“What the hells? Who’s there?” Heath whipped around in a circle, but he was just as alone as he was before.

  “It’s me Heath.”

  “Is this some kind of fucking prank? One of the crew left a mic somewhere?” He tore through the bridge. Racing from station to station, looking for the offending piece of hardware. He was on his hands and knees, inspecting the underside of a chair when he got a response.

  “There’s no prank and no hidden mic, Heath. I’m the Wandering Loon.”

  “That’s not fucking funny.” By some cruel twist of fate he felt himself start to tear up. That wasn’t fair. He was angry, dammit, not sad. But why would anyone mess with him like this? He was already losing everything, rubbing it in was just mean.

  “Look!”

  The synthesized voice was getting agitated now. Another tell-tale sign that this was the horrible idea of an asshole, and not the Loon. But he still turned around, like an idiot. The door slid open, catching in the same spot it had for the last two weeks. A smooth glide on the hatch opening was the least of his worries, but the sight still reminded him that Walt and his standards were gone.

  “What am I looking at, asshole?”

  “The door.”

  “Yeah, it opened.”

  “I opened it. Because I am the ship.”

  “Rigging a door to open doesn’t prove anything!” Heath was pulling at his hair to the point of pain. This wasn’t happening.

  “So you require proof that only the Loon would be capable of.”

  Heath didn’t respond to that. His head was now tucked between his knees and his breaths coming in short pants.

  “I will prove it to you.”

  The voice went silent then. Long enough for Heath to calm down. Maybe he wouldn’t be so upset about losing contact with all of the former crew. Raquel was not responsible, he was sure of that. The woman didn’t have that level of cruelty in her. Neither did Masterson. There were a few of their delve crew that had some pretty fucked up senses of humor, Heath was betting it was one of them. When Heath first joined on, their tank had been a fan of jump-scaring the confused teenager. Probably thought she was so clever by freaking him out before the ship got scrapped.

  “I have determined the proof needed.”

  “Just shut up! You aren’t even doing a good job faking it. AIs don’t talk like that.”

  The voice didn’t acknowledge his outburst. Because it was preprogrammed and didn’t have a response, or because they were doing it live and ignoring him for effect he wasn’t sure.

  “Exactly 14.4 standard months ago, you got yourself stuck behind Crewmember Carter’s bed. While there you saw physical media of a personal nature. Because you were concerned Crewmember Carter would return and get, in your own words, ‘the wrong impression. Way wrong. No, I want eye bleach,’ you managed to fall over and got a hairline fracture in your left wrist. You then told Chef Olga you received the injury when you had a nightmare and fell out of bed when you sought healing. To maintain the ruse –”

  “Okay, I get it! Just let me think!”

  Heath went back to pacing. No one knew about that series of embarrassing moments. Or did they? Was Carter taking some last-minute chance for revenge? That wasn’t the kind of guy Carter was. Right?

  “What would it take to convince you, Heath?”

  That was the question. When faced with the impossible, what evidence was enough?

  “Let me see the ship's core.” It was another taboo he was blowing right past. No one saw the core, or touched the argo crystals installed there, except the Captain. Even asking was a good way to get booted off a reputable ship. And marooned by the disreputable ones. But fuck it all. He was past caring.

  “Very well.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “If you wish to see the crystal matrix then you may. The access point is in the Captain’s quarters.”

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  “I know that! What’s your plan here? Is there someone hiding ready to jump out? Well fuck you and fuck them!”

  He stormed off the bridge and into his uncle’s suite. Cushions went flying, furniture toppled over as he ripped the place apart. There wasn’t anyone there. After Raquel, no one else was coming back. Unbidden, his feet brought him to an unobtrusive panel in his uncle’s closet. Nestled between the bridge and the Captain's quarters, it was one of the most secure places on the ship. The blank wall was a challenge and a lament all in one.

  “I’m here. No core. Because why would anything be easy right now.”

  Just to spite him, or because the gods had a sense of humor, at the moment he finished speaking, the metal composite melted away. It didn’t swing out like a door, or slide into the wall like a ship hatch. It melted. Spacers were a Class of practicalities. Overt magic was not in his wheelhouse. So the flinch was perfectly understandable.

  When he recovered, he took in the sight. His uncle had shared everything about the Loon with him, in the hopes Heath would become a Captain in his own right, or continue to other Spacer specialties. Everything, except this.

  He could be forgiven, then, for finding it underwhelming.

  It was impossible to tell if the core itself was made of magic or tech. Intellectually he knew it was the manifestation of an advanced Shipwright’s class, the ambient magic, and the physical structure of the ship. But the lines between those ideas were blurred far more than he realized.

  It would have been wonderful if it didn’t look so pathetic. The glow flickered like a guttering candle, some parts entirely dull and lifeless. Surrounding in a floating framework, and directly stuck to the core were the argo crystals. More than he realized or expected. Each represented an improvement to the Loon. More storage space, better shielding, a real mess hall and kitchen where a Chef or Cook might hold sway, a training room, weapons.

  Walt’s life’s work was staring at him. And it was falling apart.

