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N’vera made a strange grating sound and launched into a long series of clicks. “I have two pieces of information for you,” the translator supplied. “You will order a drink and when it comes, I will give you the first piece of information for free. You will pay the full amount for the second.”

My eyes narrowed. “I don’t want a drink.” I needed a clear head as long as I was on the station. I’d drink once I was back aboard my ship and safely away from here.

N’vera made that strange grating noise again. Was that a laugh? I’d never heard a Kurutan laugh before, so I couldn’t be sure.

“You offend me,” N’vera said via the translator. “Among my people, it is expected to conduct business only after a ceremonial greeting. As I doubt you know the appropriate Kurutan dance, I offer to drink with you instead. It is a blessing upon our business.”

“Looks like you’ve blessed our business enough for both of us,” I said, gesturing at their mostly empty bottle. “I’ll bless it once I know whether I’ve wasted my time and fuel coming here. Deal?”

N’vera clacked their claws. “Agreed. You are entertaining, Asta Irclion.” They withdrew a small datapad from a bag slung around their side and slid it across the table. “Here is the first piece of information. As promised, I offer it freely.”

Warily, I nudged the datapad closer. Seemingly unperturbed by my overt distrust, they drank from their tube and watched our surroundings.

The screen appeared to show a personnel record from the Alliance Defense. My heart nearly jumped out of my flight suit when I saw the name, image, and ID number at the top: Lieutenant Calla Wren.

It was unmistakably Calla in the image. My little sister, all grown up. The tiny girl who’d been ripped from my arms so long ago had transformed into a beautiful woman with long red hair and green eyes that looked so much like mine that it hurt like a kick to my jaw.

She stared straight at me from the screen, her expression fiercely determined. And she was wearing a green Alliance flight suit. The orange piping signified she was an enlisted soldier. Two pips on her collar proved her rank. A lieutenant.

We’d both survived Ganai and become pilots, but on opposite sides of Alliance law. I’d think more about that later, when I could.

With a trembling hand, I scrolled down to see more of Calla’s service record.

Homeworld: Ganai

Species: Human (Genetically Verified)

Age: 28 Standard Years

Enlistment Location: Havel Prime

Final Rank: Lieutenant

Qualification: Solo Pilot, Delta Seven Long-Range Deep Space Fighter

Assignment Station: Epsilon Squad, Outpost 60, Solan

Status: Deceased (Ship Destroyed; Remains Not Recovered; Believed Killed in Combat, Sector Alpha 57-1908B; Final Report and Commendation Filed by Commanding Officer Squad Captain Ezr Proos)

The date of her death was listed as a little over a year ago.

This file wasn’t her complete service record—just basic information someone with halfway decent skills could scrape from the Alliance Defense database. A better hacker could extract more.

Numbly, I scoured every word repeatedly, drinking in the information and building a history for my sister between the lines. Somehow she’d traveled from Ganai to Havel Prime, where the Alliance Defense had a large recruitment center and training facility. And then she’d earned her way into flight school and become a solo pilot in a Delta Seven fighter, one of the Alliance’s premier ships.

And then she’d died in Sector Alpha 57-1908B, wherever the hells that was, her body reduced to ashes scattered among the stars.

My numbness gave way to grief and fury. I wanted to scream. I wanted to find whoever had killed her and cut them into pieces. But I couldn’t move. I was a hollowed-out husk hunched in a booth across from a silent Kurutan.

“How did you know where to find this?” I didn’t recognize my own voice.

“That is the second piece of information, Asta Irclion.” The translator’s tone didn’t change, but N’vera’s clicks were a little quieter than before, almost lost in the din of voices that filled this bar. Maybe they were sympathetic, but their chitinous face made it difficult to tell. “She was beloved to you?”

“Yes.” No sense trying to pretend otherwise, even if it meant N’vera could try to squeeze me for more now that I’d given away a personal connection to the subject of my search. I’d simply stated in my postings that Calla and I had fought together on Ganai and I was seeking a reunion.

I couldn’t find it in myself to care that I’d screwed up, but I still had to add, “I’m not paying you more credits than we agreed upon.”

“I did not ask for more credits.” N’vera gestured at the blinking corner of the datapad with one of their clawed hands. “But I have more to tell you. Pay.”