★ ⁺ 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍
★˚⋆ THERE WAS LITTLE TRISH UNA had not seen before. Anything and everything she might want to see was available at the tap of a finger. She had watched planetary battles and sappy holo-dramas. Studied microscopic organisms and colossal dinosaurs. Gasped at the beautiful striations on Jupiter and gaping craters on Solymus. She had seen most everything worth seeing in this galaxy. She had seen things people decades ago would've thought impossible.
But you could argue she had never truly seen any of these things. She had never been to any of these places; never been within breathing distance of those animals. Her eyes had only taken in this visual kaleidoscope through pixels on a holoscreen. It wasn't the true thing. Not really.
But that was all Trish could settle for when she lived on the spaceship colony Iris. On this behemoth of a ship, most residents had never felt sun on their skin or felt grass under their toes. They lived and breathed within this ship, not needing a planet or moon. Their days and nights were thanks to the lighting system that mimicked natural light. There wasn't any need to worry about rain or snow. It was a city unto itself, the Iris, entire buildings and communities flying through space.
The people who lived on the Iris loved it. The exclusivity that came from living here was worth the millions it cost. They didn't have to worry about the trivialities other people in the galaxy did. The Iris was excitingly, artificially perfect. Trish loved it too, most days. But sometimes, she wondered if there wasn't an entire world out in the galaxy she was missing.
Not that it mattered. Citizens of the Iris stayed on the Iris. People made their lives and died on this ship. There was no reason to go anywhere else. She had never known anything else, so why wasn't she satisfied with it?
Maybe it was from her mother. Donatella, having been one of the few citizens in the Galaxy still raised on Earth, was fond of telling her daughter all kinds of stories from the planet. Although the planet was marred by pollution and vindictive climate, there was still beauty to be found. Trish's favourite stories were the ones Donatella told of watching sunrises. That was what her mother had missed most after moving on board the Iris. Breathtaking sunrises, no one day like the other. Sure, the holopads could show Trish every sunrise on Earth for the past decade, but Donatella said nothing would ever compare to physically being on Earth and seeing the sun crest the horizon with your own eyes.
And then Donatella died, leaving Trish with her holopad and the sprawling Iris and dull engagement parties. She should never have promised to bring her daughter back with her to Earth one day.
"It wouldn't hurt to look a little happier. This is your engagement party, after all."
Trish's expression didn't change. She was tired of listening to Casca's petulant voice. The brunette was but one of a gaggle of girls that rotated around Trish, switching out when Trish couldn't stand them anymore. None of them were friends, but Trish's father seemed to like seeing his daughter with girls her age, so here they were.
"I know girls who kill to have a fiancé like yours," Casca said from behind her champagne flute. Trish followed her gaze across the room, to where her fiancé was speaking to a group of older gentlemen. He was handsome enough, all brooding grey eyes and curling dark hair. It was just her luck that the up-and-coming entrepreneur was close to her age. Trish's father could have picked someone else. She could have easily been marrying one of the older men her fiancé was talking to.
"Have you two talked at all?" Casca asked.
Trish smoothed the blue satin of her dress—an off-the-shoulder flou dress that was all the rage on the Iris at the moment. "I'll go talk to him now," she said tonelessly. Anything to get away from Casca's pestering.
She floated through the room, a false smile pinching her cheeks, making sure to position the hand with the engagement ring just so. Anyone with the slightest bit of influence on the Iris was here tonight. They were supposed to be celebrating Trish's engagement, but really, they just wanted to talk to her father. The richest man on the Iris had something to do with seemingly every family on this ship. Maybe that was how he'd gotten rich to begin with.
Trish's job tonight was to look pretty and be her father's charming daughter. He would surely be raking in all of the gifts and money meant for the couple and adding them to his own credit account. Donatella had warned Trish her father was selfish. At least she knew better than to expect otherwise now.
"Darling, what are you up to over here?" Trish wrapped herself around her fiancé's arm. To his credit, he didn't miss a beat, leaning over to press a kiss to her temple.
"Just business," he replied. He knew just as well as Trish that they were acting for an audience tonight.
"Always business," Trish huffed. "Can't you spare a minute for me?"
