Chapter 1: Auditions and Accidents
Vexa Harmon cleared her throat, a rich, resonant hum that made the polished metal walls of the audition chamber vibrate in approval. She closed her eyes and let the note soar, imagining herself centre stage in the Grand Lyric Theatre of Celestia Prime, the chandelier lights reflecting like a thousand tiny suns.
“…and that’s how you shatter glass in three octaves!” she finished triumphantly, breath billowing like a small storm.
The room was silent. Then…a beep. Not the polite, appreciative beep of applause, but a flat, bureaucratic, galaxy-sized BEEP.
Vexa opened one eye. A small panel in the corner of the room blinked ominously. A disembodied voice, dry as an asteroid belt, intoned:
“Congratulations, Vexa Harmon. You have been selected to command the star ship—”
“What?” she said, waving her hands dramatically. “You mean… for the opera?”
“Negative. Star ship assignment confirmed. You are now captain of the S.S. Fortissimo. Launch protocol begins immediately.”
Vexa blinked. Then blinked again. Then sang a high note sharp enough to set off the fire suppression sprinklers.
“Oh, fantastic,” she muttered, drying her curls with a handkerchief she didn’t even remember bringing. “I practiced for years to sing on a stage, and now apparently my big debut is commanding a floating space dumpster. How…operatic.”
Before she could protest further, a whoosh echoed around her and the floor tilted alarmingly. Vexa stumbled into the nearest console—and promptly landed sitting in a chair that began rising, like a reluctant throne.
“Good afternoon, Captain Harmon,” said a voice dripping with fake drama. “I am Lyrica, your AI co-pilot, melodic assistant, and your sole source of proper taste aboard this vessel.”
Vexa narrowed her eyes. “Oh, great. Another diva. Do you also belt out high Cs in your spare time?”
“Only on Tuesdays.” Lyrica tilted the holographic head projected above the console, which sparkled with the same intensity of a stage spotlight. “Shall we begin the orientation, or do you require a prelude of panic first?”
“I’ll take panic later. Orientation first,” Vexa said, adjusting the captain’s chair like she was about to conduct an orchestra. “And Lyrica? Try to be helpful. I have… dramatic things to do. Important things. Life-or-death space opera things.”
Lyrica hummed a perfect A-flat. “Noted, Captain. Warning: life-or-death situations imminent. Pirate activity detected.”
Vexa’s eyes widened. Pirates? In a galaxy where she’d just auditioned for the universe’s top opera stages? She pressed a hand to her chest. “Why does it feel like my solo debut just turned into Act Two of a disaster?”
“Because it has, Captain Harmon.”
The Fortissimo shuddered beneath her as the ship lurched into orbit. Outside, stars streaked by like glittering arias. Vexa gritted her teeth, straightened her posture, and raised her arms in what could have been called a conducting gesture—or a desperate plea to the cosmos.
“All right,” she said, taking a deep breath that could have powered a small moon, “let’s make this the most spectacular, most theatrical space opera in the galaxy. And if we die horribly, at least we’ll go out with a bang and some jazz hands!”
Lyrica’s holographic eyes flickered. “Note: jazz hands unlikely to affect pirate negotiations.”
Vexa threw her head back and laughed—a booming, unrestrained sound that echoed through the ship’s corridors, bouncing off every metal wall like a miniature supernova.
“Well, darling Fortissimo, if life insists on making me a star ship captain, then by the stars, I shall perform!”
And with that, the S.S. Fortissimo shot off into the galaxy, a chorus of alarms and musical notes trailing in its wake. Somewhere out there, a pirate ship frowned, completely unprepared for what could only be described as…operatic annihilation.
