Leaving the clouds behind, he continued his rapid ascent. Telemetry indicated he was above forty thousand meters, so he throttled up again to reach escape velocity. Miss Serendipity was holding in a conservative orbit, about 500 kilometers from the surface, but it was behind him. The first burn would be prograde, to transition into a higher orbit, letting the freighter catch up. Once he was well clear of the Veridian atmosphere, or at least the heavy drag-inducing part of it, he started to pitch forward. Trading his extreme vertical ascent vector for a prograde burn, he raised his periapsis outside the grasp of Veridia's atmospheric drag. Several minutes passed before his previous periapsis was now his new apoapsis at about 520km. Throttling back, he settled in to wait for the next orbital maneuver.

“Diagnostics complete, critical instrumentation operating within UED flight safety parameters."

John glanced over at the pilot assist AI's display. "Well, that's good to know.”

“Safety is our number one priority at DuroTech Industries.”

John shut off the AI assistant.

His comms lit up. “Jumper T-11-987B, this is Miss Serendipity,” said a lightly accented voice.

“Captain Varen here, Serendipity. I heard you have some junk that needs moving.”

“If by junk, Captain Varen, you mean extremely fragile, highly expensive, and desperately needed generator components, then yes, we need our 'junk' moved. Although I'm starting to have second thoughts about outsourcing our atmospheric transportation after watching your ascent.” She sounded amused.

“I personally guarantee your junk will make it all the way to the ground in record time.”

“Will it cost extra to keep our 'junk' in the same general molecular configuration as it was before its record-breaking descent from orbit?”

John adjusted his flight harness. “I tell you what, since my employer likes you, I'll make you a deal. Molecular cohesion is on the house!”

“How magnanimous of them.”

He wasn't sure, but John thought he heard faint laughter in the background during that last transmission.

“Captain Varen I'm sending you our comm address for AI-managed maneuvers. With your current orbit, time to rendezvous is 73 minutes.”

A flashing notification for an encrypted AI comms channel caught his attention. He authenticated the connection but left the AI autopilot inactive. The worst part of hauling cargo was all the waiting required to match the target’s orbit and position. He selected the approach plan and displayed it on his HUD. The next prograde burn was in ten minutes, which would circularize his current orbit. After that, it should only take another hour for Serendipity to catch him.

“John?”

John opened his eyes, but he couldn't see anything. He turned his head and looked at his hands, but still saw nothing. Fighting back panic, he worked his jaw a little. “Hello, control, can you hear me?”

“Captain Veran? I repeat, would you like me to assist with docking maneuvers? It is, after all, one of my many specialties,” said the pilot assist AI.

Jolting awake, John's eyes snapped open, while his heart thundered in his ears. He went to brush his hair back, but his gloved hand bumped up against his helmet. “No! I... I'm good to fly.” I must be worse then I thought, maybe I should ask for a couple days off. Blinking his eyes, trying to focus, he surveyed his situation. In another five minutes, he needed to burn retrograde if he wanted to match the freighter's holding orbit. Delicately maneuvering the jumper, he began matching orbits with Serendipity. The procedure was simple enough to automate, but he liked to stay practiced by performing at least one manual docking routine every shift. Serendipity was coming into visual range; he was almost able to see it without magnification. Ebisu-class freighters weren't designed with beauty in mind. They tended to look like a collection of boxes glued to a long central drive section. Never having to enter an atmosphere meant never having to design for aerodynamics.

“Serendipity, this is Jumper T-11-987B, I'm making my final approach, requesting permission to dock.”

Several seconds passed in silence, he was about to repeat his request when an unfamiliar voice answered him. “Jumper T-11-987B you're cleared to dock in bay R-97, have you sustained damage?”

John frowned at this. “No, all systems are nominal here, control. I'm just in a sporting mood, so I'm coming in au naturel.”

“Very well Captain, best of luck, I hope your insurance is paid up.”

