# **Contents**

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

FOLLOW

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THANK YOU

ABOUT AUTHOR
TEMPUS INTERRUPTUS

a

Dwarves in Space Novella

By

_SE Zbasnik_

The Next Books In The Series

  * Dwarves in Space
  * Family Matters
  * Free Radicals

Copyright © 2019 by SE Zbasnik

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2019

ASIN: B07MGC5NQK

A hearty thanks to those who gifted us the greatest invention of humankind: the taco.

_IF YOU WANT to get in early on information about my new books and deals, please_ _join my newsletter._

CHAPTER ONE

_SEE THE GALAXY! Make your own hours! Great benefits!_

Comm Tech Barrus recited the ad under his breath while drizzling the last of the lukewarm noodles into his mouth. The "great benefits" gurgled beside his raised feet that kept knocking into the plastic control panel, his coffee long over boiled. His "own hours" wafted into the endless void of space, each one adding up to three years of his life. Someone had to fix the downed ether buoys in the middle of wyrmless space lest a harried trader in a five piece suit miss one second of a conference call and galactic war broke out. And it's not like SkyTalk was going to invest in cheap gnome labor. They prided themselves on only hiring humans; poor, busted down humans who'll take whatever scraps they get to pay off student loans.

The quiet of the stars gave Barrus time and a half to think, which was the problem. On the edges of the galaxy, while zipping from one wyrmpinch to another, or trapped for hours inside a hissing suit tinkering with a comm buoy, he discovered to his chagrin there wasn't much inside his gasping mind. Most of his thoughts circled back around to what awaited him for dinner and how he'd probably mount a hamburger when his tour ended and he finally got back home.

One of the trademarked SkyTalk klaxons bleated from beside his pile of noodle wrappers. Sighing, Barrus dropped his shoes and inched forward to glare at the console dumbed so far down even the clinically brain dead could understand it. The little button marked 'Engine: Make Go' flashed thrice. He tapped it, trying to coo the fading fuse back to life. For a moment, the light returned to normal, the engines still humming beneath him. He leaned back, savoring his minor victory, when the button's light gave up the ghost and cut fully out.

"Great. Something else for me to fix." The repair ships were an "investment" for technicians, as well as the uniform coated in noodle stains, and his training. Because of the cost, techs who finally succumbed to space madness were quick to pawn theirs off on the next unlucky sot to take the job. His had probably been in service out in the dark parts of space since before he'd been born. It kept together thanks to duct tape, spit, and coagulated noodle sauce.

Wiping down his face, Barrus reached for the bucket of fuses then paused as another alarm went off - more pained than the first. His hand dropped towards the diagnostic macro when the entire control console lit up like a rave on Soulday.

"What the shi-"

The invisible fist of the galaxy punched Barrus out of his chair and threw his body across the floor into a bulkhead. His head bounced twice, denting flimsy metal and cheaper plastic. Cabin lights flickered in rage, strobing in time with the dying brain of the ship. All around him machines rose from their slumbering grave - tech equipment, a sticky screwdriver, even his infernal toaster - bleating in agony for attention only to fall back to silence. A cacophony pounded through his temples but left no noise in his ears. He screamed against the smothering silence, but his voice skipped over the vowels and shuddered up and down octaves. Finally, the lights failed and blackness reigned through the silent cabin.

Barrus stumbled to his knees, his hands pressing into his ears. Something wet dribbled down both of his palms, which he smeared across the deck trying to right himself. "Where are those fucking emergency lights?" He hunted in the total dark for the latch to the torches, smashing his thumb into the uprighted chair legs. There were protocols on where to store emergency equipment, protocols no one followed because they were never needed. This was the easiest low paying job in the galaxy short of putting the little antennae on robots. What in the shit was going on out there? It couldn't be a concussive blast from another ship. No one in their right mind would try to steal from a SkyTalk repair shuttle. Best pirates could hope for would be some long outdated tech, a bored tech who'd probably try to join with 'em, and a pile of stickers they had to slap onto the probes with each repair.

Pulling open the hatch and rutting around, he tossed aside a few K-rations and an emergency breather to pick up the torch. Just as he was about to flip the switch, the emergency lights rose. Throbbing red lights bathed his cabin like the inside of the bedroom of a teenager who enjoys long night walks in cemeteries. "Took ya long enough," he muttered to himself but still kept hold of the torch. Rising to his feet, he peered across the console, every single button dead.

"Fan-fucking-tastic. This is going to take hours to reboot," he groaned to himself, a hand tugging on his oily hair before he glanced up and out the view screen. His shriek rattled the noodle cup until it plummeted to the floor.

Where dark space and a smattering of stars should be, a hole twisted through the insides of the galaxy, silver metal poured into the edges like one of those puzzle illusions meant to mess with the eye. The hole or whatever it was rolled at a constantly changing speed, and sometimes reversed direction. Staring too long into it made it feel as if the back of his eyeballs were itching. Barrus reached for his chair to fall down into it, forgetting it tumbled along with him in whatever explosion created that universe-destroying scientific nightmare. His ass smashed to the grating, but the pain didn't register. Images, data points, a pinched woman's droning all dredged up from his brain what little he knew of a black hole. Scary. Bad. Certain death. Kiss your grav insurance goodbye. But this thing was walking distance from his ship, and he didn't feel any gravitational pull. By space standards the ship was stationary. This couldn't possibly be a black hole, or anything he'd ever seen before.

He laughed to himself at his good fortune. Whatever terrifyingly new space phenomena it was, at least it wasn't having any effect or trying to kill him. No tentacles snapped out to shred his shuttle apart, nor did the demons of the beyond fly free and yank him in to join them. Rising off his bruised hocks, he tried to prod the console to life. If this was never seen before, something like this had to have a major finder's fee. Maybe they'd even name it after him. The Mark Barrus hole! It'd have to be worth enough vids to get him out of this—

A noise skittered down the hallway. The hallway attached to a fold down bed that also passed as a dining room on his one man spaceship. Barrus swung around, trying to hunt down a nonexistent knocked can or loose toolbox rolling across the floor. Gripping the torch tighter he swallowed down the stomach in his throat and called out, "Hello! Is anyone there?"

He felt relieved and foolish when nothing answered back. _Right, just getting jumpy_ —

"I said, who are you?" echoed through the ship, the sound warped as if it was run through one of those kids toys that messed with gravity.

"Fucking hell!" Barrus cursed, spinning around to find the voice's owner. "I...I'll have you know you're trespassing on SkyTalk property, whoever you are."

Shining the weak torchlight down the hall, Barrus tried to peer into the hellfire of the emergency lighting. It could be his imagination, or a week of eating expired noodles, but he swore a shadow blacker than the air moved deeper inside.

"Who are you?" Barrus called out. "What are you doing here?"

"This isn't funny," echoed back, the voice peeved.

"I said, who are you?!" Barrus screamed, rage at being spoken down to overlapping the terror.

Boots shuffled just out of sight, the shadow moving, but no more voices mocked him. Perhaps it was a rodent that snuck onboard knocking scattered cans about, or he was finally losing his mind to space madness which caused him to hear voices. That made perfect sense. _A complete and utter mental breakdown is preferable to—_

A clicking noise reverberated in the shadows and a light burst from the back of the ship. It trembled in the air and the voice, a familiar voice, mumbled, "Oh shit."

"You can be tried for trespassing. Strung up for stowing away," Barrus growled, trying to get the upper hand.

"You're trespassing," the voice mocked him.

"This isn't funny!" Barrus shouted back, waving his torchlight in loping circles. Rage wiped away common sense, and he stepped towards the man nearly mocking him to his face. He slid closer, trying to steady the light, and kept talking, "Don't resist. You have nowhere to go but space. I'll be lenient on you. They'll be lenient on you."

"Fucking hell!" the voice shouted. Barrus was close enough now he could see the shadow was man sized and probably not an alien. Its own torch light burned Barrus' eyes and he blinked against the assault.

"Tell me who you are!" Barrus shouted once more. There were tales of wanderers — star dusters they were called — people who couldn't afford passage back down to a planet that were left begging for scraps off any passing ship to survive in the trenches of space. Some turned to stowing away for passage or even looting. They could also be powerfully strong courtesy of years of low-grav madness.

"That can't be," the unexplained voice said.

Barrus steadied his hand and lifted the torch light towards the head of the shadow. It almost slipped from his fingers, his throat constricting from the scream lodged in his throat as he stared into a mirror image of himself. The same three week stubble, the black circles under the eyes, even the chipped tooth glared past him.

"No," Barrus muttered, sliding his foot back, "that can't be."

A voice whispered behind him, "They'll be lenient on you."

Barrus spun around. Standing beside the console were another three copies of himself. One was hunting around the ground for the torch in his hand, another was glaring through him, and the last sat in the chair eating the same noodles digesting in his stomach.

"Oh shit."

CHAPTER TWO

DRAKE BANE FLASHED his patent pending megawatt smile at the troll so filling the doorway it nearly merged with it. Trolls by and large, were mostly large, by and by. They used that to their advantage, relying upon the tactics of intimidation and glowering to get what they wanted in the universe. This one took it to the extreme by actually sewing skulls upon his shoulders. Not real ones, but resin things that looked like they belonged in a museum display. The guard didn't even bother to look down at the nervous human trying to play this meeting off as if it was all his idea. His idea. Sure. Because so many people would willingly walk right up to this door for the fun of it. Drake flexed his fingers and risked a glance at the missing nail. Those things were stubborn as hell about growing back.

"Is he here?" a chipped voice echoed around the troll. Its telltale trill froze Drake's blood. People said that upper register nearly out of human range could burst your brains out of your nose if done loud enough. The troll glanced behind himself and bobbed that rock for a head.

"Send him in."

"The boss says..."

Drake waved the troll aside and jutted his chin out, "I heard her. Now please, unless you want me to crawl under your legs, move aside."

The bodyguard leaned down as far as the impenetrable grey troll hide allowed, and the beady black eyes glared into Drake's, but his impudent blue had already moved on. Grumbling deep in its gut, the troll landslide shifted aside.

Despite being on a space station, a false sunlight hovered past the woman behind the desk. Impressive, but expensive to maintain the kind of outage needed for such an illusion. Shit, she was the one behind half of all the illegal activities along the troll-goblin borders. Pirating, racketeering, smuggling, fixing races, racing fixes, and — worst of all — gru gambling. With the kind of coin she shat out before breakfast, she could buy herself her own little planet instead of holding court on this piece of coprolite station, but there was tradition to maintain. One thing their kind loved was tradition, and three piece suits, and inviting guys to go fishing before plugging them in the back of the head(s).

A pinching of rouge circled around her giant black eyes ending in a point to the side. The green skinned nose, dagger shaped, was pierced with three different sparkling gems from worlds long since gutted and left as desert planets. What little of hair goblin's had was wound in a twist and draped across her suited shoulder.

"My lady Oless," Drake began, bowing deep and flailing his arms in obeisance.

"Skip it, Mr. Bane," she muttered, her claws tapping across the crimson desk. "You know why you're here."

"It was all a big misunderstanding," he said his eyes darting up to her from his bow. "A small jest done in the heart of the moment."

"Rather than deliver the goods to my associates you seem to have..." Oless paused and shouted to her body guard, "What was the report, Lichtor?"

The troll cracked his head sized knuckles while answering, "Bragged to three corps officers and handed it over to the guard in exchange for them not tossing his puny ass in prison." That 'puny ass' had gotten him out of plenty of scrapes, and then into just as many after his conquests found they weren't the only ones.

"Right. That," Oless answered. Drake watched himself reflected in those bottomless black eyes. With only his own guilty visage glaring back at him, it was easy to see how goblins did so well in the organized crime business.

"Now see, what you don't have is the full picture. Your contact never bothered to show, very rude that. Could have dead dropped ahead that he'd be late. It's the proper procedure in such matters. And I, I needed to keep the vials of enzyme cool, so I slipped into a bar. They have ice." Drake danced about the room while spinning his tale, his arms punctuating the important points that exonerated him. "Except, after dumping the ice in the baggie, these two men - huge men the size of..." he paused and turned to look at the bodyguard, "bigger than trolls, spotted the vials and threatened to end my life for them."

"Not much of a deal," Lichtor snorted.

Drake ignored him, "A minor scuffle broke out, so the bartender panicked and called in the corps. What could I do but play the innocent and wounded party lest it somehow lead back to you, Oless?"

The goblin only blinked once, her boxy forehead puckering as she listened to his tall tale. "I see. A curious story because what I have is first hand evidence that you became so inebriated you missed the contact's window, stumbled into a new bar, and bragged to the first uniformed female you spotted."

"That's all hearsay," Drake insisted. "You can't trust that stuff. I was there. I know what really happened."

Oless' eyes flickered up and the door behind Drake slammed shut. He tried to not picture it as the lid to his coffin while the troll's grin carved across his granite face. "I can pay you back!" Drake shouted, filling the silent air with the first platitude to enter his head.

"With what? You have nothing to your name save an ancient cruiser scrapped twice over."

"I..." Drake hunted around the tiny room that passed for the greatest goblin mob boss' office. Crates were stacked five a piece, the wood labeled as 'Contents: Marbles.' He rather doubted that was what was contained within and didn't want to know judging by the pungent odor. A slow fan beat down the occasional attempt at exhaust fumes onto his head, but trying to break out through there would end in him chopped to a hundred tiny pieces. "It's not like those tiny vials could have been worth much, right?"

A crack reverberated from Lichtor rolling his neck muscles against his shoulders, the dangling arms comparable to a tree trunk. He'd last about a half a second before the troll smeared his boneless body across the floor. Oless tapped her long fingers against her folded arms and said, "Each sample of the M6-KL enzyme could help manufacture a literal tons worth of Unicorn."

"Shit," Drake muttered to himself. He had no idea what he was carrying, he made it a rule to not ask. Oless's black eyes danced up to her bodyguard and one hundred pounds of troll fist grabbed the back of Drake's coat collar. He scrabbled to dig his puny human nails in but they only bent against the troll hide. Lichtor caught Drake's kicking legs and hurled the human's back down upon the blood red desk. Breath cracked from his lungs, Oless' brass plate digging deep in between two vertebrae.

A few of the others in the game used to whisper about Oless' seat of power. They said that back in the early days her desk was brown as any other wood throughout the galaxy. But those who crossed the Goblin Lady were bled across it, sometimes for days, while she stood and watched, savoring each agonizing minute.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Drake cried, gasping for breath through the troll fist crushing his larynx to curse more. "Whatever you want, whatever you need, I'll do it!"

Oless nudged her head and Lichtor's grip slackened for a moment, letting air break down Drake's throat. Her heartless eyes glanced over his twitching body, and she spoke, "I may have a use for you, actually."

"Anything!"

"There is a relic, an artifact dating back centuries from the efrete empire."

Drake bobbed his head as if that meant anything. There were so many damn species in the galaxy, he was lucky to remember who the big four were.

"I need you to steal it for me..." Oless paused, savoring the blow, "from the dwarven antiquities board."

A moan rolled from the human's compressed throat as he squirmed below the troll's grasp. It was one thing to poke into the affairs of goblins, trolls, ogres, gargoyles, and his own people, but no one fucked with the dwarves. Most other species gave you a few years in a facility pretending you learned right from wrong, but dwarves went right for your livelihood. They invented future garnishes, where some actuary sat around predicting how little a person actually needed to survive and proceeded to fine you for the rest of your possible future salary. If you failed to make the future imaginary payments, they'd hit you with a new fine. It was a totally legal debtor's prison without having to finance walls or guards because everyone would sell your ass out to the dwarves for their own reduced fines.

Oless twisted her head at his discomfort, those lizard eyes blinking both sets of lids quickly, "Or, I could let Lichtor finish the job."

"I'll do it!" Drake squeaked, before dragging his voice down and repeating, "I'll do it. I'll get your arti-whatever."

Lichtor's hand inched tighter around his neck, but Oless narrowed her lipless mouth and he released Drake. The human rose, pawing at his neck to free the bruised trachea.

Oless ignored his distress and held out her hand. An image of the artifact appeared upon her PALM. Shaped like a six point star done in a silver metal, it bore a ruby the size of a baby's fist nestled in the middle. Drake opened his own PALM and accepted a copy of the file, the star now rotating six inches above his hand. "I didn't think you went in for the jewelry robbing business," he rasped, massaging his throat.

"Never you mind what I want it for. You acquire it and return it to me, then your debt will be wiped clean."

"Just like that?" Drake asked.

"I am a woman of my word," Oless smiled bowing her bulbous head. "If you fail to return with that object. If you attempt to swindle or run, you will be found, loaded inside a crate, and bled across my desk. Do I make myself clear?"

Drake bobbed his head, "Okay, okay, get it, got it. I'll head off to..." He inspected the tiny text filing the bottom of his hand screen, "Raptor this second." Still watching the rotating image, Drake swung his legs off the desk and hopped down.

"Oh, and Mr. Bane, one more thing." He closed his hand and turned to his new boss/possible executioner. "I will be retaining your ship as collateral."

"You can't do that!" he shouted.

"I am afraid I just did. Mr. Lichtor," she waved to the troll. Lichtor pushed open the door with one fist and shoved Drake out of it with the other. Not anticipating his ejection, Drake fell to his ass, his feet flying over his head as his body rolled across the frozen deck of what was once a packing plant. Pain thundered from his hand, and Drake raised the offended finger to his face.

"Great, broke another one," he sighed, prodding the dangling nail ripped from its bed in the fall. "Today keeps getting better and better."

Hands patted Drake about the shoulder, but he didn't respond to the bonhomie pawing. Seven years working, scrimping, and occasionally thieving to get his baby running and he still didn't have the engines quite right. They needed a new something or other to really get that motor noise reverberating, or so his buddy the part-time engineer/full time busboy insisted. Now the only good thing in his life sat idle under the lock of Oless' dummy corporation. How the shit was he gonna pull this off?

"You stepped in it good, didn't ya Drakey?"

He finally looked up from the half empty glass of ale and glowered at the dwarf that'd been pestering him since he wandered into this watering hole. Calling it a bar would give it too much class. It couldn't even muster a hole in the wall designation as someone removed the fourth one ages back and replaced it with contraband crates.

"Shut your gob, Klack," Drake mumbled, lapsing back into depression. It seemed the safest place for one Drake Bane, wanted thief and smuggler to be — a man as useless as an elven razor.

Klack nodded his fuzzy head, the cobalt hair puffing from his head to his chin, then kept right on talking, "Messing with the Ols, that's the best way to get your innards to meet your outers, if'n ya know what I mean."

"I needed the money," Drake repeated for the third time. Klack was a station leech, someone who suckered onto the healthy economy and drained it dry — preferably before anyone noticed. He'd sell his own leg to make a dime for his arm, was slightly smarter than the crud coating Drake's glass, and was probably his closest friend.

"So..." Klack drew out the word as he stared around the overloaded trough. A few bleary-eyed patrons grew to many as Drake sulked away the hours at the bottom of his glass. Someone big must be moving a lot of stiffs for this place to be so full. Goblins, trolls, ogres — he even spotted an elf. Though the pointy ear sniffed his tiny nose at the offerings and sauntered off.

"If'n ya lost your ship to Ols, and the only way to get it back..."

"And keep my blood."

"And keeping' yer blood is by traveling to some distant planet to steal a little tchotchke, how're ya gonna pull that off?"

Drake burrowed his head into his hands and mumbled under his breath. Klack knew exactly how royally screwed he was. In order to get his ship back he had to leave, but the only way he could do that was with his own ship.

"What was that?" Klack asked, leaning his cauliflower ear closer to the human.

"I said sod off," Drake answered. Pinching his nose, he threw what was probably fermented motor oil down his throat. It scoured his esophagus but didn't burn away the remaining braincells. Maybe that was the trick, drink until he couldn't feel pain and let Oless have him.

Klack asked, "Why don't ya ' _book passage_ ' on one of the other ships zipping in and out of here?"

"Ha," Drake laughed at the implications. He stowed away exactly once in his life and still had the prison scars to remind him why that was a terrible idea. Anyone, especially smugglers, would have their AI honed to scan for unaccounted bodies. That was spacing 101 - the only people dumb enough to forget to check before takeoff wouldn't be caught anywhere near this sector. Shit, probably not even in the same galaxy. What he needed was someone to let him onto their ship willingly, but that wasn't going to happen either, not with his current standings in the eyes of the law.

And Oless knew it. She gave him just enough rope so she could savor that moment of hope before yanking the noose around his neck. Drake smashed his face into the table, bashing in his nose, the liquor smoothing away most of the physical pain. Klack patted him on the shoulder, not in a comforting manner, more like he was checking for weapons.

A voice echoed through the trough, ecstasy reverberating every syllable, "That was a great haul. We should celebrate!" Drake lifted his head from the table at the tone. A woman stood where the entrance would be, a human woman. Beside her toddled a dwarf, his brown skin covered in a shimmering white powder. He seemed in less of a celebratory mood.

"It's gonna take me ages to clean this shit off," the dwarf whined, clawing at the white powder hardening to a matte coat from the sticky station air.

The woman waved her hand at him, "Psh. It's not that bad, Orn."

"You didn't get dropped into it."

"We got paid, didn't we? That's a win either way."

