The port of Star City was one of the busiest shipbuilding centers in the known galaxy. Military contractors maintained sprawling yards across the planet and throughout its orbital space, constructing and servicing vessels of nearly every size, classification, and purpose. Against the cruisers, transports, and partially completed warships drifting around the world, the once-mighty Artemis seemed small—almost ordinary—and hardly worth the effort required to return her to active service.

The rear quarter of the ship was missing where Kales’s emergency venting sequence had ejected part of the engine assembly. The exposed decks and hull beneath were fused and blackened, damage made worse by the antimatter detonation that had destroyed Fortuna. Farther forward, the battered docking collar where the derelict freighter had attached remained scarred by the oxygen-fed trap used to cripple the ship’s defenses. The boarding tunnel had not been cleanly released; it had been torn away, leaving twisted metal surrounding the opening like the edges of a wound.

Technicians had not yet begun the repairs. Many of them were still deciding where to start. Restoring Artemis would require an extraordinary amount of time, labor, and material—perhaps more than the vessel was worth by any reasonable calculation. The Concordat Navy, however, had its pride, and tradition refused to surrender a combat-damaged ship to the scrapyard while any possibility of recovery remained.

She would fly again.

In a year, perhaps longer, Artemis would rejoin the line of ships defending the Concordat’s borders.

Phillip stood on the shipyard’s observation deck and looked down at her. He felt an unexpected kinship with the ruined vessel. His own wounds had mostly healed, thanks to physicians who had rarely needed to touch him and medical machines he still did not understand. His ribs remained stiff, and certain movements brought sudden reminders of G’Dahn’s strength, but he could walk without assistance.

Now that he was back on a planet, walking was exactly what he intended to do.

Beyond the shipyard, Star City spread across the horizon in every direction. Towers rose between older districts packed tightly around transit lines and industrial corridors. Air vehicles crossed between buildings, while orbital lifts and freight platforms climbed toward the yards above.

The city was large enough to disappear into.

At least for a while.

Phillip needed time to learn the rules of this world—how people lived, what they valued, what they feared, and what a man needed to get ahead and remain there. Somewhere in that process, he intended to discover who had put him into the capsule and why G’Dahn believed he should never have been awakened.

Despite everything that had changed, the moment itself felt familiar. Phillip had stood in places like this before, watching a city while deciding what identity he would carry into it.

He had made choices like this before.

He simply could not remember any of them.

“What a mess you made,” a voice called behind him.

Phillip turned.

Thomas was making his way across the observation deck. He still favored one leg and leaned on a cane, but he looked considerably better than Phillip had expected. His uniform had been replaced, though the stiffness in his movements suggested that Kales’s improvised treatment had only begun the process of putting him back together.

“I hear Fleet Command is preparing a standing order barring you from every ship in the Concordat,” Thomas said.

“I assume the official report has you holding Artemis together with fishing line and duct tape.”

Thomas blinked.

“Fishing line?”

Phillip shrugged and turned back toward the damaged ship.

“I’m sure Kales will find some way to insert himself into the report.”

“I still don’t understand how he survived the engine blowout.”

“I expect we’ll all read about it in his MEDNET publication.”

Thomas laughed, but the humor faded as he looked down at Artemis. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The ship remained below them, surrounded by repair craft and inspection platforms, but the absence of her crew seemed larger than all of it.

“They estimate at least a year before she’s spaceworthy again,” Thomas said.

“What happens to you?”

“I’ve been assigned as executive officer aboard Prometheus until the repairs are complete. If I get my way, I’ll return to Artemis when she does.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Thomas hesitated before continuing.

“I spoke to my father about the favor you requested. His first instinct was to have you detained for questioning.”

“I’m beginning to see the family resemblance.”

“I convinced him not to.”

Thomas studied Phillip.

“That wasn’t a mistake, was it?”

“So far as I know, I’m still on your side.”

“Just not the Serpis?”

Phillip did not answer.

Thomas accepted the silence and looked back toward the ship.

“We removed every reference to you from the official record. As far as the Concordat Navy is concerned, you were never aboard Artemis.”

The words carried a familiarity Phillip did not like.

Once again, someone had decided the safest version of events was one in which he did not exist.

“I appreciate it,” he said.

“Unfortunately, that means we cannot officially recognize or reward you.”

“The gratitude of an interstellar government is more than enough.”

“You aren’t getting that either.”

Thomas removed a data pad from inside his coat and handed it to him.

“You’ll have to settle for this. Varna won’t need it.”

Phillip activated the device. A financial account appeared on the display, followed by a number large enough to raise his eyebrows.

“This seems substantial.”

“It isn’t as substantial as it looks. Establishing an identity, finding somewhere to live, and learning how not to look like you came from five centuries ago will consume most of it.”

Phillip slipped the pad into his coat and turned up his collar against the wind crossing the observation deck.

“Any idea what you’ll do now?” Thomas asked.

“I think I’m going to get lost.”

Thomas looked at him.

Phillip allowed himself a faint smile. “Then maybe I can find myself.”

He turned away from Artemis and walked toward the elevators descending into the city.

“I added a contact to the data pad,” Thomas called after him. “They can arrange documents, housing, and whatever else you need. They owe me a favor. I told them you might collect it.”

The elevator arrived, and its doors opened.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Thomas moved after him as quickly as the cane allowed. “One more thing.”

Phillip stopped inside the lift.

“Phillip Phillips isn’t your real name, is it?”

Phillip considered the question. Then he smiled. “It is today.” The elevator doors began closing. “Goodbye, Lieutenant.”

Thomas stood on the observation deck after the lift disappeared, his attention eventually returning to Artemis.

Wounded. Battered. Still there.

He expected that he would see Phillip again.

He only hoped it would not be aboard a ship on which he was serving.

Next Chapter: Epilogue