Two weeks of work had smoothed into something like rhythm. The Astralis was no longer just a showroom-fresh purchase but beginning to feel like Liam's ship. Courier crates had rattled in her hold, survey drones had flown from her belly, and more than once he had fallen asleep to the soft hum of her reactor instead of the muffled noise of the boarding house on Veyra Prime. Routine hadn't dulled him — if anything, it made him sharper, like each small contract was sanding away hesitation and leaving behind only precision.
[Today is maintenance, not glory,] Iris reminded him as the Astralis slid into the orbital approach lane above Veyra Prime. [Fuel intake balance is a degree off. And you promised to replace that archaic datapad before clerks start using it as a museum exhibit.]
"I'm replacing it," Liam said, suppressing a yawn. "You don't need to insult the poor thing. It carried us this far."
[If by 'this far' you mean into the year 50,211 while still thinking it's 50,111, then yes, heroic service.]
He chuckled and leaned back as the traffic control beacon pulsed green. Ahead, the orbital elevator looked like a silver thread dropped into the void, its baskets sliding up and down in steady rhythm. Liam guided the Astralis into the waiting cradle — a massive frame that embraced the ship with clamps and thrummed with the vibration of maglev coils. With a deep mechanical sigh, the cradle began its descent toward the surface.
The world grew beneath them in widening arcs: the blues of the northern seas, the dull ochres of desert land, and then the jeweled brilliance of Veyra Prime's cities. Towers speared up from the crust like frozen bolts of light, their crowns wreathed in a soft haze of advertisement screens and shield fields. Liam watched silently as the city spread out below, arteries of maglev lines glowing faintly against the shadowed surface.
[Reminder: docking fees increase after eight local hours. Let's be quick.]
"I know, I know. You're worse than a landlord."
[Landlords do not also keep you alive in decompression events.]
The cradle slowed as it entered the Stellar Dynamics Port Hub. The hangar array yawned open — a forest of scaffolding, cranes, and guidance beams. The clamps released, letting the Astralis drift into the bay. Automated thrusters puffed around her hull as she was guided neatly into a docking slot. The clamps bit again, this time more gently, locking her to the deck.
The moment the green light flashed across the canopy, Liam unstrapped and stood. His boots rang against the gangway as the hatch cycled open. The air of the port smelled faintly of ozone and lubricant — familiar, industrial, not unpleasant.
He keyed the security seal on the hatch. The Astralis gave a muted chirp of acknowledgement.
[Docking sequence complete. No anomalies detected. Your ship is safe. For now.]
"Your optimism is contagious."
[Statistically, it is accurate.]
He slung a lightweight satchel over his shoulder and made his way down the concourse. The port was alive with motion — crews shouting as they hauled crates, drones skimming overhead with sensor beams scanning for contraband, passengers in travel-worn coats queuing at kiosks. Liam moved with steady pace through the flow until the concourse opened into the wide arc of Helios Walk.
The Walk always felt like stepping into a pulse. It was less a street and more a suspended boulevard of polished stone and glowing banners, stretching between two towers like a bridge of commerce. Shopfronts curved in sleek glass and alloy, names displayed in bold holo-script: Locke & Rail, their precision rifles gleaming in white light; SynTech Systems, with its ever-present swarm of demo drones dancing like metallic birds above the entrance; Arclight Engineering, projecting a shield demonstration that crackled like blue lightning over a display hull. Holo-screens spilled newsfeeds in every direction — mercenary contracts fulfilled, exploration rights auctioned, markets fluctuating by a few credits here or there.
It was not chaos. It was organized hunger, each store a promise of survival or power.
Liam felt his pulse quicken the way it always did here. This wasn't a market. It was an armory for dreams.
First stop: the Authority kiosk. A gray booth manned by a clerk who looked like he hadn't blinked in an hour. Liam slid his wristband across the scanner.
"Firmware update?" the clerk asked, voice clipped.
"Yes."
The man tapped a key. The band chimed once, warm against Liam's wrist as new permissions flickered online. The clerk dismissed him with a grunt.
[Congratulations, you can now fill out forms with ten percent fewer keystrokes,] Iris said. [Civilization advances.]
