James Derringer, former Colonial Marine and now a Cambridge University graduate, moved through the familiar, exhausting motions of preparing for cryo-sleep. The tight confines of the Caelum, his U-Class Exploration Cruiser, were comfortingly routine, even if the process of shutting down systems and readying his body for stasis always left him drained.

The ship's systems checks ran smoothly, though James had little to do with them personally. That task belonged to his AI mainframe, a dutiful machine that responded to the name Frank, a name that never failed to amuse James. Frank, oblivious to its own comedic designation, worked with quiet efficiency, running diagnostics and performing checks as its lone crewman made final preparations.

The Caelum, a sleek 35-meter vessel, was mostly engine and reactor, cutting-edge Weyland-Yutani tech. James had managed to secure it thanks to the incident that led to his departure from the Colonial Marines. Just thinking about those three days sent a shiver down his spine.

Xenomorphs weren't common knowledge, but in the Marines, whispers of the monsters circulated. James, back then a fresh recruit, had learned the hard way. His unit had been sent to investigate a deserted colony, except it wasn't deserted. Nearly 300 humans had been replaced by a Xenomorph queen and her hive. The outcome had been three Marines, James among them, barely escaping.

Had the three survivors been Weyland-Yutani employees, James had no doubt they'd have been quietly disposed of, blown out an airlock somewhere deep in space, their stories erased. But they hadn't been corporate assets; they were Colonial Marines. Their commander, Colonel Irene Deet, had remained on board the orbiting ship, a decision James never fully understood. Guilt weighed heavily on her in the aftermath, despite the survivors' insistence that nothing would have changed had she been with them.

Deet, driven by remorse, had gone to bat for them, bringing the Corps' lawyers into the fray. She negotiated sizable trusts for the three survivors, all at Weyland-Yutani's expense. But her guilt had consumed her. Eight months later, James received word of her death. Alcohol poisoning, a consequence of the drinking problem she had developed after the mission. He'd attended her funeral in a quiet, miserable haze, wondering if there was something more he could have done.

The payout from the company had been substantial, enough for James to buy his way through an accelerated degree program. Six years later, he defended his doctoral thesis in quantum physics. By thirty-one, Doctor James Derringer had bought his ship, the Caelum, and taken to the stars, with nothing but curiosity driving him. For three years, he explored the edges of the known galaxy.

Then, an offer he couldn't refuse arrived from The Gordon Company, an upstart in Nuclear Physics. They wanted him for a project involving Subspace Communications.

James Derringer was well-read on Travis Gordon. A former Weyland-Yutani scientist, Gordon had left the company under suspicious circumstances. Less than two months later, he founded his own company. Despite repeated efforts from his former employers to rein him in, Gordon had managed to stay independent. The Gordon Company was quickly rising, frequently competing directly with Weyland-Yutani, a rare feat in the corporate world. Their headquarters, a large station just thirty light-years from the Sol-System, would be James' destination.

Preparing for the two-week journey, James had considered his options. Cryo-sleep wasn't necessary for such a short trip, but in this era, the most expensive part of space travel wasn't fuel, it was the humans brought along for the ride. By entering cryo-sleep, James could cut the journey's cost by nearly eighty percent. He'd minimize power consumption by disabling gravity, limiting heating, and shutting down the atmospheric processor. The ship's one-month supply of cryo-preserved food and one year of emergency rations would only be touched at the start and end of the journey.

"The ship is in perfect condition," Frank announced over the ship's PA. "All systems nominal. Are you prepared for cryo?"

"Give me another five minutes," James replied, rubbing moisturizing lotion into every inch of his skin.

The newer cryo-pods used a molecular stasis process, abandoning the old cryo-fluid, but they left his skin dry and irritated after long sleep. A full-body application of lotion before and after cryo was the answer, though it took nearly an hour, and required more contortion than he cared to admit.

"All right," James said, his voice steady despite the familiar unease creeping in. "I'm ready. Prepare the ship for low-power operations. Set wake-up cycle for fourteen days."

