Aptat dragged a cargo box close and began filling it. “We’ll need to do a second trip,” they said, plucking the bars. “I’ll get more hard boxes from the Child to hold all of this.” A high pitch squelch filled the transmission. “Welp. That’s a booby trap.”

Aptat kicked off from the ship and hit the suit’s thrusters. “Come on, come on, come on!”

The display bled white. A moment later, a shockwave hit the Child and hyper-accelerated debris punched holes in the ship. A piece burst though one side of the deck and exited through a display screen just over Naecia’s shoulder.

“Depressurizing!” screamed Izairis.

Oush quickly navigated the ship’s menu. “There!” he said. “Foam!”

Naecia watched the inbound hole fill with an expanding grey sludge. She rushed to a display that was still working and gazed upon the empty starfield. “Is it gone, is it gone?”

Oush manually narrowed the visual field to the Glaive’s prior location. A few bits of detritus floated about. The rest had been ejected into space with the explosion. Oush tapped the com. “Aptat, can you hear me? Are you there?” He repeated it again. “Aptat–”

Silence.

“Oh no,” said Naecia, thinking about the caridianite, the money, and the stringhunter, in that order.

“Send a ping,” said Izairis, tapping the command.

There was an answer. “Hello. You have reached Aptat. I’m sorry I can’t come to the com right now. If you leave your name, locator ID, and – yeah I’m here.”

Naecia elbowed Izairis aside. “Where? You’re not on the scope. Where is the drone with the caridianite?”

“Thank you for your concern, Naecia, I too am well after just being blown up in space.” Pause. “I am currently tumbling outbound at eight thousand mylics per cygment. Fortunately for me, I suppose, I share the same approximate vector as the drone carrying your rare elements. You may come and retrieve us both now.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE INSTRUMENT MAKER

She leaned in, tilting one of her aural ridges toward the Ukelaklava’s sound cavity, as the young Quileg who held it stared up at her. “Bend it here,” she said, just barely touching the instrument’s tonal arm. Then sliding her fore-digit up the arm almost imperceptibly, said, “Not here. Do you see the difference?” The child nodded and rearranged his grasp on the instrument.

The Instrument Maker smiled and knelt while the other three hundred members of her fledgling orchestra looked on. She preferred to stand while giving instruction, but the new life quickening in her belly forced more frequent breaks. “Kodoah?”

The child raised his large, cervid eyes.