Tyrial awoke feeling somewhat refreshed. As he lay there staring at the ceiling collecting his thoughts, he realized he didn't have a headache anymore. That was a promising development. He knew he should probably give it some more time but the uncertainty of his future gnawed at him. Reaching out with his mind, he gathered his Will. As he had done many times before, he created a small gravity well above his bed.

        So far, so good. His head was fine and the gravity well was holding. Concentrating harder, he intensified the localized gravity well. He purposely caused these Gravitons to decompose immediately upon leaving this small sphere; thus keeping his little experiment from doing unpleasant things to his surroundings. Intensifying the gravity well even further, the air inside the sphere formed a small opaque point in the center. Here came the fun part; while maintaining his gravity well, he used his Will to reassemble some of the molecules in the air at the center of his well. When he was done he had about a microgram of deuterium at the center of his gravity well.

        Being able to transform that much matter already told him his powers were intact, but he wasn't about to skip the best part now. As he steadily increased the intensity of the gravity well, the opaque pearl of air in the center began to shrink. He pushed harder, gathering more and more of his Will. Before his escape from the planet several days ago, he could only just barely do this trick if he was well-rested. This time, he was barely working up a sweat.

        With the joy running through him that he would still have the power to pursue his cause, he pushed even harder at his gravity well. He felt he needed to celebrate, and what better way to do that than with a short-lived Deuterium fusion reaction. Just as he started to feel a slight strain, the first small flash of plasma appeared in his sphere. Being careful to shield the sphere with his Will to keep the radiation and most of the light in check, he watched the little fireworks display above his bed. When the last of the Deuterium had burned away, Tyrial slowly released the gravity well, allowing the newly created Helium-3 to escape.

        Relaxing completely onto his bed, he felt better now than he had in days, maybe even months. He was clean, with the help of a liquid shower no less. That fact alone still astounded him. His powers were fully intact, even a little stronger it seemed. Converting all that matter hadn’t even worked up a sweat, and as always the gravity was the easy part. He wondered why Mage’s found it so much more difficult to manipulate matter itself than the forces that interacted with it.

        Mentally shrugging he sat up. On the nightstand next to him sat a pile of his clothes. They hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep earlier. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood up and stretched. No traitorous appendages gave out on him this time. Picking up his clothes, he began to dress. They smelled even cleaner than the day he had bought them. Something told him he probably had Rella to thank for that. Once dressed he walked over to his desk and picked up the PA that lay there. It was a nicer model than what he had seen being used by most wealthy merchants. It was about ten centimeters long, two centimeters wide, and curved in the shape of an open cylinder. Sliding it onto his left wrist, he hit the attach button and the device comfortably snugged itself to his forearm.

        He hadn’t had one of these of any model for quite a while, the last one having been broken by a particularly brutal fight with a group of thieves. Just one more reason to stay in space, it drastically reduced the number of people he had to deal with. He sat at the chair in front of the desk and began to familiarize himself with the interface of this particular model of PA. He sat there for a few minutes tapping away at the interface and marveling at the specs.

        A sound made him jump; the door to his room made a very distinctive beeping sound. Looking over he noticed a display panel had lit up next to the door. Getting out of his chair, he walked over to it, and on the display were the words ‘Entry Request’. As he inspected the display it occurred to him he should have asked Rella how to open his door. All of the small ships he had been on before used simple mechanical actuators; this one appeared to be entirely electronic. Finally locating the option labeled ‘Open’, he tapped it.

        On the other side of the now open door was not the person Tyrial had expected. Standing there with the most neutral expression Tyrial had ever seen was a man he had not met yet. Only a handful of centimeters shorter than Tyrial, the man was completely bald. He wore simple blue clothes and a pair of what looked like augmented glasses. Tyrial could see little flickers of images moving across the lenses. The man was staring at the tablet in his hands seemingly ignoring Tyrial completely.

        As Tyrial was about to introduce himself, the man looked up. Looking Tyrial over quickly from head to toe, the man said, “Biometrics indicated you were conscious. What is your current discomfort level?”

        Tyrial was taken aback; it was like being interrogated by a computer. Given the nature of the question, Tyrial could only assume this was the Doctor that Rella had mentioned earlier. The man wasn’t much for bedside manner it seemed. Discomfort level? Tyrial had only just woken up, but he did his best to translate.

        “Fine, I think,” he replied shortly.

