The Sanctuary V headed out within the hour but Jet was busy with lessons. Keeri had to stop their holo-show on Twin Circles crime organization history when the youngest member of the crew, a blue eyed sandy-blond haired human kid of no more than seventeen years old (and he looked even younger), ascended on the cargo lift to the upper hold and waved to get Jet’s attention.

  “Hey, Mister Jet, if you want to watch the casting off there’s a good view from the lounge. The Captain said to bring you if you’d like to see.”

  He got up at once, curious. “Thank you, but I’m not mister Jet. I’m just Jet.”

  “No problem, mis— I mean, Jet sir—” the kid stopped, flummoxed.

  Jet laughed. When politeness was so ingrained, you literally couldn’t stop it. “Lead the way. And what’s your name?”

  “Squeeze. I mean, they call me Squeeze,” the kid led him to the cargo lift and it descended as soon as they had stepped onto it. “Real name’s Lauren Dane.” He offered a hand, and Jet carefully shook it. He had to be careful or he’d damage the kid.

  “How did you get the name Squeeze?”

  “Squeezing into small spots. I’m the second youngest on the crew, and always been the smallest. Used to be really small. Been doing this since I was four.”

  Jet didn’t follow the kid when the lift stopped on the deck below. He just stood there staring at the boy. “Four?” He repeated, in shock.

  The youth turned, looked up at him, and realized he may have startled his guest a little. “Uh, yah… sorry I forget that outsiders don’t…” he stopped, looked down, thought about how much to say. Instead of continuing his explanation, he turned and led the way.

  Jet stepped off of the lift and followed the young man to a room near the front of the ship. The ceilings were just tall enough that Jet could manage, but he felt stooped over; the ceiling would be touching his head if he stood upright, and he had to lower his wing-arms awkwardly.

  There were large windows in this room, currently looking through at portals in the docking skyway. Jet could see people moving endlessly back and forth through the windows; see the stars above the skyway tube, see glimpses of the great city dome below.

  He sat on the floor in front of the windows to take it all in.

  Two more of the youthful crew, then four, joined them in the lounge. It was a cozy room, with two large dark leather booths wrapping around generously sized tables, several gaming and relaxation cubbies, a drink bar, and at least one fridge full of snacks.

  One of the young men was a skinny little fellow with a narrow, sharp nose, tousled honey-colored curls hanging into his face, and perpetual dark circles under his eyes. He had a prominent scar on one cheek and across the bridge of his nose. As he slid into the edge of one of the booths he picked up a deck of threebits cards like it was second nature and began to absently shuffle them.

  “So, Jet,” said the one with the cards, “welcome to the Sanctuary. You play?”

  “I don’t. I never learned. I heard threebits is complicated.”

  “Not really. It’s second nature once you—”

  “It’s complicated,” Squeeze interrupted him wryly.

  The card guy shot him a deadpan look, then rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the Bantan in the nice suit sitting by the window. “Feel free to use the Lounge any time. We don’t expect you to stay cooped up in the Upper Hold the whole trip. By the way, you have your own bathroom up there. We rigged it up at the back of the hold, you’ll find it.”

  “Thank you.” Jet meant that. He’d been a little worried that he was going to have to try to squeeze himself into a human bathroom.

  Another of the crew, a big rather hefty fellow with stringy black hair hanging down to nearly hide both eyes, spoke quietly. His voice was very deep. “This your first trip in something besides a starliner?”

  “Yes.”

  The boys chuckled. “Oh boy,” said the card guy dryly. “Name’s Mutter, by the way. Actually it’s Denel Fay but they call me Mutter.” He nodded to the big guy, “that’s Chade,” to a young skinny pure Heranom kid with dark bronze skin and short platinum hair, “and that’s Rion.”

  Each nodded a greeting to him as they were introduced.

  “Jet,” he replied, retuning their nods with one of his own. “Mind if I ask a question?”

  Squeeze looked at Mutter significantly, and with the strange silent communication of people who have spent way too much time in far too close proximity, Mutter understood what it was about. “Right. You want to know about us. The crew.”

  “If you don’t mind,” Jet amended. “You all seem… young.”

