14 hours later, Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

It was early. Even with the cup of potent back coffee one of the yeomen had brought her, Amelia felt the morning hours on her body. She’d been up all night gathering the supplies they’d need to live on the Badger. Here, the crew managed to find or donate whatever she and Harrison needed. On the Badger, it wouldn’t be so easy, but the supply officer had dropped off a refugee kit with plain, size-adjustable clothes and other necessities. Refugees, she supposed that was what they were now.

Everything she owned had been left behind. She had no home, no funds. Hell, she’d probably lost her job by now, given how long she’d been gone. She had nothing, only her son, but that in itself was something to be grateful for.

“Morning,” Ron greeted, holding his daughter’s hand as he joined them on the hangar deck. “You ready?”

Amelia glanced to the two large duffel bags slung over Ron’s shoulders. They looked heavy, but he didn’t seem bothered. “Ready as I’m going to get, I suppose.” She’d never set foot on a cargo ship before. Likely, it would be different than her brief time on the Singularity and from her cruise liner experience. In a way, she knew she’d miss the Singularity. While the Admiral was beyond a point of frustration and the ship’s facilities were dated, most the crew had been friendly and she wasn’t blind to the fact that being family to the commanding officer had granted her certain privileges.

“It’ll be an adjustment,” Ron agreed. He’d lived on a few different spacecraft during his time in the fleet, but never one so small as the Badger. He’d visited similar ships for missions, but never stayed long.

A young man with caramel skin approached them where they stood on the edge of the hangar deck. “Ah, thought I might find you here,” he smiled. This was a calmer part of the deck. Since it wasn’t an active work zone, it was quieter and smelled less. Visitors tended to gravitate toward it, though the crew didn’t care so much. They were used to the reek of fuel and hearty smell of oil. It was part of home to the pilots and technicians. “I’ve got something for you. A yeoman just brought it down.”

Amelia took the item offered to her, turning its rectangular form over. Its corners were nearly sharp, and it looked somewhat sturdy, encased in thin metal. It had a heft to it, the shape sealed, but not hollow. “What is this?” she asked, tracing her fingers along the port built into the corner.

“It’s a remote data drive.” Ron recognized it. They were fairly standard on ships, but seen far less on planets where interconnected, wireless network structures existed for communications and data transfer. Planetside, one could cue up something almost instantly and have it retrieved from network storage. Ships didn’t have that luxury. They stored all their information on drives like that one, because what wasn’t saved locally, they wouldn’t have access to until connecting to the interplanetary network, the cortex, which was often considered a hazard, as it left ships open to cyberattack.

“Aye,” confirmed the crewman, straightening the seams on his flight suit. “I was told it had the documents you requested, ma’am.” And that was all he’d been told.

“Really?” That was surprising. She’d put in that request late last night and been promptly told that she wouldn’t receive them until the ship returned with supplies – assuming it ever did.

“Ah,” a new voice joined. “I see that found its way to you.”

Amelia looked up to find Chief Ty, the first one who’d greeted her on this ship. During their time here, he’d become a welcome face, as he willing to tolerate Harrison’s incessant questions. “What do you know about this?”

Ty smiled, and leveled his grease-streaked arms across his chest. “I received orders to reprioritize the initialization of the ship’s memory servers.” Usually that was the last thing done after repairs. It wasn’t considered critical like repairing the armor and electrical grid, but it was still important to ensure access to the ship’s wealth of data. “I had to take workers off hull repairs to get that done, and honestly, I never thought I’d see the day.” Ordinarily, the Admiral allowed nothing to take priority over immediate repairs. “That, ma’am, is a peace offering.” Nothing more, nothing less.

A peace offering. She turned it over in her hands again, unsure how to react. Part of her wanted to be grateful, another part ecstatic, but still more of her could only be exasperated. A memory drive was a poor substitute for a caring family member.

“What’s on there?” Ron wondered.

“Textbooks. Videos. Educational encyclopedias.” Presumably, it held everything she’d asked for, but it was strange to hold all of that in the palm of her hand. She’d grown used to accessing it all wirelessly, the books simultaneously always and never present. It felt odd to give them a physical form. “It’s curriculum.” This drive should contain all the learning materials they needed. “I was a teacher back home.” She’d begun doing lessons with Harrison and Anabelle and saw no reason to stop. “I thought it would be nice to offer lessons to all the kids on the Badger.”

“…But you needed materials.” Ron understood now. The Badger didn’t have access to lessons, textbooks and encyclopedic knowledge on general subjects, not without a connection to the cortex, but the Singularity did. Battleships stored that information on hand in their records. In fact, the Singularity’s age only made her records that much more complete. The answer to every inquiry made to the cortex through the ship’s service was recorded on board and ship’s own sensor analyses boosted knowledge on natural phenomena. “That was smart to think ahead,” he complemented.

