Nothing screams ‘new guy’ like failing to open the entry hatch.

Beside me, the humanoid reptile-avian raises what I think is an eyebrow, and I feel my face flush. He punches the rear bulkhead and with a hiss of hydraulics, the ship’s ramp lowers, the light from inside blinding me. The space dock flickers with shadows, and I step back.

It all began with an interview a day earlier, and there are two things I will admit to you. First, I’m terrible at interviews, the second, I’ll fill you in on that later.

“Simon Fox, twenty-two, born 2172 in Apollo city, Vesta Moon, Trappist F,” the avian says in one breath, leaning back in his chair. Then, with a deadpan expression asks, “Straight out of freighter school. You’re a thrill seeker then?”

“Freighters aren’t fast… Oh, you’re joking,” I reply, inwardly groaning.

He stares at me with a stony expression, causing me to sink into my chair.

I sit at an old industrial desk, cold brushed metal, stretching at least two meters, and in an office rented in a rarely used part of Apollo City. It resides on the ground level, surrounded by vacant offices and sparse food outlets. The creature opposite me shuffles papers, which I think is unusual considering my resume was electronically submitted. I try to see what the raptorin is looking for.

Just to fill you in on what a raptorin is, just imagine a humanoid covered in scales, with jade and violet feathers, and an elongated muzzle. They resemble a velociraptor but are referred to as ‘bird’ or ‘avian’ and aren’t known for their sense of humor. Personally, I think their jaded feathers reflect their personality.

Some conspiracy theorists think they were originally dinosaurs, but it’s never been proven. We, and by we, I mean humans, accidentally discovered the aliens about one hundred and ten years ago. It was a tumultuous meeting that I won’t spoil for you here.

“So,” the raptorin says in a deep, oppressive voice. “Why would a Decree spy want to join a small crew of reclaimers?”

That sets me back. My hands sweat and I fear the patches under my arms will reveal my true purpose. If he thinks I’m law enforcement, this will be over soon.

I’m not a Decree agent, by the way.

Before I can answer, a grin reaches the corner of his mouth and he says, “I’m joking with you of course.” He puts the papers down and stares at me. “If I really believed that, this interview would be rather short, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, of course,” I laugh nervously. “A spy wouldn’t have gotten lost trying to find this place.”

“Time keeping isn’t on your resume, I guess. Then again, neither are navigation skills so we’re lucky you’re not interviewing to be a pilot.” He stares at me, and I struggle to hold his gaze before he asks, “You served on a ship straight after graduating?”

I feel the shakes fade and the lump in my throat clear. “The Dracon. Strange name for a hauler, right?”

“Indeed.” He stands and reaches out his hand. “My name is Mr. Glide. You may refer to me as such.”

So that was the interview, which ended with a positive call that night, offering me a position on the crew.

Mr. Glide now stands next to me, his bulk blocking out most of the light emanating from inside the cargo bay. I take a moment to admire the run-down cutter class vessel and wonder how an asymmetric ship can even fly. The left wing is far larger than the right, with a cockpit at the front and four engines concealed at the back. Glancing over the forward section, I can just make out the worn and flaked lettering of her name.

“Unbound.”

An ugly duckling, and I think her beautiful.

As the rear ramp reaches the ground, my eyes adjust, and two other crew members stroll down. Looking like a scar faced killer from the documentaries I watched as a child, the man in front gives me the chills. The ingrained fight-or-flight instinct in my brain tells me to run.

Then he grins, pulls his hands from his pockets and in a thick accent says, “Welcome new guy, I’m Trenton, your resident gun for hire and all-round good guy.”

“Storyteller, more like,” says another voice, stepping out from behind. “Why don’t you tell the new guy what you did to the last one?”

Trenton laughs. “And this pain in my rear is Nelson Wasnotch. There’s a bunch of different things you can call him instead if you like.”

Wasnotch is a stick figure of a man, mid-thirties and completely bald. He slaps his friend on the shoulder, points to the raptorin and adds, “You’ve met…”

“Mr. Glide,” I interrupt. “He interviewed me.” I want to say more but notice the held expressions on the men’s faces. “What?”

Both men burst out in laughter, tears falling from their cheeks.

“I guess I can relax now,” the raptorin says, playfully slapping my cheek. “It’s just Glide, new guy.”

I flush and feel the need to crawl under the ship’s landing struts. This is how you fit into a new crew, I guess.

“Simon Fox is my name,” I yell up the ramp to their backs as they board.

I pick up my bag and rush to follow. When I reach the top of the ramp, I notice an absence of vehicle in the modest sized bay.

As if reading my mind Trenton says, “We’ve no need for rovers where we’re going, plus planet-side jobs are far too slow and bumpy.”

