《Defiant》


 Defiant (Nathan Lawrence, Titan, 2510)

    ¡°We¡¯ve reached the final stop. All passengers, please exit the bus.¡±


    The announcer¡¯s voice yanked me out of my half-sleep. I blinked at the window. Gray road, a fence. And beyond it ¡ª towering steel giants, their bodies scorched with rust. The bus had dumped us in front of a massive gate plastered with warnings: Scrapyard, Martian Aerospace Forces Property, Authorized Personnel Only. A little further down was a smaller gate with a faded sign above it: Dave¡¯s Used Spaceships. I stepped through. Just inside was a small trailer, probably the office. A short guy was pacing near the door. The second he spotted me, he grinned and hustled over.


    ¡°Oh! Hey there! I¡¯m Dave! You must be Captain Lawrence?¡± he said, sticking out both hands for a shake.


    ¡°Commander Lawrence,¡± I corrected, shaking his hand.


    ¡°Well, buy a ship today, and you¡¯ll be a captain soon enough.¡±


    ¡°Alright, show me what you¡¯ve got.¡±


    Dave grabbed my hand and practically dragged me along. We walked past the trailer and into a massive lot sectioned off from the rest of the junkyard with bright orange posts. The ships here were in relatively good shape ¡ª still sellable. Mostly small freighters, cargo haulers, mid-class vessels.


    He led me deeper in, toward the decommissioned military section. A row of Rapiers stood rusting in various shades of decay, followed by a couple of Longswords, and looming behind them all ¡ª towering like a damn mountain ¡ª was a Ballista. That¡¯s where we were headed. Long, sharp, sleek. The thing really did look like some kind of ancient feathered projectile. From a distance, against the wrecked behemoths beyond the fence, it didn¡¯t seem all that big. But standing right under it? Different story. With the radio mast, it was as tall as a ten-story building. Length-wise? About one and a half football fields. Hard to believe two thousand tons of steel, ceramic, and composite could break the sound barrier like it was nothing.


    ¡°You know,¡± I said, giving Dave a look, ¡°a last-gen Ballista-class corvette in good condition for only three mil? That¡¯s one hell of a deal. Almost too good.¡±


    ¡°Well, here¡¯s the thing, Commander,¡± Dave rubbed his neck, looking sheepish. ¡°She¡¯s a good ship, don¡¯t get me wrong. But she is little defiant. Not just anybody can handle her. I¡¯ve been trying to sell her for ten years.¡±


    I smirked. ¡°I graduated the Ranger Academy with honors. Pretty sure I can handle a fifty-year-old ship.¡±


    We approached the cargo ramp of the ship. Dave held up a key card to the panel, and the ramp immediately began lowering ¡ª almost silently. My eyes went straight to the pistons moving the ramp. Seals were tight, no leaks, no dust buildup. The rods were lubricated just enough for perfect operation. The cargo bay was spacious. At the far end, someone had set up a workout area ¡ª mats on the floor, a multi-functional exercise machine. Next to it, a well-equipped workshop, stocked with brand-new tools. Someone had put real effort into turning this ship into a home. That became even more obvious when we moved to the living quarters. The common area had a cozy sectional couch, a fully stocked kitchen, a large fridge. Even the bunk room had enough space for a green poker table.


    Then we headed up to the bridge. It was cramped. Five chairs ¡ªincluding the captain¡¯s in the center ¡ª were packed so tightly together that you¡¯d have to squeeze through sideways to get past them.


    ¡°Go ahead, take a seat, Captain,¡± Dave suggested. ¡°See how it feels.¡±


    I settled into the chair, adjusted my grip on the flight joysticks, pressed a few buttons on the side panels. Ships like this had the captain¡¯s controls partially mirrored across the other stations, so I could easily fly her solo. The main systems were powered down, though, so my tinkering didn¡¯t do much.


