Catch a Falling Star

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Chapter 1. Robot Walk

In the vast cosmic expanse, where distant stars glittered in the uncharted reaches of space, Nova Starsong, the legendary galactic explorer, arrived at the troubled Solaris IV station. The Star Rangers had entrusted her with this critical mission after receiving a distress call—followed by an eerie silence.

Though physically in Fenclave on the world of Arcadia, Talia’s imagination had whisked her away to another realm where Nova Starsong always answered the call of duty. She envisioned her sleek vessel, the Tutu Pele Voyager, slicing through the majestic expanse of space in search of the beleaguered station.

Unfazed by the lack of response to her hails, Nova deftly maneuvered her ship through a flawless manual docking procedure—a true testament to her amazingly awesome piloting skills. And let’s not forget, she was also dashingly gorgeous, with her sleek black hair reminiscent of space itself, further enhancing her irresistible allure.

Her heart quickened as she passed through the airlock connecting her ship to the station, and the flame of an explorer’s spirit ignited in her eyes. The industrial groans and creaks of the station, rather than causing concern, melded seamlessly with her senses, harmonizing with the pulse of adventure coursing through her veins.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty hallways, finding no resistance to her arrival as she boldly strode forth, a lone figure in the silent theater of an unknown disaster. Flickering lights cast shadows on her determined features.

“What will she find?” Talia’s inner dialogue broke through as she clutched her trusty buzz-cannon. “I’ve tread where others have faltered, and now, I walk among the echoes of lost dreams,” she continued, her imagined world narrated like a radio drama.

A furrowed brow, a swift glance around the corner, and she paused to think—she had spotted a metallic minion, and she wondered: had a robotic rebellion overcome the station? Once slaves to human ambition, these androids likely seized control and toppled the occupants, their mechanical hearts pulsing with unchecked rage.

With the grace of a galactic warrior, Nova Starsong casually stepped around the corner, her buzz-cannon poised to confront the minions of doom. This one, however, appeared innocuous enough, merely acting like a service robot diligently mopping the floor. But Nova Starsong knew better—this seemingly benign machine concealed a sinister agenda, just like the rest.

Talia debated whether to reprogram it or blast it to smithereens, a human scream pierced the air. Moonbeam came charging toward her, repeatedly howling over his shoulder at his pursuer, “I’m not the young master! I’m not the young master!”

Hot on his tail, a shapely white nanny-bot held aloft a blue jumpsuit fit for a toddler, insisting, “The young master must be properly attired before being seen in public!”

At this point, Moonbeam stepped onto the freshly cleaned section of the floor.

Now, to best understand the subsequent events, it’s important to know that this particular service robot had been experimenting with improved cleaning agents during its time in Fenclave. Its latest experiment involved an agent known as Compound 201, which it had found in the rocket repair bay.

Advertised as the slipperiest oil in the galaxy, Compound 201 promised to unstick anything, claiming to be the ultimate and final lubricant anyone would ever need. To the service robot, it seemed like the perfect cleaning agent—after all, if nothing could stick to the surface, then it goes without saying that it would drastically reduce the frequency of cleaning cycles.

So it was with detached curiosity that the robot observed as Moonbeam’s foot landed on the freshly “cleaned” section of the floor, initiating a slide that transformed into a series of deft splits and tumbles of surprising agility. Despite his best efforts, Moonbeam still ended up face-first, his momentum propelling him several meters across the slick, well-lubricated surface.

The robot took notes on the efficiency of Compound 201.

Despite her rubber footpads, the nanny-bot met a similar fate. Helpless against Compound 201, she sprawled in a clattering crash, which secretly delighted the service robot.

Talia dropped her buzz-cannon and sprinted forward, transitioning with the grace of a celestial dancer into a calculated slide across the slick floor. Gliding to a halt before the service robot, she caught it by surprise and, with quick precision, located its maintenance switch and powered it off.

Meanwhile, the persistent nanny-bot had seized Moonbeam’s foot, engaging in a tug of war as he struggled to crawl away while it continued to insist he dress properly.

Talia approached the nanny-bot with slow, deliberate steps on the treacherous surface, deactivating it in a similar manner as the service robot. Then, she opened a back panel on the nanny-bot and proceeded to trigger a full-system reset before returning to the service robot and repeating the same process.

