She was clever enough to realize that Krag was talking about personal matters now, not truly commenting on her own statement. “Words that can’t be taken back are impossible to shift,” Qalu said softly. “So are actions. I won’t beg for my life, or for Helix’s, because I don’t think you’re the sort of person who can be moved in that regard. But I will ask you to reflect on whether this is one of those moments.” She paused, trying to decide if she’d said enough. “Forgive me if you prefer me to refrain from making personal observations, but it seems as if you carry enough weight already. I would prefer not to add to your burdens.”

Too far.

She realized that when he slammed an armored fist into the wall and left a crater behind, the whole container shook, grimy shelves tumbling down around her.

“You know nothing,” Krag snarled.

“And yet,” Qalu whispered, refusing to cower. She gazed up at the bounty hunter fearlessly, gambling everything.

“And yet?”

“You want to let me go.”

[  21  ]

Helix couldn’t wait any longer.

Qalu was running out of time, and as it was, he was already cutting it close. Aevi seemed ready to scratch his face off, so he hastened to the meeting point deep in the bowels of the station. They dodged curious workers and bots assigned to prevent trespassing in restricted areas. Helix hacked the patrol droids and wiped their memories as he and Aevi passed by, and he had to do it again to override the freight lift that carried them down to the lowest level.

Stations looked different to him now than they had when he was wandering Gravas as a mech unit. No natural light, and it was dreary, inhospitable—so much metal, a dearth of life, all hard angles and unforgiving chill. He missed the verdant hills of Tiralan, the wildlife noises, and even the strange but beautiful brightness of the twin suns. They’d left before eclipse season and he wanted to witness the extended darktide for himself. Until this moment, he hadn’t understood what homesickness was—Qalu had used the word before, but it was only a concept. Now he grasped the feeling.

Qalu is here somewhere wondering if I’ll save her.

I’m coming, he promised silently. I will never let you go again.

In his peripheral vision, the transactions were processing, more credits wending their way toward his enemies on Gravas Station. As they approached the container, he considered sending a bot to scout first, but no, that might risk Qalu’s safety. And he cared more for saving her than for his own life. That was a sobering realization—that she’d surmounted his self-preservation protocols. How curious. As an AI, Helix would never have chosen to destroy himself for anyone else, not even Zylar. He would need to consider the matter more fully, but for now—