INELIUS

  Garrick Station hung in the shadow of a storm-choked gas giant, a crown of steel above indigo clouds that flashed with lightning. Its tiers spiraled outward in stacked rings, bristling with antennae and docking spires, lights glittering like embers against the black. From afar, it looked less built than grown—layers of habitation and industry fused onto an ancient core.

  The station shared orbit with a clutch of jagged moons, some no bigger than mountains, others carrying thin atmospheres. Their erratic paths made approach dangerous, but they also masked smuggling lanes and hidden supply routes in their gravitational clutter. Garrick endured where governments didn’t, serving anyone who could pay its docking fees.

  The Liberty Union technically claimed the territory, but little governmental presence was actually present. Word of the team’s escape from The Bastion of Libertas wouldn’t have reached here yet, anyway—there were no methods of transmitting simple data faster than light—the only method of technology that could achieve FTL was jump drives. For now, they would be able to blend in.

  The rest stop was needed. What little supplies Brolgar was able to take during their escape would barely last another day. The lacravida—as well as the rest of the team osmosing their culture—also needed their group lounge area. The Aether ship had the space for it, they just had to actually buy some furniture.

  The docking clamps seized with a shudder, and Inelius exhaled through his nostrils. Garrick Station was a mess of metal and noise even before he stepped off the ramp, his nose catching the place before his eyes had the chance as the airlock equalized pressure.

  The air carried too many scents layered together—burning from overworked power couplings, grease that had seeped into the plating and would never wash out, the sharp sting of chemical cleaners cut with the sweetness of fried street food.

  When the hatch opened, the noise followed. Dockhands barked in three different tongues, haggling captains shouted over the clatter of loader mechs, and the overhead loudspeakers blared transit schedules that nobody seemed to follow. Inelius caught half a dozen accents in as many breaths—d’moria baritone, clipped shorn consonants, the honeyed bass of a lacravida, even a handful of human voices buried in the crowd.

  He scanned the docks, counting ships. Freighters with patched hulls, LU cutters keeping their distance, a sleek black courier that set his instincts prickling like detecting a predator in wait. And then the usual clutter of merchants, miners, and family crews packed shoulder-to-shoulder.

  It was loud, it was dirty, it was potentially dangerous—but that wasn’t a bad thing. It was useful.

  The team gathered just off the ramp, voices raised to be heard over the din of the docks. Crates rattled on lifters, mechs stomped past, and Inelius found himself silently watching to see if any eyes lingered on their unfamiliar ship.

  They broke into groups. Raine stayed behind with Brana, both already heading back up the ramp. Raine said something about organizing the rest of their gear crates, but Brana just grumbled about finding enough materials for Riza’s bathtub. Inelius didn’t doubt she’d have it seamlessly hammered together by the time they returned.

  Aurania, Violet, Veolo, and Amalia peeled off into the crowded concourse, already half-arguing about furniture before they’d even cleared the dock gates. Aurania’s stride was purposeful, the four giant women parting the Garrick Station crowds like the prow of a ship.

  That left Inelius with Riza, Tamiyo, Soren, and Brolgar. Supplies and gear—the heavy work. He flexed all four of his hands, shaking out the pulsing soreness of healing bruise and bone.

  “Let’s move,” Riza said simply, and the five of them stepped off into the station.

  They pressed into the flow of the concourse, swallowed by a tide of voices and movement. s flickered on half-broken holos overhead, promising cheap docking, “authentic” cuisine from twenty systems, and services that made Inelius snort under his breath. He kept his head above the noise, nostrils twitching at the ionized scents of food and sweat, scanning for both the vendors they needed and anyone searching for easy prey.

  Beside him, Tamiyo’s gaze swept the crowds in a way that wasn’t wary so much as familiar. Inelius tilted his head down toward her. “So,” he rumbled over the noise, “you stopped here once before?”

