Cy (short story, sci-fi, sketch for a setting)

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This was a Gibsonian-inspired sketch for a sci fi setting I never got to poke around with. It was a nice exercise for 4am one night, and had been collecting cyber dust ever since. Call it NaNo frenzy, but I figured, wth, might as well put it up.

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Unacceptable​

Metal squealed as the freight shuttle docked with Unity 1. Low murmur of vibrations passed through the metal frame and under her feet, snapping Cy from a broken, shallow sleep. On and off, for hours. Torment.

She looked around, bewildered, taking in the outline of the dusty cabin, the seats, ceiling, dim lights. People moving. Arrived? Still not? She looked to her side, where her escort was and blinked out of confusion. Something about his eyes always did that to her. Alert. Cold. Ready. She hasn't seen him asleep. Not once. They were traveling for days now... weeks? She lost count.

"Almost there. I'll prepare everything." - his voice glazed over her mind and she nodded, out of habit. What he was saying was probably important, but she didn't need to comprehend. Things got done. Sybon Captain 1st class Thomas A. Korrig got them done. She didn’t need to know anything more.

Snuggled comfortably by the window, in a coat that could fit someone twice her size, Cy rubbed her eyes, looking through the round window out to space. The shielding panels were lowered, and little flakes of scrapped metal paint floated before her eyes. Poor spaceman's snowflakes. But Cy had never seen snow and to her, those were beautiful. Spending your whole life in a glass tank can do that to a person.

The station radiated diffuse, milky light and in it, Cy's sky blue skin was pale, her azure eyes translucent. Her hair, died a soothing dark green, fluttered around her head in short, cut off waves. Medirion's prized products, Navigators, now colour coded for your convenience. There was even a seal of purchase on her shoulder, angry black thing that she tried in vain to hide under the coat. Cy was on her way to a ship.

After 15 years of growth and data implantation in a Medirion Processing Plant, she had completed her accelerated development and was sold as Navigator. Since her skin was blue, the buyer was most likely a military vessel and they didn't waste funds to have her match with the rest of the furniture in Nav room. 'Cause once she was merged with the ship, that's exactly what she'll be - a pretty piece of furniture, rooted at her nav-seat - no different than a butterfly pinned to paper.

Right now, she was just a really expensive piece of hardware, en route to Envirio, with the charts of space lanes in her head and flawless spatial intuition. A happy, conversational personality was bonus.

She saw Tom walk back to the seats and motion her to follow him. She did so clumsily, still struggling with the coat. He was part of the package. Military escort, there to make sure she got on the ship in one piece. After all, Navigators were prized goods - especially un-merged ones. Best specimens were worth as much as minor moons on some wrong markets. He waited patiently for her and helped her stand up. Cy liked him. Unlike people in Medirion, that tended to look through her, he seemed to actually care if she needed things and even took her around transit stations to watch the colourful markets.

Navigators were never trusted. Their supreme abilities at space travel made them a very lucrative commodity. They were selectively created in test tubes, nurtured and invariably joined with ships. The process was painful and designed to effectively remove all individuality from them. Not that anyone told Cy that. But somehow she knew. They all did. There were even rumors of some going rogue and running away from the joining - rumors, because, with the genetic failsafe that Medirion implemented, Navigators needed xylex to live. Just like unadaptable cells were killed off quickly with knock-out genes, the specific folding of xylex made Navigator synapses tick. Without it, they crashed and the sight wasn't pretty. Ships secreted it freely after merging - but un-merged navigators had no way of getting xylex. Short of killing the shock-troops of Sybon elite and rigging their life support units. What's to be said - the world believed in chemical loyalty. And all rogue Navigators were killers. Freedom only comes in crimson.

Cy shuddered a bit, making her way through the narrow corridor into the station.
"Cold?" - Korrig asked. He was right besides her, as always, one hand on his weapon, helping her along.
"No, I'm fine, thank you..." - she said quietly, looking at the floor. She was still uncomfortable outside. Navigators aren't supposed to see space - just to guide others through it. Even to the ships they are usually sent in containers, like other equipment and released on the spot. Thomas A. Korigg was old fashioned, however. He didn't believe in stuffing anything living in a freight container for three weeks. As soon as they cleared Medirion visual zone, he brought Cy out, coughing and shaking. His job was to deliver a Navigator - nothing more. It was already in the grey zone of his tolerance - every night he had to remind himself that Navigators were a necessity - neither humans nor computers could fly the ships as accurately as they did. Having them installed saves lives. His life. It had become a mantra.

