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Chapter 8 - Rash Decisions
🕑 Added 2025-08-24 15:14:01 +0000 UTCHe was already halfway off the ship, the Loon’s promise echoing in his mind. Risky. And probably stupid. But a weight had lifted from his shoulders when he had committed to keeping the ship. This was the right decision. Maybe not for Raquel or Masterson or Carter, but right for him. No matter what came next. This would be a hard day, but he would rebuild, his uncle’s legacy would be preserved.
The path back to the shipyards was a blur. If he saw anyone he knew they didn’t try to stop him. Blowing past most of the Shipwrights, he found the one who’d made an offer. The man was seedy. Heath didn’t know a better way to describe him. There was a look in his eyes that said he knew this was Heath’s last resort, and he enjoyed the fact.
“We’ll do it,” Heath said. “You fix the ship. You can have some of the argo crystals.”
“Three quarters, and 100,000 creds.”
“One quarter, and 50,000”.
“Look kid, that’s very cute, but this isn’t a negotiation. You don’t have anyone else here to do the work, and the ship isn’t gonna make it to another yard. Take the deal or don’t.”
“Fine,” Heath spat. “I accept.”
“I thought you might. I’ll put you on the list, bring the ship around tomorrow and we’ll get started.”
“That’s it?” He sputtered. All his conviction and that was all he got for it?
“Free lesson kid: your crises are yours. No one else cares.”
Heath turned on his heel and left the yards so he wouldn’t punch the man he was paying a fortune to fix the Loon. His walk was accompanied by the muttering of the rest of the Shipwrights, shaking their heads at his foolish decision.
Apprehension settled in his gut. It wasn’t a System-backed deal, no use of [Contract] to lock in the price. But that was hardly his fault. He toyed with the idea of spending one of his saved Skill points but tossed it out. There would be no time to get it up to a level that would mean anything to the Shipwright, and he would need them in the coming weeks.
At loose ends, Heath found himself once more tucked away in the job hall by the shipyards. It had only been, he checked his HUD, less than three hours since he’d left the building. The only change he could see was the patrons in the dingy room had gotten steadily drunker in the interim.
Inside everything had changed. He had a plan, he was moving forward while honoring his uncle’s memory. It felt like flying without gravity dampeners, his stomach swooping with every step, but he had to believe it would work.
Bored after a few minutes, and not sure what to do about it, he pulled up the cargo hauling contracts listed on the network. The Loon was looking at it too, but it wouldn’t hurt to do his part. And he would have to be the one to accept anyway.
Their prospects were…not good. Plenty of trade passed through the station, that wasn’t a problem. The jump gate locations made this system a great waypoint on a couple of the major routes. But most of the straightforward contracts were snapped up immediately, by crews more established than his.
What was left were the specialties. Ones that required climate controlled cargo bays or advanced quantum storage. Something the Loon would have been perfect for a few months ago. But once they finished cannibalizing the argo crystals, there was no way they’d be able to support those mods. Listing after listing, Heath read and then discarded when he realized they wouldn’t have the space, or the long-distance crew, or the contacts to make it work.
The end of the list came far too quickly, and Heath had identified two jobs that he might be able to do. One was a half-year haul with some specialized cargo. Dozens of jumps and months between any convenient waypoints. They would end up a third of the way across the Empire’s frontier, in an even more remote area when it was time to pick up another job.
The second option was both better and worse. It was too clean. A quick couple of standard months, a half dozen jumps, and he would end up in one of the more populated systems in this sector, where he could pick up some crew and some more jobs.
It was exactly what he needed.
Heath didn’t trust it at all. It was too perfect, too mundane. Runs like that got snatched up by the established crews, usually as an add on to something bigger, filling out the excess cargo space in a hold. That it was still there and had been for, Heath checked, three weeks, meant something was wrong with it.
He bit his lip while his fingers drummed against the table. On the other hand, it was short, and the pay was solid. Taking it would let him end up in a better position, and avoid the cardinal sin of any hauler - empty holds.
A voice in his head screamed that it was a bad idea, but he saved off the contact information to his pad. Then his conscience hit and he saved off the information for the longer run as well. Not that he had any confidence he would be able to do it. Long runs with no stops were the absolute worst part of the lifestyle. Even Uncle Walt avoided them, the Loon had only taken a couple in the last five years, when the profit outweighed the boredom enough to make it worthwhile.
After a few more minutes Heath ordered himself a beer. He…didn’t really know what to do next. Running off with a noble goal was well and good, but then what? A buzzing at his wrist nearly caused him to slosh the beer all over himself.
Pulling the message onto his HUD he winced. Right. Raquel had expected him to come find her and look for jobs. He looked around from his spot wedged into a corner. The hall had gotten a bit busier and more of the station workers filtered in as he watched, a local shift change must have just gone off.
A large part of him didn’t want to talk to her. Heath could fill in both sides of the conversation well enough without seeing the disappointment on her face.
With a sigh, he closed out his tab and started making his way to the nicer decks for the visiting Spacers with money to burn. Raquel cared about him, he couldn’t just ignore her.
*********
He should have just ignored her. That was the only conclusion he could come to while he listened to Raquel try and alternately cajole, scold, or outright demand in order to change his mind.
“I’m just worried you're digging yourself into a hole, kid.”
“I know, and I appreciate it. But I have to do this. Look,” Heath looked around to make sure no one was paying any attention, and leaned in closer to Raquel. “The Loon was awake.”
Raquel quirked an eyebrow and gestured at him to continue.
“I was saying goodbye, and the Loon stopped me from leaving. It was awake.”
“Heath, I’m sure that was difficult. But the AI aren’t like you and me. They aren’t alive in the same sense.”
“I know!” He hunched his shoulders when some of the nearby Spacers looked over at his outburst. “I know,” he said, this time in the same low tone that made his voice blend in with the rest of the crowd.
“Then why…” Raquel trailed off.
“The storm. It changed the ship. That AI is alive, no matter what anyone else says. It literally told me it didn’t want to die.”
The older Spacer leaned back and took a long pull from the beer in front of her. “Gods this is a mess,” she finally said.
“I know.”
“Okay, I’m going to say it. Hate me if you want to kid, but this isn’t your problem. You don’t have to dump your whole career into the garbage furnace because of it.”
Stone cold, even for a veteran Spacer. Heath took a moment to think, really think, about what he wanted. It would be hard, almost impossible, to reach what even his uncle had achieved, let alone anything bigger.
But the feeling he’d had when he ran off the Loon was still bubbling away inside him. It took him a moment to pin down, but he was left to conclude that he was excited. So excited. This was going to be his adventure, the stories he would tell when he was an old established Spacer. New problems with new solutions, not just following in Walt’s footsteps but building something of his own.
Resolve must have shown on his face because Raquel tossed back the rest of her drink instead of trying harder to convince him.
“You’re being a bit of an idiot, but I can’t hate you for it. Next round’s on me. Not like you can afford it.” She rose and cuffed him on the shoulder before walking to the bar.
Her words were a new kind of terrifying, even if they were kindly meant. Heath looked at the dregs of his drink, dripping remnants of foam down the edges of a smudged glass into a puddle at the bottom. It was beer, and that was about all you could say about it. He pulled up his account balance and mentally subtracted what he owed to the Shipwright. Then he tossed back the last sips. If he wasn’t going to be able to afford even shit beer for a while, he was going to finish it now.
