Bonus Story Archives

The First Council

Bonus Story / M Pax / September 23, 2025

A story from the Space Squad 51 Universe…

On a rickety bunk inside a dimly lit room, Roedet Baneer took a deep breath before daring to meet her reflection in the polished bit of wall serving as a mirror. Her prosthetic hand moved in jerky motions over her scarred head, scarred so badly, she only had a few scraggly tufts of hair. Her dark eyes pooled with an abyss of sorrow. The rebellion had changed nothing.

“What was this for? We still starve, we still fight to breathe, we still live in barely habitable colonies.” Her thick lips quirked into a frown. “We can’t give up. I can’t give up. Happiness is a decision.” She sat up straighter, and with her flesh hand to steady her mechanical one, she placed the soft wig over the deep scars made by fire, fearlessness, and sacrifice.

Before donning the soft blue tunic and pants, she made adjustments to her prosthetic arm and leg. If she didn’t reset them at least five times a day, they would spaz out at inappropriate times and start moving of their own accord. It was embarrassing when she started jumping across a room or waving madly without any control, but she wouldn’t take an upgrade. None of the other veterans would be getting upgrades. She wanted them to see it was possible to go on, to be happy and productive, to keep forging a better life.

She checked the electronic crutch that helped her keep her balance. The battery was full but only lasted two hours. Carefully, she rolled up the charging cord and stuck it in her pack. Her tunic and pants were a dull shade of blue that blended in with the dingy scenery, but she placed her tongue on the roof of her mouth, forcing a smile into her dark eyes. The jaunty scarf was a cheerful blue, and she wound it around her neck, altering her sad outfit into something more joyful. She opened her hinged boots and snapped them on. Her hours of buffing didn’t take out the scuffs or their extremely worn state. These boots had taken her from grunt to fighter to leader, and she would take her remaining steps in this life in them with pride.

She attached her pack to a belt around her waist, picked up her crutch, and staggered onto her feet. “Let’s do this, Roedet. The worlds are counting on you.” She nodded firmly at her reflection and left the room.

The rebels on Io had given her their best accommodation, and she felt guilty about it. She didn’t deserve better than anyone else in the colonies. Everyone toiled relentlessly, and everyone had fought tirelessly. Finding it hard to meet the eye of those she passed, she knew she had to get over these feelings. Acknowledging her emotions would help her navigate the rough times humanity faced, but she couldn’t dwell in them. Citizens needed faith competent people had taken charge and would take care of them.

“Some sad, guilt-ridden, damaged woman isn’t what anyone wants at the helm,” she mumbled as she struggled down the stairs and out onto the streets. No matter the state of the colonies, most people wore big smiles and proudly sported bright blue scarves, tasting victory, feeling the rush of freedom for the first time. The mood was infectious, and Roedet was thankful for it, thankful for them.

At the edge of the dome, she easily found the observatory where Thijin Ocklan had sent out those first messages of hope decades ago. Thijin hadn’t lived to see her dreams come to fruition, but she wouldn’t be forgotten. Roedet tugged at her blue scarf in a silent promise.

Inside the old observatory, tables had been pushed together into one large table with chairs set around it. Representatives from major and minor colonies filled the room: Venus, Ganymede, Europa, Callisto, Titan, Rhea, Dionne, Ceres, Miranda, Tethys, Iapetus, Mimas, Enceladus, Ariel, Umbriel, Titania, Oberon, Triton, Vesta, Pallas, and Haumea representing colonies farther out than Neptune. Roedet was here on behalf of Mars. She took an empty seat and nodded at her fellow rebels. She wasn’t the only one deeply scarred and mangled. Worse, she knew her body and theirs were the least of the Sol’s problems.

After the seats filled, the room fell quiet. The representative from Venus cleared his throat. “How do we want to start?” Dahl asked in a hushed tone, his words falling with as little confidence as Roedet felt.

“We’re in the huckamucka deep,” Helie from Io responded. Her voice boomed with more fire. She inspired Roedet to speak up.

“Getting rid of the corporate rule was step one, now the hard work starts,” she said. “We inherited all of the problems they managed and worse. Half of the colony on Mars is no longer habitable.”

“We’re running out of power on Rhea,” another said.

“There’s a virus we can’t contain on Miranda.”

“To survive the beyond the year, we need to generate power and gather resources,” Dahl stated.

“Obviously,” Roedet replied. “Without ordering everyone back to work, how do we do that?” The twenty-two of them stared at each other, then ducked their heads.

“We have to become more like them,” Helie whispered. “The corporate assholes we hated and marched out of our domes.”

“We’re hypocrites,” Roedet said in a deadened tone. The shiver of realization shook her sense of righteousness. “To get the colonies in order so that we can have better lives in the future, we have to carry on as we were. I hate this answer.”

“Me, too.” Dahl shook his head in disgust.

“Maybe we can manage the Sol in a kinder and gentler way,” Roedet offered.

“What?” Helie inquired, her eyes narrowing.

“Rule the colonies.”

“We didn’t fight to become our enemies.” Dahl smacked the top of the table.

“Everyone sacrificed,” Roedet replied softly, her arm skipping across the table. Rolling up her sleeve, she programmed in a reset. “We sacrifice our dream short term in order to realize it in the long term. There is no winning if the colonies can’t survive.”

“We can manage the Sol with more heart,” Helie suggested.

“Of course we can.” Roedet couldn’t live with a different outcome.

“Unless someone wants to appoint a different representative,” Helie said,” I recommend this group become the ruling body of the Sol.”

“Us? Appoint ourselves?” Roedet raised a brow as much as she could and rubbed at the sudden knot of pain. Her face didn’t move as freely anymore, and she often forgot.

“There should be elections.” Dahl toyed with a scratch on the table, then looked up. “There has to be fairness.”

“Each colony should elect a governor and a council,” Roedet agreed. “I think this body should be by appointment. At least, for now.”

“This body, smody,” Dahl sneered. “I hate this.”

“I feel no better about it.”

“What do we call ourselves?” Helie asked. “Council of…, of what?”

