SuperBat's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

SuperBat left the promenade with the shuttle destination burned into his head: forest moon, waystation, lodge. The freighter board on the departure wall told him the rest. One ship ran to the Vega belt this week, and it left in ninety minutes. He crossed to the cargo desk and asked for a berth. The clerk didn't look up. Crew list closed at noon. Passenger seats full. Try next month. He stood at the desk longer than pride allowed. Next month meant a rented room he could not pay for and a story back home he could not tell. He looked past the clerk to the loading ramp. The freighter captain was arguing with a woman in gold armor, a bright sword slung at her hip. SuperBat recognized the captain from the manifest board: Tom Paris. The woman he did not know. She stepped off the ramp, freed of whatever contract had held her, and walked toward a shuttle bay without a backward glance. SuperBat pulled the recruiting notice from his pocket and crossed the deck before Tom Paris could climb back inside. "Captain Paris. I need passage to the forest moon lodge. Cargo hand, passenger, whatever seat is left." Tom Paris looked him over once. "List's shut. Port authority already sealed my crew scans. I'm not opening them for a walk-on." He started up the ramp. SuperBat could have argued. He could have shown papers. Instead he did the thing he had spent an hour talking himself out of. He slid a plain gold ring onto his finger and stepped off the deck. He rose. Not fast. Just enough that Tom Paris turned and saw his boots clear the plating by a foot. "I don't need a berth," SuperBat said. "I need a heading. Give me your flight plan and I'll meet you at the lodge." Tom Paris stared. Then he laughed, short and tired. "You'll burn out in the dark between here and there." "I've inventoried what I can do," SuperBat said. "I can do this." Tom Paris pulled a slate from his jacket, tapped it twice, and flicked the coordinates to SuperBat's cuff. "Forest moon. Cedar lodge with the ship picture over the door. Nine days for a comm relay to reach anyone from there, so don't expect rescue if you're wrong." He climbed the ramp and sealed it behind him. SuperBat waited until the freighter cleared the port shield. Then he pushed off. The spaceport dropped away. The ring pulled steady against his hand, and the cold he had catalogued after the merge held at the edges of his skin without touching the center. He set his heading and did not look back at the city he had sold. He had no berth, no inspection cleared, no cover story ready for the lodge. He had a direction and a ring that worked. For now, that closed one problem and opened the next one.