Page 58 of Veiled Vixen

“Rex!”

I whirl around and almost drop the frame on the floor.

“Rex? Is that you?”

“Veila is here?” I whisper that to the bot.

It chirps.

“Rex!” she calls again.

And for a moment I wonder if Rex is her boyfriend. Heat fills up my body unbidden. I don’t want these feelings for her, but they’re there. I can’t help it.

I’m jealous of some dude called Rex.

The bot ignores my reaction and slips down a long, dimly lit hallway where the voice came from.

“There you are,” I hear Veila say, then realize Rex is probably the bot. But there’s no time to think more about that because Veila continues talking. “Oh, my sun. I feel like shit.” She whines these words out in a very un-Veila-like way. Then there’s some clanking of various metal objects. Water running. The bot chirping loudly over all this noise. And then Veila saying, “I know. But it makes me feel better so I don’t care.”

I look back at the photo frame in the buffet and it occurs to me then that she has no idea I’m here.

But as I’m looking at that photo frame I begin to take in smaller details about the room. A small dish on the coffee table filled with snack food. Nuts maybe. An empty mug. An e-reader screen displaying the title page of a book called Motherhood Across the Galaxy. And on top of the e-reader screen is a small notescreen with a pressure pen balanced on top.

But then I notice that the pillows on the couch are haphazardly thrown about and there’s a thin silver blanket in the mix. And all of this gives me the impression that Veila spent the afternoon here. On this couch. Eating those nuts, drinking from that mug, reading that book, and making notes about motherhood across the galaxy.

I try to picture Veila doing this and almost laugh. And I probably would’ve laughed if another thought didn’t pop into my head. One that kinda stuns me.

She lives here.

This place—this massive fucking room and whatever lies down that hallway where she’s at—this place is her home.

Maybe this whole ship is her home? And that’s why she was making a big deal about only having one ship left.

Those other ships were for war. This one is for… hiding.

She’s hiding.

She practically admitted that earlier, I just didn’t have enough information to understand the significance.

Going home after you lose a battle is the definition of losing. Luck and I lost a few times in our many battles on ancient stations. There were plenty of emergency medical pods and dashing through gates at breakneck speeds to get somewhere for help.

But when that kind of stuff happened we didn’t go home.

Not empty-handed. What’s the point of that?

We regrouped on a station, or out in space, or wherever. We made a new plan and then we went right back into the fray and finished the fucking job.

Then, and only then, did we go home.

And now, maybe for the first time ever, I realize something.

Luck and I never failed.

Is that right? Is it true?

And suddenly I am desperate to think of a time we did. Surely, after all those years, after all those missions we were sent on and parts we were sent to find, we failed once. At least.

There is one time when it almost happened. That time when Luck got his throat slashed by that girl. But we weren’t on a mission. We were already on our way home. So it doesn’t really count. We didn’t lose when I took him home.