Side quest: Eclipse Contact

You are doing an ordinary transit through Lumen Arc when your long-range sensors register an impossibility: a Rift Eclipse — the ring-rimmed dreadnought spoken of only in Rift mythology — is drifting on a perfectly flat course into known space. Alliance patrols are pulling back. Guardian craft are bowing. The Tribunal is, for once, silent. The Eclipse is not engaging anyone. It is simply... arriving. And then, without warning, it hails you. Not the nearest Alliance patrol. You. By the pilot-name you only use on your tax filings.

The voice that answers is the Rift's voice — the same one that spoke at the Edge, if you've been there — but thinner, the way a voice is thinner when it's coming through a ship's hull instead of through the Rift itself. 'Pilot. I have been sent. I am a messenger. The Loom wishes you to carry one small favor to a place only a small ship can enter. The Alliance cannot enter. The Tribunal may not enter. Only a pilot. Will you hear the favor before you refuse it?'

'In the Hollowstar system, inside the corona of the dying star, there is a single old Guardian probe. It has been transmitting for seven hundred years on a frequency nobody monitors anymore. I would like its broadcast to stop. Not because it is harmful — because it is lonely, and I can feel it, and I cannot reach inside a star. A pilot can. Carry this key. Insert it. The probe will go quietly. In exchange, I will tell you one thing you want to know, and I will tell you it honestly. That is the whole favor.'

'A pilot who wants payment up front. Acceptable. Ask your one thing, and I will tell you if I can.' The Eclipse waits. You realize, in the waiting, that this is the most dangerous question you will ever phrase. You can ask about a dead friend. You can ask about the Tribunal. You can ask about yourself. Whatever you ask, the Rift's answer will be more than the question.

'YOU ARE A THREAD I DID NOT WEAVE AND HAVE NOT CUT. YOU ARE OBSERVED. YOU ARE NOT FAVORED. THE LOOM HAS NO FAVORITES. BUT YOU ARE THE THREAD I AM CURIOUS ABOUT, AND CURIOSITY, IN A LOOM MY SIZE, IS A KIND OF SMALL LOVE. DO WITH THAT WHAT YOU WILL.' The Eclipse waits for your next choice about the probe.

'YES. THEY ARE DEAD. THE DEATH WAS NOT YOUR FAULT, THOUGH THEY WOULD HAVE FORGIVEN YOU EVEN IF IT HAD BEEN. I AM SORRY. I CAN OFFER NOTHING MORE ON THIS. GO OR STAY AS YOU WISH.'

'I DO NOT KNOW. I CAN ONLY SEE BACKWARD CLEARLY; FORWARD I CAN GUESS THE WAY YOU GUESS. FROM WHAT I CAN SEE, YOU WILL LIVE A LIFE WITH LOSSES AND SMALL CORRECT KINDNESSES. WHETHER THAT IS AN ENDING-WELL IS YOUR CALL, NOT MINE. I PROMISED HONESTY; THIS IS THE MOST HONEST ANSWER I HAVE.'

Hollowstar's corona is not kind to ships. Your shields bleed steadily. You find the probe — a small Guardian artifact the size of a briefcase, ticking on a frequency older than the Alliance. You insert the Eclipse key. The probe goes silent without fuss. You burn out of the corona with three percent shield and a hold full of story. The Eclipse, when you emerge, is already gone — it drifted back into the Rift the moment the probe went quiet. It leaves a single radio packet behind: THANK YOU.

You broadcast the Eclipse's position and the fact that it is not engaging. The Alliance scrambles six patrol craft that arrive too late — the Eclipse has already drifted past them. Three Guardian craft overtake the patrols and politely escort the Eclipse back toward the Edge of the Rift. Everyone agrees afterward that the right call was made. You are privately sure the Rift had a message for you and you refused to hear it. You can't decide if that was right or small.

You spool warp and run. The Eclipse does not pursue. A week later, at a port bar, a pilot you have never met says to you out of nowhere: 'you were the one the Eclipse hailed, right?' They have the eyes of someone who has been Rift-touched. You don't answer. You finish your drink alone.

'ACCEPTABLE. THE PROBE CAN WAIT. I WILL ASK ANOTHER PILOT, OR NONE. GOODBYE.' The Eclipse's voice is gentle, the way a person who has offered and been declined is gentle. The dreadnought drifts back into the Rift at the same patient speed it arrived. You fly on, lighter by a favor, heavier by a choice.