“This is pilot Scorpia Kaiser of merchant vessel Fortuna,” I say into the mic, working hard to keep my words from slurring into one another. “Registration number…” I run a finger down a list etched on one of my side panels, and blink until the numbers come into focus. Of course, the Gaian registry is the longest number of them all. Damn Gaians and their regulations. “Two-dash-zero-two-one-eight-eight-dash-one-zero-three-six,” I say. “Registered to Captain Auriga Kaiser, Gaian citizen. We’re delivering freeze-dried produce from Deva.”

It’s not the whole truth, but it’s not a lie, either. If customs agents peek into our cargo crates, they’ll find neat packages of fruits and vegetables dried and sealed for space travel. The good shit is well hidden. We’re professionals, after all.

“Checking registration,” the robotic voice says. There’s a pause, followed by a click. “Checking landing schedule.” Another pause, click. “Ship two-dash-zero-two-one-eight-eight-dash-one-zero-three-six, you are cleared for entry. Noncitizens are not permitted to travel beyond the landing zone. Entry elsewhere will be considered a hostile act. Welcome to Gaia.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling real welcome,” I mutter, severing the radio connection. But the recording has provided a good reminder of what’s at stake here. If I crash, we all die. If I land so much as an inch outside the legal landing zone, same shit. I roll my shoulders back and slip the safety belts across my chest, clicking them into place and yanking the straps tight. “Okay, Fortuna,” I say. “Hope you’re ready for this. It’s gonna be a rough landing.”

I fish in my pocket for the gooey lump of my mouth-guard, chomp down, and shove the control wheel forward.

CHAPTER TWO

Family

Corvus

Monitor the radar. Check the armory. Count the supplies. Three weeks in this outpost, and I’ve started every morning with the same routine. Three weeks in the middle of nowhere, with no orders other than to hold this position and keep an eye out for anything unusual. We haven’t had so much as a glimpse of the enemy. General Altair must have stationed us here for a reason, but my patience is wearing thin, both with the situation and my stir-crazy team. Our skills are put to waste as lookouts. Not a day has gone by without them reminding me of that fact and pestering me for news. I swear, these soldiers can be worse than my little siblings were.

Given that, this time alone would normally be a blessing. Titans have infuriatingly little regard for personal space or privacy, and over these three years I’ve learned to snatch moments of solitude when I can. That’s why I’ve gotten into the habit of waking up an hour before the rest of my team to fulfill duties like these, rather than passing the chores on to them.