Star Diamond

Star Diamond

By Weston Hughes

Owned and Copyrighted © 2018 to 2023

1

Just breathe. You've been studying and now you're competent. You put together a resume like you're supposed to do. You're going to make that leap, back into space, on your own this time.

Nothing. Bad. Is going. To happen.

You don't need to hold someone else's hand. You can take care of yourself. You're not stupid. You can make smart decisions. Don't feel bad for dad, and for sis: they'll be fine. We split and follow our own destinies, like the ancients say we have to, anyway. You're tired of not doing it. You're tired of being afraid. You can communicate with people throughout the Cronoptikos binary star system and that's a valuable asset. HL gave you work papers. You have good things going for you. And you found a ship that needs your services...

These were my thoughts as I walked down the street to the Targo ports while the green and red suns danced on opposite sides of the sky. Masses of people, mostly giant anthropoid avians native to this planet, Iuko, trotted around the starports on business and pleasure, eyeing my smaller human self in passing. The galaxy was far more connected than ever before, each day bringing another star into the fold of cosmopolitan space, thus the natives ignored my alien presence.

I packed my bag with everything needed to survive, even if the specific ship I contacted chose not to take my services. Whatever... I'm bound to get the attention of someone in the vicinity. No matter what: this is it! I'm out. Gone. Going somewhere to do something for myself without my family attached-

BEEP BEEP BEEP

I knew this number would pop up. Looking down at my wrist-comm: DAD. I slowed down and brought the visor to my face, clicking the button for connectivity. My father's bearded face weary and blank.

"...You're leaving, aren't you?" he sighed.

I wanted to stop, yet pushed forward, feeling courageous for the first time in a long time. I picked my words carefully. "Sorry dad, but please don't try to stop me. I've made up my mind. I know languages, I know culture, I'm ready to work, and I'm tired being at home... Please don't worry about me: I know what I'm doing. And before you say it: I know you think I think I know what I'm doing, and I still have to try. Besides, you've got Viola at the house... Nothing's going to happen."

My father stared, wanting to wipe his face, wanting to yell at me, wanting to cry, wanting to cling to his family. Blinking a few times, "Daughter, you should wait. You're still-"

"-Too young?" I finished for him. Summoning a strong voice to soothe him, "Maybe, but I won't feel good about myself unless I move out." Harsher words wanted to pour out, keeping myself respectfully grounded. "I gotta' go. I'll be fine! And I promise I'll check in with you and Vi."

My thoughtful dad labored to say the right thing, still fastened to the lasting dream of our family when his kids were still teeny. "Don't put yourself in a position to be taken advantage of. There's terrible people out there, and they won't think twice about using you." Heavy duty reality: what fathers do best.

Alright conscience, you win. Looking ahead, seeing distant starships flying, the sound of engines and combustion hitting my ears, and the voices of alien peoples with unique experiences all around, I signed off, "Thanks. You're not wrong, dad. You'll see me again. Just take care of yourself."

He realized he would lose this war, and chose the difficult high ground. "You're still my little girl, Port." Purposeful, and gushy.

"Right. I love you." Clicking off, his face ended on neither a grin nor a scowl, just a neutral acceptance. The tragedy of losing my mother and younger brother on the ship ten years ago weighed on us all, and he had to feel terrified he was going to lose me. I was also a woman, so who knows what depravity people might pursue. While I didn't want to think about how cruel the universe could be to its own children, I couldn't let that dependency make me miserable any longer. The great Jacobus Othello Bardolph knew, deep down, his daughter would fly from the nest at some point.

My legs took me to the starport, Bay 14, and I trekked along the coastal, grey dock to find the ship that replied to my submission: the Muldoon. A defended star-fluyt advertising freight hauls, owned by someone named "Pelobo." According to their mission statement, the post on the highly-exclusive list of galactic Harmony Link intranet postings--which I had to bribe an official Ω50 to acquire!--this vessel needed a "Communications Specialist, capable in translation and research for trade-based objectivity." I knew, basically, every major language in the system, worked on communication equipment to a minimal extent, and had no qualms about researching the social particulars of every planet in the v'Manx galaxy. My only hope was that they wouldn't turn me away due to lack of experience, or find an excuse to hire someone better. Thankfully they told me to meet them at the dock, to take a legitimate look at what I could do for the Muldoon.

Then I found it. The ship was... unimpressive, truthfully, albeit larger than expected. The paint job appeared zaffre and scarlet with a faded green plaque on the side: a logo of a Siimb style hammer with dabs of tiny stars all around. No idea if that was a personal design or some company logo. The description matched the single photo I could find of them on the net, though no pictures of crew or anything. Outfitted for Iuko standards? Not a problem: I'm used to standing eye-level to avian hips. Down the ramp, an opening exposed a darker interior within the ship's side. A lone man waited nearby, a snake from the eighth world of Ognonga by the look, smoking something out of a pipe as he leaned against their ship.

Taking a deep breath I walked forward, down the metal plank, the masculine spacefarer observing the entire time. His soldierly clothing revealed a space ne'er-do-well, with hardened muscle exposed beneath utilitarian fabric; a belt with tools, equipment, and a couple las-weapons for quick acquisition wrapped around his waist. The smoke puffing from the pipe almost synced with my steps, and I was there, standing before the alien with blood-red scales and hypnotic opal eyes. A couple of scars marked his arms, and more likely waited underneath his apparel. I couldn't discern if they were combat or work wounds, though some spacefarers didn't distinguish a difference.

"Yeah?"

I straightened up. As well as my Terran mouth could articulate Ognongan, "Hi. My name is Portia. I contacted your ship recently. You need a translator?" Could he sense my nervousness? Of course he could! An idiot could tell this guy's been around the solar system more than once.

With trained reflex his thick, clawed feet swayed closer, curiously eyeing me up and down. I only came up to his pecks; he was imposing to be sure. "Howz Ua Darogno. Captain of the Muldoon." A quick nod for a bow. "You got any data-wafers? Identification?"

Quickly, my fingers removed legal papers tucked in a pocket of my jacket. Showing them, I confirmed, "Yeah, sir."

He carefully took them and began scanning the finer points, humming. "Let's see... Portia. Hippolyta. Bardolph... Terran Citizenry. Iukoan Citizenry. Age: 26." He stopped, then puffed his pipe, a foul yet spiced odor stimulated his sensorium while he docked planetside. "So how old are you really?"

I coughed. Shit. "What- what do you mean? I'm twenty-six."

He grinned, only a bit, as most races found snake teeth intimidating. "Look, if you're gonna' establish a business relationship ya' don't start off lying. I'm not an expert on you humans, but we've met plenty... How old are you?"

I wanted to look away in embarrassment, yet he was completely right; I shouldn't lie to these people if I wanted to ensure my way off this planet. Shrugging I corrected myself. "Nineteen... I'm nineteen."

He grinned bigger, forked tongue poking out between pauses. "Nineteen. Last time I checked, this planet registers 'twenty' as legal off-world working age. Wouldn't happen to have somethin' for that, would you young lady?"

My hand shot to the files. "Yes! I filed for the work registry- It's all legal. I just, um, wrote over the age." Please don't turn me away? Please!

"Hm," he mused. "Looks real. Can't blame you for lying. Must be dyin' to see the stars, get off this rock; adventure." His eyes lowered a weight down to me. "You know it's not that glamourous, right? It's moving port to port, surrounded by black, making sure you don't run out of food and water, or get attacked by criminals."

Aha! He's testing me. Most people don't travel between the planets, instead reliant on those who navigate, trade, transport, and guard the outer reaches of space. "I've been in the void before, Mr. Darogno. My family came on a Terran star-galleon years ago. I know what it's like."

His neck raised. "Really? Figured you for a space-virgin." A grotesque titter escaped his mouth before stopping himself. "Sorry." Looking over my papers, he noted whatever deemed vital, then leaned back against the star-fluyt. "Everything's on the up-and-up. A few questions. When's the last time you were in space, exactly?"

I answered. "Ten years ago. That's when we landed here to assimilate. My father and sister, I mean."

Puff. "You ever been in a fight?"

An unexpected question for a job interview. I thought back to the two brawls of my younger years. The first happened on the Alatriste, where that fat bastard Feste tried to steal lunch belonging to my brother Mercutio and my friend Regina; I wailed on her so bad she bled out her nose and mouth. The other incident took place here in Targo when that avian girl Jerik Dun thought I was hitting on her boyfriend--which wasn't true--and she pinned me to the ground as I kicked her ribs pretty good, until an administrator broke us up; truth be told, she could've killed me. Backyard brawling with my friend Dranq didn't count as fighting. To answer the snake, "Yes, a couple, when I was younger. I'm definitely not a prize-fighter."

He hummed again. "Good. Ever shoot someone?"

Wow. Blunt. "I shot a las-gun once. Target practice with my friend's dad... I don't own any weapons, if that's what yer' asking."

Puff. "So no gunfights, correct? Never had to shoot to kill?"

I shook my head. "No Sir. Sorry." That's not a reassuring question. Or was it? Darn empirical insufficiency!

"That's okay. We don't get into many shoot-outs." Puff. "As for the position on this boat: how many languages do you know, fluently? And social studies? It's okay if it's not as much as your resume says." Puff. "You're young, not much traveling, and I'm willing to give you a shot 'cuz you're this eager to leave."

I eased. Just answer the man's questions. "I speak codified Iukoan, Terran, Siimbite, Ankian, Dixan, Lan'terian, and Ognongan. Zalfan and Garemite I'm, um, brushing up on... I've tried to learn sub-languages and dialectics for the whole traveling-around-in-space-between-habitable-worlds thing. I've read the major histories, at least back to the previous century, and I stay up to date on current events. Except for Surassi, since we just made contact with those people, heh... My dad knows some people in the HL stations, so I think I got a few contacts there. That's- That's it." I sounded young, maybe desperate, but thankfully hopeful.

He twisted his neck until it cracked, then said, "Well that's the best pitch I've heard in a while, ma'am." Tapping the pipe against the rail, letting the contents fall down to the waters sloshing underneath us, the snake instructed, "Wait here." He turned and climbed back into the vessel.

Waiting on the docks, that voice in my head told me turn back, kill this dumb idea, forget this venture. You're such a naïve bitch. You don't know what you're getting into. Just grandiose dreams. All you can think of are stars, and heat, and fire, and pain, and judgement, and loss, and guilt, and a stupid delusion that all those linguistic courses will pay off. These experienced aliens are looking for someone to take advantage of, and poke fun at. You're leaving the nest too soon. Father's right: your place is here on this big, daunting planet you weren't born on, and-

A voice too focused to shriek and loud enough to express anxiety, gargled from the ship, breaking my negative train of thoughts. "Can we please make this quick?" I heard them say. The blood-red captain reemerged with a squid from Zalfa, flesh of tinted blue, looming over me by a foot, dressed in a skirt and a matching vest to empower her feminine features. With eyes of shimmering ruby, she acknowledged my presence.

Howz waved between us. "Cena, this young human's Portia. She'd like to come aboard as our comm spec. Portia, this's Cena, our Logistics and Trade handler."

Cena recalled her manners quicker than me and held out her tentacle hand. "Right. Nice to meet you." Quite pleasant.

I slowly put my hand in hers. Her tough, blubbery skin felt funny--especially the tiny suckers on the inside. "Happy to meet you too, Ce-na." Letting go, she held a humble, excited stance.

The captain pointed to her folders. "Do us a favor. You know what those papers say?"

She nodded. "Yep. Took a while. Why?"

"Show 'em to our applicant, here. See if she knows what she's reading." Glancing between myself, her work, and the captain, Cena offered me the challenge.

Proving grounds. Time to show them, and myself, I could live up to my skillset.

The first paper was hand-written in terrible penmanship. Definitely a variant of Dixan, with letters connected like vines. I started reading the heading aloud, while the squid crept next to me to see if my interpretation proved accurate. "'Finding Plenty of Aggregate Necessities; A new study provided by the Collegiate of Pan-Digestive Researchers found that feeding the galaxy can be far easier than anybody previously analyzed-'"

"-Does it look good?" the snake inquired, uninterested in the topic.

Cena nodded. "As far as I can tell."

He motioned to move on. "What else you got?"

I slowly shifted the papers. The next was professionally printed, written in Siimbite. Easy enough to read. The dwarves liked using definable characters, an alphabet of 40 geometric runes. "'Categorical examination of the following minerals makes metallurgy an outdated field, akin to ancient alchemy. After cataloguing base metals, minerals, adhesives, gases, and other commodities, why anybody would-'"

"-Next," Howz ordered. "Any good?"

Cena confirmed. "Very good."

I turned to the last page. Oh gods... Handwritten again, this time plastered with messy ink. I had to look very carefully, concluding this was written in distant Ankian. An essay? I couldn't tell what it was, just let the cogs in my brain churn and grind, working on the bizarre, wispy lettering of those people. "'Why do we ignore the sarcastic, um, eye-rolling when children question the absurdity of the adult world, and, um, the fallout, the chains and shackles of the oldest, dying generation, um, that clamp onto the ancient ignorance that our parental clans, um, feel must be perpetuated, um,' wow... This one's tough..." My eyes focused, and I thought back to what these words, these characters, meant. You've got this! "'...to the detriment, to the burden of the succeeding generation that knows, as the years pass, the wisdom of the older world has to inevitably change for the betterment of the future, the species.'" I stopped and looked at Cena.

She giggled. "You're doing way better than I've been, kid." Back at the snake. "Fine in my book!"

"Thanks," I gleefully handed her the files, as she wobbled back into the ship.

The captain watched her go, standing in front of me with a surprised demeanor. "...Our comm expert left over a year ago, a disagreement with our owner. Anitt Pelobo IV, just so you're on the level. A stunty-one he is... This ship's been all over the known solar system. Seen a few things. Some good, some bad. This crew trusts and depends on one another to get through it. Now the question I got for you: you absolutely sure you wanna' join? I can't put a young woman at risk just 'cause you're bored."

His tone, his body language grew very serious. That question warranted everything. He wasn't wrong. I wanted to get out of the house, to see the stars with happier thoughts, to overcome my fears imbedded from that fucking Alatriste explosion that robbed two members from my family. More importantly: it was time to actually put myself out like an adult, test my talents and my hard work, overcome my uncertainties about the meaning of life and the sea of people around the galaxy--regardless of the shapes they took. Part of me desired to stay in Targo, between the distant buildings reaching for the twilight, thinking of my family. I knew what those buildings looked like, felt like, smelt like, having walked around this metropolis for so long. They were fine, adequate, yet now I begged for a new life.

So I nodded to Howz. "I really wanna' join you people. I... like your ship, Captain Darogno. Help me out and I swear you won't be disappointed. I'll talk to whomever you want, whenever you want, and I won't stop until the job's done right." Alright, not bad, now don't be frantic. If they take you, be grateful. If they don't, somebody else'll want you. You've only obsessed for years about this moment, and matched the effort needed. Don't back down.

He chuckled. Holding his scaly hand out, "Well, then, if you're eager to throw yourself into the cold, dark, beauty of space, and waste your time with a buncha' losers... Welcome. Can't promise you'll be rolling in Omegas, but we'll take care o' you."

I shook his hand: strong, with an odd warmth. "Thank you." And with that I gripped my satchel tighter and followed him inside the Muldoon.

You did it! Now don't screw up.

2

The interior of the star-fluyt wasn't what I expected: very open, breathable, inviting, and big enough for avians to stretch, as evident by one of them moving things in the background. The floor was padded a grass texture; we could run around barefooted if desired. How fun. The walls were hued a greyish-brown, and patterned like wood. Overhead exposed metal paneling, typical of most star-vessels, however the lighting slowly shifted tints of different colors every few minutes, supportive for each particular race's visual spectrum--easier on the eyes, and psychology. I remember my friend Pivol telling me about interior design, how certain colors affect mood and energy.

"Before you officially sign-on," Howz dug, "you got any medical experience?"

Shaking my head, "None. Sorry."

"Yeah I didn't see anything on your papers... Just so you're aware, we haven't had a full-time doctor aboard in a few years. If you need constant health maintenance, we can't help you. Of course we'll stop in case of an emergency! The HL stations are kind. But make damn sure to keep an eye on yer' health so it doesn't slow us down."

"Sounds reasonable," I concluded.

"Other things... If you do anything illegal that might put the ship in danger, you let us know immediately, so our sponsor can figure out how to navigate those waters. You screw us over I'll kick your tiny ass myself; this Ognongan Star Military veteran knows how to haymaker, no claws and teeth necessary," he winked a masculine wink. "If you're ever confused, or think you might make a stupid mistake, stop and ask somebody around here for help. I'm only saying this since you're young, no offense... Hell, I did a number o' dumb things when I started spacefaring."

I couldn't imagine what kind of 'dumb' things I might get into, other than messing with the ship's vital systems, or accidentally releasing the airlock. I've read enough stories to understand dos and don'ts in space: cog or galleon.

"Let's introduce you to the Muldoon's worker ants. You've already met Cena--Ulshitof, that is. She's a bit odd, but when downtime hits, damn does that girl let herself go. And do not tell her I said that," he joked.

Stopping at the next room, he slapped a small panel, illuminating an area labeled 'Parlor' in codified Siimbite. Most things written on the walls were from the sixth planet, though a few were sub-written in Garemite due to their hold on the energy market. A glance inside revealed a kitchen, a rounded lounging couch encircling a dining table, a large vid screen, and décor planted across the chamber.

"This's for eating; full-kitchen, refrigeration, and preparing anything not too fancy," he explained, before moving on.

He led me further down the cavern, directly toward the avian moving boxes around. An aura of foreign music with steady, bouncy beats punctuated by weird electronic dings escaped a set of earphones hanging off his collar.

"Kōl," the captain called to him. He spun around to greet us, turning the music off. He stood about eleven feet tall, average for the bird-folk, with black scales and beautiful feathers of orange and turquoise, eyes of polished amethyst. The man had two scars on his chest like old-fashion slug holes, a couple of las-burns, a plas-burn on his scaled shins and what appeared to be a knife wound on his thigh where scutes met feathers. Howz introduced us, "This is Kōl iTurg, our Security."

I held out my hand high, palms up, in the traditional Iuko greeting. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

He placed his massive fingers against mine and enclosed, no hesitation, with a cordial beak. "Very nice to meet you," he bellowed, in an accent from the other side of the planet.

"Kōl, this here's our new Communications Specialist. Portia. Bardolph, right?"

I nodded. "Port's fine." He let go. "I'm from Sunmii, if that's not obvious. Targo."

The avian sniffed. "I assumed. I'm a loyal Deng subject, though haven't been back in a while. I like moving around the stars more." The Deng Kingdom acted very traditional, from my visit a couple years ago, and the other unified power on Iuko that rivaled Sunmii as a player in v'Manx politics.

Howz interrupted. "If you don't mind, when we shuttle off I'd like you to give her some defense training. I wanna' make sure she knows how to handle herself in a combat situation. Nothing too crazy."

A quick registration forced a pleasing nod from the giant. "Absolutely."

The captain glanced back at me. "Sorry, but on the off-chance shit hits the fan, you need to know how to survive a pinch. We're not expecting a super-soldier; just sharp instincts. Comes with the job... You okay with that?"

Kōl reassured me, "I promise you won't get hurt. I've instructed for years now, including you smaller-folk. Hand-to-hand stuff."

I nervously scratched my head. "If it's required, um, then sure. I can push through it." Please don't break anything.

"Great," the captain declared. "We're going to say hi to Anitt. Keep an eye out front. And double check if we need to restock."

The guardian complied, "Certainly." He looked down to me, wiping his black beak. "Hope you have a good time." He marched down the hall, snapping on a tactical vest over his industrial overalls, and disappeared.

"You're from here; I don't need to convince you he's a nice guy," Howz remarked, traveling ahead.

"I'm used to avians. The only guy I ever kissed was one." Why did I say that? It's not like that's any of his business. I must be nervous. Or maybe this place was starting to feel like home? "He said I had a cute beak," I clarified, tapping my underbite. The snake raised an eyebrow. Impressed that I could get a giant's attention? He didn't say.

Nestled further toward the bow, facing the cockpit, a door waited with a painted pattern matching the ship's logo. Howz slammed his fist against the metal, the cacophony taking me by surprise. A gruff voice boomed from beyond. "Yes?"

"New hire, Anitt."

The door slid open, and he ushered me inside. An office, very lavish, very clean, with numerous marvels mounted on the wall caught my attention, from intrinsic trinkets to collectables, pieces of art, and other displays of grandeur. Shuffling from behind a desk, with a glass in hand, a dwarf stepped around to greet us. His entire form stout; he stood half my size, with cold silver skin and a greenish mane of hair atop his head, slicked back, with a refined beard covering his mouth. Clothing appeared a robe of refined Dixa silk. "Yes, yes?"

The captain introduced, "Boss-Man, this is our new comm spec. She's native to Iuko and Terra. Darn fine translator." To me, "This's the actual owner of the Muldoon, Anitt Pelobo."

Looking me up and down, peridot eyes, a disconnected expression from the rigors of business and handling intergalactic elites all day, he tried his best to appear warm. He held out a hand, in the Terra fashion. Surprised, I reached out to shake. "Oh, um, it's nice to meet you Sir."

His grip was slippery, yet firm. "Anitt Maxiis Klum Pelobo IV, just to get all my names out of the way, young lady." Letting go, he continued, "I read the message you sent us recently... So, a translator? And you've worked communications equipment? You appear young."

I blinked, trying not to reach for my credentials. "Yes, I'm familiar with basic long- and short-range transmitters and receivers, and, um, alternators for digital, analog, and multi-wave radio clicks... I'm not exactly certain what's on your ship, but I'll figure it out, and yes: I can speak a number of languages. Cultural research throughout the system; my mom taught me to appreciate history."

Howz spoke up. "Cena showed her some documents. Translated fine for both of us."

A difficult expression hid behind his aristocratic mug. "Ah, I see. Portia, was it? Tell me: why my ship?"

A silence grew in the room. Here were two experienced space travelers who probably saw more excitement and difficult times than I could imagine. Might as well say something. If they're receiving me, my chances are good. "I've never been on a ship like this before. The star-galleon my family came on was massive, and it felt like living planetside. This ship? Um, I like that you have grassy carpeting, and it doesn't feel like some cheap bathroom. I see stars outside those trees on the walls, and the nifty lighting, not to mention ships like yours are generally safe when traveling through space. And-"

I stopped. A painting hung on the wall. Those primary historical accounts regarding Garem when I brushed up on the dragonflies' culture, and some of their more notable personas, sprung to mind. A painter, Learsi. I stared at this painting: an abstract within a still-life. "-Is that... a Learsi watercolor?" I stepped closer, wondering if my research paid off.

Anitt shadowed. "Ah, an art enthusiast."

Rolling his eyes, Howz leaned against the wall, watching both of us encircle the painting. Maybe he thinks I'm showing-off? Promise I'm not.

The artwork looked authentic, not a reprint. The dwarf explained, "Would you believe I painted this?"

"Really?!"

"It's in the style of Learsi; I was fascinated with him at the time, and thought I could out-paint the master when I was ambitious, and arrogant. It's odd you noticed the attempt... I keep it hung on the wall, not because of vanity, if you'll believe a noble Siimbite." He snorted at his own joke. "This is a constant reminder not to imprison myself."

Huh. I asked, "Imprison yourself from what?"

"Hmm." He tapped his finger against the gilded frame. "Good question. You're the peculiar one. What do you think?"

Oh no. Art interpretation. Not my forte. My sister loves this kind of stuff. Me? I'm not really the artistic type. "Imprison..." Well, he mentioned something about outdoing the master, not being arrogant... Wow. It could be anything! Maybe something he didn't mention? Maybe something more personable. Better say, "Imprison yourself from being fake, like, trying to be someone else."

His expression widened slightly. "Interesting... Not bad. Completely wrong, girl, but not bad at all." Damn. That made sense to me! He snapped his fingers to the barrel-chested man across the room. "I like this one." A bored nod communicated the veteran's agreement.

"Howz directs all of us. Feel free to start unloading your things anytime you wish. We aren't plotting a course until we confirm a contract, which shouldn't be too long." Pointing at the captain. "On that note, have we gotten the attention of our lead to find out what they're selling? Not hopping off this planet until I answer a few more messages anyway." Poking my thigh, the aristocrat said, "If you don't mind, our intrepid leader will show you to your personal quarters."

"Sure. Whatever you want me to do, Mr. Pelobo." Time to salute.

He scoffed, "Listen fair maiden, when we are in the company of anyone outside the ship you may call me Lord Pelobo, but while it's just us, Anitt will do. I have to keep my ego in check." The dwarf ambled back to his desk.

Getting my attention, the captain left the room, and I followed. So far my first impressions have been going well!

"So when do we ship off?" I asked, excited, hopeful, and nervous of course.

"I need to meet with our crew and find our contact. Then you'll get a direct answer." Pondering, "Do you mind sharin' a bathroom with Cena? Actually I should've asked, do you like Cena, and if so, do you mind sharin' a bathroom with her?"

"Cena. Yes. I mean, I haven't really spent much time with her? But she seems nice." I've shared a bathroom with my sister for years, so the idea didn't turn me off. Miss Cena likes me, so why not?

"You're closer to Kōl, then Boss-Man reminded me genders should stick together, though you two got different biology."

That is more appropriate. "I work for you people now. It's fine either way. I don't want special attention."

His grin returned. "Easy-going. Good. Maybe you're cut out for this-"

WHAM

Running around the corner, a person carrying a box of items toppled into both of us, attempting to avoid a collision too late. I stumbled back, as the snake attempted to brace all three of us, and failed, sending everyone to the floor. The box spilled its contents on the pseudo-grass, various metal bits, wires, and scrap I couldn't identify.

"Xio, you dumb furry fucking dolt!" the red brute shouted.

I pushed myself up, spotting the culprit. An alien furred black and grey. Predominantly feline, yet he possessed some canine features as well. Bizarre. I knew his people originated from Lan'ter, the fourth planet. "My bad! Are you okay?" Realizing a newcomer had succumbed to the momentum, he scrambled to recover. "I hope I didn't hurt anybody!"

The three of us dusted off. The man collected his things scattered over the grassy floor. We instinctively helped him pick up what we could find, as he sounded legitimately apologetic.

"X," Howz snapped, "congratulations: you just tackled our new talker!" He motioned between us, "This is Xio."

He hesitated, conflicted whether he should grab his things first or say hello, quickly jutting his palm out in the Lan'ter fashion; I fairly flattened my hand against his. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going," he explained.

"It's alright," I consoled. "No harm done. Nothing's broken, anyway." Hey, he's missing a finger!

We tossed a few more items in his box. "My head was somewhere else-"

"-Back in the engine bay," Howz quipped.

We finished picking up, making sure nothing remained. When the scan satisfied his attention, Xio, the half-canine, half-feline lifted his container. "You sure you're okay?"

Everyone rose to their feet. Feeling sturdy, I repeated my consolation, "It's fine! Really. We've all run into people." And here I worried about embarrassing myself my first day.

He tried not to gawk. His eyes, gentle and inquisitive, shimmered like pearls. Standing slightly taller, he tried not to fidget, keeping composed, and respectful to my female person. "I'm X. I... fix the ship. And repair things."

The captain. "What are you doing?"

"I was simply getting rid of worn scrap, Cap'n. Might be able to trade it for something, or melt it down." His eyes kept darting to me, hoping to keep his embarrassment in check.

The captain grinded his hands together. "Well... I've gotta' get ahold of our lazy-ass crew for this new contract. X, since you're so eager to get shit done, why don't you stack that outside on the landing and show Portia to her room? Give a rundown of anything she doesn't know. Think you can manage?"

"Of- Of course. I can help!"

You could shave off the veteran's annoyance with a knife. Glancing back to the furry person, his tail wrapped around his waist.

"Good. Port: despite this idiot's bumbling energy, I'm ashamed to admit you're in good clutch. He'll get you settled." He shot another condemning expression to his cohort.

"Fear not... I'll take care of things," Xio bowed.

The snake shook his head and went down the opposite corridor, muttering disapproval and irritation. The two of us stood there, finagling a means to connect. His face kept upright, occasionally sneaking a glance at my figure. What's your angle, guy? Probably what my gut inferred: he's a young man meeting a young woman.

He awkwardly shuffled to the side, paws uncertain whether to plant themselves or pivot. "Would you like me to, um, show you where to go?" Is this poor bastard that enamored by me? Calm down. He's seen Terran women before.

I nodded, wanting to maintain a good first impression. "Yes. Please, Mr. Xio."

He took me down the radiant chasm, holding onto his scrap. He wanted to schmooze, yet kept quiet until we arrived to my quarters. So far, outside of knocking me over, the alien tried his best to be a gentleman. Watching him fidget like a very shy boy amused me; I hadn't received playground bashfulness in a long time. Sue me.

3

Docking at the Targo starport swooped a star-interceptor of sleek bronze sheen, crafted on one of Siimb's busier moons of Voris, sliding into the aerial port jutting over the waters. A worn sigil of an exotic Zalfa flower decorated the sides; an outdated racing league whose public disinterest pushed the interceptor into disuse, until the current pilot patched it to fly all over the system.

The rugged, brown-barked kodama with leafy blue and green hair hopped off his ship, shooing one of the porters away as he slung a bag over his shoulder, indicating that he required no assistance. Scorch-marks reflecting the mercenary lifestyle of the spacefarer dusted his well-worn clothing. He locked the vehicle down and made his way to the check-in station, past looming arches and walkways.

A tired, feathery denizen stood up to receive the traveler. "ID, and declarations."

The anthropomorphic plant handed over a passport, and set the bag on the counter with an alarming thud. "I'm declarin' all my security items."

That comment got the clerk's attention. "Security items?"

He unzipped the bag and exposed a well-maintained semi-automatic laser-carbine, a long-range slugger, an ionic carbine for security drones, and two-plasma pistols from different planetary militaries, in addition to a sharp survival dagger, and a collapsible truncheon. The clerk eyed the arsenal, then the newcomer, then back at the passport. "Who are you, exactly?" he inquired, in a rushed and foolish tone.

"Tanzer Ygoza. I'm from Jolkox, on Dixa. I'm with the Requisition Guild. And I'm declaring my shit now cuz' last time I didn't I had to spend a week in your jail. Lost my contract. So there," he pointed to the revealed possessions. So help me if you make me lose another one...

The giant clerk examined everything, worried of the smaller gunslinger. The Guild produced very polarizing representatives: hardened bounty hunters, or bookish scholars and antiquarians. This Tanzer most definitely belonged to the former category. A look-up on the starport's net displayed no alarming red flags or security codes attached to his profile. Handing back all his belongings, the clerk bid the man well. "Welcome back to Iuko, sir. May the Winds keep you lifted," he forced.

Tanzer hung the bag. "Sure."

The agent ventured into the city of Targo. Removing his case profile, he reviewed the current parameters and assigned goals for retrieval, moving down the walkway as everybody else kept as much distance as possible, security nosily studying him as he passed.

He read quietly to himself, to help the data sink in. Identified person called Quariet, Ven, Male Dwarf, attaché with off-planetary shipping and storage company called Nebulo!. Identity likely fake, or potentially former company-affiliation under different name. Responsible for transporting stolen artifact with the aid of [INVESTIGATION PENDING]; affiliation confirmed with said party, under the market to obfuscate transportation to [INVESTIGATION PENDING]. Any other data is suspect. Acquire stolen artifact by any means necessary without exposure of sponsor, and more integral to objective, without damage to or loss of artifact. No further questions can be answered until artifact is successfully reacquired and brought to HQ or chosen drop-off point. Hm... Sounded like a simple plan, however, the file felt incredibly underweight. Most missions taken carried several pages of side information, background information, target information, and notes such as contingency plans the agent should be aware of in case said info's required. This one: a single page with scant information at best.

Months passed since circumstances of his last job forced him to threaten affiliates with harm, due to the target's hostile intentions. Property damage, temporary hijacking, terminal hacking, and physical damage--even the fatal kind--occurred in his line of work, especially when dealing with unscrupulous people. Luckily most jobs required him to stare down the target and repossess whatever the Guild required without a fight. Sometimes, especially when it came to juvenile thieves and black-market professionals, people got hurt. When Tanzer started working for them, he felt no remorse if someone forced his hand for a blasting, however, his trigger finger starting getting stiff and sore the past few years, and something about the look of death in those around him made each new case's acceptance heavier on his soul.

The plant-man held strong to two rules as a professional, ones made very clear to his superiors. This kept his sanity intact. One. No slave trafficking or hunting down escaped slaves of any kind; as far as he was concerned, if they're willing to go through hell to taste freedom, he's not going to rob them of that. Inmates or convicts that ran away? Sorry. You do your fucking time and then you get to leave, like he had to in his youth. Bounty hunting was fun sometimes, unless the mark happened to be a depraved psychopath. Two. If someone needed termination or disposal, he would not harm infants or small children. If a kid happened to point a gun at him though... He didn't want to think about it.

More security eyed the hunter, aiming from a throng of crossing pedestrians. A bulky feline wearing a Law Cannon uniform speaking with normal HL guards perked up. As Tanzer moved passed, the voice boomed directly at him, "Hey, don't give the Guild a bad name and start shootin' people. Call us. We actually keep the galaxy safe."

The kodama stopped and turned to the enforcer. "Sorry. The fuck you talkin' about?"

The feline stepped closer. "I said don't get in the way of our job. Go repo a star-caravel and try not to shoot anybody, sprout."

You really want to look this cool, chem-kitty? Must be desperate. The HL guards watched the pair, to see if someone would make the first move. Law Cannon liked to boast of their official position as a virtuous police force, though in his experience most were overconfident, and definitely did not like the Guild. "You don't even know me... Just here to get a job done. And I don't go outta' my way to shoot people like you Law-Dicks."

Holding his pride, the cat waved him off. "Keep walkin', and don't get too planted."

"You must be a comedian, making two racist jokes back-to-back," he countered. "Tell yer' fucking jokes in a club, panhandler. Don't wanna' use up any extra lives..."

"Yeah, maybe I'll try the rehab clinic you crawled out of... Seriously, we got eyes and ears everywhere. And don't think Iuko's too big for us." He made a pistol with his fingers and pretended to fire at Tanzer.

"And don't trip over them bribes fallin' out of your pocket, mite-mound." He made his own finger-pistol and fired, before turning his back to the security. That wasn't the first time LC tried intimidation tactics. Tanzer made certain to minimize his activity for authority figures.

The agent traveled further into the major city and found a cheap hotel. Uncertain how long he would need to stay, he requested quarters sized appropriately for his people. Throwing his things on the bed, showering, and meandering back and forth around his room nude, he pulled out his datapad and started hunting. Got to find this guy. Got to figure out where they'll meet up, who they'd advertise to, and how to get this 'artifact' back. Can't prep if I can't find a leak... Hope they're small-time; I'm gettin' sick of shooting people.

A small wall-vid played behind him, muted. The Targo newsfeed headlined HL and v'Manx ambassadors shipping all the way to the newly-discovered world of Surassi, in a separate star system where diplomatic attempts to connect with the native people, Orcs, broke ground. So far the newsfeed indicated disconnection between both peoples, and sociologists predicted talks to "trudge forward."

Focused on the mission, Tanzer pulled out all of his weaponry and cleaned each armament, checking to make sure ammunition and accessories for assault scenarios would function properly when the time came. "I've got a license to kill," he coldly reminded himself, "and it's getting' old... Shoot, snatch, and run." He repeated those last three words like a mantra.

4

I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of lodging. Would it reflect the eclectic, inviting atmosphere of its crew, or lose its luster for practicality? When the door slid open, my hunch proved somewhere in-between. The walls felt soft, the texture akin to sponge as I dragged my fingers across, hued a darkened green. A closet dug into the left, and the right curved just a bit to make the room feel more open. The entire back of the door was mirrored. Convenient! Checking myself over real quick, I accepted my casual makeup job from this morning.

"Did you only bring one bag?" Xio asked, setting his box outside the door.

I told him, "Yeah. I wanted to travel light. Maybe pick up things later." I had little desire to bring décor, furnishings, or sentimental art of any kind. If I was leaving for good then I should just take what I needed. Music and other entertainment I could access on the wrist-comm whenever I needed a break. My bag landed on the bed, and I looked around at the few panels on the wall. This mattress was way too big for me, and I wasn't going to complain.

The furry engineer showed me a small panel next to the bed. "This dial adjusts firmness. If you like to sleep on something softer, just turn it to the left." His hand motioned over to the door panel. "You can adjust room lighting in here, as well as temperature, and there's a small speaker that connects with the cockpit, for emergency announcements." He shrugged. "And that's it."

"Thank you." I looked where to put my few affects.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked. "It's no bother. Really."

Sensing his adorable enthusiasm, I grinned. The hallway ensnared my attention, "No thanks. Can you show me the rest o' the ship? I'm not ready to sit down."

"Certainly!" he shouted, leaving the bedroom, ushering me to follow.

We trotted further down. "How long have you been on the Muldoon?" I asked. He looked young, mid-twenties for his people.

He thought, scratching his head. "Three years now. I think she's easy to repair. And everybody's been nice to me." Preparing me, "Um, just so you're more comfortable being in space, I was pretty young myself when I first left to work here. It's not that crazy... I was the youngest on the ship, so of course they made fun of me. That didn't last very long. Especially after we almost got blown up by some pirates and crash-landed on one of Siimb's moons. I had to work overtime like crazy to repair her, and once I finished the Muldoon ran smoother than before, if you'd believe it." Orienting his train-of-thought, he clarified, "By the way: pirates and crash-landings are super rare, heh."

His boasting was cute. As was his attempt to prep me. "That's good to know... So you're an expert when it comes to engineering?" I jabbed.

"I'd like to think I'm good at my job. I'm no genius, it's just, this stuff comes natural. Even when I 'bumble' around like the captain thinks I do." He laughed.

"Guess I'll be taking your place as the baby." Thinking back to brief moments on the Alatriste. Fire. Crying. Shock. "I've been in space before, X. And it can be very 'crazy.' I know things go wrong. Just tell me this ship doesn't have leaks or rusty bolts that'll keep me up at night?"

Surprised, he saw my expression sour. "Oh! You're a spacefarer... Sorry." Tossing his fist against the walls, hearing a thick metal thud, he announced, "You can sleep easy. This ship's amazing, and we monitor everything very closely. In fact- uh, never mind."

The abrupt stop made me uneasy. Some flaws with the ship? That's all I need to obsess over in the vacuum of endless black. "'In fact' what?"

"Nothing! Honest. I was going to offer, um, if you'd like to spend some free time learning about the whole process, I'd love to show you how it all works." His voice quavered, and it didn't hit me until now that this alien's inclusivity was more romantic than friendly. "You might find it boring. If you're not interested, that's fine. Not everybody's a mechanic."

"Thanks... I'll think about it. Might be necessary if things go awry and we get into a gunfight with, y'know, pirates."

A snicker escaped his belly. "I shouldn't have said anything. We only get into a light scrap about once a year. The galaxy's too big. When we're at port, sometimes the wrong crowd tries to bother us but that's it." He stopped himself again, attempting to steer the conversation in a positive direction. "So why did you want to be with us? You could intern on a commercial star-barquentine if you're multilingual."

How honest should I answer? This is the third time I've been asked that question. If this guy's sincerely interested, then might as well. Besides, he's not my boss, just a coworker as I understood. "I'm trying to get away from my family," I told him, flat. "I'm tired of being scared of space... And I'd rather work with a small business instead of a large conglomerate, otherwise I'd probably punch some executive, corporate slaver... And, I guess, I'm trying to seize destiny by the horns and do something for myself. Like the classic stories...? I sound stupid saying this out loud." I recovered. "I promise there's professional reasons in there somewhere."

The cat-dog gave me a real smile. "I thought you were going to talk about our track record..."

I rubbed my face. What the hell am I doing?

"I wanted to get out of my place too," he consoled. "My family's huge. Trust me: you're not the only one who wants to find your own pack, instead of the one you grew up with. And this pack is a fun one!" My face morphed to a grateful softness, and I didn't say anything else.



He showed me around, the deck sized for the largest people in the galaxy; the rec-room passed the kitchen, then a small arms room, a storage room, an industrial work room, a few other cabins for specific uses, a control room; the cockpit was blocked off, which made sense, as a crew would want to protect their ship's main driving center from hijacking.

Xio showed me the engine at the very end. From what I could tell, the engine room appeared the cleanest part of the ship, and the technological marvel, a massive Jodo-built motor pulsar-streamer, with stabilizing modifications installed by the engineer, incorporated parts from well-known manufacturers in the Cronoptikos. "We can fly for several weeks before we burn our fuel. Not the fastest unfortunately. Don't get me wrong: it's quantum-folding, not ancient light speed engines! What I wouldn't give to fly a Stoklasa star-frigate; those things are disgustingly efficient! Ahem, our Muldoon's maneuverable enough, with our weapons systems active in case we get shot."

"And you know all her tricks, right?" I joked, avoiding further details I knew I wasn't going to remember regarding the Muldoon's maintenance.

He looked at my head. An awkward transition for rapport, "Is your fur yellow, or red? Naturally, I mean. I know humans only have hair on their head, and what's there is, uh, not very colorful."

Taking me by surprise, I answered, "My natural hair's red; I had these blonde streaks added in. Think I might go pink next time, just to see how it looks," pulling some strands apart and letting it fall back into place. I guess you need a platform for compliments, fella'. I wasn't from Lan'ter, not that people stuck to their own kind in this century by any means, it's just more typical for sexually-compatible species to glom-

Hang on.

"Since we're asking personal questions: are you a canine or a feline?" Felt like a fair exchange. Honestly, it bugged me that I couldn't tell. "Before you say anything," I held my hands up, innocent, "it doesn't matter. You just look, um, peculiar."

"No problem, I get that a lot," he replied. "I'm mixed. Nature found a way for my family... My pa's a prowler, my ma's a howler."

I wanted to laugh. "'Howler' and 'prowler?' I've never heard those terms before." Here I thought I was educated!

"Right," he licked his lips. "Howlers are canines; prowlers are felines. It's a joke on Lan'ter." Weird. Then again, cats are typically reserved, while dogs are more active and vocal. How come Dranq never used those terms around us? Was he born on Iuko? Shit: I've never asked one of my best friends where he was born! I'm a terrible person. Ugh.

"So you're more feline, aren't you?" Wild guess; he didn't seem gregarious.

He pondered. "Sure?"

A quiet titter exchanged between us. Continuing flirtation, "I think you look good. Your red fur! You look better natural! That's- That's what I mean." The poor guy didn't do this very often. Although his remarks felt genuine, harmless, so I didn't want to ignore him altogether.

"Thanks. I haven't been complemented in a while."

He folded his arms. "...I think you're lying. Even on this planet, people have to be approaching you."

Nice. I'll give you a point for that. "Maybe they're thinking, just not saying. And there's not many Terrans on this world... It's fine with me. I've been really kicking my ass to study these language courses for years now." I looked him over. "For a mechanic, you're fur's really clean." Might as well mess with him a bit. Tee hee.

"Thanks-"

He froze as I started feeling his exposed chest, working over the fur. He clammed up like a frightened teenage boy, hoping yet not expecting anything like this to happen. Normally you don't invade people's space when upon meeting; then again, Xio did knock me down, so it felt like yet another fair exchange. A softness akin to a fluffy pillow registered underneath my fingers. Good gods. Maybe this furry alien would be fun to sleep on? Or with... Why am I jumping to that? We've just met each other. Calm down.

"Wow, thank you. I just, um, clean it every day."

Receding, I said, "Just messing with you. Comeuppance for tackling me."

"Right. Again, my fault."

"No, look: it's fine! It happens. Odds are I'll bump into someone on this bucket."

I knew some macho hemisphere of his brain wanted to crank out, You can bump into me anytime, lady, and thankfully he said, "Right, people bump into each other," instead. "I need to get rid of my junk. If you'd like to come with me, I'll ask Boss-Man to show you a seat in the cockpit. Get used to handling all the long-range scanners and audio gear." Making sure I could easily follow, he moved down the corridor, to our original spot of collision.

"Sounds smart," I confirmed. "We can always wait until Captain Howz gets back, too. I don't want to blow anything up." Probably shouldn't say things like that on a starship...

5

Cena studied a small tourist map--the printed kind, not a digital reformatting on a datapad--flipping it over with her tentacle fingers, admiring artwork off to the side from pre-Sunmii formation. Howz and Ophem, a dragonfly who worked on the Muldoon, rechecked the correspondence between this potential client and their sponsor, trying to decipher what exactly the job-proposal meant. Details remained ambiguous, yet they contacted the Muldoon directly, telling them this transaction must remain as quiet as possible, with plenty of funding to compensate as long as the ship kept up the secrecy of their transaction once accepted. Typically this spelled illegal, or politically-sensitive. And Anitt and Howz agreed a long time ago never to stoop to the underworld, unless they had absolutely no other choice.

Riding a rail through the city, peering through the glass at architecture shaped in a bulbous fashion with metallic pigment, Cena studied as much of Targo as possible, uncertain how much longer they could remain. Refueling and restocking took little time, so getting a chance to rub elbows might drag out their stay a little longer.

Ophem spat at the proposal, "This's more than likely some promoter trying to get money out of us, instead of the other way around, Howz."

The snake retorted, "This 'promoter' is offering a lot of money, so we can't just walk away after seeking us out. Means they've paid for quality access."

"We can always send them to one of our friends," Cena mediated, "if we aren't comfortable."

"Right," he affirmed, "after we hear their offer! If my gut tells me something foul's going on here, we get up, we leave, and if we have to shoot then we'll shoot. We've done it before..." His arms folded.

Silence bridged the crew in their cab of the rail compartment. Everybody thought back to previous meetings where they narrowly avoided explosions, or ambushes, or getting killed by the wrong people, or the right people in those bizarre situations.

"And if they're offering the amount they're hinting at," Ophem continued her protest, "why didn't Anitt come? We can only negotiate so much on his behalf. And he can probably get us a better deal. He's the smooth-talker."

"Yeah, and risk losin' our sponsor?" Howz hissed. "If he's on the ship he can get us out of a jam." Thinking back to a contract years ago when Anitt wedged the ship into a valley-side port to save them during a shootout with smugglers, the noble earned a lot of respect from the soldier for such expert piloting.

"Oh that won't bring attention," the bug countered.

"That's right: we don't want attention. That's why Kōl guards the ship... We go to the meeting as planned. End of discussion. If you die in the process, you have my permission to haunt my hide like a star-poltergeist." Ophem chose to stop arguing, lest incur the wrath of the veteran.

He looked at their logistics expert. "Any interference, or weird chatter, Cena?"

The squid quickly checked the messaging networks, the intranet, and local news on a data-pad, in addition to odd frequencies that might interfere with external channels. "Everything sounds normal. O didn't notice anything before we left, either."

A deep breath from the captain, "Good. Good..."

Cena recalled, "Before I forget, you have a message from your daughter. The subject line said something about a birthday."

"Her birthday? That's not for seven galactic months..."

"Maybe she just wants to chat?" she proposed. "Baz is so adorable. I'm sorry she doesn't get to see you very much."

"Me too... Gev takes great care of her. I'm just afraid when she's older she'll start blaming me for the split." He pushed such thoughts out of his head. Stay on point. Work first, soldier.



The rail dropped them off at a stop, close to the designated meeting spot. They walked down two streets, passed a popular nightclub called Sakaki's in the process of opening their doors; early afternoon proved slow, their business sparking later as the sun dipped and the planet's two moons and orbital asteroid showed themselves. Several towering denizens eagerly waited to enter, ready to start their night, uninterested in the alien personnel skulking by.

The Muldoon's crew heeded the directions. The space, per the contact's suggestion, had been abandoned, so no prying eyes or eavesdropping ears should interfere with the negotiation. Privacy remained helpful for certain businesses. Should danger arise, the three spacefarers brought light arms.

Another alleyway exposed, and then the unpurchased block of apartments came into viewing. Only a single person waited outside: well-dressed, in the fashion of private security. A Zalfan eyed the four immediately, an unmoving sentinel. No doubt, some kind of weapon hid in his dark coat. No insignia of any kind for the crew to discern.

The captain spoke up, standing a few paces away. "Are you Ven?"

The sentinel asked, "Password?" in a firm, muted tone.

Shifting in surprise between crew and instructions, Howz answered, "There was no password listed."

Nodding, the guard entered the building. "Good. Follow me."

Cena shrugged to the others, and they cautiously followed. Traveling inside the ruin, the lack of lighting darkened the dusty hallways. The guard led them through the emptiness until another room, deeper inside, with no windows of any kind to reveal goings-on, opened to the spacefarers. Waiting for the crew stood two more guards, as well as a single dwarf, overweight and bulging out of his business garb; his expression, his mannerisms reflected that of an experienced, high-profile broker. He stepped forward, giving an Ognongan bow to the captain. "You're not Pelobo IV, I presume. Darogno? Am I saying that correctly?"

The captain returned his bow, peering down at the smaller alien, providing a solid impression for their ship. "S'what my father says... Ven Quariet, right? What exactly is this job? I'm a brass tacks kinda' serpent." His machismo filled the room.

The other two guards, dressed in the same fashion as the greeter, waited on opposite corners, both carrying a large black box with a handle at the top. Ophem and Cena spread out on the opposite corners of the rectangular room, matching that of the security in case of counter-fire. The dragonfly chose to hover instead of stand, a normal display her people took full advantage of compared to the non-winged people of the system. Cena looked calm and innocent as usual. A simple front: most dangerous folk would forget about her to focus on a more 'threatening' member, giving her advantage to draw and plug away.

Ven began, "Our offer's vague for a reason. This was to ensure secrecy. My supervisors from Nebulo! wish to have an item delivered. It's a rare item, very old, very antique, very... irreplaceable. We suspect people are very eager to get their hands on this. So we decided on a different method: to have nobodies--and I hope that's not an insult to your ship--deliver it out in the open, unsuspecting due to, well, your low profile." Howz angled his primal face, suspecting more at stake. "The job's simple: deliver it from here to Garem, to a designated drop-off point provided later, then when delivery's confirmed you get paid. We're offering Ω20,000 up front for preparation, followed by another Ω230,000 upon completion. Does this sound agreeable?"

Everybody blinked, stunned by the amount. Spacefarers in their line of work typically were compensated a quarter of that many Omegas at best, including long-hauls and sensitive items of value.

"That amount sounds more than agreeable," Howz confirmed. "Before we sign... what is it?"

Ven thought carefully, prepared to answer such questions. "That is to remain confidential. The box's to be kept unopened and the contents secure. Rest assured, there's nothing dangerous inside."

Featureless containers. "Is it illegal? Just tell me. We're open to handlin' contraband." He begged that wasn't the case. Nobody wants LC trailing them.

"Absolutely not," the client answered. "It's an old relic. Nothing illegal about it."

"Is it combustible?"

A titter. "No, certainly not. Very inert and boring."

"Is it hazardous, like chemically-sensitive, or toxic, or radioactive or some shit?"

Ven paused, annoyed. "It's none of those things. This is simply an antique, I assure you. No danger for you and your crew."

"No danger at all?" the captain asked. When the dwarf shook his head, he continued, "Good. Because if I think you're giving us somethin' that will put my crew in danger, you and your friends are going to pay hell... You understand?"

Ven folded his arms. "You don't need to threaten the hand feeding you," he grumbled, "especially when that amount's the most your ship has been paid in, what, the past five years? Rest assured, Captain Darogno, this is a sensitive transfer, and nothing that will harm your ship or your crew in any way. Nebulo! treats their clients fairly. Now, do you have any other questions that won't be answered in the manifest?"

Thinking for a second, he inquired, "If something happens, you our contact?"

A nod. "Yes. Although any talks should be kept to a minimum, you understand? Radio-silence, as they say in warfare."

Howz laughed, "Talking war to a Zudu soldier? I approve."

"...To business." Snapping his fingers, one of the guards came forward, setting the plain black box on the ground in front of his superior. Ven held out a very small paper file, offering it to the captain. "Do you accept terms to deliver said item to the instructed location and contact on Garem? Do you accept the offered amount in payment, both initial and completed? And do you accept the defined parameters and discretion required for the transportation?"

He asked, nodding to his crew, "How long we got?"

"How stupid of me," Quariet danced, embarrassed. "Your ship will have six galactic weeks to complete delivery. After that, regardless of communication from your ship: we'll come looking for you..."

"Six weeks, from here to Garem? Sounds doable." His tongue flicked, "Any chance we get to know what it is?"

Sighing, "No! Now, do you accept?"

He grabbed the file, and removed an ink pen. "On behalf of the Muldoon, and Lord Pelobo IV, I accept. The Muldoon'll deliver, intact, wherever you want this thing." He found the spaces at the contract on the front, signing it in three locations, then handed it back.

Ven took the contract and slowly shoved it in a folder, handing it off to a guard. "The parcel is yours." Clicking a button on his data-watch. "I just sent a confirmation to my superiors. Payment should be delivered in an hour." Motioning to the box, he gave a departing bow.

"Thanks."

Cena undulated forward, picking the box up by the handle. Not as heavy as it appeared. Ophem hovered to the captain's side, ready to depart.

The broker spoke, "I'm certain we're placing our trust in good hands, Captain Darogno. Nebulo! is grateful... Now if you don't mind, let's leave in different directions than when we came." Each party swiveled around the other, leaving the room to creep through empty, dark hallways. Not a soul could be seen nor heard, and the spacefarers exited the ominous apartments and its forgotten dust.

6

Stepping out from the alleyway, Ven Quariet and his three sentinels snuck through abandoned areas of the metropolis, keeping out of sight as best as possible. Peering over his shoulder, up at the roofs nearby, a few beads of sweat trickled from his shaven head, soaking his thick beard with nerves.

The squid spoke, "Any deviations, sir?"

"Deviations?" he snorted. "My whole life at this point is a deviation. One giant, terrible, risky deviation. And the odds have been increasingly stacked against me, you professional nitwit. I'm giving up my only leverage to hopefully impress some dangerous people to get in their fucking graces and start anew. So at this point, we can deviate and it won't matter one fucking bit!"

His guard waited. "Any deviations to the current plan-?"

"-I know what you meant... No. No deviations."

They marched onward, picking up the various patterns of brick, paneling, and pipework between the skeletal building to their left, and the solid wall to their right. Everything felt oversized to the aliens, which made sneaking around and ducking under Iuko's narrow places far easier for the broker and his retinue.

A figure snuck out behind them, a semi-automatic las-carbine trained on their backs. With loud, dangerous authority, they roared, "Requisition Guild! Drop the box, Quariet! Keep your mitts where we can see 'em!"

The dwarf swiveled as quickly as he could, along with his security, everyone's hand swinging to their hidden firearms. The man, a kodama, quite controlled, stuck to adjacent cover while frogging closer. This guildsman demonstrated combat experience. Ven would not wait nor risk capture, and removed his plas-pistol with lethal intent. Before he could fire, the shadowing gunner let loose,

PANG PANG PANG

as three streaks of purplish-heat struck: stomach, torso, and head. He dropped, no longer in the realm of mortality.

The three security started firing, laser and bullets spraying the zone. Tanzer dropped to knees and fired three bursts at one. Hit. The guard slumped; lifeless. Rolling to the other wall, partially covered, he aimed and another burst of three mowed the other security. Another slumped, another lifeless. The final guard, the Zalfan, took cover behind a beam, staying near his superior's corpse, two bullet-slicers aimed at the guildsman. Heat and slugs exchanged down the alleyway. Tanzer found a comparable beam, removed a small sonar explosive and tossed it near the combatant.

POP

SCREECH

And the guard stumbled back. Tanzer rushed forward, barrel down, and as soon as the prone sentinel came into view he fired, another burst, all center-mass, and the guard stopped moving. A quiet replaced the air, and Tanzer gazed around for other combatants. Nobody appeared. "Had to deal the hard way, didn't ya'?" he grumbled at Ven's body.

Moving quickly, before any colossal authority figures could scramble on his location, he found the large, plain, black box, and picked it up. He took a few steps, then weighed it. Something was off. It felt too light, given the size and the metal casing. "What's going on here?"

Acting on instinct, he set the briefcase down. "Don't got time; pretty sure they want what's inside." Carefully taking aim at the bolt mechanism, he fired once, and the metal splayed out. He gripped the edges and opened the container, revealing a hollow space with only protective foam. No contents. Not even hidden under the padding as he tore the outline away from the metal.

"Damn..." He shut the box, then peered down the alley, hoping he could retrace the group's steps. "I hate decoys." He hopped to his rooted feet and started sprinting in the other direction.

7

"Can you believe the Omegas?" Cena squealed. "We've never gotten paid this much! Guess I was wrong, Cap'n," she teased, sliding two of her pods down his scales. "You know what you're doing after all!" She pulled away as the snake gave her an irritated look. Howz was not one for hugs.

"I'm still skeptical. Do we even have a picture to reference, in case this thing goes missing, or gets damaged?" Ophem criticized, hesitant to inspect the mysterious package. "If it's a relic, like he said, what's it a relic for? Unifiers, like me? Or The Heralds of Zan? A war relic?"

Nudging the bug, Cena retorted, "Does it matter? This's the most promising job in, like, forever. And we didn't get outbid."

Very few people populated the area between the crew and the next rail-station, traveling in a new direction. A musician playing an Iuko vibraphone performed on the street's edge, tapping to create resonant, metallic dings for everyone to hear. Ven and his associates from Nebulo!, while paranoid, were willing to involve the Muldoon and hide out in the open. Yet, something felt off for Howz. This much money should go to a high-class security ship, outmatching theft or loss. Why'd he go through all this trouble?

"You're not concerned, right?" Cena asked their quiet leader.

Composed, Howz responded, "The man said nothing illegal, or dangerous. We'll take that with a grain of star-salt, in case. Until then, we respect all the parameters of the contract. Don't want to lose any Omegas."

The musician took a break, drinking some beverage out of his flask. Shortly before the rail-stop came into view, the sound of small arms fire, far off in the distance in Targo, caught the attention of the crew.

They froze.

Alert.

Hands on holsters.

"That's a gunshot," Ophem announced, slowly flying backward toward the rail-stop.

"Yeah, it is," Howz agreed, training his ear-slits in the direction of the friction. The crew picked up their pace, keeping arms at the ready.

"Sels," the captain ordered, "when we get back to the ship, start checking local feed. Let us know if there's an incident... Grab our new translator; might as well get her feet in the fire. Cena, secure the package. We may have to jump the station quicker than planned." While the cars came into view, slowing to a crawled stop, he muttered, "What did Mr. Nebulo! back there drag us into?"

8

Anitt unlocked the cockpit, while Xio and I watched. "This ship has undergone a few renovations since it first started sailing all over the system, sixteen galactic years ago," he explained, "and we can boast that the cockpit is one of the few areas that hasn't been altered, merely a few portions repaired. I specifically made certain that we adhered to universal compatibility, just in case we ever required feathery assistance." He pressed a combination on the panel near the door, coded beeps ringing out. Then the doors slid open from their diagonal locking, revealing a cockpit, with three very comfortable-looking seats: a pilot, a communicator, and a gunner. Most of the electronics looked clean, updated, and synchronized with the rest of the vessel's systems. The paneling to the outside streamed from cameras, although the shielding could be raised in case any visual equipment failed, exposing sky and stars; reinforced dura-glass typically minimized damage from space debris, yet starfarer's superstition says to keep the hull intact before jumping to last-resort gear. Opacity unconsciously feels more secure than transparency.

The dwarf showed me my seat, pointing out the comm equipment. "Our long-range scanners can efficiently communicate between planetary ranges... sending a written message can be quicker, unless you purposefully time it. Bandwidth connection takes longer for visual interfacing; personally, our preference is to approve that before you connect--no reason to give away your expressions, or show what's going on behind you, after all. Then again, it does build trust. Ultimately it'll be your call if you're by yourself. Congratulations: you're now responsible for the safekeeping of your fellow crew, young lady."

"Thank you, sir. I won't screw up."

His expression changed, as if to say, Really? You think so? "Young lady, take it from me: you'll screw up. It happens... What matters is effort! That bit of extra minimizing of fallout--whatever its form. That's what we expect of you aboard the Muldoon. Understood?"

"Yep. I understand perfectly." This star-fluyt had to cost a bundle for him. If it's still flying, that's proof I should be okay. "I'm not gonna' crash the boat."

Xio patted my arm and pointed out some other features in the cockpit. "If it makes you feel better, I personally update residual sensors for all our major systems, monitored from anywhere in the ship, in case, y'know, our main ones fall apart or burn-out. Ophem coordinates those, too." A pride in his voice over the particulars.

"That's good to know." Not a bad idea. Never would've thought of that myself. Then again, I've never been responsible for running a starship. Learn by doing, as Vi's fond of saying.

Footsteps broke our attention. Howz came into view. Anitt called out, "Ah, we were just showing our newest crewmate where she'll be working."

His face had a sense of urgency, "Mind waiting in the briefing room? We have a new contract, and... we need to go over a couple things." He turned to me. "Portia, if you wanna' help us out we can use you, right now. Go find Sels in the control room... she's the bug by the way."

The dwarf stopped himself from getting comfortable. "Something wrong?"

His face did not change. "Maybe. Brief you in a few minutes?"

A secret exchange honed from years of working together triggered a swing in Anitt's mode. "On my way."

"X," the mountain spoke, "head to engine systems and wait for commands. We might have to shove off." Looking to me, struck that I may not have visited the control room, ushered, "Follow me, hatchling."

The furry engineer hopped away to his post, leaving one last acknowledgement for me. I followed my new boss to the control room, where a green dragonfly sat, going over local intranet feed, news, and social media forums.

"Right, quick. Portia, this is Ophem Sels, our Programmer. O, this is Portia Bardolph, our new comm-spec, translator, whatever," prodded to rush.

Both of us exchanged a rough bow, saying hello to one another. I wanted to give her a Garem greeting--arms, and wings if you have them, folded behind--yet whatever pressed our captain spilled onto us.