  Tamiyo hesitated for a moment, caught off guard, then gave a faint nod. “When I first ran. After Batist.” Her voice softened, pulled inward. “I docked here for a few hours. I’d never seen anyone that wasn’t human before. The second I stepped off the ramp it was like… the galaxy hit me all at once. Shorn, d’moria, lazarco—voices I didn’t understand but all woven together like it had always been normal.”

  Her lips quirked slightly at the memory. “A kind trader noticed me staring and decided to walk me through the basics. I thought he was just a short human with a thick beard at first.”

  She fell quiet for a moment, then added, “After that I found a terminal booth and locked myself inside, just… learning. Who these people were. Why their words all carried echoes of human speech. I didn’t want to get too close to anyone, I was still a fugitive.”

  Her antennae drooped slightly, but she didn’t look sad. “Hmm,” her eyes looked up into the distance as she thought. “I guess I still technically am.” Then she laughed warmly about it.

  Inelius glanced at her sidelong. The station lights cut sharp across her face, the electric blue in her eyes cutting through it all. Then he let out a small laugh.

  “Hey Riza, do you think we have enough for what we need or should we see if there’s a bounty on Tamiyo?”

  Tamiyo started slapping his arms repeatedly. “You’re stuck with me, you fricken lizard.”

  The crowd funneled them into a broader concourse lined with food stalls, steam and spice cutting through the heavier scents of the dock. Inelius’s nostrils flared—grilled oils, roasted meats, sugar glazing, something sharp and pickled that made his tongue press against his teeth. His stomach gave a low twist, reminding him Brolgar’s rations hadn’t stretched far these last days.

  Tamiyo suddenly let out, “Riza, I just scanned you and the baby needs food.”

  Inelius noted Tamiyo’s eye scanners had not activated at all, but he just smiled quietly to himself.

  Riza looked like she was hesitating but then Tamiyo and Soren began fanning the scents of food toward her and she gave in. “We’re here to resupply. Eating’s part of that.”

  They drifted from one stall to another, each one shouting louder than the last. A shorn merchant barked prices for skewered meats glistening with honey glaze. A d’moria woman tended a bubbling cauldron of spiced stew, scenting the air with peppers and smoke. Children darted between the legs of strangers with handfuls of fried bread, laughing as though the station weren’t rusting around them.

  More than once, though, Inelius caught strangers staring at Soren. The human towered even among lacravida, broad-shouldered and muscled in a way that didn’t make sense for his kind. Dockhands paused mid-haul, a pair of miners muttered to each other, and a cluster of merchants gave him the same sidelong looks they’d reserve for a predator where it didn’t belong.

  He was undeniably out of place, but he went about his day like he didn’t notice. And no one had the gall to try approaching him.

  Then Soren stopped dead, eyes widening. “No way. That’s eloté!”

  Inelius followed his gaze to a stall run by a stocky human with forearms dusted in orange powder. The man was pulling strange, cylindrical rods from a grill—vegetables, Inelius assumed, though he’d never seen this type before. They were sheathed in neat rows of small yellow kernels, packed so tightly they looked like armored scales. Each one hissed as it came off the heat, the skin blistering before being smeared with some kind of creamy white paste. After that, the vendor rolled them through a mound of crumbled cheese and red flakes before handing them over to waiting hands.

  The smell was thick and strange—charred plant-flesh sweetened by spice and smoke. Not unpleasant, but utterly foreign. Inelius tilted his head, nostrils twitching. “That’s… food?”

  “It’s the best food,” Soren said, already fishing for credits he didn’t have. “Grilled corn, mayo, cheese, chili—trust me, you’ve never tasted anything like it.”

  He looked like a kid that had discovered a long-lost treasure. “What’s the currency? Credits? Dollars? Rupees? I see a 30—Riza, I need thirty money.”

  She stared back at him, brows raised.

  “Please,” Soren added bashfully, hand still extended.

