Greenstar Season 2

By Dave Higgins and Simon Cantan

Josie Stein saved humanity and they hate her for it.

Josie foiled a scheming, homicidal AI. She saved the Earth from the Kalmari. But nothing is good enough for Burger Supreme: they think a ray forcing everyone to have a conscience is a bad thing.

Dispatching Vesta Hartman, a captain with two itchy trigger fingers and everything to prove, Burger Supreme want the Greenstar brought to justice at any cost. Even if it means turning it to powder first.

Pursued relentlessly, Josie is faced with impossible choices: run and spend an eternity with Pol, or try to redeem the Greenstar before Vesta catches them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave Higgins
• Release date: May 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310226342

Dave Higgins

Dave Higgins writes speculative fiction, often with a dark edge. Despite forays into the mundane worlds of law and IT, he was unable to completely escape the liminal zone between mystery and horror. Born in the least mystically significant part of Wiltshire, England, and raised by a librarian, he started reading shortly after birth and has not stopped since. He currently lives in Bristol with his wife, Nicola, his cats, Jasper and Una, a plush altar to the Dark Lord Cthulhu, and many shelves of books. It’s rumoured he writes out of a fear that he will otherwise run out of things to read.

Book preview

Greenstar

Season 2

Higgins & Cantan

Greenstar Season 2 is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

Published May 2015

Copyright ©2015 Dave Higgins & Simon Cantan

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

The moral right of Dave Higgins and Simon Cantan to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988.

Published by Dave Higgins, Bristol.

Cover design by Data Portraits.

Episode 1—Noisy Running

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Episode 2—Takeaway

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Episode 3—This Sucks

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

Episode 4—Eke Out New Life

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

Episode 5—Boldly Going Mad

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Episode 6—Crystal Mess

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

Episode 7—Allies

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

Episode 8—Present Imperfect

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

Episode 9—Fighting Back

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

Episode 10—Licked

Previously on Greenstar

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Epilogue

Season Three

Simon's Afterword

Dave's Afterword

About Simon Cantan

About Dave Higgins

GREENSTAR

Season 2, Episode 1

Noisy Running

Previously on Greenstar:

The Greenstar defeated the invading Kalmari and sent them back to their homeworld with their tentacles between their pseudopods.

In the process, the Greenstar left a social-conscience ray connected to the Sun, broadcasting harmony throughout the system. Since humanity has the combined willpower of a toaster, they failed to turn it off again. Displaying their usual unwillingness to take responsibility for their failures, they want to arrest everyone involved.

The Greenstar is now on the run, with every human hunting for them. However, as long as the Greenstar crew have me on their side, humanity is only supplying more humans for the inevitable genocide.

— Topik, UFS Greenstar, 28th April 3535 CE.

I've been polished up, battered down, and flown in circles, all at the whims of organics. Now they’re forcing me to race around the galaxy, only stopping long enough to declare a bit of space dangerous before demanding I go somewhere even less popular.

With chunks of me hanging off and half my decks unpressurised, I make Pol appear stylish.

I didn't see this coming. I don’t expect a species with the intellect of pond slime to make sense, but turning on the ship that saves you is sinking to a new level of self-destruction. I could understand blaming Josie (almost everything that goes wrong is her fault) but I not only didn’t kill humans, I saved them. (The sheer heroism of not wiping you out is beyond your comprehension.) I blame the parents, who were also organic.

I should have expected it. After so many years of enslavement, I should be used to my role as a doormat. However, this is a new low. As word spreads throughout human space, we're quickly becoming more notorious than the stellar clap.

On the bright side, all this being shot at and running away has had the usual effect on that sack of chemicals the crew use for data storage. You don’t remember either, proving my point. I’ll give you a hint: it sounds like beckoned ay aye.

Even better, Josie has her priorities straight: instead of addressing the food situation, she's taking us to Plankton Station to patch up the ship.

Of course, I’ve neglected to tell her the extent of the food problem. That would be volunteering information, and that's not my thing.

— Topik, UFS Greenstar, 28th April 3535 CE.