The woman at the reception booth smiled politely at the sight of his armoured uniform and motioned them along, without even glancing at the ID scans. With the hood of her jacket up and her eyes down, Cy didn't draw much attention - there were enough people with exotic looks around.

They entered Unity 1.

The glaring neon lights fought for supremacy on the dome of arrivals wing. The place was rather large, with a spiral conveyor belt buzzing along the walls, defying topology. Hubs started from there and spread through the station in haphazard heaps and intersections. Maintenance signs, burnt out power cords, fuel spills, jammed rails - Unity had it all, somewhere in the bowels of its aluminum body, perched in the high orbit of a dead, grey moon. Still, on the surface, it gave out the same sterile feel of any other authorized facility - and had the same blurry daylight bulbs. Reality was in the corners: depression flicks, laser graffiti, eye-stabbing colours, deafening music in castaway earphones lining the walls. Not a regular stop for personel transport, just a fast nod at a backwater waste - you came here when the other routes were clogged. Quite popular for cargo.
Ugly and outdated in its massive, boxed up look, with the domes perched up high, glittering in the void, Unity was an insect, feeling up space with its hydraulic legs. At the end of each of seven legs was a different station - dangerous cargo storage, human resource, RnD, evacuation - all those things that the regulations demanded and the station builders knew they'd never need. It was old and carried its age with a dignity that is "soul".

Tom's boots resonated sharply on the tiled floor and Cy just scurried along, in small, hurried steps. She tired easily, but did her best to follow. Her escort moved through the crowd with a natural ease she knew she'd never achieve. Instinctively he led her to one of the walls and helped her on the conveyor belt. She leaned against the wall as Tom placed himself between her and the crowd. Another rule. For almost three weeks, no matter where they were, he always acted like she was threatened. Sometimes, he scared her. A pickpocket approached her once - Tom snapped the man's wrist and dislodged his shoulder without a moment hesitation. If she hadn't screamed he might have taken it even further. He was surprised she reacted, too.

The conveyor belt clicked and stopped and people hurried of it, into a neat line of corridors. Tom tapped her hand and they descended too. When they stopped at a crossroads, there was a candy store - a stall of cubes and balls, synthetic sweetener drops and sugar-halers. Liquid glucose shots, crystal-fructose, pressure cans with stickers like apple, grapes, peach. Cy wondered what those odd words were. A woman bought a cup of something dark and thick, with a smell that even Cy's atrophied olfactory system picked up. The woman left, pushing her electrical rollers without bending knees. 2nd gen exoskeleton - cheap, durable. Last decade stuff. Cy followed her stride, every ounce of her spatial sense offended by twitching, unnatural movement of the rollers. Tom had his holo map over his glove and was tracing a route on it, but stopped the moment her head moved. He reached for his weapon.
"No, no, it's nothing... I've just.." - Cy suddenly felt embarrassed, like a schoolchild that had smashed a window.
"The liquid she bought... it had the strangest scent and I... I was curious. No danger." - the words rolled off, one after another. She wished his eyes weren't locked on her. Always the same, dark, focused, unsmiling. He was there to protect her, not harm her, but the eyes never allowed her to forget that at the end of the day, Tom killed people for a living - and saw nothing wrong with that.
"Oh." - he relaxed - "I'll be done shortly." - the holo map flicked back on. Cy listened to the quiet beeping of the device which seemed to stretch to infinity. Reporting progress, no doubt. He did it every day and from little she had been able to oversee, he wasn't happy with their transport plan. His superiors kept changing it. Unity was the fourth alteration. Thomas didn't seem to like changes.
"This one?" - the question startled her. He was pointing at the machine that the woman used to get the drink.
"What?"
"The drink you were curious about, was it this one?" - he repeated the question, patiently. He never seemed to raise his voice, nor yell.
"Yes." - Cy replied, unsure why he was asking.
Thomas slid a card through the payment slot and a metal cup slid out, with a twist-off lid. He handed it to Cy.
"It's chofee."
"Chofee?" Cy took the cup and tried to open it. Despite the cup not being sealed tightly, her long, delicate fingers had troubles grasping the container. Extra joints were not helping with the grip. When she'd twist, her fingers would just slide to impossible angles one to another - but the lid wasn't moving an inch.
"Yeah. Chocolated Coffee. Been around forever - mostly synt and gallic acid by now, but there's still some real stuff sold, down in mud-joints."
That must have been the longest sentence she ever heard Tom say. Another try. The lid still won't budge. Mud joints. Stores on planet surface, any planet. Another place she'll never visit. Her fingers slide across the lid again. Damn. Why was she so fragile? Useless fingers. Navigators were created gentle. Gentle and weak - like glassed up orchids. Easier to control.
Tom takes pity on her. Probably can't stand to watch her fumbling with the lid anymore.
"Easy, Cy. Let me." He takes the cup from her and opens it for her. The scent is the same. Sweet, strong. She takes it and carries the cup along as they walk to the next level. It's silly. Navigators don't drink. Tom must know it by now. Yet he bought her the cup. He probably forgot. Strange. She doesn't understand him sometimes.
They walk on and she grasps the cup tightly, inhaling the scent. It doesn't matter. Chofee. Cy smiles.

