• Stay calm and don’t explode

Jason fidgeted with his tie, straightening his suit. Out the window of the car the bright lights had all blurred together, making out anything other than lights and not lights was impossible. At least until the car slowed down as it approached its destination, allowing Jason’s eyes to focus and pick out individual details again. With a low hum the car pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road, just across the street from an abandoned warehouse and landing pad. Jason took a moment to breathe; he couldn’t afford to show any anxiety, or reveal even a little of his desperation. With that the door opened, and he stepped out into the rain. Just as the first parts of Jason’s head peaked out from the car, an umbrella was opened over him. It was Ivan, the one man Jason could truly trust, the only man in this business whose loyalty lies outside of who pays him the most. “Ready sir?” The familiar gravel of Ivan’s voice helped to steady Jason.

“Of course Ivan, let’s get to work.” Mildly surprised at how calm he managed to sound, Jason afforded himself a stretch, hands interlocked above his head cracking every finger. Taking the lead Jason set off on a slow march towards the landing pad, his large rodent-like companion just a step behind. The ramp to the pad was slick with a thick grease like rain. Jason huffed briefly in annoyance that he had been brought so low to be forced to meet some barely known mercs on their terms, inside their ship, on some podunk landing pad at the very edge of the city. Jason had to take a moment to suppress the growing frustration, nearly perfectly maintaining the facade, stopping just short of the ship’s ramp.

“The Legacy.” A brief chuckle slipped from Ivan. “Legacies are meant to be remembered, known; no one will remember these welps.” It was easy to tell Ivan was none too pleased with the present circumstance either— though Jason could little resist cracking a smile at the insult; the thought of once again owning this planet was easy to get lost in.

“Do remember to show respect, Ivan.”

“Yes sir, I will remember to act with decorum for this meeting.”

“Alright.” A heavy breath escaped Jason’s lips before he continued, “Let’s let them know we are here.”

“It will be done.” Ivan gave a curt nod with his response. Moving up the ramp Jason made sure to stay just in step, to leave Ivan but two feet ahead. Just as Ivan’s hand nearly touched the keypad, the airlock opened without input.

“Hm.”

“It seems they already know, sir.”

“Yes, well, let’s move quickly then.”

Jason was going to have to work harder than he thought to maintain the advantage here. Stepping quickly into the airlock Ivan closed up and stowed the umbrella. The airlock quickly cycled, barely at all. Though it took just long enough that it was noticeable, It should be near instant while landed planetside. Meaning something about the air inside the ship was different then outside and the crew had put out the effort to maintain that difference. What are they planning? A question Jason quickly decided not to voice, unsure if he was being watched or not. The inner door slid open, and the pair were instantly introduced to a woman slightly above average height, standing with her hands placed on her hips, and all her weight to one side, leaving half her pelvis jutting out. The stance accentuated the poorly hidden leather straps on her inner thigh, just covered by her admittedly expensive looking coat, a very deep blue matched with golden embroidery. It was clear she was armed; the structure of her firearm even left an outline in the coat over her left thigh, a pathetic excuse of an attempt to hide the handgun.

“Why hello, Mr Edevard correct?” The woman carried a heavy Martian accent; her speech felt slow as the pronunciation is drawn out making each syllable clear, despite the soft roll behind each consonant. It was an almost regal accent, as if someone took a Romance language, slowed it down and twisted it into the common tongue. With no delay she leaned forward, extending her hand for a shake while ensuring the entirety of Jason’s body stays within the airlock.

“Correct, you would be the one in charge of this crew? One Captain Isobel, yes?” Jason quickly figured out who she was; while information on the crew of the Legacy is sparse, the species of every member is easy to find out, and she was the only human aboard. As Jason took her hand into a shake he noticed her long black curls had slipped from behind her ears, draping themselves over the womens face. Her emerald green eyes caught the light just perfectly to be seen through the hair. It annoyed Jason to no end that he could not dig up a last name for the captain, forcing him to break tradition. He hated being so familiar.

“That would be I, yes. Would you like a drink?” 

“I thank you for the offer, but no.”