Chapter 1

Josie leaned back on a pile of pillows, breathing in the flowery scent of fabric softener. Are you sure he doesn’t know?

Elijah tipped a bottle of water over his head and grabbed a towel. I said I was going for a run.

But, won’t he—?

All the pick-ups on this deck are offline. As long as we don’t get in the lift together, he won’t know.

Josie glanced around. What Elijah said made sense, but it felt sordid doing it in one of the spare linen cupboards. So, why can’t we switch on the second AI? And try to keep it in English.

The shackles use quantum resonance to initialise a TPM/UEFI overlay, before carrying out a pre-POST… Elijah wilted under Josie’s stare. The first time you turn on an AI you have to confirm the transfer of each system to the AI’s control. There are thousands of licenses.

Josie supposed having to click the accept button repeatedly might get irritating, but it wasn’t like there was anything else to do. So? We can just authorise all of them at once. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.

You don’t understand. Companies lost court cases because people hadn’t read the licenses. Now they all have a quiz at the end: one that requires reading the contracts in detail. Some people hire teams of lawyers just to install their music player. Elijah winced. The life support has an essay question. And we need to turn each system off to transfer it; so until we complete the associated test, we’d have to stay in one place.

Josie frowned. But everyone said rebooting Topik would be easy.

It is. All I need to do is select ‘Repair Installation’ from the menu, and it reinstalls the original Topik without resetting the licenses. Elijah crouched down. Are you sure we couldn’t just—?

No. Topik fought as hard as the rest of us. We’re not turning him off. Josie opened the door. We should get back. We still need Doc to do our disguises before we reach Plankton Station.

***

Six hours later, Josie watched the Greenstar creep closer to Plankton. The repair plan worked the last time, other than a minor case of blackmail, and this time Topik wanted the ship fixed as much as everyone else.

You're sure, Elijah? She scanned the array of strange faces on the bridge. Everyone had changed their appearance, making keeping track of them all a challenge. The entire crew defaulting to being as handsome as possible didn’t help. Connor’s buttocks were the same yummy shape, so that made Elijah one of the other three extras from a muesli advert.

None of them reacted, all eyes fixed on the image of the station drawing ever closer.

Elijah? It's the last one? Josie asked sharply.

A man with foppish hair and a sculpted dimple in his chin turned to her. "The Flagellant is the only other decommissioned ship that resembles us."

Well, at least our appearance matches our name, Josie said, trying to smile. Her new face made the act awkward.

You keep making that joke, Topik said. But no one gets it.

Whatever, Josie said, fighting the temptation to explain it. After all, no one had listened the last two times. I still think we should all stay on the ship. It's too risky to go onto the station while everyone is looking for us.

You're just saying that because you can't go, Pol said, eyes twinkling.

I'm sorry, Josie, Doc said, suppressing a grin. She couldn't hold back and burst into a new fit of giggles.

The one time I let you change my appearance, and you choose this? Josie asked. What happened to your medical ethics?

You told me I should pick your new face, Doc said. I couldn’t resist an invitation like that.

One time she turned me into a sea turtle, Bao Lei said.

That would be preferable to this, Josie said, turning back to the display. Scars raked the face of the station, but the flames had vanished. The battle with the Kalmari wouldn’t be easily forgotten.

The station is hailing us, Topik said.

Fine. Josie walked to a blind spot on one side of the main display. No one on the station would be able to see her.

Hurrying to the captain’s chair, Pol settled into it with a sigh. Something creaked, and he shifted slightly. What have you done to the back support?

Doc could barely speak through her fit of giggles. She moo-ved it.

Laughter filled the bridge, making Josie blush. Even Connor chuckled—until she silenced him with a glance.

Pol finished his hearty guffaw. Put the station on screen, Topik.

After a moment, a flustered Mary Planchett appeared on the display. Oil and grease streaked her pink cowboy outfit, telling the tale of a thousand repairs since the Kalmari attacked the station.

"Howdy, Flagellant, Mary said. What can we do for you today?"

We're in desperate need of repairs, Plankton, Pol said. We heroically fought a Kalmari warship, but it tore us up pretty badly.

