Sheila ate the curry like it was a personal insult.

  She sat cross-legged on the floor of the galley, holding the pouch with two fingers, grimacing with every bite. But she was eating. Starvation, it turned out, had a way of overriding royalty.

  "Texture: slime," she narrated after a particularly aggressive swallow. "Flavor: salty dust. Presentation: zero stars."

  "It's fuel," Ford said, leaning against the counter with his own pouch. "Don't critique it, just process it."

  Suddenly, the overhead speakers crackled.

  "Captain," Mother’s voice filled the small room. It wasn't the urgent 'combat voice' or the nagging pilot voice. It was the 'Processing' voice—cool, detached, and data-driven.

  "I have completed a deep-scan analysis of the cargo container and cross-referenced the passenger's biometric data with the Galactic News Net archives," Mother said.

  Ford tapped the wall panel. "Put it on speaker, Mother. The Princess should hear this."

  Sheila looked up, a spoon halfway to her mouth.

  " proceed," Ford said.

  "Subject: Seraphina Valerius," Mother recited. "Third in line to the Aldebaran Throne. Status: Missing, presumed dead following the Palace Coup three days ago."

  Sheila flinched. "I am not dead," she whispered.

  "The coup was led by Regent Kael," Mother continued. "Public records indicate he executed the King and the Crown Prince immediately. The Princess was unaccounted for."

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  Ford looked at Sheila. Her bravado was crumbling. She wasn't an entitled brat anymore; she was an orphan.

  "Analysis suggests the 'kidnapping' was a rescue operation," Mother concluded. "The stasis crate is a Class-A medical transport unit, disguised as waste. It was designed to keep the occupant alive for months. A kidnapper would have used a brig. A rescuer used a life raft."

  "My guards..." Sheila’s voice trembled. "Captain Thorne. He shoved me in. He pushed the button. I thought he was betraying me."

  "He was saving you," Ford said gently.

  "However," Mother interrupted, "there is a complication."

  "Of course there is," Ford sighed.

  "The crate emits a sub-space pulse every six hours," Mother said. "It is a tracker. Standard for high-value medical shipments."

  Ford swore. "That's how the pirates found us. They aren't tracking the ship; they're tracking the box."

  "Correct," Mother said. "If we continue to the destination, we will be intercepted again. The entire sector is likely scanning for that frequency."

  Sheila stood up. "So we turn it off!"

  "It has an internal battery," Ford shook his head. "And it's embedded in the hull of the crate. We can't turn it off without a plasma torch."

  "I have a proposal," Mother said.

  "Let's hear it," Ford said.

  "Eject the crate," Mother stated simply. "We are currently passing the binary star system Helios 4. If we jettison the container on a decay orbit, it will fall into the primary star."

  "But... my clothes!" Sheila protested.

  "The tracker will continue to transmit until it is vaporized," Mother explained. "To any observer, it will appear that the Millennium Seagull suffered a catastrophic failure—or that the 'waste' was simply disposed of. The signal will cease abruptly. The conclusion will be that the Princess is dead."

  Ford nodded slowly. "If you're dead, they stop looking for you."

  He looked at Sheila.

  "It means you lose the crate," Ford said. "It means you lose the dress. It means you officially cease to exist."

  Sheila looked down at her stained gown. She looked at the nutrient pouch in her hand. She thought about Captain Thorne, who had likely died to buy her this chance.

  She took a deep breath. She dropped the pouch into the recycler.

  "Do it," Sheila said. Her voice was steady. "Burn it."