John tried to settle his nerves. Maybe it was just someone late for their flight, he reasoned with himself. His mag-lift came to a gentle halt, and its interior lighting changed from soft blue to white before the doors opened.

A smooth, urbane voice startled him. “Hangar level 3, Passenger Space Port Terminal. Please verify that all your transit documents are in order before proceeding to passenger screening.”

The abrupt announcement rattled John, and after taking a few breaths, he stepped out of the lift into a brightly lit toroidal room about two hundred meters across. Walls vaulted towards each other, forming a vast dome comprised of white hexagonal panels. Each panel was positioned so as to allow the resulting space between them to be brightly illuminated. A large holographic display wrapped around the central column showed local time and standard ship time in big blue numbers. Just below was an extensive list of scheduled arrivals and departures in smaller white, orange, and occasionally red letters.

Moving around clusters of early morning travelers, John navigated his way across the terminal complex. He walked over to a section of the far wall, ten meters to the left of the main passenger screening entrance. On the wall in front of him, a fine, dark line framed a smooth, featureless door. Next to the door, on the wall at shoulder height, a ring of white light slowly pulsed. He placed his hand on the cool surface inside the illuminated ring. Immediately, the ring became blue, flashed a few times, then pulsed back to white. The framed door receded slightly, then slid left, revealing a short, well-lit hallway closed at the far end. He stepped past the door into the hallway; it sealed behind him, then the ambient lighting changed to a soft blue.

“Security scan in progress John, please remain calm. Commander Jeffries would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.” After a short pause, the discarnate AI voice continued, “You are clear to proceed.”

The lights shifted back to white, and the door on the far side opened.

Hangar Level 3 was alive with activity. Maintenance crews beat out an endless rhythm as they endeavored to keep time with the metronome of decay. Cargo was moved to and from transport ships, converting empty hangar floors into towering stacks of containers, only to have them demolished and rebuilt elsewhere. He watched as a T-8 orbital transport jumper taxied towards an empty docking space, its thrusters humming in standby mode. John watched as it delicately maneuvered into position, powered down, and was approached by a waiting cargo crew. The Space Nexus was the center of Colesway's growth; it pumped all manner of goods, raw materials, skilled professionals, and eager citizens into the flourishing young colony.

John hurried towards a nearby staircase and up several flights of stairs. Once he entered the flight control complex, Hangar Level 3's pervasive din was suddenly hushed into subtle murmurs. He walked down a corridor with white convex walls illuminated softly by recessed grooves running along the outside edges of both the floor and ceiling. He passed several doors to his left as the hallway curved gently towards his right. He reached a single door on his right with the words “Central Control” written across them in blue holographic letters. He placed his hand on the wall inside an illuminated white ring next to the door to verify his identity. The ring changed from white to blue, pulsed several times, then returned to white. The door opened, sliding silently back into its frame.

Central Control was typically quiet; this morning was no exception. John walked over to a man dressed in civilian clothes of a vaguely military design. Commander Jeffries was a medium-built, dark-skinned man with graying, nearly-white hair cut into something of a strict style. “Commander Jeffries? You wanted to see me, sir?” John said.

Commander Jeffries turned his head slightly. “Yes, Mr. Griggs,” he said with clipped, precise tones. “That should be sufficient, do what you can, we need that ship in the air today... No, sadly, we aren't expecting any more replacements for another ten standard Terran cycles... I understand, do what you can, Mr. Griggs.”

He shifted his attention to John. “Yes, I did, Captain Varen, your shift has changed slightly.” He walked over to a wall-spanning panoramic window facing Hangar Level 3. He gestured with his hands to bring up the shift schedule displayed on a screen, replacing part of the view. “I sent your new assignment to your PNN. I want to impress on you the importance of flight safety, this isn't a simulation. Captain Varen, this is real life, and those transports are damn hard to replace, especially these newer T-11’s.”

John smiled. Yes! I’m flying the fast one today, he thought. “Yes sir! I always fly safe, sir.”

He fixed John with a glacial stare. “I'm sure you will, Captain Varen. Before embarking, you should speak with Mr. Griggs, he’s still going over the jumper you'll be flying.”

John's smile broadened, and he saluted without hesitation. “Yes sir!”

“I suggest you get a move on, Captain. Miss Serendipity dropped out of FTL 30 minutes ago. They’ve already requisitioned orbital transport services.”

“I'm already there, sir.” Turning to leave, he remembered something. “Commander? Before I go, Juno and I thought it would be nice to have you and Aelin over for an evening out. She said it's been some time since she’s seen Aelin. I suggested this amazing lagoon I saw on one of my flights. We could go exploring.”

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Jeffries seemed to mull the idea over in his head. His expression softened, and for a moment he looked more tired than John expected. “Yes, that could work. Aelin has been wanting to see more of Veridia, I'll send you a confir–”

“Commander? There’s an urgent message for you.” A short, middle-aged woman approached them.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Okada. Send it to my PNN, and use my encryption key. I'll view it in the empty conference room.” Dorian turned back to John. “We'll speak later, Captain. Everyone eventually needs some downtime. And Captain? Please do follow the safety protocols.”