"Gravity disabled. Internal heating will re-engage at minus fifty Celsius. Atmospheric processor disabled. Throttling reactor to eighty percent. Will reduce to fifteen after cryo-sleep is achieved."

James nodded, satisfied. "Good. Entering pod now." He laid himself inside the cryo-pod, feeling the cool metal beneath him, and pulled the door shut. "Engage cryo cooling."

As always, the numbing sensation came quickly, his limbs growing heavy and unresponsive. A wave of involuntary panic washed over him, as it always did, but he forced it down. In moments, the capacity for such emotions would slip away entirely. Cryo-dreaming was rare with the newer systems, but it still happened. The brain, frozen like the rest of the body, could sometimes fire off stray neurons. When that happened, the pod would initiate a partial thawing cycle, freeing the brain from the stasis field and artificially electrifying it to prevent neural damage. In effect, the computer forced the occupant to dream.

James had never experienced black-sleep, the dreamless state typical of cryo-sleep. From his first time in the pod, he had always dreamed. They were unsettling, these dreams, but often illuminating. The unconscious mind had a way of cutting through the noise and finding clarity.

This time was no different. Images flashed and collided, disjointed and chaotic. But for the first time in nearly eight years, the dream drifted back to that colony world. He dreamed of hiding, of the gleaming black monster hissing at him, of acidic blood missing him by inches as a companion took it down. It wasn't frightening now. He knew these memories couldn't hurt him, giving him the rare chance to study them with clarity.

As the images faded, displaced by growing awareness, he almost regretted waking. The pod hissed as a slight pressure differential was equalized. James opened his eyes just as the door's locking mechanism clicked and released. He pushed the door open, stumbling clumsily to his feet.

"Status," he croaked, his throat dry and scratchy.

"All systems updated to full power mode. Systems nominal," Frank reported.

James shuffled to the auto-chef, pressing the button for tea. A steaming cup appeared, blended tea with a touch of cream and sugar. Normally, he preferred coffee, but after cryo-sleep, his throat needed something soothing. Tea was the obvious choice. A few sips later, he felt more awake, his throat no longer protesting.

"Location and time?"

"It has been fourteen days, zero hours, three minutes, and twenty-two seconds since you entered cryo-sleep. We are 1.8 lightyears from Valhalla Station. Approximate arrival time is eighteen hours."

"Too soon for a telemetry readout from the station?"

"I have received two partial packets in the last hour. All data indicates nominal."

James raised an eyebrow. This far out, quantum transmissions were notoriously unreliable, and Valhalla Station had been intentionally placed out of range of repeaters.

"Let me at them. Maybe I can clean them up."

"Packets transferred to the helm."

James spent the next half hour poring over the data. A third packet arrived during his work, and using the combined information, he managed to recover nearly eighty percent of each transmission. As Frank had said, everything appeared in order.

By then, his appetite had returned, and he ordered breakfast from the auto-chef: French toast, bacon, and hash-browns. While he waited, he showered and completed his moisturizing ritual before dressing. Retrieving his meal, he ate in silence, reading a book on his data pad, this one for pleasure, not work.

With little to do aboard the Caelum, he continued working on the new data packets as they came in, fine-tuning his algorithm. A few hours later, satisfied with his progress, fatigue overtook him, and prepared to retire.

James stared into the mirror, brushing his teeth as he assessed his appearance. His shoulder-length hair and curly beard, both black, were overdue for a trim. His blue-gray eyes, usually sharp and clear, were sunken and bloodshot, another side effect of cryo-sleep that would fade in a day or two. His skin, pale from life aboard a spaceship, bore the unmistakable imprint of isolation.

With his evening routine finished, he climbed into bed, setting himself for a standard eight-hour cycle. He could sleep as long as he liked, there were no set hours aboard the Caelum, but he preferred the structure of a consistent schedule.

