"Just like old times," Blaze announced.
The VM-84's flight deck was shaped like an oval, twenty feet long and twelve feet wide. The pilot's seat was right in the center. On the instrument panels surrounding it, touchscreens displayed the digital flight instruments. Rsh, his huge body wedged into the bucket seat, glanced down at them briefly while he twisted the control yoke and banked the ship around the space station's curving hull.
After five seconds with no reply, Blaze turned away from him.
The canopy arcing over the flight deck offered a sweeping view of the stars. More than one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. And straight up overhead, too. It was reinforced by metal support beams, which formed a frame that bulged up from the streamlined fuselage. Blaze leaned against one of the beams where it met the fore and gazed at the stars. As the station's external lights shone through the framed canopy, the frame cast bars of shadow over him.
I'm the kind of rugged gunslinger who … speaks the plain truth. I don't care if anybody responds, because I know that everybody in earshot can pick up on my straight-shootin' talk, take it into their heart, and …
Blaze stole a glance at Rsh.
Why isn't he saying anything?
"Ahem," Blaze said. "Just like old times, huh?"
Rsh grunted loudly, his eyes glued to the HUD mounted in front of the pilot's seat. Indicators and infoboxes glowed on the glass pane.
Is he agreeing with me? Letting me know he's listening? Or just pretending to listen?
Blaze raised his voice to catch Rsh's attention. "You. Me. Soaring through the stars in this …"
He slammed his fist into the support he was leaning on.
"… sturdy old bird—"
One of the rubber hoses running up the support beam burst loose and spewed pressurized air into his face. The sudden snakelike hiss startled him so badly he jumped back three feet and banged his head on the canopy behind him. As dull pain seeped through his skull, he winced and massaged the sore spot.
His right hand gripped his blaster pistol. He wasn't really going to draw it, but he needed something firm and familiar to grasp, until the shake in his fingers — and his heart — went away. Its weight reassured him, after the embarrassing blow to his self-confidence.
The severed hose dangled from a fastener. It swung back and forth deliberately, teasing him.
"Blaze," Rsh said.
At last, he decided to pay attention to me—
But it was only so he could hold out the roll of duct tape he kept under the pilot's seat.
Tsking, Blaze swiped it out of Rsh's hand and then trudged to the support beam to fix it.
As he wrangled the hissing hose into place, the ship flew past the edge of the station. He slitted his eyes, but the intense light of the system's blue supergiant star blasted them regardless. Fortunately, the canopy glass dimmed automatically to protect his vision.
The hose and the valve it slotted into were already covered in thick layers of duct tape. He held the end in place, wrapped a few more layers around them, and tore the tape loose. The sharp rip scratched his eardrums.
He tossed the roll of tape to Rsh. Focusing on the flight instruments, he didn't notice until it struck his chest. Then, he snapped back hard enough to make the sturdy bucket seat creak. The five-point harness barely went around his barrel chest.
Blaze lowered his voice into a throaty growl. "Job's done, partner."
Rolling his eyes, Rsh grabbed the duct tape and stuffed it under the pilot's seat again. He turned back to the nearest touchscreen and hit the onscreen keyboard as hard as he dared. With his brute strength, he could easily drive his finger straight through the screen. Yet his biology didn't work well with human technology, so if he pressed too lightly then it didn't register his touch at all.
Despite that, Rsh preferred to pilot the ship. He was an experienced computer programmer, and he knew the ship's operating system far better than Blaze did.
That didn't bother Blaze. He was a space cowboy, a man of action who flew by his wits and let his gumption guide him down those long and winding stardusty trails that stretched over the universe.
And the beautiful women you met along the way didn't care how well you could program a ship's operating system.
Only how well you could fly it.
And Blaze flew pretty well indeed.
Once the ship was a safe distance away from the station, Rsh pulled the throttle beside the pilot's seat to neutral. The flight computer fired the thrusters to cancel out their momentum. He consulted the vector lines glowing on the HUD and twisted the control yoke to align the nose with their distant destination. The flight computer fired the thrusters and rotated the ship, sending a rumble through the deck and shaking Blaze's boots.
Off to starboard, the space station was now the size of Blaze's fist. It was a tall pillar topped by a glass dome like a mushroom floating in space. The blue supergiant star lit up its hull, which was a matching shade of blue-gray.
