Vel bolts upright from his sleep, the eyes of the former captain still staring back at him in his mind. The memory had quickly become a nightmare after that day, one that still comes regularly, but not as frequently as it did in years past. The man rose fully from his sleeping pallet on the ground, stretching his long limbs while his mind cleared, familiar motions centering him into the present and focused breathing pushing out the last vestiges of the nightmare in his exhalations. It has been thirteen years since that time and the man's face, while still youthful, shows an age beyond what just time creates.

In a few minutes, the man finished his exercises, both physical and mental, and opened his eyes to the darkness surrounding him. “Lights” he called out, his voice echoing slightly off metallic walls as the hanger bay surrounding him slowly illuminated at his command, giving his eyes a chance to adjust from the darkness without discomfort. He was located in one corner of the bay, mostly empty besides his sleeping pallet, a small galley equipped with a basic food processing unit, table, and chair bolted to the steel floor. In the adjacent corner from his living area stands a variety of exercise and martial arts training equipment, including strength machines, a heavy bag, and training dummies, all in metal frames also bolted to the floor. A small room of some sort protrudes out from the wall between these two areas, a washroom containing a toilet, sink, and sanipod all made from the same matte gray material.

In total, the personal quarters take up less than a quarter of the bay’s large space. The rest is dominated by the sleek form of a viper-class light freighter. Shaped like the head of a serpent with split front viewport windows marking the eyes and an elongated body extending back to two stunted rear wings, each with powerful thrusters and well-shielded antimatter reactors, the craft gives off an impressive, intimidating air despite the lack of any visible weaponry. This particular class is one of the more popular and ubiquitous vessels for personal operation in the Collective due to its adaptability, and a good performance-to-space ratio making it suitable for both passenger transport and trans-galactic shipping. The viper class would even be able to hold its own in combat, assuming the Collective granted permission to mount defensive arms and armaments on one of their civilian ships, which they would never do. Still, given the variety of black market sources for well-concealed weaponry, it wouldn’t be surprising if this particular viper carried some sort of firepower beneath its harmless facade.

Alongside each wing, emblazoned in simple, large block letters, the vessel’s registration can be seen; PMF KV4528726. The PMF stands for the Professional Merchant’s Fleet, the Collective organization in charge of all civilian-operated craft which account for thirty percent or so of all vessels in Collective space. Officially speaking, all spacecraft are still owned by the state and then leased out to individual operators through the PMF. This doesn’t make much difference in practice, as it still does take significant means or connections to obtain such a lease, but does give the authorities the right to repossess government property under even the thinnest of pretenses, a powerful tool for keeping private operators in line.

Ships entirely outside the Collective’s control existed, but few if any were the pirate vessels hunted by the heroic fleet commander cliches from popular vidshows, instead it would be sub-lightspeed planet-hoppers trawling space in star systems with more than one habitable world. Even if someone managed to build or buy an FTL-capable ship, far-fetched as the antimatter drives are the second most important discovery of the human race and second most guarded secret of the Collective, they still wouldn’t be able to fuel it. That’s because usable antimatter, the most important discovery of the human race, has been controlled by the Collective for over 200 years, with the means and methods of production its most guarded secret.

The original sin that birthed the Collective occurred when the few competing private and public entities that perfected the production of antimatter banded together “for the greater good of the human race.” This union, initially hailed as a monumental step forward, promised a new era of prosperity and technological advancement. For a generation, at least, this probably seemed to be the case for most. The advent of antimatter reactors revolutionized energy production, providing a seemingly limitless source of power. Cities spanning whole planets, like Mos, thrived on this new energy, and the drives powered by antimatter took humanity to tens of thousands of new planets, expanding the boundaries of human civilization to previously unimaginable extents.

However, with a single monopoly at the heart of this technological marvel, the seeds of a dystopian future were sown. The Collective, as this monopoly came to be known, soon found its way into every part of human existence. Its influence grew insidiously, becoming too powerful for any other authority to stand against. Some tried, of course. First nations, both old and new, attempted to resist the encroaching dominance of the Collective. They fought valiantly, but their efforts were in vain. Energy-starved and isolated, these nations were either pacified through economic strangulation or destroyed outright by the Fleet, the military arm of the Collective. The Fleet, with its insurmountable force, could arrive at any planet, any time, quashing any semblance of rebellion with ruthless efficiency.

Within two generations, the world as it was known had changed irrevocably. The Collective’s dominance created stark contrasts between life on the core worlds and the more remote fringes of human civilization. On the core worlds, where entire planets are covered by sprawling cities, life is characterized by advanced technology and relative comfort. These planets, like Mos, are the epitome of the Collective’s vision of prosperity. Antimatter reactors provide abundant energy, ensuring that infrastructure, healthcare, and education are highly developed. The citizens of these worlds enjoy a high standard of living, with access to the latest technological advancements and luxuries. However, this comes at the cost of personal freedom and autonomy. Every aspect of life is meticulously controlled by the Collective, from the laws that govern daily activities to the media that shapes public opinion. Crime as well as social and economic stratification still exist, of course, but even for those forced into the relative slums of such worlds, daily life isn’t a fight for survival. The facade of local governance is maintained, but true power lies with the Collective, which ensures compliance through surveillance and the ever-present threat of the Fleet.

