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Elio says, “I hereby call to order the final meeting of the Stellaron Hunters.”
He’s in his human form for once, sitting at the head of the ship’s dining table. He makes eye contact with all four of them in turn, his expression sombre and serious.
“‘Hereby?’” Silver Wolf finally says. “Why are you talking like that?”
He breaks character to roll his eyes. “I was trying to set the mood. It’s a momentous occasion!”
“It’s not like we’re dying,” Silver Wolf says. She glances at Blade. “Well, not all of us.”
“I know, but the group is breaking up! It’s bittersweet! There should be a sense of ceremony.”
This pronouncement is met by three blank stares and one encouraging smile from Firefly.
“Okay, forget it,” he says. “Anyway, I just have a few things I wanted to discuss with you guys, the first being this ship. Who wants it?”
“You don’t need it anymore?” Firefly asks.
“I won’t, where I’m going.”
“Which is?” Blade asks.
“Someplace quiet,” Elio says, purposely mysterious. “Since you’ve all lived here for so long, I’m not going to kick anyone out, and if only one of you wants to keep it, I’m happy to turn over the title. No need to pay me.” Not that they couldn’t—they’re all filthy rich now, after the IPC paid them out their own bounties to reward them for saving the universe.
“Well, I won’t need it,” Firefly says. “I’ll be living on the Express. I can go anywhere I want with them.”
“Same,” Silver Wolf says. “I’ll be at the Space Station for a while, and it’s not like I ever got the hang of driving this thing anyway. I’ll just get transports.”
“Then I guess it’s yours if you want it, Kafka,” Elio says, “since Blade can’t take it with him.”
Blade glances sideways at Kafka. She’s been awfully quiet this whole time. “I’ll think about it,” she says.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?” Elio asks.
“No. But the ship’s probably too big for just me anyway.”
“Okay. I suppose I can always just sell it. I’m sure some collector would pay big money for the home of the Stellaron Hunters.”
There’s more business for them to discuss, including what they’re going to do about the few planets where they destroyed a city or two that aren’t happy about them all being pardoned. Blade tunes it out. There’s a scab on his finger that he keeps picking at. It’s only a small cut, from moving things around on the ship, but he’s not used to having injuries. Kafka told him to put a bandage on it and stop touching it, but he didn’t see the point.
“Just one more thing,” Elio says as their meeting draws to a close. He sits back, sighing. “Are you guys happy?”
“Are you our therapist now?” Silver Wolf asks.
“No, I just meant—” He waves his hand. “I was a bit deceitful about the extent of what I could do for some of you. I mean, Blade, you’re clearly not dead yet.”
“Clearly,” Blade says, “but you did remove the curse, and the mara.” Yes, Blade did kind of think when he signed up that he’d go out in a blaze of glory, or get flung into a distant sun, but— “I consider your promise fulfilled.”
“Me too,” Firefly chimes in. “If you’re worried about me being upset that I can’t use SAM anymore, trust me, I’m not.” Without her entropy loss syndrome, the suit no longer functions. “I got what I asked for.”
“And I didn’t ask for anything,” Silver Wolf says.
“No, you just got to experience the found family trope that you didn’t even know you needed,” Elio teases.
“Ugh,” Silver Wolf says. “Sure.”
“And you, Kafka?”
They all turn to her. She’s the only one who got everything she wanted with no caveats: she can feel fear now, and the entire rest of the spectrum of human emotion.
“I’m happy,” she says, smiling. “Don’t worry so much, Elio.”
“Okay.” He spreads his hands in a final dramatic gesture. “Then I guess this meeting is adjourned.”
No one’s leaving today; there are still things to take care of on the ship, boxes to pack. But there is a sense of finality in the air as they go their separate ways to their rooms, as well as a feeling that things have come full circle. Blade finds himself thinking the same thing he did on the first day that he met them: that despite saying she was happy, Kafka looked sad when she smiled.
*
Sleep doesn’t come easy to him, now that he needs it.
He finds himself in the sitting room late at night, looking at the stars and thinking about how he should end his life. He would have thought, having died so many times already, that he’d have a preference by now, but he doesn’t. He could do it tonight; there are pills he could take, or he could use a gun, though he doesn’t want to leave a mess for the others. Or, he could wait, and make it count. Find some injustice he could right on his way out. Go with a bang, not a whimper.
Either way, the universe will not weep for him. He’s wrapped up all his loose ends, and all the people who have ever cared about him have either moved on or died.
All except one.
The door opens behind him. He doesn’t need to turn to know who it is. She sits down next to him on the couch, and the dim light throws shadows on the dark circles under her eyes.
“Did you have another nightmare?” he asks.
“I would have had to have been asleep for that.”
Blade’s not sure if that’s better or worse. Better, for him, to not have to hear the screams that now wake her up almost every night.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Mortality has made you so empathetic,” she says. Then she sighs. “I didn’t think the fear would be this… permeating. I expected the adrenaline rushes during fights, and the excitement, but it’s like my mind never stops racing now. I have so many things to worry about.”
“Do you regret it?” Blade asks.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.” She leans on his shoulder, her hair tickling his cheek. “What about you, Bladie? Are you worried about dying for good?”
“No. I should have died eight hundred years ago. I’ve had time to get used to the idea.”
“More like seven hundred thirty, right?” Kafka says. “You weren’t a long-life species, but you’d have gotten to grow old.”
“I guess.”
“Hmm.” He feels her frown against his shoulder.
“What?”
“I just think it’s a shame,” she says, “that you had to spend all of that time in pain.”
He didn’t, though. The vast majority of it, yes, but not the most recent parts. Since he met her, he’s spent more time clear-headed and calm than not.
“Fear has made you more empathetic, too,” he says.
Kafka laughs. “One of the many side effects.”
They stop talking and just watch the stars for a while. To them, a decade or a century or a millennium are all the same, a brief speck on the timeline of their existence.
“Kafka?” Blade says.
“Yeah?”
“What if I put off dying for a while?”
“For how long?”
“Seventy years? Or however long it takes.”
Kafka jerks upright. “Why?”
“Because that’s about how long you have left,” he says, “and maybe I don’t want you to spend all of that time in pain.”
She shakes her head. “I’d never ask you to do that—”
“I know.”
“You don’t owe me anything—”
He does, actually, but that’s not why he’s doing this. “I’m just offering.”
“Are you… are you sure?” she asks, and if he hadn’t already been, the hesitation in her voice would have made him so. “Seventy years is a long time. What if you get sick of me?”
“What if you get sick of me?” he says. “I can always go early.”
She breaks into a grin, and this time, it’s not sad at all. “Not gonna happen.”
She kisses him then, and they slide down until they’re lying side by side on the couch. Normally, their clothes would quickly end up on the floor, but tonight all they do is kiss and trade whispers between them, making plans.
“Are you really not sure where you want to go yet?” he asks.
“No, but now we can decide together. Maybe somewhere with really nice weapons, for you.”
“Maybe somewhere with fewer weapons,” he suggests instead. “At least for now.”
After a while, Blade’s eyes begin to droop. By the time the ship’s lights turn on and signal the start of the new day, they’ve both been asleep for hours.