Episode 30. The Place Not Owned
# Episode 30. The Place Not Owned
When the hull fully separated from the structure's outer wall, the air inside had still not shed the tremor of the scene moments before.
Jiwoo moved rapidly between the cockpit and engine panel, reading status. One side of the lower hull had absorbed residual vibration from the collapse aftermath, and one external pivot was responding slower than normal. Not about to burst — but not in any state to hold leisurely either. This ship was currently optimized for barely escaping alive, not for riding a direct route with pursuit attached.
"Can't raise speed yet."
Jiwoo said low.
"If the pivot gets pressed once more, the turn angle goes off."
Seorin released her stance from the wall and asked short.
"Pursuit."
Sern answered at once.
"No direct response yet. But the discrimination unit's reactivation afterecho remains."
Ater added low.
"Before direct blockade, the surrounding approval networks are likely to read the anomaly signal first."
Sion listened to all of that in silence.
Six people on the ship. Moments ago that number itself had felt abnormal, yet now strangely no one mentioned it aloud. Everyone was looking at different problems first. How to carry the sentences just read forward; where to bolt before pursuit attached; when and how to reopen the larger fragment Kael brought. Problems that already outranked headcount.
Kael sat leaning in the most corner-like space inside the hull. Not fully settled, nor posed like someone about to leap back out. The fragment was still in his hand, and his gaze followed the movement of people inside the hull more often than the darkness beyond the slit. He had leaned toward the surviving side — but his gaze was still that of someone who had not fully entrusted themselves to either direction.
Seorin spoke first.
"Let's cut options."
Jiwoo exhaled something close to a scoff.
"Nothing to cut. Walk into a port in this state and we're flagged immediately."
Sern lowered his head slightly.
"Correct. If we take a fixed route after triggering a reaction like that, either the Empire side or the Alliance side will read the pattern quickly."
Ater summarized, colder.
"The option of going directly to Elia Vern's repository must be excluded."
Short silence.
No one disagreed.
Sion leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and opened them. Normally, Elia's face would have surfaced first by now. Someone who could read, hide, and know the grain of remaining value. Until now, taking fragments to her had been the fastest path. But right now, fast was exactly why it would not work. Having triggered a reaction this large — someone like Elia, who could read — would be first in the enemy's calculation too.
Seorin said quietly.
"Go to the repository and it's over."
"I know."
Sion answered short.
"That was my first thought too."
"That's why it won't work."
That single line was not a rebuke — closer to organization.
Kael cut in for the first time at the end of that exchange.
"Elia."
He said in a sunken voice.
"The reading-hand's name?"
Sion neither confirmed nor denied immediately. After a brief silence, he said short.
"Someone who can read."
Kael did not ask further. Instead, as if that short answer was enough, he swept the fragment's edge once with his thumb. What mattered now was not who Elia was — but the fact itself that such a person was needed.
Ater looked at Sion.
"Is there another path."
Sion was silent for a moment, then pressed his hand against his inner pocket — a reflex. But this time his fingers caught on something that should not have been there. A folded piece of thin paper, slipped in without him noticing when.
He pulled it out.
Worn paper, a single fold. Inside — two words in handwriting so small it was almost invisible.
**Hazran. Aka.**
Sion stared at that paper for a long time without speaking.
Seorin noticed his expression changing and came closer.
"What."
Sion did not answer immediately. But Seorin saw the paper. And she immediately knew whose handwriting it was.
"The reading-hand left it?"
Sion held the paper, unable even to fold it back, silent for a moment.
"That handwriting."
He said, small.
"But I don't remember receiving it."
Seorin looked at Sion briefly.
"She would have known your habits."
Short words, but enough. The habit of going to the pocket when things got difficult. If she calculated this far ahead and slipped it in beforehand — the lack of explanation was, paradoxically, very like her.
Jiwoo looked at the paper once more and said.
"Nice. One planet, one name. Filthy Elia-like."
"But we have a direction now."
Sern said.
Ater still could not take his eyes from the *Aka* side.
"Too little."
"On purpose."
Sion said, folding the paper.
"Writing more right now — the side that gets caught would be faster."
Before those words even finished, Sern's gaze snapped to the panel.
"Reaction incoming."
Jiwoo turned her body immediately.
"What."
"Rear approval network reignition."
Sern's voice dropped very low.
"Pursuit vessel. Faster than expected."
The next moment, one side of the hull shook — short and rough.
Jiwoo swallowed a curse through her breath and threw herself toward the cockpit.
"Shit — already firing."
The warning tone sounded late. One red line spread diagonally across the wall panel. What had just grazed past was not a direct hit — but it meant there was no patience left to give.
Seorin pulled herself from the wall and said short.
"Think later. Survive first."
Ater was already pulling the side panel to fold away the approval traces; Sern had begun reading the pursuit angle. Kael rose from his spot and tucked the fragment deeper inside. The cabin air had shifted instantly — from the silence of deciding direction to the silence of bodies moving to stay alive.
Sion gripped the folded paper and said short.
"We head for Hazran."
Instead of answering, Jiwoo woke the engine rough.
"If you're done talking — hold tight. From here, falling off means actually dying."
The hull tilted hard.
Moments ago they had been discussing where to go. Now there was no room even for that. A desert planet, one unknown name, and two words Elia had left behind before vanishing. The pursuit vessel did not give them time to hold onto more.
All that remained was not losing direction while fleeing.
The hull began turning onto its route, slowly.
Not a line of running straight — but a grey path that deliberately grazed a dead cargo ship debris field, then angled out from there. Obviously not the fast way. Instead: a path that did not leave a single trace; a path that made linear pursuit annoying; the kind of path grey-zone people had learned with their bodies to survive long.
Hazran was not within immediate reach. But if they abandoned the fixed route and rode the grey belt behind the heat layer, they could blur the pursuit calculation at least for a while during approach toward the frontier. What was needed now was not fast arrival — but sliding in alive.
Through the slit, instead of starlight, a long dust band scraped past.
From there onward, it was no longer a question of who died first.
It was a question of who reached the place owned by no one — first.