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“I don’t ever mind getting into a little bit of trouble in Hyperborean space, damn leeches,” Aramis says with a shrug.
Nuvar grins—which is a little unnerving, given how mangled his face is. “That’s what I was hoping to hear,” he says.
“So,” I say. “What exactly do you intend ondoingwith this Elixir?”
“We…happened upon the crate after intercepting a Hyperborean force headed to Borealis,” Nuvar says. “Now I’ve got it on a shuttle, but the ship is grounded in the market and I need someone to move it to a secure location at the docking bay.”
“Grounded as in…?”
“The Boreans have it all locked down and they’re watching for it,” Nuvar says. “None of us have the skills necessary to move it with manual controls, but I’ve heard there’s someone in port who’s an expert at manually piloting spacecraft.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re being awfully evasive for a man who needs help fromspecificallyme,” I say. “Are you selling it?”
“The Elixir? Gods, no,” he says. “We’re moving it to a Nyeri’i refugee station in orbit around Syrkezia. They’re getting hit hard with Elixir withdrawal and they need help, and we all know it’ll just go straight to the damn Boreans’ immortality if they get it all the way to Borealis.”
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. I glance at Aramis. “We’re doing this, aren’t we?”
The Merati warrior cracks a smile, their blue eyes sparkling. “Seems like they knew just how to get to you—disadvantaged refugees looking for assistance…?”
“Fine,” I grunt. I look at Nuvar. “Take us to the shuttle. I’ve got you covered.”
—
The shuttle, it turns out, is nestled in a forgotten part of the frosty port. Nuvar limps ahead of us, the grey tendrils on his head twitching as he stays alert for anyone who might be following us. We don’t attract a lot of attention here, which I’m grateful for—it seems like everyone knows who I am on Triton and Alamancia, and I’m sick of being noticed all the time.
Nuvar turns the corner into an alley, and I frown when I don’t see a shuttle. Aramis stills, and I’m certain they’re also thinking this might be an ambush…but then Nuvar reaches forward and grabs what looks like thin air, pulling it back to reveal a Merati vessel.
It looks just like the Naiad.
The size of a small house—so much,muchsmaller than my old ship—the shuttle is perched at the end of the alley, seemingly camouflaged under what must have been some kind of invisibility cloak. I walk toward it, the sight of the familiar vessel practically taking my breath away, and I put my hand on the hull with a certain reverence.
“Holy shit…sheisold,” I say. “What’s her name?”
“Well, it doesn’t exactly have one,” Nuvar says. “Picked it up from a salvage crew three cycles ago and it’s barely seen the sky ever since.”
“Nah, every ship needs a name,” I scoff. “How about…Esperanza?”
Both the aliens give me a weird look. “Never heard that before,” Aramis says.
“It means ‘hope’ in my language,” I say, then pat the hull like I’ve just met an old friend. “Shall we?”
We head inside when Nuvar opens the hatch, and I scope out what they’re carrying. There’s the crate of Elixir in the middle—worthmillionsof credits alone—along with blankets, rations, and medicine. It looks like this is a legitimate relief operation and not just some kind of scam to trick vulnerable people in the Morgain System. The cockpit is directly ahead, and my heart clenches when I realize it looks just like the old cockpit on the Naiad.
Fucking hell, I miss that ship.
“I’m guessing she hasn’t been flown in a while?” I ask.
“No, but she should be all fueled up and ready to go,” Nuvar says. “We’ve just been waiting on a pilot from Alamancia, but I figured I’d ask you when you came through port. We hear you and your crew are trying to help people like us.”
Not really, I think.We’re just trying to help Homeworld.
But I don’t say that.
“Does she have any cloaking capabilities?” I ask.
“No, but if it’s flown manually, we should be able to skate under the Empire’s radar,” Nuvar replies. “And we have rebel forces waiting for us at port, with our Nyeri’i ship. Might be a bit of a scuffle, but—”
“Yeah, I’m not worried about a scuffle,” Aramis says with a grin. “That’s where I come in--since I’mespeciallynot worried about kicking a little Hyperborean ass.”