"Course locked," Rsh said, tapping the touchscreens displaying the simulated flight instruments. "Tachyon generator … activated."
His boxy muzzle chewed over the long human words very carefully. He was physically incapable of stringing syllables together the way humans could, so he just barked them out rapid-fire. And after he'd spat out a whole bunch, he ran out of breath and had to pause. But, in all the years Blaze had known him, he had stubbornly refused to let his biology keep him from speaking the way he wanted to.
"Prepare for FTL," Rsh said.
He stared at the stars through the HUD and gripped the throttle.
Then, he shoved it forward.
Everything was still, except for the high-pitched whine that built-up behind them and traveled through the hull. The ship started to shake like a dog pulling against its leash. The whine reached a fever pitch, until suddenly the main engines blasted the ship forward. The space station instantly vanished, and the shrinking star was eclipsed by the fuselage in the blink of an eye.
Stars slowly drifted towards the flight deck. FTL tinted the ones in front blue while the ones on either side of the canopy were normal.
"So, where we headed this time?" Blaze asked.
"Egadoro system."
"What's out there?"
"Nothing. But we have not ventured … that way."
"Right."
As the stars approached, Blaze put his hands on his hips and idly shifted his weight from side to side.
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"We good on fuel?" he asked.
"We shall stop at Croshaw-Morton. Fuel is cheap."
"Right."
Blaze couldn't think of anything else to say, so he nodded.
"Right," he said again.
He turned towards the aft of the ship—
Suddenly, a warning sounded from the instrument panel. He spun to face the HUD, where the words 'Collision Immanent' flashed in big, bold letters.
While the tachyon generator moved the ship at FTL speeds, it also emitted a tachyonic field all around the ship. If the flight computer detected the field was broken …
The engines cut out immediately.
The sudden stop tossed Blaze forward, but after a brief struggle for balance he planted his feet firmly on the floor and stood up straight.
"What is it?" he asked.
His eyes swept across the void in front of the ship's fore. The ship's running lights didn't reveal anything.
Rsh consulted the scanner, then declared, "Contact."
He punched the coordinates into the computer. A vector popped up onto the HUD to guide him, and he cautiously jetted the ship over. Blaze's stomach clenched with a giddy thrill as he wondered what awaited him. Like seeing a woman take her clothes off for the first time.
Thirty seconds later, the running lights shone on a metal capsule about four feet long. Obviously manmade, judging by the way it was put together.
Wow, the odds of stumbling across something that small in deep space are … well, astronomical!
Blaze said, "I'll go see what it is."
He climbed the short flight of stairs to the raised upper deck behind the pilot's seat, then crossed it to the aft door and used its intrapanel to open it.
Right behind the flight deck was a cramped locker room. On either side, next to the lockers, were airlock doors. He yanked one locker open to reveal three old, worn-out space suits they'd bought cheap. His was the light blue one, hanging between Philomena's pink-red and Luci's drab green. Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of them in Zantauran sizes, and they were way too poor to custom-order one, so Rsh often got stuck babysitting the ship.
He reached in to take his suit off the rack—
"Yuck!"
At first, the stale yet incredibly potent stench wafting around the locker made him retreat in a hurry. Then, once he'd steeled himself, morbid curiosity made him inch closer, sniffing around the locker for the source. His nose homed in on Philomena's helmet.
"Ew!"
He grimaced so hard he felt the skin folds on his face fold over each other twice. He hit the intrapanel, opened the door to the flight deck, and locked it open. As he slipped the suit on, he shouted through the doorway.
"Hey, Rsh? What's this disgusting smell coming from Philomena's space suit?"
After five seconds of silence, Rsh replied, "I do not know."
"Bullcrap."
"I am speaking … the truth."
"Yeah, sure."
He finished sealing the suit, and slipped his helmet on over his head. Once it was sealed in place with a sharp click, he pressurized it. The sound of his breathing filled the tight box around his face.
Blaze headed into the starboard airlock. While he waited for the air to cycle out of the cramped closet, he hooked his safety line onto the metal handle.
As soon as the air was sucked up into the tank, the outer door slid open.
He grabbed the doorframe and pulled himself through it, emerging from the tiny box into the infinity of outer space. The void went in every direction, forever. If the ship broke and he fell into this vast nothingness … he might drift until the end of time and never hit a single thing.
