Miles sat quietly in the Midnight Luna. The establishment had quickly become one of his favorites since he arrived at Ghenus. Not for the quality of its drinks, he honestly couldn’t care about that. Living out on the edges of space had ruined his taste after so long drinking what came directly off the still. No, the Midnight Luna was favorite because it was one of the few bars with low gravity.

The bar was built in the shape of a dodecahedron, with various raised platforms hosting tables and booths on each of its interior faces. Each of the pentagonal sections was tailored to a different gravity to give a unique experience for each customer. Ladders and walkways crisscrossed these spaces in order to help those were unused to the lower gravities. In the center was suspended a miniature moon no bigger than thirty or forty meters across. Artificial moonlight streamed outward from holographic lamps to illuminate the dark space.

The Midnight Luna reminded him so much of Braith. Miles couldn’t deny a part of him missed that asteroid, but it was time for him to move on. It was quickly becoming too much of a home for him.

“I read your bio.” Amos sipped Belari Ale across from him. “You served on the Achilles?”

The two had reserved a small booth on one of the taller platforms. Below them, Miles could see the rest of the darkly lit bar. He could watch as the floor angled upward and then curved over him. Straining his eyes, he could see people eating on the ceiling.

Miles sighed and then turned his attention back to the conversation with a grin. “Nah, that’s a bunch of bullshit. The Free Exchange really hired me off Braith. It’s a mining asteroid out in the Kannus System.”

Amos raised an eyebrow and couldn’t help but laugh in surprise. “So you’re a contracted hire? Not many people are so forward about that.”

It was a bit of an open secret that public documents weren’t always exactly accurate. The Free Exchange had a tendency to concoct false information. No one paid any mind, it was just the standard government corruption you would find also in any given protectorate. At least, that was what most people believed. Miles had a different upbringing to know better.

“I try not to lie.” He spoke, sipping his own beer. “It doesn’t agree with me.”

The alcohol went smooth down his throat. Everything did. His boosted metabolism wouldn’t feel anything for another ten drinks at least. Then it was a delicate balancing act, trying to get something of a buzz before the drink would hit him like a starship. That was one problem of being augmented. Either he was completely fine or throwing up in a random street.

“Don’t make any mistake though,” Miles suddenly thought to add. “I’m the best pilot you will ever fly with.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Miles looked up at the moon spinning above them. It was impossible to tell which one it was supposed to be a replica of. White powdery dust was pocketed with craters and other formations which were astonishingly lifelike. It reminded him of the Aturus System where he used to work on a gas giant orbited by eighty-seven different moons.

“By the way.” Miles kept his gaze fixated upwards. “Amos Singh, there has to be a story behind that last name.”

“So you looked at my bio too.” Amos groaned, resting his head on the table for a moment. “I never bothered changing it. People would just dig up the info anyway.”

Miles looked curiously at the man. “So you are related to the Butcher.”

Amos raised his glass. “Great-great grandson.”

“That must be fun.”

“It’s hell.” Amos looked at the blue liquid inside his glass with a distant gaze. “Whenever people look at me, they don’t see Amos. They see Captain Singh’s shadow. You have no idea what it was like in the academies. Everyone always asking about that decrepit, old man,” Amos’ voice shook with an anger that had been hidden until now.

Miles leaned forward, putting his arms on the table. “So, that’s why you signed up? To make a name for yourself?”

Amos gulped down much of his ale and nodded. “I put my application in as soon as word broke out. Didn’t know until after I was accepted that he would be captaining the ship. It’s the little ironies. I’m always just another footnote in that man’s history,” he spoke with no small amount of spite.

Miles could sympathize with Amos. He himself was brought up in a makeshift laboratory trying to design the perfect human being. When the Free Exchange finally came knocking, he only barely managed to escape in a small ship. Their shadow had loomed over his life ever since then. The man known as Miles Kieth was only tolerated because he helped the Exchange keep order. He often poked fun at them for that, needing him, of all people, to do their work.

