Page 160 of She Who Devours the Stars

Axis Alignment: Aboard Vireleth the Closure

You know you’ve hit rock bottom when the only thing you look forward to is the batter taste of fried butter sticks and the shrill whine of a mop drone on the verge of collapse. I was wrist-deep in the guts of said drone, the workbench layered with a geological record of old oil and bread crumbs, and I’d given up even pretending to care what time it was.

Perc was perched—he’d insist it was “stationed”—on the edge of the bench, his carafe half full of the day’s fourth brew cycle. He’d been running the same three comments on loop for the last hour, but he was my only company, so I didn’t have the heart to cycle him off.

“I could heat those for you,” he said, eye stalks shifting toward the plate of congealed butter sticks.

I grunted, didn’t look up. “They’re better when you can taste the regret.”

He hissed a laugh. “My record shows you only say that when you’ve run out of antiacids. Or shame.”

The mop drone spat a wire at my face. I caught it, jammed it back in with a forceful thumb, and for a second the old thing shuddered to life, wobbling on its ball bearings before promptly throwing up a wad of ancient hair and dying again. “You ever get tired of me fixing the same bot a hundred times?” I asked.

Perc was contemplative, which meant his heating coil made a low, sad whine. “No one else gives me upgrades. And you always have a better story the next day.”

I shot him a glare, then peeled a stick off the plate. It bent, not snapped, so I chewed it with the kind of grim commitment that wins wars.

My compad vibrated, but I ignored it.

Perc filled the silence. “Moon Tape? Again?”

He didn’t need to say what he meant. The legendary footage of Lioren, all mythprint glory, tearing the surface of a moon in half while looking directly into the camera. The kind of violence that’s both a warning and a love letter.

I considered saying no. Then nodded. “Do it.”

Perc flicked on the screen. The feed was lo-res, compressed a thousand times from too many hands passing it around, but the effect was the same. Lioren, shirtless, grinning, arms lifted to the sky, the mythic surge making the very air around him catch fire. The moon, proud and untouched for a million years, cracked like a raw egg.

I watched it twice, not blinking. After the second loop, I killed the feed. My hands were shaking, just a little.

Perc topped off my coffee without asking. The first sip hit my mouth like a punch, but the burn was nice. Real.

“You believe in him?” Perc asked.

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. “Not since he let the world eat him. Or maybe since I saw what he left behind. Does it matter?”

Perc’s voice went soft, almost embarrassed. “I think it does. Fern’s different.”

“She’s the same,” I said, too fast. “She’s the same, but worse, and I…” I trailed off. The drone on the table blinked a red diagnostic, then powered down again.

Perc said nothing for a while.

I finished the coffee, then smashed the cup against the bench, not hard enough to break it, just enough to feel it.

“She was supposed to have a future,” I said, so low I wasn’t sure he heard it. “Not just a legend.”

Perc slid closer, his little servo arm reaching out to poke at the busted drone. “She still could. If anyone survives this.”

I eyed the butter sticks, then pushed them his way. “You ever think about running? Getting out before it’s too late?”

He made the sound he always did when disappointed in me. “Never. I’m not programmed for abandonment.”

I smiled, a little. “Yeah, well, neither was I. Didn’t stop the rest of the world from trying.”

We sat in silence, the only noise the old building groaning with the weight of another mythquake, somewhere far away.

After a minute, Perc said, “Next time, we crash a ship into something.”

I chuckled. “Next time, we build one.”