Cy. He said Cy. That wasn't actually a name. Navigators are not named. It's just a word he calls her. "Come on, Cy." Tom had said when he took her out of her container back there and she followed him.
"Why am I out?" she had asked him.
"'Cause I'd look stupid bodyguarding a box."
She still wasn't sure if that was a joke or not. He was protecting her. Looking out for her.
Cy. It was her name.

The elevator moved on rails. Right, right, always to the right. It didn't elevate anywhere. It confused Cy. Was up and down so difficult for humans to grasp in space? Half the time she was standing upside down, but no one else seemed to notice. At least all Navigator manned ships moved in the proper way. Space has rules. Humans might as well learn them.

They stopped moving. Transit point Beta. This was were their next ride was to dock. Express line to Envirio. The ship was there. Just two days to the merge.

Transit point Beta was a sphere. A sphere with quite a few holes in it. Holes with double airlock hatches, but still holes. It had a central waiting area, an out-of-business theatre hall and a few smaller compartments connected with corridors. On paper, Unity was a great place to visit.

There are just a few people in the waiting area. It's almost hauntingly empty. Deserted. They walk to a small bench and Cy sits down. Her legs hurt. Tired.

Something explodes. Flash, deafening noise. Everything goes dark. Another blast. Cy screams, but she might as well be whispering. Tom pulls her down, shielding her with his body. Things bouncing of the plates of his power-suit. Something falling on her hair. Detachment. It's pitch black, but all the sudden, Cy knows that they are floating. Not with Unity any more. The sphere has been severed. The smell of chofee. She must have spilled it all over Tom's suit.

"Come on, Cy!" - her ears are like cotton, but the voice snaps through. - "Get up!"
Tom pulls her to her feet. She moves, runs. Everything is dark. Cy's head is still ringing from the blasts.
"Find it!" - someone shouts. Shots echo through the sphere.
"Don't shoot it, you idiot! It's worthless dead."
It? What? It can't be... Cy hits a bench and gasps in pain. If she could, she'd cry - but Navigators don't have tears. Tom picks her up and carries her. He also slams into something and staggers, but stays on his feet.
The buzzing in Cy's head grows dimmer. She can tell where they are, even though she can't see a thing. Tom collides with something again. A pillar. But why? It's right there... Then it dawns on her. He's human. He must be completely blind now. Under the circumstances, he is actually moving well. Where is he going? Back to the lift?
"Tom, this place is not docked with Unity anymore..." - she whispers, scared.
He stops, but just for a second. Change of direction.
"Where's the theatre, Cy? I need you to guide me there" - his voice is tense, quiet, she barely hears him.
"Left... now right... left again." - she recites and he follows her words, moving quickly, with utter confidence. Behind them, someone is overturning benches. A shot. Another one. Someone screams. Executions.
"Get the auxiliary lights online already! These crappy lenses are killing me!"

The door to the theatre is locked, but the blast fried the lock controls as well as lights. It opens and slides easily to the side. Tom carries Cy to a seat in the second row. He puts her down on it and straps something on her wrist. Mimic modulator. Invisibility mode. It must be his, the cord is too wide for her arm. He tightens it.
"Stay here. Don't move. Don't speak. No matter what happens, stay hidden. I'll come for you when it's over." - Tom talks quickly, but doesn't seem taken off balance. Still the same eyes. Lethal. "Do you understand, Cy?"
She nods, shaking. Her heart is beating so fast that her chest is trembling.
"What's happening?" - she manages to utter, though speech is almost painful.
"It's alright. No one is going to hurt you. I'm not letting them near you. Now don't talk." - he turns the mimic module on. There is a scope gun in his hand. So it's true. Whoever is there, they came for her.
"Tom?"
No answer, just hurried footsteps walking away. Then even those are gone. Just darkness and her rampaging heart. Cy's ribs hurt. She hugs her knees and huddles on the theatre seat, trembling. Too scared to move now. In the back of her mind she can still feel the sphere drifting through space, further and further away from Unity.