Once finished, she gracefully crossed to the oil-free section of the floor and retrieved her buzz-cannon. Meanwhile, Moonbeam, unable to right himself, had inched forward like a worm, managing to get close enough to reach Talia. She helped him stand on stable ground, all while fighting the flutter in her heart as she clasped his hand.

Brushing himself off, Moonbeam surveyed the scene, offering a grateful smile, “Thank you, ma’am. Not sure what got into that thing.”

“Ma’am?” Talia responded with surprise, her gaze lingering on Moonbeam’s well-fit shoulders, followed by a wistful contemplation: if she had met Moonbeam before Ashe, would things have unfolded differently? Or . . . perhaps he had come looking for her? Was there more to this chance encounter?

A storm of confusion clouded Moonbeam’s face, making him appear even more enigmatic than usual. He glanced around, paused briefly, then stretched and tried to act casual. “So, where... are we?”

“We’re near environmental,” Talia answered, pointing the way he’d come, “The central plaza is back that away.”

Moonbeam appeared on the verge of saying more, perhaps wanting to engage in conversation. Of course he wasn’t seeking her—that was just her whimsey. Yet, perhaps he had questions about Ashley? This was the moment Talia had hoped for, where she could fill Moonbeam in on all the unusual nuances of her bestie.

Thinking of Ashe made Talia wonder about her friend’s progress in searching through Fenclave’s databases. Talia had offered to help research clues about Ember’s whereabouts and interrogate the captured Ordyne soldiers. However, her immediate priority was mopping up the remnants of the robot insurrection—a rebellion she had intentionally sparked while aiding in the effort to reclaim Fenclave.

“Okay, then,” Moonbeam said with distracted confidence while pivoting and stepping back toward the slippery floor.

Talia lunged forward, grabbing Moonbeam’s jacket and pulling him back before he could repeat his earlier mistake. His arms flailed as he struggled for balance, then he fell into her embrace. Their eyes met—his almond gaze filled with surprise and amusement—before he flashed his trademark grin. “Why, hello there, you lovely goddess. You know, if you wanted me to stay, you just had to ask.”

This close to him, Talia couldn’t ignore his pleasant scent, which sent her heart racing. He had clearly indulged in Fenclave’s amenities and somehow found cologne—the alluring musk was undeniable. But was that also a hint of cinnamon? It reminded her of the pastries pilfered by a rogue robot earlier that morning.

She straightened him upright, her fingers lingering on his upper arm for an extra beat. “Moonie, you don’t want to go that way; it’s all slippery, remember?”

He glanced at the floor and muttered, “I need to remember.”

Concern wrinkled her brow. “Are you okay? Did you take a hard fall?”

He puffed out his chest, “I’m good. Didn’t fall hard. Just did a little dance, you know?”

She smiled, feeling intrigued, and she couldn’t resist asking, “Do you dance? Like formal? Or a bop?”

Moonbeam considered the question far longer than she expected. “I don’t know. It might come to me, I suppose. Sometimes things do that.” His voice trailed off.

Rolling her eyes, Talia wrestled with frustration and attraction at his typical antics. Their eyes locked, and an awkward moment stretched on for a few heartbeats. Spurred by a surge of impulsivity, Talia extended her hand. “Let’s try. Maybe you’ll remember.”

For just a moment, she glimpsed an inner turmoil in his eyes.

“Maybe,” he said softly, accepting her offer. Drawing close, he placed his hand on her hip, maintaining a respectful distance. The air between them sizzled with untapped tension.

“Don’t we need music?” he asked.

Talia shrugged and took the lead, swaying in a slow dance without music. “On what? I don’t know how Ashe has managed to keep hers working, but my AstroCom died a while back.”

They fell into a rhythm, moving together, and Talia pulled Moonbeam closer until they touched. He relaxed and followed her in time, her eyes closed, and she allowed herself to be swept away in the moment—her first dance!

As they moved to a silent beat, Moonbeam was remarkably graceful as he followed her lead. Talia’s mind wandered, imagining what it would be like to dance with that special person she yearned for. Would he be an artist? A warrior? Or someone who simply reveled in the joy of being alive, like Moonbeam? And if things didn’t work out between Moonbeam and Ashe... could that person be him?

