April 21, 3301:
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Life on an Orbital is anything but peaceful. The daily grind is hard enough without even considering the myriad of problems from overpopulation. There are a limited number of desirable jobs, so you take what you can get outside of working the docks - especially if you don't have the means to choose a career. Bellamy Fool just so happens to be one of the poor bastards tasked with controlling a dock; and without a true certification. His brother loves to tease him about the assignment, frequently reminding Bellamy that he "can't ever be fired!" Sure, without the certification they aren't required to pay you the Alliance's minimum wage . . . but Joe-schmo ain't gonna take your job if you piss off the big bossman. He can't afford to replace you!" While this is definitely the case, it is equally true that John wouldn't be able to replace him on the docking bay either.
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After the twins graduated from Apt Orbital's Honors Academy, it was abundantly clear to Bellamy and John's parents that they could afford to place only one of their cherished sons in a decent rotational career program. The decision wasn't an easy one . . .

Bellamy was beyond well-regarded by his teachers in school. Mr. Dungton had a standing request that he stay after-hours to help teach the lagging second-years remedial astrophysics. Once while helping and posing as John he performed too well on a standardized progression test, and the school administrators immediately suspected cheating. If not for the boys being genetically identical, the school would have been able to confirm their suspicions. Before the age of 16, he successfully created a frame shift drive - albeit a simple, miniature version - from salvaged ship parts. Perhaps in a Federation system Bellamy's intellect could have snagged the attention of someone further up the economic grapevine. But, unfortunately for the eventual dockworker, his parents chose to fund his brother's dreams.

Growing up, John frequently referred to himself as the "dumb one" even though the self-given moniker was ironic to everyone he told. The reason John performed poorly on tests was because he didn't care about taking tests. He possessed a brand of intellect similar to that found within the ancient-Earth character Tom Sawyer.  While Bellamy was lost within his thoughts, tinkering the day away, John was scheming. They still talk about the 3290 milk shortage at AOH Academy due to John's commandeering of the delivery en route to the cafeteria kitchens. He sold milk out of his locker for three weeks with a mini-fridge that Bellamy made. For all the mischief he caused, John rarely got caught by administrators or Orbital security. And if he was caught, he somehow managed to talk his way out of any serious consequences. Maybe if one of his teachers had fussed more profusely, prompting a meeting with his parents, John wouldn't have been considered responsible enough to receive the family funding.
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Whenever he reflects on his past, the backwards logic applied by his parents frustrates Bellamy. Possessing a science-oriented intellect should have opened all his pathways, not smothered them. "You are our genius, Bellamy. I know, I know . . . Please, Bellamy! It isn't about 'who we love' or who we think is more likely to succeed!"  He believed them - and still does - but on certain late nights monitoring the systems of Dock 05 . . . their declaration of faith in him feels a bit more like sentencing to a repetitive life of suppressed bitterness.

Bellamy sat at his work console and watched an ASP Explorer finish its descent across the docking bay. Now there's a ship, he thought. Bringing in the same Type-6 Transporter every night was beginning to bother him - not too complain or anything. He didn't want John to doubt his commitment to the plan.
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"We continue the mining venture for another 12 months, sell the Alana Lee, and then head out with a brand new ASP Scout for the edge of Alliance territory! You're not running into any trouble with your work console, right?" John asked.

Uh . . . not trouble, no. I can still bypass the Orbital's automated taxation system. I can't say it doesn't bother me  . . ."

"What, you're upset that we aren't giving more money to the fat-cats in Gateway? Don't tell me you're worried about getting caught. We talked about this! You can't get fired because the Orbital can't afford to hire anyone else right now. You're the only dock manager not covered by the Alliance's regulation. It's a win-win. Apt's citizens have more money for other stuff like Carnival Week or some social program, and we get you on Dock 05 every night of the week." John walked across the room and sat down across from Bellamy. "You can't let the concept of 'rules' bother you so much."

"Who's bothered by rules? I just don't like the idea of buying 'a brand new ASP Scout' when that used Diamondback Explorer is available now. I'm tired of the dock, John. It consumes me." Bellamy flopped his arms and chest onto the table. "I'm tired of sitting and it's accompanied by a level of exhaustion . . ."

*Ker-Clink!* John slammed his fist down on the table. "Damn it, Bellamy! Quit your whining and start taking this endeavor seriously. We aren't buying the Diamondback Explorer because it's a piece of hot garbage. And you don't think I'm tired? I've. Been. Mining. The. Same. Freaking. Asteroid. Belt. For. Ten. Months." John said through gritted teeth.

"Sure, John. But you have the stars. And you get to fly wherever you want whenever you want! Don't think I can't tell when you slingshot systems when you're 'mining'. You dock with fresh scorch marks almost daily now." Bellamy stood up.  "I'm headed to the engineering room to do some research, at least make us some dinner while I'm gone."

