The contract blinked on the canopy, a clean square pulsing against the dark glass. Outsystem delivery. Neighboring system. Five days of slipstream, sealed cargo, a guaranteed berth on arrival. The payout was solid—better than three courier runs combined. It was enough to take him out of Erevos for the first time.
[Committed,] Iris said, her voice clipped and flat. [You've crossed into a different category now.]
"This is the line," Liam murmured, more to himself than her.
He thumbed his wristband and brought up his account. Numbers rolled onto the display. 248,760 credits. He let the figure settle into his chest. It was money earned the hard way—delivery jobs, surveys, endless small runs. More than most twelve-year-olds could dream of, but barely a foothold in a galaxy that demanded credits like air. Enough for today, but only if he spent them carefully.
[Fuel. Coolant. Med-pens. Armor. Weapons. Field tools. Repairs,] Iris listed. [The cost will feel like amputation. But without it, you will bleed in other ways.]
"Then let's go buy survival."
The Stellar Dynamics cradle carried the Astralis down into Veyra Prime's port. The city stretched beneath him, all chrome towers and silver rivers catching the light. He disembarked with a satchel across his shoulder, credits loaded and burning a hole in his account.
Helios Walk was already alive. Neon script curved over polished stone, banners threw color across the vaulted glass, and the noise of a thousand negotiations hummed beneath it all. Liam kept moving with purpose. He wasn't here to stare.
The first stop was Locke & Rail. The air smelled faintly of machine oil and ozone, the kind of scent that meant the stock on the walls wasn't just for display. The sales tech barely looked twice at him—his wristband verified the account faster than anyone could question his age.
"Sidearm and carbine," Liam said evenly.
She opened two matte cases. The first held a Kestrel-12 rail pistol, compact, reliable, its dampers sealed against dust and neglect. Six and a half thousand credits. He lifted it, felt the balance, and nodded. She added a chest holster for one-fifty and three boxes of ammo—one hundred and twenty credits each. Total for the sidearm: 7,010 credits.
The second case revealed the Warden-22 rail carbine. Balanced, folding stock, compact enough to carry without tripping over it in tight quarters. Eighteen thousand. He tested the weight, then added three spare magazines for thirteen-fifty, a red-dot optic for four hundred, and a sling with a cleaning kit for two hundred. Total for the carbine: 19,950 credits.
The receipt chirped as it hit his band. Nearly twenty-seven thousand credits gone in a heartbeat.
[Weapons package: 26,960 credits,] Iris confirmed. [Balance now two hundred twenty-one thousand, eight hundred.]
Liam exhaled. Necessary.
Next was Arclight Engineering. He set his calibrator and drone case on the counter. "Service both. Battery packs replaced, optics recalibrated." The clerk nodded. Fifteen hundred credits.
He added two coolant cartridges at twelve hundred each, three sealant canes at nine hundred apiece, an EVA tether for two-fifty, mag boots for twelve hundred, and a long-range emergency beacon for twenty-five hundred. Total: 10,350 credits.
[Running total thirty-seven thousand, three hundred ten. Balance now two hundred eleven thousand, four hundred fifty,] Iris intoned.
At CryoCore Medical, everything smelled too clean, like antiseptic and ozone. Liam walked along the case of pens, choosing carefully: two coagulants at three-fifty each, two anti-shock at four hundred, two antibiotics at three hundred, two analgesics at two hundred, and two antitoxins at four-fifty. Pens alone: thirty-four hundred. He added a trauma kit for twelve hundred, oxygen tab refills for six hundred, and a burn gel with self-seal bandages bundle for five hundred. The clerk boxed everything without comment. 5,700 credits gone.
[Balance now two hundred five thousand, seven hundred fifty.]
The armor shop was quieter, serious. He ignored the glossy suits and went straight to the racks that looked like they belonged to people who expected to come home bruised but alive. A flex-plate vest—five thousand. Forearm guards—seven fifty. A helmet with integrated comms and a clear visor—two thousand. Glove liners for one-twenty. A slipstream sleep harness for three-fifty. 8,220 credits more.
[Balance one hundred ninety-seven thousand, five hundred thirty.]
Finally, fueling. Twelve thousand for a full tank of quantum-grade fuel. Three thousand for a reserve canister. Fifteen thousand in total.
[Final balance: one hundred eighty-two thousand, five hundred thirty credits.]
Liam walked back to the Astralis with his satchel heavier and his account lighter. He stowed each piece with deliberate care. The Kestrel-12 clicked into its chest holster, the Warden-22 locked into its rack above his bench. Med-pens slotted into a panel with their colors outward. The trauma kit clipped near his berth. Armor folded into its locker with the helmet sat on top. The beacon was armed but safe. Sable and Flint, freshly serviced, settled into their rails with green lights blinking.