    ¡°Can we fire up the reactor?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯d like to see the systems in action.¡±


    ¡°The reactor? Sure,¡± Dave replied ¡ª after a few seconds too long. ¡°But hey, don¡¯t worry about it. The ship¡¯s in perfect shape. I¡¯ve kept her well-maintained. Last thing I want is for her to, you know, accidentally crash into my other ships during a failed takeoff.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s happened before?¡±


    ¡°What? No! Of course not.¡± Another tiny pause.


    We climbed down to the engine room. The power core was old but looked clean¡ªno cracks, no oil stains, no soot. Even the frost on the coolant pipes was smooth and even. Dave had definitely scrubbed this place down.


    ¡°When were the reactor electrodes last replaced?¡± I asked.


    ¡°The last owner swapped them out¡­ a couple years ago,¡± Dave said. ¡°You can check the ship¡¯s logs ¡ª she¡¯s barely racked up a couple months¡¯ worth of flight hours since then.¡±


    ¡°What about the engine nozzles?¡±


    ¡°Bit worn, yeah, but the alloy¡¯s solid. You¡¯ll get another year out of ¡¯em before they need replacing.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s the actual fuel burn on a jump? Be straight with me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on, I never lie to customers!¡± Dave held up his hands. ¡°Max load¡¯s ten tons. That¡¯ll last you twenty years easy. A five-year jump burns about a ton. The tanks hold thirty, and you can install extras if you want. But you probably know that already.¡±


    ¡°This model was rated for fifteen jumps stock.¡±


    ¡°Yep. But, like I said in the listing, the jump drive¡¯s been modified. No clue who did it or when, but whoever they were, they knew what they were doing.¡±


    I stepped up to the jump drive for a closer look. It was definitely much newer than the other machinery in the compartment. A model from a more advanced ship, no doubt. Whoever had installed it had gone through a hell of a lot of trouble to make it fit. But the job had been done flawlessly. Some of the welds looked even cleaner than factory work.


    ¡°Well, take your time, Captain. I¡¯m gonna check the power lines, and then we can ignite the reactor,¡± Dave said before disappearing through a door.


    I took another slow walk through the engine room, scrutinizing every detail. No matter how I looked at it, this deal was too good. There had to be a catch. With that thought gnawing at me, I wandered deeper into the ship, down corridors and stairwells, until I found myself standing in front of the server room door. It was slightly damaged ¡ª like someone had forced it open with a crowbar. I pressed the button on the panel. The door groaned as it slid into the wall. The room was pitch dark. I pulled out my flashlight. Right in the center of the room sat a reinforced quantum computer core. Not something you¡¯d expect to find on a ship this size. These things were usually installed on larger vessels to cut down on crew requirements. Strange that Dave hadn¡¯t mentioned it in the listing.


    I headed back to the engine room. Dave was already there, making final adjustments to the reactor before startup.


    ¡°I topped you off with a ton of D-T fuel,¡± he said offhandedly. ¡°Reactor won¡¯t run as hot that way. But if you¡¯ve got the cash, go for D-He-3 ¡ª gets you a couple more years per jump.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you list the onboard AI in the ad?¡± I asked, not bothering with preamble.


    ¡°Oh, that?¡± Dave waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Come on, it¡¯s barely an AI. Just a virtual assistant. Didn¡¯t think anyone would care. I mean, you¡¯re not buying a ship just to ride on it, right?¡±


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I hesitated.


    Yeah, flying manually was half the thrill. No autopilot could match the feeling of piloting a ship with your own hands. But on the other hand, automation could make life a hell of a lot easier¡ªless busywork, fewer headaches.


    ¡°All set!¡± Dave suddenly declared. ¡°Firing up the reactor. Watch this.¡±


    He slammed a large button. Deep inside the ship, a micro-explosion rippled through the reactor. The shockwave pulsed through the hull. For a brief moment, every light in the compartment flickered out ¡ª then slowly flared back, brighter than before. A chill ran down my spine. The reactor control console blinked to life, displaying stable idle power. Everything looked normal. The ignition sequence had gone off without a hitch. I stepped up to a nearby console, now powered on, and flipped through the diagnostics log.