“Human occupied planets,” the representative from Miranda offered. “CHOPs for short.”

Roedet shrugged, which made her shoulder with the missing arm ache. “I’m okay with that, and let’s make the appointments to the council for a limited time. Elections after.”

“I can handle that compromise,” Dahl agreed. “We have to get the colonies viable, which means we need the workers back at their jobs as soon as possible.”

Roedet winced but nodded in agreement. “We can manage the work in a more humane way.”

“Each colony should decide how to handle their population,” the representative from Tethys said.

“With certain basic rules,” Roedet cautioned. “Otherwise, this revolution has no meaning, no purpose. It has to mean something.” She glanced down at her missing limbs, then around the table at the other representatives. “I won’t accept less.”

“I’m with you,” Dahl said. “What do you propose?”

“Free time, kinder hours, and the workers share in the profits and rewards of the work. Sick time. Just being more human. Those were things I fought for. What did you want when you joined the fight?”

Answers rang out from around the table. “Regular food.” “Health care.” “The time to spend with my sick child.” “To avoid the heartbreak of seeing my child go off to the mines.” “The freedom to chose my purpose.” “Enough air to breathe.” “Food without bugs.”

The wants had been basic. “We can at least offer those things, can’t we?” Roedet asked the council. “If the workers feel more invested in the work, we won’t have to force people to pitch in.”

“No one tells you about this side of revolution,” Dahl frowned.

No one had. Roedet shifted in her chair to get more comfortable, glancing out the window at the marvels of Jupiter. Winning was more disappointing than she had anticipated. The Sol would have to dig deeper to make sure the dreams of the rebellion never lay fallow.

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The Sky is Not Empty

A story from the Squad 51 Universe…

Thijin Ocklan pressed herself into the seam between the colony’s inner and outer dome, heart pounding like she had snuck off to murder someone instead of simply skipping work.

The gap was just wide enough to wedge her not-quite-50-year-old frame into, and she didn’t have to crouch her seven-foot frame, for which she thanked the Sol. Her back ached too much for bending, squatting, and hunching.

Condensation dripped from the curved panels above, cold as the voids. A faint hiss of oxygen purred through the rigged feed line she had patched together herself, because she knew damn well that Heliox Core Industries would cut her air the second her absence flagged the shift board.

She didn’t even have a good excuse. Her back hurt, sure. It always did. But today felt like too much. Like another hour bent over pipe valves and corrosion monitors might crush her permanently on the inside.

IOP, the Internal Oversight Patrol, boots passed by a few minutes ago. Not running, not suspicious, just a patrol. But they were never just a patrol.

Thijin waited until the footfalls faded, then slipped through the loose panel she had found once while inspecting a pipeline. The corporation warned lingering near the outer dome increased your exposure to radiation leaks. At her age, she figured a little radiation couldn’t do worse than another year of this drudgery.

For once, she felt alive. Alive and slightly terrified, her heart racing with each crouched step along the outer skin of the dome, as if one of the IOP’s drones might whiz by and detect her movement. But nothing stirred. She kept to the shadows, oxygen rig strapped tight, and crept toward nothing in particular. She knew the old corporate offices were out this way, abandoned for newer, swankier, and more air-tight offices.

Past the skeleton of an old water tank, a silhouette came into view, a silhouette with a dome. “What is that”” she breathed. The sun caught the dome’s curve, which was a hunk of angular metal half-that appeared to bulge beyond the dome. It had the sad, noble look of something forgotten, and there was a door.

Thijin clambered over some barrels and slipped out in the open to reach the door. No sensors pinged her. No voice from Heliox warned her she was off limits. The door hung askew and slightly ajar.

A plaque it read: IO DEEP SKY OBSERVATORY – Established 2123 by Helio Duponne
The edges were crusted in grime. She wiped at them anyway.

The door groaned but gave way easily. Inside was dry and dark, the air meter on the wall showed the air was better in here than inside the colony. She removed her air hose and breathed free for the first time ever, inhaling deep. The air was sharp with ozone and long-dead dreams.

Thijin took careful steps past empty console stations and dead monitor banks, her tank’s controls softly humming behind her. She switched it off, conserving her rations. Dust curled in the light from her wrist lamp.

She walked up to a console, and it clicked. Her heat hammered like a bomb went off, and a glow flared out from the monitor, exposing her, sensing her. She panicked, searching for a place to hide. There was just the databank, a comfortable chair on wheels, and a large telescope.

She stepped up to the telescope, resting one hand on the barrel, afraid it might vanish. The telescope aimed through the transparent panel, old, but clean enough to reveal a view so vast it punched the breath from her lungs.

The sky was black, but not empty. Stars crowded it like shattered diamonds scattered across a black that had more substance than darkness. A smear of cream and red marked Jupiter, massive and glowing, a planetary god watching from the horizon.

Below the never-ending sky, the tortured landscape of Io stretched out in bruised shades of ochre, sulfur, and rust. Volcanoes scarred the surface like old wounds, frozen mid-eruption, the ground fissured and uneven as if the moon strained to escape gravity. Faint plumes curled upward in the distance; geysers, maybe, or new eruptions unfolding in silence.

It was raw. Violent. Real.

She had never seen anything like it. The colony dome showed her the prefab walls and gray corridors, the same flickering signs and ration queues. Out here, the universe roared in silence, vast, enormous. And no one was in charge of it.

Her pulse picked up. Not with fear but with awe. For the first time in her life, her world felt bigger than her shift report.

She could have stood there for hours, just breathing in the wonder. But instead, she sat, gently and reverently, into the worn chair at the data console, wondering what this place was about. Touching the screen flickered the terminal to life. No startup chime, no fanfare. Just a plain cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

She moved closer, squinting. Awaiting uplink to Heliox Core. Enter password. Interesting. The system wasn’t malfunction. It was off grid, waiting for connection to the corporate servers.

She tapped a few keys on an old fashioned keyboard in front of the screen. If she didn’t connect to Heliox, was something else out there. She hit enter and a menu came up.
Archived Survey Data
Colony Map Index
Sol Comms System

Her finger hovered over the last one.

