It's better to be a dog in times of tranquillity than a human during interesting times.
But you and I cannot choose our time.
It is thrust upon us. We can only choose to rise to the occasion or drown in the chaos.
These are our times.
LOCATION: DROP-DRONE DD-LX731 // ENROUTE
TIME: 13:17 SET
The soft pulsing from the Drop-Drone's vacuum thrusters whispered in the silence of the vacuum as my small craft approached the UIC Tabitha.
I'd been listening to that whisper for the better part of a week now. Seven days. Seven days with nothing but mission briefs, stale ration packs, and the hum of the thrusters for company.
The large cruiser was all but invisible against the darkness of space. I was barely able to make out the silhouette of the massive hulk of damaged steel, covered in orbital repair scaffolding. She was out there. I knew she was, but the Tabitha hid in the black like a wounded animal, hoping not to be seen.
As my shuttle closed in, the extent of the damage became apparent.
It was worse than I imagined.
Autonomous repair bots were swarming over the surface of the cruiser. Sheet by metal sheet, they were covering up the tired ship's insides, like coroners stitching a cadaver back together. Their welding flares sparked and flickered all across the hull, and for a moment, just a moment, the thousands of tiny lights looked almost beautiful. Like fireflies dancing together to some silent rhythm only they could hear. Then the illusion broke, and I saw what they were really doing. Patching wounds. Covering scars. Hiding death beneath fresh metal skin.
I could see extensive damage to the ship's broadside. Large pieces of outer armour and hull had been ripped apart. Sections of rooms and floors, held together only by the bulkheads, were exposed to the vacuum of space. I could see straight into corridors, into crew quarters– the intimacy of it felt obscene, as if I were peering into an exposed body on an operating table.
The floating repair bots were busy going from section to section, clearing the debris.
I briefly glanced away when I noticed two repair bots tugging at a mangled corpse impaled on an exposed structural beam.
I don't know why that one image hit me harder than the rest. I'd seen the damage reports. I'd studied the casualty estimates. But seeing a body pinned to the skeleton of the ship like that– twisted at an angle that no living thing could achieve– made the numbers stop being numbers.
Farther along the hull, the forward section told its own story. Several layers of dynamic armour had been violently torn away, exposing the internal structure beneath. Bots were stripping what remained of the compromised plating, peeling wires and chunks of reinforced sheet metal away from the surface to be replaced later. The whole front of the ship looked flayed.
I pressed my hand against the viewport's cold glass and continued studying the visible damage.
The more I saw, the heavier my heart became.
So much had been lost. Humankind had paid a heavy price. Fighting to be accepted into the Interstellar Concordat. Getting this ship through the gate. All the time, resources, and lives that went into it. All the sacrifices it took. All the sacrifices it continued to demand.
And yet, even now, even like this– there was something about the Tabitha that spoke to what humans were. Our stubbornness, maybe. Our refusal to stay down. Our yearning to be more than we are, to reach further than we should. It was what had surprised the other species most about us, or so I'd been told.
I wanted to hold onto that thought. I really did.
But it slipped away when another welding flare caught my eye, and all I could think about was the body on the beam.
I wondered–
A female voice on the comm channel from the Tabitha suddenly spoke up, startling me.
"Craft DD-LX731, avert course. You are on a collision trajectory with the UIC Tabitha."
I straightened. "Tabitha docking control, I'm aware. I'm scheduled to dock and–"
"I'm looking at the schedule right now, and we don't have any–"
A second voice cut in. Male. Calm but carrying weight and authority.
"I'll take it from here."
He sounded tired.
"Yes, Captain."
"Apologies, Mah'Abeu." Captain Malone's voice shifted– professional, but with an insincere-sounding warmth. "We were instructed not to create any records of your visit that could be verified afterwards."
It only took me a moment to realise what it meant. No records. Deniable. Whatever I was walking into, Lunar Command wanted the option to pretend it never happened.
"I understand," I said.
"Our automated docking systems are offline due to the ongoing repairs, but I'm sending a tug drone to bring your craft in safely."
"Thank you, Captain. I'm looking forward to–"
The communication channel was closed abruptly before I could finish my sentence.
I was plunged back into silence.
