I've traveled by airplane before, and the experience in a shuttle is pretty similar.

Most of the time, you can't choose who you sit next to, and you're trapped in an uncomfortable seat, crammed in behind a jerk who always leans their back all the way into your lap, and there are children crying somewhere. No one knows how to shut them up, so they screech until their lungs give out. Everyone is always too polite to tell the parents to do their job, or yell at the kid to cram it. Everyone wants to, of course.

The food is terrible, the drinks watered down, someone's always sick (and you will be too before long,) and the in-house movies are either boring, stupid, or both.

And, you can't choose who you sit next to.

This particular day was my first time ever getting above the stratosphere, but no one seemed inclined to try making my transition easier. Of course, the veterans all crack jokes about us groundhogs, but I always take solace in the fact that at some point, they were dry heaving in microgravity their first time, too.

The takeoff wasn't any worse than I'd imagined it; loud, several times normal gravity pushing you back into your seat and making it a chore to breathe, the captain crooning vapid reassurances over the loudspeaker and making the occasional quip. You're grateful that these things come with seatbelts and chest belts and leg straps, because you really don't want to move around much at first.

The feeling never quite leaves you, either, after you're out of the atmosphere.

The worst part for me, though, is that you can't choose who you sit next to.

Boarding took most of an hour, as humanity shuffled its way through the chronically narrow aisles, bumping into each other and hitting heads on carry on luggage. Already, people were coughing (how they got past quarantine I'll never know) and small infants began screaming. At least one of them was three rows behind me, or else it had a heck of a set of lungs. My assigned seat was where, on an airplane, the window seat would be; this being a shuttle, however, we lacked the glass pane and had instead a cheap screen with a slideshow of exotic vistas from across the galaxy.

Of course, this being merely a jaunt, the images annoyed me more than anything.

Not that the view would have been interesting, anyway. Phaderen—home—was a dreary little ball of mud on a good day, and a rainy mess the rest of the year. It's not as though they chose Retirement Station 02 for the sights; low gravity made life easier for geriatrics.

I was looking forward to seeing the stars from the bay level, at least. Seeing the sky's a rare event as it is, and I hear the stars are beautiful.

For now, however, I was trapped, cooped in crowded quarters with a sniffling, bawling mass of humanity, and the closest thing I had to an escape was to close my eyes, pop some pills and wish away the nausea, and fall asleep.

However, the adjacent seat, and aisle one, was occupied by perhaps the most annoying sort of person:

A chatterer.

"This your first time in space?"

I open my eyes, tenuous peace now ruined. Take a deep breath.

"Yeah. How can you tell?"

He laughs, a clear, loud sound. I'd tried to ignore everyone in the vicinity during boarding, but now I gave him a look over. Dressed in a basic vacuum suit, same as everyone else, but filling it out more in the shoulders. Maybe he was a space lacrosse player; certainly had that same athletic look.

"You just look miserable! Space sickness, right?"

I swallow a sudden blob of bile, nod. "The medicine hasn't kicked in yet."

He crosses his arms, looking sage. Clearly, he's been on his fair share of trips.

"Should have taken it right before boarding. You didn't, did you?"

"Ten minutes ago." I was starting to dislike this guy. Seemed like the smug type; we had our population of those, just like everyone else.

"Water bottle should help your stomach settle."

"Thanks," I grumble, and fumble around the armrest for the fluid. It was less of a bottle and more of a pouch, but easy enough to figure out. I tore off the mouthpiece and started to draw water out slowly, closing my eyes again to shut myself off from the world…

If only I were that lucky.

"So, where're you headed?"

I pinch the straw to keep my water from floating into the cabin space and sigh.

"Just going to RS oh two."

"Ah," he says, as though enlightened somehow. "Got family there?"

I give him a glare, but he seems unperturbed. Above the collar of his spacesuit he had the classic sort of squared jawline, clean shaven, and wide, eager blue eyes. Blonde, but trimmed down military style above the ears. A curl of hair somehow managed to survive the treatment, and hung over his forehead a little. Definitely not in regs, so maybe not actually in any of the services.

"Just my gra'am," I say at last. "She moved up there four years ago. This is the first time I can afford to visit."

Hostile enough? I hoped so. Unfortunately, my seat mate wasn't content to leave it at that.

"Oh, that's neat. Say, I didn't catch your name—I'm Masterman Jones." He maneuvers one hand across his chest in an attempt to greet me properly.

I end up shaking his proffered hand, because it's too awkward to leave someone hanging.

