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We flew through the wormhole; the mood on board was good. After that, it was just a short quantum jump to the planet ArcCorp. After returning to Levski, I set off for Stanton again with Pike and Zwiebus. Our destination: DefenseCon. I actually didn’t want to go to these military shows anymore, but after the UEE moved the annual Invictus Launch Week to the Sol system, Drake Interplanetary stepped in and organized its own trade show, involving the other ship manufacturers.

On the flight, I told the two of them about my deal with Ben and my experiences with his Hull-B. The ship was certainly practical and offered more cargo space than my White Rabbit. But it had to be a multi-purpose ship, not just a container transporter. On the other hand, I loved my Star Runner. It was actually the perfect ship for me.

We reached ArcCorp—it was night. Area18 shone brighter than the stars—an endless sea of lights. A huge bluish apparition shone particularly brightly over the central plaza. A little later, we would find out what it was.

Even at the spaceport, the posters showed that this year’s show was different. The focus wasn’t on the military, but on everyday heroes. Typical Drake.

At City Transit, two signs pointed to DefenseCon—confusing. There was something to see not only at the Bevic Convention Center, but also at the central plaza. We drove into the city center.

The plaza greeted us with a sign: “Shake the Heavens.” Anvil Aerospace presented its Next Generation Battlecruiser as a 1:1 scale hologram—the bluish apparition above the IO-North Tower.

Even before we got to the elevator, Pike bought the first round of beer. Then we stood on the roof of the tower in front of this weapon-laden monstrosity. “Odin” they called it. As if there wasn’t already enough death and destruction roaming the stars. But perhaps the only answer to the Vanduul’s King Ships.

We drove on to the expo. This time I bought a round of Rust.

One step out of the shuttle—a grin on my face—we were in the right place. No cadets in blue suits running around like schoolboys. “DRAKE F*CK YEAH!” was written in bold on a sign. At the kiosk: ice buckets with beer, Cutterwash, and Drake shirts. We got dressed, had another round of Rust, and took a group photo. Then we headed into the exhibition hall.

“DRAKE – Power to the People” – a marketing slogan from Drake, and then another one: The Kraken was set to be unleashed next year. Interesting, but definitely too big for me.

And then the hall—wow. Rock music, dancers on advertising pillars, flames shooting high into the air. A presentation that was so different, so much more authentic than at Invictus. And right in the middle of the hall, that massive box of a ship—a sight to behold, a statement. I stood rooted to the spot.

Pike stood next to me.

“Check this thing out. You need something like this.”

Without taking my eyes off the Ironclad, I handed him a Rust and opened one for myself.

“What am I supposed to do with a thing that big? I’d get lost in there.”

We climbed a long staircase, then stood right next to Drake’s new release. The base of the chassis reached up to my stomach. I leaned casually against it.

“That’s a massive chassis—you could even use it as a counter and put the Rust can on top.”

We went on board. The cargo hold was much larger than in the Star Runner. It looked more like a hangar. It could fit several small ships. Suddenly, an alarm sounded—the roof opened. OK—the small ships could take off and land here, too.

Pike nudged me.

“Well, if I were you, I’d buy this.”

I handed him a Rust and opened one for myself.

“But I already have the White Rabbit.”

“You can have both.”

I climbed onto the roof of the Ironclad through a hatch. I walked along the open roof, following the railing. A billboard caught my eye: “serious work demands a serious ship.” There was something to that.

We went into the crew quarters. A large room, a dining table in the center, a sofa in front of a large monitor, six single cabins, a kitchen, two bathrooms. Everything in the simple, functional Drake style—yet impressive.

Then Operations—the control center, which looked like a bridge. Workstations for the tractor beams and the defense turrets. Through the windshield: a good view forward and into the open cargo hold, the huge cargo hold. Boxy, practical, good.

“That’s quite a brick,” I said in amazement, spreading Rust.

“You’ll get a lot of Rust in those,” Zwiebus remarked.

“A brick full of Rust—a Rusty Brick,” I mused.

Then the owner’s cabin. Spacious, with windows, a couch, a bed, a bathroom, and a large desk.

“Take a seat in the captain’s chair,” Pike said.

I took a seat behind the desk—spreading even more rust. Comfortable, almost majestic.

“Yeah, I can see you there. It suits you.”

Pike seemed convinced.

Finally, we went back down four decks to the cargo hold. Fireworks were being set off above the open roof. I stopped, stared up, and mumbled.

“If Pike were Zero…”

“…then he’d buy that,” Pike finished the sentence.

We left the Ironclad, wandered through the other halls—and after several cans of Rust, we were back in the main hall. I stopped in front of the Ironclad. “DRAKE F*CK YEAH!” wasn’t just on the sign; it was in my head, too.

“Where’s a Drake dealer around here?” I slurred. “… I’m just gonna sit here until one shows up.”

Not quite in my right mind, I plopped down on a chair.

*

When I came to, I was sitting on the sofa in a hub. My head was throbbing. What had happened at the Prophet’s? My Mobiglas beeped.

“Thank you for the transaction. Your Ironclad will be delivered in the next few days.”

Damn it, what? I jumped up. I didn’t have any money for that. A glance at my account balance. Empty—only a few thousand credits were left. Desperate, I slumped back into the seat. How was that possible? I didn’t have enough… suddenly it hit me like an arrow. The White Rabbit—I hadn’t…

I checked the Hangar app. The White Rabbit was still there, still mine. Relief washed over me. But I’d sold the expensive stealth components. They’d been replaced with standard ones.

I got up with difficulty, made myself a coffee, and left the hub. It was still dark. I had bought an Ironclad, practically sold the shirt off my back—crazy. And now?

As if in a fever dream, I wandered through the urban canyons. People passed me by, but I didn’t notice them. The constant barrage of advertisements reached my ears only as a dull murmur. At some point, I found myself standing on one of the big bridges, enveloped in colorful lights. Was I dreaming? I took a big gulp. The coffee slowly roused my senses. I was awake—and the owner of an Ironclad. Shaking my head, I looked down the bridge. Down there was Brubacker’s office. I wonder what he would have said about this.

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