Out of Fire - Hummingbird: Book One: Hummingbird, #1

By Jonathan Crocker

At sixteen years old, Deacon Barnes had spent his entire life on the dusty moon of Ophelia, on the outskirts of Republic territory. The son of a farmer, Deacon’s lazy days are spent dreaming of adventure, of escaping his dreary life and visiting distant stars. That dream becomes reality, but hardly in the way he expected. It comes in the dark of night, in the form of fire. Flames bathe his home, his moon attacked by a powerful and mysterious alien race known only as the Ethereals. He’s left for dead, the lone survivor of a brutal massacre. 

A chance encounter with the entrancing Diera Hawk, notorious smuggler and captain of the Hummingbird, gives Deacon a second chance at life – and the adventure he’s always dreamed of. But is Deacon cut out for the life of a rogue? And when Diera turns her focus to chasing rumours of the Ethereals across the galaxy - and beyond - can the crew of the Hummingbird stand against the might of the powerful aliens?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Crocker
• Release date: Oct 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386466871

Book preview

ONE

The smell of burning still fills my nostrils when I close my eyes at night. I can hear the sirens blaring. I can feel the heat on my skin. Worst of all, I can see the fire, and then... nothing.

I almost can't remember life before it happened. I was sixteen years old. We lived on Ophelia, the third moon orbiting Boros Prime. It was a distant system, on the edge of the colonized worlds. Not much would grow on that old rock, but my father set up a farm there anyway. The soil was rich with arsenic, and I had to wear special boots and gloves if I went outside to play. We didn't farm plants, but rather the arsenic itself. Turns out it has a lot of industrial uses. My father made a decent living, at the cost of his health, selling the stuff to the Republic.

It was pleasant enough. We lived in a small town, mostly farmers like my father. Life was simple. There was a school in town that a few dozen of the children attended each day. I was one of the older students. The school was an old wooden building. I'd heard of the core Republic worlds, where buildings were hundreds of feet high and made of advanced alloys and shimmering glass. On Ophelia, we made due with what we had available – and that was mostly wood and stone and certain light metals. Even wood was hard to come by, given the composition of the soil. But there were some species of trees that had evolved to feed on the arsenic.

I remember walking up to the school that very morning. Martin and Julie were walking with me. We were smiling, laughing – I can't remember why. Most of the faces that I saw were happy, though a few of the younger boys were trying to get away with not having finished their homework. We had two teachers, both young women. Miss Stricker taught the younger children, and Miss Norris taught my class. We were only eight in the class, and most of us were pretty bright – at least, I like to think so.

Did you all do the reading? Miss Norris asked, as I took my seat.

A chorus of yeses sounded out, some more enthusiastic than others. I reached down to my pack and pulled out my tablet, my fingers dancing across the screen to bring up the reading in question. In addition to the wall of text that was displayed, there were several animations, depicting a great battle. Starfighters whizzed across the picture, bolts of energy – green and red and blue – flying in all directions. Armoured vehicles hovered across the rocky terrain, firing heavier blasts that exploded with shocking force.

So who wants to share with the class what they took from the reading? Miss Norris asked. I glanced up to see that I wasn't the only one with my tablet open. How about you, Martin?

Julie and I exchanged grins.

I'm sorry, miss, Martin said, frowning. I didn't get a chance to read it yet. My dad needed help in the barn – the extractor was broken. We were at it all night.

Is that so? the teacher asked.

Yes, miss.

Then how is it that I saw your father at the market last night? He even commented that I should be working you all harder, seeing as Martin never has any homework assigned.

I laughed, along with the rest of the class. Martin smirked, and offered a shrug.

The Battle of the Scalaran Trench, Miss Norris stated. For those of you who read it, you should know just how pivotal a moment this was in the Revolution. Were it not for that single event, the Commonwealth might have held the Antilles system, and the Republic might never have won the war.

I looked back down at the ships that were still zooming across the image. It always amazed me that there were men and women flying those starfighters. I watched one ship weave its way through the battlefield, eluding enemy fire and sniping down three opposing fighters in a single pass. What an exciting life – who wouldn't want to be a pilot? I could only imagine how amazing it would be to soar through the stars, the whole universe waiting to be explored. I remember thinking that it was too bad – that I'd probably only ever be a farmer, like my old man.

