Pilot Years: Stories from the New Era
By Vex Karell, freelance writer
Pilot Years
Stories from the New Era
First Edition
By Vex Karell
Self-published, Hub Prime, ES 89
Author's Note
Five stories. None of them are true. All of them happened.
If you have flown out of Hub Prime or Outpost Alpha in the last twenty years, you have met some of these people. You may not have noticed them.
— V.K.
The Run
Ress had flown the Stillwater-Ceres route eleven hundred times. She kept count because counting was the only thing that made the run feel like work.
On the eleven-hundred-and-first run, her cargo sensor flagged a discrepancy in hold three. She checked the manifest. The manifest said cobalt ore. The sensor said something else.
She did not open hold three. Opening it would make it her problem. She delivered the cargo. The buyer at Ceres took it without comment.
Three weeks later, Compact Rangers visited her dock. They asked about the run. She told them what she had seen. They thanked her. They left.
She never found out what had been in hold three. She kept flying the route. The count is now twelve hundred and forty-seven.
Continued.
The Watchhouse
Officer Halen of the Stargate Watch worked the third-shift desk at Backbone Gate 17. The shift ran from eighteen hundred to oh-six-hundred standard.
Most shifts, nothing happened. Pilots transited. Halen processed transit fees. The lights on the panel went green-green-green and pilots went on with their lives.
On the night of his sixty-second shift at Gate 17, a pilot transited with their fold-core showing yellow. Halen flagged the read. The pilot did not respond to hail.
Three minutes later the pilot transited back through the gate, headed away from the destination they had filed. The core read was now red.
Halen sent the alert up the chain. The Watch's response cruiser arrived in twenty-two minutes. By then the pilot was twenty light-seconds out and accelerating.
Halen filed the report. The investigation went somewhere; he never learned where. He worked the next shift. The lights went green-green-green.
Continued.
The Boy at Cooper
Terin had been four when his parents had not boarded the evacuation transport. He had been raised by his aunt at Ceres.
At thirty-six, he chartered a long-range surveyor and flew the Cooper Belt. The IPU advisory said do not enter the deepest jumps. He did not enter the deepest jumps. He flew the outer ring.
He found the station where his parents had died. Cradle Station Four. The blast doors had been welded shut in ES 53. They were still shut.
He held position at thirty kilometers and turned off his lights. He sat there for an hour. He did not speak. He did not transmit. He had not brought anything to leave; he had not known what would be appropriate to leave.
After the hour he turned the lights back on. He turned the ship around. He flew home.
He never told anyone he had gone.
Continued.
The Find
Mavik recovered the box from a debris field at the edge of the Ashfall Drift. The box was twenty centimeters on a side. It had a Reach designation she did not recognize.
She took it to Outpost Alpha. The Salvager looked at it for a long time. She did not say anything for the first three minutes.
When she did speak, she said: "Don't open it. Don't bring it back here. Take it to a Long Listener. Get a receipt. Walk away."
Mavik took it to a Long Listener researcher at a small station two jumps out. The researcher offered her four thousand credits. Mavik asked for the receipt. She got it. She walked away.
She never found out what had been in the box. She also never lost any sleep over it.
Continued.
The Quartermaster
The pilot was new. They were always new. The Quartermaster had been doing this since the early sixties and had stopped noticing the differences.
This one was eager. They sat down at the desk without being asked. They had a question prepared.
"How long does it take to make a living at this?"
The Quartermaster considered. The honest answer was four to six standard years if you were lucky and never careless. The useful answer was different.
"You can make enough to eat by next month. You can make a living in two years if you pay attention. You can make a life out of this if you are still asking honest questions ten years from now."
The new pilot nodded. They signed the paperwork. They left.
The Quartermaster filed the form. They had filed approximately twelve thousand of them. The number was not actually the point.
— V.K.
About the Author
Vex Karell has lived at Hub Prime for eighteen standard years. They have not personally flown a long-range surveyor in any of those years.
They have, however, talked to a lot of pilots.
— V.K.
Pilot Years: Stories from the New Era, First Edition. Self-published ES 89 by Vex Karell. Printed at Hub Prime. Available wherever independent books are sold.