Samir stood looking through the window of his cabin on the Amerra. The small vessel had picked him up and was carrying him to Ghenus. He crossed his arms as a tiny blue dot in the void became bigger and bigger as the ship approached.

Ghenus had been just a tiny frontier world when Samir was fighting in the Danubik Wars. A little backwater with no relevance to the ongoing conflict. After Helles had been annihilated by orbital strikes, Ghenus became the next best trading stop up the spiral arm. The planet had since been terraformed into a near perfect standard earth.

“Computer, I thought Ghenus belonged to the Belgin Confederation. How come I’m on a Neurospont vessel?”

“The Belgin Confederation was dissolved in 7215. Its territories were subsequently divied up by the surrounding protectorates,” a cheery female voice chimed. “The Neurospont Republic was deemed by the Free Exchange as legal owners in the resulting conflict.”

Samir crossed his arms and sighed. Protectorates came and went as time moved onward. There were likely a dozen new ones that had been created since he retired and many more of the old were now defunct. Only the Free Exchange was eternal in the galaxy.

And that’s a fact if there ever was one. He thought sadly.

Samir allowed himself to turn away from the window. His cabin was a simple, bare room with only the essentials. Still, the bed was much too comfortable for him. He had been long accustomed to sleeping on his straw mattress. He had taken instead to resting on the floor during the several day journey.

In the closet, he found a replica of his old grey and black uniform. Someone had even taken the time to pin the fifty-six medals he had earned over his service on the shoulder. The cold fabric felt all too smooth to touch. It was a stark departure from his rough linen shirt and trousers.

“Computer, I would like to review the crew manifest.” Samir suddenly turned from the uniform and walked over to the small desk.

As he sat down, a holographic projection showed a numbered list with names and faces attached. Touching one of the names brought up a small bio along with the ability to request any other information he desired.

“There are three hundred and forty-three crewman assigned. The crew collectively have citizenships in fifty-seven different protectorates. All have been vetted by Free Exchange standards for serving in a class four mission into deep space.”

“Arrange in order of rank, please.”

The list shuffled, with Samir’s own face appearing at the top. Directly below him was a blond-haired woman with startling blue eyes. He clicked on the name.

“Erika Terese,” the computer spoke, “Assigned as First Officer.”

“Give me her background,” Samir ordered.

“Dr. Terese grew up in the Rylian Democratic Nation. She received an Exchange certified doctorate when she was thirteen. She has since served on three separate vessels.”

The names and images of the ships appeared in a separate tab of the display.

Hard to believe she is not augmented. Samir thought as he stared at the picture. The Free Exchange had rules for membership that it imposed on all protectorates. Perhaps one of the most serious were the laws that forbid tampering with human genetics beyond the prescribed standard genome. Of course, that still allowed for a great diversity in the gene pool. People still popped up on the upper end of nature’s lottery.

“What is her doctorate in?”

“Economics.”

Samir raised an eyebrow. That was certainly odd; he had never had an economist for a first mate. It was a laughable notion at first glance. However, the mission was hopefully first contact with the people who had set off for Andromeda three thousand years ago. It wasn’t a surprise that the Exchange’s priorities were in that field.

“She also has the standard education in spaceflight?”

“Yes.”

As long as she knows her way around a spaceship. Samir thought. He raised his hand and scrolled through the list some more. None of the faces stood out to him except for one. He stopped on a steely dark face under a mop of dark brown hair. The rank chief engineer sat next to the name of Amos Singh.

Another one of my descendents. Samir had received a few at his house over the course of the past seventy years. Most of them were simply curious about their supposedly legendary ancestor. Samir had never kept track of his family after his sons passed on. He deeply loved his grandchildren, but was never around much and his great-grandchildren sadly might as well have been strangers.

After that, he had simply given up on staying in touch with his family. But now one of them was serving as his chief engineer.

I wonder if the Exchange did that on purpose. He shook his head. Of course, it was on purpose. There was no way someone didn’t see this. The question was: did this Amos ask for the position or did the Exchange post him there? Likely the former, though he couldn’t entirely rule out the latter.

Samir made a mental note to request a new chief engineer. He had no desire to reconnect with a distant relation. Besides, their connection would present an awkward situation aboard the ship. It would get in the way of a professional environment.

He was no longer in the mood for reviewing the roster. Samir swiped the holographic display off and laid down on the floor. He slept for the next hour and a half as the Amerra slowly crept into orbit.

As he dozed, he felt the near imperceptible shift as the craft entered atmosphere. The slight resistance of air instead of empty vacuum. The motion jostled him back to some semblance of awareness. He lifted his head just off the ground.

“Computer, tell me, do you have access to the UTN database?”

“Link active. What is your query?”

“Search up Ensign Stephen Farrell. Born in 7084. Served on the Perses under my command.”

“Profile retrieved.”

“Give me his bio.”

The computer cheerfully gave a short description of Ensign Farrell’s beginnings. Nothing extraordinary, the man was born on an ecumenopolis world. One among many trillions of people. Signed on with Central Fleet, the reserve armada leased solely for the Free Exchange’s use. Assigned to the Perses as a faceless crewman.

“Ensign Farrell participated in the Battle of Canna. He heroically carried out—“

“Computer, skip this part,” Samir quickly said.

There was a beep of acknowledgment, and the computer picked up right after the war. It recited various positions of honor Farrell held over the course of the years after the war, including teaching positions, lecture conferences, and all the rest.

“After serving on the faculty of the Qurus Academy for three years, Admiral Stephen Farrell committed suicide in his own office. He did not leave a note or reason as to why he decided to end his own life.”