He pulled back and locked eyes with her. His words came with a lingering smile. “You’re a good dancer, Talia.” The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, and for a moment, the dimly lit corridor seemed to narrow down to just the two of them.

Talia wasn’t sure if she was reading too much into it or not. His smile felt like a hidden promise, and she couldn’t help but wonder: did his eyes hold an unspoken invitation? Her heartbeat quickened with the untamed tension between them. It was a moment suspended in time, a precipice where the boundaries of friendship blurred into uncharted territory. Were they both ready for this?

She forced herself to grin, not wanting to push things too far, suddenly worried she might be misinterpreting the moment. Besides, what would Ashe think if she saw them like this? Still, Talia savored his compliment and added, “Well, my Kupuna Wahine used to say that dancing is like storytelling with your body.”

Moonbeam’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Storytelling, neat. So who was that?”

Talia nodded, guiding him into a spin. “She was my grandmother and a renowned dancer. Knew all sorts of folk dances, plus many others from across the galaxy. She said each step in a dance is part of a story.”

He laughed at the spin, then took the initiative and pulled her into a close embrace, asking, “So what does this step mean in the story?”

Her heart palpitated and she felt a mix of conflicting emotions swirling within her. She struggled to suppress the attraction she felt for Moonbeam, unable to ignore the subtle heat between them.

And then the image of Ashe flashed in her mind.

But this isn’t serious, right? She reassured herself, suddenly feeling guilty. Just some idle fun. And it is my first dance—I should enjoy it, shouldn’t I?

Feeling a hint of mischief, she wondered how Nova Starsong might handle this situation.

“Well, in this story,” Talia replied, her voice carrying a narrative tone, “it means two explorers, after having just vanquished a robot uprising, find a moment to enjoy each other’s company. A dance in the ruins, a passionate expression of their connection, a fleeting escape from the chaos.”

Moonbeam’s eyes sparkled. “So, we’re in a pulp romance novel?”

“Maybe,” Talia spoke softly, “What do you think?”

Her gaze locked with Moonbeam’s as they resumed swaying back and forth, and she guided him through improvised steps. He seemed content to follow her lead while her mind raced with conflicting thoughts. She couldn’t deny the allure of his charm—an intriguing presence that drew her in, leaving her both fascinated and yet uneasy. What lay behind his curious behavior? Was there a mystery hidden within this guy?

Moonbeam focused on her with a haunted gaze, as if searching for something beyond their physical connection. “You know,” he said, his voice mellow, almost troubled, “sometimes I feel like I’m dancing with shadows. There are times I forget. Mostly names and faces, but—”

Talia’s heart skipped a beat at his words; he seemed unusually vulnerable and conflicted. He leaned in close, his movements conveying a sense of yearning, and she longed to feel his lips brush against her ear as he murmured, “I remember somebody…” Their bodies swayed in tandem, momentarily oblivious to the world around them. The walls seemed to fade away, leaving only Talia and Moonbeam dancing on the edge of something unspoken.

He continued, his voice distant. “…somebody I think I need. She’s a fire burning bright. I wondered if it was you—”

Talia’s breath hitched, and she froze. They lingered in that close embrace for a few heartbeats, each moment stretching into what felt like an eternity, the pulsating rhythm accentuating the ache in her chest. They parted slightly, their faces mere inches apart, locking eyes. In the depths of that shared silence, she knew, with an acute awareness, whose fire Moonbeam yearned for, and it wasn’t hers. A fleeting look crossed Moonbeam’s face, silently acknowledging the same truth.

Ashe’s strangled, outraged voice shattered their reverie. “What in all the cosmos are you two doing?”

Talia, startled, pushed away from Moonbeam, her face flushed with embarrassment as she confronted Ashe’s blazing eyes. With a stammer, she attempted to explain, “It’s not what you think! We weren't—”

Ashe spun around, her steps brisk as she retreated, leaving Jade behind. With a wrinkled brow, Jade’s gaze darted between Moonbeam and Talia as he silently studied them with his mesmerizing green eyes.

“Ashe!” Talia called out, her voice tinged with frustration as she began to follow.

