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Cal’s throat bobbed. “Tactile navigation. Can you do it?”

AVOS paused. “I’m afraid not.”

Cal tugged on Roy’s hand, questions written all over his face. He couldn’t hear the answer.

“No.” Roy shook his head, waves of panic breaking against the cliffs of his mind. He never thought about how much pilots relied on their hearing—from the radio line with the dock tower to the small adjustments from the ship’s AI. He reached the pod and hugged Cal, forcing his pulse to stay steady.

“You’ll need to land, then,” Cal rasped.

“Me?” Roy pulled away. “B-but we can request assistance, or a safety net⁠—”

“You need to talk slower. I’m not that good at lip reading.”

“We could call for help.”

“Expensive, and slow.” Cal’s soft, warm hands cupped Roy’s face. “You were a pilot, right?”

“Yes.” Roy exhaled.

“Then you can surely do it. I’ll help.”

The leather seat stuck to Roy’s damp skin. He cleared his throat and tapped on the headset, dialling his dock’s number.

Uros’ trademark drawl vibrated through the headphones. “This is, uh, Pyraxis North, docking station 70441. Ugh, do we really have to do this? I know it’s you, Cal.”

“This is light freighter W409-X3, preparing for descent. Roy speaking.”

“Oh. Sorry.” A crackle rustled on the line. “Where’s Cal?”

“He’s here,” Roy said quickly. “He’s just having issues with his hearing.”

“But he’s still piloting?”

“No.” Roy reached for the seat next to him, rubbing circles on Cal’s knee to soothe himself. “I am.”

“You know how to land a ship, right?”

Roy bit his tongue. “I do, okay? I was a pilot back in the army. Just give me the clearance to dock.”

“Right. Um…”

The manual’s pages were etched into his memory so deeply that Roy could easily picture the diagram Uros needed to prepare the dock. He pushed the button to talk. “Page seventeen. Gripper extending sequence, at the very top left.”

“Okay, okay. Got it.” After a pause, Uros took over the line again. “All clear. Ready for landing.”

“Thank you,” Roy said, releasing the line. With a deep breath, his fingers curled on the throttle, his heart climbing into his throat.

This is not a warzone. It’s a small, easily approachable dock.

“You got this,” Cal said, apparently satisfied with Roy’s manoeuvres—though his gaze remained glued to the dashboard.

As they entered the atmosphere, flames travelled across the hull, licking at the viewport. Roy tugged on the throttle, reversing the engine’s thrust. Fixated on the speed indicator, he slowly increased the fuel intake, braking against the freefall.

The flyvan trembled in turbulence, and Roy’s stomach flipped. He steadied his hands through the shaking and eyed Cal, who seemed remarkably calm. Perhaps it helped that he couldn’t hear the groan of metal all around them.

“Tilt up, slowly. You can start gliding now,” AVOS said. The seven-segment display above the viewport glowed green, displaying a reassuring message: Freefall Stabilised.

After a few hours in the ER, Roy ran out of ideas to keep Adria entertained. She’d read the pile of magazines on the table and came up with a pop quiz Uros was apparently less than excited about.