Page 23 of Naughty List Delivery
“Innocent?” Krax laughs, and the sound is like breaking glass. “Were my twin daughters innocent when their mother took them and disappeared? Were they innocent when Sera decided that discovering my ‘true nature’ made me unfit to be their father?”
My enhanced senses pick up the spike of anguish in Noomi’s scent, the way her heartbeat falters. Whatever choice she made, she’s still carrying the weight of its consequences.
“Your choice,” Krax continues, addressing her directly. “Send my criminal records to the authorities instead of selling them for profit. Your righteousness destroyed my carefully maintained life and cost me everything I loved. So now I’m returning the favor.”
The transmission cuts, leaving us staring at a blank screen while the sounds of Christmas celebration filter through the ship’s hull. Families reuniting with love sent across impossible distances, while Krax destroys the same connections for others.
“Noomi,” I say quietly, my voice carrying two years of questions and growing understanding. “What exactly did you do?”
She’s quiet for so long I think she won’t answer. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.
“I chose to be better than we were. And it destroyed everything.”
The words hit like vacuum exposure, sudden and devastating. Because I’m beginning to understand what she’s not saying—that whatever choice broke us, it wasn’t about me at all.
It was about who she wanted to become. And I wasn’t strong enough to become it with her.
“Tell me,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. “Tell me what really happened three years ago.”
She meets my eyes, and I see two years of guilt and regret and the terrible weight of trying to do the right thing in a universe that punishes good intentions.
“I chose justice over love,” she whispers. “And I’ve been living with the consequences ever since.”
But as I study her face in the soft light of the Lucky Strike’s bridge, I realize something that makes my heart skip a beat. She’s not talking about choosing justice over love for Krax’s family.
She’s talking about choosing justice over love for us, and the horror dawns on me. “I chose the greater greed.”
7
Christmas Past
Noomi
TwohoursoutfromTitan’s Drift Colony, and I’m still processing what Ober said back there. “I chose the greater greed.” Those four words keep echoing in my head, along with the way his voice broke when he said them.
He gets it now. Finally understands why I made the choice that destroyed us. But understanding and forgiveness are different animals, and I’m not sure which one we’re dealing with.
The farewell celebration had run late—miners toasting their Christmas deliveries and calling us heroes for saving the convoy. By the time we’d extracted ourselves from grateful families and homemade lunar whiskey, it was past midnight station time. Now the Wandering Star feels too quiet after all that joy, and I can’t stop stealing glances at Ober in the co-pilot’s seat.
Something fundamental has shifted between us. The way he looks at me now—not like prey he’s hunting, but like something precious he’s afraid to break. It’s doing things to my concentration that have nothing to do with navigation.
“Noomi,” PIP’s voice cuts through my brooding, and I notice he’s using my chosen name without prompting now. “I’m afraid we have a rather significant problem. Someone’s planted a virus in our systems.”
Ice runs down my spine. “What kind of virus?”
“The particularly nasty kind that’s been dormant since our convoy rescue. It just activated and is systematically targeting our life support systems. Atmospheric recyclers are failing, temperature controls are offline, and I estimate we have perhaps twenty minutes before breathing becomes... challenging.”
Ober’s enhanced senses pick up atmospheric changes before mine do. His nostrils flare, and I catch the way his alien eyes track environmental readings with predatory focus. “Krax,” he growls, claws extending involuntarily. “He’s been planning this.”
“Planning what?” But even as I ask, I understand. Force us into a confined space. Make us desperate. Strip awayevery defense and distraction until we’re pressed together with nowhere to run.
Psychological warfare at its finest.
“Emergency pod,” I say, already moving toward the necessary systems. “It’s our only option.”
Ober’s alien eyes dilate as he processes the implications. “The pod’s designed for one person.”
Heat floods my cheeks because I know exactly what that means. The emergency pod isn’t just small—it’s designed for maximum thermal efficiency and survival. Which means we’ll be pressed together, sharing body heat, breathing the same recycled air for however long it takes his crew to find us.
