The mess hall buzzed with the sounds of clinking plates and murmured conversation as the crew gathered for breakfast. I stood at the head of the table, carefully pulling out my wedgie, armed with a printed chore list I'd cobbled together the night before, and I felt like the most annoying dickhead ever. I tapped the paper with two fingers, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Alright, listen up,” I began, raising my voice over the scraping of utensils. “I know nobody wants to hear this, but we’ve got to keep this ship clean. That means daily chores.” A collective groan rippled through the group. Yeah, I know, I'm a buzzkill. I could feel their annoyance, their silent resentment.

“First up,” I said, glancing at the list, “vacuuming the corridors. All four decks, every day. It’s better to stay on top of it than let things build up.”

“I call Deck Three,” said Ryan immediately. “Shortest corridor.” Of course he did, the lazy bastard. He was always looking for the easy way out.

“Not how this works,” I shot back, glaring over my paper. “We rotate. Everyone takes a deck. And while we’re at it, a quick mop every other day. Not crazy, just enough to keep it looking decent.”

“I hate mopping,” said Zoe, leaning back in her chair. “Can’t we just skip that?” Please, don't give me a hard time first thing in the morning. I could feel a headache forming.

“Sure,” I said, deadpan. “And we’ll all enjoy slipping and breaking our necks.” I wanted to bang my head on the table. Why did I even become captain?

Zoe rolled her eyes, but Emily stifled a laugh beside her. I hoped Emily had slept alone in her room last night, and not with him. Oh well. I tried to ignore the pang of jealousy.

“Next,” I continued, ignoring them, “bathrooms. Weekly chore—thank god—but that means everyone’s taking a turn. I don’t care how ‘gross’ it is.”

“Gross is an understatement,” said Danny muttering. “Have you seen what Ryan eats?” He was probably remembering the last time they had to clean the bathroom.

“I’m right here!” said Ryan, gesturing with his fork. The way his eyes widened, I could tell he was genuinely offended.

“Good. Then you’ll clean the bathroom after breakfast,” I replied with a smirk. Take that, you lazy ass. He was an idiot, but he was my idiot.

Danny snorted into his coffee, and Ryan glared at him before I pressed on. I had to resist the urge to join in on the teasing.

“Dishwashers and kitchen cleaning—daily,” I said firmly. “That includes wiping down counters, cleaning the sinks, and making sure the appliances aren’t a biohazard.”

Joey raised his hand. “Does that include the stove? Because whoever cooked last night didn’t wipe it down.” He was being a dick on purpose.

“I cooked,” Joey added, “so it wasn’t me.” Of course it was. He was trying to deflect, but he wasn't fooling anyone.

“That’s part of the job,” I said, fixing him with a look. “And folding laundry? Daily. No exceptions.” I felt like such a mom, and I hated it.

Chris groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Laundry’s one thing, but folding it? Really?” His muscles bulged as he stretched, and I couldn’t help but notice. Why was he so attractive, even when he was complaining?

“Yes, really, and ironing” I said. “Unless you want to wear wrinkled loungewear for the next six months.” I internally grinned, I can't wait to see them in that fabric again.

“I’m okay with wrinkles,” Chris muttered. Yeah, okay, we all know you have a goddamn God body, Chris. No need to rub it in. I had actually slept pretty well, despite how much I was thinking about Emily.

I woke up in my own bed, all alone, and I hoped that she’d been in her room too, but who knows? It would suck if she spent the night with Chris. Anyway, here I was, being a boring captain, trying to keep them all in line, but all I could think about was them.

“Lounge cleaning,” I continued, raising my voice to drown out the complaints, “Daily as well. That includes picking up after yourself. No leaving dirty mugs, snack wrappers, or whatever else you people drag in there.” I swear, you’d think we were all teenagers living in a frat house, not highly trained professionals on a mission.

“What about the cabins?” asked Emily, raising a hand. Smart question, Emily, very smart. She was thinking the same thing I was, the mess that would inevitably accumulate behind closed doors.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Cabins are your responsibility,” I said. “But if they start looking like disaster zones, I’ll have to inspect them.” And then who knows what I'll find there?

“Oh no,” said Zoe, feigning shock. “The horror of a Captain’s inspection.” She was totally just messing with me, and I wasn’t sure if she knew how much I wished that were a real thing. I could imagine her room, all messy… I needed to stop these thoughts.

I ignored her, glancing back at the list. “The recycler doesn’t need to be handled daily—thank god—but if it’s full, someone needs to take care of it. No excuses.” I swear, if I have to deal with a broken down recycler… I was going to lose my mind.

“What if someone doesn’t want to do their chore?” asked Ryan, his tone almost gleeful, like he was already planning something. That little shit was always looking for trouble.

