Chapter 138: Chapter 51: Parting Ways

Praxum loomed on the Stardancer’s main display, a lump of brownish rock in a sea of black. Around its curvature peeked a sliver of gray, sliding out from the moon’s shadow. The slash of color morphed into a hard form, a large central cylinder and swordlike arms jutting out from the main body.

“Good old Praxa Depot. Thought I might never see your dull industrial silhouette ever again,” Gaius said from his pilot’s chair.

“It’s efficient and sturdy. Not everything needs to be pretty,” Dash said. He eased into his captain’s chair and was pleased when his butt only responded with a dull ache. He sent a tight beam request to Fletcher, ready to pass on the news of their departure from the Atan system.

“Busier than usual,” Gaius said of the larger than usual backlog of ships waiting to dock.

“Praxa Prime lifted the lockdown. Must be a surge in intersystem traffic,” Dash said.

“I wonder if SecForce is still scouring the habitat for the package,” Wesley said from the systems station.

“I’m sure they are. But the Administrators couldn’t afford to keep the habitat locked down any longer,” Dash said, and noticed Gaius hold out his PD and grin at it.

“What did I tell you about posting pics of your ‘captain from hell?’” 

Gaius waved a dismissive hand at Dash. “You’re old news. My followers are on to my latest exploits, like my breaking into the top one thousand of rankings and my masterful fleecing of CigarChompinCorsair’s cargo fleet.” He saw Dash and Wesley’s quizzical look. “That’s Fletcher’s avatar. I really should send him a box of cigars for falling for my trap. The highlights were number thirteen on this cycle’s top plays list. The marketing exposure I got was invaluable. I almost doubled my follower count.”

“I’m thrilled we survived our run-in with pirates so your virtual life wasn’t destroyed. I mean what a tragedy that would’ve been,” Dash said.

“People love this stuff! They would seriously be devastated if I was gone,” Gaius said. “You’re reminding me that I need set up a beneficiary for my account.”

“Can I sell it for creds to someone else?” Dash said.

Gaius turned his nose up at Dash. “That’s presumptuous of you to assume it’s yourself, but selling an account is against the rules.”

“Better talk to Wesley, then.”

“I could be persuaded to do it, on certain conditions,” Wesley said.

“Once again, presumptuous, but out of curiosity what are these conditions?” Gaius asked.

“That I’m allowed to play to my own style. To start, I’d sell most of your combat fleet and invest heavily in commercial shipping in safe systems and philanthropist operations. This would yield small but consistent profits, but more importantly, it would increase the quality of life rating for the population centers in the sim galaxy. It’s a highly underutilized portion of the game, in my opinion.”

“Because it’s so boring!” Gaius said. “Forget it, you’re out of consideration too.”

“When you can spare a moment to step away from your virtual galactic domination campaign, I still need you to fix Tinker’s maintenance report notification module,” Dash said.

“I’ll add it to the list,” Gaius said. “I’m doing three jobs here. Seems like I should be getting three times the shares.”

“Is one of those jobs chief griper?” Dash said.

“I am not Henrik. Don’t even joke about that.”

Dash held up his hand as a comm request from Fletcher appeared on his chair display. “Here’s Fletcher. Guess he really wants to talk,” he said, and accepted the request on the main display. 

Shelia appeared. “Mr. Fletcher will be with you shortly.”

“Good old Fletcher, pulling a power move,” Dash said. It was short lived. Fletcher’s meaty face appeared, cigar in his mouth. He scowled at something out of frame of his desk cam. 

“Listen, I already told them there’s nothing I can do about it. I have no control over import and export regulations. If they want to talk, they can make an appointment.” Fletcher placed the cigar on his desk and vigorously rubbed his face. “These haulers drive me crazy sometimes.”

“We’re unforgettable like that,” Dash teased.

Fletcher dropped his hands, his forehead raising in surprise. “Baby, where have you been?” he said, an edge to his voice Dash had never heard before.

“I’ve been busy—”

Fletcher raised an arm, showcasing a lightweight cast on the forearm. “I know. Your recovery agent friends paid a visit to me. Busted my arm and knocked me out! When I came to, you were already gone, disappeared off the map.”

“I’m sorry, Fletcher,” Dash said. “It’s a long story, but it’s over with, I promise you. They won’t be coming back.”

Fletcher puffed on his cigar and waved a hand. “Ah, it’s okay, kid. Not my first time. Thought I was done with that business since I settled in here.”