That was rude.
The Drop-Drone's thrusters whispered on, indifferent to the snub. I sat back in my seat, hand still resting on the cold glass, and waited.
I spent the rest of my approach waiting for the tug drone, studying the massive amount of visible damage on the cruiser, wondering what I had gotten myself into.
The Tabitha hung in the void– broken, bristling with bots, wrapped in scaffolding like bandages around a stubborn wound not wanting to close. And somewhere inside that wounded hull, people were waiting for me. People who didn't want me there.
I pulled my hand away from the glass.
My palm had left a faint smudge on the viewport. A small, warm ghost of contact on a very cold window.
I didn't wipe it away.
A short while later, the Drop-Drone was safely towed into the hangar.
The transition was jarring, from the infinite dark of space to the sudden flare of artificial light. My eyes took a moment to adjust as the doors hissed open, and I stepped outside into the brightly lit shuttle bay.
A group of people were waiting to greet me on the platform.
Greet was generous.
Amongst them was Captain Malone, who briskly stepped forward. He was unhappy and made no effort to mask his annoyance. I'd reviewed his file during the trip– decorated officer, career navy, the kind of man who'd earned every rank on his collar. The kind of man who wouldn't appreciate a Mah'Abeu being sent into his ship uninvited.
"Ne'ho tahib, Captain," I said, speaking Mush'qarak, a creole language spoken by all humans, a language that had replaced the common tongues like English, Mandarin and Arabic, born during humanity's early expansion into our solar system.
"Ne'ho tahib."
Two words. Clipped. His jaw barely moved as he spat out the words.
I scanned the room. Other than several heads nodding to acknowledge my presence, no one else said anything. No one was smiling.
It was being made clear that I wasn't welcome here.
"I am Mah'Abeu Ezra, here on behalf of Lunar Command to–"
"With all due respect, Mah'Abeu," the Captain said, and the 'with all due respect' landed the way it always does when someone means the opposite, "I know why you are here."
His expression shifted from anger to something heavier. "I'm sure you have noticed that the Tabitha is severely damaged, and with everything else that is going on," the edge returned, harder than before, "we don't have time for hand-holding."
"The future of–"
"Captain, if I can just–"
"–The future of humanity is potentially at stake."
He wasn't going to let me speak.
"Our peace agreement with the Cephilusk," his voice sounded cold and calculating, "and by proxy our Concordat membership, is hanging in the balance, so excuse our reluctance to–"
"Captain–"
"–excuse our reluctance to kowtow to the whims of ignorant bureaucrats and their–"
"–Enough!"
The word came out sharper than I intended. I saw his eyes widen. He was caught off guard by my decisive reprimand, but then the anger flooded back.
"I am here because you and your crew have made it necessary for me to be here," I said.
"Necessary?" The surprise flickered again beneath his scowl. "How so?"
I noticed some of the crew shift uncomfortably. They didn't approve of me speaking to their Captain like this, and I didn't like reprimanding their Captain in front of them. But Captain Malone had forced the issue into the open, and I couldn't afford to blink first.
"Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere more private?" I offered.
"There's no need for secrecy." A flash of pride crossed his face. "I trust my crew implicitly. You can speak freely in front of them."
I weighed it. There was a version of this where I insisted on privacy, established dominance, controlled the flow of information, and kept the confrontation contained. It would have been the cleaner play.
But Captain Malone had just told me, in front of his people, that he trusted them completely. If I overruled that now, I'd be telling his crew that I didn't trust them. I'd lose them before I'd even started.
"Very well," I said.
"I am here due to several reasons. One of them being that you, a Captain of a UIC Cruiser, representing the whole of humanity, threatened to fire your weapons at an allied ship belonging to the Cephilusk."
That got the crew's attention. I had to admire their efforts in acting uninterested, the studied blankness, the careful non-reactions. They were good. But not good enough.
Captain Malone's jaw tightened. "It was a unique situation where I had to make a judgment call. The Tabitha was in a vulnerable position, and I had good reason to believe that the Cephilusk ship in question was preparing an attack."
"I saw the transcripts." I kept my voice even. I wasn't harsh, and I definitely did not want to sound accusatory. My voice was just steady enough that he could hear the facts without feeling cornered. "They were busy sending aid. They even said so."
