Chapter 18
“Here’s a tip, Scrap. Next time I tell you to stay in the ship, listen to me.” Amelia’s tone was as hard as her gaze.
Torian felt it was undeserved. “I wasn’t intervening with you. Someone was cutting through my ship.”
“We can patch a ship. We can’t bring someone back from the dead.” Amelia’s voice was rough, tightly furious. “This kind of shit is why I demoted you in the first place. Where in the hell are your survival instincts?”
Torian crossed her arms, her mood rapidly degrading. “Look. I told you I was terrible security.”
“You didn’t have to tell me, Scrap.”
Torian scowled. “Rude.”
Amelia seemed to realize things were escalating, and not in a good way. This kind of conversation had been simmering for a while, and Torian wasn’t surprised it was finally coming to a head.
But apparently Amelia, yet again, wasn’t ready to talk about things. Instead, she drew a short breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and said, “Come on. We need to find a mechanic.”
The fact that she was angry made Torian feel a bit irritated. Torian had listened to Amelia’s initial request. She’d stayed on the ship until she couldn’t anymore. It felt unfair to punish her for something that escalated out of hand.
But Amelia was already walking away.
Of course she was.
Torian jogged to catch up to Amelia. This wasn’t how she wanted their reunion to go, but she couldn’t help but continue this argument. “You’re mad, and I don’t think that’s fair. He was attacking my ship; I had to do something.”
“You know what isn’t fair, Scrap? Pacing outside a med bay praying that my newest security officer isn’t dying inside.”
It slipped out, clearly, because Amelia pressed her lips shut and scoffed, picking up the pace to avoid meeting Torian’s gaze.
They were heading for the hangar’s exit, an innocuous door marked as such, but once they left this oasis, Colony 4’s unique festivities would ensure they didn’t get to chat again for a while.
Not about anything important.
So, Torian leapt in front of Amelia, physically blocking her. “Can we talk about what happened?”
“There’s nothing to say. I thought you were experienced enough. You clearly weren’t. I refuse to make the same mistake twice.” Amelia’s voice was hard, but she averted her gaze, her jaw clenched.
“He was going to shoot you.”
“And then he shot you instead.”
That hung between them, and they glared at each other. As always, Amelia’s anger was ice-cold, that mottled meteorite that would freeze Torian to touch. Torian’s started hot, but melted into misery the longer Amelia stared.
“I was doing my job,” Torian muttered.
Amelia massaged her brow. “Yeah, well. Your job scared the shit out of me.” That last sentence was barely audible, and Amelia shoved past her, stalking for the exit. Torian trailed behind this time, bracing for the public avenues of Colony 4.
There was a reason everyone hated this space station.
A while ago, they’d realized that holidays were a break from actual work—and began implementing a multitude of them accordingly.
Every day was something new, and the result was that most days were spent partying while the station fell into more and more disrepair.
When they exited the private hangar, they entered a holiday wonderland.
Banners hung, rigged with electronic letters in several languages.
Streamers littered the floor, food wrappers carelessly discarded.
Drones attempted to clean, but it was difficult when folks kept buying food, cheering whenever someone hugged someone else, pulling the drones close to nuzzle them.
“What is it today?” Amelia grumbled.
Torian pointed to an electronic sign that read: Happy Snuggling Day! Enjoy the celebration!
“Snuggling Day. I think.”
Except Snuggling Day was flickering, cycling between a dozen holidays: Knitting Day, Keeves Aid Day, Quiet Day, Starry Sky Day, Space Appreciation Day—
Torian yanked her gaze away, feeling dizzy. This place was an introvert’s nightmare.
“If anyone tries to hug me, I’m going to shoot them,” Amelia said, and she didn’t sound like she was joking. Her murderous expression appeared to work, though, and most of the citizens here kept their distance as Amelia and Torian picked their way around trash and food stands.
“So. Other than getting stranded in space, what—ah, what have you been doing?” Amelia asked, once they delved into a quieter hallway.
Torian scrambled for something. Rhymarra was a failure, so she pivoted into the success: “Well, I met a few aliens. A draic, a tou’siil. And a nylarian! You’ve never heard of them, because the rest of his kind left the system a thousand years ago. But it’s been incredible, Ames.”
That nickname hadn’t slipped out in a while. Amelia’s lips downturned.
A step too far, clearly.