“Looks like I owe you one again.”

“We might be even,” Fletcher said, a flash of guilt on his face. “I heard about the delivery job on Prime. I have no idea how that went bad. I’ve done almost twenty deliveries for that client! I’m sorry, baby. I’ll look into it, I promise.”

“It’s the nature of the business. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

“These recovery agents, were they after you because of this botched delivery?”

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“No.” Dash glanced toward Wesley. “Some ugly business from the past. But it’s settled now.”

Fletcher shook his head. “The universe has gone mad. Mad, I’m telling you!” He puffed on his cigar and held an open palm to the cam. “Let me make it up to you. It’s the least I can do.”

“Your time is limited.” At this, Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “We’re leaving Atan.”

Fletcher sat back in his chair. “Does it have to do with the agents?”

“No. Well, yes. Kind of,” Dash said. “It’s complicated.”

“I understand. I’ll be sad to see you go, kid.”

“I’ll be sure to swing through from time to time.”

“How about this. I’ll see if I can get some intersystem work for you. But in all honesty, leaving now is probably a wise move.”

Dash raised an eyebrow this time. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Did you bust your sensors while you were away? Why don’t you take a look around.”

Gaius expanded sensors on the main display. The traffic appeared to be normal—in-system freighters, private craft, a few SecForce cutters, and long-haulers. Then he noticed the odd pairing near Praxa Prime. 

“That’s the Human Coalition military,” Gaius said.

Dash pointed to an icon on the identification tag. “Flying the Commonwealth flag. An interdiction gunboat and an assault frigate. Standard fleet configuration for chasing down runners and conducting boarding operations. They’re out here looking for someone.”

“It’s not official yet, but I heard that pirates hit a passenger ship on Cova Straits,” Fletcher said. “Bloodthirsty leeches have become emboldened by all the Commonwealth drama. It’s a mess. Someone’s going to take the fall for Auturia soon. People want answers.”

“But what’s HuCo’s justification for sending a fleet here?” Gaius asked. “Praxa’s an independent system.”

“Something about a treaty violation,” Fletcher said. “It’s nonsense, I tell you. They expect the Praxa Administration to fully cooperate. But people are getting fed up and breaking the quarantine.” He peered away again, shooing someone from his desk. He faced the desk cam again. “Listen, baby, I’ve got another meeting. I’ll be in touch soon, I promise. Take care of yourself. And tell that sneaky pilot of yours I’m still gunning for him!” The comm closed, and the display reverted to the system view.

Dash looked to Gaius, then Wesley. The obvious question hung between them. Gaius spoke it first. “This can’t all be because of that delivery job, right?”

“No, definitely not,” Dash said, though his feelings weren’t so clear cut. Gaius nodded in acceptance of Dash’s outward definitiveness, but Wesley still appeared unsure.

“It’s not going to be as fun embarrassing Fletcher if I can’t rub it in his face in person,” Gaius said.

“We’ll swing through Atan, I promise,” Dash said.

On the sensors display, an icon of a personal yacht near Praxa Prime moved away from the habitat at a high velocity. A high-g burn out of the holding zone. 

“That’s unusual,” Wesley said.

“And also a very bad idea,” Dash said. The interdictor rocketed after the fleeing ship. Dash could only imagine the crew pressed into their seats, the Marines kitted up for a boarding action. The military ship broadcast a general warning not to interfere in the pursuit. It closed in on the absconding yacht.

“That ship isn’t stopping for anything,” Gaius said.

“They can’t outrun an interdictor. They’re screwed,” Dash said.

“Why bother then?” Wesley asked. Neither Dash nor Gaius had an answer.

Another icon appeared, outlined in red. “Interdictor is firing their railgun,” Gaius announced. The slugs ripped through the fleeing ship. Its engines went dead, and it began an uncontrolled spin.

“Have fun boarding that thing now,” Gaius said.

The interdictor closed in, preparing to board. Then came the flash of a reactor detonation. The private yacht blinked out of existence on the display. The interdictor tried to veer off but was too close. The reactor explosion crippled the vessel, leaving it adrift.

The crew watched in stunned silence. Wesley made the sign of the Lords.

Gaius said, “That’s not good.”

Dash stared blankly, not believing his eyes. He refreshed the display, his inner cynic telling him that didn’t just happen. The results came back the same.

He breathed deeply, opened his stash, and drank from his flask.

“What does this mean?” Wesley said. “What happens now?”

Dash drank again. “It means war is coming.”

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