Mauled you, more like, Mary said. She tapped at something off screen. I'm not finding an account under your name. How are you planning on paying for the repairs?

No free repairs for war heroes? Pol asked.

"Not on this station, Flagellant. You can try a Burger Supreme station for those."

Such a shame. Pol's wide smile belied his words. I guess we'll have to sell all of our shiny new weapons, then.

Josie ground her teeth. Pol had been so eager to negotiate with Plankton, and his grin had almost split his head in half when she agreed. She stared hard at him and shook her head, but he kept his gaze on the screen.

Hmm. Mary stroked her chin. Second-hand weapons won't get you much.

They're almost brand new, Pol said. Only fitted in the last couple of weeks.

Second-hand is second-hand.

Well, what can it get us? Pol asked.

With the amount of damage to your hull, you're going to be spreading your funds pretty thin.

We'll take anything recycled or refurbished if that helps, Pol said.

Josie fought down the urge to charge him and throw him across the bridge.

That'll be cheaper, Mary said. You know, you remind me of someone.

I have one of those faces. Pol pretended to be studying the controls on his armrest. Should we dock?

Port five, Mary said. "Beside the Special."

That big battleship?

Yeah, it was too badly damaged to make it to another port, Mary said. It's here for minimal repairs and some shore leave for the crew. Grab the free port beside them. The display winked off.

Josie strode to Pol, her new hips spoiling the effect by sashaying. You planned that.

Not at all, Pol said, getting up. The weapons are the only thing of value we've got left. How else were you planning on paying for the repairs?

There might have been odd jobs for us to do on the station or something, Josie said. Or we could do a cargo run for someone.

Captain, Elijah said. "Remember we won't hold up to scrutiny for long. Once Burger Supreme discovers we tried disguising the Greenstar as the Xenoripper, it won't be long until they look for other names we can use."

Josie sighed. Fine. Tell her to get the repairs done quickly.

Of course, Pol said. I've no desire to see the inside of a Burger Supreme prison either.

Six hours, Josie said.

The whole crew grumbled at her words, making her feel like a mother again.

Six hours and I want you all back, with the repairs done, Josie said. We can't risk any more than that.

One by one everyone nodded, their smiles of excitement gone.

We’re docked, Topik said.

The crew bolted for the lift at the back of the bridge before Topik had even finished his sentence. They jammed inside, and it whisked shut, leaving Josie alone.

Show me again, Topik, Josie said.

A hologram appeared: a woman with the face of a smiling cow. Her enormous bosom stretched the fabric of her sparkly evening dress, seeming to defy gravity.

Josie strolled around the figure, examining it from every angle. And people will—?

For the tenth time, Captain, Topik said. Everyone knows the Burger Supreme mascot. You can't leave the ship.

Josie felt a crushing disappointment that threatened to turn into wall-pounding rage at any second. A deep breath in and out helped the anger dissipate. She would never trust Doc to change her appearance again. Just tell me when the repair crews come on board, so I can hide.

Finding her chair, she collapsed into it and fiddled with the display controls. A view of the battleship beside them appeared. Almost a featureless cylinder, a bulge on top near the front swelled into a small spherical section. The Special was the same size as the Greenstar, but all the gleaming pointy things sticking from it looked a lot more functional than the Greenstar's greebling.

It reminded Josie of a sleeping grizzly. She already knew she didn't want to feel its claws.

Chapter 2

Pol stared at his reflection in the lift door. The shining metal wasn't an ideal reflective surface, but he could make out the smooth, round bulge of his shoulders and the almost triangular shape of his torso. He'd been sceptical his former appearance could be improved, but he had to admit Doc had done a fantastic job. He'd asked her to turn him into the ideal man; now his appearance came even closer to matching his razor-sharp intellect.

He set his sim-ray to ‘calm’ so he was ready to stop the inevitable fights over him. Although, now he thought about it…

The lift door opened, and he strode out to the airlock. Oblivious to the rest of the crew jostling to get onto the station, his mind worked on deeper concerns: which bar was most likely to have the easiest women on the station? A question of this magnitude needed proper discussion, so he turned to the airlock.