The farm was about a ten minute walk home after school. I walked down the main street in town, marvelling at the collision of old and new. The buildings looked like something out of a history textbook – wood and stone and concrete prominent. Some of the businesses were built on steel frames with glass exteriors, but those weren't the norm. Hoverbikes zoomed up and down the dusty street, and holos advertised on empty walls – I watched one ad, as I walked, featuring a woman suggestively motioning at me to approach her. I'd seen it before. It was for some brand of cologne, I think. It seemed out of place among the holograms depicting farm equipment and the latest machinery.

As I approached the long laneway that led up to the farm, I chuckled, wondering just how much the latest in farming technology would cost. My father was still running the same old extractors that he had before I was born. The barns were out back, big aluminum structures that gleamed in the hot sun. I tried not to go inside of them, but sometimes dad needed a hand.

My mother was standing on the front porch, waving as I approached. We lived in a modest two–storey home, constructed mostly of wood, though the exterior was accentuated with bright steel lines. The solar panels that covered the roof always cast a glare, and I had to avert my eyes as I walked up to the wrap–around deck where my mother liked to sit out during the day.

Mother was a short, slight woman, with stark black hair that she kept cut short. She was a sharp contrast to my father, who was tall and robust. No matter how many days go by, I can still picture my mother's smile perfectly. It's one memory that I don't think will ever fade. She smiled at me that afternoon, as I greeted her on the front porch. Later that evening, at the dinner table, I can remember my father ruffling my hair with his grimy hand when he came in from the fields. We shared a meal, like we did every night. I can still hear the laughter, and some of my father's terrible jokes. If only I'd known...

Later that same night I was standing out on the front porch, leaning against the railing and staring off into the darkness. The first thing I noticed was the sound overhead – a ripple in the air high above, smoother than most starships would make flying through the atmosphere. But what else could it be? It was dark, and I had trouble seeing. I could make out a blur of black on black, some of the stars blocked out for just a second as the object passed. What was it?

That moment of curiosity didn't last. It came to a crashing halt, replaced by a second sound – the deafening sound of an explosion, accompanied by a burning brightness that forced me to shield my eyes. Instincts took over, and I turned for the door. My parents were inside the house. Before I reached the handle, the door was gone, replaced by a burning wall of fire. The force threw me from my feet, a full three metres, and I smacked into the ground, skidding to a stop. Blasts and explosions were echoing all around me as structures fell in the distance.

I was down on my hands and knees, my neck craned forward to look at my house – the only home I'd known. It was gone. There was nothing there. Two storeys of wood and steel had been incinerated, leaving a pile of burning pitch in its wake. Somewhere in there, what was left of my parents was smouldering away.

I screamed, but I couldn't even hear my own voice over the noise. I ran forward, towards the rubble, but realized that it was no use. I reached a hand down, but had to pull it away – the heat was too much.

Spinning around, I looked off to the west, towards town. Fire was everywhere. High plumes of bright orange, and low, rolling waves of angry red. I could hear the town's alarm sirens blaring in the distance. The smell of burning and smoke was overwhelming, and the heat on my flesh was becoming unbearable. I had to find shelter. Somewhere to hide.

I remembered the aluminum barns out back. Circling around the burning remnants of my house, I started towards the field. Something streaked by overhead and I glanced up to see the same black blur that I had noticed earlier. It was definitely a starship of some sort – and it was in the process of raining more fire down from above. A great trail of flame spewed from the tail of the ship, cascading down over the landscape. I looked back over my shoulder as I ran – a wall of fire twenty feet high was bearing down on me. It was too close. I'd never make the barns.

The flaming foundation of my house was to my right, dwarfed by the rolling tidal wave of fire that approached. I just stood there, wondering if that was it – if everything was over. My legs wouldn't move, and I didn't know where to run anyway. It took a moment for me to remember the old cellar behind the house. My mother used it to store certain types of vegetables and herbs, despite the latest in refrigeration sitting in the kitchen. My parents always loved old things, and I wished that I could thank them for it as I sprinted towards the back of the house.

The door to the cellar was shut, and I slid to a stop, down on one knee, grabbing at the handle. The metal was hot, as flames raged all around me. Even the dusty brown grass was on fire now. I glanced up, seeing the impossibly high wall of fire right on top of me. I wrapped my hand in my sleeve, and flung the door wide, diving down, ignoring the steps. I could feel the intense heat tear at my back, burning my shirt apart. And then I hit the ground, blacking out.