When he woke, the ship had moved within a single lightyear of Valhalla Station, now receiving full data packets. Everything was nominal, so James began preparing to disembark. This mostly meant checking to ensure his luggage hadn't been displaced during the journey.

After another stint of wakefulness followed by a brief nap, James took his seat at the helm, activating the short-range transceiver.

"This is the private cruiser Caelum, calling commercial station Valhalla."

Moments later, a crystal-clear broadcast returned. "We read you, Caelum. Transmit clearance codes."

James pressed a button on his console. "Codes sent. Requesting vectors and docking clearance."

"Rotation zero. Approach from one-three-five. Vertical offset negative five-five. Docking hub seven charlie."

After a short pause, Frank spoke. "Course locked in. Aligning." The ship shifted as the maneuvering thrusters fired, imparting a gentle rotational and lateral force. James was a capable pilot, but Frank handled simple docking operations effortlessly. Less than ten minutes later, the Caelum came to a gentle stop, a soft knocking vibrating through the ship as the docking clamps engaged.

"Docking sequence complete. Engaging shore power. Shutting down command and control. Reactor throttled to idle."

"Thanks, Frank," James replied with a grin. "Keep her warm for me, will ya?"

"Is that a literal request, or a figurative one?"

James laughed. "Both, Frank. Always both."

"Understood."

James grabbed his bags and stepped through the now-open airlock, which doubled as the Caelum's docking port. The tube led him to the station door, which hissed open, revealing his welcoming party. The first was a woman in a sharp, military-style uniform, her blond hair cropped short, and an arc pistol holstered at her hip. Her brown eyes assessed him with a practiced scrutiny before a slight smirk curved her lips.

The second was a man in a plain white button-up shirt, gray trousers, and a pair of brown shoes. His face was worn with age but kind, framed by gray hair nearly as long as James' own. His brown eyes were much less critical than the woman's, and as James approached, he extended a hand in greeting.

"Welcome to Valhalla Station, Doctor Derringer," the man said warmly. "I'm Harold Warner, and this is Commander Ava Knox."

"James, please. None of that doctor stuff."

"Nice to have another jarhead on board," Knox added with a wry smile.

James chuckled. "Not anymore, ma'am. I'm afraid I've filled the jar."

"Ah, but the jar's still there. You've got the training, at least. It'll be nice to see some discipline in a new hire for once. I'm the chief of security here."

"I'll make sure to stay out of your way, then."

"Sure you will."

"I'm sure you're eager to get settled," Harold offered.

"Actually, I've been settled a little too long for my taste. If it's all right, I'd prefer you show me where I can dump this and get to work."

"Good man," Knox said approvingly. "I'll do you one better, let me take your bag. Harold can show you around. I'll catch up with you later."

"Much appreciated," James replied, handing the bag over. "I'm eager to get started."

The two men began walking, Harold leading the way. "Your file mentions extensive travel?"

"Wherever the whims of data carried me. I had Frank, that's my ship's AI core, guide the ship, keeping the sensors open for any quantum anomalies. It found a few."

"What an opportunity!" Harold exclaimed with genuine envy. "Traveling the stars. No worries, no orders, no oversight. Why the hell would you give that up?"

James grinned. "There's only so much research I can do with my own funding. My trust is good, but it's not that good. And I'd happily trade it for access to facilities like the ones you have here. Lucky for me, I don't have to."

"I respect that. And Mr. Gordon grants a tremendous amount of freedom when it comes to research. I suppose that's a good place to start."

Harold led him through a door into a well-lit room, filled with advanced devices and equipment, far beyond anything James had ever had access to. He exhaled sharply, a little overwhelmed, and gave a sheepish grin when Harold noticed.

"Sorry... I've never seen this much equipment in one place before."

"Don't apologize. I'm happy to see someone as excited to be in my lab as I am."

James stopped mid-pan, turning to face Harold. He stared at him intently for a moment before his memory clicked. "I'm an idiot. I can't believe I didn't recognize you, Doctor Warner! This is so embarrassing."

