The bulbous hulk of the comet 17P/Orpheus silently plunged through space toward Lux, pulled in by the star's massive gravity well. As it approached the warmth of the sun, veins of ice melted and boiled within Orpheus and on its surface. The heat intensified the closer it came to Lux, geysers shooting chunks of ice and rock into space around the comet, creating the familiar cloud of moisture and gas that was its tail.

For an eternity it had traveled roughly the same elongated elliptical orbit around the sun, frozen to its core at the edge of the system and thawed when it came back to Lux, always trailed by its pair Eurydice thousands of miles behind.

Only this time it brought passengers.

Warships bristling with weaponry latched on to the comet like parasitic insects, ghostly green gravity tethers extending from the noses of the ships to the rocky surface. They rode along in its wake through the empty void, shrouded from prying eyes by the misty halo of its tail. There were dozens, all varying in size and shape.

Three behemoth spacecraft carriers were the largest vessels, each capable of launching fighters and bombers. The massive ships required multiple tethers in order to keep them steady and prevent them from crushing smaller craft. All the ships were synchronized with each other to keep movement to a minimum and provide a healthy buffer between each.

One vessel broke off from the rest of the fleet and carefully crawled to the side of the comet. It was tiny compared to most of the other ships, but in contrast to the dull steel and patchwork repairs of the others this one looked brand new—complete with a cherry-red paint job. Behind the ship's main cabin were twin oversized gravity generators hooked up to an enormous tethering node.

The side of the ship was emblazoned with a company logo: Tuggernaut Asteroid Towing.

#

Buttercup strapped herself in to a seat that folded down from the wall behind Silver's pilot's chair. The quiet boy Gim took a seat across from her behind the other chair. Whatever happened next, her future lay with Bill Silver, who orchestrated the shuttle's ignition sequence.

Governor Strump—she was sure it was him even if Silver refused to confirm it—sat opposite Silver looking queasy. The windows on the front of the craft were sealed shut with retractable blast proof metal, but cameras on the hull fed a realistic digital view on the glass which gave the illusion that they were looking out the windows.

"Tower, Wanderlust transport shuttle requests departure assistance from dock B46 to launching platform," Silver said.

The disembodied voice which replied over the speakers, simply called "Tower," had a slow, drawling sort of confidence—the kind of soothing yet commanding voice she'd want to hear when everything else in the world was going wrong.

"Negative, shuttle. All traffic is halted prior to evasive maneuvers," said Tower.

Bill stopped the ignition, but didn't look surprised.

"I told you," Strump said. "Tower won't guide you out."

"Mmm-hm," Bill grunted.

"So what are you doing?" Strump asked.

"We'll have to go out manually," said Bill with a thrill of enthusiasm.

"Manual? We're synced up with Tower, you can't just—"

"Oh, I can't just, eh? Myra," Silver called expectantly, taking pleasure in the Governor's obvious discomfort.

"Yes, Mister Silver," came a reply over the speakers, this time a husky female voice.

"Give me a trajectory from here to Wanderlust, quick as you can."

"Of course," said Myra, and a pale blue thread plotted a course for them onscreen.

"We're going to shut you down in a few moments, Myra. Tower's not going to be too happy about us leaving. He'll try to override you, so we're cutting down to strictly operational to get around it. Can you make sure that'll stay up with you offline?"

"You'll see it when you reboot. But staying on course is your job without me."

"Wonderful," Bill said.

He said it just like Hargrove used to at the hotel, and Buttercup was struck with the realization that she may never see her former mentor again. Or anyone from Surface, for that matter. 

She was finally on her way to the outer rim, the far-scattered collection of settlements beyond the warm, moderate orbit Surface enjoyed close to the sun.

"See you shortly, Myra," said Bill.

"Don't scratch my shuttle," she replied.

Bill lifted the cover off a bright red button and held it down with his thumb until the power died. They were plunged into darkness briefly before the auxiliary power kicked in and lit the tiny room up crimson.

He waited several moments longer before pressing the red button again. The control console's screens flickered back to life along with the interior lights, but the former view on the glass was absent, leaving them all staring at the grey metal blast plates.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Strump asked.

"Just shut up and strap in."

Silver retracted the blast plates, and as they slid back Buttercup craned her neck around Bill's seat to see the view with her own eyes. They were barreling along about two hundred miles above Surface, held close by the planet's gravitational pull.

The sunlit Surface rolled beneath them like the biggest marble she'd ever seen, all blues and greens and swirling white clouds against the consuming starry blackness of space. Beyond the incredible view of Surface—it was enough to make her forget to breathe—she could make out a blue-white smear that shone brightly at its center. Orpheus on approach, she guessed.

"Is this safe? Shouldn't we be wearing suits?" the Governor asked.

"We're not going to crash."

"What if something hits the window? I mean, all that debris..."

"This ship was built to deal with a little debris. The gravity field will protect us from anything substantial the comet spits out. Unless it's firing bullets at us I think we'll be fine."

