Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The navigation console beeped three times—proximity alert for a scheduled approach vector.
Becsul’s hands stilled over the secondary display where he’d been studying hyperspace corridor maps, his attention shifting to the forward viewport.
The Celestine’s Mercy was dropping out of faster-than-light transit, the streaked star lines condensing into pinpricks, and directly ahead lay a structure that made the warrior in him instinctively assess threat levels.
This is where we discover what our future holds, he thought. Or whether we have one at all.
“Impressive, isn’t she?” Captain Trevan’s voice came from beside him.
The older Cire had approached silently—a skill Becsul respected—and now stood with his arms folded, his scarred face illuminated by the viewport’s reflected light.
“Korinth-7 processes over two thousand cases per standard cycle. Everything from smuggling to murder to… situations like yours.”
“You have been here before.”
“Many times. Some as a witness. Some as cargo runner with nothing to hide.” Trevan’s cybernetic eye flickered orange. “Once as a suspect, though that was a misunderstanding involving a shipment of supposedly extinct reptiles that turned out to be very much alive and extremely venomous.”
“What happened?”
“The charges were dropped when the creatures ate the evidence.” His tone suggested this was either a joke or a very strange truth. “The Patrol can be reasonable when circumstances warrant.”
“And when circumstances do not warrant?”
Trevan was quiet for a moment. “Then they can be… thorough.”
The word hung between them, heavy with implication.
Becsul had dealt with military tribunals, with Council investigations, with the rigid hierarchies of Cire justice.
But this was different. This was galactic law—a system he understood only in abstract terms, built on principles that might not account for the nuances of what he had done and why.
I helped kidnap sentient beings. I participated in forced medical experimentation. The fact that I eventually rebelled does not erase my complicity.
His tail curled against his thigh, agitated. In the crew quarters three decks below, Melissa would be waking soon. Robbie would need feeding. The morning rituals that had become precious to him over the past days would continue, and she would be expecting him to be there.
But the future pressed against his chest like a physical weight, demanding acknowledgment.
“I have been thinking,” he said slowly, “about what comes after.”
“After the Patrol?”
“After everything. Assuming we are not imprisoned or—” He stopped, unwilling to voice the alternatives. “Assuming we are free to make choices.”
“A reasonable thing to think about.” Trevan adjusted something on the navigation console, his movements unhurried. “And what conclusions have you reached?”
“None.” The admission cost him something.
Warriors were trained to assess, decide, and act.
Indecision was weakness. But here, in this liminal space between his old life and whatever came next, certainty eluded him.
“I know what I am capable of. Combat. Tactics. Leadership in crisis situations. Protection.”
“Valuable skills.”
“Skills that are common in a galaxy full of warriors and security specialists.” Becsul shook his head. “I am not unique. I am not irreplaceable. And I need to find a way to provide for—” He caught himself. “For my family.”
The word still felt new on his tongue. Family. He had lost his family to the Red Death over three decades ago. He had believed he would never use that word again, except in reference to ghosts.
Now he had a mate. A child who was not his by blood but who had claimed his heart completely. Two more humans who looked to him for protection. A little girl who demanded scary faces and giggled at his compliance.
Family.
Trevan was watching him with an expression that might have been understanding. “The galaxy is vast, Becsul. There are always opportunities for those willing to work.”
“But what opportunities? Security work would take me away from Melissa and Robbie for extended periods. Mercenary contracts are dangerous and unreliable. I could seek employment with a shipping company, but—”
“You could seek employment with this shipping company.”
Becsul turned to look at the captain directly. “What?”
“I’m offering you a position.” Trevan’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Crew member on the Celestine’s Mercy. Security, navigation assistance, cargo handling—whatever needs doing. The pay is modest but consistent, and you would have quarters on board.”
“You would hire a fugitive?”
“I would hire a competent Cire warrior who has proven himself trustworthy under pressure.” Trevan’s scarred mouth curved slightly.
“The Patrol may complicate matters initially, but I do not believe you will be imprisoned. Your testimony is too valuable. And once your status is resolved, you would be free to accept employment.”
Becsul processed this. A position. Steady work. A place on a crew that had already shown them kindness.
