{"product_id":"the-celestial-seas-isbn-9780593693742","title":"The Celestial Seas","description":"\u003cb\u003eA tale of identity, love, and the hunt for vengeance in the darkest corners of space—perfect for fans of \u003ci\u003eIron Widow\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eAurora Rising\u003c\/i\u003e!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIshara Ming is the sole survivor of a spacefaring whaler destroyed by the Ballena, a legendary sentient spacecraft that haunts the darkness between stars. The fatal encounter left her with a metal-plated arm, a faulty memory chip, and a burning need for revenge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo take on the Ballena, Ishara assembles a crew of capable misfits. Among them is Quinn—her trusted first mate, the girl with wildfire eyes, and the only person who always stands by her side, even when everyone else thinks Ishara is a delusional captain who hallucinated the Ballena.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat is, until Augustus, a ship mech armed with his own mysterious reasons for vengeance, convinces Ishara to let him join the crew. He brings the one thing Ishara’s never had before: a tracking method tailored for finding the Ballena. Pulled between Quinn’s and Augustus’s gravitational forces, the pressure to issue increasingly risky orders, and the feeling that her past is rapidly catching up with her future, Ishara has to decide what—or who—she is fighting for before she loses another ship.T. A. Chan grew up in New Hampshire, attended school in Philadelphia, then settled in California. With a passion for anything that is wonderfully weird, science fiction and fantasy quickly become her favorite genres to play in. She enjoys crafting character-focused stories that explore the human experience, as well as plots that twist and challenge expectations. Her insatiable curiosity of the natural world and technology inspires much of her writing. When she’s not typing away on her laptop, she’s probably snuggling with her dog, drinking boba, hiking, or working on the next Mars mission.\u003cb\u003eCall me Ishara\u003cbr\u003eAegis Station, Halo System\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Call me Ishara.” I shake my head, walking down the outer corridor of the station. That sounded too forward. “My name is Ishara.” Better, but a bit formal, especially in this part of Halo System. “Name’s Isha—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Your mic’s still on,” Quinn’s lyrical voice interrupts in my earpiece.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI cringe and cuss, attracting the glances of a couple station techies passing by. Hunching my shoulders, I tug on the right sleeve of my shore jacket and continue down the overpass connecting the station’s recreational ring to the docking bays. At least I’m on the private line. Stars know the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e’s crew wouldn’t have let me hear the end of this, fussing over a simple introduction.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But do go on,” my first mate continues. Her Halo accent rises and falls like a siren’s song. Quinn claims it’s because the first celestial whalers originated from the Halo System, where songs of the hunt—­shanties—­used to fill every spaceship, every household, until every Haloite grew up speaking in that lilting rhythm, whether they were conversing in Universal Spoken Language or one of the system’s regional dialects. A melodic accent I can never quite mimic, no matter how hard I try. And I’ve been trying ever since I arrived in this system seven years ago.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What were you practicing?” Quinn asks. “The speech you’ll give before blowing up the Ballena’s biocore?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI scoff, the metallic joints of my right hand humming as it curls into a fist. “Porfavo, that cash-­in is enough for the whole crew to retire on, why would I waste it by obliterating the core?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Because you hate that bleeding whale so much you left our last crew to go murder it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Destroy it,” I correct. The sharp smell of machine oil and chemicals stings my nose as I enter the bays. “\u003ci\u003eMurder\u003c\/i\u003e implies taking a life.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Mm-­hmm.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI can easily picture the amused half grin that’s no doubt tugging at Quinn’s lips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Where are you, anyway?” she asks. “Your candidate is already here for the interview. This guy has potential—­worked in the HS \u003ci\u003eVigilancia\u003c\/i\u003e’s engine room and was directly trained by the ship’s lead mech.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Right.” I catch sight of her halfway across the spacious bay, pacing on an unoccupied air-­dock while winding the end of her umber braid around a finger. A young man wearing stained coveralls stands beside her on the metal platform. I study him as I thread a path over. “Potential, huh? That’s what you said about the other eight candidates. If this guy doesn’t make the cut, I say it’s time to move on.” I sweep my gaze over my shoulder and lock eyes with a dock worker wearing Aegis Station’s patch on his jacket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe calls out, “When are you going to bring that whaler of yours over, herma? The hull shielding is in a sorry—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tug on my sleeve and pivot away, jogging over to the air-­dock. Yep, definitely time to move on if the station regulars are starting to recognize my face. I double-­click my tongue, muting my mic, and hop onto the raised platform. The height offers a better vantage of Aegis’ bays: a circular arena packed with travelers looking for a ride beyond the Astilla Belt, trawler crews returning from nebula-­raking trips, and asteroid miners looking for a place to kill time before heading back out to the rocks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eQuinn and the mechanic hurry over as I scan the latter. He stretches out a grimy hand. “Donavan Wells. Pleasure to meet you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI offer a brisk nod. “Ishara.