  “You’re lucky Aura wants to keep you around,” Riza said as she began walking toward the vendor.

  They crowded near the stall, the heat from the little grill cutting through the station’s recycled air. The vendor thrust a wrapped cob into Soren’s hands first, and he bit into it with greedy hunger.

  “Gods, yes,” Soren mumbled around a mouthful, sauce streaking his cheek. “This is it—this is—Mmm. Mmm. Mmm.” He was devouring the vegetable, eyes rolling back slightly.

  “Careful,” Tamiyo said as she accepted one next. “Or you’ll start glowing.”

  Her antennae quivered as she leaned forward for a cautious bite. Her eyes widened and she made a muffled squeak of delight. “It’s… creamy, spicy—sweet at the same time! Why is it sweet?”

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  “Because it’s corn,” Soren said, gesturing with the half-eaten cob like it was divine scripture.

  Riza stared at hers like it might explode, then finally gave in. She tore off a bite, chewing slow and thoughtful. “Oh. Fuck.” She nodded mid bite and made a beckoning motion to the vendor. “More.”

  The vendor’s brow raised. “More?”

  Riza pointed to her mid-section, mouth full of food. “Pregnant. More. Now.”

  Inelius raised his own reluctantly, examining the yellow-scaled vegetable like it was some experiment. His teeth crunched through the kernels, and for a moment he just stood there blinking. The taste was bizarre—char, cream, salt, heat—all layered over a plant sweetness his tongue couldn’t quite place. He swallowed, snorted, and took another bite. “Food.”

  Soren laughed, mayo still on his lips. “You love it.”

  “Brolgar,” Inelius said, looking around for the d’moria. “Buy stuff to make this.”

  Brolgar had already shifted his attention to the stall across the lane, where slabs of skewered meat sizzled over a metal grate. He returned with a bundle of sticks dripping with fat and smoke, passing them out wordlessly.

  They fell into a rhythm of eating as they walked—Riza gnawing clean through charred meat, Tamiyo alternating bites between corn and skewer with bright-eyed wonder, Soren juggling both like he’d been starving for months, and Inelius settling into a steady chew of roasted flesh that grounded him far more than the strange spiced plant ever could.

  For a few moments, amid the chaos of Garrick Station, the weight of saving Nox seemed to fade—just people eating in the street, grease and spice on their fingers, laughter in their throats.

  By the time they reached the supply district, Inelius felt the satisfying settle of a good meal in his belly. Rows of vendors shouted prices for ration bricks, filtration cartridges, portable med-kits, and half a dozen varieties of tools, weapons, and ammo. The team fell into the rhythm of haggling, hauling, and moving on. Crates stacked quickly, heavier than they looked, until Inelius had all four hands occupied and still found himself loading more.

  It was during a pause at a vendor’s stall—waiting for a loader to bring out sealed munitions crates—that the conversation drifted.

  “I mean we’re out there shooting,” Soren said, “And Aurania is running around bringing this fucking greataxe to every gunfight.”

  “The lad sounds a bit excited,” Brolgar muttered.

  “You have a tendency to punch more than shoot,” Tamiyo said to Soren.

  “So?” he replied, feigning insult. “Maybe I should have an axe then; where did she say she got that damn thing?” Soren asked.

  Inelius shifted the crate on his shoulder and grunted. “Supposedly forged in the core of a planet by a d’moria forgemaster.”

  Soren’s eyes lit up. “That sounds badass.” He turned to Brolgar. “Can you hook me up with something like that?”

  Brolgar raised a brow ridge. “An axe?”

  Tamiyo smirked. “I can’t see you with an axe.”

  “Yeah, maybe like… a greatsword,” Soren said, warming to the idea. “That would be cool.”

  Brolgar just grunted.

  “You’re a child,” Riza cut in, her tone flat.

  Soren looked mock-offended, but Inelius caught the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he adjusted another crate onto the stack. “So how about it, Brolgar?”