"We'll have more than enough time alone after tonight." His voice curled downwards deliciously. Trish's fiancé had a lovely voice, smooth and alluring, that Upper Space accent so many people found insufferable like heavy velvet. Given enough time, Trish thought she might even like this man. It was too bad they'd only met three days ago and exchanged as many words. She couldn't even remember his name. Patrick or Paden, maybe.
Trish smirked at him and he smiled cockily back. He looked back at the group of men to continue their conversation. Trish found her gaze wandering around the room, looking for her father. Was he proud of her? Was she doing what he wanted? Soon she'd be marrying the CEO of the company her father had invested in, effectively handing over all of its assets to him. He'd be even richer, even more powerful, and even more distant.
Trish felt a hollow pang in her chest. Maybe she would've preferred growing up on Earth, if it meant she didn't have to be a pawn for her father. What was a top-tier education on the largest spaceship colony in the galaxy worth if this was all she'd do? Was this all Donatella had raised her for?
The doors to the ballroom slammed open instead of gliding apart silently. The conversation and music in the room abruptly halted as the dark uniform of the Imperial Army marched inside. Trish tightened her hold on her fiance's arm, zeroing in on the young officer leading the guards.
No, not an officer. His uniform had a scarlet sash and golden epaulettes, the shining badge over his breast immediately recognizable as the royal crest. A winding circlet rested in his blonde hair, glinting as it caught the light.
Crown Prince Giorno Giovanna.
The guards all stopped at once in a straight line blocking off the exit. The air in the room seemed to freeze as the Crown Prince stepped forward—
—his gaze locked on Trish's father.
Trish's father was a man who liked to meld into the background. People knew a lot of him but not about him. Not even Trish and Donatella did, really. He preferred it that way, with how unpredictable he was. His mood and personality shifted often, and it was hard to tell which identity would front. At the moment, it seemed to be Doppio, Trish's father suddenly seeming younger and more vulnerable.
"Your Highness," Doppio said quickly. He should have bowed, although he seemed too nervous to remember that. He glanced around the room, his eyes practically begging for someone to take the attention off of him. Trish started forward, but her fiancé tugged her back. He gave a tiny shake of his head.
The Crown Prince's voice carried throughout the room."You are hereby placed under custody for crimes of illegal substance trafficking, physical assault and abuse, and extortion against the Crown. You are to be escorted to the Imperial Palaceship to await trial."
The freckles on Doppio's face were stark on his face as it lost all of its colour. His shoulders trembled under his fine suit jacket.
"I-I don't—" his fingers scrabbled for something in his pants pocket. In an instant, all of the guards had their electors raised.
"Help me, boss," Doppio gasped into his Holopad. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold it. "Tell me what to do!" The people around Doppio drifted away, as though they were afraid to be incriminated by proximity. This time, Trish didn't let her fiancé stop her. She marched towards Doppio, who hid his face underneath his fringe of pink hair, whispering frantically into the Holopad.
"What is this?" Trish had to look up to meet the Crown Prince's eyes. They were as flat and cold as two stones. Her voice quivered but didn't falter. "I demand to know where these outlandish allegations are coming from. My father is a man of character. These charges are false and should be dropped immediately."
"The Crown has sufficient evidence to charge your father," an officer beside the Crown Prince said. "We suggest your father not make this harder for himself. We have direct orders from the Emperor."
Trish looked back at Doppio. He had put the Holopad away and stared back at her with wide eyes. Before she could say anything, guards were surrounding him, yanking back his arms and securing his hands behind him. Trish cried out, hoping her father's other alter would front. Diavolo would know what to do. He wouldn't allow himself to be dragged away on these treacherous allegations. Her father had come upon his wealth by savvy and hard work. This had to be some financial rival blackmailing him, framing him.
This was a mistake. Her father would never traffic drugs. Not when it had taken his wife.
Trish lunged for her father, hands outstretched. The air around her wavered as she shoved the guards aside, taking the cuffs around her father's hands and softening them until they were like rubber.
"Go!" she cried. "Get away from here!"
Doppio only blinked at her. "I can't, Miss Una. The boss told me to follow their orders."
"But you can't! You can't!"
