Now…

A chime brought Kalan up out of the nightmare, though he admitted most people would consider it nothing more than a dream. He wiped cold sweat from his face before he answered.

“Yes.”

The precise voice of his android navigator wafted into the room. “We’re an hour from destination, Captain. You wanted to be informed.”

“Acknowledged. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Kalan dragged himself out of bed. His sleep had not been restful, but he pushed the fatigue away. He put himself through the brutal, compressed routine he’d developed over a decade in space. It wasn’t as comprehensive as the two-hour routine he preferred, but there was too much to do today. He grabbed a shower and still found it a marvel. He had to keep them brief or it might tax the water reserves, but it was still a luxury on any spacefaring ship. The reclamation units would capture and recycle the shower water and even the vapor in the air, but it never hurt to practice caution. Running out of water in space could prove as deadly as running out of oxygen. It just happened a little slower.

He shaved and gave himself a look in the mirror. A webwork of scars crisscrossed his chest and stomach. He knew there were similar scars on his back. They told a story of violence that he rarely thought much about, but the dream had opened old wounds. He gave those thoughts an angry mental shove and pushed them to the back of his mind. He had a contract to finish. He dressed in what he’d come to think of as his captain’s garb. Leather boots over dark pants and a fine, gray shirt. He frowned at the last piece of the ensemble. It was a knee-length coat, dark blue, with silver piping and largely functionless buttons running down both sides of the chest.

He honestly thought the coat looked ridiculous and served few meaningful purposes on his ship. It wasn’t like it got cold or wet. Yet, it was the fashion among merchant captains, and customers seemed to expect it. He slid the coat on with a sigh. The only consolation he took was that he’d had the coat custom crafted. The high-tensile strength fiber would stop most bullets and at least mitigate damage from energy weapons. He didn’t need such protection on normal days, but he’d been glad to have it on those few abnormal days when a routine deal turned into a fight for survival.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

He walked to the bridge and took his seat behind the navigator. He brought up the projected display that gave him the rundown of his ship’s performance. He frowned at the engine’s efficiency rating. It wasn’t terrible at 90 percent, but it wasn’t stellar either. He’d been trying out engineers on and off for the last two years. They were all competent enough, but none had really outdone themselves. Each seemed to have some benchmark of efficiency in their head and, once they achieved it, they stopped trying. Kalan hadn’t renewed their contracts. This engineer had a couple of months left on his contract, so it was a concern for another day.

“Time to destination, Em?” He asked. He could have looked it up, but the android seemed to enjoy answering questions.

The android swiveled around in its chair to face Kalan, which brought the EM 2073 stamp on the android’s chest into full view. “Three minutes to normal space, sir.”

“Thank you, Em.”

Kalan couldn’t remember exactly when he’d started calling the android Em, but the android hadn’t objected to the nickname. He probably thinks it’s more efficient, thought Kalan with a small smile. As the seconds ticked away, Kalan mentally braced himself for the transition between the wormhole and regular space. Despite all his years aboard transports and cargo haulers, the transition never failed to leave him a little nauseated. There was a moment during the transit when Kalan always felt like they were nowhere at all.

Em piped up. “Transit in three, two, one, now.”

There it was. That awful moment that made Kalan feel like his ship was just a tiny mote of matter suspended in a no-place that might swallow them whole if the dice of chance came up wrong this time. There was nothing all that physical about the transition. The ill ease he felt was something in his own head. He’d spoken occasionally about the sensation with other captains and experienced crew members. His description was universally met with blank stares and incomprehension. If anyone else felt what he felt, they weren’t talking about it.

Kalan glanced up at the viewscreen. While traveling in the wormhole network, viewscreens remained blank, as if there was nothing outside the ship at all. Some intuition told Kalan that wasn’t the case, but that maybe everyone was better off not being able to see it. Fortunately, the screen had immediately displayed an external view the second they hit normal space. He took in a familiar sight. A space station hanging in orbit around a mostly habitable world. He’d been through the station often enough that he knew the geography of the planet below on sight. Yet, ingrained discipline pushed the question out anyway.

“Position, Em?”

“We’re in the Ressan system, sir. Cobalt 7 space station ahead.” Em went silent for a moment as he communicated with the station’s docking control AI. “We’re scheduling to dock in two hours.”

“Excellent. Contact the client and inform her of our schedule.”

“Yes, sir.”