“Straight to business then.”

“Indeed.”

Captain Isobel smiled; with a small flair she spun around and began to walk towards what Jason presumed to be the room they would do business in. He once again has to suppress his frustration; the dear Captain has just enough formality to her words that it is impossible to admonish her for them, yet just enough familiarity to infuriate. The way she speaks, it was mildly condescending. Jason hated this; if he had any other options he would subtly insult her lack of decorum and leave. Sadly his options had been whittled down to either the Legacy or ‘retirement’.

Captain Isobel led the two men to what she called the bridge. It did not pass as one, the pathways so cluttered Ivan had to step single file behind Jason instead of at his side. To his left Jason noted the cockpit; a large glass canopy gave any in the pilot’s seat a view of every direction other than behind, and screens with a set of controls Jason could not recognise surrounded an empty space where the seat would clearly normally be; rails could be seen under the seat as it instead sits on the edge of the glass facing inwards. 

“Would you like to take a seat Mr Edevard?” The captain gestured to a seat on Jason’s right, pulled up to a large table able to seat 4 on either side. Its top was an electric blue, clearly a screen or projector of some kind.

“Thank you Captain.” Jason had to grit his teeth at the insult of such a dirty space being used to hold contract negotiations. He took a seat at the far left of the table, as close to the head as he could get. Ivan sat down just next to him.

“I will return shortly with the rest of the crew, thank you for your patience.”

The captain moved through the rest of her so-called bridge, before disappearing through a doorway. Jason started to contemplate what he knew of the rest of the crew. The Legacy held 4 crew members, relatively small for mercs though still a usable amount; if they lived up to their record at least, however small it may be. Having already met the Captain that left 3 more, Jason felt it safe to presume the man known as Sarthoreal would be the Legacy’s pilot. He was a Herald, an avian species who are smaller than humans, known for great eyesight and fast reflexes. Jason had never met a Herald before but he had seen images of the odd 8 limbed creatures, and read a small amount.

“That captain’s an odd one, skeh?” Ivan interrupted Jason’s musings. It was easy to recognise when Ivan said something in his home language. A sudden up pitching, followed by a hard stop. It was a noise Jason does not know perfectly but recognised as a sort of chuckle. Still, the statement was out of line. If Ivan couldn’t keep it together during this he would destroy everything. The man Jason trusted most could be his undoing. How it all fell apart before his eyes Jason did not know.

“Yes she is, now remember what I said Ivan.” There was some venom to Jason’s voice; he was more frustrated than he would like. “Until further notice do not speak until spoken to am I understood?” Jason had not taken such a harsh tone with Ivan in a long time; it pained him to do so, alas it must be done.

“Yes sir, won’t happen again sir.” Ivan snapped back into professionalism.

That was a waste of time, time Jason could have spent planning. Getting through this was gonna be difficult, still his confidence did not waver. Nadia, the 3rd member of the crew, her species was not known other than ‘non-human’, the only other information Jason had was that she is called ‘Biologis’ some fancy title for a biologist or doctor perhaps? Either way he just hoped she won’t cause issues, there is not near enough information to strategize around her. Lastly came someone called ‘Mentor’ the only other piece of information that had been listed about him was “Tech Expert”. Information on this crew was horrifyingly sparse, their record simply consisted of jobs completed and for who, nothing else. All Jason knew at this moment was that the crew had been paid for hundreds of jobs over 1.5 decades of constant work, and supposedly they had never dropped or failed a contract.

“Sorry about the wait Mr Edevard.” The Captain returned to the bridge with a small curtsy. “Now that my crew is assembled may we begin?” she continued as she sat directly across from Jason. Behind her only 2 figures followed.

“Where is your 4th?” Jason asked as politely as he could muster; he admonished himself, normally he was far more eloquent.

“I am sorry but Mentor is unavailable at the moment.” With the Captain’s response Jason felt some shock. That meant those present were Sarthoreal and Nadia. That made no sense; both were bi-pedal and over 5 feet in height, and heralds rarely broke 4.5.