Hands wrapped around Trish's shoulders, pulling her back. Doppio seemed to be swallowed up by a sea of black uniforms, a wave carrying him out of the room and off the Iris. Trish knew she would never see him in person again. She would only ever see him from behind a holopad, the way she'd seen everything else in her life.
"You are to come with us." Trish looked at the Crown Prince, stunned. His face was still carefully blank. "All associates and family members close to your father are to be questioned."
Trish latched onto the Crown Prince, pulling on his uniform. The crowd gasped, but Trish didn't care. "He would never do this," she said. "You have to believe me. My mother—he would never. Please let him go. He's all I have. You can't take him."
The Crown Prince's expression didn't falter. He made no move to pull away from Trish.
"That remains to be seen, Miss Una. It is up to the courts to determine your father's innocence. As I said before, you are to come with us. Do not argue. I detest saying the same thing twice."
Trish shook her head. Tears stung her eyes. Trish wasn't sure if she loved her father, but the thought of him being gone, of being adrift on this behemoth ship without anyone to guide her was overwhelming. He was by no means a good father, but better him than no one at all.
"Please. Let him go. He would never do this."
Guards pulled Trish back. She followed them numbly out of the ballroom, whispers and glares swirling in her wake. She thought she felt her fiancé's eyes burning a hole into her neck. She thought he might run after them, shouting for her, her father.
But no one followed them. The glittering engagement party receded behind her.
- ✦ -
The Emperor would take not only the life of Trish's father, but everything from Trish. Their apartments on the Iris were seized, along with all of their possessions and everything in their account. The fall from the upper echelons of society was a painful one. It was remarkable how when Trish's father had been at the centre of Upper Space society, Trish wouldn't be able to go anywhere without someone offering a ride, or to cover her tab, or to invite her to some party or other. Now, people pointedly looked away from her, pretended not to hear her, brushed over her. There was no one on her side anymore. Where Trish Una had once been one of the most eligible young people on the Iris, her name was now unmentionable.
"Could you start a washer?" The woman at the counter frowned at her. She pulled down her earbuds.
"What?"
Trish cleared her throat. "Could you start a washer?" Her skin prickled as the woman ran her eyes over Trish. The wrinkled shirt and stained jeans. Her hair hadn't seen its usual stylist in weeks and sat in a greasy knot on top of her head. She would never have thought of wearing the same clothes twice in a row before, but when she only had one other change of clothes, two days was a privilege. Everything but the bare necessities had been sold, because of course her father hadn't set aside even two credits for her to rub together.
"All the machines here have card readers. Just stick 'em in." The woman stuffed her earbuds back in.
Trish's face burned. "I can't use my card."
"Huh?"
"I can't use my card. There's nothing in my account." Stars, Trish was about to break down right here in front of the laundry owner. She would've done her laundry after she'd gotten paid today, but she'd accidentally stained her uniform and hadn't wanted to show up to the diner looking even worse than she did. She'd thought she'd had enough for at least a wash, but apparently not.
Trish took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet the laundry owner's gaze. Donatella had taught her better than this. She would not make herself look weak.
The woman sniffed. "Can't help you. No card, no machine. They don't accept anything else."
"If you could just start one, I can pay you this afternoon, it's just one shirt and—"
"Get out of here. I know who you are and frankly, I'm not interested in servicing people like you."
Trish's throat tightened. She stepped away from the counter, aware the other people at the laundry were staring. A part of her wanted to scream at the owner. Stars, couldn't she just give her a break? It wasn't as though Trish had wanted all of that with her father to happen. She just wanted to wash her stupid uniform, was that so much to ask? She was working now, just like them! She was space-dust poor, knocked down off her high horse. She'd gotten what she'd deserved, hadn't she?! She wanted to yell all of that, but the last thing she needed was to make a scene. She left the laundry, her chin stubbornly raised.
Weeks living in the Iris' lower levels had made Trish familiar with the layout of the shops, at least. She walked briskly to the diner, keeping her face rigid until she stepped past the door and then to the washrooms. Seeing no one around, she slipped her uniform out of her bag, then ran the water and began rubbing at it with hand soap. She rinsed away the foam, then added more soap. A sob rose in her throat when the stain wouldn't leave.
