2952-09-18 – Tales from the Inbox: The Pilgrim’s Departure 

Obviously, the trail of Ayaka Rowlins dead ends at her launch from a hired smuggler vessel in the Margaux system. Unfortunately, until the war ends, I doubt anyone will be able to determine for certain what her fate was, but these described events happened several months ago, so she has met that fate by now. 

I shudder to think of what the Incarnation would do to an Immortal defector. No doubt Rowlins had some idea, and this was considered in her preparation for going rogue on this apparent suicide mission. 

As Fey Wanderer finished its slingshot maneuver around the fifth planet in the Margaux system, Emilio B. paced behind his chair on the bridge. There was no drive activity anywhere near them, nor was there any signal activity, but that would be true if his ship was flying right into a trap just as it would be if the area was empty. They were committed to the run now, and would be in real trouble if detected at this stage. 

Their passenger and erstwhile employer Ayaka Rowlins had departed the bridge some time before, which suited Emilio just fine. With their current course, they would be in a prime position to launch her little ship toward planet Margaux in about ten standard hours. Most likely, she had gone to her quarters. After all, her odds of making planetfall would be vastly increased if she was well rested for the attempt. 

As the minutes ticked away and Wanderer’s passive sensors still showed no sign of enemy forces detecting the intruder, Emilio handed off command to Vargas and headed down to the wardroom to get something to eat. He’d been on the bridge nearly every waking moment since they’d committed to their course, and with no food-fab up there, he’d subsisted on nutrient shakes run up to him from the galley for the better part of two days. Some proper hot food would feel good, even if it was, deep down, just another preparation of the same nutrient slurry used to make the shakes. 

As he walked down the corridor to the wardroom, Emilio punched in an order to the food-fab at his destination for chili, one of his favorite items on the ship’s extensive food menu. The machine’s programmed recipe was intended to imitate the flavor profile of Tranquility-style homesteader chili, and though there were neither genuine ground diregoat nor mashed white T-beans in what the food-fab made, the program nailed the flavor of the dish’s key spices: cumin, flyerseed, paprika, and ice-belt pepper. 

The bowl of chili appeared in the machine’s receptacle just as Emilio entered the wardroom. The compartment was empty, of course; all of the senior officers were on duty or sleeping, and most of them were probably getting their meals the same way he had been, or hurrying through their meals to get from duty to sleep and vice versa faster. Being on a run through occupied territory put everyone on edge. 

Sitting down, Emilio had barely put the first spoonful to his mouth when the door opened, and Rowlins stepped in. She had changed from her shipboard fatigues into a skin-tight black flight-ops suit, and with most of the accessories most pilots attached to this suit still missing, this attire left very little to the onlooker’s imagination. 

Emilio waved Rowlins in without a word. That suit might have been a distraction if another young woman was wearing it, but he’d learned too much about her to be at all tempted to fantasize. Her body was corrupted by Incarnation science, and though she had repented of their ideology, no-one could undo the unpleasant things that had been done to her. 

“Captain, I just wanted to-” She looked down at his bowl. “Is this a bad time?” 

Emilio swallowed and shook his head. “No, not particularly. As long as you don’t mind me eating while you talk.” 

Rowlins nodded and sat down across the table. “I wanted to say goodbye, and to offer you a warning. It may be that there will be no time for it later.” 

Emilio nodded. “It has been good doing business with you, Miss Rowlins. But you know your credits are all the thanks we need.” 

Rowlins smiled. “Yes, how very mercenary of you.” She slid a cred-chit across the table. Emilio saw that it was one of the unmarked ones that you handed in to complete a pre-arranged transfer. “Then let this be my thanks. There’s a little extra on there. I won’t need credits where I’m going.” 

Emilio pocketed the chit, then took another bite. When Rowlins didn’t speak right away, he held up his hand. “And the warning?” 

Rowlins sat back in her chair. “At some point, someone’s going to try to figure out where I went. They’ll be good. Maybe the best.” She shrugged. “When they catch up to you, don’t bother to try to lie to them. I think it will go better for you if you tell them everything.” 

“And spend the rest of my life in a military prison?” Emilio scoffed. “We’ve got ways of throwing the authorities off our scent, don’t you worry.” 

Rowlins arched one eyebrow. “Do you think the Confederated government just lets Immortals roam the Reach freely after they promise to be good, and sends the regular constabulary after us if we start causing problems?” 

Emilio hesitated. “Well, no. I figured it would be Naval Intelligence. Maybe B.C.I. I've handled that sort of interference before.” 

Rowlins smiled. “You’ll be lucky if it’s just B.C.I. If it’s-” 

The lights dimmed and an alert klaxon began to blare. Without being prompted, the wardroom’s holo-projector woke up and showed the tactical data-plot, with several fresh red pips at its leading edge. 

Emilio stood up and tapped his earpiece to set it to the primary command channel. “Status report.” 

“Looks like a strike patrol, Captain.” Vargas sounded rattled. “They came out of nowhere.” 

“Have they seen us yet?” 

“Don’t think so. But they’re going to pass within spitting distance.” 

Emilio winced. Incarnation sensor suites were excellent. It would take a truly incompetent pilot to fly close to Fey Wanderer without seeing it, even running cold with stealth systems fully engaged. Changing course risked discovery right away, even if only using the low thrust of the ion engines. 

Rowlins stood up and tapped her forehead with two fingers. “I’ll be ready to launch in five minutes.” With that, she left the wardroom. 

Emilio sighed. It probably had come to that. Wanderer could deal with a few strike launches and make a break for the exits, but it would mean abandoning the run in toward Margaux. Rowlins, obviously, wasn’t going to let that dash her hopes; she would launch and try to make it the rest of the way in on her own, whatever the odds. 

“I’m on my way up.” Emilio took one last look at the meal he’d barely started, then tossed it in the recycler and headed for the bridge. If it came to a tangle with Incarnation forces, they were about to learn that Fey Wanderer was the worst kind of slippery customer.