"Norman Smith. That's an… interesting name."

Another guffaw. "A little bit, huh? A plain surname and an uncommon first name. Yours…"

"Isn't as interesting," I finish for him. Drat me and my plain names.

"Actually, it's not all that common, where I'm from," he continues, to my mild surprise and annoyance.

"But 'Masterman' is?"

"Actually, not at all—"

But just then, the dialogue I'd fallen into was stopped by a loud noise from the rear.

Immediately I'm reaching for the stowed breathing gear. Was this a decompression incident? The five hours of pre flight training raced through my mind in a jumbled mess, and suddenly none of it made any sense at all. I ended up not actually doing anything except spasming in my seat, trying to remember what to do with my hands. Before I knew it, a firm clamp on my left arm brought me back to reality. A reality I was still trying to figure out.

"What's going on?" I hiss, having a feeling that perhaps speaking loudly might not be a good idea. Masterman—no, Jones, I'll call him Jones—tightened his grasp on me and stared a bit into the aisle, tight-lipped.

Whatever had happened couldn't be good. I swallow, and turn around.

Near the rear of the cabin, I could see several men standing up, something in their arms. I tried to crane my neck around to see what it was, but everyone's heads were in the way. All of the children aboard were shrieking like banshees, and whatever the men were saying couldn't be heard; I could see their mouths move, but I'm terrible at lip reading. They looked angry, or irritated.

With a handful of screaming infants and the sudden explosion of deathly coughing from all corners of the compartment, it's no wonder they were in a foul mood. All the confusion certainly wore on my own temper.

"Everybody SHUT! UP!" Finally, something could be heard. Oddly enough, it came from the loudspeakers—maybe they'd hacked into the system? Either way, a sudden hush fell over the compartment, except, of course, for the brats, who were frightened by the noise and only cried louder, which I don't think anyone thought was possible. The men at the back seemed to accept this as inevitable, and proceeded to try talking over them.

"Listen up! We're taking control of this vessel! Anyone who tries to interfere will be dealt with."

I think that last part was supposed to sound intimidating, but I felt oddly detached.

A hijacking? Well, this was going to be inconvenient. Stellar tickets were expensive, and I couldn't afford to catch a ride back from—wherever we were taking a detour to. And wasn't this a jump ship anyway? If they were thinking of going to, say, Regulus III, they'd be in for a long, rough ride.

Next to me, however, I could feel Jones tremble. A big guy like him, scared? I guess appearances could be deceiving.

The guys as the back began to sweep toward the front, single file due to the narrow aisles. As they walked past, I got my first good look at them.

For the most part, they looked like any other passenger on the ship—that is, except for the packages in their hands. At first glance, they seemed like old fashioned briefcases; a second, closer look made it obvious that these were really disguised plasma rifles, barrels poking out from the open hinges.

The three men filed past, nondescript in their traveling suits and neat, trimmed hair. One of them had a mustache, another sideburns. None of them looked younger than twenty five, nor older than fifty.

What could they possibly want? These hijackers didn't fit the image of the typical ruffians that pulled this sort of stunt. Were they criminals trying to escape planetside after a heist? Political exiles? No, Phaderen wasn't exciting enough for radical politics or grand scale crime.

For the most part, the adult population kept quiet, probably out of fear and not wanting to upset their captors. Some of the children had been shut up somehow, but a few still bawled their lungs out. One of the men, Sideburns, remained near the middle of the compartment while the other two walked to the cabin door. A brief discussion occurred, and then a knock at the door.

In the meantime, Jones never ceased his intense shivering. Sideburns was a few rows ahead of us, and my traveling companion kept staring at him.

For the first time, I wondered if the shakes were not out of fear after all.

Up ahead of us, the cabin door opened and Mustache stepped inside. This left Sideburns in the middle, and the third member whom I mentally designated Baby Face. Things seemed quiet for the time being; everyone was huddled silently in their seats, still strapped in tight. No more announcements yet; for all we knew, the ship was indeed under complete hijacker control.

I sat still in my seat. Jones moved slightly—it wasn't until I felt his hand leave my forearm that I realized how hard he'd been squeezing. If he left bruises, I might have to have words with him after things settled down.

Stupid of Sideburns to keep to the middle. And stupid of Jones to jump out of his seat and tackle Sideburns to the ground.

