I was 20 cycles old when I got my first ship. My father did “The Long Run” just before I was born. Ten years from Mars high orbit to various mining colonies and then on to Io and back. He missed my early childhood, but came back with one million credits.
I always wanted to make the long run. There was a certain devotion it took and a certain respect you got if you made it, plus the money of course. As much as I longed for the money and the adventure I was also afraid. There were these nightmares, dreams where I was out there in the inky blackness alone. I’m in a walksuit and I have enough oxygen and water for a few days, but I am out in the big black, the space between the edge of the Asteroid Belt and Jupiter. Hundreds of millions of kilometers from any outpost. Not even a remote chance of being saved.