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn awkward beat passes. Eventually, Donavan drops his arm and glances at Quinn, as if confirming this type of reception is normal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe sighs, pins me with a \u003ci\u003ewhy can’t you act nice for once?\u003c\/i\u003e look, and says, “I’ve already gone over his responsibilities on the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e, payment, et cetera.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI turn to Donavan. “Aside from the \u003ci\u003eVigilancia\u003c\/i\u003e, what other ships have you worked on?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Racers, cruisers, transporters—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Whalers? Darts? You have experience with those?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis mouth slackens. He snaps his jaw shut and shakes his head, releasing a nervous chuckle. “Nala. Can’t remember the last time I’ve \u003ci\u003eseen\u003c\/i\u003e a whaler. Why, did you pick one up from a junkyard and want to refurbish it?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI cast Quinn a side-­eye. “Apparently, my first mate left out a couple important details. The \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e is a whaling crew. Best in the Seven Systems.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe stares at me a little longer, as if trying to decide whether I’m messing with him. Then: “You guys still \u003ci\u003eexist\u003c\/i\u003e?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy eyes narrow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“ ‘Best in the Seven Systems.’ ” He snorts, polite pretense dropping away like gull shit. Oh, great. He’s one of \u003ci\u003ethose\u003c\/i\u003e snobs who think they’re too good for a whaling crew. “More like ‘only one in the Seven Systems.’ Get with the times, herma—­it’s been over fifty years since the government declared open season on the MOBIS. You’re fishing in an empty sea now.” He waves a hand toward a curved window looking out into the infinite depth of space. The Astilla Belt slashes a blurry streak across the view. “Asteroid mining or nebula raking. That’s where the money is, not those autonomous spacecrafts still floating around.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe strides away and pauses at the edge of the platform. Quinn opens her mouth, then presses her lips together, as if fighting the urge to call him back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe nods at me, almost pityingly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThat\u003c\/i\u003e makes me bristle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDonavon swings off the air-­dock and shakes his head. “You’re delusional if you think your crew will be in business for much longer.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI hide a wince, his words harpooning too close to the truth for comfort. I avert my gaze from Quinn, knowing she would see straight through my mask to the guilt hooking onto my rib cage. I never keep secrets from her. Except this one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDonavon flashes me a sarcastic salute, then proceeds to rub salt into the wound by muttering, “Chasing dumb metal fish can’t net much.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI glare down at him and cross my arms. “Dumb metal fish? MOBIS are dangerous. A couple shots from an armed Levi and this entire station would be space dust.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJust like how a couple well-­placed blows from a malicious Mech-­Operated Bio-­Integrated Spacecraft can take down a Class III whaler, murdering everyone on board. I know this only too well.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDonavan cocks a brow. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing there aren’t Leviathans out there anymore.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“And you can thank whalers for that,” I snap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Graza.” He tips an imaginary hat, served with a mocking grin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy fingers itch to carve that arrogant smirk off his blubbery lips. Instead, I force myself to uncurl my fists. He’s not worth my energy. “Let’s go, Quinn.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI jump off the platform and shove past Donavan. He catches me by the shoulder. “Wait, herma—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI fling the offending hand off and hiss, “Don’t you dare ‘herma’ me.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’re Ishara.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI follow his line of sight down to my right arm, where the sleeve’s ridden up to my elbow, exposing the metal plating making up my forearm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI yank down my sleeve, checking to see if anyone else noticed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ishara Ming.” Donavan draws out my name like it’s saltwater taffy. “I’ve heard about you. Sole survivor of the \u003ci\u003eEssex\u003c\/i\u003e.” He leans forward, fascination dancing across his face. “Bleeding stars, you \u003ci\u003eare\u003c\/i\u003e cracked if you’re actually leading a crew after the Ballena.