It took a second to register just what had happened. All of a sudden the seat next to me was empty, and a ruckus went up among the fellow passengers in the cabin. When had Jones undone his belts and safety restraints? You weren't supposed to do that until the captain gave the go ahead—

I found myself struggling with my own straps, and all the while Baby Face was shouting something that was lost in the growing uproar in the cabin, pointing his fake suitcase down the aisle—

"ALL HANDS CEASE AND DESIST."

The loudspeaker was cranked at full blast, and the sound hit me solidly in the chest. Everyone froze again, even those damned babies. Jones was still on the floor, grappling with Sideburns; Baby Face stood rooted in front of the front door, weapon still at the ready.

No way they'd fire those things, not when we were in a near vacuum—right?

"THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN. THE SITUATION IS UNDER CONTROL."

Now that was a patently false statement if ever I heard one—

"THE SHIP WILL BE DIVERTED FROM ITS CHARTERED COURSE. THE NEXT DESTINATION IS BENEDICCI STATION. PASSENGERS ARE INSTRUCTED TO COMPLY WITH ALL DEMANDS AND REMAIN IN THEIR SEATS FOR THE DURATION OF THE JAUNT."

I settled back into my seat. Was this really happening? On the floor, Jones seemed to be having the same issue—as well as the issue of him struggling against Sideburns.

"What? We can't just let them take the ship!" he cried, still keeping his target pinned under him. Jones was a pretty big guy, and Sideburns wasn't.

"Get back in your seat, or we'll shoot!" cried Baby Face from his post by the door. "You heard the captain!"

"Y-yeah," came the muffled voice of Sideburns. "We're not even going that far, so just settle down and get off of me—!"

A chorus of voices rose up from the passengers.

"Just do what he says!"

"Let the man go!"

"I was going to Benedicci later anyway—"

"What's with you people!" Jones yelled. "You're not even going down without a fight?" He sat up, one knee still buried in Sideburn's back.

"No!"

"It's too dangerous—"

Jones slumped back, picked himself off the floor. Sideburns crawled away in a hurry, grabbing for his suitcase as he clambered back to his feet. He leveled the weapon at Jones, face still beet red from being smashed against the crumb-filled carpet.

"Get back in your seat!"

Jones just stood there a minute. He must have been glaring daggers at Sideburns, since the guy flinched pretty badly. I couldn't see anything, though, until Jones finally turned around after his long stare-down. I didn't say a word as he seated himself, and refastened his belts. What could I say? I barely knew the guy, and he'd just made a scene—

Mostly, though, it was the look of abject defeat in his face.

Not just defeat, though. Something else burned behind those pale blue eyes…

Sideburns, still panting from his ordeal, made a point to keep his plasma rifle leveled in our direction as he backed his way up the aisle to rendezvous with Baby Face. Mustache still hadn't reappeared from the front end of the ship.

"Anyone else want to start something?" Baby Face said loudly, from the front. Silence reigned. "We just need you to play along for a few hours until docking. Then you can all go free."

The only sound was the sniffling of the infants; most everyone barely dared to even breathe loudly. I know I certainly settled back into my cushioned foam seat, to wait out the rest of our ordeal.

Jones didn't say another word until after we'd docked at Benedicci Station.

Disembarking was actually uneventful. All the passengers were directed to undo their straps under the supervision of Baby Face and Sideburns, whose names we never learned. As we floated through the docking tubes to the station, our hijackers remained cold and professional.

Well, I wasn't looking to make friends on this trip, anyway.

Microgravity took some getting used to, in spite of my mostly useless training. The tunnel had hand holds, however, which made maneuvering at least do able. Jones, who was pulling himself along in front of me, moved like a professional, with the barest push sending him forward with all the grace of a Lunar ballerina. I felt like a flailing space calf in comparison.

The airlock at the end of the tube was open, letting through the steady stream of passengers. Finally, I could see a dispersing crowd up ahead.

"I hope we get our luggage back," I say, mostly to nobody but sort of directed toward Jones. I had no idea who was behind me, but if they replied, well, that was fine too. However, Jones remained silent. Normally this was desirable, but he seemed bothered by what had happened, and usually people like to be distracted from that kind of thing by small talk.

Instead, we entered Benedicci station as surly as a pair of hijacking survivors can be.

Well, I didn't really feel whatever Jones seemed to be stricken with. Mostly, I wondered how much this trip was going to end up costing me.

Benedicci Station. Full of bright lights (painful) kiosks (looked overpriced) and swarms of people (I thought I was finished dealing with them). A number of security personnel stood about, mostly around the exits to other parts of the station. In case the hijackers decided to run amok, I suppose. Or maybe not; for all I knew, Benedicci had a healthy population of troublemakers. That I hadn't heard anything about it planet side didn't necessarily mean it didn't exist.