  Something beeped. Chade glanced at a wrist band and stood up. “Got to help on the bridge.” He walked out.

  As he left, two young women walked in. They were dressed the same as everyone else; lifeskins up to the neck, grungy somewhat industrial vests and cargo pants, tool belts and pockets, a couple of small weapons. One had a gray lifeskin; she was the tall skinny one with ivory pale skin. The other was short but curvy with fetching makeup and a swagger to her walk that spoke of pure confidence.

  “Seira and Razi,” Mutter introduced. “This is Jet, new guy with Makardian.”

  “They got Bantans working for them now?” The shorter curvier one, Razi, seemed surprised. She reached out to shake his hand. “Good to meet you.”

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  He shook it and watched the girls take their places in the booths, as comfortable with the others as siblings would be.

  “The crew,” Mutter went on. “I guess everyone knows our story anyway. You’ll hear it if you ask around. We’re orphans. Been together since the disaster at Ravan Four.”

  Jet remembered something vaguely about that name. As a slave he hadn’t gotten much news, but what news they did hear they all passed along and told from slave camp to slave camp over the evening fires. The name ‘Ravan Four’ was spoken with dread, like a cautionary tale. “Wasn’t there some kind of big accident there a long time ago?”

  Seira snorted with contempt. “Accident. That’s what they all believe. That’s what they’re told.”

  “No,” said Mutter, reshuffling the deck without looking up from it. “It wasn’t an accident. Raven Four was a mining facility in the Hamodran sector. Mostly Bruskers. It was completely destroyed, and it was destroyed on purpose. To this day nobody knows why. We were the only survivors and we know what we saw.”

  “Alliance frigates,” Razi, the curvy girl, said as she pulled out a smokeless space cig and took a draw on it, blowing out a stream of fake smoke. “It was the Alliance.”

  “Why would the Alliance Military destroy a Brusker mining facility?” Jet asked. Probably the same confused question that they’d been asked a hundred times.

  Razi shrugged. “Target practice? Who knows.”

  “We had no weapons. No shields. A hundred families killed,” Mutter fanned out the cards on the table, flipped the first one and did some card tricks casually. “Fourteen kids were all that made it out. And they claimed it was a reactor accident.”

  “How’d you escape?” Jet was morbidly curious.

  “Our parents hid us in an old maintenance shuttle,” Seira said in a distant, hollow voice. Her eyes unfocused as she remembered. “Turned everything off; life support, everything. Dead. Cold. We all were in space suits. They told us to play dead, and shot the shuttle into open space. The military ships thought we were space junk and ignored us.”

  Jet had thought his life had been bad. He was realizing that the universe didn’t play favorites. There had been kids who had had it much worse.

  “Since you’re going to ask,” Mutter went on in a calm, neutral tone, “I’ll just tell you. Sorry about the casual trauma story, but it’s history for us. Just fact. We don’t feel anything about it anymore. We drifted cold in space until the gun ships were done with the station and had left. When we were sure we were alone, Lidas had the idea to trip the emergency beacon, so we did that.

  “Soon a tow drone came from the nearby starlane. Thought we were a crashed ship, towed us to the nearest harbor at Invatar. We grew up there. Found ways to survive. Learned to steal from the docks first, then learned to smuggle. Got good at it. Now we’re some of the best.” He flipped the cards in one hand in a fancy move.

  “That’s why our ship is always called the Sanctuary,” Razi added, tapping the table. “It’s home.”

  “Damn.” Jet looked out the window as the ship began to move. The docking lights turned off, the berth clamp released, and they suddenly drifted free.

  Over the intercom, Captain Lidas’s calm voice said: “Attention crew and passengers, we are now clear of dock. We will be maneuvering into orbital traffic. There might be some turbulence. Stay near something you can hold on to.”

  Jet looked around and noticed a thick bar bolted to a wall. He scooted toward it enough so he could grab it if he had to. He stayed on the floor; it was more comfortable than standing and they didn’t have chairs big enough for him.

  Mutter gestured to Rion with his head, and the younger crewman jumped up and ran out of the room. He returned a minute later with Jet’s large folding chair from upstairs and set it up for him with a grin.

