What Was Lost

Fiction by Spencer Sekulin

The lavender void sucked the atmosphere out of the Argo’s airlock with a violent, primordial roar. Nasrin steeled herself against a flicker of panic, waiting as the air thinned and the sounds diminished to the whisper of her EVA suit’s interior fans.

Get a grip, she told herself. You’ve done this a thousand times.

It wasn’t the imminent spacewalk, and she knew it, but sometimes it helped to pretend. All the years spent scavenging, all the failures, festered in her stomach like a block of lead. What if Dad had been wrong? What if there was no hidden fortune? If they couldn’t buy their freedom, if her sister’s illness couldn’t be cured…

No. We’ll make it. End of story.

Nasrin tensed her abs as she jettisoned from the airlock. Her ears popped. Diving into space, even from the Argo’s half-standard gravity, always cartwheeled her stomach. Nothing ruined a spacewalk more than flooding the intimate confines of a helmet, especially with the grainy nutrient gel that Spacers unanimously hated.

Could be worse, she thought as she clipped herself to the static line. I could be jumping into the gravity well of a lava exoplanet in my underwear.

Rule one of being a Pod Hunter in the lawless Null Zone: look on the bright side.

The Amaranth Nebula’s wispy bands glowed purple, shaped like the twirling skirts of a wedding gown. Breathtaking despite seeing it countless times in her sixteen years. Nasrin focused on the gaggle of small asteroids eighty feet away, whose craggy, grumpy surfaces were silver-lined by the Argo’s lamps. A few errant strands of midnight hair hovered over her hazel eyes. She puffed them aside and clicked her tongue, cueing her headset.

“Hayata. I’m clear of the hatch, just—”

“Getting ready!” Hayata squeaked, so high-pitched that the signal distorted. “Be out in five minutes. No, three. Yes. Three!”

Nasrin rolled her eyes. Her sister was already too excited for her own good. Just thinking of that nine-year-old in her pink EVA suit jammed Nasrin between smiling and wincing, though the knot in her stomach eclipsed both. Even though Nasrin had personally made sure Hayata’s suit was on right, she shouldn’t be jumping. It was too risky. No, she wants this. I promised her. I drilled her for months! She’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.

     Nasrin grabbed her equipment bag and looked down the static line harpooned to one of the asteroids. Unlike the others, this one had an ovoid pod lodged against it. Its hatch was shut. Tingles raced down Nasrin’s spine.

An uncracked egg, as Dad used to say.

Nasrin tapped the holographic keypad on her wrist. With Beethoven’s Overture to Egmont humming in her ears, she flicked on her suit’s pulse nozzles and grinned.

Time to loot.

She pulsed down the line until she bumped into the asteroid, then gave herself slack to reach the pod. Since the dawn of interstellar travel, plundering lost pods had been profitable, be they from shipwrecks, miscalculated jumps, or fired off as time capsules. This one looked ancient, battered by centuries of drifting, and when she shined her headlamp on its serial number, the manufacture year slapped her like an electrified wet glove.

2107. That’s first-wave colonial era.

Over a millennium old, hailing from Old Earth. The exact kind Dad had been looking for. Nasrin’s hands shook as she unzipped her equipment bag. Jittering worse than her first pod, when Dad had shown her the ropes.

“Remember, Rin,” Dad had said, “you’re only ever one find away from freedom.”

One find. The last hundred amounted to scraps, barely enough to pawn for essentials. They were running out of parts to keep the Argo viable. Maybe this time… Her headset crackled, and Hayata’s cheer stabbed her ears.

“Coming out! Woohoo!”

Nasrin saw the Argo’s starboard airlock spit out a pink blur. Too fast. She muted her playlist. “Hayata! What did I tell you? Don’t pulse until you’re oriented.”

“But I’m safe on the static line.”

“Not if you shear your clamps!”

“O-Okay…”

Hayata, to her credit, countered her inertia and gripped the line. Even with the nebula mirrored in her visor, Nasrin knew Hayata was innocently grinning from ear to ear. By the stars, how could she stay mad at that?

“Come on, slowly. Like we practiced.”

“Like this?” Hayata puttered down the line.

Nasrin’s heart swelled. “Yeah. You’re doing great. Now help me crack this pod. It looks promising.”

Nasrin brandished Dad’s old plasma cutter while Hayata plugged it into the power cable tied to the line. The cutter flared to life, and with a sapphire glow of superheated plasma, Nasrin got cutting.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she worked.

“Great!” Hayata said.

Of course you do. This is your first spacewalk not strapped to me like a toddler. Nasrin smiled, thanking the stars that she had Hayata in this empty void of space. Despite all the hardship, this was happiness. Nasrin hummed Beethoven as she finished slicing the pod’s sealing clamps. “Pass the yanker.”

Hayata fished through the bag, her pixie face scrunched with focus. Small as she was, she knew her way around the tools and could strip and reassemble each better than most engineers. Nasrin chuckled under her breath, reminiscing on all the times she’d been Dad’s tool monkey.

“Ready.” Hayata passed the tubular device.

“Thanks.” Nasrin stuck its magnetized end to the hatch while Hayata hooked its retractable towline to a rung on the Argo. Then Nasrin tapped her wrist pad, linked to the Argo’s nav controls, priming a pre-coded sequence. She took a deep breath. “Get back.”

Hayata ducked behind her.

The Argo’s thrusters flared blue, and the line tore the hatch out with a brief flash of sparks in escaping atmosphere. Tiny specks of debris tinkled against Nasrin’s visor. She watched the hatch, keeping Hayata behind her, counting to ten as ancient dust clouded out like powdered milk. No bodies this time. Big improvement.

“YES! BAM!” Hayata pumped her fists. “Can I look? Please? Can I? Please, please, pretty super please?”

“Settle down. Let me check first.” Nasrin peered into the pod—and felt her heart plop into her boots. Hayata jostled behind her.

“Well? What’s inside?”

Nasrin sighed. “It’s emptier than our credit account.”

“Shit!”

“Hey. Language.”

“Oh…” Hayata paused. “Crap!”

“Better.” Nasrin eyed the interior, biting her lip. “Maybe there’s something hidden. Let’s welcome ourselves aboard, shall we?”

No response.

“Did you glitch your headset again? I don’t—” Nasrin froze. Hayata was drifting sideways, her eyes deviating upwards while her almond skin turned pale as pod dust. Oh no. Not here! NO!

Nasrin grabbed Hayata just as her limbs began to flex. She left everything else and fired up the static line as fast as she could. By the time she punched the Argo’s hatch control, Hayata began seizing, and by the time they were inside the cramped suit-up room’s artificial gravity, she was limp and cyanotic.

“Hayata!” Nasrin tore off Hayata’s suit, then her orange coveralls, just in time to hear the flat metal device strapped over her heart whine. Nasrin jerked back, hands off, and the automated defibrillator fired. Hayata lurched with a gasping croak, then went limp. Nasrin planted her palms on her sternum, ready to compress, when she realized Hayata was breathing. Pulse check. Steady. “H-Hayata? Can you hear me? Hayata!”

A few myoclonic jerks later, Hayata groaned. Her hazel eyes fluttered open. “Rin?”