But that didn’t change the reality that he would never live as he wanted to. The Exchange hounded him, making sure he took on their jobs. Even though Tannis said his books were clear, it was never quite the case. They would always come up with some excuse, expecting him to pay a debt he incurred just by existing as an augmented human.

He stayed at Braith only a short time. Miles couldn’t settle anywhere without the eye of the Exchange falling upon whoever he was close to. He stuck around to help where he could, and then he left. Rinse and repeat for the next eighty years. In truth, there was no real Miles Kieth. He was a story told by miners on the outskirts of civilization.

“If you don’t mind me asking.” Amos pointed a finger at his head. “But what’s with the hat?”

Miles reached up and took his cowboy hat off his head. The felt hat rested easily in his palms with the lower gravity. The black fur was emblazoned with a distinctly curved rim. On the side was a pin with a small gold star.

He couldn’t help but smile while holding it. “I had a friend who worked as an ore hauler. She liked Old Earth history, so she saved up and got me this stupid hat.” His smile faded with the warmth of the memory. “Always thought I’d see her around again. Never really made sense to say goodbye… and then I never got the chance.”

Amos nodded in sympathy with the story.

“Shit, you have me spilling all my secrets.” Miles wiped away some dampness near his eyes before Amos could see it. “Change of subject. What do you think we’ll find at that beacon?”

Amos’ expression turned grim. “Death. People forget that the quantum computers were reserved as SOS beacons. Only to be activated in the most extreme of emergencies. An instantaneous signal sent back to home which can only be used once. I think the Andromedans remembered that. And now they’re calling out for help. Why else break the silence after all this time?”

“As good as a theory as the rest.” Miles shrugged. “I hope you’re wrong, though.”

“I’m right.” Amos pounded his fist against the wooden table. “I’m always right. No matter how much I don’t want to be.”

Amos was fairly tipsy at the moment. Miles pretended to be. He could fake the reactions of a normal human being without any effort. Everything down to that flush of red when the cheeks brightened from alcohol. Unlike others, he had complete control over his body. It was both a blessing and a curse. He always pretended to fit in, a mimic among normal humanity. An outside observer watching in.

There was a crash below them from a platform just several meters down. Both Miles and Amos looked over to see two crew members of the Hyperion brawling between the tables. The Midnight Luna was a popular joint for the extra-planetary crew much for the same reason as Miles. Right now, two men were throwing punches at each other. One had knocked the other to the ground and was currently beating him senseless.

Do I have to intervene? Miles thought painfully as he glanced around. The scene had drawn quite a few eyes, but everyone had either remained at their tables to watch or backed away. It didn’t look like there were any staff nearby either. I suppose it’s up to me. He stood up from his table and jumped off the platform. Floating down, his feet made contact with the lower level. Amos followed just shortly behind, stumbling and trying to adjust for the low gravity.

Miles quickly jogged over to the brawl. Grasping the attacker by the shoulder, Miles punched the weaselly man in the face. In the low gravity, he toppled over a table and went crashing through glasses and people’s food. Momentum kept the man going until he slammed against a wall. A holographic medical notification appeared next to the man’s head. Ensign Rory Dunitz had multiple lacerations.

Amos quickly grabbed the defendant and pinned him down, making sure he couldn’t retaliate. Dunitz struggled under the low gravity; he was clearly not accustomed to the environment. He tried jumping back to his feet, only to shove himself into the air and left floating helpless as Miles gracefully pushed his feet and tackled him.

The two flew through the dark space, landing on another platform several feet above the one they were already on. They gently landed on the floor with Miles on top of the man. Meanwhile, Amos was holding back the other man from charging forward and continuing the fight.

“Easy, easy.” Miles pinned the ensign to the floor. “We cool?”

“He insulted the Aranius Party.” Dunitz spat out, a spray of saliva hitting Miles’ face. “I will not have my protectorate slandered by that scum!”