        The Doctor didn’t look entirely satisfied with that answer; he confirmed Tyrial’s suspicion a moment later by mumbling down at his tablet, “You think… Wouldn’t have thought the answer would be difficult to pin down.”

        Making a few notes, he looked back up and said, “I almost hesitate to ask given the uncertainty of your last answer, but do you have any gauge on the state of your Will Power.”

        Tyrial might have been offended if the Doctor had shown even the least hint of disdain or condescension. His tone was completely neutral, however, almost robotic. His face so blank, Tyrial was starting to wonder if he was even human. Tyrial had never heard of an artificial human before, but given all the surprises he had seen on this ship so far he wasn’t quite willing to count out the possibility.

        He suddenly realized he was staring blankly at the Doctor who was obviously waiting patiently for a response. Doing his best to pull himself together, Tyrial responded, “My powers seem to be intact, perhaps even slightly stronger.”

        “Seem to be… Perhaps… Your lack of certainty is disturbing,” said the Doctor without so much as a trace of emotion.

        Tyrial was becoming confused and a bit annoyed. What kind of answer would satisfy the man? The Doctor went back to his tablet, presumably tapping out some additional notes. Tyrial had faced Conclave Questioners who had had less success in unsettling him than this Doctor. Looking up from his tablet, the Doctor studied Tyrial briefly, another question forming on his lips. Just as Tyrial was preparing to give up on civility, he heard the most welcome sound he could imagine from just down the hall.

        “Liam, you could show our new Ship Mage a little more compassion than that,” said Rella chidingly.

        Liam turned towards Rella and for the first time cracked a small smile. The previous inscrutable neutrality made the smile all the more unsettling.

        “Just checking on a patient,” said Liam kindly.

        Walking up to Liam, Rella was now in Tyrial’s field of view. He had never really stopped to appreciate her looks before. She was short and slight of build, even for a Zyrtha. She was a little less than half a meter shorter than he was, only coming up to just above his elbow. She had medium length blonde hair with her two pointed ears sticking up through it on either side. Pinned in her hair was a strange-looking brooch. It seemed to be made of a slightly metallic-looking wood with several small gems embedded in it. Her eyes were deep blue and striking, almost seeming to glow. She was dressed in a tight-fitting shirt and pants that showed off her moderate assets, both with minor decorations, all in natural colors of greens and browns. She was a little short for Tyrial’s taste, not that he had a taste per se, but he couldn't say he didn't find her attractive. If it wasn’t for the pointed ears sticking up through her hair, one might mistake her for an extremely short adult human.

        “So, how is your patient doing then?” Rella asked with a smile.

        “Other than an acute case of uncertainty, he seems fine,” replied Liam almost jovially.

        Tyrial was so glad to see a friendly face that he let that little piece of hypocrisy go uncontested. Apparently, ‘seems’ was only a problem when he used it.

        “I’m glad to hear it, do you know how much longer you might be? I promised to take Tyrial on a tour,” said Rella.

        “I’m done with him for now, actually,” replied Liam, “Have a pleasant day, Miss Arengale.” The Doctor, still smiling, nodded to Rella and turned to walk back down the hallway without so much as a second glance at Tyrial. As he walked away, Tyrial noticed for the first time the Doctor had two artificial legs. His gate was unnaturally smooth.

        Tyrial stood there staring after the retreating Doctor. He couldn’t figure out if he had done something to personally upset the man, or if this was just how he handled his prejudice against Mages. Still mulling it over, he didn't notice Rella moving up to him at first.

        “Don’t let it bother you too much,” Rella’s voice right next to him made Tyrial jump slightly.

        Getting a hold of himself, Tyrial said, “I’m fairly used to people not liking me for what I am, but I will admit that was one of the odder reactions I have seen.”

        “Oh, Liam doesn’t have anything against Mages,” said Rella, “he’s just trying to get over the loss of our last Mage. We all are really.”

        Tyrial cocked his head slightly; the short weasely Mage Tyrial had seen when he’d first arrived didn’t seem the type of person one would become particularly attached to. Tyrial figured there was no accounting for taste, so he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. That did pose another question, however.

        “Please forgive my next question, but if he was so well-liked, why did he leave?” asked Tyrial.

        “Leave?” Rella looked puzzled for a moment, then realization showed on her face. “Ahh, you mean Salazar. No, he was only temporary, and not terribly missed, to be honest. You never met Fyrial, though; he died several weeks ago in a fight with the Conclave,” she said with a sad tone.