“I’m here.” Nasrin took Hayata’s hand, trying to smile instead of cry. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Hayata blinked slowly. “What…?”

Nasrin groped for words. Hayata beat her to it.

“My heart stopped working again, didn’t it?”

Nasrin swallowed, then nodded, tears stinging her eyes. It happened more often now. She forced a grin, tried to look braver than she felt, gesturing drunkenly at the auto-fib. “The… The defibrillator I made for you. Worked like I said it would. Better than that crappy model Cranston sold us, eh? It… You’re… You’re okay. Okay? Just… I—” Nasrin broke off, lips quivering. Dammit. Dammit! DAMMIT!

A long silence passed, soft with Hayata’s shallow breaths.

“Thank you,” Hayata whispered. “You saved me again.”

I’m only delaying the inevitable. Nasrin almost said it. Instead, she wiped her eyes and squeezed Hayata’s hand. “I’ll save you as many times as it takes until we fix you up. And then you can fly solo as much as you want.”

Hayata’s eyelids drooped. “That’d be… awesome…” She yawned. “That pod… anything?”

She already forgot. “I’m sure there is. I’ll… let you know.”

Hayata’s mouth quirked with a smile as she fell asleep.

Nasrin ground her teeth. An empty pod. Not enough to buy passage out of the Null Zone, let alone citizenship in one of the stable interplanetary republics. Not enough to buy the surgery Hayata so desperately needed.

Never enough.

#

We’ll make it, Hayata. I promise.

Yet Nasrin couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

Hayata slept, her bed a pile of blankets stuffed in the end of the small ship’s transverse corridor. Rust discolored the walls, and everything vibrated to the unsteady hum of a life-support system four decades past warranty.

Nasrin sat cross-legged, absently thumbing her necklace—a little chrome cylinder Dad had worn on a chain. The button on its top, whatever its purpose, did nothing now. Its internals were infuriatingly complex. Numerous attempts to fix it had only succeeded in giving her migraines. Nasrin pressed its button anyway, hanging on Hayata’s every breath, waiting for them to stop, praying they wouldn’t.

Childish artwork covered the walls, illuminated by the viewport’s lavender glow. Finger paintings and stick figures. Some were hers, from when Dad had been alive. Most were Hayata’s, and through them Nasrin could track the years and all the laughter they’d shared. She gently stroked Hayata’s curly black hair, awed by how alike they looked, twins in all but age. By the stars, she’s growing up so fast.

It felt like yesterday Hayata had been four. Five years alone, together.

I can’t imagine growing up without Dad. But you did. You’re so strong, Hayata.

Nasrin wished she could say the same for her sister’s heart.

Barrington’s Defect. A cardiomyopathy suffered by children born off-planet in sub-standard gravity. Rare, but not rare enough for Hayata’s sake. If they’d been born in the Solarian Republic, the Pegasus Triumvirate, or even the Andromeda Regenate, the specialized treatment would’ve been covered. Instead they were stuck in the Null Zone, two unregistered orphans with no home, no nation, and no rights.

If only Mom hadn’t disappeared nine years ago.

If only Dad had gotten a break.

If only…

Nasrin bit her tongue. ‘If onlys’ won’t save Hayata. They didn’t save Dad. They never saved anyone.

Hayata began to levitate. Another gravity failure. Nasrin secured Hayata with straps, then hopped to engineering, muttering curses. Dad’s paintings lined the way—acrylics of cities and landscapes she’d never seen. She could almost hear the classical music he’d painted to, and found herself humming Beethoven's 5th Symphony to calm her nerves.

In engineering’s guts of rattling pipes, Nasrin ignored the painting epoxied face-down against the wall—Dad’s portrait of Mom in uniform. A lieutenant in the Solarian Navy, back when the Solarians and the Null Zone had held diplomatic ties. Nasrin refused to look at it. It had been hard at first, suppressing every memory. Now she could barely recall what Mom looked like. Mom had come and gone erratically, always tense and distant. One day she left and never returned. Dad had reassured Nasrin that it was due to the Solarian-Regenate war. But war or not, Nasrin felt abandoned. Countless attempts to contact the Solarians had failed. To them, she was just another worthless Null Zoner.

The gravity generator coughed like an emphysemic. Nasrin snarled and used the most effective tool in her arsenal—a wrench one-third her height. One angry hit used to suffice, but each time it took more. Eventually it would break, and she had no spare parts for an obsolete Zhònglì Model 15.

Ten hits failed, as did fifty different curses in half as many languages.

Nasrin’s arms numbed. What if the auto-fib failed next time? What if Hayata died? Her dear sister, her only friend… Steel clanged and ricocheted past Nasrin’s ear. She glared at the sheared-off wrench. “No. I will not let that happen.”

A voice in her head snickered. Says the idiot who got her dad killed.

“It was an accident!” Nasrin drove her boot into the generator—and it shuddered into function with a derisive metallic titter.

Nasrin made sure Hayata’s auto-fib was plugged into its charger, then resumed her vigil. An empty pod… Dad had spent years studying Old Earth launch records, scan data, and ancient news snippets, convinced that something waited out here. Nasrin still couldn’t fathom it. She remembered their arguments.

“What are we looking for?” Nasrin had asked.

“What was lost,” Dad had replied while calibrating his suit. 

“What?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Not fair!”

Dad had smiled then. “When we find it, Rin, you’ll know. I promise.”

“What if it’s just an empty pod?”

“It means we’re on the right track. Empties weren’t fired by accident…”

But as decoys. Nasrin looked to the old-fashioned photograph taped to the viewport. The three of them standing before the Argo: Dad and Nasrin in their orange jumpsuits, baby Hayata in her arms. Nasrin touched it, a lump in her throat.

“What if you’re wrong? What if this is all a waste of time?” Nasrin looked into Dad’s hazel eyes until her own began to hurt. She sighed. “I still believe you. By the stars, it might make me an idiot, but I still believe, Dad.”

Salvation waited in this void, and she would find it.

#

Eight empties later, Nasrin prayed as she fired up the plasma cutter. Please, let this be the one. The pod was wedged between two asteroids that had melted together ages ago. Hayata, on the Argo’s bridge and streaming constant vitals to Nasrin’s HUD, followed orders and maneuvered the pull line around the outcroppings.

“All right, it’s cut,” Nasrin said. “Want the honors?”

“Affirmative!” Hayata said, no doubt grinning maniacally.

Back to your normal self already. Nasrin smiled. “All right. On my mark…” She pulsed around the protective curve of the asteroid and grabbed the static line. “Mark!”

The Argo pulled. The hatch tore open—and the fused asteroids split apart with a burst of fragments. One slammed into Nasrin, sending her cartwheeling. Her head spun, her ears rang, and suddenly all she saw was the memory of Dad: the jolt as he’d pushed her aside, the blur as a broken cable snapped out and struck him instead, the glittering shards as his helmet shattered and his body twirled into the void…

Nasrin came to, dazed and nauseated. She groped for the line. Nothing. She tried to counter her terminal spin, only to make it worse. Her HUD cluttered with red warnings. Panic ricocheted inside her skull like bursting hull rivets.

Not like this.

A lump clogged her throat as the cold settled in.

