“The planet is taken. Do not come home.”

Eight grim words that said so much. And, beyond that, nothing. No elaboration, no instructions, not even a set of star charts.

They must not have had time.

​He was supposed to be firm and decisive, to make a plan and ensure that it was carried out. But the immensity of the disaster that had swallowed their lives was smothering his mind, reducing all thought of action to a vague and impossible dream.

​Respectfully ignoring his shipmate’s distress, Zorei turned to the front of the ship, visibly calling on a store of resolve that Kadian couldn’t hope to equal. “Home,” he said, as firmly as he could, reaching for the controls. “We’re finding a new home.”

​“We’re finding a new home.”

A ludicrous idea, too strange and impossible to be stated so simply. Somehow, in the vastness amidst alien stars, they were going to have to... “Just like that?”

“Yes.”

A small, wry smile pulled at her lips, disturbing the dusty coating that had settled on them. “This ship probably sent messages through space, but I can’t even use it to contact a person in this building, or a city that’s sitting just outside that wall.”

​“The one story I couldn’t convincingly report. Sorry, buddy.” Her eyes strained upward into the dark. “But if I can’t get people to believe your story, at least I can make sure I don’t have to tell them its ending. Not for a good long while.”

​The spaceship was starting to fade into the dusk, and the reporter cast it a regretful glance as she neared the exit. “Sorry, ship. Looks like we’re both muzzled today. I’ll come back when I know how to talk to you.”

​“Do not come home.” The message lingered on the small comm screen, crushing in its cold, unbending simplicity. “The planet is taken. Do not come home.”

At last, the pain began to seep through the fog of his numb shock, and the burning in his eyes forewarned him of the tears that he struggled to hold back.

No. He had to be strong now. Enough for both of them.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget. It’s just... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be blaming you.”

He tried to lift his head. To acknowledge the apology. But for a moment, all he could do was stare at the controls, fighting to rally himself.

​“I’ll scan again,” he managed at last. “I can’t sense life signs, but maybe... I don’t know... maybe there will be a distress signal or something…”

Probably not. But doing something felt better than silently drowning in grief.

​“When you were preparing this ship... where did you want to go, and who were you planning to fight when you got there?”

Zorei didn’t look up, choosing instead to double-check their anti-sensor cloak before turning his gaze to the void. “I don’t know.”

Aren’t you supposed to save me, hero? she thought. Isn’t that what everybody loves you for?

She shook her head, even as yet another blast rocked the world around her. ‘No... no counting on heroic aliens today.

Today, it’s my turn to save someone.

“This ship can handle light, stealth-based combat and long-distance travel, but…”

He’d probably said too much.

His companion’s narrowed eyes confirmed his fear. “Travel long distances and fight? Zorei... why would your ship be designed to do that?”

“Did you save me and let them die because I’m the only one you cared about?”

The words ripped into him like shrapnel, and Zorei sharply turned away as his fear drowned beneath the tide of grief he’d been fighting to hold at bay. “You weren’t.”

A moment ago, his tightening chest had felt like it was going to crush his lungs.

​Now it was expanding in a rush of battle fire, as if the wings of a phoenix were spreading in his breast, ready to blaze a trail to a future made bright by that flame.