John scowled out the viewport. Rookies.

When he was less than one kilometer out, his HUD displayed a flight path, relative speed, and other telemetry guiding him to Bay R-97. Drifting closer, his jumper appeared to shrink in size relative to the freighter until the cavernous bay eclipsed his entire forward view. Crossing the bay's threshold, he smoothly powered thrusters and vectored them against the freighters light artificial gravity. He guided the jumper as it moved gracefully towards a rectangular outline on the deck near the back of the hangar marked with the number 97. John set jumper T-11-987B down with little more than a gentle thud to mark the event. Powering down the engines, he saw the hangar moving upwards as the section of deck he landed on retracted. Once low enough, doors closed over his jumper, blocking out all vision of hanger bay R. Dull red illumination showed a small chamber well suited in size to his ship. The lighting pulsed red as the chamber pressurized, eventually shifting to blue, then white, indicating it was safe to disembark.

John put the ship into locked standby mode, then unstrapped and glanced at his instruments. Confirming external air pressure, he walked to the rear boarding ramp and entered the unlock codes. The ramp extended, then angled down and settled into place on the deck. John noticed someone waiting for him at the bottom.

“Welcome aboard Miss Serendipity, Captain Varen, I'm Captain Garcia.” The short, wiry man walked over to John, they shook hands. Captain Garcia wore his dark, gray-streaked hair pulled back into a single tidy braid. The wiry captain stepped back a few paces. His steel blue eyes flashed as he took in the T-11's pristine gray hull. “I see Commander Jeffries has been acquiring a few new toys!” He said, breaking into a caviler grin, “I might to be in the wrong business, Captain Varen. Colony building is far more lucrative these days, by the look of it!”

Abruptly turning around, Captain Garcia waved for John to follow. “Come with me. We’ll get you sorted.” He stepped through the large reinforced bay doors, past a line of crew waiting to load the jumper. John followed the freighter captain for several minutes down a long, well-lit, nearly featureless corridor. Captain Garcia stopped in front of a gray door with the designation L-65 displayed in blocky green holographic characters, although below it in smaller text read “Pilots Lounge”.

“Captain Varen, your beautiful T-11 should be ready to launch in less than an hour, that is, if Mr. Phillips isn't being overly conservative again. In the mean time, you're more than welcome to use our facilities such as they are.” He gestured toward the door as it opened for them.

John thanked him and stepped inside. “The Lounge”, looked like every other modular cargo unit, spartan and industrial, with its high ceilings and flat gray walls, except for the creative use of lights. Hanging pendant lamps illuminated chairs and circular tables artfully arranged around a central ring-shaped bar. Most of the room was dimly lit, and as a result, the ceiling was hidden in shadow. Some kind of classical music from the late twentieth century played in the background. As John's eyes adjusted to the new ambiance, he began to see faint points of light scattered across the dim ceiling. They were grouped into familiar constellations; it was an homage to the night sky over Veridia. He wondered if the constellations changed to suit each world the freighter visited.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

He navigated around tables and chairs, most empty and some occupied, as he approached the central bar.

A neatly dressed person with flamboyantly styled bright red hair flickered into view. “Hello patron! What would you like today? I sadly only have a limited selection of simulation alcohol. There are over a dozen different types of caffeine-based beverages, both simulated and natural. I also have a short list of non-liquid refreshments from many different colonies across UED space.”

The AI barkeep gestured, and a menu appeared in the air above the bar. John selected some kind of naturally sourced tea and a couple different fruits from colonies he had never heard of before. After a few moments, a circular section of the bar receded and was quickly replaced by his order as it rose to counter-level.

“I am, by UED regulations, required to inform you that your personal account has been billed by the amount shown on your receipt. Thank you and enjoy your stay.”

Moving towards the edge of the lounge, John selected a seat at an empty table. His tea tasted like every other tea he'd ever had. The fruit, on the other hand, was slightly exotic and satisfying. He patched into the civilian comms network and checked his messages. There was a message from Juno that he flagged for his return flight.

