Horizon Atoll: Hearts of Steel

The first thing Lucía Alvarez saw was the ocean.

Not because she had never seen an ocean before.

She had.

Twice.

Once during a family vacation when she was nine, and once from the window of an aircraft on a trip she barely remembered.

But she’d never seen quite this much of it.

Water stretched beneath the transport plane in every direction, a vast blue expanse interrupted only by scattered clouds and their slowly moving shadows. The morning sunlight glittered across the waves with such extraordinary brightness that she eventually had to turn away from the window.

There was no coastline.

No city.

No highway.

No familiar landmark that might remind her of home.

Only water.

Lucía pressed her forehead against the cool window frame.

Then immediately regretted it when the aircraft encountered a patch of turbulence.

”Ow.”

She sat back.

The older man sitting across the aisle glanced over.

”You all right?”

She nodded.

”Yeah.”

He considered her for a moment.

Then returned to his paperwork.

Lucía looked down at her lap.

A small canvas bag rested against her knees.

It was faded blue, with a broken zipper pull she’d repaired using a piece of red cord.

Inside were three changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a notebook, a spare pair of socks, a small photograph, and everything else she’d managed to carry when she finally received permission to leave the transit station.

Not much.

Certainly not enough to represent an entire life.

But then, Lucía hadn’t expected to need more than a few hours when she’d first entered FRONTLINE HEARTS.

Nobody had.

She was fifteen years old.

She had dark brown hair that reached just below her shoulders, warm brown eyes, and the sort of restless, expressive face that made it extraordinarily difficult for her to conceal what she was thinking. She was a little over five feet tall, with a slight build and narrow shoulders that looked even smaller beneath the oversized navy-blue jacket she’d been given at the transit station.

The sleeves covered most of her hands.

She liked that.

It gave her something to hide her fingers inside whenever she became nervous.

Which had been happening rather often lately.

Lucía glanced toward the folded document in her lap.

ADMIRALTY UNION — CIVILIAN TRANSIT AUTHORIZATION

PASSENGER: LUCÍA ALVAREZ

AGE: 15

ORIGIN CATEGORY: FORMER PLAYER — UNACCOMPANIED MINOR

DESTINATION: HORIZON ATOLL NAVAL STATION

PURPOSE OF TRAVEL: FAMILY LOCATION / WELFARE REUNIFICATION

ASSOCIATED PERSONNEL: PETTY OFFICER THIRD CLASS MATEO ALVAREZ

VESSEL: BREAKWATER

She read the last two lines again.

And again.

Mateo Alvarez.

Breakwater.

Her brother.

The same brother who’d told her to stay off the game until he was finished.

The same brother who’d disappeared from her life approximately three minutes before she did something very, very stupid.

Lucía closed her eyes.

She could still hear him.

Lucy, don’t log on yet.

She’d been sitting on the floor outside his bedroom, leaning against the wall with a borrowed controller in her hands.

Why?

Because I’m going through the ship’s initial setup with the guys.

That’s boring.

It’s supposed to be boring. We’re checking equipment.

I want to see the game.

You can see it later.

You said I could play.

I said I’d help you learn to play.

Same thing.

Not remotely.

She remembered the way he’d laughed.

Not an angry laugh.

An exasperated one.

The sort of laugh he made whenever his younger sister insisted on treating his perfectly reasonable instructions as optional suggestions.

Then he’d opened the bedroom door.

Mateo had been twenty-four.

Tall enough that she still had to look up at him, though she’d been hoping to catch up eventually.

Dark hair.

Brown eyes.

A little stubble along his jaw because he’d forgotten to shave.

He’d been wearing an old black T-shirt with the faded outline of an electrical schematic printed across the front.

One of his favorites.

The words beneath the diagram had been almost completely worn away.

Lucía remembered that too.

She remembered everything about that last conversation with a precision that had become unbearable.

He’d leaned against the doorway and pointed at her.

”Listen. I’m serious.”

She’d rolled her eyes.

”You’re always serious.”

”Incorrect. I’m an extremely entertaining person.”

”No, you’re not.”

”Rude.”

She’d grinned.

He’d smiled back.

Then he’d said:

”Give me an hour, okay? Let us get through the initial shakedown. After that, I’ll help you figure out your training account.”

Lucía had sighed dramatically.

”An entire hour?”

”Tragic, I know.”

”You’re mean.”

”Devastating accusation.”

Then he’d ruffled her hair.

She’d slapped his hand away.

”Stop!”

”Then stop sitting in front of my door like a tiny security guard.”

”I’m not tiny!”

”Right. Terrifyingly enormous.”

She’d stuck out her tongue.

Mateo had laughed again.

Then he’d gone back inside.

A few minutes later, the indicator outside his room changed to show that his equipment was active.

He’d entered the game.

Gone under.

Lucía waited.

Three minutes.

Possibly four.

She’d told herself she was going to wait an entire hour.

Then she’d remembered the spare access equipment in the living room.

And the beginner registration she’d completed the previous evening.

And the fact that Mateo had already helped her select a basic support-oriented starting role.

She wouldn’t interfere with his battleship.

Obviously.

She would simply log on.

Explore the introductory area.

Maybe figure out how the inventory system worked.

Then surprise him by already knowing the controls when he came to find her.

It was an excellent plan.

Brilliant, really.

The sort of plan that could only have been devised by a younger sister who was completely certain her older brother was being unnecessarily cautious.

She’d tiptoed into the living room.

Activated the equipment.

And entered FRONTLINE HEARTS.

The introductory area had been beautiful.

That was what she remembered most clearly.

An enormous harbor under a clear morning sky.

Ships moving across the water.

Cranes turning above the docks.

Crowds of people wearing different uniforms.

Someone had greeted her.

There had been instructions.

A registration desk.

A starting assignment.

She’d been trying to figure out where to go next when the ground began shaking.

Then came the headache.

The screaming.

The darkness.

And the moment when she opened her eyes and discovered that the harbor was no longer a place she could leave.

Lucía opened her eyes.

The transport plane rattled around her.

She looked toward the window.

Still ocean.

She swallowed.

”Three minutes.”

The words were so quiet that the man across the aisle didn’t hear them.

She lowered her eyes toward the transit authorization.

Three minutes after Mateo logged on.

That was all it had taken.

A month’s worth of separation had followed.

A month of trying to find her brother.

A month of adults telling her to remain where she was.

A month of military offices, waiting lists, interrupted communications, transport restrictions, and people who listened sympathetically before explaining that they couldn’t do anything.

She’d eventually obtained confirmation that Mateo was serving aboard Breakwater.

An actual battleship.

A Tennessee-class, according to the registry.

That hadn’t surprised her.

Not really.

Mateo loved ships.

Especially old ones.

He’d once spent nearly three hours explaining the difference between various American battleship classes after she’d made the mistake of asking why two ships looked almost identical.

She’d learned an important lesson that afternoon.

Never ask her brother a naval-history question unless she had enough free time to survive the answer.

Lucía smiled faintly.

Then looked toward the document.

Breakwater.

Horizon Atoll.

She was finally going to see him.

After all those weeks.

She was going to walk up to his ship.

Find the engineering department.

And tell him exactly how much trouble he’d caused.

He’d probably be annoyed that she’d disobeyed him.

Then relieved.

Then he’d give her a lecture.

A very long lecture.

And afterward, perhaps, he’d hug her.

Lucía tightened her fingers around the paper.

She wanted that hug.

More than anything.

Across the aisle, the older man looked up.

”First time to Horizon?”

She raised her eyes.

”Yeah.”

He nodded.

”Small station.”

She hesitated.

”Is it nice?”

He considered the question.