        “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Tyrial. He wasn’t good at being empathetic in situations like this. He supposed he should have come up with something more consoling to say, but he didn't have that kind of thing in him. Fortunately, it seemed Rella had enough for both of them.

        “It's alright, I can only imagine how difficult it is for you to be dropped into this situation,” said Rella. “Why don’t we go to the mess and get you something to eat. We can talk more there, and perhaps I can introduce you to a few more of your fellow crew.”

        After the chilly reception Tyrial had received from the Doctor, he wasn’t certain if he was up to meeting any more crew members, but it wasn’t like he could hide in his quarters forever. Still trying to work up his courage to do what he knew had to be done, he was surprised when Rella took his hand in hers.

        “I’ll be right there with you, don’t worry,” said Rella. “They’ll warm up to you soon enough. I promise.”

        Slightly startled, Tyrial looked down at the small women next to him. He almost wished she would stop doing that, almost. He had never felt so out of control and out of place in a situation before. No one had ever been so constantly kind to him, and if she wanted something from him he still couldn’t tell what it was. Messing with his hair as an excuse to extricate his hand, he said, “I could use some food, I guess.” Her proximity wasn’t doing anything to help cure Tyrial of his uncertainty.

        Rella, however, seemed completely unfazed by his uncertainty or his somewhat standoffish attitude. Still smiling brightly at him she said, “This way.”

        She turned and started moving down the hall in the same direction the Doctor had gone. Tyrial moved into the hall himself, exiting his room and marveling at the level of technology on this ship as his door closed on its own. He followed Rella down the hall.

        At the first and only intersection, Rella headed to the right. Tyrial glanced down the hall to the left and saw the entrance to the Bridge he had briefly seen when he first came aboard. That would make the air-lock he had entered the ship by directly in front of him. Turning to the right, he followed Rella towards what he now knew was the rear of the ship.

        Quickly glancing behind her, Rella led Tyrial into the mess. The first thing Tyrial noticed upon entering the room was the very large Tartarin sitting in an oversized chair towards the back of the room. Tyrial hadn’t seen a great many alien races in his life, having spent most of his years far from any alien borders. Tartarins in particular, however, he had only ever seen three of in his life. The one in front of him included.

        Tyrial may only have encountered a few Tartarins, but he had read about them in his xenobiology books. And this one was definitely unique. He was enormous; it was hard to tell while he was still sitting, but Tyrial would have put money on him being only a little shy of three meters tall. He was wearing what looked like human army gear, mostly grays and blacks. And perhaps the strangest part of all, he was reading a paper book. Holding the small looking thing in one of his four enormous hands.

        The Tartarin looked up briefly from his book and noticed Tyrial staring at him. Before Tyrial could bring together the good sense to look elsewhere, the Tartarin just shook his head and went back to reading. Tyrial was surprised; he had always been told Tartarins were hot-headed, verging on barbaric. Glancing around the room, Tyrial noted only two other crew members here. The red-headed women who had previously been seated at the tactical station, and the tall young man who had been seated at the engineering station. They were both sitting together two tables down from the Tartarin, towards the left side of the mess.

        Rella, standing just in front of Tyrial, motioned to the reading Tartarin and said, “This is Kreshen.”

        Without looking up from his book, Kreshen said, “Godless, Kreshen Godless.”

        “Yes,” said Rella. The way she said it indicated this was an old disagreement she didn't care to continue. Pointing then to the young man sitting next to the red-head, Rella said, “This is William.” The young man was hunched over one of his electronic devices; he didn't acknowledge his name even in the slightest. Rella apparently expected no more from him because she moved on without pause to indicate the redheaded girl sitting next to William. “And this is Sarah,” she said.

        Sarah, at least, glanced up at the mention of her name and gave Tyrial a slight nod before going back to the whispered conversation she was having with William. Introductions apparently as complete as they were going to get, Rella indicated a table on the right side to Tyrial and said, “If you’d like to sit, I’ll see about getting you some food. I’m afraid it won't be quite as good as what you had earlier; we usually only make meals like that at dinner time.”

        “I’ve been living on a diet of MRE’s and nutrient paste for the last few years, I can’t imagine anything you have here is worse than that,” said Tyrial.

        Rella looked at him with sympathy and said, “I’m sure I can do better.”