But her friend darted around a corner, growling back, “Just leave me alone!”

Moonbeam's once warm and inviting gaze now carried a hint of sadness as he watched Ashe disappear down the empty hallway. Talia couldn't shake the frustration welling up as she reluctantly admitted that Nova Starsong would have handled such entanglements with far more finesse, and a groan escaped her lips as she realized how Ashe must have felt watching their dance.

Chapter 2. Memories are made of this

Earlier that morning.

***

Moonbeam falls, gripped in the grasp of a recurring nightmare, for how long he doesn’t know. Flashes assail him—hideous beasts with unspeakable forms, tendrils of eerie purple, gibbering teeth, and malevolent eyes radiating malice, howling and gnashing in the shadows as they close in on him. He is surrounded and cannot escape.

From the boiling darkness comes a grotesque beast with two mouths, seven putrid eyes, stringy, unkempt black hair, advancing one dreadful step at a time. Its ethereal, translucent skin reveals shivering organs pulsing with horrifying energy.

In a burst, it advances, and he finds himself in a building, surrounded by people fleeing in terror. Somebody steps in front of him, shouting at him to run and hide, but their face eludes him. He should know who they are but cannot recall. They’re a formless blur.

He runs.

Distant screams echo behind him, and he hears the beast’s steps following, each impact clapping across the world like shrieks of the dead. A nightmarish jungle forms as he runs, green leafy tendrils armed with slicing teeth.

He knows this horrific creature chasing him is the source of his pain and loss. It’s viscerally terrifying, yet disturbingly familiar, having plagued his dreams over and over. Even as his primal instincts crumble under the weight of gnashing terror, a deep-seated dread tells him that if it touches him, he will surely die.

His heart pounds so hard he fears it will burst.

He stumbles in his flight, almost falling.

Torn, lifeless bodies surround him. Faces of those he should recognize, perhaps family, remain elusive, locked away in a blurring screech of red. He feels that if he can remember who they are, remember their faces, maybe that will help save him.

And it is upon him. He hides in a closet, only to have the pulsating, grotesque abomination rip the door open. Hissing with malevolent pleasure, knowing he’s cornered, it reaches forward and tears out his eyes.

With each pluck, his soul is rent, his very essence shredding with agony, leaving him in ensuing darkness as the creature voraciously devours first one eye, then the other. Parts of what defines him fade with each bite, and he howls in pain.

Then, it takes his mouth.

In the usual iteration of this recurring nightmare, at this time, a stalwart dark bear arrives like a fierce storm, fighting off the nightmarish beast.

Instead, a splash of fire sends the creature fleeing into the shadows. From a flaming abyss, a burning hand reaches out. Somehow, he knows she’s crying, yet she still extends her hand.

He yearns to see her face, but she is ablaze, an inferno of angelic flame. He hesitates, torn between the desire to take her hand and the fear of burning up in her searing heat.

Yet, he reaches for her hand anyway.

***

Moonbeam woke with a start, his heart racing, a familiar dread settling in as he knew he had lost his memories again.

The haunting dream, an unwelcome companion that struck at random intervals, refused to release its grip on him, despite his many efforts. He loathed its persistent presence and held tightly to the hope that someday, somewhen, he would unravel the mystery and set things right.

Blinking against sleepy eyes, he surveyed the unfamiliar room, lit only by the dim light from the hall. To his surprise, he found himself in a bed with a proper mattress—not a rough sleeping bag on rocky ground. He rolled out of bed and stretched, but then realization struck: he was wearing nothing but his underwear. A hot flush rose in his cheeks, expecting those around him to recoil in shock at his indecent behavior—he wasn’t raised in a barn, after all… or was he? He couldn’t remember.

Of course nobody recoiled in shock, because he was alone.

He chuckled at himself, musing aloud to the empty bedroom, "Nope, that's an entirely different type of nightmare.”

Usually he slept in his clothes and changed in private, because he never knew what company he’d wake up with; and you never wanted to surprise the fairer folk, of course.

Whistling a familiar tune, he poked through the rooms of this mysterious abode in search of his clothes, while also hoping to avoid surprising anybody with his impropriety—he even practiced an embarrassed, “Woopsie! My mistake, sorry!” once, just so he’d be ready.

