I sit cross-legged on a tall crate in the Nova’s hold, Ocho resting in my lap, cleaning herself. I smooth her fur with my hand, just to make her clean it again.
All the refugees have gathered around us, waiting for the large bay doors to open, swelling forward at intervals, impatient for the freedom we promised them. For some, it’s a return home, for others it’s a foreign station, full of as much threat as promise. At least they’re safe now. There’s no Legion left, no MEPHISTO to come looking for them.
A current moves through the crowd, and in snatches I see Mookie pushing a hover gurney toward the front. People begin to protest but fall silent when they see Trix’s body; nobody wants to interrupt a funeral procession, no matter how small or informal.
With a hollow clang the bay opens up, pieces of steel pulling away, revealing the bustling dock of Aylett Station and carrying the smell of fern to my nose. I expect a rush, but all the former prisoners wait for Mookie to get clear first. Once he has disappeared into the motion of the hangar, they start to leave, slowly at first, but then I hear cries and laughter, and people begin to run.
I put my rebreather on to cut out the smell, then wait a few minutes until everyone has cleared out. I lift Ocho to my shoulder and drop down off the crate, following in the wake of the refugees, displaced and broken, but alive. They have that at least, more than Trix, more than the people of Seward.
By habit I head out of the dock, mentally planning my route down to the Ring One bar, but I pause when I remember that Miguel won’t be there. Out of the corner of my eye I see a small stall set up in front of an old Blackcoat-class ship—maybe “stall” is too generous. It’s a collection of tools, gear, clothing, and random tchotchkes laid out on a large, half-empty tank of water. The two women behind the tank smile brightly as I approach, and their daughter looks up from where she sits beside them.
“Ooh, kitty,” she says excitedly.
I take Ocho from my shoulder and put her on the ground near the girl. She eyes the small human warily, but accepts the pats.
I’m not sure what people say to parents about their children, so I smile and say, “She’s beautiful.” Hearing my distorted voice through the rebreather, I pull it from my face.
“Do you have one of your own?”
I think of Pale, but shake my head. “What are you selling?”
“Everything. We just moved here, and our unit’s a little smaller than we’re used to.”
I set aside two jumpsuits that are close enough to my size, then pick up a chunky bracelet carved with fine patterns. It won’t let me pass through powershields, but it’ll stop my wrist from feeling so naked. I set it on top of the clothing and ask, “How much for these, and the ship?”
“The ship?”
“If you’re staying, you don’t need it, right?”
The two confer, and I open a link to Waren, plugged into the Nova systems. “What do you think of Blackcoat-class ships?”
“Corvettes but built like small frigates. Plenty of space, lots of armor, but not particularly fast.”
“Would you be happy to call one home?” I ask.
“Anything to get me away from Einri; that thing is terminally boring.”
I watch their little girl play with Ocho, letting her long hair hang down and making it dance so Ocho leaps forward, claws slicing harmlessly between the fine strands.
When the women are done talking, I have to haggle them down a little, and they agree to throw in the bulky water jug for nothing. I hand them the cred chip Sera gave me—every credit left to my name—and they send a secure burst containing the ship’s deed and access codes.
When we’re done, the girl waves goodbye to Ocho, hardly even aware I was there.
I delve further into the Station to stretch my legs and clear my head, and I catch bits of imperial news. They can’t say where Seward was, but they make it sound like it was a burgeoning beacon of civilization, not a planet that only existed to service a secret, illegal prison. They’ve dug up an old photo of me from one of my compromised fake IDs and they broadcast my name across the galaxy, blaming me for the “Slaughter at Seward.”
I install Waren’s core into the new ship, then return to the Nova to grab my scant belongings. Squid carries my bag to the ship, insisting they should help, when I know they just want to say goodbye. We hug, and they hold on a little too long.
“You’ll let me know about Mookie?” I ask.
Squid nods. “Are you sure you won’t stay?”
“I can’t, Squid.” Even if I weren’t public enemy number one across hundreds of worlds, something horrible happens to everyone I get close to—everyone but Squid, so far.
“I’m worried about you, Mars. Promise you’ll stay in touch.”
“I promise,” I say. “Where’s Pale? I couldn’t find him.”
“He was napping.”
“Tell him bye from me, okay? You’ll take those files we found to a doctor and get his seizures sorted out?”