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy spine stiffens. I can already hear his next words before they leave his mouth. Words I’ve heard over and over and goddamn over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s not real, Ming. You’re wasting time chasing after a whale that doesn’t exist.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEach word is a barb to my chest. A painful twist to my right arm, a constant reminder of everything I’ve lost to the Ballena.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eQuinn moves beside me, dark eyes flashing. “The interview is over. Get lost.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChuckling under his breath, Donavan walks away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stare after him, watching him melt into the crowd. “Bet you five tarjas he’s heading to the nearest bar and telling everyone about his encounter with the crazy girl who hallucinated that a mythical whale sank her ship.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDespite attempting to keep my hunt for the Ballena on the down-low, word had quickly spread within the whaling community. The ridicule came shortly after. But they won’t be laughing once I capture the Ballena and prove them all wrong.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eQuinn falls in step as I march toward the outer docks, where the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e is parked. She slides over a worried look, a furrow pinching between her brows.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA wave of annoyance surges within me. I’m not the same broken girl she found three years ago. She doesn’t need to treat me like something fragile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTamping down my irritation, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell Donavan we were a whaling crew from the get-go?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Most people bail when they learn the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e’s a whaler. I figured if he got to meet the crew, see that it’s not all that bad, he would stay.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI aim a doubtful glance at her, then double-­click my tongue, reconnecting to the crew comms. “Stag,” I call for my pilot, “start prepping a flight path for the whaling zone Quinn marked out yesterday.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“About time,” Stag responds in his trademark polished voice. “Please tell me our new mech isn’t a slob like the last one.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI grimace. “The candidate was a bust.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Cap! We need a—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We’ve gotten by this long without a mech.” I quicken my strides, eager to get off this station and back into the celestial seas as soon as possible. “We’ll survive another whaling run without one.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That last MOBIS nearly took out our main engines,” Stag protests. “My patch jobs aren’t going to hold forever.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Have a little more faith in yourself.” I skirt around a shop selling fuel-­enhancing additives that’d just as likely blow up the engines as double their efficiency, and the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e finally comes into view.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe mag shield generator still sits crooked, three months after a Shark-­class MOBIS rammed into it, and the hull desperately needs a fresh coat of astro-­glaze. Neither of which we can afford. A little radiation seepage can’t cause too much harm, right?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI grin as I enter the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e’s indigo shadow. I run my left hand along the hull’s scarred metal plates, relishing the familiar sensation beneath my fingertips.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCompared to the sleek racing vessels, armored mercenary ships, and hulking miners parked in the nearby berths, the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e’s a barnacle-­crusted rust bucket. But she’s mine, purchased from a scrapyard, with the last of my savings six months ago. Quinn tried to lend me tarjas, but I refused. It wouldn’t properly feel like \u003ci\u003emy ship\u003c\/i\u003e otherwise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA black hole opens in my stomach at the reminder of my bank account sitting in the red. I’d taken out a large loan three months ago to cover the crew’s payroll. Unfortunately, our hauls barely generate enough to maintain the whaler’s overhead costs, and loan repayment is coming up soon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe fear of the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e being impounded constantly looms like an anchor waiting to be dropped. Without the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e, how will I hunt down the Ballena and avenge my old crew? Not to mention losing the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e will be a huge blow to my current crew and further prove I’m not good enough to rank among the system’s celestial whalers, that I’ve failed my attempt at a new life in Halo, and that I’ve lost the closest thing I’ve come to think of as home in a long time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shake my head and tighten my jaw. Once we find the Ballena, the cash-­in from the legendary whale’s biocore will easily repay the loan a hundred times over. So for now, this remains my guilty little secret. No need to cause undue stress among the crew.