Trish tossed the shirt into the sink, then slammed herself into one of the toilet stalls. She sank down on the toilet seat, cradling her head in her hands. The tiles beneath her shoes blurred as she started to cry.
Why was this so hard? How did people wake up and do this everyday? How did they make their own decisions? What did they do when things flopped on their sides? What did they do when their best effort wasn't getting them flacking anywhere?
Trish wanted her mother. She wanted her father, her tutors. Stars, she'd settle for her fiancé, because at least he'd tell her what to do.
Trish wasn't angry at the crown, or the Crown Prince, or even her father. She was angry at herself for being so naive as to think her father was spotless, that her place in life was secured, that things were already as difficult as they could possibly be.
That Trish had taken everything lying down. But now there was no one to impress. There were no expectations for people who had toppled off the tower.
Trish left the toilet stall. She splashed her face with water. Finger-combed her hair and smoothed it into a low bun. She wrung out her shirt, carrying it with her to the employee room, where she hung it up before asking for a spare. She tossed an apron over it, then gathered a tray and stepped out to the dining area. Restaurants without serving bots were poor and low-class. They were less efficient and more hassle. But Trish was glad for it, because if this owner had been able to afford serving bots, she would be out of a job.
There was a group in the corner, waiting to be served. Trish walked over, attempting to smooth her features into something remotely polite.
She caught a flash of something dangling from one of their fingers. Deep, rich green, with the telltale gleam of gold. The dark-haired boy holding it laughed, letting it swing so that Trish could see the eight-pointed star as she drew closer.
Her steps faltered. No. That couldn't be. That medallion had appeared on every holoscreen in the galaxy in the past week. Trish had changed the diner holoscreen every time it showed, tired of hearing of some baroness losing her fancy necklace to space thieves. It was supposedly worth over 10 000 credits, the malachite medallion inlaid with gold and diamond in the perfect lines of a star.
And here was that very same medallion, in this rinky-dink diner in the bowels of the Iris. Either these kids had bought a very convincing fake or ...
Trish struggled to remember the name of the thieving crew. They flew the Passione, didn't they? Trish hadn't given a flack to the crew's wanted pictures, but her gut told her this group here was them.
One of the group members hissed at the dark-haired boy to put the necklace away. He did so with a cavalier shrug, dropping it into the pocket of his cargo pants.
The utter audacity of the crew slammed into Trish like a solar flare. They were out here eating, after stealing one of the most lucrative pieces of jewellery in the galaxy. The baroness lived on the Iris, didn't she? They hadn't even bothered to get off the ship first!
She wasn't going to lie; a part of her admired this crew for that. She could use some of their nerve, some of their drive.
"Aw, thank the stars, a real live human!" The crewmember wearing an arrow cap grinned broadly when Trish stopped at their table. "Thought it'd be one of those creepy serving bots."
She could report them right now. The bounty on their heads would be enough to get Trish out of this rut. Not back to where she'd used to be, but certainly enough for a modest apartment and a more comfortable job. She might even gain back a bit of honour, show that she was on the right side of galactic law, unlike her father.
Trish smiled at them, pulling on that smooth veneer that was second nature to Upper Space society. Her voice was crisp when she spoke, even as her thoughts churned.
"Yep, real, live human at your service! What can I get for you all?"
- ✦ -
When Trish found them they were loading their ship, preparing to leave the Iris. She'd made up her mind two days before and the solidity of it made her body tingle. Trish now had a plan. Something to do. Maybe it wasn't the best plan, but it was one she had come with.
Trish stepped out from behind the pleasure cruiser she'd been hiding behind. She had nothing on her, leaving all her meager possessions behind in the grey room she'd been staying in. She truly had nothing to lose. Not her honour, not her pride, absolutely nothing.
"What's the rush for? You still have another crew member standing here."
For once, Trish was thankful for those elocution lessons. Her voice was like an arrow, piercing and direct without being loud. The crew of the Passione stiffened, turning and then relaxing when they saw it was only her. The implication made Trish's hackles rise.