Hayata…

Something blotted out the blurring purple nebula. Nasrin gasped as she slammed into a hard surface. When her head stopped spinning, she saw Hayata gawking through the Argo’s viewport. Her headset crackled to life.

“Rin? You okay? Rin!”

Nasrin made a thumbs up, though her hand wouldn’t stop shaking. She caught her breath. “How did you…?”

Hayata scowled. “I’m just as good a pilot as you.”

On any other day, Nasrin would argue that. Today, she laughed. “Right you are. I guess that makes us square.”

Hayata beamed, and they returned to the pod trading jabs and laughing harder than they had in months. It felt good seeing Hayata so happy. Even if the pod was empty, Nasrin would call today a win.

Only it wasn’t empty.

Tall, sealed cases crowded the pod, each winking with ancient yet still-active preservation systems.

“Anything?” Hayata asked.

“A full boat.” Nasrin laughed, dizzy. “A full boat. Thank the stars.”

#

The pod looked larger under the anemic lighting of the Argo’s cramped, musty cargo bay. After running scans for radiation and other contaminants, Nasrin deemed it safe to remove her suit. She approached slowly.

“What do you think it is?” Hayata asked, close behind.

“Could be anything.” Nasrin brandished Dad’s antimatter pistol. “Stay behind me.”

Hayata squeaked and did so.

Thirty cases, each five feet tall and glittering with lingering ice crystals. Each had a coded lock. Obsolete tech. Nasrin made a game with Hayata to see who could hack it first. Hayata won. Before opening the first case, Nasrin took a deep breath.

“All right. Let’s see what was worth all this trouble.”

She opened the case, only to find another case, this one thinner and made of rigid yet velvety material. No locks, just simple clasps shining as if polished yesterday. They laid it on the deck and flipped it open—and gasped at the mayhem of color and geometry within.

“What the hell are we looking at?” Hayata asked.

“A painting…”

Hayata snorted. “A bad one. She looks like she broke her neck. And what’s with that line dicing her face in half?”

“I don’t know.” Nasrin looked at the frame’s inscription. “Le Rêve, 1932.”

“Le what?”

Le Rêve… Nasrin gasped. “Get Dad’s book. The one with art clippings!”

Hayata pouted, but raced off anyway. When she returned with Dad’s book, Nasrin feverishly flipped the pages—and stopped when she saw the exact painting. A jolt of realization made her feel like she’d shoved her fist into a power conduit. The book slipped from her fingers and clapped against the floor. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Hayata said. “And what’s so special about this? Even I paint better.”

Nasrin was already stumbling towards the exit, feeling drunk. “Come on. We’re setting a course for Eden Rock.”

“But—”

 “Now. Before someone catches us out here.”

Hayata huffed as she caught up. “What’s the big deal?”

Nasrin jumped into the pilot’s seat, giggling as she fired up the Argo’s cranky slipspace drive. Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming.

Hayata did one better and punched her in the shoulder. “RIN!”

“This is what we’ve been looking for. What Dad said we’d find.”

“Bad artwork?”

“No.” Nasrin heaved the throttle all the way. “That’s a Picasso.”

#

A surge of pins and needles across Nasrin’s scalp signaled the impending down-jump. The Argo rattled with a deep, resonant hum as the prismatic streaks of slipspace unraveled. Nasrin hastily keyed in the Argo’s ID beacon. It wouldn’t do for Eden Rock to blow them to pieces for breaking what few rules it had.

Hayata gasped at the sight of Eden Rock, which glowed like an inside-out casino. It was made of three asteroids, collectively large enough to create a modest gravity well, linked together by the repurposed hulls of thirty-eight colony ships that had gone astray during the Second Reclamation eight centuries ago. The de-facto capital of the Null Zone. A hotspot for privateers, smugglers, and fugitives—and the only place Nasrin could do business. Its seductive aura made her skin crawl. Hayata’s excitement made it worse.

She still doesn’t understand what this place is.

The Argo scraped against the terminal’s docking clamps. Nasrin adjusted course, ignoring the dockworkers’ profane gesticulations. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Three days of choppy slipspace had nothing to do with it—forty Picassos did. From the elusive Le pigeon aux petits pois to the renowned Les femmes d'Alger, all matched Dad’s prints, perfectly preserved. It was beyond ridiculous.

Maybe they’re fakes, Nasrin thought, tempering the throbbing excitement in her chest. Maybe it’s all a joke.

Let Cranston be the judge of that. Dad’s friend and one-time crewmate, Cranston ran the only purchasing firm she dared trust with a grain of salt. Nasrin secured the Argo and armed herself before bringing one of the smaller paintings, hidden in a generic case, into Eden Rock’s jumble of neon-lighted streets. She thumbed her necklace for good luck.

“This is so cool!” Hayata squeaked as they walked through bustling markets. “Can we go in there? No, there! Those lamps look—”

“Those aren’t lamps,” Nasrin muttered. “They’re bongs.”

“What?”

“Later. Business first.” Nasrin squeezed Hayata’s hand. “And stay close.”

Hayata nodded, eyes owl-wide as she craned her neck to take in the heights of the vaulted thoroughfares. Holographic displays glowed everywhere. Most exhibited dubious advertisements or news of the ongoing Solarian-Regenate war, but the largest unanimously showed a gray-suited man striking a noble pose, his hatchet-narrow face severe with age and resolve. Salazar Eden, descendant of Eden Rock’s founders and self-proclaimed leader of the Null Zone. His motto blazed at every corner.

—Freedom. Autonomy. Sovereignty—

Nasrin rolled her eyes. Way to say the same thing thrice. No wonder no one takes us seriously.

Everything vibrated with humanity, the throbbing music of bars and brothels, and rainbows of incongruous lights from countless storefronts selling countless things, mostly illegal. Sweat and fumes soured the air. Nasrin kept Hayata close and her pistol closer. Human trafficking and violent thefts abounded, and they were prime targets for both. Nasrin soon noted five drab strangers on their heels. Even after taking ten random turns, they persisted. Worse still, she found the next street deserted.

“Hayata. Walk faster.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just—!”

A hovering cargo barge blocked the junction ahead. Nasrin whirled, pulling Hayata behind as she faced the hoodlums. She was halfway through drawing her pistol when a tall, heavyset, dark-haired woman stepped in their way, her arms hidden beneath a brown cloak.

“All right, enough,” the woman said in a husky voice. “This isn’t the place for a bloodbath.”

The hoodlums drew their guns anyway. The woman flung her cloak in their faces, swinging a bionic left arm that sprouted a crackling red blade of superheated plasma. She sliced the closest firearm in half, ducked a panicked shot from another, and drew a snub-nosed pistol. Four rapid shots blasted the remaining guns from their hands along with a few fingers each. They stumbled back, spouting obscenities.

“Warned you,” she said. “Now scram.”

Scram they did, and the ogre of a woman turned, blade retracting while her tanned face puckered with annoyance. The expression wrinkled her short nose, which was crooked from being reset too many times—far better than could be said for her enemies.

“Nasrin. You draw trouble like a wormhole draws matter.”

Aster Thorne, ex-lieutenant of Salazar Eden’s cortege, now Cranston’s hired brawn.