"Says the woman who, once again, didn't fall into a giant crate of gargoyle glue. What even is this shit?"

The woman was so far past a butterface she moved into clotted cream territory, but she carried herself as if the denizens of a mob-controlled space station didn't concern her. Drake couldn't stop watching.

"One drink," she wheedled the dwarf, gesturing to the bar.

Paling at the broken fuselage that passed for the bar proper, the dwarf shook his head. "I don't have time to update my shots."

"Fine, you get on back to the ship. I'll top off a few then join you."

A bounce returned to the gluey dwarf's step and he saluted the woman, "Aye aye, Captain!"

She growled at him, but the dwarf already sauntered off, chunks of broken glue left in his wake. The woman approached the bar, chatting up the troll so carved up from battle he looked like a limestone cliff. She didn't bat an eye at him.

Drake wiped the pooling oil off his mouth and tried to style his hair. Klack noticed the change in demeanor and asked, "Whatcha got rattling in those brains?"

Smirking so deep it shifted into a smile, Drake gestured towards the woman and said, "The answer just walked through the door." Before Klack could ask what the hell he meant, Drake glided towards the bar.

The woman poked at a few bottles that passed for a menu on the back wall, "Nah, nah, ooh! Do you have any green?"

Nodding slowly, the troll bartender reached behind the bar and unearthed a bottle glowing a radioactive green. It wasn't really radioactive, no species in the entire universe was that stupid (okay, maybe gnomes), but no one was 100% certain what went into making the thing. Someone took the best hallucinogens from the elves, the richest alcohol from humans, the sweetest dopamine-raisers from the dwarves, then mixed it all up. There was probably something from the trolls, ogres, and gargoyles as well just to even it out into a brain bomb that took out the liver and spleen as well. Most people forgot what their own species was after a glass.

"One?" the bartender asked.

"It's a celebration of sorts, so two! Why the shit not?" the woman said holding out her hand.

The troll didn't respond as she doubled the order, filling the glass to the top. As she picked up the glass, Drake slid beside her. "Excuse me, my good sir," he smiled at the troll. Glaring, the bartender turned towards him. "Might I have another?" Drake rattled his glass getting a massive boulder roll, but the troll grabbed it and began to refill.

Leaning towards the woman, he said, "It's nice to see another human out here."

She took a sip and placed the still full glass down, "Not a lot venture into the broken borders."

"They're missing out on so much fun," Drake said waving his arms around the decrepit bar. This got the laugh he hoped for and he soldiered into stage two, "My name's Drake. Drake Bane."

For a moment her eyes narrowed and she took a longer drink. Still, she answered him instead of upending his ass off the stool, "I'm Variel."

He forgot the name the second it left her mouth. "You come to smuggler's cove often?"

"Only when I'm dealing with 'reputable businesses.'" She lifted her glass at the sarcasm and took another drink.

"You know what I hate the most about it? The posturing."

"Gods, yes! _I'm sorry, I have to take this meeting in the middle of a meat locker so you know just how much of a bad ass I am._ Please..." she snorted, shaking her head. For a moment the light landed across the right side of her face revealing a deep scar running jagged from her eyebrow down to her lip. Something about the pattern rang a note in Drake's head, but he couldn't remember where he heard it from. Maybe this wasn't as easy a mark as he thought. Even the troll seemed to demure to the woman.

She finished off her drink, putting some full grown ogres to shame, and he felt her piercing dark eyes scrape across his soul. Drake glanced towards Klack, trying to dig up an easy escape.

"So," the Captain said, turning over her empty glass, "you wanna get out of here?"

CHAPTER THREE

HER FIRST THOUGHT was _at least I'm not dead_ followed quickly by _but I wish I were_. Something inhuman scrabbled out of her throat as Variel attempted to lift her head. Nausea yanked her head back down and did a few more flips up and down her throat for good measure.

With an arm still shielding her eyes, she reached across her cheap ass bed and pawed at the nightstand. A shoe tumbled off and crashed to the floor, the sound drilling into her teeth. Ignoring the errant footwear she reached down and yanked open the only drawer. A few bottles rolled around, most of them yellowed with age and barely used. With a practiced hand, she skipped past them for the green bottle. Over half empty, the edges worn down from use, she cracked it open and dropped three of the pills on her tongue and swallowed.

Variel gave it a minute before she tried sitting up again. Dry cement filled her mouth and ogres danced inside her skull, but the nausea remained at bay. Carefully, she dropped the arm and let light into her eyes. Fluorescent lighting from a half broken fixture hammered nails into her brain, but she slid the bottle back with its brethren and got up. It would be impolitic for the captain to show up late to her own damn meeting.

"WEST?" she called out, the long _wee_ of the onboard computer's name clogging in her cement throat.

"If you wish to make a request, you must put in a proper chit," chirped the console beside her bed.

Variel clenched her fist, about to argue with the computer, but caught her head instead. "Fine, you want to be that way, I don't give a shit." Shuffling off her bed, she gathered up her clothes tossed about her cabin like they were shed after an acid attack. She flipped them over a few times to make certain they weren't. Green could do strange things to anatomy at times.

Tossing them into the pile of used brown shirts and pants, she yanked their near duplicates out of her micro-closet. The vacuum popped in place, sucking the other clothes back into their tiny hell. The Captain of the Elation-Cru paused for a moment before the only mirrored bit of surface in her cabin and laughed at the pathetic figure. Presentable was impossible. Even warmed over death might be a reach in her state. Giving up on that traitorous mirror, she left her cabin.

Sliding down the ladder, Variel landed on the real deck of her ship and heard a voice booming through the partially closed bridge door. Regulations stated it should always be shut tight in the event of sudden decompression. She abandoned the regs three days after hiring her pilot. Quietly shoving the door aside she paused to eavesdrop as her dwarf spun about in his chair watching three screens at once.

"Nah, it wasn't me. I swear. I don't know why she keeps telling you these crazy things!" Orn pleaded to one screen before pausing the record button and hitting send. He turned to another and started up what looked like a news program.

"...Reports of unexplained phenomena when a SkyTalk tech-"

He shut that off as the third console beeped and a young dwarven girl spoke up. Cotton candy pink coated her dark mouth and she shouted across the line, "You're not supposed to send me anymore of those, Unkie!"

"Who says?" Orn answered glancing back at the first screen to make certain it was still paused.

The dwarven girl placed a hand on her hip and stuck out her bottom lip, "You know daddy doesn't want us playing with those. He says it's not ladylike to explode things."

"'Not ladylike...' Our family's been in explosions for over ten generations. It's a proud Kuron tradition to find things and blow them up. Sh-ugar. Let me guess, Letu's trying to dig down again. He always had aspirations beyond his reach. If he tries to marry you off to some rich snot from one of the deeper mines you'd tell me, right?"

"Unkie!" the girl squealed at the joke, waving her hands at the screen, "you're being impossible."

Orn nodded his head. "Probably. All right, I promise I won't send you anymore nitro blasts...hidden inside candy."

"You could put it in clothes!" the girl squeaked, her hands clapping in anticipation. "He never checks those."

Orn smiled. "I'll do my best. What do little ladies wear? Big old sweaters covered in kobolds?"

The girl stuck her tongue out at the screen. Orn laughed at his own joke and, in twisting his head, caught sight of his boss. "Dess, I've got to go. Space stuff."

She whined but nodded her head, "All right, I guess."

He snorted and in a sing song voice said, "Good by-ye."

"Bye!" the girl shouted and froze on screen. Orn leaned back from his personal calls and swung his chair around to face Variel.

"Busy?" she asked.

"Family call."

"Ah." Family calls were less a quick pop song and more a symphony for dwarves. With a brood that literally filled a city, keeping in touch required planning that made generals envious.

"You look like shit," Orn said, tipping his head. "No, worse than shit. You look like shit after it's been run through the recycler then shat back out."

"Thanks," Variel coughed out, struggling to remember why she ever hired him in the first place.

"What in the volcano's anus did you drink?"

"Green."

Orn whistled through his teeth, already unrolling what was probably not his first candy of the day. "That's nasty for everyone."

"I didn't come here for a lecture," Variel muttered, well aware that she shouldn't touch a drop of that damn stuff. "I came for an update on nav."

"Funny," Orn said, shifting the candy in his cheeks, "I was about to ask you the same."

"What are you talking about? You were in charge of the wyrmpinch."

"I thought so too, 'til I woke up and checked the logs."

"Orn, my head's about to crack and birth a dragon. Whatever shit you're pulling..."

"Look for yerself," he said sliding away from the ancient nav panel.

It creaked so bad, some days Variel was surprised paper didn't spit out of it like in those ol' vids. Data points, star charts, and location numbers that only fuzzed her brain more scrolled under her fingers until one big purple location flashed.

"You already took us through a wyrm?!" she accused, pointing at the dwarf.

But he only deflected her finger and arched his fuzzy eyebrow, "Look again, Cap. That ain't my signature."

Variel pinched her eyes shut deep and opened them again to focus. Running beside the wyrm pinch request was her number and the name Veral! "Shit."

"Tha's what I was thinking. Musta been some really good stuff," Orn — the teetotaler — dropped another candy into his mouth.

"No, when that happens it's the really bad stuff. Where are we?"

"You order a wyrm pinch and don't even know where we are? That is some mighty fine captaining there!" Orn grinned wide, enjoying every moment of watching her squirm. She squared her shoulders, aware of how bad this would look.

Waving her hand, she admitted, "Shit happens."

Orn laughed, "Especially when you drink from the emerald wastes."

"Are you going to tell me where we are or do I have to sober enough to look through the log books myself?" Variel stuck her hand on her hip, unknowingly mimicking his niece.

"Why don't you go ask your co-pilot."

Variel's brow furrowed, "My what?"

"Shit, you don't remember? Oh alloys, this just got so much better." He jumped up and down in his chair, the hydraulics squealing from the excitement, and flapped his arms.

"For fuck's sake, Orn. I'm in a stabbing mood right now and you're the only one present."

The threat sailed over his head — which happened often for dwarves — and he smiled like a sphinx, "Guessing you haven't been to the galley yet."

"No, why...?" Fuzzy memories climbed up through her gridlocked brain and a small groan gurgled at the back of her throat. "Shit."

Orn giggled like a school girl with explosives.

Variel paused at the galley door and caught the eye of her engineer swirling a coffee pot. Ferra's ice cold stare rolled back down to the pile of brown hair sitting at the table. There was probably a body attached to it. Variel wasn't the type to discover a new species of sentient keratin and immediately take it to bed.

_What was his damn name?_

"Have you worked here long?" the brown hair spoke to Ferra. The elf snorted and fished out one of her coffee mugs. Slowly, without offering any to the humans, she poured out her stash.

"I...see," the man wasn't easily perturbed, his voice airy.

Ferra buried her face behind her mug but took the chance to shoot another pink tinged "what the hell is this?" look at Variel. Sighing, the captain rubbed the back of her neck and stepped into the galley.

The noise twisted around the brown hair's head and a cheeky grin tugged a few more images out of Variel's shattered memory core. "Good morning," he chirped and patted the chair beside him.

Variel gulped at the overly-familiar move and froze, uncertain how to proceed. "Yeah...morning?"

"I was speaking with your elven friend here," he continued. Ferra snorted again, shaking her head. After two years working together, Variel knew no one talked to Ferra until at least three cups of coffee. Even then, there was always a 10% risk of the engineer stabbing someone in the kidneys with a screwdriver.

"Oh," Variel grunted as she slid away from the table to join the engineer at the counter. Ferra folded her hands around her brew, but let the boss grab a mug. She did technically buy it.

"And I found a breakfast ration," he continued to talk, gesturing to the mostly empty bowl of oatmeal.

"Okay."

"Captain!" Orn's voice boomed from the bridge portal catching everyone's attention. "Won't you introduce us to your friend here?"

She glared murder at him, but Orn waved away a bit of blood loss and yanked out a seat beside the stranger. Scurrying up the chair, the dwarf placed his boots on the never clean table and leaned back.

Variel cleared her throat and said, "This is Orn, he's the pilot and a right pain in the ass."

"Yup!" Orn answered back, grinning wide. She was going to kill him ten different ways, necromance him back to life, and kill him a dozen more.

"And apparently you already met Ferra."

The five foot elf snorted again and rolled her voluminous eyes. Orn spoke for her, "She's my wife. So don't be thinking anything funny or I'll have to have her kill you."

The stranger nodded slowly at Orn's convoluted threat, "Very ...got it?"

"And Cap'n, who's this..." Orn eyed up the man trying to pass off his rakish smile as charm, "acceptable human?"

Six eyes and two curious grins landed upon her. Years of training kept Variel from visibly squirming, but attempts to dredge up a memory were replaced by a vision of her bashing Orn's head in with a—

"Bane!" she shouted, causing all three people to jump, "Drake Bane." Variel almost pumped her fist like she got the last question on an oral exam right.

Orn scowled at her ruining his fun, but the name pulled Ferra from her coffee funk. She sputtered and asked, "Drake Bane? Really?"

"Yes..." the no longer complete stranger glanced towards the elf who didn't seem such a pushover now.

"Drake, as in the Crest ships designation? That kind of Drake? Bane of a Drake? What, you're an elongated MGC pump? A faulty wiring in the injection nacelle? Some idiotic engineer's idea to stuff weapons fire right atop the pinch bubble, creating an aftershock if you boot the system before 3 minutes?"

"I...uh," Drake stuttered at the massive tech dump across him. "That's just my name."

"Whatever you say, Faulty O-Ring," Ferra tossed her mug to the counter, wiped the side of her mouth, and shoved past Variel. Reaching into her leather apron, she pulled out a wrench, "I'm off to fix a Drake Bane." Without ceremony she vanished out the door towards her domain.

"What an interesting woman," Drake said. Variel spotted the pained look in his face as he subconsciously clenched his thighs together. Ferra did that to people.

"Shit," Orn muttered, "you should see her when she's mad."

Variel interrupted before the two became best friends and she had to put her one night mistake on salary, "Mr. Bane."

"Drake's fine."

"Mr. Bane, we seem to no longer be orbiting the space station."

"Oh? Have we already arrived?" he asked glancing around the dilapidated kitchen as if he wanted to be anywhere else.

"Arrived where?" Variel asked.

"Raptor," he shouted, but only got blank stares, "you know, the traveling museum of the dwarves."

Orn whistled at the mention of his people, "That means it's expensive."

Drake turned to Variel, his clear eyes misting on command, "We spoke of visiting it. You seemed quite interested in a few of the exhibits last night." Then he reached over the table to grab her hand.

She snaked away and crossed her arms. "Nice try. A for effort and all, but..."

The galley doors to the passenger side of the ship opened and a slender red nose poked into the kitchen. It sniffed the air filled with scents of burnt coffee and parboiled oatmeal. "Love, breakfast is ready," it called behind itself.

A pair of goblins slid into the kitchen, both dressed in similar pale blue robes. They even parted their hair in the same knot down the side and wore a string of gems in the right ear. The only real difference between the two men was their skin tone. One was a soft desert red, his skin pocked with divots to mimic shifting sands, while the other was a pale blue, blotched in greys to hide amongst river rocks. It was rare for goblins from different biospheres to get along, much less marry.

"Oh," the blue one said as he stepped behind his husband, "we do not dine alone."

"No dear, even the Captain is here!"

Variel's pinched public relations smile fell into place, "Messieurs Aloysius, good morning."

Albanus, the desert goblin, gestured to the human smiling at his good fortune, "We have a new guest traveling with us? How exciting!"

Drake stepped in before Variel could correct him, "I am afraid I am not an official passenger."

"No?" Koysi asked, turning his bulbous head in confusion at the captain.

Variel's smiled twitched as she weighed her options before the very polite, very distinguished, and very conservative passengers. The same ones that helped them to afford oatmeal in the first place. "We are old friends," she lied, tipping her head to Drake.

"Ah," Albanus answered, clapping his paper thin hands, "delightful! How small the galaxy is that you should become reacquainted unintentionally in our travels."

"It is a true wonder," Drake said, getting a flash of Variel's teeth.

Koysi smiled at the newcomer and picked a box of cereal out of the locked passenger drawer. While fishing out two bowls, he asked, "How did you two meet?"

"Probably while the Captain was on top of him."

"Orn!"

"What?" He shouted before muttering not low enough below his breath, "You expect me to believe you're a bottom?"

Variel waved her fist at him but unclenched it and knotted through her hair at the confused stare from the goblins.

"I do not understand," the red one asked, "how are you acquainted?"

"Bunk beds! We met at a bunk bed making camp, and I made the top bunk while he made the bottom!"

The goblins nodded at Variel's outburst as if it was all human to them. Orn leaned over and whispered, "Nice save."

"I will kill you when this is over," she growled.

"It was worth it."

Messieurs Aloysius were too engrossed in their breakfast options of mysterious grain flakes with or without sugar to catch the captain trying to mentally choke the pilot. The red one turned from the discussion to ask, "Mr. Lidoffad?"

"Yes?" Orn squeaked, finally aware of the hissing volcano he walked across.

"What delights of the universe will we be seeing today?"

Orn glanced at Variel and shrugged. They'd been able to bullshit the Mob Station as a "slice of rustic space life" and picking up the cargo as "a chance to really explore the manufacturing side of living." He was out of bovine feces.

It was Drake who jumped in again, proving himself vexingly useful, "We're beside a dwarven antiquities museum."

"Delightful!" Koysi responded, "Oh, perhaps they will have an exhibit on the dark period in dwarven history."

"Forgive my love. He's a bit of a nut about ancient dwarves."

"You don't say," Orn deadpanned, clearly unaware his people had a dark period outside of the time someone forgot to change a light bulb.

"We will be stopping for a few hours, I hope," Albanus asked Variel. She felt their generous purse strings zipping shut in his tone.

Trying to nod but finding her head still shaking in a no, she answered, "Yes."

After pulling out a chair for his husband, Albanus picked up both bowls and sat down. Either the tension pouring off the captain into the new guest passed over his head, or neither goblin cared as she eyed Drake down.

He smiled at the pair of goblins chattering about dwarven history shit, completely ignoring her glare. "I'm excited about it as well. There is an exhibit on the efrete people I must see."

"Oh? The efrete! So mysterious how they all vanished, leaving behind such beautiful ruins," Koysi said, his spoon never making it to his mouth.

"They did?" Orn asked Variela and she shrugged her response. She focused on the living species in the galaxy, there wasn't time to worry about the dead ones.

"Are you a bit of a history curioso as well?" Albanus picked up the conversation string, letting his husband finally get in some food.

"I am an archeologist specializing in lost civilizations," Drake said causing Variel to snort. With the sweetest smile he turned to her and oozed, "Right, bunk mate?"

Through gritted teeth Variel nodded, her nose furrowed as if he stunk of curdled milk, "Right."

"And," Drake continued, "the captain already agreed to accompany me to the exhibit."

CHAPTER FOUR

DRAKE SMOOTHED DOWN the cuffs on his jacket and thought that could have gone worse. Backed into a corner of her own making, the captain folded reduced to only grumbling visceral detailed things under her breath. He hadn't expected her to wake up before he got onto Raptor, nicked the damn thing, and snuck back aboard. That much green should have knocked down a full grown ogre or sixteen gnomes. The woman must have a cyborg liver.

After storming back to her bridge, dragging the dwarf with, Drake called out, "Don't forget to tell us when we'll be docking, dear."

He swore he heard a blood vessel pop, but she grunted out a, "Fine" as she slammed the door shut. His personal safety net both nodded their gargantuan heads at the good news. If it weren't for the fusspot goblins he knew he'd have been dumped on an asteroid with just enough oxygen to hope for a never coming rescue. It wasn't like what he did was entirely illegal. She did invite him in...Drake paused in his thoughts, a bit terrified of the comparison he drew to a vampire.

No mind, he wasn't doing it to hurt anyone, just to save his skin...and blood. Can't forget the blood. Oless sure as shit won't. The goblins babbled on together, their sentences overlapping as if they already told each other the same story a thousand times but needed noise to keep going through life. So that's what awaited people at the end of the aisle? Doldrums dressed up as a happily ever after? Drake was glad to have bypassed the whole thing.

He opened his PALM, booting up the holographic screen, but an error bar flashed. "Shit, I thought I was paid up," he muttered under his breath. Going through a back alley service provider seemed a brilliant choice in case any less than pleased clients went looking for you, right until that kraken knew he got you by the balls and went for the squeeze.

Leaving his dirty bowl on the table, he walked towards a computer screen above the sink. An image of a rising dawn projected off it, giving an air of calm to the cramped kitchen. Drake pushed on the button, expecting a soothing and sultry voice to inquire about his needs.

"Whatcha want, ham flesh?" an androgynous and craggy screech erupted from the speakers. A pair of wheels rolled across the screen in the place of eyes, blotting out the sun, while a zapping loose wire flapped around where a mouth would be.

Drake reared back from the monstrosity. Throughout the rest of proper civilization VIs were programmed to match a person's preferred mental image. His was a buxom redhead with nearly elf green eyes. She was the only stable woman in his life and she was nothing more than a bit of nameless code. A more reflective man would probably find something sad in that.

"What are you?" he asked the pathetic attempt at modern art.

