Chapter 59 · Baptism

The one week estimation became two—mornings of welding and wiring, evenings of exhaustion that felt almost honest.

The Faded Glory began to change. The new hyperdrive seated perfectly into its bay; Stent ran calibration tests until even Laro told him to take a break. The hull was patched, repainted in dull gunmetal. Inside, Eli repaired the galley’s water lines, replaced light fixtures, and tested every relay twice.

By mid first week the works focused on the ship’s structure, and the air system hummed without complaint.

By that first week, the engines purred when coaxed instead of coughed.

By the second, she was whole again—still worn, still bearing the marks of her past, but alive.

When the mechanics packed up for the night, Eli stayed behind. The hangar was quiet, the kind of quiet that carried the sound of cooling metal. A half-empty can of maintenance paint sat near the supply racks, the same dull white used for hull markings.

He dipped the brush once, wiped the excess on the rim, and crossed to the bow where the chalk letters still clung to the metal. The old name—Steady Hand—was almost gone beneath repairs. But the scrawl his father had left years ago was still faintly visible, ghosting the hull.

Eli traced over it slowly, steadying his hand against the warm plating. Each stroke turned the faded chalk into clean paint, giving the words permanence at last.

Faded Glory.

When he stepped back, the name caught the light from the hangar doors and seemed to breathe again. A ship that had once been someone else’s hobby now belonged to the space above.

Eli stood under the open ramp that evening, arms crossed, watching the sunlight turn the chalk name into gold.

“Tomorrow,” Laro said quietly beside him, handing him a cold drink “she flies.”

Eli nodded, clinking his bottle with Laro’s. “Then we’ll be one step closer to Lothal.”

He didn’t add the rest aloud—that every fix, every line of code, every night of work was another small promise to a ghost.

Behind them, the Mynock rested in the shadow of her replacement, most of its meager equipment had been dismantled and placed on the Faded Glory, small and stubborn to the end.

Laro returned the next morning with a ground transport full of supplies.

He parked beside the hangar doors, hopped out, and began unloading crates before anyone could protest.

“Local goods,” he said, prying one open with a multitool. Showing Eli, who came to help “Dry grains, root vegetables, preserved meats. The kind dad used to buy from the south markets before heading out on a shipping mission.”

Eli looked at the spread—smoked fish wrapped in paper, a crate of beans, a sealed pack of spiced oil. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Didn’t have to,” Laro said, “but you’d never leave if I didn’t feed you first.” He gave a short laugh. “Besides, I know what you like.”

Stent came down the ramp just in time to hear that. He regarded the crates with the mild suspicion he reserved for all non-military logistics.

Laro cleared his throat. “Didn’t know what to get for you,” he admitted. “Wasn’t sure what Chiss eat.”

“Food,” Stent said simply, and went back up the ramp.

Laro watched him go. “That one’s going to be a hit at dinner parties.”

Eli smiled. “He grows on you. Slowly.”

“Like lichen?”

“Exactly.”

Inside the ship, the difference was immediate. The Faded Glory no longer felt like an exhibit under restoration. The air systems purred; the lights held steady. The smell of oil and dust had been replaced by the faint clean tang of scrubbed metal.

Eli had moved his few belongings into the captain’s cabin. The first time he opened the fresher door and saw an actual sink, he stood there too long, waiting for it to vanish like a mirage.

Stent, of course, chose the smaller cabin without a word. Two bunks, narrow and perfectly symmetrical. He unpacked with the precision of a quartermaster and never explained the choice.

Eli leaned in the doorway while he worked. “You know that room’s half the size of mine.”

Stent didn’t look up. “Correct.”

“You could take the captain’s cabin.”

“I am not the captain.”

“Neither am I.”

Stent tightened the latch on a storage locker. “Then the matter is irrelevant.”

Eli sighed. “You’re impossible.”

“Efficient,” Stent corrected, and turned off the light.

That evening, they shared their first meal aboard her—real food, cooked on a real stove. The galley was warm for once, alive with the clatter of dishes and the low hum of the generator. It felt domestic in a way neither of them had known in months.

Laro lingered by the hatch, arms crossed, pretending to inspect the wiring.

Eli could see it—the look that said this wasn’t just a ship to him.

“She suits you,” Laro said finally. “Always figured she deserved a pilot who’d actually take her somewhere.”

“You could still change your mind,” Eli offered. “We haven’t left yet.”

Laro shook his head, a small laugh escaping that didn’t reach his eyes. “You kidding? I’d never get any work done. I’d just sit here watching the horizon and thinking up excuses to stay grounded. Mom will chew me alive if I pretend to leave on an adventure. Not to mention Sela. I’d miss the kids too.”