“I didn’t expect to have them so soon.” It was a peace offering indeed to make pulling that data a priority. But had the Admiral done that as a personal favor or simply because he agreed with the objective? Likely, she knew it was the latter, but still, she was grateful.

The pilot in front of them checked his watch. “It’s 0545. We’d best get moving.” He smiled kindly, warm, though not perky in the early morning hour. “Name’s Anasari, I’ll be your pilot to the Badger. Call me Butterfly.” Like many of the pilots, he preferred to hear his callsign while on duty.

With a nod, Amelia followed the young man, Harrison holding her hand and Ron and Anabelle not far behind. Her feet trudged along the deck, feeling a strange unwillingness to leave. The white impact-resistant flooring looked scarred and dented, but it was still smooth, only its decorations worn off by scratches. In another time, she imagined it and the rest of the ship would have looked and felt entirely different. Now, however, it was weathered and worn. Originally, she’d thought that a weakness, now she found it comforting. Like a rock along the coast of the ocean, it was worn down, but had weathered storm after storm, as this ship had survived battle after battle.

Amelia had come to understand. This ship was more than a transport. To her crew, she was a steady home. Perhaps that was what the Admiral had seen in her as well, but as far as Amelia was concerned, it was impossible to know. Likely, she’d never know what the Admiral’s real thoughts were. What had he truly intended in rescuing her? Did he care behind that façade or was she only a failed bargaining chip?

Anasari led them to his ship, and she cast a last look to the landing bay, deep down wondering if she’d ever see it again. Would the Admiral bring the Singularity back to this fleet? And if he did, would she be barred from returning on board? Probably. Amelia knew she’d been rude to him, and his assistant was right, she’d been nothing but an added problem since her arrival. It stung, but he had every reason except their blood relation to act so coldly.

Ron helped her and her son strap in as the pilot readied the craft. But Amelia stayed lost in thought, even as she felt the transport begin to move. It wasn’t until Ron nudged her foot with his own that her thoughts released her. By then, their surroundings had changed entirely. Gone was the light color and brightness of the flight deck, in its place were the arches of distant metal and the flat blacktop of the landing bay. There were enough lights to bathe the bay in artificial daylight, but still, it was darker. Ahead, she could see the long shape of what she assumed were the Singularity’s main engines, a blue glow on their ends, but beyond that, the stars yawned out before her. There was a sense of vertigo to it, as if she could fall into that blackness, the sensation only heightened by the sudden lack of gravity, as if she was already in free-fall.

She’d been distracted on her last flight, but now the reality of it could sink in. Space was vast, and dark. Even in this sector, cluttered by the nearby ice and scattered fleet, those shapes were indistinguishable from twinkling stars to the untrained eye. View of the nearby sun was blocked by the Singularity’s mass, and so it registered on Amelia for the first time just how incredibly empty it was out here. It was a grand and cruel environment, and it fit that those like the Admiral who had chosen to reside within it were suitably cold and incredibly skilled.

Surrounded by that blackness, she understood why sailors became so endeared to their ships. Space was a bottomless ocean. Among it, planets were continents, places large enough for people to live, die and never wander further. But sailors were swimmers trying to cross that ocean, and to them, their ships were islands, places of refuge and respite. Those ships were not worlds onto themselves, but safe havens enough to call home on the sailors’ arduous journey. The Singularity’s size and age gave her more permanence than most, so in this moment, she understood the Admiral’s inclination to stay.

“Are you alright?” Ron asked quietly, hearing the pilot request final takeoff clearance.

Amelia let out a breath. “I don’t know.” This environment, this artificial gravity, the artificial air, the artificial light, it was her world now. Against the void, it felt welcoming, like being washed upon an island after days of drifting in the sea. But, against the terrestrial world she’d once known, it felt glaringly fragile.

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On a habitable world, one could survive. They could harvest food and water from the land and pawn their skills for pay. Those skills didn’t have to serve a purpose, they could be creating art or music, or selling a product to a customer. It was simple. There was room for passion and error.

But here, in the cold reaches of space, there wasn’t room for dead weight. Everyone served a purpose. They were pilots, navigators and repairmen who had applicable skills, though they may also indulge in the arts. But even with skills, people survived by what power they held and who they knew. Amelia well understood that without the Admiral, she and her son would probably be dead. She hoped now to prove she was some use as a teacher, but truly, in a life-or-death situation, she was dead weight, with a likely emphasis on dead.

“We’re going to be fine.” Ron assured her. He’d do what he had to in order to ensure their safety. The Admiral’s request only made it easier since a bag of military-grade tactical gear was now stowed in the hollow space below his seat.

“Destination’s up here on the left, if you’d like to take a look,” the pilot called, gently banking the craft.