“I see,” Jason answered as curtly as possible, trying to parse out who the other two people were. Before Jason could even think the question was answered for him.

“This here is Nadia, our Biologis and resident doctorate.” Caption Isobel gestured to the shortest one present. Standing at roughly 5 feet in height, Nadia was definitely far from human. Her clothes, or maybe armor, were this deep bluish gray, covering everything but her head, though the shoulders and neck extend particularly high before curving outwards into a strange lip, like flower petals almost. What Jason had resolved was armor, was textured with small polygons roughly hexagonal though not uniformly one shape, the entirety of it is this way, almost like the lattice work found in carbon fiber with an organic twist to it. The Biologis’s head looked like a plant almost, no not almost it is one. Like a tree trunk it was clearly made of bark with a singular eye placed in the center. Red tufts of leaves extended to either end of it like short antlers. This was not a species Jason has ever heard of. Without even a chance to process what he was seeing, the Captain spoke again.

“And this is our weapons specialist and general muscle, Sarthoreal.” She flicked her wrist towards the massive beast of a man at the far end of the table.

That was the Herald? No Herald had ever been seen to stand taller than 4 ‘6, and they generally moved on their 4 talons holding their arms against the chest. This one was monstrous in size, easily breaking the 7 foot mark, walking bi-pedally through the unusually tall room. Jason had just noticed the ceilings were oddly high. He found himself briefly speechless as Sarthoreal took a seat. Fully covered in armor the ‘weapon specialist’ wore a massively heavy powered suit. With perfectly smoothed curves the black panels were only broken up by dark ocean blue colored panel linings as well as a stripes marking where a human’s jaw and forehead would be on the helmet. Surprisingly not form fitting to the beak, the helmet was fully sealed, sweeping back it held 3 short prongs on the back almost featherlike; its long shallow curves wrapped all the way around, and the entire front end excluding the very edges was an opaque gray visor. It allowed vision forward, to the sides, 45 degrees upwards yet oddly none of the visor sections allow for sight downwards. With a bit of thought that made some sense— the armor had to be far too heavy for flight, thus no need to see downwards. Sarthoreal’s wings were covered with the same organic-like metal that covers the Biologis, looking almost like it’s grown out of the slots in the armor that connect the wings to the body.

“Well, shall we get to business Mr Edevard?” The captain’s voice suddenly dragged Jason back to reality; enough gawking there was work to be done.

“Yes of course.”

“Your associate over the phone implied this would be some sort of package retrieval, is this correct?”

“Yes captain that is correct.” Jason took a deep breath, again forcing his frustration away, he just needed to keep calm, and under no circumstances imply he was desperate.

“The crew I would usually use for this is” Jason took a short pause, how to word this delicately? “Unavailable at the moment.” Before he could continue Jason was so rudely interrupted by the Biologis.

“You mean dead, you mean dead don’t you? Why else would you come to people like us for your little errand?” Her voice was grating to Jason; it travelled through the air oddly, like if the wind rustled leaves in just the right way to mimic the lingua franca. Ivan was clearly uncomfortable; his ears had access to much more, and must’ve been hearing something Jason was not.

“Nadia.” The captain held a hand out towards her Biologis, her voice carrying a clear apologetic tone. “No need to be so disrespectful, please let Mr. Edevard continue.”

Her eyes made it clear she was ordering her subordinate to stop speaking.

“Thank you, Captain.” Jason nodded his head making sure to keep eye contact with the Biologis through it.

“I require a crew who can collect 2 tons of cargo from a freighter orbiting Ardivoy minor. The freighter has no crew aboard it, I will provide the access key so that you may enter unimpeded. Then bring said cargo back to this landing pad by 11 pm on the 4th” Jason took a deep breath— hoping he was able to keep his voice steady enough to hide how much he needs this, and how much of that statement was a lie.

“How much does this job pay?” The Captain asked the question Jason was hoping to avoid, though he admitted brave of her to ask so brashly, so quickly.

“It pays well I assure you.” Jason’s voice wavered just slightly, far more than he would have liked, now he was just to hope none of them noticed, or if they did the assumption was not that he is lying but something else.