Sol Comms System. She had been told there was nothing else to the solar system but Io, that no one else had survived.

She clicked it.

A new menu unfolded, simple and quiet. Names of other colonies on Callisto, on Ganymede, in the Belt, around Saturn. No corporate emblems. Just location codes, basic identifiers, and one blinking status beside each: IDLE. IDLE. IDLE.

Her hands moved before her fear could catch up. She typed a simple message. “Do you want to live like this?”

That was it. She didn’t sign it. Didn’t say where she was. The console encrypted automatically, some old, protocol by paranoid Heliox corporate goons.

She hit SEND.

Nothing happened. “Of course not,” she muttered. Exhaling, she leaned back in the dusty chair. A layer of ancient padding gave way beneath her. She laughed, a short, surprised sound that echoed loudly in the quiet. When had she last sat in a real chair?

The room creaked in silence, the shifts of Io settling into its bones. She got up and wandered into a storage alcove. Empty shelves. Spare filters. Tangled wiring. Some crates. Inside the crates she found blue fabric. Dusty. Stiff with time. A stack of old Heliox-issued thermal jackets, from the early days when the company still pretended to be human.

Thijin tugged one free, held it up to the light. It had the old logo. A faded slogan stitched beneath it: She pulled the multitool from her belt, which was old and scratched but still loyal. Flipping out the blade, she sliced through the thick blue coat, cutting a long strip free. The fabric curled as she tugged it loose, decades of dust rising into the air. The fabric now as free as she was, dhe tied the strip around her neck like a scarf. Not regulation. Not anymore.

She returned to the telescope to see if she could get it to work, glancing at the console.

One message had arrived. Then two. Then six.

Simple things, blinking on screen:

“You’re not alone.”
“Please talk to me.”
“We thought we were the only ones.”
“Finally.”

Thijin settled back into the chair, scarf loose around her throat, breath fogging faintly in the cold.

Out the observation dome, Jupiter loomed like a storm god on fire. She stared at its stripes and marbled rage and smiled. She was still staring out when a thousand more replies came through.

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Off-Duty Rescue: Dag Dag and the Sump

Bonus Story / M Pax / July 22, 2025

A story from the Squad 51 Universe…

The showers at Orbital Rescue Services (ORS) were slightly warmer than at home. They still didn’t use water, but some inventive cleansing mist. In ancient lore, Dagney Dagrun had read about hot showers and basins filled with hot water. She honestly couldn’t imagine it. Her squad partner, Kell Wexler, cleaned off in the stall beside hers.

“It was another thrilling day at ORS,” she said to Kell, drawing out the syllables, barely hiding her sarcasm. She could only see the faint shape of him through the distorted transparent panels of the showers.

“Hey, we fixed an oxygen leak. That’s always a good day’s work.”

“Maintenance could have done it if we weren’t so bored.” Dag Dag pushed the stall door open, unconcerned about fully exposing her long, fit body, grabbing the cleansing cloth hanging outside the shower.

More modest in disposition, Kell grabbed his cleansing cloth without opening the door, finished washing, then grabbed his civvies—warm clinging pants and a billowing tunic of soft thermal material. Once dressed, he joined Dag Dag on the benches to pull on his socks and boots.

She wore similar clothes, but they hung more richly on her. There was something about Dag Dag that bordered on regal, which no among of shabby or drab could touch. Her dark curls were cut short, seeming to highlight her high cheekbones.

“Want to—” Kell started.

A robot barged in and spun in circles on the floor at his feet. It flashed the magenta numeral one over its egg-shaped body. It had stubby arms and legs good for no purpose.

“That’s someone’s pet,” Kell said. The thing only rose as high as his ankle. Bending over farther, he peered closely at the thing. “Is something the matter?”

“Pipbit, Pipbit, Pipbit,” the robot squealed, continuing its frantic circles.

“Pets are programmed with their names.” Dag Dag flicked the comm link on her collar and brought up her holoscreen. “Pipbit is licensed by the Chogatti family.” She flicked her screen over to Kell. “Let’s go pay them a visit.”

The robot kept pace with them as they left ORS, waving to the next shift. Dag Dag’s eyes raked over the always exotic Lucy Ashida, and she paused for a moment. “It’s a shame she only has eyes for Nikili.”

“Nikili pretends not to notice,” Kell added. “Sometimes I think she has a thing for Lucy too, but she never quite gets there.”

“Ashida is wasting the best years of her life.” Sighing, Dag Dag waved at Lucy and flashed a flirty smile. Pipbit nipped at her ankles. Blinking at the pet, she shook her head. “All right, little guy. All right. I’m moving.”

“Maybe we should hand this off to Echols and Ashida,” Kell suggested. “I’ve been looking forward to grokking with my buds all shift.”

“Go ahead if you want to. I’ll see what’s up with PipBit and the Chogattis.” The little robot had trouble keeping pace with her long strides.

The dome on Orcus had issues and needed replacing. The government kept saying they were working on it. Like always, Dag Dag grunted at it when they left the ORS station. Because of its issues the streets on Orcus were narrow and the towers bunched up together. Some domes crumbled outside the dome from disuse. No amount of air rations could keep anyone alive in one of those.

PipBit hopped and squealed in a direction away from the Chogatti address. It butted against Dag Dag’s ankles and Kell’s, screeching like a siren.

“I think it wants us to go that way.” Kell squinted at the horizon.

The skies on Orcus were perpetual twilight because of the dome. The closest mini sun, Z’ha’Dum wasn’t as close as anyone would have liked, but it was close enough to make the planetoid more habitable.

“What’s over that way?” Kell asked.

“An abandoned water generator from when the first outposts came to mine Orcus.” Slowing her pace, Dag Dag let PipBit lead the way, its stubby legs churning furiously over the soft materials comprising the avenues.

The materials absorbed sunlight to generate power. The little bit of energy they produced heated the walkways and colony and helped recharge transports. However, the colony wasn’t terribly large, so people tended not to use transports. The surplus energy then went to help power residences and businesses. Everything had to pull double or triple duty on Orcus.