Normally, the stalwart great bear would remind him where he was and who he was with, but this ally remained conspicuously absent.

In the kitchen, he found his belongings on a table, including his clothes all neatly laundered and folded.

“How odd,” he muttered, noting they were even sorted by type and a growing concern built within him.

With fragmented memories and lingering fears swirling in his mind, Moonbeam started into his morning exercise routine—something he’d obviously put off as his muscles started to burn at only fifty pushups. He wished he could recall his recent memories.

As he continued pushing through his routine, each repetition brought a sharper focus, and a flicker of memory surfaced—a man named Lee Sang.

Moonbeam paused, glancing again around the unfamiliar quarters—Lee Sang was the only person he knew of who would have such luxurious digs, complete with a private laundry service. Did that mean he was captive in the warlord’s enclave?

Though the details of Lee Sang remained shrouded in fog, fear threaded through Moonbeam at the thought of being captured by the man. It was a visceral reaction, a primal instinct that lingered like a shadow—a sense of danger and pursuit from his past. Moonbeam pressed on, performing push ups with one hand, then with only two fingers—a feat he still struggled with, unlike his martial arts master, who performed it effortlessly.

With the call of nature becoming urgent, Moonbeam wrapped up his routine, wiping sweat from his brow and enjoying the post-exercise high. He gathered his freshly cleaned clothes and found the bathroom, which, to his surprise, was complete with running water and, better yet, a hot shower—a luxury Moonbeam couldn’t recall ever experiencing before.

He let the warm water cascade over him, following the three P’s—pits, privates, and piggies. It was a mantra instilled in him by someone important, though he couldn’t recall who. And yes, he reminded himself with a smile, piggies meant toes, not actual pigs.

Chuckling at the absurdity of trying to drag a pig in the shower, he pondered the origin of such advice. He wondered who might have given him that silly mnemonic.

While checking himself in the mirror—one must always take every opportunity to ensure one’s hair is presentable—Moonbeam noticed a bottle of cologne. He felt fairly certain he’d never used cologne before, and after a brief hesitation, he decided to try it. The pleasant scent made him understand its allure for the ladies, and he made sure to tuck the bottle into his pack.

Finally ready to depart, Moonbeam found it curious that the place had automatic doors. With a tap on the panel, it slid open, revealing a larger complex outside. The sinking feeling returned—this might actually be Lee Sang's enclave.

Fortunately, the halls were empty.

Hefting his pack and ensuring his trusty guns were securely holstered at his hip, Moonbeam confidently strode through the corridors, following the scent of food. He kept reminding himself not to whistle—sneaky meant silent.

A memory surfaced of someone else who was sneaky, and his heart skipped a beat, his steps faltering. Was she the fiery one?

Unable to figure it out, he shrugged and continued, eventually finding the cafeteria—a deduction he reached thanks to the sign above the door, which proclaimed, “Cafeteria.”

Signage really was a convenient practice, he mused, though he wisely avoided voicing the observation—covert operations required discretion. The presence of such signage reinforced his suspicion that he was in an enclave, given their tendency to label anything and everything. Then again, it could be a space station. Or perhaps even a jump ship.

He paused just outside, hearing voices emanating from within. It sounded like a few people, so he snuck a glance.

Indeed, two girls and a kid.

Two girls—nice!

And if his keen sense of smell was accurate, they were indulging in a delectable cinnamon treat. These enclaves had all the perks.

He stole another glance, but they sat with their backs to him, obscuring their identities.

Pulling back, he considered his situation: If this was Lee Sang’s enclave, where was everyone? Should he go in and introduce himself to the ladies? But no—he needed to learn more about his situation before doing that.

A crisp voice cut through his thoughts, startling him. "Excuse me, do you need help, sir?"

Moonbeam snapped around to find a service android—one of the Unitron models that rolled on three wheels. He mentally chided himself for not being more aware of his surroundings, though he couldn’t help but blame his distraction on the presence of those two lovely cats.

His stomach growled so loudly he worried it might reveal his presence.

“Why, yes you can,” he said with confidence, “I want you to go in there and get me all the cinnamon things.”

“Of course, just one moment, sir.” The Unitron bobbed and rolled into the room.