“Hm, what’s the cargo marked? How would we identify it?” Luckily Jason was prepared for this question. Though his hopes that his slip went unnoticed are dashed as the Weapons Specialists head snaps from looking perfectly in between Jason and Ivan to directly at Jason. If he could see Sarthoreal’s eyes, Jason would suppose he was being stared at.

“The cargo is marked with my name, and the address to a warehouse downtown, I can provide the address if necessary, there are 4 crates in total, black with silver stripes.”

Before Jason could even breathe the Weapon specialist interjected.

A short clipped chirp was let out, somehow not muffled by the armor, though far lower pitched then Jason would have expected, it even mildly startled him. It was quickly followed with speech, also from Sarthoreal. A steady clear voice perfectly mid ranged.

“Caption Permission to speak?”

“Granted Sarthoreal, what is it?”

“Something is off, you claim the ship is unmanned, yet orbits this planet’s moon, you also claim that you will pay us well yet your conviction wavered while you spoke, you are clearly nervous, this is incongruous with the image your song seeks to project. This ship, it is unmanned because the crew was killed, yes? Your standard crew? This is because you compete with others in the same business, attempting to shove you out, yes? Repair the discrepancy, did you waver because you are lying or because you are desperate?”

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! Jason wanted to slam the table, everything he was suppressing surfaced instantly, how did they peg him so perfectly? So fast? If he didn’t get that shipment, get these worthless ASSHOLES to comply, Olu Arabella’s goons would have his head. How to get out of this? Ivan looked like he saw a ghost, he was perfectly pale, need to think fast. The glare given by Isobel was not helping Jason calm down, she knew this would happen.

“Well, you are correct, this is out of desperation. I am willing to pay well. You have a spotless record, name your price, get my cargo, get it here.” Jason could barely keep from yelling.

“200k.” Isobel immediately had a price in mind, Jason immediately felt panic. That would be all he has left. He needed to get that price lower.

“100.” Too low they will never agree, just have to hope they go back up with a middle ground.

“180” Fuck, only a 20k drop? That’s horrifyingly low, these people are hard negotiators, that’s still too high, Jason needed to get it lower, 150 is really the highest he could safely go.

“120, I can’t go any higher”

“That is incorrect” A new voice Jason did not recognise chimed in, it came from everywhere and nowhere at once. No one walked onto the bridge. Ivan immediately shot to his feet, scanning the whole room. Before he could get a word in the voice continued.

“Jason Edevard has exactly 201.45 thousand credits available to him. If he wishes for the Legacy to take on and complete his contract he will pay the crew 190 thousand credits for their services, or he will remove himself from the premises immediately. Knowing the situation you are in, and the enemies you have made Mr Edevard, I highly recommend you take the deal.” The voice carried a smug inflection, it knows its won, so does Jason

“Stand down Ivan”

“But Sir-”

“I said stand down!” Ivan retook his seat in a huff just as Jason rose.

“You drive a hard bargain Legacy, especially with the help of your 4th.” These assholes lied, whoever the hell Mentor is, he was here the whole time, and knows so much more than he should.

“You have a deal Mr Edevard, see you on the 4th!” Isobel shook Jason’s hand then gives a short curtsey just as he and Ivan begin to leave. No one shows him the door.

This went terribly, in the old days heads would roll for this. However, it’s today, instead Jason slams his head on the dashboard of the car, and spends 20 minutes hyperventilating.

—————

Just a quick Errand

“That went perfectly, eh Sarthy boy? You always did love catching people off guard,” Nadia was the first to speak after Edevard’s departure, her feet crossed on top of the table. Leaning back as far as she could without flipping the chair, she interlocked her hands behind her head.

“I do enjoy crushing equal opponents, however this was not one such occasion, this was simply pathetic.”

Sarthoreal’s dry voice carried through the entire bridge, less empty than during the negotiation. A hint of annoyance could be detected in his inflection and gaze.