"You're going to the old schoolroom again? When are you going to get over that place? We graduated four years ago and you still hangout there." John stood up and walked to the restroom. Before closing the door he glanced towards Bellamy, "You know, Darien thinks you've been doinking the librarian. I told him to shove it, but it didn't stop him from sharing his theory at the pub." Before John could shut the restroom door, Bellamy pressed the apartment hatch keypad and left John looking into an empty corridor.
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Bellamy looked down to see that the annoying beeping he'd been hearing was actually a docking request alert from Ship ID DARN5. Darien. He could see the Keelback beyond the docking bay mailslot, lights directed straight at Dock 05.  Bellamy nearly knocked over a cup of coffee in his attempt to accept the request. That'll not draw any attention, dumbass. Why don't you just ask my manager to check on me . . .

A voice came through Bellamy's communications headset, "Hey genius, you feel like working today? Maintaining rotation for entry ain't easy." Though Darien's voice crackled with static Bellamy could tell he was amused.

"Sorry, Darien. I was just back-logging some of John's activities from yesterday. Apparently, he forgot to submit a full cargo report on the second and fifth run."

"That moron . . . You shouldn't have to cover for him though. Here, you sit tight. If I have to drag his ass back here myself I will. Us Commanders don't make anyone fill out our paperwork. That punk-ass would have learned that lesson the hard way without you always covering for him."

"Well, he still might if he keeps forgetting. Don't leave just yet, I'm having the refueling crew activate the pumps right now."

"Negative, kid. I'm gonna corral your brother and come back. Sit tight, it's a quick hop from here to the area we were mining last." The docking request on Bellamy's console was cancelled and he watched the Keelback drift from sight. In hindsight, it's possible John was just trying to get underneath his skin when he said those things about Darien. The Trader/Combat Fighter hadn't actually ever bothered Bellamy besides the things he'd been told.

Over the next hour, a Type-9 Heavy, two Haulers, and a Fer-de-Lance docked at Apt Orbital. All four restocked, refueled, and went on their way.

Bellamy was midway through the final page of John's belated report when he heard the docking request alert. He grabbed his headset, adjusted the fit slightly, and accepted the docking request. "What took you so lo-".

"I'm coming in hot, kid - I can't slow down! I'm reversing thrusters but struggling to maintain my line. Bellamy, it's John. Something's wrong." The Keelback careened through the docking bay's entrance, scraping against the bottom as the nose cleared the gate. Bellamy squinted his eyes, trying to focus in on the disfigurement clearly displayed in the rear of Darien's ship. Only it wasn't Darien's ship, it was John's Type-6 Transporter. The back-third of his ship was lodged in the Keelback's fighter bay.

Oh no. No. No. "No. Nooo . . ." Bellamy jumped to his feet. He ran halfway across his office before realizing that he still needed to help Darien dock. He returned to his chair, determined to safely lock the ship as not to risk damaging the Alana Lee or John.

When he was certain the ships wouldn't be further damaged by transfer to the hanger, Bellamy took the liberty to initiate the sequence on his console. He then ran from his desk, down the corridor, into the lift, and then waited. He could be dead. No! He could be alive but so hurt that he can't work anymore. What happened? Why? What happened?!? The lift doors opened.

Darien was standing on the top of the Alana Lee, one leg propped against his Keelback while he tried to leverage John's emergency hatch open with a metal rod. "Can you give me a hand? I haven't heard anything coming from inside. We need to get into this hatch somehow."

"I have an idea, just stay right there." Bellamy walked over to the hanger workstations. There was a container with a Warning: Corrosive label. He grabbed a pair of protective gloves off the nearby workbench and then slowly walked the container over to the Keelback. "We can melt through the hatch."

Darien reached down, first taking one of the gloves and then the acid from Bellamy, and then set to pouring the liquid onto each corner of the hatch. "How long will this take? If he's in there I'm guessing he'll need CPR."

"It shouldn't take longer than a few seconds. Here, get out of the way." Bellamy climbed up onto a section of the Keelback's slightly raised hull. "What happened?"

"I found John's ship floating out there among the asteroids where I had left him. It's a wonder he wasn't smashed to bits. After not receiving a response for a few minutes, I decided to drop my fighter and attempt to establish a secure connection to the Alana Lee. How we didn't come apart during supercruise . . ." Darien stepped back, gesturing to the hatch with both arms.

Bellamy jumped and collided with the hatch, rending three sides from the frame and falling through. He landed hard, slightly behind the cockpit. "Hrmph! Mmmrrm." Bellamy stood up and ran to the seat. No John. What the hell is going on... After a quick scan it was clear that the helm was completely intact. Not a chance he was sucked out . . . That's when he noticed them, the four fingers around the base of the cockpit. John's fingers. With the fingers were fragments of John's handheld console. It had clearly been smashed on purpose.

"So, is he in there or what? I'm trying to be respectful but need to know."  Darien's voice echoed throughout the helm.

