Crownchasers

Run, a little voice in my head calls. Run far. Run fast. Run until you find new stars.

you can fixate on the past. or you can create a better future. which way is it going to be.

Location: Running a blocade of heavily armed warships. Must be a Tuesday.

You're looking a little green over there, Farshot,' H.M. says. I lean out of my jump seat far enough that I can punch him right in his beefy delt. 'I swear, if you don't stop giving me those looks, I'm gonna snatch out your eyeballs and throw them out an airlock.' 'Then I could get bionic eyeballs. Cool.' Unbelievable.

Faye whistles a few notes. "Anyone want to play Triple Dares?" "Ooh!" Coy pulls her feet off the dash, her face lighting up, but I cut her off quickly. "I'd like to point out that there are no med facilities open anywhere near here and I'm not flying anybody to one, so put a cork in it, Coy.

A royal seal for her and a wide-open starscape for me. Nothing between me and the rest of the galaxy but time and cruiser fuel. I raise my glass high and drink it all down. That’s a toast I can get behind.

To win, you need to be cagey, fearless, a brilliant pilot. Speaking two dozen languages wouldn't hurt. Neither would knowing the quadrant like the back of your hand or having friends in every dive, stall, and spaceport from here to the Outer Wastes. To win the crownchase, basically, you'd have to be someone like me.

Either of you guys ever ridden a flame tsunami?

Alyssa Faroshti, I name you crownchaser.

You really ought to try shoving a steel rod up your ass. It's great for the posture.