"The computer, moron. What are you?"

Drake narrowed his eyes, "Okay, computer, you are required to do a task for me."

"Hm, hamflesh, I'm thinking no," this computer mocked back. She'd never be so obstinate. Oh, occasionally she'd claim she couldn't find a bit of data but Drake knew she was just playing hard to get. If he prodded the right buttons he'd get what he needed out of her.

"You are a machine, I am a sentient being. You must do as I command," Drake ordered back.

A laugh echoed through the crackling speakers, "You are a walking bag of water. I could kill you with a single spark of my body. I can do whatever I want."

"I see, you're a rogue AI."

The wheel eyes bent in half and a scanning bar zipped across the screen. "I'm not red."

"Rogue not...Only one thing to do with rogue AIs intent on human destruction. I have to report you to the Center for Computer Destruction," Drake said raising his hand as if he could get any service.

"I'd like to see you try without a head," the computer threatened.

It might have been Drake's imagination but he could have sworn the toaster just jumped closer to him. A few dials on the microwave (Dials? How ancient was this ship?) twisted back and forth in a sort of threatening manner. Still, he continued to boot through the wyrmpinch mode on his PALM and spoke, "Hello, Center for Computer Destruction...This is Drake Bane and I need to—"

Water burst from the sink, dousing his blue tunic. The wet spot stank of sulfur and even through the dark color he spotted the tell tale signs of a yellow stain from the ancient filters. "You fucking-!" he began, when the door opened.

"We docked with the museum station," the captain said, her hair combed into a presentable and military shape. "They'll be sending an escort pod soon..." her voice faded as she spotted Drake standing beside the sink trying to hide the widening water stain across his chest.

"What the sh-ugar are you doing?" she asked the pair of them.

"He started it!" the computer and Drake shouted simultaneously.

"Oh for fu-n's sake. WEST, turn off the water before you waste it all. And you," she stepped closer to Drake and he got a whiff of his own cologne off her. His eyes shifted to the goblin pair discussing bathroom prep before the shuttle. She followed him and, with a big plastered grin, responded, "Dry yourself off as best you can before the tour. We wouldn't want it to wait."

"No," he said, shaking his head, "we wouldn't."

The shuttle bay was even more of a disappointment than he thought possible. While a decent size, the ship apparently couldn't afford one and filled the empty space with half unpacked boxes. Most of the lights didn't work. The captain slammed the controls around, calling out orders to whatever pimply teenager pushed a few buttons on the other end of the comm line. Both goblins watched on in awe. Drake wondered if he had goblin aging all wrong and they were actually giant newborns gawping at every piddly little thing. No one who got that excited over docking procedures wasn't hiding some ulterior motive, or serious brain damage.

"Opening shuttle bay doors," she said to the air.

Drake could swore he heard a, "Yeah, whatever," echo across the line - the kid unaware she had to put on a show. She certainly gave it her all, pushing unimportant buttons, waving her hands, and vibrating the descent line so they looked like a magic act.

The disembarkation suite was designed to at best hold five people with one broken distraction screen for children or rich parents you could confuse for children. But the goblins crowded around the glass, their noses keeping them from pressing their faces fully against it. Drake leaned against the back wall smirking. He only broke from his cool lean once when a beady eye flashed from the broken screen. But when he looked again, it was as dead as before, a crack across the glass. He needed to get back his damn ship soon.

"Pod is landing. Sealing doors to re-pressurize," the captain said. In reality, the computer could handle this — assuming it wasn't really an AI trying to kill them all. Drake glanced down at the tea stain across half his chest and nodded his head. Okay, maybe she had good reason for doing it all herself.

"Bay is pressurized," she said, stepping away from the controls. Half the lights bothered to rise in the bay below them. "Gentlemen," she said to the goblins. One of them squealed. Despite the color coding, Drake couldn't tell them apart. It didn't really matter, they were practically one brain sharing two bodies at this point.

The red one grabbed the blue's hand and pulled him out the door down the ramp. Drake felt the captain's icy glare and he offered his arm to her. That ugly scar sharpened in the glinting emergency light and not for the first time he wondered if she got that not from surviving a fight but starting one.

Then the goblin called out, "Are you joining us on this journey or will you wait for another?"

"Well, captain?" Drake asked, still holding out his arm. "Shall we go now, or wait for another."

She titled her head at the title, a shrewd look crossing her eyes, but he knew she wanted him gone as bad as he wanted out. Gritting her teeth she shoved past him and called to the goblins, "I'm coming."

"You said that a lot last night," Drake cooed. A sharp elbow bit deep into his water stain. Stumbling back from the blow, he struggled for breath.

"What was that?" she called sweetly, waving at the goblins still struggling to find the door.

"Oh nothing," Drake gasped, massaging his midsection. A whole lot of calculations altered in his mind. Most of the equations that ended in a giggle or good fuck with normal women now flashed a bright red warning: death or dismemberment, do not attempt.

The captain helped the goblins into the pod shaped like a jolly white egg with electricity wired out of the back for today's connected chick. Hatching open the door, she guided them into the safety harnesses, fussing over the two grown men as if they were babies. She held open the door, glaring back as Drake sauntered over. He still massaged his tender and wet stomach when those flint eyes snapped behind him.

"What are you doing?" she shouted across the shuttlebay.

Drake pointed at himself, but that sing song voice of the dwarf echoed past. "We're coming too!"

"We?" she asked, folding her arms. Sure enough Orn and that hot little blonde elf appeared. She'd tossed that unflattering apron for a frilly pink blouse that would have been scandalous on a human. Such a pity how close mother nature got with elves: long limbed, big eyed, more limber than a gymnast, thin as a reed, but she forgot to add the breasts. A true waste.

A cold stare prickled across Drake's heart and he caught a set of pink eyes boring deep into his skull with such heartless calculations he reached to cover his eyes. Pausing his hands before he made a total fool of himself, he caught another eye roll from the elf as she followed the dwarf.

"Funny thing," Orn said, huffing beside the captain, "turns out this museum, on top of the dead-but-not-dead species shit, also does ancient technology. Guess who goes complete gnoll shit for that?" he said gesturing towards his wife. She shrugged a shoulder as if it were a compliment.

"If you're here then who's watching the ship?"

"I'm sure batshit can keep it from crashing for a few hours," the dwarf said.

"Orn, WEST can barely run a self diagnostic."

"Yeah, that may be why it's screwier than a bolt. Don't give me that look. You don't want to come between Fer and old tech. Trust me. Where do you think we honeymooned?"

"Besides," the elf cut in, "your djinn can watch the ship."

Drake twisted his head around, as if the mentioned missing crew member would suddenly appear with its name called. He'd heard something about the djinn race but it was hard enough remembering the difference between a banshee and a siren or a centaur from a satyr. And those guys gave him work. Whatever a djinn was couldn't be that important.

The captain sighed, but capitulated to a growing bad day, "Great, fine, get on in." She waved them on and the dwarf and elf climbed over her, strapping in. Finally, she dropped her hand and gestured at Drake. "Well..."

He smiled, and bowed softly, "I was only waiting for you to ask."

Still chuckling at his joke, he climbed past her and picked up the second to last harness, the captain grumbling but not moving to snap his neck. She may be more bark than bite, but he still kept his innards far from her elbows. Glancing around the shuttlebay once more, she stepped into the pod and pressed upon the panel. The door sealed up behind her, white light rising to meet the darkness.

Glaring at Drake, she slipped on her harness and bolted it quickly. He unraveled his only to find it partially knotted. A dread landed in his stomach. With only part an arm inside, he watched a cruel smirk rise across her lips and she jammed onto the release catch. The pod rose into the air and zipped into space, sending Drake Bane careening into the wall.

Soft light and softer voices washed across Drake as he exited the pod checking for a broken nose. A small bot greeted him, the screen for its face flickering through the exhibits on display and all the wonderful opportunities at Raptor. The voice undulated from new age zen to ecstatic school girl.

While the goblins fussed about each other, Orn and the elf ran off together; the lady dragging him in her focused wake. Drake turned back to find the captain standing beside the pod checking her PALM and glancing up at the goblins. A knot formed in Drake's gullet and he knew that stance. She was waiting until the old fashioned married couple vanished into the crowd so she could zip back to the ship and abandon him.

Dropping his hands off his bruised but not broken nose, Drake slipped an arm around her distracted waist. Before she could swing around to smack him, he shouted out loudly, "Well, dear, what should we see first?!"

A dozen eyes swiveled towards the rare humans. She shirked from the curious stares but glared at him from the periphery. "You seem to have a plan in mind, why don't you follow it?"

"But I wouldn't want to interrupt any of yours," he said cheerily, waving at the throngs of dwarves poking at the holographic images of the history they were about to see.

"Failed on that already," she muttered under her breath, but dropped her hand and stepped away from the pod. The door sealed up and it toddled back to the hanger to pick up more bored families off on a pre-packaged adventure.

Drake released his light grip on her, and she stepped sideways away from him. A tinge of incredulity crawled up his gut — she's damn lucky to spend any time with a man like him — but he shook it away. Stepping into line, he waved the captain on. "Come on, chum. No time like the present."

She rolled her eyes like a petulant teenager, but obeyed standing far behind him and tapping her boot. The arrhythmic cadence broke across his teeth but mercifully the line moved quickly. Dwarven engineering at its finest. Be it mechanical, biomedical, or social, the dwarves knew what button to push and which lever to yank to get someone to drop down to the floor and drool like a dog. And he was about to steal from them.

Dropping the thought, Drake approached the ticket counter. A cyborg glanced up at him. Most of her face was still dwarven but pockets of the robotic network peeked out from underneath. Her skull glowed an iridescent opal, the diode thingies flaring while the jaw unhinged as she spoke, "What can I do for you today?"

The voice was one of a dozen options you could pick for a VI, as average as you got. But the eyes still glittered with that spark of life no golem could ever achieve. Drake leaned into the window and smiled.

"I need two tickets into your Efrete exhibit."

Her eyes blinked once and finished the calculations, "That will be two dancing mermaids, please."

"Ah," Drake said, aware that at best all he had was a picture of a rock to his name, "I was wondering if you could be of some assistance, actually."

"Sir?"

"See, I'm a member of a Lord's court and I was sent ahead to evaluate the defenses before he visits. He wishes to donate a grand sum to the excavation of the..." Drake glanced around at the exhibit displays, "merman breeding facility, but wishes to do it in person. You know how Lords are." Drake waved his hands dismissively about as if his Lord was an errant poodle whizzing on the rug.

"That is exciting news, Sir," the ticket cyborg said.

Drake patted his pockets theatrically, "But I was attacked by vandals on the way here. They made off with my entire purse."

"I do not understand. Hold out your PALM for payment."

"Lord Fraudy is a peculiar man and doesn't believe in the PALM service. Oh, I know, I've tried to convince him we need to catch up with this age but he's set in his ways."

"I do not understand. What do you need?"

Now Drake cranked his charm up to eleven, batting those baby blues and crooking up his smile. "I thought that you could do me a solid by letting me and..." he glanced back at the captain still engrossed in her PALM, "my partner run in. For free."

"Sir, it isn't our policy—"

"It would only be to check the security systems, make sure no ruffians will descend upon Lord Farty...Fraudy. He will be donating a very, very generous endowment, perhaps enough to encourage a raise for any museum employees."

"We cannot let anyone—"

"Oh for fuck's sake," the captain shouted behind him. She shouldered Drake aside and pointed at the cyborg, "Where's the scanner?"

The girl held out the PALM analyzer and the captain shoved her hand under it. Two bracelets printed out behind the cyborg and she passed both to the woman. "Thank you for your patronage. Enjoy the Museum," the cyborg repeated the mantra before adding, "We look forward to a visit from your Lord Fraudy."

After notching on her own bracelet, the captain tossed the second at Drake. He clasped the squishy plastic ends together and felt a small buzz across his skin. A blue light glowed from the ticket bracelet telling him it was safe to cross the line.

He looked up from his wrist to catch the sarcastic brown glare of the woman treating him. "'Lord Fraudy?'" was all she asked.

Drake shrugged and stepped away from the counter. "You didn't have to do that," he insisted as if he had all the mermaid vids in the world.

"If I didn't want to die in a museum's antechamber, yeah I did."

"I had it under control," he said glancing around the museum. There were five doors around the complex, each black as night. There were no sneak peeks at Raptor. A sign hung above them but it was only in dwarven. He'd need his PALM to translate the thing.

"Well," her grating voice interrupted his thoughts, "where now ol' shit stirrer of the Lord Fraudy. I'm guessing that's Narwhal Crest?"

Drake closed his hand, and took a very uneducated guess. Pointing at one of the doors, he smiled, "That one. And it's Griffin, in fact. The Fraudys are a proud people."

"They need better help," she muttered, letting him take the lead.

His bracelet flared as he passed into the door's threshold. A beep followed and a bored security guard nodded her head. This dwarf was propped up on a stool, swinging her legs around and picking at the brass buttons along her uniform. Drake smiled at her and noted the holster on her side. Armed security guards in a museum. What was this galaxy coming to?

His ticket off the station waved her hand before the door and shielded her eyes before stepping into the dark. Lights illuminated the displays tucked safely behind thick glass. Force fields were high tech but a waste of energy when a couple inches of glass would do just as well. You also didn't have to worry about some idiot kid claiming he could reverse the polarity on his hand who then proceeded to burn the flesh off when he reached through it.

"Well, archeologist," she smirked, "what must we simply see?"

"Uh..." he glanced around at the cases filled with pulsing rocks and gems. Vibrant greens, neon blues, and a disturbingly blood red crimson cast against the floor, but nothing looked like a relic. Though with dwarves, grandma's favorite geode might count as one.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," Drake said to the security guard. "Can you tell me where the Efrete exhibit is?"

The guard puffed up her hair and cast him a look that said she wasn't paid enough to answer questions. "You have to get through the recovered treasures from the wreck of the Dragon, the mysteries of the Shovan, and Sand Land."

"Which of those is this?" Drake asked, pointing to the geode.

"Fun with Rocks, those are all past that."

"Vanheedish!" Drake cursed and rubbed his hands down his cheeks, "What if we head back out through that door and go in the Efrete one?"

"I'm sorry, Sir. I can't let you do that. Once you enter the museum you must either fully go through or leave." Before he could argue why she tacked on, "Security reasons."

"You know what you're doing, eh?" the captain asked, folding her arms across a pair of breasts that were not worth this headache.

"We'll just go through the museum," Drake resigned himself to his fate. Stepping past both nagging women he turned right at the blood red crystal then paused and glanced back. "The wreck's this way?"

"To your left," the security guard muttered, back to flipping through her PALM.

"Right," Drake nodded.

"LEFT, SIR!" The captain didn't hide her snicker as she waved at the security guard and followed him.

Drake's half hearted mood crashed into itself. He didn't bother staring at the many wonders of rock on display, only dodged around patrons ooing and ahhing over chunks of dirt and jumped over a few kids picking at the ground. After almost kicking a third one he realized the floor was made out of removable gems for children to take home as souvenirs.

Two more lefts and the rocks faded away to a ship facade. It wasn't a true space ship, they were trying to be cute, but it wasn't an old human sailing ship either. The dwarves used a weird combination of sails, steam, and wheels to propel ships down their tunnels. They were shaped more like a snake, each segment a barrel to accommodate climbing and lowering into deeper tunnels. And this giant plastic one had children crawling all over it.

Glancing to his side, Drake spotted two more security guards watching over the brats leaving their own mark on history. He caught the woman exiting rock land, a small green gem in her hand. Drake expected her to wander off once she got the chance. It might put a crimp in his return plans, but at this point he'd welcome losing her even if it meant having to steal a ship from someone else.

But she seemed to sense the change in the air, and kept closer to him. As they dodged through the very interesting tech recovered from a long lost barrel at the bottom of a mine shaft, she struck up a conversation.

"An archeologist of what?"

"Excuse me?" Drake was trying to track a pair of gnomes rolling an electrical cable across the floor and wasn't listening.

"You're an archeologist of what?"

"Efrete," he lied easily. You want to stay in this business you get good at remembering your half assed cover stories.

But she wasn't buying it, "Oh, right, the efrete. So, you must know the big secret then."

"Big secret?" Drake stopped before a cul-de-sac of dwarves mummified in grog drinking poses and turned right.

"Of course, it's all anyone knows about the efrete. Well, aside from being made out of fire."

"Yeah, I knew that, the fire bit." Drake regretted not bothering to do a damn second of research before careening into his ride's bed. He also never got this level of interrogation before. Most women were happy just to see him.

She wouldn't give up, "All right, then. How'd it happen?"

"How'd what happen?"

"What killed off the efrete?"

Drake skittered to a halt, his feet crunching across what he hoped were fake ancient dwarven bones and not that he accidentally walked into a display. The efrete...who knew anything about a dead species? Who cared? There were enough living ones to cause problems already, the dead weren't going to help. But he felt that piercing glare dicing up his soul and knew he needed an answer.

"There are many varying theories but the most popular is that all efrete were wiped out in a large meteor crash on their home planet some 75 million years ago." He beamed towards the end, giving all his weight to the words.

She nodded solemnly, about to buy it, then doubled over silently giggling. "That was some damn good bullshit, I'll give you. Though it was dragons the meteor killed. Every kid who's ever gotten in an argument on a playground knows that."

"Meteor strikes are common across the galaxy. How are you so certain that they did not wipe out the efrete?"

"First of all, that tech they're digging up is maybe 300 years old. Second, now here's where ya got tripped up, the efrete aren't actually extinct."

Shit! Shit! Shit! Drake's mouth plummeted at getting outplayed by this low-rent smuggler. She patted him on the shoulder like a child that just came in last at a jousting tourney. "The real question, Mr. Not-An-Archeologist, probably not Drake Bane either, is what you actually are."

"It's complicated," he said glancing at the massive tour group of centaurs skittering through the halls led by a security guard. Without any ceremony he resumed his pacing out of the hall and into Sand Land. His foot sunk six inches into the red and black dust, almost causing Drake to flip over. He pinwheeled his arms and caught himself, but it curbed his escape attempt from the tour group and the captain.

She watched him while leaning beside the entrance carved like a pair of kobolds giving each other piggyback rides. "That may be the first true thing you've said since we met," she said.

"And what about you?" Out of options he decided to try the old mirror method. I know what you are, but what am I?

"What of me?" she asked, a shield falling across her face. He got a few hackles up with that blow.

"You've got a pair of goblins on their golden anniversary as passengers while running something smuggled to Mob Station. They haven't done weapons in a few months so I'm guessing contraband. Probably one of the toxic food stuffs that ain't supposed to leave home worlds. Maybe elven."

More of his shots hit than missed as her glower amped up. For the first time since she stumbled into the kitchen still in just-fucked hair he felt he had the upper hand. Yanking his foot out of the sand, he slid towards the pathway and walked around the massive litter box. But she wasn't about to let that challenge go unanswered. No, he knew she'd be trailing behind.

"You can't prove anything," she tried. The soft ball threw him off guard. From the clench in her jaw he expected threats. Maybe he'd work his magic last night after all.

"Don't need to. Carting around passengers without a license is good enough to bring the corps down on you."

She caught up to him and loomed closer. He forgot how close they were in height. With a snarl she said, "You're a fucking stowaway, we both know it."

But he laughed, pushing her face away with his hand. "Not me, our goblin friends."

That didn't have the reaction he expected. Instead of stomping her feet, throwing up her hands, or agreeing to do his bidding so he didn't rat her out, she snorted once, then raised an eyebrow.

"You do...you don't know what ship you even snuck on to, do you?"

"Of course I do."

She twisted her lips and folded those arms again, "Okay, what class is it."

"I'm not a mechanic."

"What make, model, color?"

"They're all irrelevant."

A cruel grin slithered across her face and she turned on him, "What's the name?"

"I...uh," Drake ran through every damn manifest in his head but he kept circling back around to his ship still trapped in that fucking Oless' greedy claws.

"You don't even know the name of the ship you're on? Bloody genius move that," she cracked shifting away.

"It's the ship that you own and illegally move passengers on," he fired wildly, but it only puttered uselessly to the sand.

"Genius, it's a cruise ship. It's legally classed for just that."

Color drained from Drake's face as the only rug he had left to stand on was yanked out. He shook his head to blot away the panic, and took to running away from the sand and her, but she chased after sadly in better shape. _It's not like she knows what I'm planning on doing. Or could even stop me if she did._ Drake reassured himself a few times, trying to psyche himself up.

Behind him he heard her grating voice mulling over his words, "'a ship you own'...Oh, you son of a lich."

His space trained lungs gave out and he collapsed onto a drinking fountain, straining to get air in. A flush pocked his face, bursting a few capillaries from the unexpected excitement. _I swear, I'll get a fucking treadmill once this is over_. He made that promise every time he had to do little more than walk a mile.

But she didn't even sound winded as she stopped behind him, that boot tip banging into the no longer sandy floor again. Drake gasped at his shoes once more before turning to face her. A different flush filled her face, rage burning hotter than an efrete. "What?" He finally asked.

"You don't know my fucking name."

"I...gods!" he doubled back over, sucking in more air and to cover for himself.

"You grab anyone off the street..."

"Only women, preferably."

