Chapter Seventeen
Landing at Little Bright
The S.S. Cosmic Clover settled into a slow, careful drift beside the Little Bright Beacon, her engines idling so softly Kael could barely feel the vibration through the deckplates.
He wasn’t sure if it was awe or fear making his heartbeat echo in his ears.
Kessa strapped herself into her harness with a grin far too big for someone about to board a mysterious, nearly-forgotten beacon in the loneliest patch of space they’d ever seen.
“This is it,” she breathed. “First steps into the unknown.”
Kael’s hands were steady on the controls. “Unknown usually means trouble.”
“Trouble,” Kessa said, “means opportunity.”
“For what?”
“For character growth.”
Kael gave her a dry look. “Space hates us.”
“Space loves us. We are a cosmic delight.”
The robot bee buzzed a tiny agreement from its perch on the console.
Kael sighed. “Traitor.”
Docking: A Leap of Faith
The docking clamps on the beacon were not designed for modern vessels. Their shapes were old-fashioned — almost archaic — with mechanical latch grooves instead of magnetic catches. The Clover extended her adaptor arm with gentle, respectful movements, and Kael manually aligned the two interfaces.
A soft click. Then a slow hiss.
The connection sealed.
Lights flickered up the docking spine of Little Bright, like the beacon was waking from a long sleep — one hesitant glow at a time.
Kessa whispered, “Kael… it’s greeting us.”
“It could be running an automated sequence from when Jorin last visited.”
“Or,” Kessa said, eyes shining, “it could be happy to see us.”
Kael didn’t trust himself to answer that.
The Clover’s interior lights dimmed in unison, softening to a warm, welcoming amber.
Kessa gasped. “She likes it here.”
Kael nodded slowly. “Feels like home to her.”
Suiting Up
They stood at the main airlock, helmets clipped to belts but not sealed — the beacon didn’t look depressurized, but Kael wasn’t taking chances.
Kessa bounced on her toes. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Great,” she said brightly. “Let’s go.”
The robot bee landed on Kael’s shoulder and chirped, “Bzzt-yes!”
Kael groaned. “I am outnumbered.”
Kessa patted his cheek. “Aw, Kael. You’re the odd one out in space.”
He stared at her.
“That wasn’t even a pun.”
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Kessa grinned. “It was. A very space-ific pun.”
Kael’s soul left his body briefly.
Then the airlock cycled open.
Inside Little Bright
The dock of Little Bright was small — barely a single platform — but clean. Dust particles floated in the low circulation, glittering softly in the glow of the beacon’s interior lights. Everything felt still. Peaceful.
Old.
Kael stepped forward slowly, boots touching the metal surface of the beacon floor.
It felt… warm.
Not heated-warm. Memory-warm.
As if the metal remembered every hand that ever touched it.
Kessa inhaled deeply. “Kael…”
He nodded. “I know.”
Beyond the platform was a narrow corridor — just wide enough for two people — leading to a circular chamber dimly lit by the same soft, flickering blue light they’d seen from space.
Kessa reached out to touch the wall.
Kael caught her wrist gently. “Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to break anything!”
“You usually break things.”
“Not important things.”
Kael raised an eyebrow.
Kessa sighed. “Fine. I won’t touch anything without warning you first.”
“Or ever.”
“We’ll negotiate.”
The robot bee fluttered ahead, wings buzzing in the quiet space.
“Hey—” Kael hissed. “Wait!”
But the little drone drifted cheerfully into the circular chamber.
The twins hurried after it.
The Heart Room
The chamber at the center of Little Bright was simple, almost austere. A single viewing window looked out over the empty drift. A low metal desk bolted to the floor. A small console. No decorations. No signs of habitation.
Except one.
On the desk sat a small square container — old, metal, edges worn smooth by decades.
Kessa pointed. “Kael… that wasn’t in the station schematic.”
“There is no station schematic,” Kael reminded her. “This place is practically myth.”
Kessa stepped forward.
Kael grabbed her sleeve. “Wait.”
She froze.
Kael moved closer, scanning the container with his handheld device.
No radiation. No energy surge. No traps. Just… quiet.
Kessa tilted her head. “Safe?”
Kael nodded slowly. “Seems so.”
Together they approached the desk.
The container had a single clasp — unbroken, unforced — and a small star engraved on the lid.
The same star Jorin had engraved onto the hex?chip they’d found earlier.
Kael’s breath caught. Kessa’s hand drifted to his shoulder.
“Ready?” she whispered.
“No,” Kael whispered back.
And then he opened it.
What Jorin Left
Inside was a datapad — old-fashioned, thick, with a screen slightly yellowed with age.
Kael lifted it gently.
The pad flickered.
Then powered on.
A message appeared on the display.
Handwritten. By Jorin.
Kessa covered her mouth.
Kael felt the world tilt around him.
It read:
**“If you found this, you followed the small lights. Good. Now follow the truth. I left you something in the Clover’s heart. Something I couldn’t tell you when you were children. Something you’re ready for now.
— Jorin”**
Kessa whispered, “Kael… the Clover’s heart?”
Kael swallowed hard. “He means the engine core.”
Before they could react, the robot bee fluttered onto the desk, tapping the datapad with its tiny foot.
A second message unfolded.
Coordinates.
Inside the Clover.
And a final line:
“Don’t be afraid. The ship remembers the way.”
The lights in the chamber dimmed.
Then brightened.
A pulse. Just like the beacon outside.
Kael felt his throat tighten. “Kessa… he hid something on the ship.”
Kessa brushed away tears with the heel of her hand. “Then let’s go find it.”
The beacon pulsed again.
Warm. Soft. Guiding.
Kael closed his eyes.
“Okay, Jorin,” he whispered. “We’re following.”