"Don't mock efficiency. Efficiency means less time with clerks like him."
[True. Even I felt unwelcome.]
He moved on to SynTech Systems. Inside, the dome glowed pale blue, the air filled with the hum of propellers. Two drones hovered in formation above the counter, tilting smoothly as they adjusted for airflow. A saleswoman stepped forward with a practiced smile.
"Looking for exploration adjuncts?"
"Starter pair," Liam said. "Survey configuration. Long endurance."
She nodded and brought out two sleek, winged units from a rack. Each was about the size of his forearm, polished alloy with foldable sensor arrays.
"They'll integrate with most standard ship systems. Do you have an adjunct AI?"
"I do."
[I am not an adjunct,] Iris interjected in Liam's mind, sharp and cold. [I am me.]
"She'll handle them," Liam said, hiding a smile.
The saleswoman didn't press. He transferred credits — a heavy hit to his balance — and cradled the carrying case as though it contained more than just drones. In a way, it did. It contained a promise of contracts beyond simple courier work.
[They're clean,] Iris reported once the receipt chimed complete. [Firmware straightforward. No hidden recalls. Not useless.]
"That's high praise from you."
[Don't let it go to your head.]
Next was Arclight Engineering. The calibrator was waiting for him: a compact device shaped like a clamshell, glowing softly with diagnostic lights. The clerk, a tall man with grease under his nails, handed it over with the reverence one usually reserved for relics.
"Keep it dry. And don't drop it."
"I'll treat it like treasure."
[That would be new, considering your socks.]
He ignored Iris and secured the calibrator in his satchel.
He paused outside Locke & Rail, drawn by the gleam of rifles displayed against matte black panels. Their designs were elegant, lethal. But his balance was already wounded. He let himself look, not touch. That would come later.
His errands complete, Liam turned back toward the port concourse. The satchel pressed comfortably against his side, heavier now but in the right ways.
[One more stop,] Iris said. [Contract Authority has jobs posted since this morning.]
"Let's see them when we're back on the Astralis."
[Or we could stare at them in the middle of the walkway and make you look suspicious.]
"I'll pass."
The return walk was slower. He let himself take in the view: merchants haggling over component costs, mercenaries in armored jackets laughing too loudly, a child dragging a toy ship behind her father. Helios Walk was alive with thousands of stories. His was only just beginning.
Back in the docking bay, the Astralis sat waiting like a dark arrow. Liam keyed open the hatch, secured the satchel to the workshop wall, and lowered the drones into their mounts. Their systems blinked awake, soft tones syncing to Iris' control.
"Names," he murmured. "Call them Sable and Flint."
[Affected. But acceptable.] A pause. [Hello, Sable. Hello, Flint. Try not to embarrass us.]
He smiled faintly and dropped into the pilot's chair.
"Contracts."
[Three available. Courier to Erevos-III station — processed components. Courier to Kaelis — sealed research samples. Survey sweep over southern grasslands — ag planners want moisture distribution confirmed. All low risk. All low pay.]
"Kaelis first. Keep the survey for after."
[Filed.]
The clamps released. The Astralis rose from her berth and threaded into the outbound corridor. The planet fell away beneath them, shrinking into a patchwork of blue and brown. Liam breathed easier once the void opened around them again.
Courier work wasn't glamorous, but it was steady. The sealed crate rode in the hold, sensors green, tamper field intact. Liam flew by the book: acceleration controlled, vector plotted, docking announced precisely. The Kaelis station grew in the canopy, lights bright against the void.
The Authority clerk barely looked up when Liam presented the crate. "Signature."
He pressed his wristband to the pad. The clerk nodded and dismissed him without a word.
[Payment received. Reputation plus one point. You are thrilling,] Iris said dryly.
"Not everything has to thrill. Some things just have to pay."
[Practical. You'll live longer that way.]
The Astralis eased free of Kaelis station, its clamps releasing with a muted thump that echoed through the hull. Liam guided her into open space, letting the ship breathe. Courier jobs were safe, tidy, and boring. The next one promised at least a different view.
"Queue the survey contract."