“Awwwww, did Sarthy not get enough attention today?” Nadia started rocking her chair whilst carrying the widest of smiles her mouthless head could manage. Before Sarthoreal could respond, Isobel placed a hand on the table, shoving Nadia’s feet off with the other.

“Oi! On task, both of you.”

Sarthoreal’s eyes snapped to Isobel’s, moving his helmet off the table and thumping into the seat. Simultaneously Nadia leaned forward again.

“On task? We have 3 days to do a simple pickup.” Whilst arguing for laziness Nadia leaned all the way forward placing her elbows on the table. “Why not just kick back and relax for a few days, finally sleep for more than 3 hours and do the pickup later?”

“Considering your tendency to get distracted, no job we have undertaken has been simple, there are always complications.” Mentors’ voices came from all around the CIC.

“Exactly, we always take longer than expected, so we better get to work now. Besides Nadia you always advocate for waiting till the last second.” To an outside viewer it may seem like Isobel is scolding her, to the crew of the Legacy it’s more affectionate than anything.

“How far is the Freighter?” Despite speaking mostly to Mentor, Sarthoreal’s lower eyes remained locked staring into the emerald waves of Isobel’s.

“The Legacy can enter visual range of the freighter designated as ‘Terrace’ in 67 minutes, and enter docking range in only 72.” Whilst Mentor was speaking, the table’s holographic display lit up with Mentor’s signature, and possibly favorite, sea foam of a blue. Showing the projected path of the Terrace as well as trajectories, burn times, and intercept paths for the Legacy.

“See just a quickie, why yall worryin’?” Nadia leaned back in her chair again, moving one leg to a beat only she could hear.

“Something is off, why would the ship just be left floating there?”

“Ah shit, Sarthy’s onto somethin’. ships just driftin’ there”

“We won’t know till we’re there. Mentor, get us ready for takeoff and throw the route on the console,” Isobel pointed her thumb over her shoulder towards the pilot seat as she stood, “You two go get prepped, I’m feeling a trap.” 

With that, Sarthoreal nodded and left the room just as Nadia stood taking a different route out.

“15 minutes until the Legacy is good for flight, you’re seat is prepped, Captain”

“Thanks love, you know you can just say my name, right?” 

Thumping down into the tattered and worn leather of the pilot’s seat Isobel shifted her weight back and forth as the seat turned itself around, following the rails up to the console.

“I am aware, Captain. I will not, for that is your title and rank.”

“It’s not really mine, just cause I fly the ship doesn’t mean i’m your boss.” Isobel drew in a deep breath, the console and screens all about her lit up with various readouts and controls.

“We’re all equal here, no one is making you listen to me.”

“You all are a team, teams require leaders to look to for quick decisions and for guidance in stressful situations. You are this team’s leader, Captain of the Legacy.”

One of the screens sitting just to Isobel’s right was displaying a stylized smiley face with that same sea foam blue background. When speaking to Mentor Isobel tends to look directly at the face as if it is Mentor’s.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you are part of the team too? It’s not just Me, Nadia and Sarthoreal, it’s all of us, including you.”

“Captain, l-”

“Nope, no arguing. I am not the captain, there is no rank here. You are our teammate, equal and friend no less.”  A tiny bit of static came from the speakers in the console, almost like a sigh.

“Understood, Isobel.”

Isobel was able to notice a small nearly imperceptible change in Mentor’s tone, not just acquiescence but almost a bit of joy that he was wrong.

–^–

A small thud accompanied Sarthoreal closing his room’s door. It nearly always sounded as if it was slammed, since his room is kept with a lower pressure than most the rest of the ship. Placing his helmet onto one of the several workbenches crammed into the room, Sarthoreal slid into his undersized, over-cushioned chair. He let out a small chirp as he dropped much of the tension in his muscles. 

Even after years, he’s still not used to the air pressure in the Legacy. He briefly considered asking to have it lowered across the entire ship instead of just his and Nadia’s rooms, before quickly deciding against it. No point complaining, he has work to do anyway.

Sarthoreal began to shuck his armor, placing its pieces on the workbenches before removing the core and hanging it on its rack. The modular system allowed him to quickly modify the core to suit different conditions. He had spent the short time between the bridge and his room deciding how to configure his equipment. Unsure of what he would run into, Sarthoreal attached the heaviest panels to his suit.