He stepped forward, running a hand along the edge of the hatch frame. The metal caught the light, and his voice dropped lower. “Spent half my life putting her back together. Every new weld felt like a promise I’d keep one day. Guess you’re the one cashing it in.”

Eli didn’t trust himself to answer.

Laro forced a smile, blinking hard. “You take care of her, all right? She’s been patient. Don’t make her regret it.”

“I won’t,” Eli said quietly.

Stent, mercifully, stayed silent.

Laro reached out and gripped Eli’s forearm, knuckles white. “If she gives you trouble—engine, nav system, anything—you call me. I’ll talk you through it. Doesn’t matter where you are.”

“Across half a galaxy?” Eli said, managing a smile.

“Especially then.”

He released him, cleared his throat, and glanced around the galley one last time—the spotless counters, the steady lights, the table that didn’t quite match. The space looked ready to live again, and that seemed to hurt more than he’d expected.

“She’s yours now,” he said, and it sounded like surrender.

Eli nodded. “We’ll bring her back.”

“Yeah,” Laro murmured. “That’s what everyone says.”

He stepped down the ramp, his hand brushing the hull as he went, like a farewell touch. He didn’t look back when the doors sealed.

The hangar was still when Laro arrived at dawn.

The mechanics had finished their work the night before, leaving only the scent of coolant and dust behind. The Faded Glory stood in the middle of the bay, hull newly painted, engines humming on standby. Morning light crept through the open doors, cutting long, thin stripes across the floor.

Laro was waiting by the ramp, hands in his pockets, a mug of take away caff cooling beside him. He looked smaller without the noise of work around him.

“She’s ready,” Eli said.

Laro nodded. “She’s been ready for years. Just needed the right excuse.”

Eli smiled faintly. “What are you going to tell them? When they see she’s gone.”

Laro shrugged, eyes on the ship. “Dad doesn’t come down here anymore. Too many stairs, too many reminders. Mom follows him home after the office closes. They’ll notice, sure. I’ll just say I loaned her out for a test flight.”

“She’ll believe that?”

“She’ll believe anything if it sounds like work,” Laro said, smiling. Then his voice softened. “Dad had another scare two years ago. Not a big one, but the doctors told him to stop pretending he’s forty. He didn’t listen, naturally.”

Eli looked down, nodding slowly. “And Mom?”

“She’s fine. Still keeps the books better than any droid. Still makes me feel like a kid when I mess up a shipment.” He glanced at Eli. “She’d want me to tell you she prays for you. Every day, still.”

Eli’s throat tightened. “Tell her I’m doing something worth praying for.”

“I think she already assumes you are.”

They stood in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t need filling. The ship’s systems hummed quietly behind them, steady as breath.

Finally, Laro said, “You’d better go before I change my mind.”

Eli stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Laro froze for half a second, then returned it—awkward, solid, the kind of hug that had been overdue for years.

“Take care of yourself,” Eli said.

“You too. And try not to make a habit of saving the galaxy. You’re terrible at retirement.”

Eli laughed once, the sound catching. “Guess it runs in the family.”

Laro released him and stepped back, blinking against the light. “Go on, before I start pretending I’m allergic to dust.”

Eli nodded, climbed the ramp, and paused at the top. “Thanks, Laro. For everything.”

Laro raised a hand in a half-wave. “Just bring her home one day, yeah?”

Eli didn’t answer, just smiled and sealed the ramp.

The Faded Glory came alive with a hum that felt more like a heartbeat than machinery.

Eli stood on the bridge, one hand resting on the back of the pilot’s chair, watching the indicators flicker green across the console. The air carried a faint vibration—new power through old veins.

“Engines at ninety-eight percent,” Stent reported from the pilot station. “Stabilizers calibrated. External sensors functional.”

“Everything looks good,” Eli said. “Let’s see if she still remembers how to fly.”

Stent didn’t look up. “A ship does not forget. It waits.”

Eli smiled faintly at that. “Poetic for you.”

“Accurate,” Stent replied, as if correcting a translation.

Through the viewport, the Lysatran plains shimmered in the morning heat. The spaceport stretched in neat rows of sun-bleached durasteel. Down on the tarmac, Laro stood near the hangar entrance, one hand raised in a lazy half-salute.

Eli keyed the comm and spoke softly, knowing the frequency would carry.
“Ready for launch.”

Laro’s voice came through the speaker, rough with static. “About time. Try not to scratch her.”

“No promises.”

The channel clicked off. Eli glanced once more at the figure below—just a speck now, framed by the vast, bright horizon—and eased the throttle forward.

The engines responded with a rising purr, steady and sure. The ship lifted, the ground shrinking beneath them.

Dust swirled across the tarmac in their wake, and for a moment, the shadow of the Faded Glory swept across the old Vanto hangar, dark and clean and gone again in the glare.