Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

Scorpia Kaiser has always stood in the shadow of her older brother, Corvus, until the day he abandons their family to participate in a profitless war. However, becoming the heir to her mother’s smuggling operation is not an easy transition for the always-rebellious, usually reckless, and occasionally drunk pilot of the Fortuna, an aging cargo ship and the only home Scorpia has ever known.

But when Corvus returns from the war and a deal turns deadly, Scorpia’s plans to take over the family business are interrupted, and the Kaiser siblings are forced to make a choice: take responsibility for their family’s involvement in a devastating massacre, or lie low and hope it blows over.

Too bad Scorpia was never any good at staying out of a fight.

Fortuna ’s cockpit smells like sweat and whiskey, and loose screws rattle with every thump of music. I’m sprawled in the pilot’s chair, legs stretched out and boots resting atop the control panel forming a half circle around me. A bottle of whiskey dangles from one of my hands; the other taps out the song’s beat on the control wheel.

Normally, this is my favorite place to be: in my chair, behind the wheel, staring out at open space and its endless possibilities. I’m a daughter of the stars, after all. But I’ve been in the cockpit for nearly eight hours now, urging this ship as fast as she can go to make sure we unload our cargo on time, and my body is starting to ache from it. Scrappy little Fortuna is my home, the only one I’ve ever known, but she wasn’t built for comfort. She was built to take a beating.

My shift at the wheel wasn’t so bad for the first six hours, but once the others went to bed, I had to shut the door leading to the rest of the ship, and the cockpit soon grew cramped and hot. No way around it, though. I need the music to stay awake, and my family needs the quiet to sleep. Someone needs to be coherent enough to throw on a smile and lie their ass off to customs when we get there, and it’s not gonna be me.

I yawn, pushing sweaty, dark hair out of my face. Envy stings me as I think of my younger siblings, snug in bed, but recedes as I remember they’re actually strapped into the launch chairs in their respective rooms, with gooey mouth-guards shoved between their teeth and cottony plugs stuffed up their ears. I don’t know how they manage to sleep with all that, but it’s necessary in case of a rough descent, the likelihood of which is rising with every sip of whiskey I take. Fortuna ’s autopilot can land the ship on its own, but it tends to lurch and scrape and thud its way there, with little regard for the comfort of its occupants or whether or not they hurl up their dinner when they arrive. Some pilot finesse makes things run more smoothly.

Given that, I’d normally avoid too much hard liquor while at the wheel. But as soon as Gaia came into sight, anxiety blossomed in my gut. Now, the planet fills my view out the front panel and dread sloshes in my stomach. It’s a beautiful place, I’ll admit that. Vast stretches of water dotted with land masses, wispy clouds drifting across, like a damn painting or something. Historians say that after centuries of searching for humanity’s new home, the original settlers wept with joy at the first glimpse of Gaia. I, on the other hand, always go straight for the bottle strapped to the bottom of my chair.

Beautiful Gaia. Rich in alien tech and bad memories. Ever since Corvus abandoned us to fight in his useless war, even the good ones from my childhood have turned bitter.

“Damn,” I mutter, and take another sip. I’ve once again broken the rule I invented in the early hours of my boredom. Every time I think of my older brother, that’s another drink. It’s a tough rule when my memories of Gaia are so deeply entwined with memories of him.

I was seven when we left Gaia. It’s been twenty years since we were grounded there. And after a brief stop on Deva, where Lyre was born, we spent another six years on Nibiru, while she and the twins were still too young to live on the ship. Those were better years, when we spent our days playing and fishing in the endless ocean and our nights sleeping in a pile on our single mattress. Yet even then I could never shake my anxiety that Momma wouldn’t come back one day, and I’d be stranded again. I never felt safe like I did on Fortuna , never stopped waiting for someone to notice I didn’t belong. The days on Gaia wouldn’t loosen their hold on me.

And every time I see the planet, it all rushes back to the surface. Memories of Corvus’s smile; of digging through trash for food; of playing tag with him in the narrow streets of Levian, the capital city; of huge alien statues staring down at me with their faceless visages.

Memories of Momma wearing hooded Gaian finery to blend in on the crowded street and saying, “It’s just a game, Scorpia,” as she showed me the best way to slip my hands into someone’s pocket without them noticing. When she taught me my first con, dressing me up like a little lost Gaian child, she said, “It’s like telling a joke, but you’re the only one who knows the punchline.” Guess Momma didn’t anticipate that once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking that way. Or maybe she didn’t think I’d live long enough for it to matter. I probably wouldn’t have, if Corvus hadn’t been around to get me out of trouble. Corvus, who was never any good at lying, so he went to school while I learned to be a criminal.

“ Damn. ” I sip again. Through the viewing panel, Gaia looms closer.

As I wipe my mouth, I glance over the expanse of screens and gauges and lights all around me, tracking the radar, fuel tank, and various systems. The numbers are blurry, but the lights are all the soothing red of Nova Vita, which means everything is running fine. Good enough for me. I take another swig, and choke on it as the ship shudders.

It’s not a particularly menacing rumble, yet the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. I let my boots thud to the metal floor one after another, dragged by the ship’s artificial gravity, and frown at the panels. Nothing on the radar. It could be some debris too small to pick up, a cough in the machinery… or a cloaked ship. It’s rare for us to have company out here, when interplanetary trade and travel have all but ground to a halt due to the tense relations between planets. Rarer still near Gaia, whose border laws are tightest of all. But it could be those pirate bastards on the Red Baron hounding us again. If they picked up cloaking tech, we’re in trouble. Not for the first time, I wish Fortuna was outfitted with weaponry for self-defense—but of course, weapons on ships are illegal, and we’d never be able to land anywhere in the system if we had them. With current laws, the planets are wary enough about ships without the added threat of weapons on them.

Indicators are all a solid red. There’s not so much as a blip out of place. Still, my skin prickles. Fortuna is saying something. I slap the button to shut off the music, tilt my head to one side, and listen to the silence.

The next rumble shakes the whole craft.

The bridge goes dark. Every screen and every light disappears. My sharp intake of breath echoes in the darkness.

“ Fortuna ?” I ask, as if the ship will answer. I clutch tighter to the whiskey with one hand and the wheel with the other as my muddled brain tries to work out what else to do. I’ve dealt with my fair share of malfunctions, but I’ve never seen the ship go dark like this.

The lights blink back online. A relieved laugh bubbles out of me, but cuts off as I realize all of my screens are crackling with static.