I relaxed with a data-slate in the back of the transport tram, putting my feet up on the seats as I scrolled through the feeds. Depending on where we worked in the galaxy, there was either a lot of entertainment to be found or none at all. The Pajjarns were on the more practical side of things. There were a thousand newscasts covering the war, political commentary, and endless logistics reports. I saw a dozen headlines including: Karashak Bombing Continues—Shortfall of Carbo-Metalin in the Yvan System, Contracts Open!—Third Supergroup Fleet Annihilated by Tigris Fighter Claws. None of it was of any interest to me.

  I tapped my finger, looking for holo-dramas or simulacra games or even literature. It was a hobby that surprised even myself—as practical as I was. But of the many places we visited, I found that I could keep precious little as mementos—memories. I tried rock specimens for a while, but I quickly realized I couldn’t tell the samples apart. I moved onto data-pics, but I built up a library that became equally as difficult to organize. And as it happened, pictures seemed to preserve so little of what I wished to recall.

  It was only after my failed experiment with live specimens that Ingrish had suggested something else that could contain the soul of a place. Though I preferred a different descriptive, her advice was useful. And thus began my collection.

  I thought I would have much more time to make my selection here on Ignavus III, but as our transportation tram entered a low connectivity zone, I quickly made my choice. Downloading the Vedim Sagas, a reputed early text of the Pajjarn people, I set the data-slate aside.

  Rykar was cleaning the guass cannon nearby in the tram car. He wiped its long barrel down with a rag quietly. At the other end of the car, Amon sat downcast, staring at the floor. I didn’t ask either of them what exactly had happened. I knew there was no point yet. Questioning anyone on the Aphelion was… what was the human expression again? Pulling teeth. I had long learned to be patient and to choose the moment carefully. But even if I couldn’t get answers from the two, Ingrish was always a last resort.

  I contented myself with the silence. Resting my hand on my cheek, I watched the passing spires of Ignavus III thin away into ugly plains of solar panels, steam vents, and waste pipes. And out in the distance, mountains of trash rose where mobile reprocessing platforms, crawling goliaths of steel, shoved their mouths through endless mounds of garbage. Hardly the most efficient way of recycling the refuse of a civilization, but the independent guilds here maintained a more important service of discreet landing pads outside of official spaceports.

  The tram car pulled around one such heaving titan. Its great wheeled tracks were bigger than spacecraft. It rose as a titanic block of steel, with an angular spire at the back rising above it all. The ridges of its rectangular exoskeleton were cliffs of steel while the dips of its hull were valleys. Looking over the beast, it was an expanse of heaped plate and bursting chutes of smoke. And amidst it all was the Aphelion, clinging to the goliath’s back like an insect.

  The transportation tram rounded close to the spaceship. It was nestled in a crevasse. An expanse of steel angled sharply above, acting as a windbreak and casting the Aphelion half in shadow. I felt the tram car shudder as the docking clamps fastened tight. The doors swung open, and I breathed in the sulphur fume.

  …

  Rykar and I had already unloaded most of our equipment from the tram, and I was just setting aside some magazines in the airlock when the Pajjarn representative appeared from a docking pad access door. Covering his mouth with some cloth and wearing rich dark clothing, it was clear he was a high-born of some kind and not used to this type of environment. Well, he wasn’t high-born enough to avoid being sent out here.

  I left my work and watched from the airlock amused as he approached Amon Russ. Our payment was received through encrypted channels. We were never supposed to meet anyone face-to-face for these jobs.

  Amon glanced up, annoyed as the Pajjarn representative approached and made a gesture to his forehead flaps. “I am Avik, Esteemed Ancestor.”

  “Yes?” Amon asked impatiently.

  Avik kneeled and made a great show of his arms as he presented an ornate plasteel box no bigger than the palm of his hand. Amon swiped the container and opened it, causing some surprise to the Pajjarn, who clearly expected the bounty hunter would show it more reverence. Amon popped the case in his hand and out fell a red-gleaming diamond.

  “The Pajjarns offer their gratitude and thanks—”

  “It’s a fake,” Amon said. “This was made in a lab. It’s useless. I can’t even sell it.” Amon tossed the gem away on the landing pad.

  “N-No, it’s not! The Pajjarn stuttered, horrified. “The Core Gem is made in the image of the Seventy-Two we presented to your species! From the depths of our worlds, our fathers swore loyalty to you.”

  “So?” Amon asked curtly.

  The Pajjarn was aghast. Nothing of this encounter had gone as he expected. “But w-with the T-Tigris fleets approaching, I-I thought you would…” Avik gestured with his hands, wanting Amon to pick up what he was saying.

  Amon looked at the Pajjarn confused.

  Avik gulped. “When we learned the bounty hunter coming was human, we rejoiced. You have come to help us win the war have you not?”

  “No.” Amon turned and started for the airlock.

  Avik stumbled back to his feet, shocked at this turn of events. “Wait!” He called out.

  Amon rolled his eyes and threw up his hands, gesturing for the Pajjarn to get on with it.

