I wasn’t born anywhere.

My mother and father were nomads, always traveling from one destination to the next. She gave birth to me in the sick bay of a passenger ship somewhere between the planets Nash and Kio-the literal middle of nowhere. And Kio was just another stopping place. I spent my childhood roaming from planet to planet as my parents conducted what they called a carrier service. They were smugglers, a fact I discovered when the Interstellar Trade Enforcement arrested and incarcerated them. I was only 9 years old at the time.

I was sent to live with my closest relative, a second cousin twice removed or something like that. Ascella was a kind woman. She must’ve been, to take in the troublesome child of a distant cousin with no other motivation except that it was the right thing to do. She taught me about my heritage. Both my mother and father were Zodian, a race dedicated to the worship of the stars. Ascella taught me about the Zodian faith and rituals. And when I reached the age of 13, she helped me tattoo the symbols of my chosen Ecliptic House on my body. I chose the House of The Archer-Sagittarius.

Five years later, after undergoing the proper training and study of my chosen sign, Ascella accompanied me on my Pilgrimage to Ecliptis. It’s customary for each Zodian child to make the Pilgrimage on their eighteenth birthday. What few realize about the Zodian faith is that the constellations of stars they worship and draw their power from can only be viewed correctly from Ecliptis. On Ecliptis, there is a great sea with water so still its surface reflects the stars above. In its waters, Zodians become weightless. A Pilgrim Zodian must perform a sacred baptismal in these waters, floating weightless among a sea of stars. When they emerge, the tattoos of their house begin to glow brightly as the power of the stars flows into their bodies. I chose the stellar configuration of the archer’s armament. The power given to me at my baptism allows me to draw starlight into the formation of a bow and arrow. A small configuration of stars at the corner of my right eye can empower my aim with the gift of Sure Sight. Bathing in the waters on Ecliptis changed me in more ways than I imagined. I felt the pull of the Sagittarri awaken in me. The long pilgrimage had stirred my sense of adventure, a deep yearning for exploration.

I suppose it was inevitable that I would leave. When you’re born nowhere, daughter of nomad parents, the thought of staying in one place forever is suffocating. Ascella understood; perhaps she understood it better than I did at the time. I couldn’t be content in one place forever. I craved adventure, not the peaceful little planet she called home.

Within a year of my leaving Ascella, that thirst for adventure landed me in a spot of trouble. A group of Outlaws were willing to help me out of that trouble in return for my help on a project they were working on. It seemed my ability to manifest a weapon in places where weapons weren’t usually allowed was of high interest to them. After the job was done, they paid me my fair share of the Take but then offered me something even more valuable-a spot on their crew.

I was with that crew for seven years, traveling, adventuring, finding ways to make money on the outskirts of the law. In that time, I took the Outlaw’s Oath, raided a historical dig for treasure, tracked down a group of filthy raiders, slaughtered them mercilessly, and overturned an oppressive government, among other lucrative ventures. I formed some of the strongest bonds I’d ever known with a few of my fellow Outlaws. Eventually, we decided to start a crew of our own. That’s the beautiful thing about Outlaws; there are no ties to anything. No bosses, no captains, no obligations. You can walk away whenever you want. This new crew lacked a leader, and I found myself naturally falling into that role. But with leadership comes responsibility.

I’m not sure I was ever cut out to be the responsible one. It felt like weights, holding me down. All I wanted was freedom. So, after three years, I walked away. I had been good at being an Outlaw-really good, and truth be told, I had plenty of money. I wanted to know what it was like to wander the galaxy aimlessly with my fortune. Total freedom.

Three months later, my old crew was dead. They took a risky job and ended up running from the authorities when an engine failed. Their ship crashed into an asteroid at full speed.

No survivors.

I had spent my entire life living in the moment—always moving forward to the next big thing. No grand plans and no looking back. But for the first time, I found myself standing still—hypnotized, unable to look away from a torturous void filled with self-doubt. And in that void was one question that had never before been in my nature to ponder. What if? What if I had been there? Could I have saved them? It holds me like a shackle, and I’m absolutely terrified I may never shake it. What if.... What if... What if I let them down by walking away?

*********************************

I needed a drink. I tried to pretend that it was boredom driving me behind the un-manned bar of the mid-class transport vessel. This trip from Johtin to Toran was going to be miserable as hell without a little liquid libation to liven things up.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I let out a low whistle as I surveyed the contents behind the bar. All of this top-shelf booze and no bartender to dish it out? Damn shame. I decided the liquor would be complimentary in that case and poured myself a shot of whiskey. Just as I finished pouring my drink, a young guy sat down at the bar across from me. He didn’t bother looking at me as he ordered a drink.

“I’ll take the hardest stuff you’ve got back there,” he said, causing me to pause with my shot glass halfway to my lips.