"I asked her to check local chats," he explained. "You've lived here; help her translate. She knows what she's looking for. Targo might be getting a bit darker since we arrived... Shit." He left, marching away.

Thrust into my role officially, I sat next to her. She glanced at me with topaz eyes, compounded in hexagonal micro-patterns under her lids. Time out: do your eyes turn into precious gems if you stay out in space long enough?! Not to sound jealous, it's just that mine are brown, and drab... Sadness. She twisted a dial on one of the main panels, raising the volume of the various feeds. "So, Miss Human," she said, "right now we're looking for a shooting, robbery, or violence troubling the area. Our meeting went well, we think..."

What did that mean? Maybe it's best I just do my job. "Sure. I know this city pretty well." Taking a look at the screens, one local update caught my eye. I recognized the network called 'The Now' and read the feed in codified Iukoan script. "Reported Shooting Of Four Off-Worlders, Identification Pending, Prognosis Terminal From Enforcement Officials, No Suspect." Outside of general information, the time stamp meant it took place very recently. That level of violence did not occur very often, thankfully. As per request I pointed the story to Ophem. "There. That one. Four aliens dead."

The lady bolted for the feed, highlighting it on the screen and clicking for details. She read every line, wings stiff and tightly-locked behind her. "The location's... right near our meeting place. Damn. Any visuals?" Hunting for images, she found one, the angle inconvenient for analysis. Zooming in, she mumbled, "Oh no. That looks like that Zalfan bodyguard... And that other one's a dwarf..." A grunt, as she let her head fall to the desk. "Of course. Too good to be true. Bad nectar."

Whatever she expelled sounded foreboding. What am I getting myself into? "Come with me."

Without protest, I stood up, following the expert zip down the hallway on muffled, buzzing wings. We passed the mighty Kōl, as he closed up the main entrance to the starship, muttering something about beefing up security. We found our way into the briefing room, our captain and our sponsor engaged in a discussion.

"...don't know if this's on the level, but the Omegas are hella' worth it." The snake shifted his focus to us, specifically to Ophem. "So?"

She relayed, "We just found a local story, less than twenty minutes old. I'm highly certain our client's dead, Howz. No idea what's going on, other than a shooting."

Howz gripped his snout, refusing defeat. "You've gotta' be kidding me... Find Cena, ask her if we're fully restocked- if she says 'yesss' at all, we're getting our tails in the air. Now. Portia, go find our security; tell him to grab a pry-bar and get this thing open." He slapped a plain black box sitting atop the meeting room table, then started to leave.

Anitt stopped him, after sipping a drink the lush mixed for himself from the small bar on the wall. "Forgive me, but didn't you just say our client wanted it kept closed, confidential?"

Swiveling, "Yes, and our client might've been murdered, and if we're risking the ship and crew--I'm sorry--we're taking a peak. Take cover in another part o' the ship, by all means."

He shrugged. "I trust your judgement."

They departed. Trouble afoot energized the haulers, and all I could do was scratch my head. I left, tracking down Kōl, tossing items in the supply room. "Hey, um, Mr. Kōl? Captain Darogno asked if you could grab some tools and open that black box in the briefing room."

His amethyst eyes narrowed, shooting past his beak. "Now he wants me to open a box. Sure. I guess the ship's defensible on her own." A grunt shuddered through his strong body, aggravated. "Apologies, Port. Thanks for letting me know. I'll head over there in a sec."

What do I do from here? My legs carried me back to the briefing room. Anitt peered at the box, theorizing its contents. I sat down nearby, curious myself. Moments later I could feel a rumble, a kick, as the engine awoke to charge the ship. It hit me: the realization that it was coming. That big leap out of Targo, out of my house, and into the stars beyond. If I wanted to listen to second thoughts telling me my choice was foolish, it was too late. The crew of the Muldoon stirred, forcing me to play a part.

Cena's voice popped up over the intercom. "Well, folks, after conferring with our mechanic and programmer, the ship's ready to go, and captain's plotting to power into space in T-minus-5."

5 minutes? Not too late! If I wanted to leave I could rush to the quarters, grab my bag, and leave their fate out of my hands. Find another ship, maybe? Or return to the house with my father and sister, tell them, "Congrats, you both win! You get to keep me a bit longer. This was too much."

I don't know! Fuck, what do I do?

Then I thought about these new people... Visions of who they really were and what they did weighed my conscience, keeping my butt in the chair. I thought about Howz, and hearing his war stories, hoping to see him do something cool like super-soldier his way through a mob of criminals. I fantasized about Kōl toughening me up and teaching me how to be a badass. I thought about sharing space with Cena, asking her what Zalfa really felt like. I thought about Xio; the furry mechanic, who wants to spend time with me, a jittery guy with a very noticeable crush. And Lord Anitt here, drinking his exotic ales--not aristocratic leisure, I mean earning it, after a glorious victory: surviving some dangerous tumult out in the mysteries of space or helping to broker a deal between newfound alien races like those Orcs!

And that mysterious box sitting across from me. What in the hell is in that? How many Omegas are we talking?

I put my hands on the cold table, my frightened conscious ready to stand up and throw all of that in the trash, when the dwarf's smooth voice hummed, directing his words to nobody in particular. "Why did he agree to this?"

Agree to what? The job?

He casually glanced at me after another sip from his glass. "We get offers like this every now and then, Port. Most of the time we ignore it, preferring to handle larger, more safe hauls. Honorable merchants, you understand." Sip. "I know he mentioned the money. That many Omegas? Please, I'm no fool. Still... he had to know the risks. He took this for another reason." After a moment, he recovered. "You didn't hear that, by the way."

"Right." Lips sealed. The box stared. That urge to flee slowly faded. Was I just curious to find out their contract? No. I knew it was more than that. I liked this crew. The Muldoon. And the exhilaration, classic space adventure stories. This had to be the closest thing and I'd get a real chance to live it!

Was I making the right decision?

What would my choice be? My declarative choice.

My behind stayed in the seat, and my arms relaxed. The ship shook harder. Finally, Cena's voice transmuted over the speaker, "Brace for liftoff."

The Muldoon detached from the starport, hovering into the air and prepping for rear thrust to maneuver into the expansive clouds of Iuko during its natural, alluring twilight.

This was it.

No turning back.

"Well," the dwarf conceded with a tone thick in sarcasm, "we haven't had fun like this in many, many months. Hope you enjoy the ride, young lady." Sip.

9

We pushed into the stars, outside of Iuko, the largest planet in the system. And all of our attention focused on this box on the table of our meeting room instead of the natural beauty of the v'Manx. Kōl stood by, casually tapping the metal with a curved pry-bar, as the rest of us waited. "Doesn't sound empty," the bird hypothesized. Our sponsor sipped more of his brew while the captain puffed on his pipe, the aroma smelling of a calming spice or weed.

Ophem returned from the cockpit. "Three times so far," she indicated with her pointy fingers. "Our client isn't picking up. And I just checked the local feed. So far no updates, but it's not looking good." I didn't offer to start working the messaging center, as the mood of the ship felt perturbed and our captain asked for me to stay put.

"Fabulous," Anitt groaned.

Howz stepped over to the control panel, activating the intercom. "Cena, any update from Nebulo!?"

A few seconds. "So, company records publicize former co-workers. Ven Quariet's name is listed, saying he retired like six years ago. I can't confirm if he's on retainer, or acts as a consultant. You want me to keep checking?"

"Dig up anything on the guy, even if it's outside company records."

"Time to put some investigating skills to work!" Cena's voice ceased speaking through the intercom.

Snapping his scaly fingers at our security chief, the commander ordered, "All yours. Start crackin'."

Holding the back end, Kōl jabbed the teeth of the bar at the base of the latch. Prying with all his carnal might, he found not a give. He shoved it between the seams, digging it as deep as space allowed. "The lock's part of the metal casing," he observed.

Stepping next to the box, Howz gripped the back end, pinning it down. "I'll hold ya' bully; work the bar."

Xio entered the room, and tapped on my shoulder after seeing the ship's two strongest people struggling to open a featureless cube. "Um, let's take cover, just in case this thing explodes."

Oh great! Now somebody talks explosions. Please don't let me die on my first day of work. "That's a good idea, prowler," I mumbled. We stepped outside the door, partially covered by the wall, still wanting to keep an eye on what lay inside.

"It's loose," Kōl growled, as he pushed down with all his weight, until finally, a loud

CREEK

and

SNAP

hit our ears, followed by soft panting from the two brutes. "There we go," the martial artist remarked, pleased with his conquest.

"Open her up," Anitt urged.

Xio and I edged back inside, everybody angling for a better view. The captain opened the lid, revealing a shimmering force. All of us stared in awe. A large, glistening star-gem, a crystal akin to a diamond or some other precious stone, only this thing was huge--roughly the size of my own head! Even more astounding, this massive gem hovered inside the box, rolling around in the air on its own, slowly. Portions looked broken off, yet encircled the core, responding to its own gravitational field, or maybe a magnetic one? Whatever it was, wherever it came from: this star-diamond-thing was beautiful, flashing everyone into paralysis. Our pupils morphed into Omega symbols.

"What the fuck isss that?" Howz whispered, lax enough to hiss like a child.

Our sponsor stood on his tiptoes, eyes lit up wider than I thought a refined, bored aristocrat capable. "Something valuable."

The security expert slowly reached for it, before stopping. "I'm going to grab gloves. Nobody touch it," his big feet marching away, diminishing tremors.

"Good thinking," our commander agreed.

An object this magical forced me to question if I was dreaming. Between Terra, the Alatriste, and Iuko, I could glimpse goods for the wealthy on blue-moon occasions. This kind of magnificence should exist in an advertisement, or in a cinema, or described in a book--never in a palpable proximity. Now one hovered right in front of me: an experience that could test my integrity if vices weren't kept in check.

Xio commented, fixated on the brilliance, "Whatever it is doesn't look like technology. It looks, um..."

"...Natural," Anitt finished.

"So we're paid to move a massive star-diamond?" Howz inquired. "That doesn't make any sense... A gem should not be in our claws. Legitimate security companies that move high-profile shit should be touching this." Rubbing the rough scales on his chin, thinking very hard, he stepped outside the room.

"You're not wrong." Our sponsor drooled.

"Could be a liquidated asset?" Xio proposed. "Maybe an estate whose inheritors are feuding after a will? Happened to my family one time." This thing might have a more personal story, true.

"Well right now our only contact is a guy who lied about his corporate ties," Ophem groaned over the intercom. I didn't realize she was listening in. "We have the down-payment, which is awesome, thank the Unity, but how are we going to get the rest? Not to mention the danger we'll attract... Do we really want to get involved in this?"

Theories abound, and not much to go on, and apparently the person with answers is dead. What a great venture. Our avian returned, soft gloves covering his talons. "Inspection time," he announced. Stepping to the table, he carefully reached with both hands, trying to find a safe angle. The circumnavigating bits never drifted further than an inch from the star-diamond, thus he couldn't grip any one particular part without touching them. Pressing forward, his talons took hold, and he gingerly lifted the object out of the briefcase. The bits moved around his hands, still keeping the same distance from the crystalline surface, drifting around his scutes. "It's weird," he explained, carefully rolling it over, "it's not heavy, but it feels like... touching a motor when it's turned on."

"It's, um, vibrating?" Xio brought his canine nose closer. I wanted to touch it myself, super curious, though given my status I kept an acquitted distance.

"No it's not vibrating," he clarified. "It feels like some kind of energy source. Not sure what type. It feels cool to the touch, so it's not radiating heat of any kind, which rules out electricity."

The veteran reentered. "That doesn't make any sense."

After all of us peered in ignorant speculation, our sponsor spoke. "Kōl, let's put it back in the box. Both it and the container should stay secure, until we figure out where to go. I'll keep everything in my office until delivery... Captain, I recommend at this point we have our resources dedicated to studying the contract, and find an associate. We should plot a course to Garem, if that's our final destination."

Howz nodded. "Sssounds reasonable, Anitt."

The guardian placed the crystal back in the black box, and shut the top. "Who's going to explain why we cracked this open?"

Before anybody could volunteer, Howz raised his hand. "I lead this ship, I take responsibility. None of you say anything, understood?" A sea of very serious expressions grunted in agreement. He noticed me off to the side. "Port," he commanded, gently, "get yourself settled. Whenever yer' ready, I'd like you to work with Cena, research our contract. Find associates of our client Ven or the Nebulo! people. If nobody turns up, we wait for a call." Looking elsewhere, "O's going to help me pilot for now. Kōl, help X keep the ship energized for long-distance, after you throw that in the safe." Staring at the sponsor, lost in his own world of space-minerals, craftsmanship, money, and who knows what else. "Anitt, we know it's valuable, so if we need an appraisal, or a buyer, that's your specialty. Off the grid."

The dwarf's concentration broke, "What? Yes. Yes you make sense, as usual. I'll see who's best suited. Though prospects will be... difficult given contractual circumstances."

I had nothing to add, so I went back to my room. Did space mercantilism always involve this kind of intrigue and urgency? Maybe just bad timing on my end of things. Either way, my room waited for personalization. That crystal was beautiful, though. And had to be worth an absurd of amount of Omegas. The way this crew acted unsettled me. What could I do? Right now: perform my new job, no more, no less, with the hope that I wouldn't become a target if complications reared their perilous heads. Reading, translating, scribing: here I come!

10

Moseying back into the hotel, past the bellhops, in a manner most innocuous, Tanzer climbed two flights of stairs to his room, and secured himself inside. He threw his bag on the bed and relaxed in one of the hotel chairs, booting up a computer panel built into the desk against the wall. "'Course they had a ringer. Why make my job easy?"

The home screen posed WHAT DO YOU NEED? with a smiling bird face. He found links, accessing local security cameras. The public networks allowed for well-traveled areas, with the communal hope each citizen added an extra set of eyes to scope out wrong-doing. Some camera networks required private business access, Sunmii government security access residing in Targo, or possibly underworld access. The guildsman was ready to hack.

Over the next hour he flipped through several screens, trying to track down relevant feed. Zones in that particular area underwent redevelopment, prolonging the search. Every planet structured their own network. Universal ideas exchanged across the solar system over the course of generations produced a straight-forward method: log into a mainframe, search, and extract the information required.

DING DING DING

His wrist-comm awoke. Tanzer glanced at the contact popping up. Chon. "Damn," he grumbled, "I don't have time for you right now." That broke his focus. His ex had been contacting him for some time now. He scolded the comm, "I'm working. If you need money go find some guy on Dixa, or that HL station you've visited three times."

Flipping through feed, something caught his eye. Seven standard minutes before he encountered the corporate thief, a small group of people, mixed, space-folk, vacated the nearby block. One of them carried a black briefcase, similar dimensions to the empty container found at the gunfight. "A taker? Who are you, and where are you goin'?"

He followed the cameras as the group rode one of the public monorails. Tracking its movement, this group stayed aboard until finding a stop close to the starport, where they cantered to a vessel and disappeared inside. Whammy! "What's that ship?" Either a star-schooner, -galley, -fluyt, or -brig, by the looks. Not military-grade in design, though he could discern a prow-armed cannon, most likely a standard mid-range slammer. And that green logo? Had to be a craft sigil from Siimb, or one of its ten moons. Either way you slice it, a lead presented itself, and now he could hunt. He froze the image, downloaded, and hopped out of the chair, changing clothes to prevent identification.



The kodama trekked to the starport. Activity remained the same, as a sea of alien faces came and went, day-to-day living, from hard-working cargo-haulers, to members of Iuko military, to Harmony Link adjuncts, to business-folk, to missionaries, to everyone else the v'Manx spat out of its cosmic womb. Off to the side someone adjusted a visual display, bringing up a poster for a film from Avar studios; some historical period before primitive firearms were invented, starring that popular squid, Chuldi. Tanzer had never been attracted to the Zalfan people before, yet this actress evoked emotions from men and lesbians all over the galaxy, himself included; he fantasized about her wrapping tentacles around him and bumping uglies for hours on end.

He walked the length of the port, unable to spot the ship matching the feed. "Must've fled as soon as they got the package." A registry station, a rounded hut among the walkway, opened its door. Tanzer entered, spotting a pair of clerks. He pulled a datapad out. "Pardon."

A young bird snapped to attention. "Yes, sir?"

He brought up the datapad, showing the image of the red-and-blue vessel. "Have you seen this ship, and can you give me a name?"

Eyeing the picture, the clerk responded, "Can I ask why you're looking? It's just that we can't give out individual ship information. Not unless you're an authority of some kind."

Placing his hands on the desk, firm stance, serious, "Requisition Guild."

Shaking his head, "My superiors've told me before that the starport can't recognize Guild authority. Sorry for the inconvenience."

Those Law Cannon fuckers squeezing out more Guild territory... Thinking for a moment, the plant reached into his pocket, setting five Omegas on the table and slowly sliding it to the other side. The clerk quickly glanced at his coworker, distracted by tasks under the desk, then pocketed the money. He checked the nearby monitor. "Oh of course, you're a military investigator, I'm sorry. Let me get on that." Scanning through the records, he pulled up a file with clientele sheet on the screen. A small picture of the ship rested in the corner. "That it?"

The hunter, pinpointing all the relevant information, took mental notes. The Muldoon. Model: Class B Siimb-forged Star-Fluyt. Owner: Anitt Maxiis Klum Pelobo IV. Declaration: freight and transport delivery. Mid-level Cargo. UBL [universal business license]; HL registry-Exclusive Membership. No warrants or reprimands / no outstanding fines.

Glossing over irrelevant data logged, he asked the clerk, "They left... Any idea where?"

Shrugging, the clerk replied, "Not a clue. If they didn't intentionally log it, we don't track it, unless it's state business."

Damn. He sighed, leaving the hut. "Thanks."

No idea where they went. Nothing declared. The guildsman knew his options were limited. As soon as this 'Muldoon' docked somewhere, tracking it would become far easier. But randomly cruising in the vastness of space? The possible locations a ship could make birth were infinite, and he could waste considerable time and distance without a legitimate lead. Searching for known contacts of the ship could make a fruitful avenue if that failed. Someone at Nebulo! might dislike Ven enough to give up the goods.

An HL station is a fair choice: one exists between each major planet. Iuko rests between Lan'ter and Siimb, so HLS-3 and -4 were two options, unfortunately in opposite directions. Also, while their records did not indicate criminal connectivity, that didn't rule out the crew selling this artifact under the market. "Guild resources can't help. They don't know shit. This snatch-and-grab is gettin' stretched..." He scratched at his leafy head. "Whatever, I've dealt with worse. And this ship doesn't look dangerous. They'll slip up. Somehow."

11

I had a nightmare. This wasn't a new one. I stood back aboard the Alatriste, its synthetic walls. People meandered about until we made dock. I saw the fire and heard people screaming. I stepped outside my bedroom, right to where it happened, although I knew somewhere in my consciousness that made little sense: my mother was taking my brother on a field trip to the engine-works that day, on the other side of the star-galleon. I suppose in my dream I just wanted to get it over with. My father and my sister were outside, crying, upset. "Alberta... and my baby boy..." my father sobbed, and my sister was nearby, fetal position, just wailing with pain and loss. Half of my face was covered in tears, while the other half felt weak. I had to drag my shaking body over to the flames. I wanted so desperately to barrel through the heat, and try to rescue them, and knew there was no way I would make it. "I should've stopped them! If I'd known, I would've stopped them! I can't go back in fucking time?! Gods! Why?! If only they would've waited, then they'd be safe! I should've told them to go another day, then they'd both still be..." No. Nobody knew. Nobody could've known, it was just a freak accident with a reactor... So I just started running in the other direction. "Fuck this! I can't do anything. I can't do anything!" I kept running and running, helpless, until I thought I suffered a heart attack.

I woke up, overwrought, breathing heavily. It was just a dream. I wasn't stuck in that damn flying city.

Eventually I calmed down, and primed myself, ready to initiate my first full day aboard the Muldoon. Coming out of my room, fully dressed except for shoes since the floor was grassy and it felt weirdly good to walk on. Everybody hung around the kitchen, mostly in light clothing, or their underwear. Their comfort around each other made me feel better about my presence on the star-fluyt, though I wasn't comfortable enough to parade around in my undies.

"Morning," Cena hollered. Shit: she's a morning squid.

"Um, good morning," I replied, dialing back waking-bitch-mode.

Kōl had finished heating a bucket of what looked like quino-worms from our planet. "Done with the oven," he told us. "We all cook for ourselves, Port. Everyone knows their own needs and restrictions."

"Right." Looking through the cabinet for available food, I found a large bag of tart chai-chips from Dixa. Jackpot. "Are these up for grabs?" I asked the crew.

"Everything's up for grabs," Xio answered.

Howz grumbled, still waking up like me, "Kitchen's open territory. Anything you don't donate I'd keep in your room."

"Except when I bring out libations for holidays, celebrations, and the like," our sponsor added, perky.

I sat down, munching on chips, while soft banter took place around the table. After a conversation regarding galactic spike ball and which team would win the upcoming final bowl this season--the Atla Storm Eaters from Lan'ter or the Black Scars from Ank--sounded over and done with, my Muldoon-centric curiosities needed filling. "I noticed this star-fluyt is a Siimb model, big enough for birds... Is this a custom ship? Mr. Kōl is the only Iuko native working here."

Anitt replied, "An astute observation. I had the ship commissioned this size; initially the two crew members I knew I absolutely wanted to work with was our good captain here," he patted the beefy snake on his back, with no conscious reciprocation, "and Ānyo, who had Cena's job until he got married to this real-estate entrepreneur and retired from the Muldoon, around eleven years ago. I wanted to make certain people of all sizes could be accommodated, my dear."

The veteran spoke up, "Have you talked to him recently? Ānyo."

The dwarf thought for a moment, "Yes. He messaged me a month ago. Apparently he and Kamm are prepping a pitch to Harmony Link to build a small station between Dixa and Terra... I wish them both tremendous luck. HL is most likely going to pass given how close those two planets are to each other... I wish they'd look into setting something up with Surassi and those Orc people we're learning about, once HL establishes a better relationship."

"I hope they join us," Cena dreamed. "No wars."

"It's weird that's the only planet in their system with intelligent life," Ophem commented, "and they only have one star! So different from Zoz and T'Qem."

I munched on another chip. "Anybody from Terra work here?" not to be myopic.

The reptile rubbed his eyes, painfully sighing, "One. And I'm glad he's gone." Oh boy, some history.

"Come now!" Anitt teased, a bit more personality shining through as Cena giggled. "Barry was fun, wasn't he?"

"Oh he was so much fucking fun I couldn't be around 'im," the man retorted. "You like torturing me." Anitt chuckled, neither confirming nor denying the insult.

Cena informed me, "Barry Aguecheek used to work with us many years ago. We had fun with him onboard, although his personality was too much sometimes-"

"-Sometimes?" the captain hissed. "All the time."

I thought back to this random video of a very loud clown of a man, from Kalimantan, buffooning around with school children on Ank. "Barry? You mean that funny film guy on the vid?"

"That's him. He was good with electronics, if you'd believe it. O came aboard right after he left to do entertainment full-time."

"I'm glad he's gone," the captain grumbled. "To answer your question, he's the only human that's worked for us. You're doing way, way better as an ambassador, and you've only been here 24 galactic-hours."

I smiled. "So other than celebrities, anybody else work here?"

The bug interjected, seemingly tired by my questions. "Anitt has owned this ship for over fifteen years. Yes: he's had people."

"So far: ten people retired," Howz clarified. "Kōl took over when Samber left five years ago, Xio took over when Anitt's nephew left, Bon left about a year ago and you're taking his job... Our former Dr. Xel hasn't been here for a few years; it's expensive to have one for this small a crew, so that spot's always vacant."

"And we've always been one big happy family, so you better fit in," Cena joked, finishing her bowl of tomato-rice.

"Oh leave her alone," the avian bellowed over the table, before I could playfully defend myself. "She hasn't tried to kill us yet."

"It's only been one day," Ophem mentioned. "She's got plenty of time to screw up." I couldn't get a read on that comment.

When most of us were finishing, our security chief poked at the dragonfly. "Ready?" She nodded, and both of them started to leave.

Xio, glancing at me, coughed at the pair. "You two are being terrible Unifiers right now. Aren't you, y'know, going to offer your new crewmate to join you?" What?

Both stopped. Ophem caught the furry engineer's meaning. "Oh! Right, my apologies." She flew closer to me, sounding a bit nicer than before. "Kōl and I are devout members of the Unity Temple; we pray after breakfast everyday... Would you like to partake?"

I hadn't had an offer in a long time. "Um, that's really nice of you... I'm not a religious person, honestly, so if you don't mind I'll pass."

"Well, our door's always open if you change your mind," she resigned, both leaving for their prayer quarters.

My family never did anything spiritual, with my parents being very academic people who went along with the current moral zeitgeist of the galaxy. My friends, even the ones that came from a devout family, always fell on the agnostic side of things, due to the wide assortment of people and cultures in our star-system. It's hard to figure out who's right about things like faith, especially when there's so many denominations out there. As a translator, Professor Huwull made it very clear to me one time: listen, understand, and never judge, no matter how difficult that feels; I try my best to follow his advice.



I found myself wandering between compartments over the next few days, helping the high-spirited Cena take a look at logistical research, helping the taciturn and curt Ophem do planetary research over the web, helping helpful Kōl and pleasing Xio perform tasks about the ship--most of which I retained alright, with the exception of anything numeric since I sucked terribly with numbers!--in addition to learning shipping standards with stoic Howz, and rarely interacting with private Lord Anitt unless he needed me to handle a transmission.

Overall, the crew were fun people. This environment felt more casual than expected aboard a star-vessel. As long as you were doing something nobody bothered you. Everybody needed help translating, and in most cases it boiled down to minor grammatical tweaking, or using a more effective word. Some slowly started asking for cultural considerations, way more than I was prepared for, yet I always had some frame of reference to answer, despite my youth. Most of my answers were confident, except for the ones requiring actual presence on the planet; Terra and Iuko are the only ones I've stepped foot on. Thankfully the Muldoon traveled everywhere so we could pool our resources to fill in the gaps.

"Why are all these boxes from Dixa and Ank worded so miserably," Cena asked. "I get what they're trying to convey, it's just really hectic wrapping my tentacles around." My response: "Those two worlds, from what I know about contemporary grammar, like to structure all verbs at the end, with the earlier verbs corresponding to earlier nouns. It doesn't flow very well." She thanked me, "By the Ocean that makes so much sense now!"

Anitt pulled out a tome he was gifted by one of his influential family members. His cousin, I believe. "It's written in a very old tongue from Siimb, before the Orchestration establishment... If you could translate this whenever you have the time, I'll finally boast that I had the damn thing finished." It took me about two days to decipher that the language came from antiquity, during the pre-Hurock civilization, ~1190 Known Era, which their second moon was officially named after when the Orchestration started venturing to the stars. "This'll take me a few months to finish, Anitt. I'll have to backtrack current terminology from your planet." Hey I rhymed! He reassured both of us, "There's absolutely no rush, young lady. Hobby stuff... Muldoon priorities first."

We received a rough transmission while I sat in the cockpit with our captain. Picking up the pinging, "Howz, I think you have a distress signal."

He stepped out of the seat and gazed down at the screen. "Read, please," he commanded.

A very rough Garemite tongue. I orated, "Running low on fuel... one hull breach already... Lost shipment of transition metals... In need of medical assistance... We are not a threat..." I stopped. "That's as far as this garble's readable. We can hone the point of transmission."

The veteran rested his arms on the top of my chair. "Since you're still new, let me ask: do you think this's an actual distress call, a pirate's trap, or a prank? Consider this a quiz." I paused, not quite prepared. I'm not in school anymore, don't spring quizzes on me! He added, "You can think out loud. Doesn't hurt."

Okay. I can do that. "Well, um, let's see... there's not an identifiable source or tag, which is suspicious. On the other hand, if their ship's damaged maybe they can't send complete transmissions? Also, shipment of transition metals means nothing to me, so I'd have to quickly research that. Do they mean mineral ore? They say they're not a threat... and they've been attacked? Don't say by whom or by what..."

Howz tapped my noggin. "Final answer time."

I thought, putting common sense together with the variables. "If I had the opportunity to help, I would love to say that it's a legitimate distress call, but... safe's better than sorry, so I'll say B) pirate trap."

Grade time. Howz confirmed, "Right answer." Yes! "Not the best reasons, but you're close." Ow. "Learnin' time! First observation's good; any vessel in space needs to have an HL registry, or planetary registry at a minimum, and declare it immediately. Anything less's reasonably criminal. 'Shipment of transition metals' is pretty common, so's ya' know; most of the time they'll say what they're hauling. If a ship's running low on fuel the protocol's to say 'Emergency Refueling' and aim your vessel to the nearest landing station. Someone will respond... You noticed they were attacked, but didn't explain, which's very suspicious, so your instincts were on-point. Last thing, the only vessels that say 'we are not a threat' are non-HL ships; you shouldn't have to announce you're safe to approach. It's a protocol thing..." Those were a lot of details. "Good news: you passed."

I turned to him, "Thanks, sir. Still learning the gist."

He sat back in the pilot's seat. "You're doin' well." That made me feel better about this whole 'adult' thing.

The only other noted happening involved our mechanic. Xio offered to show me some of the engine functions, and I tried my best to understand what compounds and what substances ran what parts of the engine. By the time he finished explaining, I said, "I'll keep that in mind. Just do me a favor and don't ever ask me to repair stuff."

He teased me this time. "Not smart enough to figure out the ship?"

I gave him a mean smile. "Yes. I'll admit that." Now it's time to save yourself, bucko.

"...I can't write anything other than Lan'terian," he recovered. So, furball, you do know how this works?

"Sounds like the Muldoon needs both of us," I evened.

He agreed, "Desperately." He kept his distance afterward, still chatting when opportunity allowed.

The crew consistently asked me to review things for them, throughout the following days. I would occasionally look out into the stars when nothing occurred, trying not to recall my time spent on the Alatriste and that horrifying explosion, that feeling of sunken longing for my brother and my mother. My close friends back on Iuko would message me, asking me where I was as of right now, what kind of ship was I on, what was I being asked to do, has anybody tried to shoot me, or mug me, or have we encountered any raiders or bizarre space anomalies like spectral ghosts? I never felt like I was going anywhere, and yet sometimes I felt like things were going too fast. In fairness, the Muldoon's crew were respectful the entire time, though Ophem definitely felt cold towards me. Oh well.

On one instance I ran into Cena and Kōl feeling each other up in the kitchen. I froze when I saw them, and kept moving, dying to peep, restraining myself from the temptation. Not that I haven't watched a couple of interracial porn vids, or rubbed one to a short involving a sexy, beefy kodama named Glauent who was in-demand right now for blockbusters. Gods he's dreamy... I asked the captain about my two coworkers, "Are they married?"

He looked embarrassed. "No, ugh. Thing is... out in space, between travelling and stress... Look you're a grown woman and you're bound to run into this: both of them agreed to sleep with each other when they, ahem, need to. You understand?"

I nodded, trying not to chuckle at the image of those two going at it like a nature vid. "I understand, Cap'n."

"I didn't say anything before, but since you sssaw them- Listen, on this ship you're not obligated, under any circumstance, to do stuff like that. We don't deal with prostitution either, in case you were gonna' ask."

"I wasn't thinking that at all-"

"-In fact, if anybody here, or our associates, pressures you into doin' it, you let me know immediately. Got it?"

Howz was very serious. "Got it." He sounded the exact same way my father would when I'd go to a party, or out with someone of the opposite gender. I wonder if the Captain has any kids?

"Good. We've never had an incident on the Muldoon. Sometimes when we dock natives will approach you, but we coil around each other tight."

Thanks, dad. "I'm a female from a planet where men are literally twice as big as me. I've got an idea what you're talking about," I told him. It's good to know he would rather be protective than not.

"Yes, right. Sssorry. Saying it out loud for my sake," he clarified, then went back to the cockpit.

Cena and Kōl... That level of size difference I could never figure out, especially with males-on-females back on Iuko. Somehow people made it work! I almost asked for details when I saw the two flirting again; I still wasn't brave enough to pry.



A week passed, adjusting to the crew's quirks. I wrote my friends back and gave them what details I felt I should, just so they'd stop worrying. I told Regina that I was the sole human on the Muldoon, and good luck with her veterinary schooling. I asked Lyz to send me a signed autograph or some collectable spike ball paraphernalia while she was interning at a sports stadium: it could be good bartering chips in the system. Pivol sent me a short list of realistic star-dramas that might help me adapt, the sweetheart, and really recommended "Mahab" with the Canine action hero Yow K'oi. I had to commiserate with Keal, as she went through the same language programs, wishing her well and letting her know how the linguistics has been helping, with the exception of slang.

My sister Viola called. I was about to call her back to let her know what I've been doing when the speaker clicked on. Our sponsor's voice permeating the cabins. "Howz, would you mind coming to my cabin for a moment? And Miss Portia, please join us? We require your assistance."

I turned off my screen straightaway and hiked up the ship to Anitt's cabin. His door opened itself and on a small table near the front of the room sat the opened black box and the hovering, glistening star-diamond. Howz looked it over closely with a jeweler's loupe. Anitt motioned to come closer, joining the fun of their--our--new charge.

"...It looks like writing," Howz said. "No idea what it says."

The dwarf spoke to me, "I've been taking a closer look at our contractual asset. My investigative attempts have yielded almost nothing; quite puzzling. One thing you could do to help: take a closer look at the surface. Howz?" I patted the captain and motioned for the magnifying lens.

Howz handed it over, "It's got letters I never seen."

After he stepped aside, I crept closer, peering through the loupe without bumping the oddity. Staring at the surface, the brilliance and shifting light provided a number of hues, like a rainbow through a kaleidoscope as it slowly turned. It took me a few moments to focus only on the solid surface. Then I noticed it. Both of the men were correct: a series of figures appeared, some kind of alphabet that looked weirdly detailed despite such small size. Chiseled into the surface, the letters proved difficult to discern.

"Do you have a more powerful magnifying lens, or a microscope?" I asked.

Pointing at the loupe, Anitt instructed, "Turn it clockwise."

I followed his instructions and tried again. The letters grew larger, until I found the maximum depth the loupe could provide. "Right, thanks. Never used one of these."

Taking a much better look at the alphabet, it became clear why they appeared difficult to read. They were not typical letters or symbols. They resembled something closer to hieroglyphs--a form of pictographic communication. My mother informed me this type of writing was primitive, a universal seen in very outdated cultures throughout every major civilization in the Cronoptikos, inevitably replaced with phonetic letters representing an audible sound. Exceptions formed in each culture: for example, some symbols are honorific, or an alternative for the same sound. This extraordinary, and valuable, chunk of space-crystal carefully crafted to maintain a structured shape except for the broken bits hovering around had been detailed in hieroglyphic? I hit a wall.

"If this's a specific alphabet then I'm just as lost as you folks," I commented, loud enough for both to hear. "If it's pictographic, technically you'd need a linguistic archaeologist to determine which planet it came from, then narrow down sub-culture. No modern ones use pictographs. I'll be honest: this isn't my realm of expertise. I know modern tongues--not super ancient ones." My mother, if she still lived, could've helped. Sigh.

"Pictographs?" the aristocrat reflected. "Bizarre. Might this be someone's personal work of art? There's no way this belonged to an ancient culture and remained in this condition."

The captain asked, "So outside of takin' a picture and posting it on forums, who can we talk to? Quariet's dead, and we can't find any associates with Nebulo!. And we still don't know shit about delivery."

They brainstormed potential outlets for cash. I nosily patted my finger across the cool and glassy surface of the gem, eager to see if I could sense any protrusions. "Wonder if it's ancient braille?" I mused, deciphering its striking, hypnotic formations.

After feeling for a few seconds, the dim surface began to glow, vibrant enough to make me jump back as I ogled through the loupe. I could feel this surge of electricity travel through my hand as well, before the activity dissipated altogether.

Everyone in the room stopped.

"What did you do?" the dwarf asked, very abrupt.

"I... I don't know. I just touched it," I explained, defensive.

No glow remained. Anitt's face contorted into shock. "I've been touching the bloody thing for hours! Never did that once."

The captain bravely reached out, poking it with his scaly digits. When nothing happened, he fanned his webbed hand out, and held it there. One minute. Two. Three. And still nothing. "It's not glowin'."

Anitt did the same, completely examining every square-inch with his strong fingers, the static shimmer unphased. "This is... very bizarre." His eyes motioned to me, and back to the crystal. Changing the approach, he asked, "Portia... would you mind showing us exactly what you did."

His tone was respectful, inquisitive like the rest of us. Part of me felt I should keep away. Fate rendered that voice too feint. I brushed my fingertip across the surface. "So I just touched it like this, thinking that maybe it's some kind braille, though I don't know any." After a few seconds the glow returned, and the unusual electricity pulsated through my hand, then up my wrist and arm. The illumination intensified. No pain alarmed me. It felt uncanny.

I let go. Once again it faded. Both men scrutinized the event.

"What about that?" Howz asked.

Trying to describe it, "Um, it felt like electricity, but not like touching a wire and getting shocked. It was also hot and cold at the same time... I think? That's the best I got." What the hell is this thing?

The noble, fed up, picked up the star-diamond with both hands and brought it further away from its container. We watched him. He moved it up, down, in circles, even tossed it in the air once, making certain it wouldn't fall. "You thought it was braille?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. Braille's usually simple dots or lines, not hieroglyphs."

Many a cog grinding and cranking in his brain summoned books he flipped through: anything that might identify the 'antique.' "So holding and talking does nothing. And Howz couldn't turn it on... Portia, would you mind holding onto this longer? I'd like to see what happens." He brought it above the black container. "If you have to drop it, please drop it in here."

We exchanged the crystal, and I held onto the smooth surface. The imposing glow returned. The shock, too. I held onto it, longer. Second after second the light expanded until it reached a zenith, and the vibrating and temperature traveled all over my entire body. When it felt like my whole form connected, a pulsing began, and slowly a small wave of pain overcame my skin. I grimaced and groaned. Another pulse resonated, great and deeper, and I felt a very odd pricking all over my body. I didn't register that the men were shouting at me to set the star-diamond down.

"Ah!" I cried, and let go.

The crystal left my fingers, and broke apart, shattering into dust all over me. I could see and feel the crystal cloud entering my arms, my chest, my face, and feeling more pain, screaming and slamming against the wall. Then my perception warped, as I saw my flesh become jagged, and pointy, as weird sensations rocked my body. I became heavier, hotter, colder, muscles flexing from a strong jolt throughout my bones like a current. A falling sensation weakened my awareness, and my ears faintly picked up the captain's red form standing over me. A worried expression, he was shouting, trying to hold me, while Anitt attempted to pull the soldier back, telling him to get off and stay away from whatever the iron-hell was happening to me.

I could hear the sound of rushing water, and my vision became a blur, followed by complete darkness. I saw stars... My arms tried to push, my legs tried to kick, my back tightened and hurt, and organs rummaging around in my gut. Bones were also shifting, some I could swear popped, and cracked. My heartbeat dwindled from a rapid panic to no pulse whatsoever. I tasted sand in my mouth. I couldn't breathe, no matter how hard I tried. Shocking. Pulsing. Shaking. Hot, then cold, then hot, then cold.

Until nothing. Black.

12

Browsing the intranet, some of them distant mainframes, one hit popped up that mentioned the name of the ship. Tanzer started reading. "The hell's this transcript from?" He pursued. It mentioned the name 'Muldoon' once and that was the closest lead he could dig up: Barry Aguecheek, producer and owner of Quicksand, being interviewed by Dano Wil'za, Lan'terian talk-show host. "What's this got to do with the ship?" He scrolled down, reading where the program highlighted the search.

...

DANO: You worked on a commercial star-ship? I can't picture that. They must've hated you, being in tight spaces all day.

BARRY: Oh yeah, ah, my old pals aboard the Muldoon- shout out to you folks! I did a bunch of digitizing for 'em for a few years. They were so much fun- not as much as me, obviously, ah- but boy did I have fun flying around the stars... before I found my passion producing real art.

DANO: They fired you, didn't they...?

*audience laughter*

BARRY: What-? No! No, they were great people, we loved each other, we entertained each other. I fixed all their computers and we partied, a lot.

DANO: Really? Wow. Did you ever get in a gunfight? I've read horror stories about flying around free ports.

BARRY: A couple times, once on the ship and we shot back at them, zap zap, and blew 'em away, ah, and then once on an HL station, where holy shit wow-wee did I get shot in the hand, zap, Aaah!, and avoid about a thousand plasma-bolts and bullets, and our security gal at the time was a damn commando, so she funneled us out, got back okay, and she took out like five pricks who were coming at us with bar stools! I'm not saying I didn't talk a couple of writer buddies into basing a character off her, but, y'know, life imitates art and vice versa, ah.

*audience laughter*

DANO: And you kicked some tail yourself, right?

*audience soft laughter*

BARRY: Did I? Please. Do I look like I could take someone? Y'know what, maybe you. Maybe I can take you! C'mere!

*Barry stumbles over the desk and attempts to grope Dano*

DANO: Get- get outta' here!

*audience laughter*

Tanzer stopped reading. It made no sense people liked this guy. Even worse... Could this actually be the sole lead in his pocket? He couldn't find a number or frequency through his RG contacts. And he couldn't acquire contact information anywhere on Iuko. And HL registry kept their privacy tight. Whoever owned this vessel made certain only legitimate business contacts could find them.

No matter. He had a job to do. If this foolish, eccentric entertainer with an obnoxious laugh provided legitimate means of contacting the Muldoon, then he had no choice.

Research tracked down Aguecheek's production company, Quicksand Artistic. Bad name. Whatever, the guy's making Omegas. The kodama hopped into his interceptor and flew all the way to Zalfa to meet with the entertainer, gambling that he could very well be sailing in the opposite direction. It took him almost two weeks to navigate to the seventh world, home of the squids. Can't flaunt authority with the Tonio Commonwealth. Might have to explain this guy's old buddies are in danger. I don't want to pressure him too much... All I need is some celebrity causin' problems, end up with me getting sacked and the Guild canceling my contract 'fore I get paid. But what else I got? Can't bet on this ship going to the open market.

After finding a decent place to land near the city of Patagõn, security made it very clear to Tanzer that he was permitted to take only one plas-pistol, worn open in his holster, and everything else would have to remain on the ship or in their possession. They also made it very clear that if he caused trouble, they would prosecute the RG man fully. The agent smiled and waxed, "Thank you for your service. I'm a service-man myself. And yer' aiding a criminal investigation that stretches to Iuko. If this gets resolved to my superior's satisfaction I'll put in a good word for you fine folks for helping me." Some of them perked up, some of them knew his charm to be oily and patronizing. As long as they didn't bar his way.

Waiting in the lobby, a few security people kept their distance, and a secretary, a young, attractive elf, took him up to the producer's office. The booth passed several floors. "He's very eager to hear your proposal, Mr. Ygoza. And please don't be put off by Barry. He's very practical- an absolute genius. Being received is already a great sign."

"I'm not an entertainer... I'm here to see if he knows anything about stolen goods."

The professional smile dropped. She looked frantic and flipped through her tablet, trying to recover from her mistaken identity. "Oh... I'm... I'm so sorry, I thought you were, um-!"

"Lady," he sighed, "relax. I'm not here to sing and dance fo' the man. This is serious Guild business."

Turning away from her datapad, she calmed down, feigning, "Right. Yes. I knew that."

The glass jar of an elevator took them higher and higher. Classical music blared a pompous tune from an older era, when the squids were just starting to accept their alien neighbors would never evolve to amphibiousness. Structures spiraled in different directions, branching out like native tentacles, connecting to mountainous reservoirs of lakes in every direction. People from here enjoyed the complex resonance of their music as it translated from air to water, even the fading through the earth. Such exotic sensations...

The elevator opened up, and she took him to the primary doors waiting seven paces away. Casually knocking, she led them inside, "Barry?" calling out, in a reassuring tone.

The clown clambered from behind his desk, knocking over bottles of addiction perfuming the room, the violet light of Zalfa shining through angled shades. Barry, a hefty human with fulvous skin, wearing a bizarre suit that looked old-fashioned for Terran standards, and covering his eyes with mirrored lenses, crawled over his desk to greet the two aliens entering his vicinity. "Huh?! Yes! I'm awake, and not having a breakdown! Ah! Come in!"

While her boss worked to stand on both of his legs, the secretary reminded him, "This is Mr. Ygoza. He wanted to speak to you about your past work?" Helping him to ground himself, she whispered, "He's from the RG."

The connotation registered in the eccentric's mind, and fixed himself for the hardened spacefarer. "...Right! Yes, you, come in! I hope your voyage was safe? Ah!" He hugged his secretary. "Go ahead and take the rest of the afternoon off, Gaish, grab yourself a Dixa lizard-burger; you're too skinny, ah!"

"Thanks, Barry." The elven clerk left them both. Tanzer tried his best to ignore her attractive saunter.

"Gaish is too good for me. Much like everyone else, ah." The bloat hobbled over to a cabinet. "Can I get you something? I've got plenty of stuff to kick boring ol' reality up a notch."

The guildsman surveyed his surroundings: modern art from every planet, cinema posters, theatre props, and random photos of the flamboyant producer with other entertainers--most of whom remained out of the spotlight. "No thanks," he answered. "I just ate."

"Eating... I should probably do that at some point. Does it make sense that if you eat everything you get fat, and if you eat nothing, you look fat? Everybody, every planet, has to work to look good, am I right? Ah. I wish I was naturally manly like you." He poured himself a beverage. "I'd love to make money in front of the camera, not behind it, ah."

Tanzer kept his social graces. "That's interesting... With your personality Mr. Aguecheek, you might be one of the few executives who makes Omegas doin' both." Barry took the bait.

"You're right! Ah." He danced closer, sipping his booze. The man planted himself on an uneven sofa circle in the middle of his amphitheater for an office. "So, Ygoza. You contacted me because...?"

He remained standing. "Research durin' my current investigation led to you: a missing item the Guild's been hired to retrieve. Did you spend time on a ship known as the Muldoon?"

Molecules of intoxicants blocked his consciousness. Barry looked the dangerous alien up and down. "Muldoon. Yeah! That's right, you're that guy! Did something happen? Are they okay?!"

"Well, uh, yes. Far as I know." He avoided the sofa. "Thing is: a box's been taken. Stolen, to be direct. Can't say by whom, exactly, but I tracked down the most recent owners to people aboard the star-fluyt. Now I don't know if they're aware of what they got, or if someone paid them to transport it; my gut tells me they're ignorant, but what I think doesn't matter." Looming closer to the eccentric. "If we can talk, come to an understanding, I'm certain they'll comply with HL and RG standards. Do the right thing; return what's stolen... You got a way of contacting them? They're off the net; real exclusive 'less you got the right info."

Barry looked shocked. "What? Look, let me tell ya' something: my old Muldoon pals are straight-arrows! They aren't thieves! You must be mistaken, ah. Pulling ol' Barry's leg, ah!"

Waving his arms, trying to explain, "No no, I'm not accusing 'em of thievery. I don't know if they know what they got. I do know this: they got what I'm bein' paid to retrieve." Tanzer took a deep breath and sat near the repellent man. "Do you got a means of reaching 'em? I just wanna' talk."

Barry took another swallow. "Is this like... drugs? Or arms-dealing? What kind of stolen goods are we talking about? Humor me, ah. I wanna' know how hot's the water. Can't resist a good story."

This guy's a sapling! He can't be real. Shifting on the leather, he rephrased. "Listen, details are confidential... And this isn't one of yer' stories or movies or whatever. They have an 'antique' and it needs to go back home. Time's not on my side here, uh, Barry. You want to help your people? And I'm talkin' their lives since I'm not 100% certain they aren't a target o' more dangerous people. Help me out. Help them out. Gimme' something--sooner than later."

Barry stared at his glass. "Contact info... Oh boy, you had to show up today, didn't you?" He turned to the merc, sliding uncomfortably close, enough to kiss the man if he wanted. Tanzer held his composure, hoping he wouldn't have to get rough with the Terran. "Zalfa wants a good relationship with Harmony, but doesn't want to have anything to do with the RG-people. And you're telling me you need to help out some old friends of mine I haven't talked to in years. Is there some poetry here? Some dramatic irony, maybe, ah? If I help you, I could make some ink-suckers mad that'll come down on me--hard. If I don't help you, I might be haunted by space-ghosts..." He looked into the ether, thinking, planning. Play a game fair, or cheat?

The agent tried a softer push. "If you, er, don't want to give me a number, I understand. Might be easier if you gathered info on yer' end, then call me? You won't be stepping on any roots, and helping out just enough not to get pissed on." A fair tactic, he surmised.

Before the producer could mull the proposal, a shadow appeared over the blinds looking over the misty cityscape of Patagõn. Tanzer barely caught it. A crash of broken glass, an anthropoid shape rappelling down, breaking through the barrier, rolling into the large office room of Quicksand Artistic. Its form looked basic enough, and clad in mostly dark hues that blended with urban environments. It gripped a firearm of some kind, and that's when Tanzer's training kicked in, grabbing Barry and throwing themselves to the floor, avoiding shots.

BLAP BLAP BLAP BLAP BLAP BLAP BLAP BLAP BLAP

Automatic bursts of yellow heat broke through the room in a patterned chaos, tearing through the sofa unit with surprising force, breaking decorations around the room, scorch marks invading the ambience this bizarre man worked hard to perfect. Barry started shrieking and questioning what was going on, while the mysterious gunslinger pinned both of them down.

The shots continued. When the firing ceased, Reloading, the hunter removed his own pistol. He bolted to his feet, eyeing the gunner who, as he predicted, waited for his automatic las-carbine to cool. Tanzer took aim and fired, while keeping his body down, finding center-mass and pulling the trigger.

ZAP ZAP

Shots struck before the assailant could move for cover, hitting the gunner in several places, with rogue beams cracking a stained-glass mural behind Barry's desk. The hunter unloaded half his clip, then ducked down, waiting... movement, more shots, sounds of combat, all the while Barry shrieking like a defenseless child.

Nothing followed. Tanzer reared up, sights trained forward. The body of the gunner had fallen, no longer shooting at the occupants of the room. He crept nearby, wary of last-minute distractions, keeping his eyes open to his flank for other shooters that could rappel into the room. But nothing happened. The shooter was unconscious, more likely dead. And the fop's shrieking drew out.

"You can shut up!" Tanzer barked, keeping his pistol trained, as he knelt down to get a better look at the assailant. He reached down to the helmet, definitely tactical, uncertain of its design and origin.

"What's going on?!" the producer inquired, as he quickly, defensibly stood up to survey the situation from behind the sofas.

Just as he found a good grip on the helmet, the body spasm'd, and an arm wielding a small, edged weapon dove for the plant's throat. Tanzer held, almost too late, keeping the knife-point an inch away from his face. Muscles tight and strong, he gradually forced the arm back against the offender, before it fell dead, and the knife clanked to the flat, stony floor. He put another three plas-shots in the body, and waited.

"Stop shooting!" Barry pleaded.

After a moment of calm, the merc hopped up. "It's alright, they're dead," he groaned. The assassin, canine, wore equipment from all over the Cronoptikos with unrecognizable, untraceable accessories. Customizing was difficult, the merc knew: a hallmark of professionals and private armies.

The human crawled, still staying behind cover. "What's happening?! Are there anymore coming?"

Crunching broken glass, Tanzer looked beyond the window, trying to peer up into the higher portions of the building through the alien sky. No snipers. No presence. Empty. Everything felt back to normal.

"I can't see anybody." He swiveled, marching to the eccentric. "Get up."

Barry tried, still shaking. "Who in the hells is that?!"

Helping him to stand, the guildsman, keeping a sturdy grip on the pistol, paused to collect himself. He harangued the man, with hard, piercing eyes of black-and-green. "Did anybody contact you?"

"What?"

Grabbing his collar, Tanzer spoke rougher, "Look! Both of us were shot at, by a professional swingin' into the drop-zone, readied with combat gear... Did anybody ask you about stolen goods, the Muldoon, anything?!"

Fear swelled behind his mirrored lenses. The producer tried to remain calm. "No. No! Everything's been the old-business-new-business-boogie. I certainly haven't been attacked like this in a very long time, ah!"

Glancing at the dark, urban commando lying dead on the marbled floor, Tanzer let go, surveying surroundings, as Barry rushed to his desk. "Maybe they followed me here... Maybe they came for you, lookin' for a source..." He pointed to the man. "If you want your friends to walk away--unharmed--you'll fuckin' cooperate and help me track 'em."

13

I had a dream. I couldn't tell if this dream was real or not. I had to work so hard to breathe. All I could see was blackness. Not the mysterious blackness of space, black as in nothing, and every once in a while I thought I could see geometric shapes trying to form the black into something, and a streak of what could be veins in my eyes or actual electricity would shoot across this emptiness. It wasn't just breathing I had to force; I had to push my heart to continue its rhythm, fighting the evolution of the muscle. Sounds would punctuate the void, some of them voices that I swore belonged to my crewmates on the ship. But it sounded off, no matter how much I tried to focus. I was never lucid in the dream department.

I don't know how long I waited in a state between comatose and dead. My family was there talking to me, specifically my mother and brother. Is this the afterlife? I saw my mother pouring over some ancient text and my brother was grown up and doctoring people like he always talked about. And my friends were there: Regina who grew up in our home city of Utrecht, Lyz my first avian friend who never recognized our alien size difference, Pivol who loved arguing with me over movies, Dranq who liked dancing and wrestling with me all the time, Keal who motivated me to learn languages together. Even Mukhiil, my giant boyfriend-for-a-month who dumped me because his family pressured him to leave my insignificant xeno self, lay passed out in the background.

This formless black shroud invaded my senses.

Then... I started waking up.

I could feel typical processes kick start. My breathing grew easier, my heart normalized its beat, and my muscles fought off paralysis. The view of the recreational room grew clear. Out of my peripheral I could see crew members. And words exchanged.

Ophem's voice growled, "...just saying that she comes aboard the same day as the contract brushes our feelers, we don't know much about her, and now this? She's an infiltrator--which means she damn well better level--or, she's an idiot, which frankly may be worse because we've now hired an immature dunce that we have to depend on to communicate with literally the rest of the galaxy!"

Anitt responded, disconnected with her, "You bring up valid points, but give me some credit, O: I did a background screening on her. Everything checked out. And I'm going to repeat, once again, this's my fault. I asked her to hold the bloody thing, and this is the least probable result. I thought it was a holo-egg, for Hammer's fucking sake!"

The captain was next, much more diplomatic, "Arguments aside, you two... Station doctor?"

"Please," Kōl seconded. "How do we know some creature isn't going to burst out of her chest?"

"That's not funny."

Strength restoring, I started pushing off the cushion. The first person to scramble to my side was Xio, in all his gallant furriness. "Hey! She's awake! She's getting up."

Right after he planted himself near me, the rest of the crew encircled. All of them. Howz wanted to look at me directly, his serpentine face alarmed; I could tell his military training kicked in, and he was checking vitals off-hand. I felt cold, heavy, and tried to think and talk at the same time, but everything moved so slow, preventing me from my usual ambulation, like recovering from a collision.

Howz took charge. "Portia! Can you hear me? Can you understand what I'm sayin'?"

Cena wiggled behind him, concerned. Kōl poked his feathery head into my field of view, while Ophem and Anitt stood off to the side, in case they were needed. Xio stood nearby, closer to my side than the others. Nobody touched me, exercising caution from my weakened state. And before I could think to ask why they they kept their distance from me, trying to rouse myself enough to speak to the captain directly, I looked down. My hands felt different: my chocolate skin, my fingers, my aureolin nails, my calluses, bones and muscles and tiny veins: everything quickly hardened in less than a second, covered in jagged, crystalline bumps, hued like a diamond. When it hit me, I struggled not to panic. I couldn't react with full strength, otherwise I would've rolled off the sofa-bed.

I tried to scream, still sluggish, still weighed. "What... what is this? What the hell's going on?!"

Howz leaned closer. "Listen. It's alright. Stay calm... We don't know what's happening, but you're awake, and gettin' back to normal."

I pushed away, hitting the back end of the sofa. Survival instincts overrode my horrifying physique. My hands weren't the same, and the crystalline metamorphosis went down to my elbows.

"What's happening?!"

They just watched. It hit me while flipping out: they didn't know if this was contagious, or hurting me. That's why they kept their distance!

I could feel my body returning. The crystalline shapes slowly vanished, and my hands morphed back to normal. When sanity returned, I extended my digits. The rest of my body felt tight from distress; my toes gripped the fabric under me, my belly knotted, my jaw clenched. I didn't want to move, hoping that maybe I just hallucinated. Then, I looked down and noticed my toes started to harden in the same layer of diamond, traveling up my feet and past my shins. "What the fuck?! Stop it! Stop it! What's it doing?!"

The rest of the crew tried to help, ranging from soft to commanding:

"Portia, just relax!"

"It's okay, it's been doing that."

"Stop moving around so much. Maybe it'll go away?"

Anitt lingered off to the side. He hadn't said a word during my understandable outbursts. I lost it and shot daggers at him. "This is... that crystal-thing, isn't it? Isn't it?!"

He stayed put. "Young lady... Somehow it- it broke apart and, uh, alchemized inside you."

I scrunched up, trying to protect myself, scared that I may not get answers, and angry that I touched the damn thing. "Did you know this would happen?! Don't you fucking lie to me, you stupid rich asshole!" I really must've been out of it: cussing and threatening my new boss.

His expression didn't change, excusing my insults. "I'm not lying to you. I didn't know something like this would happen. I thought we were holding a valuable carving of some kind. Frankly, none of us know what this is, or what exactly to do about it-"

The snake interrupted, sliding closer. "-That doesn't matter Anitt! Port, right now... Can I ask you questions, to see if you're okay?" An archetypal leader shaped before me, doing his best given extreme circumstances.

I looked down to my diamond legs, trying not to shake, rambling, "...I don't know if I'm okay or not!"

He gathered his thoughts, "Can you tell me your name?"

I didn't want to answer. I wanted to cry. I hadn't cried in a long time, and now felt like an equitable opportunity. My body's been invaded by an alien rock, and I dreamt that I died. That explosion. I took a deep breath, shaking, "...Portia Hippolyta Bardolph. I'm a damn Terran."

Scooting closer, he held up his scaly hand. "How many fingers?"

Noticing his claws, I answered, "...You're holding up two fingers."

"Right. Do you know where you are?"

I looked around the parlor and out into the open starship. "I'm in the Muldoon."

"How do you feel? Use basic words. Don't think too much," he gently instructed, like a parent calming a child in pain.

Don't think too much? I was lost, trying not to succumb to racing dread. And nobody else came forward with answers. "Scared. Hot. Cold. Heavy... I can breathe okay, and I think..." I stretched out my arms, then my diamond legs, sluggishly moving my feet, "...I can move around."

One of Cena's tentacles flopped over the captain, adding a more positive note, "Your voice sounds great!"

The rest of them nodded, more encouraging. Kōl asked, "What's the last thing you remember?"

I recalled. "Mr. Pelobo's office, with the Cap'n. We were looking at that weird gem. When I touched it... it glowed, and it felt funny. And then I-" the image of it misting and covering me returned, "-I think I fell down, and everything went dark."

They listened. I just sat there. As people weighed what to do or say, Xio slowly reached out, and I felt his padded, furry fingers rest on my shin. Howz stopped himself from yanking the mechanic away, "X don't-" He kept his hand on my diamond flesh, and everyone tensed, afraid to see what would happen.

He slowly polished the surface for a moment with his rough pads. Glancing at my face he hummed, "You feel like a geode I used to have when I was a kid... Like a rock, or glass."

The captain recovered, quickly asking me, "Um, you feel him touching you?"

I could. "Yeah, but barely."

He pulled back, appreciative. "I felt a pulse, so you're clearly not dead." Xio tried to force a titter at his poor joke. It did help, admittedly.

A serenity returned into the room, and the diamond left my legs. Thank gods! "So we taking her to a hospital?" our security inquired.

"Yes, of course we are," Anitt scoffed, visibly guilty. "I'm not going to ask our newest crew member to suffer."

"Wait! We can't take her to a normal hospital, can we?" Cena proposed. "We need to take her to someone who knows what this is, a specialist!"

I saw faces scrunch at the suggestion. "A specialist? What kind of specialist deals with this shit?" Kōl poked.

"I don't know. An omni-dermatologist maybe?" she defended.

A few more questions exchanged before Ophem put in her recommendation. "Why don't we pay a visit to Xelxor? I don't wanna' drop this in his lap, however, he's very good, and he's loyal. And he can steer us in a discreet direction. If we take her to a station hospital it'll draw too much attention."

All of them pondered for a moment. Who is Xelxor? I've heard that name before.

Anitt sighed. "You're kind when you want to be, O," he poked at the dragonfly, her antennae furrowing. "He'll help her out, most certainly! Captain: your thoughts? If we message him now, we'll get a response back before day's end."

A sound heading manifested. Howz agreed, "Xel it is. Find him and we'll plot a course."

Xio got my attention. "Can we get you something? Water, food, pain meds?" How nurturing of him.

Before I could respond, Cena interjected, "It might be better to take her to her room, and let her rest." They both looked to see if I agreed.

Still not fully together, "My room... I'd like that, for right now. If that's okay."

The crew helped me to stand. Their hesitation to touch my flesh subsided after holding onto me for a few seconds. I weakly stumbled to my quarters. Each step felt funny, and my whole body weighed more than normal. My general sense of awareness gradually restored with each step, yet my emotional state rocked--excuse the pun. I couldn't quite form an actual feeling, lacking ventilation for the trauma to my psyche. They opened the door to my room, and I sat down on my bed, pressing a mental reset button for the random parts of my body crystallizing on and off.

Xio and Cena waited nearby. The soldier declared, "I'm going to help the others find our ol' doctor. Just stay in bed, use the vox if you need us."

I endorsed his respectful commands. "Thank you."

He left the room. The cat offered, "Do you need any water?"