”Depends what you’re expecting.”

Lucía looked toward the window.

”I just want to see somebody.”

The man studied her for a moment.

Then nodded.

”Well.”

He returned to his manifest.

”Hopefully you’ll find them.”

Lucía smiled.

”Me too.”

She folded the document carefully.

Placed it inside her bag.

Then looked out over the water again.

Somewhere ahead, an island was waiting.

And her brother was aboard a battleship.

She was sure of it.

She had his name.

His ship.

His location.

After a month of not knowing, that seemed like more than enough.

 One Aircraft, Three Tons of Problems

The aircraft appeared on Horizon’s radar shortly after ten in the morning.

For once, that did not cause a particularly dramatic reaction.

The flight was scheduled.

The identification was correct.

The approach corridor had been cleared.

And the station’s airfield personnel had spent most of the previous afternoon making absolutely certain that the surviving runway could safely accommodate the expected aircraft.

Horizon Atoll did possess an airstrip.

A reasonably long one, by the standards of the island.

It was also old.

Cracked.

Repeatedly patched.

And supported by ground equipment that had been operating under various restrictions for longer than anyone particularly wanted to admit.

The aircraft approaching from the east was a Douglas C-47 transport.

Two engines.

Twin propellers.

A familiar, sturdy silhouette.

It was not the most glamorous thing in the world.

It was, however, carrying things Horizon desperately needed.

Which made it beautiful.

At least to Corwin Hale.

The quartermaster stood near the airfield’s cargo apron with a clipboard in one hand and an expression of almost religious concentration.

Beside him, Eliza Ward was reading the food manifest.

Her eyes moved down the page.

Then stopped.

She looked up.

”Fresh eggs?”

Corwin nodded.

”Listed.”

She looked down again.

”Potatoes?”

”Yes.”

”Onions?”

”Yes.”

”Actual tomatoes?”

”According to the manifest.”

Eliza slowly raised her eyes.

”Corwin.”

He looked toward her.

”Yes?”

”If that aircraft lands with actual tomatoes aboard, I may kiss the pilot.”

The quartermaster blinked.

A pause.

Then he considered the cargo manifest.

”Please wait until he’s completed the unloading paperwork.”

Eliza stared.

Then began laughing.

Corwin looked faintly offended.

”What?”

”Nothing.”

She patted his shoulder.

”You’re a wonderful man.”

He looked suspicious.

”That usually means somebody wants something.”

”Yes.”

He sighed.

”Of course.”

Nearby, Dain Okoro was examining a separate list.

His interests were considerably less culinary.

Breakwater’s repair department had requested replacement electrical components, specialized sealing materials, compatible cable assemblies, several items of turbine-support hardware, and a collection of parts too small to seem important until one of them failed.

The C-47 couldn’t bring enough equipment to restore a battered battleship.

Not even close.

But it could bring a carefully prioritized shipment of compact, high-value repair items that Senko’s industrial salvage hadn’t provided.

That mattered.

A damaged electrical distribution system was not particularly impressed by the arrival of several tons of structural steel if the correct circuit-breaker components remained unavailable.

Likewise, a pump requiring a specific shaft seal could remain useless despite a warehouse full of perfectly good steel plate.

The aircraft’s cargo might save days or weeks of work.

Provided it contained what the manifest promised.

Dain glanced toward Corwin.

”You checked the specifications?”

The quartermaster looked offended.

”Of course.”

”Twice?”

”Three times.”

Dain nodded.

”Good.”

Eliza looked between them.

Then shook her head.

”Do either of you ever relax?”

Corwin considered that.

”No.”

Dain nodded.

”Not recently.”

The cook sighed.

”Wonderful.”

A radio crackled nearby.

”Horizon Tower, Pacific Supply Three-Seven. Final approach. Runway in sight.”

The ground controller leaned toward his microphone.

”Pacific Supply Three-Seven, Horizon Tower. Wind light from the east. Runway cleared. You are approved to land.”

”Three-Seven copies. Beginning descent.”

Kade Bher watched from beside the airfield operations vehicle.

He’d come because Corwin had informed him that the aircraft was bringing parts needed for Breakwater’s repairs.

That had been enough.

The possibility of fresh food had made the invitation even more appealing.

Eliza had spent the previous week producing increasingly inventive meals from increasingly uncooperative ingredients.

Kade had developed a new respect for anyone capable of turning canned vegetables and preserved meat into something resembling an enjoyable dinner.

Now, if the manifest was accurate, they might even have fresh fruit.

He regarded the approaching aircraft.

Then glanced toward Mara Fenwick.

”How’s the runway?”

The chief consulted the inspection report.

”Cleared for this aircraft. No heavy traffic until the next maintenance inspection.”

Kade nodded.

”Good.”

”Engineering wants to patch the western shoulder again.”

”Of course.”

”And the runway lighting needs work.”

”Naturally.”

Mara looked toward him.

He sighed.

”One day, Chief, I’d like to hear about something on this island that doesn’t need repairing.”

She considered that.

Then pointed toward the sky.

”The weather’s nice.”

Kade looked up.

A moment passed.

Then he nodded.

”Fair.”

The C-47 descended toward the runway.

Its landing gear lowered.

The two propellers blurred in the sunlight.

The aircraft crossed the threshold with a low roar, touched down, and rolled along the patched concrete.

For a moment, Kade found himself holding his breath.

Then the transport slowed.

Continued toward the assigned taxiway.

And finally came to a halt beside the cargo apron.

The ground crew approached.

Wheel chocks went into place.

The engines began winding down.

Corwin looked toward the aircraft with undisguised satisfaction.

Eliza smiled.

Dain folded his arms.

Kade exhaled.

”Well.”

Mara raised an eyebrow.

”Commander?”

”That’s one delivery that didn’t require a battleship escort.”

The chief laughed.

”Don’t tempt fate.”

He smiled faintly.

The cargo door opened.

A loadmaster appeared.

Then the first crates began coming down.

Electrical equipment.

Medical supplies.

Sealed replacement components.

Small quantities of specialized repair stock.

Fresh food.

Eggs packed securely for transport.

Leafy vegetables in cooling containers.

Crates of oranges.

Potatoes.

Onions.

Tomatoes.

Several packages of preserved dairy products.

And enough miscellaneous supplies to occupy the quartermaster’s receiving staff for the remainder of the afternoon.

Eliza inspected the fresh vegetables.

Then pressed both hands together.

”Oh, thank goodness.”

Corwin glanced toward her.

”Please don’t interfere with the inventory.”

She looked toward him.

”Corwin.”

”Yes?”

”I have been feeding people out of cans for days.”

”I know.”

”These are real tomatoes.”

”Yes.”

She slowly smiled.

”Then I suggest you get out of my way.”

The quartermaster considered arguing.

Then apparently decided against it.

Kade watched the exchange.

He smiled.

For a few minutes, it was a perfectly ordinary supply delivery.

The kind of thing that should have been unremarkable at a functioning naval station.

Crates.

Signatures.

Inspection seals.

A pilot complaining about the condition of the runway.

Ground personnel moving cargo.

An overworked cook celebrating fresh vegetables.

Then a young girl appeared in the aircraft doorway.

And the morning changed.

 Passenger Number One

Lucía hesitated at the top of the aircraft steps.

The island was smaller than she’d imagined.

That was her first impression.

Her second was that it looked as though somebody had taken a reasonably functional military installation, abandoned it for several years, and then invited a group of extremely determined people to repair everything at once.

There were maintenance vehicles everywhere.

Some buildings were freshly painted.

Others had visible corrosion.

Several roads had recently been patched.

The airfield fencing looked older than she was.