Wasnotch is first through the interior door, followed by Glide, Trenton then me. After navigating through the engineering section covered in blinky lights, we arrive in the main compartment. On the left is berthing, with three doors, one of which is open, revealing a well-made bunk. I drag my bag over to it.

“Not that one,” says a female voice behind me.

Sitting at the galley table, a small and messy faced girl is engrossed in the electronic workings of a device I don’t recognize.

Mr. Glide, sorry, Glide, peeks over Trenton’s head and asks her, “What are you doing with the toaster?”

Without looking up, the girl sniggers and replies, “I’m just modifying it, you know, that thing people do to improve things? Like what would happen if the captain kicked Wasnotch off the ship, in deep space, and under decompression?”

The expression on Wasnotch’s face darkens, and he gradually backs away from the girl. She quietly reaches into her pocket, revealing a small, pointed device. Electricity arcs from its end and a crackling echoes through the compartment.

“Don’t come near me with that thing again,” says Wasnotch, disappearing towards the ship’s midsection.

The girl laughs hysterically and reminds me of a scary clown at the vintage circus.

“He’s so creepy,” she says, putting away the taser. “If he creeps around me again, though, I won’t hesitate to jab him another one.”

“And this lovely human is Tinks,” says Trenton.

“And this lovely human has the middle bunk you were just about to claim, new guy. So, unless you want to swim with the space fishes, I suggest you bunk with Notchey.”

I fight the urge to swallow and look intimidated.

Trenton continues, “Tinks here loves to pull perfectly good technology apart and, in her opinion, improve it.”

“When I’m done with this baby, we’ll be able to make breakfast remotely from our comm units.”

“She tinkers with things. I get it,” I say, realizing how stupid the statement sounds before I even finish speaking.

“Oh, we have another genius!” she exclaims. “It’s actually short for Tinkerbell, you idiot.”

Trenton places his hand on my shoulder and directs me to the first bunk. “You’ll have to hot-swap with Wasnotch in the first bunk. You can leave your bag there.”

I nod, open the door, and place my only belonging down inside the cabin. The smell of burned circuitry permeates the galley and I watch as Tinks begins soldering the components back together.

“I have a question,” I direct at Trenton. “What exactly is my role onboard?”

The serial killer faced man, grins and replies, “Did you not ask that in your interview?”

I feel so stupid. I knew it was coming, that red flush I always get when hindsight blindsides me.

“I asked Glide a couple of times but only got a vague answer. He’s good at evasion,” I reply.

“You should see when it’s his turn to clean the galley,” Tinks yells out, still head down in her project. “Mr. Evasive.”

“Let’s finish the grand tour of the ship and I’ll fill you in on your role,” Trenton says.

I imagine quotation marks over his head with that last word. The way he pronounced it was highly unusual.

“I’m not going to be the janitor, or anything am I?” I ask.

“No, nothing like that. We all look after a certain section of the ship,” says Trenton. “By her fascination with dismantling perfectly working technology you can tell that Tinks’ role is an engineer. It’s her job to keep the engines running, air circulating, power stable, and maintain any other systems you can think of.”

He flashes his hands about like an air hostess from a commercial transport. “Wasnotch and me are turret gunners. The two of us may look harmless…”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

They really don’t.

“… But we can shoot your nose hairs blindfolded.”

I touch my nose and feel a little self-conscious. As I listen, I follow Trenton into the midsection. On either side, port and starboard, circular doors branch off leading to the control areas for the turrets.

“If we swear at you to get out of our way, don’t be offended. If sharks are circling, there isn’t much time to get into position.”

I point to the door to the front and ask, “Is that the cockpit area?”

“That’s the Captain’s berth and then yes, beyond that is the cockpit. You will find Glide there most of the time and the Captain, of course.”

“When can I meet him?”

“The Captain?” Trenton replies. “In time. He’s probably busy with his eccentric plots to rule the galaxy or something.”

I’m so close now.

On the other side of that door is my target and the key to everything I need. I fight down the temptation to rush past my guide and force a meeting. Reckless and stupid daydreams flood my mind before they are rudely interrupted.

“Umm hello, are you still with me?” asks Trenton, waving his hand in my face. “Where did you go?”

I’m startled and reply with, “There’s so much information to take in.”

“It’s just a tour, new guy. Don’t get too panicked just yet. I haven’t shown what you’ll be doing.”

He snaps his fingers, like what rude people do at restaurants, and motions to follow him back through the ship. I finally swallow the lump in my throat and keep pace. We end up back in the cargo bay.

Trenton, with outstretched arms announces, “And this is your responsibility.”

“The cargo area?” I ask. “I thought you said I wouldn’t be the janitor?”