I asked for a factoid I neglected to inquire earlier. "How long was I out?"

"We were waiting for you to wake up for hours! Um, eight."

Eight hours. I dreamt and struggled for that long? "Could you please get me some of that water?" parched.

He immediately fetched a bottle. Well-preserved, from one of Siimb's moons. I took it, staring at the cap. A horrifying notion entered my head: that this weird crystallizing might prevent me from doing normal things like eating and drinking. I brought the tip to my lips and sipped. I felt the moisture, and gulped it down. And... nothing. No diamonds formed in my throat. The maneuver felt rote, like it was supposed to, until the bottle emptied.

Xio held his hand out. I gave him the empty container. "Anything else?"

Taking in his calm, hopeful face, the tips of his teeth poking from his lips. I tried to think, still trembling, still troubled. "I- I need to see if this stays down..." I hoped to the gods it would.

He agreed. "Want us to leave you alone?"

The pressure, the fear, the angst, all of it welled-up enough to overflow. My face contorted into a hurtful, lost frown. Tears started running. I nodded, sniffing, "Please."

"We'll be nearby," Cena offered, cheerful.

Both of the aliens left my room, and the door slid shut. I dropped to my sheets. The diamonds formed over my belly and breasts. I stopped, trying to breathe, and comprehend the bizarre virus taking over. Crying, shaming, and kicking myself for delving into the harsh reality of space and stupidly hoping my fears were based on one bad experience. My skin returned to normal only to feel other parts morphing, and I pulled the covers over my shaking form. I wanted to sleep; so drained. Shoving horrifying thoughts out of my mind: I was dying, petrifying like a medusa's victim, or turning into glass and breaking apart all over the floor of the Muldoon.

14

"Yer' not coming with me. End of discussion." Tanzer stomped back to his ship.

"Your ship's an interceptor, right? That'll fit four," Barry explained, as the obnoxious producer dragged luggage behind his bulky, suited self. "I won't be a bother; more than normal anyway, ah."

The guildsman refused to look him in the eye. "First off, you will be a bother yer' annoying, and always on, and you laugh at all your corny jokes. Second off, it doesn't fuckin' matter if I'm flying a luzzu or a frigate: your personality's too damn big. Third, I work alone."

The natural comedy duo, a straight man and a fall guy, ambled through Patagõn's starport. Pedestrians enjoyed the aliens, the bulk consisting of squids murmuring at the sight of the Terran celebrity, much to Tanzer's annoyance.

"You can't just leave me here! Some assassin breaks into my office and tries to flambé me! If it weren't for you, I'd be dead." He shoved the mirrored glasses up his nose to keep from falling.

"You got plenty o' local law enforcement protecting you on your turf... I need to keep movin'. Thanks for sending the message to your friends. Keep in touch." Tanzer desperately hoped the man would leave. Despite Zalfa's size, the natives built aquatic layers to their settlements, sometimes very far downward; the hunter toyed with the idea of tossing the entertainer into a lake and seeing how many sub-stories the fat bastard would hit.

"Wait. You haven't thought this through all the way, Mr. 'I work alone!'" Barry forced a face-to-face. "Who do you think can negotiate better with my friends? You or ol' Barry? Who do you think they'll listen to, huh?"

Tanzer halted. Fuck. He may be right.

Barry pushed, "Look I get it, I'm flamboyant as a Zeichi stripper, and people make fun of me, and I don't care! My personality's a meal-ticket, ah. But believe it or not, I'm a real businessman. What do you think'd give ya' the best result: you going after 'em commando, or me using my connection? Nobody needs to get shot, man."

The warrior assessed the proposal. Using a trusted liaison to negotiate returning the artifact increased the chances of getting paid. "A'right. You make a good point." Solve this nonviolently... By the Vines, you had to drop that, ya' mongrel.

"Ya' see? Barry ain't no dummy, honey, ah."

Barky arms akimbo, Tanzer made his stern point. "I'm sayin' this once: you accept that once you're on my ship, we operate on my terms, within RG guidelines?"

Barry chuckled, opening up for a hug. "Of course! Your house, your rules, ah."

Tanzer continued in the direction of his vessel. "Good. We're off."

"Never walk away from a juicy story. Trust me, ah." He took hold of his luggage and eagerly caught up with the merc. "You mind if I conduct business while we travel? Everybody wants to get in touch with Barry! Hells, if you ever want a career in entertainment, I got the connections. A beefcake like you would-"

"-No."

15

Laying down what felt like hours on this oversized cot, confounding thoughts entered my head. You've been raped by an alien space-crystal. If my boss doesn't fix this I'm cutting his stunty legs off. I don't know if gods and goddesses exist... but please help me. I've been sick before, but never had segments of my body suddenly turn into organic diamonds, and then return to normal without any indicators. I tried to ignore what was happening and my efforts were in vain, as the hardness immediately brought me back to reality, as if the bed under me didn't even exist.

Most of the time I felt my arms and legs crystallize, and on occasion my torso and abdomen would do so as well. My fingers and toes, when affected, could wiggle with almost the same dexterity, as if I was wearing thick gloves or socks. Then I felt the worst: my entire pelvic region, forcing me to bolt up. Scared, I reached into my pants to see if my womanhood was compromised. "Oh no no no don't," I pleaded with the rocks, unzipping myself to see a crystalized version of my region. Shit! I hesitated, then reached down with my fingers. Much to my surprise, the crystals seemed soft enough to move my transmuted labia around like normal, still protected by the diamond layer. The lips felt fine, and the gems ended right inside my vagina. I could feel the soft flesh beyond, relieved that it didn't travel further.

"...What the fuck is going on?"

When my womanhood returned to normal, another undocumented amount of time passed, and my entire head crystallized from the neck up. "No no no no no, why?!"

Throwing my whole form out of the bed, I rushed to the mirror on the back of the door. I could see the normal outline of my cranium, my facial features, even my hair, replaced with very tiny diamonds. I felt my face. Hard, textured, glassy, and very intricate; when my mouth or my facial muscles moved, the features looked more pronounced. I should've screamed, but the initial shock of this transformation forced desperate, exploratory behavior... I looked at my eyes, and for the first time, my drab brown shined like smoky quartz.

Opening my mouth, I could see my gums, tongue, and softer tissue become crystalline, while my teeth were black, like absurdly durable carboron, and the diamonds extended to the back of my throat before I could see red. My shoulder-length hair; the streaks of blonde over my natural red swapped with very fine and shimmering fibers. I carefully ran my fingers through, feeling the strands give away, producing the sound of microscopic wind-chimes. During this very personal inspection, my fingers were hardening, just enough upon contact. I never cut myself on shifts in surface composition.

Is this some sort of alien device? And what exactly is it for? Protection? Maybe armor? Diamonds are one of the naturally hardest materials the universe offers to beings. If I was a scientist with an imagination, I could turn diamonds into armor. But the value? That would be so damn expensive it can't be practical!

Not that women wouldn't want to sparkle like one...

Organic armor. To my knowledge contemporary technology hasn't invented this. But what if this wasn't armor? What if this was something else? A preliminary process? Something stranger? I refused to imagine cocooning and morphing into an aberration.

I scowled at this mythical creature in my reflection. "Stop! Just... stop. Go away. Please?"

And with a snap, the diamonds receded. My face returned to its typical features. It went away! I padded myself over. Normal texture, normal skin. Normal hair. My mouth looked normal too, opening wide to verify.

I paced around the quarters. Theorizing, brainstorming, questioning everything regarding this enigmatic rock and what it was doing to me. I looked down at my hands. Closing into fists. If it melded with skin, muscle, blood, ligament, bone, even nerve, then maybe it could respond to conscious stimuli? I must be crazy.

I held my hands out.

Breathe.

"Um." What do I say? "Okay. Crystallize." Really? I can do better. "Shard on?"

With that, I saw my hands become diamonds. Staring at my fingers, moving them around, I held them still and tried to reverse the effect. "Fine. Now undo." C'mon, better phrasing here. "Shard off?"

My hands returned to normal.

Between the existential stress of my body invaded by an unknown element slowly taking me over, and the absurdity of dealing with this shortly after leaving the house to work, I started laughing. No idea how long.

Saying nothing, I thought the same thing as earlier, and tried to capture that feeling of gut control over the star-diamond-thing. Shard. My hands hardened, then normalized. Back and forth. Back. Forth. Shard on. Shard off... "This's responding to my control..." Actively. Intuitive?

I eyed the black pants and green shirt covering most of my body, then took a risk. I took all my clothes off, even my navel ring, and stood in front of the mirror in my birthday suit. I spent the next hour studying every part of my body and trying to harness this weird rockiness. Am I insane? But the idea that I'd be afraid to step outside my room really bothered me. This condition would be an empowering force of nature instead of a disease. Admittedly rebellious. What else could I do, other than break down in the fetal position and cry? I was tired of that.

Some people lose their eyesight and overcome their circumstances, or act pissy and spend the rest of their life taking it out on people, thinking back to Lyz's father during one of his bad days. So I chose the former to the latter. I could harness the manifested diamonds to one limb at a time, and depower it with the same reflex. When I was through experimenting, those uncontrollable shards dropped significantly. Satisfaction replaced fear.

Sitting on my bed, the proverbial dust settled. The shock of everything blended with new perception. Breathing the circulated air of the Muldoon, my lungs no longer weighed-down. Observing the wrist-comm, I saw my reflection on the screen; eyeliner streaked down my cheeks from prior tears. You should clean up.

I left my bedroom, and stepped five paces away to the bathroom, closing the door. Cena's things took up the left side, and mine took up the right side, yet the absent-minded squid left her accessories all over the counter. I set them aside to her portion of the sink and turned the faucet on. Splashing the coloration off my face, I wiped it off with a towel and gazed at myself, au naturel. No diamonds.

Maybe I should step out? I'd been lying down for too long, and I needed to walk out the tension. Halfway through putting casual clothes back on, my stomach let out a very loud growl. I need food... Although I just realized that the water I drank stayed down. That's a good sign!

I made my way along the starboard half of the star-fluyt, passing a few rooms to reach the dining area. I felt the grass on my bare feet, and paused. I focused a tactile change. My soles coarsened. I circled over the texture, barely able to feel the soft prickling. Now let go, and my soles returned to normal. "That might come in handy."

The crew waited around the table, except for Lord Anitt. I could hear soft discussion. The scent of differing vegetables and proteins wafting as I closed the distance. I crept up, eavesdropped. The tone felt a muffled and awkward attempt at normal conversation.

"...Since we're bringing up old crew, anybody talk to Samber recently?" Ophem asked.

"Not in a long time," I heard Howz reply, "but found a video of him on Lan'ter, wrestling with this other canine. Damn did they move around like crazy. Guy stays in better shape than anybody on this ship."

"Hey!" Kōl quipped, pointing at him with a fork. "Watch it."

A chuckle erupted, then died when they noticed me standing near the curved entrance. I interpreted their deeper expressions; growing up around aliens, I knew each race's emotional cues. Here: apprehension. Couldn't blame them. If I were in their shoes, I'd be nervous.

"Hi." They didn't say anything. "I'm sorry... I know I should be quarantined... But I'm not sick. I don't have a disease, and I think most of you are thinkin' the same thing..." At least, I hoped.

A few of them exchanged odd looks, like they wanted to ask, Are you a doctor? Because none of us are! I kept going: they owed me that much. "That... weird gem became part of me. And I might be able to control it. It's a theory... I know this sounds crazy, and I don't know what it is, and I'm seriously hoping that you can figure out where it came from and how to get it out... Um, it stopped popping up at random."

Another uncertain silence, before Xio spoke. "You think you can control it?!"

I shrugged, and sighed. "S'what it looks like." My stomach growled. "I'm starving... Can I join you? If y'all want to keep your distance, that's fine. I'll hole up in my bedroom."

Nobody jumped on the idea. The captain stood up, offering me his seat. "Nobody likes bein' an invalid."

"Thank you, Captain Darogno." I eased down into his wider groove in the seat. The rest of the crew remained in their seats; I expected them to scatter. That made me feel really received.

The bird, with his long arms, reached behind him to tap on a cupboard. "Let's whip something up. What are you hungry for?"

"Anything easy to digest."

"Leek-rye it is," Cena concluded, clapping her tentacle hands to Kōl, who checked through the refrigerator to warm up a bowl. Gods that stuff was so bland, but it beat having a reaction to solid food.

As they assembled to help, I sat there trying not to make eye contact with anyone. My presence an invasion to their grounded chat. Given our sponsor put me in this predicament, they knew they couldn't treat me unfairly. Ophem avoided looking in my direction, locked on her own plate. Nobody else changed their usual demeanor, keeping a concerned eye on me; supported, not guarded. The crew's acceptance, their willingness to keep me included brought a welcoming attitude. The furry engineer scooted closer when he noticed my introversion. I smiled at X, and waited for the 'scrumptious' plate of leek-rye.

16

Punching in the contact information and highlighting all secure options available with his ship's communication array, the dwarf leaned into the comm spec's chair. He neglected to count how long it took to establish a direct communication, lost in his miserable thoughts. Swirling around a glass of Ank-absinthe, he hoped to keep notions muted, direct.

A blip on the screen. CONNECTION. CS-2D-GHAL-MCR-03. The visual screen displayed a black-and-white image of a groggy kodama, mohawk'd with long leaves spraying in a line down his cranium. Very contemporary for a professional.

"Yes?"

"Xel! How are you? It's Anitt."

The man smiled. "Lord Anitt. It's always good to hear from you... How goes your health?"

Trying not to glance down at his chest, or think about the extreme pains he woke up with on a weekly basis and suppressing coughing fits, the noble took a sip of his booze. "Managing, as you know."

"You're calling cuz' you need a screening?" Xelxor presumed.

"No- no... Not for myself." Might as well get to it. "I've made a bit of a blunder, Xel. And one of my crew's paying the price. I'd like to know where you are, and if you wouldn't mind taking a look at her. What's more important is discretion; this ship confides in your talents."

He scratched his chin. "Well as a healer I don't discriminate those in need of help. Are you sure you can't take her to an HL hospital?"

"...No. It's not a typical condition. Unfortunately it involves work, and keeping it hidden until, let's say, further developments."

Shifting his head, he puzzled. "Anitt, does this involve a pregnancy? Or a sexual illness?"

Shifting in his seat, "By the fucking Stars, no! Nothing like that. Besides, I only make love to the most refined women," he boasted.

"That you do." The doctor glanced around his dwelling. "I'm currently on Dixa's moon, Ghal, at a retreat clinic... I've a home here, with plenty of equipment. How far away are you?"

A corner-screen in the cockpit showed an estimated distance between planets, "We're getting closer to Lan'ter as we speak. Might take us three weeks?"

"I see. Contact me when you're planetside and I'll do what I can." He paused. "And Anitt, I don't know exactly what's going on, but if things turn for the worst don't hesitate to stop at a good clinic."

Why wouldn't I, you idiot? "If we have to, we shall. But you're our ideal choice."

Observing his own screen, Xel mentioned, "I'm wondering why you've secured this line... Guess it'll have to wait. Keep me posted. If you don't mind I need to catch some sleep. A lot of patients tomorrow."

"You're a Hyborian saint, Xel. Many thanks." The doctor turned his screen off and the dwarf flipped the communicator, staring at TRANSMISSION END 4:07 until he hobbled out of the cockpit. "You're too old to be fucking up this bad," he scolded himself. Stepping into his own cabin, he surveyed sentimental reminders of achievement as a space-entrepreneur: trophies, plaques, and photos with big-earners.

And that painting.

That stupid painting.

That wretched thing he kept on the wall... "Girl's the first person in years to get close, and I reward her by infecting her with some experiment from a dead man. Great job. The Clan would love to hear this. So damn worthless," he chastised himself.

He took his glass and stomped down the Muldoon. Better let her know we're taking her to a darn good doctor. Can't imagine what hell she's going through. They say Humans are dim, but they also say Dwarves are cold. He heard commotion in the kitchen, and froze when he saw everyone gathered around the table.

17

The leek-rye, almost gone, sat well in my stomach. Grounding myself in decent food made me feel back to normal, given current circumstances. Everybody waited to see if I would have some kind of reaction. Thankfully: nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Fingers crossed.

I gave the okay to the crew to openly hypothesize the star-diamond-thing; it didn't bother me. "What if it's a bio-weapon?" Cena asked. "Something that can be used to infuse other people with... gems?" Fuck, I hope not.

The captain countered, "But it only worked on her. Me n' Anitt had our fingers all over it. Why make a bio-weapon specifically for one race?" I didn't want to acknowledge that thought, but: genocide? Every planet in the v'Manx has disgusting chapters of history.

Ophem proposed, "What about nanites? Terran-based ones. That would explain the discriminatory pattern."

"Terran-based anything makes sense but no planet's successfully created nanites that... do that," he indicated to my physique.

"I'm going with ancient alien artifact," Kōl joked. An idea as sound as the others. What alien race, though?

Lord Anitt came into view, stopping in the entryway to the kitchen. "Portia?" The shock and tone mirrored my father's. Grumbling as he saw crewmates embracing my presence outside the bedroom, "Are you alright?"

I threw out, "I'm, uh, somewhere between freaking-out and keeping it together."

The dwarf slumped closer, his words selected by worldly courtesy. "Well, I suppose... you could be feeling worse. Thankfully, you're moving around, and appear to be eating. Those stones are still...?"

The bowl was empty. My appetite disappeared, taking away a healthy amount of ire for my bosses. I tried not to yell. "Yep. Still there."

Xio added, "Port thinks she can control the magic space gem."

"What?"

Avoiding further self-consciousness, I didn't waste time. Shard, brown turning into diamond then slowly fading back. "It was random at first, but these crystals come-and-go more responsively now. I don't know why."

"That's... most peculiar." Anitt respectfully stepped closer, filling out the dinner table with his employees. Cutting to the chase, "I'd like you to know I've just contacted one of our old crewmates--an excellent doctor, quite brilliant. I'd recommend to our captain that we take you directly to him."

"Xel?" Howz inquired.

"Yes, as per request, and no one better."

The leader shifted gears. "Done. O, Cena, help me plot a course. X, check engines. Kōl keep an eye on Port; she's a bird-lover," he joked. Wait, is he alluding to my ex? Forgot I told him. He actually listens to me. Yaaay.

Kōl chuckled. "I think I can manage." His beak swung to my direction. "Hope you don't mind if I wait on the sparring... since you're, y'know, turning into a decoration." Hearing the crew's efforts to keep spirits up made me feel better. I could only imagine what they were really thinking.

The others exited the kitchen, while Anitt explained, "So you don't feel out of the loop: I explained to Dr. Xel simply that you're in need of help, and that we must be discreet." He considered his amends. "I want to say, once again, my deepest apologies. I should've never asked you to hold onto the damn thing. And you have my word, on behalf of the entire Pelobo Clan: we'll find out how to remove it."

I kept my emotions in-check, trying to forgive him. This situation put all of us in the dark. "Thank you... sir. Also, sorry for yelling at you. I don't actually think you meant to hurt me, or that you're an asshole."

He shook his head, adamant to take blame. "Please, this's my fault. End of discussion."

"It's okay: none of us knew. I'm scared, and I'm upset, mostly because I don't know what's happening, but I could've kept my hands off."

A very small grin brightened on his face, relieved. "As your superior, you're not obligated to be dutiful to your own detriment." Authentic consideration.

Kōl leaned closer, "Anitt, since this involves her, I'm putting it out in the open. That rock's supposed to go to Garem, right? If we find a way to expel it: great, I hope so for her sake... What if we can't?" His tone carried reluctance, asking a question that none of us wanted to face.

Our sponsor didn't hesitate to respond. "Then we find a damn good replica to put in the box, and nobody says a word about it melding with our comm spec."

A stupid, and risky notion hit me. I had to act like an adult and confront a resolution for the ship as a whole. Speaking up, "Anitt, I really don't want to say this, but we may not get away with a replica. Like, they'll probably sniff it out... Whatever happened, happened. For the sake of the ship, if you gotta' hand me over, then please do so." Bravo, girl.

The noble's face toughened. "No. No- absolutely not." Before I could protest, he shut me down. "We don't know who our contact is, Portia, but our client's dead. He and his bodyguards are dead, shot down in cold blood moments after the deal. It's highly possible these people had a target on their back, or they took something they shouldn't have. So let me be clear: we are not handing you over. The result may be your death, or torture."

Such blunt, strong descriptors definitely got my attention. And I couldn't find a way to argue against him, nor did I wish to. "'Death or torture.'"

He dropped the grave sternness. "Our first stop is Dr. Xel. We need to ensure you're alright, 'for the sake of the ship.' Then we'll find a bridge to cross." The bird nodded in agreement.

I took a deep breath, yielding to my flawed, yet wise superiors. "Thanks for looking out for me."

Anitt shrugged. "Obligations, my dear." He slapped the table, announcing as he departed, "Now the crew of the Muldoon must set forth!"

Kōl eyed me for a bit. He groomed his feathers, before asking, "Can you... do that thing again?" I didn't want to, but what else was there to do for now? I made my hand crystallize, still unused to the sensation. "You mind if touch it?" softer, polite.

"G'ahead."

His black talon prudently tapped against the glass. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it's some kind o' protection." Concurring with one of my theories.

Looking at the crystal, I joked, "It would be awesome if it blocked a las-bolt. Or slugs."

He tapped, applying more pressure. "Durability might protect against edges, too. If this's actually a star-diamond then that means it's very tough. Sure as shitty-winds not testing that out. Xel can give us better answers."

Giving me uneasy, temporal confidence, I tapped his hand with mine. "Can you... hit harder? I wanna' see how well this 'armor' works."

An uncertain tightening around his beak. "Eh, no. I'm way too big for you, kid. Might punch through your hand."

"Kōl... please? If this's armor, I can sleep better. I'm already terrified of what's going on with my insides. Help me out."

We argued for another minute, before he finally gave in. "Okay! Fine." Scrunching his scaly fingers together, hand muscles into one talon--one of many martial art maneuvers he practiced--the brute focused. I held my breath. And he brought his talon down with enough force to tilt the solid table underneath us. "Ow." He shook the pain out of his hand.

I felt the pressure when he punched, yet no discomfort. Even better--or worse depending on what this was--not a blemish remained on my skin. The crystalline coating held. "Wow."

"Are you hurt?" concerned that his towering mass broke something.

"...No. It didn't hurt at all."

Alien eyes widened. "Well, if it's armor, it works fine against bare strikes." He marveled over the uses, tittering, "Now you can sleep better."

"What does this mean for getting it the fuck out of my body?"

Neither of us had an answer. The prospect of never getting rid of this condition almost made me sob. I put my head on the table, kicking myself for ever boarding this dumb ship.

18

According to ship policy my condition gave me an excuse for a vacation, although Cena called it a 'soft quarantine.' My body, sans the diamonds, felt mostly back to normal, despite rough dreams. I wasn't sure if those were caused by the metamorphosis or stress.

I stared at my sister's profile on the wall-screen, neglecting to contact her since the incident. What I should say? Something needed to be said. I knew the departure concerned my family. From my console I tapped into the Muldoon's system and launch a direct comm-link all the way back to Targo to establish an active face-to-face. She should be getting off work, taking a second look at the time-zone clock.

After several BEEPs, her face showed up on the screen. Live-feed. It was nice to see her again, even though it hadn't been that long since I shipped-off. She adjusted her glasses, "Port! Are you okay?"

Don't say anything. Act casual. "Hey Vi. I'm fine. How are you?"

She behaved more contemplative than usual, spacing out her thoughts and sister-worry so we could just talk. I did up-and-leave both of them, to be fair. "So... are you on Iuko? Or did you actually find a starship to hop on, like dad said?"

"Starship. It's called the Muldoon. Decent star-fluyt. It's pretty cool, and everybody here's super nice. We're out in space; gonna' land at Lan'ter soon!"

Sincerely impressed, "Wow." Given that we lost two members of our family on the Alatriste, my family always felt uneasy being back on a ship of any kind. "That's... good to hear. Dad and I miss you. And we both freaked out when we learned you left- well, I freaked out, Dad's been kinda' sad."

"Figured. Sorry... It had to be done. I was getting ridiculously cooped up."

No it didn't! she had to be thinking. You're still too young to be dealing with that stuff. Give it time. Besides, what if something happens to you?! Our family doesn't want to go through any more shit! What came out of her mouth, "You didn't pack a whole lot."

"Yeah. I wanted to travel light." I glanced at what few effects were splayed around the room. "Gives me an excuse to come back and see you two."

Her distancing faded, and a smile curved on her lips. "Right." She shifted in her chair. "What do they have you doing? You don't have a lot of work experience."

I replied, "Exactly what I've been studying: language translation and cultural-archiving. Most of the time," omitting the most recent events, "I'm sifting through messages."

She looked astounded. "That's great!" She took a look around my room, even though the camera remained stationary. "Is the crew, um, professional? They treating you well?"

Healthy concern. "Yep. So far I'm getting along with everyone. A couple are a little, eh, harder to read than others." I chuckled, "There's a canine-feline-guy, our mechanic, Xio. Pretty sure he has a crush on me, Vi."

She rolled her eyes at that last part. "Whatever, I don't wanna' know until you get married... I'm happy to hear they're taking care of you... If any of them get handsy, you let me know! I'll fly out there and tangle with 'em if I have to protect my lil' sis."

"Gosh, thanks for the chivalry," I quipped. "You should know one of 'em is a pretty capable squawker."

"Um, we grew up on Iuko," she countered, "you know I'm not afraid to of a twelve-foot birdy."

"Thanks Vi, I'll let you know if something happens." If something happens... Should I tell her- No. No, do not. We don't even know what's going on. No point in making them worry.

"Has Pivol or Dranq or Lyz talked to you yet? They reached out to me; got angry I didn't tell them you were leaving. 'Course, I told them I would've if I'd known."

My friends. Have to love them. "I sent everybody a quick message letting them know what's up. Just so you think I'm not cold-blooded." Just like Howz. Hah. Because he's a snake. "I feel a lil' guilty about branching out."

Viola furrowed her brow. "It's fine, I get it. You hate us."

"Yeah, with a passion." Looking around her room. "How goes the advertising?" She had earned a commerce and marketing degree last year, snatched up by a large advertising firm in the city. She's told me the name before, but I keep forgetting.

"Eh, meetings everyday with clients. Kinda' boring," she reflected. After a moment of uncertain inquiry, she said, "Well, we know you'll... you'll be fine. Me and dad are still nervous about space-travel, and you know why. But you're tough, and know more languages than either of us at this point... I'll let you go, Port, and promise me: if you need something, you'll call us. Blood's strong."

I shooed her through the camera. "Yeah. I know. And I promise I'll check in."

She saluted. "Awesome. Oh- and don't take any exotic drugs. You don't react well to that shit." That one instance she snuck me inside late because of some heavy all-arounders called "ice" I took at a party, two years ago. Ugh. My friends had to walk me home--I don't remember anything. Vi mentioned I muttered for hours until conking-out, and I woke up fatigued.

She just had to bring that up. "Thanks, sis. I'll keep that in mind." I stuck my tongue out. "Love you."

She gave me an old peace sign, "Love," and the screen shut off. A side of me longed for familial comfort, to hear my stoic father offer insightful words that always sounded appropriate--he was a genius like that--or just having Viola close by. She always laid next to me when I wasn't feeling well; she never got sick, so it wasn't much of a risk to her. Yet here I sat, light years away, so-so from solitude... So-so-litude.



After two days of doing literally nothing in my room except trying to read my own library on a data-slate, listening to various Sunmii bands, and watching the distant stars through the bay window, I got fed up and found the captain, pouring over screens in the cockpit with our programmer.

I coughed to get their attention. "I never thought I'd ask this at any point in my life... May I please come back to work?" I stood as ready as I could to perform to their expectations, although my left arm kept crystallizing that afternoon. Outside of suppressing those, I presented confident enthusiasm.

Both of them blinked, and Howz smiled. "You feel up to it?"

Ophem protested, "I wouldn't recommend that. We still don't know what's going on with you, Port. Xel needs to check you over."

Her attitude toward me felt the most circumspect. "I know that whatever this is: it's not a regular illness. And... I can't just sit around all day! Believe it or not, translating's hard, and it's fun, and that's what I do. I know you people need me."

Howz ushered me over to the accustomed panel. "You're ready? By all means, get crackin'."

Whew. "Thanks." I moved over and took a seat. The bug uncomfortably turned around to her respective monitor. I didn't want her to think I was a trouble-maker, purposefully disrespectful to their wellbeing. "This whole thing's bad timing, but you folks did hire me, after all."

The captain controlled the helm. "We'll clutch ya' tight. If it turns out you got the prima-virus and start takin' over the ship, I'll just zap your head off," he snickered.

While I got the joke, albeit a grim one, the dragonfly very loudly declared, "That's not funny."

Bad history there? I didn't really want to ask. Howz cleared his throat, apologizing for striking a nerve, "Sorry, O..." He stepped behind me. "Got a few messages we aren't 100% certain on, ssso take a look." He pointed at pings on the screen.

I scanned symbols off the top of my head, reviewing what they stored. "Can do," I acknowledged.

"We haven't got anything on our client, 'fore you ask. Nothing from Nebulo!, and no further contacts." Howz grumbled over the affair. "Y'see anything suspicious, let me know." I nodded. He returned to the helm, defined red scales contrasting with the empty background of space.

Let's take a look at the damage. I dove right in, legitimately excited to gander at what I've missed. Different messages filed down, the usual characters and typical fonts from known planetary cultures. Some were generic scams: asking for money, investment in ridiculous projects or off-planetary accounts, and the usual demand to haul goods that we couldn't handle, lacking the right business license. The payment didn't outweigh the risks.

I noticed a recorded audio/video feed from a Zalfan source, closed instead of a live-request. All the specs tailored to the Muldoon, and most of the info hadn't been filled in or annotated in a business format. The heading labeled in both Zalfan and Terran, "MULDOON OPEN URGENT BARRY." I paused, recalling previous conversations with the crew.

Barry? Wait a tick. I turned to our programmer. "Didn't you folks used to have Barry work here, that weird Human guy? I think I've got a message from him."

Both of the crew turned: Ophem with curiosity, Howz with alarm. The captain realigned behind me. "Barry's contacting us?! Why?"

"I don't know. This is brand new," clarifying. I brought the clip up and clicked PLAY.

A hand-held vid recorded on the fly expanded on the screen. I saw an odd-looking, mirror-shaded human wearing foppish garb and someone else who appeared heavy-duty security. The pair occupied a lavish, artsy estate with an odd sky behind them. No doubt, this person was the infamous Barry. And once he started talking, we knew right away. "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeey! Ah, uh, aloha Muldoon crew!"

Howz slapped his hard palms against his face. "Why's he contacting us?" dread preemptively dripping from his fangs.

The feed continued, "I know we've missed each other, and we've all been busy with our own, ah, very lucrative, very special lives. I was just calling to check on you people! How's everything out in the star ocean?!"

Another voice pierced off-camera. "Speed it up."

"Right," Barry confirmed. "He's a bit pushy, my new buddy, ah... So long story short, I've got a guy here, from the Requisition Guild. He wants to chat."

"Requisition Guild?" Ophem squeaked, her wings swaying with nervousness. "What's going on?" Neither I nor Howz responded, immersed in the video. The RG?

Barry continued, "Apparently you guys picked up something valuable? Well, this Guild guy shows and then, holy shit this other assassin breaks in and tries to kill both of us! No joke! I mean I know I'm hard to like, but danger's afoot here, ah!" He snorted. "I mean we both could've been shot to bits!"

A kodama, originally scanning things in the background, grew as fed-up as Howz listening to the man's drivel, and stomped to Barry's vid source, hulking over the lens. Barry protested, "Hey, hold up, buddy!" and that's when the other man, much more dogged, spoke. "My name is Tanzer Ygoza. I'm with the Requisition Guild. I don't know how much time we got, but we've just been attacked, and your employers're thieves."

We tensed at this point. This guy looked serious.

"Yer' in possession of something that doesn't belong to you. I assume yer' paid to deliver... Set up a direct comm as soon as you get this, as it'll involve the Guild... We represent Harmony Link, and if you wanna' keep good standing: you'll comply. This isn't a threat, just an opportunity."

Barry tried to get ahold of the camera. "Hey, why do you sound like a bad guy?! That's not how you get business done!"

Tanzer gave the camera back, "Fine, whatever, here. Let's wrap."

The eccentric took hold, "Muldoon family! Seriously, contact us! We're coming to help out. Nobody wants to get shot, ah, so let's meet. And soon!" With that, the feed stopped.

All three of us held. The amalgam of an action-centric joke and a legitimate threat to our safety from a dangerous guildsman caught up with our venture. Given the 'stolen' good resided inside me, prospects felt bleak for us all.

19

"What the hell's goin' on back there?" the hunter hollered, intentionally hoping his decadent guest would ignore the veiled line between hospitable and hostile.

Barry heard the irritable plant, "I'm mixing myself some Dixa-gin with some berries. You want any?"

Sighing, "No thanks. I'm piloting right now."

"Oh please, drugs are life grease," he retorted. "And unloving things like motors and swords need grease... Did I say unloving? I meant non-living, oh well, ah." The glass TINK'd, and finally the oddly-dressed human slid next to the kodama, sipping the alcohol.

Tanzer wanted to kill himself, passive-aggressively quipping, "You must be an expert on motors. And swords."

To his surprise, Barry responded, "I'm not an expert, ah, but I know this ship's made by Siimbite crafters; that's not surprising given their stranglehold on galactic engineering. A bit o' cold reading, ah... I noticed your racing logo's faded, which means you gave up your career, or bought this racer from a retired Zalfan pilot. You shoot pretty damn good, which means you're either a veteran or criminal, ah, although that whole thing with the rappelling guy shootin' at us means you've seen combat." Sip. "Oh, right, swords... My father was a champion fencer. He mentored Terran military saber, Lan'terian ōdachi, and the Ognongan iklwa. My dad was kinda' badass, ah, very masculine, wanted to disown me when I was a kid, ah. We're opposite signs." Sip. "He got along when I showed him my first studio check for about Ω14,000. Figured I found my calling, ah."

Hearing all of those details, the guildsman ogled the eccentric in the co-pilot seat. "...You're full o' surprises."

Barry defended, "Please, I'm in entertainment. You need t'be observant, otherwise how do you replicate good storytelling?"

A field the man knew nothing about. "Just so yer' aware... I bought this ship from a racing league retiree. Dog's name was Joc'lyne. Got pretty good."

"Oh her! She was 51-and-2 in the Zalfan Racing Association. A record, still."

Blinking, "Right. You, eh, like sports?"

"Anything on-camera or on-stage, I brush up on. But Joc'lyne? Yeah, she's one of the greats in space-racing."

"Right... Anyhow, I got this ship from her."

Watching some random feed on his comm-screen, Barry supped and prodded. "Must've brought a bundle of Omegas to get a ship from her... So criminal or veteran? I don't judge former-villains, ah; we're all stupid when we're young."

The kodama thought back to younger days, when he had to hide from the multitude of gangs on Jolkox, forced to steal to eat some days. When he got into his first fight, he almost died, learning very quickly how to handle himself. He thought about that year he spent in a youth-penitentiary, and how he shortly thereafter ran into elite security on Dixa, a dangerous male named Phoirox, who told him how he can market his rugged, urban survival skills. He surmised, "I used to be troubled youth, then I grew up."

"Ah, the perfect arch," he joked. "Bad guy turns into good guy, fights the good fight."

"The good fight? Sure," he scoffed. "The RG takes care of me. When they're not bein' hardasses. And this's a professional job, before you dramatize shit-all."

Barry thought. "So who else's coming after us? If you had to guess?"

A very broad question. So many different gangers, mercenaries, criminal networks, and corporate pushers might consider punching their ticket, reap rewards hiding in the shadows. Tanzer speculated, "Some ideas. Could be anyone in the system. Realistically... once we know what's taken, and who Quariet worked for, I can give ya' an answer; until then it's too grey."

"I see." Barry gulped the rest of his drink. "So if we grab this 'antique' and return it to your boss, then everything's fine?"

"Whoever asked the Guild to retrieve it'll operate on their own terms afterward. Until then, they're leavin' it in expert hands."

Barry pushed. "Tanzer-man, level with me: what did my old crew take?"

"An antique," he confirmed, "that's all I know-"

Just then, a sheet of laser erupted across their field. A ship, small and militarized, appeared in the screen's peripheral, before disappearing in the void.

"What the space fuck?!" Barry proclaimed.

Tanzer handled the stick. "Buckle in," he commanded, as a space-xebec blasted nearby, swerving to summersault behind them. "Somebody wants us dead."

The sleek vessel started to descend on them from above the void of stars, firing short-range las-rays at the merc's ship. Bright blue streams of heat. Tanzer reacted defensively, dropping yang and spiraling to minimize damage. More shards of energy blasted around their ship, and he did every maneuver imaginable to avoid harm.

"Holy fuck! Blast 'em!" the eccentric shouted.

"What you think I'm doing?!"

When the star-vessel snaked around to find another angle, the interceptor readied itself, positioning arms to defend. "Can you shoot?" he asked the entertainer.

"Not- ah- not really!"

"Figures." Tanzer dipped, discovered an enticing angle, and tuned-in to the primary screen to focus crosshairs on the solo ship. "Who're you?" he pondered, trying to hammer out why they would demand his, or Barry's, destruction.

"Can we hail them?!" Barry asked in a panic.

Tanzer barreled to greet the ship head-on. "They're not gonna' fly out in the middle o' space and start gunnin' before talkin'. They want us dead." As noses leveled, Tanzer gripped the stick's trigger and began blasting out bright green las-beams, sidelining the cockpit. The other ship fired as well, both corkscrewing to avoid the heat. Spinning around in an intense ballet of aggression, while the producer shrieked and covered his empty glass of Dixa-gin, the shots of green ricocheted off the opposing ship, pounding bits of the xebec's own metal away, before losing a wing. A final beam struck the cockpit, and a large explosion rocketed the core, sending bits off in every direction. The graviton core erupted and the engine imploded, compressing leftover matter.

"Oh my gods! Oh my gods! Oh... my... gods..." Barry calmed, before starting to guffaw, the adrenaline easing through his system. "Holy star-shit, you did it! You're a fuckin' commando!" he roared, patting the plant-man's bulky shoulder.

Tanzer spun the ship around, avoiding debris. Let's get a look at our pilot, or what's left of them, he planned, easing toward the remnants. He spotted a portion of the xebec, with most of the pilot burnt into the seat. Flipping on the spotlight mounted at the tip, he brought the light into their purview, exposing the dead anthropoid. "Does that look like... that gunner from Zalfa?" The suit had been fitted for a Terran, and mimicked the previous assassin's custom combat functionality.

Barry leaned closer, observing. "Now that you say that," he agreed, "they do look in cahoots." He slapped his kneecap, "Oh, this's bigger than we thought, isn't it?! Paramilitary people hunting us down, mysterious packages, destruction, ah!" Trying to spin around in the seat, he realized its position was fixed and recovered, "Life's imitating art!"

Tanzer strategized, "They followed us from Zalfa, and that's two. Out of how many? Not many professionals this well armed, and this willin' to chase us down all over the v'Manx. And definitely not raiders... The hell's happening?"

His companion postulated, after setting his empty glass in a holder, "I'll say this: if we're having this much trouble, ah, then the Muldoon must be getting shot: every, damn, day of the Galactic calendar."

20

The console clicked on, after confirming the connection. "I just checked with the precinct in Targo," the confidante informed, "and Quariet is a goner. Gunned-down, real good. Few clues, few leads, definitely well-armed. Even had a stunning grenade lobbed at him..."

Deeja Saiol leaned back in her chair, upset, vexed, wiping the tension on her elven face, her chartreuse skin softened from only the best moisturizers. Raindrops splattered against the window, night reigning in the Garem sky. The streaks of rainbow lightning mystified the foreigner at night, helping to wind-down; getting struck by the electricity was far more frequent--and far less fatal--than other atmospheres in the system. A scented candle lit her office, perfuming the darkness with ocean and relaxing her at the end of a long day of work, the dim glow her only companion.

"...I asked if they'd allow me to inspect evidence on the scene, but they don't know me, and these giant birds are keeping a lid on everything. Tight. You said no name-dropping... so I'm gonna' have to try to sneak-in and see what's been filed. I'll recover what I can. You'll hear from me when something happens. Out." The feed ended.

She waited four hours, pacing in only fishnets covering her form, nervously expecting good news--something recoverable, like the package paid to arrive on her planet, or concrete data to follow. When a crack of lightning spider-webbed the sky, almost hypnotizing her, the comm rung yet again on her console. She rushed to activate. "Yes?!"

"It's me," her confidante in Targo spoke.

Crossing her fingers, "Go on."

"Not good. They found false identification- makes sense if your people were covert. His security though, I've got nothing on... Law enforcement recovered personal security weapons, and an empty container." No! "Nothing else. No video feed of the incident, no witnesses, and as far as I'm seeing, no paperwork either."

Letting her head fall to the desk, she whispered, "Dammit."

Continuing his update, "I'll be straight: if this thief followed your protocols, there's a chance he handed this valuable thing off to a third party, like you originally planned. Problem there's I have no way of knowing who that is, or where they may be, since Quariet didn't have records. Maybe he tossed it...? Objectively, that other box is still unaccounted for."

You've got to be fucking kidding me!

"There's also a chance a first-responder took whatever that thing was and just didn't report it so it's not on record. They may try to sell it--above or below the market... I can keep my ears to the ground and do as much legwork as possible, but the whole thing's weird ma'am. I can only do the private-investigator-act for so long before it gets suspicious."

Did Nebulo! find out? The Mining Union? Another competitor?

"I need to know your orders, ma'am, so I don't risk exposure."

She raised her head, hiding her frustration. "Do as much work as possible. Find me a lead. Anything. And don't get caught. You contact me as soon as you have an update."

"Understood. I'll shake the tree and see what falls. Hopefully not birds with badges... Out."

He's good, but why this much difficulty?! The one thing she's been trying to unearth for years, the one thing that she hoped to encounter and feared never would, rested inches away from her grasp. And now this? Who attempted to screw her? Not going to happen. Not this close to her life goal.

The elf pulled up the panel and contacted one of her associates. "Let's show the hand before we play, see how they react." Typing a contact number on the screen, in a common Garemite font, CONNECTING, and she leaned back in the chair, propping her feet on the desk and playing with the tips of her pointed ears. JURDA NILIK. A number of beeps, then the screen activated.

A weary dragonfly answered. "Miss Deeja. It's late."

"There's been a complication."

He blinked his compound eyes, disliking her undertone. "What kind?" leaning closer to the vid.

"I've just been informed, Jurda" she hummed, "that the package has gone missing. My client, the one who infiltrated Nebulo!, acquired it, and now he's dead. I'm doing my best to track it down. You wouldn't happen to know anything, would you?"

Angst riddled the bug's chitin. "...Is this a prank?!"

"I'm just as nervous as you," she defended, tying her burgundy hair back. "And I'm keeping you in the loop before you start pointing fingers, or feelers--whatever your people prefer."

He murmured, weighed-down by the espionage, "Bright Energy is paying a mound of Omegas to acquire this thing; the company I'm loyal to, the one you're contracted with... You may've found us a naturally-occurring, compact, renewable energy source, and now it's gone missing?! What the fuck good are you elves if you can't move goods from other side of the Cronoptikos?!"

She stayed cool. "First of all, the v'Manx Mining Union technically owns that energy source, and we're intercepting. Complications occur when operations get off the ground; that's the dark side of economic demand- and you people should understand a thing or two about 'getting off the ground.'" A slight grin twisted her lips. "Second off, this is an unknown element, a gamble, so don't throw funding in my face... Third, if this was really bad, Law Cannon would be contacting us by now, or Iuko authorities. They haven't, so we'll be contacted by an ambitious group ransoming the damn thing for who knows how much, and whatever that amount is: Bright Energy can pay... Lastly, don't insult my people, Jurda- you're better than that. If you'd like me to open up a Garem history book and highlight every major atrocity, there's an encyclopedia on my shelf that'll help."

Huffing, he leaned back. "It's been a long day, and you just dumped this on me. Forgive me if I'm not in the mood for turbulence."

"We'll be contacted soon. I'm confident. We both have an interest in delivering this thing safely for the labs to study." She rolled her chair and parted her legs, a clear view of her feminine particulars for the camera. "The board will be updated accordingly."

The man, too conservative to be turned on by an alien like her, turned away from the view. "Don't even think about attempting to seduce me, like you did our directors. That won't fly, woman."

She chuckled. "Please... I've only slept with one of the board members, and it was pleasure--not business. I'll let you guess which one," she teased, tapping her womanhood. The mysterious Iatan, in hindsight, did make love exceptionally well, bridging Garem-Ank relations better than galactic civil rights leaders.

"Disgusting," Jurda declared, before flipping off his feed. CALL ENDED. THANK YOU FOR USING GAR-CO COMMUNICATIONS!

Perhaps that would buy her time from corporate fallout. Jurda knew nothing, crossing off potential competition. She left the chair and moved back to the window. Another lightning bolt off in the distance: this time no noise followed. Being close to the twin suns, the first planet's radioactive levels coated a layer of ionic-antimatter, protecting its biosphere from damage, although dragonflies evolved a tough layer of chitin to protect against solar bombardment. Each lightning bolt, part of the natural phenomenon of the atmosphere, changed color depending on how close or far away it traveled from the surface, reflective of the visible light spectrum to her elven eyes.

"We're finding that star-diamond," she demanded from the universe. I've been waiting over a decade. Please... Help me. These Bright Energy bastards are crafty. Get it here, and give me some answers. She held her arm out, and focusing her flexion of muscle or thought or whatever it was that triggered it, her chartreuse flesh manifest crystals from the tips of her fingers to her shoulder, before she relaxed and returned to her normal anatomy.

21

Circling the conference table, we replayed the message the Muldoon received moments ago, starring the infamous Barry and some tough, soldierly plant, name-dropping the RG. A nervous energy entered the room, and I know I generated the most. I melded with the thing we were paid to transport, and our current business venture made little sense: the death of our contact and lack of known destination.

Anitt exclaimed, "Damn. Of course." He sipped some Lan'ter-brandy. Captain Howz puffed Dixa-tobacco out of his pipe, the smoke wafting out of his serpentine nostrils. Cena and Kōl remained stiff, while Ophem looked very displeased. Xio, perceiving my left arm remained crystallized, politely asked if he could touch. I allowed him; it's not like he could harm me. The guy measured each miniature, pointy groove with this padded fingertips. It was nice knowing my condition didn't turn everyone away. "...No such thing as a clean business transaction," the dwarf grumbled.

"This wasn't expected," our captain declared, "but we gotta' consider the proposal."

"We've never had to deal with the Guild before, thank the Ocean!" Cena retorted. "And is this really 'stolen?'"

"Always a risk... Mr. Quariet dodged the details."

Our bird leaned in, "They're talking about getting shot. Who exactly's targeting them?" He's right; little to go on. At least two of my coworkers experienced combat scenarios, so that made me feel a little better, though the crew hinted at stories of violent gunfights.

"Why Barry?" the bug probed, incredulous. "He left eight years ago. And it's not like we talk to him all the time." Point taken.

"Barry's a public, ahem, personality," Anitt replied. "He might've mentioned us once or twice during his career in cinemas- whatever the Hammer he does for a living."

All of us let the bitterness settle. Meditating.

"So do we continue waiting? Do we call this guildsman? Or do we head for Xel?" Howz wrangled us, measuring our current comfort-level. "I propose Xel. But I'm not gonna' strangle the group's survival instincts, or our newest crew member's safety."

"We have to contact this guy regardless," Kōl insisted. "This isn't just security: this could affect our grade with HL."

"The Guild can interrupt our operation, that's true, but it really depends on circumstances," the noble replied. "I second contacting the man."

"Okay but what do we give him?" Cena shrugged, glancing at me. "The box that's been pried open? He's not gonna' accept it."

The cat-dog cleverly posed, "What if we tell him we opened it and we didn't find anything? He, um, may not know what he's looking for."

"Throw him off?" the avian chuckled. "I doubt it. Although... Captain, you're pretty persuasive."

"We need to get Port to Xel, as soon as possible..." Anitt combed his beard. "How about we ask for a grace period- make certain everything's on the level? I realize the Guild's not known for lax timetables, but he doesn't know where we are and we have the upper hand. He'll have to chase us coming all the way from Zalfa."

Ophem grew noticeably skeptic. "The RG hires thugs... He's not going to wait. I say we just, eh, give him something soon and say that's what we've been hired to transport. You have random collectables you don't care for anymore, Anitt?"

Reviewing a mental inventory of his trophies, "I can pull out an oddity, outside of finding a replica."

Cena sighed, "We still need to get closer to Garem. There's a hella' ton of Omegas on the line. I hate to say that, but we need to feed ourselves." Of course. Basic necessities.

A harsh acceptance of the difficult variables weighed the discussion further. Our programmer confirmed, "Precisely."

Howz waved, "Port, you deserve a say. You're literally part o' the contract."

That wasn't funny, though factual. I didn't feel secure answering the question. Will we end up arrested? Acquiring a lot of money? Will we lose the Muldoon's trading reputation, with the ship impounded? Will we play ball with the RG and piss off our contractors, who may be a sinister corporation that'll hunt us down for their property? Will they hunt me down specifically, and what happens to me then? I kept envisioning an operating table, and that really unsettled me. Through the dread, I formulated a valid plan, as no ideal solution struck. Say something. "...I want this thing outta' me. It could've killed me, and nobody knows what it is. If your doctor friend can help, I'm hands down voting to consult him."

The captain looked around, and then at Anitt, contemplating the best course of action. "We head straight for Xel, get her checked out. When we learn her condition, we ship over to Garem and see if we get flagged." He eyed the security. "Kōl, does Ygoza ring a bell?"

Thinking for a moment, he shook his feathery head. "Not really. If he's a field operative for the RG, he knows how to shoot--even if he came from the sunny side of the aviary."

"That's my thinkin'," our leader concurred. Puff. "Let's take an hour to investigate this gentleman. I'll contact him directly; explain our quandary and stall 'im. Meet 'em at a station closer to the first world. We aren't obligated to respond for 24 galactic-hours." A LC Sheriff? No discussion. "Let's press the silver lining." He stood up. "Objections?"

Ophem looked like she was about to raise a wing; maybe that was just my paranoia. When nobody declared opposition Anitt hopped out of the chair. "I think we've reached a quorum, until the next complication." Sip.

"Good. Get some info, and I'll open a direct comm."

"We could use more juice, and bandwidth," I offered, "We're three hours away from Lan'ter. Linking their equipment will strengthen our signal, if you want to risk tracking." A few looks bounced off.

Strategizing, the snake replied, "Not a bad idea, hatchling. Intentional footprints, in case we gotta' be diplomatic."

Our programmer glared at me. "Why do you want to give yourself up?" I vaguely recalled her opinion of my presence on the ship. She's an infiltrator, or an idiot...

Offended, I countered, "Just doin' my job, as your comm spec."

The bug rolled her compound eyes and flew off; she didn't want to deal with me. Maybe it's because I turned down her prayer offer, or maybe it's the suspect timing of my arrival and this bio-crystal-thing. I suppose someone had to work that angle, in reality; if the shoe was on the other foot I'd do the same.

"Do we want to contact Samber?" Cena asked our captain. "He may help, since he lives there."

"No... I don't wanna' drag more people into the game."

Everyone left.

I slumped, distant and uncertain. This 'game' shifted in worse directions. I was having to weigh the potential destruction of my crewmates, and couldn't help feel like this was my fault. No, it's not: nobody knew this was going to happen. Actually it's their fault! They're the ones who took the contract with shady people in the first place! No, come on. Even if they had, and didn't open the box, we would still be stuck between a potential buyer at the far end of the system and this gung-ho Guild bounty hunter.

Xio patted my back. "Are you okay?"

"Kind of." I stood up. His pearl eyes offered comfort. Work can wait. "Can I hang out with you? If they need me, they'll call."

He watched my expression, then bent a little bit, leading me back to the Muldoon's heart. "Sure," he complied, "if you want to help, um, keep the engine running." Holding his hand up with the missing digit. "I could use the extra finger.

"How did you lose that?" I craved the knowledge.

"Was fixing my uncle's ground-car when I was a teen," he said. "The motor minced the rest. No recovering it, heh."

"Did that hurt?!" A dumb question.

"Yep... I got over it." That was that.

22

We made safe landing on a station in the Lan'ter city of Ngh'Oa. Clean and smooth. The porters received us, checked off our identities, and then directed us to fuel supply: universally-recycled geothermal batteries, supplemented by solar panels--standard on contemporary vessels throughout the system. Howz and Kōl went straight to a public communications access panel, capable of connecting to interplanetary message centers.

I waited near the ship, convoying with Cena and Xio to gather basic supplies. Watching the other pair walk away made me laugh, some light-heartedness to bring things back to normal: those native to Lan'ter spent more time eyeing the towering avian instead of the snake. Based on my decade spent on Iuko, Kōl was objectively handsome, but on a planet where average height was half of his, our security chief walked a narrow line between intimidating and god-like, and Howz looked more like his lackey.

Our squid showed a list to various merchants, searching for necessary items. This one seller, a young feline, interwove personal questions as he nodded and listened. "What's your gender?" or "Are you young or old, 'cuz I don't know much about squids? You folks don't come to Lan'ter very often." Cena performed admirably, understanding of their foreign ignorance, filling in the gaps and making friends.

Xio's energy felt different. On our ship, he acted more than he spoke. When he stood next to her, home soil underneath his padded feet, he translated, offering casual banter, engaged in his natural environment. I watched him keep his senses active to our surroundings as well, protective of us ladies.

I got a few looks myself: this one male canine selling some kind of earthy beverage, eyeing me up and down, keeping distance yet hoping I would come and flirt. Not interested. X, on the other hand, made minor efforts in that direction; the thought of getting closer to him grew tasty.



While we kept our activity anchored to the local stardocks and adjacent businesses, Howz went to work. Finding a comm-tower he input, in a heavy, reluctant, and weathered pressing of the buttons Barry Aguecheek's contact information--rather, the information he provided for this RG merc's vessel. After watching the CONNECTING visual display, he folded his arms: ready to talk, ready to react.

That's when the camera kicked on, and both aliens eyed each other. Kōl crouched nearby, ready to draw as fluidly as his bulky physique could deliver. Barry and this Tanzer sat side-by-side in their cockpit.

No surprise to anyone, Barry broke the silence. "Hey! Captain Howz! Oh my gods, ah! It's been too damn long!" he clapped and fidgeted, sipping a space-martini.

Howz, and Tanzer--based off his body language--grumbled. "Barry... you okay?"

The producer laughed, "Of course! We're both okay! Let me tell ya', this guy shows up and wants to talk to you, so he flies all the way out to my office on the tentacle-pit, and then right after he shows up, some lit-er-al assassins break in and start shooting! Bam zap crash and damn! Ah!" He slapped the agent on the shoulder. "Then this guy turns into an oaken gunslinger and shoots 'em--real good--then we both fly into fucking space, and another assassin in a flyer with military-grade lasers or whatever starts shooting at us. This guy, BANG, and he blows up. I'm telling ya' this guy's a real commando. And this is better than bein' on a film set!"

After the flamboyant human devolved into his infamous chortling, Howz simplified, "But... yer' okay with this guy, right?"

Tanzer quickly shot a murder-face over to the clown. "Can I talk?"

Barry backed off, "All yours."

Glaring into the live-feed, he spoke, gruff yet professional. "I'll make this clear. I've been paid to acquire a black box. It's supposed to be on Iuko... You got it?"

The soldier waited. "What's in it? Why're you lookin' for it?" A vague deviation.

"All I'm authorized to say," the hunter groaned, "is this stolen object's definitively old, definitely valuable. I'm hired to find it... No matter what."

Nodding, he delivered as quickly as he could, "How much you offerin'?"

Wanting to laugh, Tanzer countered, "There's no money on the table... You guys have stolen property. And I'm willin' to take it off your hands so you aren't implicated in anythin' criminal or conspiratorial. Guild advantage--transactions kept off the record, to protect reputations."

Howz shook his head. "There's contractual gains ridin' on our end. This isn't a reputation issue- If you're just throwing around plasma, then this conversation ain't goin' anywhere. We need cash... I could turn the feed off."

"Wait-" the merc stopped, "-I'm not here to kill anybody. Somebody chasin' you's willin' to shoot first, ask questions later. I'm willin' to ask questions first... Let's talk."

Barry interrupted, "Oh come on, people! Let's speed this up." He leaned closer to the camera. "Howz: we know each other! We know we're both decent guys. Raw facts here..." Cough. Sip. "Do you have what he's looking for?"

The plant-man piloting the ship paid close attention, as Howz answered the question. "We have a box, that we've been paid to deliver."

"Deliver where?" Tanzer probed.

"Before I answer that," the snake bounced, "answer me this: 'cuz I wanna' know if we're dealing with a cold killer, or an understanding negotiator... Did you kill our contact? Quariet?"

Barry quavered, "What is this? C'mon, captain, you don't-"

Yanking back the well-dressed producer, the guildsman stopped him. "You want the truth? Yeah. I did... You look like a soldier. I gave 'im every opportunity to comply, and instead he draws and starts shootin', and his people follow suit... I didn't have any other choice. And you people," he leaned closer, "are just middle-men, and don't wanna' get caught in the crossfire. Am I right?"

Kōl wondered how much longer this would go on, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Howz countered, "You aren't wrong."

"Exactly," leaning back into the pilot's seat.

Barry clarified, "Howz, are you people ready to return this thing? At all?"

The captain hissed through his reptilian lips, flicking his forked tongue out. "At all? Yesss. By the Stars, I'd love to."

The producer clapped, "See? I told you the Muldoon was good people, ah!"

Howz tapped the camera. "We're not in the most ideal spot, regarding our employer. But we aren't stupid... I'm not askin' to make your job harder, just fair space-mercantilism. Mr. Tanzer, can you travel, or your ship too short range?"

Betting that he could achieve a compliant solution, the merc said, "I can go all over the galaxy. You givin' me a meet-up point?"

"If yer' serious about a peaceful resolution, then meet us at HL, Station One. We'll be heading in that direction. If things go awry we'll need your skills to return the package. If not... I'm certain we can give you a slice o' the check."

More surprised than insulted, Tanzer responded, "You're offerin' me a cut?"

"Oh yeah." He pointed his clawed finger at the human. "Barry can tell you I'm on the level. I'm looking out for the best interests of my crew."

The pair glanced at one another. Kōl wondered if he should mention something, then shied away, remaining a sentinel at the communication tower.

Reinforcing his proposal, before the hunter could retort, "Head to HLS-1. I promise you'll hear from us." Howz ended the transmission.

Studying the man through his black beak and colorful feathers, Kōl supported his boss. "That's the best we can do right now."

Shrugging, "I hope. I don't wanna' put anybody in harm's way. But we took a risky contract, and I'm obligated to keep the safest avenues open."

A leadership role hadn't weighed on him in a long time. He thought back to training modules on his planet, when he was an egotistical squad leader and almost got his soldiers disqualified from reputable company matching. Promoted to sergeant, command told him to fix an entire platoon of dropouts, and he somehow turned them around. He thought back to the contract the ship took five years ago: they were hunted by an organized crime splinter-cell, escaping via a dangerous star-behemoth out in the dead of space that almost ate the entire ship, narrowly avoiding obliteration before dropping off tungsten to HLS-8.

The bird reached down and patted his back, gently to keep from knocking the smaller man over. "Cap'n, you've been leading the Muldoon since before I got here," he reaffirmed, "and we trust you. And we won't let each other down." He reared back up. "Portia trusts you. I know she's still young, but if you were really a bad guy she would've stayed away after talkin' to you for five minutes."

He snorted, "Starry-eyed kid... Well if she wanted to shed her skin, she dove headfirst into the blender, didn't she?"

"She'll be fine. Even if the blender's on 'high' she'll break the blades."

The veteran grinned at the martial artist. "Knew I kept you around for a reason."



As the two most dangerous members of our crew stepped away, I parked in the middle of my comrades. We attempted to negotiate some magna-thrusters for the engine, or more specifically brand new tools required to maintain them that the company, AztroGate, purposefully "upgraded" and forced their customers to spend more Omegas on. Xio was annoyed, venting to both of us, "For all the good HL does to make the star system more universally friendly, you'd think they would standardize this shit. We don't need more tools! I can rig stuff to work, but if you want it to be perfect, which of course you do 'cuz only braindead whelps go into outer space with anything less," he gave up, "you have to buy the new 'sleek' equipment." It amused me to see him agitated, radiating masculine passion.

Cena was doing a pretty good job negotiating, but the merchant haggled. There wasn't really a need to step-in, as far as I could tell. "115," the shop owner high-balled, and Cena went, "Please, 85," followed by some numbers steadily inching to a median.

Situating in the marketplace, fairly busy in the early afternoon, underneath Lan'ter's reddish sky, a pair of rugged commoners walked past me. One brushed by close enough to bump me, and I felt a grasping for a pen-light in my jacket. I quickly spun to see the glint of the pen as the feline man's quick fingers slid it into his jacket. Reflexively pivoting, I grabbed the man's wrist, and booted him in the back of the knee, using the momentum to pull his arm closer. I wrenched it out of his hand and looked down at the furry pickpocket, recovering from the surprise attack. Feeling proud for a second, I noticed his canine companion immediately react, drawing a snub-nosed laser of some kind, pointing center-mass. I locked up, certain I would end up dead in the street right then and there.

ZOP

A streak of blue shot past me, hitting the brigand's hand, and forcing him to drop his snub-nose, as a rogue bolt shot off to strike the hut near Cena. Luckily nobody had been hit. I looked behind me; Xio stood, a swashbuckling pistolero, his gun drawn as quickly as I had disabled the pickpocket. He saved me! The burglar scrambled to his feet and grabbed his injured friend. Both of them ran down the marketplace and ducked between crowds and alleys. Part of me craved chasing them down and wailing on them, but knew it wiser to stay with the crew, stepping closer to cover. The showdown ended quicker than I could process.