I floated my way through the portal, and nearly launched myself across the agora. Thankfully, they had a series of aesthetically appealing ropes, almost definitely to keep wayward groundhogs from making complete fools of themselves. I untangled myself and pulled my body in the direction of the public phones. Jones used one toe, I think, to push himself into a gentle—and precise—glide, also in my direction. He still seemed preoccupied.

"Hey, I need to use a phone," I said, turning toward him and nearly spinning out of control from my own momentum. Thank whichever engineers or designers thought about installing these damn ropes.

Jones grunted, and adjusted his course toward what looked to be a food court of some kind. Mostly packaged edibles and fruit, from the looks of it. I decided then to practice this low grav nonsense until I was at least as good at moving around as he was.

Setting the bar lower might have been better, but I was irritated by how good he was.

The phones had their own corner of the lobby; individual booths with a mic and chat screen. I fished out my cert card and inserted it into the slot. Punch in a few numbers, and I got a connecting icon. Good. The screen turned to video after maybe five or seven seconds.

A round, wrinkly face stared back at me; milky white hair, laugh lines, and small, rectangular reading glasses. She wore what looked like a hot pink and purple running suit. I sighed, mostly in relief.

"Hey, Gra'am."

"Normy!" she said, smiling. "I've been waiting for you—your shuttle was due an hour ago. Where are you?"

"Sorry," I mumbled. "Something came up. I'm at Benedicci right now—"

A gasp. "What on earth are you doing there, Norm? That's nowhere near this orbit!"

I sighed again, more in disappointment and irritation this time. I realized I'd been running a hand through my hair. "Yeah. We got hijacked right after we left atmosphere."

"You what? Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?"

I hated seeing my grandmother fret. "No! I'm fine, I promise! I called as soon as I got off the shuttle. I still need to pick up my luggage, but no one got hurt, and everyone's safe here."

Worry deepened the lines of her face. "What did those men want?"

"I don't know, Gra'am—"

Just then, the loudspeakers crackled to life.

"ATTENTION, ALL STAFF AND TRAVELERS."

Oh, no.

"A GENERAL ORDER HAS BEEN RELEASED TO EVACUATE STATION BENEDICCI. AN ANONYMOUS BOMB THREAT HAS BEEN RECORDED. THE SITUATION IS UNDER INVESTIGATION. PLEASE DO NOT PANIC."

The last of the passengers had finished filtering out of the tube, and a crowd had built up where people had stopped to listen. The rest of the room stilled, as well.

So far, no signs of panic. That was good at least.

"ALL PASSENGERS PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE CLOSEST AVAILABLE ESCAPE SHUTTLES. ALL SHIPS, PREPARE TO EMBARK AND ASSUME A FIVE HUNDRED KILOMETER RADIUS FROM THE STATION—"

The crowd began to move, first slowly, then with growing urgency. I swallowed, and realized I was still on the phone. Gra'am was trying to get my attention.

"Norman? Norman, what's going on over there?"

"S-sorry Gra'am," I said. "I gotta go, there's something going on. Hopefully nothing, but I have to hang up now. Love you, call you as soon as I can!"

I hung up before Gra'am could protest. I didn't want to suddenly find myself alone in the station if there might be an explosive device planted somewhere with me.

I merged with the streams of people, bumping into one person after another, but nobody seemed to notice or care all that much. We didn't have a deadline to make it to safety, but sooner was better than later.

Supposedly these stations had a surplus of escape shuttles, clearly labeled and never far away. I didn't know for sure how much a "surplus" was in this situation, and besides, our own shuttle brought forth an unexpected mass of people, didn't it?

I wondered if the hijackers would be able to get away. As far as I knew, they still had the shuttle we'd come in on. Was the bomb threat related at all to their showing up? Unfortunately, there was no one to ask, and there were more pressing matters at hand.

Things were getting stuffy, trying to navigate the various tunnel ways of the station. I started to feel a little weight come back to me; we must be nearing the outer parts of the structure, where "gravity" was higher. That must have meant that the docking bays were on the spindle part. I hadn't bothered to look up any station blueprints before heading into space…

As I was jostled past a corridor, however, I caught sight of a somewhat familiar face. I stopped, letting the mass of people flow past me. Was it…?

Damn. Yes, it was.

I pushed my way past the river of bodies and into the corridor, chasing after the fleeing figure of Jones. He'd just turned a corner, so I tried to jog after him to catch up.

