“You adjusted my brain chemistry?” Cyrus said aloud.

  The words felt foreign in his mouth—like a phrase he never thought he’d say. Clinical. Detached. But the truth of them hit deep. Hoshi had reached inside the most sacred, personal part of him… and was rewiring it.

  The question came out more stunned than angry. He was annoyed, sure—but mostly, he was astonished… and, strangely, a little relieved.

  Since being awoken, he hadn’t paid much attention to his mental state. Everything had happened so quickly over the past few minutes that he’d chalked his relative calm up to adrenaline and sheer mental overload. It felt like some kind of emergency emotional override—his brain shelving the anxiety just long enough for him to function until he was safe again.

  But looking back, that didn’t really track. The situation he was in should’ve been more triggering… not less.

  Learning that Hoshi had chemically rebalanced his mind explained a lot—but it also left him unsettled, caught somewhere between fear and hope. On one hand, it was terrifying. But what scared him most wasn’t the change itself—it was how natural it already felt. Like a noise he hadn’t noticed had finally stopped.

  ‘Was this how people were supposed to feel all the time? Was this… peace?’

  When the AI mentioned enhancing his cognitive function, he’d assumed it meant greater intelligence or improved problem-solving—maybe multitasking. Not full emotional reconfiguration.

  ‘But if I didn’t have the constant anxiety, what would I even be like?’

  That anxiety had been his shadow for as long as he could remember. Not a friend, exactly, but a companion. Predictable. Familiar. The absence of it felt like walking into a silent room and realizing the hum of the refrigerator had stopped. Wrong, in its own way.

  The idea of his childhood memories returning made him wince. Some things, he knew, were better left buried—not out of weakness, but protection. He wasn’t thrilled about the gaps, but he wasn’t sure he wanted them filled, either.

  Still… this more balanced emotional state? That part he could appreciate.

  He’d never thought of himself as normal, but now he found himself wondering what that even meant. At the same time, he’d always rolled his eyes at characters in stories who had amazing powers but spent all their time whining about how all they wanted was “to be normal.”

  That kind of character had always annoyed him. If he had powers, he’d be thankful every single day.

  And maybe now… he did.

  He’d been teleported off of Earth. He was aboard a most likely sentient spaceship—if the AI was any indication—and soon, he was going to learn how to fly.

  His mood lifted—vaulting from worry to elation.

  ‘So what if the SCANT’s mucking around in my brain? Every good origin story starts with a tragedy—a freak radioactive accident, a cosmic event, or finding out you’re the last of your species.’

  This was just his origin story.

  The idea made him smile.

  Maybe this wasn’t just a story he was living in.

  Maybe, finally, he was the one writing it.

  And the fact that the nanites were smoothing out his social anxiety so he didn’t have to suffer through every awkward conversation? That was just a bonus.

  Thanks to whatever the AI had done through the SCANT, Cyrus had finally found the one thing he’d always wanted—to be one of the special few, a hero.

  Daegnon looked up at Cyrus, whose face had just run through a myriad of expressions but was now lit with something closer to wonder than the worry his words had first suggested—though those words hadn’t translated cleanly into Goblin.

  “What wrong with you’s head alchemy?” Daegnon asked, tilting his head.

  Hoshi answered before Cyrus had the chance, its metallic, Goblin-esque voice reverberating through the room.

  “By using the SCANT, which is now integrated into all of your bodies, I have adjusted the chemical composition of his brain to a more balanced state. This prevents him from being afflicted by the crippling anxiety he typically experiences.”

  “I have also enhanced his cognitive functions by increasing synaptic activity and improving the efficiency of neural pathways. Additionally, I have reconnected damaged neurons to improve memory retention and overall mental acuity. These are basic cranial cellular modifications, and they are occurring in all of you—not just Cyrus.”

  Daegnon’s brow wrinkled as he tried to make sense of the explanation. The terms were far outside his vocabulary. He turned back to Cyrus, ears twitching slightly with confusion.

  “What is… sin-app-tick activity? And… new-rons?” he asked, carefully sounding out the strange words with a scowl.

  Cyrus took a deep breath before attempting to answer Daegnon’s question, trying to think of a way to simplify the explanation. He wasn’t entirely clear on all the concepts himself, but maybe he could put it in terms the Goblin might understand.

