Sarah Hawkins had seen many a sight in her days at the Admiral Benbow, but there were few that both troubled and softened her heart as those of the soldiers who so frequently passed through. She ran a tight ship, and they helped her do so, providing good business without intimidating the regulars or encouraging troublemakers, and while they could get a little loud when it was time to leave for the front lines, they were rarely rowdy. They liked having somewhere to come back to. A home away from home for those who weren't interested in the hustle and bustle of the spaceport.
She tried not to dwell on those who didn't return, but sometimes groups of friends would turn up with one or more faces absent, and it made her hold all the tighter to Jim whenever he returned home, afraid of him joining those who had been lost. Jim was wilful and adventurous, and his enthusiasm looked all too much like theirs at times, no matter how proud she was of him.
It was pure accident that she never paid much attention to the great Kozmotis Pitchiner in the days when he frequented the inn. He was a young man at the time, well mannered with an interesting face that he hadn't quite grown into yet, but he was hardly unique. The Golden Armies recruited paupers and princes alike from all over the universe, and she'd seen far stranger faces than his.
Memory served her better for the sand travellers because of their unique speech and the colourful glow that followed each of them around. Cleaning after their visits meant employing robots to do the hard work, given any organic helpers would fall asleep in mere moments, but they were always friendly and left obscene tips. They had little need for money beyond renting a room to sleep in, and while they could eat or drink if they wished, they simply didn't need to.
She remembered each individual sandperson's glow as well as she remembered the soldiers' laughter, remembered soft gold as well as vibrant red, remembered ethereal green and soothing blue. She remembered soldiers whose bodies were chitinous enough for armour to be unnecessary, and soldiers who were more liquid than flesh.
For all the humanoid faces she ran into, there was one that stood out from all the others. Unique, and perhaps the last of a race the universe had forgotten.
She remembered Nightlight. Everyone remembered Nightlight.
.
He only visited once, staying a few nights before disappearing after the Lunanoffs arrived at the spaceport. His was possibly the least secret "secret mission" she had ever heard of, given that secrecy only ever applied when the Constellar nobility were involved, and Nightlight was hardly inconspicuous despite being wisp-thin. He had seemed sweet enough, playful if quiet, and she had nearly fallen through the floor after reading the age on his identity card. Much like the sand people, his was an estimation, but it was somehow more startling than theirs had ever been.
It was always strange meeting people older than the land she walked on. She never knew if they were acting their age.
Serving him alcohol felt strange, even if he did drink responsibly, and she couldn't help side-eyeing anyone who got a little handsy while flirting with him. The fact he was practically ageless didn't change how he had the looks of a teenager and the demeanour of someone younger still, and as far as she was concerned, ephebophilia was as much about visuals as age.
He seemed perfectly capable of handling himself, but it was comforting to think about the stun phaser she kept behind the bar in case anyone decided to interpret his silence as consent.
.
Sarah's most vivid memory of Nightlight was as quiet as the boy himself.
Nightlight didn't sleep, and kept to a chair by the fireplace when the inn locked up for the night, leafing idly through book after book and frowning at the contents as if they disappointed him. Sarah wondered at first if perhaps he couldn't read, but Jim's old picture and video books seemed to frustrate him just as much as plain text.
She didn't mean to pry, and bed beckoned, but it seemed unfair to leave him alone without entertainment. Sarah picked one of the books from Nightlight's hands, smiled to herself at the adventure depicted - Jim had always loved pirate stories - and asked, "What's the matter with this one?"
Nightlight looked up at her wide-eyed, as if startled by her interest, before pointing a finger at the book accusingly. "No life."
Sarah frowned at the book, flicked through it herself to refresh her memory. "If you're worried about the main characters dying -"
"No," Nightlight interrupted, before hopping up, so light-footed she couldn't quite find it in herself to scold him for standing on the chair. His pale hair seemed to exaggerate his frustration, the wild, gravity-defying loops almost telling a tale of their own. "Story is - story is flat. No one telling it. Stays same."
Sarah nodded slowly, thinking perhaps she understood what he was getting at. "Would you like me to read to you?"
Nightlight grinned before sitting back down, wrapping his arms around his knees and curling up. "Don't have to," he said, expression still bright and hopeful, and she smiled back at him before taking the other chair by the fireplace and setting down the book. She wasn't the best storyteller in the world, but that hadn't mattered much to Jim when she was teaching him to read, and it didn't seem to matter much to Nightlight.
She fell asleep somewhere in the middle of the third story of the night, but he didn't seem to take offence, and eagerly asked her to finish it the next night before allowing her to go to bed for a proper sleep.
.
Sarah tried not to mean her goodbyes when she saw off soldiers, knew if she paid attention to the parting it could hurt, but she made a point of saying farewell to Nightlight. She had wished Jim well a hundred times before when letting him leave, and it only seemed right to do the same for Nightlight, passing him a copy of a book she would have liked to read to him if there had been time enough to do so.
"Promise you'll write," she said, "And tell me what you think of it."
Nightlight laughed before shaking his head. "I can't," he replied, but he took the book regardless before giving her a hug and leaving with the other soldiers, waving goodbye one last time with a wide grin.
His thin frame made her stomach twist, and she let the robots take over handling the customers who remained, retiring to her room to write a letter to Jim. She kept her worries to herself for the most part, but let her love spill over into her writing as much as it wanted to.
When she added at the end of the letter, "Please come home safe," it wasn't something she felt ashamed of.
.
Sarah couldn't be a mother to those who passed through the Admiral Benbow. It was hard enough being a mother to one child - and no matter how old he grew, how much he matured, he would always be her child - without worrying over the thousands who kept the inn's doors opening day and night, year in, year out.
But she could be a fixed point. As long as she lived, they would have somewhere to come back to, somewhere familiar and unchanging.
It wasn't the sort of achievement that would go down in history, but it was one she was proud of.