Special Notes: This is a spin-off of the Cody story. And, as a side note, I write YA (young adult) stories, so if you're waiting for a murder mystery, it probably won't happen. Young adult liturature is typically written for 12-18 year olds. When I was a kid, I read every YA scifi I could get my hands on. I'm afraid both scifi and YA have fallen out of popularity, but someone has to keep it alive. Zach, Chapter 1 Zachariah Hunter knelt on the weathered outer hull of an antiquated water mining ship, a solitary silhouette etched against the vast tapestry of space. The tether attaching him to the vessel, a lifeline as frayed and worn as his own patched suit, trailed limply behind him to the yawning maw of the hatch he had emerged from moments earlier. His gaze, shrouded by the visor reflecting a cosmos indifferent to his plight, lifted to the passing vessel—a predatory specter with a scanning laser sweeping over the decrepit form of his supposed livelihood. With a practiced nonchalance, Zach rose to his feet, the magnetic boots securing his stance on the metal skin beneath him. The pirate raiders, their ship’s silhouette stark against the celestial canvas, were close enough to discern the dereliction of his craft. As if to tempt fate, Zach gestured expansively, miming the act of quenching one's thirst, offering the very commodity that his vessel feigned to harvest. A jest, surely, for any who dared imbibe would find themselves ingesting a concoction necessitating weeks of anti-radiation therapy. The pirates, untempted by anything such a wreck could offer ignored him. A smirk played upon Zach's lips as the raider ship continued its inexorable traverse, slipping away into the abyss. With the threat diminishing in the distance, he knelt again, his movements deliberate and measured as he affixed yet another superfluous patch onto the hull. It was a charade enacted time and again, each patch a testament to his father’s cunning—a deterrent to those who sought easy spoils. The mock theater of dilapidation had served its purpose once more, ensuring the solitude required for their clandestine operations. Zach maintained the illusion with the finesse of a seasoned performer until the retreating silhouette of the pirate craft melded with the stars, now indistinguishable from the myriad points of light. Content in the knowledge of another successful deception, Zach sauntered back toward the airlock, the gateway between the façade of destitution and the concealed opulence within. He had played his part, upheld his responsibility to the legacy and livelihood entwined in the Ceres Corporation—a bastion of civilization amidst the cosmic wilderness, where sacrifice and loyalty were currencies as valuable as the treasures his ship secretly harbored. In the silent communion with the void, where historical echoes reverberated through the vacuum, Zach stepped beyond the threshold, leaving behind the patchwork persona of a humble water miner for the truth that lay concealed within. The airlock exhaled its final breath, a gust of artificial atmosphere that carried the scent of metal and age. Zach stepped from the chamber's sterility into the narrow corridor, its walls curving around the colossal water tank at the ship's heart. Here, intermittent lights sputtered in their sockets, casting unsteady shadows that danced with each flicker. The space was a conduit of neglect, where rust was sovereign, and every surface whispered tales of decay. Zach's gaze drifted over the peeling paint, the exposed wiring. A less discerning eye might fall for the ruse—a spectacle meticulously crafted to repel those unwelcome. Yet, beneath this masquerade of dilapidation lay the pulse of a vessel far removed from its decrepit façade. He moved with practiced stealth, the silence his accomplice as he approached the wall beside the tank. There, hidden in plain sight amongst the disarray, an innocuous panel waited. With a precision born of countless repetitions, Zach pressed down, feeling the subtle give of the concealed latch. A section of the wall, indistinguishable from the rest, swung inward with a soft sigh, revealing the sanctum within. Zach lingered but a moment, ensuring the passage sealed behind him with a gentle click—a barrier between worlds. The interior of the double-walled tank unfolded before him, a stark antithesis to the charade outside. Here, the light was abundant, unfaltering in its brilliance. It bathed the clean lines of the crew quarters, the polished surfaces of the galley, and illuminated the spines of books lining the library shelves—a treasure trove of knowledge and history. Each deck was meticulously arranged, every item placed with intention. In the quiet splendor of this hidden domain, wealth was not measured in currency but in the secrets