Chapter 8

Levisia Station was a speck on the vidscreen, hardly discernible from the stars around it. Its diminutive size on the display did no justice to its true scale. Levisia was home to millions of spacers and, at any given time, a rest stop for a million more. It was a place to resupply, blow off steam, and engage in whatever flavour of debauchery one fancied. The scope of the station made it an ideal place to find whatever one needed or to disappear into its organized chaos.

“We’re getting a message,” Ozzy said as they approached the dock.

The mirthless face of Vaughan Spectre was broadcast on every vidscreen on the ship.

“Crew of the Sunrunner, if you are receiving this communication, then you have arrived at Levisia Station. Directions have been provided for a debrief with a trusted contractor aboard the station. They will assist you should you pursue the recovery of the item stolen from our facility in the Arebus system. Your service to Remington Corporation has been noted.

“Gross,” Odybrix said over comms.

“We didn’t have to take this job,” Adam said. “We—they just want to get back what was stolen from them.”

“I know you’re part of the corporate family, kid, but you have to understand that what they were doing in that facility wasn’t right.”

“We’re the same age and there are plenty of sciency things that can go wrong with research and development. That’s why there are contingencies-”

“Like deadly radiation-”

“Like decontamination protocols to keep the galaxy safe. If anything, trying to contain the situation demonstrates that they’re taking responsibility for what happened. Besides, it could have been that weird masked guy who caused the mutations.”

“I think there’s some truth to that,” Zenith said. “Anyone else find it weird how they knew both we and Vaelor would be here?”

“Once we restored communications at the facility, it likely automatically scanned nearby vessels and transmitted the information,” Adam said.

“Standard procedure?” Odybrix asked.

“Remington collects every byte of information they can get their hands on,” Sturdy said. “Information is leverage and they are always looking for leverage.”

“You sound like you know that from experience,” Zenith said. “Have they got any leverage on you?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s restock the ship before we go see this contact. Where are we meeting them, Ozzy?”

“A club called the Perihelion. You’re meeting with a dwarf named Tibor.”

“Ooh, I’ve never been to a club before,” Buddy said excitedly.

“Maybe ZT will show you how to dance. She might even take off her helmet,” Odybrix said.

“You wish.”

As the conversation continued, Ozzy pinged Adam on his private channel, “Private message for you, Adam. Sending it to your room.”

“For me?”

Adam went to the cabin he shared with Odybrix and closed the door. The halfling rarely entered the room unless she needed a change of clothing. She even slept in the cargo bay or workshop most nights. While Adam would have liked more company most days, he appreciated the privacy at the moment.

He sat at his workdesk and opened the message. Sure enough, his mother appeared on the screen. Her youth and polished appearance did nothing to curb the severity of her expression. Her default look—which rarely ever changed—conveyed the gravity of her station: always professional and serious. Yet, with a minor shift of her lips and eyebrows, she became profoundly terrifying. To Adam anyway.

“Adam, it has come to my attention that you will soon enter Levisia Station. You are to remain there until a Remington vessel can retrieve you. We will have a discussion about your departure from Research and Development when we next meet.”

The message ended and Adam found himself gripping the arm rests of his chair to the point of tearing the fabric. To most people, his mother’s message would have seemed innocuous, if a little clipped. To him, it felt like she was prepared to have him stripped of rank and sent to clean toilets for the next ten years. He knew “departure” meant “betrayal” and that there would be a reckoning when they saw each other again.

Doesn’t she know I’m doing this for her? I’m doing it because she can’t. He needs to answer for what he did.

The ship jolted and Ozzy spoke over comms, “Docking successful. Go blow off some steam, guys.”

The market ring of the station roared with the movement and conversation of thousands. Shops lined the ring, offering just about anything a spacefarer could ask for. Security dotted the crowd, keeping the peace, sometimes on foot, other times piloting mechs. The crush of humanity could be intimating or overwhelming for those inexperienced with station life. Fortunately, BOB suffered none of the anxieties brought on by possessing faulty endocrine and nervous systems.

“You did not have to join me, I am quite capable of taking care of myself!” BOB said.

“Oh, I know you are,” Buddy said smiling. “I just thought you could use the company.”

“Then your company is most appreciated!”

“Where are we going anyway?”

“I am searching for an upgrade to my chassis! After our last excursion, I am concerned that I cannot sufficiently protect my motherboard and coffee dispensary! Even if the latter is just an ‘uninspired vessel for caffeine.’” BOB said, their tone deviating from chipper to resentful.

“I don’t think Hoxley meant to hurt your feelings. People feel differently about the same things, like how Adam won’t drink any alcohol and Odybrix will drink all of the alcohol.”

“Alcoholic halflings aside, I do not have feelings, so they cannot be hurt! My superior design overcomes the restraints of emotion!”

“Everybody has feelings, BOB.”

“You are incorrect! What I require is physical protection! Like that!” BOB deployed their coffee spigot and pointed it at an approaching mech. “That construct looks like it could withstand substantial gunfire! I should inquire about where they are made! Perhaps similar armor can be applied to my chassis! The labelling on the mech indicates that the model is GEM; I am not familiar with it!”

“Gladiator Enforcement Mech,” Buddy said reflexively. “Titanium reinforced.”

“You are familiar with this unit?”

“Nope.”

“Then how do you know its acronym?”

“No idea. What’s an acronym?”

“An abbreviation formed from the first letters of other words, like my name!”

“Wait, wait, BOB isn’t your name?”

“It is an abbreviation of the name my coworkers at the call centre gave me! It stands for ‘Bucket of Bolts!’”

