The crew of the Starwell didn’t like Angar very much. He killed one of their friends, so understood why.

  When they put him in his room, the door clanked shut, sealing him into a cramped space, much smaller than the others he’d walked past and peered into.

  The rectangular chamber, maybe three meters by two, forced his broad frame to stoop beneath the low ceiling, though he wouldn’t have grazed it if he still hunched like all people of Vefol did.

  It had battered metal walls streaked with rust and dents. One wall bore a faded Trey, an almost washed-out triangle pointed up with a chipped but still staring eye in it.

  A harsh and flickering light buzzed overhead, casting odd shadows over the pitted surfaces. The air was thick with stale sweat and a strange, burnt scent.

  A cold and scarred bench lined one wall, far too small for his bulk, with a frayed blanket folded at its end. Beside it, a dented cup sat in a recess, a dripping spigot plinking water onto the sticky and grated floor near the toilet, which he had learned the function of on the Fama Aeterna.

  There was a tiny grate high on the opposite wall he believed vented air. The heavy door was smooth and handleless inside, and hummed with some power, with a scratched viewport fogged with age, and a rectangular covered slot near the bottom of it.

  Something sparked faintly in a corner, some wires, and a cracked data slate lay abandoned on a broken shelf with loose bolts.

  To Angar, the room’s grime and neglect were obvious compared to the rest of the ship he’d seen.

  Maybe it wasn’t all that great, certainly not compared to his room on the Fama Aeterna, but it was extremely comfortable and luxurious considering what he was used to.

  He marveled at the amazing lighting, a vast improvement over what he knew, and found the soft carpet covering a big part of the floor far superior to cave rock, the frayed blanket far gentler than coarse hides, and the chilly temperature, colder than he’d ever experienced, strangely nice.

  On this ship, his strides felt too easy, almost effortless, as if a weight was lifted from him, his legs twitching with unspent force, like moving was too easy. The air felt thin and flimsy, slipping into his lungs without weight, without any pain or gunk. It was the best air ever, so crisp, fresh, and unburning.

  And the water. He couldn’t even begin to describe how wonderful it was. It was so clean, tasted magnificent, and didn’t hurt his stomach at all. Nothing could top the water, and he seemed to have an endless supply of it. He drank his fill often. He could even make it shower out of some spigot-device and let it rain on him, and this rain didn’t burn at all.

  He loved this room. He loved everything about it.

  He’d figured out the slate, its cracked screen spilling knowledge he devoured, losing himself in it, having no idea how much time had passed or was left of his trip, but his injuries hadn’t healed fully, and wouldn’t for a while yet.

  He didn’t think he needed as much food now, but food slid through the slot in his door often, heaps of it, each bite a wild clash of flavors he couldn’t describe but craved more of. He gorged even when not hungry, and marveled at its plenty.

  Sure, leaving the room, exploring the ship, and talking to the interesting-looking people in the crew would’ve been better, but he was more than fine with things as they were, and he thought his punishment light when he reasoned things from their perspective.

  For the crew, the girl in the armor’s name was Dekyi. Everyone called the big man Boss, but Angar was pretty sure that was a nickname. There was a guy named Mac, and another woman named Upasama, or Upa.

  He thought there could be another man in the crew, but he wasn’t certain. None of them would talk to him, but they often called in a taunt like, “Here’s your food. Jun loved this dish, murdering scum,” when they slid food under the door.

  He thought Ground Current could get him out of the room. It seemed he just needed to see where he was going to use the Ability, and the slot used to slide the food trays in and out allowed that.

  He had promised Spirit not to antagonize anyone, and understood he deserved the crew’s anger for killing their friend, so he wouldn’t, but he thought he could.

  Jun was the first man Angar had purposefully killed. He had been raised to war and kill men, so the act itself didn’t bother him. He wished things had gone differently, but he had been certain he was doing his sworn duty at the time.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  He disliked that the oath he swore, that he took as black and white, Spirit believed wasn’t. Twice so far, she had expected him to disregard it. He was not one to disregard his vows.

  They were headed to a world named Zanaya, or a city on it named Erim. That’s all he knew.

  Angar sat hunched on the scarred bench in his cramped room, the cracked data slate in his clawed hands. Beyond its trove of knowledge, he’d spent hours poring over his System screens and their options and settings, learning of them, but leaving them as Spirit had previously set.

  Having plenty of time to kill, the slate hummed faintly against his clawed fingertips, its secrets unraveling bit by bit. He understood it better now. He still knew too little, but he’d get there, even if bit by bit.

  As he scrolled through the slate, the air in front of him shimmered. Spirit materialized, her form faint at first, then solidifying into the lithe figure he knew.

