Chapter 5 Silent Night, Dangerous Flight #2
“From Grandmama!” Tavia bounces on her toes, then suddenly goes serious.
“Papa, should we invite them for hot chocolate? It’s Christmas Eve, and they flew through those dangerous storms just to bring us presents.
That seems like invitation-worthy behavior according to standard hospitality protocols. ”
“Tavia, I’m certain our couriers have other deliveries to complete—”
“Actually,” Ober says, shooting me a look that’s pure mischief, “we could use a few minutes to recalibrate our sensors after that electromagnetic flight. If the invitation stands.”
“Excellent! Papa, shall I prepare the formal Lividian hospitality ceremony? Or would our guests prefer the casual family approach?”
“Casual family,” I say hastily, before we end up in some complex cultural ritual. “We’re not fancy people.”
“Perfect! Papa makes the best hot chocolate in three systems. He adds real Andraxian spice extract and uses the atmospheric pressure chamber for optimal foam density!”
Twenty minutes later, I’m discovering that Tavia wasn’t exaggerating.
Lividian hot chocolate is a revelation—rich and warming with complex undertones that make every sip a small celebration.
The Storm family’s quarters are cozy despite the alien landscape visible through the viewports, decorated with handmade ornaments that speak to years of Christmas traditions maintained across impossible isolation.
“These are beautiful,” I tell Tavia, admiring a delicate crystal sculpture that catches the light in rainbow patterns.
“I made them from the mineral formations we extract during atmospheric processing!” She beams with pride.
“Each one represents a different stage of the terraforming project. See? This one’s from year one when everything was still toxic.
And this one’s from last month when we achieved our first stable oxygen pocket! ”
“Tavia has remarkable artistic sensibilities,” Cetus says, his voice soft with paternal pride. “She finds beauty in the scientific process.”
“Papa says the most beautiful things happen when you apply pressure and heat to transform something broken into something better,” Tavia announces, then turns those bright yellow eyes on us with curious intensity. “Like how crystals form! Or how relationships evolve!”
Ober chokes on his hot chocolate. “Kid’s got a point.”
“She usually does,” Cetus admits with fond resignation. “Tavia has strong opinions about optimization and efficiency in all systems—atmospheric, mechanical, and interpersonal.”
“Speaking of interpersonal optimization,” Tavia continues with relentless eight-year-old logic, “are you two optimizing your obvious compatibility? Because your biosignatures suggest compatible attraction markers, but your spatial positioning indicates conflict avoidance patterns.”
Heat floods my face. “Tavia—”
“Papa says when grown-ups stand close but don’t touch, it usually means they want to but think they shouldn’t.” She tilts her head with scientific curiosity. “Are you conducting relationship experiments? Or are you already bonded but experiencing communication difficulties?”
“The second one,” Ober says quietly, and the honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. “We’re... figuring some things out.”
“Oh! Like recalibration procedures!” Tavia claps her hands together.
“Papa and I do those with the atmospheric processors when the systems get out of sync. You have to identify the source of the interference, adjust the input parameters, and then test the new configuration under controlled conditions.”
“That’s... actually pretty good advice,” I manage.
“Thank you! Papa says I have intuitive understanding of complex system dynamics.” She pauses, studying us with those bright eyes. “Your primary interference pattern seems to be historic data conflicts affecting current operational parameters.”
“She means you’re letting the past mess with the present,” Cetus translates with a small smile.
“Exactly! But the beautiful thing about recalibration is that you can establish new operational baselines. Fresh start protocols!” Tavia bounces excitedly. “Like when Papa decided to stop avoiding social contact because he thought it would be ‘disruptive to domestic stability.’”
“Tavia,” Cetus warns, but his markings have gone fond yellow.
“What? It’s true! You spent three years thinking relationship variables would destabilize our family unit, but statistical analysis clearly indicated that stable adult partnerships actually improve environmental outcomes for dependent offspring!”
“Your daughter,” Ober tells Cetus with barely contained amusement, “is going to change the galaxy someday.”
“She already has,” Cetus says softly, reaching over to ruffle Tavia’s hair with gentle affection. “Every day.”
The family moment hits me unexpectedly hard, a sharp pang of longing for something I’ve never had but suddenly want desperately. The easy affection between father and daughter, the cozy Christmas traditions, the sense of home built across impossible distance.
“This is nice,” I say without thinking, then flush when everyone looks at me. “I mean... you’ve built something beautiful here. Despite the isolation.”
“Isolation can be an advantage,” Cetus says carefully. “Fewer variables to manage. Controlled environment. Predictable outcomes.”