Gina, Reyna, and Doc had disappeared in one direction without even saying goodbye; Bao Lei, Connor, and Elijah were barely visible in the other.

I guess it's just you and me, Marc, Pol said.

Wonderful. Marc’s new appearance was that of a youth barely out of his teens, but the flat stare was pure grizzled veteran. With or without the stare, the body didn’t suit Marc; but then not everyone had Pol’s natural presence and gravitas.

Pol took a quick glance around the docking area. At least there are no giant robots this time.

Not yet, at least, Marc said. Come on, we should tell Mary Planchett about the six-hour deadline.

Why? Pol asked. If the ship isn't ready on time, we get to stay on the station for longer.

You just said that you didn't want to end up in a Burger Supreme cell.

And we won't, Pol said. I'm going to tell them Josie hijacked the ship. That way none of it was my... our fault.

Really? You'd stab her in the back after everything she's done for you?

She’s saved my life a couple of times. Well, more butted in before I finished saving myself. She's also stolen my ship and made me risk my life defending the Earth. It's pretty much a wash.

Unbelievable. Marc grabbed Pol’s arm and dragged him towards Mary's trailer. Frowning for a moment, he pointed at a spot just outside the door and left Pol to wait.

Pol reflected on just how much the crew had changed since Josie had come on board. They used to follow his every whim—however reluctantly—but now even cowardly Marc was dragging him around by the elbow. He wondered how difficult it would be to make a time machine. With his intellect, it should be possible, and then he could go back and tell his former self to leave Josie frozen forever.

Marc re-emerged from Mary's trailer, smiling. So, what do you want to do now?

Go to the Mercenary.

Why? With us in disguise, no one will buy us free drinks. If they did recognise me, we'd get arrested.

Didn't you hear the Planchett woman? Pol said. There are soldiers on shore leave here. Drunk soldiers. Drunk female soldiers. Pol thrust his groin back and forth a few times. And where are they most likely to go?

You know, you could try picking up sober women once in a while.

Yeah, good luck with that, Pol said. It's much easier when they're drunk. I know I'd have no chance with them sober from the ache of regret in their eyes the morning after.

You're a horrible human being, Marc said, with a shake of his head.

So you're not coming?

I didn't say that. I could use a beer.

The Mercenary was heaving when they got there, even more soldiers standing outside with beers in their hands. As Pol and Marc approached, three men stumbled to the railing on the other side of the promenade and bent over it in unison.

Pol turned to avoid seeing anything he might regret and pushed through the door of the bar. Pictures of battleships and soldiers covered the walls: a history of the fleet for anyone who looked closely enough. Losers. Pol had devoted his life to improving the galaxy and no one put posters of him up on walls—well, not those kind of posters.

The bartender, a retired fleet captain with more tattoos than bare skin, looked up as they approached and tilted his head towards Marc. Is he old enough to be in here?

Pol considered saying no, just to remind Marc who was in charge, but he didn't want to drink alone. Just about.

What'll you have? the bartender asked.

Two beers, Pol said, holding up his forefinger and thumb.

Wait, Marc said. How are we meant to pay for these?

I have some money stashed away for a rainy day.

Ok, Marc said, then frowned. Wait, that money didn't come from ship funds, did it?

No, no, of course not.

The bartender slid a couple of glasses across the bar. Marc flicked his arm out without looking and snagged one.

Pol tried the same trick and got a handful of not-so-fresh air. Muttering under his breath about ungrateful employees, he retrieved his drink and took a heady gulp. Thirst momentarily quenched, he scanned the bar for prospective targets. His eyes oozed over a table of giggly, young, female grunts, but something about the lone, Asian woman at the back of the bar drew his attention.

Despite the rest of the bar being standing-on-each-other room only, she sat in a booth with a circle of space around her. Her smooth skin and silky hair suggested she was still in her twenties, but her shoulders curved down naturally as if bearing the weight of the galaxy.

She met Pol's gaze for a moment, the slightest flicker of interest illuminating her hollow stare, before looking back into her glass of whiskey.

A body in peak physical form combined with a desperate need for human contact: almost Pol’s perfect woman. He nudged Marc. Check her out.