  “Alright,” he began, “imagine your brain is like a big clan. The neurons are all the Goblins in the clan—so the more you have, the better. Now, these clan members need to talk to each other, right? When they do, that’s like sending a message. That message? That’s the synaptic activity.”

  He saw Daegnon’s ears twitch with interest but kept going.

  “But if there aren’t good paths between them, it’s harder to send those messages. What Hoshi’s doing is building better paths—so the extra Goblins can talk to each other more easily.”

  Daegnon nodded slowly. He still looked a little puzzled, but there was a spark of understanding behind his eyes.

  “So… Hoshi making our brains work better?”

  “Exactly,” Cyrus said with a reassuring smile. “Hoshi’s helping all of us think more clearly and remember things better. It’s like having a wise elder who explains things so you understand more—and can figure stuff out faster.”

  Daegnon’s eyes brightened with understanding. “So… Hoshi is make-ing us all smarter?”

  “Yes,” Cyrus confirmed, noting how Daegnon was piecing together the unfamiliar vocabulary. “Hoshi’s helping us get smarter so we can fix the ship.”

  He paused, the weight of the realization settling in as he gave voice to the rest of the thought.

  “Because if we can’t do that… then we’re all stuck here until we die. No ship, no move, no food.”

  Daegnon nodded slowly, his expression sobering as he, too, acknowledged the gravity of their situation.

  Cyrus stepped into a corner of the room as Hoshi—still appearing on the screens as the deceased Goblin leader—woke Raknak and Glix. He kept his distance, giving Daegnon space to explain the situation before inserting himself. Better to stay out of the way—for his own safety and for the sake of the fragile dynamic between them all.

  While the newly awakened Goblins stirred and spoke with Daegnon, Cyrus turned his focus to Hoshi. He needed to know what it would actually take to get the ship functional.

  ‘Are the four of us going to be able to get the ship working well enough to survive in time?’ he asked mentally.

  The holographic image reappeared beside him, speaking in a lowered voice—though since only Cyrus could see or hear them, the whisper felt unnecessary.

  ‘The damage is extensive,’ Hoshi replied, ‘but I have prioritized the essential systems and a few minor mechanical issues. I believe the repairs can be completed in time. However, finding a place where we can properly resupply may prove… difficult.’

  Cyrus blinked. That wasn’t what he expected.

  He’d been assuming that once the repairs were done, they’d simply head back to Earth. During the rapid, movie-like replay Hoshi had shown him, he’d seen how the ship’s sensors had located him because Earth was the closest planet with compatible DNA—implying proximity was the only reason he’d been brought here.

  It hadn’t occurred to him they might not be able to return.

  He had figured they could just use the same transport beam—or something like it—to gather whatever they needed, maybe even go home once things were stable.

  But now, for the first time, the idea landed with weight: he might not be going back.

  ‘Wait—can’t we just go back to my planet? To Earth?’ Cyrus asked.

  ‘I do not believe that would be a viable option. Allow me to explain,’ Hoshi replied. ‘This ship’s movements are not linear. Understanding this fully requires comprehension of dimensions beyond the third. Essentially, rather than moving from one point to another along a straight line, the JUMP engines propel the ship through dimensional barriers, allowing it to traverse vast distances—and even realms of existence—almost instantaneously.’

  ‘When I scanned your planet and subsequently transported you here, the JUMP engines were in the process of reinitializing but had not fully disengaged. Consequently, once the initial reconstitution ceased, the ship continued moving—drifting a significant distance—due to a malfunction in the gravimetric friction system. Since we had not fully re-manifested into localized space-time, we are now so far from your planet that returning would be highly inefficient. It is more practical to locate an alternative location for resupply.’

  There was a pause before Hoshi added, ‘Additionally, from what I have learned of your planet’s history, our arrival would likely be viewed as a threat—less of a welcome and more of an overtake. Though, in truth, the latter would be nearly impossible.’

  Cyrus rocked back slightly on his heels, thrown by the scale of what he’d just heard. He’d seen enough science fiction—shows, movies, books—to think he had a decent grasp on how space travel should work. But hearing these concepts spoken so casually—gravitational drift, dimensional barriers, realm traversal—it was humbling.

  He shook his head, finally understanding how lost the Goblins must feel.

  And then there was the final realization:

  if this ship was truly beyond anything human technology could overtake or even understand… that was a bigger deal than he’d ever imagined.