“Thanks for scaring them off,” Nasrin said, trying to look less rattled than she felt. “I was afraid I’d have to shoot them.”

“Cut the act,” Aster growled. “You’re not a killer any more than your dad was.” 

Nasrin released her holster, fingers trembling. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it. Cranston’s orders.”

“He knows I’m here?”

“Everyone does.” Aster gestured, and they started walking. “The Argo’s the talk of the betting circles. Ninety-to-one odds your old man’s junkheap disintegrates on its next slipspace arrival.”

That’s mean. Nasrin frowned. “Which side did you bet?”

“Which side do you think?” Aster smirked as she bit a vintage cigar between her teeth and lit it with her plasma blade. “The winning side. Your dad built that optical migraine to last.” She puffed on the cigar. “By the way, that necklace of yours. I saw one similar in the scrap markets last week. Old Solarian tech. An encrypted beacon of sorts.”

Nasrin touched the cylinder reflexively. “Really?”

“You’ve been puzzling over it for years. Figured you should know.”

A Solarian beacon. Nasrin’s stomach twisted. Could it be…?

The thought unsettled her. She’d have to look into it later.

The journey was safe from there. Hayata pestered Aster about her bionics the whole way, but hushed upon Nasrin’s glance when they arrived at a storefront titled ‘Cranston & Sons’. Cranston welcomed them with his usual eye roll amidst the cigarette-heavy zoo of his cramped office.

“New sign?” Nasrin asked.

“Looks professional. Has that classic vibe.” 

“You have sons now?”

“Marketing ploy.” Cranston sucked on his cigarette and scrolled through data on his coffee-stained terminal. “I’m surprised you made it back alive.”

“We don’t die easily.” Nasrin took a seat uninvited. “We’re here to sell.”

“Your usual junk?”

Nasrin waited for Cranston to look up, and held his gaze until he nodded to Aster, who switched on the countermeasure system that kept the room’s conversations private.

“All right,” he muttered. “Spill it. Your dad gave me enough dramatics in his day.”

Nasrin licked her lips. “What do you know about Old Earth artwork?”

“More than you.”

“Look at this.” Nasrin put the case on the desk. “But no touching, understood?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cranston flipped open the case and put on his infamous appraisal squint—then lifted a bushy eyebrow. “The Portrait of Dora Maar…” He lifted the other eyebrow. “You stole this?”

Hayata jumped in. “We found it in a pod!”

“Pod hunting is stealing.”

“Not here,” Hayata said.

“Mhmm. Which makes it very gray, and gray makes complicated business.”

“Cranston, please,” Nasrin said. “I need to know what we have.”

Cranston muttered something and took out a pair of blocky forensics goggles, which he hooked up to a sleek device that linked to his neural implants. The goggles shone white as he ran the scanner along the painting. He dropped the scanner abruptly, the fat under his chin undulating. “Well, I’ll be damned and keelhauled through a solar flare…”

Nasrin tensed. “What is it? A fake?”

Cranston took off the goggles, sweat sheening his face. “Kid, you’re not gonna believe this. It’s an original. Sure as death and taxes.”

While Hayata gawked, Nasrin bit her lip. “How can you tell?”

“Age of the canvas, chemical composition, and a whole bunch of stuff that’ll go over your head. I used to deal forgeries. And what I can tell you is that you ought to check your body cavities for horseshoes.” When Nasrin stared, Cranston shrugged. “Old saying, never mind. Last this one was seen was a millennium ago, on Earth. Belonged to a private collector. Eccentric to say the least. Fired his collection into space rather than letting his children fight over it. Total nutcase. But in your case, a blessed nutcase who just handed you a fortune.”

Nasrin felt lightheaded. “H-How much?”

Cranston’s eyes flicked as he ran data through his neural implant. “Last year a certified fake from 1987 auctioned in the Triumvirate for…” He trailed off. “Damn.”

Nasrin stood up. “Spit it out!”

“Thirty…”

“Million?”

“With a B.”

Thirty billion for a fake. Nasrin half expected to wake up from a dream. Hayata was cheering and jumping around. Cranston spoke. Nasrin blinked. “Pardon?”

“What are you going to do with it?”

Nasrin swallowed hard, heart racing. “Find me a buyer.”

Cranston licked his lips. “It’s dangerous business, selling treasure. Salazar decreed we report anything this big.” He sucked on his cigarette. “He’s a man on a mission, ever since negotiations with the Solarians failed. Word has it he’s been trying to buy the Regenate’s favor to grant the Null Zone official sovereignty to open up legitimate trade. History’s sopping with noble causes gone astray, though. If he finds out…”

“I’ll double your fee. Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t plan to.” Cranston laughed, a booming baritone that rattled the ventilation grates. “Your dad’s ghost would sleepwalk me out of an airlock if I did. Besides, I owe him. And double my fee? Well, we can all be out of Salazar’s reach with that kind of money. I’ll work my magic, don’t you fret.”

Nasrin carefully reviewed and signed the paperwork, which with Cranston actually meant something, and then handed over the painting.

“Find any others?” he asked.

Nasrin kept a straight face. “Just the one. The pod split ages ago.”

“Ah. Shame.” Cranston stood with a whir of his bionic legs and shook Nasrin’s hand. This time he smiled freely. “I always had a hunch your old man was on to something. Looks like you did it. Now you gotta decide what to do with your lives. Sky’s the limit.” He winked at Aster. “I know I’ll be retired on a warm beach on Thalassus. Grumpy old Aster, well, I think she’s more into adrenaline than leisure. I’m sure she’d be glad to be away from Salazar’s advances, eh?”

Aster rolled her eyes, arms crossed.

Hayata was bouncing off the walls. “We did it! YES!”

Nasrin’s mind worked double-time. Sell the painting. Get out. Save Hayata. Sell the rest in a more stable system. And then… Nasrin’s eyes watered at the thought.

Cranston pulled a package out of his drawer. “In the meantime, here’s a stipend. Have some fun out on the town.”

“I’ll need spare parts for the Argo and… for Hayata.”

“Ah.” Cranston’s smile faded. “Of course. But this’ll be the last time you need to tune that up. Remember that.”

Remember Nasrin did, and as she hugged Hayata and guided her off to a well-deserved feast, she let her tears flow freely.

#

Three days of feasting, celebrating, and feasting some more blurred past, and for the first time in her life, Nasrin looked upon Eden Rock and felt unintimidated. They were free. They could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone, and Hayata would finally be saved.

Yes. By the stars, yes!

Nasrin leaned against the bulkhead, watching Hayata sleep. The gentle hum of the Argo’s life support system, newly tuned, lulled her into bliss, as did the lingering taste of real food. Hayata already planned what she wanted to do when they sold the paintings. She’d fallen asleep hugging a list scribbled in blue crayon. Nasrin eyed the first item.

—Make Rin Happy!!!—

The second.

—Get a new heart!!!!!!!—

You put me first, even before that. Nasrin stroked Hayata’s hair. I love you so much.

The neon glow of Eden Rock’s terminal lit up the photograph on the window. Even the smiles looked bigger. “We did it, Dad. Just like you said we would.” Nasrin touched her necklace. “I wish you were here.”

