“Stow the chatter, Kilews,” Voss had grumbled that morning, slapping a data-slate onto her workbench. “We’ve got a priority run. Gilded trinkets to Velorum Prime. High pay. Low questions.”
“We need credits,” Voss cut her off. “Get it done.” kilews
They dropped out of warp into the Velorum system, and the trinkets weren't trinkets. Kilews saw the crates being loaded: not the usual coded polycarbon, but reinforced steel, humming with a cold she felt through her boots. She asked the loadmaster what was inside. He just winked and tapped his nose. “Stow the chatter, Kilews,” Voss had grumbled that
The trouble started three jumps later.
Voss’s face went pale, then hard. “You weren't supposed to see those.” High pay
But the damage was done. That night, the tapping grew louder. And the whispers began. Not just her name anymore. Fragments. Confessions of murdered spacers. Coordinates to lost treasure fleets. A child’s last word to a mother she would never see again.