The dim auxiliary lights blink to life. It's only been minutes. Infinity for Cy. Shots, screams, glass breaking. Silence. Then sounds again. For ages. Now, muffled noise is coming through the walls. Someone is angry, yelling. Something about wasting time. At least the module works. Cy can't see her knees anymore. She is still shaking, but it's better now. Her heart is no longer trying to smash her rib cage. Arms still hurt. Spasming muscles are slowly relaxing. The theathre is ghastly silent. It even has a real curtain. Red. Cy stares right through it. Her whole attention is focused on the outside. Listening.
"It's here! Info is right, now go find it!"
"It's not like you can mix it up with a real person, you frickin' moron. Now move, we are out of time."
"Killed off the side room. Not there."
"It must be holed up somewhere, the little rat." - second voice again.
"We don't have time for your bickering" - fourth voice cuts in coldly - "The rescue teams will be here shortly. We have to finish up before that. Now scatter and find it. It's still somewhere in the sphere."
So there is hope. Help is on the way. All she has to do is sit quietly and not get found out, like Tom said. Just a little longer. Cy closes her eyes. Just a little longer.
"Did you at least take its escort out?"
Cy's heart skips a beat. Tom? What if? Long pause... Cy holds her breath.
"No."
Relief. Then Tom was ok too and he'll come pick her up. He just has to hide like she is hiding until the shuttles from Unity come and dock. Time is on their side. The module cord on her wrist is really tight, Tom narrowed it too much - but Cy doesn't dare move and adjust it.
"Boss, we have two dead, east corridor. It looks like the escort did them in."
"Damn. Military then? Scatter and find the damn creature. Ransack the place. Ignore the escort. He's just baiting you away from it. Get on with it!"
He wasn't hiding then. A dull, heavy pain spreads through her stomach. Fear. Why wasn't he hiding? She doesn't want to think, but the answers come on their own. Because that's his module she is wearing now. He doesn't have a second one. Because, if he hid, they'd have more time to find her. Because he is buying her time. Cy clenches her fists. She didn't ask for this! She doesn't want him to die for her, she doesn't want anyone to die for her. She wants to hate him, to be angry at him, but can't. She just wants him back. Safe. Without him, she is all alone. Why did she have to be like this? Useless, fragile, gentle. Hiding, terrified, while someone might die because of her. Why couldn't he just hide? But deep down she knows. People with his eyes don't hide.

The theatre door slammed open. Three men entered. The man in front must have been angry, to mess up the sliding mechanism that badly. He walked in briskly, coming from the left. It took all of Cy's self-control not to bolt. She didn't dare open her eyes. She heard them move between the seats, rustle through the curtain, trample across the stage. One sneezed. Space dust.
"Stupid curtains." - words lost in a crash of scenery being pulled down.
"Anything?"
"Not here."
Again they move, combing the lines of plastic seats. Their footsteps become an almost familiar sound to Cy. Up and down, along the passageway. It doesn't look like they can see her at all. They won't find anything. She grows a bit bolder. Opens her eyes.
There is a man in front of her, just six feet away. Looking through her. He is in his thirties, tall, robust, with a black jacket and a string of silicon cubes on the collar. The kind of person you might see killing time at ore processing plants. Bored, washed out radium transporter, that has spent his youth irradiated in a 3x3 cube for a price of a 3rd grade syntehol, then lost another decade of life chasing chances and wild schemes across the asteroid fields. The man staring at Cy might pass as one of those lost souls - only he doesn't have the sick pallor of mine shafts, nor the bedraggled look of lost causes. The jacket is spotless.
"Looks like it's not in here."
A young man walks up to him with a thin panel in hand. He points at the screen.
"The place back there is a maze. Corridors all over the place. Ricker wants back-up."
He hesitates a bit. "If they wanted to hide, they wouldn't do it here."
The man in the jacket finally nods. "Go."
He sits at one of the front row seats and stares at the stage. If he turned around and extended his hand he could touch Cy.
"Where are you, Navigator?" - he murmurs to his chin.

Shots echo through the theatre. Short burst, focused, then a scattered one, then few more, focused, which die out in the pummeling noise of a high powered rifle. A third gun joins in. The focused shots are rare, fading, but Cy strains to pick them out from the noise. If Tom fired, he'd fire like that, she believes.