She’d spent the last few hours tinkering with the beacon, splicing fiberoptics and rerouting circuits. She hadn’t hooked it up to a power source to test it yet, but was there any rush? Her problems were already solved. Nonetheless, she needed to know. Dad would want her to. I’ll test it tomorrow. It’s too late to be playing with live wires.

A thump echoed down the corridor. A knock on the hatch. Probably Aster.

The terminal’s glow faded. A large vessel entered, illuminated by the running lights of guidance tugs. Its adaptive armor plates shone like mirrors. She noted the name scrawled on its bow, Minerva, then remembered the knock.

“We’re almost there,” she whispered to Hayata. “Hold on.”

Checking her pistol—never too careful—Nasrin approached.

“Sorry to wake you,” Aster said, only her face visible in the hatch’s viewport.

“Did Cranston find a buyer?”

“Why else would I walk all the way here?”

Nasrin laughed and opened the hatch—and froze when she saw fifteen people standing around Aster, all armed, none smiling. Nasrin felt her heart drop into her boots. Her shoulders tensed, her mouth dry and coppery. “A-Aster…?”

Aster’s brow furrowed. “Come on. Outside. Let’s talk.”

Nasrin stepped back, glancing at the hatch control.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Aster said. “Your dad wasn’t a fool. Don’t die like one.”

Nasrin hit the button. The hatch shrieked down—and Aster’s bionic arm stopped it with a burst of sparks. Aster heaved it open and lunged in, grabbing Nasrin’s arm before she could aim her pistol. Focused antimatter charges shrieked into a bulkhead, leaving fist-sized holes. The others boarded. Nasrin tried to shout, but Aster covered her mouth.

“Quiet. You’re not making this easy!”

Nasrin jerked free. “You lied! You—”

Aster covered her mouth again, so Nasrin bit her as hard as she could. Aster cursed and slogged her in the face. Next thing Nasrin knew she lay face down on the deck, blinking stars. Her necklace had broken, the cylinder on the floor. Nasrin groped for it… and someone hauled her to her knees.

“It’s all there, in the cargo bay,” one of the men said.

“How many?” Aster grunted.

“Thirty-nine. Scans check out, too.”

Aster’s mouth quirked. “Inform Mister Eden.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The calm, leathery voice sent chills to Nasrin’s toes. A tall, wiry man in a gray suit stooped through the hatch, flanked by Eden Rock militia. He brushed back his raven hair and clasped Aster’s shoulder, his hawkish face wrinkling with a smile. “Well done, Aster. I knew you’d come around.”

Aster’s face tightened. She nodded and stepped aside.

Salazar fixed Nasrin with a dissecting stare. “My apologies, but this was your mistake. You forgot the golden rule: everyone has a price.”

Nasrin leapt at him, screaming, only to be held back by two militiamen.

“It is not wise to bite the hand that shows you mercy,” Salazar said. “Your father was indebted to me, after all. I am simply taking what’s mine.”

“You liar!” Nasrin screamed. “You can’t take them. We found them! YOU CAN’T!”

“I can, and I will. But you have my gratitude. With this treasure, we can finally…” Salazar looked towards commotion in the corridor. Nasrin followed his gaze and gasped.

Hayata stood there, brandishing Dad’s plasma cutter.

“Let my sister go,” Hayata said, eyes wide.

Aster stepped out, rolling her bionic shoulder. Salazar put on a cold smile.

“Now, now, that’s not very safe.”

“I said let her go!” Hayata primed the cutter, filling the corridor with its electric hum. “Now, asshole!”

“Language, child.”

“SCREW YOU!”

Salazar’s smile twitched. “Put it down and I’ll gladly let her go.”

Hayata lowered the cutter just a little—and Salazar drew his pistol and shot her in the chest. Nasrin’s world spun. She tore free and grabbed Hayata’s limp body, screaming, crying, feeling like death. A hole sizzled in her shirt. The auto-fib crackled, broken but not penetrated. Hayata’s breaths came rapidly.

“Hayata!” Nasrin choked for breath as Hayata’s body tensed. “No. Not now!”

Salazar sighed and aimed at Nasrin. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.” 

Nasrin kicked the cutter. Hot plasma arced across the floor and struck the wall, flooding the corridor with acrid smoke. The militiamen coughed and shouted. Nasrin raced free, sprinting down the terminal’s walkway, Hayata tensing further in her arms. Nasrin glanced back through a stinging flood of tears. The Minerva towered over the Argo, her forward cargo bay opening to swallow the smaller ship whole.

An antimatter shot shrieked past. Nasrin fell and rolled, protecting Hayata with her body, and found herself staring up at Aster. Her bionic arm was bared, plasma blade ready.

“Please,” Nasrin sobbed. “Please don’t…”

Aster grimaced as Hayata began to seize.

“Please!” Nasrin said.

Another of Salazar’s men ambled over, twirling a pistol.

“Wait.” Aster glowered at the militiaman. “Stand down.”

“But our orders are to—”

“They’re no threat. Not anymore.” Aster looked at Nasrin. “Go, Rin. Save her.”

#

Nasrin burst into Doctor Knopf’s grungy clinic and warded off the furious secretary with an improvised shiv. 

The frazzled doctor stormed out. “What’s going on—?”

Nasrin pushed Hayata, still seizing, into his arms. “Save her! Please!”

Knopf paled, nodded to his secretary, and rushed Hayata into the exam room. It was ten minutes before Nasrin heard anything besides the shrill beeping of machines and Knopf’s firm but calm directions to his team. When he came out, his wispy hair was a disaster, and his coat was spattered with vomit. Nasrin stood up, heart in her throat.

“Is she…?

“Alive,” Knopf said. “Unstable, but alive.”

“So she’ll make it?”

“Too early to tell.” Knopf paused, weighing something with a frown. “We did a scan. She has a rare heart condition.”

“I know.”

“Then you must understand that at her age she shouldn’t be alive, not without corrective surgery. It’s a miracle she lived this long.”

Nasrin nodded. She’d always known that, too. “Can you take care of her? I’ll pay her bills, I promise. I just… don’t have any money yet.”

“What I should do is call security on you for threatening my secretary.” Knopf glowered to drive the point home, but when Nasrin gave him a tired, defeated look, he sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

A nurse poked her head into the hallway. “She’s conscious.”

“Let me see her,” Nasrin said.

The room reeked of bile and antiseptics. Seeing Hayata hooked up to countless wires and tubes and beeping sensors made Nasrin’s knees wobble, but she made it to her side and held her pale little hand. So cold. Hayata’s eyes cracked open.

“Rin…?”

“I’m here.” Nasrin tried to smile. “I’m right here.”

Hayata smiled, then flinched with pain. There were pads on her chest.

“Transcutaneous pacing,” Knopf said gently. “It’s an ancient method, but works well in a pinch. We’ll give her something to ease the discomfort before we transition to a less invasive therapy.”

A nurse pushed a milky fluid through an IV. Hayata relaxed, eyelids drooping.

“The paintings,” Hayata slurred. “They…”

“I’ll get them back,” Nasrin said. “Count on it.”

“Let me… with you…”

Oh Hayata. Nasrin swallowed hard. “You need to rest. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Hayata groaned a sleepy protest.