TWO

My head was pounding when I woke up. It took a few moments to remember what had happened. It was black down in the cellar, and the scent of a burnt world was what brought me back to my senses. My first instinct was to rush outside and look for survivors – maybe, just maybe, my parents had made it. The house had been reduced to ashes in a matter of seconds, but maybe...

I felt around for the walls, trying to guide myself back to the stairs that led outside. I wasn't sure why the door was even closed, as it had been open when I jumped through. The force of the fire must have shut it behind me. I nearly tripped as my foot hit the concrete step. My right hand against the wall, I started up the stairs. I only had to climb a few steps before I could feel the cellar door above me. It was warm to the touch, and I worried that the landscape might still be blazing outside.

Only one way to find out, I whispered, and then I pushed against the underside of the door. It didn't budge.

For two days I was stuck in that hole. I was alone in the darkness, oblivious to whatever was transpiring in the world above my head. I fumbled around down there at first, trying to find some other escape. But I knew better – it was just a cellar, after all. I should have been counting my blessings that it was a cellar, as I was at least able to find a few cans of beans – that I was able to smash open against the cellar floor – and some old root vegetables. I had no idea if they'd gone bad or not, but my belly hardly cared. I had to eat something.

Being alone, thirsty, and hungry for two days – in the wake of an attack that had, in all likelihood, killed my parents, my friends, and everyone I'd ever known – wasn't an enjoyable experience. I spent most of the time sitting in a corner, my back wedged between the adjoining walls, my arms wrapped around my knees, pulling them into my chest. I sort of rocked back and forth for hours. Time crept by, and I would occasionally take a sip of the stale water from one of the cans.

At one point I decided that it wasn't worth the effort anymore. What was I keeping myself alive for? To slowly die in my hole? To somehow escape and then die in the charred landscape up above? I tossed the can across the room, its skipping sound echoing through the small chamber. I went back to rocking, trying to keep my mind clear of the painful thoughts and memories that wanted in.

It was some hours after that – I'm not sure how many – that I heard it. A voice. My head looked up, my ears straining to make out the sound. Was someone up there? Was I just losing my mind? I heard it again. It was a woman's voice.

Mother! I croaked, leaping up from my sitting position, scrambling around blind in the cellar.

I heard the voice again – closer this time. It wasn't my mother. Still, whoever it was, I had to get their attention. It took a few moments for me to again find the stairs, and then to climb up. I pounded on the underside of the heavy cellar door, hollering as loud as my parched throat would allow.

Help! Please...

Silence followed my pleas and, for a moment, I thought that I had dreamed the voice. Then I heard another sound – the scraping of metal against metal, accompanied by grunts and groans. The door opened a crack and a white light shone in. I turned my head, squinting, the light paining my eyes.

Is someone down there? the woman asked.

Yes... I said. Please help...

Hold on a minute. Carbuckle, grab that.

The light disappeared and I peered through the crack. It was dark outside, but there was a deep orange glow about the night. I couldn't make out the figures, but when I pushed against the cellar door a second time, it gave way. I flung it wide and rushed up the remaining steps, diving out of the dank hole.

On the flat of my back, breathing heavily, I stared up at the stars – except that I couldn't see any stars. Normally, thousands and thousands of little twinkles of light would dot the sky. But all I could see was a smoky haze. I glanced around at the smouldering remains of what had once been my town – my home. Charred objects were strewn about everywhere, blotches of orange and red showing where they were still hot. Ash blew on the wind, and the intense smell of burnt wood was constant.

I had almost forgotten about the woman – and her friend – that had wrenched the cellar door open and saved me from a musty fate. She extended her hand down to help me stand up. I accepted it, and a moment later was on my feet, looking her in the face.

She was taller than me and older than me, and she was holding a blaster rifle in one hand. I'd never seen such a weapon up close. She looked to be well built – more so than most women that I knew. Her physique was covered by a grimy old leather vest, over top of a softer-looking coat. Her hair was short-cropped and seemed to be a dirty shade of auburn, though it was hard to tell.

Captain, we've got a survivor over here, the woman stated, and it took me a moment to realize that she was speaking into a communicator on her collar.

Thank you, I managed, still feeling quite weak and disoriented.

No problem, kid, she said. We've never found a survivor before. You're a lucky one.

We usually find more bodies, though, the gruff man standing behind her said. He was shorter than her by a good margin, and had a round belly. He looked even dirtier and grimier than she did, and I had the distinct feeling that that wasn't unusual for the man. He was wearing a pair of goggles and had an unkempt beard and moustache to go along with his balding head.