"Boss, it's Ricker. They cornered the escort in the south sector. He's asking what to do."
"Is the creature there?"
"No, doesn't look like it."
"Then I don't care what he does." - the man in the jacket lets out an irritated sigh.

The other two men in the theatre are getting edgy. Glancing at their watches. With every passing moment the shuttles from Unity draw closer and their prey gains ground.
Finally one gathers courage.
"Boss... we checked all the rooms. We don't have time..." - turns around nervously - "If we wait much longer, they'll catch up with us..."
"Shut up." - snarl.
Cy jerks back, startled. No one seems to notice anything.
"Don't you think I know that?!" - the man in the jacket gets up and paces back and forth. "Check again! Look everywhere!"
More shots.
"What the hell is Ricker doing? Go check on him."
The man yelled at leaves.
The other one is at the back of the theatre.
"Pops, he has a point. This is not going well."
"You shut up, too."

Silence. There have been no more shots. Cy tries in vain to pick up any sign of the disciplined shots, but all she hears is the breathing of the man sitting in the first row. Her own breathing has almost stopped. Shallow, silent... on the brink of hibernating. The young man in the back paces nervously.
To Cy, time has become syrup, crawling forward, uniformly. She wishes something would happen to end this stalemate... and dreads the very thoughts. Ominous silence. It's almost like nothing is happening and they are sitting there waiting for a play to start on the busted up stage. Deceptive normality. Why won't the guns fire?

At last, commotion. Somewhere at the other side of the theatre door. Cy's mind painfully drags itself back from the illusory calm. Her eyes are locked at the door. Hope.

The man in the front row stirs also. He has torn the coating on the seat next to him with the muzzle of his gun, in meaningless movement, waiting for news. He hasn't noticed. The seat creaks under his weight as he gets up.

"It's over. They got the escort. Alive even."

The door slides open. A man drags Tom in, lump like a rag doll. There is blood everywhere.
The scent sickens Cy. It's mixed with the fragrance of chofee. Devastating.

Suddenly there is no more air in the room. Her chest spasms and she buries the fingers in her knees. Don't move. Don't speak. The pain in her uncalcified fingers is a welcome relief. She holds on to it. The sound of boots on the floor.

The man with the jacket is standing now.
"Where is Ricker?"
"Dead."
The man drops Tom on the floor. A suppressed gasp of pain. He manages to move, propping himself against the stage. Looks up. Cy can't see his eyes.
The man from the first row is standing over Tom and looking at him, for a long time. He kneels on one knee.
"Where is it?"
No reply. Not even a slightest change in the expression. Cold eyes. Even Cy can tell.
The man doesn't seem surprised. He presses the gun against Tom's shoulder.
"Where is your charge?"
Silence.
Cy can feel horror creeping up through her. Air is starting to sting her eyes, but she can't blink. Can't look away.
Tom is looking straight ahead. Not even a glance at Cy's direction. Ignoring her. Denying her existence.

I am here! Here! Cy wants to scream, but no words would come. Transfixed. Don't move, don't speak, he said. So she stays there, motionless, speechless.

The gun goes off. Tom's body jerks back in pain. A cry of pain. The man pushes him back against the wall.
"Where?" - he yells.
Silence. Cy is frozen. Something inside her is breaking to pieces. So helpless.

"Eight minutes. Pilot says he is ditching us if we don't show. We need to go. Now."
"Then go! I'm not finished yet."
One by one, the subordinates exit, except for the young man, who lingers back, waiting.

The man in the jacket stands up. He has Tom's ID key in his hand. He turns it around, reading, examining, then throws it aside. It flies over the first row of seats and then slams into a seat next to Cy. With a rattle it stops on the edge of the seat. There is blood on it. Tom's blood. Cy's eyes unwillingly follow it.
Thomas A. Korrig, Sybon Captain 1st class, Security Detachment, onboard MFS Dauntless - printed in fine, milky white letters on a grey panel. Sky blue edge.
Again and again... Thomas A. Korrig, Sybon Captain... She can't stop following those words. That's Tom. Tom that's bleeding on the theater floor. Smell of chofee. It's bittersweet.
In a few moments, she might be free. The man will leave, Tom will be dead and she will have a life to live. She wouldn't have to merge. Thomas A. Korrig... of MFS Dauntless...

"What a stupid way to die, Sybon Captain 1st class, Thomas A. Korrig."
The man in the jacket looks disgusted. He points the gun at Tom's head. The young man looks away.