“But also fewer opportunities for system enhancement through external input,” Tavia adds seriously. “Papa learned that optimal functioning requires both stability and adaptive growth through interaction with compatible systems.”
She says it so matter-of-factly, but I catch the way Ober’s attention sharpens. The way his dark eyes find mine across the small table, weighted with understanding that we’re talking about more than atmospheric processing.
“Smart kid,” he murmurs.
“Very smart,” I agree, but I’m looking at him instead of Tavia, drowning in the heat of his gaze and the growing awareness that sitting in this cozy family space with him feels dangerously like the future I’ve been afraid to want.
“Emergency alert,” Cetus announces suddenly, his attention shifting to a communication console that’s begun flashing urgent warnings. “Unidentified ship approaching Kepler system. Configuration unknown.”
The warm Christmas atmosphere vanishes as Ober and I snap into tactical mode, moving to the console with synchronized precision that makes Tavia’s eyes widen with delight.
“See? Perfect complementary response patterns!” she whispers to her father.
“Three ships,” Ober mutters, his enhanced senses picking up details faster than the sensors. “Fast, military-grade engines. They’re not broadcasting identification.”
“Krax?” I ask.
“Has to be.” His jaw tightens as he studies the approach vectors. “But they’re not coming for us directly. They’re heading for the orbital freight stations.”
“The Christmas deliveries,” I breathe, understanding flooding through me with sick certainty. “He’s not just hunting us. He’s hunting OOPS Christmas routes. Systematically.”
As if summoned by my words, the console chimes with an incoming message. The display flickers, and suddenly we’re looking at a face I recognize—translucent skin, phosphorescent circulatory system, enormous black eyes that reflect no warmth whatsoever.
Krax Korvain. And he’s smiling.
“Hello, Nova. I do hope you’re enjoying your Christmas deliveries.” His voice is melodic, beautiful, and cold as the void between stars.
“It’s Noomi,” Ober says firmly, and the protective edge in his voice makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “Her name is Noomi.”
Krax’s smile widens, but there’s no humor in it. “Ah yes, the reinvention. How... touching. Very different from the Nova I remember. Tell me, Noomi—are you enjoying bringing families together? Delivering hope across impossible distances? Very noble work. Very... redemptive.”
Tavia presses closer to her father, who instinctively shields her with his body while keeping his attention on the screen.
“Amazing work you’re doing,” Krax continues conversationally. “So different from your previous occupation. I’ve been watching, you know. Tracking every route, every family, every precious package carrying holiday cheer to the forgotten corners of the galaxy.”
“What do you want, Krax?” I manage, though my voice sounds steadier than I feel.
“I want to discuss choices, dear Noomi. Specifically, the choice you made three years ago when you and your captain there accessed my databases during that charming little heist on my ship. Do you remember what you found?”
Ice runs down my spine. Beside me, Ober goes very still, his attention shifting between the screen and my face with growing understanding.
“I remember,” I whisper.
“Good. Because I’ve been thinking about that choice ever since.
The choice you made to send my black market records to the authorities instead of keeping them for profit.
The choice that destroyed my carefully maintained facade and cost me everything I loved.
” His smile could cut diamond. “My mate Sera took our twin daughters and disappeared the moment the authorities came knocking. Haven’t seen them in three years—all because you decided to play hero. ”
Tavia’s markings pulse with confusion and growing fear as she processes the implications. Cetus pulls her closer, his own markings flickering with protective anger.
“Your righteousness destroyed three families that day—mine, yours when your partnership fell apart over that choice, and every one I’ve torn apart since,” Krax continues with chilling calm.
“That decision taught us all a valuable lesson: good intentions are just another weapon. Now I’m simply more honest about using them. ”
“You bastard,” Ober growls, his claws extending involuntarily. “Those families are innocent.”
“So was mine.” Krax’s phosphorescent circulatory system pulses with cold light.
“And I’ve decided it’s time to return the favor.
I’m going to destroy every Christmas delivery in three sectors.
Every family reunion, every child’s holiday joy, every precious moment of connection across the void.
Just like your precious Noomi destroyed mine. ”
The transmission cuts, leaving us staring at a blank screen while Tavia’s scientific curiosity wars with confusion and Cetus pulls his daughter closer.
“Noomi,” Ober says quietly, his voice carrying a weight of realization that makes my chest tight. “What choice? What exactly did you do?”
And suddenly I’m drowning in memories I’ve spent two years trying to forget. The choice that destroyed Krax’s family. The choice that destroyed mine. The choice that proved I wasn’t strong enough to be the woman Ober needed me to be.
“The choice,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “that ended us.”