Chapter 11
Torian awoke to an empty ship.
She stepped out of the sleeping room, rubbing one eye, and took a moment to orient herself. It had only been a few days—it was odd not to wake up in Amelia’s crew room, or on her old bed in the family apartment. She was nowhere near either of those now, and a part of her was relieved for it.
The rest of her remembered the broken engine, and she swallowed a groan.
The kettle still had water, and she absently set it over the heating element, then peeked down the engine hatch. She didn’t hear anyone, so she asked, “Moss? How’re we doing?”
“It is repaired,” Moss said. “He left.”
“Did … ah, did everything go okay?” Did he convince you to kick me out? was what she wanted to ask, although she didn’t dare voice that concern.
Moss sounded smugly pleased. “I did not forgive him.”
Torian winced. Sometimes, people didn’t deserve forgiveness. But bitterness could eat someone—er, someplant—from the inside out, and Torian wanted to at least have that discussion before things festered too long.
Moss moved on seamlessly, oblivious to her concerns.
“But he did give me control of the auto-navigation and engine systems. I now have access to everything inside the Destitute, and can ensure we are never rerouted again.” A pause, and then Moss sounded hesitant.
“Is that amenable to you? I told Dutch it would be.”
Torian blinked, eyebrows shooting up. “You can control everything on the ship now?” A part of her wondered if she should be concerned about that—her ship seizing control of itself and flying off without her.
But the rest of her knew this was Moss, and even though their friendship was new … she trusted it.
“Yes. I am prepared to offer you an override, if you feel it is necessary for your safety.” Then, more disgruntled: “Considering your existing safety standard, it would be hypocritical at best, but I will do it.”
Torian crossed her arms. “Excuse you. I worked in security. I have very high safety standards.”
“Records indicate you shot a draic with a jelly bullet yesterday.”
Torian gasped. “That was one time.”
“Statistical probability based on your immediate response time suggests you would act that way in most similar situations.” Moss paused, then added, “This is detrimental to your continuing survival. Do you prefer the override or not?”
The topic change from their argument was so swift that Torian’s head spun. She flapped a hand, refocusing on adding a scoop of ravla to her mug. Her coffee grounds sat unused, and she didn’t regret it, mixing the ravla and taking a deep swig.
Delicious.
“The fact that you’re offering an override tells me I don’t need it.” Torian offered a smile to one of the nearby cameras. “I’m glad you won’t be stranded again, Moss. I wouldn’t let that happen, but if something ever happens to me … it’s nice to know.”
Moss didn’t reply for a long time, long enough that Torian thought they were done with the conversation, and was about to move on. But as she opened her mouth, Moss replied, “Thank you for understanding, Torian. You are my best friend.”
Warmth spread through Torian’s chest, and she hugged the mug closer, letting this moment settle.
The cinnamon and cocoa notes of the ravla.
The low, comfortable lighting. Moss’s moss carpeting every feasible surface, surrounding her like a hug.
And the knowledge that she’d made a new friend—a best friend—without even realizing it.
“I’ll always be here for you, Moss. You deserve that.” Torian’s fingers reached for a particularly verdant section of moss—but withdrew at the last second. No touching. She hoped it still knew she wanted to comfort it somehow.
Then Moss shattered the moment by replying, “Statistical probability implies you might not always be here. As your best friend and life support system, I require you to be less stupid around threats.”
Less stupid. Torian snort-laughed mid-sip, and ravla splattered over her nose and shirt. As she frantically tried to dry the spill before it stained, she said, “Is that a technical term?”
“Yes,” Moss replied stoically.
“I’ll be less stupid,” she promised—even as an intense feeling of déjà vu overtook her, dragging her back to that night six months ago:
That was fucking stupid. Yet again, Torian remembered Amelia’s red-rimmed eyes, the frustration and fury in her voice.
For a moment, it had looked like Amelia might cry, right there in that dark, empty corridor of her starship.
But when Torian didn’t immediately reply—because maybe it had been fucking stupid, lunging in front of Amelia when their client raised a gun, but wasn’t that her job as Amelia’s security?
—Amelia’s gaze hardened. Don’t ever do that again.
Torian would have done it again and again and again, if it meant Amelia got home safely.
And that, frankly, scared her. Torian kept her teammates safe—often with questionable baiting tactics—but she’d never put herself in a position to be killed on sight.
