Chapter 20
When Torian finally boarded the Destitute again, Moss was saying, “—correct, considering the age of Vaesa.”
So, clearly Torian hadn’t been the only one to divulge their plans for the ancient space station. She hid a smile and climbed the stairs to the living area, removing the sweater in the Destitute’s comfortable warmth.
Lyric murmured something inaudible.
It felt wrong to eavesdrop on them, so Torian began tidying the kitchenette. It was very late now, and she was frankly starving. Probably, Lyric was hungry too—time to find a midnight snack.
She hadn’t gotten far in her search before Lyric emerged from the engine hatch. They hauled their workbag out, then saw her and froze.
She waved. “Ah, hello. How’d it go?”
“Um—it’s fixed.”
A pause.
No more information was given.
Torian offered a smile. “That’s great! What was wrong, if you don’t mind me asking?
Just so I can keep an eye out for problems like this later.
” Those nylarian blueprints had been intense, even with Torian’s working knowledge of engineering.
It’d be nice to know where to start if this happened again.
Lyric finished pulling themself out of the engine room.
They closed the hatch behind them, almost reverently.
“I, um. I doubt you could have fixed it. The part Dutch replaced on Vaesa was fractured. I had to modify another piece to make it work. Took a while.” They hefted their bag, appearing embarrassed. “Needed special tools.”
A fractured part. That would make sense. Dutch probably had done his best with what he could find, but all the replacement parts on Vaesa would be millennia old.
And yet, that wasn’t what Torian was focused on. Amused, she repeated, “Moss told you about Dutch, huh? And Vaesa?” Jokingly, she called to the computer: “How long was I gone?”
“Approximately two hours, twelve minutes,” Moss replied. “I like Lyric. I have decided they should be a partial owner of the Destitute, alongside you.”
Torian balked. “You’re replacing me?”
“Alongside you,” Moss repeated.
“Some loyalty.”
Lyric’s body language had steadily deteriorated. They hunched as if to make themself smaller, suddenly finding the bag in their hands fascinating. When there was a brief pause in the conversation, they inserted quietly, “I’m—I’ll go. No charge, Captain. Th-thank you for introducing me to Moss.”
Torian held up her hands. “Wait. I was teasing! I’m glad you two made friends.
” She racked her brain, then offered, “Do you want some dinner? I was just going to make something.” She tugged the first thing out of the pantry cabinet, a nylarian can that had somehow not been shoved to the back.
Pickled beans. What the fuck were pickled beans?
Desperately, she fumbled for something else. “Not this—hang on—”
Lyric edged toward the staircase to the cargo bay … and the exit. “Thank you, but—”
“I would like you to stay, Lyric.” Then, as a pointed afterthought, Moss added, “Forever.” It sounded vaguely ominous.
“Let’s start with dinner, assuming they even want some,” she said, lest Moss scare off this poor mechanic.
She pulled out ingredients for a salad, which felt safe, considering she didn’t know Lyric’s dietary preferences.
The leaves were vacuum-sealed in their own self-cooling container; they’d come out a bit limp, but they should taste okay.
Lyric fidgeted with their bag, then reluctantly lowered it to the mossy carpet. “I’ll stay. If Moss wants.”
“Forever,” Moss reiterated.
“Moss. For the Heavens’ sake.” Torian pinched the bridge of her nose. “Take a seat, Lyric. Are you okay with salad with vinaigrette? Allergic to anything?”
“Yes. And no.” Lyric offered a thin smile and sank onto the edge of one couch cushion, perched awkwardly. They rested their hands on their knees, one foot tapping incessantly.
Torian busied herself by not watching Lyric, since the mechanic clearly didn’t appreciate attention. By the time she’d washed the produce, Lyric’s foot had stopped tapping. As she mixed ingredients and shook the vinaigrette, Lyric’s shoulders had loosened.
They finally gained the courage to ask, “How … um, how do you know Amelia?”
Maybe I should have invited Amelia for dinner. If I can call this dinner. The thought crossed her mind, gone in an instant. Too late now, anyway.
(And maybe it was for the best.)
It took a moment to wrangle her brain back to Lyric’s question.
“We’re—”
“They are not-romantic partners.”
It wasn’t spoken as “they aren’t romantic partners.” It was very clearly meshing the words “not” and “romantic” into something that insinuated the exact opposite.
Silence followed Moss’s statement. Torian almost melted into the floor, especially when she realized Lyric was watching her curiously. She cleared her throat, suddenly enraptured with tossing the dressing into the salad. “We’re not romantic partners.”
“That’s what I said.”
“She must like you,” Lyric mumbled.
Torian froze. Her palms felt sweaty. Amelia had admitted as much, but hearing it from a second source felt damning. “Why do you say that?”
Lyric sounded hesitant, but seemed more willing to speak now that the conversation topic was about someone else. “She hadn’t come by in a few years. It’s … um, it’s weird she brought someone else. That hasn’t happened before.”
Torian fumbled for a reason why that didn’t make her special. “Well, I had a mechanical problem, and you had the unique expertise to fix it.”
Lyric shrugged.
Torian returned her focus to adding prepackaged croutons.
The salad was a bit thin—the leaves were limp, and she was limited on fresh food to add to it, considering the nature of her travel and the type of grocery shopping she’d done.
But it was something to eat before she went to bed, so she served two healthy portions into smaller bowls.
All the while, Torian kept an eye on Lyric in her peripherals, but the mechanic clearly had nothing else to say on the matter.
They did, however, change the subject. “Moss said you’re repairing an alien space station.”
“I am revitalizing a space station,” Moss rephrased.
“We,” Torian said.
Moss sounded arrogant now. “I am the one tasked with creating a livable ecosystem inside Vaesa’s many domes. You will merely be renovating existing residential buildings in the main dome. Between the two of us, I am vital.”