The man crosses his arms over his stomach as if trying to hold in a belly laugh and I get a sinking feeling.

“Your title is ‘Cutter Logistics and Storage Systems Yeoman’.”

At least I have a place on the ship, I guess.

“Guess what that makes you?” he asks. “C.L.A.S.S.Y.”

I try not to roll my eyes as the interior door opens. Is this my target? Will he finally show himself?

Tinks rushes out before the door fully opens, grabs my hand, and begins guiding me down the ramp. “The Capt. says you and I need to visit the Salvager and pick up a few goodies.”

I can’t tell whether she’s excited to get away from everyone or just visit a scrapyard. I hear engineers like that sort of thing. My gut tells me that maybe it’s not a good idea to follow her to an unfamiliar place, but that’s exactly what I’m already doing. I still haven’t got eyes on my target, and I feel like staying. To think, he was just on the other side of that door earlier.

So close.

Be patient, I tell myself. This will probably take a week, two at most. If I can pull this off, I’ll get the prize I’ve waited so long for.

Tinks grips my hand tighter, and we increase pace. I glance back at the Unbound on the docks and can’t help but feel its magnificent presence.

We leave the landing pad and head towards the train into the city.

*

After some fast talk from Tinks, which involves the quiet exchanging of credits with a nosey customs officer, we arrive in the secondary trade district. I’ve never seen this place at night, and she frequently pulls me along after I repeatedly transfix on the neon signs. I’m like a rabbit in a spotlight, but it doesn’t take long to reach our destination.

“Finally,” says Tinks. “You know, you are super slow for a young guy.”

I crane my neck to read the sign, Savage’s Salvage. At least it’s reputable. I had visions of some back-alley transaction with rubbish bins and rats. Tinks drags me down the side alley and into a dark corner.

“Shut up and don’t say anything,” she says to me. “I’m serious. I don’t want you spilling your guts out to this guy and having the prices jacked up, understand?”

I nod and be a good little boy. I note the surroundings in case I need to return later.

From the shadows steps out a large, greasy faced man. He’s bald down the middle with two strips of hair joining into sideburns, appearing to eat his face from either side. I swear this guy’s wearing an old boiler suit. My mission will be over quickly if he has a hockey mask and a chainsaw.

The man pulls his arm across and activates a low-grade comm unit and says, “Ship name?”

“Unbound.”

The big guy chuckles, “Oh, that piece of junk.”

I see Tinks reach into her pocket where I know she keeps her taser.

“The piece of junk that’s going to make you some money, unless you prefer us to walk,” says Tinks.

“Alright, alright,” the man says. “Flick over your request and I’ll check stock.”

I can’t help but wonder why exactly this couldn’t be done in the store, but I guess you can’t fence on the books.

“Seriously?” asks Tinks. “You only have three? What kind of business are you running here?”

“If it isn’t good enough for the crew of the ‘Not-bound’,” he says, trying to sound funny.

I’m not exactly sure what Tinks is attempting to purchase, but I watch her face drop and accept the transaction.

“You could just sell me your ship. I’d give you a good price of course,” Grease Man, as I call him now, says. “Would take a while, but her parts could fetch a nice price. I’d even give you a little cut. A little cut for a little girl.”

Tinks is fast. Real fast. The taser jumps from her pocket quick enough that Grease Man falls onto his backside in the trash pile. I start forward, but without taking her eyes off the man, she holds her palm to me.

Sparks flicker in the alley from the small weapon.

“Now you listen to me, and you listen good,” Tinks says to Grease Man. “I’m proud of my ship and my crew…”

A brief flash of the interaction between Tinks and Wasnotch jumps into my head, and I question if he’s included in that statement.

“… So, if you insult me or the Unbound one more time, I’ll stick this zap-zap rod so far…”

Grease Man got the point.

He scrambles back into the corner with a panicked expression and stutters, “Is good, all is good.”

“And the mod?” she asks.

“The mod is good too, I promise. I promise.”

Grease Man looks around for an exit and freezes when he realizes we are in the way. I watch Tinks for a moment as she eyes him, and with the tiniest of smirks, turns and walks away.

Of course, I follow. My sense of direction is terrible, and I don’t feel that getting lost will earn me any respect on the crew. I don’t think my respect meter has even hit the first notch yet, although it’s only the first day.

“Are your shopping experiences always like that?” I ask Tinks as we exit the district. “Like, can we not just use the stores?”

Tinks looks me up and down and shakes her head. “What kind of ship do you think you’ve signed on with, exactly?”

*

“What kind of ship do I think I’ve signed on with?” she asks me. That’s a simple question to answer.