What a mind-blowing idea.
Trillions of years in the future, when everything fell apart, he'd still be riding the stardusty trails …
He grabbed the hull and pushed himself toward the canister floating in the void, half-lit by the ship's running lights, half in deep shadow.
The closer he got, the harder his breathing sounded in his ears.
Something lost in the void might drift forever …
… or some daring space cowboy blazing the stardusty trails might just stumble upon it, and find whatever its owners had lost.
The wide, wild galaxy was vast. Yet sometimes, a tiny little metal canister could hold just as much wonder and mystery.
Where did it come from?
Who had put it there?
What was inside?
And, would it make him filthy rich?
He pushed himself off the ship and floated freely towards it.
On the other side of his suit's visor, the capsule grew larger in his eyes until it filled his vision. Curiosity burned inside him, and the secret something hidden inside it seemed to fan the flames.
He grabbed the canister. His momentum was shunted to it, and they both drifted away from the ship until his safety line pulled taut, and they clung together in the void. He grabbed the handles on top, and shifted himself so he could get at the lever sealing the top hatch.
"Howdy," he said. "Now, where'd you come from, huh?"
As his gloved hand closed around the lever, he felt a grin split his face and push his cheeks up into his eyes.
He gave it a yank.
Pulled the hatch open.
Its hinges swung freely.
What am I going to find? he thought. Treasure? Money? An exotic artifact worth trillions?
He hoisted himself up so his helmet's flashlight could peer down into the canister …
Ten seconds later, he shut the hatch and sealed the lever. Rotating in space to face the flight deck, he stared through the canopy at Rsh. Raised his wrist and tapped the button to open a comms channel.
"It's poop," he said.
It took Rsh a surprisingly long time to process such a blunt, simple statement. He leaned forward and spoke into the instrument panels. His voice issued out of the radio inside Blaze's helmet.
"What?"
"It's poop." He banged his hand on the canister. "They must've been having problems with their plumbing, so they just … chucked it out the airlock."
"Hmm. In the eternity of space, we … nearly collide with human fecal matter." His voice wound down, fatigued — although this time, it was probably more than just his biology. "How apropos."
Blaze gave the canister a savage shove and sent it tumbling out of the ship's path. He watched it sail into the infinite once again. As he drifted in the opposite direction, he offered it some parting words.
"Get along, little dookie."
He grabbed his safety line and hauled himself back into the ship.
After he took his suit off, he strolled down the short flight of stairs to the narrow footpath around the pilot's seat.
"You think that canister of poop will ever be important?" he asked.
Rsh, who had been fiddling with the flight instruments, froze. He turned his head just enough that he could blast Blaze with a frigid sidelong stare. His lip, curled by disgust, lifted to reveal his sharp teeth.
"What?"
Swaggering to a halt next to the pilot's seat, Blaze said, "You know, like that 'butterfly flapping its wings' thing. A hundred million years from now, the … the Dubba … Brabnovajik Empire, or whatever, is oppressing the galaxy. The final battle isn't going well, and all hope seems lost for the rebellion. But then, suddenly—! Because I tossed that canister of poop at exactly the right trajectory, it drifts right into the path of the evil tyrant's flagship, gets sucked up into his engines, and blows him up."
Striking the javelin pose, Blaze stretched his hand toward the cosmological horizon.
"And peace returns to the stars, thanks to … Blaze, the Galactic Hero!"
Blaze lowered his arms and turned to the pilot's seat. He made a few scooping gestures towards his chest, trying to coax a few words out of Rsh. Beckoning him to add something to Blaze's legend.
"What do you think? It could happen, right?"
Rsh breathed heavily through his flaring nostrils. He stared off into space off to Blaze's right, his mouth opening and closing aimlessly.
Impatiently, Blaze asked, "Well?"
With a sarcastic twinkle in his eye, Rsh replied, "I shall record it for posterity … just in case."
"Aw, whatever. You have no sense of adventure."
"One of us must keep their feet … on the ground."
"This is space," Blaze shot back. "There is no ground."
Rsh ignored him and returned to punching commands into the instrument panel.
"Prepare for FTL," he said.
He gave the throttle a shove, and once more the ship blasted into the cosmos.