“The airlock is right there.” I said. That got a laugh from the group, even as Danny leaned over to whisper to Ryan, “He’s not joking, is he?” I'm not. I wanted to see how far I could push them, what I could get away with.

I folded the paper and tucked it into my pocket. “The goal is to bust through these after breakfast. Get it all out of the way so we’re not dreading it the rest of the day.” I needed to get this over with so I could have some time to myself.

“And then?” Joey asked, poking at the last of his scrambled eggs. He wasn't as enthused as the others about all this work, he was likely already planning on shirking his responsibilities.

“Then it’s up to you,” I said. “Instrument calibration, unpacking, gym time—whatever you want. Speaking of which, gym’s mandatory, but since the space is small, go whenever it works for you.” Now we’re talking. I was already picturing myself there, muscles pumping, sweat dripping.

“Finally, a good rule,” said Chris, perking up. Of course he likes the gym rule. Show off. He was probably already flexing in his head, the smug bastard, but hey, so was I.

“Do I have to?” groaned Zoe. She was probably just being dramatic; she enjoyed the gym as much as we all did; I’d seen her enjoying the treadmills back at the Genesis Platform, usually surrounded by her fan club.

“Yes,” I said firmly, hoping I’d bump into her at the gym. “That includes everyone.”

The group dissolved into bickering, complaints about chores mingling with jokes about whose turn it was to mop the most annoying corners of the ship. I leaned back in my chair, sipping my coffee. They'd complain, sure, but I could already see the routine settling into place. It was just a matter of making it work, keeping the ship clean, and keeping everyone busy, including myself. I needed to stay focused, stay in control, but they were making it so hard.

For now, it was a waiting game—but at least they’d stay busy. And maybe, just maybe, I’d finally get a moment to check out everyone at the gym later. Yeah, that was something to look forward to.

***

I stepped onto the bridge, the soft hiss of the door fading behind me. The air was cooler here, the hum of the ship’s systems steady and constant. It was a nice change from the stuffy, humid laundry room. Zoe was at the navigation console, her dreadlocks past her shoulder, exposing her neck, and did she look good. She was totally in her element, as she studied the navigation map projected on the main screen, looking flustered. She was checking our location in the route, pausing every few moments as she cross-checked the ship’s position against the plotted trajectory. I could watch her do that all day.

“What’s up?” I asked, leaning casually against the doorframe, still feeling a little damp after dealing with the mess of socks, sweat-soaked shirts, and more stinking underwear than any person should have to handle. I swear, if I have to do that again I'm going to lose it. My hands still felt damp and smelled like dirty socks.

“Deviation,” replied Zoe without looking up. “Three percent off-course. Not a lot, but over 1800 AU, that’ll cost us days if we don’t fix it.”

Shit. Not good. I frowned, glancing at the map. We’d plotted a clear route to the Oort Cloud Passage. The last thing we needed was to veer off and slam into some rogue asteroid—or worse, a debris field.

The Oort Cloud Passage. Just saying it out loud made it feel like something straight out of a sci-fi novel, but it was real. Two massive, clear-as-day corridors—one from Sol to Alpha Centauri and another from Sol to Barnard’s Star—cutting through the icy chaos at the edge of our solar system. No debris, no rogue ice, no orbiting bodies to worry about. A clean shot, like someone—or something—had cleared the table and left the rest of us guessing why.

Nobody knew for sure whether it was natural or another trick from the System, but one thing was clear: without these passages, FTL travel wouldn’t just be dangerous—it’d be suicidal. At the speeds we were talking about, even a microscopic grain of ice could punch through the ship like a bullet through glass. And considering we were all crammed into this shiny tin can of a spaceship, that wasn’t exactly ideal.

The passages were discovered a couple of years ago when Earth’s exploration teams started pushing out toward the solar system’s edge. Lucky for us, someone figured out these pathways were the only reason FTL travel could even be possible. That, and the fact that two FTL engines had been scavenged from portals. One was locked up in some UER research lab, getting poked and prodded by university scientists. The other? Sitting on the Triumph of Darron. Our ship. Our shot at making history.

The FTL engine itself was... well, complicated. But from what I understood—barely—it worked by slipping us between real space and subspace. Think of it like riding the edge of a wave, but that wave was light speed, and we were pushing past it. The engine generated some kind of field around the ship, shielding us from reality while we burned through the nothingness at speeds we weren’t supposed to be able to hit.

The catch? At those speeds, even the tiniest particle could become a nightmare. That’s where the passages came in, giving us a clean, unobstructed runway straight to Alpha Centauri. No ice, no debris—just a long, empty stretch of space to light up the engine and pray it held together. It was genius. Or terrifying. Probably both.

So here we were, on the edge of everything, about to push this engine—and ourselves—to the limit. The Oort Cloud Passage was our ticket to another star system, but it came with a hell of a warning label: Don’t screw it up, or there’s no coming back.