Heath realized his error immediately upon landing. This wasn’t just a town. If anything, it was more akin to military base. And every single person was Classed. High level too, if the feelings Heath was getting were anything to go by. None of the explorers were less than mid rank two.

  They opened the hatch to find four people patiently waiting, two hover dolleys behind them.

  “I’m looking for Jeremiah,” Heath stated.

  “That’s me.” The explorer that replied was the strongest of those facing him, wearing a crisp uniform in a boring beige that Heath was sure no dirt would be bold enough to try and stain. A hard gaze surveyed the cargo hold without judgment.

  “Had a bit of a time getting here, huh?”

  “You could say that. Cargo is intact except for one crate, which you’ll see reflected in the invoice.”

  The Classer nodded and reviewed the data packet on his own pad, before chuckling. “Kid, if you only lost one crate along the way, with a ship that looks like that, I’m of half a mind to recruit you myself. Full pay, with a bonus for speed.”

  Heath’s [Personal Bank] acknowledged the transfer and one of his layers of stress melted away. The broken cargo was the least important result of their fight with the kaiju, but it had been one that irked him since they had discovered the damage. He was a professional, godsdamnit, he didn’t lose cargo. It was almost enough to distract him from being once more reduced to ‘kid’.

  “Thank you, sir. I don’t suppose you mind having a few guests while we patch her up?”

  Jeremiah was already waving the other three on board to begin unloading. It would take Heath and his crew, working together, most of the morning to unload. Watching the Classers move, he expected them to be done in half that time.

  “Stay as long as you want, kid, you’ll be the toast of the base with this delivery. Share any news from the rest of the universe and you’ll be their favorite people before long.”

  It turned out his estimate was high, and only a bit under two hours later, his cargo bay was empty again. The space felt absolutely luxurious as Heath looked over his crew. Bruised and battered, they had done it.

  It was Ekaterina who broke the silence first, clearing her throat to get their attention. Their Wizard had been quiet this last week, digesting the update to her worldview, Heath had assumed, but her look of discomfort hinted that maybe this was something else.

  “I wish to issue an apology.” She studiously avoided eye contact with everyone as she continued. “I have experienced more personal growth on this trip than I could have expected on any normal Journey. I was wrong about this crew and your potential.

  “My family…well it doesn’t matter. But the opportunity to see the Edge at our levels is once in a lifetime, so thank you for that.

  “Finally, I wish to apologize to you, Wandering Loon.”

  “Thank you, Crewmember Ekaterina. While your previous theft was abhorrent, your actions since then have more than atoned.”

  “Not for that,” Ekaterina’s hand slashed through the air. It seemed she would force this out no matter what. “Or not only for that. For my cowardly, unworthy actions after our battle. Everyone else used repair Skills to ensure we arrived safely. Jenny Mae took such a Skill in a general slot, even though it would hamper her ideal Class progression.

  “To my great shame, I have not done the same.”

  His first instinct was to shout and rage, but he pulled it back, with a small assist from his [Leadership] skill. The decision was made, and blowing up at Ekaterina would help nothing. Even if every part of him demanded that they should all do whatever they could to help the Loon. Plenty of organizations would demand certain Skill choices from their members, but that wasn’t the type of Captain Heath wanted to be. His connection to the Loon pulsed and he knew she agreed.

  “Thank you for that Ekaterina. But any responsibility for the situation lies with me. I took you on as a crewmember knowing you didn’t have the [Ship Maintenance] Skill. Or access to the sailing Skill tree. You weren’t under obligation to do so.”

  “That is true in a legal sense, but not in a moral one,” Ekaterina countered, determined to take responsibility. “A warrior that lets their companions suffer for their own advancement is not worthy of the name. And the Loon is as valiant a warrior as any of us.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  There was nothing Heath could say to that.

  With a crew like his, he didn’t have to speak at all. “Well if we’re done with the emotional parts, can we get to exploring?” Copperfield interrupted. “We’re on the Edge. A few weeks to rest and recover is the perfect time to have some fun, get into some trouble.”

  Ekaterina sniffed. “The opportunity to learn from higher level classers should not be ignored as well. I hope you will all maintain enough discipline to continue training while we are here.”

  There it was. Heath was worried for a moment that the Wizard had been replaced by someone considerate of other people’s feelings.

  “Shore leave for three days,” Heath announced.

  Jenny Mae and Copperfield cheered, while Emerald started ambling out of the hold.

  “Afterwards we go back to a normal training schedule while we work on repairs,” Heath called to the retreating backs of his crew.

  “Heavy day,” he said.

  “Indeed Heath. But a good one.”

  **********

  Heath’s first foray into the base had a goal, and nothing would pull him away from that. Not workshops for every crafting Class under the sun. Including a Tailor that sent a stab of unfamiliar homesickness straight through his heart. Not an actual job hall, despite every job being set up both for and by the explorer’s guild. Not an area where someone was trying to tame one of the local animals with some combination of Skills and treats.

