It was difficult to find any peace aboard a starship packed with incensed anarchists, but somehow Stroth and Krellos found a quiet moment in the Fortitude’s rudimentary galley. The place had long since been plundered of rations; now only a beverage module with a persistent drip remained. Through the cabin’s tiny window, a blue-grey speck glowed invitingly. Aglostarros, mere hours away.
“So,” Krellos began, his face set into an uncharacteristic look of grim determination. Was the legendary Gunmetal Gyre… nervous?
“So,” Stroth echoed, looking up at him with a much less inscrutable expression, a hand shaking as she pushed back a strand of greying hair. It was impossible to mask the kind of dread she was feeling now, so she didn’t try. “This plan feels ridiculous.”
“Only 'cause you’re dwellin’ on what happens to these guys,” Krellos observed, gesturing to the GLoW personnel bustling outside. “Our business is simple by comparison: get to the Museum, flip a few switches, go home.”
“You’re not wrong,” Stroth said quietly, trying to convince herself. “But I’m still a fugitive on Aglostarros, Tren! If even one person sees me, we could be in so much trouble. Not to mention—”
Krellos set one heavy hand on her shoulder, doing his best to be comforting. “We’ll deal with it. You focus on your thing, and leave the mooks to me.”
Stroth nodded slowly, struggling to internalise his reassurance. “Thank you, Tren. You didn’t have to come with me on this adventure, but I’m glad you did.”
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