Did he think I was the bartender? I looked around curiously. Yep, it was just me behind the bar. But even without looking this guy in the eyes, I could tell he needed that drink more than me. And that was saying something. So, I slid him my glass and reached for an empty one for myself.

Before I could even reach for the bottle beneath the counter this time, another guy sidled up to the bar and ordered a “lug wrench on the rocks.” Now, I’d spent the better part of my life in and out of bars for one reason or another, and I had never heard of a “lug wrench” on the rocks or otherwise. My guess was this guy hadn’t either. Not a real drinker then, I surmised. This new customer was dressed like a gunslinger, two shiny plasma pistols in their leather hip holsters, a fringed shirt, leather vest, and a cowboy hat topped his feathered Avian head. But it was all just a little too pristine to be convincing. I almost laughed out loud, but caught myself as I leaned into my role as barkeep.

“You want that lug wrench in a glass or the traditional way?” I asked. Now, this was a distraction. He hesitated a moment before answering.

“Why, of course I only drink mine the traditional way,” he answered in a thick folksy accent I hadn’t noticed before.

I looked under the counter for something interesting to put his drink in since, of course, there was no such thing as a “lug wrench” and, therefore, no traditional way to drink it. My eyes landed on a small soup bowl. Perfect. I filled the bowl with a mixture of random alcohol from beneath the bar—the cheap stuff only, no need to waste good booze on this guy. I chucked a couple pieces of ice in it at the last minute and served it up.

“One Lug Wrench served the traditional way,” I said. This time I couldn’t hold in a little chuckle as his eyes widened at the bowl. It looked like two tiny icebergs swimming in a bowl of vomit. Maybe I had gone too far? I propped one forearm on the counter, leaned forward and goaded, “You have had this drink before haven’t you, Pardner?”

“What!? Why I’ve probably drank more alchy-hol in my life than you’ve ever served up combined!”

This was technically my first foray into bartending and, so far, I had served up exactly two drinks. Still, I doubted his statement.

“Once I took out an entire gang of scoundrels that was terrorizing a town,” he continued. “You know how I did it? I challenged them to a drinking game. Drank the whole lot under the table. Rum-guzzlin' Ryuuk is what they called me afterwards.”

With that, he shot me a glare, huffed once, picked up the bowl and chugged a big gulp of the drink. Immediately he sputtered a bit as he swallowed it down. I just looked at him doubtingly, wondering if my gut would bust from the belly-laugh I was holding inside.

“Swallowed wrong,” he said, as he continued to sputter and cough. “Think I’ll just go drink this alone. I like to be alone. I'm a loner.”

With that, he slunk into a dark corner of the commons room looking a little gray-green around the beak. Customer number one was done with his drink apparently.

“Is there a bottle of this stuff back there?” he asked, holding his empty glass aloft. “I’m guessing you’re not really a bartender. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I found it amusing,” I answered with a shrug.

“I find this side of the bar most amusing.”

“Is that why you drink? For amusement?” I asked.

This time, he looked right at me. He had strange eyes for a human, and a haunted look behind them I recognized, too well.

“More like oblivion,” he answered.

I knew the feeling. I could barely remember the ten months following the loss of my crew. It was an alcohol-soaked haze in my memory. I spent most of that time looking for answers in the bottom of a bottle. I hadn’t found any. It was doubtful that whatever peace this guy sought could be found in a bottle of whiskey, either, even good stuff like this.

But that was none of my business. So, I poured myself a shot of the top-shelf whiskey and slid the rest of the bottle to him. Picking up my glass, I nodded a salute which he reciprocated as he picked up the bottle.

“To oblivion, then,” I said.

My hand hovered in midair. It had been two years since they died. Wasn’t that enough time to move on? Yet, as our transport approached Toran, the planet where we toasted good fortune and farewell nearly three years ago, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“To oblivion, the only amusement to be had on this boring ass transport,” he responded, taking a big swig from the bottle.

I chuckled agreeingly. After all, wasn’t it that exact thought which brought me behind the bar in the first place?

“Unless you can think of some other ways we could possibly amuse ourselves?” he added with a hazy-eyed wink. At this, I did laugh.

“I don’t think we’re that drunk,” I said. “Yet.”

“Then drink up,” he responded, taking another swig.

Just then, an uptight man dressed in the transport company’s uniform came bustling through the common room, checking on everything. Uh oh. I figured this must be the host.

“Excuse me! But what are you doing behind there? That area is for employees only,” he said, pointing toward me.

I shared a look with the strange-eyed man and grabbed an extra bottle of the good stuff with my free hand. Maybe this transport could provide just the right amount of mind-numbing I needed. But first, that drink.

The glass of sweet-smelling whiskey was once again halfway to my lips when I was interrupted—this time by the side of the ship exploding.