Chapter 4 part 7

####The Cold, Hard Truth of Deserted Dreams

When the mission began, Stella was on high alert, her hand resting near the control panel of her weaponry, eyes scanning for threats on Loki’s surface. Now, she’s barely holding herself together, struggling just to keep her focus. The notion of hostiles? It seems like she’s forgotten they even exist.

Her suit’s holographic readouts, once pristine, now stutter and glitch with increasing frequency. The data streams ripple like fractured light, more erratic than any of ours.

We gather at a makeshift outpost near Loki’s cratered equator. The auxiliary power cells we salvaged from the failed relay station barely keep the place running. The recreation deck’s dim ambient lights flicker weakly as we huddle together, ration packs in hand. Lunar, for reasons I can’t fathom, packed the most unappetizing dehydrated meals for this mission. Conversation is sparse, the silence weighed down by exhaustion and the planet's low, rumbling winds.

Comfort? Nonexistent. But this is what we signed up for.

“To keep Stella from ever becoming a Spacer...” If nothing else, we’ve accomplished that.

“...In the next solar cycle...”

Stella sits apart from us, staring vacantly into a holographic feed from her wrist module. Her voice, when it comes, is barely more than a whisper.

"I left central command... took up a guild job. But I hated it. I thought becoming a Spacer would mean something. That I could protect people, be someone important."

She reveals the truth, and it's a grim situation.

"But now... I don’t know. What am I supposed to do?"

She’s unraveling, her emotion on the brink of a crash. My chest tightens. Stop it. Please. I’m terrible with this kind of thing.

"Everyone has strengths and weaknesses in their roles," Lunar says, breaking the silence.

"...Strengths and weaknesses?"

"Just because something is your dream doesn’t mean it’s your calling. Stella, if today’s mission feels impossible, maybe being a Spacer isn’t the right path."

"I’m sorry," she murmurs, her voice cracking like static.

Her apology hits me harder than I expect. It echoes like those old emergency beacons—signals from crews who never made it home. My chest feels heavy, and guilt twists in my gut. Did we just crush her dream? Or did we save her from a mistake? It’s hard to tell anymore.

"Let’s wrap this up," I mutter. 

Then Moona commanded "Prepare for exfiltration. Diana is in orbit."

The boarding point is a windswept ridge overlooking Loki’s desert surface. The Diana descends from the sky, its silhouette framed against the planet’s horizon. As its landing struts touch down, the ship lets out a low hum, the boarding ramp extending with a hydraulic hiss.

We move toward it in silence, the chill of the planet’s atmosphere biting through our suits. Lunar leads the way, carrying the last of the mission’s salvage: fractured relay components that feel more like a cruel souvenir than a victory. Stella follows slowly, her gaze fixed on the ramp as though stepping aboard might be the hardest thing she’s done all day.

Back inside the Diana, we stow the salvaged equipment in the cargo hold before regrouping in the lounge.

The journey back to Baldr Station is quiet, the ship gliding steadily through Loki’s thin upper atmosphere before breaking free into space.

Up ahead, Lunar and Stella are speaking in hushed tones. Meanwhile, the rest of us linger at the rear of the lounge, our voices barely above whispers.

“Terrible mission,”

"...Bad taste, I guess?"

“Well, it was the Noble patriarch’s request,” I sigh. “Not like we had much choice.”

The task had been clear: end Stella’s Spacer aspirations without breaking her completely. Diana seems to specialize in missions like these. It’s almost disturbing how effective they are.

Honestly... I can't help but think, impressive. No sarcasm intended.

Lunar’s precision is flawless. Even now, she’s adjusting the ship’s targeting matrix, ensuring nothing disrupts our route. Stella, weighed down by exhaustion and strained systems, has no fight left to resist.

“Carrying that much weight, even with a quantum alloy suit, takes guts, Just as I expected, Narwhal”

“Did you bring me along just for this, Moona?”

Turning around, I find Moona grinning slyly.

“Partially,” she admits. “Relying on Goressa as the sole vanguard seemed... unwise. Stella needed a backup.”

"So, Lunar's targeting and navigation ability isn't flawless after all?"

"Hmm... you've noticed that. I don't dislike intelligent men."

"To be honest, it's not exactly a sure thing. But she's definitely doing something."

If there is indeed a power that makes the targeting device point toward an enemy's direction... it might explain Lunar's nickname: final shot.

Moona's smile deepens further.

"Lunar has a Gift," Moona continues. "An extraordinary ability navigating around to avoid disaster. But I have my own."

"...What kind of ability?" I ask warily.

“A *Gift,* of course. Don’t act like you don’t have one, Narwhal.”

…!

My power got exposed...?

My heart skips. How does she know? Did I give something away? No. This has to be a bluff. I’ve been careful.

I don't remember showing it, and I haven't used it in a place where someone could see it.

"I know, Narwhal."

What's that supposed to mean? Stop it. Wait, seriously, it wasn't seen, right?

“Your enhanced physicality,” Moona says with a knowing smile. “That’s your Gift, isn’t it?”

...

Phew. Close call! She misunderstood.

If she only thought that it's just bodily enhancements.

I can work with that.

Ahem... no, not okay. I have to act like I've been hiding it all along. Alright, then. Let's just play it cool. That should be the least acting-like response.

"...What are you talking about?"

“If you joined Diana, we could help you refine it. Handle high-level noble requests. Avoid anomalies no one else dares approach. Think about it.”

"Lunar is hoping for you to join. The benefits are pretty good."

They're trying to recruit me... Well, I do appreciate the thought of a daily proper warm bath. It's kind of tempting, I must admit.

Moona’s smile sharpens. "And we’d ensure your Gift remains... discreet."

"Miss Moona, that's not going to work."

"...Aioi?"

Interrupting the persuasion, it's Aioi.

“Using someone’s secret to manipulate them? Not cool, it's like you're holding them hostage.” she says. “If you want him to join, try asking the normal way. No tricks.”

Moona blinks, momentarily thrown off. "...You’re right. I suppose I went about this poorly."

"Yes. That's exactly it. Not gonna work," Aioi says with finality.

"...I see," Moona murmurs, looking almost like a chastened child caught red-handed.

It’s rare for anyone to disarm Moona in conversation, but somehow, Aioi’s bluntness does the trick. Even I can’t help but notice how small Moona seems in this moment.

"You might want to try being more direct next time," Aioi adds with a faint shrug. "And... maybe don’t rush things"

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Joining Diana? Sure, the perks are tempting. A daily proper warm bath at the crew home base would be a luxury. But freedom—freedom to chart my own course through the stars—means more to me than a clean body ever could.

Still...

"That said," I interject, breaking the silence, "I’ll definitely be using the bath today."

Moona chuckles, her smirk returning. "So, you’re going to take advantage of the offer anyway."

"Of course," I reply without hesitation. "Fair compensation for putting up with all this."

"Hmm, fair enough. Let me know when you’ve decided to join us. Anytime is fine."

"Yeah, I’ll think about it."

Moona arches a brow. "...That sounds suspiciously indifferent."

From the side, Aioi gives a light laugh. "Oh, you’re getting the hang of him now, Moona."

I glance her way, smirking faintly. "Not that it’s something to be proud of."

"No," she replies, rolling her eyes. "And it’s not like I’m happy about it either."

As the distant stars dim, the quantum navigation systems slowly power down. Ahead, the silhouette of Baldr Station shimmers into view, its docking platforms glowing faintly in the void.

The mission? Dull as stardust, not even a hint of a skirmish. And yet, as I glance around at the crew, I can’t help but feel a strange admiration. Even in mundane tasks like these, the precision and skill of a seasoned team make all the difference.