Log inThe Protagonist: From the Starfleet Academy to the Edge of the Galaxy
On Harbour Station, though, no one finds that surprising. Everyone here has their own story—and most of them begin with the words: “I didn’t mean to…”
Backstory
There was a time when everything in my life was simple: Academy uniform, regulations, class schedules, and a very clear path forward. Sure, there was some bias because I got in on a “captain’s quota,” but there were also parties with friends and late-night trips into the girls’ dorms.
All in all, a pretty normal life with a predictable future.
My father was a Starfleet cruiser captain. Too proper, too legendary—and too often absent. People knew his name, admired his operations, while I only knew one thing: there was always another mission in his life, another raid, another order that mattered more than a family dinner.
Then he disappeared—somewhere on the edge of known space during an operation against Silver Joseph’s gang. Lily, my stepsister, refuses to believe he’s dead, even though Starfleet sent all the official reports.
I was his opposite. I liked spending time with my stepsister and friends, didn’t mind breaking the rules when it felt necessary. I loved racing flyers and modifying them.
Maybe that’s why Phoebe, my stepmother, and Lily convinced me to enroll in the Academy. They hoped it would settle me down.
What Happened
Everything changed in a single day.
First, I was expelled from the Academy for “inappropriate relations” with an instructor (sorry, Samantha). Then there was Steve. Where the hell did he even come from in that bar? I don’t even remember how it really happened. I don’t remember throwing the punch.
But it happened.
The prospect of hard labor wasn’t exactly appealing, so—here I am. A fugitive who hijacked someone else’s ship (sorry, unnamed pilot) and ran to the edge of the galaxy to escape the consequences.
Who I Am
Right now, I’m someone stuck between two versions of himself. Between a cadet in a perfectly pressed uniform and the guy the news calls “wanted” and “highly dangerous.”
In the mirror, I still see the same cadet I used to be. But to the system, I’m already a criminal with an impressive record. To Harbour—just another pilot with a shady past.
I know how to find solutions. The Academy taught me how to follow rules—and where they can be bent. Life before it taught me to value love and friendship. I can fly, I can fix electronics, I learn fast, and I know how to talk to both officers and the kind of people who prefer to stay off the radar.
I’m not a hero—but I’m not a complete bastard either. Sometimes I do what feels right. Sometimes I do what helps me survive one more day.
What I hate most is when someone else decides who I’m supposed to be and what I’m supposed to do. Maybe that’s how I ended up here—on a station in a part of space where everyone has their own version of the truth, their own goals, their own rules.
I don’t know who I’ll become next: the leader of a pirate crew, a law-abiding citizen who one day returns to the core systems, or someone who simply disappears in search of himself among the stars.
But for the first time, the direction is mine to choose.
What Comes Next
Right now, I have two goals.
The first is simple: survive, adapt, stay out of prison, stay alive, and avoid the people who remember my face a little too well.
The second is harder: figure out what comes next.
Go back to the core systems and clear my name? Forget the past and become part of this world—a pirate, a smuggler, something else? Or find a third path, where no one knows my name—or what it’s worth?
I don’t just want to breathe. I want to live. I want to wake up one day knowing I chose that day myself—not that I’m just trying to get through it.
Relationships
Out here, trusting people is difficult—and sometimes dangerous. Especially the ones who have something to hide. So even in a crowded bar, I’m usually alone.
But in my short time on Harbour, I’ve already met a few beautiful women I wouldn’t mind getting to know better. Zoe in the docks, Selena at the shipyard, Annie behind the bar—each with her own story and her own expectations.
We’ll see where that leads.
Maybe here, among other people’s stories, I’ll finally manage to write my own.