Harold laughed. "None of that now. Just Harold is fine."

"I'll try, but you're a living legend in the field. The Quantum Noise Neutralizer? We could have stumbled in the dark for another hundred years without that breakthrough. I've read your entire thesis on it."

"Who knows? If I hadn't done it, maybe you would have."

James blinked in surprise, flattered. "Not likely, sir."

Harold groaned. "Now that I won't stand for. I'd prefer 'Doctor' over 'sir.'"

"Okay, okay," James relented. "No titles. James and Harold."

"Much better. Now, you'll be working here, with me."

James paused, caught off guard again. "Me, working with you?"

"Of course. I requested you specifically."

James slumped heavily into a remarkably comfortable office chair, staring up at the man who had inspired him to pursue his current field of study. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Harold replied with a smile. "I went through your transcript, and the response you made to our offer letter. You jumped straight to the top of the list. You ask questions no one else thinks to. Like, for example, what's stopping us from sending superliminal signals across any distance?"

"Well, initially, you postulated it was background noise, which you solved that same year."

"And then you went further, suggesting that in addition to the noise, there's subspace topography that needs accounting for. You were so certain of it, you based your entire Doctoral Thesis on it, and defended it brilliantly."

"I suppose, but I also acknowledged that subspace topography is constantly in flux, and we don't currently have a way to view it meaningfully."

"Exactly. You cut to the heart of the issue, where others, myself included, stumbled in the dark. You were wrong on one point, though."

James felt a surge of hope, suspecting where this was going. "Which part?"

"That we don't have a meaningful way to view the topography." Harold reached over and flipped a switch on a nearby monitor. It flared to life, pixels resolving into a series of eight seismographs.

James leaned in, shock plain on his face. "How...? How did you get the resolution this high? I could only ever resolve two axes at a time."

"This is just the beginning. I've found evidence of nineteen additional axes that aren't shown here. I can almost resolve twelve right now. And that's where I'd like your help. My goal is to resolve all twenty-seven simultaneously."

"That would require a processor the size of a fusion reactor!" James protested.

"I believe it can be done with a device smaller than this computer," Harold said calmly.

James blinked, confused. "Then I don't know how I'm supposed to help, because everything I know says that's impossible."

"And that's why I wanted you," Harold replied. "You're willing to admit when you don't know something. Your current ailment is simply a lack of information. Once I catch you up, I have no doubt you'll agree with my assessment."

"When do I start?"

"Now, if you want."

"Please!"

Harold gestured to a nearby desk. "Very well. Start here. I've compiled a sequence of files for you."

James sat down, skimming the first page of the document on the screen. His mouth dropped open when he reached the first data table. He scrolled back and carefully reread the introduction, his surprise growing with every word.

"These numbers can't be right..." James breathed.

"I said the same thing," Harold replied with a grin. "Thought our mainframe was on the fritz. I spent two months double-checking every value by hand. They were all accurate."

"But if these are correct," James continued, his eyes glued to the screen, "every point in real space correlates to a point in subspace that's no further than nanometers from every other point in subspace."

"Correct. You just have to know which direction to face, along twenty-seven different axes."

"This goes beyond communication," James said, realization dawning. "It should be possible to initiate matter transport."

"Eventually. But let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"But the curvature!" James exclaimed. "How many paths are there from every point to every other point?"

"Infinite."

James let out a noisy exhale and leaned back in his chair.

"I know it's a lot," Harold said. "But you'll catch up quickly. You're already asking all the right questions."

Before James could respond, a voice from the doorway interrupted. "I hope this old bastard isn't boring you to death already," Knox teased.

Without looking up, James replied, "Hardly. This is incredible."

"And just like that... another egghead," Knox muttered with mock resignation. "There goes my hope of trading tales of heroism with another soldier."

"You wouldn't want to hear my tales," James reasoned. "And I'm not allowed to share them, anyway."

