Chapter 135 · Discharged

The discharge took less than fifteen minutes.

The physician—an older man whose bedside manner consisted almost entirely of efficiency—set a slim datapad on the examination table and turned it toward Eli. "The inflammation has resolved satisfactorily." Eli nodded. "But the pancreatic tissue has not recovered sufficiently. The cellular graft established only partial function," the physician continued. "It restored enough tissue to preserve some pancreatic activity, but not enough to regulate your glucose reliably. The pump will compensate for the remainder."

That much, he'd already guessed.

The physician tapped the display, enlarging a schematic of the implant resting beneath the skin of Eli's abdomen. "The device will continuously monitor your glucose levels and administer insulin as required. Under normal circumstances, intervention on your part should be minimal."

"Should?"

"It will notify you before it becomes necessary."

A small transmitter, no larger than a credit chip, rested against Eli's upper arm beneath a transparent dressing.

The physician noticed where he was looking. "The sensor is replaced every ten standard days. The pump itself requires refilling approximately once every three months." He paused before adding, in the tone of someone who had delivered the same explanation hundreds of times, "You may continue your normal duties."

"...Mostly?"

The man allowed himself the faintest smile. "You will simply have to remember that you are no longer entirely self-sufficient."

Eli huffed quietly. "That's going to take some getting used to."

"I imagine so."

The physician closed the datapad. "You survived an event that very few beings would have survived. Compared to that, this is merely logistics."

Eli couldn't help smiling at that.

"Fair enough."

Outside the ward, Stent was waiting.

He stood exactly where he had said he would, hands folded behind his back beneath a dark waterproof poncho, rain tapping steadily against the fabric. The entrance canopy did little to keep the wind-driven drizzle away; droplets gathered along the edge of his hood before falling silently onto the duracrete.

"You are ready." It wasn't a question.

Eli adjusted the small bag slung over his shoulder. "I've been officially declared roadworthy."

Stent looked briefly toward the satchel. "The medical equipment?"

Eli patted it lightly. "Spare sensors. Cartridges. Charger." A pause. "My pancreas has apparently become high maintenance."

"I see."

There wasn't the slightest hint of awkwardness in Stent's expression. Only another fact to incorporate into his understanding of the world. "The physician believes the prognosis is good?"

"He does."

"Then the matter is manageable."

Eli laughed softly. "You Chiss have a remarkable ability to reduce life-changing events to maintenance schedules."

"It is generally an effective approach."

"It probably is."

Baros II greeted them with rain.

Not a downpour, nor a passing shower, but the patient, unending rain that seemed woven into the planet itself. It softened the outlines of buildings, blurred distant landing platforms into pale silhouettes and drummed quietly against the broad hoods of their ponchos as they crossed the spaceport.

The air smelled of wet ferrocrete and engine coolant.

Beyond the landing field, low clouds concealed whatever mountains the charts insisted existed.

Eli glanced upward anyway. "I've been here nearly three weeks," he said, "and I'm starting to think this planet doesn't actually have a sky."

"It does."

"You've seen it?"

"Not from the ground."

Eli smiled. "I was hoping."

They continued toward the Faded Glory, their footsteps splashing through shallow pools gathered between the duracrete slabs.

For a while, neither spoke. The silence felt... familiar. Comfortable. Like the rain itself, it no longer demanded attention. It simply accompanied them on the walk back.

They left the medical district behind, following the broad avenue that wound downhill toward the commercial quarter. Rain drummed steadily against their ponchos, turning every rooftop into a blurred reflection beneath the low grey sky. The streets of Baros II never seemed particularly busy, but they were never empty either. Dockworkers, traders and couriers moved through the drizzle with the quiet resignation of people who had long ago stopped noticing they were wet.

Halfway down the avenue, Stent changed direction without comment.

"You forgot something?" Eli asked.

"No."

They stopped outside a modest produce warehouse. The painted sign above the entrance had faded years ago, and the loading platform was little more than a corrugated canopy shielding a handful of repulsor carts from the rain.

One of them already stood waiting.

Six sturdy cargo crates, neatly strapped down beneath waterproof sheeting.

The warehouse owner looked up from his datapad as they approached. "Morning."

"Morning," Stent replied.

The man handed him a shipping manifest. "I checked the weights myself this time."

Stent scanned the document, compared it to the labels fixed to each crate, then gave a single nod. "They are accurate."

The owner grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He tapped one of the crates with his boot. "Fresh produce. Leaf vegetables, root crops, some fruit. Picked yesterday."

Eli raised an eyebrow. "Fruit?"

"You don't get much of that out on the Rim."

"No, we don't."

The man folded the datapad beneath one arm. "I've got another run next week, if you're still around." There was no hesitation in the offer. No bargaining. Just quiet confidence.