        Tyrial moved to the seat Rella had indicated while she went to the back of the mess where a small food prep station was set up. Yet another luxury that Tyrial had not often seen, even on larger ships. Those little food prep systems could make almost any fresh cooked item you could imagine so long as you had the right cartridges and ingredient packs for it.

        Sitting down, Tyrial tried to keep everything sorted in his mind. It was hard, his thoughts kept trying to spin out of control. First, there was Rella, a Zyrtha girl who was being so kind to him he had a hard time not suspecting ulterior motives. Then there was the Doctor, Liam. Tyrial still couldn't make heads or tails of that interaction. The three he had just met in the mess didn’t seem all that much more personable either. Tyrial was beginning to understand why that other Mage, Salazar, had so readily agreed to give up his position.

        Staring at the table in front of him, Tyrial was surprised when a tray suddenly appeared on it. Far from being an MRE or some other pre-packaged instant concoction, he was looking at a sandwich, made with what looked like real bread and meat. Next to it was a small pile of crackers and a cup with some dark liquid in it.

        Sitting next to him, Rella said, “Sorry it's only a sandwich. We haven't brought up any new ingredient packs recently.”

        Tyrial shook his head; he supposed if he’d been more willing to ‘do whatever it takes’ as Captain Rosh had put it, he could probably have eaten regularly like this. Instead, he’d gotten used to MRE’s, and when those ran out, simple tasteless nutrient paste. He had never really cared all that much about what his food was so long as he had it. Now, however,  it was true what they said, you never really knew what you were missing until you had it.

        Realizing that he was staring off into space again, he tried to bring his mind around to something appropriate to respond with. “It’s much better than I’m used to, thanks,” he said. With that, he started to dig into the food so he wouldn’t have to come up with anything else intelligent to say. He didn’t seem to be having much luck with that anyway.

        Not seeming to mind his reluctance to talk, Rella said, “I’m glad you like it. I’m sorry about the cold welcome everyone seems to be giving you; it isn’t your fault. Fyrial was very well-liked by everyone here and his sudden loss has been difficult to deal with.”

        Between mouthfuls of sandwich, Tyrial said, “At least you’re still friendly.” As soon as the words left his mouth Tyrial thought better of them. “I didn’t mean— “ he began.

        “It’s ok,” said Rella, “I know what you meant.” She smiled at him and said, “I wasn’t as close to Fyrial as the others were. He was never really able to get over my being a Zyrtha. He had some history with others of my race and to be honest I couldn’t blame him.”

        She seemed reluctant to say more, so Tyrial decided to change the subject. “I don’t know much about the other races,” he said. “The only thing I have to go on is what I’ve read, which isn’t much. I’ve spent most of my years in the inner human systems, Sol mostly. Mister tall and silent over there is the third Tartarin I’ve ever seen in my life.”

        Smiling again, Rella said, “He isn’t even the only non-human we have on board. Zin’dar is a Karachie, but he spends almost all of his time in engineering.”

        Tyrial looked up at Rella and asked, “You’re not going to tell me you have a Vaylen on board as well are you?”

        Laughing lightly, Rella replied, “No, none of those. Zin’dar is the last of the crew you haven't met yet. I’ll take you down there to meet him when you’re done eating.”

        Tyrial was not looking forward to another introduction, it looked like none of them were going to be particularly pleasant. He kept his thoughts to himself, however, and went about finishing the food on his tray. Rella apparently content to watch him eat.

        Glancing over his shoulder as he chewed his last bite of food, Tyrial noticed that the two other humans in the room were still sitting next to each other, heads bent together whispering. “Those two seem close,” said Tyrial, indicating William and Sarah.

        “I would hope so,” said Rella, “they’ve been married for years. You would be forgiven for not seeing it though, they’re about as opposite from one another as you could imagine. Sarah is an outgoing weapons specialist and William is an introverted Technomancer. They care about each other very much though.”

        Tyrial raised his eyebrows at the term Technomancer. He had barely ever even heard of those reclusive and uniquely skilled individuals. Perhaps there were no Vaylen on board, but a Technomancer was almost as unusual. Deciding not to press the issue though, Tyrial nodded, then pointed to Kreshen and said, “I almost hesitate to ask, but what's his story?”

        “Kreshen is a Tartarin outcast,” Rella said, “He defied his Shaman and gave up his God. Hence the surname he always insists we use. The rest of his story I’m afraid is his to tell. I’m sure you understand.”