"Somehow, that only makes me want to hear them more."

"I'm sure," James muttered, his eyes still on the monitor. "Is there coffee? I'm not getting up until I've read all this."

Harold chuckled. "I don't drink it, but I'll have a coffee maker brought in."

Over the next fourteen hours, James read voraciously, only stopping for quick meals, coffee, restroom breaks, and to bombard Harold with questions. Around eight hours in, Harold excused himself, saying he was dead tired, and returned just as James leaned back from the monitor in astonishment.

He'd been keeping a running tally of notes on his datapad, but in the last two hours, he'd shifted to making calculations based on his observations. Handing the datapad to Harold, James could hardly contain his excitement.

"Begun work already?" Harold said, accepting the datapad.

"How could I not? Check page two. Make sure I didn't screw something up."

Harold dropped into a neighboring chair and began reading. "Not as far as I can tell. I'll punch this into the system in a minute. It'll cut months off our calculations. I knew you were the right man for the job."

"I'm not so sure, but thank you, anyway."

"What are your thoughts on the pathing algorithm?"

"It's a waste of time," James said bluntly. "It's too complex for something linear. To solve non-linear computations, you need a non-linear computer. If you set a self-writing algorithm on it, maybe it'll find a pattern in two or three thousand years. But even that's unlikely. You were right. The device to perceive subspace topology doesn't exist yet. We'll need to start from scratch."

Harold nodded. "I'd more or less reached the same conclusion. I suppose it was just a silly desire for a simple solution that kept me from giving up on it."

"Not silly. Usually, the simplest solution is the best one. But there's nothing simple about this."

"We're going to have to build this thing into subspace."

"Actually, we shouldn't. We'll have to build it facing all fifty-four directions, but pushing it into subspace could tear it apart."

"That's true, but I'm not sure material sensitive enough to capture the resolution we need from the outside exists."

"Take a picture."

Harold froze. "What do you mean?"

"We don't need to process all the data in real time. It's analog. Take a snapshot from every axis, then tear the data apart later. Subspace radiation should give us more than enough for a literal photograph."

"That's genius! But the latency... How would we compensate?"

"One problem at a time. Once we can break down the data, we'll worry about speed."

"Fair enough... So you're proposing a twenty-seven axis, 360-degree camera."

"Exactly."

Harold nodded. "Your idea. Get to work."

Only a few weeks later, James was starting to lose patience. He stood over the smoldering remains of their latest prototype. Thin wisps of smoke curled into the air as Harold quietly surveyed the damage.

"That's the third one this week," James muttered, rubbing his temples. "If this keeps up, we'll need a bigger budget just for replacement parts."

Harold chuckled, shaking his head. "If it worked the first time, we'd be out of a job."

"Easy for you to say. You didn't just short-circuit half the lab." James gestured to the dimmed lights above. "We're two steps forward, three steps back at this rate."

"Patience," Harold said, unflappable as always. "Remember, science isn't a straight line. It's a maze. And sometimes, you hit a dead end."

James sighed and sank into a nearby chair, watching Harold inspect the scorched wiring. "It's not just that. I can't figure out why the material keeps degrading. The initial math should've held."

Harold knelt next to the wrecked device, his fingers brushing the blackened edges. "You're thinking too linearly again. The math was right for a vacuum environment, but subspace is... tricky. Think of it like trying to build a sandcastle in the surf. The waves keep reshaping what you create."

James blinked. "So you're saying the material's reacting to subspace fluctuations?"

"Exactly. We need something more adaptive."

James sat forward, a spark of excitement igniting. "What if we try an alloy composite that can self-regulate under flux?"

Harold grinned. "Now you're thinking like a subspace engineer. Let's get to work."

A few days after the failed attempt, James and Harold stood over the latest iteration of their machine. The lab was filled with a low hum as the device ran its latest diagnostics. They had made some modifications to the material, and this time, the goal was to keep the machine from frying itself.

