February, 2332

Spitting an unsavory curse, Silas Creedy was one minute late to Smith Space Force Base. A reprimand was surely coming. Punctuality was a way of life here among these cube-heads.

He presented his ID to a scanner at the check-in, returned a nod to the lone guard, and headed toward warehouse A-5. A tumbleweed rolled onto the path. He leaped over, and when he passed a familiar rock, he sprinted at top speed over the remaining hundred yards. He ate a drop of bitter rain. His heart rate quickened by less than five beats per minute—a new record.

Inside, everyone including managers were assembled in front of a decorated uniform. Old bald General Freeman himself. He spoke strongly: "I appreciate your presence, Mister Creedy. Now, I have unfortunate news. Due to recent budget cuts, we are downscaling operations. All construction work at this base is indefinitely on hold, and your contracts will be terminated at the end of this working day. Have everything packed up, and as per clause three, you are each entitled to ten days of severance pay, but as a special thank you from the Space Force, you will be given eleven." He saluted. A few men chuckled, many smiled, but no one was surprised given this economy. Another central bank had folded just yesterday morning after MiningCo's announcements. The world was collapsing. Though Silas was going to be a-Okay. He had lived on the streets before, recently. He knew how to live off the land unlike some of these dunces.

Corey the fat electrician was pale-faced. So were Andy and Jared and Tim as they got on with pack-up with their heads down.

Silas spat a flavorless chewing gum blob into a bin, grabbed an empty toolbox—

Someone's throat cleared. Freeman was standing behind. He softly said, "In my office."

"What are you going to do? Cut my severance?"

"One minute on the battlefield costs lives, Creedy."

"Don't give me that. I'm not a soldier. Or a pilot."

Freeman glowered, a low rumble coming from deep in his throat. His eyes were intense, far more than usual, almost as if he were begging something for something or rather. He nodded subtly, winking. "In my office. Now." He turned an exact ninety degrees and walked.

This better be good, Silas thought, following in silence toward the offices under a shaft of sunlight falling through a circular hole in the clouds. A shadow swept the valley of shrubs and cacti as gusts of metallic air stormed through the base. He wasn't imagining it. The air here was different, but there wasn't industry for dozens of miles.

"Can you smell the metal in the air?" Silas asked.

"It'll pass."

"You know what it is?"

"I do."

"Safe to breathe? I don't want to wake up coughing blood one morning."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd be stripped of my rank if I allowed that."

"Sure."

"I wouldn't hesitate to allow my young grandson here." Freeman laughed.

Silas was somewhat assured. He followed without speaking again, glanced at the hole in the clouds one last time before he stepped onto dusty carpet and rounded a corner. The first door on the left was unlocked. Silas took a seat in front of a deactivated Holo-PC.

Freeman's office was filled with binders of data disks… and framed honors on all four walls that Silas couldn't care less for. A sepia photo of his wife and children looked like something out of the twenty-first century. So were his carved wooden chairs and similar desk.

Sitting, Freeman picked up a manila folder. His eyes skimmed down a stapled printout. A classified watermark bled through faint block letters. "Silas Creedy. Twenty-seven years old. Six-foot-one, medium to light build. Ex-Olympian, fell short of bronze twice, and lived a solitary life since. No degree, and no technical experience beyond basic tool-work. Though you were homeless for some time, you are in pristine health to this year with no known conditions. You don't smoke or drink, or partake in substances, and you have an upstanding criminal record. Your current hobbies, apart from Fencing, include playing the cello, climbing at your local gym, and you seldom enjoy online or singleplayer role-playing, racing, and shooter games."

That sounded about right. "My record is classified?"

"It is has been since last Tuesday."

"Yeah?"

Freeman put down the papers. "I will be blunt. The Space Force is sending scout ships to star systems that may contain Helium-3 concentrations. These ships are, for the majority, single-person probes. We are looking for candidates who are, quite frankly, of your profile. You are a leading candidate."

A dozen seconds of bleak silence passed on the old-fashioned mechanical clock behind Freeman's head. Silas let go of a breath. "You're serious."

"Absolutely. You fit the criteria to a T."

"To a T? A failed Olympian who doesn't have any training piloting a spacecraft."

A hint of a smile emerged through Freeman's hardened wrinkles. "You will find doing so is much like playing one of your games."

"Now you're shitting me." Silas' belly shook in his laughter. "I don't believe this. There's no way one of your rockets could get me to even the closest star system in my lifetime."

"You'd be surprised."

"Are you going to freeze me?"

Freeman's stubby fingers knitted together. His left brow arched. "Have you heard of the term electrogravitics?"

"Isn't that just crazy talk made up by UFO fanatics since the nineteen hundreds?"

"Not recently." He fetched a loose paper from the folder and pushed it across the desk; an engineering sketch of a round spaceship with no thrusters or fins. Just a rounded oblong. "There have been key developments and… findings in the last few decades. The first being faster-than-light travel—"

"I thought some guy, Ein-something from the nineteen-hundreds, said that was impossible."

"I'm not a physicist, but… what takes place is space-time at front of this craft is compressed while expanded at the rear. In effect, this produces a zero-force acceleration that scales up to multiples of light-speed. It was first described by Miguel Alcubierre in a nineteen-ninety-four paper."

Three hundred years. "That long ago?"

Freeman nodded, a double chin appearing. "There were many key difficulties in building these crafts, which I can't elaborate on." He took a raspy breath. "Back to the point: you have been selected to man one of these to the Z two-eighty-five system. There is a planet in the habitable zone. Chances that you encounter abundant He-3 is five to ten percent. We expect this mission to take up to three months, and there is a non-negligible risk that you may not return. Do you accept this opportunity?"

Silas ran his fingers through his hair. A shrug lifted his shoulder. "Sure. Why not?"

Relief slackened Freeman's wrinkles, but he tried to hide it. "Very well. You will undergo a month of training at this base. Any further questions?"

"Hm? I thought you said it's like playing a video game."

"You will see."

"Right…" Then a thought flinched to the front of his brain. "Why not an unmanned probe?"

Those wrinkles tensed once more. "These crafts are quite costly. Higher-ups want assurance that they will return."

"And people like me count as assurance?"

"Yes." Freeman's nod was stiffer than bending bamboo.

"You're not telling me something."

"I must apologize." Freeman exhaled. "You lack necessary security clearance. It is not in your place to know."

Annoyance punched deep. "Why not send a whole team? A whole fleet? I know why. I'm not just your leading candidate; I'm your only candidate. Your damned guinea pig. You know no one will notice if I suddenly disappear. So what will happen? Will this ship explode? Will space debris rip it to shreds? Actually���" Silas' hand wave dismissively. "Don't answer any of that. I'll do it anyway."

Freeman's expression was one of grim surprise. "Even knowing this may cost your life?"

"I don't care. I've lived a long shitty life." Silas grinned at the prospect of an epic death piloting an advanced spaceship. What a tale for history books that would be.

Freeman seemingly read his thoughts: "You will be remembered for your sacrifice."

Silas grunted, leaned back into this creaky chair. "I'd like a statue of me wearing a gold medal—gold in space exploration."

"Only if you return." Freeman smiled in a grandfatherly way.

"Yeah, that's more like it."