And beyond the hangars, she could see the enormous shapes of naval cranes reaching toward the harbor.

She’d been expecting something impressive.

Technically, it was impressive.

Just not in the way she’d imagined.

The loadmaster looked up.

”Miss Alvarez?”

Lucía turned.

”Yeah?”

”You can come down.”

”Oh.”

She adjusted her bag.

Then descended carefully.

At the bottom, a station clerk approached with a clipboard.

”Lucía Alvarez?”

She nodded.

”Yes.”

”Welcome to Horizon Atoll. May I see your transit papers?”

Lucía immediately reached into her bag.

Then realized she had packed them beneath her spare clothes.

Then panicked.

Then began digging.

The clerk waited.

Lucía’s face grew hot.

”Sorry. I had them. They’re here somewhere.”

”Take your time.”

”I know I put them in—”

She stopped.

The papers were in the outside pocket.

Of course they were.

She withdrew them.

The clerk accepted the documents without comment.

Lucía appreciated that.

After the past month, she had discovered that being fifteen was apparently an excellent way to make adults explain things to her that she already understood.

The clerk checked the authorization.

Then raised an eyebrow.

”Family reunification?”

Lucía nodded.

”Yes.”

”Your brother’s stationed here?”

”On a battleship.”

The clerk looked down.

”Breakwater.”

Lucía brightened.

”Yes!”

The woman nodded.

”All right. We’ll contact the ship’s administration.”

Lucía tightened her grip on her bag.

”Can I go see him?”

”Once we’ve confirmed the transfer arrangements.”

”He’s definitely here, right?”

The clerk checked the document again.

”Breakwater is presently at Horizon, yes.”

Lucía smiled.

For the first time since leaving the transit station, the tension in her shoulders began to ease.

”Good.”

The clerk returned the papers.

”Now, we’ll need to arrange temporary accommodation until your family situation is confirmed.”

Lucía nodded quickly.

”Okay.”

”And a medical intake examination.”

”Okay.”

”And—”

”Can I see him first?”

The clerk stopped.

For a moment, the woman’s expression softened.

”We’ll do what we can.”

Lucía nodded.

”Thank you.”

She didn’t notice Kade until the clerk turned toward him.

”Commander.”

Lucía froze.

The young man standing beside the operations vehicle looked barely older than several trainees she’d seen at the transit station.

Short.

Brown hair.

Steel-blue eyes.

A slightly tired expression.

He wore a command uniform.

And the native clerk had just addressed him as Commander.

Lucía blinked.

Then looked toward the older woman.

Then back at Kade.

Her mind briefly struggled with the information.

Kade noticed.

He sighed.

”Yes.”

Lucía blinked.

”...Yes?”

”I’m the Commander.”

Her eyes widened.

”Oh!”

He smiled faintly.

”That was approximately my reaction too.”

She looked horrified.

”I’m sorry!”

”Don’t worry about it.”

She straightened.

Then attempted a salute.

It was not particularly good.

Kade considered it.

Then returned it with complete seriousness.

”Welcome to Horizon.”

Lucía lowered her hand.

”Thank you, sir.”

He glanced toward her transit authorization.

”Alvarez?”

She nodded.

”Lucía.”

”All right, Lucía.”

He looked toward the clerk.

”Family transfer?”

”Yes, Commander. Petty Officer Mateo Alvarez, Breakwater.”

Kade’s expression changed.

It was small.

Barely noticeable.

A slight stillness around the eyes.

But Lucía saw it.

She had spent the past month studying people’s expressions whenever she mentioned her brother.

This one made her nervous.

Kade looked toward her.

”You’re Mateo’s sister?”

She smiled.

”Yeah.”

A pause.

Then she added:

”Little sister.”

He nodded slowly.

”I see.”

”He’s on the battleship, right?”

Kade didn’t answer immediately.

Lucía’s smile faltered.

”Right?”

The Commander looked toward the harbor.

Then back at her.

He kept his voice gentle.

”Breakwater is here.”

Relief returned so suddenly that Lucía nearly laughed.

”Oh, good.”

Then she frowned.

”Is he working?”

Kade considered his next words.

He knew what the casualty report said.

He knew the name.

He knew that Mercer’s arrangements for Alvarez’s remains had not yet been finalized because the captain was still trying to preserve the possibility of family involvement.

And now the dead sailor’s fifteen-year-old sister was standing in front of him, carrying a canvas bag and smiling because she believed she’d finally found him.

Kade felt something settle heavily in his stomach.

He looked toward the station clerk.

”Could you give us a moment?”

The woman nodded.

”Of course.”

She stepped away to speak with the loadmaster.

Lucía watched her go.

Then turned back.

The Commander crouched slightly so he could speak to her without looming over her.

That was somewhat unnecessary, given his height.

He did it anyway.

”Lucía.”

She nodded.

”Yes?”

”When was the last time you spoke with your brother?”

She blinked.

”Before the Crisis.”

Kade’s expression remained gentle.

”Before you entered the game?”

”Yeah.”

She hesitated.

”Why?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Lucía tightened her grip on the bag.

”Is something wrong?”

The Commander studied her.

He could have told her then.

There was nothing preventing him from speaking the words.

But this wasn’t simply a matter of passing information.

Mateo Alvarez had served under Daniel Mercer.

The captain had submitted his casualty report.

The captain had written the recommendation for his posthumous decoration.

The captain had been trying to decide how to honor his remains when the family he believed unreachable suddenly appeared on Horizon’s runway.

Kade didn’t want to take that responsibility away from him.

Nor did he want to let Lucía wander toward the battleship and discover the truth from a careless conversation.

He spoke carefully.

”Your brother’s captain is Daniel Mercer.”

Lucía nodded quickly.

”I know his name.”

”Good.”

Kade continued.

”I think you should speak with him before we make any other arrangements.”

She frowned.

”Why?”

The Commander looked toward the harbor.

Then back.

”Because there’s something important he needs to tell you.”

Lucía became very still.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then she asked:

”Is Mateo in trouble?”

Kade swallowed.

”No.”

Her eyes searched his face.

”Then what?”

He considered the question.

He could see that she was frightened now.

Leaving her completely in the dark would be cruel.

He spoke quietly.

”There was a battle at the Burnt Narrows.”

Lucía nodded.

”I heard.”

”Breakwater was involved.”

”I know.”

The girl hesitated.

Then asked:

”Did he get hurt?”

Kade’s expression tightened.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it’s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

He didn’t lie.

”Lucía, I don’t want to give you an incomplete answer about something this important. Captain Mercer can explain what happened.”

She stared at him.

For a moment, the ordinary sounds of the airfield seemed to recede.

A crate struck a loading pallet.

Someone shouted for a forklift.

An aircraft mechanic laughed at something near the C-47’s left engine.

All of it sounded very far away.

Lucía swallowed.

”Okay.”

Kade nodded.

”I’ll arrange a private meeting.”

She looked down at her bag.

Then back.

”Can it be now?”

The Commander didn’t hesitate.

”Yes.”

 Mercer was aboard Breakwater when the call arrived.

He stood in the aft engineering passage, studying a temporary electrical installation with his chief electrician and Adrian Cole.

The damaged circuit had been isolated.

A replacement cable was being routed through a protected passage.

Several junction boxes had been marked for removal.

And the electrical specialist standing beside Mercer was explaining why the components arriving on the morning’s transport plane would be extremely useful.

The captain listened.

Then nodded.

”How long?”

The electrician considered the question.

”Assuming the parts are correct and none of the surrounding equipment gives us trouble, two days for this section.”

Mercer raised an eyebrow.

”And assuming it does give us trouble?”

The man sighed.

”Longer.”

Cole smiled faintly.