“I’ll come back. I promise. And then you can do whatever you want. Okay?” Nasrin rested her forehead against Hayata’s. “I love you.”

Hayata’s lips moved slightly, too quiet to hear. Soon she was asleep.

“How long does she have?” Nasrin whispered, her tongue feeling ten sizes too large.

Knopf sighed and glanced at the cardiac monitor. “I cannot say. You shouldn’t go far, just in case—”

“No.” Nasrin grated her teeth. “She’ll make it.”

“We don’t have the proper facilities to operate on her. Even if we did, the disease has progressed too long. We can only delay. Don’t you understand?”

Nasrin battled an urge to scream. Part of her wanted nothing more than to stay right there, holding Hayata’s hand. A deep, tearing ache filled her chest, bringing her to tears. To leave Hayata, to risk everything… Nasrin shut it out and took a slow, deep breath. “I have to do this.”

“Then you should go.” Knopf touched her arm. “What comes next isn’t pretty.”

By the time Nasrin had another coherent thought, she was storming through Eden Rock’s flashy streets. She’d already raided her hidden stockpile. A snub-nosed pistol lurked in her pocket.

Hold on, Hayata. Please. Just hold on.

Time to pay Cranston a visit.

#

Cranston, long past his prime, wheezed as Nasrin dragged him across his desk at gunpoint. Coffee mugs and papers scattered as he thrashed, but he froze at the touch against his temple.

“You sold us out!”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nasrin shot Cranston’s bionic right leg, atomizing everything below the knee. The man squealed as electricity arced from the severed limb.

“Salazar found out. Suspected you had the whole collection. Aster went to his side the moment his men showed up.” Cranston wheezed, catching his breath. “Please don’t kill me. He left me no choice!”

“Oh, let me guess, he offered you double?”

“He offered me survival!”

Nasrin pressed the barrel against his forehead. “What’s his next move?”

“Isn’t it obvious? That collection—” Cranston winced under the pressure. “It’s worth trillions. Enough to buy planets, revolutions, anything Salazar wants, and he wants a lot. Killing two kids is a drop in a bucket compared to what he’s willing to sacrifice.”

I’ll drop him in a bucket myself. “Where’s he going?”

“The Regenate.”

“And the Minerva?”

“Cueing up for departure. Terminal A5. You better hurry—”

Nasrin shoved Cranston off the desk. “If anything you just said is a lie, I’ll shoot your other leg and drop you into the sewage vats. Understood?”

The look on Cranston’s quivery face was textbook honesty.

Good. Because Nasrin meant it.

#

Eden Rock’s deck plates vibrated as the giant magnetized docking clamps released the Minerva. Nasrin saw the vessel through the ovoid windows, engines glowing amber as she eased into the blinking departure lanes. Nasrin seethed. If Salazar thought mere vacuum would stop her, he was wrong.

She was a Pod Hunter. Breaking and entering was her specialty.

With a stolen EVA suit and equipment, Nasrin found the nearest maintenance hatch and jettisoned into the terminal. Pulsing as fast as her suit would take her, she rammed into the Minerva’s side, skidding along its plating until her magnetized gloves slowed her inertia. The Minerva gained momentum, gliding into open space.

A hatch. Find a hatch!

Nasrin edged along the hull, heart pounding. By the time she found a hatch, the Minerva had cleared the asteroids. If she was outside when it jumped, she’d be reduced to a glittering spray of atoms.

The plasma cutter felt agonizingly slow. Nasrin cursed and screamed as she worked, and when the cut was complete, she fired a grapple into the nearest trailing asteroid and linked it to the hatch. The Minerva paused, shuddered, and then gained momentum. The cable snapped, but the hatch swung half open. Nasrin squashed in just before it slammed shut and the tingles of slipspace raced down her scalp.

There’s no way they didn’t notice that.

The airlock’s entry door hissed.

Dammit! Nasrin scrambled to the adjacent wall just as the door opened. A young crewwoman poked her head inside—right into the business end of Nasrin’s pistol.

“Quiet, or I’ll shoot,” Nasrin hissed.

The young woman squeaked and lifted her hands.

“Why are you here?”

“M-Maintenance! We’ve been having malfunctions with airlock sensors for weeks. I had no idea you were sneaking in, or whatever it is you’re doing; just please don’t kill me please, please, please!”

Nasrin sighed. “What’s your name?”

“P-Peggy… engineering…”

“All right, Peggy. Uniform, ID, everything but your underwear.”

“Right. Fair enough.” Peggy chuckled nervously. She reached for the ID badge dangling from her belt—and yanked a sleek blaster from her waistband instead. Nasrin grabbed her arm without thinking. They grappled against the wall, face to face, grunting and cursing. “Let it go, kid,” Peggy snarled. “You don’t have it in you.”

 You’re right. Nasrin drove her helmet into Peggy’s forehead hard enough to crack the visor, dropping her in a heap. Nasrin snatched her ID and ducked into the Minerva’s long, dim corridors. Forward bay. The Argo’s there. That’s all I need. Get there. Get it done!

The corridors were surprisingly quiet. No doubt Salazar kept a skeleton crew. Fewer witnesses, fewer liabilities. Nasrin couldn’t believe her luck when she found the cargo bay deserted. The Argo lay on her side in the vast chamber, hatches open. Someone had arranged the paintings on the floor. Nasrin wasted no time piling them into the Argo. Now all she had to do was open the bay and—

We’re still in slipspace. Crap!

Nasrin racked her brain for Dad’s father-daughter powwows on ways to trigger an emergency down-jump. She began grinning as she jogged to the bay’s control booth, where she used Peggy’s badge to log into the systems. She glanced at the booth’s closed door, flipped its lock, and focused on the screen. Entering a critical fault into the maintenance software should do the trick. Just a few lines of quaternary code. And here… we…

Three feet of superheated plasma sprouted through the door and stopped over Nasrin’s throat. Aster booted the door open, teeth bared, hurt and anger twisting her face.

“Why couldn’t you just stay away?”

Nasrin reached for her pistol, only for Aster to slice it in half.

“I gave you a chance, and this is what you do with it?”

“Aster, please! I—”

“Idiot!” Aster dragged Nasrin outside, where thirty militiamen lurked. “I didn’t want it on my conscience. But what happens now, that’s on yours.”

#

The Minerva’s lavishly decorated bridge, bright with blue holographic displays and the prismatic view of slipspace, brought out every annoyed wrinkle on Salazar’s face.

“I’m disappointed in you, Aster,” he said coolly, astride his plush commander’s seat. “You let her go. Now look at the trouble she almost caused us.”

Aster dumped Nasrin, shackled and gagged, on the polished white tiles. “Sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut her almost destabilizing our jump.”

“I’ll make it right.”

“That you will. She dies this time.”

Nasrin felt her stomach twist. She struggled against her magnetized shackles.

Aster set her jaw. “I’ll jettison her once we leave slipspace.”

“No.” Salazar leaned forward with a crinkle of his faux leather seat. “Right here. Right now. I’ll believe nothing less than blood on this deck.” When Aster hesitated, he sighed. “One life, Aster. It’s little compared to what we stand to gain. How many centuries have we wallowed in obscurity? Your ancestors, our ancestors, we’ve all suffered at the hands of empires. This is our opportunity to gain the sovereignty history denied us. What are two lives weighed against that?”