Stent considered it for a moment. "Our schedule is... uncertain."

"Fair enough." The owner shrugged. "If you're here, the job's yours."

Stent inclined his head. "I appreciate the offer."

The warehouse owner glanced at Eli. "You his partner?"

Eli smiled. "Something like that."

"He doesn't say much."

"No."

"But he does exactly what he says he'll do."

Eli looked sideways at Stent. "I've noticed."

The man chuckled. "Best courier I've had in years. Shows up on time, doesn't complain about the weather, and somehow burns less fuel than everyone else."

Stent remained perfectly impassive. "I selected a more efficient flight profile."

"I know you did." The man laughed again. "Saved me enough credits to make hiring you worthwhile." He gave the nearest crate an affectionate pat. "These are yours, by the way."

Eli frowned. "Ours?"

"The payment."

"The freight covered the fuel and docking fees," Stent explained. "The remainder was settled in produce."

The warehouse owner spread his hands. "Fresh vegetables are worth more than credits out here. Figured you two would get more use out of them than another transfer."

Eli lifted the corner of the waterproof covering. Crisp green leaves peeked out from beneath the insulating mesh, still carrying tiny beads of moisture from the morning harvest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen produce that hadn't come from a dehydrated ration pack. He let the cover fall back into place. "I think," he said, looking at Stent, "this may be the most profitable contract we've ever taken."

"It is certainly the freshest."

For just an instant, the corner of Eli's mouth lifted. "So that's what you've been doing while I was stuck in hospital."

"I was ensuring we had sufficient provisions."

"And here I thought you were just avoiding the waiting room."

"I was capable of both."

Eli laughed. "You know... I'm starting to worry you're developing a sense of humour."

"I find that unlikely."

The warehouse owner looked between them, shaking his head with an amused smile. "You two travel safe."

"We intend to," Stent replied.

Together, they took hold of the repulsor cart and guided it back into the rain, the six crates gliding silently behind them as the Faded Glory waited somewhere beyond the curtain of mist.

The Faded Glory waited exactly where Eli had left her.

Rain beaded across the patched hull in long silver streaks, dripping from the landing struts and pooling beneath the ramp. From a distance she looked almost unchanged.

Up close, she told a different story.

Eli slowed.

The port side bore dozens of shallow abrasions, as though the ship had scraped against rock harder than durasteel. Entire sections of paint had been scoured away, exposing dull grey primer beneath. Along the ventral plating, fresh welds traced pale seams across the hull, each one carefully dressed smooth before receiving a thin coat of protective sealant.

He reached out, fingers brushing one of the repaired panels. "This wasn't here."

"No."

"And this one?"

"It fractured."

Eli followed the line of welds with his eyes. "You replaced the spar."

"I reinforced it."

His gaze drifted farther aft.

A maintenance panel still wore a faint rectangle of mismatched paint where Stent had evidently sanded away damaged coating before sealing the metal underneath. It stood out against the ship's faded hull—not because it had been poorly done, but because the Faded Glory had never cared much for appearances.

"You've been busy."

"There was sufficient time." That was all Stent said.

But Eli could read the evidence. The landing gear hydraulics had been serviced. One of the sensor fairings had been straightened. Even the scorch marks around the port maneuvering thruster had been polished away. None of it strictly necessary. None of it visible from a distance. All of it done because Stent had been unable to sit beside a hospital bed every hour of every day.

Eli smiled to himself. "So that's what you've been doing."

"I repaired the ship."

"You repaired everything."

Stent considered the statement. "Not yet." He placed a hand against the hull almost absently, fingertips resting on the cool metal. "She remains structurally sound."

Eli looked up at the weathered freighter. The fresh welds. The sanded paint. The patched plating. She wore her scars openly now.

Not unlike her crew. For the first time since leaving the hospital, Eli felt something inside him settle. He wasn't returning to the Faded Glory. He was returning home.

The ramp lowered with its familiar hydraulic groan.

Before Eli had taken two steps inside, a cheerful electronic trill echoed down the corridor.

"There you are," he said, smiling before he even saw him.

Tee came rolling around the corner at surprising speed, stopping so abruptly that one of his stabilizers squeaked against the deck. His photoreceptor brightened, and an enthusiastic burst of chirps followed as he circled Eli once before coming to a halt beside him.

"I missed you too."

The droid answered with another sequence of delighted whistles.

"I believe," Stent observed from behind them, "he inspected your quarters on a daily basis."

Eli looked down at Tee. "Really?"

A proud chirp.

"He was ensuring," Stent continued with complete seriousness, "that no unauthorized modifications occurred during your absence."

Eli laughed. "Good thinking."

Tee emitted a satisfied beep before setting off down the corridor, clearly expecting them to follow. Eli stepped into the ship, instinctively waiting for the familiar clutter that had accumulated over months of travel.