We stand at the bottom of the Unbound’s cargo ramp and watch as three workers wheel across the landing pad. The squeaking wheel of the trolley hurts my teeth and makes my skin crawl. A rectangular ship mod, roughly a meter across, rests atop the trolley and rocks back and forth.

“This the Unbound?” one worker asks Tinks in a bored expression. He activates his comm unit and presses a sequence of keys.

Tinks looks the mod over, her face sour at the sight of the equipment and she says, “Yeah. Tell your boss he better stock some better mods or I’m going elsewhere. Seriously, I’ve seen better gear floating in the belts.” She accepts the transfer and waves them up the ramp to Trenton who’s waiting at the top and acting security.

I’m about to ask her why we don’t just reclaim gear from the belts, but she hurries up the ramp. I go to follow when my heart skips a beat. My target appears, finally.

You have got to be kidding me. The guy walking down the ramp towards me, the captain of the Unbound, looks twelve! Alright, I might exaggerate there a little, but he’s young, younger than me by at least a year, and I’m straight out of freighter school. How does someone like that own and captain a ship? I’ve read about this ship and its crew but had no idea about its captain.

So, I’m a little envious, jealous even, that I’m just starting out and this guy has all this. It sparks my curiosity.

He extends his hand to me and says, “So you must be the new guy. I’m Jake Towers, captain of the Unbound.”

I shake his hand. “Simon Fox. Thank you for accepting me onboard. I have a lot of questions.”

Towers laughs in response, more to my expression I think than my words. “You’re wondering how someone so young is ordering serial killers around on a large ship?”

I stutter a moment whilst thinking of a response and he answers his own question. “It’s alright, everyone has that same reaction. I’ll answer your questions in time, but first I want you to follow me.”

He places his hand on my shoulder and motions to follow. I feel the guy’s charisma and wonder if he’s an old soul. You know, those people that seem too mature for their age like they’re the reincarnation of a hundred lifetimes.

I follow, like what else would I do right?

He leads me to the landing area’s edge. It’s run down with rubbish overflowing from bins like the alleyway, and I half expect to see people selling fake comm units from trench coats. We walk a little further and stop at a chain linked fence that extends the entire length of the area, blocking off any access beyond.

I see Towers peer through the fence.

He nods and motions toward something in the distance then asks, “What do you see over there?”

It’s not too far away and easily recognizable. A circular feature protrudes from the ground, concrete and aged.

“A drain,” I reply. “Why would you be showing me a disused drain?”

Towers smiles at me. “If you wanted to walk over to it, touch it, see where it leads, could you?”

I wonder if this is a trick.

“No, because of the fence,” I answer.

“Exactly, and why can’t you?”

“The fence is too high to climb, and I’d probably be seen before I got to the top and arrested.”

“That’s correct, Simon,” he says. “The chain linked fence that someone has erected here is stopping you from achieving what you want.”

I see what he’s trying to convey.

Towers continues. “This fence represents the restrictions inflicted on you by people who wish to control you, to keep you out. Out there, in the void where we’re going, there are no restrictions. It isn’t just people who place these restrictions, either. If you wished to touch the stars, evolution has stopped you by creating the need for oxygen and grounding you with the lack of wings.”

I nod and say, “I see what you’re saying, but why show me this?”

Towers leans against the fence and replies, “Because I want you to understand what the Unbound stands for. It’s freedom, wings to reach the skies and experience everything you’ve ever imagined. There are no chains restraining us.”

I feel the fire of freedom and adventure rise within me, then anxiety creeps forward when I remember why I’m here. I’m conflicted. This man before me, Jake Towers, captain of the Unbound and leader of so called ‘Reclaimers’ is actually a wanted criminal. I started this task, this infiltration, with the goal of capturing Towers and turning him over to the authorities.

What I haven’t told you is my first interview was with the Decree, and as I’m terrible at interviews, I failed, miserably. I was told, under sniggers and dirty looks, that I would be considered if I brought in a wanted criminal. Jake Towers is one such man and if I can capture him, then the Decree would have no choice but to accept my application.

If I could capture him. To my alarm, I like the guy.

Oh, and the second thing I haven’t admitted to you, besides being terrible at interviews, is I’m a terrible liar. Now I know what you’re thinking. This guy wants to infiltrate a crew of outlaws and be a spy. But he can’t lie. Why would you even bother?

I haven’t worked that part out yet, or if I capture Towers, how to deliver him to the Decree. I’ll work that out as I go. Ad hoc would look great on my resume, right?

“You zone out a lot,” Towers says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I smile and say, “I can’t wait to start.”

“You already have, Simon.” He slaps me on the shoulder again, starts back to the ship and says, “No chains, Fox. No chains.”