He checked the time. They should almost be finished loading my ship. Looking around the lounge, he let his mind wander. He remembered that unsettling encounter on his way to Central Control. I know I've seen her before, maybe I've just seen her in Colesway. Then again, she could have mistaken me for her double-crossing ex-lover. That would definitely explain why she looked like she wanted to perform impromptu cosmetic surgery on my nose with her fists. He brought up the public staff pictures for Colesway Space Nexus. Maybe she’s a pilot? The pilot personnel files were a bust, at least the ones he had clearance for. Halfway through the crew files for Central Control's staff, a massage notification started flashing on his uplink. It was a brief status update from Serendipity's cargo chief. They were almost done, with only some minor safety inspections to finish before clearing the cargo for transport to Veridia.

He walked out of “The Lounge”, and back down the same long, drab corridor until he reached hanger section R-97. The loading crew was just packing up their tools and leaving.

After a few words with the cargo chief, John went to the cockpit and unlocked it, then scrolled through the sensor interface menu until he reached the weight distribution sensor group. They have me moving a lot of dense cargo, but they did a good job distributing it. I should be fine.

He walked back from the flight controls to the portside cargo hold. Everything was strapped down and secure. Next, he inspected the starboard hold. Everything checked out there too, except one crate, which had been left unsealed with its lid slightly ajar. He went to close the lid, but an odd, low-level humming began as he approached the crate. It was more of a feeling than a sound, as if he had pressed his forehead against an engine housing and the vibrations from the housing were being transmitted right through his skull. He opened the lid slowly. Only packing material. Where's that sound coming from then? After removing some packing, he was left staring at a strange spherical object nearly thirty centimeters across with deep scratches along its circumference. Interesting, I could swear that thing looks blue, but when I look away… Looking closer, what appeared to be just be random scratches were far too short and regularly spaced to be unplanned. Some kind of code, maybe writing? I’ve never seen this script before. As he held the sphere, it gradually became lighter until it gently rose to eye level and started to rotate on an axis. The scratches moved along in mesmerizing patterns. They called to him; he had to know what they meant. But he also had a ship to fly, so he carefully placed his hands on the sphere. It became heavy again, slowly settling into his hands. Putting it back in its packing material, he sealed the lid, making sure the crate was strapped down.

After finishing his cargo inspection, he returned to the cockpit. His flight helmet was on the pilot's seat, just where he'd left it. He donned his helmet and verified its seal, then strapped into the pilot's chair. Marking off the last item on his checklist, he then powered up his flight systems. “Serendipity this is jumper T-11-987B, requesting clearance to depart.” His helmet’s HUD notified him that the ship was sealed and pressurized.

The bay lights outside his cockpit viewports began flashing red, accompanied by muffled sirens warning of imminent depressurization. After a moment, the bay doors opened, and the jumper rose back into cargo bay R. The lift plate stopped level with the main deck and locked into place, sending a subtle tremor through his ship.

John's comms lit up. “Jumper T-11-987B you’re cleared for departure. Please don't scratch anything on your way out, we just had the place repainted with this inspiring shade of bulkhead gray.”

“Control, don't worry, I won't repaint your beautiful cargo bay with my own inspiring shade of Duro-Tech gray.” He feathered the throttle, lifting the jumper gracefully into the bay, then nudged the flight yoke forward and coasted out into the void. John set one of the flat screens to an aft view and watched as Miss Serendipity grew smaller with distance.

Bringing up the navigation menu, he set a course for Colesway Space Nexus. His HUD displayed several fine lines superimposed over his vision. One line extended outward from Veridia's surface directly over the Space Nexus. The other two curved around the planet and indicated the current orbit and a target orbit. He glanced his ETA for the first maneuver. I have time, let’s see what she’s up to. He selected Juno's message and piped it over to his HUD.