"He isn't here. And honestly I don't think he's anywhere else on the ship considering the airlocks are still set. But I found something of his, and it isn't pretty." Bellamy stooped and used his gloved hand to poke through the fragments. He flipped over the largest piece, a corner of the device he himself had created. To his surprise, an image was still visible on the screen side. Bellamy picked it up and brought it closer to his face. The device had experienced some sort of power surge or short circuit upon being smashed. The remaining image wasn't being generated by anything within the handheld, but was an imprint on the screen itself.

"What is that?" Darien had dropped through the hatch. His eyes were on the fragment in Bellamy's hand.

"It's a piece of his tablet. And it looks like John was mapping something before the device was destroyed." He looked at the piece again. "Ever heard of the Suh . . . or uhh Cobog systems?

"No. Let me see that . . . No, this area of the galaxy doesn't look familiar at all. Is there more of this image?" Darien then proceeded to shout every curse word imaginable upon spying John's fingers on the floor. "Are those fingers. No! They really are . . . why would John's fingers be here but not John?"  

"I dunno, it almost seems like someone else was on this ship and took him . . . or his body" Bellamy shrugged his shoulders and looked out towards the hanger. Where are you John? What the hell happened? Let's check the rest of the pieces to see if more of the map was imprinted." Bellamy and Darien meticulously analyzed each piece of broken device, however, it was all either totally obscured or too smashed to be considered worth further inspection.

"Do we tell System Security? I'm sure the Alliance would send a special investigator to take a look." It was all Bellamy could do at this point to not completely break down - keep thinking up possible solutions.

"I don't think so, kid. If you're theory about John being taken is right, involving the authorities could mean forfeiting the ship to be impounded and submitted for evidence. They'll tear this Type-6 down months before John's case is even looked at by a low level securities clerk. No, Bellamy. I think this is something that has to be taken care of personally. Well, not me personally."

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I mean that you become a Commander and find out what happened to your brother. Take John's place."

Bellamy shook his head in disbelief. "You really think it would work?"

"Of course! I heard all about the time you took the progression tests for John. If their scanners couldn't tell you two apart then why would they know the difference now?"

"That's not what I meant. I know I can pass any medical test they throw at me. Won't everyone else know it's me? I'm not anything like John! He's daring, courageous. I'd run at the first sign of trouble. You think I can enter even the simplest combat situation? No way!"

"Then don't fight. Continue with the mining, or take a contract delivering goods between systems. All I know is that you need to keep earning credits and you need to find John. This is your chance Bellamy, and probably John's only chance."

"What about you? Can't you find John?" Bellamy couldn't believe what he was hearing from Darien. Become John? Could it really be that simple?

"I have a wife and kid on the way, Bellamy. I'd help you if I could but I have my own people to save every day. But listen, kid. You can't stay here much longer. In fact, you need to leave without anyone important noticing the extensive damage to your ship." My ship. "That means you can't leave this hanger if you want to keep this between us." The inside of the Alana Lee begin to tilt as a wave of anxiety rushed over Bellamy. How could he do this? Sure, he'd taken enough simulation courses to pilot this ship to a nearby system. But how could he become John?

"What will you tell my friends? Our parents?" Was he really going through with this? This is too fast. But he's right, if someone's going to find John in time to save him they have to start searching now.

"I'll tell them you followed through on the old plan; as brothers, explore the far reaches of the known and unknown galaxy. You'll be doing a lot of that soon anyways . . . half-true tale I'll be weaving it seems." Darien stepped closer to Bellamy. "Submit a repair and refuel request after the emergency engineers separate our ships. Then leave, and try to avoid coming back until you have John. I'm sure nobody will recognize you if you stay off this Orbital."  

Bellamy reached out and clasped Darien's arm. He looked into his eyes, realizing he may be seeing his kind-hearted friend for the last time. "Thanks, Darien. You've been a real pal the last couple years. Having you there to balance things out really . . ."

"Save it, kid. I won't let this be the last time we see each other if you won't."

"That's a deal." Bellamy reached into his pocket and withdrew a keycard. "Here, you need to go to John and my house to grab John's spare Commander's ID. If I'm going to try to blend in at the next station I'll need to be able to get in first. Oh! And grab our banking card from the rolltop desk too. I'm gonna need all our funds If I want to succeed."

"Sounds like that big brain of yours is finally kicking in." Darien smiled. He then climbed up on the cockpit. "I'll be back in two hours. You launch right after I get back. Do not leave this hanger, you hear me?" He reached up for the hatch entrance and climbed out of sight.

Bellamy went and sat at the helm. His hands hovered over the throttle and control panel. He slowly dropped his hand onto the cool metal. The curve of the handle aligned to his palm like it had been customized for his grip size. Oh, that's because it pretty much had been. The ship was designed for John, and technically, he was now John. The ship was an immediate fit, but projecting his brother's identity . . . that would take some time.  Bellamy . .  err John hoped that with a little courage and faked wit, he would become his brother in order to find and save his brother.
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Apt Orbital, Yoruba System - Official Docking Bay Log: John and Bellamy Fool departed on April 21, 3301 in a Type-6 Transporter, ID ALEE2, with no specified return date.