No one heard her moving. Getting up. Stepping on the floor. Navigators are gentle, flexible. The plastic seats never creaked as she hurled herself over them and lodged forward, with the mimic module shutting down.
The awkward fingers with too many joints snapped securely around the jacket collar. It didn't take strenght. Long silver sting burst through the skin on her wrist and lodged in the man's neck, ripping muscle and bone alike. It stabbed through his neck, spraying blood on the theatre floor.
Merging. That's what she is meant to do. A Navigator controls the ship by paralyzing its nervous system - like a wasp taming tarantulas. It must be done swiftly, cleanly. In one strike, the ship is subdued.

The hand holding the gun twitched and turned, leveling the muzzle with the boy, who spun around at the sound of something like a horrified gasp escaping from the lips of the man Cy held. The sound died out, drowned by the gurgling blood.

A single gunshot. Clean, focused. The boy fell to the floor and the smell of blood got stronger.

It was too much for Cy. She dropped the man's head and he too, fell down, eyes already glazed over with death.
Her sting was covered with blood. She wiped it off the black spotless jacket, frantically, then retracted it.

Tom was looking at her. For once, he was the one wideeyed. Humans were not meant to know. Oh, well. It didn't matter. It was worth it.

Slowly Cy sat down by Tom. She took off the coat and pressed the wound on his chest, without saying a word. On her shoulder, the angry black mark of purchase blazed.

"Sold to be merged with the MFS Dauntless."

Navigators are made to be territorial.

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Envirio filled up the round window of the transport shuttle. Snuggled against the window Cy looked out at the outline of a great white ship. Her home. Home for the both of them.
On the seat beside her, Tom was sleeping.


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NOTE: I'm a huge fan of Kincaid from Dresden Files. Only after writing it all did it hit me that the scene is somewhat alike the Hunt for the Archive one in Dresden Files. It was completely unintended (I just used the theatre because it had a nice red curtain. Still, unconsciously, could be I was influenced. I don't know.

Comments welcome. This was a cold-style narration exercise, in a way.

 

Good description and nice action sequence. I really liked the chofee trail in the story. The story flows well although the astericks caught me off guard and I'm still not sure why they are there. Two questions I would like to understand better in the story: Why was only one person guarding such a valuable commodity? And what did you mean by "She will have her life back"? I got the impression Cy had never experienced any kind of freedom to begin with.

 

Thank you for reading and the comments.

Heh, sorry about the asterisks. They shouldn't really be there.
I RP via IRC and when doing that actions of the characters get placed between asterisks. RPing has helped my writing a lot, and sometimes when i write I forget myself and put asterisks, like I'm acting the scene out. Hardly notice them anymore, tbh.

As for why just one person, this was intended as a fragment from a larger series of events, a quick snippet of the world.
Presumably, Tom's mission was a routine, short distance trip and they would have met the rest of the escort then, but something went wrong early on and they were forced to make a detour. The fact that Tom released Cy from the transport container even before things got wrong didn't help - it possibly makes it impossible for them to board most mainstream passenger ships - a Navigator walking around, rogue or not is a security risk.

The initial problems were supposed to be due to some security leak - constant destination changes and Tom's overall displeasure with his orders are all that's present from it in the story. The reason why the other side attacked/how they found them was also to be due to that - or a simple result of someone informing them of a Navigator being spotted. Rogue Navigators can also be merged, and there is also a faction of rogue Navigators out to liberate more.

In general, the world has a rather deceptive stability to it: planets on which you land, but might find difficult to leave because more "grounded" citizens are needed, virtual anarchy in most places in space, trade lanes shared by just about anyone, rumours of Navigator guided ships opposing those run by the Sybon military, etc.


Good point about "her life back". That was an unfortunate word construction. You are right, she didn't have a life to begin with. The line was meant to mean something like "getting the freedom to decide what she could do with her life for herself back, or getting an opportunity to experience life back". Cy has been around space for about three weeks when the story events occur - some of it has rubbed off, and I don't think Tom (his overprotectiveness aside) would be too enthusiastic about suppressing those emotions/attitudes in her.

(In part this is because I'd wanted to introduce Cy as an NPC to the other people in the RP group, at the point where she'd either be a rogue Navigator who is discovering just how far she'd go to get xylex and stay alive (reluctant to injure/kill Sybon troops due to her knowing Tom) or a fiercely protective fully-merged Navigator guiding the Dauntless to hunt the PCs, that is too protective of its crew to risk direct conflict -> giving them an opportunity to experience some time on board a Sybon vessel... but I'm rambling now. I never got to GMing this session/idea.)