The old water generation factory crumbled at the edge of the dome. Squat and gray and nothing nice to look at, its door dangled askew across the crumbling threshold. Kell took out a scanner from the pack strapped to his hip. “The dome covers the first thirty meters.”

“Well, if PipBit goes farther, we’ll call ORS in.” Dag Dag crossed her arms and ducked her head through the broken door. “This place isn’t safe. I thought it was sealed off.”

“Who are we looking for?” Kell poked the scanner through the door. “The Chogattis have any kids?”

Dag Dag scanned the infor on her holoscreen. Being part of ORS had its perks. She wouldn’t have access to so much data otherwise. “One. A daughter.”

“Name?”

“Tamaree.” Dag Dag took a gingerly step fully inside and called the girl’s name. PipBit kept chirping and went over to a broken tile in the floor. Dag Dag sank to her knees, trying to see into the dark hole. “Tamaree? You down there?”

“Help,” a weak voice moaned from the depths.

“What is that?” Dag Dag asked Kell.”

“An old collection sump.” He swiped the scan onto his holoscreen and a complete schematic of the collection sump appeared with a dot representing Tamaree.

Dag Dag’s breath fogged in the cold air beneath the dome. The faint hum of failing machinery echoed somewhere below, mixing with the distant creak of shifting metal. PipBit chirped again, its little lights blinking urgently as it circled the broken tile.

Kell knelt beside her, tapping commands into his holoscreen. “The sump’s about four meters deep,” he said. “The tile’s weak—looks like it gave way under her weight.”

“Can she breathe down there?” Dag Dag asked, eyes narrowing.

“She’s on the border where the dome often fluctuates. We’ve got maybe minutes before the next fluctuation lets the real Orcus leaks inside.”

Dag Dag rubbed her palms on her thighs, scanning the interior of the old factory. She went over to examine old belting on the broken pump. Drawing a Gyver everything tool from the pack at her hip, she sliced through the belting. It fell limply to the floor. She looked for something sturdy to tie it to.

“Me.” Kell held out his meaty hands. He would hold her no matter what.

Dag Dag didn’t think twice about putting her life in his hands. “All right, Kell. You’re my anchor. PipBit, monitor the dome and the general area. Let me know if anything shifts, breaks, or otherwise. I’m going down.”

Kell’s gaze locked with hers. He drew the belting around his waist and looped both hands through it. “Ready.”

“Me too.” Dag Dag dropped the loose end down the hole and rappelled down the edge of the sump, the cold air biting at her through her warm clothes. She landed lightly on broken pipes and ice shards, careful not to disturb the fragile floor.

“Tamaree?” she called softly, scanning the shadows.

A coughing fit answered her. “Here.”

Dag Dag spotted the girl huddled against the far wall, bruised but conscious. “Where are you hurt?”

Frozen tears bathed the girl’s cheeks. Her lips had turned blue, and her dark curls fell in a tangle over her face. She couldn’t be more than seven. She pointed at her arm.

Dag Dag kneeled beside Tamaree and gently lifted the girl’s arm. The limb dangled at an odd angle.

“Broken,” she muttered. “Clean, though.”

Tamaree whimpered but didn’t cry.

“Tough as an Outling. Your parents are raising you right, kid.” Dag Dag crawled toward the hole and yelled up. “Kell, I need more belting or netting. Something to strap her to me when you pull us up. She can’t hold onto me.”

“On it.” Kell’s boots thudded as he moved through the wreckage above.

Dag Dag pulled out the roll of duct tape from her Gyver Everything tool. She snapped off a length of cracked pipe nearby and tested its sturdiness. “This’ll do,” she said to the dark shadows.

She fashioned a makeshift splint, bracing Tamaree’s arm and taping it securely. The girl hissed but stayed still, her face pale and tight.

Kell’s voice echoed down. “Found belting from a vent flap. It’ll work. Make way.” He dropped the belting down the hole.

Dag Dag retrieved it and hugged Tamaree against her body. She wrapped and wove the belting around herself and the girl, creating a secure sling to bind Tamaree against her. She returned to her lifeline and wrapped it under a leg and around her hands, gripping tightly. “Bring us up,” she called.

Kell loomed like a darker shadow among the shadows above. “Slow and steady.”

The belting smoothly pulled Dag Dag and Tamaree up from the icy floor. Feet dangling, she held tight to Tamaree. The belting strained with their combined weight and Kell’s tugs. The shaft walls creaked, the flooring above groaned, and rust rained down, but the belting and floor held.

After they cleared the hole, they lay on the floor, breathing hard. Kell’s strong arms reached down and righted them. “You all right, partner.”

She managed a tight smile. “Of course.”

“How about you?” Kell grinned at the young girl.

The girl nodded.

“You did great,” Dag Dag said, brushing a curl from the girl’s forehead.

PipBit chirped and did a slow circle around them, its lens eyes flickering blue in quiet triumph.

Dag Dag gave PipBit a quick pat. “Looks like rescuing kids from wells is officially part of the job.”

“Thought that went out of fashion millennia ago.” Kell coiled the used belts into a tidy pile and placed them out of the way. He nodded at the robot. “Good thing you came to get us, little buddy.”

PipBit chirped softly, its lights glowing steady.

They strode out of the factory, Tamaree in Dag Dag’s arms and PipBit trotting behind. “Family and a pet are a good look for you, Dag.”

She managed not to wince. He damn well knew there wasn’t enough adrenaline in family and pets for her. “Say that again if you don’t want to keep your face, Kell.”

He laughed and slung an arm around her. “You’re the best partner ever.”

She didn’t pull away, knowing she couldn’t have a better squadmate or friend. “Windsurfing outside the dome on the ice later?”

“Try to keep me away.”

Off-Duty Rescue: Dag Dag and the Sump Read More »

The Sky is Not Empty

Bonus Story, Science Fiction Books / M Pax / July 20, 2025

A story from the Squad 51 universe…

Thijin Ocklan pressed herself into the seam between the colony’s inner and outer dome, heart pounding like she had snuck off to murder someone instead of simply skipping work.