Try being the operative word, there. Thought the gravity was higher than it had been in the lobby, I wasn't used to bouncing ass over kettle with every long stride. Eventually I just took a giant leap down the hall, not even bothering with the ground. I slammed into the wall, slightly, and looked past the corner. Jones was still farther ahead—

"Jones! What the hell are you doing?"

That got his attention, and he skidded to a stop, somehow keeping mostly on the floor and not the ceiling. I'd have to learn that trick someday.

"Norm? What are you doing here?"

"I asked you first!" This time I walked over to him; it seemed safer that way.

"Right," he said, glancing about. "They said there was a bomb on here someplace."

"I know, I was there," I snapped. "So why aren't you evacuating yet?"

"Oh," he said, catching me in a steady, calm gaze. "I'm going to find it."

My neurons nearly fried trying to make sense of that data. Eventually, they and my mouth were working again.

"You, you… What? No! We're supposed to be leaving now!"

"Norman," Jones said, clamping both hands on my shoulders, face completely serious. "There is something wrong with this world, where villains are allowed to get away with crimes, when no one will even consider taking a stand against evil."

"Jones—"

"Would decent people allow a vessel to be commandeered? To allow threats of violence against them?"

"This isn't the time, damn it—"

"Do you know what this age has forgotten? It's forgotten its heroes, Norman. Someone to take a stand, to take action!"

"So let's take some action by getting out of here already! We don't know when this place is going to blow!" I tried swatting his hands away, but he held firm.

"Norman, calm down. And it isn't when, it's if—"

Just then, the corridor jumped from under us, knocking us off our feet. Somewhere in the chaos was a loud roar, a siren, and a popping in my ears.

Jones sat up, shaking. "I guess I don't have to worry about the bomb anymore." The lights dimmed slightly, and that low wailing continued in the background.

I tried to reorient myself, fighting down raw panic all the while. "No, there's still plenty about the bomb to worry about! C'mon, Jones, we have to go now!"

This time, there were no arguments.

The bomb hadn't gone off on our side of the station, which was probably a lucky break for us. Since everything seemed to be in the standard wheel shape, it hopefully wouldn't be impossible to make it back to safety… wherever that was.

We leapt/jogged as fast as we could manage, backtracking to the lobby. There were doors edged in glowing yellow tape, claiming to lead to the escape shuttles, but none of them would open for us.

"I think most of the shuttles left when the bomb went off," Jones theorized as we passed by the fourth shuttered doorway. "A station like this doesn't do it automatically, of course, but if enough people heard the blast, they could initiate the controls themselves…"

"This isn't really helping," I said through clamped teeth. It was all I could do to keep them from chattering. My legs had turned to gel by this point, especially in my knees. Weak. I felt weak. Was this how terror felt?

"But what if someone stayed behind?" As we reached the fifth of the escape hatches, he tried the control pad; nothing.

"I'm starting to doubt anyone would be so brave," I said. "The galaxy lacks heroes—you said it yourself."

"I'd always hoped they were just in hiding," Jones ventured, though he didn't sound particularly confident. "You know, emerging from the great trials unscathed and aware of their goodness for the first time, though they'd known something to be there all along…"

I hadn't met an optimist before, I realized. I wasn't impressed.

Still, we headed for the lobby. Where else was there to go? We could check every escape hatch, but what if the station's bulkheads gave way and suddenly vacuum was upon us? We'd wasted enough time already.

Another corner turned, and we were back in familiar territory. And, just standing there, was a steward in uniform.

I wondered if our luck was either really terrible, or really excellent. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

"Hey!" he said, startled out of whatever he'd been doing. "You're supposed to be gone!"

"I know," I said, more than a touch bitter. "We—we got separated and now none of the escape shuttles are available, I think."

The steward shook his head and waved us over. "Lucky for you our ship hasn't departed, yet! Better get over here and catch a ride with us."

We obliged and trotted over, or trotted as much as one can trot in zero point three gees. He led us to a gate not too far away; a few men were standing outside, looking nervous.

"Frank!" one of them said, wearing a grey knit cap and a matching grey spacesuit, maintenance style, "What took you so long? Who're these guys?"

"They're stranded here," our steward, Frank, explained. "We'd better toss 'em aboard, doncha think?"

Grey Cap looked as though he wanted to argue, but shook his head instead. "Fine. Show 'em inside, find 'em a spot. We're due to finish loading any minute now."