  “Are you leaving because we showed the improper courtesies? My master will procure a real Core Gem, if that is why you are angry with us. A thousand apologies!” Avik dipped to kiss the hull plate, but Amon forced the representative back to his feet.

  “I don’t care how much you pay me. Nothing is worth risking my crew and ship in your war. I was happy for the credits while it lasted, but I’ve got other business now. And frankly, with a thousand Tigris ships gunning for this planet, I recommend you leave while you can too.” Amon turned again and stomped towards the airlock, tired of the conversation.

  Avik looked as if his god abandoned him. “I thought humans were our saviors!” The Pajjarn suddenly cried out in an accusing voice. “I spent my childhood hearing the stories. I didn’t think your species were cowards!”

  Amon Russ stopped in his tracks. He turned around, promptly pulling out his pistol and aiming it straight at the Pajjarn’s head. The representative was suddenly very pale and he began stuttering as Amon stared death at him.

  “You ask me to go into battle and lay down my life for you? Where were you when humanity fought the Aberrants? Where were you when they burned our worlds? Where were you when we needed the help of the Pajjarns?”

  “It’s humanity wh-who are s-supposed to protect the g-galaxy!” The Pajjarn quivered.

  If the alien hadn’t insulted Amon, he had now. The old man stepped right up to the diplomat with the barrel of his gun pressed against the alien’s head. “Do you know how many of my friends died for you? Do you know how many of my family!? By the million, we died for this galaxy! Say one of their names! Do you know a single one!?”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The Pajjarn trembled as he shook his head.

  “And now you come to me, the last son of a dead world! And you ask for my life!?” With the end of the pistol, Amon pushed the alien to his knees. The Pajjarn kept moving his mouth, but he didn’t have the courage to speak another word.

  “Is it that you are a worm, or does your whole species have no honor!? Stand and die like a man!” Amon yelled.

  The Pajjarn began kissing Amon’s feet only to be met with a hard kick of the boot. The alien was sent flying. It rolled and didn’t get back up to its feet, only raising shaking hands in surrender.

  “Every day I wonder whether we should’ve let the Aberrants take you all. For once in your miserable lives, fight your own battles.” Amon tossed the pistol to the Pajjarn. The alien seemed to cower at the prospect of the gun more than anything.

  Amon joined Rykar and I in the airlock.

  “We’re up,” the old bird informed the man.

  Amon silently punched the airlock cycle and the doors sealed. I remained seated as the docking clamps unfastened. The Aphelion groaned under its own weight as it took off. Amon disappeared down the halls of the ship with Rykar, while I remained in the airlock. I stared at the lone Pajjarn on the landing pad, on his knees with the pistol untouched. I had never seen anything more desolate, and I watched the alien as he became a speck and disappeared amongst all the trash of Ignavus III.

  …

  “We’re heading for Sanctuary.” Amon announced on the bridge of the Aphelion.

  My ears perked up at the name. The meager crew of the ship were scattered across the large command deck. Rykar sat in the pilot’s chair at a forward console, playing with some scrap in his talons. Kybit stood poised gracefully as ever, neural cables plugged into a port while she absentmindedly listened to the conversation. And in a rare of occasion, Tut had made an appearance as well, waiting impatiently with his arms behind his back at the exit aperture. I kept to a far corner, preferring not to be seen.

  The only one who was missing was Ingrish, but that was not surprising, given her condition.

  “What are the coordinates?” Rykar asked. “I’ve heard you talk about the place before. If it’s as distant as I think it is, we’ll need to go into stasis pods. I’m sorry Captain, but the Aphelion doesn’t have it in her for long, atmospheric voyages anymore.”

  “It’s too far for stasis pods,” Amon said. “It was built on the other end of the galaxy for a reason. It’s well beyond the wilderness of space. It’ll take a thousand years for anyone to reach it, dark space or otherwise.”

  “Then how are we supposed to get there?” Kybit asked.

  “There’s a secret passage in the Voynich Nebulae. A Gravitronic Relay. There are a few other entrances, but that one is the easiest.”

  Rykar got the far stare in his yellow eyes, and I knew that whatever the Voynich Nebulae was, it was interesting enough for the pirate lord’s attention.

  “There’s no record of a star existing in that region,” Kybit said, confused. “How can there be a Relay there?”

  “There are other ways of bending spacetime,” Amon responded, as if that answered anything. I knew the men well enough to know that it either meant he didn’t understand how it worked or he was guarding yet another of mankind’s secrets. It might’ve been both, honestly. It was improbable that there was anyone left in the galaxy who understood everything humanity had left behind.

  “The Voynich Nebulae is haunted.” Tut made an uncharacteristic remark. “I can’t anticipate damages to crew nor the necessary remedies.”

  I turned my head. It was rare for me to hear an unfamiliar word anymore. I didn’t glance over to Kybit for a translation however. I suppose it had become a point of pride that I didn’t need her or Ingrish’s help anymore.

  “I thought you wouldn’t believe in ghosts.” Rykar grinned, teasing the doctor.

  “I do not.” Tut didn’t look the bird’s way, instead training his eyes on Amon. “The galaxy incorrectly understands such things. They believe the point of origin for such phenomena is the underworld, or whichever afterlife they believe in. But if the dead could cross back, mankind would’ve built bodies for them. No such constructs exist in the galactic record, so we know they are not permitted.”

