KISMET ─ vento aureo.

▹ THREE ;

☆ ⁺ « 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊

★˚⋆ CAP, WAIT. CAN I TALK to you?"

You slowed, giving Trish a chance to catch up to you. "Something wrong?" Maybe it was because the overhead lights weren't on that Trish looked so pale. Fugo hadn't been kidding when he said all of the power had been sent to the thrusters. She looked thin too, her cheekbones cutting angles into her face that hadn't been there before. These emergency lighting strips had never been the most flattering lighting.

That's what your head feebly joked, anyway.

"It's just—" Trish chewed on the inside of her lip. You waited, although a part of you suspected you wouldn't like what she was going to say next. "I know how tight we are with credits, Cap. Everyone does. I wouldn't mind dipping into my fund to help out. Just until we get back on our—"

"No. Didn't I tell you never to bring that up again?"

Trish caught your sleeve as you turned away. Her green eyes were tense. "That was back when things were easier. I'm not saying this just to make myself look good. I have credits, and if it will help the crew, I'm willing to use it."

The rest of the crew knew that Trish used to be rich. Her family had been Upper Space nobles. One of the richest ones who lived on elite self-sustaining ship colonies. Those ships were big enough to be entire cities, clean, comfortable and free from the noise and chaos of planets and moons. The name of the ship was stamped onto you ident as though it were a planet, and people living on them could go years without ever seeing a sunrise or feel organic ground under their feet. Even after being cast out, Trish still held onto a sizable credit account, courtesy of her late mother's will. But that was her money, and your pride was too large to allow you to accept anything from your crew member, even if she was offering.

"We're not over the edge yet," you said. "The Passione is still flying. We've still got options. That money is yours, Trish. You should be using it for things you want, not tossing it on this crew. Let me handle that."

"There's nothing wrong with accepting help," said Trish. "None of the crew will think less—"

"But everyone else will," you cut in. "I get enough flack about accepting two Upper Space nobles onto my crew. They already think we're bribing nobles with your and Fugo's influence. That's part of the reason jobs have been so scarce. They'd leave us entirely if they knew I was using your money to get us out of bad times."

Your crew didn't quite belong anywhere in the galaxy. Fugo and Trish made associating with other Lower Space crews difficult, while the nobles didn't want anything to do with you or Mista or Narancia. You'd sooner trade an arm than kick out one of your crew, but the ragtag collection of individuals did make things harder when it came to interacting with people. For all its technological advancements, the Milky Way still didn't take kindly to class-climbing.

Trish's mouth twitched, but she said nothing. Perhaps no one knew better than her how restricting other people's opinions were.

"I appreciate the offer though, Trish." You smiled gently. "You're a long way from the spoiled baron's daughter we picked up from the Iris."

Trish didn't quite smile back. "I'd hope so." She turned back down the hall to get to the galley. "Just think about what I said, okay, Cap? The offer always stands."

You nodded. When she disappeared around the corner, you walked the short distance to the double-doors of the med bay. You scanned your eyes and fingerprints before the doors slid open.