Page 337 of Commander’s Mate

Terrified.

Mine, instinct had said in the auction house.

Now I understood the word differently.

Instinct had recognized her.

Choice was what had made us partners.

She stood beside me because she wanted to, and I would never mistake that for something biology had granted me.

“Commander?” Tivid said.

I looked at the ship we were about to steal.

“Begin approach.”

The message to the missing Farseek dreadnoughts went out three times.

Encrypted. Old clan-military code. Impossible to understand without Farseek keys and family references the Consortium had never bothered to learn.

Then we moved.

Dreadnought One, Dreadnought Eight, and the support vessels left Breskaa behind and headed toward a repair complex where intelligence suggested a heavy transport might be acquired.

Acquired was the polite word.

Stolen was the accurate one.

Mercenary life was developing its own vocabulary.

I stood with Harper in the memorial chamber before departure. My mother’s knife handle rested on the shelf again. Beside it Harper had placed a tiny strip of cloth embroidered with three crooked stars.

She had made it from scrap fabric after I told her about Meya.

“You know those stars are terrible,” I said.

“They are historically accurate.”

I touched the cloth.

“Thank you.”

Harper leaned against my arm. “Do you think we’ll find them?”

“My family?”

“Your family. Earth. The others. Any of it.”

I looked at the remembrance shelf.

“I think we will find answers.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No.”

She nodded. “Okay.”