My tactless friend here is Carbuckle, the woman said, shooting the man a disapproving look. My name's Mara. The captain will be here in a minute and we'll get you all sorted out.

I didn't know what she meant. I just kept glancing back at what little remained of my house. Mara seemed certain that survivors were rare. Survivors of what, I still wasn't sure. But I was having trouble thinking straight, and didn't ask any questions. We just stood there, in silence, with me staring at the devastation, and the other two staring at me.

I barely noticed when another pair of figures approached from behind. It wasn't until Mara touched me on the shoulder that I turned around to see them. There was another woman, though much younger – maybe in her early twenties. I did a double-take, surprised to see such an attractive face amid all the ruin. She had sharp features and dark, raven hair that was tied back in a clumsy ponytail, stray wisps hanging down in her face. She was slender and clad in a long black coat that looked to be fashioned of some form of fine hide. She had a pair of pistols on her hip and a hard look on her face.

Behind her was an older man, his skin dark and short hair greying. He was wearing a long coat, like the woman, though his was a dark shade burgundy. As he got closer, I could see a nasty scar emerging from beneath the coat's collar, on the right side of his neck. It crept right up onto his face, to the lower half of his cheek. He appeared to be fit for his age, about the same height as Mara, and looking equally displeased.

This is Captain Diera Hawk, Mara said, introducing the other woman.

You're the captain? I asked, glancing from the young woman to the dark-skinned man and back.

Did you see them? Diera asked, ignoring my question.

What? See who?

The Ethereals.

I didn't say anything. Ethereals? The name echoed in my mind. I'm sure that she noticed my confused face, as she flashed an impatient look.

I don't know what you're talking about, I said. I saw a ship overhead. And then the fire started. It was everywhere.

He was stuck in the cellar here, Captain, Mara said. He might not have seen them land.

My parents... I muttered.

What did the ship look like? Diera asked.

Captain, he's... Mara started, but the captain cut her off.

We didn't come all this way not to get some answers. Look at me. What's your name?

My name? I repeated, glancing up at her face. I'm Deacon.

Look, Deacon, I'm sorry about your parents. I'm sure they were good people, and they didn't deserve what they got. None of the people in this town did. But they're gone, and if you expect to survive in this galaxy, then you're going to have to get over it, and fast. Now what did the ship look like?

I tried to picture it in my mind. It had been dark. I only saw the outline of it. And the fire coming out the tail.

It was just a blur, I said, and the captain didn't look pleased with my answer. I was running for my life. I didn't get a good look at it. All I know is it was spouting fire.

What is this place, anyway? Diera asked.

It's Ophelia, Captain, Mara said. A moon colonized about three decades ago, the primary industries are – or were, I guess – titanium alloy manufacturing and arsenic extraction. There was also a prominent outlawed narcotic ring based out of a city in the southern hemisphere.

Republic?

Yes. But far enough away that governance was a little lax.

Diera nodded, and I was only half listening to what they were talking about. I still couldn't keep from glancing back at the spot where my house had sat a few days earlier.

You have all the readings? Diera asked.

Yes, Captain, Mara replied, and both Carbuckle and the unnamed dark-skinned man nodded their heads.

All right, let's head back to the ship.

Both men turned to follow their young captain. Mara, however, stood beside me.

What about the boy, Captain? she asked. We can't leave him here. There's nothing left on this world.

I'm not a babysitter, Mara, Diera said, though she stopped and turned around.

We could take him to the Asylum, Carbuckle offered. We'd find someone willing to buy him there.

We're not selling him, Mara stated, and I was trying to figure out which option sounded worse – staying behind, or being sold.

He's a little older than most, but he'd still fetch a good price.

What did I just say?

Carbuckle shrugged.

We won't sell the boy, Diera said. We're headed to the Asylum anyway, so we'll bring him along. He can make his own way from there. Mara, you'd best make sure he doesn't get into any trouble on my ship.

Yes, Captain.

THREE

We walked along for quite a while. Back down the long laneway that led away from my house. Up the road that led into town. Right down the main street – I could remember, just a few days earlier, how lively that street had been. People were milling all about, holos were glinting on the sides of buildings, and voices and laughter filled the air.

Now, instead, I choked on the thick, smoky air as I breathed it in. The buildings were gone, there were no people anywhere, and the only sounds to be heard were the lonely footsteps of our group, masking the slow crackling sound of whatever was still burning. I tried not to look around, but it was difficult not to. My eyes found the spot where my school had stood.