Embarrassment prickled her skin. Torian drew a quick breath and plowed ahead. “I also found a space station in the Kialoa Nebula. It’s orbiting a new—well, old, but new to us—terraformed planet. The nylarians used to live there—”
“Is there something leaching into your air supply?” Amelia drawled.
That reminded Torian, vividly, of Celise, who did have something leaching into her air supply, killing her slowly. There was a reason Torian had been gallivanting around space, a reason she’d left Amelia behind to pursue something else.
Amelia didn’t care about her escapades with aliens and undiscovered terraformed planets. Amelia barely cared about anything off her ship—and Torian wasn’t a crewmember anymore.
She was barely a friend.
Torian stopped walking, and Amelia got a few steps ahead before realizing she was alone now. She paused, glancing over her shoulder. Torian knew her expression must be stormy, framed with frustration, but she couldn’t find the energy to hide it.
Amelia’s brows furrowed, and she backtracked. “Sorry, Torian. That was uncalled-for. How … um, how is Celise doing?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Torian replied stiffly. “I can’t contact her.”
Even in this offshoot hallway, the Snuggling Day festivities were thriving.
A loud group broke out into roaring cheers as a man dipped another man into a deep bow, nuzzling his nose into the crook of the other man’s neck.
A drone zipped overhead, urging citizens to “throw trash in designated canisters.” Said canisters were overflowing, but the drone didn’t seem concerned about that.
Amelia hesitated, filling the silence. “Did you reach Rhymarra before your ship’s engine broke, at least?”
Shame filtered into Torian’s chest, constricting until it felt hard to breathe.
That was the conversation Torian didn’t want to have—the one about her abject failure, about how Amelia was right, because of course she was, she was Captain Amelia Perrosk, and Torian was just a na?ve colony engineer who was also, apparently, too old.
Torian inhaled shakily and started walking again.
“Hey. You okay?” Amelia reached for Torian’s arm, but pulled back just before contact was made.
Torian turned her gaze away from the festivities, wishing they were anywhere else. “I landed on Rhymarra. I asked to test.”
“Did they help?” Amelia seemed like she was fighting to keep her voice level, to keep her tone firmly in curiosity, not derision.
Torian shook her head.
And the curiosity shattered.
“Of fucking course they didn’t.” Amelia laughed loudly, anger tinging her voice again. “Assholes. Why am I not surprised?”
It made Torian feel small and stupid for having hope. She shoved her hands in her pockets. “You were right, okay? Rhymarrans don’t care about us station folk, and I’m the idiot for thinking they might. Why are you still here, Amelia?”
“That’s not—” Amelia cut herself off, growling a bit. “You’re not wrong for having hope. I just … I tried to warn you.”
I told you so. It instantly soured Torian’s remaining goodwill, left her feeling bitter for even thinking this interaction with Amelia would end positively. Her words were tight. “Consider me warned. Now, you dropped me off at a space station. Your good deed is complete. I can handle this alone.”
Amelia’s expression faltered, and at that moment, a person pushing a hover-cart filled with bright red boxes separated them. The cart salesman asked, “Sparklers? Station-safe for Milk Day!”
“It’s Snuggling Day,” Torian said.
The salesman cursed, checked a calendar taped to his cart, and forced a hasty smile. “Ah, yes! Snuggling Day! Care for a hug? And a sparkler?”
“No, thanks,” Amelia said.
Her refusal spurred Torian into wanting a sparkler. Might as well find some joy out of today. She fished into her pocket and pulled out a tin bar, one of the cheapest forms of currency. “What does a tin buy me?”
“Your greatest desires!” The salesman snatched it up and handed her exactly one sparkler. It had an automatic lighting mechanism, and Torian started walking again as she flicked the switch. The sparkler flared to life, glowing purple, blue, green at the end of the stick.
Amelia followed, subtly directing Torian into an even smaller alleyway. “Was that necessary?”
“Not for Captain Perrosk, the stealer of fun.” Torian’s tone was rough. “But I’ve had a bad day. Seriously, Amelia. You can leave.”
“Do you even know where we’re going?”
“A mechanic, I presume.”
“Not just any mechanic. A fucking prodigy.” Between the narrow walls of the alley, the festivities faded away, and finally it felt like they were alone.
The sparkler illuminated the dark space, and Amelia’s blue eyes shone.