"You're the waitress from the diner!" exclaimed the dark-haired boy who'd been swinging the medallion. Then confusion washed over his face. "Wait, what are you talking about?"
"Starting today, I am a member of your crew." Trish put her hands on her hips, raised her chin haughtily. They couldn't know how tremulous she felt. "You will take me onto your thieving crew and give me a portion of the cut."
The member in the arrow cap guffawed. He elbowed the member next to him. "I'll have whatever she's having, huh?" This member's face was thoughtful instead of the derision everyone else sported. Indigo edged his dark hair and shone in his eyes. Arrow Cap continued to carry his box into the ship, seeming to have dismissed Trish entirely.
A blonde-haired member frowned intensely, nudging the dark-haired boy to continue back into the ship. Soon, they were all inside the ship, save for two. The thoughtful one and someone who had just come around the ship's starboard side. They leaned over to whisper something in the remaining crew member's ear. They listened for a moment, then straightened.
"I don't know who you think we are," they said to Trish. Their voice was hard but not unkind. "We're not recruiting members or anything like that. Sorry to disappoint you." They inclined their head, then started for the bay doors of the ship. The last crew member followed their lead.
"I know exactly who you are." Trish stayed where she was. She would not look desperate. She was controlling this scene, not them. "I know a certain baroness' medallion is on your ship as we speak, and I know the Galactic Authorities would pay a hefty sum if someone were to tip them off."
The space thieves stopped.
"Allow me to join your crew. I can bring things to the table your crew is lacking. Your heists will never be the same."
"You belong on the Iris, Miss Una," said the thoughtful one. He turned around, and Trish thought she might've seen concern flash in blue eyes. "You've never been off this ship. You've never risked your neck for anything. Who would associate with us if Diavolo's daughter was on our crew?"
Trish bared her teeth. "It's because of me that they would associate with you. I know Inner Space society like the back of my hand. With me on your crew, you could play all of those nobles like dice. I will show you every crack in their facade and help you slither through."
"Is that really what you think?" asked the other member. They still hadn't turned around.
"Work smart, not hard—Captain." Trish smiled when her shot in the dark made the captain turn around. So they were the leader then.
The thoughtful one frowned. "You'd steal from nobles? Aren't you one of them?"
"Look at me." Trish swept an arm over herself. "Do I look like I'm one of them anymore? Don't act as if you haven't accepted nobles on your crew before." Trish didn't quite know everything about the crew of the Passione, but Pannacotta Fugo had made headlines for weeks after he had joined. He had been a cautionary tale for Trish, both Diavolo and Doppio dropping his name whenever Trish nudged a line. It was funny he'd turned out to be an inspiration instead.
"Needless to say, each of our crew members have different circumstances," said the thoughtful one. His eyes narrowed. "Yet no one has found themself in the predicament you have, Miss Una. You would be a different matter altogether if we took you on."
Trish was losing them. She hadn't had a great case to begin with. With practically everything laying on the table, Trish was forced to pull her last card.
Or rather, someone else pulled it for her.
"All of you, put your hands up! You're under arrest by the Galactic Authorities!"
Everyone's heads whipped around at the words. A motley of guards in dark uniforms darted forward, electors raised. At their head was a man with sharp cheekbones and chalk-white hair tied back from his face.
"I order you to stop!"
"Thought we'd have a little more time than that," the Captain muttered. As though they shared one mind, the Captain and blue-eyed crew member launched into action, releasing kicks into the guards' sides and then smashing their electors against their faces. Some slumbering instinct reared its head, and Trish rushed towards them. She grabbed a crate off the ground, going to cover the Captain's back. As soon as she saw a flash from one of the guards' electors, she was softening the crate, stretching it so that the bullets caught against the plasteel-turned-rubber. The Captain turned sharply, eyes wide. Before they could speak, Trish was hurling the softened crate over the blue-eyed crew member's head. He ducked just in time, and the crate hardened the minute it made contact with the white-haired officer's head. He dropped like a stone.
"Captain! What the flack is going on?!" The blonde-haired crew member had opened the bay doors. He waved at them frantically.