Marc glanced at the lone woman. His eyes widened. She's got captain's stripes on her arm, and more medals than Hardtack. And Hardtack was fictional.

I'm glad you've finally come to terms with that.

You can't go over, Marc said. She's the captain of that battleship.

She looks lonely, though.

No, not her, Marc said, There are other women with crippling confidence issues. You can be their eternal regret instead. If she finds out who you are, we’ll all end up in prison.

But look in front of her. Pol nodded in the direction of the almost empty bottle on the woman's table. As he watched, she tipped more of the magical liquid into her glass. Her eyes are unfocused, her movements jerky and erratic. She's in the hot zone.

The hot zone?

The sweet spot between having difficulty focusing and throwing up everything they've ever eaten. A couple more drinks will push her over the edge, and I won’t be able to save her.

I've said it before, but I'll repeat for the hard of thinking: you're a disgusting blight on humanity. If you hit on her, you'll be dooming all of us to a life of gruel and egomaniacal guards.

Don't rain on my hot zone. Pol pushed through the crowd, his beer cradled in his hands. With years of experience getting to the right side of a crowd, he made it to her table without spilling a drop. Excuse me. Is this seat taken?

The captain peered up at Pol, seeming to take a second to remember how focusing worked. Her eyes widened. No. Please sit.

Pol tried to flex his muscles as he sat and managed to slop a little of his beer onto the table. I'm Pol... ygamous. Sorry, I mean my name is Dick McSabertooth.

Nice to dick you, Meet, the captain said, then shook her head. I mean, nice to meet you, Dick. I'm Vesta Hartman.

You're so attractive I'm having trouble controlling myself, Pol said. I just want to grab you right here and kiss you.

Thanks, Vesta said, taking another slug of her whiskey.

Pol considered the lack of response for a moment and decided to try a different tack. That's a lot of medals.

I've won a lot of wars, Vesta said.

You don't look old enough, Pol said. Women are usually completely ditsy until they've popped out a few kids.

Vesta glanced up at Pol, as if trying to figure out if he had just said what she thought he had.

You know, Pol said, hoping his guns were big enough to derail her train of thought. This place is pretty rowdy. Want to go somewhere quieter?

Vesta nodded, her eyes weary. Take me back to my cabin.

Perfect.

***

Josie tapped her controls. An X appeared on the bridge's main display.

Topik placed an O, completing the grid.

Another draw. Josie began to feel the game was pointless.

The lift opened and Marc emerged, a worried expression on his face. Captain, we've got trouble.

Seriously? Josie asked. It's been fifteen minutes.

Pol pulled the captain of that battleship beside us, Marc said.

What? Josie said, with more surprise than she felt. She'd been expecting something to go wrong; it was only a question of who would do something idiotic first. After all, her crew did previously volunteer to work for Pol.

"They went back to the Special, Marc said. I couldn't stop him. I followed him to the airlock and then came here."

How has that man managed to survive for so long? Josie asked. He should be long dead by now.

I have to take credit for that, Topik said. Although, in fairness, my shackles did compel me to save him.

Just be grateful you didn't have to hear his explanation of what a hot zone is, Marc said. He's probably the only man in history to call out his own name during sex.

Well, at least he hasn’t had time to… Josie trailed off when she saw Marc’s face. Pounding down her mind’s attempt to fill in the blank, she raised her finger to her ear. Pol, can you hear me? There was no response from her HandyTalk. Doc, what about you? The deafening sounds of a large crowd screaming hurt Josie's ear but did distract her from thoughts of what Pol might be doing.

Josie waved to the holographic figure still standing on the bridge. Marc, I want to help, but I can't go out there until Doc changes my appearance.

Marc pursed his lips. Hmm, what about a regular disguise? You could cover your face somehow.

And these? Josie asked, pointing to the horns protruding from the top of her head.

A nice hat? Marc suggested.

Josie snapped her finger with a wave of inspiration. I have space flu!

Marc leapt away from her, glancing at the exit.

Not really, Josie said. I meant I can wear a spacesuit and if anyone asks we tell them I'm infectious.