The other pedestrians kept their senses alert, recovering remarkably well from the incident. How often does this happen in Ngh'Oa? Xio moved to my side, wits ready in case a third party thwarted our defense.

Getting our squid's attention, the shop owner spoke quicker, ending the haggle. His ears folded back in concern. "Er, look, I'll go back down to 95. Wrap this up, before anybody comes back." He looked down the street where the two thieves fled.

Cena relaxed, "Thanks-"

"-You should know since you're not from around 'ere: those two're with the Stilettos. They're, ahem, not nice people. Street gang. They keep their activity near the docks pretty low-key, but they may come after ya'. I'd recommend leaving."

She folded her tentacles and bowed, finalizing the transaction. "Thank you. We understand."

Xio holstered his pistol, eyeing my hand. "What did he try to take?"

I held up the pen-light. "Nothing valuable."

Flagging us, noticeably concerned, Cena wiggled in the other direction. "And we're done. Back to the ship."



We rejoined Howz and Kōl, out in Ngh'Oa's market plaza, looking over our shoulders in case of pursuit. Most people behaved like normal pedestrians, travelers in and out of Lan'ter. Cena spoke first, "Transmission?"

The captain relayed, "I spoke with the guy, Barry was there botherin' me, just like last time he hung around... Bought some time. I sent 'em to Station One, told the guildsman we'd contact him to hand this thing-" almost forgetting my presence "-or something, over."

She edged closer, speaking very clearly, alarm in her throat. "Good... We ran into a couple highwaymen, and these two managed to scare 'em off," motioning to myself and our engineer. "A local informed us they're in a gang, and dangerous. We got everything needed for the next jump, so it might be smart to leave, like, now."

Taking her advice--this wasn't the first time the Muldoon's crew employed urban survival--he surveyed their surroundings. "Gettin' shot by gangs... Been months, hasn't it? Back to the ship, people."

We followed orders and swiftly changed direction to the starport. Everyone unbuckled their holsters, except for me since I didn't own a firearm of any kind, and I didn't want one. Avoiding hotspots of security, shadier merchants, and people of higher profile, we narrowly weaved through structures and ramblers. Kōl, despite his size, scoured through places ripe for ambush and escape; enough birds populated this part of the city to stave off attention. I'm surprised he hasn't bumped into us, or stepped on our feet by accident. Dang he's good.

I turned to Xio, who kept an eye on me. Studying his pistol, I asked, "How did you learn to shoot that well? You didn't hesitate, and hit him real good!"

"Thanks. Well I grew up with siblings that liked to shoot at our ranch... When I joined the ship, we got into a shootout with a couple of dealers. I was scared, and woulda' died if that las-bolt hit my head. So Kōl, our old translator Bon, and Howz; I asked them to, um, really train me on holding one of these properly in a firefight. It took a few months. Guess it paid off." Muscles tight, content with himself, I absorbed a strong side of him that didn't quite match the veneer of that jumpy gentleman from day one.

Poking my shoulder. "Do you do a lot of hand-to-hand? You were, like, really good," he smiled with perfect teeth, canine ears perked upright. He kept his eyes off my breasts. I guess if gunning down some criminal in my defense activated manly impulses, I had to thank him for keeping his desires in check.

"Thanks." I explained, "My best friend Dranq and I always fought each other in his backyard. We would watch martial arts movies, plus actual instructional vids on how to do random maneuvers. Terran pankration, Lan'terian wushu, Siimbite sambo, Ognongan dambe. Everything from grapples and locks, to throws, specific ways to hit, and where, stuff like that. Definitely not masters," I smiled. Thinking back, that athletic canine and I would practice out in the grass for hours, while everyone else watched. We hurt each other, a lot, but we had fun. "On rare occasion our pal Lyz--a squawker--would join and we learned to fight people as big as her. That made things really interesting. That's when I stopped being scared about living on Iuko; you just take 'em down at the shins and they buckle. In theory anyway," I chuckled, remembering times when that didn't work and I had to tap out. I'll boast: out of all my friends--sexy Dranq included--I was the toughest. And I never gave up.

Xio made fun of me. "That's great. Um, I'll just stick to guns."

I invited him to throw down. "Anytime, fuzzy. I'm not great but I'm good," playfully sizing him up and imagining how to disable him. How long could he last? The guy had some meat on him, and stood over me by an inch. He didn't look bad.

Before efforts to mentally strip his clothes off and conjure what the rest of him looked like, I snapped back to reality. A blast of cheap, red las-bloom erupted out of an alley, right at us.

ZAM

We broke off, hugging the sides of the alleyway, much closer to the stardock. The rest of the crew raised their guns. I took cover, looking for an escape path. No! We heard a hardened voice, a rugged dialect of Lan'terian, scream in our direction, "Nobody fucks with the Stilettos you disgusting xenos!" ignorant of our native pistolero.

More rays of las showered us, pedestrians nearby fleeing and shouting for authorities. Our security specialist stood against a sturdy wall, quickly drawing a plas-carbine and taking shots at the gang peeking out to fire. Captain Howz crouched behind a bulbous dumpster, soldier-training holding for the pauses to take aim when he couldn't provide covering or suppressive fire. Cena charged a sonar-blaster strung around her back, waiting for a grouping. Xio dexterously slunk to the ground and started firing. I watched four people fall, all armed, some dressed in urchin-ware, some in counter-culture garb to augment their intimidation factor.

Shots from every type of modern gun batted between us, while I crouched, finding no safe escape route. I hadn't felt this helpless in a long time, and certainly not this endangered; when the star-diamond-thing melded with me, confusion and fear dominated my internal being. Actual combat? Fighting to live? Never! Sometimes we encountered rough people on Iuko, and most of them ignored my people's smaller stature out of primal, subconscious pity; my family was smart enough to stay away from the troubled parts of Targo.

Bunkering down behind a wall, I had no choice but to listen to my crew, hoping their experience would outperform these Stilettos. I heard two more scream out hateful, offensive things. "We're gonna' fuck your corpses!" Sadness settled in my heart: we're on one of a handful of planets where intelligent life exists, and we're facing this evolutionary miracle with vulgar threats, technology meant to end life, and animalistic aggression. And this conflict would most certainly be resolved with pain and death, not intelligence.

The exchange of heat and slugs sounded complete. The captain directed, "We're moving," and I carefully crept forward, trying to stay in cover, while Xio and Cena scrambled nearby, ready to shoot if someone sprouted from other portals. Kōl switched from overwatch to lead the other wall with Howz, both gunners covering the other's blind angle.

One of the Stiletto gangers darted out, firing las-bolts, nicking our snake in the shoulder, though he did not react to the burn on any level. What a hoss! Both managed to gun the punk down.

Another pair shot behind us, and one took cover in front. We were flanked, and everybody took different targets. I crouched against the nearest building, hoping to survive.

Time did not favor me. A door shot open, two steps from my cowering form. The sound of the metal clanging against brick shook me. I looked up into the evil eyes of a white feline clad in harsh wrappings, clutching a nasty looking slug-tosser in his paws. He spotted me--the closest target. Gods why? Adrenaline and remnants of Dixa-cocaine caked his nostrils, quickening his murderous instinct.

The barrel dropped down, right in my face. Xio and Howz, out of my peripheral, struggled to react... They were too late. This native pulled the trigger. I tried to bring my arms up. I could see a spark. A powerful sound escaped the barrel, and knocked my senses out collectively.

Black.

Nothing.

My entire life didn't flash before me. No revelations. Not a calm white light or a magical rainbow.

Only darkness.

I just... died.



A bump.

My face.

Bump.

Bump.

Bump.

Disoriented, stiff, numb, my eyes opened, and the crystalline glassiness caked my vision, translucent, enough to catch the white-furred ganger peppered with plasma and laser from my crew. He slumped to the ground. Shard? The sounds around me dampened from the crystals, although point-blank gunfire couldn't have helped my ears.

Xio scrambled to me, quickly gathering that my features, despite transmutation into diamond, had no indication of harm. Four large-caliber bullets just bounced off the surface, one of which landed next to my boot. No blood. No pain. I just felt slightly weighed.

They helped me stand. I focused, bringing the crystals back into my flesh. Seeing the dead around me, counting nine men and two women, shocked my senses. Cena's larger form embosomed me in her tentacles, her voice bringing me back to reality, "...you hurt? Please, let me see?" and she examined my head and face over, before confirming in a bewildered volume, "She's fine! No entry."

Fine?! No entry?!

Our blood-red beefcake ordered a continuation, motioning to Kōl, "Keep moving. Docks are close. Don't shoot if you see legal."

We crept forward, and the entrance to the starport came into view, followed by several Ngh'Oa law enforcement, closing in on our location. Everyone clicked their weapons to safety and holstered them, arms and hands out in the open, nonthreatening. I felt relief held back by the shock, as they took us away from the district my companions shot through and scoured for remnants of the hostile Stilettos.

A burly canine commanded us to stand in a line against a nearby wall. Our captain began to explain what occurred: how we defended ourselves from the bandits who shot first, threatened to kill us, steal our equipment, rape our corpses, and all for the glory of their mob. He demanded identification, and called a couple of medical professionals to approach, asking us if anyone needed help. Thankfully none of us were wounded, except for Howz who shooed away assistance for his shoulder, insisting that his vest weakened the burn. A medic hopped over, and asked me in very rough Terran, "Are you hurt, ma'am?"

Hurt? A thieving murderer held a gun to my face, and by all accounts I should be dead, but I'm not because alien rock armor entered by body without permission, and I saw more than one dead body for the first time in my life--like, I didn't see any actual dead on the Alatriste because the cadavers were covered; my mother and brother were cremated after. I survived an actual firefight. Right now the shock of everything isn't quite hitting me, but I know it will 'soon as I get back to the ship, possibly have a breakdown, a panic attack, or a cry session, kicking myself for signing onto a star-fluyt and not working closer to home. I couldn't avoid this terrible feeling of righteous joy because people who threatened to kill me are dead, with the intuitive, primal acceptance that the only way any of this can be fixed is to see it through to the very fucking end, which could resolve with my own death.

"I'm okay," I lied.

23

Barry eyed the merc up and down as the pair flew into space and passed HLS-5, watching him plan and weigh the Muldoon's offer--or really, Howz's offer, as he presumed everybody would lemming behind the soldier's natural presence. The ship veered around Squo, one of Siimb's outer moons, its magenta glow sparking his imagination with pulp-stories and Omegas. They both had plenty of time on the way to Garem, almost six planets worth of space travel, for the entertainer to work his angle into this operation. Should I put this guy into a cinema, or maybe a graphic novel? All I know is, he's perfectly capable of selling! Gods I wish I could be that cool.

A beeping wavered on the screen. FROM: CHON. Tanzer let out a pained groan, pushing his blue-and-green leafy hair out of the way. His face tightened just enough for the human to notice, strategizing while piloting.

Having made yet another glass of alcohol, this time wine from Terra, Barry shifted, throwing a very direct question the hunter's way. "Ex-wife? Child support? A divide between family and lifestyle?"

Tanzer, beyond annoyed, shot daggers at his co-pilot, shocked at the inference. "What?" hoping his snarl would end the conversation before gaining traction.

Sip. He continued, "That exasperated groan? I've heard that shit before, ah. Am I wrong?"

Grunting. "If I tell you, will you drop it?! Not a subject I like talkin' about."

Avoiding a vein, Barry leaned back. "Sure, all the dirt, ah. People-interest stories for a living, right?"

Sliding back into the chair, Tanzer educated the eccentric. "Not my ex-wife; we never married. Dated for a few years... Kid came near the end. She's probably askin' for money. I gave some to her months ago, but... he's growin' up and needs stuff all the time- they both do." Silence, then, "I'm not a father; never wanted to be. But I help her out when I can."

Looking to endear himself, "So what's his name?"

Glinting at the entertainer, "Gurze... He's six, if yer' goin' to ask."

"And do they know that you're with the Guild, shooting ruffians and creeps all the time?"

Snorting at the hyperbolic summary of his career, "First off, I don't get shot all the time. This's the first case in months this dangerous... Pisses me off that I don't know who's attacking us. Second, she knows: thought I was pretty cool when we first met..." Thinking back to the times he felt happy with her, partying in locations all over the planet, making love to her all night. "She thought I was this hard-ass gunner who flew into space like some hero. Got her goin'. Leave that to your imagination..."

"Ah, I'll be happy to, stud," he chortled.

Stud? Oh you're so fucking clever. "Whatever... I told her to find some guy who'll take care of her. Gurze needs somebody. Not a gun-for-hire. Not a... guy who's had it rough, and gets his hands dirty. Too much blood," he emptied. "So far: nothing... I don't know if she's really tryin', or she's still hoping I'll come around. There's millions o' people all over this galaxy- there's somebody out there for them. And it ain't me."

The brute had scars, his clothes fitted for combat, and a ship spec'd for dogfights. Barry met people like him during his time out in the void; most were not family-men, just simple, brutal warriors, and Tanzer fit the bill. When he said he wanted the two to be a better family than he could make them, the producer sensed full candor. "Dark killer travels through space, secretly with a heart of gold," he envisioned, out loud. "An antihero. Classic, ah."

"Sure." Taking a deep breath, suppressing the pains of what others labeled responsibility, he looked out into the stars. "Can you do me a solid?"

Barry perked up. "You saved my life! Of course, ah. G'ahead."

Wiping his face, "Hang on- I didn't save your life. Everything up to this point's circumstantial... Whatever. Favor." Despite Barry's mirrored lenses, the loudness of his expression revealed an obsessed fan. "If I end up dead, I want you to talk to my Guild, see what you can't get out of my contract and send everything to my girl and kid."

Weirdly honored by that request, the human peacocked his head. "Of course! If we both make it out alive: you've my word. I've got people than can help, ah."

"RG doesn't defer payment. You complete the job, you get paid--nobody else." Thinking further. "And if you can't get anything out of 'em... then you make some kinda' movie about this rot and make sure they get the chips--I know you can do that."

Honest clapping and laughing, Barry resounded, "Finally! He pays attention to me! Ah." Sipping more wine.

"From here-on-out," he pointed his rooted finger, "we're not discussing m'personal life."

Agreeing, "Absolutely, until we both get drunk and naked in a hotel somewhere, and confess we love each other. You'd be on top by the way, ah!" Patting the sturdy shoulder, he changed gears. "Speaking of drunk- here," handing the glass to the brute, "you look like you need this. I'm going to get more."

Tanzer, repulsed by the proposed future, snatched the glass and took a big gulp. Intoxication cannot interfere with autopilot, after all.



The interceptor pressed on farther for a few days, cutting it close on fuel, until its pilot chose to dock at HLS-4, between Siimb and Iuko. Both of the men were exhausted, glad to step out onto the synthetic station floating in space. Space haulers, contractors, explorers, business-folk, missionaries, tourists, aristocratic freeriders, rugged space-bruisers, the occasional artist, and other working stiffs meandered around the grid-like, efficient space-dome. Projected atmosphere on the ceiling cycled through every known habitable world, combating home sickness. LC agents roamed openly in pairs, ready to aid the community and lay down their lives in case someone threatened the station.

Traveling down the urban district, buildings rising like pillars seen in a dreamscape, and pedestrian walkways guiding people in codified Siimbite marked with universally-recognizable pictures for reference, the pair refueled the unnamed ship with Striper-fuel, perfect for an extra boost in speed from the vessel's racing days. Barry waited past his breaking point for a comfortable bed, while Tanzer kept his senses as awake as possible. Mercenaries attacked them twice; now that they found themselves in a populated area, another opportunity for bolts and bullets could surprise them again. Low-profile: that was the way to go.

Despite protests from the entertainer, he led the pair to a deeper spot in the city and found an inn, some place obscure, yet common enough to be overlooked. A glowing orange sign blinked MEINANDER in horizontal and MOTEL in vertical, the "M" connecting the two words. Neither knew whether Meinander was a place or a person or a reference to an event. It didn't matter: their rates were cheap, and only a handful of people checked-in.

The clerk, a young and slim dwarf, received them, gathering basic information and a paltry amount of Omegas for one night's stay. She read the two. "Honeymoon suite?"

Barry laughed, "Yes! We desperately need one, ah!"

"No we're fine," the hunter insisted, trying to suppress his embarrassment.

"Wait," the clerk registered, "are you, um, Barry?"

"Why yes!"

"-Oh no-" Tanzer muttered.

"I knew it," she stood up, "I've seen you on the vid. You're really funny."

"Thank you-"

Tanzer shut the adoration down immediately. He got in the producer's face. "Stop... we're supposed t'be keepin' a low profile," he reminded, with an intense, no-nonsense tone of voice. He eyed the clerk, throwing another five Omegas on the counter. Grabbing a pen he gave it to Barry. "Quick. Just sign one of those."

"What, sign the Omega-?"

"-Yes. Now."

Complying, Barry signed one of the bills in his extravagant signature. As soon as he ended, the plant slid the Omegas to the clerk. "If you're a fan o' this guy, young lady, you'll take the autographed cash and pretend we weren't here. Y'see, bad people are lookin' for us, so... you'd be doin' both of us a favor if you just forgot we were ever here. After we check out... go nuts."

She, a bit nervous, realized the potential conflict, and followed the guildsman's recommendation. "Right... I think I understand. I never saw you."

Relieved, he grabbed their bags. "Thanks," and left in the direction of their room at the far end of the motel.

Barry reached and gently grabbed the clerk's hand, kissing it with plenty of tongue. "So you're friends are jealous, ah!" and hobbled after the pilot, a jocular anchor to the gunslinger.

Blushing, she loudly whispered, "Thanks! My lips are sealed for everyone except you!"

The pair settled in, throwing things on their respective bed. Barry eyed the drab walls, the flat cushioned floors, and banal features around the room. Only a single portrait hung on the wall: a generic alien naturist clearing bought from an outfitter nearby to make the room more stimulating. The guildsman shut the wavy blinds, and made certain to prep his survival gear in case anything upset their rest.

Barry, tired and intoxicated, threw himself on the bed, sinking into the cushion. "Y'know, you're what young people on your planet would call a 'buzzkill' Tan-the-man," he joked. "Too lame to kick back and be yourself."

"Uh huh." He eyed the door. "You need anything out in that hallway?" The producer mumbled, "Nope," encouraging the survivalist to move to a solid dresser, sliding it against the door. "Should buy us enough time," he comforted himself.

"Fuckin' relax. You people need sunlight to stay alive, anyway, hah!"

Tanzer crept around him. "I'm gonna' ignore that offensive-ass comment, since I can smell some damn drink on you-"

"-C'mon. You should see the look on your face!" he guffawed, rolling over.

The merc, discovering that the clown stayed funny up until the very last second before his brain shut down for sleep, started to undress. He dropped onto the bed, stripping down to underwear, and found himself drifting into a sleep quicker than anticipated. Blackness akin to the universe entered his consciousness.

He found himself elsewhere.



Tanzer stared up into the ceiling inside a random house, with a fan that both cooled the room and warded the harmful gases outside, two layers of spinning blades. He saw her looking down at him, Chon, young, beautiful, with her indigo bark, and spring-green leafy hair that enveloped him, hanging down to her buttocks in a thick moss, joking that she brought her own private jungle for both of them to disappear and make passionate love inside. Missing an eye, her good one glimmered down at him.

"We said we'd find a way to live on Myst," she joked, content, her nude form on top of his, her skin moist with anticipation. But there's no way! Myst was Dixa's gaseous moon, and the only habitation present a small orbital colony that encircled the exterior, monitoring and carefully harvesting small portions of elements as needed for planetary usage. Yet here the house they built together floated within, and nobody stopped them living in its harmful environment. Still, she playfully poked at his face, his chest. "We found a way, right?"

Off to his left he could hear an infant about to cry, and off to his right he could hear someone--Barry?--knocking at the door. He wanted to just be... here, now, with her, with nobody else, with nothing stopping them, whether it be landlords or contracted thugs or anybody! She kissed him, licking his chin, and he wanted to hold her. Then, everything grew darker. He calmly cooed, "I love you, y'know that right? I'm not good at it, but I love you."

Dark. Haze.

Space and stars.

"Tanzer!"

He woke, instinctively grabbing for a gun on the nightstand. The human tried to control him, and suddenly the merc eased.

"Stop! It's just me. Ol' Barry. Calm down, Tan-Man!"

Grounding himself, Barry's expression outside of mirrored shades signaled trouble. "What?! What?"

"Hey, um, ah, I saw two of those guys. All black, and armed. You know who I mean, right?"

Slowly comprehending the words, he glanced at the galactic-standard clock. "I've been out for ten hours?"

"Uh, yeah my man," the eccentric confirmed, "you were dead, ah, and I just skipped down the hall to see what nifty beverages might be available. I saw two of those people on the far end, man... They got to be searching for us, right?"

Tanzer hopped up and started dressing, tactical gloves for his knuckles, tactical boots for his rooted feet, a thick vest to protect against melee weapons, and he shoved his guns into his pocket. "How many?"

"Uh, only two." Barry stood against the bed, shifting between the blinds and the door.

"Barry," Tanzer, groggy, ordered, "I want you to slide under one o' these beds and don't come out unless you see me. Got it?" Checking his weapons, he marched to the door.

The entertainer watched, "What if there's more? And- and, the bed?! That's not a good hiding place."

Swiveling around to bluster the entertainer, the guildsman reinforced, "What do you do for a livin'? And what do I do for a livin'?"

The idea hit home, and he backed down. "Right. Maybe you know what you're talkin' about, ah..." He looked at both beds in the hotel room and puzzled over which one to hide under.

Tanzer, thankful his experience found reciprocation, turned to the door, slowly opening. Someone stood in front of him.

A single xeno, dwarven, clad in black combat gear, ended a remark to his partner, "...oh c'mon, it's not like we're going to find 'em anyway-"

Both froze...

Both knew they found each other.

Both hoped for a chat, and knew that remained unlikely.

Both appeared well-trained, familiar with danger, and employed by someone with a lot of money and influence.

The squat's training kicked in. "Damn." And he brought a carbine up to shoot. Tanzer, reacting as quickly as he could, kicked it aside and then leaned in with a punch to the man's thick throat, disorienting him altogether. Glancing to his left, the assassin's comrade, a young snake, waited a few paces away, about to knock on a hotel door.

"Ass." Bringing up his shotgun, the gunner took aim and fired.

Tanzer narrowly avoided a solid blast from a compressed slug that punched through the wall. He rolled, removed two pistols, and took aim. He heard the steps inch closer, followed by another two blasts that punched through the wall, turning the material into powder. He heard Barry howl, then throw open the window, "Fuck this!"

The snake sliced-the-pie as he rounded the door, spotting an open window and a scrambling human... and aimed downward too late, as Tanzer shot from prone. The guildsman fired off several shots, pummeling his legs with plas-bursts. The black-clad gunslinger collapsed, seething in pain.

Scrambling to a closer, domineering position, he noticed the young snake grabbing his legs in pain, and the dwarf behind him about to recover and aim his bullpup. Regrettably, Tanzer shot the bearded alien four times, precise locations for disabling a combatant. He saw a decay of movement from the hired-gun, letting go of his weapon and slid to one side, collapsing. The smoke and stench of heated alien flesh filling up their end of the Meinander, Tanzer carefully eyed down the hallway, seeing if other assassins converged on the gunfight. The hunter waited for several minutes, and nothing.

He jumped up and dragged the weakened mercenary into their room and shut the door. Barry poked his head up from behind the far bed.

"Are we okay?!" the producer asked, hunkering.

Tanzer legitimately thought Barry dove out the window, then appreciated the misdirection which gave the hunter first-shot against the goon. Quick thinking. "...Clear, for now."

The cold-blood reached for a combat dagger, before the plant stepped on one of his wounded patches of scales.

"Ahhhzzzssssss!" the assassin gurgled, hissing between his needle-teeth.

"Who are you?" Tanzer leveled both pistols at him, one at his chest and the other at his face. He made it understood no quarter would be offered if he received nothing in return.

Coming to, the gunner gasped, "We're nobody! Just hired hands!"

An answer he expected. "Why're you after us?" pressing his foot cruelly against the burn spots.

"Ah! Ssstop! We're after him- we're after him!" he indicated to Barry. The man grew tenser upon hearing that.

Curious. "Why?"

"I don't know!" He motioned to the corpse. "Only higher ranks know! Promise! We just follow ordersss! Get off me! Pleassse?!"

The truth vomited from the merc, helplessly divulging everything. Tanzer let go, keeping his guns trained. "Fine..." He quickly strategized a way to yield results. Think outside the box. Gather and go. He crouched down to the wounded alien. "...I wanna' talk to your superiors. Right. Now. I'm fuckin' tired of dodging heat."

24

Tossing papers off to the side, showing quick-snaps of wounded or deceased gang-bangers with notes jotted from civilian witnesses, the canine police sergeant concluded, "You're free to go." They held us in questioning for three hours, as crime scene investigators gathered witness notations and other evidence around the starport. Ngh'Oa handled a lot of misconduct, as one of the largest cities on the planet, accompanied by diverse community friction.

Maybe it had to do with the reddish atmosphere? Lan'ter's history is described as destructive creation: this is the only known world where two different races grew up alongside one another, and after centuries of conflict and cultural friction, the eventual path of unity outperformed the other planets. Their constant disagreement has made the fourth world a fearsome place to tangle, while understanding at the same time; most major cities planted a statue of the Gemini in the center of town--a herculean Canine and Feline mirrored against one another, reaching out to touch hands in a demonstration of respect, claws overlapping.

"The Stilettos were a buncha' upstarts," the enforcer explained, "so Ngh'Oa thanks you for handling them." His tone sounded polarized, thankful for cleaning up punks, mistrustful of aliens getting involved in his jurisdiction, and weary because this happens on his watch more than it should.

"We're just space-haulers," Howz defended, "and we don't go lookin' for trouble. We're glad your department understands. The Muldoon owes you." The rest of us nodded, bowed, and thanked the man.

"Some good advice: shove-off. Always a chance for retaliation. Punks in this hive breed like fucking space-roaches..."

"Done and done." Clapping palms with the sergeant, our captain led us out the precinct.

The sergeant stopped me, "Listen, uh, little Terran girl... You're friends need to teach you how to shoot if yer' going to be docking around the galaxy."

I respectfully agreed, not in the best state to converse with anyone. Robotically, "Right. I don't have a gun; that's smart. Thanks."

He nodded, then sent a chill up my spine. "Don't need to worry about gettin' shot in the head."

The shock of a firearm in my face. That sound, that instinctual feeling in my gut that I died; it came back and I almost froze in place. Thankfully I held myself together and departed with my crew. A line of cuffed aliens waited off to the side as we exited; some intoxicated, belligerent, and others scared like me. Two of them made disgusting catcalls in my direction, and I tried not to make eye contact.

We made our way back to our beautiful hovel of a star-fluyt. The crew acted relieved, and bounced-back from the gunfight. I felt exhausted, trying to process a near-fatal experience.

When we boarded and sealed the ship, Ophem greeted us. "There you are! Everything okay?" She noticed the captain's scorch mark on his shoulder, and everyone's demeanor matched a survivor. "What happened?"

"Pissed-off a gang, shootout, talked to cops, now we're here." Howz brought everyone inside. "Go ahead n' start the ship. We're flying. Got a destination, after all."

The dragonfly saw no damage, and yielded to her superior. "I'll head to the cockpit. Whenever you're ready, Cap'n."

Everybody traveling to a spot, he directed me to the control room, deep in the ship. He scrutinized my state for a few seconds before he softly ordered, "Keep an eye on transmissions 'til we leave this planet."

I thought about offering my skills to the comm seat. Then I realized the showdown at Ngh'Oa made me noticeably on-edge, and the veteran wanted my shock to dissipate in a more private area. He knows. I'm fucked up right now. "...Sure, Sir," I complied, deferring to his guidance.

He went straight to the pilot's seat. I found the control room, flipping on different screens, different transmission feeds, most of which dealt with both proper and slang Lan'terian linguistics. My brain was not suited for professional workmanship yet. My hand locked the door. Privacy.

"Are we shoving off?" Lord Anitt's voice traveled through the speakers.

"Yes- immediately," the captain responded.

"Good."

All alone now. I tried the feeds, and found myself staring at my hands instead... forcing the crystals to come out, and rubbing my face with them. A blank screen sat nearby, and I positioned my face in the reflection, looking to see if slug-holes or blood or even scorch marks covered my features.

Nothing.

"Are you some weird alien armor, like Kōl thinks you are?" I asked the rocky fluid, hoping in vain that it might start talking to me, anxious and upset for peace of mind. "Are you helping me, protecting me? And seriously- where the fuck did you come from?!" No response. Was I really expecting one?

Glancing around the room, I found metal grating against the far side of the wall near the ceiling. A thick bar bisected the grate. Perhaps someone welded it there for reinforcement. As far as I could tell it didn't appear necessary, so I jumped out of the chair, and took hold. "Fuck this! Are you protecting me?!" The door remained closed; I didn't care if anyone heard. My hands grasped, the organic diamond already filing the metal. I started to crush, and pull, until I saw the metal giving way along the welded portions,

CRRR-SHANG

more metal bent, and across the other side,

SCREECH-SHANG

the whole ingot left the grate.

The image of that pickpocket, his disgusting, sick friends who had the nerve to follow our trail and try to kill us: they were the ones in the wrong! I could've died! I should've! They were the ones who couldn't just come to us and ask for money or help or what they really needed in a civilized manner befitting evolved people, instead of worthless scum! Instead they tried to waylay us off-worlders with lethal weapons who just stopped by to refuel and restock on their beautiful planet, ruined by these animals, by these shitty people, simply because they felt like it! They shot us and made threats like we trespassed on holy ground! Oh yeah, Ngh'Oa is really special! They debased themselves and wanted to kill us and rape us and take our stuff, and we could've died, and it was so fucking silly and dumb! You people are just like mine, like everyone else's, and we all have issues, and why the hells can't we get along? And I don't give a damn how stupid and cliché that sounds! Why couldn't that feline be like Xio? He doesn't want to hurt anybody- he just wants to do a good job, and he's always a gentleman, and he kept his eye on me, and protects me! Y'know, all of these Muldoon people did! They deserve a medal! I'd give them all Terran Exemplar Medals if I could, if my father had that kind of standing with my lazy Terran Union, instead of taking a management-consulting job with fucking worthless alien Harmony Link who doesn't give a shit about Terra, or their fancy cosmopolitan space stations, with nothing to show except a gods damn dead wife and son on a planet that doesn't give a shit! Instead we're all nobodies doing nothing for the galaxy's worst! Fuck this- fuck that stupid planet- fucking city- fucking star-diamond-thing-get the fuck out of me! I hate this bullshit- suck my period blood and die! I'm done with this bullshit! What the fuck is the point of being a translator when everybody is a sadistic garbage animal?! Everything fucking sucks!

...

I snapped to. I was breathing quickly and felt beads of sweat on my forehead. My muscles were tight. Tension dissipated as quickly as I let it out. The metal bar in my hands twisted from a horizontal shape to a mish-mash of lines and curves, with portions of the metal tearing like distressed plastic. "...I bent metal." Didn't even register that I was doing it. Calming, this meager atom of the ship bent in such a fashion freaked me out, and I set the bar in the corner. My hands were still crystalline. "This is embarrassing..."

Looking at the damage, I finished venting the torment that washed over me from the gunfight, that eerie quiet after letting go of negative energy balancing myself out. Shard, and the diamond gave way to softness. "So... I'm now bulletproof, and abnormally strong..."

I turned to the feed and stopped thinking myself into a ditch. "No. No! I need to work- need to help guide this damn ship to this doctor guy to fix me." The engines of the Muldoon kicked on and I felt relief. "I need to get there soon. Please, Gods?"



After keeping an eye on monitors for an eternity, letting my brain exhaust its neurons, the universal clock on the panel nearby exhibited 21:04 in my peripheral. "I've been sitting here for five hours? I need to actually check the messages. Dead-ending, here."

Fatigue settled as I left the control room, and my stomach growled as well. The events from earlier kicked me hard, though I felt better than when I reentered the star-fluyt. On second thought: a bite, then go to bed. I'm done with today. Messages can wait.

The kitchen was occupied by Anitt, Kōl, Ophem, and Xio, finishing what looked like dinner, although when you're in space the universal clock meant very little. Every race of person gets used to a day-night cycle on the planet they originate from. With that in mind, even basic and conceptual things like breakfast, lunch, and dinner still applied to developed cultures. On our "developed culture" of a star-ship, our meals always housed a different number of people, due to everyone's alternate priorities. Arguably Howz and Xio were the busiest, given their duties of piloting the ship and making sure it doesn't just randomly explode. Me and Ophem, I would say, have the next busiest schedules. Anitt and Cena sometimes work together and overlap depending on economic activity. Kōl's priorities clicked-on when planetside or under attack, and otherwise he spent that time exercising until we needed his muscles.

I slowly shuffled into the dining area, heading straight for the refrigeration and looking for some kind of meat; my body screamed protein. Everyone saw me and I heard Kōl playfully joke, "Hey, there she is: Miss Indestructible!"

That comment tripped me up, and I awkwardly recovered. "...Right. I don't know if I'm indestructible or not. I'm still freaked out by what happened on Lan'ter, guys."

While the crew quieted down, I continued to the coolant-chamber and just grabbed a chunk of Ognongan buffalo-steak and threw it in the oven, clicking a mid-level heating option.

"These two," the aristocrat motioned to our avian and quasi-feline, "told me that they shot you in the head and that artifact protected you... Is that true?"

BANG

Bang

Bump

bump

I swiveled. All their beautiful eyes fixed on me. "...Yes. This, uh, this ganger... he stuck a gun in my face and I just remember seeing him fall down while everybody was shooting him." They understood I had just survived my first gunfight and tried to process the chaos.

Xio bravely began the comforting, "For your first time, you did fine! Especially for so many people attacking us. And we weren't stuck in the ship, either."

"And thank the Unity you melded with that crystal-thing," Kōl added. "It kept you safe." Thank the Unity... I knew about the Unity Temple, how they philosophically-blended religion, spirituality, metaphysics, morality, and contemporary science to form a friendly church to uplift all people. I don't know if I'm the best person to comment. If there's some anthropomorphized god or goddess pulling levers all over creation: they generally like things worse for mortals.

"Might it be best if she puts some time in, practicing with a pistol?" Anitt proposed. "If another firefight breaks out, we want her prepared."

Kōl clarified, "If she's wants... If not, then we teach her to keep her head down and get the hell out."

The timer dinged on the oven. I almost jumped, then hopped over to retrieve the red meat from another planet, and set it on a plate.

"...Port, my bad," our security continued. "You've been with us for... almost a month," he had to stop and think, "and we haven't had a lot of hands-on training, with that whole... you and that crystal-thing and this job."

My buttocks hit the chair. I looked up at his troubled beak. "It's alright... I'm getting the feeling this contract is a, um, giant monkey wrench in the Muldoon's typical workload."

He shook his head, "You're not wrong, but still: that's not an excuse for lethargy... Those people could've killed you. And we need to outfit you properly. If you don't wanna' hold a lethal weapon, we need to ensure you know how to slip out and find someplace safe--like our ship--or hide so law enforcement can retrieve you."

Before I could say anything, X countered, "That 'crystal-thing' turned her into a shiv'ra, so she doesn't need a gun." He smiled at me, generating positivity. 'Shiv'ra' is an old Lan'terian term for 'mythical hero.' I took bullets to the face and bent a solid steel bar into a pretzel, so why not?

Ophem looked embarrassed to associate with us, stepping to the sink to wash her bowl. "We're glad nobody got hurt... except for Howz. Cena's talked him into applying ointment for his burnt scales."

Kōl tittered, "Never stops acting tough."

"X, an apt observation," Anitt backed. "We're making attempts to keep this as hidden as possible; minimize the attention. A shiv'ra..." he mumbled, "I suppose there's worse things to start your career as." His humor didn't offend me. I couldn't help fixating on the idea, personally. Definitely power-trippy.

The aroma of cooked meat tickled my sensorium. An empty stomach forced my body to pounce. After taking a few bites out of the steak, bare hands gripping it by each end, I opened up to the pair who survived the firefight with me. "I didn't say this earlier, but now that I'm okay: thanks everybody. I've never been shot before. I get... I get that I should be dead, and this crystal's the only thing protecting me. If this makes me a superhero, cool, but I don't want it costing my body. I gotta' get to your doctor-buddy."

"We'll get you there, ma'am." The avian stood up, "Temporarily, let's call it a blessing. Right, O?"

The programmer, lost in her own world, caught her fellow temple-brother speaking. "'A blessing?' Right." She flew off to another part of the ship, clearly distracted, uninterested in putting in her two cents. Our security followed her.

Bite after bite, the steak transplanted into my stomach, and my body stabilized from the weariness and jitters. I relaxed into the chair, ready to end the day.

Anitt told me, "I've been trying to scour the various intranets for documents regarding our star-diamond... Found a number of texts--some of which are old, and most of which allude to mythicized things, revered in holy scriptures and such. I'm skeptical as a staunch atheist. My educated instincts lean toward something experimental, which means data'll be very difficult to acquire; what it's done to you makes little sense." He sipped his glass of fire. "Would you like me to send those things your way? Some of it requires hard translation. I'd prioritize it above anything the Muldoon receives, personally- any business can wait until Dr. Xel sees you."

He makes a fair point, and I know he still feels responsible that I'm transmutating. "If, um, if Howz approves. I know we're still waiting for correspondence, from our drop-off."

"Run it by him, dear child," he scoffed, "but I know he'll take my advice."

"I appreciate the help." He was about to leave when I stopped him. "Lord Anitt, can I ask you a question?"

Swiveling the way his stout, bumbling physique allowed, "Yes?"

"If you're the one with the funds, aaand you own the ship, and you have the HL connections and everything: why aren't you the Captain? I mean, this isn't a military ship; you people move freight."

He chuckled, hobbling back to the table. Xio grinned; everyone who's come and gone through this star-fluyt asked the question. The position did legitimately puzzle me. "Port, you've only known me for a brief amount of time. I did attempt the leadership role when I initially acquired this starship. Very quickly I discovered I was too much of a bravo, as they say- an authoritarian... My relationships suffered drastically. Undoubtedly a product of my cutthroat Clan: a stiff merchant... So, I meditated--a sign, by the way, if you ever see me doing means something's wrong--and ultimately I gave up overarching choices to Howz. Even when I met the young veteran, I could tell his capabilities exceeded mine; call it a personality difference," he tittered. "He's exceptional when it comes to listening and directing others... Can't say the same for his wife and child..." he froze and recovered, "and you didn't hear that from me."

I nodded. The captain does have a family? He is a hunk.

"So I nestle in my office up there," he motioned toward the bow, "and conduct business from afar. It's proven more rewarding. Lest that stiff merchant lead me to ruin."

Huh. "I get it." In the scheme of things: I lucked-out, working for a guy who didn't want to be a massive star-dick. No subjugation.

"If that answers your question, I must attempt sleep." He sipped, and noticed the eyeliner that ran down my face, my frazzled hair, and tense shoulders. "And you need to do the same."

Right. My brain was going to shut down at some point. "Good advice, sir. Sleep well."

"I shall, for a few hours at least." He left.

Xio poked my shoulder. "...May I walk you to your room?"

There it was again; his cute endeavor. The guy fights through a bullet expo and still acts like a gentleman. There's no pressure here, and he certainly isn't coming at me hard like some douchebags, so I felt bad collectively ignoring him. Besides, love's never convenient--something sis taught me after her failed relationships. Not to mention the way he looks at me; pure pearly eyes, and whenever his teeth poke through when he's not smiling... "It's only forty feet away... Sure," conveying as much humor as my drowsy personality allowed.

We traveled down the 'natural' decorations of the Muldoon, those tinted lights slowly shifting through the visible spectrum along the crevices, red to orange to yellow to green to blue to violet to white to red and back. He held his arm out, crooked, inviting me into his. I purposefully huffed, "Fine," and slid my arm through. I felt him perk up. There was muscle underneath the dark fur, waiting for action; not a gross amount, and it felt nice. I didn't like guys that looked like fake models. I flexed my arm a bit, and noticed him playfully jerk.

"Ah! Wow, you're, uh, stronger than you look," he pained, trying to slip out.

"Sorry," relaxing my grip. No diamonds. When we naturally locked, he tried the same on me, muscles bulging. I gave him about five seconds, and said, "You're not."

"Guess not," he resigned, partly emasculated.

"Hey that's fine," I told him. "I don't like meatheads. I prefer real people."

"Heh," he replied, "that's good." We reached my door.

I tapped the console and opened the room, stepping inside. "You can come in." The Muldoon limited our courting space.

Perking up further, he wiped his bare paws on the synth-grass, thoroughly. "Thanks, if that's okay with you: being, y'know, this is your room."

I hopped on my bed and started undressing down to casual shorts and a tank-top. "Sorry- I prob'ly smell."

He giggled, "I cleaned-up before dinner." He looked to my shared bathroom with the squid. "If you need to before you rest, that's fine- I'll leave you alone to do lady stuff."

"X, it's fine. I'm just tired. Howz told me to work privately when we got back so I could wind-down... from havin' a gun in my face." When I felt unrestricted I collapsed on the bed.

"Yeah," the guy confirmed, "he told everybody to leave you there 'til you came out. He's... smart like that." I watched him contemplate where to sit. "I told ya' my first firefight made me super nervous." That's right! You're not alone, here.

I pulled my legs in. "You can sit," patting the sheets next to me. "Be comf'."

He paused, weighing his gentleman meter. "Thanks." Parking his behind on the bed, he scooched so his back rested against the wall.

Might as well be ourselves. I was never one to dance around the girl-boy charade people played when waves of romance washed. "You can power-down, Belch," I reassured him. Does he know about the legendary Terran? "I know you're hitting on me, and I'm not inviting you to do anything too crazy." Not yet, anyway.

He recoiled, taken aback by my blunt interaction. "Oh, I wasn't- uh, I wasn't coming to do that! I was just coming to chat- I promise." He kept his paws far away from his groin.

"Right... Don't be a nervous wreck," I teased. "We're friends." And you saved my life. Like the crystals...

He stayed genial, avoiding the temptation of drooling over my freer body. "What I want to say," he began, "is that, um, I know you've got a lot going on. And this isn't great timing, by far, I know... And we've been working with each other for a few weeks now. I- I wanted you to know," he scratched his head, "that if anything's too overwhelming, or you need to talk, or let anything off your chest: I'd like to help." He smiled, hoping for positive results. "I want to, um, be here to listen, or help you think things through... I'm used to doing that with all my brothers, sisters, and cousins anyway."

That was very sweet of him. I was expecting the probe-and-complement exchange; instead he's nurturing. "That..." I flopped, trying to process this connection we were building, "...is nice of you. I mean it." Looking him over, I tilted my head, "Do you do that for everyone else on the ship?" I teased, poking at his soles with my toes.

"Heh, um, no. I mean- we support each other. Helps reduce cabin fever... Especially Kōl and Cena."

"Right. Those two..." Bringing up alien sex, huh? "I heard them once, behind his bedroom door, right before," I sighed, deeply, sorrowful, "the Portia Crystal Invasion of 2131 K.E."

He laughed. "I, uh, I like that name for it." His tail flicked to the side.

"You're not laughing at my pain, are you?!" I purposefully exclaimed, testing him.

We both knew it was a joke. "No! I just... like that you gave it a funny name, and that you're looking on the bright side." He extended a claw and poked at my soles, dissuading my tickling. I shifted, unthreateningly setting both of my feet in his lap, careful not to get too close to his groin; I sought to avoid alien erections.

"Whatever." While he assessed the gentleman meter, I asked, "This is major nosy: how often, y'know, do those two have sex?"

He blinked, averaging. "I don't spy, but I'd say about... once a week."

Wow. That often? "Dang... They must really like each other."

He shook his head. "That relationship's strictly needs-based. Trust me." Recalling previous instances, he crossed his legs. "I don't know if I should say this, uh, especially 'cuz it's embarrassing, and gross," he chuckled, "but one time..." Oh gods, where was this going? "...those two had too much to drink- I think it was some Iukoan holiday..." Since he's from Deng, Winter's Delight or Abjuration Day? "...and they were being loud, so everyone else drifted as far away from his room as possible... Well, I had to run to my quarters to pick up a multi-tool, and I moved past their room as quick as possible to, um, ignore whatever's going on in there, since that's not my business... On the way back his door opens and Kōl, drunk, stumbles into the hall--right as I walked past--and he bumped me, and this... wet bag smooshed against my head and chest, and that's when I realized, um, it was an avian condom- used too."

"Ew! Fuckin' gross!" I put my hand over my mouth, disgusted at the thought of running into an oversized, damp prophylactic.

"Right," X pained. "They were so out of it they started guffawing... I ran to my bathroom and rinsed-off. He was very apologetic the next day, when both of them sobered." The cat shuddered, thinking back to the events.

A very dark, dirty part of me wanted to ask what it felt like, or smelled like, or what it tasted like; I kept my mouth sealed.

"...The next day, I told the rest of the crew 'whenever they're together: look out,'" he giggled, warning me of the sexcapades of our coworkers. "Those two were embarrassed for an entire week. Everybody teased 'em."

I laughed, visualizing the absurdity. Xio joined in the hilarity as well, face in his palms, as our laughter shook each other. I felt at-ease he would tell me something that humiliating; he wasn't scared to open up.

When our laughter subsided, I waved my feet around in his lap, inviting him to massage me. He hesitated, then reach down, his padded fingers working their way into my flesh, releasing tension. The strands of fur brushed against me--not enough to tickle. He looked back at me for approval, and I smiled. "That feels great. Thank you." If he's willing to rub my smelly feet, maybe he's legit boyfriend material?

That comment about supporting his siblings prompted, "You come from a big family, right? How big we talking?"

Mentally collecting all his blood-extensions from growing up, he replied, "I have four sisters, seven brothers, and about... fifteen cousins I talked to on a regular basis. And there's plenty more where that came from."

"Really?!" That was outrageous. I couldn't imagine growing up in a family that large. Too much friction, not much space. And your parents would need to have a decent job to feed everyone.

"What about you? I don't remember if I asked."

"Mine?" I hesitated. That goddamn explosion. Seeing my mom and brother in an urn. It was a miserable story. Stay strong. "...My older sister, Viola, and my dad. My mom and younger brother, Mercutio, died ten years ago. Our Terran transport ship had an explosion, and they both died in the fire."

His heart sank. I felt trepidation through his fingers. "Oh my...! I'm- I'm sorry."

"It's alright," I consoled, "that's... life. Don't have any control over it. Nobody does."

He held onto me for a moment before starting again, his ears folding down. "Can't imagine what I'd do if one of my siblings left like that, or my mother... That's really sad." He's got family to spare; why did my folks lose people? Stop. Don't think like that. You know better.

"You won't know until it happens," I said out loud, immediately regretting how cold and real that sounded. Here this furry dude was just looking to hang, and ask me out on a date--as much he could muster out in space, after today's craziness. "I'm sorry, this stuff's not good for conversations."

"S'fine. Besides, you're doing exactly what I asked: letting me listen while you, um, get things off your chest."

Damn. Right on point, X. You're doing pretty well. Are you too good to be true, or are you working your angles? I can't ask him that directly. That ruins the point. I know what he wants--the same thing guys want from girls. I could imagine doing it with him, I just wasn't sure about jumping into something intimate with mister furry this soon. Not to mention, I couldn't stop thinking about my body randomly crystallizing while we snuggled, hurting him or killing the mood altogether... Then again, you dumb girl, he knows you've got that thing in you right now, and here he is: on the bed next to you, talking to you, while you're exhausted and unkempt.

"...Or maybe you're tired and on autopilot," he toyed. Okay so he's smart, or understanding. Fine! Can't complain about that.

I pulled my legs away, feet well-pampered, and crawled over, balancing on my knees. "X, I didn't thank you for protecting me earlier. Shooting that one fucker down, and those other gang-bangers. And you're, um, pretty awesome with a pistol."

He smiled, sitting up straighter. "You're welcome. You would've done the same for me. And," he looked down, scratching his chin, "I'm glad you're star-diamond-thing kicked in. Um, I'm glad you're still alive. I'd be really, really pissed if I didn't get the chance to know you better." His bestial features conveyed a sensitive overthinking. "I'm trying to say I would've been really upset if I didn't, um, get a chance to ask you out... on a real date."

There it is. I didn't think he was going to do that this quick. A hopefulness, uncultivated, hit my heart.

"I'm sorry... that's a lot for right now. And you're not in the best, eh, state of mind to deal with that kind of question- I just had to get it out."

I looked him over, watching quick and anxious breaths making his furry chest go up, down, up, down. "It's fine... I'm out of it, and I need to go to bed," I told him. I inched closer on the mattress, reaching my energy threshold for the evening. He's been a gentleman so far, and he grew enough balls to ask me on a date, as direct as he could. He's gunned people down for my sake, so by cave standards he's capable of protecting me when I need it... I put my face close to his, holding it there, feeling his breath pass over his whiskers and hit me, peacefully wafting between warm and cool. He wasn't attractive by Terran standards, yet everything he said and did made him attractive by sapient standards... and how stimulating it was to feel his soft fur between my fingers. I leaned in and wrapped my arms around his waist, and he slowly tapped his fingers on my shoulders--gentle, cautious, thankful I allowed him to come this close. Not every guy's in sex-mode all the time. Are they? Hell, he didn't act all that masculine, and that's fine. No woman wants a man who doesn't care.

"We can go on a date," I whispered to him. "But can it wait until we meet with this Dr. Xel? I don't think I'll be normal until then."

"Of course!" he answered. "I wanna' get you there as soon as possible."

"Thanks," I told him. The warmth grew, as he wrapped his arms into a full hug around me.

"Port," he hummed, "thank you."

I started blushing; not going to lie. "Aren't you supposed to be telling me how beautiful I am or something?"

He tensed in alarm. "I- I didn't think I had to," he explained. "I thought that was obvious-"

Giggling, I shushed him, "-It's fine... No cheap tricks. You just went from the heart... Most guys wouldn't do that. Doesn't matter what planet they come from."

Realizing I toyed with him again, he hugged me tighter. "...Right. And just for the record, um, I do think you're pretty. Your skin and your weird fur... and all the languages and stuff you know. I like everything."

Okay, this has to stop, otherwise the blush'll spread. I looked him in the pearly eyes, closing the distance, opening my mouth. Sheer surprise in his reaction. My lips touched his, feeling soft, malleable flesh free of any hairs. He felt warm, and tasted different--I couldn't compare it to anything. Hell, go for it. Have fun. I went further and my tongue ran across the softness, poking through, hitting a wall of hardened, pointed tooth. Smooth and slippery, and I swear I could hear tiny squeaks like when you slip on waxed tile. He parted his mouth, completely receptive. Urges took over, slow and respectful, and I felt our tongues plop against one another, tasting this bizarre, tough flesh, a primal sense. He tilted his head to give us both a better angle. I felt his legs lift up from the bed, and heard his tail swish along the sheets. I gave him one thorough hooking with my tongue, exchanging breath and saliva, and pulled back to suck on his lips. I finished the kiss, and waited, our eyes open. I saw his adorable, excited countenance, in goddess-like worship. Alien tenderness.

He moaned, "Th- thank you!"

"First time?" I assumed, not that he was bad. Better than a beak.

He looked unprepared, bashful like me. "...Yeah."

"Relax. You're cute, X."

He chuckled. "Heh, thanks again."

I crawled away, waving to the bedroom door. "If you don't mind, I need to get some rest. Bad."

25

He bound the mercenary, removing any and all possible equipment to improvise as a weapon. Tanzer threw the young man on the bed while Barry stood nearby with a pistol aimed, in case the mercenary grew an iron cloaca and attempt escape. The guildsman typed in the information their assailant gave, hoping it would establish direct communication with their employer.

"If this don't work, soldier," Tanzer threatened, "I'm gonna' put you through the ringer while my companion gets his stem wet. You fucking get me?"

"Yeah, what he said, you shit-worm!" Barry remained vigilant, wanting desperately to laugh at the wordplay.

Tanzer held back a groan. Don't help, for the love o' Green. Nobody believes your threats, you flamboyant dumbass.

The bloodied reptile coughed. "I'm giving y'all everything I know! I don't have cards to play. Unless you want to sssteam-roll into Thunder Pit's headquarters and get killed."

Thunder Pit. We finally crossed paths. "Shoulda' guessed it was you bastards."

"What's Thunder Pit?" the human asked, clearly unfamiliar with the company. "Sounds bad, ah."

Tanzer explained, "Yer' standard mercenary organization. Not that big, but got enough resources to travel in the system." He turned in the chair. "You think the Guild's got a bad rep? At least we don't stoop to atrocities. Mass-leveling unarmed civilians, abduction, all the good stuff: the Pit will do, no questions asked."

"Hey!" the merc defended, "I don't know anything about that shit. We go after who we're paid. Okay?!"

Barry took over; holding that gun made him feel confident. "Yeah, well, you better hope you don't piss off this guy," he motioned to his companion, "since he's got the training to go through your entire brigade... Ain't that right? Ah!"

Tanzer did not respond. He punched in all the details and security for the comm-link and sat back, watching TRANMISSION CONNECTING, eyeing the snake with murderous intent. "You sure you don't want to tell me anythin' else? If this doesn't go well, you're not gonna' like it-"

"-There's nothing else to sssay!" he pleaded. "You talk. They'll listen."

Several minutes passed, until a face appeared: a feminine face, clean, business-savvy, with a Nebulo! placard behind her. Her dwarven features revealed a lost expression when she noticed the rugged kodama. "...Who are you? What is this?"

Tanzer quickly dragged the bound mercenary closer to the camera. "So," he started, "this guy works for Thunder Pit... and he tells me y'all've been paid to find us. And shoot anybody in the way... Want to negotiate? 'Cuz so far I've killed three of yer' people, and I'm dyin' to kill this one. If more sprout up, they're gonna' get shot, and I'll find who hired 'em, and go after 'em, until I'm fucking satisfied that I reached the top... You get me?"

This businesswoman froze, taking time to plan. Her first instinct was to cut the transmission and end the feed, and still she lingered. "Why should I negotiate with you? I don't know who you are. Other than a dangerous spacefarer."

"You don't know who I am?" Anger boiled to a grunt that shook the camera. "Then why in the vine-covered-hells did you chase me from Zalfa!"

The ploy worked to some extent. "We aren't after you." She pointed to the camera. "We're after him." Her finger aimed at Barry.

First bit of information confirmed. Tanzer kept up his incredulous behavior, "Aguecheek? Why him?"

She contemplated. "If you tell me what you're after, and why you're with him, then maybe I can tell you. I've already told you something you didn't know..." Quid pro quo, after all. That's how business works.

Tanzer played along. "...How about this: this guy over here knows somethin', and you need to interrogate him. Get the info you want for somethin' valuable. Am I right?"

She countered, careful, "I'm not confirming nor denying. Not until you provide me with what I asked."

Annoyed, he spat, "Bitch I'm with the RG! You know who we are... and we don't hire fucking saps. I'm after this weird asshole 'cause he can get me in good!"

The gal moved forward, surprised with the affiliation. Playing her cards smart. "Very well... perhaps it'll save us some resources. He's the only affiliate of a certain ship we believe possesses a valuable item my company's paid to stow. And this item went missing..."

"A valuable antique, maybe?" Tanzer pushed. "Talk about savin' resources, you fuckin' listen to my offer, otherwise you and your people here," tapping the handle of his pistol against the bound merc's reptilian head, "are in for a world of hurt. Comprehend?"

Standing her ground, taking in every variable, she offered, "Fine. Begin. And don't waste my time."

The agent wanted to laugh at her. "We're both lookin' for the same thing. Right? You want that black box? This guy can help," he motioned to Barry, "and once I got it... I might consider givin' it back to you, if the price is right. And you can call off these wannabes. Save them people; you save Omegas; everybody wins." He pushed the gambit, and waited for her response. This rare opportunity better work...

Tapping her fingers against each other, she replied, "That's tempting... You say you're a Guildsman; they aren't known for breaking contracts. So how can I trust you won't revert to your established mission? I pull these mercenaries, you to slap me in the face with less effort."

"Good point," he nodded, "'cept that this was supposed to be a simple pickup, and now we're flying all over the damn galaxy, dodgin' laser... Something's goin' on. Nobody wants their head blown off. Right? Nobody's that dumb... maybe crazy, but not me. Plus, if your giant-ass conglomerate can out pay the Guild, I have no issue terminatin' my contract and retiring. No issue at all... You corporate buds can empathize." He smiled. "So you call off your thugs, I get there quicker--in one piece. Soon as I get this valuable thing in the box, it's yours. I get paid. The alternative... I kill your kill-squad, give the thing to the Guild, I get the Omegas, and then... I come after you. And everyone accountable."

Sweat collected on her brow. She studied the capable thug, her downed employee, and the bizarre celebrity in their motel room, and sized up the hunter's intentions. "Where are you headed? Where's this item?"

He jeered. Really? "You think I like racin'? Or do you wanna' track me? Which is it, sugar?"

Throwing her hands up. "Fine. If you want me to call off Thunder Pit then I'm going to need something! My company's reputation--not just my department's funding--are on the line. Trust goes both ways... I'm certain the RG understands."

Glancing at Barry, he formed a strategy. Temporary alliances sometimes pay off, and the victor is the one who plans for the other to betray them: when it happens the target has the upper hand. "I'm gettin' a little strung out here, so why not drag you along?" he joked. "In three weeks, galactic standard, you'll find me on HLS-1. When I get there, I don't want to see more than two o' these Thunder-people. No more than two... You comprehend, bitch? If I'm bein' followed or tracked, the deal's off, I kill this guy," pointing at Barry, "without hesitation, and you lose your leads. If I get there and there's more than two, they'll get shot. If you're not cooperative," he leaned very close to the camera, "I complete my mission, then... I come for you."

Barry wanted to protest, then realized he pushed to be where corporate killers negotiated thievery and deathly stakes. He also hoped that Tanzer, an unintentionally effective actor, bluffed his own hypothetical murder.

She grasped for angles to work, or cards to play in her favor. Nothing came. She also noticed Barry's demeanor had shifted to palpable fear. Resigning to the very real threat this hunter posed, she took a deep breath and gave him her answer. "So, Guildsman, it looks like you're peaking my entrepreneurial spirit... I'll pull my people back, and I'll make sure exactly two operatives will be waiting for you on Station One to discuss things further. You win this round."

He tossed the helpless gunner back on the bed. "One last question- did you contact the Guild?" An important matter. The Nebulo! banner in the background meant two things: either this affair boiled-down to bureaucratic espionage, or someone else hired the RG.

Pulling back, the businesswoman raised an eyebrow. "No. Why would we? I want this, ahem, off all records. That's why I went to the Pit."

Somebody else. Figures. "S'all I got. Thanks for talkin'. And remember: the ball's in your court. So don't drop it, or cheat." He flicked the monitor off. TRANSMISSION ENDED. He eyed the pathetic soldier. "You got people here to collect you?"

He coughed, licking blood off his lips with a forked tongue. "Small squad. They'll come looking."

The muscled kodama grabbed Barry's gun, slinging it inside his hip-holster with style. "Grab your shit," he ordered. "We're leaving."

Loading their sparse luggage, and exiting the hotel, both dashed for the star-interceptor, checking over their shoulder to see if other unmarked mercenaries scramble out of the shadows. Reaching the docks, and setting off into space, the atmosphere settled. Both continued the expedition past HLS-4.



He mixed himself a drink, this time Lan'ter-absinthe, strong enough to dam the fear. Zooming through the mystery of the stars, Barry awkwardly asked the pilot, "Hey, ah, this may sound kinda' dumb, but if you're serious about shooting me, maybe you should drop me off at the next planet... I mean, staying onboard makes you a target, right? And if you leave my ass in the middle of nowhere, then these folks won't, ah, suspect I'd hang out there. Iuko's got two moons, or hell, maybe that asteroid-"

"-Would you fuckin' can it!" Tanzer roared. The man quickly stopped. "I'm not shootin' you. That was a check to see if yer' a bargaining chip, at least to that high-society cunt..." He grabbed Barry's mixed drink and gulped, coughing from the unprepared heat, before handing it back. "Do me a favor n' grab the bottle?"

Barry complied, shifting his paunchy buttocks to retrieve the bottle of glistening green for the ex-con. Tanzer unscrewed the top and took more gulps.

"I'm gonna' level with you, ol' Barry," he let out. "I'm not a wanton killer, so don't treat me like one... Those guys she was sendin' after us were: be afraid of them. In terms of our partnership, I think you're straight-up obnoxious, and gay, but yer' making plenty Omegas doing whatever you do, which ain't for someone like me to judge cuz' I ain't the nicest guy around... So calm the fuck down." Gulping more of the fanciful swill. "You're the best chance for an unbloody resolution here. Way more practical to get you to yer' Muldoon pals intact, all gallivanting around n' shit, understand?"

Barry nodded.

"I don't give a shit what they took, and who gets it don't mean shit in the long run. It's rich people games, far as I'm concerned." Gulp. "That's all things are... most everybody's a damn drone, all building a mound for a queen! A thousand ants... one queen... Ain't that some shit?!"

The human shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "Woah, calm down," he attempted, "no need to lose it while we're flyin' out in space, ah."

"Yeah whatever fuckin' autopilot fuckin'..."

Tension built and collapsed in a relatively short amount of time. Barry tried to read the rugged space-brawler, while Tanzer kept his cool, leaving the autopilot computations to follow the plotted coordinates to their next destination. Both sipped and gulped absinthe respectively.

"You got no idea what the Muldoon has, do you?" the producer inquired, probing now that the man's defenses dropped.

"Nope... 'Stolen artifact' is the only thing the Guild wrote down." A real, honest tone after consuming space-beer.

