The taxidermized animals mounted throughout the store unsettled me the most. A massive bear reared on its hind legs near the entrance, frozen mid-roar, its glass eyes catching the light with an eerie, lifeless gleam. Elk and deer heads jutted from the walls at odd angles, their antlers like skeletal branches reaching into empty air. I understood hunting. I'd grown up on it, had made my first kill at age six under my father's watchful eye. But preserving the kills as decoration seemed macabre, almost obscene. On my world, we honored our prey differently, returning what remained of their bodies to the earth with prayers of gratitude for what their lives provided us.
The air smelled of synthetic fabrics, processed rubber, and something sharp beneath it all—gun oil, I realized. Racks of camouflage clothing lined the walls in patterns designed to help humans disappear into forests and fields. I ran my fingers alonga jacket, feeling the fabric's texture and the subtle variations in the printed pattern. Clever. My own people had similar technology, though ours worked by bending light around our forms rather than mimicking foliage.
Fishing rods stood in neat rows like ceremonial spears, and the boats suspended from the ceiling reminded me of the escape pods on theHistoria, hanging in their berths, waiting for emergencies that might never come. The design of everything here focused on survival, enabling ventures into hostile territory, and ensuring a safe return. Perhaps Gudari and human outdoorsmen were not so different after all. We both understood that nature demanded respect, preparation, and humility.
"Dalton loved this place," Ellie said quietly, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. She ran her hand along a display of hunting knives, her fingers trembling slightly as they traced the handles. "He'd drag me here every few months and spend hours just browsing. I'd sit in the camping section reading magazines while he looked at every new gadget they had."
I watched her face in the dim emergency lighting and saw grief flicker across her features like shadows from a dying fire.
"He was an avid outdoorsman," she continued, moving toward a rack of boots. "Hunting, fishing, camping, if it got him outside, he was all in. He grew up in rural Tennessee and learned to hunt from his grandfather." She picked up a boot, examined it with unseeing eyes, and set it back down. "He used to say that being out in the woods was the only place he felt truly at peace. After his time in the Navy, after everything he saw...." She trailed off, swallowing hard, her throat working against emotion. "He needed that. The quiet. The simplicity of it."
I didn't know what to say. Human grief customs were still foreign to me. Despite all my studying of their culture, all the articles I'd read on human psychology and emotion. Nothing had prepared me for witnessing it firsthand, for seeing it writtenso plainly across her face, more expressive than the grief shown by mine and many other species.
"He would have loved meeting you," she said, glancing at me with a sad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "The idea of life from other worlds fascinated him. He used to stay up late reading about the Fermi Paradox, SETI, all of it." She laughed, but it came out choked, catching in her throat. "Guess he was right to wonder."
"He sounds like a good man," I offered, the words feeling inadequate even as I uttered them.
"He was the best man." She wiped her eyes quickly, straightening her shoulders with visible effort, forcing herself back into the moment.
The emergency lights cast everything in a dim amber glow, just enough to navigate by. Ellie moved deeper into the store, running her hands along racks of clothing. I pulled the communicator from my pocket, turning it over in my hands. The metal was still warm from being pressed against my body. When I pried open the back panel, my heart sank like a stone dropped into deep water.
The quantum crystal at the core had shattered into three jagged pieces.
"Damn," I muttered, louder than I'd intended.
"What's wrong?" Ellie called from somewhere in the clothing section, her voice muffled by racks of jackets.
"The communicator." I held up the crystal fragments, watching them catch the light. They still glowed faintly with residual energy, pulsing like dying stars, but the quantum entanglement that allowed instantaneous communication across light-years was irreparably severed. "The crystal is shattered. I can't repair it. Not with Earth technology."
Ellie emerged from behind a rack, her arms full of clothing, clutching it to her chest. "So we can't contact the Prime?"
"Not directly, no." I carefully returned the crystal fragments to the casing, handling them gently even though they were already ruined. "We'll need to find another way."
Ellie frowned at me, her face scrunching adorably despite the seriousness of our situation. "How? Isn't she in space? It's not like AT&T reaches Neptune."
"Yes, but theHistoriais in orbit around Saturn, monitoring messages sent through your satellite relay systems." I dropped the broken communicator back into my pocket. "If we can access a secure communication channel, we can send a signal that the ship will recognize and relay to the Prime."
Ellie's expression brightened for a moment, hope flickering across her features, then darkened just as quickly. "But Hewes controls everything now. The military, communications infrastructure, even the satellites." She let out a frustrated sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. "If I still had control of the military, getting a message out wouldn't be a problem. I could just call the Joint Chiefs and have them patch me through to any satellite I wanted. But now?" She shook her head bitterly, her hair swaying. "Now I'm a fugitive in aBass Pro Shops."
I studied her face in the glow of the emergency lights, watching the way shadows pooled beneath her cheekbones and highlighted the delicate curve of her jaw. The weight of everything—the betrayal by those she'd trusted, losing her husband, the burden of leading her people—pressed on her shoulders like a physical thing, bowing them ever so slightly. Yet even now, even here in this absurd refuge surrounded by fishing lures and animal heads, she was breathtaking. The sight of her made something tighten in my chest, a way that no flight athigh altitude ever had. How could Hewes look at this brilliant, resilient female and see only an obstacle to remove? I could not fathom such blindness.
"Is there anyone you can trust?" I asked gently, stepping closer until I could smell the faint scent of her perfume mixed with sweat and fear. An intoxicating combination that made my pulse quicken. "Someone outside of Hewes's reach?"
Ellie went still, her eyes distant as she thought, her gaze unfocused as she looked inward. Then something shifted in her expression, a flicker of hope, small but real. "There is someone," she said slowly, carefully, as if testing the words. "He was Dalton's commanding officer when he was in the Navy. Commander—no, he'd be Admiral now—Cullen Blackwood. Dalton trusted him completely, said he was the most honorable man he'd ever known. He’s been a good friend." Her voice grew stronger as she spoke, more certain. "He went out on leave over a year ago. He lost his wife to cancer, and then his daughter disappeared. He needed a break."
"Can you contact him?"
She shook her head, frustration creeping into her voice like water seeping through cracks. "I don't have my cell phone, and even if I did, Hewes will be monitoring it. He'll probably have alerts set up for any attempt at communication to people on my contact list." She paused, biting her lower lip. "Dalton told me Blackwood has a cabin somewhere in Montana. He went hunting there once and described the location to me."
"Montana?"
"I…." She glanced around helplessly, her gaze sweeping across displays of outdoor gear, then her eyes landed on something across the store and widened. "There. That map."
I followed her gaze to a massive topographical map of the United States mounted on the wall. Precisely detailed relief showed elevations and terrain features in different colors. Wecrossed to it together, our footsteps echoing in the silence. Ellie studied the map for a moment, then she stood on tiptoe as her finger traced from our location in the outskirts of D.C., across the northern Midwest with its patchwork of plains and forests, finally landing on a spot in northwest nestled between mountains.
"Here," she said, tapping the map with her index finger. "Near the Beartooth Mountains. Dalton said it was about twenty miles west of Butte Creek." She traced the approximate location with her finger, circling an area of dense green indicating forest.
I studied the distance, calculating flight times and fuel requirements—not that I needed fuel, but I would need to rest. Over two thousand miles, perhaps closer to twenty-five hundred, depending on the route and how much we had to deviate to avoid populated areas.