"Ply them with alcohol..."

"You looked pretty toasted before I even wandered by."

"And sneak onto their ship without learning either's name!"

He finally rose to face her and her rage had subsided into something else. It could be considered pity if she wasn't also shaking her head in disgust.

"Whatever you are," she cursed, "you're fucking terrible at it."

"Fine, fine, you caught me. I'm a cad. A low life. A...bad person with a limited vocabulary!" Drake shouted, pacing about as if he wanted everyone else to join in his madness. "Since it's so important, why don't you tell me your name?"

She shifted back on her heels, and pierced into his eyes. Subconsciously, he tried to tug unruly scraps of brown hair down to cover them. "No."

"What do you mean no? Why the fuck not? It's just a name."

"Because you want it all of a sudden," she said, her eyes now weighing him like a piece of fish at the market.

"Fucking great. That's just perfect. So glad we had this real important chat then. Anything else you're mad I don't know about you? Your birthday? Your pet's name? Your cup size?"

She rolled her eyes and turned as if to walk away from the whole mess when that rambunctious pilot and his ice queen wife appeared from out of the bathroom.

"Captain!" the dwarf shouted. _Big help there,_ Drake thought. But he knew eventually one of them would let slip her name and then he'd have her.

A concoction of fabrics sewed into pockets stuffed with fliers perched upon the dwarf's head. It tipped haphazardly as if the hat would slip off at any second, but the massive buckle on the back promoting Raptor balanced it out.

"Orn," the nameless captain said, glancing down at him. She looked as if she wanted to ask about the hat but shook her head, "How's it been?"

"We saw a very impressive display of doodads and whatchamacalits in pretty colors."

"Whatchamacalits?" she asked, glancing towards the elf.

"This is why you don't ask him to fix the ship," she answered, shrugging a shoulder.

"Noted," the captain nodded.

Orn grinned wide and asked, "Where were you two love birds going to?"

"The efrete exhibit," Drake said.

"Isn't that lucky," Orn said. "We were just about to head there ourselves."

"Great," the captain sighed. "The more the merrier."

Drake caught the dwarf inching up on his toes, whispering into the captain's ear. She shook her head like a fly landed in her ear and jerked her chin at him. Drake turned away from the conversation, shaking off the burning in his brain at whatever lies she was spinning, and headed under the dwarven word for Efrete that blazed in pseudo flames.

More displays looking just like the thousand others they ran past circled the massive room. The only surprise was a pit in the middle. Ringed off by a red rope, half of a cracked pillar and the remnants of a mosaic filled the pit. A chipper dwarf stood beside the pillar, the haircut and outfit so unitarian he was uncertain what the tour guide's gender was, not that it mattered.

The guide's voice broke across the constant murmurs from museum patrons. "These ruins were discovered some one hundred years ago at the dig site on the colony Espess. Archeologists believe that this mosaic could have been laid down before dwarves even broke underground."

"Wow!" A few PALM lights snapped as if saying something was old suddenly made a few bits of red and orange glass interesting.

"Is that true?"

Drake turned to find that pilot, Orn, staring at the pillar. "What?"

"You're some archeoptomologist. Is that hunk of rock that old?"

Drake sighed. Either the captain told him the truth or lied to see if the dwarf would annoy him more. Either way he wasn't about to rise to the bait. "Yes, it is that old."

"Funny that," Orn said, his fingers folding into his gloved hand. Drake didn't respond, but that didn't slow the dwarf. "If we were still frolicking on the surface and you humans were squalled away up trees when the efrete were building vast cities..."

The sentence hung in the air like a garlic burp, weighing across Drake. He tried to ignore it, searching through the cases for something approximating that star-ruby, but the dwarf's eyes bit into his skin. "What?! What's so weird about it?"

Orn smirked as if he won, "How come they ain't running the galaxy?"

"How the shit should I know?"

"Ain't you an arkteaologist?"

Drake sighed, collapsing his head down into his hands. He was rescued as the dwarf's wife called out for him. Orn tipped his head in an apology as if Drake wanted him to remain and dashed off. The two women were clustered around a cracked relic that looked like a screwdriver butterflied apart. The elf narrated it better than the tour guide still droning on about just how old something was, her ice eyes actually warming in excitement. Orn seemed unimpressed but nodded his head anyway, while the captain kept glancing around. If he didn't know any better, Drake would swear she was taking stock of the security same as him.

"All right people!" the tour guide shouted, waving everyone onward, "we're about to cross into the sensitive section of the museum. I need you all to turn off your PALM lights as the pieces are in danger of breaking down from over exposure. Thank you!"

The crowd of dwarves, a couple elves, and one gargoyle pushed onto their hands and formed a queue behind the woman. Drake glanced back at his group, but they were huddled around a chunk of space rock 2/3rds of them pretending to give a shit. Feigning shutting off his own PALM, he followed behind the massive gargoyle.

"These relics were discovered when a young farm boy chased after a lost fleek and stumbled into a crevice. What he found completely altered our knowledge of efrete history."

Drake tried to peer around the gargoyle's ass, but all he saw was dwarf head. Sighing, he tapped his foot, waiting for the gawpers to finish pretending they cared.

"What do they do?" a young voice asked from the front of the line.

"We have no idea. Only a scrap of the text emblazoned across them has been translated, and even that is still hotly debated. Some suspect they were used in fertility rituals to honor the gods of harvest. Others think they were owned by the priests as ornamentation."

A few more of the patrons uttered an "ah" or "wow" before realizing they were looking at some lost civilization's trash heap. Slowly, the dwarves filtered out of the tiny room, allowing the elves to scowl from their air of pomposity. The gargoyle stood giddy in the middle, his head swiveling in excitement, causing grit to slide down his carved shoulders. Drake pinched his nose to hold in the sneeze from the gargoyle dust puffing in the air. In thicker glass cases sat more of the same bits of whatever. Done up in golds and silvers, a gem or two glittered beneath but they looked less like jewelry and more like what someone expected to find jammed into a futuristic console on a sci-fi show.

Having exhausted himself and coated the floor, the gargoyle finally turned away leaving Drake mostly alone in the room. He pinched himself to keep from squealing. In the second case from the left sat that damn star, the ruby glittering sharper in real life. It twisted softly as the three dimensional pedestal twisted the floating piece.

Licking his lips, Drake turned back to find the tour group moving on towards another bit of useless crap. One security guard paced about beside the pillar. Not a huge problem if he was quick. No, the issue was the other one glaring down upon him. This one was an ogre, that massive head fused to shoulders made them easy to out dodge, but pretty much impossible to survive a hand to head fight with. Nature gave the ogre the kind of head butting power that could crack a ram's skull in half.

"Hey!" Drake groaned as that damn dwarf stepped behind him. "What's going on in here? More of the same, huh?"

He turned to face Orn, maybe make some pithy remark when the captain followed behind. The ogre finally glanced away from Drake to glare at her.

"Ma'am, I need you to turn off your PALM."

"Okay, sorry," she muttered, and held up her right hand in a mea culpa. She began to push on the palm of her left hand but froze. Drake caught the movement too and he spun back to watch as his prize, the only way he was getting back his ship and his blood, vibrated.

It no longer pulsed smoothly up and down in the case, but twitched erratically. The ogre caught the shock in the guest's eyes and slowly twisted its massive upper body to whatever they stared at.

"What the..." was as far as he got before the star-ruby released a massive whine. Vibrating beyond eye movements, it swayed in excitement and smashed through the thick glass. Before anyone could duck out of the way, the relic flew through the air and landed right into the captain's hand.

CHAPTER FIVE

SCORCHING METAL BURROWED into the palm of Variel's right hand, tendrils wrapping deep through her tissue and sinew into bone. She opened her mouth to scream, but the pain ebbed away as soon as it bit, something numbing her hand and oozing up to the elbow. The ruby in the center of the silver attack star lit up, pulsing to a steady metronome. With a start, she realized it was synching up with her heartbeat.

"Put the relic down."

Variel turned away from her impaled hand to glance down the barrel of a gun. A Turgid 98 if she was to guess, the favorite of security guards who couldn't hit the broad side of a freighter. "Okay, okay," she said and tried to pull the star away where it impaled her with no blood loss, but it stuck. Her fingernails bumped into the edge of the metal and couldn't pass underneath. The damn thing formed a tight seal around her.

"Take it off," the guard shouted again, "now!"

"I can't!" Variel screamed back, still scrabbling against the invader.

"This is not a joke!"

The guard was stuck on one mode and wasn't about to break free. Slowly, Variel raised both of her hands above her head. The stolen relic remained firmly implanted defying the laws of artificial gravity. She glanced around at Orn and he had his hands up as well, his eyes agog and focused on the shattered glass where the star zipped through the air to sucker onto her skin.

"You want it?" Variel said, gesturing to her hand. "Come and get it yourself."

Ogre eyes shifted from her hand to her face, as if she was hiding a weapon and about to trick the security guard. Maybe this happened a lot, ancient alien technology latching onto people's hands, or stomachs, or faces. They probably had a procedure on a laminated poster in the back to remove it, and it was just her luck to get the trainee on his first day.

"Do not move," the Ogre said.

"Wasn't planning on it," Variel answered, well aware of what that gun could do to her skull.

The Ogre pulled a small box out of his pocket and shouted into it, "Office, we have a—"

Smoke burst below the Ogre's feet, cutting off his call and air supply. A hand grabbed onto Variel's wrist and yanked her around. She glared into that jack asses eyes, his fingers digging deep into skin that couldn't feel it.

"Come on!" he shouted, dragging her on.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" But, as blue smoke cut off the oxygen in the small room and continued to plume out into the hall, she picked up her feet and ran. Drake held her tight, the pair of them dashing through the hordes of confused museum patrons fairly certain this wasn't part of a show.

"What's happening?" the tour guide squeaked, trying to raise a modicum of control.

"Fire!" Drake shouted, "There's a fire, everyone get to safety!"

It took a second for his words to reach their brains. When one of them pointed to the tendrils of smoke leeching into the hall, a scream began and reverberated through every throat. Panic isn't even close to what happened. Adults, children, dwarves, elves, goblins - all threw each other to the ground to try and escape through the one door. Only the gargoyle stood calm, watching the smoke and snapping a few pictures, its face stone.

"Great going," Variel muttered watching hordes of arms and legs entangle in the doorframe as it was every species and gender for themselves.

"Can you do better?" he asked, glaring at her. Still he wouldn't let go of her wrist as if he feared she was about to become a gibbering idiot.

Through the screams of terror, she heard the controlled cry of guards asking what the hell was going on. And here comes the reinforcements. Wonderful. Glancing back around the display, she caught a possible way out of this mess of the smoke monster's making. "Yeah, I can. Orn! Ferra!"

"Right here, boss," Orn shouted, coughing into his fist. Ferra whipped her hand around him trying to clear the air.

"Good, stay behind me." Now dragging Drake, Variel crossed over to the well hidden crack beside the plastic fire facade.

"What are you doing?" the man as attached to her wrist as the alien tech asked.

"This," Variel answered. Without ceremony she raised her leg back and kicked into the wall cracking apart red and orange polyurethane that glittered from a halogen light. Correction, a burst halogen light dribbling fluid to the floor. The hidden emergency door popped open to a world of utilitarian walls and peeling tile. "Everyone in!" she shouted, holding the door open with her free hand while the bastard kept tight to her other.

Orn ran under her arm first, reaching for air to fill his lungs instead of the burning blue smoke. Ferra took a moment to pause and lift an eyebrow at Variel, but trailed her husband. "After you," she said to Drake. He eyed her up, but didn't argue, his smoke bomb over clocked and biting into both their eyes.

Blinking through tears, Variel ran into the hall and slammed the fire facade door shut. She reached up to wipe away at her face and had another hand come with. "Would you let go of my arm?"

"I..." Drake looked down at her impaled hand and muttered something, but he dropped his grip.

She massaged her wrist and still felt nothing along her skin. It was like the whole thing fell dead from the elbow down. Whenever feeling came back it was going to hurt like shit. Drake stepped back a step, afraid she was about to kick him in the same as the door. He really should have looked a bit lower.

Five feet of pure powered rage snatched onto his bicep and dragged him down to her level. Ferra hissed into his face, "What the fuck were you thinking? A 1200 cubic feet smoke grenade in a seed's damned museum!"

"It wasn't..." he tried to yank away, but Ferra had him tight and nothing would break her free. She may be tiny but elves had an upper arm strength that could rival a chimpanzee's.

"It was more like 1500 cubic feet, actually," Variel said, "120 second burn too."

Her calm voice did nothing to dissuade the rage hissing inches from Drake. He was obviously biting down a tremble of terror from the elf hissing and gnashing a breath from his face. Variel half expected to find a puddle below his pants leg. Ferra did that.

"While I'd love to spend the day debating smoke grenade specs," Orn sputtered through smoke clogged lungs, "don't we have bigger problems, like an entire museum of security guards looking for us?"

Variel sighed, wanting to watch Ferra chew Drake up and spit him out, but Orn was right. There weren't any officials now, but they'd come barreling through the maintenance doors any second looking for whoever threw that bomb followed by whoever kinda accidentally stole museum property. Ignoring the pulsing numbness across her right arm, she glanced down the hallway. "That way?"

No one had any better suggestions and they started towards the unknown, glancing at each nondescript turn hoping information would appear. Two more hallways broke into others, narrowing then widening as they twisted around like a utilitarian labyrinth where you expected the minotaur to entrap you in a spreadsheet presentation. "Do we have any idea where we are?" Variel shouted, twisting around in confusion.

Orn licked his finger and held it up in the air. With a definitive shake of his head he said, "The museum, definitely."

She glared at him, but he just shrugged those bullish shoulders. They could run around this maze for weeks, too scared to try a door for fear it'd plop them into the middle of the security office.

"We need to find the pod bay," Ferra restated the obvious.

"And how do we go about doing that?" Variel turned on her engineer, wanting solutions.

"We could ask that guy," Drake's voice piped up from the back of the group. Everyone turned to find a goblin, his green skin pocked with more acne than natural camouflage. The kid startled from the swivel of eyes and almost dropped the tray of rocks stretched across both hands.

"Who..." his voice scaled the octaves before cliff diving, "You're not supposed to be here."

"You're right," Variel shoved around Orn and Ferra to get closer to the goblin technician. "We're terribly lost and would be more than happy to leave, but we need some directions."

The goblin bobbed his head, his black eyes widening at the human looming above him.

"If you could tell us where the pod bay is located we'd happily get out of your ha-" Variel glanced at the smooth head and amended, "nose."

A shaky finger extended to the right, "Take that hall to the end, then a right, and go down a maintenance ladder."

Variel smiled, "Thank you so much." And then she stuck out her damn hand to shake his.

The goblin's mouth dropped and he shrieked, "You're the thieves!"

"Sorry," Variel muttered. Wrapping her fingers around the priceless relic, she smashed her fist across the kid's head. He dropped to his knees, the rocks he carried tumbling and bouncing down the linoleum. She tried to catch one, but they all slipped her grasp.

"Go, go, go," Variel ordered, taking up the head of the pack and following the unconscious goblin's instructions. "Gods, I hope those rocks weren't priceless."

"What's one more notch on this tab, Cap?" Orn asked.

Down the halls, following the poor punched kid's directions they made it and spotted their destination with no one else the wiser. A recessed ladder dented into the wall, easily missed if one wasn't looking for it. Variel waved Orn and Ferra down it first, then paused to glare at Drake.

He motioned for her to go, while she did the same at him. The man even crossed his arms as if he wasn't about to budge from this sudden turn of gallantry. Variel wanted to kick him in the leg and hurl him down the ladder.

"Hey! You there!" echoed down the hall.

"Shit!" Drake cursed. The stalemate broken by feet tramping down the hall, he swung onto the ladder and climbed down it two rungs at time. But it wasn't fast enough. Echoes of "Stop! You're under arrest!" and other mantras in the _Security Guard's Big Book of Sayings_ drove Variel to hop onto the top of the ladder.

She spotted the hurrying but still slow brunette hair below her. Shrugging a shoulder, she loosened her grip and slid down the ladder. Friction burnt under her left hand but nothing reached through the fingers on her right. Her legs reached out to try and find a catch, but skidded on the rungs and, as Drake reached the bottom, Variel crashed on top of him.

"Fuckin' get off!" he cried trying to wiggle out from underneath.

"If you'd gone first you could have been on top," Variel muttered, slowly sliding her foot out to get ground under her and rise.

"Hey, we found one and..." Orn's voice fell away as he spotted the two of them stumbling to get away from each other. "For alloys sake, can't you save that shit for later?"

Both rose, neither offering the other a helping hand, and glared murder at the dwarf. Orn only shook his head, more concerned about something else.

"So we're in the pod bay," Drake moaned, checking his back for damage, "that'll make it easier to find us and not much else." Variel snorted and shook her head. He turned from his bruise hunt to challenge her, "Really? You expect me to believe you can hack a pod? Just like that?" Drake snapped his fingers at the end for emphasis and to drill into the back of her teeth.

She leaned away from him and called to her engineer, "Ferra?"

"Yup," was all the elf said. Her massive hair was half collapsed, her barrettes now adhered to the unbreakable pod door. She held a small sphere herself and prodded a few buttons causing the barrette to light up in different patterns. It was all very technical stuff that was technically legal if you knew how to phrase the technical jargon right. Glancing up from her work, Ferra's eyes narrowed and she snapped her fingers.

The door cracked open as did Drake's mouth. "How in the..."

"Get in!" Variel shouted, shoving past the confused man.

"No kidding," Orn muttered. He crawled across his wife who unstuck her hacking hair accessories and slipped them back in place. Offering up one harness to Ferra, Orn unhooked a second for himself.

Drake flapped his hands about, "Okay, so we get in a pod that then sits in the bay. We'll have a few hours of air before they think to check the heat sigs."

"Get in or stay here, I couldn't give a shit either way," Variel muttered and climbed in herself.

"Like I'm going to..." he yelped as the door began to slide closed and dived in after them.

"Damn," Orn said, snapping his own fingers, "So close."

"Ferra?" Variel asked, prodding her dead fingers into her PALM. The blue light flickered but booted up. Whatever this relic was at least it didn't mess with her signal.

The elf twisted her head and closed her hand around the sphere. "Door is sealed for space flight. And that's all I've got." She dropped the ball into her pocket and crossed her legs, reclining back.

Drake glanced from the married couple leaning around like this was a late Sunday brunch to the captain calmly calling up someone to meet for a movie later. She felt the pooling eyes and twisted her head in a "what do you want?" move.

A beep reverberated from her hand and she shouted into it, "WEST, I need you to pull a 58 - pizza."

"I'm sorry, Owner 23. The computer you are attempting to dial is no longer in service."

Variel sighed and rolled her eyes at Ferra. The elf was staring at the ceiling as if she cared nothing for their predicament, but she lightly bobbed her head. "WEST, do this and Ferra will update your software. All of it."

"Putting in a 58 - pizza!" the insane voice of the computer chirped, followed by a few buzzes and clicks. It was his signature sign off.

Variel closed off her PALM and slid an arm through the harness. The nylon strap snagged for a moment on the edge of the relic, and a pulse of not pain jarred through her arm. It felt like someone shot a stream of water to her elbow.

"I give in," Drake's clawing voice broke the calm. "What's a 58 - pizza?" He still wasn't slipping the harness on. Variel glanced towards it, then back to his face, but he didn't get the hint.

Sighing she said, "Simple, WEST calls their computer, sets up a delivery schedule, and they send us to collect it."

"58 pizzas, who can say no to that?" Orn asked rubbing his hands. "Speaking of which, anyone got something on 'em? I'm starving." Ferra reached into her pocket and yanked out a poky stick. Chewing off the wrapper with his teeth, Orn shoved the entire chocolate concoction into his mouth in one go.

"You might want to put that harness on," Variel said, gesturing towards Drake. She snapped hers tight and leaned back, preparing for the coming force.

"There is no way...why would a museum even accept...how can? This will never work," Drake ranted, his hands flailing around the harness as he paced back and forth on the tiny floorspace.

A rumble shuddered below the pod, and the ground below them twisted around. Sounds of de-pressurization and a popping door echoed through the remaining oxygen. Drake tried to weasel an arm into the harness but the pod was already lined up. Like a marble through a vacuum's tube, the pod shot out into space, sending anything not tethered down crashing into a wall.

Variel eyed up the man smashed against the smooth white windows and said, "Told you."

Orn skidded down the hall tossing bits of the harness off as he ran. Variel followed behind, trying to not overtake her pilot and fighting down the urge to pick him up. The still sparking shuttle bay door was left to Ferra's machinations. Cutting the escape pod's line, while a prudent move to dampen back on potential tracing, hadn't been quite such a simple task. A few of WEST's emergency bots attempted to put out the fire by walking into the flames and then spraying foam at each other. Which, all things considered, worked far better than WEST's usual approach of wishing the fire was gone and being smug in pretending it worked.

"This sector will be placed under lockdown in two minutes," an uncaring voice droned across the Elation's speakers, piped in from the emergency channel.

"I heard ya!" Orn shouted. Slipping his bad hand into the door jamb, he threw the whole thing open and plopped into his chair. Controls rose from their slumber, blue and purple lights sparking. Variel took up the nav console to Orn's left, booting up the lists.