”Excellent estimate.”

The electrician looked toward him.

”Would you prefer I lie, sir?”

Cole considered that.

”No.”

”Then longer.”

Mercer sighed.

”Fair enough.”

The telephone at the nearby communications station rang.

An enlisted sailor answered.

Listened.

Then turned.

”Captain?”

Mercer looked up.

”Yes?”

”Call from Horizon Command.”

He frowned.

”Put it through.”

The sailor handed him the receiver.

”Captain Mercer.”

Kade’s voice answered.

”Daniel.”

Mercer straightened slightly.

”Commander.”

A pause.

Then Kade spoke.

”We have a passenger on the supply transport.”

Mercer glanced toward Cole.

”All right.”

”She’s fifteen.”

The captain frowned.

A moment passed.

Then:

”And?”

Kade didn’t answer immediately.

Mercer felt an unpleasant sensation begin forming in his stomach.

Then the Commander said:

”Her name is Lucía Alvarez.”

The world seemed to stop.

Mercer stood perfectly still.

Beside him, Cole noticed immediately.

The executive officer lowered the clipboard he was carrying.

Mercer stared toward the wall.

”Alvarez?”

”Yes.”

A pause.

Then Kade continued.

”Mateo’s younger sister.”

The captain closed his eyes.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

He had read the next-of-kin information.

He had seen the address.

The telephone number.

The incomplete family contact record.

He had assumed the sister was somewhere on the original Earth.

Unreachable.

Perhaps wondering where her brother had gone.

And now she was here.

At Horizon.

Looking for him.

Mercer swallowed.

”She’s here?”

”At the airfield.”

”Alone?”

”She’s an authorized passenger, traveling under a family reunification request. Apparently she’s been trying to reach him since the Crisis.”

Mercer looked down.

His fingers tightened around the receiver.

Kade’s voice softened.

”She doesn’t know, Daniel.”

The captain closed his eyes.

For a moment, he remembered the damaged engineering compartment.

The smoke.

The reports.

The medical team.

The moment he’d been told that Alvarez hadn’t survived.

Then he thought of the girl waiting at the airfield.

Fifteen.

His sister.

Still looking for him.

Mercer swallowed.

”Bring her to the ship’s administration office.”

Kade hesitated.

”You sure?”

The captain nodded.

”Yes.”

He looked toward the deck beneath his boots.

”I’ll tell her.”

A pause.

Then:

”All right. I’ll make sure she’s accompanied.”

”Thank you.”

The call ended.

Mercer remained still.

Cole watched him.

”Captain?”

For a moment, Daniel Mercer didn’t answer.

Then he lowered the receiver.

”Mateo’s sister.”

Cole blinked.

”What?”

”She’s at Horizon.”

The executive officer stared.

Mercer looked toward him.

”Fifteen years old.”

Cole’s expression changed.

A long silence followed.

Then he lowered his eyes.

”Oh, God.”

Mercer nodded.

”Yeah.”

The electrician looked between them.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Mercer straightened.

”Adrian.”

”Sir?”

”I need the ship’s administration room cleared.”

Cole nodded immediately.

”Understood.”

”And have someone bring the personal-effects record.”

The executive officer hesitated.

”All of it?”

Mercer considered that.

Then shook his head.

”Not yet.”

A pause.

”Just the record. I’ll ask her what she wants to see.”

Cole nodded.

”Yes, Captain.”

Mercer looked toward the damaged electrical panel.

For a moment, his expression tightened.

Then he turned away.

He had commanded Breakwater through a battle against an enemy carrier strike force.

He had watched torpedoes approaching his ship.

He had ordered guns fired at vessels capable of destroying them.

He had stood on the bridge while bombs fell and sailors shouted damage reports over the communications network.

None of that had frightened him in quite the same way as the thought of telling a fifteen-year-old girl that her brother was dead.

And for the first time since arriving at Horizon, Captain Daniel Mercer wished desperately that someone else could be the captain for five minutes.

But there wasn’t anyone else.

So he went to meet her.

 The Thing He Had to Say

Breakwater was bigger than Lucía had imagined.

Much bigger.

From the harbor road, the battleship looked enormous, a gray steel mountain resting in the water beneath a tangled collection of repair platforms, temporary cables, cranes, and scaffolding. Her rebuilt superstructure towered above the quay, carrying radar equipment, directors, platforms, and enough smaller gun positions to make the vessel look like an entire fortress had been assembled atop a hull.

Lucía stopped walking.

For a moment, she forgot why her hands were trembling.

”Oh.”

The escorting station clerk smiled faintly.

”Impressive, isn’t she?”

Lucía nodded.

”Yeah.”

She looked toward the forward turrets.

Two of the massive triple-gun mounts were visible.

Their fourteen-inch barrels rested at controlled elevations, secured while repairs continued elsewhere aboard the ship.

Lucía’s eyes widened.

”Those are the guns Mateo was talking about.”

Kade, walking beside her, glanced toward the battleship.

”Probably.”

”He said there were twelve.”

”That’s right.”

”Four turrets. Three guns each.”

Kade nodded.

Lucía smiled faintly.

”He kept explaining that to me.”

The Commander looked toward her.

She was staring at the battleship with an expression of genuine wonder.

”He said the California rebuild was really cool because they changed the superstructure and all the secondary guns and...” She stopped, suddenly embarrassed. ”Sorry.”

Kade shook his head.

”Don’t apologize.”

She looked up.

”He talked about this stuff a lot.”

”I can imagine.”

Lucía smiled again.

”Like, a lot.”

Kade returned the smile.

For a moment, they stood together.

Then the girl noticed the damage.

The scorched areas.

The damaged gun positions.

The repair patches around the upper works.

The temporary equipment supporting the ship’s wounded systems.

Her expression changed.

”She got hurt pretty bad.”

Kade nodded.

”Yes.”

Lucía looked toward the ship.

Then asked:

”Did Mateo help fix her?”

The Commander felt his chest tighten.

He looked toward the repair crews.

Then answered quietly.

”Yes.”

The girl nodded.

For a moment, she seemed pleased.

Then the clerk led them toward the temporary boarding access.

The security arrangements were careful.

Breakwater’s normal entry procedures were still in force, despite the damage. The watch had been informed of the visitor’s arrival, and Lucía’s authorization was checked before she was escorted aboard.

She found that strangely reassuring.

Mateo would have approved.

He liked rules when they involved machinery and safety.

He had been considerably less enthusiastic about rules governing how much time she was allowed to spend borrowing his things.

Lucía adjusted her bag.

Then crossed the gangway.

The deck moved very slightly beneath her feet.

She stopped.

Looked down.

Then blinked.

”It’s moving.”

Kade glanced toward her.

”It’s a ship.”

”I know that!”

He smiled faintly.

”Just checking.”

She frowned.

Then looked toward the massive deck extending ahead.

Several sailors were working nearby.

Young men.

Older men.

All wearing naval uniforms.

Some had bandages.

Others carried tools.

One was helping a technician move a replacement component toward an open access hatch.

They looked surprisingly ordinary.

Not like the perfectly composed naval officers she’d imagined while listening to Mateo describe his crew.

One sailor had grease on his cheek.

Another was arguing with a toolbox.

A third had apparently lost a glove and was accusing the first two of stealing it.

Lucía nearly laughed.

Mateo would have fit right in.

Then one of the sailors noticed her.

He stopped.

Looked toward the girl.

Then toward Kade.

His expression changed.

Lucía didn’t understand why.

The sailor straightened.

”Commander.”

Kade nodded.

”Morning.”

The sailor looked toward Lucía again.

For a moment, he seemed about to speak.

Then stopped himself.

