has never offered an explanation.”

“There are tons of theories and rumors,” Chaunce offered. “Some say they have an agreement between Aphrodite’s government. Some say we don’t have a means to activate them. Some even say they are active, and the Navy uses them all the time, but they keep the public in the dark about it. Control, I’d guess. Some say it’s all a fairytale and the gates are not gates at all, but something else entirely.”

“There are even some groups that don’t believe that Man even exists at all. I’m guessing that your existence is going to really ruffle their feathers,” Rhove shot an apologetic look at Nira. “I’m sorry. Is that offensive. I only meant…”

“It’s fine,” she clicked her beak. “We use that expression ourselves. It appears we share an awful lot between our peoples, too. That’s just more evidence of our shared history.”

“Okay,” Thaeron said. “Let’s set up the meeting with Myris and see where that takes us. It seems like a pretty solid plan.”

Rhove nodded and turned toward the main console. He flicked a switch and waited for the encrypted channel to connect “I’m going to let Myris know we’re delayed.”

Chaunce raised a brow. “She’s not gonna like that.”

“No, she won’t.” Rhove tapped a few keys and recorded the message aloud.

“Myris. Change of plans. Arrival delayed by five days. We’ve come across something far more lucrative. Need to meet under more discreet conditions, with room for guests. Location is your call. This will be worth your time. Trust me. Rhove.”

Chaunce smirked. “Think that’ll smooth it over?”

“No. She’ll be pissed off, but once she meets our guests, she’ll come around.” Rhove sent the message. “Now we wait.”

Forty minutes later, the reply came in, and Rhove played it.

"Rhove. You better not be wasting my time. If this is as profitable as you claim, you’ll need to prove it. New meeting point attached—secure location, no unnecessary eyes. If you’re lying, don’t bother showing up. Myris."

Chaunce let out a low whistle. “Think she bought it?”

Rhove shut down the coms. “She doesn’t have to, yet. She just has to show up.”

~ ~ ~

Arriving at Tranth’s Shipyard and the Space Elevator (page 380)

Two days later the swirling orange and pink clouds of Selene came into view. A sight to be sure, but they veered off to one of her larger moons, Ersa.

The moon was a frozen ball of ice, white with ancient sheets of frozen methane shattered like glass with cracks two kilometers wide and hundreds of kilometers deep. Its mountain ranges were tall, sharp razors that reached skyward and then suddenly sheared off in evil looking cliffs.

As they came around the moon, Tranth’s Shipyard came into view. It loomed like the broken skeleton of some long-dead leviathan, its skeletal framework silhouetted against the pale light of the gas giant beyond. Flickering navigation beacons blinked intermittently, painting red and white strobes across the muted black hull of the skiff as Rhove and his crew approached.

“Chaunce, give them a call and see if they can clear a berth for us,” Rhove said.

Chaunce, lounging in the co-pilot seat, tapped a few keys on the console. “Already did. We got docking clearance. Tranth’s on duty and says he’ll meet us up top.”

“Good. That means our money is still good here,” Rhove muttered, adjusting the ship’s descent. “And that means we’re in business.”

“Or it could also mean our credit is shot and he’s coming to deal with us directly,” Chaunce cautioned.

Rhove swallowed

Nira leaned forward in her seat, eyes narrowing at the network of scaffolding, and docking arms. The plating that covered it was pitted and scarred from years of exposure to vacuum and micrometeors. A slow rotation kept the station stable, its mechanical joints bending slightly under the strain of rotational mass and decades-old maintenance.

“What is that?” breathed Nira.

Rhove barely glanced up from the controls. “That,” he said, tapping a few adjustments into the flight console, “is Tranth’s Shipyard. The spinal cord of Mach’s Rest.”

Thaeron frowned. “It looks like it’s one bad radiation flare away from coming apart.”

“Probably is.” Rhove smirked. “But it hasn’t yet, which is why it’s still open for business. The whole thing is built from an old corpo mining dock—back when people still cared about regulations and, y’know, structural integrity. Tranth’s been patching it up longer than I’ve been alive.”

Nira turned her gaze to the half-dozen tethers, stretching from the base of the station down to the moon’s surface like impossibly long vines. “And those?”

