Clo started the flight sequence, whispering a halfhearted prayer to whatever gods were listening—if any—then tapped her left shoulder, an old good-luck movement from her childhood. She’d tried to translate it to her commander once. Closest she got was: Never let the water level of the swamp go above yer shoulder, or ye’ll be head-deep in shite.

The engine fired to life. And then it purred.

“Yes, my beaut!” Clo called, slapping the walls.

While the spacecraft quivered, she tapped her mech cuff and ran diagnostics, watching the readings with bated breath. Green lights. Atmosphere fully regulated. The temperature cooled from the inside of an oven to perfectly pleasant. Clo could smell herself, like old cooked onions. At that moment, she didn’t care. Her ship worked.

She tapped out a message to the guard at headquarters that she was giving the Valkyrie a test run and got the all clear. She fired up the launch sequence and the Valkyrie gathered speed, skimming along the fire-gold sand before swerving up, up, rising above the ocher and brilliant orange mountains of Nova and into the purple of the sky.

Clo let out a whoop, hands dancing across the controls, and the ship moved like an extension of herself. She sluiced through the atmosphere and up into the stars. Nova grew smaller in the distance.

It was only up there, in the darkness of space, that she felt truly at home. More than the old Snarled swamp of her childhood, more than the sweltering Novantae desert. One circuit of the planet, and then she’d touch back down and make sure everything was still functioning. Or maybe she could chance two orbits. A little more fun.

Clo probably should have shrugged into a pressure suit in case the ship’s atmosphere gave up, but she’d been too impatient. Kyla had basically grounded her since she lost her leg. No more reconnaissance, no more stealing ships from Tholosians. Much as she loved fixing engines, she was bogging bored.

She was a quarter around Nova when she got the call. “Cloelia,” Kyla said, voice crackling over the ship comms. “I’m switching over to Pathos. Answer it this time.”

Clo had a habit of ignoring her Pathos when she was working on engines, even though Kyla yelled at her not to. <Hey, Kyla,> Clo said, cautiously, all traces of Snarl gone from her voice. She sounded just like any other vial-grown Imperial. She shouldn’t be in trouble. She’d gotten the all clear.

<Touch back down. We need you at headquarters.>

<Right now?> Clo asked, fighting down annoyance. No second orbit for her.

<I have a mission for you.>

Clo’s pulse sped up. <About time. I’ll just finish my circuit.>

Kyla let out a short laugh. <We’ll see how happy you are when you find out what it is. Have fun.>