it harbored. Treasures aplenty lay within, silent witnesses to this current voyage, each artifact a fragment of a larger legacy. Zach's footsteps were hushed on the pristine flooring as he navigated through the sanctuary, the weight of responsibility a familiar presence upon his young shoulders. He was a guardian of this realm, a sentinel tasked with preserving the inheritance concealed within these steel-clad walls. Here, amidst the spoils of lives spent traversing the stars, loyalty was the unspoken oath that bound him to his lineage. The sacrifices made by those who came before him resonated in the quietude, echoes of a heritage that transcended the mere passage of time. He was a Corp. boy, born and raised on the opulent Gaming World of Ceres. Through the hushed corridors of their clandestine sanctuary, Zach tread lightly, his gait an echo of the silent resolve that clung to the air itself. He navigated the labyrinthine passageways with practiced ease until he reached the library—a bastion of knowledge where the past conversed with the present. The room was steeped in tranquility, broken only by the soft rustling of pages and the occasional mutterings of a man ensconced within the embrace of history. Thomas Hunter, patriarch and scholar, sat amidst the tomes of forgotten lore, his fingers tracing over the ancient routes of explorers long deceased. "Are they gone?" The inquiry was not born of fear, but rather of anticipation, the way one might ask if a storm had passed to reveal new horizons. Zach, standing at the threshold, began the laborious process of shedding his patched spacesuit—the carapace that shielded him from the void's embrace. "Yeah, they're gone." His voice carried the hint of mirth that accompanied successful deceit. "Gah, I hate wearing this suit, it itches." From the depths of his contemplation, Thomas extended a hand, offering a piece of paper, its surface marred by hastily scribbled coordinates. "Take us here," he said, the command as much an invitation to adventure as it was an order. With a nod, Zach accepted the parchment, its weight negligible yet profound. The digits inscribed held the promise of untold secrets, the allure of the uncharted. Departing the quietude of the library, Zach traversed the hidden inner workings of their vessel toward the concealed nerve center from whence he could chart a course. The bridge that awaited him was a stark contrast to the façade presented to any unwelcome interlopers. Here, no cobwebs dared to lay claim to the corners, nor did vermin scurry through the shadows. This was the heart of the ship—pristine, efficient, untouched by the charade played out for scavenging eyes. Inputting the coordinates into the system, Zach felt the thrill of the hunt coursing through the console under his fingertips. The numbers danced across the screen, each digit a step closer to whatever lay at the end of their plotted trajectory. Assured that the course was true, he turned his attention to the equipment necessary for what lay ahead. In the dim glow of the instrument panels, he checked and double-checked the arrays of tools and instruments with meticulous care. The implements were more than mere objects; they were extensions of the Hunters' will, poised to unravel the mysteries that the universe jealously guarded. As Zach surveyed the cache, the fusion of past and future crystallized within him, a synthesis of his forebears' legacy and the untapped possibilities that beckoned from the stars. His task complete, Zach allowed himself a moment of reflection. The solitude of the bridge enveloped him, a solitary sentinel poised on the precipice of discovery. With a reverent touch, he caressed the console before him, the gesture an acknowledgment of the responsibility that coursed through his veins—a responsibility to find and safeguard the treasures for the Corporation. Zach's heart beat with anticipation as his fingers danced across the control panel, the last sequence of checks initiating with an affirming series of beeps and whirrs. Each readout confirmed what he already knew: they were ready. With a final nod to himself, he slid into the pilot seat, its familiar contours embracing him like an old friend. The autopilot had served them well through the lonely stretches of the void, but now, the true test of his mettle approached. The stars beyond the viewports seemed to pulse in time with Zach's quickening pulse as he disengaged the autopilot. A grin teased the corners of his mouth—a silent challenge to whatever the cosmos might hurl their way. He wrapped his fingers around the joystick, the tactile feedback from the controls buzzing through his veins. This was where he belonged; this was his domain. "Let's dance," he whispered, almost reverentially, to the ship that had become