Slog Across the Stars

[Cherenkov]

Joseph Stealin adjusted his flight cap, the brim tilted low over eyes that had seen their fair share of "unintended consequences." His Serenity-class transport, the Starfarer’s Gambit, hummed softly, though the occasional cough from the engines reminded him that "trusty" was a stretch. Behind him, the cargo hold groaned under the weight of "fertilizer" shipments. Sure, technically it was fertilizer—if you stretched the definition to include Slog, a stimulant so illegal in Liberty space it might as well come with a free "Wanted" poster.

Nestled in the ship’s core was his pièce de résistance: a prototype cloaking device he’d "acquired" from the Novi Plant labs. Well, "acquired" might be generous. There had been poker, some cheating, and the accidental involvement of nacho cheese. Details. The cloaking device was brilliant… mostly. Occasionally, it made the ship invisible but left the engines loud enough to attract passing dolphins. "It’s a feature," Joseph often quipped. Elysia, his AI assistant, disagreed.

"Approaching Texas," Elysia said, her tone carrying that trademark blend of professionalism and passive judgment.

Texas: a system that smelled like rust and regret, a magnet for shady deals and discount thrills. Joseph’s plan? Skirt the trade lanes, jump through a hole, and make the run so smooth it’d be boring. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

"Elysia, let’s stick to the shadows," he said, reclining in his seat like a man confident in his poor decisions. The ship banked into the asteroid field, weaving through rocks that seemed one collision away from catastrophic irony.

And then, because the universe loved drama, the scanner pinged.

"Incoming ship detected," Elysia said, her tone upgraded to "See? Told you so." A Roc bomber loomed ahead, and Joseph knew trouble was brewing.

"Well, well," crackled a Rheinland-accented voice over comms. "What’s a little Serenity doing out here? You lost, friend?"

"Just an honest trader," Joseph lied, his voice oozing charm like a broken ketchup bottle. "No need to check my cargo."

"Honest, eh? Mind if I look?"

Joseph’s smile froze. "I’d mind a lot, actually. Elysia, PUNCH IT!"

The Gambit roared forward, engines screaming louder than his conscience. Plasma bolts zipped past, grazing the hull and making Joseph’s teeth rattle. He swerved into the asteroid field, dodging rocks with the grace of a tipsy ballerina.

"This isn’t piloting," Elysia quipped. "This is improv comedy."

Behind them, the Roc pilot wasn’t as nimble. A satisfying "BOOM" echoed through space as the bomber clipped a rock.

Joseph’s celebration was short-lived. The comms crackled again, this time with a Liberty Navy signature.

"Unidentified vessel, this is Liberty Navy patrol alpha-seven. Cut your engines and prepare for inspection."

"Oh, for the love of… Elysia, cloak us! NOW!"

"Activating prototype cloaking device," Elysia said, her sarcasm dial cranked to eleven. The Gambit shimmered, disappearing from sight… except for the obnoxious "BEEP BEEP BEEP" of an engine alarm.

"Why is it beeping?!" Joseph hissed.

"Because you installed it backwards? Just a guess."

The Navy patrol hesitated, probably wondering if they were chasing a phantom or the galaxy’s loudest ghost. It was enough for Joseph to slip away, reappearing safely on the far side of the Texas jump hole.

"Crisis averted," he muttered, though his pulse suggested otherwise.

The route to Newcastle wasn’t much better. Pirates sniffed around, the cloaking device shorted out twice, and a jump gate malfunction nearly made him a permanent resident of Magellan. By the time Joseph reached the hidden depot in Newcastle, he was running on caffeine and spite.

The buyer—a man whose face looked like it had been assembled from spare parts—grinned as he unloaded the Slog.

"Pleasure doin' business, mate. Let me know if you’ve got more… fertilizer."

The return trip was somehow worse. A rogue asteroid dinged his starboard thruster, the cloaking device emitted sparks like a cheap firework, and Elysia threatened to "go on strike" if Joseph didn’t upgrade her memory banks. Still, by the time the Gambit docked in Houston, its hold full of experimental electronics, Joseph was grinning like a kid with a stolen cookie jar.

"Another day, another fortune," he said, stretching as if smuggling was a workout routine.

"Another day, another repair bill," Elysia retorted.

Joseph waved her off, whistling as he sauntered out of the cockpit. Sure, smuggling was risky, illegal, and ethically murky, but hey—it paid better than flipping burgers.

It was then that he heard something out of his nightmares, a voice that he hoped he would never hear again: "Ah, Joseph. Bring that ass back here."

---

FORWARD TO THE STARS!
"Comrades of Earth, we do not aim to conquer space — we liberate it!"

VICTORY THROUGH SCIENCE
Red banners wave where gravity once ruled.

The cosmos belongs to the workers.