Moonbeam resisted the urge to celebrate prematurely—he didn’t have the food just yet.

Protests erupted from inside the cafeteria.

“Hey, put those back!”

“Don’t bother chasing after it! Just one more of the crazy bots I need to round up.”

Moments later, the robot returned, presenting him with a plate bearing four cinnamon buns.

He grinned, accepted the plate, and expressed his gratitude before strolling down the hallway, intent on unraveling the mysteries of his current surroundings and, perhaps, finding an avenue of escape.

Although uncertain of the reasons, Moonbeam knew that the enigmatic figure of Lee Sang struck fear into the hearts of everyone on Miratori. That fact alone warranted his trepidation.

As he savored the last remnants of a cinnamon bun, a sign declaring “Horticulture Labs” caught his interest. He followed the arrows, eventually arriving at a pair of doors that opened to unveil a humid, earthy room overrun with flourishing plants—an unmistakable greenhouse.

The scents drew him in—and it was definitely a greenhouse, he realized, somehow knowing this.

Intrigued, Moonbeam wandered through the plant-laden tables, muttering, “Boy, howdy, whoever maintains this place is clearly not doing their job.”

Setting down his pack, he instinctively began tending to the plants—a strangely familiar task. Without questioning how he knew, he trimmed leaves, pulled out dead growth, and even harvested vegetables, losing himself in the rhythm of these comforting routines.

Amidst his gardening, he stumbled upon a hand trowel with a green handle. A distant memory flashed in his mind—a woman’s hands guiding his as she showed how to till the dark earth. She had a similar green trowel. The importance of proper irrigation echoed in her explanation, and he could almost feel the warmth of her fingers as she held his hands. They were rough from the soil. Her touch made him happy.

Suddenly, terror gripped him—an overwhelming fear that she was going to be taken away—that he needed to warn her before it was too late.

With the fright welling up, he stumbled backward and mindlessly fled, randomly taking halls, corridors, and doors until his pulse slowed.

Regaining composure, Moonbeam straightened his jacket, ran a comb through his hair, and forced a smile, murmuring, “If you keep smiling, everything will turn out fine, right? Besides, there is no reason to get others down with your problems; they have plenty of their own.”

Surveying the empty corridor, he noticed a nearby door. With a shrug, he declared, “Guess I get to explore something new,” and casually tapped the panel to open it.

Inside, several robots toiled away in a laundry facility.

Among them, one stood out—a shapely, white, bipedal robot, and he wondered why they didn’t make more bots look pleasantly feminine like that.

They all turned to look at him.

“There you are, young master!” the shapely one declared in an alluring voice.

Moonbeam grinned and waved, “Yep, you found me!”

She gestured him forward, “Come, you must be presentable before the ceremony.”

Approaching cautiously, Moonbeam wondered about the ceremony and why he deserved such attention. Could that be why he was here? Excitement bubbled up at the thought of receiving an award of some sort.

The robot lifted a purple Astrotec jumpsuit, freshly pressed and starched, from the table. While Moonbeam appreciated all things Astrotec, the size didn’t quite look right. “I think it’s a tad small,” he remarked, deciding that it looked fit for a toddler at best.

“Of course it’s not,” the robot insisted, seizing his arm in a tight, almost painful grip before shoving his hand into the small arm-hole.

“Okay, not nice! Nope, I lied. I’m not the young master!” he protested, wriggling free.

“The young master is going to be late. Come here now, or I will notify your parents!”

“But I didn’t do anything!” he cried, bolting from the room with the robot in hot pursuit.

Moonbeam ran through several corridors until he felt he’d finally lost her and stopped to catch his breath.

She stepped around the corner, her eyes now sinisterly red, and she shook the jumpsuit while declaring angrily, “The young master is naughty. You will be punished, but first, you must be presentable.”

Moonbeam cried out in fright, asking, “How are you so fast?”

She paused to consider the question, and he seized the opportunity to sprint away, with her once again in hot pursuit, calling after him to stop while threatening increasingly severe punishments, from time-outs to spankings.

“I’m not the young master, I’m not the young master!” he howled back, turning a corner.

