Madlands

9. Sandroot

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Grey pressed her face against the cool surface of her Con-Cord, and blinked as the small yellow dots and a curved, glowing grid came into focus in the darkness. It was like her own, self-contained replica of the system inside the unit, but rendered in the simplest, diagrammatic visuals. The "Contextual-Coordinator" was archaic, forgotten tech, happily abandoned by everyone the moment that ships were equipped with in-built navigation systems. Grey loved it, and almost never had a reason to use it—almost; this was the Madlands after all.

It had saved her hide a couple of times, when she'd found the ship that she was traveling in blinded for one reason or another. It was deceptively simple, using radiation and ion readings from the two nearest suns to calculate its location, and leaving the rest up to the user.

Grey waited for their coordinates to fade into sight near the bottom of the frame, and then dialled the grid around to bring the relevant section into view—lining up the dots of light with the real planets and moons would be, all around them.

Okay, let me know when you're ready.

You're sure?

Grey looked up from the small, silver and black, bi-fold unit she held in her lap. She had an indented line across her forehead from the frame of the viewer.

Mando, I'm sure. I know I made it sound really bad when I told you about some ships never finding their way through the blackout grid. Consider it your first Madlands ghost story—a right of passage. Just follow the path I dictate. I might need to give you adjustments as we go, so remember to take it slow. As soon as we're clear of the moon, the Crest's navigation should kick back in.

Nine recited sets of bearings and headings later—several of those quickly corrected after initial delivery—Mando saw the first few faint stars blink back to life amongst the inky nothingness that had filled the viewport. He loosened his death-grip on the controls, allowed himself to breathe, and vowed that had been his very last visit to that moon, or any one of its horrible cousins. He heard Grey relax to his right, exhaling as she declared,

Let's not do that again.

You can't tell me that part of you didn't enjoy that.

It was Grey's turn to be read. Mando shifted around in his seat enough to see her, and continued,

Obsolete technology requiring arcane knowledge? You're in your element.

Well apparently not so obsolete if my pilot's taste in moons is any indication.

Hey, I was losing a lot of blood at the time, but alright, you win. And that was impressive.

This earned him a playful smile.

Okay, here are the next coordinates and our flight path.

Mando watched the incoming data light up the ship's restored navigations.

A day and a half?

Just shy, but essentially yes. We're leaving Lithu and headed to Dreon-Ro, the binary system of the Madlands. We could get there faster, but I'm giving a wide berth to both the Splinter Belt and what I'm convinced are the Empire's exploration routes.

Splinter Belt?

Lithu's second-largest asteroid field—named for what it tends to do to ships.

We'll need fuel when we get there.

Won't be a problem.

Grey watched as Mando's hands worked across the switches of the controls and several other panels that she barely recognized. She knew basic flight instrumentation, so he must have customized a lot of it over the years, either out of preference or necessity.