“The Anchorline,” Rhove explained, finally looking up. “Six five-meter-thick carbon-nanotube cables keeping the space elevator from flinging off into the void. It runs five hundred klicks straight down to Mach’s Rest.” He gestured toward one of the large platforms slowly climbing the tether. “Cargo climbers take supplies and ships up and down. Faster than a launch, cheaper than fuel. Assuming, of course, the system doesn’t malfunction and drop you into the ground at terminal velocity.”

Nira shot him a sharp look. “Comforting.”

“Relax,” Rhove said, guiding the skiff toward one of the docking arms. “If Tranth didn’t keep it working, he’d be out of business.”

“Or dead,” Chaunce offered. “Probably both.”

Nira exhaled, eyes still locked on the spindly framework of the drydock. It didn’t look stable. “I assume you’ve used it before.”

“Many times,” Rhove confirmed. “Still here, aren’t I?”

Chaunce chuckled from the co-pilot seat. “Give it time.”

~ ~ ~

Rhove eased the skiff into the docking cradle with a metallic groan. The station’s aging mooring clamps locked onto the hull with a series of dull, mechanical thuds. Inside, the ship’s artificial gravity fluctuated for a split second as it synchronized with the drydock’s rotation, and the overhead lights flickered before stabilizing.

Rhove powered down the engines and stood, rolling his shoulders.

“Tranth has spanned the width and breadth of this system for twice as long as I’ve been alive. He’s seen every strange thing there is to be seen – In Dione. You aren’t from Dione, so I need you to cover up.”

Chaunce was already prepared. He tossed two cloaks to Thaeron and Nira. “Put these on,” he said. “Use the hoods to cover your heads and faces. They sinch down in front.”

“Won’t that look suspicious?” Thaeron eyed the cloaks doubtfully.

“I sure hope so,” Chaunce grinned. “You’re not the first people we’ve smuggled through Tranth’s. He’ll see you’re not looking to be recognized so he’ll purposely avoid you. Plausible deniability. If authorities come asking questions, he’ll be genuinely, and gratefully, ignorant.”

“I’m getting the feeling this place isn’t on the level,” Thaeron said.

“Then you’ve been paying attention,” Chaunce quipped.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rhove tried to reassure Thaeron. “We have to get through here to get you there. And we can’t get you there until your ship is fixed. Any union shop would throw red flags all over the place and we’d never get you home. Tranth will avoid eye-contact, fix this bizarre ship of yours, and not blink twice as long as the dionts are good.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Nira, and she kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier.

“We don’t have any money. Thaeron, we don’t have any money. We can’t pay to get our ship fixed.”

Thaeron turned to Rhove. “Obviously we don’t have dio… Di…”

“Dionts.”

“We don’t have any dionts, but we can compensate you in other ways once we get back home.”

Rhove held up a hand. “We know. Again, you’re not the first people we’ve smuggled through here.” He turned to Chaunce. “Make a note—they owe us.”

Chaunce mockingly sketched an invisible tally in the air. “Debt noted. Interest pending.”

Rhove smiled and clapped Thaeron on the shoulder. “I’m not worried about it. For now, put the robes on and let’s get your ship patched up.”

The airlock hissed as it depressurized, revealing a wide maintenance bay beyond. The drydock was everything Nira expected—dark, cluttered, and stitched together with more patchwork repairs than original structure. Suspended overhead were massive scaffolds, their lattices of metal bristling with repair drones and automated arms, while thick bundles of exposed wiring pulsed faintly with power. The scent of scorched metal and machine lubricant clung to the recycled air.

Tranth was waiting just outside the docking ring, arms crossed, his grease-streaked coveralls stained with years of shipyard work. He was built like a cargo hauler—broad, solid, and unyielding. His sleeves were rolled up exposing his muscled arms, with patches of fur missing in some areas exposing either scars or burns. Most of his fur was gray with age, and his eyes we’re starting to go milky. When he spoke, it was a gravelly sound akin to stone grinding against stone, though traces of a once deep, resonating voice could still be heard. It carried the weight of experience and exhaustion.

“Well, well,” he said, eyeing Rhove with a slow shake of his head. “Look what the void spat back out.”

“Good to see you too, Tranth,” Rhove replied smoothly, and they shook hands. True to Rhove’s description, he never so much as looked at Thaeron and Nira. “Figured I’d drop by, bring you a real challenge.” He gestured to the Aethon anchored atop his skiff.