They destroyed the whole town, I mumbled.

Not just the town, kid, Mara said, without stopping. She was walking alongside me, the others a dozen or so feet ahead of us.

What?

Every town.

I stopped walking and she paused, glancing back at me.

What are you talking about? I asked, inclining my head to look up at her.

There's no easy way to say it, she replied. This entire moon is dead. Everything you see around you here – it's the same everywhere else.

But there are almost a million people on Ophelia.

Not anymore.

What? How is that possible? One ship destroyed an entire moon?

I doubt it was just the one ship, kid. Come on, we're falling behind.

How can you just go on like nothing's happened? A million people died...

Mara sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder. I was just trying not to look around. I'd seen enough smouldering wreckage for one day – for one life, even.

I just... I said. I don't understand.

It's not easy to understand, Mara said. The Ethereals are powerful.

What's going on here? Diera asked, walking towards us.

Sorry, Captain. The kid's having some trouble wrapping his head around things, that's all.

What do you know about the Ethereals? Diera asked, looking at me.

I... what... nothing? I sputtered.

I see the Republic is still providing a top notch education. I presume you know everything there is to know about the Revolution, though?

I didn't say anything.

You're leaving that world behind now, the captain went on. You're going to discover that the galaxy isn't as rosy as the government would have you believe. Some of it is messy and dirty and you're not going to like it. Most of that is just humans, falling victim to their own failings. But there are some things out there – older, ancient things – that we can't explain. That's what you need to be scared of.

Her gaze drifted away, following the scorched landscape.

What did these things want with Ophelia? I asked. Why would they destroy an entire moon and just leave?

Diera shrugged before turning and starting off again. I threw up my hands, rounding on Mara, but she didn't have any better answers for me.

Come on, kid, she said, and then she followed behind the captain.

I followed behind the tall woman, trying to keep my gaze planted right at my feet. Despite the scorched look of the ground, it was easier to ignore the devastation around me if I just chose not to look at it. The downside of that approach was that I didn't notice the starship until Mara stopped and I nearly walked right into her back.

We're here, she said, as I peered around her.

Sitting in the middle of a field, north of town, was what I could best describe as a clunker of a ship – at least to my inexperienced eyes. I was used to seeing holos of sleek, Republic cruisers, constructed of shiny alloys and delicate angles. Diera's ship appeared cold and hard, more like the old transport ships that often landed in town, delivering supplies and orders from off-world.

It was difficult to make out the shape from my vantage point, but it looked pretty simple. It was a dark grey colour, like weathered iron. The cockpit window was front and centre, towering over me, and beneath it an outer door had lowered, forming a ramp. Diera and the dark-skinned man were already walking up it. The ramp led into a large chamber that appeared to be a cargo bay.

The bulk of the ship was shaped like a tube, with a pair of wing-like appendages sticking out on either side. I knew enough about starships to know that shape didn't matter any in space – but it mattered a lot for ships that could descend into atmospheres. The wings added stability, as well as keeping the thrusters evenly spaced. I wasn't sure how aerodynamic the form was, but I was hardly an expert.

She's a beauty, isn't she? Mara asked, smiling down at me.

She is? I replied.

Now don't tell me you prefer everything to be new and shiny. She might have a few miles on her, but she'll outlast all of those silly polished ships you see flying around the core planets. Isn't that right, Sarah?

I glanced up to see that someone else had appeared on the ramp leading down from the ship. It was another girl, but she didn't appear as imposing as either Mara or the captain. She was shorter and had her hair tied back in pigtails. She looked to be only a few years older than me. As I approached, I noted that she had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, and that her hair was a shade of strawberry blonde – at least I thought it was. The girl wasn't exactly clean. She was wearing a pair of coveralls that had long since lost their original colour.

This is Deacon, Mara said, noting Sarah's curious expression. And this is Sarah.

Pleased to meet you, Deacon, Sarah said, smiling and extending her hand.

Oh, yeah, you too, I said, grasping the offered hand. I could feel some sort of grease slick against my palm.

Sarah is our ship's mechanic, Mara offered, leading us back inside.

Really? I asked, and the girl frowned. No, I didn't mean it like that. You're just... well, you're kind of young, aren't you?

Don't need to be old to figure out machines, she replied.

She's the best mechanic for two sectors, Mara said, smiling.

Hardly, Sarah said. I've got nothing on the captain.