It never came.

The corridor was spotless.

Tools had been returned to their lockers. Spare components were stacked neatly inside labelled storage bins. Even the collection of datapads that usually migrated from the cockpit to the galley and back again had been arranged into tidy piles.

He looked over his shoulder. "...You cleaned."

"There was sufficient time."

"I suppose there was."

Only then did Eli notice something else. The Faded Glory smelled different. Not dramatically so.

The familiar scent of old machinery, warm circuitry and recycled air was still there, woven into the ship's bones as deeply as the faded paint on her hull.

But beneath it lingered something softer. Fresh earth. Leafy greens. The faint sweetness of ripe fruit.

Two weeks of carrying produce through the Rim had left their trace in the ventilation system, a ghost of countless wooden crates stacked in the cargo hold.

Eli stopped without realizing it. The smell carried him somewhere else entirely. A cool morning on Lysatra. Walking between rows of vegetables before sunrise while dew still clung to the leaves. His mother sorting freshly harvested produce into crates. His father arguing—good-naturedly—with a neighbour over whose goldleaf melons deserved first place at the autumn market.

The memory arrived so suddenly that it almost caught him off guard.

Stent noticed him pause. "Is something incorrect?"

Eli slowly shook his head. "No." He drew another quiet breath. "It smells..." He searched for the right word. "...alive."

Stent glanced toward the cargo hold. "The produce has already been delivered."

"I know." Eli smiled to himself. "But it left something behind."

For a moment, he simply stood there, listening to the gentle hum of the life-support system and the rain tapping faintly against the hull.

The Faded Glory had always felt like home.

Now, for reasons he couldn't entirely explain, she smelled a little like it too.

The Faded Glory had settled back into something resembling routine.

Rain tapped steadily against the hull while the galley filled with the smell of simmering vegetables—real ones this time, not the dehydrated flakes that had accompanied most of their journey through the Rim.

Eli occupied the corner of the table furthest from the cooker, surrounded by datapads. Sensor logs. Navigation records. Medical reports. He was slowly assembling everything into a coherent mission archive while the memories were still fresh enough to trust.

Across from him, Stent stood at the galley's narrow counter, slicing pale root vegetables with the same deliberate precision he applied to calibrating navigation sensors.

The rhythm was oddly reassuring. Knife. Cutting board. Rain. Ventilation. The quiet hum of the ship.

Eli paused over one paragraph, deleted it, and began again. "Observed phenomenon..." No. "Unknown harmonic structure..." Still wrong. He rubbed absently at his forehead. "We're going to spend the next month trying to describe something neither of us understands."

"We understand more than we did."

"Barely."

"That is the usual direction of progress." Eli smiled to himself and resumed typing.

Without looking away from the chopping board, Stent reached into one of the galley drawers and retrieved a slim handheld scanner.

He crossed the short distance to the table. Eli didn't even look up. "Left arm."

Automatically, Eli rolled lifted up his arm. Stent passed the scanner once across the small sensor adhered to the back of Eli's upper arm. A soft chime. Satisfied, he slipped the device into a pocket and returned to the vegetables.

Eli continued typing. "...You know," he said after another moment, "it's mildly disturbing how quickly that became normal."

"You have adapted."

"I've surrendered."

"There is a distinction."

"There really isn't." Another few lines disappeared from the report. Eli sighed. "I still hate it."

"The device?"

He nodded. "It reminds me."

"It should."

Eli looked up. "That's not especially comforting."

"It is not intended to be." Stent added another handful of vegetables to the pot. "It reminds you before your body is required to."

Eli watched him for a second. "...The doctor told you to keep an eye on me?"

"No."

"You volunteered."

"I accepted responsibility." There wasn't the slightest trace of embarrassment in the admission. Only fact.

Eli chuckled quietly. "That's somehow even worse."

"I disagree." He stirred the soup once. "The current arrangement is more efficient."

Eli shook his head, smiling despite himself. "I don't know whether to thank you or file a complaint."

"You may do either."

"I have the feeling neither would change anything."

"They would not."

The conversation dissolved into companionable silence.

Eli returned to his report. Stent returned to the pot.

Eli stared at the paragraph for another few seconds before deleting it entirely. "I still don't know how to write this."

Stent glanced over from the galley counter. "The phenomenon?"

"The conclusion." He rotated the datapad towards him. "'The observed harmonic lattice exhibited characteristics inconsistent with naturally occurring phenomena.'" He grimaced. "It sounds like I'm trying not to say what I actually think."

"You are."

"I don't have any proof."

"You have evidence."

"There is a difference."

"There is." Stent lowered the heat beneath the pot before crossing the short distance between them. He rested one hand lightly on the back of the chair and looked down at the scrolling report. For several moments, he simply read. Then he tapped one paragraph with a finger. "This."

