Page 72 of Commander’s Mate
“No.”
“Zared—”
“No.”
My sister Meya had carved three crooked stars into everything she owned as a child.
Bowls.
Training sticks.
My boots once.
She was not old enough for the formal service registry when the war began, but she had entered emergency agricultural logistics after our older brothers deployed.
“Age?”
“Twenty-two.”
Correct.
“Physical?”
“Female Uatu. Yellow hair. Violet eyes. Clan code ending seven-four.”
Correct.
I sat down.
Tivid did not speak.
“Where?”
“Breskaa-linked sale network.”
“Alive?”
“Alive at transfer.”
“How long ago?”
“Forty-seven standard days.”
Alive forty-seven days ago.
The thought was too large to fit inside me.
My sister could be alive.
My sister could be dead.
Both possibilities existed at once.
I wanted to seize the ship and point it toward Breskaa immediately.
Forget Halor.
Forget fuel.