His expression wavered. It was the kind of flicker you see in a man who knows he's standing on thin ice but can't bring himself to turn back.
"It was a complicated situation," he said. His voice had gone quieter. "You had to be there to–"
"No, Captain. It's really simple. First, Khatsey. And then an allied ship aided you, and you threatened to fire on them. It's because of your reckless decisions that Lunar Command ordered me here."
The shuttle bay was very quiet.
"You might not like it," I said, "and I might not like it, but that doesn't change our reality. So I suggest we make the best of our situation. We're all on the same side here."
The Captain glared at me. His eyes were staring into mine, searching for weakness, maybe. Or sincerity.
He nodded. A short, defiant jerk of his chin. It wasn't an agreement, but it could pass as an acknowledgement.
I would not be one of his favourite people. But it didn't matter.
We would be able to work together. For now, at least.
A dark-skinned man with green eyes stepped forward from the welcoming committee. He was tall, impressively so, and built like someone who spent a lot of time maintaining his physical build.
"This is Lieutenant Khalil Abbadi," Malone said. "He is one of our security officers. He will escort you to your room so you can get settled in."
"Thank you, Captain."
Khalil nodded and hurried off toward the Drop-Drone at a brisk walking pace. I waited in awkward silence with the Captain and the rest of the welcoming committee while the Lieutenant collected my personal belongings.
He took longer than it should have taken to gather two crates and two bags.
I was just about to return to the Drop-Drone to check on him when he reappeared with my luggage and placed it on a maglev cart. Malone's expression shifted to something unreadable. Concern, maybe?
"Ah. Everything in order?"
"Yes, Captain." Khalil's voice was deep and unhurried.
The maglev cart was purring softly behind him from the weight of my baggage. He pulled the cart until he was standing next to me.
"Shall we?"
I nodded.
"This way, Mah'Abeu."
I nodded again and silently fell in step behind him as he led the way forward, away from the welcoming committee.
I didn't look back.
Lieutenant Khalil continued to lead the way toward the living quarters with the maglev cart between us.
We walked in silence.
Several technicians and repair crews scurried past us, eager to reach their destinations. They were polite, nodding in acknowledgement as we passed each other, but I could detect soft whispering and murmurs once they were behind us.
Khalil led me deeper into the cruiser, past several doors and corridors that were either barricaded or welded shut. Sealed off and abandoned due to the damage.
Whenever he thought I wasn't looking, he would glance at me over his shoulder.
"Is there something on your mind, Lieutenant?"
"No."
"Why don't I believe you?"
"It's–" He caught himself. "Nothing. We're almost there."
"Out with it, Lieutenant."
He walked a few more steps before answering. "It's just– I've never met a Mah'Abeu before."
"Oh?"
"I didn't expect you to be..." He trailed off, and I could see him struggling with the words. "So young."
I almost laughed. "You do know that Mah'Abeu's come in all ages, sizes, and genders?"
"Yes. Of course." He had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. "It's just that you aren't what I was expecting."
"No. I'm sure I'm not."
I studied Khalil as we continued our walk, once again in silence. He was a large, muscular man. It was clear from the way he carried himself that he took tremendous pride in his body. Every movement was deliberate and controlled. I couldn't help but wonder how many hours a day he had to spend exercising to maintain that kind of strength in this low-gravity environment. The discipline required was impressive. The results were... also impressive, if I was being honest with myself, but that particular train of thought could wait.
We made a sharp turn and almost collided with a young woman struggling to drag a body bag behind her.
"Lieutenant! I'm sorry, I didn't see–"
The young woman noticed me and glanced away.
"I'm sorry," she said again, though I wasn't sure what she was apologising for.
Khalil's expression changed to something softer. Something sad.
"Another one?"
"Yes, Lieutenant. One of the servicemen. I found him in the maintenance chute near engineering."
"Did he suffer?"
"I– I don't think so. Less so than some of the others we've found."
Others. I made a mental note of that.
"Do you need help getting him to the morgue?"
"No. I'll manage."
"Wait," Khalil said, and his voice warmed. "Take the maglev cart. You'll never make it to MedSec otherwise."