Amusement filtered into Torian’s voice. “You’re right. I should just leave you to it.”
Moss paused. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”
Torian snorted, returning to Lyric’s question as she handed them a bowl. They clearly preferred to remain at the couch, probably for the distance, but Torian didn’t mind eating alone at the table.
“Point is, yes, we’re moving to Vaesa. My sister, Celise, can’t breathe very well on Colony 13. I originally bought this ship to take her to Rhymarra, but—” Torian cut herself off with a grimace, stabbing the limp leaves in her bowl. “Well, they don’t want folks like us.”
“An alien space station sounds better,” Lyric said. “Fewer people.” To her surprise, they pushed to their feet and walked to the table, but hovered until Torian gestured at a nearby chair. They sank into it, fidgeting again.
Torian took a thoughtful bite of her salad.
The vinaigrette was bright and citrusy, with a sweet aftertaste she loved.
Taking another bite was a struggle—nylarian silverware was less like pronged forks, more like tongs with tiny pinchers at the ends.
It was awkward to eat with, but luckily, Lyric seemed to figure it out fine.
She watched them for a moment, offering a smile. “Moss wasn’t lying, you know. You’re welcome to come with us. We could probably use your expertise.”
Lyric nudged a crouton around their bowl. “I … I have a place here.”
Right—their workshop. A veritable paradise of plants and machines. Torian couldn’t blame them for not wanting to leave it. They probably had friends on Colony 4, too. Family, maybe.
Moss didn’t seem to care about that. “You told me you don’t talk to other humans. That is inconducive to your mental state. Your shop was robbed by criminals less than four months ago. That is inconducive to your physical state.”
Torian balked. “You were robbed?”
Lyric’s head hung.
Well. That put Torian firmly on Moss’s side, but she still didn’t like Moss pressuring Lyric. “Okay. It was probably a one-off. Moss, we shouldn’t make assumptions about Lyric’s desires.”
“I never make assumptions,” Moss replied. “Only statements based on facts and scenarios. Historically, my statements are ninety-three point three percent accurate.”
“It’s right. I ran a diagnostic on its central system,” Lyric added, finally taking a bite of their salad. They apparently liked the taste, because they quickly scooped up a tong-ful of leaves and ate that too.
Torian left the table to heat up some water for tea. “It has a big enough ego as it is, Lyric. Don’t support it.” She infused a teasing tone, and was pleasantly surprised when Lyric chuckled.
“I do not have a big ego,” Moss said.
“That’s fifty-four percent debatable,” Lyric replied.
Torian laughed, delighted now. Considering Moss’s constant irritation with Dutch and Torian’s poor knowledge about ship repair, the organic computer might need someone like Lyric—for a plethora of reasons.
And maybe, just maybe, Lyric needed Moss, too.
“Well. You don’t have to make a choice right away.” Torian snagged another bite of food while her tea heated. “We can always come back to get you. And Vaesa is fairly large—if you wanted to bring your family or friends, I’m sure Dutch would be okay with that.”
“I don’t have friends. Or family.”
Well, that was sad.
Instantly, Moss responded: “You may become a part of my colony.” As an afterthought, it added, “Not as moss, though, since you are human. This is a metaphorical colony.”
Torian snorted.
Lyric, on the other hand, seemed flattered by that statement. They glanced at the ceiling, a smile tilting their lips. “You’d want me in your colony?”
“I have been abandoned once before. By collecting humans, I can ensure I will not be abandoned again. Humans are proving to be more reliable than a dog-turd fungus inconsiderate asshole nylarian.”
Torian heaved a sigh. “Moss, humans have short lifespans. We should probably work on your abandonment issues.”
“My concern with abandonment is hardly an issue. Besides, humans reproduce. I will introduce your offspring to my colony as well, and theirs after that.”
“You’re like an evil overlord made of moss.”
“I am Moss, yes.”
Lyric raised a hand, like they were waiting to be called on in class.
Torian chuckled, gesturing for them to speak.
They cleared their throat and picked at their salad with the tong utensil.
“If … if I can work with Moss to fix a new space station—I want to help. Especially if it will let your sister breathe better.”
It was the longest speech Torian had heard Lyric make, and it felt like a victory. She melted a bit, her brows knitting together. “That’s so kind, Lyric. But you don’t have to do that just for us. Do you want to come to Vaesa?”
Lyric considered that, then rubbed their arm, staring at the table now. “I don’t like it here. But maybe I’ll like Vaesa.”
“You will.” Moss sounded wholly confident.
And probably, it was right.
Torian grinned. “Then you’re welcome to come. We’ll gladly make use of your expertise, and you’ll have a lovely, private place to live.”
Lyric’s lips tugged into a smile. “Okay.”
They discussed logistics for a bit—how Lyric would pack up their shop, how long closing their business might take. It wouldn’t happen in a day, or a week, but Lyric took the radio frequency Moss provided and said they’d call when they were ready.
Maybe Torian imagined it, but it seemed like they had a bounce in their step when they left the Destitute.
Torian closed the ship behind them, blinking past burning eyes. It was very late now, and she was beyond ready for some sleep. As she trudged to the living area to clean the dishes from dinner, she asked, “What did Lyric do that made you so enamored?”
“I am not enamored. That word has a distinctly romantic subtext, and I—”
“Don’t do romance. I know.”
Moss paused. “They talked to me like Dutch used to. Before everything.”
Torian smiled, feeling warm inside. “I’m glad our ship broke down, then.”
“Perhaps.” Another grudging silence, then Moss said quietly, “You are still my favorite, Torian.”
She paused while washing a plate, smiling at the ceiling. “Aww. You too, Moss.”