Chapter Thirty

  Quiet Between Two Ships

  Even after leaving Hearthpoint Station and Jessica’s joyfully chaotic hauler behind, the S.S. Cosmic Clover felt brighter than usual. As if the Joy’s laughter — and Lyra’s enthusiastic teaching — had rubbed off on her.

  Kael wasn’t sure whether to blame his siblings, the Joy’s entire vocabulary explosion, or the Clover simply finding the whole situation amusing.

  Probably all three.

  The Clover slid into soft-lane drift, letting the stars blur into calm threads of silver and pale blue. Inside, everything settled into a gentle hush.

  Lyra had finally exhausted herself from teaching the Joy new adjectives and was passed out on the couch wrapped in three blankets like a sleepy star burrito. Kessa curled beside her, a book half-open on her chest. Jarin brewed tea quietly in the galley, moving with the easy rhythm of someone who’d been caretaker and anchor for most of his life.

  Kael stood at the viewport alone, arms folded, forehead resting against the cool pane.

  The stars out here weren’t dramatic. They didn’t glitter or burn. They simply… existed. Warm. Constant. Patient.

  Kael’s voice barely left his throat when he said, “Clover… you doing okay?”

  The ship hummed low — a soft yes.

  Kael smiled. “I saw how you reacted to Joy earlier.”

  The lights dimmed shyly.

  “You liked it?” he asked.

  A warm pulse. Then a gentle flicker.

  Kael tilted his head. “She is… a bit much. But she means well.”

  The Clover hummed in a tone he recognized as affection mixed with amusement — the same sound she made when Kessa did something chaotic but fundamentally harmless.

  “She asked about you, you know.” He closed his eyes. “Joy said she wants to be as brave as you someday.”

  The Clover gave a long, deep vibration — not loud, not startling, but profoundly moved. Kael felt the hum in his chest.

  “You are brave,” he murmured. “But you’re kind too. That’s what she’s noticing.”

  A light flickered near the console — a soft lavender he hadn’t seen before. A new color for a new feeling.

  Kael rested his hand on the bulkhead, letting the metal warm beneath his palm. “I’m proud of you,” he told her. “For how you’re growing. For how you take care of us. For… everything.”

  The Clover thrummed again — stronger this time — and Kael had the distinct sense she was trying not to cry. If starships could cry.

  Jarin Arrives

  “Talking to the ship again?” Jarin’s voice was gentle as he entered the bridge with two mugs of tea.

  Kael straightened, embarrassed. “I wasn’t— I mean— well, yes.”

  Jarin handed him a mug and leaned against the console beside him. “You talk to the Clover more tenderly than most people talk to other people.”

  Kael shrugged. “…She listens.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Jarin smiled. “So do we.”

  Kael looked into his tea’s rising steam. “It’s easier with her sometimes.”

  “I know,” Jarin said softly. “But even I can’t tell how you feel if you pour everything into the ship.”

  Kael frowned. “Is that… bad?”

  “No,” Jarin said instantly. “It just makes you quieter. Harder to reach.”

  Kael leaned his shoulder against the viewport frame. “I’m trying.”

  “I know,” Jarin said again. “And you’re doing well.”

  The Clover hummed approvingly.

  Jarin chuckled. “She agrees.”

  Kael breathed in slowly. “Thanks. For everything.”

  Jarin nudged him lightly. “We’re family. You don’t thank family.”

  “But I do,” Kael said. “Because it helps me say the things I used to avoid.”

  Jarin’s gaze softened — proud, warm, steady.

  “Then,” he said, “you’re growing too.”

  Kessa & Lyra Wake Up (Unexpectedly)

  A loud thunk echoed from the galley.

  Kessa sat upright on the couch, hair wild, blanket tangled around her legs. “THUNK MEANS SOMETHING IS HAPPENING.”

  Lyra slowly sat up beside her. “Who thunked what.”

  Jarin called over, “It was the kettle. Tea is done.”

  Kessa sagged in relief. “False alarm.”

  Lyra pointed dramatically at Kael. “Did the Clover cry while I was asleep?”

  Kael flushed. “Ships don’t—”

  The Clover flickered lavender again.

  Lyra gasped. “SHE DID.”

  Kael groaned. Kessa cackled. Jarin covered his smile with his mug.

  The robot bee buzzed awake and drifted to Kael’s shoulder to stare at him disapprovingly, as if saying: don’t lie to your siblings.

  Kael whispered to the ship, “You’re not helping.”

  The Clover hummed — smugly.

  Regrouping

  Kessa flopped onto her stomach. “So what’s the plan for today?”

  Kael leaned on the console, thinking. “We rest. Slowly. Take a small job if one comes in. And maybe…”

  He glanced at the datapad containing Jorin’s locked messages.

  “…maybe, if we’re ready, we open the next one tonight.”

  Jarin nodded. “A good pace.”

  Lyra wrapped her blanket around herself like a cape. “And maybe teach the Clover new words?”

  “No,” Kael said immediately.

  “Yes,” Kessa said at the same time.

  The Clover pulsed violet — interested.

  Lyra fist?pumped. “VOCABULARY NIGHT PART TWO.”

  Kael rubbed his temples. “Absolutely not.”

  The Clover hummed a shy maybe.

  Kessa whispered, “The real question is — are you going to stop us?”

  Kael stared at all three siblings. “Yes. I am the captain.”

  All three siblings stared back.

  Silence fell.

  Kael wilted. “I’m not going to stop you, am I.”

  Kessa grinned. “Correct.”

  Jarin patted his shoulder. “But we’ll keep it gentle.”

  Lyra nodded solemnly. “No synonyms that cause emotional instability.”

  Kael flopped into his chair. “Great. Wonderful. My ship is going to become a poet.”

  The Clover hummed dreamily.

  Jessica’s Joy, still docked nearby, giggled faintly through the hull.

  Kael put his head in his hands.

  Last Light Before the Next Step

  The siblings drifted into soft conversation.

  Jarin made more tea. Kessa braided Lyra’s hair. The robot bee buzzed lazily around the bridge. The Clover settled into a rhythm that felt like she was breathing with them.

  Kael watched them from his chair — his family, whole and warm and alive — and felt something settle into place inside him.

  A certainty. A soft truth.

  They weren’t alone on this journey. Not anymore. Not ever again.

  He exhaled, murmuring so quietly the ship might be the only one to hear:

  “Okay, Jorin. We’re ready to follow the next light. Whenever it comes.”

  The Clover hummed — gentle, steady, reassuring.

  And the stars outside, dim and kind, drifted onward with them.