Samir blinked, his head fell back on the floor in shock. How long ago was that? Ten, maybe fifteen years at most. He didn’t hear it over UTN. And it wasn’t like anyone ever told him. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine Stephen’s face. Sitting up, he made the traditional sign of the Catholic-Orthodox Church. May you find peace with God ensign. May we all.

The landing ramp lowered to the docking pad. The afternoon sun of Ghenus filtered into the cramped airlock. Samir blinked a few times as his ears popped to the new atmospheric pressure. Standing just a few feet away on the pad, Glen Tannis stood flanked by two officers.

The wiry man smiled as Samir stepped off the Amerra. “I trust you had a pleasant flight?”

“As pleasant as can be expected,” he curtly responded.

Glen gestured towards the interior reception hallway. “Shall we?”

Samir nodded and joined Glen as they began walking. The Ghenus shipyard was a massive complex of interweaving docking ports and repair pads arrayed in a large dome. Thousands of ships flew in and out through appointed gates in the superstructure. The outlying supports contained all the various amenities for the port. Restaurants, shopping centers, and other services advertised themselves in contained modules linked by various walkways and elevators. Further on were mag-trains which carried people and cargo to and from the shipyard.

In ancient days, having a shipyard planetside was almost unthinkable. Traditional propellent based craft once limited most ships exclusively to space. However, the gravity drive removed all need for those considerations. It was just as energy demanding traveling in atmosphere as without. So such ports were now built freely in space as well as on celestial bodies.

Samir glanced at the two officers flanking them. The two were both young men, although that meant little. They could’ve been in their mid-twenties or in their late hundreds and no one would be able to tell the difference. One of the supposed joys of living in the Free Exchange.

However, looking at the eyes told a different story. Both of the young men looked at him with a kind of innocent awe. On the younger side then. The two kept their distance with a sort of reverence that one might find with a holy man. It would be something that he would need to get used to now he was back in civilization.

Samir put such thoughts aside as they stepped into the elevator. The clean pod hissed as the doors closed and began to accelerate along the outer shell of the dome. Passing by ship after ship, the pod traveled horizontally across the shipyard.

“Things are not too different from your time,” Glen mentioned. “Some improvements have been made, obviously. We’ve optimized the gravity drive by another ten percent. And there’s an exciting new line of point defense turrets.”

Samir studied the passing ships. There were no major design innovations that he saw. Most carried the sleek and streamlined appearance with little protrusions from the smooth metal. Other cargo ships held boxy outlines with large crates attaching and detaching from the hull. All blended together into a grey stream which seemed indistinguishable from one another.

He personally considered it a sad tragedy to befall humanity. The gravity drive eliminated all need for practical consideration in design. No longer the decks needed to be aligned with propulsion. No longer the design needed to accommodate tall vessels which minimized micro-asteroid impacts. And instead of embracing this freedom, spaceships were all modeled and mass produced the same.

“So, which one is mine?” Samir asked, glancing around.

“It’s just finishing construction in one of the zero-g bays.”

Samir turned to face Glen. “Construction?”

“Long ranged ships aren’t exactly produced anymore. Most only have a range of a hundred light years from the nearest spacegate. We’re going to have to go a little farther than that. So, yours needs somewhat of a custom design.”

The elevator slowed down as it began approaching the bay. From the glass, Samir saw a large spaceship suspended in the zero-g environment. Drones buzzed around the ship, placing the final metal plates over the exoskeleton.

Four massive pillars were arrayed two by two near the back of the ship; gravity drives which consisted of rotating ring structures that spun at varying speeds. Moving forward, the outer hull was aligned with array upon array of point defense turrets. Beams of metal jutted out from the ship, indicating signal platforms designed to detect and survey space outside the gravity bubble. Nearing the other end, the slope of the hull curved into that which would’ve resembled an old-fashioned ram in olden times. No doubt filled with composite alloys to withstand sizable impact from space debris.

The design harkened back to ancient days. Samir quietly glanced at Tannis as the small man stood next to him. Was this on purpose too? Did the Exchange account for his taste and build something according to his preferences? Or was this all a happy accident? One thing was certain, he didn’t like the idea that the Exchange knew him that well.

“We’ve decided to prioritize speed over safety. As a result, the gravity bubble is only ninety-eight percent effective in deflecting space dust. Per specs, the ship can reach a top speed of two hundred and fifty duovels per day. Twice as fast as anything else in the Free Exchange.”

“I can see that.” Samir stepped forward, turning his attention back to the ship. He noted large compartments where larger weapon systems were concealed inside the hull.

“Besides the two hundred laser turrets, the ship has thirty-two phase cannons. Two of the gravity drives have been set aside for weaponized deployment. Not to speak of missile batteries, point defense systems, and a state of the art predictive interface.”

Samir couldn’t help but note a glimmer of pride in Glen’s voice. However, it wasn’t the usual youthful fascination with weaponry, nor a man proud of something he personally designed. It was an entirely different emotion. One that Samir had seen before in his superior’s eyes. A touch of viciousness.

“I thought you said this was meant to be a mission of peace. Even the Perses didn’t have this complement,” Samir stated grimly.

Glen turned to him, innocently shrugging, putting his hands in his pockets. “Can’t be too careful. We’re sending one ship. You’re out there all alone with no reinforcements or backup.”

Samir’s eyes glanced back towards the ship. “Does it have a name?”

“Hyperion.”

Samir nodded and took a deep breath. He didn’t like the weapons, but this ship was still a beauty in design. He would be more than happy to captain it. Maybe this was his hope. Maybe this was the opportunity he had looked for as the centuries passed by. This ship could finally put his past to rest.