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In contrast, life on the remote fringes of the Collective’s domain is markedly different. These outer planets, often newly colonized and less developed, face numerous challenges. While antimatter technology has reached these areas, the infrastructure is not as advanced as in the core worlds. Settlers on these planets often live in more rugged conditions, with limited access to the amenities and services taken for granted on the core worlds. The Collective’s influence is still felt, but it is less direct. Local leaders may have slightly more autonomy, but they are still beholden to the Collective’s overarching authority. The threat of the Fleet looms large, ensuring that any dissent is swiftly dealt with. Despite these hardships, the fringes offer a semblance of freedom and the possibility of a life less constrained by the omnipresent shadow of the Collective.

For over a century, humanity expanded into the galaxy, driven by the promise of new worlds and the hope of encountering other advanced intelligent species. Yet, despite their relentless exploration and colonization of tens of thousands of planets, they never came across another civilization. This absence of extraterrestrial contact only reinforced the Collective’s narrative of human exceptionalism and the necessity of their control to safeguard humanity’s future. The vast, silent expanse of space became both a frontier of opportunity and a stark reminder of humanity’s solitude in the universe.

Innumerable underground resistance efforts popped up from time to time, fueled by the indomitable human spirit that yearned for freedom. These resistance movements, though brave and determined, were often short-lived. Few would warrant mention in any history books if the Collective-approved curriculums allowed them to be mentioned at all, which they don’t. The Collective’s control over information was absolute. History was rewritten, dissent was erased, and the narrative of the Collective’s benevolence was propagated relentlessly. Two centuries later, for most of the half trillion inhabitants of the mapped galaxy, the Collective is now like gravity, an undeniable law of the universe. How heavily you feel it may depend on where you’re standing, but always there regardless.

There are tens of millions of transgalactic ships controlled by the Collective, the viper class sitting in this hangar bay one of the smallest among them. KV4528726 eschewed the still common practice of giving a spacecraft some sort of personalized designation, one of the few rights operators still have over their ships, but one that is not required by any means in the all-important Collective datalogs. A public search into those records would show that this particular vessel is authorized for freight transport through the PMF authority on Sevas, one of the larger commerce worlds outside of the Collective core. Those same records would show a single active operator registration under the name Vel, male, thirty-two years old, pilot and certified navigator in good standing by the Collective authority. That would be the limit of the public information on Vel, but even a dig into the more confidential files wouldn’t show anything spectacular.

Ward of the state from age ten, his incomplete parentage records not surprising considering the far-flung settlement of his birth, Vel showed a strong aptitude for both computer sciences and astral navigation in state testing and was admitted to the technical training academy on Sevas at age twelve. His early years were marked by a relentless pursuit of knowledge and excellence, driven perhaps by a desire to rise above his circumstances. He graduated five years later with minor distinction, near the top of his class in all subjects as well as athletics, earning the respect of instructors. Academy psych profiles attached to the records would suggest someone both intelligent and persistent if a bit aloof from his peers.

The only slight mark on Vel’s otherwise stellar record came after graduation when he declined admission to Fleet officer training, a prestigious path that many of his classmates eagerly pursued. Instead, he chose a less prestigious apprenticeship with the PMF on Mos, an odd career choice for a young man who showed such promise. This decision raised a few eyebrows among his mentors, but it was not an unheard-of one by any means. Any perceived slight against the military was quickly forgotten as Vel immersed himself in his new role, demonstrating the same dedication and skill that had characterized his academic career.

In the years since, the records would show, the man has quietly built a career from apprentice to navigator and finally individual operator, licensed to pilot light freighter craft such as the one registered to his name. PMF performance logs would show a nearly impeccable work history, one of mostly routine tasks with the occasional difficult or dangerous assignment, all more or less successful. Vel’s citizenship file would appear similar, perhaps only surprising for the lack of anything negative to it, with no records of smuggling or illegal transport, common petty crimes for those in his professional, and only a couple of citations for brawling, but even in those Vel wasn’t recorded as the instigator and no one died, hardly making them worth a mention at all. Taken together, the scant collection of public and confidential information available on the man paints a fairly clear picture, a pilot of skill and a definite success story of the Collective government, but well beneath the notice of any levels of power.

The man called Vel took a long look around the now brightly lit hangar bay that serves as his home, seemingly taking every detail, as he does every morning that he wakes here. He closes his eyes and inhales a deep breath in silent thought before exhaling slowly and beginning his day. After a trip to the washroom to relieve himself and wash his face, Vel pads shirtless back towards his food processing unit, setting it to prepare a simple breakfast and coffee. His lean form shows the athletics of his youth haven’t left him, well-defined muscles as proof that the exercise equipment in the hangar doesn’t go unused. Additionally, the man’s uncovered skin also shows numerous signs of past wounds and injuries, evidence that perhaps his life hasn’t been as simple as the datalogs would have it appear. These marks are evident in a wide variety, ranging from the faintest line barely visible above his left eye, to the massive scar running diagonally the entire length of his back from shoulder to hip, its existence suggesting there was at least one story the files must have missed.