an extension of his own being. The first asteroid appeared on the edge of the radar, a harbinger of the celestial gauntlet that lay ahead. Zach leaned forward, eyes narrowing, as he calculated vectors and plotted trajectories with a preternatural acuity. The first turn came sharply, a sudden jolt to port, and the mining ship obeyed with surprising agility for its dilapidated appearance. Debris cluttered space like the remnants of a forgotten conflict, each piece telling a story of violent birth or cataclysmic end. Zach weaved between these fragments of history, his movements precise and deliberate. There was artistry in his piloting, a choreography that married instinct with experience. The ship twirled through narrow gaps, skirted spinning rocks, and flirted with disaster, yet never faltered under Zach's confident guidance. A particularly large asteroid loomed before them, its craggy surface threatening to end their journey with one misstep. But Zach was undeterred. With a deft flick of the controls, he sent the ship into a spiraling ascent that grazed the behemoth. As they cleared it, the asteroid field gave way to open space once more, and Zach allowed himself the luxury of a deep breath. Behind him, the cargo of untold riches remained secure, a silent testament to the risks taken and the sacrifices made in pursuit of a legacy that stretched back generations. Yet for Zach, the thrill of the chase, the joy of overcoming the dangers of the unknown, was reward enough. It was his sacrifice, his loyalty to the Corporation that coursed through his blood, and his responsibility to carry their torch into the future. The cosmos unveiled its secrets in slow motion, each revelation a piece of history untethered from time. As the water mining ship emerged from the shadows of the asteroids, bathed in the stark white light of a distant sun, Zach's eyes fixed upon the silhouette of an ancient vessel hovering in the void like a specter from bygone eras. The sight snatched his breath away—it was very old, its design a revered relic, untouched by the aeons that sought to claim it. "Father!" Zach's voice, though muffled by the comms system, carried an urgency that drew Thomas Hunter from the depths of the ship's library. He ascended to the bridge, his steps measured, bearing the weight of anticipation and decades spent chasing shadows across the stars. Thomas's gaze lingered on the derelict, and he murmured with a blend of reverence and surprise, "That is not what I was expecting." His fingers brushed the console as though he could feel the cold metal of the derelicts hull through their own patched vessel. "It’s a Mark I Explorer. It pre-dates the World Ships by at least two millennia." Zach's grin flashed, a spark of adventurous zeal igniting within his black eyes. "Then we'll find some really good treasure in it?" His words were hopeful, tinged with the innocence of youth yet edged with the acumen of one born to the hunt. "Perhaps," Thomas replied, the noncommittal shrug of his shoulders betraying nothing of his internal calculations. His trained eye scanned for telltale signs of prior salvage attempts, but there appeared none. It was as if the universe had conspired to preserve this moment just for them. With practiced precision, Zach guided their ship toward the silent testament of exploration. Magnetic clamps latched onto the Explorer's hull with a thud felt more than heard, the finality of contact resonating through the soles of their boots. "Prepare for entry," Zach announced, pulling his real spacesuit on, emblazoned with the emblem of the Ceres Corporation. The airlock cycled open, and they stepped into the yesteryear of history, their flashlights cutting swathes through the pervading gloom. Dust particles danced like cosmic fireflies in the beams, each mote a silent witness to the passage of time. "It's intact," Zach's voice echoed off the walls, marveling at the relics that surrounded them. Consoles stood like silent sentinels, screens long darkened. Every surface told tales of a crew whose laughter and footsteps had once filled the air, now replaced by a hush that seemed to hold its breath. From a nearby compartment, Thomas emerged, his movements slower, laden with a gravity that pulled at Zach's chest. He sealed the hatch with a soft click. "They died in their sleep," Thomas's voice barely rose above a whisper, a lament for lives lost to the capriciousness of technology. "Those old sleep pods weren't very reliable." With a steady hand, he marked the door with chalk—the universal sign for those who would later retrieve the remains, another chapter closed in the annals of spacefaring. Zach watched his father, the lines on Thomas's face etched deeper by the ship's dim light, a map of sacrifice and devotion to a cause