IOP, the Internal Oversight Patrol, boots passed by a few minutes ago. Not running, not suspicious, just a patrol. But they were never just a patrol.

Thijin clambered over some barrels and slipped out in the open to reach the door. No sensors pinged her. No voice from Heliox warned her she was off limits. The door hung askew and slightly ajar.

A plaque it read: IO DEEP SKY OBSERVATORY – Established 2123 by Helio Duponne
The edges were crusted in grime. She wiped at them anyway.

The sky was black, but not empty. Stars crowded it like shattered diamonds scattered across a black that had more substance than darkness. A smear of cream and red marked Jupiter, massive and glowing, a planetary god watching from the horizon.

It was raw. Violent. Real.

Her pulse picked up. Not with fear but with awe. For the first time in her life, her world felt bigger than her shift report.

She moved closer, squinting. Awaiting uplink to Heliox Core. Enter password. Interesting. The system wasn’t malfunction. It was off grid, waiting for connection to the corporate servers.

Her finger hovered over the last one.

Sol Comms System. She had been told there was nothing else to the solar system but Io, that no one else had survived.

She clicked it.

Her hands moved before her fear could catch up. She typed a simple message. “Do you want to live like this?”

That was it. She didn’t sign it. Didn’t say where she was. The console encrypted automatically, some old, protocol by paranoid Heliox corporate goons.

She hit SEND.

She returned to the telescope to see if she could get it to work, glancing at the console.

One message had arrived. Then two. Then six.

Simple things, blinking on screen:

“You’re not alone.”
“Please talk to me.”
“We thought we were the only ones.”
“Finally.”

Thijin settled back into the chair, scarf loose around her throat, breath fogging faintly in the cold.

Out the observation dome, Jupiter loomed like a storm god on fire. She stared at its stripes and marbled rage and smiled. She was still staring out when a thousand more replies came through.

The Sky is Not Empty Read More »

Gambits of Fortune

Bonus Story, Science Fiction Books / M Pax / June 17, 2025

The portable stove hissed before Hook Raeder could reach the fuse for the fire alarm. He jumped, pushing off the wall of the old ship, and snagged the fuse just as the alarm started to scream. They weren’t supposed to cook in their assigned quarters. The ship was old and brittle, groaning with every puff of the solar winds. The old nanites in the ancient composite struggled to keep hull integrity, and they certainly couldn’t keep up with full gravity.

Hook sank slowly back to the floor, scowling at his oldest brother. “You should have waited until I pulled the fuse.” Their eight-by-six foot quarters, stained with decades of grime and the ghosts of other passengers, barely held the six Raeders. Every surface bore the imprint of backs, elbows, and time. The quarters were mostly bunks with a few trunks stuffed beneath them a small two by six foot open space used for eating, praying, working, ritual, and play.

“Careful the solar winds don’t freeze your face looking that way,” Stoker said. “You’ll scare the folks on Orcus and won’t make any friends.” He set a makeshift grill over the flame made from wire and bits of found metal. “I don’t want to be stuck with your sorry ass glued to mine all the time. I’m going to be somebody on Orcus.” He pulled out a canister and bag from the family trunk, then caught Hook’s gaze. “You’re not going to drag me down.” With a steady hand, he carefully measured out a cup of beads from the canister, which quickly melted.

“I don’t see why you’re so thrilled to leave Europa. We have cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents who love us. Not to mention great friends.” Hook tucked his long dark hair behind his ears. He was a daintier version of his older brother, but proved himself to be just as strong. They both had light brown skin and dark hair cascading down to their shoulders. Where they differed was, Stoker had a broader frame, and Hook had startling gray eyes. “I miss the cones of strawberry air.” He crossed his arms, glowering at the red cubes Stoker placed into the pot one by one.

Hook set out the five molds, readying them for the contents of the pot. The ship lurched, and the composite moaned as if about to take its last breath. Hook eyed the ship walls. His brother’s shaky hand clamped over his.

“We’re going to make it,” Stoker said with all the belief in the Sol. “Now hold the molds steady.” His fingers didn’t tremble as he gently poured out the liquid red resin.

“We didn’t have to worry about air or water rations on Europa. We didn’t have to worry about food or work.”

“Work was getting scarcer,” his brother answered. “Everyone on Europa sold omens of fortune for the Clan of Europa. Everyone sold trinkets blessed by the temples. No one on Orcus has had the good fortune to improve their luck with our wares. It’s a ripe market.”

Inside the trunk beside them, lay heaps of bracelets and pins made from woven red threads. Some pins contained beads representing the four Galilean moons of Jupiter. “Do you think Outlings believe the moons of Jupiter to be good fortune? I hardly think so.”

““Call them Orcus, Vanth, Pluto, and Charon. Same trinkets, new meaning.. Either way, it’s good fortune for our family. I’m tired of your poor attitude, Hook. Mom and Dad made this decision to give us a better life. Orcus is growing. Where there’s growth there’s opportunity.” He scrubbed out the pot with some sand and dumped the remnants in the trash chute. From the trunk, he pulled out a small hand drill and vise.

“I tire of making trinkets.” The molds turned blue, and Hook pried them apart, handing the smaller tubes to Stoker.

“Which is part of the reason we’re on this lousy ship. They need hands to build their city on Orcus. I’d rather build a city than these dang yo-yos.” Stoker placed the small cylinders in the vise and drilled a hole in each one precisely in the center.

“We agree on something.” Hook crawled over to a second trunk and unspooled red thread, cutting off five lengths that were 1.1 meters each. He didn’t need to measure anymore, the length was muscle memory. Still, he placed the stick on the floor for perfection. His mother said that is how they would stand out, by making their goods perfect. The extra fuss hadn’t helped much on Europa, but doing a job to the best of his ability was habit at this point. He took the cylindrical pieces from Stoker and threaded the red strings through the holes his brother had drilled.