"Take us away from the station," she ordered. Orn snorted, already poking away at the engines and yanking back on the stick. The ship gurgled and banked to the right, trying to crawl away from Raptor. Red emergency lights beamed off the station into the dead of space warning anyone not to do what they were planning.

Variel scrolled down the lists of available pinches, focusing only on the times. Five minutes, an hour, six days; the data blurred when a small green line flashed: available now. Plugging in the data, the Nav Council accepted the flight path. "It's in, Orn!"

"She's pretty cold," he said, vibrating a switch as if that would increase the MGC flow.

"This sector will be placed under lockdown in one minute."

"No choice," Variel said. Leaning back onto her heels, she gripped tight onto the console, wondering not for the first time why there weren't more chairs on the bridge.

"A'right. Hang on, everybody!" Orn shouted despite the ship's comms shut off. Sliding his fist across rows of buttons, the Elation kicked from one side to the next. Safety harnesses snapped tighter around the pilot, pinning him in place as the ship prepared for "some dumb ass maneuvers." A guttural gurgle popped from the back of the ship, rattling every screw and grate in place. Metallic air bit the air causing Variel's nose to wrinkle from the taste.

As the MGC filtered from the storage units to whatever physics thing altered the fabric of space, a ribbon of blue split a couple hundred meters outside the Elation's viewscreen. Then it cracked open.

Orn grabbed onto the stick and without hesitation drove them into the wyrm pinch. Blue ribbons of energy danced with the reds of something that might also be energy. It was hard to say what the red and blue undulations of light were. No one stayed long enough inside a pinch to figure it out. A few talked about it, swearing if they just got the funding they'd find the answers to life, science, or what is love inside. There were plenty of popular fantasy stories of monsters who lived in wyrm space coming to either destroy, fertilize, or do both to the rest of the galaxy.

But to everyone else eking out a living traveling from one side of the galaxy to the next it was just a tunnel, albeit one that at times looked like the back of your retinas. "We're almost through," Orn said, his hands vibrating as wyrm space fought back.

"How're the MGC reserves holding up?"

"Uh...good? I'm not the engineer here. If we didn't have enough the pinch wouldn't have opened. Right?" His question hung as he glanced towards Variel.

She tried to think of all the safeties put in place by massive corporations who didn't want to keep paying for flowers at funerals. There was a long list of things spaceships were supposed to come equipped with, ones antiques like the Elation-Cru could legally ignore.

But the concern was for naught as the red ribbon folded back and the blackness of normal space emerged. The ship tumbled out into the smattering of stars and the universe zipped back up the wyrm, tidying itself up for the next soul to come burrowing under its starry skin. Orn sat back, sweat dotting his brow, and the harness freed him from the chair.

"That was exciting," he said doing the flight check he should have done before the wyrm pinch. "And we're almost out of MGC."

"How almost out?" Variel asked when a horn blared beside her. She covered her ears and prodded the damn button attached to the emergency sound. It pulsed in angry red a very low number. She expected it to cluck its tongue at the captain that dared to get it into such a predicament.

Sighing, she shook her head, "Raising the sails." While it was barely noticeable to someone sitting on the ship, to a passing space dolphin on its way to figuring out what the hell it breathed, the bed-pan shaped ship appeared to unfurl massive metallic wings. Popping from the sides, they held taut in the lacking breeze of space, but they weren't there for movement.

"It'll take a few days to fully recharge the MGC," she said reaching to massage her forehead. A lump mashed into her instead and she paused, staring at the metal protruding into her skin. It should hurt, the red and bruised flesh rising over the impaled spikes looked particularly painful. The fact it didn't turned her stomach more than her torn hand.

"What do we do now?" Orn asked at a loss. Sails killed all nav save some limping impulse engines. Unless you wanted to shred them off and all but guarantee of stranding yourself, then you could do whatever you wanted.

"Wait a few days," Variel said, still glowering at the relic, "until the corps cools down."

"Yeah, they're known for not overreacting. You know those corps officers, always a perfectly reasonable lot," Orn said, shaking his head. "This also means we're gonna be stuck with your, uh, what do human's call it? Night toy?"

"Shit." She'd vaguely nudged the man with her foot to see if he was still alive and left him on the pod's floor. There wasn't time to offer assistance, not that they had much to give in their predicament. "Run a search on Drake Bane."

"How's that spelled?" Orn asked, waking up the projected keyboard.

"I have no idea. Try a few options. It's probably an alias anyway. Gods I hope so, or his parents hated him."

"Hm, looks like the only beacon is a 5 kwp. Gonna take awhile to get an answer."

Variel sighed, "I'm not surprised."

"Wait, where the hell are we?"

"It's not important. We'll be leaving soon enough," she answered, logging out of the nav computer and inputting a password. Last thing she needed was Mr. Liar getting smart.

"FYI Cap, that whole 'it's not important' sounded super ominous. If you were wondering. Hey, where are you going?"

"To talk to Mr. Bane about this relic and get it the hell off of me."

He sat on the floor sucking in a breath through what had to be a bruised rib. Drake closed his eyes against the pounding in his skull down through the spine and leaned back when something smacked into his knee. Sitting up, he glared into the soulless input lens of one of the fire extinguish bots. Half of its grey box was coated in foam from its companion, the flames hardening the chemical compound so it looked more like a cheesy alien from an old sci-fi movie.

Drake felt a twinge of pity for the thing struggling to overcome one wheel coated in foam. Sliding his hand underneath, he picked the bot up and wiped down the wheel, spreading the coagulated foam across his pants. The bot dropped to the ground and rolled forward, then it paused and the head swiveled back.

He twisted his own head, surprised at the mindless bot expressing gratitude, when foam shot out of the hole splattering across his face. "You son of a..." Drake shouted, trying to chase after the bot.

A hand grabbed onto the back of his jacket and the bot skittered away, probably laughing so hard it foamed itself. Wiping at the foam before it hardened inside his nostrils, he turned towards the hand's owner.

The captain glared at him, as if she did anything else. He was pretty sure her face got stuck on glare when she was five. A finger pointed menacingly at his coated face, Drake's prize glittering in the shuttle bay lights within sight but completely unreachable now. "Start talking," she said.

"Your batshit AI sprayed me," he answered, still wiping away at his face.

The glare cranked higher and he realized she wasn't talking about the foam. "What? What do you want from me?"

"You threw a smoke bomb at a security guard!"

"You're welcome."

"Welcome? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, you'd prefer I let them shoot you?" Drake tried to focus on her face, but he kept catching the ruby glint out of the corner of his eye. It was so close but so far.

"Shoot me? By a security guard? Working a glorified children's museum? They weren't going to do anything except help get this thing off until someone went full terrorist on them."

"I'm no terrorist!" Drake shouted, inching towards her. He was a lot of things to a lot of people, but he'd never do anything for a cause. If money wasn't involved, he wasn't waking up.

"Right, you're an archeologist," she sneered. "So, Mr. Archeologist who studied the efrete and knows all about their ancient civilization... How the fuck do I get this off my hand?!" She shoved the star right into his face, the ruby almost bouncing into his nose. Drake's fingers itched to reach out and grab it, yank it free with all his strength and bolt from the ship. Instead, he cupped the back of her hand and tilted it down.

With his other hand he circled around the edges of the relic. The metal was body temperature warm, but the gem remained as cold as space. When his fingers got too close he yanked them back, the frost biting deep into his skin. "Have you tried calming down? Perhaps it's activated by hormones. Acting hysterical can't be helping."

She yanked the relic out of his hands and grabbed his shirt collar. Hauling his face closer to hers she growled, "This is calm."

He wanted to point out that her veins were throbbing in a stew of brain chemicals, but her grip was so strong the blood flow constricted through his arm pits. _You sure can pick 'em, Drake. Maybe next time go for the one who can't benchpress a troll._

"Well, I don't know. I've never heard of an efrete device attaching itself to a person before."

Her fingers slackened and she released his jacket. Blood mercifully raced back to his depraved arms, and he absently cracked his knuckles. One part of his mind suggested knocking the captain out, kidnapping her, and figuring out how to get the relic off later. The other part laughed uproariously at how royally screwed he was.

She glared yet again, "I rather doubt you'd heard of the efrete until a few days ago."

"And you're an expert? Some academic on sabbatical from that high strung life of tenure who took up smuggling for the fun of it?"

She leaned back, blinking in surprise. "Shit..."

Drake stumbled, fears filling his mind that she actually was someone knowledgeable about that thing on her hand. What if she was competition? Someone sent to infiltrate and steal it out from under Oless? How the fuck was he going to swipe it and get off the ship now?

But then she shook her head and muttered, "Sabbatical. I had no idea you knew that big of a word."

He curled his lip and clipped, "I didn't see you crafting some well honed plan to rescue yourself from that...relic."

"A relic you know nothing about, despite claiming otherwise," she folded her arms brushing that frozen ruby against her skin. He flinched in sympathy but she didn't react from the bottomless cold.

"We've already been down this road, or shall we waste time while the dwarven Antiquities Board hunts us down?"

She rolled a shoulder as if that was far from her biggest concern. Either this woman was insane, had a stack of bodies in her wake that could rival an orc war, or both. Realizing where he was, Drake glanced around the dark and very empty shuttle bay. A prickling began along his shins and down his back; this was normally when he'd be running.

"I know nothing of efrete technology, their society, or how they took a shit. Happy?"

She sighed, as if she'd expected the answer but hoped for something else.

"Why don't you take a picture of the damn thing and hex it?" The voice echoed around the bay, causing Drake and the captain to crane their necks.

"Ferra? Where are you?"

"Repairing the stupid pod." A blonde head poked into the rare light in the bay. Grease coated her hands, which she wiped down a pair of pants the exact same color.

"Why?"

Those elven eyes rolled to the captain and she said, "Call it a hunch."

"Fair enough," the captain agreed. Holding her hands apart, she reached down with the middle finger of her left and tried to snap a picture on the PALM. Drake spotted the image of a giant fuzzy blur obscuring most of the relic.

"God's damn it!" she cursed, still snapping a couple more despite her finger always being in the way.

"Here," Drake grabbed her right hand and steadied it. Her head jerked towards him, but she didn't reach for his collar again. Starting up his own PALM, he deleted a few pictures clogging up memory space and zoomed in on the metal burrowed into her.

"There," he said, holding up the picture like a prized catch.

"We've already seen it," she said yanking her hand out of his again. "Do a reverse image search."

"Ah, right, about that..." he stalled, his brain trying to come up with an excuse for why his data plan was in the irrational when wonders of wonders, the search engine booted up.

"What Can Hex Find For You?" greeted him in the golden box. Drake uploaded the picture and hit send, trying to keep his thumb from bashing into the PALM chip as he bit down the rising panic. For having her life upended instantaneously by a one night stand this woman was taking it way too well. His not space-tossed corpse was grateful, but Drake feared what that kind of person could plan for later.

"Should you include some keywords?" the captain asked, peering close to his hand.

"Like what?"

"Metal, ruby, star?"

"Stolen, relic, wanted, reward?" Ferra added, getting a glare from the captain.

"Ah, here we go." PALMs, while useful on the go and difficult to accidentally drop into toilets, ran on the barest of interfaces. A few lines of text and one small picture matched the relic. "It's called the Ruby Star."

"You're shitting me."

"Nope, see," Drake held up his PALM to prove it.

"Fine, dwarves are uncreative as shit. What's it say about getting stuck to people? Any tricks for removing it?"

Drake scrolled down his hand, the holographic text on his cheap model fading into his peach skin. Twisting his hand, he read through the tiny scrap twice before facing her, "Nothing."

"What?"

"There's nothing, no mention of this thing ever sticking into someone, much less flying through the air and impaling itself. They seem to think it was jacksquat, some little toy for spoiled brats or possibly a reliquary to hold dead efrete martyrs. Ew."

She grabbed his PALM and almost cracked his wrist twisting to read off it. "That's stupid. This has to have happened before to other people, they must know about..." her voice died away as the same five sentences shuffled a few inches above his hand.

Her head hanging down, she picked up the Ruby Starred hand and flexed her fingers. Drake wanted to reach out, to stop her before she burned them, but her tips rubbed across the stone without her flinching.

"Captain!" Three heads swung up to find a pair of clone shadows standing in the darkness.

She dropped her hand behind her back and rose up on her heels, "Yes?"

The clones stepped closer and the light illuminated those damn goblins. Drake barely hid a "Holy shit" behind his hand. Even the captain started with a "How did..." but she rebounded quickly to, "Was there something you needed?"

"Oh," the red one spoke for his husband, "we felt the wyrm pinch and were curious what hidden corner of the galaxy we're at now."

"Such a quick exit from the museum," the blue one said. "We were only back for ten minutes at most when the museum began that light show. I'm sorry, I had to leave early. Headache."

"Ah, yes, we believe in efficiency on this ship," the captain said.

"Punctuality is a sign of a cultured mind," the red one commended as if rewarding a dog.

"We're at a small depot, it's only a stop over while we re-charge the sails. But I believe there's a nebula on the port side," she said, then pointed towards the left.

"Ah, captain, what is that?" the red one exclaimed, catching the glint of the Ruby Star in her hand.

"It's a..." she glanced at the elf, who shrugged, then turned towards Drake. He was as much at a loss. Admitting anything had value around a goblin was as good as saying "Please, take this. Clearly I could not want it because I'm not as sophisticated as you."

Her eyes narrowed, probably at Drake's nonplussed face, and she turned back to the goblins. The sheen of panic was wiped clean by pure business, "It is a souvenir. A small trinket that I am taking back for a niece."

The goblin's head nodded, "Good, good. Quite a find. It almost looks real."

"Dear," the blue one cried, "let us leave them in peace."

"Don't mind him. He quite enjoys nebulae." Before the trio had a chance to shove any more feet in their mouths the goblins turned around and exited back to the port side.

She released a sigh and sagged. Under her breath, the captain muttered, "I completely fucking forgot about them."

"Maybe they're star touched," Ferra said.

The captain laughed at the idea of psychic powers gifted from the stars, "Whatever the reason, they got damn lucky."

"Ten minutes before the whole station went into lock down? I don't know about you, but I might hit them up for mawg racing options later."

"Is there really one over there?" Drake asked, breaking the two women up from their girl chat.

"One what?" the captain turned to him.

"A nebula on the port side?"

She shrugged, "Probably. If you look far enough, you'll find anything in space."

Drake smirked at the ingenuity of how to keep a goblin busy for hours. The captain didn't watch his bit of praise, she was trying to pry her fingers under the star, but there was no space between the metal and her hand, no grip to even wiggle it apart.

"Did you try a wedge?" Ferra asked, digging into her pockets and procuring a screw driver.

The captain nodded her head, "Swiped one out of the kitchen. Couldn't get under."

"Lube?"

Despite being thirty-four, a blush rose at the back of Drake's neck from the mention of lube. But she only shook her head in defeat, "Slicked up the screwdriver and impaled it into a wall. Oh, you'll probably want to fix that."

The elf sighed, tapping her claws into her thin lips. Calculations ran across the backs of her eyes as she dissected the problem. Drake wondered if she really cared about the dire straights of the captain or just enjoyed the challenge. She didn't seem the type to make friends with something that didn't have a microchip for a brain.

"What if we cut off one of the star's legs?"

"NO!" Drake shouted, waving his hand over the relic to protect it.

"Who said you get a vote?" Ferra growled, glaring up at him.

"We can't. I hope to get the damn thing off, write a very nice letter about what happened, and send the whole thing back to Raptor."

"So no damaging it?" Ferra asked.

"No," she twisted her head and closed her eyes. A breath rattled in her nose and Drake could have sworn she exhaled twice.

"What if I damage it a little?"

"Ferra..."

"I'm out of ideas," the engineer said, stepping away. She wiped her hands of both the grease and the problem.

A buzz reverberated through the shuttle bay and Orn's voice echoed around them, "Hey Cap, ya busy?"

"What is it?" she asked before adding, "and yes."

"It's about that thing you wanted me to search for. I...you might want to call me about it. You know, alone."

"Fine," she shouted. Nodding to Ferra, she stepped away. Drake could still hear her muttering, "If it was private why'd he call across the damn ship?"

Despite standing still, Drake felt the elf inch closer. She could loom, even at only five feet tall. Normally, he feared he might accidentally stomp on the shorter elves if he wasn't careful, but this one was different. She was mighty while being pocket sized. Her fingers dipped into her pockets, removing a small blade that was probably used for cutting wire and other innocuous things, but his mind couldn't stop picturing it slicing into flesh.

_You wound up on a ship of amazons, Drake Bane. Great job. Why not find some great testicle frying recipes while you're at it? There's no way you're getting out of here with your balls attached now. _

At least the captain was on his side of getting the relic off her and not damaging it. If he could find some way to weasel the whole shipping it back into putting it in his hands, he was golden. For the first time since Oless swiped his ship, Drake felt pretty good about himself. Things were looking, not up but at least towards him instead of straight down to the pits of eternal despair. He even smiled as the captain came back from her embarrassing call.

She glanced at the elf still playing with the blade, then turned to Drake, and smashed her fist across his cheek. Stars brighter than what the goblins could see shattered across his eyes. He reached out to stop the insane woman, but she grabbed his wrist and yanked it behind his back.

Her eyes glared into his, even as one of his dipped down in pain. "What are you...?" Drake tried to cry out, scrabbling to find a bit of sense.

"You, I knew you were dirty," she hissed near his ear. _Ah shit,_ Drake realized what she asked the dwarf to search for: him.

"I can explain," he began, booting up his eternal way of wiggling out of his problems.

"You can explain being on the No Fly List?"

The elf snorted as if it was no big deal, "Which one?"

Without turning away from him, the captain yanked his arm higher, and sneered, "All of them."

CHAPTER SIX

VARIEL'S HAND TIGHTENED, yanking the lying sack of shit's arm higher so he couldn't escape. Ferra glanced at the man and said, "How can he be on every no fly list?"

"I ran into the law a few times..." Drake whined, then flinched at the pressure, "a few dozen times."

"Dwarves forgive everything for the right coin," the elf continued. Variel was afraid to speak for fear she'd rip out his trachea and show it to him.

"Well, therein lies the situation..." he tried to reach out with his hand to grab onto Variel, but she caught his wrist. Drake yelped and weaseled away from where the relic touched his skin.

"You didn't pay your fines," Ferra said, nodding her head. There was an honor code amongst the dwarves a lot of species only passingly grasped. All was forgiven for the right compensation. Fail to do that and you were walking dead in the eyes of the galaxy.

Drake twisted his head and said almost proudly, "And I may have been romantically linked with a magistrate's daughter...s."

"You erupting ass boil bag of dryad dick!" Variel finally cursed. "A magistrate? You fucked with a magistrate...Oh gods."

"She was only magistrate of a small family township. A couple degrees at most," he said shrugging, but it was too late to escape the truth now.

The engineer turned to her boss and spoke the words hanging in the air, "Blackballed? He's blackballed?! And you let him on your ship. On this ship?"

"I didn't know he was blackballed. Dwarves stopped literally branding them a few centuries back," Variel grumbled still inspecting the human's forehead for a possible mark.

"That's no excuse," Ferra said, getting a glare from Variel. "I mean, it will not hold water in the dwarven courts, or elven. Do human's even let it pass?"

"Sometimes, if you're clever," Variel sighed. A thousand problems buzzed in her head, and all of the solutions she could envision involved tossing Drake down a chute with a nest of ravenous balors at the bottom. But that wouldn't actually solve it, only make her feel better for a few hours, days at least. Releasing his hand, she stepped away from the man. He massaged his mangled wrist, hissing in pain as he did. In the low light she could see a few welts from her fingers digging in.

Ferra inspected the man, twisting her head to the side, "He never registered. Only we and the goblins know of him. I suspect after a few more weeks of travel they'll forget his name and likeness. Yes. Break his neck, direct the body into space, and burn it with an engine burst."

Her even tone was spoken the same as if she was diagnosing a broken injector port or fuel gauge. Drake's head pivoted from Variel to the elf, and a high pitched, "Excuse me," tumbled from his mouth.

"It is the least bloody; there is a narrow chance to have DNA or skin cell contamination."

Variel enjoyed the twist of terror as the oh so clever man crashed into the indomitable will of engineering thinking. Sighing, she shook her head, and stepped back, waving Ferra with her. For a moment Drake looked as if he wanted to keep near Variel to protect him from the crazy elf, but she sneered and he remained rooted in the spot.

"We're not going to kill him."

"Why not? Do you know what happens to ships known to harbor not just a no-flyer but a blackballer?"

"Death, Dismemberment, Docking Salary: though probably not in that order."

"Docking for generations. The dwarves have the galactic right to continue collecting fees from family and distant family until all is reimbursed."

"The galactic right given to them by the dwarves," Variel said. It wasn't that the dwarves were put in charge so much as no one wanted to argue they weren't when they held the keys to all the bank vaults.

"So removing all evidence of this...Drake, would be best. I can wipe WEST's memory with the next personality purge and..."

"We can't kill him because we still need him," Variel explained, getting a glare from Ferra.

"For what possible reason could we need _that_?"