  ‘Before you ask—JUMP stands for Junctional Universal Manipulation Propulsion,’ Hoshi said, cutting in before Cyrus’s brain had even caught up.

  ‘Oh. Okay,’ he replied, dumbfounded, still trying to process everything Hoshi had just told him. The words made sense on the surface—they were in English, after all—but he’d never really thought about them in this way before. They conjured ideas and images that felt like science fiction, yet not entirely implausible. These were concepts he should be able to understand… but didn’t. Not quite. Not yet.

  Then he remembered the ongoing reconfiguration of his brain cells and began to wonder.

  ‘Are your nanites placing this information into my head?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Hoshi replied. ‘When I showed you the ship’s history from my perspective, that was a direct installation of knowledge. It required a significant amount of power, but I deemed it the most efficient method to both inform and persuade you of the situation’s importance.’

  There was a brief pause before the AI continued.

  ‘What is happening now is more akin to enhancement. Your intelligence is increasing. Your recall is more accessible. So, when you encounter new concepts and terminology, they may feel as though they are being externally inserted—when in reality, it is your own brain assembling them more efficiently than before.’

  Cyrus nodded, understanding what Hoshi meant.

  ‘So when we start working on the repairs, I’ll be able to learn what's going on as we go? Enough to know how to fix things?’

  ‘That can happen, yes. However, particularly with the Goblins, I may need to install some of the foundational knowledge directly into your brains. Otherwise, many of the mechanical systems would be incomprehensible.’

  ‘But doesn’t that cost you energy?’ Cyrus asked.

  ‘Yes. Which is why restoring the Dark-Matter Fusion Conduits will be our first priority.’

  As Hoshi spoke the words Dark-Matter Fusion Conduits, an image bloomed in Cyrus’s mind. He saw long, tube-like structures threaded through the ship like veins through flesh—capturing dark matter as it passed through space, directing it along winding channels, collecting radiation as it flowed, and finally feeding it all into a central core where it was—

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The vision cut out.

  Cyrus blinked, breathing shallow.

  ‘Wow... that’s both creepy and amazing.’

  Hoshi’s holographic form regarded him in silence for a moment, then cocked its head in what seemed like an approximation of a human expression—but to Cyrus, it looked more like a dog tilting its head after hearing its name.

  ‘I do not believe I have ever been called creepy before,’ the AI said.

  Before long, the female Goblin—Glix—pulled herself away from the still-bickering males and walked over to where Cyrus stood.

  “You are Cyrus?” she asked, her voice cautious.

  The language was the same dialect Daegnon had used—grunts, hisses, clipped tones—but hers carried a gentler rhythm. There was a hesitance in her posture, and the way her translated voice echoed in his mind suggested she was intentionally soft-spoken, trying to come across as non-threatening.

  “Yes. And you’re Glix, right?” Cyrus replied.

  She nodded, then tilted her head slightly. “So it’s true… you can speak to the ship directly? That you will be able to fly it?”

  “That’s what they tell me,” he said with a small smile. “Hoshi talks to me in my head and appears differently there than the Goblin form you see on the screens. As for flying the ship—no, I haven’t done it yet. But apparently, that’s part of the deal.”

  He smiled again, this time more fully, trying to put her at ease.

  “This ship is amazing—and you can show me how it works?” Glix asked, her voice rising with excitement. The eagerness in her eyes was unmistakable.

  Cyrus hesitated, gulping as he tried to think of the right way to respond. But before he could speak, the nearest display flickered to life, revealing the face of the elder Goblin—Grubnash.

  “I am Hoshi,” the image said, addressing Glix directly. The voice that accompanied it remained subtly metallic, still carrying the Goblin-like cadence that made the illusion all the more surreal. “Cyrus’s role is to pilot the ship, and he will also assist with repairs. However, your aptitude for mechanical systems is greater. If Daegnon agrees, I will assign you as chief engineer. Once you are familiar with the ship’s systems, it will be your responsibility to maintain them.”

  Glix’s face lit up, her hands twitching with anticipation as Grubnash spoke to her directly.

  Cyrus, through the neural link, understood every word instantly. But he could also hear Hoshi’s voice through the nearby speaker, layered in Goblin, still carrying that uncanny metallic edge. The experience of hearing and understanding both at once—one translated directly into his mind, the other through sound—was strange, and fascinating.