While his brother sanded and polished the two sides of the yo-yos, Hook readied another small can of resin. He dipped both ends of the cylinder in it, then glued the two halves of the yo-yos together. Stoker squeezed one yo-yo in each hand and another between his knees until the glue set. Hook held the other two together. The door creaked, and he glanced over his shoulder at his father, mother, sister, and two other brothers stride in.

“Those are beautiful. “His mother nodded at the red and white swirled yo-yos setting in their hands. “We have news.” His family sat on the floor beside Hook and Stoker, forming a circle. “We’ll be landing at Orcus in twelve hours.” Her smile beamed, radiating into her large gray eyes, the same as Hook’s. Her dark hair was swept up into swirl with the ends curling. “And we have been assigned housing and work.” Her red silken pants and tunic had faded since leaving Europa, but her optimism couldn’t be dampened.

Her enthusiasm for life made Hook smile. He would do anything to please her, anything to settle those loving eyes on him and only him. “Wonderful.” He didn’t want to be the cause of her smile dimming. “I can’t wait to build something bigger than yo-yos and bracelets, something that will stand for generations.”

His mother took his hand. “We will be working construction, the entire family. Except for you Hook. Orcus doesn’t allow anyone under seventeen to work construction.”

Hook couldn’t mirror his mother’s happiness, his smile waning. He hadn’t anticipated being separated from his family most of the hours of the day and had expected to build the cities on Orcus, to do something that mattered. “What?” He knew his parents would stick him with making more trinkets in hopes the people on Orcus believed they could purchase better luck. Fate didn’t work that way. Only the deeper rituals could truly bend fate and omens.

“You’ll be working on the docks.” She gave his fingers a squeeze. “It’s the perfect opportunity for you to peddle our wares. People traveling or arriving to build a new life need good fortune. Everything will help us afford a better lifestyle here on Orcus. We still have to buy air rations, but the government says with the completion of the air turbines, we won’t have to purchase them much longer. Things are looking up for us.”

“Sure, Mom.” He said it with all the belief he could muster and left their assigned lodgings on the ship. The narrow corridor held onto the same grime as their quarters, and decades of film coated the transparent hull in the galley. The window was crowded with settlers eager for these first looks at Orcus. It took twenty minutes for Hook to wheedle his way to the front and his hopes sank further.

There was no inviting green or blue to Orcus and Vanth. The dome arced over once tiny section of the planetoid. Under the dome, were twelve towers, a paved park, and the docks. The sunlight from Z’ha’Dum, the nearest mini sun, glinted off the ices coating both worlds. Rumors said that Europa had once been a world of ice, once in times from lore, once before humankind learned to dream. Hook wondered what the people his age on Orcus were like, wondered what dreams they had, and what they did for fun.

He shuffled back to his quarters and climbed into his bunk. Solitude and quiet were what he needed to come to terms with the new life he would begin in a few hours. He told his family he wanted to be well rested for his first step onto Orcus, and they soon followed his example, the lights in their quarters dimming.

An alarm throughout the ship woke them. Lights winked blue and an annoying chirp bludgeoned the silence. The shipwide comm system clicked on and the captain welcomed them to Orcus. “Debarking will occur in thirty minute increments. Please await your color to be called before heading to the hatch. Thank you for flying Orcus Spacelines,” the captain cooed in a cheerful lilt. Hook had only seen her once when they boarded.

Their color was yellow and they were the third group to depart. Orcus was less impressive on the ground than it had been from the air. Enclosed avenues connected the docks and the towers and they were only wide enough to allow two people going one way and two people going the other way. On the docks, the Harbor Master directed them to a city official who guided them to their residential tower. The new settlers were moved into the older towers while the established residents moved to newly built towers.

The residents wore tunics and shorts in defiance of the ice outside the covered avenues, the fabrics in styles not seen in the Inner Sol for a century. Yet their clothes were neat and new and made him glance down at his shabby worn pants and button-down shirt. He and his family stood out like fresh air on any colony.

A weak shade of blue stretched overhead to the horizon, a shade so devoid of color, Hook felt the sting of tears. The apartment, on the third floor of an eight-story rectangular tower, was larger than the quarters on the ship, thank the fates. There was a living area, a galley, a washroom, and four other rooms. One became a bedroom for him and three brothers, another a room for his sister, the third for his parents, and the fourth was reserved as a workroom.

The items they had made en route from Europa and the materials to make them were placed in bins. The bins were organized on shelves. Two metal slabs became the work tables with the burner, pots, and tools waiting in ready. One wall held the small looms for braiding the bracelets and pins made from red thread.

His father slapped Hook on the back. “While on the docks, listen for a good supplier of red thread.”

“Sure, Dad.”

Within the hour, they were unpacked and his father, mother, sister, and three brothers left for their first construction shift, and Hook returned to the docks for his first shift. He was assigned to the trade docks and directed to the dock manager, Ipsa Echols. Despite the hardness and worn quality to her features, she was a stunning woman with straight, dark hair and amber eyes.

“Welcome to Orcus, Hook Raeder,” she said and handed him a broom. “Like everyone else, you’ll start with sweeping. Do a decent job at it and you’ll soon move up to cargo.” She smiled warmly and touched the back of his wrist. “Was it terrible on Europa?”

He realized the life gleaming in her eyes was pride and didn’t have the heart to tell her how inferior Orcus was to the Inner Sol. Debating on how to answer, his gaze caught on a beautiful young woman, the spitting image of the dock manager in front of him. Her amber gaze met his briefly and his stomach fluttered. As great as Europa had been, no one there had ever made his stomach flutter. “I look forward to settling in here.” He took the broom and swept like the solar winds until he caught up with the young woman ferrying cargo across the docks.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching inside his shirt.

“Eww, no.” The girl wrinkled her nose and backed away.

Smile fading, Hook stared into her eyes, seeking to know everything about her all at once and realized he came off as creepy. Lowering his gaze, he chuckled. He would do whatever it took to remain in this girl’s orbit. “Nothing like what you’re thinking. Promise.” He pulled out a small canvas bag, and from the bag took out a bracelet woven from red threads. “It’s for good fortune. For you.”