Before leaving the flight control complex, John went to his locker to collect his gear. After suiting up, he reviewed his assignment. It didn't surprise him to see that he was flying their newest jumper. Commander Jeffries basically told him it would be his new assignment. His first job would be a few cargo runs for Miss Serendipity, an Ebisu-class freighter.

Leaving the command complex, he crossed the hangar towards a freshly painted T-11 Orbital Transport Jumper. Even from a distance, he could tell the T-11 apart from its older sibling, the T-8. While the newer ship was admittedly far more cumbersome in appearance than most corporate or privately owned orbital transport ships, it still had its own kind of beauty. He walked around the jumper, admiring its lines. Starting at the wide civilian cockpit, the hull flared out on both sides in compound curves until it reached two of the four vector-able thrusters, mounted opposite each other. Sweeping back towards the tail, its hull narrowed, ending bluntly in loading doors after the aft thruster mounts. Overall, it looked compact and tough, well suited to rough work out on the edge of civilized space. Circling back towards the aft section, he saw that the boarding ramp was extended down directly between and below the aft thrusters.

“Ay! What'cha about then?”

He saw a stocky man, wearing what used to be a brightly colored jumpsuit, wheeling some kind of cart full of equipment down the ramp. The cart was loaded with cables, monitors, and other tools; nothing looked entirely clean.

“You would be Mr. Griggs?” John said, once he had gotten close enough to be heard clearly.

“Would I? Only if I was'n lucky!”

“Is this jumper cleared to fly? I'm supposed to be hauling cargo with it today.”

“Well ers a bad idea ever I heard one!” Mr. Griggs was piling various tools into his already bulging cart.

John examined the pristine T-11 hesitantly. “When do you think you can sign off on it?”

“Oh she'll fly o'right, o're thruster only run'n ninety percent, wasteful that is! Er auto-pilot is a right jape! Can't be deal'n with no tomfool AI! You give em AI's a'mile they take o're chaps before Billy can wink! Ah, reminds me o’ this time the missus had m'and–”

Mr. Griggs' colorful recollections were mercifully drowned out as another jumper taxied past.

“–ats why I never eat cheese!” Exclaimed Mr. Griggs with a sad look in his eyes.

“So is it clear to fly? Does it pass flight safety regulations?” John looked back at the gleaming ship.

“Oh aye! She'll do fine, take er easy, aven't rattled all er corners yet.” Mr. Griggs finished packing his tools and rolled his cart towards a stack of cargo across the hangar. Halfway there, he started yelling at another man dressed in the same shade of brightly-colored, grease-speckled safety overalls.

John walked around the T-11 doing his pre-flight inspection with a bit more caution than usual. Nothing seemed out of order, so he made his way up the ramp and did a quick inspection for anything that might come loose during flight. The cockpit was a streamlined affair, with two chairs next to each other, each sporting flight controls. Most flight information was projected inside the pilot's flight helmet, giving him a three-dimensional view of relevant telemetry like flight trajectories, terrain maps, wind speed, and safe ascent routes. There were a few flat displays that functioned mostly as redundancy measures in the event of a primary integrated heads-up display failure. Finding nothing amiss, he strapped in and began going through his pre-flight checklist.

“Run pilot assist AI.”

“Good morning and salutations, Captain Varen. I am T-11-987B’s pilot assist AI. I am capable of performing multitudinous tasks simultaneously, including atmospheric flight, orbital maneuvers, landing, and takeoff in 11,080 different conditions, including 531 different planetary atmospheric configurations, systems diag–”

“Pilot AI, perform a complete systems diagnostic.”

“Yes, Captain Veran, comprehensive system diagnostics are commencing. The estimated time to completion is six hours and forty-two minutes.”

John rolled his eyes. “Limit system diagnostics to critical flight and safety systems only.”

“Applying refined parameters, flight and safety systems diagnostics commencing, revised estimate is 38 minutes.”

Having completed his pre-flight checklist, John began powering up the T-11's flight systems.

“Control, this is Jumper...” He glanced at the designation numbers on his helmet's HUD. “T-11-987B requesting clearance to launch.”

“987B, you're cleared to launch from pad 6A.”

John taxied the T-11 out into a brilliant Veridian morning. His HUD showed a glowing dashed path towards launch pad 6A. Air traffic was almost nonexistent this morning, so he'd been assigned the closest launch pad to the cavernous primary hangar.

John took in the luminous blue vault above him. "Personal uplink, play music, 'Flight' from my personal collection, at 35 percent volume.”

The pilot assist AI spoke up. “Captain Varen I must warn you that playing any kind of music during a flight is against UED flight safety protocol under section 918, subsection 53.”

“I know.”

“Playing music 'Flight',” said the rich-accented voice of his uplink's AI.

Still gazing into the blue, he hit the throttle just as his favorite song blasted across his helmet's audio system. John’s heart raced as he felt the thrusters push him into his flight chair. Several system alerts blinked mildly in protest at the aggressive ascent vector. He pitched from horizontal to vertical, narrowing his profile and reducing air resistance. Along with the change in pitch, he felt the acceleration force shift from directly below to squarely behind him as he continued his meteoric rise into the waiting void. Soon he was into the cloud layer and still ascending at a blood-tingling speed.

John loved to fly for a reason; he loved the way it felt, especially atmo-flight. Flying filled him with a sense of relevance. This moment, only this singular moment set against a vast cosmic eternity, mattered.