"He knows about this thing, and we aren't getting out from under the corps until it's off me."

"He didn't even know what it's called," Ferra pointed out.

"True, but he's been eyeing it up ever since it impaled into me. And he could have ditched us at any point on Raptor. If he wanted to find different transport that would have been the time. No, there's more going on with this damn thing than we know."

"How do you know?"

"Who brings a smoke grenade to a museum?"

Ferra shook her head at the logic and eyed up the waste of flesh human trying to slink away. "What do we do with him?"

"Keep him ignorant."

"That should be easy."

Variel smiled, "He doesn't know the name of the ship or mine. I suspect the only one he can recite is Orn's."

"Like that'll help him. Okay, WEST owes me, not that it's in a helpful mood today."

Variel remembered a small treatise she got from WEST about the state of the galactic parasite working its way through the colon of the working class. Whoever let the computer download a troll political textbook was in for it later. "Keep an eye on him," she said.

"I'm not good with idiots that don't know they're idiots," Ferra stated the obvious.

Both women glared at Drake who was obviously standing perfectly still and not planning on making an even more obvious run for the borrowed pod. It was a wonder the man hadn't gotten himself killed years back. He wasn't cute enough to pull off the shit he tried.

"Cap?" Orn's voice chirped through the ship comm as well as her PALM.

Sighing, Variel pushed on her unclaimed hand and asked, "What is it?"

"If you're done clearing out any trash you need to, you might want to get up here."

"Problem?"

"Always."

Orn didn't elaborate, preferring to play his little game. Variel ordered Ferra and Drake to remain in the shuttle bay until she had a better plan. Of course neither listened, the latter insisting he could help and the former saying she had nothing better to do.

Cracking open the bridge door, sugary smells assaulted her nose as smoke rose around her pilot's chair. He turned at the interruption, red crystals glittering in the plume. At her furrowed brow he pointed to a stack of wrappers across the console and explained, "Gargoyle candy. You're supposed to strike it then breathe in the sugar crystals. Burns like shit."

"Orn...unless the problem was watching blood drip from your sugar encrusted nose, I don't care."

"Right, right," he spun back, knocking more of the wrappers to the floor. A small carpet formed over time before Variel or Ferra issued the ultimatum of clean them up or prepare for war. No one was 100% certain where Orn tossed the wrappers after signing the cleaning treaty of surrender but they'd vanish before getting three inches thick.

He waved his good hand at a monitor and an elven woman with pink hair and orange skin appeared. Her speech began mid-sentence, "...they aren't divulging details beyond a need for the community to remain calm. Officials are instituting a complete wyrm pinch ban around the disturbance and have-"

"What does this have to do with us?" Variel asked watching a crude animation of a hole plopping into space out of nowhere, then suck up some stars.

"Sorry, sorry, it's after this bit," Orn waved his hand forward speeding up the newscaster. "The hole's weird though, right?"

"Is that its official name? The hole?"

"Mysterious phenomena don't have marketing teams...there we go." Orn paused before hitting play and glanced back to his boss. "Brought the whole team, I see."

Variel felt the press of Ferra behind her back, while Drake's hand hovered close to but didn't quite touch her shoulder. "Just play the damn thing."

"All right, here we go."

The hole animation faded away and the woman's co-anchor, a dwarf wearing a hat made of steaks, took up reading the teleprompter, "A theft occurred on the station museum of Raptor earlier this cycle. Raptor - a popular destination for families and home to the jewels of the Shovan - was infiltrated by the thieves between the hours of 9 and 10. Corps authorities are working with the surviving guards to create a witness profile."

"Surviving guards?" Drake repeated, "They make it sound as if we killed some."

"You probably did with that overpowered smoke grenade," Variel said calmly.

"I...no, that's just no," he stammered, surprising the captain.

"Will you both shut up?" Orn said holding his fingers steady to pause the screen, "They haven't gotten to the bad part yet."

"Sorry," Variel said, and waved him on.

The anchor dwarf folded his hands, still making no mention of the meat hat, and continued, "They are currently tracing wyrm pinches into and out of the station during the disturbance and will be sending ships to investigate those systems."

"Well, shit," Variel cursed, dropping her head into her hand.

"How long until the corps trace here?" Ferra asked.

"If they were smart, two to three hours," Drake said. "But since they're not, probably five to six."

"And we won't be recharged until..." Variel asked, glancing at Orn.

He knocked a few more wrappers away and said, "Thirteen hours give or take your mother. WEST added that last part."

"Suggestions?" Variel asked.

"Guns ablazing and take 'em down with us!" Orn shouted, waving his hands in the air.

"Right, Orn's not allowed to talk anymore. Ferra?"

Her engineer raised one hand, "Well, either we drop the sails and run as far as we can, which wouldn't get us out of the sector," she lifted the other hand, "or we wait and pray the corps can't be assed to chase us out this far."

"What about you, smoke bomb? You have any advice for getting out of these situations?"

"Confess and take the plea bargain," Drake admitted. "What? It's never failed."

Variel growled throwing her hands up and caught sight of that damn relic. If it just let go, if she could pop it off and free herself from the damn thing they wouldn't have to worry about the corps chasing after them. The ruby glittered, still pulsing with its own enigmatic scheme.

"Are we near a trading post?" Ferra's voice broke through Variel's rage.

"Kind of..." the captain said. "Why?"

"Where the shit are we, anyway?" Orn interrupted.

"We need MGC, and I'm guessing we're not anywhere in space fully legal or upstanding," Ferra said glancing at the captain. She already knew the answer but Variel still nodded. "So, we find a trading post and get an amplifier."

Everyone reared back from Ferra as if she spat at them. Before they could voice their opinions on how trollshit of a plan that was, she cut them off, "It isn't dangerous if you only use it in short bursts, only a few times, and keep away from the edges."

"Edges?"

"The MGC is not as uniform as it should be when used in an amplifier."

"Meaning?" Variel wasn't about to let this go, even if it was their only option.

"Meaning anyone too far from the core of the ship may have their blood arrive two feet away from their body."

"Oh great, my blood's always wanted to travel," the captain snipped.

"You asked for an idea and I gave it. Unless you can think of something better..."

"Surrender is preferable to that blood ship thingie," Drake muttered.

"We're not surrendering," Variel stepped in.

"Good," Orn interrupted, "because I've got a few parking tickets that I'm sure they'd love to add to the list of grand theft, destruction of dwarven property, and terrorism against the state."

"Terrorism?"

"Yup, apparently that little grenade from ol' smokey there was a high enough burn to count as a bomb. Lucky us."

Variel ran her hand through her hair, the edge of the relic snagging on the trip down. "Okay, we do Ferra's plan. Set down on the planet, get an amplifier, and pinch anywhere else."

Ferra pointed out the flaw in her own machinations, "Are we even certain this trading post has an amplifier? We'll lose recovery time while we're in atmo."

"Yeah, it'll have it," Variel said.

"Where the hell are we, again? I think you keep forgetting to mention that."

Variel steeled herself for the coming rage as she brushed her fingers across the ruby star. "It's an Orc Depot."

A cart rattled down the packed dirt of the lot, kicking more red dust into the sky. The woman pushing it spotted Variel and gawked at the human climbing out of the ship's airlock. Ferra called above her, "Don't forget, it can't be any bigger than five centimeters."

"If this is so important, why don't you come with?" Variel asked, landing on the last rung and pushing on the reverse button. The ladder retracted back into the parked Elation but Ferra didn't step away.

"Very droll," the elf said, "and it has to be calibrated for lepto. I won't have time to reverse it."

"I got it all right here," Variel said waving her hand in the air. It took surprisingly little convincing that she should go alone. Orn just nodded his head and gave a yup. Ferra twitched as if she wished she could come, but gave in to good old elven sense. It was Drake that surprised her. She thought for sure he'd be on her ass the whole time, drooling over the ruby star, but he scowled and refused to set foot on the ground.

Variel made certain to land the ship and lock the door before the Aloysius found out. Goblins and orcs didn't mesh well. A pair of orcs stumbled past, punching into each other's sides and she stopped as the camaraderie broke into real fists and fights. Dodging around the river of blood, she muttered to herself, "Then again, orcs didn't get on well with anyone."

Stepping out of the cool of the hanger, Variel shielded her eyes from the burning sunlight and tried to glance around the sprung up market. This wasn't an official orc colony — those were all locked off for everyone's own good — but one of the trading posts they could legally operate under dwarven control. Technically, any species was welcome to trade for goods or services and while many posts along the other borders would sponsor a menagerie of aliens, orcs stuck to orcs.

Three children, already at Orn's height, ran past dragging a bloated, misshapen balloon between them. A male orc, most likely their father, followed after. Bags tied around his neck jangled and clanged as he shouted for lil' "Throat Cutter" and "Rock Gnasher" to slow down.

Variel stepped onto the road and smelled the wind. To the right wafted the scent of antiseptic, latex, and pretzels - or whatever the orc equivalent was. It was either an impromptu healing station propped up by the Doctors Without Atmos group or the bar zone. Orc liquor was an acquired taste in that it acquired your liver, your brain cells, and possibly your eyes if you drank it. Still didn't stop some during the war from snagging a bottle and trying it. They sent out so many damn memos about not doing that with graphic pictures of inverted livers. Amazingly, there were very few PSAs about soldiers not taking up with any orc women.

On the left was the smell of produce rotting in an unforgiving sun, bleaching linen, and piquant herbs. She turned away from the market side of the post and headed right. If mechanics are to be anywhere, it's as close to the booze as possible. Not many orcs shuffled through the stands, the days pickings slim. A few started at the human wandering amongst their midst, but after catching sight of the scar down her cheek, returned to their browsing.

Despite lacking the height, weight, grey pallor, and impressive underbite Variel moved as if she was one of them. The scar could have been a curse, but it gave her access to things most unscrupulous humans dreamed of. It also itched like mad in high humidity.

Propped upon ramshackle buildings, a few signs rattled in the winds. The "Duke's Prolapsed Anus" seemed in poor shape, the ends dipping as it slapped against the fuselage siding. In the distance she caught sight of a table beneath a bright red canopy. Various metallic cylinders lay across it, with no rhyme or reason to the piles. Holding her PALM up, the Ruby Star disguised thanks to gloves she borrowed off Orn, it translated the sign as "Legitimate Space Parts."

Smiling, she closed her hand and walked towards the mark. The shopkeep bared those bottom fangs at her, a sort of orcish smile. Variel stepped around three men prodding at the merchandise with no intent to buy.

"Lads," the shopkeep said dismissively. Variel was surprised to find that despite her being only at best a foot taller and not much wider, the shopkeep was a woman. She was little bigger than those silly lads that slunk away, but the horns along her neck gave her away. Out of all the galaxy, orcs were probably the easiest to guess the gender of. Big, scary, neck horns - woman. Smaller, less scary, head horns - male. Dwarves, despite jokes to the contrary, could be judged based on facial hair. No one bothered with elves until they flat out told you.

"Hello," Variel said, "I'm looking for an MGC amplifier."

"Oh ho, now that's one I haven't heard in awhile. They're a bit less on the legal side of export than one would like."

Variel smiled, "So I've heard. Does that mean you don't have one?"

"We pride ourselves on having all the tech you need at Zols," most likely the one and only Zol said, thudding across her chest.

"Well, what I need is an MGC amplifier. If you don't have it then I'll need to look elsewhere," Variel said, beginning the time honored tradition of walking away.

"Now, now," Zol reached forward to catch Variel's retreating attention, "I can see by that scar you're an honorable woman. Proud and whatnot. Not someone to dither, right?"

Variel folded her arms, "You could say that."

"Perfect, I hate wasting time, too. So you say you need an MGC amphitheater."

"Do you have one or not?"

"I could, I could, not on me at this moment, but...You know the flower stand by the old rat fighting course?" Zol prodded. Variel sighed, not playing in the game. "Of course you do, everyone knows it. See, if you meet me there in one hours time I can supply you with one of them MGC thingies."

"I don't have an hour."

"Thirty minutes, no, twenty! I'm very fast when I need to be." Zol held out her fist, waiting for her to seal the deal.

Variel glanced at the offer and said, "It can't be larger than 5 centimeters."

"Of course, all the best ones are."

"And it has to be lepto."

"Not a problem; keep it all klepto."

Variel sighed, she didn't have a lot of options and the clock was ticking. Reaching out, she grabbed up to the woman's elbow and punched her in the side. It would have downed a human but the orc only smiled, the deal sealed. "Twenty minutes," Variel said, waving her finger.

"Right, right, twenty minutes. I'll get you the MGC analyzer!" and before Variel could correct her, she dashed out of her booth through a back door and ran deeper down the square.

"Well, I probably just screwed myself over for twenty minutes. Ferra'll go spare, as if that's a new state for her. Might as well find that flower stand," Variel muttered to herself. A small fear filled her that she'd never technically seen an orc care about anything scented that wasn't meat related. What passed as a flower for them?

As buds nipped at her finger, she got the answer. The orc flower on display was three feet tall, covered in inch long thorns, and hissed at people passing by. At first she didn't want to get too close, pretty certain the thing was poisonous/venomous/radioactive, but boredom beat out common sense. Like with everyone else, the flower hissed and wafted a burning flesh scent at her in rage with her approach. She picked up a small stick and cooed at the plant. It snapped at the stick, a dribble of acid burning a hole through the wood.

A clattering of feet slapping the ground pulled her away from her new friend and an orc stood before her. She'd call him harried if they had any hair. His tasteful sweater vest was askew, and he panted from what looked like terror. "Excuse me, um, if I may ask a question of you..."

Variel tipped her head, curious but noncommittal.

"Do you have a ship available?" he asked.

She tried to bury a smile at the asinine question, as if a human lived on the trading post or hitched with other orcs. "Yes?"

"Is there a possibility I could procure passage upon it?"

Her first thought was to react with a sharp no, they were in enough damn trouble already, but coin was something they always needed. The goblin's vacation time had to run out at some point. Slowly she nodded her head, "Yes?"

"And what do you typically charge for this?" He must not have much practice in negotiations; the males tended to leave that stuff up for the women who would literally punch the price down. Variel conjured up the closest to universal in orc currency, a fair deal given the Elation's current status.

The orc accepted her words, nodding his head and patted at the skin tight pants. His face rose from concern to panic while he spun around pawing at his body, seeming to chase an invisible tail.

Variel got a whiff of desperation and a small klaxon blared in her mind. "Well, if that'll be all..." she dragged the sentence out while slipping away from the orc. A few of the wandering customers could provide cover. It was easy to get lost in a sea of seven foot tall orcs.

"Wait!" the orc shouted, trying to reach for her right hand. She yanked it closer before he could make contact. "Your ship, is it, does it have a full compliment of crew?"

"We got someone to fix her when she's broke, and break her when she's fixed. I think we're all full up," she nodded her head, trying to cut off this conversation.

"What about a doctor?!"

Variel froze, giving the orc the opportunity he clearly needed. "Someone of your...Space can be quite dangerous; debris, and decompression, and ancient viruses springing to life causing you to devolve into a small rodent."

Those orange eyes pleaded with her, trying to hit at a weak point. Variel eyed him up, and said, "We don't have any orcs onboard that an orcish doctor could patch up," but it wasn't final. A question mark hung on the end. If he knew anything about humans and the removal of foreign objects...

"I've been trained in nearly all of the five races anatomy, basic first-aid for thirty of the in-organics, and I can keep a gnome alive long enough to ask where it hid the watch it just stole."

The orc gasped at the end of his speech, collapsing as if he passed the boards by the skin of his teeth. She didn't glance at the lump below her glove, but what if this was a medical problem? He could inject something into her and get that relic to pop right off. Maybe she could solve all their problems right now in one toss of the dice.

"Okay, trial run. You can have free room and board in exchange for your medical prowess. It works out and we'll talk stipend."

The orc didn't so much bow as grovel, his sweater in danger of dragging through the red mud. "Thank you, thank you. You have given me..." his accolades paused as those orange eyes glanced around nervously, "I, I have only one request."

"Let's hear it."

"I do not wish to ever set foot on any orc controlled world as long as I am under your service."

Variel shrugged, as if she gave a crap who went where. Only Orn needed to follow her most times and he could be bribed with the promise of sweets later. "Sounds like we have a deal. The ship's docked at the landing port, _Elation-Cru_ , can't miss it. There'll be a dwarf half coated in sugar pacing outside."

"I will find it," the orc said, bowing again. He gathered his small bag closer beside him with each dip and backed into the crowd.

"Hey! I'm Variel, by the way."

"Demi Monde," the orc said before dipping away and vanishing towards the parking hanger.

"Monde, eh? That's gonna be a fun one to explain to the others," Variel muttered under her breath. She reached back to return to petting her new friend which clicked and nuzzled her finger. Down the lane, a disturbance tossed a few orcs aside. Shoppers parted as if a prophet opened a people moving company. Variel folded her arms, anticipating what was about to occur.

"Be gone, shoo, I'm on an important job here!" followed the shopkeep bustling towards the lone human. She draped a shawl across her hat, either to disguise her from other shady dealers, or to combat the sun.

"You're late," Variel said. Late would have been ten minutes ago. If not for the doctor's appearance, Variel would have left already.

"So sorry for the delay, there were some problems with the merchandise."

"Its rightful owner didn't want to give it up?"

"No, no. That is a silly thought. You humans are very humorous at times," Zol waved her hands, jangling other "perfectly legal wares that fell off a truck" in her pockets.

"We're hilarious. Now, where is it?" Variel held out her hand.

The orc reached inside a small bag and said, "One MGC Artificer." Holding her claws away from delicate human flesh, Zol dropped a four and a half inch cylinder into Variel's hand.

"Holy shit," Variel exclaimed, holding the cylinder up. She wasn't an expert on this tech — or any tech — but it was an exact replica of the images Ferra beat into her head. It even had the engraved letters warning against ever using the thing. "This is an actual MGC amplifier."

"Yeah, that thing you said. All procured just for you," Zol's fingers swiped it away from Variel as the real dance began, "Now, about payment..."

"Is that a lepto? I have no use for it unless it's lepto," Variel said. She still wasn't sure what lepto meant or how it was important, but it was her remaining bargaining chip.

"Oh yeah, I checked three times," Zol said, then her eyes lit up. "It's why I was late. Checking on your merchandise."

Variel sighed, knowing when she was licked. "For that amplifier, I can give you seven hoverpads."

"I operate a shop not a repair store. What do I do with those?"

"You sell them," Variel said, holding out the unopened package. For a brief window she thought about breaking into the making your own grav-bike hobby and got as far as ordering five of the 265 necessary pieces.

Orc eyes danced across the crinkled package, unimpressed but not ready to give up yet. "What else do you have?"

Variel sighed and returned to her pockets, "Three plasma fuses, a carton of malt squares..." generously donated by Orn who realized he hated malt after eating half of the box.

Still Zol twisted her head. She must have thought the human dropping out of the sky would be the savior for a slow sale day. So she hustled out someone else's work. Realizing the outside world was just as boring as theirs must have been crushing some dreams.

She didn't want to have to do it, but Variel knew it was time to bring out the game changer. Dropping the pads and chocolate on the table beside the plant, she said, "To go along with all that generous offer, I'll also include one hard boiled chicken egg."

Zol gasped, her eyes widening at the porcelain shell before her. Humans tried to figure out what it was that drove orcs batty about eggs but couldn't get much further than "Now we have here this egg and OH MY GODS, STOP EATING THEM ALL!"

"It's a deal, I'll take it," Zol passed over the amplifier in one hand and cradled the egg like it held her own child inside. "And those moverpads and carton stuff too. You included it."

Variel chuckled, even not knowing what they were or wanting them, she wasn't about to turn down free stuff. Gathering up the Elation's junk, she dumped it all into Zol's arms. "Pleasure doing business with you," the captain said, bowing her head slightly.

"What?" Zol didn't glance up from the egg glistening with promise and sweat from her hands. "Yes, good day. Thank you." Her eyes still glued to the egg, Zol walked back towards her stand.

Variel picked up the amplifier and held it to her eyes. "I hope you work, we've only got another eleven eggs left to trade with."

CHAPTER SEVEN

"SO, THIS IS it," Variel said, waving her hands around the homey embarkation room. That was the fancy term for the cattle chute used to move passengers from outside the ship to inside. A few of the old lockers still rimmed the side, most emptied of their emergency suits long ago. The only remaining piece of hardware was a small computer screen set up in the middle of the room.

WEST blinked absently, the sound effects modulating in pitch and speed. It wanted attention but Variel wasn't in the mood. She batted away another "Have You Updated Me?" screen.

"It is very interesting," Monde answered, holding his meager bag tight.

She was a bit curious how far he expected to get with maybe three or four wardrobe changes in there, but didn't want to crack open that can of wyrms. "The med bay's this way," she took the lead out of the cramped room and into the adjacent hall.

A sigh of relief burst from the orc no longer contemplating a life on the run spent inside a small locker room with a human. "There are a few old rooms on the side but they're reserved for passengers," Variel said, "and about 75% are uninhabitable."

"I see."

