"The work I do, the artifact trade, it's always been about finding things before they disappear. Before they get locked away by someonewho doesn't understand what they have, or destroyed by someone who does. I've built a network for moving objects, but storage has always been the problem. Anything I can't sell quickly, I have to hide. And hiding things in corporate space..." She trailed off. "That's going to be impossible, now."
"What are you asking?"
"I'm asking if the rumors are true." She leaned forward slightly. "About the Zorathi Reach. About your access to it."
I felt something shift in my chest. I'd known this conversation would come eventually, not necessarily with Leesa, but with someone. The Reach wasn't a secret that could be kept forever. I was synonymous with the Zorathi pirates now, even though they weren’t pirates. Everyone had watched us do what we did. Hell, we were the face of the corporation’s downfall.
"You saw my feeds?"
"All of them. I know who the pirates are, and I know they have access to the Reach. I also know that it's outside corporate jurisdiction, or what’s left of it, and has been for centuries, will be for centuries more." She paused. "That it's the kind of place where things can be kept safe."
"It's true," I said. "I have access. The Reach exists, but I’ve never been.”
Leesa exhaled slowly. "Okay."
"But, I can ask if it can be used." I held up a hand before she could respond. "I will offer this. If you find artifacts that need protection, real protection, the kind that lasts, contact me first. I can store them on the Starbreaker. Nobody would be able to get to them. It would be preservation, Leesa. Actual preservation."
"What would you want in return?"
"Access to what you find. Not ownership, I don't care about that. But information. I’m a xenobiologist by training; I want to analyzeeverything you find, and if it has value, be the first bidder. I will give you a fair price."
She was quiet for a long moment. I watched her think, watched the calculations happening behind her eyes. Risk assessment. Trust evaluation. The exact process I'd gone through a hundred times in the months since my life had changed.
"You've gotten harder," she said finally. "Not in a bad way. Just... you used to hesitate more. Second-guess yourself."
"I used to have time for that."
"And now?"
I considered the question seriously. "Now I know that I'm willing to pay for the things that matter. That makes decisions easier."
She nodded slowly. "Alright. I'm in. We'll figure out the logistics later, via secure channels, transfer protocols, all of it. But yes. If you're offering what I think you're offering, then yes."
"Good."
"Kira." Her voice softened slightly. "Take care of yourself. Whatever you've been through to get here, and I can see it's been a lot, don't forget that you're allowed to rest. The galaxy will keep spinning without you pushing it."
"I know."
"Do you?"
I didn't answer. After a moment, Leesa smiled and ended the call.
The silence returned.
I stayed on my bunk, datapad resting on my thighs, watching the stars drift past the viewport. The conversation with Leesa had settled something in me, though I couldn't name exactly what. A sense of direction, maybe. The knowledge that I wasn't the only one trying to build something in the wreckage left by the corporation’s corpse.
I glanced at the empty plate on my table. The wine glass. Evidence of something ordinary in the middle of everything extraordinary. Good food. Sleep that wasn't stolen between crises.
I let my mind drift backward. The service colony. The medical team as they worked around the clock to save lives. Kaedren unconscious on the table, his breathing shallow, his skin purple with bruises. I'd stood there for what felt like hours, watching the monitors, and trying to remember how to pray to gods I'd never believed in.
He'd lived. They'd all lived. But I could still feel the weight of those hours in my bones.
I thought about the broadcasts. My face on screens spanning the galaxy. My name spoken by people I'd never met, attached to a cause I had claimed as my own. The way I'd become a symbol simply by doing what was right, by refusing to disappear when disappearing would have been easier.
I hadn't asked for it. But I hadn't run away from it either.
There was a cost to that. I could feel it now, in the exhaustion that lived beneath my skin, in the way my thoughts kept circling back to moments of crisis like they were still happening. I'd been running on adrenaline and emotions for so long that I'd forgotten what stillness felt like.
