Chapter 473: Meeting Old Friends and Crew

They boarded and hauled the crawler with them.

A ramp unfolded from the ship’s belly, not steep, wide enough to move cargo and people at the same time. The surface was textured for grip, scarred from use, and warm underfoot in a way that told Reva it had already compensated for load and balance. This thing didn’t creak when weight shifted. It absorbed it.

Inside, the ship felt nothing like its exterior suggested.

There were no sweeping halls or polished displays. The interior was segmented and practical, corridors wide enough for two people to pass with gear, walls layered with reinforcement panels that had been removed and reattached more times than anyone bothered hiding. Power conduits ran along the ceiling behind transparent shielding so they could be checked at a glance. The lighting stayed low but even, tuned to function rather than mood.

Everything about it said long travel, long survival, and zero interest in looking impressive.

By the time they reached the inner transit ring, the deck vibrated slightly and the sensation underfoot shifted. Not a jolt, just a steady change in pressure as the ship disengaged from the ground and began moving upward.

They were already airborne.

Reva noticed it first by instinct, then confirmed it when the faint hum of the engines changed pitch. Viola clocked it a second later, eyes flicking toward a bulkhead display that showed altitude climbing in clean increments. Requiem didn’t react at all, which meant he’d already felt it and filed it away.

The ship was busy.

The crew moved through the corridors with purpose, some carrying tools, some tablets, some nothing at all but clearly heading somewhere important. Reva counted faces without trying to. She lost track around a hundred. That didn’t include people sealed off in engine compartments, navigation pods, maintenance bays, or whatever spaces this ship hid deeper inside itself.

There were more. She was sure of it.

Lyra suddenly slowed.

Her posture changed as recognition set in, shoulders easing, steps faltering as familiar faces turned toward her. A woman with braided hair and grease-stained gloves froze mid-conversation, then smiled and crossed the distance without hesitation.

“Lyra,” she said, disbelief and relief mixed together. “You’re alive.”

Lyra laughed, actually laughed, and hugged her. “Barely,” she said. “You look the same.”

“So do you,” another voice added from behind, followed by a hand ruffling her hair like she hadn’t grown at all.

Lyra greeted them back, names exchanged fast, touches brief but real, the kind of contact that came from shared history instead of obligation. It spread quickly. Heads turned. Smiles appeared. Someone clapped her on the shoulder and moved on without stopping.

Reva watched it happen, tension loosening despite herself.

She’d seen Lyra smile before. She’d seen her relax around Xavier. This was different. This was the kind of happiness that came from being somewhere you didn’t have to explain yourself.

Viola noticed it too. She didn’t say anything, just lowered her shoulders a fraction.

Jareth walked alongside them, letting it happen without interrupting. When the corridor widened into a central junction, he finally stopped and turned to face the group.

He counted them once, quick and precise.

“I’ll have rooms assigned,” he said. “Separate quarters for each of you. You’ll be more comfortable.”

Viola shook her head immediately. “One room is fine. As long as it’s big enough.”

Jareth raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“We’ve been together this long,” Viola replied. “We’ll manage.”

Jareth nodded once, accepting it without commentary. “Alright. I’ll have something arranged near the inner decks. Less traffic. More quiet. No one will disturb you there.”

A crew member led them down a quieter corridor, hand gestures minimal, pace steady, clearly used to guiding people who didn’t ask questions. Lyra slowed near a junction where the ship opened into a wider communal section, voices overlapping, laughter carrying from somewhere deeper inside.

“I’ll stay here for a bit,” Lyra said. “I want to talk to them. I’ll come to the room later.”

Reva looked at her, then at the faces nearby that were already turning toward Lyra with recognition and easy familiarity. She didn’t argue. None of them did. Forcing her now would only turn relief into resentment.

“Don’t wander,” Viola said. “And ping us if anything feels off.”

Lyra nodded, smiling, already half pulled away by people calling her name.

They followed the crew member the rest of the way.

The room sat along an inner deck, insulated and practical, large enough to hold them and their gear without forcing anyone to sleep on the floor. The door sealed behind them with a muted lock, and the hum of the ship settled into a constant backdrop. Packs went down first, then weapons placed within reach without being displayed.

Reva turned once everything was set. “I don’t want to be a bitch,” she said, voice low, controlled, “but I still don’t trust them.”

Viola nodded immediately. “That’s normal. I feel the same way.”

Requiem leaned back against the wall, arms folded. “We wait and see. That’s all we can do right now.”

Iria, who had stayed quiet through the walk, looked between them. “Lyra looked happy,” she said. “They looked happy to see her too. I don’t think they’re bad people.”

Reva exhaled slowly. “That’s usually how it starts,” she replied. “Betrayal doesn’t come from strangers. It comes from people you trust.”

She paused, then continued, choosing her words carefully. “Lyra doesn’t have much experience with that. From what Xavier told me, which he obviously heard from Lyra or leaned from Bull before he killed Bull in the prison back on earth, she was pulled out of a slave camp when she was three. Bull and his crew raised her. She grew up on a ship, surrounded by the same people, the same rules. That kind of life doesn’t teach you how ugly things get when power and money enter the picture.”

Viola shifted her weight. “None of that changes where we are now. We’re already on their ship. If this goes wrong, we don’t have an exit plan. That makes us trapped whether we like the word or not.”

Requiem pushed off the wall and spoke again, voice steady, measured by experience rather than hope. “A crew this size doesn’t mobilize for a bounty,” he said. “You don’t keep a hundred people fed, paid, and loyal by chasing one payout. That kind of operation survives on routes, long-term contracts, favors that mature over years. What I’ve seen so far tells me these people have been doing this for decades. Their movements are practiced. Their ship is maintained like it matters tomorrow as much as it did yesterday.”

He looked around the room, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “Veterans don’t gamble everything on a reward that barely registers against their overhead. If money was the goal, they’d be doing something cleaner, something quieter, something that doesn’t drag this much attention behind it.”

Requiem finished calmly. “That doesn’t mean we relax, though. It means we stay sharp, keep patterns, and don’t hand anyone leverage. Trust comes later, if it comes at all.”

He folded his arms again and leaned back into place.

“On that note, we should also have a talk with Lyra and make sure she doesn’t reveal more than needed to anyone.”

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