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“4th degree turn to your port,” Roy blurted, his fingers stabbing the keyboard. “15k forward, then you’ll pass around a blue dwarf. The gate will be on the zenith.”

Cal’s mouth twisted in a satisfied grin. “Good.”

Roy closed his eyes, uttering a silent prayer he’d thought forgotten.

And it’s onwards, me gals and me lads, into the Emperor’s mighty hands…

The gate, an enormous oval arch of palladium and carbon fibre, with Imperial roses etched into the surface, pulsed in the distance, like a siren luring them in. Cal lowered the throttle, the engines coming down with a whirr.

“Just a bit more,” Cal muttered, focused on the fuel indicator. “Come on…”

“Are the raiders gone?” Roy frowned at the lidar’s empty screen.

“They won’t dare hunt under the Emperor’s light,” Cal replied. As they approached the gate, he accelerated one last time, flying through the arch.

The engines sputtered, fed with the last remains of fuel, then suffocated. Carried by the tide of the dimension jump, the flyvan advanced, and Roy’s anxiety finally unknotted. One of the Empire’s Harbours floated before them—an enormous vessel, larger than some dwarf planets. Its gravity field gripped their vessel and tugged it forward.

“That was…” Roy took a deep breath, clawing at his safety straps.

“I’m sorry,” Cal whispered, his hands still gripping the direction controller. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you; it’s just⁠—”

“…amazing.” Roy exhaled. His mind swam with unleashed thoughts, and perhaps, just this once, he could let instinct dictate his actions. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins as his knees bumped the pilot seat, as he lowered himself, as he pressed a palm to the side of Cal’s soft neck. Those violet eyes searched his face, and Roy answered with a kiss. By definition, it was more a clash of mouths, but Cal didn’t seem to care for the semantics. One of Cal’s hands dipped into Roy’s hair, while the other worked to unfasten the seat strap buckles.

Once freed, Cal caught Roy’s upper lip between his teeth and grinned. “We’ll continue this conversation later, okay? I need to glide into the dock now.”

Their fuel-less flyvan coasted, pulled by the Empire Harbour’s gravity, all the way to the airlock. Once it was securely shut, the metal door on the other end opened, and through the vessel’s viewport, Roy observed a figure in a white mech suit advance toward them.

“Let’s go.” Cal nodded toward the hatch. “I’ll talk to them.” The bridge unrolled, then he hopped onto it, smoothing down the wrinkles on his jumpsuit. “Void spare the Emperor.”

“Void spare,” the soldier replied, their voice distorted. Their helmet’s visor flashed as they swivelled their head, apparently assessing the spacecraft’s condition. “What brings you in?”

“We were chased by raiders. They hooked us and crashed the ship’s AI.”

“They’ve been running wild lately.” Metal fingertips touched the yellow hull, tapping quietly. “Any direct hit?”

“None direct. I dodged the missile, but we got hit by a radiation wave.”

“Mind if we copy the logs?” The soldier paced around the bow, the mechanical joints of their suit buzzing. “Maybe we could identify the raiders if they left any traces in the comms.”

Cal side-eyed Roy, as if seeking permission. Only then did Roy realise he was, in fact, the flyvan’s official owner.

“Of course.” Roy half-bowed. “How long will that take?”

“A while.” The soldier gestured toward the other side of the airlock. “Please register yourself at the reception.”

As they headed toward the exit out of the airlock, Cal groaned, rubbing circles from his jaw joints to his earlobes. “Damn. We must have gone through some depressurisation. My ears hurt.”

Roy filled out the questionnaire with the constant help of a friendly reptilian. One eye stayed pinned to her computer, while the other blinked at Roy’s attempts to describe the raiders’ pursuit. The chatter around them blurred his focus, and words hung at the tip of his quill, unable to spill onto the page.

“Perfect,” the receptionist said, taking the forms back. “Now, I’ll give you this token—it’ll glow once your ship’s ready. Let me give you this guide.” She slid a brochure across the reception counter’s polished, marble surface. “There are cafeterias and restaurants on this floor, or maybe if you’d prefer to relax in a heatbox, you can visit floor 29⁠—”

The door flung open, and a company of squires in navy blue tunics marched in, carrying rolls of fabric. New carpets, maybe? Roy frowned and stepped away, letting them pass.

“Almost done,” one of them said with a sigh, wiping sweat from his hairline. “Been puttin’ up this nonsense the whole day.”

“Don’t blaspheme,” the receptionist growled quietly.

The squire huffed, unrolled the fabric, and draped it under the receptionist’s counter, revealing shades of dark purple and black swirling together like a high-entropy galaxy.