James checked the readings on his datapad. "Temperature's holding steady... for now."

Harold nodded, keeping an eye on the voltage monitor. "We reduced the energy output by fifteen percent, which should give it more time before we hit critical levels."

"Yeah, but it also means we'll get less resolution on the capture."

Harold shrugged. "One step at a time. Better a fuzzy picture than a fried circuit board."

James sighed. "It's still frustrating, though. We're cutting power to keep the damn thing from burning out, but we're sacrificing data quality."

"I know. We'll have to find a balance, but we're getting there."

The machine hummed quietly in the background, the temperature gauge showing slow but steady increases.

"So," James said after a pause, "have you been working on a solution to the radiation exposure problem? We'll eventually need this thing to run long-term without self-destructing."

Harold gave a tired smile. "I've got some ideas, but they're still just concepts. We could explore composite materials, or maybe a layered shielding system. But for now, we're testing what we've got."

James nodded, leaning against the workbench. "At least it's progress."

"Progress," Harold agreed, "even if it's slow."

The machine continued to hum in the background, its steady vibrations filling the lab. James glanced at the clock. "How long are we going to let this thing run?"

Harold shrugged. "Give it another hour. We'll pull the plug if it gets too close to critical."

James sat down on a nearby stool, stretching his arms over his head. "You know, I've been wondering something."

"Oh? What's that?" Harold asked, still watching the monitor.

"What got you into this line of work in the first place?" James asked. "I mean, most people your age would've retired by now."

Harold chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Retirement? Not my style. I've always had this itch... a need to figure things out. Started when I was a kid. I'd take apart radios, TVs, anything with a circuit board. My parents hated it."

"Can't picture you doing that now," James said with a grin. "You seem too careful."

Harold laughed. "I've learned to be. But back then? I was reckless. Blew out more fuses than I can count. But every time I got something working again, that feeling, that sense of discovery, was addictive."

James leaned back in his chair, thinking. "Yeah, I get that. It's how you inspired me to get into quantum physics in the first place. There's always something new to learn, something unexplained. Like... if you dig deep enough, there's always another mystery waiting for you."

"Exactly." Harold smiled. "It's not about the destination, it's the process of getting there. The failures, the dead ends, even the frustrations, it's all part of the journey."

James nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. "That's true. Still, I wouldn't mind skipping the blown-out circuits every once in a while."

Harold laughed again. "Where's the fun in that?"

An hour later, the machine was still humming, its temperature rising but not dangerously so. James checked the gauges, then glanced over at Harold. "Still holding steady. No alarms this time."

Harold raised an eyebrow. "A small miracle, considering our track record."

James laughed. "Yeah, no impact alarms, no smoke... I'm almost disappointed."

Harold smirked. "Well, let's not celebrate just yet. We still haven't taken the picture. My bet is the machine will hold together for now, but the second we expose it to subspace radiation-"

"-it'll fry," James finished for him. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

Harold crossed his arms, nodding thoughtfully. "But... it should survive long enough to give us the data. A snapshot. Then, well, it'll probably melt."

James shrugged. "As long as it captures the picture first, I can live with a melted camera."

"That's the spirit," Harold chuckled. "We just need it to work once."

"Just once," James agreed, sitting back down. "We can deal with repairs later. I'd take a destroyed prototype over no data at all."

Harold sighed, leaning back. "I'll settle for anything at this point. We've spent weeks just getting it to run without exploding. Now we need it to survive five seconds of subspace exposure."

James smiled wryly. "Piece of cake."

Harold snorted. "Yeah, if you like burnt cake."

After a long day in the lab, James and Harold made their way to Ichor's Flow, the station's bar. The dim lighting and low murmur of conversation gave the place a relaxed, almost intimate feel. The clinking of glasses and soft hum of music from the speakers provided the perfect backdrop for a much-needed break. As they entered, a voice called out from across the room.

"Harold! Over here!"