He swallowed.

And stepped aside.

Lucía watched him.

A small, uneasy feeling settled in her stomach.

They continued toward the administration compartment.

Another sailor passed them.

He looked at her.

Then quickly looked away.

A third stopped carrying a box.

His face went pale.

Lucía tightened her grip on her bag.

She knew that look.

Not exactly.

But enough.

It was the expression adults made when they knew something terrible and weren’t certain whether she did.

She swallowed.

”Kade?”

The Commander looked toward her.

”Yes?”

”Why are they looking at me like that?”

He stopped.

For a moment, the two stood in a quiet passage beneath the battleship’s superstructure.

Kade looked toward the door ahead.

Then back.

”Because they know your brother.”

Lucía stared.

Her throat tightened.

”Okay.”

He nodded.

”Captain Mercer’s just inside.”

She swallowed.

Then looked at the door.

For a moment, she couldn’t move.

A few minutes earlier, she’d been excited.

Nervous, yes.

But excited.

Now she felt as though she was walking toward something she didn’t understand.

She looked toward Kade.

”Are you coming?”

The Commander considered that.

Then shook his head gently.

”I think this should be between you and his captain.”

Lucía looked down.

”Oh.”

He continued.

”I’ll be close by. And if you need anything, you can ask.”

She nodded.

”Okay.”

Kade stepped back.

The escorting clerk waited nearby.

Lucía approached the door.

Her fingers trembled as she raised her hand.

She knocked.

A voice answered.

”Come in.”

Lucía swallowed.

Then entered.

 Daniel Mercer had rehearsed several different ways to begin.

All of them disappeared the moment he saw her.

She was small.

That was his first thought.

Fifteen, Kade had said.

He’d known the number.

He’d read the transit information.

But seeing a girl barely taller than five feet standing in his office with an oversized jacket and a canvas bag made the distinction between fifteen and adult painfully clear.

She looked like Mateo.

Not exactly.

Her features were softer.

Her face rounder.

Her eyes wider.

But there was a resemblance.

The brown eyes.

The dark hair.

The way her eyebrows lifted when she was uncertain.

For a moment, Mercer could almost see the young electrician standing behind her.

Complaining about a wiring diagram.

Holding a notebook.

Asking whether somebody had deliberately designed Breakwater’s electrical systems to test his patience.

The captain swallowed.

”Lucía?”

She straightened immediately.

”Yes, sir.”

He nodded.

”I’m Captain Daniel Mercer.”

Her eyes widened.

”Oh!”

She attempted another salute.

This one was even worse than the first.

Mercer returned it anyway.

Then lowered his hand.

”You don’t have to salute me.”

Lucía blinked.

”Oh.”

She hesitated.

”Sorry.”

”Nothing to apologize for.”

He indicated the chair opposite his desk.

”Would you like to sit down?”

She nodded.

”Okay.”

The chair was slightly too high for her to sit comfortably without adjusting.

She climbed into it.

Placed her bag in her lap.

Then looked toward him.

Mercer sat opposite her.

Not behind the desk.

He’d moved one of the chairs closer to the small table beside the office window.

The room was quiet.

A clock ticked on the wall.

Somewhere outside, machinery hummed.

Lucía looked around.

”Is this your office?”

”One of them.”

She nodded.

”It’s nice.”

Mercer glanced toward the chipped paint near the door.

Then smiled faintly.

”Thank you.”

Lucía looked toward the window.

The harbor was visible beyond it.

For a moment, she seemed fascinated.

Then she turned.

”Can I ask you something?”

Mercer felt his stomach tighten.

”Of course.”

”Do you know my brother?”

The captain looked toward her.

”Yes.”

Lucía smiled.

”Mateo Alvarez.”

He nodded.

”I know.”

”He works in engineering.”

”Yes.”

She leaned forward.

”Is he here?”

Mercer became still.

For a moment, he wished Adrian were beside him.

Or Kade.

Or anybody.

Then he remembered why he had wanted to do this himself.

He looked directly at her.

”Lucía.”

Her smile faded.

The captain swallowed.

”Before I answer that, I need to tell you something important.”

She stared.

Her fingers tightened around her bag.

”Okay.”

Mercer kept his voice steady.

”Your brother served aboard Breakwater during a battle at the Burnt Narrows.”

She nodded.

”I heard about that.”

”The ship was badly damaged.”

”I saw.”

He took a breath.

”There were casualties.”

Lucía’s expression changed.

Her mouth opened slightly.

Mercer continued.

”Mateo was working with the engineering and damage-control teams when the ship was hit.”

The girl didn’t move.

”He helped secure a damaged electrical circuit and isolate part of the ammunition-handling access during a fire.”

For a moment, Mercer struggled to continue.

Then he forced himself to say the words clearly.

”Mateo was badly injured.”

Lucía stared.

Her voice emerged as a whisper.

”...But he’s okay?”

Mercer looked at her.

He could feel the weight of the moment.

The temptation to soften the truth.

To delay.

To give her a few more seconds before saying something that would change her entire life.

He couldn’t do that.

Not to her.

”I’m sorry, Lucía.”

The girl’s expression emptied.

”Your brother died from his injuries.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Lucía stared at him.

For several seconds, she didn’t seem to understand.

Then she blinked.

Once.

Twice.

”...What?”

Mercer swallowed.

”I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.

Very slightly.

”No.”

The captain remained still.

Lucía stared.

”No.”

Her fingers tightened around the bag.

”No, he didn’t.”

Mercer didn’t interrupt.

She looked toward the door.

Then back.

”He’s on the ship.”

The captain swallowed.

”Lucía—”

”He’s on the ship.”

Her voice rose.

”You said he was in engineering.”

”He was.”

”No.”

She shook her head again.

”He can’t be dead.”

Mercer felt his throat tighten.

She looked toward the window.

Then toward the door.

”Can you call him?”

The captain closed his eyes briefly.

”Lucía.”

”Please.”

Her voice cracked.

”Just call him.”

Mercer couldn’t speak for a moment.

Then he shook his head gently.

”I can’t.”

She stared at him.

The clock continued ticking.

Somewhere beyond the office, someone called for a replacement tool.

A door closed.

Footsteps passed.

Ordinary sounds.

An ordinary morning.

And a fifteen-year-old girl sat in a chair on a battleship, staring at the man who had just told her that her older brother was dead.

Lucía looked down.

Her fingers slowly loosened around the canvas bag.

She stared at the red cord attached to its zipper.

Then whispered:

”No.”

A tear fell onto the fabric.

She stared at it.

Another followed.

Then another.

Her breathing changed.

A small, broken sound escaped her throat.

Mercer remained quiet.

He didn’t reach for her.

Didn’t tell her everything would be all right.

Didn’t promise that her brother might somehow return.

Instead, he moved a box of tissues within reach.

Lucía didn’t notice.

She was looking down at her hands.

”He told me not to get on.”

Mercer listened.

Her voice shook.

”He told me to wait.”

A pause.

”He said he’d help me.”

The tears came faster.

”I wasn’t supposed to log on.”

Mercer swallowed.

She looked up.

Her eyes were red.

”I didn’t listen.”

The captain shook his head.

”Lucía, what happened to Mateo wasn’t caused by you logging on.”

She stared at him.

”I know.”

A pause.

Then, smaller:

”I know.”

She covered her mouth.

”But I wasn’t supposed to.”

Mercer remained quiet.

The girl bent forward.

Her shoulders began shaking.

Then the sobs came.

Not neatly.

Not quietly.

Not the restrained crying of someone attempting to behave properly in front of an officer.

They were desperate, frightened sounds, pulled from somewhere too deep for her to control.