greater than any one life. It was a legacy of loyalty, of responsibility to honor the past and shepherd its remnants into the future. In that hallowed silence, amidst the echoes of a history both grand and tragic, Zach understood the true weight of the torch he was destined to carry forward. Zach’s gaze lingered on the antique contours of the Mark I Explorer, a relic of aspirations now drifting aimlessly among the stars. A sense of urgency tugged at his thoughts, the same that had always spurred him forward, into the breach of unknown space and the thrill of discovery. “So now what?” he asked, voice bouncing off the walls of history that surrounded them. Thomas, standing amidst the shadows cast by their flashlights, turned his attention from the silent testament of the past to the practical concerns of the present. His eyes, reflecting a lifetime of salvaged dreams, measured the worth of their find in more than just credits. “There’s too much here to transfer to our ship. We’ll tow it back,” he declared, the weight of decision resonant in his tone. “I hate towing,” Zach grumbled under his breath, half to himself and half in defiance of the inevitable. He could almost hear the cackles of pirates upon discovering their beacon of fortune adrift—a beacon they were about to create. He set about readying the ship for transit, movements precise and methodical. The task demanded physical exertion beyond the norm, stretching sinews and taxing muscles in the vacuum that sought to compress him into nothingness. He missed the camaraderie of a crew, the shared jokes and laughter that once filled these voids. But now, there was only solitude, punctuated by the occasional crackle of comm systems and the steady breaths within his helmet. The Corporation was everything, but not perfect. There had been a shift in policies and the Salvage Division hadn’t received the attention it deserved. Zach had been only one of a half-dozen hunters’ born to his generation, all cousins, all traveling with their own fathers to learn the salvage trade. There was a time when every Hunter Ship had a crew of at least a dozen crew each, but now, with so few Hunters left, they weren’t allowed to travel together, for fear of losing the entire next generation in a single accident. Glancing through the visor toward his father, Zach noted the silver hair at Thomas's temples glinting like stardust—a stark reminder of passing time and dwindling vigor. Spacewalks were a young man’s game; the risks for those with silver-streaked legacies were too great. The elders of their trade were not allowed to take any unnecessary risks. The cables tethered, and magnetic locks engaged with a muted thud against the hull of the ancient vessel. Each clang and hiss of machinery was a testament to the relentless march of progress, even as it clasped hands with the past. Zach inspected the umbilical stretched out like a lifeline between the two ships, the future bound irrevocably to history. With the tow preparations complete and the derelict ship firmly attached to their hull, he had one last task. He re-boarded the derelict and moved through the silent chambers with the reverence of an acolyte in a forgotten shrine, his black eyes reflecting the golden light as it danced across the relics of a bygone era. He was not one to pilfer, but the allure of the untouched and the unclaimed whispered to him with the seductive promise of secrets held in silence. His fingers traced the edges of the Captain's desk, a monument to leadership and lonely decision-making amidst the void. There, nestled between a cluster of analog instruments and a faded photograph of Earth, lay a solitary device, an object he knew was called a jump-drive. It was no bigger than his thumb, its surface dulled by time yet pulsing with the potential of hidden knowledge. Though Ceres Corporation's claim on the ship's wealth was ironclad, this small piece of history—easily overlooked amidst the grandeur of larger treasures—beckoned to him. Zach pocketed the device, feeling the weight of clandestine discovery settle comfortably against his thigh. With a final glance at the bridge that had once commanded the stars, he turned and made his way back to his own vessel, each step a careful tread through corridors heavy with the echoes of lives once lived. The journey back to Ceres was an intricate ballet of evasion and finesse. Zach manned the controls with the practiced ease of one who had spent more of his life amongst the stars than upon any planet. Asteroids loomed and receded, their craggy surfaces threatening to entangle both ships in a deadly embrace, but Zach navigated the gauntlet with the daring of a seasoned gambler playing a high-stakes game. Finally safely back in Sol system, he docked within the embrace of Ceres Corp.'s