Cargo Hauling

“We're one of around a hundred different ships tasked with shipping one item,” Bob begins, “some alien machine. We were all given numbered crates. Ninety-nine of them will explode when opened, one has the actual thing. The receiver knows which crate number to open, but not which ship it's on. The sender, likewise. None of us know if we've got a bomb or the real thing. We get the remaining fee on delivery, either way.”

“Did you try…” I start in.

“We tried scanning the crate, yes…” Frank laughs, “...they buried some kind of crystal in the walls that scatters all attempts to scan. Useless for smuggling because the interference is obvious, so the inspectors would know exactly where to look, but VERY effective for this.”

The human steps in, “the reason we got so beat up is because whoever else is interested in the cargo put a bounty on each and every one of the hundred couriers. The opposition really doesn't want this box getting where it's going.”

I nod, “And where is it going?”

“Vesk Prime,” Bob nods, “I'll be handling the comms once we're in the system, for obvious reasons.”

I nod again, “And who's opposing?”

“That'd be the Corpse Fleet,” Gregory grimaces, “which is also why the shipper went through the ninety-nine decoys hubhub: They couldn't get anything that would reliably get through, so they gambled on too many targets.”

"Most of the time we pick up simple survey or scouting missions and run a little cargo on the side,” Frank shrugs, “but this one pays a lot… like ‘upgrade the ship’ a lot… so…” he shrugs.

Eh. If we get blown out of the black, I'll live. And if I don't, I'll STILL live, it'll just take longer. I just need to avoid things like ‘falling into a star’. “Sounds fine. Let's go.”

Frank tilts his head at me as Bob and Gregory glance at the elf, “What are you hiding? You found that way too acceptable.”

I chuckle and give a limited version of the truth, “I woke up naked after a run-in with some bandits, and kind of stole what I'm carrying from a drunk. I would rather not stick around for the original owner to find me.”

That seems to satisfy the green haired man, who chuckles, “I can work with that. All right. Anyone else have business here?”

The vesk and human shake their heads, “Let's be off, then…”

We all head to the bridge, where the elf takes the pilot's seat and the other two take chairs at workstations with which they are obviously very familiar. The bridge has three other workstations, so I pick one and find myself working the controls as though I'd done it hundreds of times before, and setting it up for Engineering tasks as the human works the comms, while the Vesk watches the scanners.

Soon enough, we're in orbit, and Frank is plotting a Drift course. A while later, we're shutting everything down to engage the Drift engine for a full minute. The lights dim as I divert all available power to the Drift drive (including engines and shields), then there's a somehow familiar topsy-turvey feeling in my stomach as my inner ear complains a moment, a flash of indescribable color, and then I'm slowly warming the engines back up. I glance at the big screen: We're in a seemingly infinite void, the nothingness broken up by floating pink and purple clouds of mysterious energy.

“Dana, which shift do you want?” Frank calls out to me as he stretches in his chair.

I take a breath, fatigue catching up to me, “I didn't sleep last night. Any issues if I take a shift two or three down the line from now?”

“Go for it,” Frank answers, “I like the first shift anyway. Ah, Gregory, mind showing her to a cot?”

The human smiles, “Certainly,” he then bows, “This way….”