She’d spent more than a month trying to find Mateo.

A month believing that if she could reach the right harbor, find the right ship, obtain the right authorization, everything would somehow become manageable again.

She’d imagined him being angry.

Relieved.

Annoyed.

She’d imagined telling him about everything she’d endured.

She’d imagined him laughing at the ridiculous problems she’d encountered.

She’d imagined sitting beside him while he explained the ship’s machinery.

She’d imagined a hug.

Instead, she was sitting in a captain’s office.

And the man in front of her was telling her that none of those things would happen.

Mercer waited.

He had no idea what to do with his hands.

He wanted to help.

Desperately.

But there wasn’t anything he could fix.

Not this.

Eventually, Lucía managed to speak.

”Did he...”

She stopped.

Mercer waited.

She tried again.

”Did he hurt?”

The captain’s expression tightened.

For a moment, he considered the medical report.

Then he answered carefully.

”He was seriously injured, but the medical team reached him and gave him treatment. He wasn’t left alone.”

Lucía swallowed.

The captain continued.

”His shipmates were with him.”

She nodded faintly.

Then asked:

”Was he scared?”

Mercer looked down.

He could have said no.

He could have invented a heroic final moment.

He could have told her that Mateo faced death without fear.

But he didn’t know that.

And Lucía deserved the truth.

”I don’t know.”

The girl looked up.

Mercer continued.

”I wasn’t beside him when he was injured. I was on the bridge.”

He swallowed.

”I know the damage-control team was trying to save the ship. I know he stayed to help. And I know the medical personnel did everything they could.”

A pause.

”But I can’t tell you exactly what he was feeling.”

Lucía lowered her eyes.

”Okay.”

She wiped her face with her sleeve.

Mercer reached toward the tissues.

Then stopped.

He pushed the box a little closer instead.

Lucía took one.

”Thank you.”

”You’re welcome.”

For a while, she cried quietly.

Then she asked another question.

”Why didn’t anybody tell me?”

Mercer felt the words strike him.

He looked toward her.

”We didn’t know where you were.”

She swallowed.

The captain continued.

”Mateo’s original contact information listed your family’s address on the Earth we came from.”

Lucía nodded.

”I know.”

”We had no way to contact that address.”

She wiped her eyes.

”But I was here.”

Mercer lowered his gaze.

”Yes.”

”I was here the whole time.”

The captain nodded.

”Yes.”

Her voice cracked.

”I was trying to find him.”

Mercer swallowed.

He wanted to tell her that they’d tried to contact the family.

They had.

Through every channel available.

But the systems available to them had never established that Lucía had entered the game.

She’d been registered at a distant beginner facility.

Her records were not linked to Breakwater’s personnel manifest.

And in the confusion following the Crisis, there had been thousands of people separated from their families, friends, and original organizations.

Her search had been one among countless others.

That wasn’t an excuse.

It was the truth.

Mercer looked toward her.

”I’m sorry.”

Lucía stared at him.

He continued.

”I didn’t know you were here.”

She looked down.

Then nodded slowly.

”Okay.”

A long silence followed.

Eventually, she asked:

”Did he save anybody?”

Mercer looked up.

”Yes.”

Her eyes searched his face.

The captain spoke carefully.

”His work helped secure damaged electrical equipment near the ammunition-handling spaces. The damage-control teams were fighting a fire.”

Lucía listened.

”He helped them prevent it from becoming worse.”

She swallowed.

”So he saved the ship?”

Mercer hesitated.

”He helped save the ship.”

The girl looked down.

The captain continued.

”Several people contributed. Damage-control teams, engineers, ammunition handlers. They all did their jobs.”

He paused.

”Mateo did his.”

Lucía nodded faintly.

Then she whispered:

”That sounds like him.”

Mercer felt his throat tighten.

He smiled sadly.

”Yes.”

For a moment, she looked almost peaceful.

Then the expression disappeared.

She covered her face again.

And began crying.

 Eventually, Lucía asked him to leave.

Not angrily.

Not because she blamed him.

She simply couldn’t bear having someone watch her anymore.

”Can I be alone?”

Mercer looked toward her.

”Of course.”

She swallowed.

”Just for a little while.”

He nodded.

”As long as you need.”

She looked down at her bag.

He stood.

Then hesitated.

”Lucía.”

She raised her eyes.

”There’s a washroom through that door. Water on the table. If you need anything, someone will be nearby.”

She nodded.

”Okay.”

He continued.

”I’ll make sure nobody disturbs you.”

”Thank you.”

Mercer looked at her for one more moment.

Then turned toward the door.

His hand rested on the handle.

Lucía spoke again.

”Captain?”

He stopped.

”Yes?”

Her voice shook.

”Was Mateo a good sailor?”

Mercer turned.

For the first time since she’d entered, he found an answer that didn’t hurt to give.

”Yes.”

He looked directly at her.

”He was a very good sailor.”

Lucía nodded.

Fresh tears filled her eyes.

”Okay.”

Mercer swallowed.

Then added:

”And he was a good man.”

The girl covered her mouth.

A small sob escaped.

The captain lowered his head.

Then stepped outside.

He closed the door gently.

And left her alone.

 The Weight of a Captain’s Chair

Adrian Cole was waiting in the passage.

He stood beside the bulkhead, holding a folder he hadn’t opened.

When Mercer emerged, the executive officer straightened.

”Captain?”

Mercer shook his head.

Not yet.

Cole nodded.

The captain looked toward the sailor assigned to the passage.

”Nobody enters without her permission.”

”Yes, sir.”

”If she asks for water, food, medical assistance, anything, get it.”

”Understood.”

”And don’t stand in front of the door like she’s under guard.”

The sailor nodded.

”Yes, Captain.”

Mercer looked toward Cole.

”Come with me.”

The two officers walked in silence.

They passed an engineering work party carrying replacement cable.

A sailor stepped aside and saluted.

Mercer returned it automatically.

Another man asked a question about the damaged secondary-battery director.

Cole handled it.

The captain barely heard the exchange.

Eventually, they reached a quiet compartment near the wardroom.

Mercer entered.

Closed the door.

Then stood there.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Cole waited.

Finally, the captain sat.

He looked toward the table.

Then whispered:

”Fifteen.”

Cole lowered his eyes.

”Yes.”

Mercer rubbed his face.

”She’s fifteen years old, Adrian.”

The executive officer nodded.

The captain looked toward the bulkhead.

”I knew Mateo had a sister.”

A pause.

”I read his file.”

Cole remained quiet.

Mercer continued.

”I saw her age. Saw the address. Saw the contact information.”

His voice tightened.

”I thought she was back home.”

The executive officer nodded slowly.

”So did I.”

Mercer leaned forward.

He rested his elbows on his knees.

”And now she’s here.”

Neither spoke.

The captain stared at the deck.

After a while, he said:

”She asked me to call him.”

Cole closed his eyes.

Mercer swallowed.

”She thought I could just get him on the telephone.”

The words came out quietly.

Almost conversationally.

As though he were discussing an ordinary communications problem.

Then his voice broke.

”God.”

Cole looked toward him.

The captain pressed his hands against his eyes.

For a moment, his shoulders shook.

Not much.

Just enough.

The executive officer didn’t speak.

Daniel Mercer was twenty-six years old.

Before FRONTLINE HEARTS, he had been a young man who loved military history.

He’d organized a crew of enthusiasts.

Selected a battleship configuration.

Learned procedures.

Argued with friends.

Helped coordinate a ship that had originally existed as an extraordinary game feature.

Some of his crew had been remarkably competent.

Others had been enthusiastic amateurs.

He’d known that.

They all had.

But there had been comfort in the knowledge that mistakes could be corrected.