  “What does haunted mean?” I asked, fed up with trying to understand the conversation.

  Tut gave me a sideways glance. “When entities from the inner or outer contexts align into our reality.”

  I nodded, grateful for the clarification.

  “It’s precisely why we built the gate in the nebulae,” Amon spoke up. “No one is insane enough to go looking there. Kybit, we’ll need to adjust the ship’s field emitters to specific frequencies. It’ll give the ship time to pass through unharmed.”

  Amon tapped a few keys and the ship’s holometric screen appeared in the wide viewport. A map of the spiral arm and a yellow route line extended from our position to the Voynich Nebulae, many thousands of light years away. “We don’t have the supplies for the full trip. That means we’ll have to work jobs along the way. Rykar, I’ll need you to find work for us. Nothing too conspicuous. Just enough pay to get us where we’re going.”

  “I should ask,” Rykar snapped open a zakon dart and lit it. “This journey is sounding more and more like a one-way trip. How long are you going to be staying at Sanctuary?”

  “For the rest of Ingrish’s life, however long that is,” Amon flatly replied.

  Rykar nodded. “Then you should know I’ll have to hold you to your word on our arrangement. If you’re grounding yourself, I keep the ship.”

  Amon nodded without a beat. “That’s acceptable.”

  I felt as if I had been punched in the gut. That part of the conversation came out of nowhere and with no warning. I staggered, scrambling my thoughts to catch up. But before I could speak a word, Tut opened first.

  “To remind you, my contract is with the Aphelion, not with you. I will not be staying in Sanctuary. If Rykar takes the ship, I must go with him.”

  Rykar casted a disgusted glance at the doctor for insisting he was going with the bird anywhere, but he kept his beak shut.

  Amon again nodded. “I’m aware.”

  “You’ll have me wherever you want until my term is up,” Kybit said indifferently. “It does not matter to me if there’s no transport off Sanctuary.”

  “I don’t want to leave the Aphelion!” I exclaimed, butting into the conversation. “This is my home!”

  The room fell silent at my outburst, and every head turned my way and then to Amon.

  The old man spoke without a trace of emotion on his face. “That’s not going to be an option, Vas.”

  And that was that. My home was taken away in the blink of an eye. It was pointless to argue because it was pointless to argue with Amon Russ. Whatever he said simply went. There was no way around it, nothing I could do nor anything I could scheme to do. Amon commanded my absolute obedience, not because I had no one else to turn to but because I did not wish to live my life without Amon Russ.

  I am told I am unique among human children, in that I never once rebelled against my parents. In truth, it was that I had lived too much of my life without them, and I knew all too well that my frail world could come down in an instant. If the choice was between my home and Amon and Ingrish, then obviously I would choose them every time.

  Still, that did not stop me from childishly storming off the bridge in a fit of anger.

  …

  It took me too long to find the courage to stand at Ingrish’s door. I had spent most of the day distracting myself with menial chores or wandering the ship. I had gone out in spacesuit and welded a hull plate over an ancient puncture. Filling the corridor with oxygen and lowering the golden shield, another part of the Aphelion was reclaimed from our encounter with the Xurak all those years ago. I was sad that just as our ship was starting to heal from that catastrophic battle, it was going to be taken away yet again.

  In this account, it may come across that I had recovered rather well from what the Xurak had done to me. In truth, just as I opened a door and found another shield barrier and another gaping hole out into vacuum, I was not all right. It had taken seven years to adjust to this new skin. And it was going to be many more years before the scars in my thoughts faded.

  But it would be useless to fill these pages with endless trauma. Misery, if dwelt on too long, becomes angst, and it is better to conceal those infirmities as one would bandage an open wound. I will say, however, as that boy looked out into those darkened stars, he knew that the Xurak were still out there. And he would never rest until they were gone.

  I picked up my tools and left, leaving the repair work for another day. With nothing left to do, I wandered the battered halls of the Aphelion, now looking even more rough and jumbled together than when I first arrived. I’ve found when things get old, they forget themselves, who they once were. So too was it with this ship, now welded, rewired, and scrapped back together again. There was so much that was obviously taken from somewhere else. But it was still the Aphelion. It was still my ship. I wasn’t its Captain, but I belonged in this vessel the same way it belonged to me. We were some of the last human things in this galaxy, and it felt wrong that I would one day leave it behind.

  I put off visiting Ingrish for as long as I could, but I could only delay that terrible moment for so long. It crushed my heart every time I saw her, and I’m sure it crushed her’s more so, knowing that she had become a source of suffering for me.

  Stiffening myself as the door to her quarters opened, I saw the Bakke appear in the threshold. Her face was covered in wrinkles and splotches. Her back was stooped. She stayed in her quarters most of the day, lacking the energy to do much else. Even her scarlet blindfold was weathered, her refusing to change it out. The Bakke smiled at me, and I couldn’t help but wince in guilt.

  Old age had come for Ingrish, even as it scarcely touched a hair on my head.