After some time of silent work, the armor itself was ready. Set in the heaviest possible configuration, it could take several hits that individually would vaporize the others. The largest battery and air tank Sarthoreal had were set into the core, under several layers of paneling. Flight would be impossible, however, it could run the most power intensive equipment for nearly a day, and let Sarthoreal survive in the void of space for hours on end. 

Having removed Nadia’s custom fungal wing Armor, Sarthoreal had elected to keep his wings fully contained within the suit. To counter the Zero-G mobility loss, tiny thrusters are placed in points around the abdomen. They can’t move him quickly or far, but allow for some maneuvering.

Shifting to prepping his weapons and other equipment, Sarthoreal could not help but sing to himself. His preparation ritual is a meditative experience, nearly thoughtless he moves with precision, assembling components. The song was quiet and slow, a small melody to accompany his motion. This is one of the very few times Sarthoreal feels he can sing. He had not let any hear his true voice in many years. With the song came an ache in his heart, a longing gripping his chest. Sarthoreal did as he always does, continue moving as if it is not there.

Attaching his combat talons to the suit, Sarthoreal set out to choose what else he would carry.  The tech in the gauntlets would allow him to cut through just about anything, perfect for tight ship corridors. The shotgun was his next choice, a human built weapon, crude yet effective. Gifted to him by Isobel a few years ago, it is an inelegant tool of war. Despite this, Sarthoreal felt strangely attached to it, perhaps because of its dual internal magazine design, allowing for him to quickly swap between different ammo types, or perhaps because Isobel had built it decades before their first meeting, and entrusted its care to him. 

Worrying for how he could react to longer ranged issues while within the freighter, Sarthoreal grabbed his one and only handgun. Heralds did not usually use weapons of this configuration, preferring larger or armor mounted devices. This handgun in particular was a joint project between him, Isobel and Nadia. Modifying a human handgun provided by Isobel, the handle was built specially for Sarthoreal’s smaller hands. Herald sunbeam technology cannot usually be built this small, however Nadia’s fungi seems to work as a nearly perfect insulator, removing much of the danger from miniaturizing the power cell this small, as no sufficient cooling devices would fit. Isobel had named it the dagger during construction. Sarthoreal did not understand the reference he is sure she was making, but chose to keep the name. Holstered between his central and lower limbs, the dagger would satisfy.

Just over an hour of singing to himself while assembling his armor, Sarthoreal was ready. It was perfectly timed to Mentor’s announcement that the Terrace had just entered visual range. Time to get to work.

–^–

Nadia’s room had originally been an atrium of sorts, its ceiling a large glass dome. It was perfect for a radiotrope such as herself. Nadia stripped everything off in order to absorb as much starlight as possible. Mentor, or possibly Isobel had been kind enough to orient the ship so that her room faced this system’s star. 

All of her gear was already hung up and ready to go by the door, so Nadia just had 70 odd minutes to kill. The growth bed in the center of the room took up most of the space, holding a large amount of her Fungus. Well, large to everyone else, a minuscule amount to Nadia. Laying in the center of the bed, Nadia remembered when she would travel the great void in ships of Theratas, massive colonies of the fungus, the size of small cities. She almost missed the feel of them, of never being alone, of being a part of that machine. The communing ritual her people would undergo merges them with the colony, they would sense everything the Theratas sensed, feel all of it at once. To truly be of it, nearly entirely absorbed. That part of flight Nadia did not miss. She always feared the encroaching loss of self that came with the communing ritual.

She wants, no, wanted, to be a part of something large that valued her for being herself. Not just for adding her body, mind and soul to the collective, but that truly cared for her. The Colony could not provide this, it sought to erase all she is. Nadia began to drift off, simply letting herself be, staying small, herself. 

The Legacy gave her home without demanding she forfeit herself, without becoming a piece of it. Detached yet connected, Alone yet together, Nadia drifted to sleep among the Theratas under the stars.

End