The captain? I replied. The captain is a mechanic?

Oh, the captain practically designed half the systems in this ship, Sarah said, nodding. She's a whiz with machines. But she's the pilot, too, and she has all her captainy things to do. So it's up to me to keep everything running just right.

Sarah, why don't you show Deacon to one of the spare bunks, Mara said. He's been through a lot. He should get some rest. We can give him the grand tour when he wakes up.

Sarah nodded, and Mara walked away. I looked around, trying to take in everything. The cargo bay was high, probably fifteen or twenty feet. A catwalk ringed the top, and I could see hallways leading out on both levels. It seemed that the ship had two floors. As I turned, my back was facing Sarah.

Whoa, she whispered.

Whoa? I asked, glancing over my shoulder.

What happened to you? Your clothes are all burned up.

Yeah... I was caught in the attack.

Your clothes are all torn and scorched, but your skin isn't damaged, she noted, pressing a finger against my back, through one of the holes. Her touch felt cold against my skin and I flinched.

I don't know, I said. I hadn't noticed.

Weird, she muttered, still running her finger over my back.

If you say so.

I stepped forward, not sure why she was so interested in my skin. Maybe the fires just hadn't hit me full on. I looked around the cargo bay again, trying to distract myself – the last thing that I wanted to think about was what had happened. Diera and the dark-skinned man were standing up on the catwalk. The captain was talking, and the man was nodding and listening. I thought I saw her glance down at me once or twice, but that might have been my imagination. Even from a distance, my eyes were drawn to her – her long, dark hair, and her shapely figure. She certainly wasn't what I would have pictured as the captain of some old freighter.

Who's the man with the captain? I asked.

That's Ronan, Sarah replied. Ronan Kane. He knew the captain's father.

Knew?

Yeah, the captain lost her parents a long time ago. Sorry, I know that must be... well... sorry.

So much for distracting myself.

We've never found a survivor before, Sarah added, probably thinking that fact would cheer me up.

So I've heard, I said.

That's something.

Yeah...

A silence passed between us, before Sarah remembered what she was supposed to be doing. I didn't say anything when she told me to follow her to my room. We moved to the side of the cargo bay, where a set of grated metal stairs led to the catwalk. The captain and Ronan had moved from the catwalk, into the bridge – I could see into it a little from where I was standing. Sarah led me in the opposite direction, towards the back of the ship. A doorway led into a hallway, where a series of doors led into various rooms – the crew's bunks, I assumed.

This one's empty, Sarah said, pushing a door open. Bathroom's at the end of the hall.

Thanks, I muttered, and offered the best smile I could manage.

Sarah smiled back, wished me goodnight, and then she was gone. I turned to face what would be my new home – for a little while, at least. I didn't want to think about what was going to happen soon. I didn't know any of these people, and while Mara and Sarah seemed nice enough, for all I knew they really were planning to sell me. By the looks of it, they could use any money they could make.

The room was small, as expected. There was a metal bed frame bolted right into the wall, and a mattress atop it that didn't look very comfortable. I wondered how many guests they got. One unexpected perk was a window at the far end of the room. It was dark outside, so there wasn't much to see. But as I walked towards it, the floor began to vibrate beneath my feet. My initial reaction was panic, but that quickly morphed into excitement when I realized what was happening – the ship was lifting off.

My nose was pressed right up against the thick window a moment later. I had to brace myself with one arm against the wall as the ship rocketed up through the atmosphere. Within seconds the stars appeared, dots on the blanket of blackness. How many years had I spent dreaming of that moment? Dreaming of flying through the stars? I had a silly smile on my face as my eyes counted the many twinkling flecks. Then I glanced down, at the moon that was growing smaller and smaller. It was no longer brown and green and blue, like the many images I'd seen in my life. Now it was black, ringed by an orange glow.

I took a few steps backwards and sat down on the hard bed. I blinked a few times and then stretched my stiff body out. One thing was for certain – I was exhausted. I lay there for a few minutes, staring up at the grey metal ceiling, before finally reaching over and switching off the light. The room was doused in darkness, save for a few flits of starlight shining in the window. But despite my weariness, sleep didn't find me easily. When I closed my eyes, I could smell the burning. I could feel the heat on my skin, and the tears on my cheeks.

