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Fairbairn’s breath caught—just briefly, she circled the ship at a respectable distance, eyes tracing the curves of the hull, the faint geometric patterns etched into its surface that appeared and vanished depending on the angle of the light. She had flown and repaired air and spacecraft her entire adult life. She knew aircraft and spacecraft the way some people know prayer. And this was unlike anything she had ever seen.
Fairbairn’s fingers twitched, itching to touch the hull, to feel the truth under her palm. She imagined the ship under thrust, imagined how it would move, how it would respond, how it would simply listen to its pilot rather than simply obey.
“She’s... elegant,” Fairbairn said quietly. The word supplied her as it left her mouth, but she didn't take it back. It was the highest praise she knew.
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Helena remained Near the entrance. She did not move at all. Her hands were folded loosely in front of her, her head slightly inclined as she took the ship in —not as an object, but as a presence. She felt it before she understood it, a subtle pressure in her chest, the same way she felt the weight of old chapels or places long given over to prayer. The place had not been abandoned in fear, it had been sealed in restraint.
“It's definitely Ancient,” Fairbairn said.
“What kind of vessel is she?” Helena inquired. “I’d say she’s probably a frigate of some kind. Given that she's Ancient, she must have been left here for a purpose,” Larkin replied.
“Perhaps she was the first line of defense for a former threat to the galaxy,” Fairbairn speculated.
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Amezing Good