“I know you hate me. Just let me get you flying again. Then I’ll go my way, and you’ll go yours. All right?”
The way she phrased that made Torian feel icky, unsettled. “I don’t hate you. I just … want to stop feeling inadequate around you.”
The color drained from Amelia’s face. At the same moment, the sparkler died, its light fizzling. Torian dropped it into another nearly full trash bin, then shoved her hands in her pockets.
Amelia clearly didn’t know what to say. They walked for several more minutes, the tension between them increasing with every step, before Amelia stopped at a simple metal door. Two raps, a pause, then five more. She wouldn’t meet Torian’s gaze while they waited.
Torian didn’t blame her.
She thought it’d be nice to see Amelia again, but this …
this was exactly what she remembered. Six months of pining that caused Torian to read volumes into every interaction, followed by a kiss, a disaster, a demotion, and another six months of forced professionalism.
All of it capped with one final, failed goodbye.
And now this. She shouldn’t have expected anything different.
A click echoed, and Amelia didn’t wait for permission to push open the door. “Lyric doesn’t love visitors,” she said, “but they’re the best mechanic in the solar system. Trust me.”
Torian nodded distantly, gaping at the paradise beyond the hallway.
What she’d thought was a small apartment was actually a two-story workspace, with expensive engine parts littering every bare surface.
But what was better were the plants that hung from every corner: leafy ivy and stiff snake plants and potted trees and even a couple ferns.
It was a veritable utopia. Moss would love it.
“This is amazing,” Torian breathed.
A person slid out from underneath a large maintenance bot, pushing to their feet. Considering this person, Lyric, “didn’t love visitors,” Torian had assumed they’d be hostile—and that was wholly untrue, apparently.
Lyric didn’t seem to have an aggressive bone in their body. They averted their gaze, cautiously curious as they snuck a glance at Torian. When they saw her looking, they wrung their gloved hands together, forcing a twitchy smile, and stared pointedly at the ground. “Um … h-hello.”
Their skin was a deep mahogany interrupted by symmetrical white spots. It was clearly a pigmentation disruption—Celise had studied this in medical school. What was it called? Vitiligo, Torian recalled.
She hoped that wasn’t why Lyric felt awkward.
To make them more comfortable, Torian said, “Hello! I’m Torian.” Then she pivoted into her burning question: “Did you grow all of these yourself?”
This place looked like something on Rhymarra … or on her own starship, designed by Moss. To grow all these plants in space … this mechanic must be a wizard. Torian approached a calathea, stroking its soft leaves.
Lyric blinked. “Ah, yes.”
“Lyric is also a botanist,” Amelia said slyly. “I figured that might be helpful, considering all the moss on your ship. Maybe they can solve two problems at once.”
“The moss on my ship isn’t a problem,” Torian retorted, offended.
But Lyric had perked up. “There’s moss on—on your ship?” Half of their statement was mumbled as both Amelia and Torian glanced their way. They sank into themself. “Um, can I help?”
“My ship’s exhaust pump broke. We thought we’d fixed it, but … well, apparently the parts were pretty old.” Torian grimaced. “I’m really hoping you have something better.”
Lyric nodded, glancing at Amelia for confirmation.
She smiled. “It’s okay. Torian is a very close friend. I’ll vouch for her.”
A very close friend?
That appeared to be all Lyric needed. They wiped their palms on their pant legs, which were smeared in grease from the maintenance bot. “I can … um … I can be there in an hour?”
“We’ll transmit the hangar information,” Amelia said. “Be careful approaching; we had a run-in with a Luminas crowd earlier, but I think it’s fine now.”
Lyric was clearly no stranger to that kind of situation, because they nodded.
She turned to leave.
This was too fast; Torian was still in awe at the plant wonderland around them. She lingered in the doorway. “Hang on. How did you grow a fern on a space station? The lack of humidity did mine in.”
Rest in peace, Palm, she thought.
Lyric had already edged back to the bot, but they glanced at the floor by Torian. “Humidifier. Custom built.”
“I tried that. Yours must be amazing.” Torian tried to squint at the machine beside their ferns, but couldn’t get a good look. And it felt rude to pry, especially with Amelia obviously pulling her out the door. Torian offered a smile. “Well, maybe you can show me how you constructed it.”
Lyric tilted their head. “Um. Yeah.”
With little else to say, Torian waved and left.