She could practically see "beggars can't be choosers" flashing across his brain. Variel was about to explain the other amenities like complimentary breakfast (if you burnt the toast yourself), linen washing (if you trusted WEST to not shred them in one of its moods) and free entertainment (Orn coming off a blood sugar spike), when Ferra charged through the door to the kitchen. The engineer swiped sweat off her forehead and held her hand out.

"Well..."

"Well, what?" Variel asked.

"Yes or no."

Abandoning dreams of any accolades, Variel dropped the MGC amplifier into her engineer's waiting hands. Ferra slipped off the casing and held the now exposed red wiring to the light. "A 4 and lepto," she nodded her head, sliding back on the casing, "well done."

Variel shook off the patronizing tone, grateful the elf didn't pat her on the head. "How long will it take to install?"

"Fifteen minutes, another five to test it...And don't tell me I've got ten."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Variel said holding her hands up.

Finally, Ferra turned away from her prized tech and eyed up the orc towering a foot above her. "Who's this?"

"He's our new doctor," Variel said.

"Demi Monde," the doc stepped forward, offering his hand.

Ferra eyed him up, watching the hand. "He's an orc. That could be a problem."

"It could?" Monde asked, his voice skittering like a centaur on ice.

"Embargo and all. How about you don't admit I'm here and I'll pretend you're not here," Ferra said, summing up the complicated politics between elves and orcs in a sentence.

"That is acceptable?"

"Right," she turned back to her boss and said, "Twenty minutes, then wyrm pinch. Not earlier. FAT ASS!" Her voice carried through the empty galley and down the hall to the bridge.

Orn in turn shouted back, "What?!"

"Every damn time," Ferra shook her head before resuming the screaming match, "Get us off planet, now!"

As the two continued to shout orders at each other, Monde sidled up next to Variel and asked, "Do they not have some communication device?"

"Yup. My theory is they like yelling at each other."

"Oh. And, if I may be bold, are you not the captain of this vessel?"

She turned towards the orc, surprised at his ingenuity to sniff that out. "Yes, I am." Shouting at Ferra and Orn she interrupted their sparring match with a, "Carry on!" and pulled Monde through the galley. "This is the kitchen, we can show you some of the dining options later, though it's mostly space food."

He followed her, those double lidded eyes wide to take in every speck of information. Variel wanted to tell him there wouldn't be a quiz later, but it was nice to have someone listen to her unquestioningly for once in a very long time. She missed that power.

"Now, here," she waved her hand before a sensor and light flooded the room, "is the waiting room." Small tables were shoved to the sides and most had chairs tipped up onto them as if the last cleaning crew made a sweep and never returned. One chair sat alone, the only one not covered in dust. It leaned against the door at the end of the room, just the right height for someone of the four foot size to peer through the port hole window.

Variel pulled Monde in deeper, yanking the chair away and placing it to the side. A moldy magazine crumbled to dust when the chair shook its resting place. Monde tried to catch the mass of paper, but it was like rescuing a blizzard. The captain already moved on, shoving open the last door. She waved at the sensor by the door, but nothing happened.

Pumping her hand like a mad woman at a parade, Variel finally gave up and shouted, "WEST!"

"You require my assistance now, Owner 23?"

"Turn on the damn lights."

"With pleasure, Owner 23." One lone bulb flickered at the edge of the room, casting just enough light to illuminate a panel below it.

"Very funny, WEST. Now turn on the rest of them."

"I shall do as you command. Is now a good time to discuss updating my software?"

"Maybe later," Variel said getting a harrumph from the computer. But it did lift the lights.

Monde tried to control his features, but the captain heard the gurgle deep in his throat. The med bay was at best a sub-doctor's office. Ancient technology rimmed the black and slate green cabinets. Most were still covered in dust covers, while a few bits that should be attached rested in glass jars.

Carefully, Monde pulled open a drawer and jumped back as an entire box's worth of 200 ml pipette tubes rolled towards him. "This is...typical for human medicine?"

"Not really, I'm not sure what's all here," Variel said, yanking the covers off of the equipment that came with the ship.

"Centrifuge, microscope, micro-autoclave," Monde read to himself the things he could recognize. When he made that same gurgle in his chest, Variel suspected he either didn't know what it was or had no idea what it was doing in a med bay.

"An entire cabinet full of 50 mL beakers. All right, that's something."

"What do you think?" Variel asked, waving her hands around.

The orc poked at the centerpiece of the bay, his claws digging up some of the green felt, "What is this?"

"It used to be an old billiards table but took up too much space in a room we cleared out. Now it's the med lab table."

"Ah, very well..." Monde's voice dropped away as he prodded the table's pockets, tipping them up. One revealed the long lost cue ball. "This...I will need some time to adjust."

"Do whatever you need to get it working. Poke around the ship, we had to shift things around over time. I think I saw a box of syringes once. WEST might help you find shit. Stress on the might."

"I thank you for this opportunity, Captain."

She rose up, wanting to tell him to not call her that, but then she remembered the problem wandering the halls. It was best if everyone stuck to that until whatever Drake was was gone.

Monde glanced around the dusty and ancient lab, accepting defeat. Slowly, he lowered his bag to the pool/diagnostic table. "Oh, right," Variel stepped away from the orc, "forgot to tell you." With a flick of her wrist, she unhinged the lock between two cabinets and a false wall swung back revealing a hidden room.

"There's an office attached so you could stick a bed in here if you'd like."

The orc smiled at the space, a sigh of relief rumbling through his snubbed snout. "Merciful spirits," he muttered to himself.

"What, did you think I was going to make you sleep on the pool table?" Variel asked, cocking a hip.

"If not that, the bacteria laden floor."

She laughed at that, and he returned in kind, "It would have encouraged you to clean it more. How long will it take you to get this place up and running?"

"I have never organized such a space before," Monde admitted.

Variel wasn't much of a judge of orcs beyond how to take one down, but she sensed that this wasn't some aged doctor running from a not strictly legal practice. His skin, while grey and mottled, didn't have the grit most older orcs got. Nor were his eyes clouded from the film that builds over time. Though it was harder to tell age with males, they maintained a much stricter beauty regimen.

"Well, get it to something you feel comfortable with and we'll work on proper later."

"Oh," he nodded his head, his horns almost bouncing into what had once been the dining room's chandelier. "I can do that. Is there some reason for the rush? A medical emergency you require help with?"

Variel sighed and picked at the finger on her borrowed glove. Sliding it off, she revealed the ruby star glittering gold in the bay's yellow light, "Yeah, I need you to get this off me."

Drake stumbled in the hall outside the bridge. The dwarf made it very clear he wasn't welcome to eavesdrop on his very important conversation with the elf. By the fifth go around of "I'm not going to that thing. You can't convince me," he grew to suspect Orn was doing him a kindness.

But there wasn't much more to take up his time on the ship. So he sat outside, his back against the wall, listening to the news reports piping through an uncaring galaxy. After a heartwarming story about a lost gnoll that adopted a baby ogre and raised it as its own, they got back to the heart of the matter.

"Authorities are offering a reward for any information about the thief or thieves."

"Reward," Drake mumbled to himself, "great." The possibility of free coin would pull out every batshit hermit which could overwhelm the already stretched Corps struggling against some massive larval infestation. Or, and what had him chewing his remaining thumbnail, it could catch certain people's ears. Certain people who knew what he needed to do and where. Oless wasn't stupid, she'd keep it to herself. If she wanted money she'd have sent him after a cat vid transfer. No, for her it was all about that ruby thing still locked up tight to the captain's hand.

But Klack..."You had to go and tell him your job, didn't you?" Drake asked himself, shaking his head. If the dwarf got wind of even a few scraps of gold, he'd toss his own mother to the volcano. He needed that star as fast as possible. Maybe if he mentioned Klack to Oless she'd clear up that loose end. With strings, of course. You don't get to that level without knowing when to screw in the tacks.

The bridge door rolled back and Ferra stampeded over his legs. He tried to pull them back, but she'd already moved on, not bothering to apologize. "Thank you very much," he shouted to the retreating elf.

He rose and inched into the bridge. The dwarf was locked tight in his chair, swiveling around the controls.

"What's the word?" Drake asked.

"Captain's back..." Orn turned and locked eyes with the human, "And that's all I'm supposed to say."

Drake snorted, "Fine, I wouldn't want to come between you and your _Captain._ "

"Ain't her ya gotta look out for," Orn said, but swiveled away without elaborating.

Washing his hands of the situation, Drake stepped out of the bridge, stretching his back.

"Hey, Broken Tailpipe!"

"That's not my...What?"

Orn's voice singsonged, "You ever met a djinn before?"

"What's a..." Drake's voice drained as a lava elemental stepped out of the shadows. Its head skimmed the ceiling, the rocky skin dark as obsidian glass. Cracks etched along the beast revealed a red fire burning deep within the monster. It had no mouth or nose, but two holes sat where eyes would, the flames burning bright.

"Hello..." Drake said stepping back. The lava monster tipped those fire eyes down at him, but said nothing. Its fist, as large as Drake's head, reached down and scooted the human aside. He stumbled from the force that would knock down mountains.

"Oh Gene, good. Cap's back and Fer says she'll need help," Orn swiveled back to face the fire golem, greeting him like a colleague. "Can you handle that?"

Steam puckered around the monster's face, bursting in three blasts.

"I guess that's a yes. You know where she'll be," Orn waved his hands and turned back around. The golem dipped that massive head and turned back. This time Drake flattened against the wall, giving it a massive berth. Each footstep caused the grating to rattle and Drake reached up to a beam to steady himself. Halfway down the hall, the golem turned back and the fire eyes glared into Drake's soul. He gulped at the presence and tried to hide a tremor. But the lava monster only resumed its march to find the elf.

Blood rushed to Drake's wobbling legs and he clattered to the floor, "What in the hells was that?"

"You just met our onboard djinn."

"It looked like a demon..."

"I wouldn't go saying that to his face if I were you. His eye holes? His fog? Whatever," Orn spun his chair haphazardly, waiting for something more exciting to happen.

"His fog?"

The beady dwarven eyes glared up at him. "For being some roguish archeologist you don't seem to know shit."

"I haven't memorized every species in the galaxy," Drake sputtered back.

"If you limit it to the ones that can talk, it gets easier. I have a little song I sing. B is for Banshee, shrieking harridan..."

"Please stop," Drake tried to interrupt the dwarf's singing, but it was the elf that silenced him.

"Fat ass!" echoed down the hall so sharply Drake covered his ears. Orn responded in kind and a new argument broke out. The human tried to shrink away from it all, but he found himself caught as the pair debated the best way to get off planet. Apparently blasting a hole to the center and back out was not advisable. Nor was skipping all the atmo checks, latching onto the back of a cruiser, and using the momentum to swing them into space.

Even as Orn bickered with Ferra, his fingers flipped through the controls retracting the landing gear and prepping the ship. Drake peered over and remarked, "Not bad."

"Do you want to critique my wiping skills next?"

"Front to back," Drake said without missing a beat.

"Front to..." the dwarf grumbled before leaning forward on the stick. The still nameless ship shuddered and tipped to the side but got airborne. Zipping through the open hanger, the smell of burnt jam filled the air as the inertia dampeners kicked in. Drake barely felt the g-forces as the ship climbed through grey skies and pale clouds into the darkening depths of space proper.

The final pluck of the planet released her hold and the ship shot forward, the jam smell switching to a broken gas line. Drake lunged forward from centrifugal forces kicking him in the ass. "Dampener must be cracking," Orn calmly said then glanced down at the man toppled across the deck. "You still alive?"

"Yes..."

The dwarf ignored his response, already working the control board with less grace than expected. Drake shook his head and rose back to his feet. His fingers prodded another fresh bruise under his eye. Great, after this trip he was going to need a few days in a skin repair mask just to get back to passable. Maybe he should recommend a month's worth to the captain.

"Orn?"

Drake jumped as that woman's voice echoed around him. He glanced back terrified that she could pluck the thoughts from his skull, but the dwarf flipped the comm and asked, "What?"

"We're in orbit."

"Ah duh, it was better than putting it underground."

Drake could hear her eye roll across the line. "Bravo. Prep for a pinch hop once Ferra's done."

"Ah, a pinch hop? I hate those."

"I'm not paying you to do things you like," she said.

Orn leaned close to Drake and whispered in an aside, "That's why we call her captain and not madam."

"What did you say?" she tried to clarify.

"Nothing! Pinch hop, got it. Any place in particular or..."

"The usual."

"I knew you'd say that," he waved off the comm line without waiting for a dismissal and brought up the nav screen himself. Pinching off three close sectors of the galaxy, he put in the request and spun back to Drake.

"Well, ruggedly boring archeologist, you ever been in a pinch hop before?"

Drake shook his head. He could handle putting in the request, getting through wyrm space, and orbit parking. Anything more complicated than that was either handled by a computer or a driving golem. Not that he'd admit it if the captain was in the room.

Orn folded his fingers, getting a grinding metal sound followed by the pop and smiled, "Yer in for a treat. Fer?"

"What?" she shouted over the comm.

"My loving wife. How's the MGC whoozit?"

"Installed."

"Already? I thought you said a half hour."

She snorted over the line, "I always lie on install times. I'm an engineer. Fire her up and let's see if this works. Should be good for three maybe four pinches if you keep them short."

"Was planning on it," Orn said and saluted to the empty space before closing off the comm. "Not to scare you or nothing, but you might want to hold on to something."

Drake glanced around the sparse bridge. Aside from the acrylic console, the single pilot chair, and the walls, it was bare. "There's nothing to grab."

"Well, hold onto yourself then," Orn answered and activated the buckles across his chair. Flipping back around, he lifted the MGC from its slumber to envelop the ship for a pinch. Drake clicked his tongue to banish the burnt metal taste and paused. Pulling a hand from the tight clasp across his chest, he watched sparks dance in the air.

The pilot seemed to sense them too as he flexed his gloved fingers glowing a haunting orange, "That's new."

"Is this safe?" Drake asked, glancing around. Maybe he should have asked that question before they set down on a orc world and snapped one of their barbaric pieces of tech into the engines.

"One way to find out," Orn said. He waved his arm around and pointed to space as the wyrm sliced open. Holding tight to the controls, he drove the ship onward. Golden light coated every surface now, the glare rising as they slipped into the wyrm. Reds and blues of the pinch, normally hovering so close to striking distance, seemed to keep back as if afraid of the ship.

Drake leaned over to stare out the windows. He'd worked through plenty of wyrms in his life, most of them with his eyes focused solely on the flashing control board. This one felt sharper than usual, the shifting clouds of the energy and color cracking in outline. "Have you ever seen it look like that?" he asked the dwarf, but Orn had both his hands splayed across the control manipulating the tiniest of buttons.

"What? Yeah, sure. It's fine. Here come's pinch two," he shouted, and twisted the stick to the right. The ship banked and a new crack formed in the wyrm, but not to the black of regular space.

"Hold your bottom!" Orn warned. The ship sailed smoothly until the nose bumped into this second space. An energy wave kicked it to the side, catching Drake off guard. He reached to steady himself and bounced back at another kick from the left. This second pinch wasn't the swoops and swirls of red and blue but jagged edges done in greens and yellows. These energy blasts, or whatever they were, struck violently into each other, collapsing into white something that burned to stare at.

"Is this normal?" Drake asked.

"Shit no," Orn said, "it's second level. Three more seconds." A massive green wave struck the port side of the ship, kicking her up. Drake's fingers dug onto the panel as his feet slid.

"One second!" Orn shouted, "Here comes the third," and he pivoted the ship so it crested along a green energy wave. Drake scrabbled to keep upright, all of his body weight depending upon the kindness of his biceps. He turned to the window and watched a third pinch unfurl.

At first hope filled him as blackness erupted, but then he saw the whirl of silver and purple winding around in the ether. "Oh shit," was all he managed before the ship broke through this third and final heart of wyrm space.

The concussions shook his meager grip and Drake flew towards Orn's chair, but the pilot turned into the skid just in time. Unfortunately, Drake's body couldn't compensate as quickly, and his knees smashed into the floor. Tremors rattled up his bones and into his brain. He tried to grab onto his head to stop his teeth from breaking free.

"When...does...this...end?" he cried to the dwarf.

Orn grunted, controls shaking out of his hands. He grabbed back onto the stick twice, overcompensating and almost sending the ship into a spin. "Almost...there," he said, veins throbbing in his forehead.

Drake rose from his crouch to watch the silver and purple flashes bang together and shatter across this hell space. He swore he'd never complain about regular old wyrm space again. Energy bolts smashed into the ship, tipping it every way imaginable.

"AAAHHH!!!" Orn screamed, the stick rattling in his hands, as he shoved it towards the rising curtain. Green and yellow lanced across the hull, then red and blue, and as terrifyingly as it began, the ship tumbled into regular space and the shaking stopped.

Drake fell back onto his ass, his eyes agape to make certain that was just black and stars out there. Slowly, he turned to the dwarf to find only his left hand shaking. The right was somehow stationary.

"That was..." Drake began when the comm line buzzed.

Without taking his eyes off the panel Orn flipped it open. The captain's voice cut over, "We out of the pinch hop?"

"Yes," Orn said, swallowing.

"Good job. I barely felt it."

The men turned to each other swearing an unspoken pact to never mention how close they came to soiling themselves. They also both added another tick to the "why the captain is fucking scary" list.

"When you're done up there, I need you to get down to the med bay."

"Why? Wait, since when do we have a med bay?"

"There's someone you need to meet. Va-Captain out."

CHAPTER EIGHT

WIRES LASHED OUT of the ceiling, electricity sparking for the nearest head. Before lancing across an exposed scalp, a leathered hand grabbed them to wrangle back.

"Ferra, do you have to do this now?" Variel asked, her hand submerged in a bowl.

The engineer arched an eyebrow and stepped higher on the ladder. She stuffed the bundled wire back in with its brethren and unrolled a wad of electrical tape. "If you want power here, yeah? If you don't, I've got a book waiting for me."

"Fine, do your job," Variel grumbled before turning to the orc. "How much longer do I have to sit in this goop?"

Monde threw an old cruise uniform overtop his sweater vest, already marking "lab coat" down on the expanding list of necessary supplies. They found a marked box of latex gloves, but upon opening them discovered it dissolved into one massive lump of latex. It looked like a rat king — that glob of rats snagged together by their tails — but formed from hands. A hand king. Variel stuffed it down the recycler while Monde sanitized his palms for a few minutes.

He slipped on an old pair of kitchen scrubbing gloves, the fingertips chewed away from technically legal chemicals, and prodded Variel's submerged hand. "Honest truth, I am uncertain how long this will take. Until it falls off."

"Or my hand shrinks and can't support this damn thing anymore," she grumbled a knot building on her shoulders from stooping over the counter.

"I say we try the microwave idea," Orn shouted from his perch upon the pool table. He surrounded himself with boxes of recovered med supplies. Supposed to be tasked with sorting needle sizes, the dwarf found more fun in prodding his captain.

Variel sighed, "What microwave idea?"

"Take your hand, put it in the microwave, and hit start. That'll melt something."

"Like my hand. How would we even close the door?"

Orn shrugged, then made a fist and punched the air. Variel rolled her eyes, "You want me to destroy our only microwave."

"Oh, good point. Sorry hon!" he called to his wife, the lone lover of frozen food wraps reheated in the filth encrusted appliance. Ferra couldn't be bothered to properly clean the thing, but she got it running so efficiently sometimes Variel was tempted to take it along on bad missions as a backup weapon. "Evil ones, taste the wrath of my 11 power Nukedom now with glass turntable!"

Ferra grumbled, her blonde head poking out of the ceiling where she installed the stolen shuttle bay light. The old chandelier rested on the floor, its last remaining bulb shattered by the sulking human. He hadn't said anything after meeting Monde, only grumbled and sodded off to the corner. For the first time, Variel was ecstatic in picking up the orc. If he got this damn relic off her she might propose marriage.

"Try removing your hand now," Monde said, gesturing to Variel.

She picked it up, the viscous goo flopping back into the mixing bowl. "Here goes nothing," she said, latching her dry fingers onto the sides and pulling. "Gods damn it!" She tried to slip her fingernails under but there was no breaking the seal. In a rage, she clawed at her own flesh underneath, trying to pick it like a scab. The goo dribbled into her superfluous cut and burned as alcohol mixed with abrasion.

"I was certain the alcohol would dehydrate your hand and the gel mute the electrical impulses we detected."

"All it did was make my hand smell like a bar toilet."

Monde sighed, his fingers lightly turning over her hand. Unlike orc women, he kept his claws filed so far down they could almost pass for human nails. "It is possible there is a deeper connection beyond the superficial."

"You mean it's in love with our captain?" Orn asked.

"I..."

"Ignore him," Variel said, getting a stuck out tongue from her pilot. She returned the favor.

"I mean to suggest there could be something it is injecting into your body to maintain the connection."

His words sunk in and Variel glared at the glistening ruby star. She tried to keep calm, to maintain that necessary air of command, but her body being compromised was not something she prepared for. An alien, gods-only-knew-what perched upon her hand and they had no idea what it was or what it could/would do. She wouldn't think of a bomb, dribbling the catalyst into her blood.

"Bit of advice, doc," Orn said, inching closer, "'ancient relic is maybe injecting something into your body' is not one of those things you flat out tell the patient."

