Vacation

Ceres Station

2596. 3 Days later

Kerwan Crater Dock 12B was essentially a large, natural cavern outside the south face of Ceres’ most populous domed city. Dozens of podlike ship hangars were set into the dark, gleaming rock, each of varying size and all visible by a central control tower. The station master who presided over the tower was a droll, sullen man who took his job a little too seriously, much to chagrin of his underlings and was generally avoided at parties. The customs officer, who sat at the adjacent console, had grown used to working with him in uneasy silence, save for the endless pacing as he surveyed the ships coming into dock from the green tinted, blast resistant windows. So it was not without some surprise when he heard the station master let out a low whistle and say, “Fuck me Gary, you don’t see one of those every day.”

Gary, as the unfortunately named customs officer was called, swiveled in his chair and took in the sight of the chalky white ship entering the cavern. It was an older PLSR class vessel with a centralized bridge and portholes along the top of the mono-wing. Altogether the design reminded Gary of a hologram he’d once seen of a common moth from Earth. 

“Well that is a rare bird,” said Gary. “Thought they were all destroyed two… no I guess three hundred years ago. I’ve heard about Cevtech ships being sighted in the area, but I never… a PLSR from the age of The Exodus. Amazing she still flies.”

“Oh she’ll be flying long after we’re gone,” said the Station Master in a low voice. “Ever heard the phrase, ‘they don’t make ‘em like they used to?” He continued without waiting for a reply, “Well rumor was that Cevtech didn’t ‘make ‘em’ at all. They stole ‘em.”

“Stole them from where?” Asked Gary.

“Not where, but who, or perhaps more accurately, ‘what.’ No one knows who would have had the technology to do what that ship does, even by today’s standards it is a marvel.”

“What do you mean? What can it do?” asked Gary.

“Well…” said the station master suddenly flustered, “I don’t rightly know, but those are the rumors.”

The two watched from the coms bridge as the dock arm brought the ship into a slot on the west wall and the transparent seal slowly closed. When Gary had originally taken the post of customs officer, he had had the distinct impression that the station master was like an obsessive collector taking pride in his menagerie of bottled ships. The station master brought up a screen with a drone camera that was waiting at the PLSR’s dock entrance. After several minutes the door slid open and out stepped a tall, lanky man in a black and purple flight jacket. If this was the standard flight uniform for Cevtech, neither the station master nor the customs officer knew. 

The station master gestured to Gary, inviting him to intercede. Gary swiveled out from his integrated console chair and walked over to the drone feed the station master had cast onto the cupola. He touched his neck and, speaking through the drone said, “Good afternoon Captain, the local time is 15:50. May I inquire as to your arrival here on Ceres.”

“No,” said the man who had not glanced at the tiny drone nor broken his stride.

“That is to say,” Gary tried again, “please state your purpose for travel to Ceres. This is customs officer, Gary Oswald.”

At this the man glanced sidelong to the drone and said, “Business. Or pleasure. You choose.”

“Well which is it?” asked Gary.

“Does it matter?” asked the man. Then he said, “Look I’m not here on business, but I wouldn’t say it’s going to be all pleasure. I just needed a break from…” he looked out the porthole of the station and into the vast beyond.

“Ah, a vacation,” said Gary helpfully. “That’s pleasure then. I’ll put you down for that.”

“Great,” huffed the man, continuing towards the grav-lift doors.

“I’m afraid,” the station master interjected, “that we don’t have any selenium to refuel your ship.”

The man raised an eyebrow, no doubt aware that he was being fished for information on the ship.

“That’s fine,” he said, “I have plenty of fuel already. I’ll just be here for a day or so.” 

The station master brought the drone to a halt and the two watched the captain slouch off down the long narrow corridor that connected the various hangar ports. He would have liked to have questioned the man about the provenance of the PLSR, but he knew better than to pry into the business of Cevtech.