“Your protectorate shovels the sewage of the galaxy! Fuck you!” the defendant yelled back from the lower platform

Miles couldn’t help but roll his eyes. That was the cost of having so many protectorates represented. The factional infighting still continued on despite this mission being called political neutral. Everyone was still fighting for their own homeland, even with the Free Exchange running the show.

A sudden thought appeared in Miles’ head. This wasn’t Braith, and he was now technically in the military. Miles flashed a wicked grin as he tapped his chest and his bio appeared next to his head. A little box loaded in the air, revealing his name and rank. The ensign’s face slowly lost its color as he realized the situation he was in.

“We good?” Miles asked again, this time more forcefully. “Not going to fight anymore?”

“Sir—” the man stuttered.

“I can report this up the chain of command. Have it go right up to the Captain himself. Or you can walk away and we can forget this whole thing happened.”

Dunitz quickly nodded his head. Miles let go of the man, and the ensign stumbled upright. Dunitz gave one last look to the man he had been fighting before shaking his head and walking off. Amos let the other go and he did likewise. Hopefully, they were going to retreat to their rooms in the Concordia and forget anything happened by tomorrow. Not that it mattered to Miles, he was just happy to be resolved of a headache.

Dusting himself off, he put his hands in his pockets and stepped off the platform. Miles floated down to Amos. As his feet landed on the floor, he swiped a beer from the empty table where the two men had been sitting at. The rest of the bar had already returned to normal, like nothing happened. A staff member was finally on the way to clean up the mess.

“That was exciting.” Miles grinned. “Haven’t been in a brawl fight in a long time.”

“Never cared much for it,” Amos wiped his lip, and Miles realized he had gotten hit pretty good. The lip had been split open and was beginning to bleed profusely.

“You can probably have that man cited if you want to,” Miles offered. “Striking a superior officer has to land you in a lot of trouble.”

“Not worth the effort,” Amos grabbed a nearby napkin and padded his lip. “Too much paperwork. He’s one of mine down in engineering. I’ll put him on scrubbing coolant pipes for a few weeks.”

Suddenly, there was a faint beeping. Amos sighed as he snapped his fingers and a notification appeared in front of him. Miles saw the chief engineer’s shoulders slump through the translucent orange box floating next to his head.

“What is it?” Miles asked curiously.

“I’m being summoned for a meeting with the Captain. Some things we need to hash out. I didn’t think it was going to happen so soon, but here we are.” Amos waved the notification away. “I have to go. Going to get my face fixed up before heading out.”

“Best of luck.” Miles slapped him on the shoulder.

Amos grunted annoyedly and turned. “Don’t drink too much. Launch day is tomorrow after all.” He waved once as he walked towards one of the exit tunnels out of the Midnight Luna.

Miles was left standing alone in the messy remains of the brawl. He drank the rest of the beer he was holding before placing back down on the table. Fifty-seven protectorates. That was how many the crew members belonged to collectively. That’s going to make things plenty exciting.

The Free Exchange clearly shouldn’t have tried to recruit from so many. He could get the general idea. They were trying to unite most of the major powers of the galaxy under the banner of a single mission. Give representation to everyone. But everyone with a head on their shoulders could easily see where that would end.

He laughed a little before suddenly stopping, the smile dying from his face. The Free Exchange knew that. How could they not? Either they didn’t care, or it was intentional—and the Exchange was always intentional. They could’ve assembled their perfect crew and told all the protectorates off. But they didn’t, and that meant something. They wanted this. But why? Miles thought. It was a move completely beyond him. He couldn’t even begin to understand their reasoning.

He suddenly felt like a tiny small piece on a much larger board. An invisible hand was moving the game, and he no longer felt quite in control as he once did. He took another beer off the table and gulped it down. Feeling nothing, he slammed the glass back down. One day at a time, Miles. You’ve got a ship to fly tomorrow.