        “Of course,” said Tyrial, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

        Finishing the last drop of his juice, he stood and picked up his tray, looking questioningly at Rella. She indicated a small table next to the food prep station. Placing the tray on said table, Tyrial followed Rella out of the mess. The uncomfortable silence from its three other occupants finally and thankfully left behind.

        Heading straight down the hall from the mess, Rella led him across the central intersection and up to the short set of stairs leading to the bridge. On the left just before the stairs were two doors, one labeled ‘Lift’ and the other labeled ‘Stairs’.

        Rella pointed to those and said, “Those doors lead to the lower deck, engineering and the cargo bays are down there, we’ll head there in a moment.” She continued to lead him forward, up the stairs, and onto the bridge. “I know you’ve already seen this but the tour wouldn’t be complete without it,” she said.

        Looking around at the bridge, Tyrial had a thought. Hesitantly, he asked, “Do you know, by chance, how far from the nearest inhabited planet we are?”

        Rella looked at him questioningly for a moment, but stepped forward to the NAV station and tapped a few times on the screen. “Point eight seven light-years from Keid II,” she said. “If I might ask, why did you want to know?”

        Tyrial shrugged, “Just curious exactly how far out in the middle of nowhere I would have stranded us if my powers hadn’t come back,” he said with an edge of pessimism.

        “Oh,” said Rella, “I’m certain someone would have rescued us if we’d needed them to.”

        Tyrial looked at her sharply; who exactly could a smuggler’s vessel rely on to rescue them at need, he wondered. Before he could get the question out, however, Rella had already started moving back towards the stairs saying, “Follow me.”

        Putting his questions aside for the moment, he followed Rella back down the stairs. At the bottom, she turned to the right and with a swipe of her hand, the door labeled ‘Stairs’ opened. Following her down this new longer set of stairs that doubled back on themselves, Tyrial began to hear the distinct noises of engineering.

        A short distance down the hallway that attached to the end of the stairs they came to two doors. The one on the left labeled ‘Gravity’, the one on the right labeled ‘Engineering’. Swiping her hand in front of the latter door, she led Tyrial into the most fascinating room of the ship he had seen yet.

        Tyrial had been in quite a few engineering rooms before. The one on Captain Rosh’s ship had been dirty, noisy, and filled with old and failing hardware. This room had none of that. Dominating the center of the room was an enormous reactor that had none of the familiar parts Tyrial was used to seeing on a fusion reactor. Along the walls not taken up by pipes, conduit, and electrical components, there were storage lockers and equipment racks. Everything looked exceptionally clean and extremely well organized.

        Catwalks ran everywhere above his head. Looking up, Tyrial saw even more equipment and devices. Also up on said catwalks, was a short, extremely hairy Karachie who must have been Zin’dar. The little man was paying absolutely no attention to his new guests, so Tyrial decided to play along this time. Keeping his hands held behind his back, he began to walk around inspecting the various pieces of equipment and the reactor that took up most of the space.

        Tyrial had never heard of a reactor so large on anything short of a capital ship before. And he had not had many chances to frequent ships that large. Moving around the reactor, he started to recognize some of the components that made it up. He found the Electron Collector much larger than he would have expected on even a fusion reactor as large as this. The reaction chamber looked to be plasteel reinforced with a gravity containment system.

        Tyrial had no idea what kind of reactor could need such industrial parts. Then he saw the fuel storage tanks, which were lined with gravity compression stabilizers. Suddenly he knew exactly what kind of reactor would need equipment this hi-tech. Taking an involuntary step back, he said, “By the Void, this is an antimatter reactor.”

        “The Void had nothing to do with it,” said Zin’dar. Tyrial had not noticed the man was standing almost directly above him on one of the catwalks. “Nice to see you can appreciate elegant technology,” he said. Without further conversation, he moved down the catwalk and through a small hatch at the back of the large room.

        Left alone with Rella and the most amazing piece of technology Tyrial had ever seen, he said, “A compact antimatter reactor, now I really have seen it all. I’ve never heard of an antimatter reactor in anything short of a space station before.” Pausing, he looked at Rella and continued, “I have seen it all… right?”

        Smiling broadly, Rella said, “More or less, I think.”

        Taking one more walk around the exceptional reactor, Tyrial walked back up to Rella who was still standing by the entrance. “At least he talked to me,” said Tyrial, trying to sound less despondent than he felt.