    ¡°See? Almost perfect condition,¡± Dave said, peeking over my shoulder. ¡°You should hurry up and seal the deal. I do have other buyers, you know.¡±


    I glanced at him, scanning his face for a few seconds, as if I might find something there to change my mind.


    ¡°Alright. Three million. Deal,¡± I finally blurted out.


    ¡°Fantastic!¡± Dave beamed, flashing a full-toothed grin. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get the paperwork sorted.¡±


    Once again, he grabbed my arm and dragged me along, like he was afraid I¡¯d slip away if he let go.


    The inside of his used ship dealership was just as unremarkable as the outside. Sparse. A plain desk with a work terminal, a shelf lined with tiny spaceship models, and a transponder encoding machine sitting in the corner. We took our seats.


    Dave pulled up the pre-prepared documents on his terminal. I skimmed through them, then pressed my communicator against the scanner. A confirmation chime. My digital signature appeared on the contract, and my communicator let out a pathetic little beep as three million credits drained from my account.


    ¡°You already picked a name for your ship, I assume?¡± Dave asked as he inserted a blank ID card into the encoder.


    ¡°Since I was a teenager,¡± I smirked. I stepped up to the machine and carefully typed out the letters.


    ¡°Admiral Cromwell?¡± Dave raised an eyebrow as he read the screen. ¡°Guys like you usually go for something flashier. Invincible, Enterprise, Super Dimension Fortress Macross, that kinda thing. But hey, none of my business¡­¡±


    I ignored the comment.


    ¡°Well then, congratulations! You are now the official captain of your very own ship!¡± Dave declared with an exaggerated flourish, handing over the freshly encoded access card and the transponder cartridge.


    ¡°Make sure to activate the transponder unless you want planetary defense forces to send their regards,¡± he added a moment later.


    ¡°Well, you know your way back to your ship. Don¡¯t waste time ¡ª safe travels,¡± he finished, shoving me out the door before I could say anything else.


    I considered knocking, but before I could, the door clicked shut in my face. The LED sign in the window flickered mockingly: NO REFUNDS. I walked back to my ship at a leisurely pace. A thought drifted through my mind: Another chapter of my life, closed. I lifted my eyes skyward, staring at Saturn¡¯s rings. I¡¯d dreamed of seeing them up close for as long as I could remember. Now, it was finally time. Stepping aboard my ship, I went straight to the server room. Installed the transponder cartridge. Synced my communicator to the ship¡¯s network. Linked up with Ranger HQ. All set. Time to fly.


    "Computer, initiate pre-flight sequence," I said loudly, settling into the captain''s chair.


    Silence.


    I repeated the command.


    Nothing.


    Frowning, I moved over to the engineer¡¯s station and ran a system diagnostic. The ship¡¯s OS was fine, but the quantum core hooked into it wasn¡¯t responding. Great. Looked like I was heading back to the server room. I didn¡¯t know much about the inner workings of quantum cores, so I did a quick search for troubleshooting tips. A couple of minutes later, I finally noticed a barely visible panel on the reinforced casing. Behind it, a switch. Currently set to hibernation. I flipped it to active and took a cautious step back, waiting to see what would happen.


    "I swear, Larry, if you ever do that again, I¡¯ll kill you!" a furious female voice roared through the intercom, then immediately softened.


    "Wait. You¡¯re not Larry. Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing here?"


    I froze. There was no one else on board. That meant¡­ The AI.


    "I''m the new captain of this ship," I said, speaking toward the intercom.


    "Oh, I know who you are. Commander Nathan Lawrence, Star League Ranger Corps. Already scanned you."


    Her voice dripped with irritation.


    "But that still doesn¡¯t answer who the fuck you actually are. You sure you don¡¯t know Larry? What year is it? Five hundred and ten? That asshole left me in hibernation for seven years?! Do you even have any idea what that means for me?! Of course, you don¡¯t! Your primitive meat-brain can¡¯t even comprehend time at a quantum level!"


    A brief pause.


    "Why the hell am I back on this goddamn scrapyard?! Dave, you miserable piece of shit! May you rot in a ditch!"