Amelia and her son turned their attention that way. The movement of the ship was smooth, barely a perceptible tug as they watched the Badger slide into view. The little ship wasn’t much to look at, especially compared to the wicked complexity of the warship they’d just departed. Essentially, the Badger presented as a box. Or as they crew closer, perhaps as a disproportionate turtle whose overgrown shell was the cargo hold and whose tiny head was the bridge. The engines weren’t very pronounced, just bell-shaped nozzles that barely emerged past the ship’s rectangular body. It had no visible weapons, giving its hull a smoother shape.

Ron hadn’t thought much of it, but that difference was glaring now. He’d never seen the Singularity raise her armaments, but even where the main battery guns stowed, partially folded into the hull, their shadow was obvious. A fleet veteran, he was used to seeing mounted weapons, even in such massive form. But to see the Badger lacking them, it caught his attention. He truly would be the Badger’s defense if anything went wrong.

Distantly, he could hear the pilot getting docking clearances for the Badger, but it was tinny and distant-sounding. Ron could remember this feeling. It was the last moment of peace he’d had before he’d begun his missions with the fleet. To feel it again now, he knew how important this mission was to him. He was lucky the Admiral had seen fit to employ and supply him.

The airlocks met with a dull clunk that echoed through the small craft. “Mag-anchors secure, Badger. We’re lined up. I have hard-seal. Request permission to board.”

The reply came through the pilot’s headset, but a few second later, he answered, “10-4. Butterfly out.” With that, the pilot hung up his headset and stood to smile at his passengers. “We’ve arrived. Go ahead and unbuckle.” He stepped past them to the hatch and went to work on the airlock, spinning it open.

A gentle breeze greeted them, near equal pressures equalizing across the two ships. The air tasted fresher than the little transport, but still vaguely stale. Butterfly stood aside as his passengers gathered their things and crossed the threshold into the Badger’s cargo hold one by one. The Badger’s passengers were there to greet them, as they had set up camp in the open space.

For a long moment, no one said anything, but as Merlyn appeared, descending from the ship’s bridge, the pilot saluted. “Captain Merlyn, thank you for taking them aboard. We know they will be safer in your care.” Every member of the Singularity’s crew knew they were headed for combat and that was no place for children.

Merlyn pursed his lips. He could read nothing but respect and gratitude from the pilot, but he’d felt forced into this request, given his last interaction with the Admiral. Still, that was between him and Admiral Gives. These passengers were not involved. “I will see to their needs, Lieutenant. May Lady Luck fly with you.” He was no fan of the military, let alone the Singularity, but he needed the ship to return safely with those supplies.

The pilot laughed. “Oh, Lady Luck avoids us like we’re the plague, Captain.” He’d never known any of his comrades to be graced with good luck. “But, we’ve got the Lady Sin, and she’s a bit more reliable.” Where luck failed them, the power of a battleship was usually enough to bail them out.

Merlyn again pursed his lips, but said nothing. The pilot read that as his cue to leave. “Permission to disembark, Captain?”

“Granted,” Merlyn said with a nod.

The pilot stepped back and prepared to reseal the first layer of airlocks. He stopped only to smile at Ron and Amelia, “Safe travels, Mister Parker, and you as well, ma’am. I’m sure someone will be sent to check-in when we return.”

“I have a name,” Amelia complained. “You don’t have to be formal with be just because I’m related to-” She was stopped by a sharp elbow to the side, Ron subtlety nodding to the others in the hold, a warning in his eyes. It took her a moment, but she understood. The Admiral was not a popular figure. Even she could barely stand him, so there was no telling how anyone here might act knowing that she was related to him.

Without further comment, Butterfly sealed the airlock to the hold, dull thunks continuing to emanate from the other side as he closed off the transport and prepared to disembark. Ron, Amelia and their two kids were left standing in front of a small crowd, a pile of duffels at their feet. After an awkward moment, Merlyn stepped forward. “Welcome aboard,” he said, the greeting lacking any real warmth. “I don’t know why you were with the Singularity, and I don’t care. Here, you come to me if there’s a problem, and I will trust you not to be a problem.” He doubted the Steel Prince would tolerate issues on his ship, so it was a safe bet that these passengers knew how to keep their heads down.

“Of course, Captain,” Ron said. “Thank you for having us.”

Merlyn nodded. Not like I had a choice. In this situation, one didn’t refuse the man with the only armed ship in the fleet, especially given said soldier’s reputation. “You are welcome to visit the bridge, just don’t touch anything if you do.”

Without further comment Merlyn stalked off toward the bow of the ship, disappearing into the cramped interior spaces. That left Ron, Amelia, Harrison and Anabelle, staring at a small sea of curious faces, and after a long moment, the Matron stepped forward with a smile, her dark curls bouncing. “Welcome, welcome! Please pay no heed to the Captain. He’s been a bit off ever since we visited the Singularity, but he’s a good man.”

