The Celestial Seas: Chapters 1–4

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.

Compared to the sleek racing vessels, armored mercenary ships, and hulking miners parked in the nearby berths, the Dorado’s a barnacle-crusted rust bucket.

For now, this remains my guilty little secret. No need to cause undue stress among the crew.

“They’re machines that run on code. Don’t anthropomorphize them—that’s how the Naturalistas get you.”

I snort at the mention of the zealous faction lobbying for MOBIS to be treated as sentient beings.

I snort at the mention of the zealous faction lobbying for MOBIS to be treated as sentient beings.

Especially when he comments in a wry tone, “For someone with a mechanical arm and notorious reputation, you are incredibly hard to find.”

Because the new racers Octillion rolled out don’t, which is stupid if—” “Yes and yes,” Augustus interjects.

What is surprising is that he isn’t preaching about the Order of Naturalista or reminiscing about his home planet, Clavo, or bickering with Sonia over some inane topic (e.g., whether a pipe has one or two holes).

What is surprising is that he isn’t preaching about the Order of Naturalista or reminiscing about his home planet, Clavo, or bickering with Sonia over some inane topic (e.g., whether a pipe has one or two holes).

I approach my dart with anticipatory adrenaline adding a bounce to my steps.

I approach my dart with anticipatory adrenaline adding a bounce to my steps.

The dart’s searchlights flood the interior, revealing a conglomeration of metal, dark blue patches of solidified slime, and turquoise smears—the living Radioactium computerii.

The arm latches onto the biocore. “You almost done in there?” Augustus asks, voice terse.

“Yeah.” I lean forward, waiting for the arm to retract, the core clutched in its grip like a giant pearl. “Be out soon.”