I handed my dishes back to Kon.

  The twins, only just having arrived, let out a cheer as they received their meals from Kon.

  I rolled my shoulders. I hadn't slept well through the night. The time for my class selection was nearly upon me. Land leave was great, but I just wanted to hole up in my room until my core activated. I knew that a trip to Sliprock shouldn't disrupt the activation of my system, but I couldn't help but feel nervous.

  I was standing at the precipice before my future life, and I had to just go about my daily tasks. Speaking of, I pushed myself off the wall I had been leaning against; Beala would have probably called it skulking. Jenk would want me to check out my deliveries from the hold, but that could wait.

  I took my time as I walked up to the deck. Orders or no, if Sliprock was still a cycle away, I was in no rush.

  I took up a rifle as I walked onto the deck. I trusted Beala, but insurance was always good. You didn't want to be scrambling for a suitable weapon while Wyverns dropped down among your crew as hissing writhing balls of murderous intent.

  Noboro was already on watch. His gun was held at the ready, a furred finger resting on the guard. He was standing on the small outcropping below the bridge, giving him him a view over the entire deck. I waved to him and he acknowledged me briefly, before tilting his broad head back up to scan the space above us.

  I walked the length of the deck, swinging my head in wide arcs. Then I made my way up past the cage to the Sister's prow. As she came to a point, the wood grew darker, smooth patterns made visible by the contrast. I rested my barrel on the gunwale. and peered over the sharp blade that the prow formed.

  Innerspace churned below just as it did above. In the blue-green swirls of neutral magic. I kept my eyes peeled for any hint of the reds and purples that often heralded the vicinity of dragonkin.

  Wether a TrueWyrm or a dragonfly or anything in between, Dragonkin were creatures of Innerspace. Creatures of the magic that held the realms together. They had powerful cores that strengthened their bodies with the ambient mana, supercharging them to the point that excess mana leaked from them like an oily slick tainting a punctured waterskin.

  It was a unique effect of dragonkin. The races that had come from the realms had a harder time absorbing mana. Even with the framework of the system, one couldn't just absorb a hundred cores and shunt of the excess. Realmlings struggled to contain mana- their cores were inflexible and lacked vents. A Realmling absorbing and cycle mana like a dragonkin was the domain of fables; the stories of the old great mages.

  I saw no agitated mana, Innerspace twisting past in ever tightening spirals, trying to mix together mana signals that repulsed each other like rare earth magnets.

  the door that met the deck on an even plane opened and the twins strode out. Despite my general distaste, I could see why Noboro had hired them. They covered each other, their weapons held in a calm position of readiness. From my lookout, I heard Noboro order them to start rounds. They nodded, looking, for once, like actual professionals. They walked along the gunwales for a while, until they settled across from each other, Leaving one of each of us at each compass point.

  In these positions we waited for the approach. The twins swapped with each other a few times. And I adjusted my jacket.

  By the time a half cycle had passed, the Sister slowed. An unfortunate response to the general rules of the outposts spread across the outer ring of Innerspace; If something is coming in too fast, its an enemy that wants to eat you. So blast it out of the sky, and think about asking questions later if you can be bothered.

  I saw my fellow guards focus, straightening their posture and holding tight to their weapons. The approach gave some of the highest percentages of Dragon attacks. A Wyvern pack wasn't likely to chase down a craft at full speed, unless they were starved out of their mind. They also tended to avoid getting too close to outposts without great numbers on their side. This left the drifting just before safety came into sight as one of the most dangerous phases of an Innerspace flight.

  We waited, ready to fight, but while we heard the faint echoes of distant cries that echoed across the reaches standing my arm hair on end, they were distant, and would be no trouble- at least in the approach.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  A quarter cycle later and I sighed as SlipRock appeared in the crosshairs of the Sister's prow. From this distance it was a lumpy, misshapen thing darkened by the pale asteroids that orbited it.

  As we approached, Sliprock grew across the horizon. It was an asteroid itself, dark reddish-grey and at least ten times the size of the Sister. It was oblong, with environmental bubbles stretching across most of its surface like suds on a freshly drawn sink. The Outpost's name was Sliprock, and that was also the title of the fort where Hessier kept his little court, a warren of tunnels cut into the upper side of the asteroid, its faint shape curved up above the depression in which was cradled the dozen buildings that made the heart of the outpost.