"You know what little pieces of rock zooming along at fifty miles a second remind me of? Bullets. And you know what bullets remind me of? Pirates! As in, the pirates that are probably on their way to find us and kill us!"

Their view of the planet lurched as Silver gripped the ship's wheel and eased them free of the station's dock. He smirked and turned his head to look back at Buttercup.

"You don't get spacesick, do you?"

She made no reply, just leaned her head against the wall, closed her eyes, and clenched the muscles in her abdomen. 

Breathe in deep through the nose, out through the mouth, she told herself. Don't think about where "up" is—just sit back, keep steady, and don't puke.

#

Two fully suited pilots sat in the cabin of Tuggernaut #7, one a bald-headed young man laced with neon tattoos and piercings, the other a lanky grizzle-bearded man in his thirties. The Beard was monitoring the temperature gauges while Tattoos kept his eyes on a timer than counted down in red block numbers. Three minutes, twenty two seconds.

"She ready to pull again, bud?" Tattoos asked.

"Nah man, still too hot," said the Beard.

"Boss Hawk won't like waiting, yo."

"Too hot, man, like it or not."

"You tell him, then."

"Spine like a wet noodle, bud." The Beard shook his head inside his helmet.

"Freeze you, man. Dude ain't level."

"Careful who you trashin' man. He don't tolerate."

The Beard flicked a switch on the console and a view of the bridge on Starhawk's flagship appeared in front of them. Immediately upon seeing the two pilots, Starhawk, dressed in his elaborate armored golden battle suit, leaped to his feet from his captain's chair. His ink-black hair was slicked back flat, and cutting blue eyes stood out stark against swarthy skin.

"Report," he snapped.

"Gravvy gens still cooling, Boss," said the Beard. "Another thirty seconds and we good."

"I need you to move that comet another two point three degrees west," Starhawk said. "If you can't do that we can't make an optimal approach. Hell, we could miss altogether. You see how important this is?"

The Beard exchanged glances with Tattoos.

"Boss, we get too hot and she gonna blow. Rock's too big—"

"We've got a schedule to keep. You get me another two point three degrees at the end of that countdown or I send some grubs to execute you both. Best start 'em back up, boys."

The screen went dead.

#

Silver followed the blue thread of the navigational guide toward the orbital station's launching platform where Wanderlust was waiting for them. It felt good to steer without correction from Myra. Sure, his wouldn't be the most efficient flight possible, but there was nothing like being in full control of a ship with his own two hands.

Own two hands. His prosthetic twitched involuntarily.

The station was all white metal and soft curves—a relic from before the rebellion designed and built by the planet's first settlers. Strump seemed to be content to bury his nose in watching news videos on his phone while the girl sat in the back, every once in a while peering over Silver's shoulder at the view.

Before they left the dock Silver had let Wanderlust know they were on the way back so the crew could prepare for immediate departure. Although with the hold on traffic Silver wasn't sure how they were going to launch from the station.

With any luck the Captain would have taken care of that snag in the plan already; securing the launch was his job, and he seemed to have connections with nearly every officer of note in every port from the Core to the outer rim. Silver was sure the Captain was getting an earful from Tower back on Wanderlust.

That was the reason he requested departure before they left in the shuttle, broadcasting where they were headed—Tower would contact Wanderlust to find out what was happening, and the Captain could sort things out by going over Tower's head to a station officer. There was no traffic anyway, clear lanes all the way to the launching platform just up ahead. The blue navigational thread led to an outline of Wanderlust at the base of a launch tube.

As they neared the platform, two sleek fighter drones deployed from some hidden perch and streaked toward them.

"Bill," said Strump. "Bill, what's that."

"What's what?" Buttercup said from the back, leaning forward for a better view.

Gim took a glance and piped up, "Two Mark VI Interloper class defense drones."

Silver slowed their approach and flicked on the comms, having left them off to prevent Tower from badgering him all the way to the platform. Apparently he didn't like that. "Tower, Wanderlust transport shuttle approaching launching platform, please advise."

The drones maintained course. Silence from Tower.

"They're still coming, Bill," said Strump. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"Shuttle Wanderlust, please continue current approach to complete docking with host ship at Tube Fourteen," Tower drawled, and Silver thought he could detect a faint note of displeasure in the AI's voice, perhaps grudging acceptance that they had broken the rules and gotten away with it. "Emergency drones deployed for approach assistance."

The drones finally slowed, then spun a sharp one-eighty and began flashing their rear emergency lights. Silver followed them in, swooping down along the rows of gargantuan launching tubes. The platform was devoid of queued ships, but almost every tube was filled; they must have been making the final launches before the station shifted its orbit.

Several launched as they passed by, the interior of the massive hollow tubes priming with a green glow and then pulsing brilliantly from the base, pushing the ships forward to incredible speeds as the tube shot them off into the void. 

Tube Fourteen loomed ahead, Wanderlust already loaded and ready to launch. The two drones broke off and returned to their previous positions, leaving Silver to slowly nestle the shuttle into Wanderlust's open docking bay.

Home sweet home.

#

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