        Rella looked at him apologetically. “You just need to give them some time; even if they weren't getting over Fyrial’s death, none of them would be quick to accept a newcomer,” she said.

        “It’s fine,” said Tyrial, “Honestly, being ignored is better than what I usually deal with. When I was on the ship before Captain Rosh’s, I was treated little better than a slave. Even if you’re the only one that’s ever civil to me here, it's still better than almost anyplace else I’ve ever served.” Seeing the sad expression on Rella’s face, Tyrial regretted the words almost as soon as he spoke them.

        Half raising her hand towards Tyrial, Rella said, “I’m sorry.”

        Tyrial straightened and with a bit of effort, forced a smile onto his face. He said, “It’s fine, please, there's no need to pity me. I could have made things easier for myself if that had been my goal. Other objectives have been more important to me than that, however, so it's a cost I haven't minded paying.”

        Rella looked at him sadly for a moment longer, then dropped her hand and let her smile partially return. Tyrial noticed, however, there was a hint of sadness that remained. “Alright,” Rella said. “Shall we head back upstairs then?” she asked.

        Tyrial nodded, hoping he hadn’t hurt the small girl's feelings. He then began to wonder why he cared about her feelings. As they moved out of engineering and back down the hallway towards the stairs, Tyrial had a thought. He remembered something from his xenobiology book in regards to Zyrtha. He seemed to recall that their lifespans were more than double that of humans. Perhaps ‘girl’ wasn’t the right word for her, she may have looked in her early twenties but she was likely much older than that, maybe as old as him.

        Tyrial had gotten so used to thinking of anyone without substantial gray in their hair as children compared to him. Not that it mattered much, one thing he had learned in his nearly seventy years of being alive was that age mattered little in the grand scheme of things. The more years you had behind you just meant the fewer you had in front. Oh sure, it certainly gave you the opportunity to collect knowledge and wisdom, but the problem was that most people made poor use of their time and did little collecting of either.

        Tyrial had certainly spent the first sixteen years of his life productively; his father had seen to that. But after his parent’s death, all the rest of his time had been spent obsessing over his only remaining goal in life, to bring down the Conclave. For all of that, he was probably no wiser or more intelligent than his face suggested he was. Sometimes he lamented the loss of years, but usually, when he started to walk down that road, the nightmare would return to remind him why he drove down the path he did.

        As Tyrial stepped through the door at the top of the stairs, Rella turned towards him and said, “Well, that pretty much sums up the tour, it's a pretty small ship.” She pointed back towards the bridge and said, “Captain Vendal’s room is just up those stairs to the right. He said he wanted to talk to you when we were done.”

        Tyrial nodded, then on a sudden whim, he said in a rush, “Thank you, Rella, for everything. It’s hard for me to accept that someone would be kind to me just for the sake of it, but I think you’re truly a good person. Thank you.” With all of that said, he turned quickly and headed for the bridge.

        As Tyrial cleared the short stairs leading up to the bridge two at a time, he heard Rella say behind him, “I think you’re a good person too, Tyrial. You’re welcome.” Tyrial paused at the top of the stairs, realizing he was running from the words he’d just said. He glanced back briefly, but Rella had already turned and left. Tyrial turned back and looked over the bridge. He wished he wasn’t so awkward around Rella, but then maybe it was for the best. He really didn't have time for a relationship and, all things considered, he wouldn't wish himself on anyone he liked anyway.

        Shaking his head, he calmed his beating heart and did his best to recapture some measure of calm. He turned towards the door to his right that had a placard attached to it that read  ‘Captain’ and touched the display pad next to it. On the menu that popped up, he tapped ‘Request Entry’ and waited. A few seconds later the door slid open. Inside was a room about as large as Tyrial’s, with a door at the back that opened into another that looked almost as big as the first. What little of the second room Tyrial could see looked like a bedroom. The room he stepped into, however, looked very much like an office. Both walls were lined with bookshelves and towards the back of the room in the center was a large desk covered with papers, tablets, and books. Sitting in front of the desk were two empty chairs, sitting behind it, was Gabriel.

        Tyrial looked back at the doorway from inside the room, it had the same display pad on the inside as his did. Gabriel must have guessed at his confusion. “Your PA can be used to control your own door,” he said, tapping the PA on his own wrist and closing the door.

