“Pilot! You should have BEEN there, man. It was amazing. You're a lifesaver!” Banderos cried, immediately dropping his guitar case to inspect the cart Jax was dragging.

  “I got everything,” Jax announced, catching his breath. “We need to talk about the capacitor, but… where’s Sonica?”

  Onda sighed as she keyed the jumper's console to open up its cargo bay. “She’s squaring the books,” she answered as if that was sufficient. She gave Jax an apologetic look before explaining more. “She decided to meet with Liam right after the show for their ‘date.’"

  Another frustrated noise escaped the normally happy-go-lucky woman, "She’s smart, she’s strong, but that idiot is going to try to push her limits one last time.”

  “She knows what she’s doing,” Tré soothed, packing away the equipment cases.

  Jax looked back toward the maze of transit tunnels, feeling useless, restless, and angry at the lingering issue of Liam. Seeing Vera and Rix reminded Jax of how selfish he'd been for the past year. That part of himself that craved connection was asleep before, but it was wide awake now. It suddenly irked him that a member of the party was off alone in a vulnerable spot. Much as he knew he wasn’t, he felt responsible.

  “We’re on the clock,” Onda called out, “we need to get this gear stowed and ready to go.”

  Jax was getting angry with himself. How many times must someone shake him from his thoughts? What if we were daydreaming and piloted them into an asteroid? Something of his feelings must have shown on his face.

  As the others gathered around the crates, cases, and bags, they collectively nodded. McKenzie put some fire into her voice and reminded everyone, “She’ll be back. We load up. We go,” Spell broken, they all got to work.

  Jax hefted a case, and the worry remained, sitting like an unexpected extra weight in the empty bay where Sonica should have been. The band was mostly assembled, the parts were in hand, and the next phase was imminent, but they were leaving a critical member exposed.

  He sat heavily in the pilot's seat - the jumper didn't offer many alternatives - and let his mind crash against regrets and all the other things he was currently powerless to change. His myopic focus had been getting to this point. And now it was here. Mostly. He tried valiantly to celebrate all of the milestones he passed in the last few days, but celebration was elusive.

  Two hours later, the heavy, scarred loading ramp of the Hasty Delivery slammed shut, the hydraulic hiss sealing them inside the chartered jumper. Sonica stumbled across the deckplates, clutching her guitar case tightly. Her face was pale, tight with fury, and there was a dark, smudged streak near her jaw. Her jacket was twisted, the collar pulled hard to the left in a way that couldn't be comfortable. She didn't look at anyone, heading straight for the cramped bunk area, wiping the dark mark off her face with a violent gesture.

  Onda checked that they had a good seal, glanced at the time remaining on their charter, then back at Sonica. “Go. Now,” she commanded Jax before the pilot could ask any questions.

  Jax engaged the liftoff sequence. The ship roared, shaking as the overloaded mass fought against the surge. But they were gone. They were moving.

  The moment they were clear of Perro’s automated traffic, Banderos erupted, pulling Sonica from her seat into a firm embrace. "Forget Liam, Sonica! Did you feel that crowd? We owned Level 24! They had NO IDEA what they were in for."

  The band, high on playing a great set and the adrenaline of escape, swarmed Sonica, oblivious to her lingering distress.

  “We haven’t played like that since we left the Academy!” Tré exclaimed, his face bright. “The crowd there ate it up.” He shook his head, long braids beating a staccato rhythm at the gesture. “Ah. We made some money playing live to a fresh audience! We’re actually doing this!”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “You should have seen Banderos, Jax,” McKenzie chimed in, leaning over the pilot's seat. “He threw the mic stand up in the air, caught it on the first bounce, and kept singing! And Onda, your new bass riff during the bridge for Stardom? Pure genius.”

  Onda, fingers busy undoing the thick French braid in her pink hair, beamed with pride. "That riff is dedicated to the Dust Devil. It's a launch sequence, boys. You got us the hardware, Jax. We got the fuel."

  As the band recounted the performance, how the crowd moved from awkward to amazed, the unexpected energy, the sheer joy of playing, Sonica slowly began to visibly thaw. She offered sharp, professional critiques and adjustments, slowly building the familiar wall of competence around herself.

