CHAPTER 1

Kanopus looked around at his new ship's entry cabin with wonder, mainly because he didn't know what most of the buttons did.

Or the levers.

Or switches.

He turned behind him and realized he did not know how to close the thick, shuttle-like door that was invitingly open for him when he arrived.

“I hope this thing came with a manual…” he mused aloud.

“It does. Would you like me to read it for you?” a robotic feminine voice said from nowhere.

“What!? Who said that!?” Kanopus said, jumping and fumbling for the gun on his hip.

“I am the ship's A.I. I was programmed to help and assist you. Would you like me to read the manual, Captain Kanopus?” the voice said.

Kanopus relaxed after hearing this information.

“Ahh, that's alright… uhhh.”

Kanopus sat quietly for a moment, thinking of something to say to his newfound traveling companion. He had expected to be alone and was unsure how he felt about another presence on the ship, but concluded that any ship is bound to collect a crew at some point, and that at least he was a little less likely to go insane with the A.I. to talk to.

“Sooo, I was told that I already have my first load and that my instructions were aboard the ship,” he said finally, looking about the entry cabin as if to find a face to direct his not-question.

“That is correct, Captain Kanopus. We have 5,000 pounds of ship-grade steel headed for planet Petron in Xyn. Would you like to embark immediately?” the voice replied, barely missing a beat.

“That’d be wonderful. By the way, stranger, what's your name?” Kanopus asked as he began to move through the ship, inspecting the different rooms.

There was a sort of entry room that connected to a small mess hall/rec room labeled “Lounge” with rounded café tables—three of them—and swivel stools on one side, a long counter with a couple sinks, some cabinets, a fridge, and a FoodKwik machine, which converts ingredients into meals in mere seconds. In the middle of the room was a larger rectangular table with six chairs—one on each end and two on either side. On the far end of the room was another door leading further into the ship.

“I was not assigned a designation by my creators before my installation. When I was booted, I recall the technician saying he was forced to do a, quote-unquote, rushed job,” the A.I. said.

Kanopus frowned at that. That didn't seem fair. To not have a name was something Kanopus was glad to not suffer from—many clones only got designations of letters and numbers, and most would until the next DNA melding.

“Well, that just won't do. How am I supposed to travel with a nameless crewmember?” he said.

“I'm not programmed to make self-individualized choices, like choosing a name. The ship, of course, also remains yours to name as well, Captain Kanopus,” she responded.

Then he began thinking of what to name her, until he remembered the name of the Clone Waker that had been assigned to him. She had been a kind woman that had held him—shaking and confused—to understand who and what he was.

“What do you think of the name Carry?” he said, smiling lightly.

“I like that, Captain Kanopus,” Carry said.

“Please, that's a mouthful to hear every time. Call me Kano,” Kano chided.

“Alright, Captain Kano,” Carry replied.

Kano sighed. “Well, set a course for our destination, please, Carry.”

“Right away, sir,” Carry responded, and Kano heard the door shut with a puff of steam and saw a bunch of lights and switches go off or on at once. Suddenly, Kano felt them take off with a slight shudder and saw the sky start to whiz by incredibly fast out of a nearby port window in the lounge.

Deciding to continue exploring, he entered the door at the end of the lounge and found the crew quarters: six pod-like rooms with a bunk, some shelves, and a built-in chest in the wall. He shouldered off his pack of personal items and equipment he was given in the education and set them on the bunk.

“Well. Home sweet home,” he said, a slight smile on his face.

“Did you say something, Captain?” Carry chimed suddenly, startling Kano.

“Uh, no, I didn't. But say, what's the ETA to Petron?” he managed to say, turning and walking back towards the entryway.

“About a half-day's worth of travel, I'm afraid. The ship can only go half speed safely with a full load like this.”

Kanopus laughed lightly, reaching the entry and looking around once again. He noticed the door that led to the cockpit of the ship and also a ladder that stretched from the upper deck to the lower one, which was the cargo bay. He knew because it had been open still on his arrival. He hoped that Carry had also remembered to close that one as well, with a slight worry—then dismissed it as he realized he wouldn't be able to breathe were that the case.

So he began climbing the ladder to the upper deck, into a room laden with twelve sets of general space equipment, hooked and latched in place around the walls, and small hatches on either side of the room that each led to a gunner seat aboard the ship.

Kanopus eagerly began opening a hatch when Carry piped out, “If you were considering doing some target practice, I would wait until we’re at least out of the Xatos system, Captain Kano.”

Kano frowned and replied sarcastically, “I hope you aren't always this fun.”

Carry did not reply.

Kano sighed, closed the hatch, and returned down the ladder, heading to the cockpit. Inside the cockpit were three seats arranged in a wide triangle to view the large glass field placed in the front of the ship. The seat at the front was larger than the other two and had a little more cushion, signifying it as Kano’s, of course.

He gazed out at the zooming dark mist he was traveling in. It was quite mesmerizing to watch, as though he were in a submarine at the bottom of an ocean where no light could show except his own. That thought sent a chill through him, because, firstly, he didn't know how he knew anything about submarines or the ocean—but also, he somehow knew that meant what was unseen wouldn't become seen until it was right in their faces.

He imagined a gigantic squid the size of a Xynian Warship rising up from out of nowhere with a humongous iridescent eye before it would strike out and tear a hole through the ship.

“Captain, I'm detecting an elevated heartbeat from you. Might I suggest you relax in the lounge? It has been fully stocked in preparation for you,” Carry said, again startling Kano, who actually yelped this time. But he was glad to be dragged away from his strange imaginations and replied,

“Yeah, I’ll… I’ll do that. Thank you, Carry,” and began walking briskly away from the large window towards the lounge.

“Any time, Captain,” Carry stated.

Once in the lounge, Kano went to the fridge and opened it. Inside were all kinds of ingredients of prime cloning—aka the best chicken cloned, best pig, or cow for dairy, etc. Kano grabbed a few things and stuffed them in the FoodKwik. When he closed the door, a robotic voice that sounded like a bad French server accent said,

“Say ze thing you wish for me to make.”

Kano studied the device, looking for the best place to speak before giving up and just saying,

“Sandwich,” to the air around the device.

The machine lit up with a myriad of colors for a second, and then dinged almost immediately, all the colors gone as soon as they had arrived. Kano opened the door to find a perfectly made sandwich, complete with an olive toothpick. He received it eagerly and spoke out,

“Hey, Carry, I'm gonna go lay down. Wake me when we get to Petron.”

Carry’s voice filled the lounge.

“Alright, Captain.”

With that, he walked to his cabin and laid down, eating his sandwich.