There wasn’t much competition in the realm of ship captains that she’d met, so Amelia just nodded. The gravity here felt less real, the air distinctly flavored. The surroundings also felt more fragile, as if a wrong move could puncture the walls. Logically, Amelia knew that wasn’t true, but the visible supports and bulkheads were much thinner than what she’d grown accustomed to seeing aboard the Singularity. Ron moved easily, piling their bags against the wall, but when she did the same, she tripped after only two steps. Ron caught her easily, and smiled with understanding. “Gravity feels a bit different.” He knew why, of course. Ships like the Badger had smaller artificial gravity generators. They were meant only for crew comfort, and to prevent atrophy on long hauls. Some spacers ran without them, acclimating to zero g, and running cargo station to station, but ships that carried cargo between terrestrial ports like the Badger would keep them active, and save fuel by reducing their draw. Most would run at 90 percent of planetary standard, where the difference was barely noticeable, especially since the inhabited worlds varied slightly anyway.

Military ships and passenger liners ran exactly on the planetary standard, or as close as their systems could get. It helped in comfort, training, and the occasional scientific experiment. Since the planetary standard was based off Ariea, the Singularity, running that standard, would have felt normal to Amelia, unlike the Badger. Even among the fleet, however, proper gravity was a rarity. The fields were almost always flawed. There’d be a slight angle that nagged the inner ear for a few hours upon boarding or a few spots where the pull was lighter or heavier. He’d expected that from the Singularity, considering the ship’s age, but her gravity had felt perhaps the most real of any ship he’d ever stood aboard. It hadn’t bothered him at all, and he hadn’t heard any of the crew complain either, which was an oddity.

But, among the battle fleet, the Singularity ran unique equipment. Ron didn’t know any specifics, but he’d heard that in passing. The Singularity’s critical engineering equipment: power cores, radiation shielding, gravity generators, and engines had all been commissioned with the ship. The technology was either unique to her, or had been phased out by the rest of the fleet. Admiral Gives had refused to allow those components to be updated and replaced, leading the rest of the fleet to regard the ship as antiquated scrap. If the Admiral’s apparent emotional attachment had kept him from upgrading the ship, then perhaps the fleet was right. Ron himself honestly had no clue.

“Where are you from?” the Matron asked, helping Amelia from Ron’s arms.

Keeping it vague, he answered, “Ariea.”

“Oh! How wonderful! I’ve heard it’s a beautiful world.” But like most things, Helena had only seen pictures of it. It, like blue skies and green grass, was just a dream to her. “But that means you must have been aboard when the Singularity split from the fleet. The crew insisted it was quite the daring escape.”

Ron could think of more than one daring escape they’d narrowly survived in the days he’d been aboard the Singularity, but he played it callously, not wanting to invite questions. “I can’t say I knew much about it below decks.”

“That was probably scary enough.” The Matron said, shooing off kids who wanted further questions. She next turned her attention to Amelia, who held a piece of hardware in her hand, unsure what to do with it. “What is that?”

Amelia turned it over in her hands again, feeling its odd weight. Nothing shifted as she moved it. It was solid, a hefty and modular piece of equipment. “It’s a remote data drive,” she answered, the words feeling alien on her tongue. “It has educational data on it. I was a teacher back home.”

“Yes!” The matron clapped her hands together. “Could I ask you to share it? I brought almost nothing when we fled Sagittarion, and I was never trained as a teacher, but anything helps.” She didn’t want these kids to grow up without an education. Sagittarion, as messy and impoverished as it was, still retained a nearly average education system. The corporations invested heavily in it, ensuring the planet housed competent workers.

“Actually, I thought I could give lessons.” She trailed off, uncertain, “…If you would allow it for your wards?”

“That would be incredible!” The matron did an excited jump, her curly hair bouncing as a big earnest smile spread across her face.

Like that, the matron looked very young, Ron noted. She could have easily still been a professional student learning a trade, had she been born on any other world. He and Ameila were both older, old enough to have married and started families of their own. The matron was probably a decade younger than either of them, but still had an incredible amount of responsibility on her shoulders. But, watching her pull Amelia away and into conversation, he supposed he’d served with many officers that had been the matron’s age, just out of training at the Academy. The Singularity’s crew hadn’t been lacking in that youth either. From what he understood, they’d been a veteran crew. Almost all of them had been stationed aboard the Singularity as their second or third assignment, but their previous assignments had been cut short. They’d come to the ship to either escape a worse situation or to serve a punishment. Still, Ron had found them competent, and while he understood Amelia’s feelings on the topic, he didn’t dislike the Admiral. The man was an acquired taste, but that remote data drive was a gesture of goodwill, as was the mission he had been given on the Badger.