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Stag’s right, you know,” Quinn sighs. “I admit, Donavan turned out to be an asshole, but we still need a mechanic. Kind of the whole point of this detour, in case you forgot.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI flinch, my hand involuntarily reaching up to touch the raised scar sitting behind my ear, the only hint of a broken memory chip resting underneath.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eQuinn winces. “Lo sien. Bad choice of words.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s fine.” My response comes out sharper than intended, and I don’t miss the hurt flitting across her face. Softening my voice, I repeat, “It’s fine, vera. And no, I haven’t forgotten. We’ll get our mechanic.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“When?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Account’s running low on tarjas. We need to dart a whale and make a cash-­in, or else—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eWhen\u003c\/i\u003e, Ish? Answer my question.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf any other crew member had talked back like this, they would’ve been booted off by now. But this is Quinn, so all I say is “Soon.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“We can’t afford \u003ci\u003esoon\u003c\/i\u003e; we need \u003ci\u003enow\u003c\/i\u003e.” A pause, and then she adds under her breath, “They’re moving farther and farther out-­system. If some MOBIS gives the\u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e one good hit, we’re screwed, belly-­up in deep space.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI release a dry laugh and jog toward the ramp up to the whaler’s airlock. “It’s like they’re taunting us with their self-­sustaining designs, venturing as far into the unknown as they wish without tethers holding them back.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eQuinn purses her lips. “They’re machines that run on code. Don’t anthropomorphize them—­that’s how the Naturalistas get you.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI snort at the mention of the zealous faction lobbying for MOBIS to be treated as sentient beings. All MOBIS have been hard-­coded not to exceed a 35% biomass to ensure they won’t ever become more than 50% biological, which would automatically make them a living creature by law. Even after MOBIS developed methods of circumventing programmed limitations—­the very same reason why they became banned in the Halo System—­none of the whales I’ve encountered had a biomass greater than 40%. None except one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI shut my eyes. The Ballena swims against my closed lids. Its unnaturally pale outer shell makes the entire ship glow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA weight drops onto my shoulder. I snap my eyes open to find Quinn peering at me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe gives my shoulder a quick squeeze, concern in her expression. I want to tell her not to worry, that it’s not her fault I’m missing parts of my memory. She thumbs away a strand of my hair and asks, “You okay?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yeah.” I blink to clear my blurry vision, drawing several breaths to steady myself. Exhale for five seconds, inhale for three.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eResisting the urge to touch the scar behind my ear, I force my legs to move up the ramp and do my best to ignore Quinn’s stare burning between my shoulder blades. I pause at the airlock’s threshold and say, “We won’t go beyond charted space until the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e’s fully repaired and crewed. Vera, I promise.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt this reassurance, some of the tension smooths from Quinn’s face, and my chest loosens a bit. Not for the first time, I can’t help but wonder if she regrets having followed me when I left our old crew. If she thinks trading a steady job for a gamble, chasing the ghost of a whale across the system, is worth it. Especially when I’m such a shitty friend.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Your pronunciation is still off,” Quinn says abruptly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI blink and arch a brow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Softer on the \u003ci\u003ee\u003c\/i\u003e and harder on the \u003ci\u003ea\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Vera?” I attempt the regional slang again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Better. That’ll almost pass for a drunk Haloite native.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI chuckle, and she grins. I turn to punch in the code to the airlock when a voice calls out from behind.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ishara!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI freeze, fingers hovering over the keypad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ishara!” Same person again. “Ishara Ming!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tense. Word must’ve spread that the “delusional girl chasing after a mythical whale” was on this station, no doubt thanks to Donavan. I swallow hard and glance over my shoulder. A lanky guy is shoving his way over, drawing unwanted attention. Seriously, could he have possibly been less discreet?