  Jet had to smile as he climbed up into the chair gratefully. He felt for these kids… this ship, this life, was all they had. He felt a kind of camaraderie with them. They were, all together, kids who had lost their childhood to war.

  “Alright! Looks like we’re off!” Said Robert Salmela cheerily as he strode into the Lounge and stood by the window with his fists on his hips, much as he’d stood boldly by the slaughterdog pen watching the animal pace in its confinement. He was oblivious to the dark undercurrents in the room.

  Sal turned to Jet. “How are you liking the trip so far, Jet?”

  “Never been on a small ship like this before.” He grabbed the bar as the floor shifted slightly. “It moves a lot.”

  Sal laughed. “Oh just wait! You won’t have felt movement until we get to the edge of the system. You mind being sedated?”

  “Sedated?”

  Mutter glanced from Jet to Sal and back, and flipped his cards.

  “You might have to be, the first few times. This little ship — she’s fast, but she’s not gentle. This is no starliner!” Sal laughed for a few mintues at Jet’s expense.

  Jet watched the docks drift away below them. Then watched as the ship turned and they faced the horizons of the world. The dead, reddish brown, dusty surface of Matrodonosian stretched off in every direction, some craters capped in light-filled city domes, others full of gaping old mining shafts, others silent and dead. Overhead, the stars were all moving — endless traffic from orbit coming and going.

  “I think I can endure it, sir,” Jet said.

  “Suit yourself. I let them sedate me the first few times. I still puke now and then.”

  Jet looked at him warily. Could it really be that bad?

  Behind Salmela, yet another crewman entered the Lounge… but this was one that Jet had not expected. He was ancient. Stooped over, a human at the end of his lifespan with sparse, long white hair hanging down over his shoulders and more wrinkles than features on his face.

  He, too, wore a lifeskin suit and the obligatory cargo vest, plus what appeared to be a Heranom style priest’s robe. Blue; with a large Brusker symbol in the center of the back and on both sides of the breast.

  The ancient eyed Jet with equal curiosity and nodded. “A Bantan! Well that’s a first.” He hobbled over to the kitchen area and began to make himself a hot drink in a mug.

  “Robert, you know Jess. Jet, this is our Helmsman, Jess,” Mutter introduced.

  “Good to meet you, Jet,” said the old man without looking up from his labor.

  “And you, sir.” Jet wanted to ask a dozen questions… but Sal’s presence kept him quiet. The kids were willing to talk to just him, but with the Master present there was a dampener on the conversation. He would wait until he could get the crew alone again.

  A small animal ran wildly into the room, bounding like a squirrel and then stopping to get its bearings. It had a long, fluffy, striped tail and a pointy beak-like muzzle, tall pointy ears and huge golden eyes. When it saw the old man it bounded toward him and in one leap landed on his shoulder, wrapping its tail around his neck to hang on. It chittered nervously and quietly at Jet, not sure if it liked a big predator being in the room.

  The old man absently pet the creature as he stirred his coffee. When he saw Jet staring, he grinned. “Never seen a Yalganaz before?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Popular pets in space. They handle zero-g well, don’t get sick, and don’t breed like crazy so they don’t become pests. And they’re smart. I’ve got Zak here trained to retrieve things for me from my room.”

  Old Jess beckoned the creature to come down and sit on his hand, then tried to bring the Yalganaz close to Jet so he could see it, but Zak wasn’t having it. The critter hissed, chittered a reproof to its owner, and bounded off to the other end of the room to hang from a grip near the ceiling and glare.

  Jess just laughed. “He’ll get used to you. Good to meet you, Jet.” Then the old one shuffled out.

  After staring at Jet for a minute, the Yalganaz bounded after him.

  “Oh, Jess! I have a question…” Robert Salmela raised a finger and followed after Jess.

  When he was gone, Jet glanced at Seira. “A bunch of minor-aged smugglers, and one old man.” He said it with curiosity. “And Ekar Vaugn used to be on your crew?”

  She smiled secretively, and puffed on her space cig. “We told you the sob story. That’s free. But to hear the rest, we have to get to know you better. Sorry.”

  He nodded. “Fair.”