[Confirmed. Agricultural planners want a sweep of the southern grasslands. Moisture distribution readings for the planting bands. Payment: insulting. Risk: negligible.]
"You sound unimpressed."
[Because I am.]
"Well, it gets Sable and Flint out of their boxes."
[If they survive the experience, I'll consider it an achievement.]
The Astralis broke atmosphere over Erevos-III's twin continent and descended toward the wide expanse of grassland. From above, it looked like an ocean made solid — green waves rolling endlessly, dark bands of moisture cutting through in irregular scars.
Liam launched the drones. Sable and Flint dropped from the bay with quiet grace, wings unfolding as their fans engaged. They skimmed low over the grasses, sensor arrays glowing faint blue.
Data fed back into the cockpit in clean waves. Moisture density. Soil conductivity. Atmospheric variance. Liam traced the numbers across the display, then overlaid them on the planners' planting map.
"Variance along the ridge line," he murmured. "About fifteen percent."
[Already noted,] Iris replied. [I sent a flagged report. Payment incoming.]
"That fast?"
[The ag planners are desperate. And you fly like a straightedge ruler.]
He leaned back, watching the drones arc into the distance. The sky was a hard blue, clouds stretched thin like pulled thread. For the first time in weeks, Liam felt like he wasn't just working — he was exploring, even if it was for someone else's fields.
Sable and Flint returned on smooth fans, folding neatly into their mounts. Liam stowed them with careful hands.
"They're good."
[They're adequate.]
"That's practically affectionate coming from you."
[I'll delete it from the log if you keep bringing it up.]
He smiled and lifted the Astralis back into the void. The report sent. The payment processed. Another point on his growing record. Another brick in the foundation.
Time passed, measured not in days but in contracts.
Two weeks turned into four. Then six. Then two full months.
The Astralis carried crates between Erevos-III's stations and Kaelis' labs. She ferried sealed shipments to outlying satellites and returned with containers of refined ore. She flew survey lines over oceans, deserts, and ridges, her drones tracing neat arcs while Liam plotted vectors so precise the Authority clerks stopped double-checking his math.
He learned the rhythm of the Erevos lanes: the way traffic bunched at certain hours, the shift-change at the Authority docks, the gap in queues just after local dawn when fewer captains were awake. He learned how to make the Astralis hum like she wanted to fly herself.
Inside, the ship changed.
The workshop wall grew crowded: drones on their rails, tool-rolls clipped in perfect order, cables neatly banded. The berth smelled faintly of soap and metal polish. The cockpit console bore a faint nick where Liam had slipped with a screwdriver and decided to leave it — his mark, a flaw no manual could erase.
He ate simple meals in the galley, sometimes standing with one hand braced against the bulkhead, sometimes seated cross-legged on the bunk while Iris listed out cargo manifests in her cold, measured voice.
[Balance maintained,] she would say. [Reputation tier: stable. You are consistent.]
And every now and then, she let something else slip:
[You fly like you're afraid to waste fuel,] she noted once.
"Am I?"
[No. You fly like you're afraid to waste time.]
He hadn't answered that.
The Astralis was no longer a showroom model. She was scuffed, lived-in. She belonged.
On the sixty-first day since his first contract, Liam sat in the cockpit watching the night side of Veyra Prime roll beneath them. The city lights were scattered like constellations inverted, each tower a pinprick star. He let the silence stretch, only the quiet hum of the ship filling it.
[Three new contracts posted,] Iris said. [Two couriers. One survey. All within Erevos.]
"Same as always."
[Not quite. There is a fourth.]
Something in her tone — still cold, but edged — made Liam sit forward. "Show me."
A new icon pulsed on the display. Contract Authority. Standard formatting. Payment generous enough to make the other three look like scraps.
Destination: Outsystem. Cargo sealed. Route flagged for experienced captains only.
Liam felt the shift in his chest, like gravity tilting. He hadn't even finished reading the details before he knew what it meant. The small runs, the survey sweeps, the courier crates — they had all been stepping stones. Foundations.
This was the first stone that pointed outward.
[Statistically, you're not ready,] Iris said. [But statistics have never stopped you before.]
He smiled faintly, eyes on the pulsing contract.
"No. They haven't."