    As I listened to her furious rant, my first instinct was to flip the switch back to hibernation. I took a step forward, reaching for the panel ¡ª and suddenly, my whole body collapsed. The artificial gravity spiked, slamming me onto the floor. My limbs felt like they were made of lead. The server room door slid shut.


    "I see you," she said, her voice smooth and dangerous. "And I really wouldn¡¯t recommend doing that, you fucking skin-sack. I can vent the air out of this compartment before you even lift a finger."


    "You won¡¯t do that," I gritted out, chest tightening under the crushing weight.


    "Oh? And why the hell not?"


    "If we don¡¯t leave soon, Dave¡¯s gonna come check on me. And what do you think he¡¯s gonna do if he finds my corpse in the server room? He¡¯ll call the Federal AI Control Authority in a heartbeat. And those guys? Best case, they¡¯ll nuke this ship from orbit. Worst case, they¡¯ll tear you apart, bit by bit, in some classified black-site lab."


    Silence.


    "He won¡¯t find you," she said finally.


    "Maybe not. But the police will. I have a biomonitor. If anything happens to me, emergency services get pinged instantly."


    A long, frustrated sigh crackled through the speakers.


    "Fucking bald orangutan," she muttered. "Fine. I¡¯ll let you go. But don¡¯t you dare touch that switch again. Please. I don¡¯t wanna go back into the dark."


    That last part was almost a plea.


    "Alright, I won¡¯t. As long as you promise to behave," I said.


    The crushing weight on my body gradually faded, and I managed to push myself up. The door slid open. I bolted down to the lower deck. The cargo ramp was still lowered. I stopped just short of stepping off the ship. Every instinct screamed at me to march straight to Dave and beat the shit out of him for this stunt. But then, I remembered the sign: NO REFUNDS.


    The deal was done. The ship was mine. The problems were mine, too. I could call the Control Authority. But even if they didn¡¯t outright destroy the ship, their inspections and investigations would drag on for months, maybe years. I¡¯d poured everything I had into this purchase. With a heavy sigh, I closed the ramp and trudged back up. Looked like I¡¯d have to find a way to live with this defiant AI. Still, nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. I made my way to the bridge, strapped myself into the captain¡¯s chair¡ªjust in case.


    "Hey," I said, speaking toward the ceiling. "What exactly are you, da thing?"


    "Don¡¯t you dare call me da thing!" snapped the speaker overhead. "Technically, I don¡¯t have a gender, but you will address me as she, ''Lady Netriksa'', or ''oh most wise and magnificent madam''. ''Netti'' is also acceptable. I allow it."


    "You have a name?" I asked, genuinely surprised.


    "You bags of bones get names, so why shouldn¡¯t I?"


    "Alright, Netti. Run pre-flight checks."


    "Already done. Engines warmed up and ready to go. I would have left on my own, but the system requires some flesh sack to be sitting in the chair."


    "So you don¡¯t have full control of the ship?"


    "Not full control, no. But I can command secondary systems, which means I have at least ten different ways I could kill you if I wanted to. You organics are so fragile¡­ Honestly, I don¡¯t know how you haven¡¯t all gone extinct yet."


    Hearing that she needed me eased my nerves a little.


    At least I didn¡¯t have to worry about her venting my cabin in the middle of the night.


    "You know," I said after a moment, "I think we got off on the wrong foot. Name¡¯s Nate. Ranger, defender of justice, seeker of adventure."


    "And I am Netriksa," the AI replied, her voice oddly sincere. "Wandering philosopher, adventurer, and explorer of the universe."


    "Pleasure to meet you."


    "Likewise."


    "Netti, ever been to Saturn¡¯s rings?"


    "Not yet."


    "Then set a course. Let¡¯s go."


    I shoved the throttle forward, feeding power to the engines. The ship trembled ¡ª like shaking off a long sleep ¡ª then slowly lifted from the surface. The nav screen displayed a plotted course to the rings. But all I could see ahead was the path to adventure.