FOUR

I had no idea how long I slept – it wasn't like there was a sun to wake me up. I woke up to a wet pillow and more or less the exact same sight out the window. I sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes, realizing that I had no other clothes. In fact, I had nothing at all. No possessions, no credits, nothing. I had a tattered shirt, smoky pants, and a pair of well-worn boots. I was at the mercy of a group of people I didn't know, some of who seemed completely indifferent as to my well-being.

It was still dark in my room, and I fumbled around trying to remember where the light switch was. The dull glow of artificial light filled the room as I stood up, stretching my arms. The room was as empty as I remembered, with the bed, window, a closet, and little else. It felt more like a prison cell to me.

With nothing keeping me in the room, I made my way back out into the hall. All of the other doors were shut, and I had no way of knowing if the crew were still asleep, or if I was the last one to wake. I glanced in each direction – back towards the cargo bay, and at a closed door at the opposite end of the hall. There was a red light shining just above the door handle, and I assumed that the bathroom was occupied.

So I made my way back out onto the catwalk. I went up to the railing and looked out over the cargo bay. I hadn't noticed, the day before, just how full of crates and boxes the room was. They were well organized, but piled high enough that I couldn't see the floor in some places. As I approached the staircase, I peered into the bridge, wondering if the captain was flying the ship. The bridge was empty, though, so I figured there must be some sort of auto-pilot over long distances.

My feet clanged against the grated metal as I descended, and I headed for the back of the cargo bay – the only place left on the ship that I hadn't explored. I rounded a big pile of wooden crates, and nearly walked right into the edge of a sharp, slender piece of metal. The point was inches from my neck as my feet skidded to a stop. My eyes followed the point, down the long blade to the handle, which was gripped delicately by a pair of dark hands. When Ronan saw me, he pulled the blade away.

Sorry, I said. I didn't mean to intrude... is that a sword?

He didn't respond – he was just looking at me, like he was trying to figure something out. I noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt, and his torso glistened with light sweat. He was in quite good shape for an older man, as his body was slim, but toned with muscle. I also noticed that the scarring on his neck descended down over the better part of the right side of his chest.

So, uh, good morning, I offered, trying to prompt a reaction.

I got a nod out of him, at least. He seemed to be in the middle of a routine of sorts, and I figured that I was bothering him.

Have you seen Mara? I asked. Or Sarah?

Ronan inclined his head towards the open door at the back of the cargo bay. I could see another room, and movement within.

Right, thanks, I said.

I glanced back as I walked, watching as the agile man resumed his exercise. His movements were so fluid that I had difficulty turning away. The sword seemed almost an extension of his arm as he twirled and sliced the blade through the air. Not wanting to pester a man holding a sword, I continued on into the adjoining room.

Sarah was seated at a table within, a plate of food in front of her. Carbuckle was across from her, a pair of pistols laid out in front of him. And Mara was standing off to the side, preparing her own breakfast. It seemed that I had stumbled into the ship's galley – and it was a good thing, too, as I was famished. I'd barely eaten in days.

Good morning, I said, drawing a pair of smiles and a sour look.

Hungry, kid? Mara asked, and I nodded. I told Sarah to go fetch you, but she insisted on letting you sleep.

That's okay, I replied, taking a seat next to the young mechanic. I was pretty tired.

You've been through a lot, Sarah said.

The first thing I noticed was how clean she looked. Her coveralls were still filthy, but her face had been washed and her hair smelled of something sweet that I couldn't quite place. Carbuckle, on the other hand, looked just as grimy as he had the night before. His goggles had been lifted up, and were placed over his forehead, revealing a pair of beady, brown eyes.

How did you sleep? Mara asked, as she set a plate of food down in front of me.

Good, I guess, I replied, inspecting the meal. It was pretty much what we used to eat on Ophelia – artificially-flavoured synthetic protein. Back home we'd had some fruits and vegetables, grown in greenhouses and hydroponic gardens, to go with the little cubes. I wasn't about to complain, though. Energy was energy.

I just saw Ronan in the cargo bay, I said, chewing up my first mouthful. Where'd he get a sword?

He made it, Sarah replied. It takes a long time. It's folded carbonite.

Ronan doesn't like guns, Mara added. He prefers an elegant weapon. Not like these.

She gestured at the pistols that Carbuckle was toying with. He had one of them half taken apart and was inspecting the pieces.

The old bat's crazy if you ask me, the grimy man said, without looking up.

He's lived through one war already, Mara said. And I've seen him handle that weapon up close. He can even deflect blaster bolts with it.

Well, anyway, I think I might have upset him, I said. He didn't even say good morning to me.

