Time for what?The swell of rushing waves filled his ears. It was the same question that plagued him day in and day out, ever since he accepted his exile.What’s there to do?
‘There’s an abnormal structure in our path.’
His ship’s AI, APOLLO, interrupted his thoughts. With his head still deep within his ship’s systems, he seeded through the data from the sensors, moving to re-press his hand to the control panel.
‘What kind of structure?’he asked.
‘According to the most recent scans, another ship.’
Gunner downloaded the scans and checked them over.A ship.Or a large chunk of debris left behind by another larger ship, or both.
‘Keep scanning. Move closer. Use the active sensors if you have to, we aren’t sneaking around,’he ordered.
He felt the change before the command was uploaded and they went off-course altogether, heading toward an abrupt anomaly instead of the drop-off point and Stryker. Browning moved to stand behind him, anticipating his needs, half-controlled by APOLLO herself, but made no move to close the distance or to take over the brewing.
‘Approaching obstruction in five...’
Four.’
Three.’
Two. Scanning again.’
He flexed his bicep and tapped his finger on the panel, waiting. There was no one in the universe who hated waiting more than he did.‘Check for power,’Gunner added.
Several moments went by before the AI responded.‘Ship confirmed. Power detected inside, including minor electrical signals. No distress call or any correspondence outward. One human on board.’
He lifted his hand away from the wall and snagged the cloth from Browning, wiping it clean again, and dropped it on the floor this time when he was done. He pulled a joint out of his pocket and lit up, taking a deep drag, waiting.
His timer ticked along in the back of his mind, evaporating against the heat of his concentration. His eyes roved over the haphazard machines strewn about once again and he filled his nose with the scents they created. Burning, musky, earthy scents.
Gunner knew everything about this room, everything about his ship. There wasn’t a line of code out of place, a smell he couldn’t detect, or an android or sexbot he hadn’t reconfigured to his exact specifications. Dommik had his standard model androids, the Bins, and Stryker had alcoholic Matt. He, on the other hand, had his beautiful robotic crew. What better than to spend countless days looking at something beautiful?
“Follow me,” he ordered over his shoulder to Browning as he left the room, leaving for the bridge.
The dark grey tones and the streak of low LED lights that lined the floor glinted as he moved past a dozen shut doors and portholes that looked out into space. He flicked his gaze to the left where he could see the hulk that APOLLO was currently scanning.
Fucking salvagers.
The doors to the bridge slid open silently as he neared. Colt and Flashbang, two more bots just like Browning, were already in attendance, manning the controls in his absence. They moved to the edges of the cockpit when he neared, Browning joined them at the sides.
“Send them a communication, try and reach whatever lifeform is in it,” Gunner barked out. APOLLO responded to the order instantly.
They waited for a response that didn’t come.
Gunner sourced out stashed clothes and tossed on a simple undershirt, foregoing his EPED uniform to don his camo cargo fatigues and jacket. The pockets were lined with more supplies than on his person.
When he sat down on his self-styled throne—a used-up, beaten captain’s seat—there was still no answer from the smaller, broken vessel.
He ordered APOLLO to send another message. Updated scans alerted him to movement and activity and again confirmed that there was only one lifeform on the downed salvage ship. Whoever was on the broken-down heap was well enough to move. Hopefully, they were well enough to talk as well.
Gunner knew his curiosity was far fromhelpful. He was just bored. But here he was regardless, waiting, anticipating something to happen, and feeling a twinge of annoyance that he gave any of his precious time to anyone based on curiosity alone.
His eyes flicked to the several unanswered missives he’d sent to Stryker. They had begun to pile up and although he loved a good pile, he wondered why his co-worker wasn’t responding.
One more cycle... One more wormhole... Several more jumps...Then he would have been at the meet-up point on the outer edges of Earth’s solar system—as close as he was allowed to go.
He was banned from commercial spaceways and all known paths of travel between humanity and the Trentian aliens.