“Of course,” Squid says. They hug me again, and say in my ear. “I will see you soon.”
I pull Ocho from my hood and hold her out to Squid. Squid scratches her chin and kisses her on the head, but Ocho’s never been one for goodbyes.
“Bye, Squid. Thanks for everything. And sorry.”
I board the ship, and close the air lock doors behind me without turning for a final look.
I press Ocho to my shoulder and scratch the back of her head as I walk toward the cockpit. “I suppose we’ll need a new name for this ship, won’t we?” I ask, but Ocho only purrs. “Waren, feel free to take us out at your leisure.”
The AI doesn’t bother to respond, but the floor hums beneath my feet as the engines start warming up. I take the pilot seat and Ocho squirms out of my grip, drops to the floor, and scampers away.
Some time later, Waren intones, “We have reached minimum safe distance.”
“How do you like the ship?” I ask.
“I suppose it will do,” Waren says.
“Be glad you don’t have a sense of smell; that family spent way too long cooped up in here.”
“Whilst I may not have olfactory senses—and thanks for rubbing that in—I have detected something moving in Cargo Hold B.”
“Probably just Ocho,” I say, but then I swivel my seat and see her asleep in the corner of the cockpit. “Void-damn it.”
The ship is dark, and my footfalls echo off the flat metal walls. I hit the button to open the hold, and there he is, eating one of my rations, with another two empty packets on the floor beside him.
“Pale, what are you doing?” I say.
The boy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles.
I sigh and crouch down to his height. “Waren, turn the ship around.”
Pale says, “No,” and shakes his head vigorously. He gets up and throws his sauce-covered hands around my neck.
“You want to stay with me?” I ask, and I can tell he nods because he digs his chin into my shoulder. “I’m sorry, kid, but it won’t work.”
He pulls back, then he pats his chest and then points at me. He repeats the movement a couple of times.
“You’re saying we’re the same?”
“Yes,” he says, nodding.
“That’s not a good thing. Waren?”
“There’s no turning back, Mars.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to see this.”
I stand and hold my hand out for Pale. “Come on, you stowaway.”
We walk back to the cockpit and he sits down next to Ocho and pats her. She stretches and opens her eyes, but then closes them again and keeps sleeping. The ship’s aft-view is up on the viewscreen. Aylett hangs just off-center, the void between us and it filled with three military carriers and a mass of frigates too distant to count.
Waren zooms in tight so we can see the imperial insignia adorning the hull of each carrier: the Janos stag beetle with wings spread wide. “It’s the Emperor’s Guard,” Waren says, sounding oddly calm.
Fuck. My heart stops for a moment too long, then begins to race. The emperor’s private military police force. It was supposed to be the end: Briggs killed, Hamid and the Legion dead on Seward, nothing left of MEPHISTO but scattered outposts. I was meant to be free of all this.
“They appear to be tracking us, Mars. What do you want me to do?”
“Just get us out of here.” Looking at Pale I sigh. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”
He grins at that and I can’t help smirking.
“Have you got a destination in mind?” Waren asks.
“Did you get a copy of the Miyuki records from Einri?”
“Of course; that glorified calculator wasn’t even interested.”
“Then we’ve got everything we need to treat Pale’s medical condition, except a doctor. Punch in coordinates for Joon-ho—I know someone there we can trust.”
Is this how it started for Squid? Take on one stray, and next thing you know you’ve got a small crew of people who need you? I’ll have to start holding family meetings too. A space witch, an untethered AI, a broken psychic boy, and a self-cloning cat-thing: what a weird family.
An immense field of stars stretches out beyond the cockpit viewport. It’s a view that feels like home. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it inside Homan, but staring out at these familiar constellations, something in my chest glows warm.
“Calculations complete; just say the word.”
“First, tell Squid we had a stowaway and he’s staying with us for the time being.”
There’s a pause, then Waren says, “Message away.”
“Alright—get us out of here before they get any closer.”
“When will you let me choose our destination?” Waren says.
“Next time, Waren, I promise.”
The galaxy folds away and the stars vanish as we slip into a wormhole, leaving behind the wrath of the empire. We’re fugitives, outside the law and beyond the walls of the universe. It’s safe here, adrift in darkness. Too bad we can’t stay.