As the combined vessels limped away from the neutron star’s pull, Voss’s voice came through, quiet and deliberate.
They didn’t promote her that week. But they did stop laughing. And when the next distress call came—a freighter stuck in a methane storm over Saturn—Admiral Voss didn’t point his finger. the rookie talia
Talia tuned them out. The Odyssey was tumbling, its main engine dead. She needed to match its erratic spin—not perfectly, but poetically. She fired the lateral thrusters in short, percussive bursts. Left, right, then a long, desperate burn that made the Skipper shudder like a dying animal. As the combined vessels limped away from the
“Exactly,” Voss said, not looking up from his console. “In a gravity well that chaotic, your precious instruments are useless. Instinct is all that’s left. Move, Rookie.” And when the next distress call came—a freighter
The docking clamps on her hull extended. She had one chance.
The rookie’s name was Talia, and she was the worst pilot in the Galactic Fleet. That wasn't just an opinion; it was a statistical fact, stamped on her file in bold red letters. Her ship, the Stardust Skipper , had more dents than a recycled asteroid, and her landing record was a running joke at the Ceres Base mess hall.
The room went silent. Senior pilots Sharpe and Mendez looked at her with a mix of pity and horror.
