Page 22 of Naughty List Delivery
The question is whether she notices it too.
Titan’s Drift Colony clings to the side of an asteroid like a metal parasite, its lights warm against the cold void. It’s a hard place, carved from rock and determination by people who came out here for the rare minerals and stayed for the freedom. The kind of place where Christmas matters because it’s one of the few connections to the homes they left behind.
The docking bay is crowded with families, word having spread that the Christmas convoy was attacked. Children press against the viewing ports while parents try to maintain hope that their packages survived. The sight of two ships instead of five tells its own story, and I can smell the disappointment even through the atmospheric recyclers.
“Attention Colony residents,” the station controller announces. “Christmas convoy has docked successfully. Package distribution will begin in thirty minutes in the main cargo bay.”
The cheers that go up make my chest tight with something that might be hope. These people have so little, but they’re celebrating anyway. Finding joy in what survived instead of mourning what was lost.
“Come on,” Noomi says, hefting one of the packages we’re personally delivering. “Let’s go make some Christmas magic.”
The cargo bay has been transformed into something between a warehouse and a celebration. Families cluster around the distribution tables while volunteers sort packages with efficient care. Someone has rigged speakers to play ancient EarthChristmas music, and the smell of hot chocolate and synthetic cookies mingles with recycled air.
“Mommy, is our package here?” A little girl tugs on her mother’s sleeve, eyes bright with hope and trust that makes my throat tight.
“We’ll see, sweetheart. Sometimes packages get delayed.”
I watch Noomi’s face as she processes the scene—the careful hope, the barely contained disappointment, the way these people are preparing themselves for loss while still clinging to possibility. Her scent shifts to something complex and painful, and I realize she’s seeing every family we couldn’t save today.
“Hey,” I murmur, close enough that my breath stirs the hair at her temple. “We saved the ones we could. That matters.”
“Does it?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “Those families whose packages are stuck on damaged ships, Ober. Children who won’t understand why their presents didn’t come on time.”
“And dozens of families who will have Christmas because you insisted on flying into a warzone.” I resist the urge to touch her, to offer physical comfort she might not want. “The damaged ships will make it to Junction One.”
“You’re right, Mother will find a way to get those packages delivered, even if it’s a day or two late. That’s what OOPS does—we deliver, eventually,” she replies with a tired smile.
“Package for the Hendricks family,” Strava calls out, and a woman near the back of the crowd gasps.
“That’s us! Sarah, that’s for Daddy!” The little girl bounces with excitement as her mother approaches the table, tears streaming down her face.
We deliver our package to a mining foreman whose wife sent him her grandmother’s scarf along with recordings from their twin boys. He cradles the container like it contains his entire world, and maybe it does.
“You saved Christmas,” he tells us, his voice rough with emotion. “Don’t know how you found us or why you bothered, but you saved Christmas for my boys.”
“It’s what she does,” I say, unable to keep the pride from my voice as I watch Noomi ensure every family gets their moment. “She saves things.”
Even broken pirates, apparently. Even relationships that should have died in the void between stars.
“Captain Kraine? Courier Jaxson?” Strava appears at our elbow, her young face serious. “I hate to interrupt, but there’s an incoming transmission. Priority One. It’s... it’s for you specifically.”
My blood goes cold. “Source?”
“Unknown. But the encryption signature...” She swallows hard. “It matches the ships that attacked us.”
Krax. Of course. He’s been watching, waiting for the perfect moment to twist the knife.
We make our way to Strava’s ship, the Lucky Strike, where her communications array displays a familiar and unwelcome face. Krax Korvain’s translucent features fill the screen, phosphorescent circulatory system pulsing with cold satisfaction.
“Hello, Nova,” he says, and I have to fight the urge to growl at his deliberate use of her old name. “I do hope you enjoyed your little rescue operation. Such noble work. Such... redemptive effort.”
“It’s Noomi,” I say firmly, stepping protectively closer to her. “And if you have something to say, say it.”
“Ah, the protective mate.” Krax’s smile could freeze plasma. “How charming. Tell me, Captain Kraine, do you know what your precious partner did three years ago? The choice she made that destroyed my family?”
My tail lashes involuntarily. I can smell Noomi’s pain, sharp and bitter and carefully controlled. Whatever happened three years ago, it’s still bleeding.
“I know she does the right thing,” I say, my voice dropping to the command register that’s ended more arguments than I can count. “And I know that whatever you lost, it doesn’t justify terrorizing innocent families.”