  It was raining on Sliprock. Though that wasn't saying much. It was always raining on Sliprock. The debris field in its orbit were, for the most part, massive chunks of slush. The environmental bubbles that held Sliprock in place drew the ice inwards. Then when they made contact the bubbles did their best to fulfil their function; keeping what they protected safe for the inhabitants. Since the bubble considered water less harmful than chunks of ice- half of which dwarfed the ramshackle buildings below. The bubbles ground up the debris, converting it into a downpour that was, at a minimum, torrential.

  It was a perpetual war, between innerspace, and a man who would not give up his small pocket of control. The rain battered the town, and drained down in eroded pathways, off the bottom of Sliprock, where it drifted into orbit, collecting back into large solids.

  As Sliprock grew ahead of us, I called out to Noboro, "I'm heading down to the hold. I'll prep the deliveries."

  Noboro stared down at me, as if to say: how dare you interrupt my watch.

  I couldn't bring myself to care. Wyvern's rarely came so close to an established outpost like Sliprock.

  I slung the rifle across my back, and took a step back, so I could lift the hidden trapdoor that led down into the hull. Jenk was waiting. He stood in the middle of the vault, both sets of arms crossed against his barrel shaped chest, his long yellow mustaches trailing down to his upper collarbones.

  He sighed when I jumped off the ladder, like he still couldn't believe that he had to interact with me. He didn't just hate me- from what I had seen since his hiring, he held similar opinions about most of the crew.

  He uncrossed his lower set and drew out a clipboard from the apron that nearly covered his bowlegged stance.

  He scanned the list, making a nasal humming noise. I frowned and leaned against a bulkhead. I was sure he already knew what to give me. I had heard him list off every possible issue we had with our stock to the captain verbatim. But complaining would only get me the same long monologue on how one should listen to their superiors. Then he would be so turned around that he would start from the top.

  So I waited until he let out a weird little burp-like sound from his nostrils. "The Captain has requested the release of the packages into your care."

  I nodded, "Sounds good." I wait for him to continue. I didn't like spending any more time then I had too speaking with Jenk. He talked like he was better than everyone-even the Captain. Quartermaster or not, he was far too big for his britches-despite his diminutive size.

  Jenk stuck two arms too a set of drawers attached to the slope of the wall. "Sections 4, drawer 2, subsections 27 and 28."

  I follow his instructions and find a metal flask crimped shut with a heavy band, and the heavy package I had become intimately familiar with on Verak. Grimacing, I wrestled the package to a worktable, where I packed it into a waterproof rucksack. The flask was an easier task, slipping into a side pocket with little fuss. Bundle complete, I strung it over my shoulders.

  "And Package three?" I ask, ready to leave.

  Jenk sneers,"There. section 6, barrel 2."

  I groan. Great.

  "Jenk, I'm going to need the lift."

  Jenk huffs like this isn't his job. "Get it on. And hurry."

  Barrel two is large and ugly, a rusted metal can larger and longer than my torso. Full of some kind of semi-liquid, branded with an info list that was written small enough that it hurt my eyes to think about.

  Jenk doesn't help. Instead he watches me with a vaguely annoyed expression as I shove the can along the floor. Even putting all my weight and strength into it, the recoil of its contents were doing most of the work. It's slow, hard work, and my shoulders scream at me as I shove the barrel onto the lift in the center of the room.

  "Goodbye." Muttered Jenk, but I hold up a hand, darting off for a moment to grab a pile of jackets from a rack. I toss them on the barrel. The others will need them. I just pull my collor tight, buttoning up my jacket.

  With a soft creaking, the floor rises, the deck above spreading open to make room for the lift. Back in the natural light of Innerspace, the lift seals to the floor.

  Noboro and the twins are waiting. I toss them their jackets.

  Rain drums against the Sister's bubble, and I mentally thank whoever had set up the environment to disinclude rain.

  Sparks clashed and wobbled as bubbles met, then the Silent Sister was flying above the town, towards the docks at the top of Fort Sliprock.

  ***

  Each ship that travels across The Innersea is fueled by a 'Helm'. A Helm is a triumph of engineering, the ultimate channel for mana. With a Helm anyone with even a half-rate grasp of their magic can pilot a ship from realm to realm, and across the reaches of the Innersea.

  It is our peoples greatest invention- despite what my half-wit contemporaries claim. It has given us flight and freedom, free of the influences of our past.

  Furthermore, the Melding of mind and ship; an intended phenomenon. Has been used to prove many of the theories of the great sage Haxon Hammerfall, specifically his work on construct minds, which have already brought forward advancements in golem creation.

  -Greenfingers, Garrulous, On Helms; or, the invention that catalysed the rise of the empire. pg15 347 AS