It was a hell of a place to nurse a hangover. 

Vincent Copeland once again forgot to disable the autofunction of the lights in his captain’s quarters. In an instant the white light burned in from behind his closed eyelids. He groped blindly for the room’s console remote and quickly turned the lights down to a one quarter setting. Swearing quietly to himself he sat upright in bed. He moved his hand from his face to allow for the slow adjustment to the light. His forcus was drawn to the collection of bottles he had amassed over the last few days; or was it weeks?

Keeping track of the time during a warp drive could make any journey seem like a never ending slog. Copeland wasn’t prone to large benders like this, but on the home stretch there was little else to do. When he did drink, he preferred to do it in private. 

Listening to the hum of his ship he could tell that they were now high speed travel. Either they were close to their destination or the fuel reserves were being rationed again, putting them weeks behind schedule. Copeland hauled his tall frame out of bed and opened the port-hole to take a look. 

The black sea of stars. Viewing it during high acceleration always made him sick, though this time it was only the liquor that made him queasy. The distant stars, nebula, asteroid fields,  sprawled out in great clarity. In fact, it didn’t appear like they were moving much at all. With an upward look, Copeland could see the southern pole of Karhu, the moon orbiting the Royal capital planet Luolassa, which would have been directly above the ship. The sight of that green rock stilled him with peace. It meant they were not far off from docking at the Karhu Station Depot. 

Muffled ruckus from the crew in the rec room could be heard behind his closed door. The tension crept back in. He would have to make an appearance. 

First a quick detour to the nav room to check in on Quince. She sat the controls, ever diligent. Copeland would be worse off with any other soul at the helm. She noticed him come in without taking her eyes off the display. 

‘Morning Skip. Nice of you to drop in. Haven’t seen you and so long we thought maybe you’d taken an untethered spacewalk.’ She turned and looked up at him with her big brown eyes.  ‘That was the going wager anyway.’

He smirked. ‘That’s funny Quince. How are we travelling?’

We are just waiting for permission to get through to the station. They are backed up as always. Should only be an hour or two. You look terrible.’

‘Thanks Quince. How are they holding up?’

‘Keen to jump off the bucket… and get paid.’ Copeland walked to the door feigning ignorance, leaving his pilot to her duty.

‘Need anything? Coffee?’

‘Just to get paid, Skip.’

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‘I’ll bring you a coffee.’

It appeared the crew had been on a drink on their own, just enough to get ornery enough for demands of payment, but not to forget about the notion of payment completely. Some of them had been with him for a few years. For most it was their first run.  Turnover just was that way in the hauling business. He remembered each of their names while they were with him. It was a habit he had picked up while serving in the admiralty. Made a point of it. Rookie and Veteran alike were fed up. 

He did his best to ease their concerns, assuming that payment had just cleared and would reach their accounts as soon they stepped off onto the station. This was a half-truth. Payment for the last job still had not cleared, another supplier dragging their heels. The crew would be paid by the time they docked. He would have to dig into his own coffers to make that happen. He didn’t mention that fact to him, knowing there would be little gratitude from them either way. To them it was just a job. One time, when payment was late, some members decided to take integral ship components with them as collateral. It was a headache he did not want repeated. 

Leaving the riffraff to their cards and satellite reruns of old sport games, Copeland returned to his quarters. On his personal terminal he processed payroll, trying not to give mind to the dwindling figures in both the company and personal accounts. He shoot off another firm worded message to the supplier for the last job. Deleted messages regarding payments on the ship. He didn’t bother looking up the online boards  to secure the next job. There was time for that. Work could be more easily found on the station itself anyway. The personal touch, he always believed, was the cornerstone of good commerce. 

After taking a hot shower, he dressed and began ship preparation for arrival. His head cleared and mood brightened. The crew was paid. This run was over.  The accounts held enough to get them out on the next one, and that’s all that mattered. He was as keen as the rest of them to get his feet out the bucket and walk around the station. 

Copeland had not expected his entire crew, with the exception of Quince, to quit right there on the spot. As soon as they touched ground on the Kahur Station Depot, some turned and expressed that they wouldn’t be coming back. Other’s simply walked off from the ship without so much as a word. He stood there with Quince and watched them all go one by one, fifteen or so in total until it was just the two of them. 

‘That’s just the way it goes Skip. You know a lot of them aren’t cut out for it.’ She remarked firmly.

‘Do you ever wonder, if maybe I’m the one who’s not cut out for it?’

‘No, not for one second.’ No hesitation in their voice. ‘I’m not going anywhere. We’ve been through worse stuff than this.’ It was true. In the Royal Naval Fleet, when he had been Lieutenant. Copeland and she Ensign Quinrow, they had seen star battles, been stranded adrift in space void, seen friends die. When he told Quince that he was resigning  his commission, taking out a loan, buying a ship and starting up as a freelance interplanetary hauler, she told him he was insane. Then she resigned as well. She had even picked out the name of the ship. ‘The Rynex’ in honor of the fallen Colonel Croy Rynex who they served under, and more than once pulled them out of rough spots. 

Together they looked back on the Rynex’s hulking frame. The shine had worn off her hull; heavy on fuel use when skyhooks were unavailable, nearly always grossly understaffed and prone to all kinds of quirks, but she was the ship that had changed the course of both of their lives. They were proud of it.

Quince perked up. ‘So it looks like my paycheck cleared. Buy you a drink?’ She knew where the money had come from. ‘Then we can get down to finding the next job and rebuilding the crew.’

‘Sounds good, I’ll just sort things out with the maintenance shop then we can check things out’. Quince scanning the space dock for the nearest drinking spot while her Captain strode off to see the top wrench-head, his resolve re-intact.