  “I am a chef, lad,” was the only answer Brolgar gave.

  When the last of the supplies were loaded onto the large flatbed carts, Inelius finally spoke up. “You sure you can cover all this?” His voice was low, directed at Riza.

  She nodded without hesitation. “Yes. And Aurania can cover whatever her group brings back. But our funds aren’t unlimited. Depending on how long it takes to find what we need, you all may need to take on some side jobs to pay for things.”

  Inelius frowned. “We don’t have time for side jobs. Not with so little time left for Nox.”

  Riza didn’t argue. She shifted a crate into his hands and said, “I know some fixers. I’ll put out feelers, see who’s still operating. Compile a list. That way, wherever you end up, you’ll have contacts waiting.”

  Inelius studied her for a moment—her expression unreadable, but the way she said it told him to drop the subject. He adjusted the crate against his hip and didn’t push further.

  They began heading back, Soren moving most of the crates on a large flatbed dolly. Brolgar pushed another behind him. Tamiyo was sitting on the front of Soren’s cart, lightly kicking her feet and directing him where to go.

  As they approached an intersecting walkway and turned left, Riza said, “Soren, Brolgar, Tamiyo—head on back to the ship, I need to speak with Inelius.” Her tone left no room for debate.

  Tamiyo gave Inelius a curious glance but said nothing, and soon enough, they were swallowed by the press of bodies, pushing the loaded carts toward the docking bays. Riza didn’t move at first. Then she started walking forward instead of following them to the left—her pace steady.

  Inelius followed without comment. For several minutes, neither of them spoke. The noise of the station filled the space instead—shouts in unfamiliar tongues, the hiss of steam vents, the tinny jingle of some merchant’s holosign playing on repeat. Riza’s eyes stayed forward, unreadable, but Inelius caught the faint tension in her jaw.

  Finally, he broke the silence. “What’s on your mind?”

  She slowed just enough to glance at him. “I need advice. Or… perspective.”

  “About?”

  Her gaze slid away again. She walked over to a railing overlooking a large glass wall—the view stretching out to the blue clouds of the gas giant. The local star was beginning to peek around the large planet, just enough to show a thumbnail sliver of golden-orange.

  “Elias.”

  Inelius stepped up next to her, leaning against the railing. He gave her a sidelong glance. The name alone seemed to drag weight into the air between them. Part of him wondered if this was her way of moving forward, but… no—he could tell by the stiffness in her shoulders that wasn’t it.

  “Where’s this coming from?” he finally asked.

  She exhaled, the sound more like a growl than a sigh. “I’ve spent a lot of my life alone. Even when surrounded by people. Elias… he gave me a glimpse of something else. Something better.”

  Inelius’ voice dropped low, but reassuring. “You just miss him.”

  Her head slowly dipped forward, until the long strands of hair framing her face obscured her eyes.

  “So fucking much.” Her voice was raw and unguarded.

  The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the station’s circulation fans and the faint thrum of distant machinery. Riza kept her gaze fixed on the gas giant’s endless clouds, as though the storm-light itself might have answers.

  After a while, Inelius straightened from the railing and spoke, voice even. “Everyone has your back, no matter what you decide to do. If you go through with a Departure, we’ll be there. If you keep him in that pod, we’ll all stop by now and then to say hello. Wanna shrink him, put him on a keychain—fuck it, whatever, Riza. Do what feels right, with no pressure from anyone else.”

  His nostrils flared slightly as he glanced at her. “Elias climbed up your damn pedestal. But he threw us a line while he was up there—made it easier to come visit.”

  Riza let out a shaky laugh, one hand brushing at her face as if she could physically press the tears back. She didn’t quite manage it, but her smile held firm through the shine in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, voice catching.

  Inelius gave her a moment to breathe. There were times like this—quiet, heavy, unguarded—where it almost felt like Elias was still standing there with them, shoulder to shoulder. Riza’s gaze shifted subtly from the gas giant, off toward the direction of their ship.

