Lula's expression softened as she looked down at him. "Cristox, this is our son, Fred."
Fred. A decidedly human name for a child who was plainly Ardesian, from the delicate ridges along his temples to the faint iridescence in his dark eyes. He looked up at me with the kind of open curiosity only the young possess.
"Hi," Fred said, then stuck out his hand.
"Nice to meet you." I reciprocated the handshake.
"We adopted Fred almost two years ago," Lula explained, her voice taking on a quieter tone. "He was rescued from a Gliese mining moon."
My chest tightened. I knew about Gliese mining operations. Brutal, exploitative, using whatever labor they could get their hands on—including children. "I'm glad you found each other."
"We are too." Buck's hand settled on Fred's shoulder, protective and gentle. "Best thing that ever happened to us."
Fred looked up at me with sudden intensity. "Are you really from a spaceship? A big one?"
"I am," I confirmed. "The Historia. She's an Alliance vessel."
His eyes went wide. "An Alliance ship?"
"Yes." I smiled despite myself.
"I want to be an Alliance guard when I grow up," Fred announced with the absolute certainty of youthful dreams. "I want to travel on a spaceship and see all the different worlds and protect people."
Something warm unfurled in my chest. "That's a good dream to have."
"Will you tell me about it?" Fred asked eagerly. "About the Historia and what it's like to travel in space?"
I glanced up at Lula and Buck, who were watching with matching expressions of hope and affection. "I'd be happy to," I said. "If your parents don't mind."
"Mind?" Lula laughed. "We'd be delighted. Why don't you come to dinner at the farm next week? Fred would love to hear your stories, and I make a mean roasted root vegetable stew."
"The best in the settlement," Buck added. "And I've got a new batch of amber ale."
The invitation settled over me like a warm blanket. This was what I'd been fighting for, wasn't it? All those years working for Asad intelligence and my time on the Historia was for this. Families like this. Younglings like Fred who could dream about futures instead of just surviving. "I'd love to come. Thank you."
"Excellent!" Lula clapped her hands together. "I'll comm you next week. We're just past the northern fields, the farmhouse with the blue shutters."
"I'll be there," I promised, then looked back at Fred. "And I'll tell you all about life on the Historia. Deal?"
"Deal!" Fred practically vibrated with excitement.
I straightened, feeling lighter than I had in days. As I said my goodbyes and moved back into the market crowd, I felt a sudden prickling at the back of my neck. Not the warning sensation I'd learned to associate with danger—or Charlene—but something different. Something that made me pause and glance around.
The market continued its cheerful chaos. No sign of Charlene bearing down on me. No obvious threats. Just that strange, persistent feeling that something was about to shift.
I shook it off and kept walking.
"Hey there, son!" A gravelly voice called out from my left. "You look thirsty!"
I turned to find an elderly human male waving me over to a booth that looked decidedly... unofficial. He had to be pushing eighty Earth years, with a face like weathered leather and eyes that sparkled with mischief. Behind him, I could make out what was unmistakably the copper coils and glass containers of a distilling setup, barely concealed by a draped tarp.
"Clemon Peters," he said, extending a gnarled hand. "Purveyor of fine libations and the best damn moonshine this side of the Centauri Cluster."
I couldn't help but grin as I shook his hand. "Cristox. And I'm guessing the settlement authorities know about your operation here?"
"Craig's one of my best customers." He winked and produced a small glass, filling it with clear liquid from an unmarked bottle. "Besides, I've been making this recipe since before half these folks were born. Try it."
I took the glass, eyeing the contents skeptically. It looked innocent enough. Clear as water, no visible impurities. I raised it to my lips and took a sip.
