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“Nah,” Cal chortled. “But you should see your face.”

“Insufferable,” Roy scoffed. “So how come?”

Cal tapped on his ear. “The implants.”

Roy let his head fall back against the couch cushion. Under the bright spotlights, Cal’s skin glowed brighter than usual. He jerked his head, as if his thoughts were an annoying mosquito. “They filter mermaid songs?”

“Well, they filter everything. No sound that reaches my brain is something I heard. It’s just a signal, translated by semiconductors.” Cal leaned closer, close enough that Roy could count his dark blue eyelashes. “You know, they say the doom sirens’ song induces hallucinations of one’s greatest fears. Trauma replays, really.”

Roy shrugged. “It wasn’t pleasant, no.”

“You whispered something.”

“Did I?”

“Who’s Milo?” Cal asked in a feather-light voice.

Roy’s jaw clenched, almost too stiff to speak. “He was...” Roy paused. Finding a single descriptor for Milo was difficult. Best friend wouldn’t describe the sweetness of stealing a kiss in the barracks before climbing to the cot above. Navigator would degrade him to a military position—the one he’d lost once Roy followed orders instead of intuition, and their fighter crashed, its hull mangled and irreparable. “He was my everything.”

“I’m sorry. He must have meant a lot to you.”

Roy wanted to tell Cal it was alright, but only a faint whine escaped his vocal cords.

“Can I hug you?” Cal asked, his head tilted.

When Roy responded with a barely audible “Yes”, Cal wrapped his arms around Roy, their temples pressed flush.

The embrace lacked confidence, but Roy appreciated the warmth radiating through the purple jumpsuit. He pulled Cal in, palms settling at his waist, and closed his eyes. The pressure in his chest loosened, slowly unwinding like a skein of yarn.

And for a moment, he allowed himself to feel again.

Chapter

Six

The engines rumbled steadily in the background. Roy rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Colourful shapes morphed across the night sky of his eyelids. A throbbing ache crept into his skull, nausea rising in waves.

“Course set,” Cal locked the spaceship’s steering. “There’s a solar flare predicted midway.”

“Hm.” Roy pinched the knot of muscle between his index finger and thumb. An army medic had once told him it helped with headaches. Whether the claim was backed by science or the result of an unfortunate lack of supplies at the end of the war, Roy didn’t know—and chose not to question it.

“You look tired.” Cal’s knuckles brushed against Roy’s forearm. “Perhaps cryosleep could help?”

Roy sighed, shifting in his seat. “Cryosleep just worsens it.”

“Aw. How about the nanobot shot?”

“I’m not wasting a booster on a headache,” Roy grumbled. He took a breath to explain the rations Pyraxis bestowed on medical products—when an alarm blared through the dashboard, the radio screen glowing red.

“Turn off your engines,” a voice screeched from the speakers. “Give up your valuables and save your lives.”

“Fuck me,” Cal hissed. “Hey, AVOS? Are we intercepted?”

“I’m afraid so,” AVOS strained, as if something had chained its artificial intelligence. “Raider ship… horizon⁠—”

“Well.” Cal tugged on the security straps and yanked on his fingerless gloves. “Buckle in, Roy.”

Roy’s mouth fell open. “Are you out of your mind? This is a caravan, not a fighter.”