Captain Northstar Lightwalker's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

The station answered with a woman's voice, calm and bored, and told Lightwalker his docking slot was ready. He cut the channel before he agreed to anything. Whoever waited out there could wait a little longer. The brine tanks were the emergency he had come to solve, but the quartermaster's report was blinking red on his armrest. The galley was down to three days of food. Seven thousand crew. Two hundred pets. He had brought them all this far from home to find a new world, and he could not lead a starving ship into first contact. He left the bridge and took the lift down to the galley deck. The smell told him everything. Empty racks. Bare hooks. A cook stood by a steel table with a single sack of flour and a look Lightwalker had seen on his grandfather's face during a bad hand of cards. Pickle Rick was already there, sitting on a prep counter, swinging his boots. He held up a small black cube. "Molecular food unit," Pickle Rick said. "Prints anything you can name. Kibble. Steak. That weird green loaf your engineers eat. I stole three. You get one." Lightwalker turned the cube in his hand. It was lighter than it looked. "Cost." "You owe me a favor. I'll collect." He should have said no. He thought of the mess hall two decks up, and the pet bay where the ship's cats waited at empty bowls. He set the cube on the steel table. "Show me." Pickle Rick tapped the top. The cube unfolded into a printer the size of a footlocker. A green light climbed its spine. Lightwalker reached through the Force and felt the brine in the walls answer it. The two hums matched. "Feed it a sample," Pickle Rick said. "It copies forever." The cook brought a heel of black bread. The printer swallowed it. A minute later it spat out a fresh loaf, steaming. Then another. Then a bowl of kibble that smelled like real fish. The cook began to cry into his apron. Lightwalker keyed the ship intercom. "All decks. Galley is open. Rotate by shift. Pets first." He watched the line form on the monitor. Seven thousand crew, fed. The mission would hold. He turned to thank Pickle Rick, but the white coat was already halfway through a green oval by the far wall. "Favor," Pickle Rick called back. "Don't forget." The portal closed. The printer kept working. Lightwalker's comm chimed. It was R6-C5, dome-clicks tight and fast. "Captain. The station is sending a boarding party. They say you are late for a meeting you did not schedule. They are armed." Lightwalker looked at the loaves stacking on the counter. He had bought his crew another month. He had five minutes before someone he did not know walked onto his ship.