  ‘She’s going to be chief engineer?’ Cyrus asked Hoshi silently.

  ‘Yes. Her mind is accepting and processing the information I’ve been providing at a remarkable rate—significantly faster and more efficiently than the others. Her brain exhibits a unique pattern of focus, interpreting signals differently and enabling her to concentrate intensely on singular objectives. In your terms, she would likely be considered on the autistic spectrum.’

  He’d never imagined that other species might process the world in ways so similar—and complicated—as his own.

  ‘This focused attention may influence her social interactions and present certain challenges,’ Hoshi continued. ‘However, the SCANT will gradually adjust her cognitive processes to improve social understanding. For now, her aptitude for mechanical systems is exceptional.’

  There was a faint note of satisfaction in the AI’s tone.

  ‘If all of you could process information like she does, the repairs would be completed in no time.’

  Cyrus wasn’t sure how to respond to that. On one hand, it was odd to be compared to the Goblins—he’d kind of assumed he was already ahead of the curve. But hearing that Glix had surpassed him in mechanical aptitude still hit his pride. Engineering had never been his strength, sure—but being outpaced by a Goblin, even in a specific field, stung more than he’d expected.

  Still, that wasn’t what stuck with him most.

  ‘Wait… you’re changing how her brain processes emotion? Social stuff?’

  ‘Correct,’ Hoshi said.

  ‘Then she deserves to have a say in that. You can’t just “fix” someone’s personality without asking. That should be her choice.’

  As he stood, looking down at Glix—still marveling at the panel where Grubnash’s image was projected—he realized the SCANT was doing the same thing to him. Adjusting his thoughts. Balancing his moods. Nudging him toward being something… more.

  He didn’t disagree with the changes. In fact, he was starting to appreciate them.

  He just wished someone had asked first.

  There was a noticeable pause in the neural link—a silence Cyrus took as Hoshi considering his statement.

  Then the AI responded—not with its usual confidence, but with something that sounded closer to a concession. Maybe even a touch of thoughtfulness woven into its tone.

  ‘Understood. I will suspend that particular modification and offer her the option once she is fully acclimated.’

  Cyrus exhaled softly. He was glad that Hoshi had acquiesced so easily.

  He thought of people he’d known on the spectrum. He’d even been evaluated himself a few years ago—there were some overlapping traits, but nothing conclusive. They’d called it eccentricity. Functional, but unusual.

  Glix had already moved past her moment of glee. Her fingers wandered to the image of the Goblin Grubnash, hovering in the display. She poked at it once, then again—light touches, more curious than playful. When the holographic face turned to look at her and bared its teeth, the gesture struck Cyrus as vaguely hostile.

  But Glix responded in kind, baring her own teeth—not in fear or defiance, but as if mirroring the expression. Then, without hesitation, she turned and moved on, as though they’d shared a private joke rather than an aggressive exchange.

  She was sharp. Curious. Already bonding with the ship in her own quiet, tactile way.

  And as Cyrus watched her—so different, yet somehow familiar—something clicked.

  Kinship.

  She was different. Like him. And maybe… no—definitely—she’d be essential to keeping this ship, and this crew, alive.

  “Congratulations,” Cyrus said. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”

  He extended his hand for her to shake—then winced, remembering how awkward Daegnon’s reaction had been to the same gesture.

  Glix eyed his hand, then leaned forward and gave it a cautious sniff.

  “Oh—sorry,” Cyrus said quickly. “I’m used to shaking hands with humans. I guess Goblins don’t do that much. Is there… another way you guys congratulate each other or say hello?”

  Glix looked up at him, lips curling slightly in what might’ve been a grimace.

  “There is,” she said. “But your ears are way too high up. And also too small. You’d mess it up.”

  She paused. “Also, I don’t really like touching people.”

  ‘Do you know what she’s talking about?’ he asked—mostly to himself, but also to Hoshi. There was no answer.

  “Uhh… okay,” Cyrus mumbled. “I’m not big on it either, so…”

  He trailed off, glancing away.

  Glix did the same, staring at the opposite wall.

  Daegnon and Raknak were locked in a heated argument, voices low but sharp as they debated what was happening to them—and what roles each, as well as the others, were meant to take aboard the ship.

  Raknak, for one, did not like the current arrangement.