The young woman glanced at me, and then at my luggage on the cart.
"What about–"
Lieutenant Khalil bent forward and placed my luggage on the floor. "Here, let me help you lift him onto the cart."
The young woman glanced at me again, no doubt trying to see if I would object.
"Carry on," I said. I wasn't about to make her life more difficult.
Khalil looked over at me, then effortlessly lifted the bagged corpse, placing it gently on the maglev cart. He did so with respect, despite the corpse inside being dead and unable to form any opinions about respect and disrespect.
"Thank you, sir."
He placed a large, encouraging hand on her shoulder. "You hurry on now."
She thanked him again before continuing on her way with the cart lagging behind her.
I couldn't help but notice how relieved she was to get away from us. No, not us. Just me.
I looked over at Khalil. Those alert, emerald green eyes were already watching me.
"People don't seem to like me very much."
He studied my face for a long moment before lifting my luggage, both crates tucked beneath his arms, a duffel bag in each hand. I knew how heavy those crates were, even in lower gravity. I'd had to wrestle them onto the Drop-Drone before departure. He made them look like they weighed less than pillows.
He nodded.
"Yes." A pause, and then something almost kind crept into his voice. "It's nothing personal. People don't like change."
He shifted the weight of the crates, settled them, and continued walking.
"Do you need a hand with that? I can help you with one of the duffel bags?"
"No. I'm good, thank you."
It was impressive to watch him carry all my belongings. He wasn't even breaking a sweat.
As we continued, I glanced at the corridor wall. It was scorched black, seemingly from a fire that had originated in one of the conduit panels lining the floor. The damage was everywhere. You couldn't walk ten meters without a reminder.
"Tell me, Lieutenant, just how badly is the Tabitha damaged?"
He stopped walking and turned to me, studying my face again with those intense green eyes. He was searching for something, the same something he'd been searching for since we started walking. I just didn't know what it was yet.
"It's serious."
"MedSec is having capacity issues with all the injuries, and Engineering is struggling to provide enough power to keep the whole ship running." He listed the facts and statistics with a flat, factual tone. "A lot of crew members are still unaccounted for. Aeroponics has warned that we could lose the whole harvest from the current crop rotation, and our long-range communications are still on the fritz."
"That is serious."
"But–" Something shifted in his eyes. "You don't know the crew like I do. It's nothing that the right tools and enough time can't fix."
"Speaking of the crew, how are they handling it?"
He didn't answer me.
Instead, his eyes were yet again searching my face for something.
"You can trust me, Lieutenant."
Was that what he kept looking for? A sign that I was trustworthy?
"Can I?"
The question hung between us. It wasn't hostile. It wasn't even suspicious, exactly. It was genuine uncertainty. He wanted to trust me. I could sense that much. He just didn't know if he should.
"We're all on the same side, aren't we?"
"Yes," he said slowly. "That is what you have been saying."
I heard it. The quiet emphasis. The echo of my own words served back to me, and for the first time, I heard how hollow they must sound to someone who'd been pulling bodies out of maintenance chutes.
I sighed.
Why were these people so obtuse? Didn't they realise I was here to help?
Or maybe they realised it perfectly well, and that was exactly what frightened them.
We continued walking in silence until Khalil stopped and lowered my luggage to the floor, placing it neatly against the wall, next to a closed door.
"Your room."
"Oh. Thank you."
I walked over to the door and placed my hand on the palm lock. It took a second before the system recognised me and allowed the door to slide open.
"Do you mind helping me with my–"
He had walked away. He was already several doors down the corridor.
I looked down at the two crates and duffel bags, wishing I still had the maglev cart. I would have to push the crates through the door by myself.
The overhead lights flickered to life as I stepped inside, and the door hissed closed behind me.
I sniffed the stale air. I was finally alone with my thoughts. My thoughts and whatever was faintly smelling like forgotten laundry.
I guess this is home.
The room was small and utilitarian, devoid of any luxuries. A desk and a data interface against the wall closest to me. Not much storage room, but then again, I didn't bring many belongings with me.
I continued to look around. I felt like falling on the bed and going to sleep, but I needed a shower. I hadn't had the opportunity to shower since I left Lunar Command a week ago. While I probably wasn't stinking yet, I felt sticky and filthy from all the accumulated sweat and particles in the recycled air.