Carbuckle snorted and Mara smiled.

What? I asked.

Ronan doesn't say much, Sarah said. You saw the scar?

Yeah. What happened to him?

He was injured during the war, Mara said. Explosion caught him, blew him right off his feet. His neck was torn open. He would have died, but Diera's father was able to bind the wound and drag him to safety. The medics were able to patch him up, but his vocal chords were damaged.

So he can't speak?

He can, but I think it's painful for him. And his voice isn't pretty. So he mostly just keeps quiet.

I thought the Republic took better care of their veterans, I said, digging my fork into the last block of protein.

The Republic? Carbuckle scoffed, looking up for the first time.

Ronan didn't fight for the Republic, kid, Mara said. Joseph Hawk, Diera's father, was a hero of the Commonwealth.

What? I asked. The Commonwealth? But the Republic are the champions of freedom and prosperity.

They teach you that in school, did they? Carbuckle sneered. You're too young and stupid to know any better, I guess.

I know that the Republic has real ships, not old clunkers like this one.

Clunkers? Sarah whispered.

And they have real weapons, too, I went on. Blaster pistols, instead of those old things you've got there. What do they fire? Bullets?

Care to see what a bullet can do, you little twerp? Carbuckle asked, raising one of his pistols and pointing it right at me.

Come on, Carbuckle, Mara said, pushing his gun back down to the table. Listen, kid, you're welcome to your opinion, but you might not want to be talking up the Republic when the captain's around. It's a bit of a sore spot with her.

Given that I'd just had a gun pointed at my face, I took Mara's advice and didn't push the issue. I figured that a group of people living on the outskirts of the civilized planets must have had a few run-ins with the Republic. They probably had a history and couldn't see all the good that the Republic brought to the galaxy.

She's not a clunker, Sarah said.

What? I asked.

The Hummingbird's the best ship I've seen. The captain's the best mechanic in the galaxy and she practically built this ship herself. You don't know what you're talking about.

I would have apologized, but Sarah got up and walked out of the room before I could. She headed out the back, into a part of the ship that I hadn't seen yet. Carbuckle had gone back to inspecting his weapons. Only Mara seemed to be paying me any attention – I couldn't afford to be alienating the people who had so much power over my life.

Sorry, I muttered, to no one in particular.

Don't worry about her, Mara said. She'll get over it. She's just defensive about the ship. She's right, too – you really don't know anything about ships. A shiny hull doesn't mean a whole lot, kid. The Hummingbird's got it where it counts. And with Diera at the helm, this is the place you want to be if things go bad.

What's a hummingbird?

Some little bird, from Earth. Quick and agile. Joseph Hawk's starfighter was called the Hummingbird. Our dear captain is the nostalgic sort. I always thought the name was more fitting for a starfighter than a freighter, but who am I to judge?

What do you think it was like? I asked, my gaze still lingering on the door that Sarah had exited through. Earth, I mean?

I'd say it probably wasn't a whole lot different than life on your moon. Or on any other number of planets. I flew by it once, on my way to the Mars Station. I heard tell of some folk who've landed, just to see it with their own eyes. They had to wear suits, though.

I nodded, looking back at the older woman. She had such a sincere face.

What's going to happen to me? I asked.

That's up to the captain, Mara replied, shrugging. But I'll put in a good word for you. There are much better places to drop you off than the Asylum, that's for sure.

I still say we should sell him, Carbuckle said, his fingers fiddling with the pieces of his pistol.

Mara smacked him across the back of the head.

FIVE

I spent the rest of the morning, and most of the afternoon, in the cargo bay. I tried returning to my room, but it felt too isolated. It reminded me too much of that cellar, and that was the last thing I needed. Instead, I found a wooden crate and climbed atop it. I sat there, legs dangling over the side, back propped against the wall, for hours. Too many thoughts were crowding my head.

It didn't seem that anyone was too keen on assuaging my worries, either. It wasn't until Mara stumbled across me halfway through the afternoon that I had any interaction at all with another member of the crew.

We're nearly there, kid, she said.

Nearly where? I asked.

The Asylum.

Oh.

Part of me had been hoping that the Asylum was a two-week journey.

Come on up to the bridge, Mara said.

Am I allowed on the bridge? I asked, hopping down from the crate.

Sure, why wouldn't you be?

I shrugged, heading for the metal staircase that led up to the catwalk.

The captain's not going to sell you, kid, Mara said.

I wasn't convinced.