“I understand, sir.”

“Sometimes I don’t think you do.”

A tense silence passed, all eyes locked on the exchange. At last, Aster stretched out her bionic arm, plasma blade activating. “I’m sorry, Rin,” she whispered. “Really. I am.”

Hayata… Nasrin closed her eyes, but then forced them open, fixing Salazar with a glare. Die defiant. It was the best she could do now.

Plasma crackled, crimson refracting in Salazar’s dark eyes. Aster grunted as she raised her arm… and then everything bucked as if throttled by a comet, bodies flying. Nasrin rolled, Aster’s narrow miss stinging her forearm and breaking her shackles. Her vision spotted, and tingles crawled down her back. Down-jump? The bridge boomed with shouts and alerts.

“Who took us out of jump?” Salazar screamed, clinging to his seat.

“Not us,” a crewman wheezed. “A buoy along the slipspace route. Pulled us out just before the rendezvous point!”

Salazar coughed. “Those treacherous bastards!”

Nasrin looked out the window and saw a looming formation of dark, wedge-shaped vessels. Regenate warships. Salazar shouted orders, but then the lead warship’s bow flashed, and a sharp, piercing noise tore through the Minerva. The lights failed. Rancid fumes slithered up Nasrin’s nose. She tried to get up, but boots pounded her as crewmembers panicked. The Minerva shuddered. Gunfire echoed from the corridor.

When the lights flickered back on, Salazar’s battered crew were crowded into the bridge by marines in armored black EVA suits bearing the trigonal insignia of the Andromeda Regenate. Nasrin found herself kneeling beside Aster. Salazar, bruised and pale, bubbled with fury. It boiled over when a Regenate commissar, groomed like a recruiting poster and sporting a gold-trimmed overcoat, glided onto the bridge.

“We had a deal!” Salazar said.

“Did we?” The commissar spoke with the detachment of a therapist. “The Regenate doesn’t make deals with degenerates and revolutionaries, both of which you happen to be. Or did you think the Lord Regent would let your treasure, however valuable, make him stoop to the level of granting you support? The Null Zone is a blemish that will always be a latrine for its betters. You’re nothing but a janitor who has outlived his usefulness.”

Salazar paled. He glanced at Nasrin, grief and shame twisting his face. The commissar nodded, and a marine snapped Salazar’s neck. Nasrin looked away, sick.

“Know your place, vermin.” The commissar swept his gaze over the prisoners, stopping at Nasrin. He yanked out her gag. “What’s a child doing in this mess?”

Nasrin swallowed hard. “He… took something from me.”

“Is that so?” The commissar frowned, then nodded to his men. “Secure the cargo. Dump the prisoners out the airlocks.”

“No!” Nasrin bucked as hands grabbed her.

“Wait!” Aster said. “She’s just a child!”

“And?” the commissar asked.

“She had nothing to do with this. She doesn’t know anything!”

The commissar eyed Nasrin. “She knows enough.”

Marines dragged them towards the exit. Another shudder went through the Minerva, followed by a deep groan. Everyone froze. The commissar blinked, then turned in time to see one of the Regenate ships explode. A buffeting impact threw everyone against the bulkheads. Smoke gushed into the air, and the lights dimmed. More impacts followed, the debris of the Regenate ship hammering the Minerva. A klaxon sounded, and cold wind howled down the corridor, tugging at Nasrin’s hair. Hull breach.

I have to get out! Nasrin crawled through the haze, looking for a weapon. A Regenate soldier materialized through the smoke, but crimson plasma jetted through his chest plate. Three more fell as the blade wove through the disorienting chaos with a resonant hum. Aster pulled Nasrin to her feet, her face pallid and bloodstained.

“Hurry. There’s a battle going on out there.”

“You—!” Nasrin yanked free and backed away. “You think I’ll trust you just like that?!”

“I don’t have time to explain my moral conundrums! Run!”

The ship’s superstructure groaned as they raced through the corridors. 

“You’re the definition of disloyal,” Nasrin spat.

“I’m very loyal. To myself.” Aster stopped short and fired down an adjacent corridor, dropping someone in the haze. “Like I said. The winning side. That’s the game. Now go!”

The Argo waited in the cargo bay. When Nasrin got aboard and checked its systems, everything seemed functional.

“Think this will get us out in one piece?” Aster asked, jamming herself into the copilot’s seat.

“More or less.”

“Yeah? And what about that door?”

Nasrin opened the throttle without warning. The Argo ploughed straight through the bay doors, and Nasrin hummed Beethoven's 5th Symphony to ease her jitters as she flew into a full-scale slugfest. The ragged cluster of Regenate warships loomed around them, half breaking apart and spewing atmosphere. Far afield, gleaming in the pale flashes of focused beam weapons, six teardrop-shaped vessels pressed their advantage.

“Solarian ships?” Aster said, untangling herself. “Why are they here?”

Nasrin focused on maneuvering. The Argo handled sloppily on the best of days, and weaving through a whirlwind of exchanging missiles and beams tested the limits of her skill and sanity. She caught a glimpse of the depressurizing Minerva, still tethered to a battered Regenate cruiser, before she plunged through the gas cloud of a disintegrating frigate. Open space waited beyond.

“Whew…” Aster said. “Doubt they’ll follow. Too busy killing each other.”

Yeah, just you and me now. Nasrin began keying slipspace and slowly reached under her seat with her other hand. A backup pistol was still taped there. “So, you think you can make off with the paintings? That it?”

Aster opened her mouth, then noticed the gun pressed against her ribs. “Rin…”

“You who sold us out, didn’t you?”

“I—”

“The truth.” Nasrin primed the blaster. “Now.”

Aster cracked a sad yet approving smile. “My relationship with Salazar was… complicated. He’s dead, and with him my debts. Really, I didn’t want you in this mess. Your dad told me to watch over you.”

“Oh? What about the time you almost executed me?”

“I wanted to put you in a suit and pretend I’d spaced you. Salazar buggered that.”

“So?!”

“So, if I didn’t, Salazar would’ve spaced me.” Aster crossed her arms. “There’s a limit to oaths, kid. And mine didn’t have a sub-policy covering heroic self-sacrifice.”

Spoken like a true Null Zoner. Nasrin almost said it, but the star-jeweled void ahead shimmered and bled into silvery contours as a massive Solarian warship shed its refractive shielding.

“Let’s argue later,” Aster deadpanned.

“Okay.”

Too late. The warship harpooned the Argo with ten magnetized lines and hauled her into its ventral bay and a welcome wagon of a hundred silver-armored marines. Nasrin elbowed Aster in the kidney.

“The winning side, huh?”

Aster glowered. “Shut up.”

#

The Solarian fleet officer, a squat lieutenant commander with a blocky face and trombone voice to match, slammed something down on the interrogation room’s table.

“Where’d you get this?”

Nasrin, cuffed but unharmed, stared at a familiar cylindrical device. 

“Found it in your rust-bucket of a ship.” The officer lifted his chin. “It’s a high-powered beacon, in case you didn’t notice. Has codes someone like you has no right to know. Lit up ansibles across the sector and drew us right into those Regenate vultures.”