Pondering everything from journalist reports to fictional stories, he theorized the whole affair. "What the hell would warrant this much travel, Omegas, and guns, ah? And dead people, too? I'll defer: you've been in this game, and I'm only an artist."

Shrugging as much as his plant-like anatomy allowed, he answered, "It could be that Terran Mona Lisa... Maybe some experimental patent... All I know is, it's probably not worth it. But hot-damn am I gonna' do my job... and come out on top. Whether I'm with the Guild or flyin' solo..." He reached over and forcefully wrapped an arm around the entertainer, flexing his strong arm, "Y'know what? We! We're gonna' come out on top. I'm gonna' finish this shit, and yer' going to write some stupid story about it later. Right?"

Barry didn't know what to do. The intoxicated hunter hugged him, hard, showing affection for the first time. "Right, ah."

Tanzer stood up, drinking the absinthe left in the bottle. "I hate this job," he muttered to himself. He gave the bottle back, and stumbled to the meager sleeping quarters in the ship's core. "Wake me up if we get shot!"

"O- Okay, big guy," his reluctant companion complied. "You rest up, ah, nothing to worry about."

Finding his bed in the back, Tanzer thought about how stupid he's been: giving away their location, dealing with this aggressor's buyer, trying to work a deal like an expert negotiator, working angles that could land him an enemy of a major corporation or oust his protection with the Guild, and HL by extension. Plopping on the sheets, he slapped a music-bank on his nightstand. The sounds of Dixa-bluegrass flourished. "Ak's Barren Misery," the song was called, although the artist escaped him. The soft lyrics and stringed instruments rocked him to sleep.

Barry stayed in the cockpit, ignoring the salt and vinegar coming out of Tanzer's bedroom. He took off his mirror shades, and scanned the console. When he heard the sound of snoring, he acted. Fingers flipped on the controls. The man sent a private, secured message to the Muldoon, quickly wrangling the right words.

It's Barry. Do not go HLS-1. Guildsman and Nebulo! gunners are looking for you there. Stay away. Too many webs. Get to your destination now. No body bags. Don't reply. Loves.

It would take time to reach his former coworkers, and then they'd have a better chance of surviving. He did not want to betray anybody. He also did not like innocent people getting killed. As soon as the message confirmed a SENT status, he deleted any record left behind, leaning back in the chair. "Being a space-commando sucks, ah." He sipped his green and watched the black and white of space, hoping this adventure would resolve, without ol' Barry dying.

26

Kissing X helped get over the shock of spacefaring gunfights. I could focus on work, smiling more often. Howz allowed me to pour over what the crew amassed as research for my "condition" until an urgent message reached the Muldoon, so I spent days trying to find a link, with no success... Come on!

A week passed, and our ship traveled to Terra, my blue and green home world. We docked at the ancient, enchanted starport of Lyon.

I woke up that morning. My entire body looked terrible. Cena just finished bathing, leaving behind her fishy aroma. I took a room temperature shower--not hot enough to sting, not cold enough to completely block my pores--then fixed my hair, moisturized my skin, cleaned by teeth, applied some eyeliner, and re-polished my nails. I topped-off the ritual with perfume; my favorites are summer aromas, because they're fresh and stimulating.

When I opened my drawer to grab a tampon, flow surmounting towards the monthly rigor, I noticed the package almost empty. "Shit." Why can't this star-diamond fix cramping? It can do everything else... Whatever. Docking at Lyon allowed me the freedom of finding human-tailored products, and a convenience store near the docks provided me with something lasting, and absorbent. Cena would've offered me a few of hers if I asked; it's funny to think how Mother Nature, blessing women with the gift to create life, forced fucking menstrual cycles on us no matter what planet we're from. Men had it easy. So unfair.

Kōl and Xio accompanied me to the store, since we had errands to run. Kōl waited outside, keeping an eye on our surroundings, while Xio surprisingly helped me down the aisle. "This brand looks cheaper," he offered, "while this brand has 'vitamin E?' Is that better for you?"

It astounded me that he was this comfortable with feminine hygiene. "Shouldn't you be grossed-out by this?"

He smiled, "I grew up with sisters... Not turned-off because of your flow," he winked.

A brave soul, or empathetic. Alright. He's passing another pop quiz. I grabbed a large box he held in one of his hands. "This'll work," I reassured both of us, "and last for a while, too." He looked pleased to help. Viola would say he's a keeper, while a couple of my friends might say he's weird.

We moved onward to another store, carrying system-wide market goods. Kōl looked specifically for feather-conditioner, and scale-gloss. The crew, myself included, approved of the shimmering giant, despite his masculine job description. Fellow humans marveled at his presence. I laughed when a large group of children nearby pretended to hide behind a lamppost, watching the avian walk down the street, astounded by his size and conditioning. I should've taken a picture; it was so adorable.

Xio, perusing the aisles of "Pete's" for ship necessities, passed up product for pad-softener. I showed a brand to him, and gently offered, "You're a bit rough, X... Would you like to try some of this?" It made sense a hard-working mechanic's hands might suffer.

His eyes jumped between the bottle and me. "Um, do you think I really need it?" catching the hint.

Holding back an honest titter, I told him, "You don't 'need' it, but it might help." I held his hand, running my nails along his palms, hinting the grooming advice might run deeper than peer evaluation.

Studying the bottle, he gauged my persuasion. "Maybe I could try it," he surrendered, unenthused in his compliance.

"You don't have to." I patted his chest, grabbing at the muscle underneath the fur. "We're still going on that date." I tapped the box, "Your claws are cute, and your pads could be more flexible. If you don't like it, then please throw it away. No pressure."

Before we hit the register, he asked, noticeably insecure, "Is there anything else I should get? Like, do I smell?"

Now I feel bad. His grooming and hygiene proved better than most guys. "No! Everything's perfect. You smell great- even after you're in the engine room all day."

He relaxed. "Thanks. Then softer hands and I'm done."

I poked him in the back. "Don't forget your feet, too. They're kinda' cute." His tail swatted my leg.

On the way back to the ship, we caught a screen on the side of a café. One played the local news, talking about highway reconstruction, new businesses popping up, a scandal involving a high-ranking representative in the Terran Union accused of embezzlement and inappropriate conduct with an intern, a youth-group's pet rescue and adoption initiative, and a murder-suicide at a bank. Next to that screen played a random show that I've never heard of called "Conan," based on some old cinema. Another screen mentioned HL's current attempts at negotiating with the newfound planet of Surassi, learning about the Orc people. The last screen showed a trailer for a galactic opera that would premier next month at the Grand Duuñ Theatre on Zalfa; a tragic romance, where everybody might end up dying in the end--very old-school. At the credits listed, we spotted one of the producers, none other than the infamous Barry Aguecheek.

"Did you see him?" the bird asked. We both nodded. "It's weird... his name never came up on the ship--ever. And then this job and now we're running into him, getting messages."

"The galaxy's a small place," the feline explained.

"I guess it's cyclical. Life's like an ocean, as poets say." Such a universal analogy. "Guess it's why I'm a Unifier."

"You're a bird- you're supposed to say life's like the Wind," Xio quipped.

Folding his arms. "You want me put a leash on you?"

Xio stayed firm. "After I put you in a cage?"

"Oh okay," he slowly mimicked a haymaker down to the smart-aleck, carefully bumping face with his scaly fist. "One hit, and you're gone."

"Please," Xio countered, motioning a tackle to his knees.

I watched the pair play-fight for a minute, before walking away. "Let's go, boys. You can fight anytime. At least charge for it if we're out in public. My people would love a good exhibition to gawk at... Make a few Omegas on the side."

They composed themselves and we journeyed back to the Muldoon's red-and-blue shell together. We inspected the outer hull to make sure nothing had been vandalized. When everything appeared intact, and everyone checked in, we set out into space. It didn't hit me until leaving the clouds that we had docked at my birth world and I didn't care about going back, or trying to reconnect with anyone. My physical wellbeing was on a clock. When I first left Iuko, I looked forward to returning to Terra. But until I could fix myself: it was just a barrier.



By the end of the week we passed through the void between Terra and Dixa. Approaching the moon of Ghal, bathed in a milky-white atmosphere, Anitt entered the cockpit. Howz, myself, and Cena readied to find a suitable starport, though on this moon only three were built.

Tapping my shoulder, our sponsor offered, "Why don't we set up a communication with Xel... Use these coordinates, my dear." He pointed to log readouts and found the doctor's personal comm information. No leftover messages for us. "Press the shiny button and see what he says."

I linked up the right name and number and established a connection. My heart beat faster, excited that I would find help.

"Did he give us any instructions?" the captain asked.

"Only to let him know when we're near Ghal."

A few moments later we linked to a screen. The kodama's features displayed in a mostly clear image, wrist-comm quality. "The Lord Anitt the Fourth, himself." He saw me off to the side. "And you might be?"

The dwarf motioned to both of us. "Doctor Xelxor Kal. Portia Bardolph, my most recent hire... We're about an hour away from Ghal. Any instructions?"

Looking at the time, he said, "Dock near Arbalest station; that's closer to my side of the moon. I'm in the middle of meeting with some trainees and I may be awhile... Go ahead and head straight to my estate. It's secluded. And I can open the door from here." I saw him link some coordinates to the screen, address info with an attached picture of the front, though most of the walkway was covered in the moon's odd foliage.

"Thanks again, Xel. We'll be seeing you shortly."

"Oh and don't mind the hog when you go inside... he's friendly."

Taking both of us by surprise, the noble remained steady. "Certainly. We'll do just that." The feed cut out.

"Hog?" I asked. Perhaps he meant a woolly hog, native to Dixa. I've never gotten close to one, and off-world zoos are a weird issue for HL legislation.

"Your guess is better than mine," he replied, rather lost.

Cena turned in her chair. "Does his home have a lab, Boss-Man, or will he take us to one?" A good question. I didn't like the idea of a laboratory for experimentation, however, a hospital may not fix this.

"As far as I know, he can do something at his estate."

Breaking through the atmosphere, we admired the white sky and the rows of hills, trees of blues, violets, and reds sprouting in the densest fields, as slow rivers ran between them. The starport waited off in the distance. We smoothly docked, grabbing a few things before heading out.

Howz, going over the list of possible uses for each crew member, settled on asking our security specialist to stay behind with the ship. "Unless you really wanna' go, one of us needs to keep an eye on the Muldoon."

Kōl thought it over, "I'm fine with guard duty. Not a doctor anyway. Contact me if you need something."

"Affirmative."

We hailed a ground-car, a van big enough for ten. The driver, a young, energetic dragonfly, offered to take our bags. The suns appeared a noonday fashion overhead. As we traveled, the massive medical complex came into view, Researchatorium Site 3. Five blinking domes protruded above the trees with bridge systems linking each one, the occasional personal-flyer gliding between each building. The complex could be described as a synthetic beehive and a spider nest coming together out of harmony and purpose. Who knows how many sick people were hospitalized inside, how many medical professionals waited on staff. Am I sick?

Our van continued further into private, well-built estates on the other side of the hills. We stopped at a house that matched the picture posted by our contact. "Well isn't this something!" our eager driver announced. "You didn't mention you were friends of Dr. Xel."

All of us were taken aback. Is this guy well-known? Cena, the nicest individual among us, leaned over her chair. "How do you know Dr. Xel?"

The bug answered, "Well... he's seeing my sister. Y'see, she's a patient over in that megaplex- has bad neurological degeneration. Dr. Xel's a genius, and found a pretty good way to treat her!"

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear about your sister," she comforted. There's hope for me, yet!

"It's fine," he replied. "She's doing way better compared to last year... I relocated to work at the starport so I can be near her, at least until she's discharged and we can do home-management." Wow. What a nice guy. Why can't I be humble like that? Then again, I don't have family that needs special attention--unless attachment is a disorder. He clicked open the doors. "Anyway, let me see you out."

We exited the van and made our way up the steps. Captain Howz shook the driver's hands and bestowed him the required Omegas. "If we need a lift we'll be sure to request you," I heard him say, as the rest of us hiked up to the front door. The vehicle drove away, and we waited outside the entrance.

Anitt moved through us, "He said the door should be open." He grabbed the handle and gently pushed forward, to step through. While the exterior appeared one level, built into the base of the valley wall, we could see a staircase at the far end spiraling down into another level. Hard walls and frosted glass separate each room.

"Guess we'll wait in the living room," Howz presumed.

"Makes sense," Ophem agreed.

My fellow crew settled in the doctor's home. A painting hung on a wall in the library den on the other side of the house. "By the Anvil... Howz he kept it," Anitt announced, pointing to the library. When the snake turned, he shot forward with the dwarf and both men studied the painting. I got up to take a look at it myself, killing time. Both men started chuckling.

"We were so trashed that night," our commander hissed.

"Imbibing nothing but rich Dixa-weed and Zalfa-gin will make anyone black out in a shower the next day."

"I was in the shower, you were in the closet," he corrected.

"You know what I mean!"

The painting looked somewhat recognizable. I pondered, cataloguing art from the cubist e-maki era from Lan'ter, if I had to guess. The aristocrat saw me. "Port, so you know the context, this's a painting made by a particular artist Dr. Xel hates... he and I have vastly different tastes, mind you. When he saw this--it's a rather obscure work--he really liked it. I told him, 'that's a Hen'ji.' He didn't believe me. By this point in the evening, we were, ashamed to say, drunk, high, and harassed by two prostitutes who dashed away when a LC enforcer stepped off their cycle. We stumbled around the venue where this hung, aaand Xel bought the painting. A gallery attendant on the the Sajj Strip pulled out a hefty art book and illustrated I was right."

Howz folded his arms. "Can't believe he kept it. This thing sucks."

Are you serious? This is the guy we came here for?! After hearing the tale and conjuring the images of their night of fun, I passive-aggressively stated, "Glad to know the expert that's going to cure me's a party animal."

Anitt recovered. "Forgive me, Port, you must understand-"

"-We were almost wrecked by Law Cannon," Howz intercepted. "Harboring a fugitive. Real bad guy. He had a fake ID at the time; we were none the wiser, 'til intergalactic police chased us... They caught up and shot first, asked questions later. The guy gave 'imself up--guess he liked us. We cut loose on one of Iuko's moons afterward." Stressful near-death experiences? Fine. You're excused.

Anitt reinforced, "Rest assured: Xel is a brilliant doctor. He'll get to the bottom of this."

I calmed myself, sitting back down on the sofa. Chatting, we watched local feed on the doctor's large vid-screen. That's when the "hog" showed himself, clambering up the spiral staircase. A woolly hog, sandy fur all over his body, hobbled on all fours, showing a height of sluggish excitement when he realized new people could show him attention. He was no bigger than a Terran hound. He playfully lumbered to the sofas, snorting.

"Oh look at you!" Cena called, and the hog came straight over. She started dragging her tentacles over his thick fur. The hog's snorted breathing slowed, clearly in love with the new alien. Xio and Howz slowly moved over to get a pet in.

Noticing a collar around his neck, a shiny tag revealed the name MEATY in codified Dixan. "Your name's Meaty?" Howz concluded, amused.

"Not a good name for a hog," Xio said. "Isn't that mean?"

"He does look meaty, yes he does!" Cena mushed, as the animal slowly rolled onto his side, exposing his belly.

Anitt and Ophem did not seem to care for pets, so I scooched past them to get one rub in. Pressing firmly into the fur, and grabbing ahold of his tough body, I moved my hand around, feeling fat and muscle gently roll beneath my grip. The woolly hog pushed closer, and sniffed my hand with his cute, flat snout. Then he opened his maw to gently lick. The texture felt squishy and taut at the same time.

"Oh, he likes you," the squid declared. Howz pulled back to absorb the vid, a sitcom from Dixa with silly, colorful puppets.

Xio subtly hinted, "...Does she taste good, Meaty?"

I gave him a furrow. I let go of Meaty and watched my hand crystallize. Shit, I didn't do that. It was just a reflex. Everyone noticed; those not already in view of my hand watched out of their peripheral to see if something would happen. Xio and Cena stopped altogether, anticipating a bad response from the animal.

Meaty paused, sniffing the star-diamond surface that forced the leftover moisture off my skin and onto the protruding plane. Finding it to his liking, he kept kissing my hand. I could barely feel any moisture. "Meaty thinks you taste good," Cena joked, continuing to show the pet more love, though not before jabbing the feline with her arm. "Good news for you too," she whispered, in a suggestive tone.

We both looked at each other. The crew was familiar with two of our coworkers making love out of pure necessity. Xio and I only kissed and hugged right now, too early to suggest intimacy. Both of us were young, and assumedly horny, so nothing could stop the crew's baser imaginations. I still anticipated our first date, sad to say. Once these crystals were gone-

BING

The door opened, and in stepped a well-dressed kodama, matching the facial profile of the man we contacted a little while ago. He saw our crew sitting around the entry room, lounging. Meaty lay there while we stood up to greet our host. I quickly hid my hand, shard! and they left.

"I see you've met Meaty," the man joked, setting a satchel off to the side.

"Xel," Anitt initiated, "Can't tell you how good it is to see you." He held out his arms, embracing a hug from the doctor.

"Same to you."

The dwarf held back coughs. "Howz and I couldn't help but notice you kept our Hen'ji," pointing to the painting in the library.

When he registered the joke, he tittered, still embarrassed, "Well, what can I say. It does look good, doesn't it? Really ties the room together."

"Yeah right, Xel," Howz disagreed, shaking hands. "Hope you're doin' well."

"I am... I'm doing very well, and the hospital's taking good care of me, which means I'm also very busy."

"Can't imagine all those sick people."

"I'm not stretched too thin." Stepping over to Ophem, he held out his hands. "Miss Sels. You're hovering well."

Our programmer smiled, gripping both of his hands. "Thanks. Sorry we have to bother you." Bother? No offense, but I'm the bothered one, here! The ship got a good down payment on that, too.

"I'm here to help." He saw Cena. "Chuldi. How are you?"

Our group chuckled. Cena looked nothing like the pop star, and it still flattered her. "I'm good Xel."

Xio stepped forward and held his palms out. The doctor matched. "Hi again, Doc."

"Mister Nu'ng." He saw me and held his hand out. "I'm Xelxor, in case that wasn't obvious," he smiled, very professional reception.

I shook. "Portia. Bardolph. I've been with the crew for a month now."

"Pleasure to meet you in person."

Anitt stepped forward to explain. "Young Portia is... why we came."

"I see." He glanced at my face and instinctively looked for anything out of the ordinary with human anatomy. "If you don't mind waiting in my office," he motioned to a set of shut doors, "I'll get settled and take a look."

Cena bent down to pat the hog, "Can we help you with Meaty? We're eager to speed things up."

Seeing no harm, "Yes! Please? Meaty sleeps downstairs; there's a small door so he can go out, too. His food's in a large bag near his bed- just throw one cup into his tray and he's fine." Announcing to everybody, "I'd like to give her some privacy if you folks wouldn't mind. Feel free to take up room between here and the lower level. My kitchen's mostly stocked."

I requested, "I'd, um, like Captain Howz and Lord Anitt to wait nearby... they may be able to help."

"If you wish." He slid apart the doors to his office and revealed a large chamber, stocked with books, references, and what appeared to be an adjustable doctor's chair with a few medical tools off to the side. Doesn't look like a mad scientist... The rest of the crew moved about, Ophem taking residence in the library, Xio and Cena following Meaty downstairs to inspect that level of the house. Howz and Anitt sat back down in the living area, waiting to be summoned.

I entered the office and reflexively hopped onto the chair, sitting upright. My body started tensing. Never had a bad experience with a doctor--even the avian healers on Targo were respectful and knowledgeable when I was due for a check-up. Except for one: the guy threw me off, abruptly asking if I needed psychological intervention. That day proved angst-filled for growing-up-a-teenage-girl-in-mandatory-school reasons, and nobody had ever asked me mental health questions before... "Have you been feeling depressed? Suicidal? Angry or irritable? Confused? Trouble focusing? Do you feel safe at all?" I was really upset about my family's loss, feeling out-of-place on a much larger planet, and having the pressure of being told to plan for the next fifty years of my entire life. I wasn't ready to handle that when I was thirteen, so I just shut down. It's easy to imagine letting go, being at peace with reality; serious soul-searching and acceptance of the dark shit weighing you down, however...

Xel shut the doors. "Anitt mentioned you need help," he began, "and he also said that you folks wanted things kept under wraps, and there's urgency... A bit different than what I'm used to hearing. But I'm a professional, and I promise I'll do my best to get at the root and provide medical assistance... So please, Portia: in your own words, can you tell me what's bothering you?" He clicked on a soft light overhead and sat on his desk, with a blank notepad and an ink pen. His intelligent and gentle expression, his readied posture, and the way he carried himself showed preparation for even the worst ailments.

"I, um, better show you." Rolling my sleeves up, between anxiety and pragmatism, I held my arms out and flexed. The diamonds came back, covering the entirety of my hands and arms.

The physician paused his questions, his eyes bulging. He slowly forced himself off the desk to my shimmering arms. With studious intent, he watched me rotate my limbs, showing that top and bottom were equally transmuted, moving my fingers about like normal, with feint grinding sounds. "My body fused with this star-diamond-thing," I told him, "and now I can cover myself in this."

Blinking, theorizing, recollecting, his brilliant brain kicked into a frenzy and he started making notes. He asked me a hundred questions, and I gave him what I knew, retelling the story. The first thing he wanted to know was exactly what this thing was, and what it looked like. "I don't know... nobody does. Hang on," I called Anitt and Howz into the room, asking for their assistance. The dwarf pulled up a data-pad and showed the doctor a few pictures, some even linked to his loupe to zoom in on the oddity. After several minutes, he wiped back his mohawk of leaves. "This is... very irregular. Very anomalous."

"It was supposed to stay in the box," Anitt explained, an apologetic undertone, "and this may be why."

Howz altered, "Maybe, and maybe not. When we touched it, nothin' happened. The owners may not know what it is. It just looked like a valuable space crystal, right?" Not a bad theory, otherwise someone else inspecting would be the victim. Unless they found a way to undo it?

The doctor noted everything. "So this information's valuable, however, it's also cryptic." He looked at me. "What did this feel like, when it, um, blended into your physique?"

You mean invaded? "Warm, and cold, and electric, and moving, er, vibrating. And glowing. Then it broke into a mist, and entered my body... I remember blacking out and waking up in our rec-room." I pointed to my coworkers, "They said I was out for hours."

He took more notes. "And this calcifying- sorry, this, er, happens when you want it to?"

"When it first happened," I thought back, "it was random and I couldn't control it. It was really scary. But then I stood in front of a mirror and next thing I know it, um, responded to me..." I lifted my pant legs up, exposing ankle to knee. I focused, my arms relaxed and my legs hardened. "See."

Howz posited, "It kicked-in when you got shot, too."

"Right..."

"Kid," the veteran pressed, "I've been in combat before. I saw what happened... You didn't- you couldn't have reacted in time. It was like, your instincts took it over." I didn't know that until he said it.

I saw the doctor listening, so I chose to fill him in. "...This ganger shot me in the face on Lan'ter-"

"-Point-blank, Xel-"

Stop interrupting me, gods dammit! You're not the one who's fucking hurting right now, you burly ass commando! "-Yeah, um, right in the head. But this thing saved me from dying."

Writing more down. "So it's durable enough, when it's active, to withstand weapons-fire?"

"And Mr. Kōl's talons," I tried to joke.

"Does it hurt--at all?"

"It hurt when it first went in, and when I woke up, but since then I feel fine."

"Any blood anywhere? Cuts or gashes or wounds that won't close up?"

I shook my head. "I haven't seen any blood." Another odd realization. By all accounts, I should be tearing open every time this things turns on!

"Good," he reassured himself. "And if it affected your internal organs, you would've already gone from blood loss, which's very promising." So I should be medically dead? Thanks for the confirmation. He looked me over. "Can this cover your entire body?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

He glanced at the pair in the room, and scooted closer to quietly ask, "And... how far does it cover your, um, orifices?"

Oh.

Right.

You mean that.

I ignored my coworkers and detailed, "It turns my entire mouth--right before the back of my throat... In terms of down there, um, it covers everything, although I can move stuff apart if I need."

"Can you sense normally through it? Taste, touch, smell, hearing?"

"Everything's muffled," I replied. "Not completely gone, just not as sharp. Do you know what I mean?" Of course he doesn't know what I mean! Nobody has gone through this before. This garbage's not a common disease.

"I can imagine." The man moved back to his desk, and put on a pair of protective medical gloves. "Do you mind if I palpate?"

"Palpate?"

"That's a fancy term for 'touch,'" he clarified.

Do what it takes, please! "Anything to figure this out," I invited.

He knelt to steady himself, then slowly placed his fingers against my shin, moving over the textured surface, testing to see if it changed depending on location. "Very odd. Well, it does have... the same thickness of a gem." Tapping with his knuckles. "Like a rock. It's not sharp; rounded-off not to cut something touching it." He took a glove off, and mimicked the same maneuvering with bare touch. "I've never seen anything like this... and I've read some odd medical journals."

That was unpromising, yet expected. Anitt swirled around the glass he drank from, still hopeful. "Now you see why we came."

Xel worked a different method. "Do you mind if I break off a small piece? If I collect a sample then I'll have a better means of control and study for diagnosis."

"That's- that's fine." If he feels it's necessary. It might hurt a lot, but I've got to know.

He pulled out a small surgical kit, and removed a scalpel, sterilizing the blade with disinfectant. Anitt watched with anticipation, while Howz folded his arms and leaned against the wall. Pulling a stool close, Xel positioned himself, bracing my leg and placing a small dish underneath a protruding chunk of diamond. With masterful control, he placed the edge against a protrusion, and began slicing. He sliced for a whole minute, before setting the scalpel off to the side and removing a magnifying lens. Focusing on the targeted tip, he looked closely. "...I don't think I made scratch. What is this?"

My gut tightened into hopelessness. If he can't collect a sample, then what?!

"Remarkable." Tense with theories and ideas forming one after another, the doctor did not slump, nor fidget.

"What should I do?" trying not to sound like a helpless victim.

"Piecing everything together you've relayed," he said, "I believe... this is not a matter of medicine. This is some kind of technology." Including my two alien coworkers, he continued, "I don't want to mislead you. A different type of professional will have to solve your problem. I'm... sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear."

My wiser self knew this was a fool's errand from the start, yet I couldn't help the natural, and admittedly childlike optimism guiding me the whole way to Ghal. Xel recommended to Howz and Anitt that we gather everyone in the living room. I looked outside the window on the far end of the office to the exotic, alien canopy behind the moon's white sky. You're a freak of nature, and you can't be fixed.

I almost cried.

27

Stepping out of the shower, clean and fresh, Deeja modeled in front of the mirror, and studied her reflection dampened by the steam. Covering herself in crystal, she felt the remaining beads of moisture off her skin and her hair drip on the bath mat. "This thing has its uses..." Satisfied that her body felt dry enough, she relaxed, admiring the physical beauty she worked to maintain outside of work.

It felt humorous to watch these dragonflies ignore her attributes when she first started working with Bright Energy. Gradually the men, and a few of the women, acknowledged her exotic form. Admittedly, the same exchange took place on her end: one of the board members--Iatan--dark, smooth chitin and mesmerizing compound eyes, and his wings appeared a healthy translucence, not to mention he smelt like grapes grown on her home world of Ank. They flirted with each other one evening, went out to an expensive dinner, and discovered their turn-ons. They only made love once, and despite the surmounting hours of work on the executive level, she often fantasized about getting ahold of him in the very near future to relieve some stress. Thankfully the crystals did not intervene that night. She'd become an expert at hiding this odd augmentation.

She cleaned herself up. The Elf stepped into her bedroom and threw on a long onesie made of Ognonga silk, and fell on the mattress. The quarters felt a little cramped, given the naturally smaller stature of the native race, with amenities specifically for their winged needs as well. Some aspects of the planet were fascinating, and others obnoxious; having only her legs to walk on and no wings, it took her extra time to reach certain places. While common courtesy acknowledged her lack of flight, she could tell a handful of these aliens looked down on her for it. Still, she outweighed 90% of the planet, physically warding opportunities for harassment.

The little light on her entertainment panel on the wall blinked, indicated a message. "If it's another gas-extraction proposal outside the system," she whined, unenthusiastically carrying herself to activate the inbox, "I'm going to vomit."

Flipping the panel and highlighting the message:

FOUND LEAD. CALL.

Oh thank the Cosmos! She hurriedly rung her liaison, grasping for good news.

It connected. The audio line quavered, "It's me."

She paid careful attention. "You found something?"

"Yes... it took some time, but I tracked down the other box. Or at least a box that matches the description of your contact's. Some people took it to a ship, a star-fluyt called the Muldoon. As far as I can tell they're standard space merchants. No contact information listed, which means they're paying pretty well for primo service from HL."

"So they're the most likely suspects," she concluded.

"I humbly suggest you take the investigation up on your end until you can use me again. You're going to dish out a few Omegas to reach them."

She smiled. "Luckily I have a few Omegas to throw around."

"One foreseeable problem," the liaison added, lowering the smile on her face. "The clerk mentioned that the Guild's looking for them too."

"Fuck," she let out. If he's talking about the Requisition Guild, they're experienced hunters. And who hired them, exactly? Does the Mining Union want their pet rock back? Too bad, whomever you are.

"This case gets weird too, ma'am," he continued. There's more?! "I did a quick search and the only thing that hooked was this random guy who works for an entertainment house called Quicksand Artistic on Zalfa... name's Barry Aguecheek. A Terran. I just checked their activity recently and apparently a police report filed an assault on his office from an unidentifiable gunman; a lot of laser getting thrown around. Then he jumped the planet. No idea where he went. And the only way I can reach him's at his office..."

That's unexpected. "Anything else?"

"Nothing. The well's dry. I can keep my eyes and ears open for you, but if everything's leaving Iuko, my aid's limited."

She took a deep breath. "Then you're relieved... Contact me if anything blips on your radar. I'll put the funds in your account."

"Thank you ma'am," the liaison ended. "If you go after 'em, keep your head down. People are still getting shot." The screen closed-out, ending the transmission.

"So things get complicated as they unfold. Just great," she sighed. Thankfully she had a lead, and immediately logged into an HL registry, trying to track down this ship that must have her sought-after device. She did not possess a merchant's license, but she knew a few people who did. Finding one of her contacts, a Siimbite by the name of Hirbo, she began typing up a message. Hirbo could pull out hidden or exclusive information Harmony Link restricted based on what "club preference" a particular organization bought. While it was not illegal to obtain such information, HL did strictly monitor and regulate client-care, and would penalize anyone selling information if caught. Thankfully this gentleman was very discreet.

Encrypting it using a program familiar to both of them, she wrote. HIRBO. IT'S DEEJA. BEEN A LONG TIME. HOPE YOU'RE WELL. PLEASE LOOK UP A SHIP. I MUST CONTACT THEM IMMEDIATELY, CALLED "MULDOON" AND LEFT IUKO SOME TIME AGO. THANKS. AND I FORGOT YOUR ANNIVERSARY, SO PLEASE ACCEPT THIS GIFT CARD.

After sending the message, she immediately accessed her private outgoing bank account, and deposited Ω100 into Hirbo's. A costly bribe, but since she already shelled out for her prize, anything that guaranteed an expedient delivery justified the ends. "I'm getting my damn hands on you one way or another," she declared. "I don't care who's shooting."

The hour climbed late and she found herself falling asleep on her sheets, the overhead fan chilling the room. When her alarm went off, she woke up to start her day as usual. The elf went through her usual hygienic routine, and dressed herself in more professional attire; she and two of her clients had to meet to explain their last quarterly expenditure.

A message blinked on her console. Flipping the panel, she perked up when the message came from Hirbo.

DEEJA. HOPE THINGS ARE WELL.

MULDOON: SLVN9771.1213.1250.9

THANKS FOR THE GIFT CARD.

She immediately sat down and typed in the information provided, and sent a secured message to this ship. Rather than hitting hard, presuming they stole the package, she defaulted to harmless delivery. At a minimum, they know they have a potential buyer regardless of acquisition method, and their position has just been discovered. Although that "9" at the end typically meant they removed themselves from standard shipping offers, most of which, as she understood, were worthless. Perhaps they weren't criminal after all? Maybe that portly Quariet did his job properly. Still, they might have killed him and his bodyguards...

MULDOON. MY NAME IS DEEJA. QUARIET DID NOT RELAY YOUR INFORMATION. CONTACT ME. YOU WILL GET THE REST OF YOUR PAYMENT WHEN YOU DELIVER THE PARCEL.

Simple and effective. Less is more, as the ancients say. She shut down her computing panel and left her bedroom, resisting the urge to hop and skip all the way to the office. "So close," she happily growled.

28

My beloved coworkers gave Xel all the collected information, sitting around his chic living room. Sadly, the perception that we knew very little weighed me down further. This maven doctor admitted, after receiving me, that a medical solution isn't possible, which made frustrating sense. I hoped, and so far: nothing. What's even more mocking is that Anitt gave me sources to research and translate--everything from history books, to legend omnibuses, to paranormal investigations--and the closest I found was fiction: people with extraordinary capabilities, like Xio's suggestion that I'm a superhero. Kōl's theory that it was some form of alien bio-armor also couldn't be ignored.

But professional sources? Nothing.

"...Miss Sels," Xel pieced together. "You're quite smart. What's your idea?"

Our programming expert reminded us, "The closest I can think of is nanites... I know the initial form it took doesn't really add up, but, the follow-through does. How else can it affect her like that?"

"Star-diamond nanites?" Cena formulated. "That's an expensive bit of research!"

"But nanites can't do this, can they?" Howz countered.

"Not unless," Xel proposed, "it somehow incorporated itself into her cellular structure, which would also mean it'd have to naturally alter her Terran DNA as well, without fatality. If it's an actual star-diamond, it's not a biological entity... I would've suggested symbiosis or commensalism, possibly parasitism if Portia were having harmful effects, and from what I've witnessed 'harm' seems to be the opposite function, which also rules out the possibility this could be a bio-weapon of some kind. But this does not look nor behave like an organic interaction--not a naturally occurring one."

Xio proposed, "Cybernetics?" Not a bad idea.

The kodama shook his head. "If this's cybernetic... then it's well beyond any current technology in the Cronoptikos. Although, similar to applicable cybernetics, it must connect to her nervous system. I can't think of any explanation of how it responds to commands; muscle reflex would force a more patterned response, like every time she moved... And based off of what you've mentioned with that firefight, and the reaction time? We're looking at something more complex on a... quantum arena."

Quantum? The fuck? I don't even know what that means. If it involves math: I'm out.

"Looking at the photo," he continued, "those floating pieces... and the very tiny writing?" He stood up. "It's a very realistic possibility that this is alien. Outside the known system. Outside our comprehension."

We grew very intrigued by the idea. A daunting, bizarre, and foreign direction. One that would've made me thrilled if I wasn't the victim here. The only known intelligent species found outside the Cronoptikos is that planet called Surassi, however we didn't find out about them until a few years ago, and they're incredibly far away. Still, they're now the most likely culprits...

"So we're leaving the system?" Cena asked, excited.

Howz took a deep hit out of his pipe, and turned to the sponsor. "Looks like we're dishin' out Omegas, Anitt."

"What about the drop-off?" Ophem reminded us.

Xel asked, "Who's this for? Do they know how to undo it?"

Howz answered, "No. The guy who might know's dead, and nobody's reached us, except for a Guildsman but he's a third party."

Lord Anitt gulped his mixed drink. "So until we get a good direction where outside the vast emptiness of space to go, we find a replica, throw it in the box, and travel to Garem. If nobody contacts us after, let's say, a few days, then we head to Station One, give it to that Tanzer chap--at least he's off our back. Then we figure out what alien nebula it came from. I hope it's that new world in the Cholax system."

The soldier tittered, "A good strategy, Cap'n."

"Please. You're the Cap'n- It's just a strategy." Anitt took enough responsibility for me.

Xio nodded. "That's as good as any, right now."

After several minutes of talking, Howz got up. "A'right... we can talk on the ship. Dr. Xel, anything else for us? You've got a hospital waiting."

"Please," he insisted, "it's fine. You came all this way for my expertise, and the only thing I can recommend is basic lab-work and monitoring." He sat near me. "If there's anything else I can help you with, let me know... This is an aberration. I strongly recommend you find out where this came from: that'll give you the best means of reversing the effects."

I looked at him, resentful of the circumstances. "Thanks for checking me out," I forced, legitimately grateful, despite the disappointment. We shook hands in the Dixa fashion.

"And please let me know what happens? Good luck!"

"Everybody load up," Howz ordered, "we're goin' back to the ship. Xel, thanks for everything."

As we said our goodbye to the doctor, Cena inquired, "Xel, where did you find Meaty? You didn't seem like the type to own pets when you worked with us."

"Ah, yes... A patient I was seeing, before she passed away..." The tone weakened, a solemn loss that we felt best to ignore, "Cerebral hemorrhages. She asked if I would take care of him when she went, and she was a very special person to me, so I couldn't say no."

"He's really cute," she cooed.

He smiled. "I'll tell him you said that. He's been a great companion." The squid hugged the plant.

We departed his beautiful home, seeing the van outside with our dragonfly escort. Howz bowed, and Anitt thanked our young driver for returning.

Xio patted my shoulder as we climbed in the vehicle. "Sorry we're changing directions on you." His face, his perked ears, and his gentle grip communicated how bad he felt for me.

"This was a possibility," I tried to accept. "Now we might as well close the contract. The Muldoon gets paid. That's what we need, right?"

He smiled, one ear cocked to the side. "You're really considerate, to say that. I know you want to get this over and done with."

"Right. I do. So let's keep moving." I didn't want to give him the cold shoulder; we both knew I wouldn't be in a good mood until we could find promising results.

The ride back to the ship felt longer than the ride here, and I tried to stay focused, listening to other plans we could make. That medical complex came into view, and part of me wanted to check in there and see if something might pull through, or a genius doctor would provide a miracle cure. And yet, as ridiculous as it sounded, Xel's rationalizations oriented our ship in a better direction.

We arrived at the stardock. Our friendly, taut bird greeted us. "Everything okay? Figured you'd be staying overnight," he presumed. Ophem, Cena, and Xio returned to respective posts.

Howz spoke, "Xel did what he could. Thinks we need to check out the far reaches."

Looking very surprised, he pressed on, "Interesting... Sorry, Port."

I shrugged, "It is what it is."

Showing a datapad he held at his side, Kōl informed us, "I've got some good news, and some bad news." Tapping the screen. "The good news is we finally received a transmission from our drop-off. Someone named 'Deeja.' The bad: we just got a transmission from our ol' friend Barry, saying 'Do not got to HLS-1... people looking for you... no body bags' and that's it." He gave the datapad to our captain.

Howz scrutinized every word. "Not bad timing." Organizing thoughts and strategies, he grinned, poking my abdomen, "Looks like we can finish the job."

29

They arrived on HLS-1. The hardened investigator of the Requisition Guild and his flamboyant companion following jokingly attempting to lock-arms with the spacefarer. They stepped off the star-interceptor and into the illustrious station, most of which prepped fueling transports to and from Garem. Sordid people docked to intervene. For the duo who arrived, another waited: black-clad soldier types, one a canine and the other an avian. They traveled down the arrival dock, modus operandi matching Thunder Pit. All persons, except for the entertainer, of course, openly wore modern armaments: nothing too destructive as far as the other could tell.

"More people for business, ah." Stating the obvious, Barry noticed off to the side HL security, one of which wore a patch of Law Cannon. He waved at them, while the security ignored. Barry prayed they would stay nearby to save them if another gunfight occurred.

Tanzer stepped forward, presenting a rough-and-tough demeanor. "Nebulo! send you?" he asked, testing the vagueness of their answers.

The dog nodded. "I'm Huo. This's Jual. And we're both confused... our orders went from actively retrieving him," he said, pointing to Barry, "to escorting him and a Guildsman to this space station, and make doubly certain nothing happens."

Giving him a plant-like expression of indifference, "Looks like I talked yer' boss into changing plans. Thunder Pit's flexible, right?" he jabbed.

Jual piped-up, resolute, "We're paid to do anything."

"Well here's a bunch of chili-peas in the same pod, ah," Barry intervened. The loud energy of the producer raised a flag of alarm, harsh acceptance that the gunmen now babysat an overgrown child. "How about we chill-lax at a restaurant? I could use some- what do Dragonflies eat? Grub? Ah!"

Tanzer grabbed his shoulder. "Maybe we find a motel first." He included the new folks. "We're waitin' for a call. Until then: sit back."

Huo, visibly uncertain, posited, "Can you give us details? Like what this shit's about?"

"Privacy first, gentle-weeds. Then we talk." He led them through the station.

"I've never been this close to the suns before, ah." Passing the small team of security, and knowing full well this would make his companions fly the straight-and-narrow, the eccentric held his arm up. "Hey, Law Cannon! Thank you for your service!" Anything that might prevent his own ass from getting blown-up during this espionage was worth the immediate stink-eye from his partner, and annoyance from Thunder Pit.

The security awkwardly waved back, and one of them muttered, "Is that Barry Aguecheek?"

Tanzer huffed.



Checking into a motel, the Pit gunners set up an adjoining room, so both parties could monitor the other. While Jual set up what they needed in their chamber, Huo stood with Tanzer prying what he could from this job, as Barry inspected the stocked mini-fridge. A lava-lamp in the shape of a sword sat atop, blobs of iridescence removing built-up stress from the venture.

"What's this about?" the merc grilled. "Somebody gone missin'?"

Tanzer, sensing he may have to gun these two down in the near future, despite their noticeable training, gave just enough to vent. "I'm paid to repo this thing your boss wants. And we both need the lovable Barry cuz' he happens to know the people... They told us to meet here. Now we wait. Get comfy."

Looking eager for more, Huo pressed, "And what's this thing everybody wants? Drugs? The cure for the prima-virus? This isn't organized crime shit, is it?"

Throwing his hands in the air, "You know as much as me."

Getting smart, he eyed the personality. "And him? Do we know as much as him?"

Tanzer wanted to laugh. "He used to work for these people years ago, like I said. Thanks to him we're now on standby instead o' blind."

Barry entered the conversation after hearing his name, holding two small bottles of Garem-sake. "Just to clarify for you man-meat, ah, I'm tagging along to make sure everybody plays nice, ah. I guarantee we can find an agreeable solution: without violence."

Jual muttered loud enough for those in the other room to hear, "Where's the fun in that?"

Resigning, for now, Huo asked, "Timeframe?"

"None." Tanzer unpacked bathroom items. The mercenaries drifted into their room.

Handing one of the miniature bottles of sake to the plant, the Terran proposed, "Who's hungry? Seriously, those easy meals on your ship are pretty damn dry, ah. I bet you super-soldiers need a real meal. Huh? C'mon!"



Herding his armed companions down the street, Barry found a place to dine. "Chan Chan." Not the finest cuisine, since the war committee encouraged a low-profile. The group sat down, and Barry made certain the staff could accommodate Jual. The avian felt like eating elsewhere, but his associate recommended they stay together. Not many people populated the café as it was, minimizing security risks. The guildsman fell naturally into the same tactical thinking of the mercenaries, copying Huo, who observed every entry point, window, and person in the vicinity.

"So Thunder Pit sees a lot of action, huh? Ah, probably got plenty of stories." A waiter deposited a small tray of cow-shrimp from the moon of Aremb in the center of the table. The producer partook, and the toughs slowly sampled.

Both avoided the topic. "We aren't allowed to disclose most of our operations," Huo excused. "Privacy, liability- that kinda' thing."

"Oh come on!" he insisted, "You're just like killer-tree over here, ah! Said the same thing about his RG stuff. Listen, I rally entertainment all the time- you two got a good story, that's a hit cinema right there, or at least a bestseller."

"Mighty tempting," Jual said, half-serious between the banter.

"We're not contractually finished yet," Huo stalled.

The group chat over the table--or rather listened to Barry drone on, tell terrible jokes, interrogate the gunmen about the times they dodged sonic and plasma and ran from explosions, reminisce about times he spent with actors and musicians and partied so hard he couldn't remember how he found the location he woke up in, and other hijinks. Tanzer kept an eye out, occasionally peeking at his wrist-comm and wondering how long the space-haulers would keep him waiting. Operating out in the open had one advantage: it demotivated these two experienced soldiers from jumping to aggression.

"Oooh," the human gasped, contorting his face. "Gotta' visit the little boys' room, ah. Excuse me gentle-xenos." He stood up and began scouting for the toilet, before he saw some individuals at the bar on the far end of the restaurant, and quickly scrambled back into his chair. "Well there went my fuckin' evening," he soured, angry.

All three gunslingers perked up. "What?" Tanzer asked.

He threw a thumb to the bar, refusing to twist around in his chair. "We travel all the way to the far side of the binary system. And that ass-licker has to be on this station? Really?!"

His companions studied the distant counter, spotting a few guys and gals of various races. All appeared dressed for a casual night out. Barry filled them in, "They're with Avar Studios. Talk about the fuckin' dark side of entertainment- I'm bad, they're the space-devil. Gatch, that dog with the fancy vest," he pointed out, "managed to talk A-lister Chuldi out of our picture. Who knows what he promised her: a 5 instead of a 0 at the end of her paycheck... Artistry my ass."

The guy's been shot at, made fun of, and intimidated, and I've never seen him bitter, Tanzer surmised. Taking a stab at his motivations, "You sound like you care about your line o' work."

Giving him an almost offended look, the man spat back, without his usual volume, "What-? Yes! Yes, I do. I do give a Navajo shit about my business... Painters paint their heart on a damn canvas, designers make men and women look beautiful, and I'm that weird guy who knows how to pick--and fund--those people that strive to make incredible art. I go all over, bustin' my ass." He reached out to shove a handful of the shrimp into this gullet.

Jual, seeing the targeted individual slowly approach their table from the bar, leaned closer to the exasperated producer. "I don't wanna' spoil your fun, but 'Gatch' is comin' over."

Horror struck the entertainer, and he fidgeted, quickly trying to compose himself. The stylish canine neared, gently grabbing their attention. "Well there he is," he spoke, "the Great Barry himself."

Quickly shifting into rubbing-elbows-mode, the human pretended to see him for the first time, getting out of the chair. "Hey! It's Mr. Avar Jr." They shook hands like adults. "Fellas this is Po Gatch- a darn fine competitor, am I right?" he passive-aggressively reminded the gentleman.

"Pleasure," he addressed the three brutes, and they politely bowed in his direction. None of them formally stood. They looked too tough, he looked too soft. "I didn't expect to run into you all the way out here."

"Just doing some scouting, ah," Barry fibbed. "I figured you'd be busy with that historical drama thing with the great Chuldi!"

He grinned, fixing his vest. "Well it's funny you say that-"

"-and I still won't forgive you, by the way, ah." The spite coming off of him almost provoked laughter form the trio.

Gatch jumped off the remark. "Maybe... you can." He leaned closer. "My studio wants to... get rid of her."

Barry paused, making certain he heard correctly. "What?"

A look of weary embarrassment took over his snout and ears. "She's becoming a diva, and everyone's getting tired--really tired--of her, including the guy playing her love-interest; he's threatening to quit. We want to start shooting the second part, however, if another project caught her attention, let's say something that Quicksand's looking to start up about the infamous Rose Empire of Iuko, which I understand just started pre-production... If you pitched to her that this could broaden her acting range--which I've been told's something she's on a kick about right now--the odds are strongly in our favor she'll leave the project, jump ship to your studio, and we'll be able to find a better, cheaper, more eager replacement."

Barry could tell this wasn't a ploy. "And she'd be fine forgoing part two after part one's done filming? She's on the poster."

The businessman scoffed, "Please, you know how prima donnas work: the bigger they get, the less they care."

While the two negotiated, the kodama looked at the Thunder folk. Everyone kept their hands on the table, more interested in food. "In case you haven't figured out: this guy can't keep his head down."

Huo pondered. "Never dealt with a celebrity before."

They waited as the producers talked shop, when finally Barry announced, "Y'know, this's a cause for celebration." He shouted to the bar, "Two shots of Ognonga-vodka! Quick! On me."

"I don't need anything too strong," Gatch backed.

"Come on, seal a deal." The trio casually watched their waiter, very focused on the human, come over near the bar with two small glasses prepared with vodka, spaced very far apart. Barry reached for the one closer to his competitor. "I'll take yours, ah!"

The businessman reached for the other. "Alright- you're helping me after all." He played along and they both tapped glasses, downing their beverages in one gulp.

Huo watched the waiter, stiff, turn around and march swiftly away from them. Something was off. Noticing the odd behavior, he motioned to Tanzer. "Our waiter's acting up."

Barry and Gatch breathed, setting the glasses down on a table nearby, returning to normal conversation. "I'll give my associates a call and see who wants to handle this, ah. We'll find a good pitch for Chuldi-" He stopped when he noticed the canine's face shifting. He began coughing, grabbing his throat and chest. His muscles tightened, and his legs grew weak, about to collapse.

Huo jumped up. "Poison."

Tanzer scrambled, "I'm goin' out back, you out front."

Thinking quick, and tactically, Huo motioned to Jual. "Keep an eye on them."

The two pulled out a pistol each and broke apart in opposite directions, while the taller guarded the filmmakers. Barry's words, "Gatch, you okay? The vodka's not that strong, my man..." trailed off.

Tanzer ran through the kitchen, storerooms, past cooks, washers, servers, an assistant manager, and other epicureans. He noticed light coming from a door, farther down, that slowly closed on its own. Running to the portal, he threw it open, and caught a humanoid figure he recognized as their waiter sprinting away. The hunter took off and chased him down the alley, out into backstreets of the space station. "Requisition Guild, freeze!" he shouted, hoping it would force the target to stop and plead.

He chased the man down, taking several turns, before the waiter screwed up, finding an alley between two buildings with no escape. Two doors waited opposite each other at the end, and he frantically tried to pry either one open. Locked. Both of them. Tanzer ran up, training the sights of the handgun on his target.

"Hands up! Now! On your knees!"

The waiter, now that he cared to study him: elven, early 30s. He held his hands up and dropped to his knees, crying, "Don't shoot!"

Tanzer crept around the target, and took his wrist, positioning the arm backward and forcing him down to the ground. Huo rounded the alley and ran up to both of them. The kodama reached into one of his cargo pockets, removing a set of metal wrist-cuffs, pinning both hands together and binding him. Both mercenaries patted the waiter down to find suspicious material, specifically a weapon. Removing only a clip with omegas and identification, Tanzer concluded, "A'right, now stand the fuck up."

Huo made certain to keep his pistol in the waiter's field of vision. "Who're you with?" he barked.

Tanzer noticed the nerves and the tears, feeling his terrified shiver. This man did not appear a trained killer, nor a veteran of interplanetary war.

"Please let me go?!" the waiter pleaded.

"Who are you with?!"

Tanzer glanced down the alley, to see if anybody came after them. Only a few pedestrians noticed, and one of them started to alert the authorities.

The waiter, breaking down, crying and sobbing, squealed, "I didn't want to hurt that other guy! I just-"

"-What are you talkin' about?" the guildsman pressed.

More crying. "I just wanted to hurt Barry! I even put the glass closer to him so he would drink it! I didn't want that other guy to touch it! I swear!"

This proved very atypical for both mercs; usually people wouldn't admit to something this quickly. Not unless they felt they could sell someone out. "What the Vines?" Tanzer looked perplexed. "Why? Why'd you try to kill Barry?"

Trying to control his emotional state, he took weak breaths and explained, amidst the wailing, "That bastard should've cast me for his movie! 'Haunter!' And instead he cast that fuckin' Mortcha! He was already famous, and rich! I had nothing, and I didn't get anything since! Fuck him! I said if I ever ran into him, that I'd fuckin' kill hi-hi-im!"

Watching the elf weep, Tanzer looked to the other merc. No conspiracy took place here: a disgruntled performer resented the executive producer for not putting him in their blockbuster. Nothing more. The pair helped the man to his feet, forcing him back to Chan Chan. "You're gonna' need to talk to the police, man," the guildsman told him. "Just come clean, admit yer' an idiot, and get this shit over with. And hope that Gatch guy isn't a cadaver."

"This's weird," Huo commented, keeping a firm grip on the waiter, certain that something else was afoot.

Readying themselves for the HL authorities approaching, Tanzer held his arm up, showing no weapon in his grip. "Trust me: this's what happens when you hang out with Barry," he explained.

30

"Does that look like a convincing replica?"

We landed on Dixa, the second world, the verdant planetoid, at a major starport outside the metropolis of Valush. Primordial behemoths walked the lands and swam the waters, and the evolved populace of grass-folk somehow used these colossi as part of their ecosystematic transportation. In person, the planet appeared a multi-layered jungle on its continental areas. The beauty and wonderment also brought humidity, and a constant shifting of aromas every time I breathed in through my nose--even in the urban zones. I didn't want to risk exposing the crystal-thing, but I had to dress as light as possible, otherwise the sweat would've weighed me down. I didn't bother doing anything with my hair either; while Cena and Ophem looked fine, Kōl and Xio felt oppressed by the weather.

We found a store that specialized in jewelry, glassware, accessories, and decorations. The clerk, a very friendly native with lavender leaves, showed us products that matched the description of the star-diamond. A glass egg with delicate geometric spacing that would catch someone's eye. It did not hover, nor did pieces float around it, and it certainly did not shimmer like a precious jewel. "This's the closest I can find to accommodate your needs," she said. "Looks like that piece in your photo, and costs far less, I presume."

"Not bad," Howz judged.

"Not good if this client knows," the noble forebode. "However, I'll admit: it might work."

The clerk offered, "If you'd like, we can custom-make you something that matches that gem in the photo, and approximate the dimensions."

"How long will that take?"

She estimated, "If you want it cheap, and as accurate as possible? Our blower can fine-tune it in about three weeks."

"Damn, that's too long," the dwarf moped.

"They're gonna' sniff it out, or, it'll buy time. We're strapped." Our captain nodded at the clerk. "You've been very helpful. We'll take this thing off your claws."

"Very good." She wrapped it up for us, "Ω60 when you're ready."

I sat outside, wafting my kitty with an old-fashion folding fan I picked up at a gift shop, as he sweat and pant. "You could've shaved before you left the ship," I teased.

"Ugh, that would've taken forever, and I look funny when I'm shaved," Xio riposted. I tried to imagine him with no hair, just his dark-skinned physique; a skeletal image of him made me giggle, while another sculpted him like an oiled body-builder. Truthfully, he probably looked normal underneath. Kōl, on the other hand, would not look the same without his plumage.

"You could've asked me for help," I continued. "I can get in those hard-to-reach places." What did he look like naked, exactly?

His reaction would've tensed at the idea, but the weather brought out honesty. "As fun as that sounds... I didn't want to bother you. You've been through a lot. And you must be exhausted keeping yourself together."

How sweet. Is he psychic? I pinched his chest, and he paid attention. "That doesn't mean we can't talk to one another," I lightly scolded, "and out of all the people I live with right now on this dumb ship, you're the first person I'm reaching out to when I need to talk," I gave him a mean smile, "since you started hitting on me."

Watching my body language, he grabbed hold of the fan, cooling himself. "Why're you more eager about this than me? Like, I'm really nervous, Port," he admitted. "Maybe that means I can be myself... and that's amazing... I'm really grateful a pretty woman like you's talking to me and being this playful. Most women wouldn't pay attention to me. Hells, you tongued me... Sorry: I'm just trying to be respectful, and I don't wanna' screw this up."

He looked worn-down by the prospect, and we haven't really gone that far. I scooted closer, holding the folding fan in his paw, hoping he could breathe easy. "X, I'm messin' with you." His furry fingers went from tight to relaxed, and we just peered into each other's soul. "You're a nice guy: that's why I accepted your date. If I didn't trust you, or thought you had ulterior motives, then I would've kicked your ass out of my room that night."

The Lan'ter mechanic pondered, "Do you really mean that?"

I put my mouth up to his pointed ear, and it straightened up. "Can you hear me?" I whispered, feeling short hairs in my face.

"...Yes."

"Good." I kissed the flesh. A calm warmth inside his ear, with a peculiar aroma. "As long as you're a nice guy, and honest, then I'll trust you."

He eased, then put his snout against my auditory cartilage. "Thanks," he said, before he pressed his lips to my earlobe. "...I'm always honest. And I'll start with, um: you're really sexy." Pulling back, he gauged to see how I would react, scared that he crossed a boundary.

"Sexy?" My belly crystallized, and I scrunched to subdue it. I clung to him, hiding the transformation from pedestrians. "Dammit," I whispered, embarrassed.

He held me. "Sorry. Didn't know that was a trigger-word."

Sexy.

Was it?!

When was the last time I heard that? I don't even think Mukhiil said that when we dated... Oh great, now he knows what that does to me. I gripped him tighter, whispering, "I'm gonna' make you pay for this later."

Cena and Ophem waited across the street, talking to a vendor, both returned upon concluding their business. "We found some necklaces that ward off 96% of mites on this planet," the dragonfly explained, offering some to Kōl. All averted from our direction, and couldn't resist misinterpreting our hugging for juvenile attraction. Not that those assumptions were wholly wrong...

While Xio and I waited for the rocks to diminish, our two most ranking coworkers left the store, holding out a refined glass egg in front of us. Howz led, "We got a replacement," slowly fumbling the object, reflecting and refracting the natural light piercing its ovular hull. I had to admit: It did resemble the basic structure of the mysterious stone. Thank gods.

Anitt included us, me in particular, "Does this look adequate?"

The rest of the crew offered a supportive concurrence. My belly was soft again, so I let go of my cat-dog-man. I studied its features and nodded to our boss. "Convincing enough."

"Good," the snake registered. "Let's prep a jump. Finish this job."



Leaving the fecund planet, we set off for Garem: the closest world to the twin suns of Zoz and T'Qem, the swirling battle of red and green. The Muldoon appeared the same shape when I first stepped aboard. I returned to work, prepping messages, translating. When I had free time I flipped through those records our sponsor found that might be able to explain this alien artifact. Nothing. Fiction? Yes, by all means.

While in the midst of hitting a very empty, very frustrating wall, Howz knocked on my door. "You okay?" he inquired, in a fatherly tone.

"I'm... fine."

"Port," he stepped closer, words prepared, "when we get to Garem and meet with this 'Deeja' I want you to stay on-deck. I don't want you getting' hurt, or taken captive."

I knew where this was going, and while it was easier to let my crew get in the line of fire, literally, that was too much danger for my conscience. We came too far and understood the delicate situation. To the point: I really didn't want my bosses treating me like a child. "Captain, I get it," I explained. "But what if these people don't buy the fake? And what if they're more dangerous than, like, white-collar thugs?"

"That's exactly why yer' staying here," he ordered. "We can handle these kind o' people."

"And what'll you give them if they spot the fake?"

The soldier waved it off. "Don't worry 'bout that. We've dealt with worse."

I stepped out of the chair to face him. "What if they know what this is? And how to get it out of me? That's... that's better than travelling to another galaxy, hoping for shit."

"Maybe," he defended, "but we're not riskin' more people."

"You're not the one going through this!" I screamed at him. I didn't mean to, but pushed out of a scenario where I can be fixed made me feel helpless, desperate, and angry due to the amount of time dealing with this alien thing attached.

He narrowed his reptilian eyes, crossing arms. Crap. Like when my dad waited to see how much of a smart-ass I would act arguing with him. I kept going. I had to. "...Captain, I'm sorry. I know all of you know what you're doing, and I'm still new to this... It's just, I'm the one with this crystal inside me, which means I definitely get a say... I'll risk exposing myself if they can give us some answers, so I can get back to normal. You guys are, um, just delivering a package, right? And it's not how I've been feeling the past few weeks. I don't want-" I stopped for a second, blocking out my mother, my brother, the fire, suppressing this unexpected tension swelling up, "-I don't want anybody dying for me! Okay? I don't want any of you dying because of this shit, so- so you drop me off, get paid, and whatever happens to me is my responsibility from here on out: not yours or Anitt's." He kept staring, weighing my energy between maneuvering and misery.

I composed myself. "Also, um, if I'm with you, I can't get hurt like everyone else... and this thing's made me really strong, too." A sound suggestion. And the image of a gun in my face and the sound of bullets no longer triggered fear. Maybe I trust this diamond-thing now? Getting those words out to Howz gave me more courage. My arms akimbo, I dared, "Technically, I'm better suited for combat than you are."

That got his attention. "Watch it," he warned, pride showing.

"...Sorry."

He let go, easing down. "Fine... You make sense, and you're right: I'm not the one with the package." Yes! He gets it! I actually won an argument against this commando. "You can come with. But you promise me one thing. You listenin', hatchling?"

I nodded. "Thank you, sir. Yes."

"I'm still in command here, so you don't do or say anything unless I tell you. It's not just about your safety. It's about the Muldoon's. Got it?"

He was right. I was so eager to get rid of this thing that I forgot about my coworkers. "Got it. I don't want to screw this up, not for the crew."

Howz flicked his forked tongue. "We're not bulletproof."

"I got it, Cap'n." Touché.

A respectful quiet occupied the room. He scratched his scales. "My, uh, daughter hasn't gone through her rebellious-teenager-phase yet, so I'm practicin' with you," he confessed, "if you don't mind?" I knew he was trying to ease the tension.

I crossed my arms. "I heard that you had a kid. How old is she?"

"She's five now." D'aw. His demeanor changed. "Smart for her age. Adorable."

"Do you see her very often?" I asked.

He looked away. "My wife and I divorced a few years ago..." He tried to keep his tone from sliding into melancholy. "I wasn't gonna' be home very often, and we both wanted Baz to have a dad, or someone 'round to raise her."

"Sorry to hear that." Is divorce worse than death? I asked that question whenever I met kids that suffered through it. I can imagine with everything in life it's about the circumstances, but afterward they weren't the same. Would it have hurt worse if my parents just split, admitting they didn't love each other, some sad story for me and my siblings to piece together as we matured? It's impossible to say. Death is a different kind of tragedy, a final acceptance as the what-if's become less of a crutch with time. You have to move on: there's no way to go back.