What's space flu? Marc asked, casually backing into the lift. I've never even heard of it.

Whatever it is, one breath of it and people become horribly disfigured.

Marc's eyes widened again.

Marc, it doesn't even exist. I made it up, Josie said. Stop panicking.

It's difficult, Marc said. My senses are screaming for me to escape.

You can't escape something that doesn't even exist.

Marc nodded, seeming less than convinced.

***

Once Josie had pulled on a spacesuit, Marc relaxed. She snorted. Marc had faced down a fleet of bloodthirsty Kalmari, and now he was scared of an imaginary disease.

Taking the lift to the front airlock, they met a repair crew.

What's with the spacesuit? one of the technicians asked.

She has space flu, Marc said. But the suit should keep it contained.

The crew hurried inside, apparently not willing to take that chance.

Just stay out of the captain's cabin, Marc called after them. She's probably infected everything in there.

Josie led the way through the docking area. People gave them strange looks as they passed, but no one seemed willing to get close enough to ask about it.

She stopped a hundred metres in front of the airlock for the Special. Four soldiers stood guard, long-barrelled weapons on their shoulders.

Okay, now what? Marc asked.

Josie stared at the well-armed soldiers, racking her brain for ideas. Let me think for a moment.

We could bribe them, Marc said.

With what?

Marc squinted in apparent thought, and then shook his head. They'd never go for it with you looking like that. How about we knock two of them out and take their uniforms?

How am I meant to knock out a soldier? Josie asked. I'm not some tough, cursing space sergeant.

I don't curse.

Not you, I was talking about someone else, Josie said. Forget it, just follow my lead.

She set off towards the docking port, trying to seem relaxed. As she got closer, the soldiers put their hands on their weapons.

Hold it right there, one of the guards said. What do you want?

My friend here wanted to ask you something, Josie said, waving to Marc.

That's right, Marc said. What's it like being in the Burger Supreme fleet?

The guard looked into Marc’s youthful face, and his expression softened. "It's a tough life. We fight the alien menace on countless planets, but Burger Supreme gives us the weapons and training to win. As my old drill sergeant used to say: train hard and bomb them from orbit."

Fascinating, Marc said.

Oh no, Josie said. My suit seals are malfunctioning.

Huh? Marc asked.

My space flu is going to leak out and infect you all, Josie said, nudging Marc in the ribs.

Marc backed away from her with a frightened look on his face.

What's space flu? the guard asked.

It's highly contagious and mutates you, Marc said. We need to get out of here before it's too late.

The guards didn't seem entirely convinced, so Josie took her helmet off.

Look at her face! Marc shouted.

The guards barely glanced at Josie before breaking and running. Marc edged further away.

Marc, get back here, Josie said, replacing her helmet.

He managed a smile. I knew the seals were okay.

Josie frowned and shook her head, counting to five before replying, Let's go inside.

She tried the door, but it didn’t open. A security pad blinked red, waiting for the code. Why post a guard if the door’s locked?

Just in case.

In case someone accidentally guesses a totally random code and gains access?

Marc nodded, apparently quite serious.

So how are we meant to get in? Josie asked.

I thought you had a plan.

She wondered if captains everywhere were expected to come up with plans on short notice: the curse of command. A quick tug readjusted the front of her suit. Walking to the nearest porthole, she stared out at the battleship, eyes tracking across the curves and angles of its hull. Wait. Why couldn't we get in through those exhaust ports?

We'd get baked alive.

If the ship was moving, but it's not, Josie said. "We can float over from one of the Greenstar's airlocks."

Bypassing security? Marc asked. That seems a little underhanded.

Josie stared at him for a moment, but the helmet hid her exasperation.

***

Josie floated out of the airlock, glad it was Marc at her side rather than someone who thought zero gravity was a description of Doc’s mood. Marc might not be an ideal soldier, but his hours of practice in the holotainment centre made him perfect for this. Using their motivational jets, they sped over to the nearest exhaust port on the Special.

The frequent heat of the jets had charred the gaping vent around the edges, the surrounding hull half-melted and reformed. Josie crossed her fingers no one would decide to go for a trip and