[Fuel topped. Coolant replaced. Drones calibrated. Systems nominal,] Iris reported. [You are—against probability—prepared.]
"And broke," Liam said.
[One hundred eighty-two thousand, five hundred thirty credits is not broke. It is alive.]
He smiled faintly and strapped into the pilot's chair. The canopy filled with the corridor marker—Erevos to its neighboring star. The slipstream anchor blinked in steady indifference. His pulse ran faster.
[Five days in transit. Provisions stocked for ten. Corridor risk: average-plus. You are twelve.]
"And I'm still going," he said.
[On your mark.]
"On yours."
The slipstream caught them. Stars stuttered, then slid into streams of light. The Astralis shivered, not in fear but in the voice of distance folding itself small.
[Bubble stable. Coils in tolerance. Hull strain nominal. Nothing forgotten,] Iris said. [Financially competent. Materially prepared.]
He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His chest ached with it, but it was the good kind of ache—the one that came from finally doing the thing you were meant to do.
"This is exactly what I wanted," he said softly.
[Then keep wanting it,] Iris replied. [Wanting is the only thing that keeps people from turning back.]
He leaned back into the harness as the ship carried them forward. Helios Walk shrank behind him, the receipts and purchases now locked in place, each credit spent an investment in survival. Ahead lay five days of quiet and the first system beyond his birth. Small ship. Small captain. But for the first time, Liam felt something more than small.
He felt like he belonged in motion.
And the Astralis, steady in its bubble, agreed.
The hum of the slipstream coil settled into a low, constant vibration through the hull. Liam unclipped his harness and stood, his boots thudding lightly against the deck. The canopy was filled with nothing but streams of light, ribbons of starlight pulled into threads that never seemed to end. For a long while, he just stared. It didn't look real, and yet he felt it in his bones.
[First impression?] Iris asked, her tone flat, but softer than usual.
"It's… beautiful," Liam admitted.
[Most things that can kill you are.]
He smirked faintly and walked back into the narrow corridor. The Astralis was small enough that every sound carried—a hiss from the coolant lines, the faint tick of the stabilizers, his own footsteps. It was all his, every bulkhead and rivet. He opened a locker, pulled out the new flex-plate vest, and began adjusting the straps. It felt heavy at first, then settled comfortably. The helmet clipped on with a click, the visor alive with HUD data.
[Fit is ninety-six percent optimal. Adjust forearm guards by two millimeters,] Iris instructed.
"Already bossing me around."
[Incorrect. Already keeping you alive.]
The first two days passed in rhythm. Liam divided the time between eating, running maintenance drills, and practicing with the Warden-22 in the cargo bay. Iris watched everything, recording data, making tiny corrections. He cycled through med-pen usage, rehearsed slotting them into his belt until it was instinct. At night, he stretched out in his narrow berth, the hum of the coils lulling him toward sleep.
On the third day, the Astralis bucked.
Warning klaxons split the silence, red strobes flashing against the walls. Liam lurched out of his seat, catching himself on the bulkhead. The canopy flared with error glyphs. The slip bubble wavered, light bending in strange, impossible arcs.
[Coil resonance spike,] Iris said sharply. [Stabilizer two is failing. Input override.]
"I—" He slid into the chair, hands flying across the panel. His heart hammered. "What do I do?"
[Manual vent. Panel four, port side. Now.]
He scrambled, popped the latch, and twisted the valve. A hiss of coolant fog sprayed across his hands, burning cold. The ship groaned, metal stretching.
[Hold it steady. Forty percent bleed. Thirty… twenty… resonance normalizing.]
The alarms faded, the starlight threads smoothing again into even streams. The Astralis steadied, shuddering once before returning to its hum. Liam slumped back into the chair, breathing hard.
[Statistically, most first jumps include a minor incident. You have now checked that box,] Iris said.
"That was supposed to be minor?"
[You survived. Therefore: minor.]
He laughed shakily, rubbing his eyes. The moment passed, leaving him both exhausted and exhilarated. He had done it. They had done it.
The last two days blurred together. He practiced, ate, checked systems, and talked with Iris more than he ever had before. Sometimes she was clipped and cold, sometimes her humor slid in like a blade in the dark. But beneath it all, he felt her presence—not just an AI, but something bound deeper. A constant.
On the fifth day, the canopy shifted. The streams of light narrowed, the endless smear beginning to fold back into points. The bubble thinned, stars sharpening into focus. Ahead, a bright sphere of fire blazed: the star of the neighboring system, its light spilling across the Astralis' nose.
[Exit in forty-three seconds,] Iris said. [Prepare for realspace insertion.]
Liam's fingers tightened on the controls. His chest thudded with each beat. Beyond that light was his first outsystem contract, his first real step into the galaxy beyond Erevos.
"Here we go," he whispered.
The slip bubble trembled. Light collapsed back into stars. Space snapped into place around him. The new system opened like a curtain, waiting.