"My big baby…"

  Two girls linked arms, walking past Jack, turned back in surprise, and gave him a weird look. They saw the pale, plump man's facial muscles bobbing like jelly, and a perfectly curved woman standing at his side. They glanced at each other and then burst into a laugh they tried—and failed—to stifle. One of them flushed, grabbed her friend, and took off running.

  Called "big baby," Jack froze at the curb like a fat cat with its throat pinched, then felt a squeeze at his waist. Nya's hand, habitual and playful, found the roll of flesh at his side and gave it a little twist. Tears sprang to the corners of the fat man's eyes.

  Nya bit her lip, looped her arm through his, and steered him into a small tavern tucked around the corner.

  …

  The tavern was quiet that late morning; they took a table by the window. A waiter came over with a drinks menu and bowed politely. "What can I get you two?"

  "I'll have Stardust whiskey," Jack said without thinking—then faltered, voice shrinking as he glanced at Nya.

  Nya shook her head gently. "I have to get back to the Valkyrie later. Coffee for me, please."

  "Sorry, sir. Stardust whiskey is contraband. We have other drinks."

  "All right—coffee for me as well."

  "Very good. One moment, please."

  An awkward silence settled between them.

  Across the street, a holographic broadcast played the Federation's welcome ceremony for Cyril. The 3D projection showed Cyril already wearing a Commonwealth admiral's uniform—an enemy commander who'd defected and, just like that, become one of theirs. It was an unusual spectacle.

  President Hamilton's speech was less a welcome than a declaration—an incitement to press the offensive against the Draconian Imperium.

  They watched the projection in silence. The waiter soon brought two cups of coffee. When their eyes met, both turned and said at once, "Thank you."

  The waiter was taken aback—such heartfelt thanks had been a new experience for him. Blushing, he waved it off, "No, no—please enjoy."

  As Jack craned his neck to sneak another look at the broadcast, Nya—eyes rimmed red—couldn't stay quiet any longer. "What have you been doing these past few days?"

  Jack looked lost for a moment. He refocused on his coffee and said, staring into the cup, "I wanted to contact you, but I… didn't know what to say. Thank you for saving me. I've been feeling pretty overwhelmed. I keep telling myself I'm just a coward—I've never been fearless. I've been pushed along by others, step by step, to get here."

  He paused, glanced at the welcoming ceremony outside, then turned back to Nya, whose eyes were moist. "Maybe one day I'll become like them."

  His right hand slid slowly across the table toward the hand she was stirring her coffee with. Their fingertips brushed; Nya's hand trembled and stopped. She looked up at Jack, then gently closed her hand over his rough, pudgy one. The warmth in his palm went straight to his heart.

  "Jack," she said quietly but with firm resolve, "your cowardice, your fear, your wanting to run from war—that's a kind of strength. You're trying to stay alive. Anyone who loves life would think the same way, even if they can't always act on it."

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  "I know how terrified you must have been the moment you stepped onto the battlefield. People only see you as a Commonwealth hero; they don't know the price you paid."

  She paused; her eyes reddened further. "I want to escape this maelstrom, too. But nobody gets out untouched. If the war reaches the capital, I won't be able to run either. At least this way I'm closer to what I've lost—closer to you and Meadow."

  A tear slid down Nya's cheek; she sniffed once. "You haven't lost everything. You have me and Meadow. Maybe one day I'll disappear into that infinite sky, but until then the three of us will face this together."

  Jack's hand cupped her face and wiped away the tear. "You won't disappear. You two are everything I cherish. I may still be cowardly, but I'm not running now. When I led you and Meadow away from that battlefield, I thought—maybe I should turn and face it instead. Maybe that's what I'm meant to do."

  Nya couldn't hold back any longer; her tears fell freely. She reached into her pocket and set a small glowing orb into Jack's palm. "Meadow asked me to give this to you. I've been trying to find out about her, but… I can't get any information."

  Jack stared for a long beat, then blurted, "What happened to Meadow?"

  "When I got back to the Valkyrie, I ran into her unexpectedly," Nya said, her throat tight. "She was in an unmarked uniform. I asked where she was going; she wouldn't say—only that I should give this to you."

  She looked up, tears blurring her vision. "Sometimes I feel so helpless. Like I can't do anything."

  Nya stood up suddenly. "I have to go." She kissed Jack lightly on the forehead, then pushed open the tavern door and climbed into a passing skiff. It lifted and disappeared.

  …

  Jack sat there, staring out the window. The tavern was filled with customers, chatter, and laughter. The street hologram still played Cyril 's fanfare; the announcer's excited voice filtered through the glass.

  Jack looked at the orb in his hand and remembered Cyril 's parting words: "You're still young." He thought of what he'd told Nya earlier: "I might become like them."

  He sat for a long time. His coffee went cold; sunlight moved across the table. Finally, he took a breath and pressed the top of the orb.

  Meadow's 3D hologram formed before him.

  "Hi, Jack. It's been a while."

  Meadow smiled. She looked the same, yet there was something in her eyes that Jack had never seen before.

  She stood there quietly, wrapped in a long robe patterned with pink cherry blossoms, its wide sleeves hanging down by her sides. A wide, golden sash was tied tightly around her waist, fastened behind her back in an intricate knot. Two symmetrical curves turned slightly upward, graceful as crescent moons, appearing both dignified and subtly playful. The layered collar crossed elegantly at her throat, revealing the pale nape of her neck.

  She inclined her head slightly, like an unopened flower.

  Jack froze.It wasn't a Federation uniform, nor her usual medical officer's attire. It looked like clothing from... ancient times.

  "Have you thought of me, even for a moment? I'm on a mission now. We might not see each other again for some time," she continued softly, "but I wanted to tell you... Thank you. For saving me. Twice."

  Meadow leaned forward slightly, her expression softening:"Jack... meeting you... was the best thing that ever happened in my life."

  Then, Meadow began to sing.

  She turned and began to dance. The wide sleeves traced gentle arcs in the air, the pink cherry blossom patterns swaying softly with her movements. The intricate knot at her back shifted gently with her steps, the delicate tassels hanging from the sash cord tracing soft curves in the air.

  Her steps were light, each turn making the long robe bloom open like petals.

  Sweetheart, wake up, embrace the sunrise.

  Take my hand, let's hit the road.

  The wheels hum the tune we love,

  heading toward rivers and blooming flowers.

  The breeze lifts your brown curls,

  your lashes tremble slightly in the sunlight.

  Your eyes shine like stars

  as you carry me forward, chasing your dreams.

  Images flashed through Jack's mind. In tall grass, Meadow stood with a gun leveled by an Imperial officer—frightened, helpless, defiant. On the battlefield, she bandaged his wounds with trembling hands and a steady look. Her shy smile returned again and again.

  A sharp, bitter ache hit his chest.

  Jack broke down. In the growing crowd at the café, he let himself sob openly—no shame, no holding back. People glanced over, whispered, and offered sympathetic looks, but Jack didn't care.

  Meadow's song continued to play; her hologram swayed in the sunlight.

  Chasing sunlight.

  The three of them had once chased sunlight together.