The stars twinkled through the portholes like fireflies against the black. Angry, isolated fireflies. In a vacuum. In the god-forsaken cold.
Rick folded his arms across his chest, sucking in an unhappy hiss of air. “You’d think they could keep it a little warmer,” he muttered, scowling out into the void. “Big, fancy ship. Filled with people.” Ostensibly, the uniform jacket he wore was sufficient. That’s what they’d been told, anyway. It was the finest of plas-wool weave, they’d said. In the event of a catastrophe, you’ll be comfortable even on a frozen moon, they’d said.
He was pretty sure that was a goddamn lie. Maybe it was the fact he was sitting here on the fucking ship, shivering and shaking under the blow of the air handlers. If their uniforms couldn’t handle their teensy office tucked over the docking bay, little more than a five-meter-square box, then whoever had sold his superiors on the whole ‘frozen moon’ business was clearly paying them off.
The sight laid out before him was too good to pass up, even despite the chill. Portholes were a luxury on Solaran vessels. Something about being a thin transsteel barrier between them and absolutely nothing at all, when more than a few factions were more than happy to take potshots at any given moment. The higher-ups always made their excuses, but given how expensive these windows were, he was pretty sure the lack of a decent view through most of the ship came back to their wallets.
Rick snorted. Didn’t it always?
“Somethin’ funny?”
He jumped, spinning about reflexively as his mind raced to catch up to his body. “U-Uh-”
Clay. The bastard stood leaning against a bulkhead, his shipsuit hanging down to his waist and a grin on his leathery face. As Rick watched, he arched an eyebrow. “Well? You plannin’ on answerin’?”
“It’s nothing,” Rick said. “I’m just...looking at the convoy. It was nothing.”
“Really?” The word was long and drawn-out on Clay’s tongue, pointedly smug. “You out here laughin’ to yourself over nothin’? Medical might have some thoughts on that. Maybe we should head down there, let them strip you down and-”
“I’m on duty still, Clay,” Rick said, flushing. “What do you want?”
“Aww, c’mon,” Clay said, crossing to one of the benches lining the spartan office and dropping onto it with a groan. “We’re refueling. There’s no duty to be done. Relax.” His grin glinted in the dim, carefully-regulated light. “Take it from me, kid. Ain’t no officer gonna be coming to the ass-end of the ship right now. They’ve got other worries on their minds. Sit.”
Rick cast a sidelong glare at Clay, but let the whole ‘kid’ matter slide. Complaining would only set the older man off, he knew. Once you’d let slip that something bothered you, well, Clay would just grin like the cat that ate the canary and go at it twice as hard. Ignoring him was the only way out. He squeezed his arms more tightly about himself instead, shivering faintly. “I’m fine.”
“You idiotic ass, stop standin’ under the vent if you’re so cold,” he heard Clay say with a chortle. “Good god, did you go and freeze off your last remainin’ brain cell?”
Rick’s teeth clamped together. Clay was a good guy. He was. He’d been the senior pilot on the Rheasilvia from the moment Rick was assigned to her, and for all his teasing, taunting ways, he’d always looked out for Rick. The fact he was a good man didn’t make Rick want to kill him any less.
“Was there something you needed?” Rick said, glaring icily at him.
“Thought you might need some company. Gets quiet back here, with only the stars and the rest of the convoy hangin’ around. You can thank me later.”
Rick snorted - and at the corner of his vision, he saw Clay start to grin. Damn. Once he knew he’d won, the bastard wouldn’t stop. “Well, I’m good. Look, if anyone catches you back here bothering me while I’m supposed to be on watch, they’ll-”
“Put in a bad word about your transfer?”
Rick froze, his heart skipping a beat. Slowly, he looked back, half-turning away from the porthole. “Clay.”
The older man was still smiling, but there was a wistful note to the expression. “I heard the rumblings. I ain’t stupid.”
Their superiors weren’t supposed to let things like that slide. That didn’t mean the assholes would actually act like professionals. Rick eyed Clay, the words sticking in his throat. “Look...Clay, I-”
“I get it,” Clay said. He was smiling. Somehow, that was the worst part. “It’s not that big a ship. Not with my fat ass standin’ in the way of your promotions.”
“I just- I just thought, maybe if I moved to one of the newer ships, I could-”
“You could’ve at least told me, is all,” Clay mumbled. “Would’ve liked to hear it from you, not some drunk sod hangin’ round the common room.”
“I would’ve,” Rick said, sliding half a step closer to his friend. “Really. It’s not- I was just putting out some inquiries. Seeing what my options were. I don’t *want* to leave, but…” He shook his head, eyeing the docking bay beyond. The Rheasilvia was a solid ship, and not the lowest in the corporation’s fleet, but she was small. Only the bigger, grander ships got to service the Heartland Loop, and only people on the Loop had any sort of future in the corp. “I don’t really have a choice,” he said at last. “If I stay here, I’ll-”
“I told ‘em,” Clay said.
Rick stopped, cut off as sharply as if Clay had reached out and slapped him. “What?”
The older man lifted his head, fixing his beady black eyes right onto Rick’s. The corners of his lips curled up like rocky crags through his face. “Put in a good word with the District Head. Told ‘em some of what you’ve been up to. The knack you’ve got with the inner workings of the Mons class. Those new bitches ain’t easy, and it takes a steady hand to get them flyin’ again without rupturing the whole aether assembly.” His smile was every bit as broad and honest as before, but it twisted, turning wistful. “Have to say, I’ll miss havin’ you to handle those jobs. Gonna be a pain to train the next asshole to be half as good.”
“Clay,” Rick said, starting to smile himself even as his embarrassed flush spread. “Thanks, but I never-”
“I knew you wouldn’t be satisfied out here in the Dust,” Clay said. He leaned back, stretching his glare-tanned arms as far as they’d go in either direction. “You were just passin’ through, bound for bigger things. Glad you slowed down as long as you did.”
“I wish I could stay,” Rick said, starting to grin sheepishly. “Really. If I could, I’d-”
He saw it, first. It should have been impossible. Their sensors should have been running nonstop - and indeed, even as his eyes widened, he could hear the claxon of the alarms beginning to shriek around them.
But he saw it - the flicker of light, the misty shapes that were just starting to take shape around the edge of their convoy.
No one knew how they did it. The thought was just a whisper at the back of his consciousness, an oddly clinical sidebar to the surge of adrenaline and panic that washed through him in that frozen instant. No one knew how they just slipped into and out of reality, like they’d teleported instead of using the skip drives favored by the rest of the known universe.
They just appeared out of the black, like a mirage slowly taking form.
Them.
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