Tranth snorted. “I can see that. Damn thing looks like it was stitched together from three different ships and a bad decision. You lose a bet or something?” He stepped closer, running a critical eye over the hull plating. He walked along the long axis to the front of the Aethon.

Tranth was intrigued. He had, of course, never seen a ship like the Aethon. Many of the ships that came through his shipyard were amalgamations of many types of ships, and they ranged from brand new to two-hundred-year-old antiques with more holes in them than the sponge he strained his coffee through. But this? This looked like something out of a low budget holovid. Sure, she was space worthy, and the engines obviously had some get-up-and-go to them, but there wasn’t much to be said in the way of style. No, this ship was mission-focus only. ‘Get there, get the job done, get the job done right, and get her crew home safe.’

“You take fire, or is this just how it was built?”

“Bit of both,” Thaeron sneered. Tranth ignored him.

Tranth grumbled under his breath and pulled out a handheld diagnostic scanner, sweeping it over the ship’s forward section. “Power distribution’s a mess, your engine alignment’s off by a couple degrees, and this hull plating?” He rapped on it with a knuckle. “It looks like someone welded it together for fun.”

Thaeron stepped forward and began to speak, but Nira took his arm and pulled him back.

Tranth tapped the screen and squinted at the readout. “How fast you need her running?”

“We have a bit of time. No rush,” Rhove said. “And don’t ask too many questions.”

Tranth scoffed. “I never do. I can have her space worthy in about three weeks.”

Rhove glanced at Thaeron. They needed to get Myris on board. She’d have a lot of deals to make to get access to the jump gate, then Thaeron would need to get the jump gate online. That process alone could take three times that.

“Three weeks is good.”

Tranth gave him a long, considering look before shoving the scanner back into his belt. “Alright. One-thousand up front and the rest once she’s done.” He pointed a thick claw at Rhove. “And if you need parts, you’re buying them. No tabs this time.”

Rhove held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Tranth grumbled again, “Alright. Get off my deck, and I’ll see what I can do. I’ll get it off your ship and move it one berth over. You can have your skiff in a bit.”

He waved for his crew to move in. A swarm of mechanics descended on the Aethon and started detaching it from the skiff.

As Tranth turned away, Chaunce smirked and nudged Rhove.

“Still your favorite mechanic?”

Rhove sighed. “He’s reliable and doesn’t ask questions. So yes.”

~ ~ ~

Heading to Mach’s Rest (page 386)

They had time to kill so Rhove suggested they head down the Anchorline and grab a real meal. “For being way out here in The Wilds, Mach’s Rest has a pretty diverse menu. We talk a lot about Dionysus, because that’s where we’re from, but Aphrodite has quite a bit of influence here, too. In fact, they have the most farmland, so the variety of foods grown there is crazy. You want kibble, Dionysus is fine. They even have the best drinks in the system. But if you want vegetables and grains and meats, Aphrodite has you covered.”

As they moved deeper into the interior of the shipyard, the industrial grime of the outer decks gave way to something cleaner but no less utilitarian. The walls were bare, and lined with exposed conduits and paneling, the floors reinforced for heavy foot traffic. The smell of oil and scorched metal faded, replaced by the sterile scent of recycled air and something distinctly plasticky—probably whatever chemicals they used to scrub down the ventilation systems.

The plaza they entered was small, dimly lit, and barely more than a wide corridor lined with machines and a few bolted-down tables. It wasn’t a place to linger—just a functional space for shipyard workers to grab rations and keep moving.

Against one wall, a row of vending machines hummed, their touchscreens glowing faintly, offering freeze-dried meal packs, nutrient bars, and vacuum-sealed protein blocks. Most options were color-coded squares of processed sustenance, barely distinguishable from one another. The only liquids available were water packets, caffeine-infused gel shots, and electrolyte solutions, all stored in disposable pouches.

A few engineers and mechanics loitered nearby, tearing open packets and squeezing their contents into their mouths with all the enthusiasm of someone swallowing medicine rather than food. A lone worker leaned against a wall, stirring something thick and gray from a self-heating container, his expression muted with exhaustion.