"I make sure they're financially secure," he continued. "And about a year ago, my wife shacked-up with two o' her friends she went to school with, n' they agreed to take care of them... Guess they're all polygamists now. Funny." He grunted, clearly uneasy. "S'long as they take care of my kid then I don't care."

The machismo faded. "Thanks for sharing that. If you take care of us the way you take care of your family, Howz, then you don't need to worry. At all."

"Right," he politely agreed. "And I thank the Stars it's worked out. And Baz isn't gonna' grow up hating me. That's all I need..."

I turned to my desk. "Is there anything else about our destination you want me to know?"

He switched back to the intrepid leader. "Right... don't need to hear your boss gettin' sentimental, heh. For now: prep. We'll be docking in a few days."

When he left, I tried to think of every conceivable situation we might get into when we hit Garem. If they know what this star-diamond-thing is then surely they'll get it out of me. Hopefully without getting hurt, or dying in the process. The fact that it's blended with my physique so well means it might not come out easy. Will we run into crooks, or scientists, or both?



I found myself tired, crawling into bed with nothing but the stars outside to illuminate the bedroom. Drifting away, I found myself onboard the Alatriste, a decade ago. I'm nineteen instead of nine in age, and my father was standing off to the side, in a fitted suit, tears streaming on his face. "Well, there goes my perfect family," he wailed, "there goes my beautiful wife, there goes my only son. We can't sue because this was an accident and other families are hurting just like us." I reached out to touch his sleeve, but he didn't react; this dream version of my father just wept, over and over, and I stepped away. Viola stood nearby, along with other pedestrians. She repeatedly punched the wall, asking, "Why?!" before she just hugged the metal and let the pain run its course. "He was gonna' be a doctor..." I looked back to the gout of fire, to the firefighters and responders, and I just stood there. Wait, what if I use the star-diamond? Shard, and my entire body changed. I stepped inside, feeling warmth; nothing hurtful. I looked around, and pushed further in, past broken organs of the ship's engineering. There I found them. My mother, and my brother, holding each other. The flames encircled them. I stood nearby, reaching my hand out. My mother looked up at me, soot on her face. "Port, what're you doing?" she asked, dumbfounded. "You know we can't help each other." I paused, looking at Mercutio, sleeping. I said, "But this thing's really handy, mom," I countered, "and I can get you guys out of here!" She smiled. "I know you're trying so hard to help, and I love you so much when you get like this. Sweetie: we're dead. We've moved on." I casually accepted her words, and just stood up and left, telling myself, "No but- you can't be, what if- okay, fine." I kept walking, and walking, a single tear running down my face. I got back out and saw my sister and father. I wanted to console them, but I didn't know what to say. "They said they're dead, guys. There's nothing we can do. It's fine." We hugged each other this time. I stood there, shiny and diamond-like. "I don't know what to do. But I tried."

I woke up. Calm. I've had dreams like that, on occasion. This time was different. Normally it ended with me feeling weak, blaming myself for not thinking of something that would've kept my family together that day and prevented their deaths, longing for dad and sis to be at peace with everything, so I could be at peace. And almost always hoping that I could go into the fire to pull my mother and little brother out. This time: that damn crystal was there. I went inside, and I found them. And despite how dark, and eerie, and futile everything felt, seeing them together in this tragic position, the recognition of their end did not make me wake up with heavy breaths or guilt. It was... matter-of-factly...

I got up and stepped outside my room, padding over the grass. I stood in front of Xio's bedroom door for a minute, before I tapped on the metal.

Music, instrumental and calm, lowered in volume. The door slid open. Xio stood, surprised to see me, wearing only his boxers. "Oh, um, hey," he greeted, tired.

Trying not to gawk up and down his exposed body, "Hey, I know it's late... I had a weird dream, and I don't want to go back to sleep right away." Let's see what kind of boyfriend material you are you furry bastard. Are you supportive, or what? I'm not throwing myself at you, by the way. I mean, I want to, but I have some standards here, and I'd like a hug without any conditions, okay?

He stepped aside. "Been there before, heh heh," he acknowledged. "Would you like to... talk about it?"

"Well yeah," I lazily threw at him, "you said you wanted me to come and talk to you about stuff that was upsetting me, right?" This poor guy. He probably just wants to go to bed.

"I did say that," he blushed. "Come in."

There he was. There's that cute guy I hoped for. "Thanks," I smiled, relieved. I sat on his bed. His room was messier than mine, and he definitely decorated the hell out of it. That music I recognized as Hourglass, a popular soft-rock HL band.

I scooted over, indicating we should both sit on his mattress. "Can I hug you? I don't wanna' do anything. I just want a real hug."

He sat down next to me. "Okay," very compliant.

I stopped him, "Wait..." I forced my entire body to shard-on, head to toe, studying to see how he acted. His expression didn't change. I wondered if he thought I was a freak, or something unnatural, yet nothing indicated disgust. "Can we still hug?" No pleading.

He giggled, despite his lack of energy. "Sure. Just don't crush me." The feline wrapped his arms around my midsection, unafraid of this glassy texture layering my skin.

"Thanks, X." We held onto each other for so long, the diamonds receding, and we fell asleep on his bed. I didn't have any nightmares the rest of the night, snuggling against his firm, furry body.

31

The Muldoon pierced Garem's sky. 'Deeja' responded to our entry hailing with a designated starport: Duroib, the smallest, busiest hub for non-dragonfly activity. MESSAGE ME WHEN YOU DOCK. Scant information. All of us pined to finish this job, and I hungered to end the Portia Crystal Invasion.

Rainbow streaks of lightning webbed across the dark sky as we docked. The local feed predicted rain; so far the planet's crisp humidity failed to produce hefty droplets of moisture that afternoon. We waited for further instructions. Most of us stood outside, admiring the odd atmosphere, and the towering, conic spires, in addition to the plethora of native people flying over our heads. The other eight planets in the system produced grounded species like myself. Thousands of Ophems buzzing around us; a unique experience. All other races occupied the ground floor; through HL unity the winged denizens built accommodations for non-winged folk. The only downside, I learned: their world's smaller size forced the Collective to limit immigration, which only became an issue for refugees.

I saw O, staring at her datapad, uninterested in her home world. Peering over her shoulder, "You excited to be back?" I asked, attempting to connect with her. She does have pretty wings.

The woman sighed, "Not really."

"No homesickness at all?" I pressed.

She looked harder at her datapad. "None... I don't really want to be here." I blinked. When we went back to Terra, I didn't feel the longing I should've, myself, but that had everything to do with the star-diamond-thing. For her? O added, "...There's nothing for me here."

That sounded empty. And sad. I really wanted to ask her what she meant. Maybe she had a really rough upbringing?

I chose to leave her alone, and tapped on Kōl's hip, several steps away. He peered down at me, and I inquired, "O doesn't seem to like it here."

The bird pulled me aside, quieting, informing me, "So you two don't talk that much... She joined the ship years ago 'cause she had to get away. Her parents died of the prima-virus right before, and, um, apparently she watched it happen."

"Oh my gods," I exclaimed. "That's horrifying." I've seen the videos of what happens to people who contract the virus. When it hits, its victims erupt into this bio-warped bust of unnatural matter, twisting into a variety of disturbing, hellish protrusions and body parts, before they expire, dissolving into goo that slowly evaporates. It's fucking terrible, and so far nobody's found a cure. Thankfully, the virus is incredibly rare, and contraction is unpredictably selective, though we know it can be transmitted through any form of contact.

"Garem's really painful for her..." he continued. "I asked O after our morning prayers if she wanted us to drop her off at the last HL Station, but she insisted on coming. I know she doesn't want to abandon ship."

I glanced back at the programmer with a different lens. "Is that why she's so, um, blunt?" I asked, delicately, my best at empathy.

Kōl smiled, aware of what I meant. "She's told me she used to be nicer to people. There's some bitterness under that buggy skin of hers she's still processing." He held up a talon. "I'll say one thing: it did bring her closer to the Unity, so that's good."

"Huh. Yeah."

Howz stepped down the plank, clanking his pipe against the ship's ramp, letting the ashes fall out. He tucked the thing into a pocket on his vest. "A'right, people!" he called us over. We encircled. "We just got a transmission from our new contact. She told us where to meet, and to bring no more than three people total, otherwise she'll break everything off. I'm goin'. Kōl, you're with me." He looked around. "And I've had a chat with Port; she's coming too."

An immediate protest erupted from the squid and the avian; I noticed Xio about to say something, eyeing me, then backed down. The veteran held his scaly fist up. "It's decided. I know what we're doin'. That's the end of it." He pointed to our other crewmates. "The rest o' you stay here and guard. If someone starts shootin', you get your tails out. We'll be fine on our own."

The others stood down. Cena raised a tentacle. "If you need a daring rescue, Cap'n, you know what to do."

"Yeah yeah." I guess they've had to do risky maneuvers here and there. "Now get to work. We're headin' out. Bright Energy headquarters."

While the others scurried to our star-fluyt, Xio marched over to me. "Try not to get hurt," he begged. A protective, caring side of the furry escaped, and he held back saying more.

I hugged him, his arms immediately wrapped around my chest. Making certain to keep eye contact, I told him, with confidence, "I won't." X let out an animal whine, and kissed me. He let go, gauging his gentleman-meter, and I smiled back, approving of his affection. "Don't worry."

He nodded, then hopped into the Muldoon, saving himself from ruining the moment. Thank gods Xio wasn't dumb, at least not as dumb as most guys.

I followed Howz and Kōl to a monorail, ground-level, spacious so larger aliens could freely travel Duroib. We rode for an hour, mentally prepping for danger. The two men checked their equipment, making certain their weapons functioned with full ammo if needed, keeping sharp for moving shadows. They charged me with the infamous black box, which I agreed, given that I put no interest nor effort into arming myself with a gun. Kōl's advice that I run for cover or hide made far more sense. If I needed to throw a punch, then so be it.

"What else did our contact say?" the former cop pressed.

The captain shook his head, "Nothing. Don't bring more'n three, and the box, and she'll be waiting."

"Did you say anything about, um, looking inside the case?" I know he wanted to ask about that crystal melding with my body; no point in saying it out loud.

Howz shook his head. "No. I thought it'd be smarter to show it to 'em. Explain why we opened it. And feign ignorance why they were payin' to ship a shiny rock." He was gambling. Our stalwart leader didn't wish to unsettle us with signs of doubt.

"Guess we'll wait and see how they react."

The monorail pulled into a cluster station, and we stepped out. Coming in view of the Bright Energy building, illuminated to flash green and red like our twin suns, we kept our eyes open for assailants, spies, and the like, ready to dance. We made our way through the front of the building. A two-tiered security station blocked further movement, with bugs and other aliens scattered about. Calmness occupied the arena. Most people were distracted by their own affairs. We waited to see if anyone approached, as we had no clearance to proceed further, minus name-dropping our contact.

An elven woman, clad in fashion-forward business garb blending Ank and Dixa styles, moseyed straight in our direction. Clean chartreuse skin, braided burgundy hair, indigo flats matching her professional dress. She strolled with purpose to our group. "Muldoon?" she hummed.

We casually bowed. Howz talked, "Deeja?"

"Deeja Saiol," she eyed the box in my hands, "and you have my package."

He nodded, "Absolutely. We'd like to get paid."

"Right. I hope your journey here was safe." She pointed up into the immaculate roof. "Please, follow me."

We played the humble space-merchant. My crew fell in a very easy position to get screwed, partly our own fault, and the only expected reward: a large pot of Omegas.

Miss Saiol took us to the security checkpoint. The guards sized my well-equipped comrades. A robust dragonfly pulled out two trays. "Please empty all lethal weapons." A demand, not a request.

Howz looked macho enough to protest, then slowly disarmed himself, pulling out two hefty sluggers and setting them in the tray. The other security tried to obfuscate discrimination toward Kōl, as he removed two las-pistols and a plasma carbine slung over his back, in addition to a tonfa. If we lived in my grandfather's day, they probably would've asked him to file his talons down, but nowadays that was offensive to Iukoans--the majority made certain to dull their talons anyway. I showed them that I don't have anything on me other than my wrist-comm, a pen-light, and a data-wallet. I noticed Howz make a subtle fist-in-palm motion to Kōl, which I'm pretty sure meant 'go bare-handed as needed.'

After passing inspection, Deeja instructed we follow her. "This way. I'd prefer to talk in my office."

Nobody said a word during the elevator ride up. I hoped this would end well for everyone. I started brainstorming what to say, in case I had to jump in and reveal the star-diamond-thing. The decoy looked close enough to the original, shifting the scales in our favor. That said, we're still in the dark, its origins a mystery; not to mention we know some people have been killed looking for the Muldoon's former coworker. And the Guild? And exactly what was Bright Energy doing here? As far as we knew they exported fuel. So what's their end goal? Is this crystal thing fuel? Why haven't I blown up yet? Shit! Don't think that! It's fine! I've been fine...

Sliding up the glossy tower, the elevator ended at Floor 70, peering through translucent glass the entire time. The doors slid apart, and she led us further inside. Most of the office doors were closed, while a few remained open with chatter. Dragonfly in demographic, we did spot one loud squid chatting with a few commoners. The floors were large enough for avians to comfortably walk through; Kōl managed just fine. Howz and I required his capabilities, however, none of us could outrun a las-bloom.

The savvy elf led us to an office, where she tapped a few buttons on the console, opening a rounded, persimmon room. She invited us inside, securing the door behind with a gentle BEEP. The walls looked bare, with a pair of landscape paintings flanking the room; I recognized one of them: a Garemite artist named Twipe, specializing in acrylics. Is that an original?

Deeja tapped her nails against her desk. "So the first thing I've noticed is that package," she pointed, "looks pried apart... Care to explain yourself? I'm certain my man made it clear not to open the box- in fact, he should've made it very clear your contract depends on it?" Her tone cut sharper than her expression. An idiot could tell she took risks: a high-profile businesswoman with a major conglomerate, on a completely different planet, willing to engage in legally-questionable forms of smuggling. I had to admit, even as a Terran, I was in awe of her presence: this person probably spent years plying her charisma like a master. How the hells does she look this good and intimidating at the same time? So not fair.

My coworkers, based on their previous jobs, learned the hard way how to handle dangerous people, no matter the occupation or background. Howz kept his cool. "Quariet? Yeah, he did. 'Soon as we arrived back at our ship, we found out on the news someone iced him, and his crew... I felt it wise to investigate, whether we might explode or HL authorities were gonna' swarm us... Thankfully, you just want this glass thing... Can't imagine why you'd spend Omegas on it, but that's yer' business."

She studied our leader, deciphering the truth of his words. I crossed my fingers. "That makes me nervous..." Slapping the top of her desk. "Let's take a look."

Howz motioned for me. I set the container in front of her. Stepping back, she studied the box, suppressing her anticipation. For a second she studied me instead of the container, eyebrow raised. Are the crystals showing?! No, I don't feel any. My skin was normal, and she turned her attention back to the chest. Can she sense the star-diamond? Maybe she has a device that can detect its location? If they had the answers, then it's possible. I just hoped my crew wouldn't pay the price.

She placed her hands on the box. "On behalf of Bright Energy, I'd like to thank you for making the long journey to deliver our investments... Is there anything I need to know, before I take a look?"

Her open-ended question held a subtle, sinister invitation. Did she know? Was this a maneuver?

Before any of us could answer the elf, her door let out a BONG and slid open. Hovering into the office: six dragonflies. Dressed professionally; they made no effort to hide their shoulder-holstered pistols. I saw Deeja rear up, perplexed at their arrival. "Mr. Jurda. May I ask why you're invading my privacy? And that door's for my clearance..."

The leader hovered closer to our gathering, while his associates closed the door behind them, spreading out to block the entrance to the office in an arc, keeping their gaze on us. He spoke, "Miss Saiol... I see that our hired-hands are present," motioning to the package, "and I trust they've made a successful delivery?"

Her demeanor, still guarded, hid concern. "Yes, and I'm handling things. I'll report when we're through."

This Jurda frowned. "I'm here on behalf of this company as well... I'm allowed to see it."

Something's off. My gut tightened, and I witnessed my more experienced crewmates staying grounded. The gal switched to us, before she shrugged. "Fine!" She opened the box, and carefully reached inside, slowly removing the glassy egg with both hands. Her face lit up as she brought it closer.

Jurda hovered nearer and nearer, hungry to inspect the glistening gem. His compound eyes surveyed each crevice, and I saw his olfactory feelers keeping a healthy distance. "Oh... By the Winds! It's quite beautiful." He switched to our crew. "Miss Saiol has been handling the bulk of this venture, and we'd like to thank you..."

While he went off on business jargon, congratulating us on our efforts, I saw the elf's expression change. A mean, intolerant face overtook her professional beauty. She shot up--specifically at Howz. I saw her arms bring the glass egg down on her desk. Hard.

CRASH

An explosion of glass cascaded over the surface, clinking on the ground. The businessman stopped, aghast at what just happened. "Deeja! What do you think you're-?"

She stomped over to face our superior. "Where is it?" she thrusted, cold, irate. Oh no.

Jurda changed his tune, curious as to our response. My heart started racing. Oh gods, we're gonna' get found out! What do we do?!

Howz stayed cool. "Your goods."

"That was a damn good replication... but you fucked up. Now where is it, venom-bladder? Do not... fuck with me!" Ouch!

Kōl didn't flinch. I don't know what I let slip, trying so hard to look inoffensive. Howz folded his arms, unafraid of her biting expression. "...We didn't tamper with anything. If that's not what you paid for, go talk to Quariet. I don't appreciate bein' accused of shenanigans. We got a clean, dependable record."

She raised a finger at the veteran, standing taller than her, ignoring his combative build. "You've got some fucking maxi, flying all the way here, pulling a fast one! You want the Omegas? You're not getting half of one until-"

Her business partner flew closer, "-Hey now. Excuse me, Deeja. Are you saying these contractors are subverting their end of the deal?"

Impatient, she mocked the bug, "Yes! Jurda, that's exactly what I'm saying!"

Before she could drill us further, he interjected, "Then perhaps now's the time... Miss Saiol, I'll be relieving you of this operation, on behalf of the company."

She froze, ignoring us categorically. "...What?"

He smiled, landing on her desk, relaxing his wings. "You've screwed up. Allowing an expensive investment like this to slip through your hands? Tsk tsk..." He snapped his fingers. One of his associates hovered closer, giving him a large folder. "I've spoken with our respective Board overseers," he explained, grabbing the dossier. "They agreed with me to let your contract go. You're no longer an employee with Bright Energy, and all your operations are to be handed over to me. Don't worry: we've deposited a very nice buyout in your account, as part of your salary option, and to say thanks for your years of service." He tossed the folder on her desk, uncaring if she inspected its contents. "From here on out, forget about this deal. It's mine."

Horror set in her eyes. Vitriol. "You... you can't do this. You can't do this! This is my deal, Jurda!"

We watched, ignorant to this intrigue playing before us, hoping that we could slip through the cracks. I looked around the room, noticing the bay windows overlooking Garem's cityscape; the glass was probably too strong to break, and we were too high to land safely without splattering on the ground. If we wanted to escape, we'd have to run through the main plaza.

Jurda corrected her. "This was your deal. And you revealed ahead of time that you're incompetent." He flicked his wings. "I'm doing what's best for the company. Do yourself a favor and vacate the premises."

Howz raised his hand. "Excuse me, this ain't our business," he wedged. "We delivered the package. We'd like to get paid, and be on our way."

The dragonfly stopped us. "Oh, that's not happening. If this isn't the proper item, then we'll find where you've stashed the real one. Even if we have to interrogate you." He looked at his associates. Each of them removed a hefty las-pistol and aimed at us.

"That's not necessary," our captain affirmed, still stone-faced.

I wanted to raise my hands at the sight of guns leveled at our torsos. Kōl didn't budge, so I mimicked him, hoping this debacle would resolve itself without damage.

"I'll make the calls here," the businessman countered. He looked to Deeja. "If you'll excuse us? Company business."

The woman loomed over him. Tight shoulders, wadded fists, hateful grinding of teeth. "I've been researching this for years, and you don't know what you're doing!"

"Ground yourself, larvae! You played the game, and you lost... You can't fuck your way out of this one," he chuckled. "Even Iatan signed the proposal." I had no idea who that was. Loathing swelled up inside her.

An intense index finger pointed right between his eyes. "I'm not letting you take this away from me. I've come too far..."

He blinked his compound eyes. "That sounds like a threat," he declared. We stood there, watching with tighter nerves. "Well, now I'm worried for my life." His tone sounded casual, too insincere. He dexterously reached into his coat and removed a pistol, aiming right at her heart. "You're done."

A crackle of light and popping escaped the pistol, going into her chest. The rest of us stood there, stupefied by the murder happening in such a large corporate office.

That's when I caught the shimmer.

The elven woman's entire skin solidified. Crystalized. Oh thank the gods! I'm not the only one! She stood, unruffled by point-blank heat. His shot didn't affect her one bit. Jurda waned, dumbfounded by his competitor's diamond-like doppelganger. "What-?"

She grabbed his gun with one hand, quickly crushing the metal, a small discharge of light erupting from the clip. The other slammed him square in his face, dislodging one of his large eyes. When he hit the floor, his associates indolently turned their pistols on her.

I listened to my gut, and reacted before my peers. Shard. Jumping to her desk, my enhanced physique hoisted the unwieldy furniture with ease, and I tossed it at three of the bugs grouped near one another; two of them slammed against the wall, while the desk clipped the other's wings, sending him to the floor. Howz rolled toward one on the right, uppercutting hard under his snout, knocking him out instantly. Kōl adroitly sidestepped, kicking the one on the left hard enough to impact the ceiling, avoiding rogue blasts. Both of them scrambled for a pistol; I prayed the weapons were large enough for our security-spec.

Deeja swiveled, completely stationary. Her gaze didn't leave my crystalline form. I positioned myself between her and my comrades. As hopeful as I was that Deeja could help, we presently witnessed attempted murder in an unfamiliar environment. Intuition told me to protect my crew. Yet, the Ankian's threatening demeanor melted away at the sight of me.

Howz and Kōl moved behind me, freshly armed. They saw two diamond-studded anthropoids facing off. Deeja gave up, letting the crystals dissipate into her flesh. "...So that's where it went." Saddened, she held back ludicrous laughter.

I knew. Somehow I knew what she meant, and how she felt. I defended, "It was an accident."

She smiled. "...Let me guess: you picked it up, and now it's part of you?"

Letting the crystals go, I answered, "Yeah. We don't know what's going on." I didn't enjoy sounding helpless. She had to know what this thing felt like.

Howz held my shoulder, telling Deeja. "I'll take the blame... Can you get this thing outta' her?"

She looked at her desk thrown across the room, at her unconscious associates, and settled on us, giving me a regrettable, "No. Sorry." My heart sank. No! You have to know how to get this out! We came all the way here! "I've had this thing for over a decade... When I heard about the other one, I hashed a plan, and convinced the company to fund an interception... I intended to let their scientists inspect it; see if they could crack the code, reverse its effects."

I wanted to cry, and rage, and beg fate to give me a break. "What is it? Where did it come from?" You have to have some answers, bitch!

She shrugged. "A survival aid...? It's xenomorphic. That's my theory, anyway. As for concrete information? My apologies, but I've been in the dark for a long time myself."

Before I could ask more questions, Kōl surveyed the office. "We need to get goin', Cap'n."

Howz took charge. "Look," he delivered to Deeja, ready to bolt, "we're not tryin' to screw you... Where do we stand? And how're we getting paid?"

Disappointed in the whole affair, she snapped back to reality. Her associates expertly disarmed. "My superiors are pushing me out because of this bastard..." turning to a console on her wall, "but if they think Jurda's attracting bad press, and violence?" Her wheels turned, and she prepped us for schemes. "Right now, you might be the only people that can help me, so play along. And I'll make sure Bright Energy compensates you." She pressed a button on her console, and started crying.

A voice boomed through the speaker. "Security. Miss Saiol?"

Whimpering, she choked out, "This man came into my office while I was in a meeting! A-A-And he threatened to kill me! We need help! Please call the authorities! They had guns! Please?!"

We anticipated Deeja selling us out. The voice returned, "Miss Saiol! Wait there! We're on our way."

"Oh, by the Stars! Thank you! Please, hurry?! They might wake up! I'm- I'm going to call Law Cannon!"

"Um, Miss Saiol, wait-" Cutting the feed, Deeja poised. "That'll make 'em flutter." She reshaped to the savvy businesswoman. With a hint of an excuse, she mused, "I haven't played the 'damsel in distress' card in a long time... this's embarrassing."

Kōl moved to the door, while Howz stepped closer to her. "This... is gonna' get us paid? No offense, it sounded like these Bright people fired you."

She smiled, happy to display her expertise in a field the soldier knew little about. "They might. However, if Jurda and these others get turned in for attempted murder, you'd be surprised how fast a large company will save face--minimize lawsuits, investigations. Not to mention, HL doesn't care if dragonflies kill each other on Garem; an Ankian, an Ognongan, an Iukoan, and a young Terran? Things get turned-up. I mention LC and they won't think twice to settle everything quick, and satisfactory."

The veteran wanted to poke holes, and knew she would out-grasp public relations. "Fine. We'll play along."

I came up to her. The elf's expression changed. I asked, "You have no idea how to help me? At all?"

My face looked pathetic. I didn't care. If she had this thing in her, then she had those same days where she didn't know if she was going to die or explode into gems. She crossed her arms, "You mean 'us?'" Eying the console with all her computer data and records, Deeja said, "I do know one thing. The v'Manx Mining Union found that thing... They didn't excavate it, though. I read the report: they wanted to boast to the market they discovered a new precious stone to mine."

I waited, expecting clarification. "Okay. So they found it? Where?" Help me, gods dammit!

"A couple of prospectors went to the outer system-"

"-Surassi, right?" Howz jumped in.

"Not a bad guess, but no. If this was a product of the newest, intelligent star-cluster then my plans would be very different..." Pressing a few keys on her computer, bringing up jacked files, "They found it at an asteroid station on the other side of the system. Space-trader hub or some such, called Balti."

Howz growled to himself, "You've gotta' be fuckin' kidding me." Worn-down just from hearing the name, the soldier huffed to the other side of the office.

Kōl resigned, "Oh boy."

That name meant nothing to me. Watching the burly soldier's mood switch that quickly, I hesitated asking, "What's Balti?"

I hated his answer. "Balti's a free port. It's also a horrible shit-hole. The worst people live there: sssmugglers, pirates, criminals... And I made a vow to our ship we'd never go back."

32

A gathering of security personnel made their way to Deeja's office, astounded by the sight of the dented wall near the entrance, the hurled desk resting upside down, six unconscious, well-dressed native business-folk with las-pistols accompanied by the smell of singed spots including Deeja's blouse, our group looking very out-of-place in this classy building, and the scared and nervous elf, feigning shock that one of her associates just tried to kill her. They confiscated the weaponry and cuffed the assailants, getting a statement from everyone regarding the incident; we supported her story, and boasted how easily we disarmed the thugs.

While this took place, a pair of executives flew in, putting on their best attempt at PR. We watched them passively catechize her for the most pragmatic resolution that lessened their accountability. A settlement allowed her to reacquire the contract, since Jurda's now under arrest--a poor exemplar of Bright Energy. We watched the assassins dragged down the hall, wings fluttering and vulgarity spilling into the other offices.

One executive remained, speaking very quietly with the businesswoman. "It's fine, Iatan," I heard. They hugged, longer than polite Garemite custom allowed, before he let go and buzzed out of the room. She appreciated the way his wings whipped the air.

When the four of us remained, Howz felt safe to ask, "What now?"

Kōl shifted her desk back into the original space. "Thank you," she said. Paying attention to the snake, "Looks like the company's willing to temporarily extend my contract and forgo the push-out Jurda masterminded. Which works for both of us! I get to stay here a little longer before I look for employment elsewhere, while you..." attention extended to me, "...go and find the origin of that artifact."

I wanted to grumble. Howz kept focused. "Balti... No other leads?"

"Nothing. I couldn't find any specific names."

Our martial artist motivated our captain. "We've been before. We'll be fine."

Howz gave him an annoyed face, before asking Deeja, "And the Omegas?"

Her expression didn't change. "You didn't exactly drop off the package in my possession," she explained, "you merely showed me where it's located." I wanted to punch her. Oh you're so clever, aren't you?

"Fine, I get it." Folding his muscular arms. "Sssince we're changin' course, we need to bite a piece of the steak off. Balti's remote, fuel's not cheap, and our munitions need filling."

She soured, before realizing I stood nearby. "You're lucky this isn't another business transaction." She asked me, "It's personal, right?" I nodded without hesitation. "I can justify advancing another Ω20,000. Any more and you'll contemplate abandoning my interest."

The man pondered, before agreeing. "Done."

Kōl motioned to the dent in the wall. "Um, your coworker saw you go crystal'd out. Do people know you can do that?" That thought hadn't hit me. I did everything I could to hide it.

She answered, pushing her hair back, "Very few... I'm not worried about Jurda, or his friends. And I'm quite certain nobody will believe him. He found out the hard way I'm not easy to kill..." Every word broadcasted power, content with the invasive gems inside her. I should take a page from her book!

The avian approved. I stepped closer, desperate, "Miss Saiol?" She shifted in my direction. "How did... you find it?"

Her tone changed to a raw one, instead of the rehearsed salesperson. "Eleven years ago, my older brother found it while he was on an expedition in the outer system, embedded on an asteroid. He shipped it back to me... When I opened it up, it looked so beautiful..." Her mind traveled back to the event. "I was holding onto it, and next thing I know, the stone broke apart and I felt this pain all over... It took a few days before it stopped. I've spent years trying to figure out how to get it out of me."

"Your brother didn't tell you where this asteroid was?"

Her eyes glazed ever so slightly. "Before I could meet him, my family received a message that his ship exploded."

"Oh, um, sorry to hear that." Of course. She didn't get a lead whatsoever. Now I felt bad for her.

"That didn't stop me from looking," she continued, "but that particular cluster has about 100,000 asteroids, and the prospecting company kept shoddy records. So when I happened to catch another had been found, I jumped on it."

I thought for a moment. "Do they know what it is? The Mining Union or whoever?"

She motioned to my body. "If they did, girl, then you'd be fine, and somebody from their committee'd be covered in diamonds." Shit, she's right.

I heard Kōl ask our captain, "You think the Union paid the Guild to find us?"

Deeja perked her pointed ears up. "The Guild?"

"Right. Forgot." He explained to Deeja, "This guy with the RG wants the thing. If those miners want their find back, why not hire a repo-man?" Looking at the glass on the floor that had been swept up. "You wouldn't happen to know a crafter that can forge a replica? You broke ours... It'll get 'em off both our backs, if you need convincin'."

She gave him a displeased look, then browsed vendors on her console. "I know people in Duroib. Anything to speed this up." She settled on a site, and input information. "Done... I found a jeweler, and they're holding it for you. You're welcome."

Howz confirmed with us, "If there's nothin' else, then we'll be on our way, Miss Deeja."

I begged her attention. "One last thing. Since you've had the crystal for this long: have you had any, um, complications?"

She shook her head. "None. My last checkup gave me perfect health. Sleep easy, kid."

Oh thank gods! After eleven years the star-diamond could've harmed her body, or hells, her mental state. She had to know how nervous I felt. I haven't exactly been acting normal since it happened, at least not all the time. Yet here was a 'victim' like myself, and she seemed perfectly normal. Maybe it's not a big deal...? What about her uterus--does it still work? I wasn't bold enough to ask her that, although I didn't see any marriage tattoos on her elven face.

"Any other questions?" my captain asked. I couldn't think of any. I was still in the dark, just not as scared after meeting her. "Then lets' get goin'."

The three of us started to leave. Deeja stopped me. "I never caught your name."

I held my hands out, in the Ank fashion. "I'm Portia."

Impressed, she shook both, "Good luck. May the Stars guide you."

We let go. "Thanks. And thanks for, um, telling me about this diamond-thing." Maybe she's not that cold-blooded.

She replied, "...Find something for me. And you, too," suppressing unbridled hope for success, ever the smooth money-maker.

"We will."



We rode the monorail to the approximate location of Deeja's jeweler. They gave us the replica held behind the counter. This thing looked far more accurate to the original than the glass egg we purchased in Valush. Riding the rail back to our ship, Xio and Cena waited out front, relieved to see us return whole.

"How did it go?" she asked.

Howz motioned to reconvene inside. "Conference room."

We sealed the Muldoon up, and waited around the table. The snake filled updated the rest of the crew. "...I really don't wanna' go back to Balti, but we got no other choice. Cena, once we're done with this Tanzer guy on HLS-1, you stock up for a long flight, and I want the rest o' you helping her--combat, goods for bribin', I don't care. Anitt, pull strings." We seemed in agreement.

"I can't believe this executive has a diamond-thing in her," Ophem announced.

"She's had it for years," I added. "I'm not giving up hope. It didn't look like she was falling apart. And it protected her from gunfire, just like me..." The programmer nodded in response.

Howz commanded, "I want the Guildsman off our back, so we can think straight." He exited the room, most likely indulging in weed of some kind to heal his agitation.

I asked the crew as we moved to our posts, "So you've been to this Balti place before?"

Anitt groaned. "Oi... Yes. It's not a pretty place."

Cena clarified, "The first time they went their security specialist almost died. The last time--I was there for this--we had a run-in with three different pirate ships, and we narrowly avoided getting blown to smithereens."

I gulped. Xio patted my back. "Don't worry. This crew knows what to do. And you're indestructible." Smiling, those teeth poking through.

I tried not to think about the danger our ship would run into, nor the horrible people that might harass us. Those Stilettos on Lan'ter were bad enough. A cutthroat street gang compared to a pirate crew? I didn't want any of it, unless it involved some sexy space captain with swashbuckling charm... I wonder what X would look like in a pirate hat?



Our ship docked at Station One, a smooth and unimpeded journey. As soon as we landed, Howz had me send a message to the guildsman. Our response: MEET AT PLAZA SQUARE. PUBLIC AREA. GLAD YOU KEPT YOUR WORD. At least this gunner has some manners.

I asked our leader, "Did you want me to go with you?"

"No. I'm orderin' Cena and O to stock up on supplies, Port. You help 'em prep. We can handle a Guildsman... and Barry," he sighed.

"Right."

"Think I might ask shorty to get some fresh air- And take X with you."

While they prepped to meet the tracker, I stepped onto the platform, meandering with my coworkers throughout the station. Cena compiled a good list for the ship's needs, asking the rest of us if we could think of anything else to add.

Staring at the space-folk coming in and out of the station, I imagined what uncivilized space would feel like. Tapping Cena on her rubbery shoulder, "When y'all went to Balti, did you make enemies? Like, is anybody else gunning for the Muldoon?"

Cena recalled the troubles they survived in the outskirts of space. "...Yes. One of the pirates that we outmaneuvered for a contract, a really bad guy named Lokk. Owns a star-corvette called the Tembo. We haven't run into him in years... Luckily he's small-time, the last we heard, and no pirate leagues've been chasing us."

Oh brother. "How 'bad' are we talking?"

With her thoughtful rubies, she smiled, "Bad enough to stay away from, not bad enough they'll kill us on-sight. I don't think... And don't get scared: you've already survived a firefight. And you're not dumb. We'll keep an eye out for you."

"Thank you." Or will I have to keep an eye out for you?

33

The snake, distracted by the eventuality of traveling into dangerous pockets of unregulated space, ambled through the arcade, with Anitt to his right and Kōl trailing behind. A handful of people occupied the public arena, the usual range of workers or professionals of some trade. One LC commando busied herself near the far side. The three space-merchants carried light weaponry, intended for defense in this particular meeting. This Tanzer admitted to shooting Quariet, meaning he relied on official Guild activity to guide and buttress his actions. Still, the Muldoon's crew had no issue keeping their reputation clean, and hoped the ringer in Howz's grip would convince the hunter.

Waiting near a monument to an astronaut from Siimb named 'Fletcher' with a list of great deeds at the base, the kodama, a canine and an avian wearing tactical gear with no markings, and Barry dressed in a flamboyant suit with his mirror-shades stood nearby, perking up to a readied conversational stance as the Muldoon's crew marched closer. Fucking Barry, the captain complained.

And of course, the entertainer spoke first, announcing their arrival to his companions, "Ah, Captain Howz, Lord Anitt! Glad to see ya' show up!"

The noble opened his arms, "Barry! How've you been, you old cad?"

Tanzer quickly raised an indignant root to the human. "Shut. Up." After the producer pulled back, the hunter eyed the trio, making a note of the large bird standing away, off to the side, ready to cover and fire. He looked at the black carton, and said, "Happy you finally came. Startin' to get worried..."

Howz stepped forward, eager to finalize the whole affair. He gently set the box down in front of them. "We're not crooks... We just want this over n' done." He opened the box, and stood back, revealing the contents inside. Looking at the pair of armed men near the plant, he asked, "Who're they?"

Tanzer shrugged, ever so slightly. "They're here to keep shit on the level." He slowly bent down, peering inside. A crystalline ornament waited in hollowed foam, shimmering enough to his liking. "Huh." He closed the box, picking it up. "It's funny what I get paid fo'..."

The aristocrat inquired, "Our business is concluded, sir? My ship's out of your crosshairs?" The pair of unnamed security kept their senses sharp, yet they hadn't budged.

Grinning, Tanzer answered, "Yeah. We're done. Thanks for not makin' me shoot you fine folks."

Howz smiled back, "We took a bad contract. It happensss."

About to turn around, the hunter gave one parting statement. "Just so yer' aware: any funny business, you won't see me comin'. Somebody else will." His glower a warning to the party.

"Understood."

Seeing the potential shootout dissipate in a civilized manner, Barry added the cherry on top, "Now that it's settled, why don't we celebrate? My old coworkers are here, you guys got what you came for, now let's relax a bit, huh? Ah!"

Tanzer swiveled. He made it clear how obnoxious the human behaved since their pairing. "I'm done with you, man. I'm getting my ass outta' here so I get paid. You wanna' party with your buddies? That's you." He stormed off, fervent to lose the producer. The pair of nameless toughs gauged both parties, and followed the guildsman out of the plaza.

"Ah, c'mon, you're just leaving ol' Barry like that?" he shouted. They vacated, refusing to acknowledge his musings any further. The man gave up, turning to the Muldoon crew. "Well here you are! Ah. You won't believe the kinda' journey I've been on the past few weeks."

Lord Anitt offered a firm handshake to the man. "We've had some interesting events ourselves."

"I'd love to tell you all, and I'm dying to know what this's about!"

"We don't really have time," Howz put on the brakes. "We've got a crew member who needs help. And our contract's still unfinished." He prayed the man would go away. "You can catch a ride back to, um, Zalfa, right?"

His eyebrows shot up. "What? Of course I can get back to my offices just fine- You're not done?" He brought out the charm. "Hey... why don't I tag along-?"

Howz grimaced. "-Barry-"

"-What? This is a great story! You folks, no offense, dragged me into this," he thought quick. "I've had paramilitary mercs trying to gun me down three times! The least you can do is let me see this all the way, ah!"

Anitt mediated. "You know I adore your company... Our next destination's quite dangerous, though. Balti. You recall the first time we travelled there, don't you?"

"Balti?!" Quick flashes of dodging bullets and almost getting abducted by a criminal network sent a shiver down his spine. "You're heading there?"

"Yes," the captain reinforced. "And we don't need you getting in the way." He gave the producer a bow and started walking.

Nervous after surviving the free port, Barry summoned enough bravery to press involvement. "Wait! You know me, ah. I've got a few connections. And I'm fiscally-sound, like the emperor here." He threw his arms to the side. "You've gotta' take me with you! If I don't see what happens to the end, I'll go fuckin' crazy!"

Howz slowed to a halt in response, eyeing daggers. "No offense, can you offer us somethin' that we don't have, or can't get?"

Thinking for a moment, he quickly flipped on his wrist-comm, and scrolled through a few items in his digital inventory. He found one profile, with stored messages. The man smiled, telling the space-merchants, "...Yer' in luck!" Bridging the distance with the captain, the aristocrat, and the martial artist, "One of my investors who produced our film a few years ago is a, uh, rough-and-tumble kinda' chap. He can give us a very thorough rundown of who, and what, is happening in Balti right now, ah!"

Anitt evaluated the offer, unwilling to admit how much he desired Barry aboard to annoy the daring veteran. "Suppose we can't say no to free reconnaissance."

Kōl, attempting to move things along, added, "S'long as you understand the danger. We're stocking up right now."

The snake huffed, admitting the advantage reluctantly brought to the ship's mission. "...Fine." His fist waved a circle in the air, code for 'regroup and move,' as he headed back towards their star-fluyt.

Hey, just like old times! Now, anybody gonna' fill me in on this odd job you people're working, ah?" boisterous, he followed.

"It's a delicate matter, Mr. Aguecheek. Once we're aboard-" The noble began coughing, violently. The others slowed. He waved them off, recovering, "I'm fine! Must be the dust..."

Patting the muscled veteran, Barry joked, "It must be second-hand from this old guy, ah! You still smoke, Howz?"

Grumbling, Howz replied, "...Yes."

While the pair joked with each other, Anitt straightened himself, resisting the natural urge to rub his chest--as if that would take care of the degenerative tissue around his sternum, wishing he could rip the cancer out of his body. Howz knew he had a 'condition' yet he hadn't let the man know the severity, holding back the announcement his biology would fail in the near future. Come on, you sot: you can push through. You're not leaving yet! Not until this job's over, and that girl's back to normal.

The four spacefarers left the plaza to reconvene at the stardock. Barry's volume dominated the conversation. The captain learned years ago to tune him out, though he felt eight years out of practice. Now with the eccentric in their party, heading directly toward an outpost of free merchants and pirates in the outskirts of space, the adventure could only grow more eventful.

34

I helped everyone gather supplies. Foodstuffs, water, munitions, spare wiring, tubing, filters, solar-panel replacements, gears and other tool bits, first-aid items, batteries, survival gear, and sordid goods we may have to use as bartering chips should the need arise. I knew little about the ship's workings, so if any part broke down I'd have to rely on Xio and the others to fix anything.

The trip took weeks. I remained as focused as possible. Whenever my head went to a dark place regarding what lie in wait at the infamous Balti, the crew kept me high-spirited. The cat, of course, would invite me to listen to his favorite music, or watch spike ball with him, and kept asking me what activities I enjoyed. His attempts at connecting with me made me feel so appreciated, and I knew he was prepping for our future date. We both agreed to wait until after this whole contract was over, plying our efforts without distractions. That didn't stop me from daydreaming about him a little, and he had to be doing the same...

One very noticeable change in mood came from this Barry Aguecheek fellow. You could hear him talking from the other side of the ship. And that laugh of his. I understood why people had a hard time around him: his energy was on--constantly--and didn't pull back. Captain Howz directly told him off, more than anyone. "You're done, go, bye," he would say, and of course the man would make some jab back, "I'm never done with you, big guy, ah!" Most of the time I was busy doing my job: checking messages, or assisting the crew. Barry would occasionally bug me for translating--apparently he was borderline dyslexic, but he could talk perfectly fine.

One evening, he came to me in private. "Listen, uh, Madame Port... What's goin' on with this job? I mean, you people dropped off a package, but you're still not done? And now Howz's sending me to you? What's the deal, ah?"

I didn't know what to tell him. "What did Cap'n say exactly?"

He threw his arms up, "He says 'whatever she feels like telling you.' What kinda' puzzle is that?! Don't get me wrong, ah, your job's important, but you're not captain... Why is everybody giving ol' Barry the cold space-shoulder, here, ah?"

The crew trusted this guy--apparently he has contacts--and it was nice to have another member of my species on the ship. His natural curiosity might be a problem. Ultimately, if he's aboard, I needed to extend some trust.

I stood up, "Um, this stays on the ship, Barry. Low-profile, kinda' thing."

He agreed, "Course! I know how this works."

A tank-top exposed most of my upper body. Shard. Everything from my breasts up crystallized. Even my face; I mean, why not go all out?

His jaw dropped. "...This- this's a trick. How the hell'd you do that?! Holy space-shit, ah!"

Reverting to normal, I said, "No. This isn't a trick. The crew agreed to transport this star-diamond-thing. It became part of me when I touched it. Our job isn't done because our employer wants us to bring back info on where this came from. And she's invested as much as I am... So we're following a lead."

"...How do you get rid of it?"

Fuck. "I don't know... I'm hoping we'll find out what this is, where it came from, and how to undo it. But, um, no guarantees."

"Weird." He looked around for a second. "Well, if you people don't find anything, you can always go into modeling! A living crystal gal, ah. You know how many guys would kill to watch you walk down a runway- Wait, how old're you?"

I wanted to laugh. "I'm nineteen." 'A living crystal gal?' How could he be that optimistic? I'm a freak. Or is he just an opportunist? Hard to say. My heart says both.

"Ah, um, yeah," he recovered, "better wait 'til you're twenty. Then you can jump in, no strings attached, ah, no helicopter mom. Trust me when I say: pretty people got it easy, ah."

Nobody had called this 'pretty' before, with the exception of Xio who playfully remarked, "I think it's a conversation piece," trying to sound cool. I guess it doesn't matter: my feline already thinks I'm sexy.

The man shifted gears, "So now that I know the situation, ah, I'll know what to keep a lookout for."

I got closer. "Barry, seriously: please don't tell anybody outside this ship. Unless we have no other choice... I don't want to be hunted down, and I really don't want to put the crew in danger, too."

"Ah, trust me, after being hunted down myself the past few weeks," he replied, "I'm not doin' anything stupid. The Muldoon's safer with Barry than without, ah."

"...Thanks," I told him, before he left.



After our coordinates measured a few days out from the free port, we gathered around the conference table. Some of us worried, while others appeared battle-ready. My head was in the game as much as humanly possible. Part of me wanted to see civilized space that HL had no responsibility in managing. That is, without getting blown up.

Captain Howz gave a briefing, then begrudgingly invited Barry to inform us of Balti's current activity. "Tell us what's goin' on."

The flamboyant producer pulled up a few images on the wall console. "We got lucky, folks, ah, as it turns out... the station's currently owned by two rival 'companies' that act more like a crime family, or pirate lords for flavor, ah. The Rhanja Family and the Fantom Wall people. Both keep their pretty dark stuff hidden these days... Right now they're in the middle of a cease-fire; apparently a hefty Law Cannon vessel got blown apart at the station. Somebody must've got a lucky shot off, ah. Now people are paranoid their military wing may send a buncha' ships to 'clean' Balti, so Rhanja and Fantom said no funny business and nothin' illegal out in the open, otherwise the two heavy-hitters will clamp down on their own. No question, ah." So far so good.

Kōl responded, clearly relieved, "That works in our favor."

"Legwork'll be easy," Cena added. "We don't have much to go on, tracking this crystal down."

That's when Barry balanced out the good news with the bad. "I did find a couple things we gotta' keep an eye out for, ah." He brought up a registry listing. "You people 'member the Tembo, and ol' Lokk?"

Howz and Anitt grumbled in unison, "Yes." I recalled the name. Pirates, right?

"Looks like they've been there a few days, if the docks're up to date, anyway, ah. No idea what they're crew's like, or even if it's the same size. Be careful. Especially so I don't get shot, ah!"

Stretching her wings out, like cracking knuckles, Ophem asked, "Anything else, Barry?"

He flipped through his sides. A picture of the starport's industrial, brutalist interior shown on the screen. "...Yeah, one other thing. There's been a hush-hush report of an extremist faction. Apparently somebody hates Balti, 'whodathunkit? Ah." Fixing himself, "Ahem... local security found some explosives rigged to a generator, and disarmed it before settin' it off. Nobody knows who planted it, but legal families don't want panic, so security's on the lookout for 'suspicious activity.'"

You've gotta' be kidding me! This may be the only place in the known galaxy with answers and somebody's destroying it? Figures...

Sipping his rum, too weary from researching, Anitt joked, "Let's hope it's just fireworks..."

Howz sternly directed, "This goes for everyone leavin' the Muldoon: if there's an explosion, you head straight for the ship, and we leave. No discussion."

Motioning to me, our mechanic commented, "Let's hope we find something for Port before that happens." He smiled. I smiled back.

Our red-scaled soldier stood firm, "I hope so too. We're still siding on caution. I'm not lettin' our home catch fire, no matter what. If Balti's a loss then we talk to Deeja n' regroup." That wasn't a helpful thought. The sleek businesswoman, if she's telling the truth, has been looking for answers for several years, this being the most recent clue that's turned up. Success remained a low probability. I tried not to hang my head, rubbing my toes around the grassy floor to plant myself.

"Can I ask how we go about this?" Kōl inquired. "We show a picture of the gem around and see who talks?"

"Don't have other trails," our squid loosely backed.

Flippantly waving his hand in the air, the other Terran asked, "Just so I don't make a fool outta' myself--not that I'd ever do that, ah," I could see the captain shutting himself off to the world as Barry talked, "and I really don't wanna' get shot like last time I was here with you folks. Tanzer might pay off Nebulo!, if he doesn't go back to the Guild... Anybody else we stay away from, ah?"

A good question. Howz said, "Our employer's convinced the Mining Union found the diamond. And you've been shot by mercs. Who knowsss?"

"And the less people know, the better," our dragonfly paraphrased. Agreed. Between corporate espionage, trafficking, organized criminals and hardened soldiers of fortune, we had to minimize exposure before we somehow blipped on LC's radar, or some psychopath demanding the star-diamond's advantages.

We broke from the final details, heading back to our posts, readying until our ship reached the destination. Howz tinkered in the cockpit, muttering something about, "...surprised we haven't been hailed or blasted yet by fuckin' pirates, 'specially this close," to which our programmer scolded him, "Thank the Unity. We've gone this far and we're in one piece!"

I passed by our armory, where Barry attempted to seduce Kōl into using a dash of our combat equipment. "C'mon, I'm not bulletproof, ah, and I'll need a gun to show! Gangsters know when you're armed-"

"-I'm going to ask you again: do you have any official training?"

"Oh, you know I don't, ah; I make cinemas for a living!"

"Then I guess you'll have use that movie-makin' charm, Barry. I'm not arming you with anything less than a multi-tool."

They continued arguing...

Walking by the engine room, I saw Xio taking his shirt off, exposing his furry torso. Since timing was on my side, I playfully giggled, "Oooh, take it all off, Mr. Engineer!"

He quickly spun around, unprepared. "Ah! Um, I'm just tired, and it's getting warm in here."

I eyed him a bit. My imagination moved onward. "...Y'know, I don't think anybody on this ship would judge you if you worked down here with nothing on," I teased. There was truth to that; everybody knew the mechanic made 1000% sure the ship's heart ran efficiently.

He quipped, "Really? I don't wanna' take a chance on getting caught in the machinery," motioning to his privates.

We both laughed at the idea, though I couldn't imagine the pain a boy would experience if that happened. "So... just in your own room then?"

"Well, yeah. Who doesn't?" The alien stared at me, and I was staring back. He added, "Look, um, if you'd like to see something, can I shower first? I'm all dirty from this place."

A very real spur-of-the-moment urge came over me as he said that. I asked, "Can I, um, come see you before bed?"

He waited, before confirming, "Yes."

What can I say? I was curious. We both were.

The last event of that evening, before we hit Balti, was me waiting in his bedroom. He stepped out of the shower, toweling off, steam escaping from the bathroom. I sat up straight, keen to gander at his physique. He kept the cloth covering his manhood, and showed most of his body. "There. All soft and, um, fresh."

I rose, "Nice." He was nervous to expose himself. I was being a pervert, glancing at the towel.

Giving in, he removed the cloth and threw it back into the bathroom. I had to admit, male genitalia's weird. Yet I couldn't stop staring at him down there. The awkwardness settled. He pretended to show off for me, his tail casually swaying behind. After the untracked amount of time, I persisted, admiring him. He said, "If you, y'know, keep staring at me like that it's going to, um, it's going to get..."

"Oh!" Gods I'm stupid! "Yeah, it's going to get bigger. Right. That's what they do." Blank mind.

"Right."

What am I doing? I kept looking. "It's fine. I've- I've never seen one that close..."

We both stood there, two dumb, young virgins that didn't know what they were doing. I saw it come to life, his face blushing. When he was fully erect I summoned up this dirty courage. "X, can I- can I feel you?"

He slowly padded the distance, offering himself up to me. What a gentleman. I hesitated, then put my fingers around him. His penis throbbed, thick, not super long or grotesque, and a lot of the protective skin on his shaft easily moved around. I held onto him, carefully groping his testicles, before I heard him softly mutter, "Uh, here." The hybrid took my hands and guided me, positioning them, showing me how he manipulated himself. So there I was, pleasuring my future boyfriend, and I went from watching his pelvic region up to his pearls. We felt each other's soul, listened to each other breathe. I had never done this before, with anyone, yet I felt secure around him, and I couldn't stop thinking about what he could do with me. Then we kissed.

We kissed a lot. Way more than the last time we exchanged tongues. Flesh tastes odd, yet you want more...

Time passed, and next thing I know he pivoted to the side, "Sorry I'm gonna'-" That's when I looked down, feeling him shiver, and thrust forward, releasing his seed in several streams. When he stopped, the man looked exhausted.

I looked down at the mess, still gripping his member. I bumbled, "My bad! I should've... grabbed a rag for you-"

"-Nah, it's my fault," he retorted. "I mean, I know what happens. I just wasn't thinking..."

Looking at my hands, I smiled, "Me neither."

He quickly darted into the bathroom, pulling out his towel, and offered it, uninterested in touching his own mess. I wiped my hands off, getting rid of the warmth. X said, "Thank you. So much. That was so amazing..." Fulfillment and relief overcame his taut body, all black and grey puffy fur, and he gave me a new face: one I hadn't seen before, stronger, tuning in to a deeper side of his male beauty.

"You're my first, sooo I hope you liked it."

The man slowly grinned. Thinking for a second, he got closer. "Would you like me to... take care of you? I mean-"

"-Oh, wow, um, I-" Gods we both looked stupid.

"-I mean..." He worded exactly what he meant. "...Can I kiss you? Down. There."

Oh! That? Why? Why did you ask me that? Why the fuck did you ask me that? Gods... When you're looking at me with those pearly eyes, all hot and clean, and naked, inches away from me? And why- why would you want to do that to me, right after I just jerked you off? Really? You're that fucking considerate? You want to pleasure me down there? That thing, according to every woman I've ever talked to from every planet, most guys don't bother doing?

I dragged him over to his bed, and slowly started taking my pants and top off. He kept a healthy distance away, no desire to force anything. I slid my panties off, just as nervous and hesitant as he was to show me his manhood. Exposed, I gazed at him, leaning onto my back, moving my legs apart to give him enough room. He fawned over my breasts, my belly button ring, then my nude womanhood, and I heard him stupidly remark, "Oh, right. Your fur's red, not blonde."

Don't call it fur. Or do, whatever. "Uh huh." Fucking do it already. Please? It's not like I haven't thought about this.

He waited, his hands sliding against my hips, humming, "You ready?"

Yes! "Please?"

That's when he lowered his snout, slowly kissing my labia, sniffing me like an animal, and I felt the strong, moist muscle crawling in and out past his teeth. I can't even describe how good he made me feel, his tongue inside me down there, melding and melting with me, rubbing over the sweet spot, sending waves all the way up to my brain, past my heart beating quicker at the next step the both of us took together. I felt his fingers, so strong, gripping my skin, and the fur tickling my delicate self, as he licked and suckled me. Motion after motion, in and out, the pressure built up stronger with each second. I lifted my legs, in reaction to primal nerves taking over, and when the sensation reached its maximum, I felt a release of ecstasy over my entire body, rocking my bones. X transported my state of mind to heaven. I gasped--not loud--and when the wave stopped I relaxed on his sheets.

The alien pulled back, licking his lips. "Did you, um, like that?" he asked with sincere rosiness, his tail swaying.

Of course I did you adorable, furry man! "Yeah... Wow," I moaned, trying to relax my breaths. His hands still held my hips, a soft and firm grip from his mammalian pads. I cupped my own over them, showing affection. We held each other for the next hour, that passionate soulfulness; two people in the nude, drifting out into the stars, with afterglow from carnal pleasure.

35

There it was. Balti. The infamous free station that pounded most of my fellow crew members with apprehension. A few sinister ships moved around the station, though some models I'd never seen before, and I had to admire their unique designs. The actual starport itself didn't appear any different than a regulated Harmony Link platform on its exterior, though it possessed built-in turrets, and featured small squads of efficient flyers, mostly star-cogs and -caravels, armed and flying about, in case anyone threatened the station.

The captain asked me to open a comm, announcing, "Star-fluyt, Class B. We're just here to do some trading."

A voice responded back, "Yeah, yeah. As long as yer' not causin' trouble... Dock in Port A-28."

"Acknowledged."

"And watch yer' backs down here," the voice finished. "Got street altercations all over the place."

That made me nervous. Howz responded, "What's going on?"

"Ah, just a disagreement 'tween a buncha' locals and some big-wigs. Keep yer' eyes peeled. Welcome to Balti!"

Just great...

We docked, easing into a rough, uncared-for platform that functioned--by definition. Thankfully the dock expanse looked uneventful, spared from whatever chaos plagued the starport. I learned that at a free port the larger ships like ours had to look out for themselves; the smaller vessels typically had a few security personnel to patrol. Attacking someone's docked vessel, even amongst pirates, was a grave insult: if you had a problem, you settled it away from other ships, out in space, and whomever survived won the argument.

Convening beforehand, the veteran organized the play. "Anitt's staying here, protecting the ship. He'll alert us if we need to retreat. Port, I'd like you to go with Cena and O. X, go with Kōl. And Barry..." he grunted, "yer' with me."

Barry clapped his hands together, "I knew you'd need my expertise, ah-"

"-Shove it." He puffed his chest. "I'm makin' this clear: nobody goes off by themselves. This port's a Jambwean-wasp nest, so coil 'round each other tight. Watch your back. We start at the mercantile district. If we gotta' branch out, we'll regroup n' cross that bridge when it comes." He signaled to break. "Good luck."

Xio gave a gentle pat on my back. I gave him one in return. He winked, and both of us departed with our respective buddies.

The mercantile district: the grimiest place I've ever visited in my life. Everyone looked filthy, weathered, with tents and stalls set up between the trapezoidal buildings warping into the artificial sky. While I felt nervous to make eye contact with everyone around me, everyone around me felt the same way about us, keeping a safe distance. This place did not possess a kind culture. One positive: each vendor had a vastly different inventory to offer, optimism in our quest.

The three of us searched, stall by stall, asking each vendor if they possessed, sold, or at least saw something very similar to the image on our datapad, the photos taken before the star-diamond broke apart and invaded me. Each denizen directed us to someone else, or just shook their head and laughed, as if anyone here could hawk a stone that valuable. Even the few "jewelers" or higher profile sellers with access to a rare space gem shook their heads.

I started getting anxious. We finally stopped near a local: a craggy, bright-scaled snake with a weary face. We showed him the picture. "Have you seen anything like this, or know somebody who might sell this?"

He recognized it immediately, and studied us, with discernable caution. "...Where'd you find 'dis?"

"It's a long story," Cena explained, innocent enough to ward away accusatory problems from brigands.

Handing back the datapad. "I saw... something like 'dis. A friend o' mine had one, methinks. Methinks he sold it, too."

I asked, trying not to plead, "Can you please tell us where your friend is, sir? This's really important."

Still behaving cautious, he said, "I'll give you 'is name. He lives off da' Orion project. Falk."

"Falk..." I said it out loud, hoping it would lead us.

Our dragonfly hovered closer, "What can you tell us about this, um, Falk?"

The man hissed, "He's an Ankian spacefarer. Retired from the Viq Tribal Council years ago. Gettin' old, mostly does work when he's bored now'days." He motioned approximately where we'd find him.

Cena finished, "Thank you!"

We headed toward this Orion district, while Ophem turned on her comm, linking with our captain. HEADING TOWARD ORION STREET, LOOKING FOR SOMEONE NAMED FALK. ONLY LEAD WE COULD SCAVENGE!



Parallel to our business, Howz and Barry found themselves on the outskirts of the district. No luck. Just outside a busy star-pub, a number of aliens mingled, shouting, laughing, clanking glasses and plates, causing enough ruckus that the vendors outside baited the attention of people who don't enjoy such hectic energy. Howz checked his wrist-comm and read the message. "Well it's something." WILL MAKE OUR WAY TO YOU. NOTHING SO FAR. He turned toward the obnoxious producer giving an entertaining speech to two merchants: some absurd story about a wild party with celebrities, getting threatened by a studio on a different planet, and onboard the Muldoon getting gunned-down by devious space highwaymen. He tapped the man's shoulder, "We're rounding the other side o' the district. Might have a clue."

Barry stopped, "Oh good, ah!" He told the two merchants, "I'll tell y'all the end some other time. We're on a clock."

The pair started to leave the borough. A strained, sinister voice ensnared the attention of the veteran and the filmmaker. "Look-y here," a haggard Zalfan commented, "I can't believe my eyes... If it isn't Captain Darogno of the fancy-ass Muldoon... and Barry Aguecheek, with a terrible wardrobe you could spot 10-galactic-miles away." Two goons accompanied the pirate, somewhat familiar faces.

Straightening up, a stance readied for fighting, running, or blustering, Howz responded in a playful tone, just mean enough to scare away hostilities, "Maxio. Long time... Still piloting that rust-monster?"

"That's Lokk, to you," he sneered. "You were never nice enough for a first name basis." He pulled his coat back with two of his tentacles, revealing an antiquated vest, a tactical belt holding a sonic pistol and a collapsible shock-rod.

"That's 'cuz the last time we met you tried to steal our contract," the veteran explained, standing ground, "and shot us, and lost a bar fight, and lost our ssscent."