James glanced toward the source, spotting a pale, thin man waving them over. He seemed to be in his early forties, with no hair on his head, face, or arms, giving him an oddly smooth appearance. His hazel eyes sparkled mischievously. Harold smiled, guiding James toward the table.

"Greg Potts," the man said, extending a hand as James approached. His grip was firm but casual. "Security. I keep the rowdy types in line, not that we get many of those. You must be Doctor Derringer."

"Just James," he said, shaking Greg's hand with a smile.

"Well, James, mind if I call you J?"

James grinned. "Not at all."

Greg gestured toward the others at the table. A broad-shouldered man with short brown hair and inexplicably sunburned skin sat next to him, sipping from a glass. His dark eyes gave off an intensity that spoke of someone used to working with their hands. Across from him sat a dark-skinned woman with racially ambiguous features and dark brown eyes that were almost black, her posture relaxed but confident. There was something about her presence that caught James' attention immediately.

"This here's Billie Dixie," Greg said, nodding to the man with the sunburned face. "He's the lead propulsion engineer. Knows his way around engines better than anyone I know."

Billie nodded in acknowledgment, his voice deep and gruff. "Heard you and Harold are working on that subspace comms thing. Big deal for navigation, if it works."

James nodded. "That's the plan."

Greg turned to the woman sitting across the table. "And this lovely lady is Tracey Motai. Biologist."

James barely registered the introduction, still captivated by her. Her dark, almost-black eyes met his, and a small, knowing smile played at the corners of her lips. "Nice to meet you, James," she said, her voice smooth and teasing. "I'm not sure I understand half of what you're working on, but I wouldn't mind hearing you explain it."

James felt his cheeks warm under Tracey's gaze but managed to keep his cool. He chuckled. "I'll try not to make it sound too much like a lecture."

Tracey tilted her head, her smile widening. "I wouldn't mind a private lesson, if it helps."

Before James could respond, Greg laughed, breaking the moment. "Easy Trace. At least let the man grab a drink before you pounce."

James smirked, glancing at Tracey before shifting his attention back to Greg. "I'll take my chances."

Greg raised his glass, a grin spreading across his face. "Good to meet someone willing to dive headfirst into her brand of madness."

Billie leaned forward, his rough hands wrapped around his own glass. "I'm just interested in hearing more about that subspace project you two are working on. If you can make comms more reliable, it'll be a game changer for navigation. Hell, it might even shave weeks off some routes."

James turned toward Billie, permitting the shift away from the banter, but sliding into the chair next to Tracey. She leaned against her hand and watched him intently. "That's the plan. If we can get this camera working, we'll be able to map subspace in ways we've never been able to before. It'll revolutionize everything. Better subspace communication means better sensor suites and more widespread hazard warnings between vessels. There are even possible applications involving propulsion, if we can figure out how to find a path for physical matter."

Billie's eyes lit up. "If you mean jumping particles across space, yeah. We can definitely find a use for that."

Harold grinned. "Assuming we don't blow up the lab in the process."

James chuckled. "Small price to pay for progress, right?"

Billie raised his glass. "Cheers!"

As the conversation about work began to wind down, Tracey leaned back in her chair, her dark eyes still fixed on James. "So, James, how are you liking Valhalla Station so far? Adjusting to life out here?"

James took a sip from his drink, feeling a bit more at ease now. "Honestly? It's been great. Better than I expected, actually. The facilities are impressive, and Harold's a great guy to work with." He shot Harold a quick smile, which Harold returned with a nod. "I've been on my own for a few years, so it's definitely an adjustment being around people again."

"Sounds lonely," Tracey tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Plenty of company here though."

James chuckled. "And I'm thoroughly enjoying it."

Greg leaned in, grinning. "I take it back Trace. Pounce."

Tracey rolled her eyes but didn't lose her smile. "Ignore him. He's a hopeless gossip. Would you like to find a table?"

"I am not," Greg muttered, taking another sip of his drink.