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eQuinn remains at the bottom of the ramp, arms crossed, blocking his path. The young man skids to a stop, palms pressed against his thighs as he catches his breath. Looks to be a couple years older than me. Tousled blond hair paired with keen blue eyes, and a mouth that begs to be kissed. Or punched. Especially when he comments in a wry tone, “For someone with a mechanical arm and notorious reputation, you are incredibly hard to find.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA small crowd of bystanders looks on with unmasked curiosity, exchanging whispers with each other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“It’s that outsider from the other system, isn’t it?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“She’s the sole survivor of the \u003c\/i\u003eEssex\u003ci\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I thought she went raving mad.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What’s she doing here?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eIt’s always the same wherever I go. A constant reminder I’m unwanted, I don’t belong, I’m chasing ghosts that can’t be caught.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI flash the young man a smile sweet as poisoned honey. \u003ci\u003eI hope a supernova incinerates you.\u003c\/i\u003e “Yes?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis eyes widen as he straightens. “It’s me. Augustus.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI appraise him coolly even though my mind’s whirling. Am I supposed to know him? Is my faulty memory acting up again?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe repeats, louder, “\u003ci\u003eAugustus.\u003c\/i\u003e”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSomething about his voice makes me pause. Frowning, I shake off my hesitation and glance at Quinn, wondering if she knows him. Judging from her unamused expression, she doesn’t.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’re going after the Ballena, aren’t you?” Augustus presses.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe mutterings from the audience swell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI stalk down the ramp. The idiot’s face brightens as I approach, and I pray to the stars that he’s not going to mention the Ballena again, because there’s a good chance I’ll punch him in the face if he does. What’s the point of keeping a low profile anymore when half the station knows who I am?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eQuinn moves aside, and I take her place in front of the guy. Tilting my head back to look him in the eyes, I demand, “What do you want?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe blinks, studying me, then clears his throat to answer, “I want to join your crew.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Are you doing this as some kind of dare? A bet with your buddies?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What? No!” He steps back, both hands raised. “I heard you were hiring, and I need a job. I’ve got experience on a whaler and can fly one—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Already got a pilot.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I fly a nimble dart,” Augustus plows on, undeterred.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Already have enough harpooners.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I can track—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Already have a tracker.” My gaze flits to Quinn, who’s aiming a death stare at Augustus. No doubt she’s also irritated with the commotion he’s caused, and him offering to track for the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e can’t have won him any favors. Not that I would ever consider replacing Quinn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I can trace the Ballena,” Augustus says in a rush.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy jaw slackens. Did I hear him right? “You believe in the Ballena too.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“And I know how to find it,” he confirms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eQuinn’s glare intensifies. Not surprising, considering her superb tracking skills are her pride and joy—­and the Ballena is the only target that’s eluded her. I’m pretty sure the challenge of tracking down the elusive whale is the main reason why she followed me to the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e. Her name would become legendary, cementing her status as the system’s best tracker. And while I have faith Quinn is fully capable of finding the Ballena, having \u003ci\u003etwo\u003c\/i\u003e trackers is better than one, right?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAugustus leans in, lowering his voice. “I believe in the Ballena as much as I believe the stars exist.” He searches my face, and something akin to resignation passes behind his gaze. “I want the whale dead too.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis words resonate deep inside me, driving the breath from my lungs. \u003ci\u003eHe understands\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eQuinn barks out a sharp laugh. “We’re not looking for a tracker, so please remove yourself from this general vicinity.” She turns to me and updates, “Stag says the flight path has been plotted, and we’re good to go once Aegis controls gives us the all clear.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI nod once. “Thank you, Quinn.” When it becomes obvious that’s a dismissal, she presses her lips into a tight line and strides up the ramp, vanishing into the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e. I revert my attention to Augustus. \u003ci\u003eHe also believes in the Ballena.