I fixed it? Nasrin stared at the device, noting the plasma burns deforming its side and the steady wink of a light on its bottom. The plasma cutter must have hit it during the scuffle, jumpstarting it. Nasrin stifled a nervous laugh.

“There’s nothing funny about this, young lady,” the officer growled. “As grateful as we are to have stopped whatever the Regenate was up to, it doesn’t absolve you of operating classified tech and luring Admiral Löfgren’s fleet into a skirmish.”

“I…” Nasrin swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s a start. Where’d you get it?”

“My Dad gave it to me.”

“And where’s he?”

Nasrin felt a lump form in her throat. She shook her head.

“Ah…” The officer’s face softened. He sat down, undoubtedly preparing some words of wisdom, but a chirp from his communicator spoiled his act. He puffed his cheeks. “Well, the Admiral will see you now.”

Five minutes of pearlescent corridors and tidy, aloof crewmembers later, Nasrin stood before a silver door inlaid with golden floral patterns. Entering smelled like the earthy gardens of her dreams, the tidy, minimalist office decked with orchids, violets, and heart-leafed philodendrons. A woman sat behind a desk of real wood, her face hidden as she studied a familiar painting. The golden bars on her shoulders and the curls of her midnight hair shuddered as if she were quietly laughing.

“Admiral Löfgren,” the officer said.

Nasrin stopped, knees weak. What now? Another death sentence?

Admiral Löfgren lowered the frame. Mid-forties, Dad’s age had he been alive, with discerning blue eyes and sharp features that tightened at the sight of her. Nasrin felt a twinge in her chest.

“Remove her restraints,” Admiral Löfgren said.

The officer blinked. “Ma’am?”

“Remove them. And leave us.”

That voice. Nasrin felt dizzy. No sooner had the restraints left Nasrin’s wrists when the Admiral swept out from behind her desk. The motion blew a square of paper to the floor—the photograph. Nasrin stared as the woman knelt with a flutter of her greatcoat and wrapped Nasrin in her arms. No. This can’t…

“Rin!” the Admiral said. “It’s really you. Oh, Rin…”

Nasrin wondered if she’d been spaced after all. Numb all over.

“I thought I’d lost you.” The Admiral’s voice shook. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. For you. For Hayata. Your father. I was such a fool.”

Nasrin felt a lump form in her throat. Why? Who was this woman to her? It couldn’t… It wasn’t…

“I tried to stay. I wanted to get you out of that place. But the war took me away. So far, for so long…”

The feeling rose in Nasrin’s throat. Swelling. Burning. Dawning on her like the tingles of slipspace. The beacon. It all made sense now. The Admiral leaned back, holding her by the shoulders. Eye to eye, Nasrin could no longer suppress the memories. She looked like Nasrin remembered, just like the painting. Nasrin sobbed.

“Mom?”

Mother smiled, tears running down her face. “Not much of one, clearly.”

#

“Beep… Beep… Beep…”

Nasrin clung to every sound of Hayata’s monitor. Inside an environmentally sealed pod, hooked up to the most advanced equipment Nasrin had ever seen, Hayata looked frailer than ever. It took everything to stand still as the Solarian medical team hovered the pod down the terminal corridor towards the waiting battlecruiser, the RSN Libertas.

Eden Rock was in chaos, what with Salazar’s death and a Solarian battlegroup at port, but thanks to Aster’s influence no shots had been fired. Nasrin glanced down the corridor, where Aster stood with Eden Rock’s representatives. Aster nodded, then looked away, face sour. Nasrin smirked and followed Hayata. Best to let it go.

Admiral Natalia Löfgren, Mother, stood by the loading ramp, hands clasped tightly behind her back as she watched Hayata being taken aboard. Nasrin stopped beside her.

“They’ll take good care of her,” Mother said. “Our surgeons are the best.”

Nasrin nodded, feeling numb. After so many years of resenting her for disappearing, Nasrin expected to feel something. Yet she realized she couldn’t hate. Not anymore. Mother had been torn away by duty and war. Dad had understood. Nasrin would, too.

“This isn’t how I wanted things to be,” Mother said at last. “Everyone discouraged us, your father and I. We ignored them like the young fools we were. I didn’t understand what my duty would cost me.” She shook her head. “That beacon was supposed to bring us together no matter what stood between us. I didn’t think it would fail.”

Nasrin remembered the nights she’d found Dad asleep at his workbench, the beacon resting beneath lamplight.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness,” Mother whispered. “War or not, what I did was wrong.” Her hands clenched tighter. “I didn’t even know Hayata was sick.”

Still, Nasrin had no words. She touched Mother’s arm instead, remembering her warm embrace. Mother flinched, then sighed, tension draining from her ramrod posture.

“I can’t believe you found the paintings.” Mother said, blinking fast. “Your father knew there was something out here, something extraordinary. And you found it.” She thumbed the platinum ring on her finger. “Wherever he is now, I’m sure he’s laughing.”

Nasrin looked at the battered Argo, moored beside the battlecruiser. Even at a glance, Nasrin knew it would never fly again. “I know he is.”

“The universe works in mysterious ways,” Mother said. “They’re already running headlines about you back home. Young Pod Hunter finds legendary trove of Picassos. There’s even talk about naming that asteroid belt after you.”

Nasrin blushed, but the feeling sank immediately. “You’re taking them, aren’t you?”

“As priceless artifacts of Earth’s heritage, I have no choice. I already have orders to bring them to the Sol system.”

Nasrin felt her heart sink. “That’s… not fair…”

“Be that as it may, Rin, I wouldn’t worry. Everyone who finds a relic gets a financial reward proportional to its worth.” Mother extended her hand, smiling gently. “I think you’ll find it more than adequate.”

Nasrin looked into Mother’s eyes, then at the photograph in her hand. She took it and held it over her heart, hearing Dad’s laughter, feeling his arms around her. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry. Now was not the time.

Hayata needed her to be strong.

#

“When we find it, Rin, you’ll know. I promise.”

The sound of crashing waves snapped Nasrin out of her daydreaming. Lying on her back, she lowered her hand and winced—the sun had moved to a gap between the palm trees. Planetside life was hard to get used to.

The pearlescent beach stretched as far as the eye could see, the greens of palms pressing against the glittering turquoise of a crystalline sea. Elara. One of the Solarian Republic’s terraformed worlds made in the image of Old Earth, in this case the Maldives.

Beautiful, Nasrin thought. How many times did I tell Hayata about these places? How often did we dream of doing exactly this?

Her heart fluttered, memories rising like the tide, fresh and clear and free.

“Hey! Rin! Watch this!”

Nasrin sat up and felt her heart twist with love. Hayata bounded along the beach, casting white sand with each long stride. So tall already. Hayata dove into the water, then came up with a twirl, grinning ear to ear.

Growing like a weed. Nasrin smiled.

“Come on! Get in here!” Hayata waved. “What’s cold water compared to space?”

Nasrin laughed. “Be right there!” She brushed the sand off her legs and stood up, sure to tuck the photograph into the book she’d been reading. One glance at Dad’s smile was enough. She whispered a thanks, glanced at the heavens, and then chased Hayata into the turquoise sea.