That a botched training maneuver would result in embarrassment and perhaps an angry message from the gunnery officer.

That somebody could leave the game if they became overwhelmed.

That a lost ship could be rebuilt through the game’s systems.

Then the Crisis had stripped away every comforting assumption.

Now he was responsible for hundreds of real people.

And two of them were dead.

Mercer lowered his hands.

He stared toward the table.

”I gave the order to fight.”

Cole looked toward him.

”Yes.”

”I ordered the ship to remain in the engagement.”

”Yes.”

”I told the crew to keep firing.”

”Yes.”

Mercer’s jaw tightened.

”And Mateo died.”

Cole took a breath.

”Captain.”

Mercer looked up.

The executive officer continued.

”Mateo died because the Blackwake attacked us.”

Mercer said nothing.

Cole leaned forward.

”You gave the orders you believed would keep the ship and the landing party alive.”

The captain swallowed.

The XO continued.

”We’ll review every decision. Every mistake. Every warning we missed.”

He paused.

”But we don’t improve anything by pretending you personally fired the bomb that hit the ship.”

Mercer looked down.

For a long while, neither spoke.

Then the captain sighed.

”I know.”

Cole nodded.

”I know you do.”

Mercer stared toward the wall.

”That doesn’t make telling her any easier.”

”No.”

A pause.

Then Cole continued.

”And it shouldn’t.”

The captain looked up.

The executive officer’s expression was serious.

”She loved him.”

Mercer nodded.

”He loved her too.”

Cole smiled faintly.

”Wouldn’t shut up about her, sometimes.”

The captain’s expression softened.

He remembered.

Alvarez had complained about his little sister borrowing his tools.

About her stealing snacks.

About the way she constantly entered his room without knocking.

About the time she’d attempted to repair a malfunctioning desk lamp without asking for help.

Apparently she’d succeeded.

Then nearly electrocuted herself while attempting to reassemble the plug.

Mateo had spent the next forty minutes explaining why electrical safety procedures existed.

Lucía had reportedly informed him that he was being dramatic.

Mercer smiled sadly.

”He used to call her his little menace.”

Cole nodded.

”Yeah.”

The captain looked toward the passage beyond the door.

For a moment, he imagined the girl alone in the administration office.

Crying.

Trying to understand what had happened.

Then he thought of the memorial they’d held.

The citation.

The photograph.

The empty place in the engineering roster.

He had believed he’d already begun confronting Mateo’s death.

Now he understood that the process had only begun.

Mercer lowered his eyes.

”Has the cremation order been finalized?”

Cole shook his head.

”No. Medical was waiting for your final authorization.”

The captain nodded slowly.

”Good.”

His executive officer watched him.

Mercer continued.

”Hold it.”

Cole nodded immediately.

”Yes, sir.”

”I want her to have time.”

”Understood.”

The captain looked toward the personnel file.

”And we need to find out whether there’s anybody else from their family in this world.”

Cole considered that.

”Could take a while.”

”I know.”

”We don’t have a reliable registry covering every former player.”

”I know.”

The executive officer nodded.

”All right.”

Mercer looked toward the ceiling.

Then sighed.

”God, I wish I could call her parents.”

Cole said nothing.

There was nothing useful to say.

The captain leaned back.

For a long time, he sat quietly.

Then he looked toward the folder in Cole’s hands.

”Is that the personal-effects inventory?”

The executive officer nodded.

”Yes.”

Mercer held out his hand.

Cole passed it over.

The captain opened it.

A watch.

Clothing.

A small collection of personal items.

A photograph.

Several electronic components.

A battered notebook filled with wiring diagrams.

A compact tool roll.

And the black T-shirt Mateo had worn during the game’s launch, preserved among his belongings after he’d changed into his naval uniform.

Mercer stared at the list.

Then reached the final entry.

PERSONAL NOTEBOOK — CONTENTS NOT FULLY REVIEWED

He looked toward Cole.

”Did you see his notebook?”

The XO nodded.

”Yes.”

”Anything personal?”

Cole hesitated.

”Some.”

Mercer looked up.

The executive officer swallowed.

”He wrote about her.”

For a moment, the captain didn’t speak.

Then he closed the folder.

”We’ll ask whether she wants it.”

Cole nodded.

”And if she doesn’t?”

Mercer looked toward the door.

”Then we keep it safe.”

He rested one hand against the file.

”For as long as we have to.”

 Things He Never Finished

Lucía remained in the office for nearly an hour.

She didn’t know that.

There was a clock on the wall, but she stopped looking at it.

At first, she cried until her face hurt.

Then she stopped.

Then she started again.

She tried drinking the water Captain Mercer had left for her and discovered that her hands were shaking too badly to hold the glass comfortably.

Eventually, she put it down.

For a while, she stared at the window.

Outside, sailors continued working.

A crane lifted a damaged mechanical assembly away from the ship.

A truck moved slowly along the quay.

Someone shouted a warning.

Another voice answered.

The world hadn’t stopped.

That seemed deeply unfair.

Mateo was dead.

Her big brother was dead.

And people were still walking around.

Still working.

Still eating breakfast.

Still arguing about tools and repair schedules.

Lucía pressed both hands against her eyes.

She knew that wasn’t reasonable.

Of course people had to keep living.

She knew.

But some part of her wanted everyone to stop.

Just for a little while.

Long enough for the enormity of what she’d learned to make sense.

She lowered her hands.

The canvas bag sat beside her chair.

She reached toward it.

Opened the outer pocket.

And removed the photograph.

It was small.

Slightly bent.

One corner had become creased during her journey.

The picture showed two people standing in an ordinary kitchen.

Mateo, wearing that ridiculous black T-shirt.

Lucía, standing beside him and looking terribly pleased with herself.

On the counter between them sat a desk lamp.

A cheap one.

Blue plastic.

Its base had been opened.

Several small tools lay nearby.

The picture had been taken after Mateo helped her repair the lamp.

Or, more accurately, after she’d made a mess attempting the repair and Mateo had rescued the situation.

Lucía remembered that afternoon.

She had been thirteen.

Mateo had come home to discover his sister sitting at the kitchen table with a screwdriver in one hand and the remains of a lamp spread across a towel.

He’d stopped in the doorway.

Looked at the mess.

Then asked:

Lucy.

She’d looked up.

What?

Why is the lamp in pieces?

It broke.

And your solution was to disassemble the entire thing?

I wanted to see what was wrong.

Did you unplug it first?

Yes.

Are you sure?

Mateo!

It’s an important question!

She’d rolled her eyes.

Then he’d come over.

Sat beside her.

Examined the damaged switch.

And spent the next two hours explaining how the circuit worked.

He hadn’t simply taken the lamp away and repaired it himself.

He’d made her identify the components.

Showed her what the switch was supposed to do.

Explained why the insulation mattered.

Then supervised while she replaced the damaged part.

She’d complained.

A lot.

Mateo had complained about her complaining.

Also a lot.

But when the lamp finally worked, he’d smiled.

A huge, proud smile.

Then he’d asked their mother to take the photograph.

Lucía stared at it.

For a moment, she could almost hear him.

See? You can learn anything if you stop trying to rush through it.

She swallowed.

Her eyes filled again.

”Idiot.”

The word came out broken.

She touched his face in the photograph.

”You stupid idiot.”

A tear fell onto the picture.

She wiped it away immediately.

Then held the photograph against her chest.

For a while, she simply sat there.

Eventually, a thought occurred to her.

She looked toward the door.

Captain Mercer had said Mateo’s shipmates were with him.

That he’d helped save the ship.

That he had been a good sailor.

But she’d never asked what happened to his things.

His clothes.