  Her eyes seemed filled with weariness but still radiated an endless kindness that softened the room’s grime and warmed its chill.

  She raised a hand before he could speak. “Don’t say it. No need to live in the past. Lessons learned. Hopefully for both of us. I just feel horrible, and my heart goes out to this crew.”

  Angar pushed off the bench as relief flooding his chest. He’d feared she’d be angry, or that she’d abandon him.

  He’d also worried the crew monitored him, making her wary of appearing, or telling him not to speak when she did. But neither seemed true. “Welcome back,” he said. “Have your…are your reserves replenished?”

  A small smile crept onto her lips, faint but warm. “Not really. I’m helping with the gateways and Raga. I used too much too quickly, then borrowed heavily from a source I shouldn’t have touched.”

  Her gaze drifted as she said, “I’m hoping for a smoother ride from here on out. This trip isn’t going as it was supposed to. I chose this crew from three a similar distance away and available for the task, intending for you to gain experience in redeeming a Heretic, to broaden your understanding through the crew’s perspectives, and to encounter a side of the Holy Empire you wouldn’t get to see for some time.”

  She paused and a small sigh escaped her lips. “All wasted.”

  Angar almost grunted. He knew forgiveness was too much to have hoped for. She was still angry with him.

  She said she didn’t want to live in the past, then brought it up first thing. He had a plan meant to reingratiate himself, but a big part of it was apologizing for killing Jun, which now had to be scrapped.

  The other part could be considered living in the past, so he didn’t know if he should use it.

  Since it was all he had, he didn’t have much choice. “I wanted to thank you for your help against the Harmongulan. Or the Homunculus. You fought like nothing I’ve ever seen. The way you moved…it was breathtaking. Beautiful. I’ve never seen such an impressive feat of martial prowess.”

  That her twig-legs can bear her weight is amazing in and of itself, he thought.

  His plan and what he just said was specifically crafted to cheer Spirit, but instead of smiling wider, the small smile left her lips. “Thank you,” she muttered in a flat tone, her eyes dropping to the pitted floor.

  Angar’s brows furrowed as he tried figuring out what had happened. “Sorry if I said something wrong.”

  “You didn’t.” She shook her head. “It’s just…I’ve never liked fighting.”

  That caught him off guard. “But you’re so good at it,” he said.

  “I had no choice. I never wanted to fight anything.” She lifted her gaze, meeting his, and the kindness in her eyes now carried a weight that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “It’s what I had to do, but it’s not who I was. Am.”

  Angar’s brows furrowed more. “Oh. Understood.”

  Spirit sighed, a soft exhale that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. “I know you don’t,” she murmured. “I wanted…,” she paused, her voice catching, then pressed on. “The parts I liked about…what I used to be, I didn’t get to do much of. Not as much as I wanted. It was…” Her words faltered again.

  She lifted a hand and wiped her face. “If we’re going to work together, I suppose telling you more about me makes sense.”

  She drew a breath, steadying herself, and began. “When I was born, religion wasn’t a thing. There was Nexus and Neural Communion, everyone bound by a shared mind, most working in factories, making machines of war to help Nexus fight the infernal invasions. I was always a little different. From the start, I was famous for being half-Pleiadian.”

  She smiled faintly. “My mother was quick to cash in, parading me around, her little hybrid prize. I don’t remember a time when eyes weren’t on me. My neural-link stopped working when I was six. Everyone thought I was so weird. I thought I’d gone nuts when a voice started speaking to me.”

  Her smile turned into a real one. “But it wasn’t just a voice. It was more.”

  Then the smile left. “When I was sixteen, I was told to go to Terra, so I did. That’s when my life became fighting. I never wanted any of that.

  “But the moments between,” her voice softened again, a warmth breaking through the weariness, “those made it worth it. Spreading love, kindling hope in shattered hearts, healing the sick, that was so wonderful. Where I walked, neural-links failed. I’d just talk to people, see them, really see them, and accept them, love them, and their eyes would light up, and they’d know they needn’t suffer alone again. That’s what I wanted to do. That’s all I wanted to do.”

  She fell silent and her shoulders slumped, the room’s buzz filling the quiet.

  After a moment, she looked up at Angar. “I know you don’t care about that stuff and just want more battles. You’ll get them, but you should know the reason I’ll use you up like I did those two others – it’s peace. My goal is peace. To end this war. Theosis stewarding a peaceful, loving Empire, and not one with so much death and war, constantly on the brink of oblivion.”

  Her eyes began to blaze with a weary fire. “But if you want to really see me fight, see my last.”

  She pressed a hand to his temple, her touch warm and almost urgent, and the world dissolved.