And quarters on board. For all of them.
“The ship,” he said slowly. “We would live here?”
“There is room. The Mercy was designed for a larger crew than I currently maintain. Koss and I rattle around like stones in an empty drum.” Trevan gestured vaguely at the vessel around them.
“Sarah and her daughter could have the port cabin. The other woman—Wei-Lin—could take the starboard quarters if she wished to stay. And you, Melissa, and young Robbie could have the aft suite.”
“That is… generous.”
“That is practical. I am not young, Becsul. Koss is an excellent engineer but a mediocre navigator and a worse cook. I could use reliable help, and I could use the company.” Something flickered in Trevan’s remaining organic eye—loneliness, perhaps, or simply the weight of years spent largely alone. “Consider it, at least.”
Becsul did consider it. The Celestine’s Mercy had been good to them. The crew had welcomed them without judgment, provided for their needs, treated them as guests rather than burdens. Living here would mean stability, community, purpose.
But it would also mean a life in transit. Moving from port to port, station to station, never settling in one place long enough to build roots. And Melissa—
Melissa wants to practice medicine. To study and train and build something lasting. She cannot do that from a cargo freighter.
He thought of her face last night, animated with hope as she discussed credentials and apprenticeships and the vast possibilities of galactic reproductive science.
The way her eyes had lit up when Trevan mentioned the Medical Guild.
The determination in her voice when she talked about helping others.
She deserved to pursue that dream. She deserved solid ground beneath her feet, a home that didn’t move, a place where Robbie could grow up with consistency and stability.
She would hate this life, he realized with quiet certainty. She would try to love it for my sake, but it would slowly crush her.
“I am honored by your offer,” he said carefully. “Truly. But I must speak with Melissa before making any decisions.”
“Of course. The offer will remain open regardless.” Trevan turned back to the console as new coordinates scrolled across the display. “We’ll be docking in approximately twenty minutes. You should gather your people.”
Becsul nodded, but he didn’t move immediately. Instead, he watched the Patrol station grow larger in the viewport, its countless windows glinting like cold stars, its weapons arrays tracking them with impersonal efficiency.
Whatever I choose to do, he thought, I must first ensure we survive this.
Melissa was already awake when he reached their quarters, Robbie balanced on her hip as she attempted to organize their meager belongings with one hand.
“We’re close?”
“Twenty minutes to docking.” He moved to take Robbie from her, and the child came willingly, his small fingers immediately finding the texture of Becsul’s skin to explore. “Did you sleep well?”
“Better than expected.” She stretched, working out the kinks from another night on the narrow bunk. “I dreamed about paperwork, which probably means I’m nervous about today.”
“Paperwork?”
“Mountains of it. Forms to fill out, questions to answer, bureaucratic mazes to navigate.” She laughed, but the sound was tight. “My subconscious is apparently very practical.”
Becsul watched her move around the small cabin, gathering items that had become scattered over the past days. The datapad Trevan had provided. A change of clothes donated by the crew. The teething ring that Sarah had given them.
So little, he thought. We have so little to show for our lives.
But they had each other. That was everything.
“I spoke with the captain,” he said. “He offered me a position. On the Mercy.”
Melissa paused, turning to look at him. “A job?”
“Crew member. Security and general assistance.” He kept his voice neutral, not wanting to influence her reaction. “The pay would be steady. We could all live on board.”
“All of us?” Her brow furrowed. “Sarah and Katie and Wei-Lin too?”
“Yes. There is room.”
“That’s incredibly generous of him.”
“He is a generous man.”
She was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. Robbie babbled something and grabbed a fistful of Becsul’s uniform, tugging experimentally.
“It’s a good offer,” Melissa said finally. “Stability. Community. A place to belong.”
“But?”
She smiled—a small, knowing smile that told him she understood what he was really asking. “But I’d be miserable, wouldn’t I? Living on a ship, never settling anywhere long enough to establish myself. Never getting to practice medicine, never building the career I’ve been dreaming about.”
“I did not say—”
“You didn’t have to.” She crossed to him, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his jaw. “I appreciate that you thought about what I want before making a decision. That means more than you know.”