James, amused by the banter, and thoroughly enthralled by the woman who had taken such an interest in him, stood. Tracey joined him. "I'll finish up in the lab in a bit," Harold promised. James looked back appreciatively at his colleague, but didn't respond aloud.

The pair took seats in a small booth away from other patrons.

"There, now you don't have to compete for my attention," James promised.

As they settled into the booth, Tracey rested her chin on her hand, her eyes still fixed on James. "So, Mr. Explorer, you've been out in the stars on your own for years. Must've had plenty of time to think."

James chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Plenty. Sometimes too much. You start thinking about all the things you could be doing if you weren't flying solo. But I tried to keep busy, or stay in cryo when I couldn't."

"Oh?" Tracey raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on her lips. "What kinds of things could you have been doing?"

"Talking for one," James replied, leaning back in his chair. "Conversations with Frank, my ship's AI, get pretty one-sided after a while."

Tracey laughed, her voice soft and warm. "I imagine an AI wouldn't be much for small talk."

"Not exactly. He's more concerned with system diagnostics than asking about how my day's going."

Tracey leaned in a little. "Well, like you said, you've got people around now. Hopefully, more interesting conversations in store."

James smirked, feeling more relaxed. "So far, I'd say the conversations have definitely improved."

"Good to know I'm not disappointing," she teased, her eyes gleaming.

James grinned. "Far from it. What about you? How'd a biologist end up all the way out here?"

Tracey shrugged, her dark eyes never leaving his. "I've always liked the idea of exploring new worlds. You know, figuring out what life looks like out there, what it could look like if it weren't so... human."

"Sounds like we've got something in common," James said. "Exploring the unknown. At least you had the sense to choose a field of study that has some consistency to it."

She laughed. "Yes. Life does have this irritating tendency to follow a few patterns. At least, all the life I've found does. There's always hope though. Maybe I'll find something that breaks the mold someday."

James frowned. "I'd be careful on that point."

That statement seemed to intrigue rather than discourage. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind. I shouldn't have said that."

Tracey narrowed her eyes, but didn't press the issue. "Did you ever find anything interesting?"

James pulled himself back into the moment. "Once or twice." He shifted into a story about a time that he'd sat in orbit around a black hole for a month. It had been a surreal experience, and Tracey seemed engrossed in the retelling of it.

"That's insane!" she declared. "I didn't know there were any black holes near civilized space."

He laughed. "There aren't. It was actually the last thing I found before I turned back towards Earth. It was two years of wandering that got me that far out. The Caelum is fast."

"Isn't it dangerous to fly solo so far out? No repeaters. No support."

"Very. I don't recommend it, but if I'm being honest, I wasn't really all that worried about it when I left. Being the only human around for six-hundred light years… Well it almost became routine. Sometimes things would go wrong, and I'd have to fix them, or die trying I guess."

"I could never. I'm definitely a city girl. Or a station girl you might say. I've lived in one or the other for most of my life."

"There's definitely upsides to living in a place like this. Fresh food is one."

"Agreed. The food here is pretty good."

The conversation carried them long into the evening, but eventually, James was forced to acknowledge his pesky human needs.

"It's late. I've very much enjoyed talking with you, but I need to get some sleep if I'm going to be in the lab on time tomorrow."

"It's mutual. We'll have to do it again sometime," Tracey replied with an easy smile.

"Another time then," James agreed.

He departed the bar, returning to his room for a few hours of sleep in preparation for the next busy day.

My upload schedule is Sundays. Unless otherwise specified.

Credit for the Cover Art goes to my wonderful friend 𝐿𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓉𝒽.

Story content for the early chapters written with the assistance of Chat GPT. Later chapters use less and less generated content. This story started as a kind of experiment. The results were good at first, but they began to drop off as the machine began to deviate further and further from my vision for this story. I'm sharing this information freely. The most recent chapters contain no generated content. I'll add a message to the bottom of the chapter containing the last of the generated content.