  He was used to having Khibi at his side—the smaller Goblin, always following, always ready. Khibi’s submissive nature made him a reliable companion, more like an extension of Raknak than an equal. But now, with Khibi still asleep, Raknak felt an unfamiliar discomfort. It wasn’t fear—no, it was more like a part of him was missing, a piece of his usual balance disturbed. He didn’t like it, but he would never admit it. No Goblin would.

  And then there was the human.

  Raknak’s claws flexed involuntarily as his frustration began to simmer. He was older than Daegnon, which meant he should have been in charge, not this whelp who called himself burrow master. To him, the solution was simple. Kill the human.

  His resolution wasn’t driven by rage, but by logic. It was the obvious and smartest move—the survival of the rest of the Goblins depended on it. They had no food, the human could be their food, so eat him while they fixed the ship. The thought was as matter-of-fact as hunting prey.

  "We feed on him. We fix ship. We leave." It made perfect sense.

  Raknak’s gaze locked onto Daegnon’s unwavering in its resolution. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even excited. He just knew what had to be done. His muscles were tense, but not in rage—more in anticipation, like all the times he had waited for the right time to strike his prey when hunting. He wasn’t delighting in it; he was calculating, thinking it through.

  Daegnon’s refusal to see things the same way was irritating, but Raknak kept his voice low, grumbling in the way Goblins did when they were displeased. The idea of cooperation with the human was a distraction, a poor idea, a waste of a valuable resource.

  “We eat human. We fix the ship,” Raknak muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Daegnon.

  Without warning, a full-sized projection appeared beside them—not just on a screen, but as a life-sized image of Grubnash. The elder’s body looked almost solid, real enough to touch, down to the details of his skin and the wrinkles across his forehead. The only thing that betrayed its artificial nature was the eyes: inhumanly blue, with delicate, circuit-like patterns rotating steadily in place of pupils.

  When the voice spoke, it was the same one Hoshi used when communicating with the Goblins through the screens—Goblin-toned, slightly metallic—but now projected with undeniable weight. The entire room seemed to resonate with it.

  “Cyrus—the human—is the only individual here with whom I can interface in order to pilot this ship,” it said in fluent Goblin. “Without him, you will all die. His presence is not optional.”

  With Hoshi’s intervention, Daegnon finally won the debate. Shoulders tense with reluctant acceptance, Raknak joined Cyrus, Glix, and Daegnon as they prepared to begin work on the ship.

  The image of Grubnash hadn’t lingered; by the time they turned to leave, the familiar face on the nearest display had returned. Hoshi, now once again speaking through the wall screens, politely thanked them for their understanding before revealing the exit. A soft hiss accompanied the sliding door as it opened, exposing the same hallway the Goblins had originally entered from.

  “This is the medical center of the ship,” Hoshi explained, the Goblin-shaped AI shifting from one display to the next. A floating arrow appeared beneath the image, pointing them forward. “If any of you are injured, make your way here. Once I have full power again, I will be able to do much more to keep you healthy.”

  “This area of the ship is toward the rear, on the upper section,” Hoshi continued as they stepped into the corridor. “Far below are the main engines, cargo bays, and docking ports.”

  All of them listened intently as the AI described their location and destination. Cyrus had a basic understanding of the layout from the data Hoshi had downloaded into his mind—but knowing something from a map and physically walking through it were two very different things.

  The hallway was largely uniform in design: rectangular, with matte silver walls occasionally broken by large, dark-glass displays and smaller glossy panels recessed slightly at waist height. Glyph-like buttons glowed faintly on those panels—rendered in the same solidified light that composed Hoshi’s projections—shimmering in soft amber and indigo hues.

  The corridor’s ceiling stretched high—ten to twelve feet above them—and the passage was wide enough for all four to walk abreast. The doors lining the hallway, now visible thanks to softly glowing rings of light surrounding each one, stood just under eight feet tall—noticeably shorter than the ceiling but still impressive in scale.

  But the pristine design was marred by the ship’s current state. Several ceiling panels hung slightly ajar, exposing tangled wires. A few of the wall displays flickered or remained dark altogether. One section near the floor hummed softly, its internal light pulsing irregularly. Here and there, conduit plating was cracked or misaligned, revealing glimpses of the infrastructure behind the walls.

