My taskmasters sprinted down the gantry and practically hurled me into the command module before diving in after me and fighting amongst each other for seats. Competent managers and trusted companions, they were, at their core, still goblins.

I untangled myself and climbed up to the mission commander's station, leaving Eileen to seize the pilot's station. She'd have fought me for it anyway. I switched the radios to the proper frequencies and listened to the mission control pre-check litany. I'd trained them to operate without me. The mission control team now had over a dozen successful (and 2 explosively unsuccessful) orbital launches under their narrow, leather belts. I just had to hope that this would be one of the former and not one of the latter. Chuck took the secondary controls, and Armstrong strapped in behind me.

I reached down to my hip, where a small brass vessel was connected with an orc iron carabiner. I unscrewed the top, and pale blue flame streamed out and into the console.

"Ready to fly, buddy?" I asked.

"We are with you, King Apollo," said Taquoho. Several dials and switches on the inside of the command module changed position as the Ifrit got situated.

"Just remember, we've got the radio lifeline if things get explodey," I said. "Your folks can bail at any time."

A tongue of blue flame whipped in a dismissive gesture. "If what the Queen said about Raphina's surface was true, my kin are not keen to let myriad devils go unchallenged. You have given us the tools to defend against them, and we will not smolder idly.

Taquoho's flame wasn't the only one inside the rocket. A rainbow of subtle fire shimmered from the not-exiles. Now, with the 1,000 Name King's blessing, they were joining us in the stars and skies of Raphina. Our tribe's first true allies turned out to be pretty ride-or-die.

At the door to the command module, a score or more goblins tumbled through, falling past the command stations. Scrappers, sparkers, igni, wranglers, and a canoneer with a handful of zealots. They wriggled through the module, looking for seats and strapping themselves in. Some just stood or laid down at the back of the module squawking and brawling, despite the lack of space.

"Settle down back there!" I called. "I'll turn this rocket right around!"

Eileen grinned over. "Let 'em have their fun, boss."

On the radio, the countdown reached 2 minutes. A pair of igni hauled the hatch closed and locked it.

"Helmets on!" I called. Throughout the cabin, goblins began twisting on the helmets—where those that hadn't lost them on their way up, anyway. "Chuck, how do we look?"

"Controls clear and ain't none of the warnings up, boss," said Chuck. His voice was tinny through the ship's intercom. I pulled on my own helmet, wriggling my head until my floppy ears sat correctly in the protrusions, then twisted the locking ring and clamped it tight. I tapped the radio transmitter.

"Mission control, this is Myriad 14. We're green across the board and ready for primary ignition on your mark."

"Got it, boss! We're onnit, trust. 1 minute."

Out the front window, I could see the pink and blue orb of Raphina overhead, with brown decay creeping in at the edges. System waited there, asleep and under the surface. As if to remind me of its presence, the small flight data window popped up in the corner of my vision. I could feel its awareness pressed around me, like a second space suit. Its attention was fixed on the launch.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"10 seconds, boss!"

"Here we go," I said. I looked over at my team of taskmasters—each of them named for a brilliant astronaut or pilot. Today they would earn their namesakes. Chuck and Eileen wrapped their hands around the controls, eyes glued to their instrumentation. Armstrong held his hands over his head like it was a roller coaster. Buzz and Sally held hands, teeth grit and eyes squeezed shut. Neil just looked as crazy as ever—probably half-hoping the rocket would explode under him just to not waste his front-row seat to watch the blast.

"Primary ignition, boss!" shouted Eileen.

I reached out to my console and flipped the switch for the stage 1 engine. The rocket rumbled to life and everything began to shake.

"Booster ignition!"

"Taquoho," I called.

Taquoho's blue flame shot across the console to the switch for the detachable boosters ignition system, and the shaking intensified. All the goblins behind me were screaming in panic, especially the ones for whom their weren't any seats.

"Liftoff, Myriad! Mission clock started," called mission control.

A weight began to press against my chest. The number for our altitude ticked up in both my flight data screen and the analogue instrumentation on my console. I grabbed my restraints and sucked in a breath against the mounting pressure of our acceleration. "Chuck, Eileen, it's your bird," I ground out. "Take us up!"

"Pitch down," called Eileen. She and Chuck eased the sticks forward.

The horizon out of the side window took an angle, and I could just see Bluff Apollo and its floating rings in the corner. We kept climbing, and the forest dropped away. Mountains became hills, and Habberport came into view on the northwest

The fuel gauge for the boosters dropped to zero, and I hit the switch to detach them. An alarming shudder and creak ran through the hull. From the corner of my eye, I could see my flight team working in tandem, making micro adjustments to keep us on track. Our pitch continued to trend toward level. Behind us, one of the chairs came loose and crashed to the back of the module, squashing at least a couple goblins.

"Control surfaces are dead," said Chuck.

"Too much airflow working against the servos," I said. "Eileen, it's all you, now."

My chief pilot was silent as she concentrated, lolling tongue leaving a smear on the inside of her helmet as she concentrated. Both her hands clamped in a death grip around the sticks.

"King Apollo, the primary tank is nearly empty," said Taquoho.

I glanced up at the needle for the first-stage tank, and then down to our altitude. We were a little heavy, needed just a bit more burn. "First stage separation in 10 second," I said.

I reached up and gripped the toggle for the engine cutoff, but a surge of sparks burst out of my console and a horrific shudder reverberated through the cabin.

"Not again!" I moaned.

The shriek of shearing metal translated through the rocket, and something flashed by the command module window, and the pressure crushing me against my chair vanished.

"What was that?!" asked Armstrong.

My eyes went wide. "I think it was most of the first stage engine" I said. I reached up and yanked on the toggle for first stage separation. Another shower of sparks from my console blasted me in the face.

"Damn goblin tech junk!" I shouted.

<Still made it further than NuEarth.>

And whose fault was that?!

I floated against my restraints. Glancing back, the cabin was filled with loose goblins beginning to float through the air. Our altitude was still climbing from sheer inertia, but that wouldn't last.

"King Apollo, shall I engage the second stage motor?"

"Negative," I said, tearing at the buckles holding me to my chair. "We're off-axis and spinning. The second stage motor—if it still works—will tear us apart. Eileen, get this thing straightened out."

"Onnit, boss. Trust."

I managed to get my buckle undone and floated free of the chair. "Armstrong, Neil, with me."

My two taskmasters undid their own restraints and followed me to the aft end of the module. We pried open the hatch and moved to the next compartment back, scuttling between tanks of pressurized air and methane and bundles of equipment. The compartment behind that had something I hadn't intended to use until after we'd made it to orbit: an airlock.

"Suit air on," I said. "We're going out there."

"Uh, boss? Ain't it like, space, out there?" asked Armstrong.

"It's a good thing we're wearing space suits then," I said. "Untested, unproven space suits made by an eccentric goblin from alien monster hide and dragon scales."

"Well, when you put it that way," said Armstrong.

I pressed my helmet to the window, watching as Eileen wrangled the rocket and neutralized our tumble with the thrusters.

"Alright," I said, grabbing tools from a locker and stuffing them into a leather bag, "Into the airlock."

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