A closeup of Juno's face appeared in the top quarter of his helmet's HUD, he shifted it to the center and enlarged it.

She sat back in her office chair. “Hey flyboy! The Institute is nearly dead today. Even my assistant checked out early. Everyone wants to soak up as much sun as they can before the storm season starts.” She could barely contain her excitement. “I have news! I was just officially invited to join a survey expedition the Institute is sponsoring of a newly discovered class M planet! It's habitable, but only just, since it's not very warm. I'm hoping we can find some fissures or geothermal vents, or something that would warm the local climate enough to support an ecosystem!”

He recalled her telling him that, as a child, she dreamed of becoming a legendary explorer, fearlessly mapping strange, untamed new worlds.

“I haven't responded yet. It would be a rather long expedition, so I wanted to talk it over with you first. I doubt we would even have FTL-comm contact since it's a totally unpopulated world. Maybe they need a pilot? How amazing would that be?” She hadn't stopped smiling since the message began. "Anyway, call me when you're ground-side, we can go over the details.” She glanced at something off camera, then looked back. "One-sided conversations always make me nervous, so I'll leave you at talk in a bit?” She blew a kiss then the transmission ended.

John felt a little giddy at the prospect of flying an expedition to an unknown planet. It was the kind of thing you only read about in history books and adventure articles. His thoughts were brought back to the present by a warning light. It was almost time for his last retrograde burn before atmospheric reentry. He oriented the jumper to point its thrusters retrograde, then waited for the timer to hit zero before activating them. After several minutes, he throttled down. Now we wait for the fun part. He glanced at the program timer as Veridia continued to grow in his window. It reached zero and he throttled up against his decent to slow his rapid fall. Holding his flight controls lightly, he watched his telemetry. I’ve done this a thousand times. By the book, nice and easy. The altimeter scrolled down to 120km, then 100km. It reached 60km, then suddenly the entire ship shuddered. John heard an uncomfortable oscillation as the engines fought with each other to maintain equilibrium. Then suddenly he felt himself in free fall!

“Not good! Not good!” He frantically went over system readouts. Everything checks out! He reached a buried systems warning: [critical system failure] Great, which system?! He glanced up through the forward viewport and saw Veridia slowly spin as he plummeted alarmingly fast. The Corsea Sea was easily visible, glittering peacefully under the morning sun. His fuel level was still at 85 percent. Even the backup sensors agreed. More than enough for another trip. He quickly activated his mag-boots, then unstrapped himself from his flight harness.

“Pilot Assist, take over landing!” John yelled while he walked as fast as his mag-boots would go toward an access panel.

“Good morning and salutations, Captain Varen. I see you are currently piloting an unpowered, uncontrolled descent. This is a highly hazardous flight pattern. I fail to see how I can comply with your order if the engines remain in this state.”

“Try anyway!” John yelled back. He made it to the maintenance hatch for the primary engine distribution manifold. Yanking it open, he looked inside feverishly, trying to find out what was preventing power from getting to his engines.

“Captain Varen, we have 75 seconds before lethal impact with the Corsea Sea. Would you like me to transmit any last messages to someone on on your behalf? It can often bring closure to the bereaved, knowing their loved ones did not suffer in the end.”

That damn AI has nothing to lose! John swore, then he swore again. He liked to think of himself as one of those nerves-of-steel kind of pilots, someone who could gaze unflinchingly into the eyes of the abyss. But falling from orbit was every space jockey's worst nightmares.

Centrifugal force began tugging on his stomach while he trudged urgently over to a maintenance screen and looked for anything that might prevent the flow of either power or fuel. Even the diagnostic software seemed to agree that his fuel reserve was at 85 percent. He frantically lumbered back to the cockpit. The Corsea Sea now filled all his viewports in a blurred spiral as the ship spun through its mad death plunge.

For a brief moment, he felt the floor slam into him, then nothing.