  He forced himself to ignore it all until he reached the cafeteria. Synthetic protein and vegetable matter could keep someone alive, and Copperfield and Jenny Mae had turned out to be decent cooks on their nights, making the bulk ingredients palatable, or on rare occasions, pleasant. But that was grading on the curve, comparing their rations to the nutrient sludge Heath had stocked before that.

  The aroma wafting out of the open doors was something else entirely. Fresh bread. The scent spread out from the building like a lure, drawing him in with its promise. Probably not one of the normal wheat varietals but Heath didn’t care. His nose led him to the back of a fast-moving line. Reaching the front, he was handed a tray with a bowl of curry and a pile of flatbreads, along with a smaller container with a yogurt sauce.

  He nearly fumbled the tray when he tried to pay, but the Chef waved him off. Citing guild policy in some vague way Heath was too hungry to question. Chunks of meat – from an animal, not a protein vat– swam in the rich sauce, along with vegetables he couldn’t name. Sitting down with a deep breath he took a moment to savor the spiced steam wafting into his face.

  The next few minutes were a blur as he first tasted the food, then set to consuming it with single-minded intensity. He noticed Copperfield joined him at some point, but neither of them bothered with discussion while they ate. Only when he had sopped up the last drips of sauce did he lean back and look at his crewmember, finding him in a mirrored pose, longing written all over his face as he looked down at his empty bowl.

  “Can we hire a Chef?”

  “Gods that would be great. My Uncle usually had one on board when he was the Captain. But we can’t afford it.”

  “Maybe we can find one that is looking for an adventure, and is already so rich they don’t care about the money?” The wistful look in Coppefield’s eyes had Heath seriously considering it. Maybe one day, but not yet, he reminded himself.

  “Where would they sleep? Are you going to share?”

  “For meals like this, I might!”

  After dropping their dishes, they split up once again. Heath was at loose ends. It was one of the reasons he didn’t like long hauls. Besides the boredom, and the stress, and living right on top of everyone else, trying to fit back into normal rhythms afterwards could be a challenge in itself. He found himself wandering, stopping to watch the guild crafters as they experimented with the local materials, from this world, the local dungeons, and anything else they could find nearby.

  He stopped for half an hour outside a Smith’s workshop, where the man was using an old-school wood-fueled forge to do something to an antler. Heath knew almost nothing about most crafting, but he could feel the Skill as the material bent and flowed like metal until a sword took shape under hammer strikes that had no business working in such a way.

  But almost without permission, Heath’s feet led him to the Tailor’s shop. With the pleasant weather, almost every door he walked by was propped open, so he only lingered for a moment before a voice called out.

  “You coming in, kid?”

  “I’m not a kid!” He exclaimed, walking in anyway.

  “Trust me, out here with us old timers, you are. Now let me get a look at you.”

  He sighed but didn’t move as the tailor came over and observed, pulling at his clothes and checking the seams. Heath was used to it, and took the time to watch the woman in turn. Shorter than him by a full head, with strawberry blond hair pulled back in a tight-bun, and calluses that spoke to many years dedicated to her class. She looked nothing like his mother, but the way she prodded and poked him to turn around so she could examine his clothes was achingly familiar.

  The guilt hit him in a wave. A few messages back and forth really weren’t enough. He should have gone home after Uncle Walt died, at least taken some time to grieve together. His mom had lost her brother, far away and gone with a spacer funeral before she even knew what happened. Then, instead of facing her like the adult he kept claiming to be, he had run in the opposite direction. It wasn’t his fault. And his mother would never blame him for the loss, but it was the act of a child. He would visit soon. Maybe pick up some jobs in that direction when they got back to the Rim proper.

  “These were made with love,” the seamstress broke him out of the reverie.

  “Oh, thank you. Yes, my mom is a Tailor. She added a bit extra to most of my clothes.”

  “It’s good work. But it isn’t made for fighting. Or whatever else you’ve been up to.”

  Heath looked down at himself with a new helping of guilt poured on top. His clothes had seen better days. Dungeon delving was dirty business, not to mention all the repair work and just general life that had worn down his mother’s hard work.

  “Tell you what. I’m bored and you need something different if you’re going to keep fighting. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have something for you.”

  He snapped his head back up to look at the woman. “I can’t accept that.”

  She simply waved off his objection. “Don’t worry about it kid.”

  Food was one thing, the work of a high-level crafter was something else. “Why would you do that? I doubt I can afford you.”

  “We take care of each other out here, kid. No other way to make it through a job like this. And we all saw you come in. You bled to get us the materials we needed, people around here can appreciate something like that.”

  “Thank you,” he said, when he couldn’t scrounge up another argument.

  “You’re welcome. Now get out.”

  That night, Heath was finally able to remove the sealant keeping them all from their beds. The second spray smelled just as bad as the first, but the prospect of his own bed, not a chair or a kindly offered bunk in the guild barracks, was too much to resist. After the minimal possible amount of cleaning, he planted face first onto the cushion and was out like a light for the next eight hours.