private docks, Zach exhaled a sigh that spoke of duty fulfilled. The Stewards awaited, their suits as black as the space beyond, their presence a stark contrast to the motley patchwork of Zach's attire. "It's all yours, guys," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the metal cavern of the airlock. "Anything else you need from me?" Zach glanced over his shoulder, where his father stood, already deep in conference with the stewards, the gravity of responsibility etched into his features. "Go ahead, have fun," Thomas replied without looking up, a dismissive wave punctuating his words. "But make sure you're home for dinner; your mother will want to see you." With an eye roll that bespoke his familiarity with parental expectations and filial obligations, Zach pushed off towards freedom. The prospect of dinner at home, under the watchful eye of a mother whose maternal instincts manifested in lavish spending, did little to quell the adventurous spirit that sang in his blood. The call of Dirk's—an oasis of competition and camaraderie—was a siren song he could not resist. Zach strode through the sliding doors, his boots thumping lightly on the metallic floor. The ‘Employees Only’ sign above the tram station unfurled before him, a tapestry of humble modestly compared to the grandeur of Ceres Resort City. The vast expanse of the Ceres Resort sprawled beneath a dome of transparent diamondite, revealing the cosmos stretching infinitely above. Zach paused, allowing himself a moment to marvel at the sight. Even after countless times, the splendor never dulled to his senses; it buzzed in his blood like an electric current. His eyes traced the silhouette of the Gaming Arena, its colossal structure piercing the skyline. It stood as a modern-day coliseum, echoing with the glories of ancient Rome, yet here, the gladiators battled within digital realms, their victories sung in high scores and flashing leaderboards. Stepping onto the designated employees' tram, Zach settled into the familiar contours of a worn seat, the fabric slightly frayed at the edges. The tram hummed to life, carrying him along the glistening tracks toward his destination: Dirk's. A haven for gamers, the club garnered galactic fame for its immersive experiences and cutthroat competitions. Here, amidst the clash of virtual steel and the roar of pixelated dragons, Zach found respite from the weight of his heritage and the expectations it carried. As the tram glided forward, serenity cloaked Zach like a second skin. His thoughts drifted to Dragon Melee, the game where he reigned supreme—a domain where his quick reflexes and strategic acumen earned him not just points, but respect. Anticipation licked at the edges of his mind, stoking the fire of competition within. The tram came to a gentle stop. Doors slid open with a whisper of air, ushering him out into the cavernous heart of Dirk's. The aroma of synthetic leather and electronic ozone greeted him, a perfume of nostalgia that summoned memories of battles won and alliances forged. Screens flickered with vibrant hues, casting ethereal lights across his path. With a practiced grace, Zach navigated through the throngs of fellow gamers, each absorbed in their own quests for glory. He approached a vacant ‘Employees Only’ game booth, its sleek interface beckoning him forward. Slipping into the cocoon of technology, he felt the comforting weight of the virtual reality headset as it settled around his temples. The world fell away, replaced by the digital landscape of Dragon Melee. Zach's pulse thrummed in sync with the rhythm of this universe—the fierce cry of dragons, the clash of swords, the symphony of a realm that demanded nothing less than everything he had to offer. And for a brief, transcendent moment, Zach Hunter was free, unburdened by the shackles of legacy or duty. Here, amongst the electric dreams of Dirk's, he was master of his fate, commander of his destiny—a knight errant in a ceaseless quest for honor and triumph. Zach’s avatar in virtual reality was projected into the Arena by hologram projectors. He heard the announcer as his dragon appeared to those watching in the Arena. “Gamers, Gamers, Gamers, Ceres very own Zach Hunter has entered the game. As a reminder, employees are not permitted to place wagers or receive gifts. However, employees are permitted to receive points towards items on their wish list. Let’s see… Zach is requesting a new school tablet. Ceres Corporation will put five points towards a new tablet for every guest wager on Zach over $20,000. Let’s help this young man get a new school tablet, place your bets.” Zach rolled his eyes. A new tablet was 10,000 points, and he only had 625 saved up. Unlike the boys that worked planet-side, he was in space too often to have any followers.