Frank led us past Grey Cap, and Grey Cap Two and into their vessel. I glanced at Jones, who hadn't spoken for a few minutes now.

Amazingly enough, he looked on the verge of tears—and not weeping tears, either, but honest to God tears of happiness. I actually caught my shoulder on a protruding pipe from being so distracted.

"Hey, uh, Jones," I said. "You doing okay, there?"

A deep breath. "You're an amazing person, Frank." He said it with a genuine quiver and everything. Frank stopped in his tracks, inertia carrying his body just slightly ahead of where he'd grabbed onto a handy rail.

"I am? What're you on abou—oh, don't cry! Why are you crying?" he looked over at me, now. "Why's he crying? What'd I do?" I could only shake my head and shrug, for emphasis.

"Don't ask me, man, I just met the guy four hours ago."

"Good p-People are so hard to come by," Jones blubbered, grasping Frank by the upper arms. A few tears welled up around his eyes and did this weird floating bubble thing above his cheeks. "You're a good person, Frank."

Frank looked stricken. "I just did what any person would do, fella! Why're you so worked up about it?"

"No," Jones said, somewhat more composed now, "Not anyone would stay back and wait for stragglers—"

Had that been what Frank was doing? Even if he wasn't doing that in particular, I was gracious enough to be glad he was there when we were in a bind.

"It's—it's okay," Frank said through a tight smile. "You can relax now, we'll be safe in here. Be takin' off any second now, so we're better find you a place to hunker down until we get things sorted out."

"Thank you," I said. "We really appreciate what you're doing."

A small spasm across Frank's face. "Think nothin' of it. Let's get you settled in."

He took us down a number of corridors, all metal rivets and welds painted an old, worn yellow color, like week-old mayonnaise. Mostly it wasn't chipping, and things looked clean enough. I'd never actually been in a real spaceship before—at least, that's what I figured the vessel to be.

"What kind of ship is this?" I ask Frank as he guided us to an archaic-looking hatch in the hall—or bulkhead, whichever it is.

"She's a freighter," Frank told us, chest puffed slightly and pride deep in his voice. "The Nebula Ghost ships any cargo, anywhere in any of the habitable systems all over the galaxy. If something needs to go someplace, we'll be the someones to do it."

That was cute. I wondered if it was their official slogan or not. Maybe it was.

"This here's your room, for now," he continued, motioning toward the hatch. Jones walked over to it and grabbed a hand wheel, and started turning. Some sort of simple mechanism moved, and then the door opened with a slight squeal. Inside, a light automatically lit up the room.

"Sorry it's not much," Frank said, looking rather embarrassed. "Mostly our cargo doesn't include people."

'Not much' was something of a hyperbole. I peered around Jones, and wasn't met with much at all by way of furniture, or even miscellaneous cargo.

The room, a nearly perfect cube, was empty except for some long canisters secured to the wall—bulkhead, whatever—by some chains. In another corner were some stacks of packing material; mostly foams and sheets of plastic.

"We keep a few cots around, just in case," Frank explained. He pointed over to the left corner, closest to us. "You can drag them out to sit on and such. We'll be a little while in docking again."

We mumbled our thanks, and crawled through the tiny hatch and into the room. Sure enough, there were a few metal and fabric folding contraptions stacked in an otherwise vacant corner.

"This room is mostly for stuff we don't know what to do with," Frank continued, following us inside. "Got a few of those on board, for when clients don't have all that much to ship. But, uh, this is just a temporary thing. You can leave the hatch open or close it, too, if you want. You can have pretty much free reign of the ship, 'cept the nav rooms and stuff where the captain is, but I'd recommend hanging out in here as much as you can for now."

"What about a bathroom?" Jones asked. Actually, that was a good question. Food, too, for that matter.

"Head's down the hall, to your right—we passed it on the way here. Three doors down, as you're walking from here. Galley is back toward the forward end, but I'll pick you guys up and take you to chow when it's time."

Food sounded good. I hadn't noticed myself get hungry, but it hit me of a sudden. I wasn't famished, really, but I was definitely starting to run on empty.

"About how long do you think it'll be before we're able to dock back at Benedicci Station?" I ask. The loudspeaker announcements had said something about having ships adopt a holding pattern of sorts until things settled down. Had having an actual explosion changed that at all?

"Bene?" Frank blinked at us. "We're shipping out. En route to the Leo Prime system."

I could hear the rumble and roar of the thrusters as they growled to life.

"We're going on delivery, fella."

"Oh." Jones said. "That sounds like fun."