Chapter 244: Second Approach
He found Corven later that same evening, alone in the cockpit, nursing a drink he wasn’t actually drinking, staring out at the passing stars with an expression Rohan had learned, over their weeks together, meant the man was somewhere considerably further away in his own thoughts than the cramped cockpit around him.
"You’ve been quieter than usual," Rohan said, settling into the seat beside him. "Since we left the Anchorage."
Corven was quiet a long moment before answering, turning his glass slowly between weathered fingers.
"Told you once, back on that mining platform, that I had a life closer to the Cradle Reach before circumstances changed it," he said finally. "Never told you the specifics. Figured you had enough of your own weight to carry without adding mine to it."
"You don’t have to tell me now either," Rohan said. "Not if you’d rather not."
"I know." Corven set his glass down, meeting Rohan’s gaze with an unusual, deliberate openness.
"But we’re about to walk into something considerably more dangerous than anything either of us has faced so far, and I find I’d rather you know, in case tomorrow doesn’t go the way any of us are hoping." He exhaled slowly. "Had a daughter, once. Consortium contract work took me offworld more than it should have, more than her mother ever forgave me for, in the end. Marriage fell apart. Custody went the way custody usually goes when a father’s away more than he’s home. Kept meaning to make it right, eventually, once the next contract paid out, once I had enough saved to actually settle somewhere and be the kind of father she deserved." His jaw tightened. "Never got the chance. She was eleven when the transport carrying her and her mother to a new posting went down over a moon I’ve never even bothered learning the name of. No warning. No chance to say anything I should have said years before that."
Rohan felt the weight of the admission settle over him with genuine, aching sympathy. "I’m sorry."
"Long time ago now," Corven said, though something in his voice suggested the wound remained considerably fresher than the years technically allowed. "Ended up out here afterward. Fringe work doesn’t ask a man to explain why he left everything closer to civilised space behind. Just asks whether he’s capable of the work in front of him." He glanced toward Rohan, something almost fond beneath the old grief. "Suppose that’s part of why I never turned back on you, kid, much as sensible caution probably should have argued for it. You remind me a little of her, is all. That same stubborn refusal to accept things as simply, permanently lost."
Rohan didn’t trust himself to answer that with words adequate to the weight of what Corven had just shared, so he simply reached over and gripped the man’s shoulder, brief and firm, the same gesture Jorren had once offered him during his hardest days at Veyrhold.
"Thank you for telling me," he said finally. "And for everything since that first night in the cantina."
Corven managed a small, tired smile. "Get some rest, kid. Tomorrow’s going to demand everything you’ve got, and probably more besides."
The Rustwake dropped out of transit into the numbered system’s outer belt on the fourth day, and the first thing Rohan noticed, before the sensor readouts had even finished settling, was the second vessel already holding position near the outpost’s docking gantries.
"That’s not good," Corven said flatly, studying the display with grim, immediate focus. "Sleek hull, heavy sensor array, no visible registration markings. That’s not a salvage crew or an independent survey team. That profile belongs to a corporate security vessel, and a well-funded one at that."
Dr. Farr leaned forward, studying the same readout with an expression that had gone carefully, deliberately controlled. "Meridian."
"Looks that way," Corven agreed. "They beat us here."
Rohan felt the pull in his chest surge sharply at the sight of the outpost, considerably stronger already than it had been at any point during their return transit, an unmistakable signal that whatever window Dr. Farr’s models predicted might be drawing closer than any of them had planned for.
"How long have they been here?" he asked.
"No way to know for certain," Corven said, studying the vessel’s engine signature. "Cold trail, near as I can tell — no active thrust, sitting in a stable holding pattern rather than actively manoeuvring. Could be hours. Could be a full day or more." He glanced toward Rohan, expression tight.
"Whatever they’re doing over there, they’ve had time to do a considerable amount of it already."
"We need to get aboard," Rohan said. "Whatever they’re planning, whatever they’ve already done — I need to reach that fracture before they secure it entirely."
"Agreed," Dr. Farr said. "Though I’d caution against simply flying directly toward a vessel with that kind of sensor capability and hoping they don’t notice our approach."
Corven was already working through the Rustwake’s own limited stealth capabilities, adjusting their trajectory to approach along the outpost’s far side, using the structure’s own bulk to screen their approach from the Meridian vessel’s most likely sensor coverage.
"It won’t hold up to close inspection," he warned, "but it should buy us an approach without immediately announcing ourselves. After that, we’re relying on whatever’s actually happening aboard that outpost keeping their attention occupied elsewhere."
The Rustwake settled against a secondary docking point on the outpost’s far side roughly forty minutes later, Corven’s careful, patient navigation threading them into position without triggering, as far as any of them could tell, any alarm from the Meridian vessel’s watchful sensors.
"This is as close as I can get us without genuine risk of detection," Corven said, powering down the ship’s more conspicuous systems. "From here, it’s on foot, and considerably more dangerous than our first approach."
Rohan gathered his spear, checked the modest equipment Dr. Farr had insisted they carry — a portable resonance detector, a compact version of the containment principles she’d theorised, enough medical supplies to address whatever injuries this second approach might demand — and moved toward the airlock with his two companions close behind.