“Boudicca.”

Django Beldt’s call echoed throughout the spacecraft. He took his time climbing the ladder out of the engine room and into the main corridor. He wasn’t as quick as he used to be, which was fine because he wasn’t in such a hurry as when he was younger. That always struck him as ironic. Young people with their entire lives ahead of them rush around like there’s no tomorrow while old timers like him with fewer days ahead of them take things at a leisurely pace. Once on deck he straightened his suspenders and dabbed his bald head with a handkerchief. It was hot down by the engine.

“Boudicca. Where are you hiding, girl?”

A creature dropped from the ceiling and screamed in Django’s face. It was the kind of scream that reached into your chest and pulled out your soul. The creature extended several of it’s tentacles in a fierce display and bared its sharp needle-like teeth.

“There you are, girl,” Django said as he reached for the animal. “You had me worried. I was starting to think you were off ship.”

Django coaxed Boudicca onto his shoulder. She greeted him with a hiss as she settled in. He rewarded her with a treat from his breast pocket. Boudicca devoured the treat and extended a tentacle toward the pocket for more. Django slapped the tentacle and Boudicca slapped him back.

“Bad girl. No more treats.”

He stopped by his small stateroom where he was in the middle of moving in, grabbed a couple of things from a cardboard box on the floor, groaned as he returned his pear shaped body to an upright position and made his way to the bridge. Once there he sat at the helm and arranged his belongings; a mug from which to sip, a bowl in which to keep hard candy, and a photo of his beloved Gretchen. He gazed upon the matronly vision and sighed. After all this time he still missed her. He figured he always would.

He powered up some systems to get a feel of the vessel. It wasn’t the newest, biggest or fanciest ship he’d ever owned, but it wasn’t the oldest, smallest or slightest either. The ship gave a violent shudder and the life support kicked out an odd odor. Either would be enough to concern a less experienced pilot, but Django took it in stride. Each ship had a distinct personality.

His only concern regarding the ship was whether he would live long enough to actually own it. Most of his retirement savings went toward the down payment. Gretchen would have throttled him for that, but he had little choice. Retirement was a death sentence in Django’s opinion. His return to space was inevitable.

Boudicca left Django's shoulder and took a seat in the front viewport where she screeched at passers-by. Even through the thick glass they jumped at the sound. Django enjoyed a laugh at their expense. Boudicca had done a fine job of amusing him since Gretchen passed. He closed his eyes and took a moment to remember his wife.

They met when he was a young merchant marine kicking down doors at an enemy base. That's how he found her garroting a spy with her bra. The crazy situations they used to get into. They married after a time and life happily became far less exciting. They made a living as long-haul pilots. When possible they owned their own ship, but during lean times they let their clients supply the vessel. The next few decades had them traveling around the known galaxy. They became experts at finding the best routes and figuring out which worlds to avoid. There were few ports where they couldn't find someone to set them up with supplies.

Boudicca began sniffing the air and Django remembered the cookies. He rushed to the galley with a fast waddle. Boudicca mounted his shoulder. He pulled the cookies from the oven and the aroma filled the spaceship. There was no better way to make a ship feel like home. Gretchen was better at that, but Django managed. Boudicca reached for a cookie. Django slapped her tentacle and Boudicca slapped him back.

Django heard footfalls in the cargo bay. He passed through the primary passageway and smiled as he greeted this ship’s first passenger. "Morning," he said. "Cookie?"