  “Dese not here before,” Raknak muttered, pointing curiously at the glowing button panels along the wall as they walked.

  “No,” Hoshi replied through the shifting image of Grubnash. “You did not have access to these rooms previously. They are available now because you have wisely chosen to assist in the ship’s repairs. Your designation within the ship’s sensors has been upgraded from stowaways to crew members.”

  Raknak harrumphed but said nothing more, continuing along the corridor without pausing to examine any of the doors.

  “Our first stop will be here,” Grubnash’s image announced as one of the once-hidden doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a narrow passageway beyond. “Except for Cyrus—I will need him elsewhere.”

  Cyrus leaned forward and peered inside. The corridor beyond was tight—barely five feet tall and maybe three feet wide. Just looking at it made his back and shoulders ache.

  He straightened up and nodded. “Right. I’ll pass on that one.”

  Glix had no trouble with the narrow corridor. She stepped inside eagerly, moving without needing to stoop as she followed the yellow arrows guiding her deeper in.

  Daegnon glanced at Cyrus, one brow raised in that same familiar way—speculation plain on his face.

  Without needing to be prompted, Hoshi’s metallic voice echoed through the space.

  “Cyrus is the tallest of you all. I require his additional reach for a task in another area.”

  Daegnon gave a small shrug and a nod of parting before stepping into the corridor. He didn’t need to duck, but Cyrus noted the tips of his ears brushed the ceiling as he walked in.

  Raknak grunted—low and guttural, the sound oddly pig-like to Cyrus’s ears. Like Glix, he didn’t have to duck, but his broad shoulders barely cleared the narrow walls. He turned sideways and pushed through, leaving little room for movement.

  Once all three Goblins had entered, the door slid shut behind them with a soft hiss.

  The hologram of Hoshi reappeared at Cyrus’s side, seemingly waiting.

  ‘There are indeed repairs I will need you to perform due to your stature,’ Hoshi said into Cyrus’s mind. ‘However, your first task is to properly interface with the Cosmic Sentinel.'

  The tone had shifted. Where Hoshi’s voice had been more casual and simplified when speaking to the Goblins—likely to accommodate their limited familiarity with the language—it now became precise and technical. With him, the AI spoke as if it expected a deeper level of comprehension. Or perhaps required it.

  The holographic form began moving down the corridor. Cyrus’s mind interpreted it as walking—since the projection took a human visage—but there was no actual motion. No shifting legs beneath the kimono, no flutter of fabric. The illusion faltered just enough to break the spell. Floating felt more accurate.

  He fell into step beside it.

  “So… is this ship really called the Cosmic Sentinel?” he asked aloud. “That name just sounds so…” He waved his hand in a slow circle. “Gauche, I guess. I mean, who even uses the word sentinel anymore?”

  ‘Would you prefer The Grayfang?’ Hoshi asked.

  “Not really,” Cyrus admitted. “I guess I’m just used to ships being named after old gods or mythological figures—Prometheus, Icarus, stuff like that. Cosmic Sentinel feels… kind of formal.”

  ‘If you are truly dissatisfied with the name, you may consult Daegnon. Together, you could propose an alternative designation.’

  “Maybe. I guess I’ll get used to it either way,” Cyrus said with a shrug. “I mean… I’m sure it sounds cooler in the original language, right?”

  Hoshi paused, then turned back toward Cyrus with a peculiar tilt of the head.

  ‘I do not know. I am still referencing the language files. Due to corruption in my core data, not all terms have been fully interpreted. The issue should resolve shortly as I continue rebuilding the missing information.’

  Without elaborating further, the hologram turned away and resumed its silent, gliding movement down the corridor.

  Cyrus followed, a beat behind, still processing the exchange. He knew Hoshi could read at least some of his thoughts—anything near the surface, anyway—so he tried not to dwell too much on how strange the interaction had been.

  Still, the idea unsettled him.

  A ship parsing its own creators’ language in fragments.

  An AI that could recite terms, but not understand them fully.

  Everything about it felt… fractured.

  Like maybe this idea he’d had—of some grand, amazing ship and his destined role as its pilot—wasn’t quite as incredible as it had seemed earlier.

  The flickering lights and exposed wiring in the hall only reinforced the thought.

  ‘Well,’ he mused, ‘origin stories need tragedy and hard work, right? I wonder if I’ll get a montage?’

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