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Your ship could use repairs.” Augustus raises his chin toward the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e. “Let me help with that.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“So you just happen to be a pilot, harpooner, tracker, \u003ci\u003eand\u003c\/i\u003e ship mech?” I arch a brow and step toward the hatch. “You can’t be older than, what, early twenties, am I right?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Twenty, actually.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“And I’m supposed to believe you have proficient experience in all those skill sets?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You can’t be older than me yet clearly have the experience to captain a ship. What makes my case any different?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI grasp for a response, unwilling to admit to him that, \u003ci\u003eno\u003c\/i\u003e, as a matter of fact, I am \u003ci\u003enot\u003c\/i\u003e qualified to captain a ship. But that won’t stop me from trying my damn hardest to take down the Ballena, no matter the cost.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe huffs out a breath and shoves a hand through his hair. “I’m a harpooner first and foremost, so it wasn’t hard to transition from piloting a dart to a whaler. I can’t say I fly a whaler \u003ci\u003ewell\u003c\/i\u003e, but I can get you from point A to point B. My tracking skills are very specific, tailored to hunt down the Ballena.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe back of my neck prickles, though whether from excitement or nerves, I can’t tell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAugustus’s mouth curves into a half grin. He knows he has hooked my interest now. “I took a crash course in vessel repairs a couple years ago. It’s good knowledge to have when you’re flying solo in deep space.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI tap my fingers against my leg as I silently appraise him. Everything seems a bit\u003ci\u003etoo\u003c\/i\u003e good to be true. “What do you want for pay?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis smile widens. “Whatever you deem fair.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Be real.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m serious. I miss working on a whaler is all.” His eyes flash as he raises his chin and states in a quiet but clear voice, “And I need that whale dead.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Destroyed. Annihilated. Obliterated. \u003ci\u003eNot\u003c\/i\u003e dead.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eConfusion twists across his face. I repress a sigh, impressed I haven’t scared him away yet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“ ‘Dead’ implies it’s alive.” I bite the inside of my cheek and consider him. Having another crew member who believes in the Ballena—­\u003ci\u003etruly\u003c\/i\u003e believes in the legendary whale—­would be nice for a change. And if he manages to find the Ballena, well, all the better. “Why, though? What do \u003ci\u003eyou\u003c\/i\u003e have against the whale?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen he speaks, his words are low, like the distant \u003ci\u003eshh-­shh\u003c\/i\u003e of ocean waves. “When the whale took down the \u003ci\u003eEssex\u003c\/i\u003e, it wasn’t just lives that were taken, but friends, family, and loved ones . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Did you know someone on the whaler?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yeah.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Who?” I ask, despite the fact I probably won’t know—­won’t \u003ci\u003eremember\u003c\/i\u003e—­whoever it is Augustus knew.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Garcia.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eRicardo Garcia.\u003c\/i\u003e My old dart leader. I clench my hands, trying to remember more about him. Something. Anything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNothing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He was a good man,” I say. So cliché and empty. Words someone would say at the funeral of a long-­lost relative. I rub my thumb over my knuckles, scrambling for something meaningful, something that’ll prove the only survivor of the \u003ci\u003eEssex\u003c\/i\u003e isn’t forgetting the people she’s sworn to avenge—­this is just as much for Augustus as for me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He . . .” My jaw tightens as my brain struggles to think up something. Dammit, why can’t I think of anything? “Garcia was . . . a brave man.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBetter, but still too generic. Too lacking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAugustus nods, giving me a strange look.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe back of my throat constricts. “I’m sorry for your loss.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Me too.” A hardened glint flashes in his eyes. “Will you give me the chance to right a wrong? I can’t hunt down the Ballena by myself, but with a crew . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePulse racing, I gesture for Augustus to follow me into the \u003ci\u003eDorado\u003c\/i\u003e. “Welcome aboard.”","brand":"Viking Books for Young Readers","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233640591589,"sku":"NP9780593693742","price":20.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593693742.jpg?v=1767738642","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-celestial-seas-isbn-9780593693742","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}