  Inelius snorted softly. “Just… please don’t turn him into a glass dildo like Raine said she’s gonna do to me.”

  Riza looked at him quickly, paused, then barked out a sudden laugh—loud enough that a couple passersby glanced their way. “From the rumors I’ve heard about you, it would be a big fucking dildo.”

  “Ha ha,” Inelius said flatly, pushing off the railing to head back.

  They left the viewing deck, falling back into the slow current of the station crowd. Stalls and shops lined the concourse, hawking everything from cheap tools to glittering trinkets. Inelius’s gaze drifted over them without much interest until something caught his eye—delicate silver metalwork gleaming under harsh station lights. A tiara, slim and crowned with glittering gems, sat neatly atop a mannequin head.

  A quiet chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.

  Riza’s brow furrowed as she glanced his way. “What’s so funny?”

  Inelius hesitated, flexing one set of hands as if the words needed prying loose. “Elias told me and Raine once that he was working on a present for you. Wouldn’t say what. So after he left, she and I played a whole round of guessing what the gift was.”

  Riza looked back and forth between Inelius and the tiara. “That was what you settled on?”

  He chuckled. “Not immediately, we had a whole bunch of fun guesses.”

  “Such as?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  Inelius scratched his jaw, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “We cycled through a lot. Bracelets, earrings, nipple rings, belly piercings—Raine kept upping the ante every round. Eventually she said you could probably rock a tiara better than anyone.”

  Riza’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. “Yeah, I probably could. Though it’d look better on Princess Raine.”

  “Yeah,” Inelius smiled wide. He crossed his upper arms and shifted his weight to one leg, gazing at the expensive jewelry. “I joked about buying her one. But truth is—I’m actually planning to, someday.”

  Riza flicked her gaze toward the tiara in the shop window, then back at him. “Why not get that one?”

  He huffed, shifting all four arms at once. “Because I can’t afford that.”

  For a moment she just studied him, her expression unreadable. Then she looked at the tiara again, then back at him. “It just occurred to me—you never got any kind of pay bump with your promotion.”

  Inelius tilted his head, confused. “I haven’t technically been paid at all since joining up with you guys. Not that I expected it—Nox is my home too.”

  Her eyes softened just slightly. Then, without another word, she grabbed his lower right hand and tugged him toward the stall.

  “Come on,” she said.

  He tried to pull back, but her grip was iron. “Wait—you’re not—”

  Riza stopped at the counter, already reaching for her credchip. “I am.”

  The vendor wrapped the tiara in a white cloth softer than air, then placed it into a sturdy but inconspicuous black box. Riza thanked him, turned to Inelius and grabbed his hand, placing the box firmly into his grip. She didn’t smile, but her voice carried quiet conviction.

  “Consider it overdue pay.”

  Inelius stared down at the package for a long moment, then let out a low, stunned laugh.

  On the walk back, Inelius was quiet. The overhead lights flickered against patches of exposed wiring, and the thrum of the station’s engines carried through the metal under his feet. Cargo haulers rumbled past and pressurized doors hissed open and shut.

  He barely noticed any of it.

  His attention stayed fixed on the black box in his grip. The weight wasn’t much, but it felt heavier than it should have, as though the tiara carried more than just metal and stone.

  After a while, he finally rumbled, “Thanks.”

  Riza glanced sideways at him. “For what? Paying? I told you—it was a pay bump.”

  He shook his head, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “No. For letting your walls down. For asking me for advice. I know that’s not easy for you.”

  Her stride stayed steady, but she didn’t answer right away. They passed a neon sign buzzing faintly overhead, its letters flickering in and out. Her hooves made no sound, same as always, a seeming impossibility as she walked across the metal deck of Garrick Station.

  Finally, she spoke.

  “Elias really liked you.”