Barry chimed in, putting on a smile, "We're busy, fellas, ah, and you look busy too. Let's chat another time, huh?" No HL security or LC heroes would bend the corner to save them. This turf forced a dog-eat-dog law of survival, and the risks felt too high for the fop.

Giving the man a cold, bothered expression, "I really don't wanna' talk to you. What are you doing here, anyway?" He shifted back to the captain. "You too, Darogno? Balti's not your scene. Nor is it that lil' stuck-up dwarf's scene neither. Pelobo the 50th, right?"

The two goons eyed one other, and despite the pirate's reputation his company looked unprepared to bamboozle Howz's crew. He grinned. "On vacation. Decided t'see outer reaches."

"That's a damn load," the squid threw back. "The only reason your ship'd be here's for a really tempting job. Doubt you've gone rogue..."

"That's our business."

"Well, tell you what," he switched, more pleasing. He motioned for his two comrades to grab a drink at the pub. Meeting gazes with the harsh endurance of space-travel, he propounded through his dried feelers, "If you've got a job out here, why don't we help? Let's be real. We got harder connections in this part o' space. Make yer' life easy. Maybe even take the job off your suckers?"

"Uh huh." The last time the group met, the pirate slapped a similar offer on the table, in the midst of a crowded club. When Howz and previous company turned them down, the brutes drew on them, bullets and laser knocking glasses off the wall, and overturning chairs as both escaped in opposite directions before bigger fish hammered them out of the station. You must think I'm dumb... Incredulous, "Why don't you offer to clean this place up a bit? I hear there's trouble brewin'."

"Balti?" He laughed, guttural, "Please: this place changes tentacles all the time. Not putting ourselves up on the chopping block 'cuz we wanna' big, shiny flag to wave around."

Thinking back to days fed-up with the Star Military, Howz found the statement common ground. "Same..." Nodding to Barry, "We'll be goin'. Hope the Tembo flies safe," forcing the empty tiding, distancing the bandits, claws near his pistol in case he had to draw.

The squid's power eased down, delivering one last blow to their confidence. "Fine... Just don't get too comfy, here. Balti's our station. Not the prim-n-proper Muldoon's." He swayed atop the path of his underlings to the drinking hole.

Both parties left the street between the pub and the merchants. Derelicts abound. Howz picked up the pace. "Need to move quicker," he warned Barry.

"What? Y'think those bastards might, ah, pull somethin'?" nervous of dodging more las-fire.

"Knowin' his MO? Yeah. He thinks we're rivals, so he'll want a win: by any means. The last time we gave 'em the slip." The leader begged for the Stars to protect his crewmates. He would not fail them.



The streets of Balti lacked an urban planning pattern. Pedestrians did not move around independently the further one left the markets; the folks we found usually swam in large groups by contrast, some with noticeable insignia, and others that shivered like broken survivors in the dirty, gross cesspool of a space station. Further down the avenue the three of us traveled, and our environment grew more hectic. A large group of protesters amassed near one of the structures; whatever indignation foreign to our local knowledge fueled the issue, I hoped it wouldn't bleed over and prevent concluding our mission.

When we arrived at the complex on the edge of district Orion, we headed up three flights to the supposed apartments of Falk. The building housing this man styled unique compared to other structures nearby. A sand-hued pyramid with dugout windows. "Maybe those better-off live in this part of Balti?" Cena postulated.

A polished door matching the address the merchant gave us came into view, and we stood before it. I pressed a button off to the side, awaking the doorbell with an odd DING. My gut felt tight. A noise came through the speaker.

"Yes?" The person sounded weary, empirical.

Cena, our default face, said, "Greetings. We're looking for a Mr. or Miss Falk?"

"...Who're you?"

She explained, "We're space merchants. We'd like to ask you if you've-"

"-No, you can't rent out my ship," he sternly interrupted, "and no, I'm not selling my ship either, and no, I'm not in the mood for traveling."

Huh. The man's private. Cena continued, "Oh no. We're not here for that. We're looking for some information. It's about a very peculiar, um, space crystal of some kind- You apparently sold it? And we're looking for its origins."

The comm remained quiet, making us question if we even found the right door. "Are you with the Mining Union or what?"

Bingo! The squid pressed, "No, we're independent haulers. Mr. Falk, this's really important, and we just wanted to ask you some questions. We- we don't want to take up too much of your time."

"...What's th'name of your ship, or delegation?"

"We're the Muldoon. HL license and everything. It's a nice star-fluyt!"

Making us wait longer, the door slid open, revealing a tall, thin, malachite-skinned elf. Elderly, dressed like a casual spacefarer. A questionable eyebrow revealed his opinion of us three aliens. "What exactly do you want?"

At least he's receiving us. I asked, quickly, before we wasted more time. "Sir, that crystal-thing: where'd you find it?"

Amused at this smaller, young human girl begging his attention, he blinked. "Why?" groggy.

Cena answered for me, "Our ship was paid to transport it, and things have gotten a little, er, crazy. And we need to retrace its origins. We were told-"

"-Wait a bloody, starry minute," he interjected. "You were moving it? Why? Those Miner idiots should've taken it back to their boss."

Our face collected herself. She wasn't revealing the full story to protect me. "It's complicated. That thing has changed hands a few times, and people are after it... Thing is: our boss doesn't want it anymore, they just want to know where it came from. You're our only lead..."

He wiped his face, "That's interesting. I'll tell you what I told those two dwarves who bought it: I found it out in space, floating around. Not sure where, exactly, since I was in the middle of a long-haul myself. As far as I know, there's nothing out there like it," he looked us over, "but you three know that already."

No. No! There has to be more to this! I jumped in, "Out in space? Do you remember where, or at least what part of the system? Was it near a large planet?!"

Exasperated with our company, Falk dismissed, "That's everything I know. Just out in the Grand Canvas, and the thing fell right into my hands." He moved his hand to the panel inside, "Now if you don't mind: I'm tired. Go talk to the Mining Union and see what they dug up. Bye."

He clicked his panel and the door started to slide. I don't know if I believed his story or not. My despondency took over. I pressed the crystals out my whole form, lunging for the door. "Wait!" My hand slammed against the wall, and the door hit hard, before slowly receding from a detected obstruction. The offended elf quickly changed his vibe when he saw me standing there, shimmering crystals instead of dark human skin. Ophem and Cena looked around to see if people spied on our discussion in the hallway. I spoke, my voice different from the shards. "We need to know what it is, and where it came from," showing off my physique, "and this's why."

An evolved understanding of my condition overrode his intentions to be left alone. The venerable man ushered us inside. "...Fine. Come in. Bloody hell."

I shifted back to normal. "Thank you."



We sat on his sofa. A vid streaming random feed off in the corner, a ceiling fan spinning slowly, and various trinkets sat on display to distract us. His surroundings looked very unkempt, lacking any refined cleaning methods--even dusting. He sat across from us, trying to get cozy. The man did not regularly receive guests.

"I'll tell you what I can," he began, eyeing me in particular, pointing at my body, "except for that there... Never had that happen."

I affirmed, "It never broke apart and, um, synchronized with you?"

Falk wanted to laugh, "Nope, I'd remember something like that..." He crossed his legs, "I found that space-crystal out in the void, alright. On a small moon, out in the nowhere. Far as I know the moon's not on anybody's charts," he explained. "That's because it's in the middle of a nebula, specifically a supernova-remnant. Ankian scientists call it the Chakram Nebula, and nobody wants to go out there due to the accumulation of elements and ions and what-have-you. But I made the bloody journey..." We watched him reminisce. "My ship almost crashed, and the hull took a beating. Traveling through it though was... treacherous. And natural beauty no man nor woman could ever capture..." Coming back down to reality, he continued, all of us fixated. "I call the planet 'Onyx' since most of the soil's dark, blackish. Fertile, though vegetation doesn't go too high," he smiled. "That's when I found her... Traces of an old civilization. Not Ankian--not any in the Cronoptikos! Undiscovered xeno-activity." Leaning closer, making his words clear, "'Twas a temple. At least I think it's a temple... The bloody thing wasn't very stable; I'm glad I made it out okay." Pointing back to me, "That's when I found that magical crystal. It glowed when I entered the room, and when I got closer it dimmed... Always felt odd when I picked it up. But I knew it's valuable. Plus, some markings on the wall and faded pictures: left behind by the people who made the place."

I leaned closer, "Do you know what it's for? Or why they made it?"

"Not at all," he replied. "I didn't even know it could do that to you... But a large, shiny chunk of gem with bits floating around? I figured it's a valuable loose end I'd never get a good answer for."

"Are there more?" Cena inquired.

The man pondered, "I don't think so. Saw a few things here and there. Simple furnishings... That gem was my treasure, for risking my life, and I took it back here with me."

While I was engrossed in the details, Ophem flicked her wings, "Hang on. Something's not adding up."

Cena wanted to scold her, "O, please, don't be rude!"

"It's just," she looked to Falk, hard-pressed, "let's say you're telling the truth. Why didn't you report any of this to Harmony Link? Or Ank's Tribal Union? Forgive me, but exploration and discovery's a proud tradition for your people..."

I didn't want to risk this gentleman pushing us away, yet our programmer made too much sense. The whole thing was sketchy. That's when I saw his face morph into a sad, solemn one. "I headed out there to stick it to my Star-damned family, if you want to the bloody truth. Hells, even my friends tried to console me, telling me, 'if you're last in a race, just quit and move on.'" He looked to his collection of goods and ornaments on the wall. "They were bloody fools... All of 'em... When I flew back with my 'prize' it hit me that I would become one of them: a prideful, bloody fool. So, I kept the funny thing. A nice reminder that I don't have to win their way. And I never told a soul about Onyx, neither. Figured it was fun to know something nobody else knows."

The dragonfly folded her arms, "Sure. I think I understand... Then why'd you decide to get rid of it all of a sudden?"

Looking very casual about the affair, he answered, "I ran into a pair from the Mining Union. Said they've had it rough, can't find any new prospects, scared they'd get the boot. Shared a pint of Lan'ter-rum and decided to sell. You should've seen the look on their face when I showed it to them..." Unfolding his legs, "I was thinking like an investor. Exercise some smarts in my old age... If they jacked-up the value and the Union's willing to fund a means for more, that's when I could sell the location of the moon. And wish them good luck."

Now it makes sense. Why not capitalize on this? All of the sentimental value drained out of the spacefarer years ago.

Falk stood up and went into his bedroom. When he returned, he showed us a piece of very odd, and very old, parchment. "I did bring this back with me. If you'd like to take a look." Cena carefully took hold with her tentacle hand, bringing it so all three of us could analyze the artifact closer. The material felt weird, not like any paper substance. My brain paid more attention to the writing. The symbols. The arrangement of the alien letters. I saw shapes. And hieroglyphs. Thankfully, they looked very similar to the ones on the star-diamond before it melded with my body. Eureka! "Don't know what it says. There's a handful more at the temple... Just kept that one though. It looked pretty when I was younger."

I can use this. There's a chance I could decipher the writing. With my luck this weird paper was not a Rosetta stone, but a scrap felt like a huge step forward, a light at the end of the tunnel.

Another DING rung from the front door. "You have friends?" Falk asked.

Cena stood with him. "That's probably our Captain."

My mind absorbed the paper. Every neuron of intelligence fired, intuition connecting dots, piecing together an interpretive message from this alien writing. I heard Howz and Barry enter, speaking with the Ankian explorer. Pictographs... The one advantage of deciphering pictographs: their intention is simple, almost childlike. You're not writing vocal representations, or alphabetical sounds; you're technically drawing what you mean to convey. The problem of these mutating into chaotic depictions should be limited by using a pattern, with most primitive-yet-evolving cultures. Each symbol would only convey a repeating number of ideas, then other principles benchmarked the cultural usage, such as bigger ones with more icons correlating importance and smaller ones correlating insignificance. This didn't guarantee, based on what my mother taught me about ancient cultures, that people stuck to their own rules, given how fast language changed with each decade in Terran history. Not to mention, this 'primitive' culture somehow created stones that could alter a person's biology--for unfathomable reasons. Everything was questionable.

As wheels turned, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Barry's odd voice got my attention. "Kiddo! Hey. Good job, ah." I hopped up, holding onto the paper. Apparently everyone informed the two newcomers of our exchange.

Howz spoke, "Port, we're toyin' with the idea of paying Mr. Falk here, as a guide to Onyx."

"Oh," I answered, "that- that makes a lot of sense! Yeah! Please, sir?" I pressured the elf.

Looking to our burly soldier, he inquired, "Presume you want to leave soon?"

"ASAP," he backed. "Not to inconvenience you. This isn't a very hospitable starport."

"Bloody hell, do I know... I'll get ready."

We waited for him to gather his things. One of the live feeds on his vid-screen turned bright red and yellow, flashing PUBLIC WARNING. "Hey!" I alerted everyone. We moved over, alarmed. The screen blinked for some time. Then a public service announcement played:

DO NOT PANIC. A GENERATOR HAS BEEN DETONATED. PROCEED TO EMERGENCY SHELTERS OR DEPART ON A FUNCTIONING STAR VESSEL. MOVE IN A CALM FASHION.

The message repeated. Howz shouted to Falk's bedroom, "Hey sir! We got less time than we thought. We need to move."

The dispatch sounded intense, yet my brain still fixated on the symbols of the alien parchment. Each thought rearranged them, broke them down, moved them around, and hypothesized what each icon revealed. Some repeated themselves. Markers? Or punctuation? I knew one thing: no matter what's going on around me I would find a way to fix everything and get back to normal: no matter how many dangerous people, corrupt planets, or destructive nebulas I had to go through.

36

We stepped outside Falk's apartment, readying ourselves for an unpredictable journey. Falk gave a rundown on approximately where in the Chakram Nebula the alien moon waited. "Stationary, though the bloody thing does spin on an axis," he described. "Thinking that it was part of the sun's orbital before the star collapsed, and avoided harm..."

Barry, always the party-starter, probed, "Did you see any corpses? Or large creatures trying to eat ya'? Death lasers, ah? Just don't wanna' spring some weird-ass trap as soon as we get there!"

Falk denied seeing anything left alive. "I didn't spring any traps, meself, though that doesn't mean there aren't any. But other than some plants: nothing lives there any longer... Air's good to breathe."

Stepping down the stairs, wary for natives, the six of us chatted while our captain messaged our other two coworkers to head back to the ship. The tension built, as an erupted generator meant a drastic turn for Balti. Those protesters down the street still carried on with their negative energy. Nobody wanted to take chances at this point, and I was dying to get this thing out of me. And the prospects of visiting an ancient world with remnants of forgotten xenos? Anybody would find that adventurous. Please get us there in one piece, gods?

We came out into the street, and that's when we heard, "Stop right there!" To our left stood a grizzled human; to our right a sketchy feline; right in front of us, coming out from a rest stop with a fading billboard, moved a dangerous looking dwarf, and directly behind him: Maxio Lokk himself. All of them armed, sights trained on our people. My crew wisely froze. I kept my cool: while I might be temporarily invulnerable, my crew was not.

The pirate spoke, "So, Howz's people are nabbin' an elderly astronaut? And an explosion rocks Balti?" He grinned an evil grin, "What is the galaxy comin' to?"

Howz raised a hand, rattled. "What do you want?" trying to diffuse whatever the brigand planned.

"Simple: We want him," he motioned to the elven spacefarer. "And we want anythin' he's given you."

No! "Why?" our snake demanded.

He answered, "Last time you made us look like fuckin' idiots... This time, the Muldoon's not getting a leg up on our ship."

Howz looked perplexed, "You're joking right? You don't even know why we're here, Lokk."

We kept quiet, except for Barry, "You gotta' be kidding me. We got more guys blasting us?" he threw at Howz. "Hey," he exclaimed to the surrounding pirate gang, "We're broke! We don't got a pot to piss in, ah!"

Maxio ignored the entertainer's ruse. "You clean-cut people risk coming all the way out 'ere, and grab a very mysterious spacefarer who only leaves his house once a year? You people are playing a game, and it involves Omegas..." He came closer, staring down our captain. "And thanks to the crazy fool who blew up a generator just now: we're actin' sooner than later."

I tried to think of a way to escape. Falk shoved past our captain. "I know you," he spoke, very determined, unafraid of staring down a barrel. "You own a ship? The Tembo, correct?"

Maxio didn't respond.

"I've seen her. Not bad I suppose... A little rusty, and missing some bolts, but not bad." He looked to his crew. "I also know you folks tried to get on the side of Fantom, and the Rhanja... and you don't have any backing on Balti... You're small-time, better off at a different starport. Now: shove off." That didn't sound like the first time he's had to talk back to dangerous people.

I watched the exchange, and the pirate weighed. "Nice chat... I don't appreciate insults, Father Time. The question now: am I an opportunist, or," and he charged his pistol, "am I petty enough to give you folks a blow n' walk away satisfied?"

Howz thought, and risked moving the conversation in a rational direction, "Lokk, we don't got time-"

"-No?" He eyed daggers at the veteran. "Yer' right. We don't." Firing his hand-cannon, a scream of sonic energy blasted right into the elf's head, scrambling his insides, and dropping with a thud.

Falk! I dropped to the man's side instantaneously. Cena did the same. The rest of his crew kept their sights on us. "Nothing funny there!" they threatened.

Howz threw back, fury showing his needle-teeth, "Lokk! What the fuck?! We're not here to mess with yer' fuckin' ship! You want Balti? Take it!"

While the two captains spoke, I looked down at the elf. The sonic blast hit him too hard, and I watched his fading impulses, his life draining in front of us. "No! Mr. Falk..." I pleaded with his soul. The damage made his face look too gruesome. With his last bit of strength, he reached into my jacket, spying the ancient parchment just visible enough. I swore I saw his finger tapping on it, though he couldn't speak nor explain his intentions. I held onto him, until finally his arm went limp, devolving into a corpse.

"...Now," Maxio continued, "maybe you should tell me--and fast--why you traveled all the way here for 'im?" Charging his pistol again, "Or I can blast more crew?"

Kismet fell on our side. Down the street, the large crowd of protestors had migrated downward, having just heard about the explosion on their home station. A crowd of people saw our group, surrounded by gunners, and someone lying on his back--unmoving. All of us heard shouting in our direction.

"Hey, it's those Rhanja bastards!"

"Get the fuck outta' here, you scum!"

"Free Balti! Free Balti!"

"Suck a xeno dick, Fantom!"

"They blew up the generator!"

And so on.

Maxio, taken by surprise, reacted, "Damn." He started sidestepping toward a nearby alley, ordering his comrades, "Back to the ship. Now!" He and Howz locked eyes one last time, putting comeuppance on the backburner. The pirate's gang followed their boss.

We acted the helpless victim. Shouting from the mob trailed around us, and we moved out of their way as they sprinted after the armed, murderous jackals. Barry expertly added to the pile, "Yeah get those ass-hats! They kill innocent people! Um, 'Free Balti!'"

The throng of rage disappeared. The rest of my coworkers gathered to inspect Falk. I already knew what Howz and Ophem concluded, after feeling pulses and checking nerve functions. "He's gone."

I hated hearing them, and I wanted to scream, and cry, yet I forced myself up. Holding myself together, I pulled out the parchment. Why was he pointing to this? I turned it over, upside down, back and forth. My eye caught something... when I held it at a certain angle, a diagram on the back became visible. Angling, I toyed with the station's lighting, and realized how we might reveal more... I couldn't get a clean look here, and the noise distracted the inspection.

"We've gotta' go," the snake announced. "He gave us an idea where to find that moon. Move."

Compartmentalizing the new data, I took a deep breath, watching my coworkers hustle. We left, making our way down the familiar avenues during our short stay at Balti. We sprinted--or flew in the bug's case--and didn't stop until we reached the dock with our red and blue ship attached. Xio and Kōl arrived before we did, making certain nobody would harass or invade our ship during the initial panic. By the whirring of the engines our sponsor kept the vessel on standby.

"Get moving," he ordered the cat and bird. "We're headin' to a nebula."

They filled each other in as everyone settled back aboard the Muldoon. I immediately went to our supply room, looking for a device stronger than my pen-light. My theory: a particular source of light might show more of the diagram. Truthfully, I needed a focus: I had just seen yet another person die right in front of me. This time I went right past the judgement that life was really unfair and straight to working for a purpose, angry of course, thankfully more motivated to find answers. Pulling out what looked like an ultraviolet light, hoping that this might mimic the energy of sunlight, I turned it on, and exposed the back of the artifact.

Success! It showed a diagram completely.

I ran to the conference room. Our ship revved the systems to life. Setting the parchment flat, I turned the light back on, giving myself better room to analyze. I examined the image, and turned on a computer screen built into the table. Flipping through a database of the known universe and its natural features, I pulled up the Chakram, and compared the diagram. My instincts were correct: it was a map, although the diagram's depiction of the nebula appeared rotated or angled in a different manner. A spot, dark with white dots, sat in one quadrant. Is this the moon Falk discovered? Onyx? I couldn't see any features with the exception of confusing lines and dots.

This is the best I can do. Plotting a course? Well math is my bane, so I hopped to a console. Clicking it on, "Hey when we get away from Balti, I think I found a map, or something, but I need someone who's good with numbers to calculate a heading."

"Understood, Port," from our logistics specialist.

I calmed down pretty well, despite that fucker who shot Falk. It's hard to pinpoint what kept me going: optimism, despair, ambition, defiance, or all of the above?

When the rest of the crew gathered, Ophem, Cena, and Howz pulled out tools, looking at relatable star charts. They compared notes for an hour, until finally our dragonfly announced, "...We've got a heading!" Joy overcame me, and we moved to our posts, plotting a course for the Chakram Nebula. Balti faded behind us, and now we traveled to uncharted space.

37

It took us a few weeks to power through the stars. I studied the parchment thoroughly the entire time, using every resource, every logical notion, inferences based on other cultural uses of cuneiform, and experimented with different codes or rubrics to get an idea what each hieroglyph, or even segment, could translate as. Each time I made slight progress. Unfortunately, as we ventured nearer: I kept hitting a wall. An aspect wouldn't add up, or apply to the same symbol each time. And some of the images I couldn't decipher fully no matter how hard I tried. This one bushy portion, for example, could've meant a tree, a type of food, or perhaps wind, or an element from their alien world that might not exist in our system.

Confounding.

At one point I got crafty. Shard, and now I could view the diagram on the back without any light source! In fact, the whole parchment illuminated under crystal-vision, and each marking lit up with different colors. It made my attempt at deciphering the text easier. However, I still couldn't find a solid answer as to what the message meant...

Vowels and consonants. And more? How do ancient aliens sound?

Exhausted, I opted to break to gather more clues, until we found the ruins that the expired starfarer described. The crew, ever supportive, combined efforts. Anitt attempted to aid me at one point, looking through his collection of relics, turning up nothing. "If these were ancient Siimbite runes, then I could offer something, lass... Forgive my inexperience in these matters. If anyone on this vessel could figure this out: it would be you."

He's right. I need to believe in myself. "Thanks, Anitt."

Ophem, using her smarty-pants brain also tried too, and even found a few more ciphers to apply, yet all found a hiccup in the sequence. "I wish this was a simple code I could crack." She thought long, hard, before saying, "Is it possible that this's fictional? We have artists in our galaxy that draw fake symbols cuz' they look nice."

Sighing, "...I hope not. If they made a transmutating bio-rock, I hope they had a reason."

She bowed, "My apologies. Thinking out loud." I appreciated her efforts nonetheless.

Kōl and Howz didn't even try after a few minutes. Their strong qualities outweighed their academic reach.

Xio? Gods bless him, he attempted, and didn't outperform Anitt, although he did help me stress-relief every now and again. I didn't want to have full-on sex, yet. One time he suggested we take a shower together; I decided that was harmless fun... It was romantic. He behaved, the gentle-hybrid, passing another test during the venture.

"Can we bathe together from now on?" he tempted.

"...I'll think about it."



The Chakram Nebula came into view. My comrades admired the beauty. Particles of every element in the universe lit up each ring in a different hue; yellow surrounding blue, surrounding red, surrounding green, surrounding a feint orange, while at the center--a further nucleus--appeared a ring of faded white light, the star's heart having dissolved many centuries ago. The experience felt daunting, inspiring, caressed by the wispy roads of a galactic giant. So majestic, so admirable.

All of us took a moment to sit down in the lounge area, bringing up an external camera of the outside world on the large screen, turning the lights off so the nebula lit-up the room. We felt the cosmic love pulsing around the Muldoon. We also took a hit from our captain's pipe, packed with the 'strong stuff,' making it far more engaging. Barry completely mellowed when he was high, and said nothing at all, pleasing Howz more than anyone. Such a moment of relief from the tension, from cruel and uncertain barriers smacking into us. Xio nestled against me, and we hugged.

Kōl, in such a great mood, asked, "Hey Port, what would you look like if you got all rocky and stood in front of the monitor?"

I felt embarrassed, the crew motivated me to get up and show off. I stood up, admittedly curious from the avian's question. I rolled up my clothing and crystallized my whole body. The light reflecting off me, around me, speckled the whole room with odd rays and hues. Oh gods: this diamond-thing made me an old fashioned disco ball...

They loved it. I heard our squid, "Move it girl! Throw them tentacles around. Whoo-hoo!" I don't dance. Ever. So I shuffled around a little, hearing titters and weak whooping from my coworkers. Xio perked up, bewitched like a caveman the entire time. I wanted to wink, and instead concentrated on swaying. I feel good and dumb.

"Alright, show's over," and I went back to normal. Everybody cheered and clapped, and I sat down with the mechanic. He didn't hold back, kissing my ear, and whispering, "You looked so beautiful."

Here's where I blush. I just patted his stomach, "Thanks."



Sensors found the targeted destination. A number of gases and asteroid bodies populated the area, making our entry a very rocky one. Using our scanners we spotted, perched behind the space debris, a small dark orb that looked solid enough for a moon. "A'right people," the snake announced, "brace yourselves. Maneuvering'll be tight."

O turned to him, "Howz, these scanners are picking up those gas swarms... I think they might be acidic. Avoid as much as you can."

"Great."

On edge, I hoped we could fly our vessel through without collision. We narrowly avoided boulders, spinning orbitals, and other space bullets. The patches of gas were easy enough; Howz pulled to fly over a rather large asteroid, and under another one behind. When he banked, much closer to Onyx, a wall of vapor stretched far beyond what we could originally see snuck up our nose. He tried his best to swerve, avoiding another rock blocking the exit. Pulling sharply to the opposite direction, he realized the ship couldn't outmaneuver the field, muttering, "Damn." We flew right through the pocket, the gas initially as light as a cloud, then thickening to a dense deposition--hard!--and we collectively jostled as the Muldoon barreled through the other side.

Loud sensors punctuated the cabins. Several exterior, forward-facing portions of the star-fluyt blinked red, and our screens gave us every menacing detail. "Hull weakness, about 29%, Cap'n," our dragonfly shrilled.

Shortly thereafter, avoiding more gassy clouds and asteroids, my stomach tightened as another speaker went off. It was X, "Howz, the engine's acting up. We might be hitting some ion fields." Gods!

"More good news," he replied. "Keep everything runnin' down there, X."

"Can do. Jodo's clean, but if we hit an EMP-equivalent: we're out."

That made my nerves even worse. Steering as masterfully as he could, I watched Howz duck and swivel and barrel and perform every maneuver our ship could handle, before another misty wall migrated in our direction. We impacted, another tremor vibrated throughout the hull.

"We're down 44%!" O shouted.

Almost there! I looked out the screen, the moon's dark surface inching closer and closer. I hoped, prayed, crossed fingers, even asked, Mom? Mercutio? I- I don't know if you can hear me... please get us there safely?!

"Atmospheric contact," the bug hollered. Yes! So close.

"Brace for atmospheric entry," the captain commanded.

Our flight climbed heftier, hotter, as we started penetrating the developed layer of air and going through heated clouds, finally spotting the surface-

WHAM

An asteroid heading nearby broke apart from entry, and we were struck by a large chunk of rock. "Impact!" our programmer shouted. "Damage to our port-side!"

Oh gods! Get us there safely! We're almost there!

Looking out over the screens, the ground matched the description that Falk provided. The soil appeared black, with primitive shrubs dotting the countryside, and dried riverbeds nestled between shallow hillsides. Off in the distance, I immediately sighted a structure, something that had to be man-made, due to the odd twisting shape. Did we get this close by accident?

What luck we possessed forced our ship downward, gradually losing altitude. Howz eased the Muldoon to the ground, keeping her from stalling. He eyed the roving hillsides, and steered the star-fluyt parallel to the depressions, planning on nestling between the hillsides. Keeping the nose as upward as possible, he slowed the engines and announced, "Brace for landing!" over speakers.

My fingers crossed, my arms crossed, I ducked my head inward... Then it hit me. ...Shard. I encased myself and grabbed hold of the console next to me.

THUD

Our vessel stuck the dark earth underneath, and skidded forward. Howz stayed as level as possible, preventing rollover and further damage we'll be forced to repair. We slid, shaking and bumping everybody aboard, metal grinding dirt, until the movement around us ceased, and our clunker ended its destructive momentum. I held firm, feeling the energy attempt to throw me off, yet the crystals kept me safely in-place. Everything settled. I let go, feeling my heart race. We made it. We made it!

"Landing successful," he announced. "Everybody okay? Report in squad!" Ophem and I let him know we were still alive.

My fellow crew members responded, acknowledging our captain. "I'm in one piece!" Cena announced. "All good here," Kōl bellowed. "X, here: I'm fine. Our engine needs a cool-down fo' sure." Anitt clicked on, coughing, "I'm alright, just a nosebleed all over my damn robe." I smiled at that. Barry, always looking to make an impact, teased, "I'm fine, Howz, though I'd recommend you play some more o' those flight simulators: that landing was pathetic, ah!"

Unbuckling himself, the veteran turned to me and the lady, grunting, "If we resort to cannibalism out here: Barry's first."

We reconvened in the main deck. Despite a few shakes, and panting from almost dying, everyone gradually regained tranquility. A small amount of smoke filled the ship. Some lights shut off. Luckily the interior systems remained functioning. We looked each other over. The bird and the squid hugged. Our bug flew over to the dwarf and helped him wipe blood off his face. My man came right to me, his hands and chest covered in soot, or grease, yet I still embraced him--tight.

The other human stumbled over. "Boy I love being out in space!" he vented. "Ah, you folks know how to have a good time."

The snake ignored him. He began softly relegating duties. "Glad everyone's okay... O, X, Cena: start lookin' over all functionin' systems. Damage report, and then get repairing." He patted our security, "Yer' with me. We're checking the outside for hazards." Turning to me, "Set up a basic distress beacon, on the off-chance anybody's farting around a nebula..." He motioned to get moving. "Nobody leaves until both of us return."

I made my way to the cockpit, as Barry and Anitt started commiserating in the lounge area. Clicking on a standard HL distress-pulse, I magnified it using what backup generators connected to our ship, aware that the closest world or station waited two fortnights away. My brain blanked at the microphone, puzzling whether I needed to add any words to our situation, or allow the beeping to act as a flag. Thinking back to those criminals on Balti, I erred on the side of caution and left the active signal going; we didn't want to advertise helplessness.



Proximate to the entrance ramp, our captain and security expert arrived, stepping up the metal. "Environment's clear," Kōl responded.

I hopped up from the bench. "The ship okay?"

Our captain shrugged, "Most of it is..." He made his way to a comm, pressing the switch, "Repair team: step outside, take a look at our hull when you get a chance. Everybody, do not go further than fifty paces from our vessel."

The giant tapped my shoulder. "We saw something, northeast of here. It doesn't look like a natural feature." He knew what this step of the trip meant for me. "As soon as we determine how our ship's fairing, we'll take a gander."

A smile stretched my lips out, "Thanks."

Our crew spent the next few hours going over every square inch of the ship, making certain no fires or hazards accrued from the crash, inspecting the ship's walls and the damaged wings on the port-side. I helped as much as I could: holding a light, helping to pile survival inventory, and stepping outside to survey the flat stretches of hills while our more able crew analyzed what needed repair, bringing them relevant tools and parts.

The soil felt no different than Terran soil, though siding more on a dusty texture. Grasses and shrubbery grew to my ankles. A faded aroma of toffee filled the air, and when I opened my mouth it tasted stale. My body couldn't distinguish heat nor cold where we moved, even when a breeze passed over. The sky appeared a greyish overcast, with holes revealing the stars and the nebula beyond.

After the crew performed a thorough look over, we regrouped outside, near the ramp. Some of my crew found the alien moon calming while others felt largely disappointed. Except for one noticeable feature: that structure in the distance, spiraling into the air like an ancient wonder from my planet, hued a shifting of marble-tones. I couldn't take my eyes off it, hoping that we could end our search, and find a means to finish the contract.

Howz asked us to gather. "Alright, here's what I'm thinkin'," he began. "The ship's number one priority, and we have to investigate that thing over there... I'll lead the away-team. X, you're the best handyman on the ship, so you're repairing until we're no longer grounded."

The feline gave a nod. "It'll take time. Some of the exterior may have to be moved until we can find large enough replacements at a starport. Everything else needs tweaking, or gutting."

"Whatever you think's best," he backed. "Kōl, if Falk's correct, we're not running into a lot of opposition, so I'd like you stay here and guard the ship..." Pointing off to the alien structure, "If we get stuck in there, then by all means: use your muscles to peck us out." The avian nodded in agreement, compliant with the strategy.

"O," turning to our dragonfly, "if you don't mind lending your mobility, and your brain, we may need help problem-solving inside, although I got no idea what to expect."

She said, "I can always help recalibrate when we return."

Our squid raised a tentacle, proposing with her usual high spirits, "Help X fix the ship, Cap'n?"

He grinned. "You read my mind, Ma'am."

Barry patted the mechanic on the back. "He's an amputee, after all, ah!" Xio gave him the finger in response, accustomed to the man's playful insults.

Our sponsor agreed, "Not bad Barry-" A fit of coughing hit him before he could finish his statement. It sounded bad. We couldn't help but stare. My gut told me he sounded worse than he let on. Our captain stepped closer to him, "You okay?"

Quickly waving him off, he fixed himself, gargling, "I'm fine!"

Folding his arms, Howz pulled back, "I was gonna' recommend you come with the away-team, given your education, but..."

The aristocrat gave a stern look, daring to contradict him, "Excellent idea. I'm fine, 'away-team' it is."

Howz didn't press the issue, accepting the man's certainty. He switched to me, finally. "Away team."

Yes! If this thing in me really connected with the ruins, we didn't have a choice. I playfully saluted, trying not to sound like a dumb, inexperienced girl in over her head. "Done and done."

Barry, annoyed at being last in the veteran's world, "And me?"

Howz gave him a hard stare, admitting, "I'm not sure what you should be doin'. If I take you in the ruins, you'd be in the way-"

"-Which is precisely why you need me, ah, with the ship," he directed, pushing his mirror-shades up his nose. "Besides, I can help with some of the digital specs and the wiring- And, if somebody hails us or whateva', then I can turn on the charm and the silver tongue; get us rescued, ah."

Howz made his words clear, "When the away-team's gone, Kōl's in charge. If he thinks you should talk, then talk."

"You've got yourself a deal, ah."

After everyone understood their places, our captain said, "Away-team'll head out as soon as we're prepped."

I jumped to gather every resource needed for exploring ancient ruins, from water, to first aid, to things we could carry like climbing gear. The other three armed themselves; I preferred bare-handed, working in conjunction with the star-diamond. It's funny to think how weeks ago I felt scared, burdened by this unknown device, and now it's just a factor. As much as I wanted to pop the crystals to keep myself empowered the entire time, I gambled it may be smarter to reveal them when needed, just in case alien technology messed with my brain. So far when I've sprung the shards it worked to my advantage: no reason to jinx the effort.

My mind readied itself for the venture, engrossed to the very end. And my heart yearned to unearth answers from this alien city, and we're so close now. More importantly, I couldn't fail my crew!

38

Gliding within the asteroids, avoiding the mists of degenerative acid, the star-corvette sailed around the intensifying field of hazards. Maxio's blubbery skin started moistening from sweat, watching his stunted pilot navigate, muttering obscenities at a rate proportional to the surprising number of things jumping in their way. His tentacles switched from the gunnery controls to secondary system controls, prepared to switch-on backups if needed, divert fuel, redirect energy, or in the worst-case scenario vent the ship, even if it cost one or two members of the meager crew. Better to cut off a limb to save the body...

"Hey boss!" the voice of his Terran crewmate traveled through the speakers, "our engine's buggin' pretty fuckin' bad! Any way you can use the asteroids to shield the front of our ship?!"

Maxio let the anger swell fast to make his point, "Are you stupid? We don't got a tractor! And these things are movin' too fast to herd! Just keep everything running back there!"

"We haven't made a full repair back here in months!"

Maxio clamped the button down, "Just shut up and do your job!" he roared, turning his attention back to his pilot. We didn't pay a guy Ω25 to plant a tracking beacon on the Muldoon, just to turn around 'cuz of some damn space rocks! His stomach started aching, and the alien distracted himself by concentrating on every detail of the world outside.

A large asteroid pivoted as they dodged several others, revealing a long and bulky wing hiding behind its face. Too late their pilot realized it would collide with the Tembo, and attempted to bank left, only for the ship's crew to hear the sound of stone scraping against their starboard hull,

SCREEEEEECH

accompanied by bumping, popping, and bending. Maxio darted to the system monitor, searching quickly for any depressurization. Mercifully: none. The star-corvette held her own.

"Holy space-shit!" he heard the sound of his feline over the comm. "I just saw a long, huge dent in our side! We can't take any damage on our starboard, Lokk!" The squid looked back to the monitor, reading a 61% loss in hull integrity.

The dwarf veered around yet another asteroid. "Hold tight!" as they torpedoed through a wall of dense ions, rocking them in their seats. Staring at their star-compass, the gas forced them to change heading, setting their angle off drastically. An external camera exposed what it could of the alien moon. Maxio slammed the back of his pilot's seat. "Center on the moon!"

"I'm trying!" the man shouted back. Another collision of elements awoke the ship's sensors, registering a rear-rudder of the ship completely broken off. After feeling the terrifying tremor shaking their home, the pilot lamented a guttural, "I'm done with this." Spotting the closest hole in the field, he flicked the switch to boost the engines, thrusters blasting in frantic energy, and steered the star-corvette as straight as possible to center sights on the moon.

"Don't risk it!" the Zalfan commanded.

"We can't take another hit!"

They watched the screen as the vessel zoomed forward, almost hitting more asteroids, and edging gaseous nets. Gritting his teeth, Maxio watched as the view swung from the anatomy of the Chakram, to hot atmosphere, and ended with the ground below. They survived, stabilizing the vessel in the air. He checked back with his monitors.

"The tracer's still active," he sneered.

The pilot checked his array. "We're getting' a distress ping. No message."

"Means they're still in one piece... Keep your distance; we need to surprise 'em-"

"-The hell's that?" the dwarf interrupted, motioning to a very odd spire off in the distance. Maxio turned to inspect: a very odd formation of swiveling stone rose into the sky, reflecting the natural nebula-light beyond the clouds. "Think that's what your friend's'r here for?"

Maxio shrugged. "Looks weird. Gotta' be valuable. And we ain't detecting anything else on this rock." Directing, he hit the man's iron triceps. "Take us down, one click away."

Finding an even patch of terrain, the Tembo eased itself to the ground, still capable of flying despite the damage from the nebula. It flattened the remnants of once-lively grass underneath its landing gear.

Powering down his space vessel, Maxio called his fellow highwaymen near the exit. The plank lowered, exposing the alien atmosphere. The Terran, feline, canine, and Siimbite waited, uncertain where they landed, and what their plan would entail.

Maxio adopted his strong self, as the human battered, "What the hell we doin' here, Lokk? We follow these people forever, and we don't know where we are, and we still don't know why they're here!"

"Yeah," the dog seconded, "and the Tembo's beat up now? Shit better be worth it."

Raising a tentacle finger to the pair of deviants, "Do not... question me," he threatened, having done this before. "And use your heads... They flew here for a reason, and I'm betting it's in that creepy-ass building."

Most of them backed-down, listening to their superior. The cat pressed, "We shoulda' nabbed that old guy, Max. Not shot his ass."

The bandit stepped in front of his minion, looking upward past his puffed-out chest, a gaze ready for murder. "...The Muldoon screwed us: nabbing those goods back on Balti years ago, takin' our score... Nobody beats me!" he emphasized by prodding the bulkier man's pecs. "Nobody takes our score, and we're giving them a hard lesson... You got that?"

The feline nodded.

"The rest o' you got that?"

Another round of affirmations.

"Right..." Maxio pointed to the canine, "You scout. Find our old pals, see where they go. Now." The alien responded, hopping down the ramp with a sidearm.

"Boss, uh, we gotta' do something with the Tembo," the dwarf suggested, sounding as sincere and practical as possible.

Pivoting on his tentacles, "The Tembo? By fuckin' gods right we gotta' do something with the Tembo!" He threw his arms to his crew, frustrated, "We're gonna' start fixing it! And as soon as Reif reports that we found those hoity-toity straight-laced space-toddlers who think they can fly in our parta' the v'Manx and get away with our Omegas, we're stepping out there and we're takin' what should be ours! And if we gotta' put some plasma in that rich bastard's skull and his pet too, and take their gaudy-ass ship, then we do that too, you stupid buncha' pussies! Think LC followed us out here? Far as I'm concerned we own this part o' space, and if they wanna' contest the claim: we bury 'em with their flag and we plant our own! Now get the fuck movin'! Now!"

Everyone scattered, knowing what would happen if they argued with their captain devolving into fury. Footsteps and clanking against the metal floor quieted. When the squid remained the sole occupant of the deck, he surveyed, making certain nobody could pry. He loosened his vest, and slumped to the ground. His belly starting aching, badly. Damn! The pains had gotten worse each day. He took shallow breaths, and tried to ignore the throbs wracking him, ashamed that he almost let slip his mighty presence in front of fellow pirates.

"...I take one pleasure cruise and I come back with somethin'," he groaned, scolding himself. "Can't catch a break."

Already sitting, he made the most of his powerlessness, removing all his weaponry and making certain he'd loaded every gun. Occasionally his senses felt drawn to the unknown moon outside, gauging if he and the ship were safe aboard the uncharted world, and if dangerous natives might intervene in his personal struggle to best the Muldoon. So what? I'll shoot a whirlpool if I gotta'. He forced himself to grin. We could get away with murder out here.

39

Siimb, the sixth planet, possessed a sky of gold, soil a swathe of purple and trees of silver leaves, with the largest rings in the solar system encircling the planet. Many question if this regal coloration gave the natives an aristocratic personality, with an industrial mind to match. These were the natural thoughts that entered every alien mind that came and went through Siimb, or even one of its many moons. Tanzer certainly thought the same thing, the most effective description available. The hunter felt tired from the journey, from keeping his fingers ready to draw on the two Thunder Pit mercenaries accompanying him, and from holding onto an ornament that someone paid a lot of money to track down, almost costing him his life, and forcing him to end the lives of seven people.

The star-interceptor carrying the trio of gunners drifted toward the commercial landing tower, a pillar of wide, circular disks jutting outward in a sequential pattern down its body, like an artificial tree. The guildsman spotted a single dwarf waiting for them, along with a dragonfly nearby. The businesswoman he spoke with represented Nebulo!, as far as her video feed alluded.

Parking safely on the platform, they stepped out to greet her, Tanzer gripping the box's handle and keeping an eye on his surroundings, in case people got smart. The elevation provided a perpetual breeze.

"I've never had to deal with the Guild before," she said, part joke, part statement. Her eyes studied the case in the plant's hand.

Tanzer gave an equal response, "Nobody wants to deal. Admittedly, we ain't very nice."

They watched each other. She looked to the two mercenaries standing between them, off to the side, observing the exchange above their pay grade. "He's got what I need?"

Huo shrugged, "Um, yep. To my knowledge." His body language gave away disinterest, and impatience with the whole affair.

"Then, the item, please?" holding out her hand.

Tanzer shook his head, pushing his leafy hair back. "Nah. Not until I see the Omegas in my account. Now."

Frowning, the woman snapped her fingers to the bug nearby. Her lackey complied, removing a datapad and pressing digital buttons on the screen. While the transaction took place, she probed, "I'm curious why you're selling out? The RG has tight standards, don't they?"

Thinking back to the number of jobs he's performed under the harsh organization, the number of people he's had to shoot, stab, bludgeon, or deck as part of his duties, in addition to the number of galactic miles he's had to travel in his star-interceptor, and the number of times he's almost died, he looked at the naïve, sheltered lady with an oaken face that only the brutal effects of reality could carve. "I don't care about RG standards... not anymore."

"Fair enough."

The assistant set the datapad down, "Clear."

She waited for Tanzer. "Are you going to check?"

He didn't need to: she played fair, lacking the gall to cross him. The muscled hunter ambled to her, setting the box down. "We're done." He stepped back. Switching to the pair of Pit bruisers. "I'm headin' back to my ship. Your boss can fly you wherever."

Jual, slowly rubbing his beak, asked the businesswoman, "We finished here, Ma'am?"

"Yes," she answered, "I'll be contacting your superiors in a short while."

The canine, reflexively commented, "Good..." removing his pistol. He fired at Tanzer, shooting twice into his backside with intense plasma. They watched the guildsman grunt in pain, and stumble to the ground, fidgeting until he stopped moving. Steam and burnt flesh, born of Dixa, wafted in their direction from the breeze.

Horrified, she spat at Huo with unprepared vitriol, "What the fuck are you doing?!" Her lackey froze.

The merc chuckled, holstering his pistol, while his avian comrade stood unflinching. "He shot one of my best friends on HLS-4," he defended, cold and justified. "This's all part of the job."

She angrily pointed to the kodama, "He's with the Guild, you idiot! I don't need them breathing down my neck!"

Huo coolly added, "Ma'am, you have proof he's a traitor... He's not a Guildsman anymore. Yer' safe."

The bird, measuring her height with this talons, quipped, "They'd have to bend too far to breathe down your neck."

"Don't get cute!" she threw back to the giant.

A beam of laser heat ripped into the canine's skull behind them, sending the alien toppling to the platform floor. The dwarf shrieked, shocked at the sight.

Jual spun around, removing a pistol of his own, firing it once at the downed man, "Shit!"

Tanzer, despite the pain and lost nerve-endings, rolled onto his back with his gun aimed at the fiend. The bird's shot missed the man's head by a galactic-inch, while Tanzer's shot went into his arm, his stomach, and his leg, forcing the merc backward, tripping over the railing around the platform. They watched the titan drop. The fall this many stories from the ground would end in his death.

"...Dumb bastards," the hunter wheezed, pushing himself to his feet, "didn't know I've been shot in the back before."

The lackey grabbed his boss's arm, attempting to pull the woman toward the elevator. She stood, trying to remain pacified. "I didn't ask them to do that!" she pleaded to the sturdy hunter.

Tanzer staggered to the downed dog, now a harmless corpse. Looking back at the dwarf, he let the pain subside. Opening up, "This is why I'm done with the RG, lady..."

They stood there, letting the tension die down. Tanzer examined his flyer for damage, then told the Nebulo! representative, "Go back to work. Do whatever you're getting' paid for... Corporate fucks... I'll forget you exist, you do the same fer' me, and the book's closed. Agreed?"

Grounding herself, she concurred, "Yes. We're in agreement."

"Good." He pivoted and staggered back to his ship, slowly stretching his arms and his posterior muscles, pushing through the pain as blood circulated properly.

The businesswoman waited, sweetly offering, "Thank you, Guildsman."



He mounted the countertop, nude, before the mirror in the hotel bathroom, inspecting his charred bark and applying antiseptic as best as he could, biting his tongue from the sting. The counter and the tiled floor started out cold, and warmed drastically after vegetating on them as the first aid worked its magic. The former-criminal-now-bounty-hunter looked at himself. Years of dangerous labor weighed on him every minute he continued to stare, trying to find the decent, honorable man inside somewhere.

"You're selling out the Guild, right?" he declared to his reflection. "You're tired of doin' this shit, right?"

He fantasized that his reflection would disagree. What're you talking about? I love this life! I get to prove to people--all the time--I'm ruthless, and nobody in the galaxy messes with me and gets away with it! Bang. Bam. Bang.

Exhausted from the whole affair, "Fine... Then you go be this fuckin' badass, who'd rather shoot people than..." He looked at his wrist-comm, at the date. I'm going to be 31 next month. "...than do something good, something helpful for Chon. And Gurze. Shit- what's wrong with me?!"

He forced himself up and went into the bedroom. Removing a datapad from his bag, he stared at it for an hour, regretting the surmounting stress pinning him down from the last decade with the Guild. And he couldn't stomach what they might ask him to do next, and who he'd have to hurt to accomplish said task. It wasn't about the Omegas any longer. "S'all rich people games," he accepted, disillusioned where his life sat at that moment.

And Barry...

Tanzer couldn't stop thinking about him, that weird alien. I could use you, stud! I'm talkin' real hardcore, commando action hero, baby, ah!

"...You fo' real?" he asked the ghost of the entertainer. "I don't like you, but... you fo' real, asshole?"

The datapad... He logged into his communication profile, opening a direct message for his contacts with the RG. He began typing, making a very clear statement that he was through with the contract. A profile signature and database information attached itself to the top of the message, letting the reader know immediately the sender's identity.

I'M ABORTING THE CONTRACT. I'VE FLOWN ALL OVER THE FUCKING GALAXY, ALMOST DIED FIVE TIMES, AND FOUND NOTHING, UNLESS YOUR CLIENT WANTS AN EMPTY BOX ON TARGO, IUKO. THAT'S IT. I THINK YOUR CLIENT'S COVERING THEIR TRACKS, AND THIS IS SOME KIND OF JOKE. IF I'M WRONG: GET SOMEONE ELSE. I'M DONE. I'M DONE WITH THE GUILD. YOU PEOPLE ARE WASTING MY TIME.

Very loud, and to the point, with a boulder lifted off his psyche. Tanzer tossed his digital tablet on the bed. He flopped to all fours, crawled to the miniature refrigerator, and started grabbing small bottles of domestic alcohol--various flavors. "Not that strong," he inspected, "but it'll do."

He leaned against the bed and stared out the balcony window, looking at the canopy of the cityscape, at the foreign, yet beautiful sky of Siimb. Bottle after bottle he swallowed. A beeping caught his attention. Reaching over, he pulled the device down and swiped the message alert.

From his superior: MR. YGOZA, IT IS DISHEARTENING TO HEAR YOUR TROUBLES, ESPECIALLY AFTER SO MANY YEARS OF SEMI-RELIABLE WORK FROM YOU, BUT IF YOU ARE NO LONGER QUALIFIED FOR BASIC R.G. CONTRACTS, THEN WE NO LONGER NEED TO EMPLOY YOU. REST ASSURED WE SHALL FIND SOMEONE BETTER NEXT TIME, AS WE HAVE A NUMBER OF EAGER SERVICE-FOLK ON CALL, WAITING FOR A CHANCE TO PROVE THEMSELVES.

WE WILL SEND SOMEONE TO ACQUIRE THIS 'BOX' YOU MENTIONED, IF THAT IS THE BEST YOU CAN OFFER OUR ESTEEMED CLIENTELE.

GOOD LUCK FINDING BETTER WORK.

Reading it aloud, he interpreted, "So, I'm off the hook? Thank you!" The booze softened the insulting words from the company he spent years toiling under, and he felt joy.

He typed back, without regret: YEAH, I'M GOOD. MAYBE LAW CANNON? BYE.

Shutting the contraption off, he admired the gilded sky of the alien world, and drank himself until the kodama's muscled body fell asleep on the cushioned floor, completely satisfied and relieved that the ridiculous contract no longer troubled him. His guns sat in the bag, longing for their usual preparation, abandoned. The man drooled, dreaming of making love to Chon.

40

Stepping over the desiccated patches of grass, the alien spire came closer and closer. Howz took the lead, keeping an eye on us in case we slowed down. Fortune favored us so far, as the terrain proved flat, with minimal obstructions, such as dying trees. Anitt kept pace, coughing every quarter of an hour. Ophem flew around us, inspecting natural features on our radar. I couldn't help but study the spire, ready to learn what it is, and what we'll find inside.

"I'm surprised that supernova didn't completely destroy this moon," our sponsor remarked.

Ophem responded, "It's possible that the world's still adapting. This place has a lot of dried depressions and little moisture, which leads me to think this place was once a lot more verdant at one point, and the supernova's slowly been wearing it down."

"That makes a lotta' sense," I backed.

"It's also possible," she theorized further, "that all the stuff surrounding this moon's been protecting it from harm. How much longer it will last? No idea."

All fascinating inklings. If ancient people voyaged all the way here, through dangerous galactic matter, to set up a random colony then this moon had to be in better condition when they found it. Thinking aloud, "So if these're the same people that created the star-diamond-things, what if they found a way to do that to other things, like, what if they had ships made out of the stuff?"

The reptile smiled, "That'd be one hell of a fleet."

"Um, it's possible?" the bug admitted.

"By Hammer," Anitt chuckled, "if I could stick it to my Clan, bringing back an entire ship of diamond!"

We amused ourselves with the image of the vintage star-fluyt covered in quartz, flying in and out of space, making the galaxy envious. Then again, we'd just be a huge target for pirates... Bummer.

After an hour, we finally neared what looked like the entrance. Getting a better look up-close with the spire, the structure swiveled upward, with nine bases at the foundation of shaded hues, narrowing like a ribbon around a maypole. The material appeared akin to marble, though up close we could see eroded segments of its once-sleek curvatures--especially near the tip. Other portions outside of the nine bases curved back inward, tributary additions as part of its domicile that surrounded the protruding tower, pointing to its grandeur. We surveyed neither animals nor plants nor people in sight, in awe of the ancient remnant.

Howz looked to us, then began heading toward the spire, aiming for a large triangle of an opening. "If anybody sees somethin', let the rest of us know at once." We nodded in agreement.

When I stepped on the marbled pavement, I immediately felt a humming. A gentle wave of energy washed over me, similar to the first time I picked up the star-crystal in Anitt's room. I paused to see what would happen.

The others stopped. The noble asked, "Are you alright, Port?"

I looked at my hands, and asked them, "Do you feel that?"

The blinks and stares indicated a negative. "Feel what?" Ophem asked.

"This place... feels, like the star-diamond." When the sensation plateaued, I reassure them. "I'm fine. We should keep moving."

We picked up our pace, wandering further. The inside of the colony curved around us, frozen waves of the ocean, and we could only theorize their purpose ages ago. When we hit the tower itself, our steps slowed to a creep, avoiding any weakness in the foundation, or potential trap-triggers. Entering, the natural light of Onyx bent from the tip of the spire, several stories up, lighting the grand interior of the alien hall. The walls remained smooth and unmarked compared to the outside. We studied the brilliance of the conic roof, and when we found nothing else, our eyes dropped below, observing an ovular dwelling flanked by two spiraled ramps down into the earth. The light trickled the same throughout, and I started walking. The crew followed.

"It would take an entire clan of genius Siimbite crafters a century to make this," Anitt postulated.

"How the hell did they do it?" Ophem solicited from the ruins around her, astounded by the geometry.

Traveling further down, we passed by carvings into the stone. My gut told me these were aesthetic decorations, not more of their alien hieroglyphics. I traced my fingers into the grooves, feeling a tweaking of that energy radiating throughout the entire labyrinth, almost a tickle. "This whole place is beautiful," I admitted.

Our feet reached the basement, approximately one-hundred-galactic-feet from the ground floor, and found two other openings, though one appeared fully collapsed. Howz pointed to the other opening, clear for movement. "Guess we're inspectin' that one."

Advancing, we heard a loud creak, a rumbling of stones, and felt the place shake. Our crew froze, hoping that the ruins wouldn't collapse on top of us. "Damn," Anitt whispered. "I don't like this... Not at all, Howz."

"We may have to dart," the programmer squeaked. No. We aren't leaving! We're so close.

The ruins ceased, falling back into torpor. After a few seconds, I flagged my coworkers. "C'mon. I think we'll be okay." The energy didn't feel like it shifted at all, and I felt oddly safe in this dwelling. Granted, we had no idea how timeworn this place really was, and I depended on alien technology for any substantial guidance. If my rational mind needed to take over to survive: I better listen.

The hallway dug down, the floor perfectly smooth, while the arched ceiling appeared cracked, unstable, chunks of marble falling off to ruin the glamour. I noticed feint remnants of the writing throughout the rounded overhang, covering every square-inch; my fingertips brushed over them, and I couldn't stop thinking about the relic.

O flew close, examining the writing next to me. "This look familiar?" she guessed.

I said, "Yeah. Exactly like the ones that matched the stone... Too many of them, and I barely have an idea what they mean." Anitt waddled over, curious to examine alongside us.

CA-CRACK

CRUNCH

BA-HOOM

A colossal slice of the wall above gave way, dropping directly on top of us!

"Look out!" Howz shouted, too far away to save us.

The noble froze, while the bug dropped to the ground. I... I held my arms up, shard, and my entire body turned into one rock-hard support. I felt nothing but weight on top of me, and I slightly buckled. My body tensed, even with the augmentation of the alien diamonds. When the dust and other pebbles dropped around us, the veteran noticed a massive boulder held up by yours truly. We should've died from something this massive, yet I forced every muscle in my feminine form to keep it from crushing my crew. Anitt and Ophem nervously peeked up, shocked they still lived. "M- M- Move," I grunted.

Howz nabbed our sponsor, forcing him to slide underneath. The bug flicked her four shimmering wings and buzzed away, hovering behind the other two. Pushing myself to the point of pain, I shoved the massive boulder above my shoulders, angling it to the side before its raw form rolled away onto its jagged backside, landing against the ground with a THUD that propelled a powerful echo throughout the alien ruin.

Everyone ogled, in awe of just how strong the crystals made my five-foot-four human physique. I turned to look at them, all recovering. "That was close."

The dwarf slapped the snake's strong leg. "We can give her a bonus, right? She just saved my life."

The dragonfly hit Boss-Man's head, "Mine too!"

"Right, right!" he corrected himself, as he stood up.

Howz surveyed the damage, well aware of my stable condition. "This place's worse than Falk said. Let's go."

I relaxed the diamonds. Traveling further down the tunnel, moving quicker in case of yet another collapse, the odd light took us into one final room. The last chamber domed around us into panels of blown-up symbols and accompanying portraits. Nine pillars supported the ceiling around the center, though four of them already broke apart or toppled over. In the center sat a semicircle, something akin to a panel or a podium, with empty sockets all around, in addition to odd shapes of some type of metal scattered inside of the walls, and one single rod lying in a box underneath. The air was cool, clean, a cave devoid of pollution plaguing its beauty.

Our captain took a brief reconnaissance around the chamber, alerting his crewmates, "I'm not seeing an exit. This is it, fair cold-bloods."

So, we reached an ending. My mind couldn't avoid the same analytical patterns of the symbols around me. Setting my things against one of the pillars, I carefully examined each panel, each symbol it pointed toward, and tried to comprehend each drawing within each panel. Did I find a Rosetta stone? Is this an actual key?!

Our noble pulled out a flask, sipping some old Lan'ter-gin while admiring the faded hues of each painting. Ophem flew around the upper portions of the dome, looking closer at things the rest of us would need a ladder to reach. Howz scratched his head, lost at where to start with this room.

I went, panel to panel, making a note of each unique symbol, and deciphering the drawings around it. Odd shapes within each drawing. These shapes, amoeba-like, were performing things, basic actions, and always adjacent to other universal symbols and depictions, most of which reflected natural features, in addition to objects like homes or tools. Could this be the people and their history? Fuck, my mother would know... What else could it be?

"Um, smart people, help me out, please." Howz jokingly stayed put, munching on a protein bar from his world, while Anitt and Ophem stood nearby. I pointed at the different drawings, and asked, "Could these oddly shaped things be people? Like, the race of people who built all this?"

A moment of reflection, before I heard Anitt say, "Hm... That does add up. But how odd," he scratched his greenish beard. "Were these people blob-ish?"

Blob-ish? Amorphous...

Ophem pointed to the supposed shapes. "I've got an idea! Come here," she beckoned. Flying to the far side of the dome, we eagerly followed. She showed us a panel, this one depicting the shape-people, with one encased in pointed stone, standing above the others while non-encased lowered themselves. We stared for a moment, then the programmer proposed, "I saw this wall, Port, and thought about you... and the diamond-thing. If, let's say your observation's correct, that these blobs are people, then this one is like you, covered in shiny stone."

That... works.

Anitt pointed, "The stone one's bigger than the others around it..." His studious eyes turned to me. "What if these rocks are a form of... I don't know... station? Or power? Not necessarily a monarch, although I suppose that might apply."

Putting these ideas together, Ophem modified, "What if they use the stones to elect someone who's important? It could be religious, like selecting a Grand Moderator in the Unity Church?"

"But why the crystals? A crown or a scepter could work just as easily..."

I pondered the notion, the images, and the purpose of this place. Come on, girl: you're not dumb! Think! These aliens had to understand basic logic... They constructed a spire... Why? Spires stand out. It stands out. Gets your attention? Like a castle, or a temple, or to fucking show off... Then you went down, and came into this room, with words? And drawings. Were these historic moments in their peoples' history, or a devotion? I mean, we elevate important people in almost every culture on Terra... and pretty much every planet in the Cronoptikos. What if they did the opposite? It's possible... Or were they hiding? Either way, they used these crystals! So they made them? Or found them, at a minimum... And they would- what, use it on the important ones? These weirdly shaped people... Wait, that's it!

"Hang on!" I got their attention, thinking out loud. "The crystal-thing... It's like a diamond, right?"

The pair of aliens with me nodded, playing along.

"Diamonds are really well-formed, right?" I looked to Ophem, our resident scientist.

She thought, "Their structure is, er, amazing compared to other natural materials."

"Right!" I pointed to the different blobs on each panel in arm's reach. "Let's say you're a race of intelligent people that happens to be really squishy, like an ooze or an amoeba... Doesn't it make sense they would idealize themselves as having a really strong body, or definite shape, like a stone, or a gem?"

