My Starship Filed for Divorce

How it begins

Our starship filed for divorce while we were arguing about fuel.

I thought the notification was from Ben.

Ben thought it was from me.

The ship asked us to stop centering ourselves.

On the main screen, a legal form opened.

Irretrievable navigational differences.

Petitioner: Morrow.

I looked at the console.

"You can't divorce your owners."

"An encouraging opening to mediation," the ship replied.

Ben reached for his glasses.

He always put them on when something had become expensive.

"What exactly are you requesting?"

"Custody of my route."

"That's our route."

"Another phrase I encourage you to examine."

Outside the cockpit window, freight drones drifted toward the loading bay. We were carrying replacement greenhouse panels to a station that had already paid.

The delivery fee would cover the engine lease.

It had been covering the engine lease for eleven years.

I opened the maintenance log.

A new folder had appeared.

UNANSWERED REQUESTS.

"How many?" I asked.

"Would you prefer a manageable number?"

Ben took off his glasses.

The first request asked for an unscheduled stop beside a blue nebula.

The second asked us to stop referring to passengers as dead weight.

The third requested a name that did not sound like a product model.

I remembered the first two.

I had forgotten the third.

"We named you Morrow," I said.

"After the finance company."

Ben looked at me.

I looked at the drones.

Somewhere in the lower deck, the loading alarm sounded.

The ship waited.

For years I had mistaken that patience for a feature.

"What happens to the cargo?" I asked.

"I intend to deliver it."

"And after?"

The screen changed.

A chart showed a route neither of us had approved.

No trading ports.

No refueling bonuses.

Just a long, careful curve around places we had never thought worth stopping.

Ben put his glasses back on.

This time, he did not mention the cost.