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It was a strange situation. Not long ago, I had brought people in cryopods to Levski, and now I was taking people in cryopods away from there. These were particularly severe cases of Molina’s disease. Their condition was critical. The clinic in New Babbage was better equipped than Mercy in Levski. Hopefully, I would make it in time. And if not the Star Runner, then what other spacecraft could do it?

My cargo hold resembled a hearse. Twelve pods that looked like coffins. Plus containers with samples of the damn mold that lurked in the boxes like a silent enemy. The labs in New Babbage were supposed to find a cure. The sight of the cargo sent a cold shiver down my spine. I turned away, went into the cockpit, and took off. One last look at Delamar, then I activated the quantum drive.

In the kitchen, I grabbed a Rust, put my feet up, and stared at the stars, which stretched into long, flowing trails. Long quantum flights had something meditative about them—time to sort through your thoughts. The reunion with Brubacker was gnawing at me. He had changed, was no longer the person I once knew. Had I ever known the real Brubacker? Something dark hung over him, like a shadow that did not come from himself. Did he even believe what he was saying? His crazy story seemed like a mirage. If it wasn’t real, why was he withholding the truth about Dr. Jorrit’s research? A deep sigh escaped me. I put on some music by Mitch van Hayden, closed my eyes, and surfed the quantum wave through the stars to the beat.

The planet Microtech emerged from the blackness—Stanton’s ice ball, a center of innovation and home to countless startups. The frosty temperatures were a blessing for the tech industry’s data centers. The cold climate was the result of a terraforming error. The White Rabbit entered the atmosphere and broke through the clouds. The New Babbage Interstellar Space Port came into view. Like a fortress, it defied the strong snowstorms on the mountainside. On the other side of the frozen lake, the city’s skyscrapers rose into the sky like ice sculptures.

Why didn’t the UEE use the new terraforming method to correct the mistakes on Microtech? Why did they terraform Nyx I instead, without being asked? Yes, they helped the People’s Alliance during the Molina crisis—but doubts about their sincerity remained.

The voice of air traffic control snapped me out of my thoughts.

“You are assigned position 3 for landing.”

What a flight operation. Was everyone here to help? In a holding pattern, I circled over the glittering ice landscape. Memories of the Free Riders of Stanton’s Microtech orbiting came flooding back. Back when the relationship with Brubacker and Husky was still unburdened and Hermieoth was still with us. By now, we were scarred by our shared experiences.

After landing, I stood in the state-of-the-art airport hall facing an employee at the admin desk. Concerned eyes looked at me from behind glasses.

“Actually, we have containers with special air filters that are supposed to be taken to Levski…”

“But…?” I asked slowly.

“They’re stuck at the Port Tressler orbital station.”

“Then I’ll pick them up there.”

“Well, it’s not that simple. There’s a blockade in place – two Idris frigates and three Polaris corvettes aren’t letting anyone in or out.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Why? Who’s doing that? Screw it. I have a Star Runner. It’s considered a blockade breaker. I’ll get the containers.”

On the way to the hangar, I muttered curses under my breath. What the hell was going on? First, no protective suits through official channels, now blocked air filters! Once again, the Rust Society had to step in. It smelled like a conspiracy.

Minutes later, I was in orbit. Red enemy contacts popped up on the radar. Shit – I had to get through there. The engines pushed the White Rabbit forward at maximum thrust. I was pressed into my seat, breathing was difficult. Groping around, I found the switch for approach control. I was immediately assigned a hangar – on the opposite side of the station.

The White Rabbit shot past the station like a rocket. On the left, a capital ship tried to intercept me – too slow. Another one appeared on the right. Angry laser salvos raced past the cockpit window.

I dove under the hangar. The entrance was in the opposite direction. I turned the ship 180 degrees. 3 – 2 – 1 – I pushed the throttle lever forward with force and pressed the boost button. The engines roared, the ship shook, my vision blurred. The half-open hangar door receded – quickly at first, then slower and slower, then faster and faster as it approached. I laboriously corrected the approach vector. The White Rabbit thundered into the hangar like a bullet. The landing gear scraped across the floor with a screech, sparks flew, the wall came closer. I raised my arm protectively.

Then silence, only the fading sound of the engines. I lowered my arm. The wall was only a few inches from the cockpit. In the hangar’s control room, a pilot stood with his mouth open, his hands clasped above his head.

The containers with the filters were quickly loaded. Now I had to get away from the station unscathed. I started the engines, programmed the navigation computer, lifted off a few meters, and turned the ship 180 degrees again. The VTOL engines made the hovering ship tremble. I looked tensely at the closed hangar doors. With a loud bang, the lock released. The doors slid open—behind them, a Polaris, lurking like a predator. The station’s turrets opened fire.

Before the doors were fully open, the White Rabbit shot out. I jerked the controls to the left. The ship drifted, resisting the change of direction. Hanging in my seatbelts, I fought against the centrifugal forces and aligned the ship with my navigation point. The calibration of the on-board computer started. 10%, 30%, 50%. I groaned.

“Come on…!”

60%, 80%, 100% – jump.

I was in quantum flight and collapsed exhausted in the pilot’s seat.

*

Two days later, I was back in New Babbage. I had successfully delivered the filters to Levski and returned with more cryopods. The employee at the admin desk recognized me immediately.

“Your breakthrough at Port Tressler was a job well done. Respect.”

“For freedom,” I said tersely.

“Whatever. On behalf of Alliance Aid, I’m supposed to give you this. Wear this, and cargo handling will be faster in the future.”

He handed me a box: a tractor beam, a MedGun, and a brown protective jacket with lots of pockets. It said “Alliance Aid” on the back and “TRANSPORT DIVISION” on the chest. I actually liked it. It suited the Rust Society – only the UEE logo bothered me. But if it helped, I was fine with it. And I stood out less, blending in with my surroundings. A way to be right in the middle of things and still stay under the radar. Like back when I disguised myself as Nine Tail. Maybe it would come in handy in the future.

I decided to spend the night in New Babbage. I treated myself to a burger at Whammer’s on the promenade. There was a tablet with news on the table.

“Prison sentence commenced – Northern Lights CEO Friedrich Winters convicted.”

Convicted for our attacks on the ASD facilities in Pyro. That couldn’t be true. Brubacker had said that Smith had negotiated a deal and we would be free from prosecution. Didn’t that apply to Friedrich – or was it a lie?

The second news item made me even more suspicious. An SSN newsflash about Dr. Jorrit’s research with Vanduul technology. Unethical, without approval, taken to the Senate. Emperor Addison spoke of sanctions and a possible suspension of the ASD license.

I lowered the tablet and stared into space. So our investigations had not been in vain. The Hockrow Agency or its clients had passed on our findings. But why had Brubacker claimed he couldn’t publish anything—that Smith had forbidden it, that the truth was too dangerous? Had he deceived us? And what game were Smith and Brubacker playing?

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)