Chaunce walked past the vending machines and performed a dramatic bow. “Welcome to gourmet dining,” he said, and tapped one of the screens. “I hear the ‘Meat Protein Option’ is pretty good if you don’t think about which animal it comes from.” Then he leaned towards Thaeron and whispered, “It might even be Caelari,” and poked his chest with his thumb.

Rhove didn’t even stop walking. “We’re not eating here.”

Thaeron glanced at the screens and frowned. “Is this really all they have?”

“Welcome to shipyard living,” Chaunce quipped. “Tranth’s people don’t stay up here longer than they have to. This place is just for work. When they want a real meal, they take the elevator down to Mach’s Rest.”

Rhove motioned toward a reinforced hatchway on the far end of the corridor, where a set of heavy sliding doors marked the entrance to the elevator terminal. “Let’s go eat.”

~ ~ ~

The steady hum of the Anchorline climber filled the cabin, a rhythmic pulse of electromagnetic rails guiding them toward the surface. The artificial gravity held firm, but the gentle shifts in inertia were still noticeable—an occasional tilt, the faintest sway as the elevator car adjusted along the massive tether.

Outside the reinforced windows, the frozen world of Ersa loomed larger by the minute. Nira could now make out cracks in the methane ice, vast windswept ridges, and the faint glow of distant mining rigs scattered across the landscape like fireflies against the stark, glacial backdrop.

She shifted in her seat, arms crossed, eyes flicking from the window to Thaeron. “Is this bothering you at all?” She whispered.

Thaeron glanced up from where he sat, one boot resting on his knee, his demeanor casually detached, but Nira could see the calculation in his eyes. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.”

“That’s comforting,” she muttered.

Thaeron exhaled and leaned forward. “Look, I get it. We’re trusting our lives—our future—to criminals. Smugglers, at best. We don’t know them. We’re taking them at their word. Yeah, it’s a gamble.”

Nira’s brow furrowed and she clicked her beak. “Then why aren’t you more worried?”

He gave a resigned smile, his emerald eyes reflecting the dim light of the cabin. “Because I don’t see what choice we have.”

Nira scoffed. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

“Nothing about this situation is,” Thaeron admitted. “But let’s look at what we’re up against. Rhove and Chaunce rescued us, when they could have just let us die and kept our ship. They are helping us get it fixed. They are setting up a meeting with a public figure to try to gain access to the jump gate. They seem to know what they’re doing.” He gestured toward the descending horizon outside. “And whatever else they are, they’ve survived here. Which means they’re useful.”

Nira picked at the feathers on her arm. “That’s the part that worries me.”

Thaeron raised an eyebrow.

She shifted, lowering her voice. “They said they could get us a meeting with Myris—someone important enough to get us access to the jump gate. But how? What kind of people have that kind of leverage and still operate out of a smuggler’s ship? We’re relying on them, but what exactly are we walking into?”

Thaeron was silent for a moment, considering. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he shook his head. “I don’t know. And that’s why I’m worried.”

Nira blinked. “What?”

Thaeron smirked. “I am concerned. But panicking about it now won’t change anything. If Myris is the power broker they say she is, that means she has connections—real ones, not just the back-alley kind. Rhove and Chaunce clearly know how things work here. Maybe they’re criminals, but they wouldn’t be alive if they weren’t competent. And if they are playing us, well…” He shrugged. “We’ll just have to deal with it when it happens.”

Nira frowned, studying him. “You’re a little too calm about all this.”

Thaeron leaned back against the seat. “If I let myself freak out over every dangerous situation, I’d never get anything done.”

Nira sighed and ran a hand under her hood through the feathers on her head, then pulled the hood a little tighter. She glanced back out at the oncoming surface. “And what about the bigger issue? Us. If people figure out we’re not from here? If they realize we’re not Caelaris?”

Thaeron’s expression darkened slightly, his casual demeanor flickering. “Then things get more complicated.”

“That’s an understatement.” Nira looked at him seriously. “What does that mean here, Thaeron? What is this place going to do to people like us? You think we’ll be safe?”

Thaeron exhaled slowly, watching the frost-covered mountains rising to meet them. Thaeron glanced at her; his gaze steady but unreadable. “No. But I think I trust Rhove, so I don’t think it’ll come to that.” It was the only answer he had.