Trish didn't have time for second thoughts before someone was grabbing her hand and hauling her to the Passione. The doors slid shut behind her, and she felt a thrum under her feet as the ship began moving not a moment later. She was inside! Trish looked around the bay of the ship in wonder, taking in every detail, the scent of metal and stale air. The other crew members didn't even seem to notice her until a beat later.
"What's she doing here?" asked the blonde one. Fugo—her cautionary tale.
The captain almost smiled. At some point during the time when Trish had first shown up until now, the skepticism on their face had melted. They exchanged a glance with the blue-eyed crew member, and an entire conversation seemed to pass between them.
"Our new recruit," said the captain finally.
"What? You know who this is, don't you? Why would you let her on?"
"She deserves a chance. Everyone on this crew did."
Fugo didn't look convinced. Nonetheless, the captain strode forward, extending a hand, and Trish accepted it. "Welcome aboard, Miss Una."
"May I have the honour of knowing your name, Captain?"
"You don't know?"
"Ah, I don't pay much attention to holoscreens since my fall from grace."
The Captain looked almost amused. "Y/N L/N. The newscasts like showing it so much, you'll have it memorized in no time. This is Bruno Bucciarati, my right-hand man and master of operations, and Pannacotta Fugo, my engineer." Bruno's lips thinned. He cautiously shook Trish's hand. Fugo only scowled.
"Pleasure to meet you. Both of you."
"Not sure if I'd say the same," said Fugo.
The Captain clapped their hands together. "You have my thanks for covering my and Bruno's asses back there. We'll have time to get chummy later. Fugo, take Miss Una down to the engine room and have her help with the generator. You said it was acting up, weren't you?"
Fugo looked affronted. "She doesn't know a thing about ships. What is she supposed to do?"
"She's gotta start somewhere," said the Captain. They grinned, and a warm buzz spread through her body. "She's already got the makings of a crew member. Let's see if she lasts."
- ✦ -
The Captain hadn't been kidding when they said the crew wouldn't like Trish. They outright despised her—not properly closing the airlock when it was her turn for disposal and turning off the gravity in her room when she was changing. Trish didn't blame them. She would've hated the Upper Space creature masquerading as a thief too.
The past few weeks had been full of firsts. The first time breathing air from the sea and seeing real stars, not just flecks projected onto the ceiling. The first time getting caught in a space storm and the first time inhaling moon dust. Trish knew the crew sneered at her close-mindedness. Outside of the Iris, she was still just a kid. The first time she'd fired an elector, Mista had cackled his cap off when she'd started to cry. These new experiences made Trish realize just how small she was, how naïve, how ignorant. It was like being splashed with ice water, over and over and over again.
Washing away the pretty doll Trish had been on the Iris and revealing someone new underneath.
"Don't haggle with me, I know my flack. 60k for the phasers." The mechanic the crew was haggling with looked a little small to working on massive spaceships. But, as Trish was quickly learning, people rarely matched their appearances out here in the Milky Way.
"They're not unsalvageable," Fugo argued. "If you just replace the plasma component—"
Narancia yawned, raising his arms above his head. "We gotta settle down for a bit, Cap. The flight lag is catching up to me. We couldn't have waited until after sunrise?"
"We have to get to Bend Gate VIII before the transport envoys," the Captain said. They were looking over Bruno's shoulder as his fingers moved over his holopad. "Then it's balls to the wall until we get that cigarillo case."
"No one even smokes cigarillos anymore," Narancia muttered. "What the flack are those anyway?"
"Distant ancestor of the vape pen," Trish said. The ice was thinnest between her and the pilot, so at least she could banter with him.
"Balls to the wall might be an understatement," Bruno mumbled. He handed off his holopad to the Captain. "We'll need everything down to the second. There's a lot of moving parts and basically no room for error. But I've outlined it and it fits." The Captain glanced at the screen, then smiled.
"You're something else, Bruno. It looks almost easy when you put it like that."
"That's why I'm here, isn't it?"
The Captain tapped their holopad and both Trish and Narancia's went off, signalling they had received the plan. It was a comforting sound, and Trish always loved the trill of nerves she felt looking the plans over, finding her place like an actor with their script.
"Where's Mista?" the Captain asked, looking around the shop.
