Short Stories From Out There

A Lesson in the Stars

Jance's joy at saving the munchers evaporated when he realized there wasn't enough food. Glancing at the cameras, he could see the munchers staring at the dispenser, their eyes pulsing in the strobe of the Wait light. Their conditioning would hold them, but eventually, their hunger would grow, and they would eat the ship. He would have to eject almost half of them.

The accident could not have been more inconvenient. It was his first solo run after his apprenticeship with the guild. His family was counting on him after his father's death.

A stray missile, most likely a leftover from the last system war, had done it. Jance imagined a deft fighter pilot dodging it with some insane maneuver, the missile shooting out into the dark. After a decade of hunting, on its way out of the system, it locked onto his father's mining barge and, in a fireball of fuel, turned Jance into the hope of the family.

Jance would not get half the haul he hoped for, but he'd get enough to cover expenses, and it would take care of everyone long enough.

Jance remembered the times he got to go with his father, watching his father's hands dance across the panels like a musician, running the control lights and markers that kept the munchers alive, eating, and filling the holds. It was like a Christmas performance as his father whistled while he worked, the memory a treasured combination of light and music. He had no idea what the tune was, but it was part of his soul, and he found himself whistling it while he learned the panels himself.

He herded the munchers to the right place for separation and dropped the pen walls. Now, he would send them to their deaths, but his hands hovered over the controls. It wasn't fair. He had been so fast and sure in his saving of them.

It had been a part of some ancient ship, spinning from the dark, and took out seven holds and the wall of a large muncher pen. If he had not been watching things out of nervousness, he might not have pulled it off, but he reacted fast enough to seal the breaches and disengage the right locks to save all but a few munchers and most of the ship.

He tapped the buttons, and munchers tumbled out into the void. He wiped away a tear and set his jaw. Munchers were monstrous and vicious, but they were his and needed. He thought about whistling the old tune, but it wouldn't be proper. Instead, he apologized to the air, took a deep breath, and turned the ship to attach to the first of many asteroids he would work on today. If he had prioritized saving holds over munchers, he would get more on the run.

It was a hard lesson, and oddly, Jance felt a bit closer to his father as the stars gently spun around him.