The pair puzzled at the image. Anitt formed a very proud grin, and pat my back. "Kid... I think you're on to something."

"They use whatever's inside me to empower them; a diamond, or accessible gems they worshiped! Like Terran gold." I grew excited. I wasn't an archaeologist, and here I was deciphering and uncovering the mentality, the heart, the innovation of an alien civilization. My parents would be proud.

Putting everything together, O agreed. "It sounds a lil' dumb... Then again, we're talking about an alien race..." She looked to both of us non-flyers. "As a Garemite," she admitted, "sometimes we admire the stalwart features of non-flying races, or how squids are amphibious. So why not?"

A moment of reflection, hitting a milestone in our long endeavor, Anitt offered his flask to both of us. I took a sip, and the bug followed. "So, we have an idea why they used these rock devices," the dwarf pushed. "Is there a way to undo it?"

Hm. Right... We searched around the dome, looking for another panel or symbol or indication of how the whole thing worked. O flew upward, inspecting more sections. Minutes later, I heard her shout, "Hey, I think I found something!"

We convened underneath her. She removed a small datapad, and snapped a photograph of the panel. Dropping down, she lowered herself to our faces, and showed the mural at the very top. "Maybe this'll help."

Taking a look, the image depicted more blob-people: one with the crystal around them, another holding a stick of some kind, and one with the crystal in hand with a broken stick. The image appeared intriguing, as one of the few featuring the star-diamond. This one... provided things to ponder.

Our dwarf coughed. "I see the crystal, and a scepter? What is that?"

"I don't know," Ophem answered. "Tell me that doesn't look like the crystal's somehow going away."

She's right! The rock's going back into the blob-person's hand. But how?!

"The diamond needs a scepter...?" Anitt mused.

No. The trinkets... The podium? Of course!

I pushed back the two aliens and ran to the rounded podium in the center of the chamber, past our captain full on an energy bar. Looking over the odd metallic trinkets, I rummaged, and saw the rod from earlier. I picked it up, gripping it carefully, and sprinted back to the mural where my companions worked their mental energy. I held the stick up to the panel's drawing, comparing the shape.

All three of us recognized the similarity. Done! "This thing's what you use to get the star-diamond out!" I shouted. Even Howz paid attention to our frantic discovery.

"This rod extracts the mineral out of you?" Anitt pieced together.

"Or," Ophem proposed, "it communicates with your fused consciousness, since it seems to have some awareness..."

Either way, we found the final piece of the puzzle. We found the answer! "I hope both of you are right!" I dribbled with excitement.

Click.

All four of us in the room switched our attention to the entrance of the domed museum. My heart turned inside-out, and my coworkers straightened. We saw five heavily-armed goons stalking out of the cavernous tunnel, and in front of them slithered Maxio Lokk, and his mean disposition. "Nice seein' you, Darogno," he declared.

The other pirates fanned out, trained on us further off. We froze, though I immediately thought about crystallizing and charging right at the murderous pirate and his cronies. "Lokk?!" our captain groaned.

"...We followed you for weeks, and you lead us to a broken, eldritch temple, out in the middle o' fucking nowhere."

"What're you doing here?" he whined.

The fiend chuckled. The others spread out, three finding us. "Lookin' for profit, same as you..." He surveyed the great-room, and the ancient writings. "Make this easy for me, so your ship leaves 'ere in one piece." He charged his sonic pistol, and waited for our captain to respond.

Howz worked with the pirate's temperament, "You want... profit? You followed us from Balti, after you shot our contact, and came all the way here for... Omegas?! Rotting scales- fine!" He played his hand, stomping toward the semicircular podium. Maxio itched to shoot, and held himself; he needed to know if the Muldoon's crew uncovered more than his own people could. The snake grabbed a handful of the metallic trinkets scattered across the desk. "You dumb, scumbag, wasteoid cloaca," tossing the trinkets at his tentacle feet. "This's the only valuable shit we've found! Unless you want some rocks...?"

I looked at his crew. None of them appeared happy, moving without dedication or passion, simply greed, following the orders of a dark, sinister individual. Their guns felt hot, armed to shoot if any of us tried to outdraw them.

Maxio picked up one of the trinkets, flipping it over between his pods. "This a joke?"

Still thinking on his scaly toes, our leader continued, "Nope... We're a bit disappointed ourselves. That elf you shot hyped everything up in his letter," he weaved. "Promising riches. All we got's this building, and nothin' else. How're we supposed to transport this?" he purposefully sounded dumb, indicating the entire temple.

Lost at his surroundings, Maxio pointed to one of his crew, a cat. "What is this?"

The gunner, who just as a side looked completely terrible compared to Xio, tried to explain the structure. "...I don't know," he admitted. "But those Harmony Link folk will pay for findin' it."

"How much?"

"Not sure. Prob'ly a lot?"

The squid turned back to the serpent, still armed. "'A lot' he says." Eyeing the captain, keeping his pistol trained. "Why should we keep you alive?" he stabbed. A bullying tone riding on harsh, cold realism. "Why should we let you take a score? In the Chakram, where nobody travels? Huh? You this smart up to the grave?"

The pair of hardened men squared off, while the rest of us watched where the exchange would morph. Nobody wanted to get shot, and some personalities felt comfortable shooting others. I started crystallizing the portions under my garments that couldn't be seen, ready to spring.

Stepping just close enough, out of the militant snake's reach, the pirate asked, "Why should we let your bloody, worthless, clean-cut ship get away? Huh?!" Sounding despicable, he continued, "You've had it good, over in 'civilized space.' And you come all the way to our parts, where we gotta' fight and bow and scrape to bigger n' badder people that own every fuckin' thing! You trespass, and we get angry-!"

"-Lokk-"

"-No! Shut your scaly fuckin' mouth!" He pointed his gun in our direction, intent upon making a statement. "You!" he shouted to our sponsor. "Pelobo the 50th! When's the last time you actually met the poor folk your Clan donates to?! Huh?!" An unexplored point, I had to admit.

Our sponsor took a few moments to answer. "I don't know," he said, very sincere, "because my Clan superiors do that kind of thing. I'm still young by their standards."

Maxio gave a relieved smile, "Right. So: never?" Turning to Howz. "You look like a space-marine... Why aren't you an officer by now?"

"Really?" the Ognongan pestered. "You give a shit?"

"Answer the question," he tapped his pistol.

Howz looked to us, then back to the killer. "Fine... I wanted to be a real-life general." His voice softened, a harmony that I hadn't heard before. "Shortly after they promoted me to sergeant, it became very clear my government wanted people loyal, and stupid, questioning nothin', even if it sounded wrong... I almost got my squad killed by insurgents, blindly followin' command's intel. When my contract was up, I left, no doubts in my mind..."

"So you gave up?" the pirate started laughing. "Funny. Yer' worse than me!" Turning to the dragonfly near my side. "And you... Want me to star shooting off those flappers? Drop down, and don't fly anywhere." O complied, lowering until her feet hit the ground, offended.

"Human girl!" Now I had to say something... He pointed. "You look young. Why the inky-hell you travelin' with these people? You like getting' pounded by spacefarers?" That made me angry. The entire crew of the Muldoon did nothing but make sure I would learn the safe, fair way of surviving space.

He said, "They pretend to help you? Maybe get you off your home world? Promise they'd take care of you while workin' you like an animal?"

I said nothing. He was wrong! I mean, 90% of what he said was wrong. It's true that sometimes I had to translate a lot of messages, and Anitt and Howz asked me to hold onto the star-diamond in the first place. Kōl never got around to teaching me self-defense techniques. Ophem was a bit of a bitch to me for the first half of my employment. X... I didn't want to admit it, but Xio wanted my vagina. He was nice, but how does a woman know when a man wants you for their soul versus their goods? Not like I didn't want his goods... Stop that! You really like X, and the crew! This guy has serious issues. Don't give in to this sociopath for one second. Stay cool! Think...

My absence of words gave Maxio whatever he needed, "S'what I thought."

The subterranean dome became a very shallow place, primitive lifeforms threatening each other, half of whom held the other half hostage. Nobody wanted to make a move. Except the pirate king.

Maxio aimed at Howz, "Just admit you lost this one. Then I'll consider lettin' you and your people go."

The veteran took a deep breath, then backed down. "Fine... You want a win? Take it," he spat. "I'll admit it last time," he grinned, "you won against our damn star-ship." Peering over his shoulder at the armed goons. "And you're good... Maybe not the best," his ego limited, "but still good. You snuck a trackin' device on our vessel, I'll wager. And you survived entry. And you took us by surprise. Ssso there: you win-!"

A small cascade of blood, dark, squirted out of Maxio. He covered his mouth with his tentacle hand. His crew glanced over their shoulders.

"...Lokk?" our captain inquired.

Maxio tried to steady himself. Another vomit of blood came out of his mouth. He said nothing, and he dropped his sonic pistol.

Ophem's compound eyes shot open, and she hovered upward. "That's... that's the prima-virus... That's the prima-virus!" she screamed in terror.

The pirate's lackeys started lowering their arms, watching their leader carefully. Nobody in the civilized or wanton aspects of space ever needed to hear 'prima-virus'. Ever. All of us stood on tacks as the squid tightened up his appendages. Howz almost stopped his good nature from reaching out. "Maxio!"

The pirate gurgled with a combination of blood and bile spilling out his mouth, "My stomach..."

One of the pirates left us, running around the pillars and the podium, telling the snake, "Get back!" Our captain stepped backward, happily. The highwayman threatened the veteran with his carbine, and then turned to his superior. "Lokk? Lokk! What's goin' on, man?"

Turning, the squid grabbed his companion's chest. A calcified mutation of his arm into a black, mysterious vestibule pressed into the man's alien torso, shoving passed, sending a spray of blood into the air. The rest of us lowered our guard, unnerved, except for Ophem who flew to Howz, despite the danger of getting shot, pulling him away from the ensuing horror. Maxio started mutating into a primal, black shadow of himself, digging his arm into his furry comrade, with eyes unrecognizing of the world around him. He flung himself into the nearest pillar,

CRUNK

and the column broke away from the ceiling. Everyone felt the tremor of the ground from the support-beam pounding the floor.

That's when the whole ruin shook. Hard.

We reacted, like professionals. I clutched the rod, embosoming its design, and shouted, "We've gotta' get out of here!" I started running, uncaring if these brigands would shoot me, water welling up in my eyes. "This place's is dying!" I don't know why I said that, but I felt the energy hitting me like a hammer, as if the remnants of this alien world wanted somebody--anybody--to hear its final wail. So I ran. I glimpsed, Howz running around the fallen column. I saw O zipping alongside him. I saw Anitt running, following the rest of us out the portal. I noticed Maxio Lokk, the pirate extraordinaire morphing into dying, oversized black-matter and his crew trying to wrangle him.

We ran.

We ran and kept going--past the dome, past the hallway, up the circular rampart, toward the alien spire reaching into the sky, and finally outside of the tower, until our muscles hurt, our legs cramped, our arms sweated and vented body odor from our pits, and our brains registered we weren't dead yet. The tower of magnificent materials built ages-past shrieked with its own earthen death knell, and collapsed--I felt a weird pain in my belly! The ground shook underneath. My feet tightened, weighing me down as I clomped over the rocks. Hands cramped from gripping the rod. Jaw tightened and ground my teeth tighter than ever before in my life.

Over my shoulder, my crewmates followed, intact. One member of Lokk's gang--a dwarf--kept pace behind us, uncaring for his band's safety. A sliver of ground erupted, releasing gaseous pressure, vaulting the lone pirate several feet into the air. Feeling constant tremors around, we could do nothing except move forward; I couldn't see the man, and though we might've been able to save him, his drop fell further into the ruins that broke apart at a rapid rate, shifting slabs of ground like an earthquake and breaking apart more of the alien walls around us, writing him off as dead.

Moving faster and faster, that energy buzzing from the ground disappeared, along with the pain, and a second wind pushed me further. I looked down and saw nothing but the weak grass underneath, and the limited trees of Onyx. The quaking felt significantly weaker, and I stopped, turning to see Howz helping Anitt push himself just beyond the final wall of pavement, sinking. Collapsing to the ground, the noble began coughing, hard, and Howz relaxed over him. Ophem buzzed around me, checking to see if I was alright.

The alien spire broke apart, its waves along with it. Tremors accompanied its destruction, and we saw the magnificent marble ruins sink, disintegrating from odd pocketed explosions, like gas escaping a corpse. A crater formed below, and everything turned to rubble, broken into nothing but grains of shaded sand. I felt this odd sadness, and it wasn't the adrenaline throwing me off; the crystals took over and I couldn't help planting my buttocks against the grass to calm down, mourning at the ruin of the ancient blob-folk. I set the rod down, carefully.

Heavy running behind us got our attention. Kōl sprinted past the weak forest in the distance and he moved to our position, holding an assault slug-thrower. When he reached us, he shouted, "What happened?! Anyone hurt?!"

Howz shooed him down, "We're okay."

Anitt hit the grass, struggling to get out, "I'm not! But there's nothing you can do." What's he talking about? He didn't get shot. "...My days out in the void are done for... I'm- I'm sick, people. I've been sick for years-" More coughing interjected. "-and now it's catching up..."

We wanted to probe him further, though his tone gave too much away. It didn't sound good. Howz sighed, expecting the news.

The avian pushed the comment aside. "I've been hitting the comm for a while," he explained. "You didn't respond. Barry noticed a ping on our radar. It's the Tembo."

"We know," Howz stopped him. "Maxio n' his goons ambushed us down there... Poor bastard had the prima-virus." Pointing to the wide field of rubble with his claw, "They're dead."

I sat there, letting the sadness drain out of me, until the crystals went away and a somber peace filled my consciousness. I picked the rod up, my fingers free to examine its cold, chiseled surface. Triumph lifted my spirits as I thumbed the bumps of miniature alien symbols running down its side.

"Think we can salvage their ship?" Kōl posed, amused by sticking it to the rival gangers.

Howz strategized. "There might be one of his people left... Let's just flag 'em: see if they wanna' play fair."

Thinking back to that panel, recalling the fine points of the image, the xeno held the rod and the diamond somehow came out... and then, it broke? That's what it looked like. So however it worked, once the diamond's extracted, the rod stops working. That means...

FUCK

No. No no no no no no no.

No. Really?!

I'm such a stupid bitch.

No...

"Gods! Dammit!" I screamed, setting the alien rod in the grass. "Why?!"

The others stopped, taken aback by my shouting, and my noticeable rage, grabbing my streaked hair and pushing it out of my face. O, the closest to me, asked, "What's wrong?"

I angrily pointed to the device. "There's only one!" They said nothing, lost. "The diagram!" I explained, "If you use it, it breaks. And we only have one..." Scooting around to face them, "I... I can't use it. I have to keep the stupid, fuckin' diamond. We have to give the rod to Deeja. We got nothing else to show...! We have to hand it over and let her use it... otherwise," tears dripped from my eyes, utter frustration and hatred from admitting the reality, "we won't get paid, and she won't stop hounding us, and all of this'll be... for nothing."

41

Our ship took a couple of days to repair. Xio, using his brilliant understanding of star-vessel intricacies, fixed everything he could, with the exception of one of our wings. After trying to connect with the Tembo, we powered on the ship and flew until we could trace the star-corvette's signal output, narrowing its location. Apparently the great pirate Maxio Lokk only had a total of five crew, and we cautiously inspected the ship. We didn't like the idea of stripping another vessel, but since they weren't using their parts, and we needed a successful departure from the planet, scavenging anything that aided said effort felt enticing. Stores of food and water, tools and equipment, fuel, and backup gear fit easily into our storage compartments. We stayed away from any of the scoundrel's personal affects, just in case the prima-virus spread.

When every primary, support, and backup system looked a-go, and our ship's hull integrity rose as high as it could, our captain gave the signal to start the engines, and lift off. We resumed our normal positions, hoping and praying that the Muldoon held up during a second beating from the orbital debris of Onyx.

Shoving away from the dark soil and remnants of foliage, we aimed past the clouds and broke the ceiling of the moon, seeing stars and the magnificent hues of the Chakram Nebula. And, of course, the asteroids and wisps of acidic gas. Howz maneuvered well enough, this time only striking a single rock that clanged against the keel, leaving a dent: thankfully, cosmetic damage at worst. And just like that we were out. Safe and sound. Thank the gods...

Our captain plotted a course for Garem, asking me to send a message to Miss Saiol that our venture was successful and we'd be returning to her in a few weeks, given fair rotation of the first world of our two stars. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and we sat around the kitchen table, pulling out our intoxicants, clanking glasses and smoking in celebration. Kōl cooked up a fine slab of Iuko-yak for us--which he saved for only rare occasions. Barry, as per his usual gregariousness, recounted a story idea he tried to produce with his friend years ago, that didn't go anywhere. Ophem had gathered a collection of the alien marble-dust from Onyx, examining its structure. Cena looked through the datapads we employed while studying the temple, ogling the images and asking all kinds of questions about what happened and what it felt like.

Xio sat near me; we massaged each other's backsides. Both of us exhausted. He had diligently repaired all of the ship's systems and exterior portions, and his body ached from the effort. Knowing what I went through as well, that we only had one chance to get this star-diamond-thing out of me, and I had to sacrifice it for the betterment of the star-fluyt and the crew, he offered sincere support.

"Well... I guess it's not a bad thing you're super-tough, super-strong, and super-shiny," he offered, very optimistic.

"Thanks," was the only thing I could say in return.

We feasted, listening to Barry's tale, getting fat on a hot, well-cooked meal. "...so the end was gonna' be the main guy telling the girl he won the day, but that he cheated on her. So she shoots him, letting him know his ego wasn't his saving grace after all, and he lies there, contemplating his arrogance on the sunset, while she walks away, the only survivor. And that's the end, ah."

"Mighty fine, tale, Barry," Kōl replied, partially roused by the cinema that never made it past pre-production.

"I like the idea of her shooting herself instead," Cena posed.

"Wow: dark," Ophem commented.

She defended, "I mean, the iconic hero survives and thinks his ego made him win everything. If she kills herself in front of him, then he still goes on in life, and really learns his lesson the hard way. Right?"

Anitt sided with her, respectful of the thematic modification. "Ooh, I like it. I like it better."

Barry slapped the table, "Miss Ulshitof, if you ever need a job as a creative consultant, Quicksand can use you."

"Please," she teased, "I still like what I do here." And all of us hoped she would stay aboard.

"Well... if you send me a resume, I'll be waiting, ah."

Our meal filled our bellies, removing any negative thoughts and feelings from our condition. As we sat there, a quiet period where we just loafed, X sat upright. "Hey, Howz. Think it's time?" he asked, motioning in my direction.

"Yep. Might as well." The snake turned to me, along with everyone else. "Portia Bardolph." What's going on? Did I do something? "This's been your first contract as a member of the Muldoon," he grinned. "Sssince then, you've done yer' job very well, a natural linguist, and helped beyond your job description! And you've held your own in a few fights, dealt with laser, and took a hit for us with that, um, crystal-thing... I don't know why it liked you, and we may never know why." He propped himself up. "I spoke with everybody on this ship--'cept for Barry, who doesn't get a say here."

Barry shrugged. "I'm just a guest. Sure, ah!" Even he looked intrigued by the intervention.

Where is this going?

Howz continued. "Everyone's in agreement. Since you're the one who took the hazard, you aren't obligated to hold onto it forever. If you wanna' use that rod, and get that thing outta' you, please do. Don't take a hit for the ship on this- And before you say anything: we're goin' to show that rubble O collected, the images of the tower, and give Miss Deeja the coordinates on the Chakram. If that's not good enough, and the bitch holds up the contract earnings, then that's it, and we walk away. You've proven a hard-workin' member of the Muldoon, and we owe you that much."

Wow. I felt so heart-warmed from his words, and the rest of the crew seconded everything he said. My feline in particular looked very satisfied, and agreed with our captain. They studied me, ready to receive my opinion on the matter. Wait- did I make an adult decision? A really big decision and not even think about it? I spoke, "Listen... It means so much to me that y'all are willing to help me out." I looked down at my hands and hardened them with the stones. "The thing is... I don't feel good using the rod." Xio looked unsure at my words. "I didn't ask for it, none of you knew what would happen. And, um, I believe Miss Deeja's story about melding with hers. She's been holding onto it for years! I've only had mine for less than a Terran season..." I let the shards go back inside. Speaking louder, firmer, "I felt like a victim when this started, because it scared me. However, when we ran into her and I saw that this wasn't hurting her, I thought, 'this really isn't a burden.' It's a tool." Recalling the diagrams from the temple. "...To the aliens who made it, it was important, maybe religious or something. The point is, it was helpful for them. And other than invading me it's been helpful ever since." Gauging my seasoned coworkers, especially Xio, I concluded, "I'm taking the high road. We give the rod to our employer. If we find another one in the future, then I'll go for it. No matter how improbable that is..."

Anitt coughed, then leaned forward, "Port, will you do me a personal favor?"

Ready to hear the entrepreneur. "Maybe?"

A very intense expression formed on his face. He proposed, "Give her the device, explain the works. But if she chooses to give it back then you'll reconsider."

"...As long as she pays us, and we're done with this whole thing. I'll see what happens."

We playfully chuckled, and the table resounded with finality from a bizarre, treacherous job. Thinking back to my first day here, I turned to Howz. "Since you people are putting me on the spot: why did you take the job in the first place, Captain Darogno?" The soldier looked surprised when I asked him in such a straightforward manner. "Lord Anitt couldn't figure out why you took this contract."

Everyone's curiosity shifted to the burly veteran, especially our sponsor. A blushing embarrassment covered his red scales. He wiped his snout, "...Fine." Admitting to his crew. "The last few shipments we took were--and you folks gotta' agree--boring as shit. Grain silage, base metals, spike ball helmets for a school district on Ku'Ben-"

The crew's emotions ranged from annoyance to insulting the man, "Really? 'Boring?' Howz, you scalawag!" I smiled, flustered that his reason was a need for excitement, though the crew took their disapproval out on him for the next hour.

"I didn't know where this job'd take us!" he defended. "I think we can go back to simple, regular, and safe hauls. Okay? Will everybody get off m'tail?"

I connected with the noble, sipping on his booze. He noticed me, and somehow he knew what I wanted to ask. That comment about being sick for a long time, right after we made it out of the alien spire. He didn't say, and I chose not to press the issue, instead enjoying the merriment of my new family.

"You people are suffering from managerial fallout, ah!" Barry joked.

X poked my shoulder. When I acknowledged, he started rubbing his forehead against me. I carefully crystallized my arm, and he pulled back, noticing the diamonds, then returned to nuzzling me. Someone made a joke, and neither of us paid attention.



We rode the elevator up the tower of Bright Energy. The security recognized us, not just a minority of non-dragonfly visitors, but after the debacle in Deeja's office they exclusively examined our equipment and escorted us to her personally. She stayed in the same office, the door and wall repaired from last time.

Dressed in more casual attire, still clean and effortless in her elven beauty, she welcomed us. "The Muldoon... please come in." Her silver tongue and controlled movements owned her surroundings.

The guards left, and we closed the door behind. Captain Howz bowed. "Miss Saiol. We made it back in one piece. We'd like to finish this contract and get paid." To the point, still with serpentine allure.

She grinned. "I'm glad you found something for me... What am I looking at?"

Ophem brought a small glass case of the alien marble. She then removed her datapad and opened the gallery of images featuring the alien ruins. She explained everything: our theories on the alien anatomy, the description of the temple, the moon of Onyx--she coined the temple "Falk's Landing" out of respect for the spacefarer who died aiding us--what happened afterward, and filled in what holes we could regarding the star-diamond and its creators technology.

Finishing, she and the captain said nothing, allowing me to step up and explain what I chose. As much as I wanted to hold onto the extraction device, if that's what it really was, I stayed strong, and stepped forward, setting the rod on her desk. "We think," I hypothesized, "this's a device that can remove the crystal. We don't exactly know how it works, or even if it's safe, but we found a mural that showed what it could do."

Deeja looked more intrigued than ever. Archaeology most definitely wasn't her forte. Evidence of a tool that could aid her condition, after a decade-long search, weighed more than anything else we brought, just as we guessed. Studying me and the rod, she asked, "It can get us back to normal?"

"We believe so." I watched her pick it up, examining its features. I spoke up, "Miss Deeja. You should know, even before the alien building fell, we only found one of these... And we don't know if there's any more."

Breaking away from the device, she heard my pleading, and realized exactly what I meant. "...Are there more temples?"

"We have no idea."

The dragonfly hovered closer. "This civilization didn't just make one colony, or one tributary planet... There has to be more. But right now: we know of no others."

Looking over the rod, and at myself, she took time to weigh her options. Captain Howz damn well knew not to plead on my behalf; I wasn't his daughter and he wasn't going to embarrass me, knowing the choice I made and everything we went through to get here. O primarily wanted the ship funded for its labor, though her scientific mind couldn't resist the finality of the alien mechanisms.

Deeja set it down on her desk. "I better be smart," she mumbled. She moseyed to her computer console and started typing things on her screen. Finished, the Ankian said, "After consideration, I'm fully compensating you. For keeping the intended object from my competitors, for finding very useful information for my own person, and for bringing me some unique investiture." She motioned to the veteran. "A total of Ω250,000, with Ω40,000 already awarded. Thank you for your efforts. I hope we can do proper business in the future."

Howz replied, "Yer' welcome, Miss Saiol. The Muldoon's in serious need of a vacation for now."

"Right," aware that we went through a lot of dangerous toil she avoided in her day-to-day affairs in the corporate jungle.

I asked her, focused on one thing, "Are you going to try the device out?"

Taking it slow, "How does it work?"

Right. Aware of only the drawing, I said, "No idea. You somehow use it..."

We scrutinized her effort. Holding it to her chest, her belly, waving it around like a baton, she eventually held it in front of her face. "I've been waiting for you... Now. Work."

The rod left her hand, floating inches away. She stiffened. We saw particles of dust fly out of her body, shimmering and collecting. Portion by portion, a star-diamond very similar to the one that melded with me formed in front of her. The classy woman tightened, her muscles flexed, her body unaccustomed to such a sensation. The rod started disappearing as the diamond formed, gradually evaporating into nothing.

Then it ended. She breathed normally, slumping into her normal humanoid shape, supporting against her desk. The star-diamond fully manifested in the air, then dropped. It shattered, turning into sandy bits on her desk. We couldn't react quickly enough to save it--if it could be saved at all.

Deeja shot up, aware the alien stone lost its form, its power, and its magic. She composed herself, picking up the dust in one of her soft hands, letting the sand fall back into the air. "Funny," she said, "I feel different."

I asked, "Are you okay?"

She snapped back to reality. Reassuring me, "I'm fine. It feels abnormal... but I also feel like I did when I was a teenager."

"Oh. That's good," I affirmed.

Aware of my noticeable insecurity, she patted my shoulder. "Hey, you're young, and you're a strong woman. I've been waiting for this for a long time. Paid a lot of money, obsessed over this, researched like crazy... And if it wasn't for you neither of us would've gotten this far."

I didn't know what to say. "Sorry the thing broke. I thought it would reform back to normal!"

She continued her gratitude. "It had its uses. Saved me a few times, especially when I was young and coming home from work... I hoped I could study it, maybe even figure out how to create one to use... but I guess I'll have to wait, until I can find another."

Use it for what? I suppose it didn't matter. She was a businesswoman, and probably drafted plans for mass-producing these. We didn't find any others in that temple, but maybe remnants of it were buried underneath the sandpit of alien marble. Wait... buried?

"Miss Deeja," I roughly proposed. "You have money, and you have contacts... My mother was a historian and went on a couple of excavations. Do you know people willing to go to Onyx...? Maybe dig and see if anything else's there? More rods, or star-diamonds?" Everyone saw the hopeful, aspiring glint in my eye.

Howz stepped forward, "We didn't get time to scan the whole moon... There's a possibility more's waiting for ya' at Falk's Landing."

She mulled the idea over. I didn't think about this until now, given our pressured goals. Ophem encouraged the positivity.

Looking at her console, Deeja said, "I can't promise anything... The business-folk I know are interested in commercial goods, material marketing... However, I know a few people who may--and I emphasize 'may' on that--feel intrigued by an expedition. Ancient alien paraphernalia."

"So you can help?" I pushed.

Empowered by experience, she grinned, "I'll look into it. But: I can't promise I'll find a party ready and willing."

Despite my hope, I pulled back. Howz grabbed me and Ophem, thanking her. "Whatever you can do, we'll be waitin'."

The elf held her hand out, in Terra fashion, and I carefully shook, feeling my rougher skin grinding against hers. "No matter what happens, you don't need to worry. This thing'll keep you safe."

A part of me wanted to rebel against her decision to use the rod. Then again, this wasn't just business. She put this whole thing together for personal reasons, and damn did she follow through. I would've done the same. No matter how disappointed I felt: I was fine, healthy, and employed, so I had to see what she could offer out of objective fairness. "I know."

"I'll contact you," she reassured. "Until then: good luck with your spacefaring."

We thanked her, and left the Bright Energy building. Howz and Ophem watched me crystallize my fingers in the elevator. They had to sense my leveled sadness, and the strength of making a selfless choice.

The veteran offered, "Sorry she didn't give you that stick."

"Eh... I'm fine." Not completely fine, but doable.

O patted my hip. "I know you don't care," she said, "but the Unity's watching. Keeping all of us safe, Port. And we'll find another temple. Trust us."

I playfully brushed her feelers. "Thanks. I know we don't believe in the same thing... but, um, gods and goddesses party with the Unity, right?"

She slapped my leg. "Right."

42

My coworkers congregated at the docks. Everyone dressed in their cleanest garb, symbolizing a successful, lucrative journey, fraught with twist and turn. Barry, the insufferable clown put his things together, and all of us strolled to the starport of Duroib. "I party with you people all over the universe, bugs to crustaceans to skeletons, ah!"

"Thanks for demeaning my people," Cena playfully slapped the man with four of her tentacles.

"Hey, I'm kidding- all my friends on Zalfa are squids," he glittered, winking.

We escorted him to a commercial freighter receiving passengers from Garem. Many eclectic pedestrians noticed the celebrity, asking if we were his designated posse. Luggage loaded onto a ramp.

Everything appeared in order. He stopped, addressing us. "I haven't had this kinda' crazy in forever." He slapped Howz's arms. "You ever want a photo shoot you scaly bastard, you call me: seriously!" Howz responded with a disconnected high-five.

"Anitt, you're my favorite Siimbite," he joked, hugging the stunted man. "Invite me to your funeral, you ancient fuck, ah!"

"Yes Barry, I'll make sure you're a pall bearer."

He carefully hugged Ophem. "Glad you have my old job, ah, and keep these people from doin' stupid stuff, lady."

She nodded, giggling, "I'll try."

Before he could say anything to our trader, Cena latched onto his outfit, "Thank you for hanging out with us! And helping fix things."

"Please, ah, anything for you sweety."

He let go, beholding Kōl. "You two're this close. Why don't you get married, you idiots, ah?!"

The martial artist looked mortified. "Please... We just like each other. Call us when you have a legit wedding, you weirdo."

Barry laughed. He moved on to me. "I know you've got some weird crap goin' on, kid. But you got a good head on ya'! You'll be fine."

I shook his hand. "Thanks... Please don't tell anybody."

"I never screw people over. You want to be forgotten, no problemo... If you do change your mind: call ol' Barry, ah. Make a good story one day."

Not right now. "Thanks, Aguecheek."

He looked to Xio last. "You cute, mixed-up guy, ah... Keep these people from exploding."

"I will. Muldoon's a hardy den mother."

Barry noticed me, then took the feline aside and muttered something in his ear. When they finished, they came back. "Well, people... This's been fun. I almost died, and that Tanzer-guy kept me from taking a bullet in the head. And you brought me to a new planet, with all kinds of nifty goodies... Now my entertainment company needs me, ah. Barry's out!" He grabbed his possessions and departed on the large ship.

We watched the mirror-shaded fop board the star-cruiser. After waving him off, our group headed back to the star-fluyt.

Arriving and clambering up the ramp, our sponsor got our attention. "Everyone! Now that we're in a transitionary stage, please come to the meeting room."

Puzzled, we followed him to the conference table. The aristocrat made certain everybody gathered for whatever he planned. We acted calm, interested. He spoke. "Some of you heard me mention my health on that bizarre moon... I want to come clean." To Howz. "Sir, please give me one Omega."

Howz, lost, replied, "What?"

"By Hammer and Anvil- give me a single Omega."

Everybody studied the exchange. Howz pulled out one paper Omega from his wallet. He gave it to the man, asking, "What?"

Anitt used his dramatic skills, and declared to the veteran, "Accepting this currency, I'd like to officially say: The Muldoon is yours, Darogno."

"What?" in disbelief.

Anitt pressed forward: hard, his silver face real. "I'm not in good health, people. Dr. Xel diagnosed me years ago with a degenerative respiratory and cardiac disorder. It's been getting worse, especially over these past few months..." He turned to Howz. "With this Omega, I accept in payment, in full, with crew members as witness that you're now the official, legal owner of the Muldoon and all its associated properties and licenses." Holy space-crap!

Our eyes widened. Cena shouted first, "By the Starry Ocean, congrats Howz!" The rest of us mixed together our applause for the guy, offering condolences to our sponsor at the same time. Former sponsor now, I suppose. "What's your plan now, Anitt?" she sadly asked.

He said, "I've spoken with one of my cousins; we're very close. He's agreed to let me retire there and, um, see how long I've left. I've got a shuttle planned to leave in two days. I apologize if this's too fast, but I don't wish to burden any of you."

Ophem hovered over to give the dwarf a hug, emotional, and the rest of us got our sincere butts in line, willing to comfort. While I waited, X said, "Hey, we should throw a retirement party!" supported in full.

"Yeah, you need a going-away party!" I backed.

Anitt looked overwhelmed, "Please! I can't indulge in festivities like I used to..." Quickly diverting the attention, he leaned closer, pointing to both of us. "Aaand you two have a date to attend, don't you?" Right. We did mention that to them some time ago.

The others immediately adopted a romantic tease at our relationship. "Wooh," Kōl joked, "why don't you two spoon while we pour some Dixa-gin down the old dwarf's gullet?" Oh come on!

Everyone proposed locations or wild party themes, when Howz stopped. "Alright... get some glasses." The snake went to his own quarters and returned holding a bottle of Ognonga-rum. The rest of us took a glass from the cupboard.

"That's special occasion stuff, huh Howz?" the bug poked.

Howz joked, "More Anitt's speed, since he's broken."

"Go ahead, rub my ailment in, why don't you?" he threw back at the soldier.

Rare rum in hands, our captain raised his glass, addressing everyone around the table. "As the official owner o' the Muldoon," he proudly boasted, we clapped, "I'm givin' our sponsor a spacefarer's send-off. Anitt, you've been the best Boss-Man, the best general, I've ever had. You'll be missed. I know everyone here's enjoyed your oversight, your wisdom, and your gruff personality," we chuckled at that, "and while the Muldoon sails around the stars, we know you'll find the Hammer and work the Anvil... Cheers."

I tried to shoot the fire-water, as did half the crew, and the typical gust of air out our throats. Crap, that's strong!

The noble gave his final thanks, water in his eyes. "I just want to say that this ship's been my home for years. Our home. There's no doubt I'm leaving it in fine hands. I wish all of you luck in your endeavors." He motioned to each spacefarer, thanking us personally. "You're the best crew a man could ask for... on a budget." We laughed at the playful jab, throwing it back at him.



Duroib offered a surprising number of amenities for alien visitors, despite the native favoritism. Xio, very eager to take me on a date, found a two-tiered saucer called Portho'z; highly recommended, according to their intranet. The lower circle offered a crazy club, with pulsing electronic music, people drinking, dancing, and mingling. The upper circle, where my man insisted we start, bore a restaurant: very calm, serene, and oh my gods the food smelled incredible!

Both of us agreed not to dress fancy, which worked well since neither of us owned formal apparel of any kind, dressing simple and kempt. Sitting down at a table, pouring over the menu, we debated the list of local fondue delicacies. I enjoyed meat, and he enjoyed spices. We shared an appetizer of ginger-eel, then enjoyed a slab of breaded rhubarb-scallops, ending with a bowl of cream-au-sage stew.

The entire dinner produced little noise. I only said a few things throughout the meal, more interested in observing him eat. Most of our conversations took place on the Muldoon anyway. We finished the main course. He inquired, "I don't think I asked you before: why did you want to be a linguist?"

Funny. He never asked me that. I pondered, thinking back to how I ended up here. "...Growing up on Iuko, I had to learn as much of the codified language there anyway. It wasn't easy, but I had fun. And once I picked that up my brain made it easier to pick up, um, everything else that I know. The HL-sponsored schools, especially the ones on Targo, offered every language course for the big planets. I didn't know what else to do, and I needed something to claim. So, I wanted to be able to communicate with people--not because I'm an extrovert; more like a survival tactic. And it kept me going, after losing family... I didn't have other motivators, that's just where my heart settled."

Finding nothing else to say, I turned the table on him, "Your turn. Why are you a mechanic?"

He smiled, "That's one of the few things I wanted to do, and it's a good trade. Everybody needs fixing. And the Muldoon took me on. I like doing things with all the parts of the star-fluyt."

The waiter asked if we wanted dessert. Both of us had no room in our stomachs. We agreed to split the check. Waiting for the bug to return, Xio looked at me. I asked, "Yes?"

"...I can't believe you didn't use that device, to get the star-diamond out of you."

I rolled my eyes, "...It was that or put the ship at risk."

"I would've jumped on it. No question."

"I understand..."

He leaned closer. "I'm trying to say, I admire that about you..." Okay, now he starts to get romantic. It wasn't sappy, or dishonest. "You had the opportunity, for like three weeks. And you didn't give in. You put us over yourself... and that's really cool. You're really cool. I like you. Um, a lot." He literally gulped, speaking with as much sangfroid as he could muster. "You're amazing."

I started smiling. Not blushing, not yet anyway. Better return the compliment. "You're eyes are like pearls. They're cute."

He looked as off-kilter as me. "...I know this'll sound crazy... I'm glad you kept the star-diamond."

An eyebrow shot up. "Huh?"

Doing his best to explain, "I know you were really, really freaked out when it happened. I get it. But, it makes you strong. And you can't get hurt by normal things. And um..." he took a second to say this, "you looked incredible. I know that's weird, and you said it doesn't hurt...! You're really pretty," blushing time, "and then seeing you covered in these beautiful gems... I can't describe it. No other girl can say that, or look like that, and it's special... It makes you different. And... I don't wanna' say anything stupid. It makes you, um, exquisite." He paused to see how I'd react.

I didn't know what to say. It's true the process fascinated his mechanical mind. And he did call me a 'superhero' weeks ago. His honest, longing expression, struggling to be a gentleman. I leaned closer, putting my hands over his. "You don't sound stupid. It does have its uses." Catching myself in the reflection of glass nearby, I thought back to how I looked fully crystallized. My eyes: they became shiny like the rest of the crew. Yaaay. Now I'm an honorary space-merchant.

Xio gingerly rubbed his pads against my painted nails. He's been using the pad-softener! "Do you want to... um, go back to the ship? Just... the two of us?" He flicked his tail under the table, tapping my knees.

Wink wink, I get it big guy. I mean... you have been saying the right things, treated me to a nice dinner, and made me feel better about myself, respectful the entire time. Loving. And I kept thinking about what you felt like. And you definitely made me feel incredible that night, kissing me down there...

What could I say? I was ready.

He was super-ready, the way we ran back to his bedroom, and locked the door.

We undressed each other. Everything came off. My naked body; his furry masculinity. Xio tried to look cool while I watched him slide a Lan'ter prophylactic over his erection, entertaining me with a little dance; I couldn't help snorting. Hugging me when he finished, we stumbled onto his bed. Kissing commenced--teeth and tongues. His hands grabbed hold of my breasts, carefully massaging them. I pushed my labia up against his member, as it grew. I grabbed hold of his buttocks, feeling them tighten. His hips drew back and he nudged the tip against my opening. Letting go of his kisses, the man whispered, "Are you, um, ready?"

Smiling ear to ear, I nodded, "Go ahead."

Then he slid inside me. One simple thrust. No hesitation, all his gentle strength. I felt the throbbing manhood, pushing back against my sensitive flesh, our stomachs pressed against each other, feeling each other's breaths. Muscles pushing and pulling. He carefully thrusted, and I wrapped my legs around his. All his fluffiness enveloping me like a blanket, tasting his alien tongue and breath on my lips, the raw, primal, and uncontrollably stimulating features this loving person offered to my corporeal essence. I felt his hands over me, working my softer parts, as his muscles tightened. He slowly went in and out. We played for gods knows how long.

"You're so damn sexy," he said in brutish Lan'terian.

I gripped him tighter, and moaned back, "Get in there, half-n'-half!" What's wrong with me?

"Anything," his only response, validating my sexuality. I wanted to let this tension out; cry, scream, laugh, grunt, and all I could do was keep breathing. Finally he found that perfect rhythm. That amazing sensation bottled, a thousand-times bigger this time. I held it tight, letting some of my body crystallize, making sure not to hurt the furry warrior wrestling with me, although when he felt the crystals he just scratched his claws against them. I held the love back, and I clenched my mouth closed, matching his thrust. The orgasm swelled throughout my entire physique. I felt strong and weak at the same time, and just held him there...

I went limp with deep contentment. Xio pressed on, aware that he'd pleased me. He quickened the thrust. I heard him shoot the air out his nostrils, as he jerked from his fruition, unloading his seed inside the condom. I felt wet, elated, and the space between us instantly hotter. His testicles relaxed, empty from the exchange, and he let go. We lied against one another, his penis worn-out, my vagina soft. Both of us felt strong, incredible, uncaring about the dangers we faced over the past few months or the absurdity of my first job.

"I could do that again," he exhaled, real in his sexual approach.

Patting his furry belly, I caught my breath, and let him know, "If you're this good... we can do this anytime." I smiled, waiting for him to take the bait. Go ahead.

"Anytime?" And, done.

"Okay," I joked, "not anytime. Just when I'm feelin' it." Checkmate, buddy.

Putting what few brain cells left to work, he rolled closer, nose-to-nose. "If this's what it takes to have sex with a living diamond, I can manage." We laughed at the ridiculous passions.

Looking at his canine ears, I recalled the entertainer pulling him aside. "...What did Barry say before you left?" I asked, nosy.

The feline smiled. Those teeth. "Nothing... He told me 'say you don't care about the alien-crystal-thing and she'll fall in love with you.'"

What? "But... you said you liked it?"

He nodded. "I told him that I loved them. He looked really surprised, and congratulated me. 'Never mind. You do you.'"

I poked his nose. "He's a lil' phony," I judged.

Agreeing with me, "Yep." He kissed and nibbled my fingertip.

43

Two months passed since the end of our contract. Lord Anitt Maxiis Klum Pelobo IV said his farewell and we waved as he boarded the star-galleon taking him to his clan's holdings on Siimb. He packed up all his nifty antiques and awards, and left only a few things we might be able to use for business purposes. One thing I appreciated, he left his painting in my room, with a note attached:

"Portia, you're young, yet very intelligent, and full of surprises--high praise from a Siimbite noble. Feel free to hold onto my imitation Learsi. Just so you know, I kept it around to remind myself this: don't imprison yourself with indolence. Achieve your potential. And, aim for the mark, or don't aim at all. I hope that inspires you! It kept my arrogance in check, and put the interests of my ship before mine--most of the time anyway. I wish you well in your search, no matter what you're searching for. -Anitt"

So that's what he meant? Eh, I was close enough. Not a bad message.

Our current contract involved hauling a very simple shipment of lumber from Dixan ghost wood trees to Iuko's moon Sajj. Simple, nothing crazy, no pirates, no backroom intrigue or smuggling. Just lugging a large shipment. My workload didn't change that much: answering messages, filtering spam and garbage, and responding to interested parties using what linguistic mastery I could offer.

Then, a message arrived. FROM: DEEJA SAIOL, HARMONY LINK CONTRACTING.

Deeja? Wait, 'HL Contracting?' Did she still work for Bright Energy? Then again, I'd quit a big company with corporate assassins trying to kill me.

I shouted for our captain. "Howz! We got a blip from Deeja!"

The barrel-chested snake gravitated, aware of what the message could mean for me. And the ship too, but I'm the one with uninvited alien superpowers. "Miss Saiol... what's it say?"

"Not sure. Waiting for you."

He tapped my hand. "Go ahead, hatchling."

I clicked the message open, reading every word very carefully.

Greetings crew of the Muldoon. I trust you've been busy, and hope you're finding trustworthy work for yourselves.

I have some bad news, and some good news.

The bad first. I spoke with what contacts I could wrangle, from expert archaeologists and miners, to hobby reclamationists, and others who might be willing to travel to the Chakram Nebula to dig up alien wreckage. So far, I've found no takers, and those who have expressed interest cannot risk potentially dying in a supernova-remnant to find this moon worthwhile, alluding to the detailed problems you spoke of when flying in and out of 'Onyx.' I pressed what I could, and so far nothing. This may be a venture you'll have to fund yourselves, if that's possible. I don't want Portia to give up hope; realistically it took me around eleven years to find another one of these alien contraptions we shared. That is what we're dealing with. I'm sorry.

Not good. I grew very sad reading the digital letter. Howz rubbed my neck.

We kept reading.

Now the good! This may not be something that you're interested in, but I felt obligated to give you first picking. As you may have estimated, I left Bright Energy, given the hassle that I--and your crew--went through, although I'm currently dating one of my former coworkers. Good on me, hah! Elf + Dragonfly = ?

I recently finagled a rich contract with Harmony Link, dealing with none other than the new world of Surassi, and the Orcish Gynecocracy. Turns out relations are on an upswing, and HL are looking for trustworthy, intellectual folk to initiate trade. I casually namedropped the Muldoon, your ship's success ratio, competitive rates, and your elite survival skills, in addition to a young polyglot. (You're welcome.) If your crew is interested in this very exclusive, and lucrative contract: it's yours. The key here is networking; if you people get in good with HL officials, finding someone who's interested and capable of venturing to 'Falk's Landing' will be easier. Hopefully this will sound enticing to you.

Message me as soon as possible if you'd like to proceed. I'll set up a meeting with an HL committee so your crew can work steady. And merit bragging-rights. By the way: you will not be working for me. Not that I wouldn't mind using you again. 

I scanned the message. "So we have a job offer?" I inferred.

"Yep... Guess the gal's looking out for us. I'd wager you had somethin' to do with that."

Reading it again, I swiveled the chair, poking at his meaty chest. "...You're considering it. Right? She did say 'steady.'"

He playfully shrugged, swatting away my hand. "She did say that."

"So no more random hauls?" I plied.

"Excuse me, lil' girl. How long've you been space-hauling?" His opal, reptilian eyes zoomed on mine, ready to combat me.

Fine. "Okay, you win, sir. You're the weary ones. I'm just a victim."

He batted, "That's cute. Y'know, you wouldn't survive the Star Military with that attitude."

"Seriously... Can we take her offer? Please, Mr. Boss-Man?"

Perusing his log of work opportunities, and other offers on the table; our ship hadn't changed its professional identity, despite the incredible--and questionable--journey prior. "Tell ya' what," he said, "let's put it to a vote. If the rest o' the crew likes the idea, then we'll head over there 'soon as we finish this lumber haul."

I got up to hug the scaly captain. "Thank you!"

He held me for a few seconds, then, "A'right, a'right, yer' not my actual daughter," the man joked, pushing me away. "Check the inbox, and then we'll call the crew together." He left the cockpit.

"Understood, Cap'n."

Guess how it went?



Xio and I curled up against each other on my bed, lightly-clothed, looking at the vid-screen on the wall. A classic film from Zalfa played, a tragedy called 'Monsoon' about a weather-controlling vigilante; the cinema became popular long before the crime-fighter genre on the squids' world.

I tried to focus on the faded drama, yet the alien nuzzled my head behind me, holding onto my body, licking and nibbling my chocolate earlobe. "You taste funny," he mumbled.

"Uh huh."

We kept watching. A commercial break interrupted the feed. Oh boy, gotta' love them ads.

"They drag the experience out longer," he purred, hinting at something else.

I grinned. "Right."

Leaning over me, so I could see his face, "Speaking of: thanks. I like being your boyfriend."

Oh! How heartwarming. I felt obligated to give Prince Valiant a more official chance after everything we went through. "Well, you're the first in a long time," I teased. "Don't screw it up."

He gently tugged my belly-button ring. "I won't."

The ads went, one by one. A preview appeared on the vid. It looked like a typical cinema trailer, some post-apocalyptic journey film on Dixa. We saw deserts, atomics, odd creatures, and innocent, dirty people shooting, stabbing and fighting things, struggling for survival. Then we both noticed something. "Quicksand Artistic presents. Chuldi. Tanzer Ygoza. 'Dry Season.' Available for streaming and hard-copy purchase 2132."

Quicksand... and that kodama hunk in the movie punching and shooting people. "Is that that Guildsman who tracked us?" I asked.

"Um... Yes? I remember Barry saying Quicksand. And that guy looks familiar. You want to see it?"

I thought for a moment. "Well, if Barry really likes our ship, we can probably bug him for a free copy. Might as well. We can watch it for a date night, tiger," an upbeat expression.

Agreeing, "Sounds good." He kissed my shoulder. Several times.

Why the hell not? Shard. My entire body covered itself in star-diamond. He kept tonguing my rocky flesh. "That's not going to stop me," he teased. "This's kinky."

Gods... "So if I stayed like this the rest of my life, you'd be okay with it?" It was a dumb question, yet one that showed how he really felt about me. The good and the bad.

He kept tonguing. "Mm hm."

I watched him, then slumped back on the comforting sheets as the flick came back on the monitor. Feeling the warm, strong, and loving mechanic embrace my crystalline body with his fur and earnest heart, sleep overcame me. I had nothing to worry about, having stepped outside my home, taken that leap into maturity. I journeyed from planet to planet, fought dangerous people, almost died and still lived, put my brain to work in the best ways possible, uncovered an alien mystery, found a job with an amazing star-fluyt, and conquered my youthful fears of travel and fire and loss.

I don't know why you favored me, star-diamond. This whole thing's an ongoing exploration. But thank you. Maybe one day I can learn your damn language.

In a few months I'll be turning twenty.

I found my destiny in the v'Manx. The hard way. Nothing was perfect. Still, I looked forward to the next adventure, with my awesome and fun Muldoon family. And Xio, kissing my crystalline body the whole way.

The End

Appendix

2131 K.E. [Known Era]

The v'Manx galaxy

Cronoptikos binary star system

2 Suns: Zoz ; gives off a red light, small-size

T'Qem ; gives off a green light, large-size

First Planet: Garem ; demonym Garemite(s) ; populated by Dragonflies, 4-foot average ; Small planet, no orbitals ; governed by Garem Collective ; known for energy efficiency, energy source exports, space-flight supplementation ; total planetary population ~3.1 billion.

Second Planet: Dixa ; demonym Dixan(s) ; populated by Kodama, 5-foot average ; Medium planet, 1 moon: Ghal, 1 gaseous moon: Myst, 1 asteroid: Weyla ; governed by Unified Axill Republic ; known for agriculture, grown exotic goods, naturalistic experimentation ; total planetary population ~4.0 billion.

Third Planet: Terra ; demonym Terran(s) ; populated by Humans, 6-foot average ; Medium planet, no orbitals ; governed by Terran Union ; known for academic specialties, material and digital archiving, economic neutrality ; total planetary population ~4.4 billion.

Fourth Planet: Lan'ter ; demonym Lan'terian(s) ; populated by Canines, 6-foot average, and Felines, 5-foot average ; Medium planet, 1 asteroid: Ku'Ben ; governed by Ca'ent Oligarchy ; known for athletics competition and entertainment, mass-soldier militaries ; total planetary population ~5.8 billion.

Fifth Planet: Iuko ; demonym Iukoan(s) ; populated by Avians, 11-foot average ; Large planet, 2 moons: Olvai and Sajj, 1 asteroid: Watkee ; governed by Deng Kingdom and Sunmii Federation ; known for storage, recycling, mineral/gas experimentation, efficient architecture ; total planetary population ~3.9 billion.

Sixth Planet: Siimb ; demonym Siimbite(s) ; populated by Dwarves, 3-foot average ; Large planet, 7 moons: Voris, Huroc, Aremb, Durag, Squo, Merrimoor, and Lobb, 3 asteroids: Centron, Wish, and Nem ; governed by Siimb Orchestration ; known for mining, personal aircraft and spacecraft, crafting and technology innovation, core-economy management ; total planetary population ~4.7 billion.

Seventh Planet: Zalfa ; demonym Zalfan(s) ; populated by Squids, 7-foot average ; Small planet, no orbitals ; governed by Tonio Commonwealth ; known for outsourcing, vacation and destination travel, luxury goods, system-wide-tourism, performing-arts entertainment ; total planetary population ~3.3 billion.

Eighth Planet: Ognonga ; demonym Ognongan(s) ; populated by Snakes, 6-foot average ; Medium planet, 1 moon: Jambwe ; governed by Zudu Aggregation ; known for medicinal innovation, political refuge, distant aircraft and spacecraft, non-soldier militaries ; total planetary population ~5.0 billion.

Ninth Planet: Ank ; demonym Ankian(s) ; populated Elves, 6-foot average ; Small planet, 1 comet: Bom ; governed by Viq Tribal Council ; known for space exploration, communication innovation ; total planetary population ~4.2 billion.

Cholax unitary star system ; located 19.5 lightyears away from Cronoptikos binary star system

1 Sun: Herbe ; gives off a white light, medium-size

First Planet: Surassi ; demonym Surassian(s) ; populated by Orcs, 8-foot average ; Medium planet, 2 moons: Castle and Rico ; governed by Surassi Gynecocracy ; currently under HL investigation and exploration.

Cronoptikos Interplanetary Civilization

Harmony Link: A joint-interplanetary organization, founded originally by Siimb, Ognonga, and Lan'ter in 1902 KE; currently co-owned by all known civilized worlds in the system. HL has been exclusively responsible for fostering better relationships between each planet, from trading to communication, and codifying laws to promote respect and peace between each race, government, and culture.

HL established the standardized galactic money called Omegas (Ω). Money and economy monitored by HL Interplanetary Economic Assembly, commonly called the "HL Bank."

HL constructed way-stations between each planet in the system, with the exception of the Dixa-Terra gap due to such a close proximity between these two planets.

Station One : Garem and Dixa

Station Two : Terra and Lan'ter

Station Three : Lan'ter and Iuko

Station Four : Iuko and Siimb

Station Five : Siimb and Zalfa

Station Six : Zalfa and Ognonga

Station Seven : Ognonga and Ank

HL Requisition Guild: Private interplanetary organization, founded by Garemite and Ankian investors, sponsored and recognized by each major planetary government except for Terra and Zalfa, who do not distinguish said authority. The RG is largely a private investigation company operating on singular contracting, also paid to act as bounty-hunters, repo-folk, and counter-thieves; although they do not openly support slavery, rumors persist that they engage in person-trafficking and slave-hunting.

HL Law Cannon: Well-trained and -armed interplanetary police force, acting with authority and jurisdiction to investigate criminal activity, enforce laws throughout HL territory, and protect the common good. A very efficient organization, although crimes may be relegated to planetary soil instead of HL courts depending on circumstance. Rumors persist of extending harsh treatment to jailed and incarcerated persons.

[HL] v'Manx Mining Union: Space-workers' union to protect against corporate harassment and overreaching. Originally founded by Siimbite space-miners, they gained the support of Dixan and Iukoan laborers, and have now universally branched out to include a number of crafters, trade-folk, and specific non-elite laborers. Interplanetary business mediation, workers' rights advocates, government and private protection; the union is always active, all over the system.

Our Story's Ship Information

The Muldoon

Class B Star-Fluyt, middle-sized freight ship, accommodated for light military-defense, forged on Siimb (Durag) ; Universal Business Licensing [UBL], and registered with a HL trade permit ; 17 years old, activated for 16 years. #SLVN9771.1213.1250.9.

Our Ship's Crew Members

Anitt Maxiis Klum Pelobo IV ; Dwarf ; 54 ; from Siimb

- Owner and sponsor of the Muldoon, purchased 16 years ago.

- Aristocratic, grounded, pragmatic, he acts refined and weary from excess business and culture; competitive with other merchants, and distant with family [Clan] members.

- 3'6", silver skin, green thick hair and beard, peridot eyes.

Howz Ua Darogno ; Snake ; 36 ; from Ognonga

- Captain of the Muldoon, for 14 years; retired from the Ognongan Star Military, fed up with the rigid leadership.

- Straight-forward, simple, fair, capable, a good leader.

- Divorced 4 years ago from wife Gev, 33, and one kid: Baz, female, 5.

- 6'1", red scales, opal eyes, athletic build.

Cena Ulshitof ; Squid ; 41 ; from Zalfa

- Trade and Logistics Specialist of the Muldoon, for 10 years.

- A healthy mediator, likes to be on good terms with everybody, and jibes with everyone due to her high spirits. Loves the ship and space-travel. Intimate with Kōl.

- 6'10", blue skin, ruby eyes, slim core, multiple tentacle-limbs.

Ophem Sels ; Dragonfly ; 33 ; from Garem

- Computer and Electronic Programming Specialist of the Muldoon, for 8 years.

- Reserved, very smart, blunt, she is constantly studying and tinkering, whether it's a gadget or game. She comes off as elitist, believing people should prove themselves. Very spiritual, a devout Unifier.

- 4'2", dark green skin, topaz eyes, four wings, average build.

Kōl iTurg ; Avian ; 29 ; from Iuko

- Security Specialist of the Muldoon, for 5 years; retired law enforcement from a province in the Deng lands.

- Spiritual, masculine, athletic, martial artist. He takes pride in making sure his family, and friends are safe under his wing. Excited to move around and see the galaxy. Devout Unifier, enjoys praying with Ophem. Intimate with Cena.

- 10'9", turquoise and orange feathers, black beak, black scales and talons, amethyst eyes.

Xio Nu'ng ; Feline (and Canine) ; 23 ; from Lan'ter

- Mechanical and Engineering Specialist of the Muldoon, for 3 years.

- Gentle, respectful, quiet, jumpy, and ready to work. He's always imagining and thinking, and loves using his hands to build and break things. Loves to pilot/drive vehicles when he can.

- 5'5", black and grey fur, pearl eyes, missing a finger from repairing mechanical parts on a ground-car.

Portia Hippolyta Bardolph ; Human ; 19 ; from Terra, Utrecht (and Iuko, Targo)

- Communication, Translation, and Cultural-Research Specialist for the Muldoon.

- Portia is playful and adaptive, although inside she's nervous and cautious, and when she's comfortable she can be domineering, and tough when she has to fight. When her family traveled from Terra to Iuko onboard the Terran Space Vessel Alatriste, a star-galleon, an engine explosion killed her mother and brother, making her scared and anxious for many years; now she is trying to break through her issues and make herself useful out in space, driven to learn various cultures, histories, and languages.

- 5'4", chocolate skin, red hair with blonde streaks, brown eyes, aureolin-painted nails, navel ring.

FAMILY: Jacobus Othello Bardolph ; 46 ; HL management consultant on Iuko.

Alberta Victorian Bardolph (formerly Orsino) ; [43] ; historian, archaeologist ; killed in explosion.

Viola Beatrice Bardolph ; 21 ; commerce researcher, advertising and marketing degree, sales specialist on Iuko.

Mercutio Oberon Bardolph ; [17] ; wanted to be a doctor ; killed in explosion.

FRIENDS: Regina, 19, Human, Female ; from Terra, Utrecht ; generally sociable, loves music ; veterinarian school.

Lyz, 18, Avian, Female ; from Iuko, Targo ; playful, loyal, loves watching sports ; interns at a stadium for spike ball.

Pivol, 20, Snake, Male ; from Iuko, Targo ; brainy, talkative, loves cinemas and plays ; finishing up fine arts degree.

Dranq, 19, Canine, Male ; from Iuko, Targo ; strong personality, athletic, loves woodworking and martial arts ; ground-transporting school.

Keal, 19, Elf, Female ; from Iuko, Targo ; quiet, observant, lush, loves languages and deciphering, puzzles ; interning at investment firm, in-line to act as professional translator.

Mukhiil [ex-boyfriend] ; 19, Avian, Male; from Iuko, Targo ; adaptive, loud, lazy, loves literature ; working toward sociology degree.

Our Ship's Former Crew Members

Bon Walf ; 30 ; Elf ; left 1 year ago ; former Communications, Translation, and Cultural-Research Specialist for 6 years ; left due to arguments with Anitt over management, business choices, and a near-death experience, although still on good terms with the rest of the crew ; left to work on Ank, available contact.

Xelxor Kal ; 37 ; Kodama ; left 3 years ago ; former Medical Specialist for 2 years ; left due to humanitarian efforts ; on Dixa (Ghal), contact and Retainer for the Muldoon.

Donve Omeb Sincla ; 47 ; Dwarf ; left 3 years ago ; former Mechanical and Engineer Specialist for 4 years ; left due to marriage to Hari Sincla [Female, Dwarf, 40] and career relocation ; lives on Siimb (Lobb), available contact.

Samber T'od ; 32 ; Canine ; left 5 years ago ; former Security Specialist for 4 years ; left due to death of both parents, leaving him to manage his estate on Lan'ter, on good terms with crew; working professional wrestling, available contact.

Barry Aguecheek ; 39 ; Human ; left 8 years ago ; former Computer and Electronic Programmer for 4 years ; left due to film/TV/music production career, and way too much personality for Cpt. Howz ; lives on Zalfa, potential contact.

Anyo iVer ; 44 ; Avian ; left 11 years ago ; former Trade and Logistics Specialist for 5 years ; left due to inter-planetary real estate career, and marriage to Kamm iVer [Female, Avian, 38] ; lives on HLS-4, available contact.