The elevator shuddered slightly as the breaking mechanism kicked in slowing their descent, the station’s landing platform now fully visible below—a sprawling industrial complex tucked against the mountain’s edge.

Thaeron stretched his arms. “Whatever happens, we keep our heads down, follow Rhove’s lead, and stay useful. That’s how we get through this.”

Nira didn’t argue, but the knot in her stomach remained. “I wish Rockwell was here.” She said and crossed her arms.

Thaeron started. “I forgot about Rockwell!”

~ ~ ~

Five hundred kilometers above, the power converter finally synced up with the strange ship’s configuration and the Aethon’s bridge consoles lit up. Tranth sighed with relief. It had taken him longer than he expected to get this bizarre ship to talk to his generator and he had almost given up.

“It’s about damn time,” he huffed. “I thought I was going to have to rip out the entire wiring harness and start fresh.”

“I am glad you did not,” Rockwell said as he rose to his feet. “That would have made the repairs much more difficult.”

Tranth spun around and came face to face with Rockwell. His jaw dropped.

“Hello there,” said Rockwell with a slight bow. “Welcome to the Aethon. My number is RKW-311. You may call me Rockwell.”

~ ~ ~

Mach’s Rest (page 391)

Mach’s Rest was a large structure nestled in the cradle of the foothills of a jagged mountain. It was constructed primarily of a web-work of steel girders and thick sheets of plasti-glass and solid metal sheets. It was a dome building, about a kilometer in diameter, and half a dozen tendrils extended from it that ended in doorways to the open surface. Scattered near these tendrils sat a dozen ships of various designs. Atop the dull metallic and gray dome was a tall, bright red, illuminated sign that spelled out two words in the language of Man: Mach’s Rest.

Nira looked at Rhove. “This huge building is a restaurant?”

“Just the part we’re going to. There’s a lot of entertainment hubs here, and a lot of this place is industrial,” Rhove explained. “This place was built in the days when corporations were still trying to tame this part of the star system. They mined the most valuable ores and abandoned the lesser resources to whoever decided to take up shop in their absence.” He pointed off in the distance. Despite being daytime, the horizon appeared as dusk in the far-away sun, and in the distance, scores of lights peppered the landscape. He pointed to various groupings. “Methane. Helium. Nitrogen. Water. Ammonia. Peroxides.

“Mach’s Rest is a hangout, but they still support the miners. At least half of this place is dedicated to refineries. Electrolysis and thermal decomposition give this place the oxygen we need, among other things.”

“Come here for the air, stay for the food,” Chaunce offered, rubbing his paws together.

“Since the corpos abandoned it, it’s become a free port—no official laws, just the rules made by and adhered to with a handshake. It’s actually a lot safer than it sounds.”

The elevator dropped them off in the center of the dome. The lobby had a few large corridors that led off in different directions, but it was obvious which one lead to the restaurant – the open corridor with the flashing arrow and the neon words “FOOD” removed any doubwt, especially when compared to the locked and gated “Authorized Entry Only” portcullis that led into darkness. Nira had no inclination to use the unwelcoming corridors. Her growling stomach propelled her forward.

Mach’s Rest was a labyrinth of tables that formed perimeters around cooking stalls. The cooking stalls were a buzz of activity. Each had three or four chefs scurrying between containers of food and flaming stoves. Knives slashed expertly at meats and greens. Sauces sloshed, poured, and boiled over in deep pots. Spices and garnishments formed an almost fog-like cloud around them as they prepared meals for the patrons sitting at the tables. Each one was an island unto itself.

Rhove and Chaunce led the way, while Thaeron and Nira followed on their heels, their hooded robes still concealing their faces. They took seats at a corner table, out of the way of the other patrons as much as possible.

“Rhove and Chaunce,” the proprietor grinned a toothy grin as he wiped his paws on his apron. “It’s been a few quiet moments since you’ve been here last. I suspect that solace is over?”

“Hi, Lamm,” Rhove smiled back. “No, this time we’re going to keep the chaos to a minimum.”

Lamm glanced at Rhove’s hooded companions and then back at Rhove. “Then a quiet meal for you and your companions we shall have.” He turned his back, and the spice cloud commenced.

In a few minutes, plates and bowls filled with food were placed before them. They were small bowls, no bigger than their palms.