Down the new corridor, he spotted an industrious service robot mopping the floor and a formidable woman carrying a massive cannon, which he imagined must have been ripped from the hull of a battleship. She zeroed in on the service robot, her eyes widening in surprise as she noticed his arrival.

Then, inexplicably, the floor lost all traction. Moonbeam, ever proud of his nimble prowess—something honed through years of practice—managed to stay mostly upright as he slid down the corridor. At least his pursuer seemed to have shared in the same trap, he realized, hearing a crash and clatter behind him.

Chapter 3. Engine Number Nine

Ashe began her day with optimism and a beaming smile. They had achieved the unthinkable: Fenclave was liberated! Yet, as the day unfolded, challenges piled up like boulders in her path, wearing away at her initial exuberance.

Her plans to interrogate the Ordyne prisoners faded upon finding a cryptic note on Rainwood’s door: gone to Pikeston. Ashe’s lips pressed into a thin line as she considered the message.

“Probably took that one-man circus act along with him, too,” Ashe muttered, thinking of Moonbeam.

Another blow struck at breakfast when a rogue robot swiped her cinnamon buns just as they arrived—she’d waited an hour for those!

Aware of Jade’s ability to sense her thoughts, Ashe actively worked to suppress her concerns about locating his sister, Ember. She had promised to find the girl, yet uncertainty loomed. Most of her hope hinged on extracting information from the prisoners, particularly the Captain. If that failed, she could scour Fenclave’s computer systems, and there was also the possibility that the Captain’s rocketship might yield clues in its logs.

Fuming over the loss of the pastries and with Rainwood absent, Ashe decided to begin her search for clues about Ember’s whereabouts in Fenclave’s mainframe, only to encounter frustrating dead ends. At least Jade seemed content to follow her without comment, observing in his quietly enigmatic way.

With Rainwood still absent, they took the elevator up and stepped onto the launch pad. Ashe’s smile returned at the sight of Goldstar-9 standing tall, looking ready to take off at any moment.

The rocketship’s sleek form beckoned to her, whispering promises of adventure beyond the stars. With Jade at her side, Ashe approached the vessel, a glimmer of hope returning despite the morning’s setbacks. This marked Ashe’s first encounter with a fully functional rocketship that wasn’t a crashed wreck. Standing upright, it was much taller than she’d expected.

Her fingers glided along the vessel’s smooth surface as she circled it, the cool metal sending shivers of excitement down her spine. Jade mirrored her every move, touching the same places she had, and Ashe couldn’t help but be amused.

Slapping the ship’s side with a grin, Ashe turned to Jade and proposed, “How about we try to crack this thing open?”

He nodded in silent agreement, and together, they ascended the rickety stairs to the rocketship’s entrance. Finding the door securely locked, Ashe wasted no time locating an access port. She connected her AstroCom to the ship’s systems and navigated the security protocols, employing the various tools and tricks she’d acquired. Finally, the door yielded, unlocking with a hiss.

The interior greeted her with a muted hum, the scent of machinery filling the air. She climbed up through the ship’s central column, making a beeline for the pilot’s chair. There, she quickly delved into the onboard computer, hoping to uncover clues about Ember.

To her mild disappointment, Ashe quickly discovered that Goldstar-9 was a planetary ship, not an interstellar vessel. Despite its sleek and appealing form, it couldn’t leave Arcadia’s solar system without the aid of a jump ship. Not that it should matter—Talia was the one dreaming of scouring the galaxy for adventure. Ashe had no intention of leaving Fenclave again.

Much like the Fenclave mainframe, the ship’s data banks offered no clues to Ember’s whereabouts. Goldstar-9 had spent the past year shuttling between the surface and orbiting stations or other ships. However, one intriguing detail stood out in the flight logs: the Captain had regularly taken Goldstar-9 to the solar system’s edge, stopping at the same jump-point monitoring station. Unfortunately, the logs revealed nothing about the purpose of those visits. But where did that jump-point lead?

Ashe consulted a few astrogation maps, noting the plotted destinations. When she couldn’t glean anything useful from them, she decided it was time to interrogate the prisoners, with or without Rainwood—time to recruit Talia’s aid. With that plan in mind, she stalked the halls of Fenclave, Jade trailing behind, until she came upon Talia and Moonbeam in an embrace—and her heart lurched.