Eli frowned. "What about it?"

"It is incomplete."

"In what way?"

Stent met his eyes. "Would it satisfy you if I told you that you were correct?"

Eli blinked. "...I'm sorry?"

"The lattice." A brief pause. "The harmonics." Another. "Your interpretation." He spoke each point with the same measured certainty. "You were correct."

Eli stared at him, waiting for the inevitable qualification. None came. Which somehow made the statement harder to accept. "...You'll have to narrow that down for me."

Stent looked back to the datapad. "You concluded that the signal was neither random nor inert."

"Yes."

"You were correct." The words settled slowly.

Eli lowered his eyes to the looping waveform on the display. The pulse continued its steady rhythm across the screen. Regular. Intentional. Alive. A breath escaped him before he realised he had been holding it. "I knew it."

"Yes." Stent's voice remained calm. "You did."

Eli didn't smile. Didn't celebrate. Instead he leaned back in his chair, one hand unconsciously drifting to his abdomen before thinking better of it. "I wasn't trying to be reckless."

"I know."

"I wasn't chasing..." He searched for the word. "...recognition."

"I know."

"I just..." He looked back at the harmonic trace. "When we were inside the storm... I had the feeling it was trying to show us something. I felt we were so close… that we needed just a little more to get to cross it. To solve it."

"We were." There was no scepticism left in Stent's voice. No caution. Only acknowledgement. The silence that followed was different from the one they had shared aboard the Faded Glory before Baros.

Eli watched the pulse travel across the screen once more. "I wish we could have stayed longer."

Stent folded his hands behind his back. "Even knowing the price?"

Eli opened his mouth. Closed it again. His fingertips brushed unconsciously across the fabric covering the healed incision beneath his shirt. The fever. The darkness. The four days adrift. "...No." He let the word sit between them. "Not like that."

Stent inclined his head once. "I believed that would be your answer."

Eli looked at him. "Would it help if I admitted you were right as well?"

Stent waited. "We couldn't survive another attempt."

A tired smile crossed Eli's face. "Not with one ship."

"And not with one crew."

"No." He exhaled slowly. "Going home wasn't failure."

"No."

"It still feels like it."

"It will not."

Eli frowned. "How can you be so sure?"

Stent looked at the mission report still glowing on the table. "Because," he said quietly, "you are writing it."

Eli followed his gaze. The report. The charts. The harmonic recordings. Everything they had risked their lives to bring back.

"If we had remained," Stent continued, "none of this would exist beyond our own memories. That counting we were still alive."

Eli nodded almost imperceptibly. He finally understood what Stent had been trying to tell him ever since they had turned back at the edge of the storm. They had not abandoned the mission. They had preserved it.

Eli read the final paragraph one last time before saving the document. The mission report joined a growing archive. The harmonic recordings themselves, duplicated twice and stored on separate encrypted drives. He hesitated only a moment before dragging the entire directory into the expedition archive. The transfer bar crept steadily across the screen. When it reached one hundred percent, he leaned back in his chair. "There."

Stent looked over from the galley. "It is complete?"

"The raw data is." Eli flexed his fingers. "The theories..." He gestured vaguely toward the datapad. "...those can wait until we have a little more evidence."

"They should."

Eli smiled. "That's probably the nicest way you've ever told me to stop overthinking."

Stent crossed the short distance between them, glancing at the archived files. "You may resume theorizing." A brief pause. "But not today."

Eli looked up. "...You're ordering me to take the afternoon off."

"Correct."

"You outrank me."

"Correct."

"You've been waiting to use that argument."

"I have." That earned him a quiet laugh. A genuine one.

Eli closed the archive and powered the datapad down. "I suppose we don't leave for another couple of hours."

"We do not."

"So..." He stood carefully, one hand instinctively brushing the edge of the table as he found his balance. "...what exactly does someone do when Lieutenant Stent forbids him from working?"

Stent considered the question with complete seriousness. "You eat."

"I've already done that."

"You finish your caff." Eli glanced at the mug still half full beside the datapad. "...Fair."

"And then?"

Stent looked toward the viewport, where rain continued to blur the landing field beyond. "You watch the rain."

Eli blinked. "...You're serious."

"Yes."

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Eli picked up the mug and walked over to the boarding ramp. Baros II had been raining since the day they'd arrived. He suspected it would still be raining when they left. He found, to his surprise, that he didn't mind.

Behind him, Stent quietly returned to the galley to finish clearing away lunch. Neither of them felt the need to fill the silence. The reports were archived. The Faded Glory was provisioned.

In a few hours, they would depart. For the moment, there was nothing left to accomplish. And for the first time since reaching the edge of the known galaxy, that felt entirely enough.