The Gerion roars through the atmosphere of Xerta-Two.

  Landing thrusters ignite, fire spilling from beneath the hull as it descends toward the colonial army base — Calden Station.

  The base bustles with movement as Arthur and Varhee disembark, stepping onto solid ground at last.

  —

  Varhee studies her orders.

  “Well, Hammond — what do you have planned?”

  Arthur smiles.

  “If they offer me an interesting post, I’ll take it.”

  He folds the papers, sliding them into his back pocket.

  “How do you feel about me requesting you, wherever that ends up?”

  Varhee tilts her head, considering. Then she smiles.

  “It would be a pleasure to serve under your command again, sir.”

  “I thought we were past this sir stuff.” He says as they walk.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I have so few true friends. Having one around sounds nice.”

  She gives him a look.

  “And don’t forget — you still owe me an explanation.”

  They reach the steps of the command center.

  “This is where I’m headed,” Arthur says, taking the first step up.

  “I’ll see you later. We can talk then.”

  Sarah’s voice slips through the noise of the street.

  “It was nice to meet her — she and I would be good friends.”

  Arthur turns back. Varhee is already several steps away.

  “Oh — Varhee,” he calls.

  “Sarah says she enjoyed meeting you. And that she thinks of you as a friend.”

  Varhee turns, walking backward.

  “Keep him out of trouble.”

  She stops, snaps to attention, spins on her heel, and walks away.

  Arthur watches her go.

  Then turns — and enters the command center.

  —

  Three Months Later

  Arthur and Varhee stand over a glowing map table.

  No words. Just a look of shared understanding.

  “A frozen wasteland,” Varhee says dryly.

  “This was interesting to you?”

  Arthur smiles.

  “You’ve said the same thing every day since we got here.”

  He glances at the map, then back at her.

  “Look — I’ve never been in charge of a frozen wasteland before.”

  He reaches for the door.

  “Let’s go.”

  They pull their hoods over their heads — masks up, eyes covered.

  A frozen wind howls.

  Varhee climbs a tower ladder. Arthur braces the door open, reaches out, and hauls her back inside.

  A rare quiet moment.

  They sit across from each other, steam curling from their mugs.

  Varhee glances at him.

  “You know what I like best about you, Hammond?”

  A pause. Arthur waits.

  “Sarah.”

  She laughs.

  Arthur smiles.

  In the Void, Sarah sits in a small wooden chair, playing the violin — an original piece.

  She laughs softly.

  “She knows you.”

  —

  Twenty Years Later

  Varhee — older now. Early forties.

  Still sharp. Still strong.

  She sits alone aboard her cargo ship — a small vessel.

  Simple. Quiet. Clean.

  The Greko.

  A terminal pings.

  She walks over and opens the message.

  FROM: A.H.

  SUBJECT: URGENT

  MESSAGE: I need help. It’s an emergency.

  Varhee stares at the screen.

  Calm. Focused.

  She reaches for her gear.

  The End.

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