She couldn’t risk that kind of threat. Celise couldn’t risk it.
But a week before, Amelia had traced Torian’s cheek and lowered a kiss to her lips—and their contact made everything inside Torian feel gooey and warm.
Then, Amelia brought her as security to a job that went very, very wrong. And in one singular moment, Torian was faced with a choice: save Celise eventually, or save Amelia now. For the first time in her life, she chose someone else.
And then she’d woken up in Amelia’s medical bay, aching and bruised.
Torian forced herself out of that memory. She’d spent six months reminding herself that it had been stupid to choose Amelia, six months hauling crates in Amelia’s cargo bay while her captain essentially ignored her. She refocused on what mattered.
It wasn’t Amelia.
It couldn’t be.
Torian climbed the stairs to the flight deck, being careful not to spill her ravla again. She asked Moss, “So, if the engine is fixed and you have control, does that mean we’re ready to visit Rhymarra?”
“The auto-nav has already plotted a course.”
Torian took a seat at the flight deck’s controls, peering through the window at Vaesa’s dock. Everything was yet again cast in early-evening light, so she’d slept most of the day. She admired the glimmering kerrac tree, but also searched for signs of Dutch or Zen. “Are we going there alone?”
“Dutch and his draic partner certainly are not invited.”
Torian laughed at the derision in Moss’s voice, feeling a bit relieved. “He was nice.” She hesitated. “They both were. But I understand why you’re angry.”
“I am not angry. He apologized. I did not accept it.” Moss sounded stiff now.
“Any reason why?” Torian put the mug on the counter over the controls, careful not to touch any of Moss’s moss. She reviewed the instructions Moss had originally shared back in the impound lot on Colony 13, still attempting to commit them to memory as she continued her preflight check.
Moss replied to her question. “He did not deserve it.”
“He wasn’t sorry?”
“He … showed signs of remorse, yes.”
Torian hesitated, glancing at the ceiling. “Then you’re still not ready. That’s okay, Moss. A century is a long time to sit alone. A single interaction, or even two, won’t fix that.”
“I am not a bipedal fauna, consumed by irrational emotion. I ran scenarios and confirmed probable responses down to ninety-nine point seven percent accuracy.” Moss seemed irate now.
“He abandoned me once. There is a strong likelihood he would do it again. I simply prioritized the being who has not, to this point, exhibited unfavorable actions.”
“Fancy words. Have you noticed those come out when you’re trying to sound logical?” Torian smirked, taking a sip of ravla. It was sweet, which countered the bitter notes nicely.
“I am logical.”
“You’re half organic, Moss. Even plants have feelings.” Torian didn’t use to know if that was true, at least not until Moss confirmed it when she boarded. The Destitute’s potted plants complained about too much light, or too little wind, or poor nutrients in their soil.
That meant they had at least some capacity for emotion.
Moss went silent, as if to prove her point.
Mildly amused, Torian proceeded through the rest of the preflight checks.
The engine powered on seamlessly, and she took hold of the yoke, slowly guiding the Destitute from the dock.
They slid out of the energy barrier and sped up, and Vaesa’s magnificence vanished behind them.
The ship thrummed comfortingly, responding to every light press of the yoke.
As with Colony 13, Torian paused a fair distance from Vaesa, turning the ship for one last look. The space station really was magnificent, and a part of her regretted leaving so soon. If Zen and Dutch meant no harm, she’d have liked to explore more.
Through the dome, from this distance, she could see a second starship docked on the opposite end.
That must be Zenthielutos’s ship. Draics apparently favored dark metal and sleek curves for their ships, and Torian was shocked at its size.
She’d assumed Zen had arrived on a ship like the Destitute, fitting one, maybe two people, but that looked bigger than Amelia’s.
Then Dutch wasn’t kidding. If he wanted to take the Destitute by force, he could have just called Zen’s crew for help. Torian didn’t stand a chance against one draic, much less a few dozen.
Torian kept that thought to herself. Dutch hadn’t stopped her, and Torian didn’t plan to be back. The Destitute was hers now, and she’d fight to keep it.
Time to leave. This detour had taken long enough.
Torian turned the starship back to the nebula at large, tracing the path they’d used to sail inside in the first place.
Whatever dangers lurked in the nebula, that flight path had clearly avoided them.
Torian didn’t intend to experiment with alternate routes.