“I don’t know about luck and fate and stuff,” the girl said.

“Let me teach you. I-I’m Hook Raeder, and I know everything there is to know about fate.”

“Really?” She laughed. “Nikili Echols.” She turned the bracelet over a few times then held out her wrist. “You don’t look old enough to know everything. Tie it on for me, Hook Raeder.”

His heart caught when she turned her smile on him. “Fate brought me to Orcus so I could find you.”

“That’s really hokey, but for some reason I kind of like it coming from you.” Nikili winked, laughter settling into the corners of her eyes and around her little, button nose. “Life on the docks is hardly glamorous.”

Every move she made had Hook wanting nothing other than to be around her. He doubted he could ever get enough of her. “We’ll make it glamorous.” He meant it, and hoped she saw the sincerity in his face.

“Maybe you’re not so bad for an Innling,” she said and pushed her trolley of cargo away. After a few steps, she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. “Maybe fortune will have me running into you at the end of shift.”

Rubbing the red threads sewn into the cuff of his shirt, Hook watched her go and, despite his earlier misgivings about Orcus, knew he had found the only place in the Sol he belonged.

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Lucy Before she was Lucy: It’s Not the Pirate’s Life for Me

Bonus Story / M Pax / May 19, 2025

A story from the Squad 51 Universe.

Belucen Chote stood at the helm of the Bloodless Chote’s pirate ship, her fingers gliding over the holo controls as she studied the glowing display on the gel glass panel. Her eyes flicked over the data streaming in—ship scans, vulnerability assessments, and escape routes—her mind calculating, predicting, anticipating. Her parents had pushed her and taught her, and demanded she prove her blood. Today. With this raid, Belucen would officially become a Chote or not.

“Look at that ship,” Mauker, her father, growled behind her, a mixture of impatience and cold amusement. Belucen was not to call them mother and father, but by their names, Mauker and Zawaid. “Vulnerable. You can’t miss it.”

Belucen’s gaze shifted to the small freighter drifting aimlessly in the dark expanse of the Outer Sol. It was an easy target, yes. But something didn’t sit right. “I don’t trust it,” she said, her voice steady but edged with doubt, sounding the fifteen years she was. “It’s too easy.”

Her father scoffed, a low rumble in his chest. He pulled out a knife tucked into his sleeve. “You’re paranoid, which is one of your many problems. You overthink everything. Buck up and show some guts. Prove to me my blood runs in your veins.” He ran the blade over her chin, waiting for the moment her eyes followed the blade’s every flicker. His wrist twitched, and he nicked her, laughing at the blood dripping off her chin onto her armor.

She had made a mistake by giving into fear, by letting her distrust of Mauker seep into her emotions and make her react. She could not rest or relax when around her parents. They could attack at any time. The constant intimidation wasn’t just for show. They said this was the way to toughen her up for the life she was born to.

Her mother, Zawaid, adjusted the straps on Belucen’s black armor, her movements deliberate and calm. Every pirate wore the same dark armor and a black scarf on their heads. In a smooth move, Zawaid knocked Belucen out of the way. “Take the skiff to hunt down your prey. A cruiser? Really, kid? Most of them are showy on the outside with nothing worthwhile on the inside. We’re raiding the freighter.” Zawaid gestured to the more obvious target on the gel glass panel. “If the skiff and you don’t come back with riches, you’re our next target. Understand, kid?”

Belucen’s pulse quickened. Her parents would cut her to shreds or worse, if she failed. If the situation presented itself, she might let herself fail, might chance their wrath. Her main reason for choosing the cruiser over the freighter was because she might find a chance for herself on that ship, a chance not to be a Chote, a reason to see if the love she had witnessed in movies and on news reports when allowed to access the comm link was true.

“Aye, Zawaid.” She glanced at her father. “Mauker.”

“I’ll let you take Mastiff with you,” Mauker said. Mastiff was offered as a small token of parental concern.

As large and burly as her father, Mastiff was the equivalent of a military squad in one man. A ragged scar ran across his face in a diagonal line. Applying a red makeup pencil to it several times a day, he made sure the scar stood out from the blocky, asymmetrical face, and bulbous nose. His eyes always threatened, and his expression held danger. Mastiff was definitely someone Belucen didn’t want to be alone with. She doubted he would listen to any orders she gave, but she knew her father’s suggestion wasn’t a suggestion. Lessons from as far back as she could remember had stressed the word ‘no’ was not allowed when answering her parents.

With quick strides, she left flight control and traveled down two levels to board the skiff attached to the raider. Mastiff’s steps banged like boulders behind her, not letting her forget for a moment how huge, how powerful, how deadly he was. The skiff split off from the raider without a hitch, and Belucen steered it toward the cruiser.

Mastiff stood beside her, twirling his knives on his fingertips. She knew he could send one through her throat faster than she could blink, so kept her loathing to herself. “You’re so stupid,” he said. “You should listen to Mauker. He’s the king of pirates out here for a reason.”

Struggling not to gulp or stutter, Belucan watched the floor until her somersaulting emotions fell back under her control. “This is my initiation into the Chotes, Mastiff. I don’t earn my place by doing what’s easy.”

“Alright, kid. You’re about to earn my respect.” Putting his knives away, he stood like a giant of death, watching her every move.

As the skiff settled into position, he moved to the hatch, ready for action. Belucen felt the weight of her parents’ expectations on her shoulders and her own hopes. For better or worse, her future would unfold on that cruiser. The skiff released its grappling lines—technology designed to snag and hold ships in place, a violent embrace that would allow them to board. The magnetic clamps clicked into place, the shrill sound of metal-on-metal filling the air. The hold was locked.

Belucen donned her helmet, preparing to become a Chote, a dark version of human, or maybe she would see another path. At the exit next to Mastiff, the air thickened, bordering on choking Belucen. The comm system in her helmet broke the tension, flickering relentlessly. Zawaid’s voice cut through Belucen’s spinning thoughts. “Get on with it and quit dawdling. You’re supposed to lead this raid, not stand around like a coward.”