As if on cue, a loud snore sounded from below one of the ships. Mista was splayed out on one of the mechanic's creepers, his cap askew. The Captain rolled their eyes, fighting a smile.
"Well, then. Bruno, Narancia. You know what you need to do. I want an escape route and vehicle secured in an hour. And a backup, of course."
"For this plan, I'd say two backups would be even better," said Bruno. He and Narancia skirted around the Passione hoisted onto a lift and left the shop, disappearing into the passersby outside.
Trish looked to the Captain, waiting for her assignment. They would need outfits, probably. And an alibi with nearby businesses in case the Galactic Authorities—
"The sun's going to rise soon," said the Captain, surprising her. They walked to the doors of the shop, poking their head outside. "You've never seen a sunrise, have you?"
"Not in real life." Trish felt her face heat.
The Captain gestured for Trish to follow them outside. The mechanic shop's yard was cluttered with half-dismantled ships and bins of parts. Trish was pretty sure some of the models here hadn't been in airspace for decades. It made her think this might be a graveyard of sorts.
The Captain squinted off into the horizon. "I don't think it matters how many times you've seen a sunrise," they said faintly. "It's still beautiful every time." With quick feet, the Captain grabbed onto a nearby ship's hull and hoisted themself onto it. They reached down for Trish and helped her up as well. Together, the two of them sat, legs dangling over the edge.
"Captain, can I tell you something?"
"Mhm."
The light was still grey, just on the edge of brightening.
"I found out that I have a credit account. It was my mother's. For some reason, her lawyers couldn't contact me right away, but they told me she put it aside for me in her will. There's over ten million in there. I checked this morning."
The Captain said nothing.
Trish let the words come out in a rush. "If the repairs this time around are too expensive, or we need more money to cushion the plan, you can tell me. I can take some money out. I'd be happy to use it for the crew and, honestly, there's no better use for it—"
"Trish."
She stopped, swallowed.
"Do you know what my philosophy with this crew is?"
"Live big, steal bigger?"
"That would be Mista's. Although, I do agree most days." The Captain leaned back on their hands, their eyes still fixed somewhere in the distance. "You all have your personal credit accounts. What you do with it is none of my business. But you will never use it for the Passione or for missions. That's what the shared account is for."
"But—"
"It's the least I owe to all of you. I don't need you dipping into your personal credits to keep this crew afloat. That's my job. I won't ever ask any of you to sacrifice more than you already have. Your money is yours, and if I find out you used it for the Passione, I'll have to pay it back. This is part of my honour and duty as a captain. I have a safety net in place for the Passione, but each of you guys need your own safety net too."
The Captain seemed a lot older at that moment. Something heavy weighed their words, and Trish knew better than to press, even though she wanted to.
"If something happened to me, to the Passione, I just want all of you to be able to get back on your feet," the Captain said quietly. Without thinking, Trish put her hand on top of the Captain's. They looked up quickly, and Trish stared at them, took in a breath—
Light flared in the corner of her eye. She turned her head.
Trish had seen thousands of pictures; hundreds of videos of suns cresting the horizon of different planets from solar systems. She'd read so many times already of the explosion of colour, reds and pinks and oranges, the glorious gold. She knew sunrises were beautiful.
She knew, and yet it surprised her anyway.
A wave of childlike awe washed over Trish, as warm as the tentative rays of sun brushing her skin. Her lips parted and a soft laugh escaped them. "Stars," she breathed. She shook her head, not quite able to believe it. Her mother had been right. Mornings on the Iris were nothing compared to this.
"Sun, you mean," the Captain quipped, and Trish smacked them on the arm. Her hand was still on top of theirs.
They stayed there until the sun cleared the ground and the sky was a flawless blue canvas. The dawn's light seemed to linger behind Trish's green eyes, settle beneath her skin. When she turned back to the Captain, she was radiant.
"I want to see another one," she said.
The Captain raised an eyebrow. "You'll see a lot more than just one."
- ✦ -
NEXT CHAPTER ─
❝ IT'S ALMOST LIKE YOU GO LOOKIING FOR INSPECTOR ASSWIPE SOMETIMES. ❞
☆ ⁺ ⠀«⠀ A BIT OF SWEET TALK