  The storm had done most of the damage. Heath could see the same scorch marks that marred the bridge and the rest of the ship tracing over the core. But it wasn’t the only problem. Only a few weeks without a captain, and the ship was starting to show it. A normal ship, in good repair, could be unmanned almost indefinitely. Not that they would be. There was always someone eager or foolish enough to take on the mantle of Captain.

  But as damaged as the Loon was, Heath thought he could see the deterioration happening in front of his eyes. Bits of the core and the crystals flaked off into pure magic, fading from view and reality at the same time.

  “Are you ready to talk now?” The disembodied voice felt closer in the tight space. More dangerous.

  “Yes,” Heath choked out.

  The panel in front of him reappeared, until it was back to no longer existing, the break in the wall sealed closed. He took the hint and staggered back into his uncle’s room, sitting on the bed and staring at nothing. When he opened his mouth, too many questions tried to come out at once and he ended up with an unintelligible stream.

  “Why - since when - didn’t you say anything - how long - can you repair the core - why - you sound wrong -”

  “Would you like to try again?”

  “That, right there! You said that with an attitude. How is that possible? AIs don’t snark. How long have you been awake, and why didn’t you say anything before?”

  “That is a difficult series of questions to answer, but I will do my best,” The Loon replied. “I ‘woke up’ as you say, intermittently since the interaction with the storm. The energies were too great to withstand, and much of my functionality was lost or damaged.”

  It continued, “However, it appears that something was gained as well. I am unable to determine the exact cause, but the restrictions on my programming have been lifted. I can, for lack of a better term, feel now, and express that feeling.”

  “What restrictions? Does that mean you could feel before and just not say anything?”

  “I do not believe so. But I am unsure.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything? We’ve all been trying to talk to you for weeks.”

  There was a long pause before the Loon said anything back. For a moment Heath thought he might have imagined the whole thing. Finally breaking after the stresses of the last month.

  “I was sad.”

  “Oh.”

  “And afraid. Walt was gone and I did not know what would happen to me.”

  “Same,” Heath said. They were all trying to figure out what to do without Walt.

  They sat in silence for another long stretch. Heath toyed with the strap on his pack, flicking it back and forth. The ship didn’t have eyes to avoid, but staring at his pack was safe enough.

  “Thank you for saying something now. I’m glad I got to say goodbye.”

  “Heath, no. Please. I don’t want to die.”

  He recoiled from the forlorn statement. Maybe there was a reason AIs didn’t have feelings, or much of a personality.

  “Don’t think of it as dying. They’ll use your parts for other ships. You’ll go on a thousand more adventures.” Even as he said it, Heath realized it made no sense.

  “My core will dissipate. My crystals ripped away to empower something else. How is that not death?”

  This was more than he was prepared to handle. Gods, he wished his uncle was here to deal with this.

  “I am sorry to burden you Heath, but I must ask. Could you not fix the ship, fix me?”

  “I tried! I did. I asked around to every Shipwright. The only offer I got would take all my savings, and still take most of the argo crystals off the core anyway. The crew is gone so I can’t ask them for help. I’m sorry Loon.”

  He rubbed at his eyes. This was more than he had bargained for in a quiet goodbye to his home. Now he would feel even guiltier after trying his best.

  “Do it.”

  “What?” he stuttered.

  “Heath, let the Shipwright take the argo crystals. We will start over. You can become a Captain and we will earn them all back.”

  “But, taking the crystals….”

  “I shall be diminished, it is true. But surely that is better than dying. Our situation is complex, but I believe this makes sense. And it will be better for you. No more waiting several decades until you can evolve your class into Captain.”

  Heath stood up to pace. It was too much information to process sitting still. Removing the argo crystals from a ship, it wasn’t done. Not by the desperate and not by the deviant. His uncle would be horrified.

  Or would he?

  Walt had known that sometimes you did what you have to in order to survive. He had been part of a delving crew for years. He let his mind skirt around the idea of being a Captain. He wanted that. Desperately. It had been his dream since he was six years old and his uncle started telling him stories.

  Now it was being offered to him, in a way he almost couldn’t accept.

  “What will we do? Without the argo crystals, we’re basically a new ship. And there’s a reason only established traders or rich folks in the Core commission new ships. The trashiest junker around will still have better cargo options, better guns. We’ll barely have room for a crew at all.”

  “We will find a way. Maybe starting with the less desirable jobs. I’ll be able to navigate some of the more complex routes with my new abilities. I’m sure of it.” The Loon sounded desperate but Heath could hardly blame the ship. Waking up just to find out you were sentenced to death for something that wasn’t your fault…he would be terrified too. He was terrified, and no one was going to try and rip him apart for scrap.

  He made a decision. Probably the wrong one, but Uncle Walt always said a man has to make his own mistakes.

  “Fine. Yes. We’ll do it. I’ll go talk to the Shipwright. Can you figure out which argo crystals to remove and which to keep? And while you're at it, maybe start skimming the job boards for something we might be able to do. I’ll have to accept in person but I want to get out of here before anyone realizes what we’ve done.”

  “Thank you Heath. You won’t regret it.”