The words sliced as they were meant to, but Belucen didn’t flinch. She was more ruffled by Mastiff beside her than her parents on the raider. If push came to shove, the skiff could outrace the raider. Her parents kept the comm open, their laughter roaring, mocking her decision. Mastiff looked to her waiting, his expression growing impatient.

She opened the hatch and cut through the side of the cruiser with a plasma saw, sparks flying, the fiery glints displaying more confidence than she felt. She signaled Mastiff to follow and entered the cruiser. The smell shifted. Instead of blood and stale, the cruiser’s air was laced with citrus and ozone. Her boots sank silently into the lush carpet covering the cruiser’s floor. Whoever owned this ship was loaded. She had chosen wisely.

Not waiting for further orders, Mastiff shouldered through a door on their right, breaking into a store room. He banged and boomed and thudded through the room. Not caring what he found, Belucen hurried ahead, searching for the crew. She wanted to warn them, tell them to hide. Mastiff would believe her if she said the ship was manned only by AI, taking the cruiser into dock at Vanth. She would figure out what to do about Mastiff later. She didn’t have to search long. An elegant woman sat in flight control with an ease, almost boredom. Dressed in rich tunics draping lavishly over her slim pants, the woman had her booted feet resting on a console.

“Took you long enough. I’m Min Ashida. You are?”

“Belucen Chote of the Bloodless Chotes, and I’m here to raid you.”

Min’s head fell back, her drape of black hair spilling in waves down past her shoulders. “Just you?”

“You have to hide. The man with me will kill you if he finds you.” She toyed with the gun strapped to her hip that shot razors

Min’s gaze darted to the still holstered weapon. “Why are you here and not over there?” She pointed out the window at the hapless freighter her parents approached. “And you’re alone.”

“I-I’m not. Mastiff is with me. He’s a killer.” Belucen glanced around the swanky flight control. There were no scrapes or scratches or dents. No blood stains. The controls gleamed like jewels, and the single chair looked comfortable enough to live on. Photos covered the walls. Photos of smiling happy people.

“My family,” Min said.

Belucen stepped closer to the images, peering into the grinning faces. She counted seventy-two before Min interrupted her.

Min held out a glimmering ring with a gem as large as Belucen’s fist. Belucen ignored the offering, tapping on the photos. “Not many of them look like you.”

“Where are you from? The Inner Sol?”

“I grew up on the raider.” She shrugged toward the raider outside in the distance.

“I see.” Min’s expression softened. “The definition of family in the Outer Sol is a broader one than in other places. People we love, whether related or not, are our family.” Taking in Belucen from boot to helmet, Min’s eyelids snapped. “You look young? How old are you?”

Belucen shrugged. “As best I can count from as far back as I remember, about fifteen.”

“Fifteen is young. You’re not yet set in your life’s direction.”

“I hope not. I hope on this cruiser, I might find a choice.”

In the far distance, where the raider and freighter met, weapons went off. The explosions raced out in spheres, reaching into the darkness, wrenching the voids with violence. Belucen watched for a moment, then returned her attention to Min.

“You appear to have found a nice direction. What do you do?”

“What do I do?” Min chuckled, amused by the question. “I work with the authorities.” She nodded at the battle outside. “I’m with the regiment on the freighter and the patrol ships moving in.” Her head cocked, and she raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Did you think this is my ship? It was confiscated from a lower space baron. Do you know of them? They’re a better bred sort of pirate.”

“I only know the Bloodless Chotes and other gangs.” Her gaze settled on the photos again. “You made yourself at home quickly.”

“You noticed that, did you? I take my family everywhere, Belucen Chote of the Bloodless Chotes, who are about to be put into custody.” She flicked her holoscreen to public so Belucen could see her parents’ raider surrounded by patrol ships. “They’ll be put into prison for life. They deserve worse for all the lives they took.” Her lips pressed together, and bitterness flashed over her expression.

Thumps and bangs sounded in the corridor. Mastiff howled, moving this way.

“I don’t want you to die, Min. Hide before he gets here.”

“Why don’t you want me to die, young pirate?”

“This is my first raid. The one who will make me a Chote or not a Chote. I don’t want to be like them.” She gestured at the raider. “I want that.” She pointed at the pictures of Min’s family. Tears stung her eyes, and truth filled her heart. She wanted what Min had. Not the fancy cruiser, but over seventy people who loved her. Across the void, the raider exploded, taking out the freighter and several patrol ships. Belucen’s heart caught, and her breath hitched. “I’m sorry, Min. I’m sorry they killed more of your family. My parents would have set off their self destruct rather than go to prison.”

The heavy thudding, frantic banging, and howling that had rattled the hallway a moment ago cut off, replaced by a dull thwamp, the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Mastiff swore. A whine and crunch followed, sharp and metallic, then a strange, hollow stillness. Belucen tensed, instinct overriding thought. Something had changed. She shifted closer to Min, unholstering her weapon, pointing it at the doorway, waiting for Mastiff to appear.

“How cute. You’re going to protect me? Don’t worry about him,” Min said. “My android just snagged him, and the patrol ships weren’t harmed.” Min showed the area scan with every patrol ship accounted for. “The patrol ships have the best defenses. I’m sorry about your family, though.”

“We-we weren’t much of a family.” Belucen’s shoulders sagged. She handed her weapon to Min and removed her armor. “I’ll turn myself into you.”

Min Ashida’s gaze softened. “Maybe I can give you what you want,” she said, standing up slowly. “This doesn’t have to be who you are. I can offer you a new start, a chance to leave the pirate life behind.”

“I want a chance to fill my walls with family photos. You can give me that chance?”

“I can, Lucy.” Min’s smile was small but reassuring. “For a new life, you need a new name.”

“Lucy is nice. It sounds more inviting than Belucen.” She glanced at the approaching patrol ships. “Will they accept my new name?”

“They’ll accept what I tell them, Lucy. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life.”

Lucy swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She had found her hope, found her chance, and her chance was better than she expected. “Lucy,” she whispered, testing the name. It sounded like freedom.

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