  “The venue confirmed the money transfer before I left,” Sonica related, her voice regaining its steady cadence. “They took my contact chip so they can have us by again sometime. And regarding Liam, consider the debt settled, permanently. He won’t be bothering any of us again.”

  Banderos laughed. “Good riddance! Now we just need to get back and bolt the Devil back together.”

  Jax listened to the exchange, nodding in the right places, but his focus kept slipping to Sonica. Her eyes, though steady now, held a hardness that went beyond their usual cool distance. The way she had rubbed the smudge from her cheek, the shiver that started in her shoulders when Banderos first touched her, he hadn’t missed it.

  They’re all so high, they can’t see the static.

  Jax knew what it felt like to put on a brave face to hide catastrophic failure. He understood the desperate need to maintain the air of competence, especially when the failure was personal. He saw the same embarrassment he felt about his own stalled engine reflected in Sonica's forced calm.

  He reached for the co-pilot console and started running diagnostics, focusing on the green lights and numbers. Focus on the ship. Be useful. The band’s genuine enthusiasm was infectious, and for the first time, Jax felt the hard knot of loneliness start to loosen. He wasn’t just a hired pilot; he was a link in the chain, the courier who brought the escape.

  “What was the crowd like?” Jax asked McKenzie, genuinely curious.

  “Chaos, man. Pure, beautiful chaos. Banderos sold them the dream, Onda kept the beat, and Tré laid down the fire. We’re not just okay anymore, Jax. We’re moving up.”

  “Good. We need to get back and get that capacitor wired in then,” Jax reminded, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. He was starting to melt into the tight fold. He felt a part of them.

  The transition back to Okay was uneventful. The familiar, slightly monotonous view of Kinnelon’s tourist ring filled the viewport. It was stifling, but for now, it was also home to the Dust Devil.

  As the jumper docked, Banderos clapped Jax on the shoulder. “Phase two starts now. We’ll get some sleep, then meet up at Dry Dock 7. We can clear out the junk and get the schematics laid out before our next shift. Good work, Pilot.”

  The band dispersed, gathering their gear. Onda lingered, adjusting the shoulder of her flight suit, her pink hair catching the harsh light of the hangar.

  “Here’s the jumper chip. Can I walk with you to return it, Jax?” Onda asked, her voice dropping to a low, conversational tone.

  “Thanks, yeah. I just have to drop off the chip. It’ll only take a minute.” Jax followed her down the ramp, leaving the capacitor and the lingering silence of Sonica's discomfort behind.

  As they walked toward the station’s rental office, Onda studied him sideways. “You’re good, Jax. Very good. You got the parts, you flew the ship, and you got us off our collective asses. So tell me. Why are you so terrified of success?”

  Jax flinched, surprised by her directness. He thought of his parents, of Rix and Vera, of the shame of Devil’s mechanical failure, and of the unwanted attention that Onda’s bright hair and his own ambitions seemed to invite.

  “I’m not terrified of success,” Jax lied, trying to look Onda straight in her challenging eyes. “I’m terrified of having to go back to being still.”

  Onda gave a small, cryptic smile. “Well, we don't do ‘still’ anymore, Jax. That’s why we need you.”

  She made it a few steps before turning back. She looked Jax square in the eye. Her usually bright green eyes held far more sadness than the previous moment would account for. "We see her, Jax. We do. Sonica needs space before she can work through whatever happened after the show. She attracts assholes like that all the time, and we always build her back."

  Jax looked down and nodded. When he looked up again, Onda was already turning the corner, heading back to the residential district.

  They surround her with the energy of the band, and as Onda says, they'll "build her back."

  In the Dust Devil, competence and a shared passion for the music are the ultimate safety nets.

  The Road to 10: Huge shout out to the 2 of you who have already hit the Follow button! Our goal is to hit 10 Followers by Friday. If we cross that milestone, I’m rewarding the crew with a surprise Double-Header drop (Chapters 8 & 9) next Monday.

  Question for the comments: What is your personal "wall of competence"? When you've had a rough day, what task or hobby do you use to build yourself back?

  ~EWF~