“Oh. That sounds kind of mean.”

“It is what is referred to as ‘collegial teasing,’ a normal activity between colleagues who value each other!”

“I don’t know if that’s the case here.”

BOB’s attention was pulled away as they approached an open storefront. A flickering glow was cast into the corridor by the electricity of an arc welder. The workshop was a chaotic assembly of drone parts, sheets of metal, and coffee cups. A promising sight.

“Excuse me!” BOB said, clunking up to a grease-covered dwarf.

“Here to pick something up for your master?” The dwarf asked, lifting up her helmet. “What’s your order number?”

“I do not have a master! I am here to purchase an upgrade to my chassis! A two centimetre titanium reinforcement will suffice!”

The dwarf paused, then looked to Buddy and said, “Do you own this one?”

“Nobody owns BOB. Can you help them with the upgrade?”

“Uh, sure, if you have the credits. Should be ready in two days.”

“I require the upgrade immediately! We may encounter another gunfight within the next forty-eight hours!”

The dwarf, looking progressively more confused, again addressed Buddy, “You bring your coffee-bot to a lot of gunfights?”

“I’m not the one buying the upgrade,” Buddy said, suddenly sounding irritated. “BOB is.”

“Ookay then. There’ll be a rush fee for the upgrade ... BOB.”

A few hours later, BOB emerged several hundred pounds heavier and a thousand credits poorer. The upgrade satisfied BOB’s need for protection, but something was missing. BOB found themself accessing the memory of the stupid infernum’s comment. An uninspired vessel for caffeine. The sentence replayed as BOB and Buddy made their way to the bar the crew was to meet at.

Something caught BOB’s visual sensor and they abruptly stopped in front of a shop. Within the window was a long, aquamarine dress with shining sequines. BOB stared at the clothing intently. An uninspired vessel.

Members of the crew had been instilled with a healthy sense of paranoia from either life experience or job training, with the notable exceptions of Buddy, BOB, and Jim. Zenith’s particular brand of paranoia stemmed from a racing accident involving her mother. Having a space-racing mom had been, in young Zenith’s words, “fucking rad.” She got to travel to racing circuits throughout the galaxy, see the latest toys everyone was flying, and brag about it all to her friends. That was until the Starshatter race.

The event took place in the Flametongue system, aptly named for the only roast-your-ass-off, semi-habitable planet therein. The rest of the space surrounding the system’s star was littered with asteroids, which made up the race course. Not just the run-of-the-mill space rocks though, these were rigged with explosives so that even clipping one could result in a deadly explosion. It was a gratuitously ruthless track with an even more gratuitous purse for the winner.

Her mother was considered to be one of the best pilots in the galaxy and could handle asteroid fields with ease; this track was no exception. When the starting cannon fired, she weaved through the course like a rocket-powered needle through polyester. The trouble came when another racer tried to overtake her and nicked a rock in the process. The ensuing explosion obliterated the pilot and rocked her mom’s ship, tearing strips off its hull.

Race ships are built for speed, so things like shield generators or reinforced framing tend to be labelled as “excess weight.” It was her mother’s luck that the damage didn’t reach the engine. The luck did not extend to the ruptured chem lines that vented into the cockpit. She blasted through the course and took first place while her throat and lungs were seared by deadly fumes.

To Zenith, her mother was an untouchable incarnation of speed. Lots of children saw their parents as god-like until age and understanding corrected that view, but Sona Tachnova had maintained the illusion up until that day. Now, every rasping conversation they had was a reminder of the trauma of that day and of how mortal her mother was.

So it was with some hesitation that Zenith removed her helmet, a top-of-the-line design with built-in air supply and filtration, and merged into the crowd. The collective paranoia of the crew demanded more be known about their new companion, so she and Hoxley were sent to tail Sturdy after he mentioned that he would meet them at the Perihelion. Maybe he just needed to do some shopping; maybe there was something more. Either way, they wanted to keep an eye on him, preferably without his eyes on them. What better way to be invisible than by becoming an elf he had never seen before?

The vibrant din and crush of spacers worked well towards concealing her approach. Hoxley kept further back, not one to be in the thick of, well, anything really. His willingness to put himself in danger lately made Zenith reassess her current opinion of him. Specifically, that he was useless outside a kitchen.

The first sign that Sturdy was hiding something was how dedicated he was to not walking in a straight line. He would cut and weave, seemingly to approach a shop, then quickly turn to join a crowd going in another direction. She had lost sight of him twice, but Hoxley’s vidfeed allowed her to pick up the tail again.

When Sturdy slipped into an alley, she spared a glance towards her infernum crewmate, only to find he wasn’t there. His vidfeed was pointed where their mark had gone, but Hoxley was nowhere to be seen. Where the hell are you, Hox? She dismissed the thought and took up a position at the mouth of the alley, deploying a spycam from her wrist and affixing it to a wall.

Sturdy had stopped in front of a metal plate on a wall. He produced a small pry bar from his belt and popped the panel off, revealing a tangle of wires that would increase the blood pressure of any electrician and something else that she couldn’t make out at this angle. He reached inside, parting the wires like a veil and withdrew a hand terminal.

“This is Sturdy, L-code sigma-five-three-en-one. Confirm contact.”

It took Zenith a moment to realize that he was speaking in elven. It wasn’t unusual for a human to learn the language, but this human was setting off some alarm bells. Twenty seconds passed before a response came. Zenith had to turn up the mic sensitivity of the spycam to make out the words.

“Agent, this is Juniper Arwen. What is the status of the acquisition?”