I peeked into the tiny bathroom. It was even more utilitarian than the bedroom. There was not an inch of wasted space.
I stripped off my clothes, letting them fall to the floor and kicking them into a corner before stepping into the small bathroom.
A digital interface controlled the shower's water temperature, and I uploaded my saved shower preferences from my datapad. A small luxury– carrying your comfort settings with you across ships and stations. One of the few things that stayed consistent in a life spent moving from assignment to assignment.
The warm water against my skin and sore muscles was heaven.
The human body was not designed to be cooped up in a tiny tin can for days on end. I could feel myself starting to relax as the warm water rushed down my neck and back. The tension I'd been carrying since the shuttle bay, since the viewport, since the comm channel cut out, began to dissolve. I knew I had to make the most of this moment.
Tomorrow was going to be tough. I wasn't looking forward to dealing with all the alku'ahf that was bound to happen. A captain who resented me, a crew that feared me, a ship held together by hope, and a diplomatic crisis that could have far-reaching consequences.
One soothing thought popped into my head. At least this shower would be here and waiting for me once the day was over.
I reached for the dispenser and squirted the silky liquid into my palm before massaging it into my curly hair. The lather felt good. Normal. A small, ordinary ritual in the middle of everything that was anything but ordinary.
A leftover quirk from spending my formative years at the academy made me acutely aware of how long I'd been showering. There were no water restrictions on the cruiser since everything was constantly being recycled, but at the academy, we had shared showers and strict schedules. Every minute spent in the warmth of the water was a minute one of my classmates was out in the cold.
It bothered me. Even after all this time, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease when indulging in the warmth of the water. It was silly, but old habits died hard.
The heat from the water was divine as it washed over my tired body. As much as I wanted the moment to last, I couldn't stay here forever. I had to finish up.
When I had finished showering, I wrapped the standard-issue towel around my body and stepped back into the room.
I still had to unpack. I was tired, but it wouldn't take long. And the sooner I had it done, the sooner I could get into bed.
I walked over to my belongings and started unpacking the crates, placing their contents in the various storage cabinets around the room. When I got to the duffel bags, I unzipped the first one and reached inside, looking for the parcel wrapped in cloth.
I found it hidden amongst my haphazardly packed clothing. Shirts tangled with socks, a formal jacket balled up against a pair of boots. I'd packed in a rush, and it showed. But the parcel was safe, nestled in the middle of the chaos.
"Got you."
I carefully unwrapped the parcel, revealing my prized possession.
It was a small carbon fibre knife, nearly undetectable when hidden on my person. The blade was dark, almost black, with an edge so fine it seemed to vanish when you turned it at certain angles. The grip was worn smooth from handling, though not my handling. Someone else's.
It had been a gift from someone close–
No. Someone who had been close to me.
I turned the knife over in my hand once, then closed my fingers around it. Now was not the time to pick at old wounds.
It needed a good hiding spot. But where?
I scanned the room until my eyes caught the bed. I've lived on a few cruisers like this, and I knew there was a small panel just below ankle height that I could unscrew. The panel covered a small cavity filled with obsolete fuses that I could safely remove to make room for the knife. It was perfect.
I crouched in front of the panel and used my smart tool to unscrew and remove it. The fuses were next. In less than two minutes, the knife was safely hidden, and I could finally sleep.
Sleep did not come easily. It never did after a busy day like this.
I tossed and turned, my mind taunting me.
One memory at a time.
The image of the crippled ship as I approached. All that scaffolding and all those tiny lights, stitching this corpse of a ship back together.
The same ship that would be my home for the foreseeable future.
The image of the Captain's face, filled with contempt and annoyance. His jaw barely moving when he spoke. The way he'd looked at me.
The image of the charred walls. Scorched conduits. Sealed doors hiding whatever was lurking behind them.
The body on the maglev cart, a whole life zipped up and fitting into a single bag.
The fear radiating from the young woman's face when she saw me.
Her fear becoming my fear.
My fear becoming dread.
Dread leading to the vast, empty void of space.
Empty space.
Empty...
Empty.