        Tyrial nodded in understanding. Walking up to Gabriel’s desk, he stood at attention. Hands behind his back, feet together, standing straight and tall. “Tyrial Novengrad reporting for duty, sir,” he said professionally.

        Gabriel smiled at him and said, “No need for such formalities here, Tyrial. As long as you follow orders, I don’t really care what you call me. Here, have a seat, let's talk.”

        Tyrial relaxed slightly. He always found that it cost little to show the people in charge respect, even if they didn't deserve it. While speaking your mind might make you feel better in the short term, it usually wasn’t worth the cost in the end. Tyrial had so far found no reason that Gabriel didn’t deserve said respect; he seemed to be a very reasonable captain. Tyrial moved one of the chairs away from the desk and sat in it.

        “So,” said Gabriel, “I suppose the first and most important question has to come first. I don't know of any delicate way to put this, so I’ll just ask, do you still have your powers?”

        “I do,” replied Tyrial, “in full.”

        “Good, good,” said Gabriel, “I’ll assume that little neutrino burst from earlier was you then.”

        Tyrial was surprised. Generally, only a science vessel would have a subspace sensor array that sensitive. His little fusion reaction had created only a very small number of neutrinos. “Yes,” replied Tyrial, trying not to sound sheepish.

        “I see,” said Gabriel, “Well, I am glad you have your powers back, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from creating uncontained fusion reactions inside my ship in the future.”

        “Understood,” said Tyrial. What else could he say? He couldn’t blame Gabriel. He knew less experienced Mages could easily cause serious damage or even destroy a ship with stunts like that. In all honesty, if he’d been fully awake and thinking straight he probably wouldn’t have done it at all.

        “Good,” said Gabriel, “how long before you’ll be ready to pilot the ship?”

        “I should be good now,” replied Tyrial, “as long as you don't need me to outrun a Conclave blockade again.”

        Gabriel chuckled, then said, “No, probably not, not yet anyway. We need to pick up some cargo for a run for which we are already fairly late. I don't want you to risk killing yourself. If you need more time, take it.”

        “I’m good,” said Tyrial. “On a different note, however, I couldn’t help but notice how nice my accommodations are. A personal bathroom, nice food, and even a liquid shower.” Pausing for a second, he looked Gabriel in the eyes and said, “I was wondering how much all of that was going to cost me.”

        Smiling, Gabriel said, “Ahh, the age-old question of credits. Alright, let me briefly go over how it works here. You follow my orders and do your best to protect your crewmates, and that covers the cost of your accommodations and food. As for getting paid, you get a four percent cut of every run we make. After each run, the crew takes a vote. You get a unanimous yes, and you’re moved up to full share which is eight percent on each run. You get a unanimous no, and we drop you off at the next starport. Anything in between and nothing changes until the next vote.”

        Tyrial was almost speechless. He had never heard of any smuggling captain offering terms as generous as that, especially to a Mage. This whole place seemed too good to be true. It was all Tyrial could do to keep his paranoia at bay. It helped that his intuition wasn’t telling him anything was wrong; nothing felt off. But after so many years dealing with liars and cheats, scum and villains, his paranoia was honed to a razor’s edge. He took a deep breath to steady himself and said, “That sounds very generous, thank you.”

        Gabriel gave a knowing smile and said, “I know. Fyrial felt the same way when I brought him on board. You’ll come to believe it after a few weeks; don't let it bother you for now.”

        Tyrial looked at his hands, “That obvious, hmm?” he asked.

        “Like I said,” said Gabriel, “don't worry about it for now. I don’t have any way to prove that I’m telling the truth, so I’ll just let my actions speak for me. Let me know when you’re ready to move out.”

        Tyrial looked up, straightened his back, and said, “No time like the present, sir, let's get this tub moving.” Suddenly realizing what he had said out of habit, he quietly said, “No offense…”

        Smiling, Gabriel said, “Just don’t let Zin’dar hear you. And Captain Vendal will do fine. Gabriel when in private. I’ll meet you on the bridge in ten minutes.”

        Tyrial nodded, understanding the implicit dismissal. He stood, nodded once more as the man didn’t seem to want salutes, and walked out the door. Once in the hallway, he realized he didn’t have anything else to do, so he headed for the bridge and his station. Perhaps he could spend a few minutes getting more familiar with his station’s interface. And, of course, there was always that comfortable chair to sit in. For the first time that Tyrial could ever remember, he was looking forward to getting to work.