His notebook.

His tools.

The little things that had belonged to him.

She swallowed.

Then stood.

Her legs felt weak.

She crossed the room.

Opened the door.

The sailor stationed a short distance down the passage straightened immediately.

”Miss Alvarez?”

Lucía looked toward him.

”Can I ask something?”

”Of course.”

She hesitated.

”Does Captain Mercer still have my brother’s stuff?”

The sailor’s expression changed.

Then softened.

”I believe the ship has his personal effects secured.”

Lucía nodded.

”Can I see them?”

He considered that.

Then nodded.

”I’ll ask the captain.”

She swallowed.

”Okay.”

He reached toward the nearby telephone.

Lucía remained standing in the doorway.

For a moment, she looked down the passage.

Steel walls.

Electrical conduits.

Pipes.

Doors.

An entire battleship filled with machinery.

The kind of place Mateo had wanted to work.

The kind of place he’d been happy.

Her eyes filled again.

She looked down.

And waited.

 Mercer returned fifteen minutes later.

He found Lucía sitting at the table with her photograph beside her.

Her face was pale.

Her eyes red.

But she had managed to drink some water.

That was something.

The captain approached carefully.

”Lucía?”

She looked up.

”Hi.”

He nodded.

”Hi.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then he indicated the chair.

”May I sit?”

She nodded.

”Yeah.”

He sat opposite her.

A small box rested on the table between them.

Beside it lay a carefully folded bundle of clothing and a sealed envelope containing Mateo’s personal identification records.

Mercer looked toward the items.

”These were kept with his belongings.”

Lucía stared.

For a moment, she didn’t move.

Then she reached toward the clothing.

Her fingers touched the black T-shirt.

She froze.

She recognized it immediately.

The faded electrical diagram.

The worn lettering.

A small repair along one seam.

Mateo had worn this when he logged on.

Lucía’s breath caught.

She slowly unfolded it.

Then pressed the fabric against her face.

For a moment, she didn’t make a sound.

Then her shoulders began shaking again.

Mercer looked away.

He gave her time.

Eventually, Lucía lowered the shirt.

She held it in her lap.

Then looked toward the box.

”What’s in there?”

Mercer opened it.

”A few of his personal items.”

He carefully moved the contents into view.

A wristwatch.

A small tool roll.

Several electrical components.

A folded photograph.

And a notebook.

Lucía stared.

Then reached for the notebook.

It was battered.

Dark blue.

The corners were worn.

A strip of black tape reinforced the spine.

She opened it.

The first page contained an electrical diagram.

The second contained another.

The third had several calculations written in an increasingly frustrated hand.

Lucía recognized the handwriting.

Her throat tightened.

It was Mateo’s.

She could almost see him sitting at a desk, pen in hand, muttering about somebody’s terrible design decisions.

She turned another page.

There were notes about the battleship’s electrical systems.

A warning concerning an unreliable connection.

A list of components he wanted to replace.

Several small sketches of wiring arrangements.

Then she found a page with a drawing in the corner.

A tiny cartoon of an angry wrench.

Beneath it, Mateo had written:

THIS THING IS PERSONALLY OFFENDING ME.

Lucía stared.

Then made a sound.

A very small sound.

Half laugh.

Half sob.

Mercer looked toward her.

She pointed at the drawing.

”He always did that.”

The captain smiled faintly.

”Did what?”

”Drew faces on stuff he hated.”

Mercer considered that.

Then chuckled quietly.

”That explains a few things.”

Lucía smiled through her tears.

She turned another page.

Then stopped.

Near the back of the notebook was a section that didn’t contain engineering notes.

It contained names.

Crew assignments.

A few addresses from the original Earth.

Numbers.

Reminders.

Then a heading:

IF WE EVER GET HOME

Lucía’s expression changed.

She leaned closer.

Underneath were several lines.

Call Mom.

Check whether the house is still standing.

Explain to Lucy that logging in during the launch was probably a terrible idea.

Lucía stared.

Her mouth opened slightly.

Then she began crying again.

Mercer’s expression tightened.

She turned the page.

Another note.

Buy Lucy a better toolkit. Not the cheap one she keeps stealing from me.

A pause.

Then beneath it:

Teach her properly this time.

Lucía pressed her hand against her mouth.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe comfortably.

She bent over the notebook.

Tears fell onto the paper.

She tried to wipe them away.

Then stopped because doing so only smeared the ink.

Mercer gently slid a tissue toward her.

Lucía took it.

She dabbed the page.

Then looked toward him.

”He remembered.”

The captain swallowed.

”Of course he did.”

She shook her head.

”I thought...”

Her voice broke.

”I thought maybe he’d forgotten about me.”

Mercer’s expression softened.

”No.”

Lucía looked down.

”He didn’t know I was here.”

”No.”

She swallowed.

”But he remembered.”

The captain nodded.

”Yes.”

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Lucía closed the notebook.

She held it against her chest.

”Can I keep this?”

Mercer nodded.

”Yes.”

She looked up.

”Really?”

”It’s his personal property. Once the necessary transfer record is completed, I see no reason it shouldn’t be with his family.”

Her eyes filled.

”Thank you.”

Mercer nodded.

”You’re welcome.”

He looked toward the other items.

”There’s no rush to decide what to take today. We can keep anything you don’t want to handle yet safely stored.”

Lucía nodded.

Then looked toward the folded black T-shirt.

She touched it.

”Can I have this too?”

Mercer swallowed.

”Of course.”

She nodded.

”Okay.”

The captain waited.

Then spoke carefully.

”Lucía.”

She looked up.

”Yes?”

”There are arrangements we still need to make for Mateo.”

Her expression changed.

He continued gently.

”The medical department has preserved his remains while we review his records and determine the appropriate funeral arrangements.”

She stared.

For a moment, she seemed frightened again.

Then she nodded.

”Okay.”

Mercer considered his words.

”We had been discussing cremation, with his ashes kept safely identified until there was a way to contact his family.”

Lucía looked down.

The captain continued.

”Now that you’re here, I want to make sure your wishes are heard. And we’ll keep trying to determine whether any other members of your family can be reached.”

She swallowed.

”Do I have to decide right now?”

Mercer shook his head immediately.

”No.”

Her shoulders lowered.

”Okay.”

”You don’t have to make that decision today.”

She nodded.

”Thank you.”

For a while, she looked at the notebook.

Then she asked:

”Can I say goodbye to him?”

Mercer’s expression softened.

”Yes.”

Her eyes filled.

”We’ll arrange that with Medical, and they’ll explain what to expect first. You can decide whether you want to.”

She nodded.

”Okay.”

The captain waited.

Lucía looked down.

Then whispered:

”I think I do.”

Mercer nodded.

”Then we’ll make it possible.”

 Later that afternoon, Lucía was given a room in the station’s residential quarters, close to the medical staff accommodations.

It was small.

Clean.

Simple.

There was a bed.

A desk.

A wardrobe.

A window overlooking one of the maintenance roads.

Nothing particularly remarkable.

But after a month of temporary bunks and transit-station waiting rooms, having a room where she could close the door felt strangely important.

Irena Holt had personally checked the accommodation.

She’d also explained that Lucía’s medical intake could wait until the following morning, provided she was feeling physically well.

Lucía had nodded.

Then thanked her.

The doctor hadn’t asked unnecessary questions.

Hadn’t told her to be brave.

Hadn’t suggested that keeping busy would make everything easier.

Instead, she’d shown her where to find drinking water, the nearest washroom, and the staff member on duty if she needed help.

Then she’d left.

Lucía appreciated that more than she could explain.

She placed her bag on the bed.

Took out the photograph.

Set it on the desk.