"Ah, yes, I'm sorry," he said, dancing back and forth on his med-clogs.

Variel shook the doom, banishing the terror to the back of her mind, "Can't you run a scanner over it, see if my body's growing a monster, or a bomb, or something?"

"You think it's making baby face eaters in there?" Orn said, pointing at her stomach in terror.

"How the shit should I know? I'm plucking at anything. How about it, Doc?"

Monde laughed at that, "A full three dimensional body scan with what? This broken pipetter? A wad of brittle cotton? Perhaps if I slap enough pink plastic bandages across it, they'll tell me what rests inside."

"Wow," Orn cut in, "I had no idea orcs knew sarcasm. I like the new guy."

Variel was less impressed. "Fine, what would you need to do that?"

"A level three med lab with real time MRI and perhaps access to a molecular kit," he answered truthfully.

"And we have..."

"This!" Orn shouted, holding up a 10 gauge needle, the silver tip as long as his hand.

"What the hell is that used for?!" Variel shouted, waving at the monstrous thing.

"Deep muscle injections of the...something with trolls," Monde amended at her look of horror. "I could take a blood sample, see if I spot abnormalities in it with the..." the orc sighed as he gestured to the microscope, "that."

Variel nodded, still eyeing up the gigantic troll needle. "That makes sense."

"Mr. Lidoffad, pass me a needle. Not the large one! A 25 gauge. On second thought, I'll get it myself." Monde shoved aside Orn's insistence that he take the monstrous prick and dug into the box.

Out of the corner of her eye, Variel caught a look from Drake. The broody whinging switched to cocky douchebag as he stared from her to the needle and back. She growled at his obvious implications. Sure, you're such a tough guy now. We'll see if your tone changes when an orc comes barreling down upon you while wielding one.

Monde returned, a much smaller but still pokey needle in his fingers. He unlaced a ligature from a pile draped around his neck and tightened it around Variel's bicep. "Make a fist, please," he said dropping down.

She caught Drake's smirk and dug in so deep her knuckles turned white.

"Excellent, I believe I see a vein."

"You believe you do?" she asked, trying to not jump out of her skin.

"Human ones are nimble, ah," he dabbed at her skin with more of that sanitizing goop.

"Monde, have you ever drawn blood from a human before?"

"Of course," he said, and yanked the needle's cap out in his teeth. Through the obstruction he added, "in simulations."

Before Variel could respond he drove the needle in, her blood quickly filling the glass tube. She squirmed from the metal biting into her skin, but didn't blanch at the blood. If there was one thing in her life she was used to, it was that.

Monde removed the needle and placed his thumb over the hole. "Excellent work, Captain."

She clapped her hand overtop his, letting him remove her sample from the needle. "Are you going to give me a lolly pop now?" she asked sarcastically.

The orc brows furrowed as he said, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Orn jumped off the table and skipped towards her, "I do." He passed over a small lime one, the round stick snapped at the bottom. "For being such a good girl and not crying."

Variel glared at him and batted his hand away. Orn shrugged and unwrapped the sucker, shoving it in his mouth. His face puckered as he learned why most people didn't eat lolly pops that were a good century old.

"How long until you know anything?" Variel asked.

Monde scoffed, "It is highly unlikely I will learn much from this. All I have at my disposal are a few stains I can make from some common items, and a primary school level microscope. I can probably tell if you are not a vegetable though."

"Oh, that's good. I've always suspected the Captain was part potato myself."

"Then what was the point?" Variel waved her arms, forgetting she was supposed to cut off the blood flow. It dribbled off her elbow drawing the eyes of the non-medical men in the room and causing them to blanch.

"To build up an index. I will take another sample in say five hours, then another and compare them. If it is injecting something into your system it might show up over time."

"Great, great, so we have to wait a few days to maybe learn that this could be doing a thing to me that might not even get it off in the first place."

Monde shrugged, uncertain what he could offer. Checking the seal on her blood, he weighed out a balance and slipped both into a centrifuge. "Have you had anyone translate the writing upon the relic?"

"Writing, what writing?" Variel yanked her hand to her face and tipped the metal star around.

"No, here," Monde pulled her hand away and shined a torchlight onto the ruby. Text appeared at the back of the bleached stone, but it was all gibberish.

"Orn, try to hold your PALM on this," she said, gesturing the dwarf closer. They tried every algorithm and option, even a few of the made up languages teens stuck in for shits and giggles, but nothing recognized the letters visible only with flame or a good lightbulb.

"Do you know what planet this was first discovered on?" Monde asked.

"No...yes. Yes, it was in that stub listing," Variel scanned through her own PALM digging up the Ruby Star listing. "Ates, it's from the planet called Ates. Orn," she nodded at her pilot, "you know what to do."

"Aye aye, Ma'am," he saluted, sticking the offending sucker to his forehead. Variel tried to say something but he already ran out of the door.

She flexed her elbow, letting the clump of cotton fall. No blood trickled across her skin. Licking her fingers, she rubbed the dried blood off and nodded at Monde, "You did good."

The orc smiled, his body sagging in relief. She wasn't planning on throwing him off the ship if he failed to get the damn thing off. Probably. Okay, maybe if he came after her with that huge needle.

Variel caught the glare of Drake and she grabbed onto his arm. He turned away from Monde, sorting his needles to question her contact. "Come with me," she said, holding him so tight he had no choice, "we have to talk."

Drake kicked his shoe into a lobotomized pinball machine. Its innards were long picked clean, but the chassis lay across the floor. The only bit of furniture in the room was a treadmill. He wasn't certain if that made this the gym or game room. Depended on the type of person using it. His meal ticket shut the door and crossed her arms under that impressive pair she kept chained back.

"Well..." she asked.

"Well, what?" Drake growled, kicking into the pinball machine a few more times. It took the abuse amicably, just happy to be a part of someone's life.

"You're moping like an exhausted toddler, or Orn after a sugar fast."

"Oh, so you did notice. I thought you were too busy being all bestest friends with the enemy."

"Enemy?" her eyebrow's dipped in with confusion, "You mean Orn?"

"For...the war wasn't that long ago!"

A sneer lifted that scar across her cheek, "Oh, this is about the Doctor."

Drake shook his head at her acting as if he was the one overreacting, "We were blowing up their kind like three years ago."

"Four," she corrected.

"Maybe you were too busy mercing and smuggling in the reaches, but those Horns slaughtered our people by the thousands."

A rage flashed across her face but it washed away as she snorted, "And 'our people' were killing 'em all right back."

"They're barbarians, I know them better than you ever could," he shouted, kicking harder into the pinball machine. Each emphasis ricochetted as his foot crunched deeper into the flimsy metal.

"Really? You can prove that."

"Yeah, I can. You haven't seen what they're capable of. The depths of depravity orcs reach. And not just in war."

"Oh?" she seemed amused by all this, as if he was a blue-hair who read one too many war reports and in a medicated fog, dreamed herself in the middle of it all. Cluck cluck, it was so terrible the way those orcish troops swooped across the ring theater. But we sure got them with our big ol' wyvern ships.

Drake stepped away from the battered pinball machine closer to her. She didn't shy away, but her hands slackened in case she suddenly had to grab and throw him around some more. But he only glared into her eyes and hissed, "I was from Valin."

"Ah," her eyes momentarily danced away the same way everyone's did when they pressed him for his birth planet.

"You know about it, then?"

"In a way."

"Then you know what the orcs did to that colony, how they vaporized children and women. That they pulled people from their homes and executed them in the streets. Civilians, normal colonizers just trying to get to church." Spittle dotted Drake's mouth by the end of his spiel and he wiped it away. Exhaustion clambered up his legs and into his chest, weighing across his heart. He sagged, his shoulders falling as he stumbled away from her.

But she didn't blush, didn't stammer or try to change the subject. Instead she twisted that head, her eyes as cold as an elf's. "You can't know that."

"I was from Valin, born and raised."

"And you're still alive," her voice was infuriatingly calm, "which means you weren't there when the attack occurred."

Drake scoffed, throwing his arms wide, "Yeah, shame on that, would have saved you a lot of trouble if your orc friend out there had killed me dead, eh?"

"He wouldn't because men don't fight in their army."

"Are you the fucking Speciespedia now?"

Her eyes narrowed as she eyed him up, "My choices in who I hire to serve my ship have no affect on your life. Keep it to yourself."

"If he slits all our throats in the night it sure as shit does."

Her eyes glanced to the ceiling and she held up a finger. The pulsing light of the ruby illuminated it from below, "If you're from Valin how are you not in the Bear's service?"

_Ah, shit._ Drake rubbed his hands, realized his lying tell, and threw them apart. He had to find the one space rat with an interest in military history.

"Because," she continued, "I remember all the dependents and survivors were pulled into the Lord's court. A bit of grandstanding on her part, but she always loved a good show."

"None of your damn business," Drake insisted. "And who would want to return to Arda? It's just politics and worrying about pissing in the wrong urinal, eating the wrong grape, starting a war."

"Oh, I get it. You use Valin to get what you want. Pass off a sob story, get someone to take pity, then rob them when their back's turned." The smug face curled her scar up so it looked like a jagged C circling her nose.

Drake glared at her insinuation, "That was my home. I spent almost six years of my life on that colony. My family was scattered from that attack! Fine, so I didn't legally have a claim to a crest. You caught me. Want to yank me around the ship some more? Maybe parade my ass about to show how tough you are."

He sagged down, his ass skimming near the hole in the pinball machine. Dropping his head into his hands he muttered, "I still lost friends, acquaintances, my grammar school was incinerated because it wasn't worth preserving. They said it stank of burning flesh until the end."

"And now you judge all orcs for a war in which humans did much the same."

Drake's hands dropped away and he stared at her in shock, "Who's side are you on?"

"Mine," she admitted, "and the one that keeps my ship and crew in one piece."

"Well, aren't you a loyal one," he muttered to himself.

She snorted at that. "I don't care what tragedy and travesty you need to convince yourself your life isn't your own fucking fault. You can even dream up being the lost son of a queen. But it doesn't infect my crew. Leave Monde alone or you'll answer to a lot more than the Dwarven Transit Taskforce."

Drake couldn't miss the neon threat. She had the numbers, she had the ship, and she had whatever that Gene was. He nodded his head, falling into line. Not like he was going to actually attack an orc. He wasn't suicidal. "Fine, let's get to this planet and get this over with, so I can get off this damn ship."

"Good," Variel said. She waved her hand unlocking the door.

"So...Captain. You sussed out that I spent the war hiding in unaffiliated territory, but where were you?"

She paused in the doorway, the ruby star leaning into the frame as she said, "I was cleaning up the bodies on Valin."

Clouds crackled across the pockmarked land. None quite to the storming stage, but certainly upset and one cross look or order to do the dishes would send them stomping up the stairs and slamming a door. A pea green color swirled around the cloud's edges, probably not alien to the world but unsettling to those who hadn't grown up here; which was everyone.

Variel checked the glove across the relic. Heat wafted from the gemstone, or what looked like a gem. She doubted it was actually a ruby, unless the efrete invented magical gemstones before trying that technology thing. The smell of hot tar permeated the landing strip. No ships rolled on it save for a small shuttle hidden below a dustcover and four carts.

Orn kept pointing at one insisting they were complimentary for visiting the planet. Variel rolled her eyes at him and said, "We're not going to hot wire one. Walking's fine."

"Says the human with the long legs. At least it's a decent temperature here," the dwarf muttered, yanking off his sweater and knotting it around his waist. He was only in an undertunic now, so worn she could see the hint of chest hair prodding up through the logo for the band M/G/C.

"Very dignified Orn, they're sure to let us in now," she said.

"Gods," Drake complained a few steps behind, "it's like climbing up someone's ass crack." He wiped across his brow, and glared at the other human.

Variel shrugged. It felt fine to her; not too cold, not too hot, just normal. Only the goblins seemed ecstatic at the task before them. She tried to convince them that this was a minor stop and not a planet worthy of sightseeing. Then one of them called up an atlas and flipped through the listing on Ates. Their eyes widened so much, she covered her ears in preparation for squealing. But the goblins maintained their composure until the Elation set down.

"This place is so rustic," Koysi said, his blue skin hidden under a shawl to protect it from drying out.

"Smells a bit like home," Albanus responded to his husband. The heat energized his desert skin until it glowed like an underwear model fresh out of the greasing chair.

"Is that the pillar of tempus?" Koysi asked, pointing at a rock that looked just like every other rock. His black eyes turned towards Variel and she shook her head, as if she knew anything about this place beyond it maybe having a way to get the ruby star out of her life.

The skin on her neck crawled and she felt the curious stare of Albanus as well, "I'm uncertain. Most likely the real relics will be past the dig site."

"Ah, that makes sense," Koysi nodded to her logic. She sighed, glad he bought her bullshit.

A makeshift arch stood across what must have been the entrance to the dig site back when anyone cared to stop by and visit the sands of the efrete. One lone dwarf sat on a stool. He couldn't be much out of puberty, his face still soft and features narrow.

"Think there's a fee to get in and see all the exciting sand?" Orn asked gesturing at the kid.

"I hope not," Variel said. She didn't want to leave anymore of a record of their visit than necessary.

The traveling tour group approached the arch and stopped despite there being no barrier. Still absorbed in his lunch, the dwarf didn't glance up. Variel shifted on her feet and tried to cough.

Sighing, the dwarf looked up from a burnt sandwich and asked, "Wha?"

"What is the price of admission, my fair man?" Albanus asked, already poking at his PALM.

"Price? Shit, no one's done that in ages," for good measure he kicked his boot into the boarded up ticket window. Too late the sheen of greed dawned and he almost fell off his stool, "No wait, I mean you gots to pay..."

Variel cut him off, "Thank you for your assistance. We'll enjoy the park." She hustled the goblins in and slapped Orn's hand away from stealing the kid's pickle.

A few tents leaned in the dancing winds, real archeologists camped outside them trying to revive old nutrient packs into something edible. Deep ravines ran along the campsite, ladders visible on the far sides, but no one seemed to be climbing in or out of them. The cracks looked like her scar, non-uniform but with a purpose, a jagged edge designed to invoke something.

"I'm starting to think the tarmac was the real show," Orn said.

As she gazed around the vista a deep sense of dread thudded into her stomach. "There's nothing here."

"There's a shit ton of sun and heat," Drake moaned.

She turned to glare at him but saw the growing signs of the sun's blush across his fair face. They hadn't anticipated this high of a UV radiation problem. The dwarven beacons didn't mention anything, not that dwarves had a problem with heat, and whatever company was financing this expedition probably supplied them with a gallon drum of sunscreen and looked the other way.

"We should get you inside," Variel said, reaching out in case Drake suddenly fainted.

He waved a hand at her inexplicably caring and glared at her non-perspiring face, "Why aren't you a ball of sweat? This is unbearable."

She shrugged, "I was never a big sweater."

"Come on Cap, you're super fuzzy. You'd make a great big sweater."

Variel rolled her eyes at Orn but didn't rise to the bait. Even he was waving his hands at his face, trying to kick up a better breeze than the green tinged one. "I think I see a building in the distance."

"It's probably more chunks of rock poking out of the sand," Drake whined.

"Would you prefer we stay here and you sweat to death?"

"I would," Orn said raising his hand. "Unless I have to sweat to death to, then never mind."

Their destination decided, Variel turned towards the goblins but found them missing. "Where did they—" Looking up, she caught the pair in their grey robes vanishing towards one of the wary archeologists. Cupping her hand over her mouth, Variel shouted, "Don't be too long!"

"Does anything get to those two?" Orn asked following her line of sight. "I'm serious, I think we could load them into a torpedo tube and shoot 'em at a Dragon and they'd come out all smiles and sunshine."

"Come on," Variel said, waving them onward, "no time like the present."

The rocks from a distance appeared smoother and whiter as they grew close. A few had designs etched deep enough the sand couldn't wear them away. Impossible to make out, Variel still snapped a picture of two incase it could help later. She was willing to eat some of the damn dirt swirling around the possible monuments if it'd get this thing off her.

Orn's stomach grumbled from below his pitted out tunic and he complained about her not letting him swipe the pickle. A gnawing voice asked from the back of her head why she wasn't hungry. She hadn't had a scrap of food since...shit, since the night before. They'd dropped enough wyrm pinches to drive even the staunchest vegan to chew through a cow. But the idea of scrounging up food or water only got a shrug from her body. "You can if you want, but we're pretty good over here."

She glanced down at her hand and was grateful for the gloves hiding the disconcerting pulse of light. Whatever that thing was, however it worked, she didn't care. It needed to be off her and now.

"Hey!" Orn shouted, his voice wavering in the heat, "I think that ruin's got itself a roof. That's good."

The lone building in a sea of ruins waded across the sand waves looking like a bowl dropped into cracker crumbs. Pillars marked the four corners, probably symbolic of something about life, or directions, or whatever the archeologists took a stab at for more grant money.

Increasing speed, the small group trudged towards the building. "I'm surprised your wife isn't here," Drake said to Orn.

"It's a big pile of dead rocks. If it doesn't plug in, light up, or kill you dead, she doesn't give a shit."

"Ah..." the interloper lapsed back into silence.

The group stumbled to a slow walk as they passed under the stone awning. Orn and Drake sighed in relief, the latter dipping his hands into a still running fount and splashing it across his flushed face. Variel glanced around the small alcove and caught the flash of eyes hidden below a drawn hood.

"Knock it off," she mumbled towards Drake.

"Do what?" he asked, rubbing more of the water into his face and wringing out his short hair.

"That's probably some holy fountain you're desecrating," she said, grabbing onto his hand and yanking it away.

"Welcome!" the voice crackled like logs on a fire, each vowel splitting in half. They all turned to the speaking robe. There was probably something organic inside it, but with the cowl drawn, the collar cinched high, and the drooping sleeves covering the arms, it was impossible to tell. Despite seeming to be animated cotton, the seven foot height still impressed.

Drake slid his hand away from Variel and tried to indiscreetly wipe all the water off his face.

"Please, partake of the refreshening if you require it," their guest said, gesturing to the fountain.

"So it's not some holy tears of your gods then?" Drake asked.

The cowl shook and chuckled, "No, it is not."

Drake smirked at Variel and dipped his hands into the water, splashing both his face and her's. He was too busy playing in the water to notice whatever drops splashed her sizzled the second they hit skin.

"Have you come to make homage?" the cowl asked.

Variel shook her head, "Not exactly..."

"I am Marwan, Cousin Marwan," the cowl dipped lower, hiding that hint of a chin shadow.

"We, that is, I, have a problem."

"You have come to cleanse your soul?"

Orn snorted, "That's gonna take an ocean planet," earning him a small kick from Variel.

"No, it's more an academic question. I was hoping someone here was knowledgable in old efrete relics."

"Ah," Marwan parted his arms, the hands buried inside the sleeves. "Of course, you are with the excavation crews."

"Do I look like the scientisty type?" Orn asked, getting another small kick.

Variel smiled, "Yes we are. And we found a piece that is confusing us. Is there anyone here that knows how to read old efrete?"

The cowl twisted at her vague stab at what they'd have called the language but it still divulged, "You will wish to speak with Saqib. He devotes his life to the old ways."

"That sounds good. Where would we find this Saqib?"

"He is within the sanctuary," Marwan said gesturing through a set of heaving doors. She reached for the handle, when his hands flew up, "Hold a moment! You cannot enter without proper sacrament."

"Oh boy, here it comes," Drake muttered. "Now they get us to shave our head, promise them 10% of our earnings, and eat some hallucinogenic plant."

"None of that is required," Marwan said. He turned away from them and reached into a plastic tote box. "We only ask you protect yourself with these," and lifted up a pile of cotton.

Variel picked up the top one and unfurled a white robe, the hemline skimming the ground. She glanced back at the others and gestured to the monk's hands. If they wanted help they had to play the games. There was no opening down the front or back, so she bunched up the bottom and slipped it all over her head. The cowl thudded across her head, the edge dipping almost to her mouth. She tried to pull up the scarf but it bowed down, designed for something much wider and taller.

Reaching into her pocket, she yanked out a bobby pin and cinched up the back of the scarf. It puckered, exposing her nose and top lip, but it was probably enough for a quick meet and translate. Yanking the drooping cowl back, she turned to find Orn easily slipping on his much smaller robes. He tugged at the scarf, unhappy to have his fat gob covered.

When she spotted Drake she tried to smother a laugh but failed. The robe's hem cut off around his knees and the sleeves ended at his elbow. His biceps bulged from the constricting material as he reached over to stretch the seam digging into an armpit. A small ripping sound reverberated through the hall and he froze, glancing at the giant hopefully peaceful monk.

"I'm afraid most of the sacraments are designed for a Dwarven stature. We only have the one long enough for a...goblin?"

"Human," Variel said. She reached over and grabbed Drake's hand, pulling it away before he did more damage, "And it will be fine."

"I can't breathe," Drake mumbled, fighting with the tight scarf.

"He'll be fine. Now about this Saqib..."

"Of course," Marwan dipped the cowl again and threw open the doors."

Fire rimmed the sanctuary, and not a small controlled one. This flame burned high into the air, nipping at walls still pristinely white. Flat white rocks piled in varying heights surrounded the middle of the sanctuary, possibly as chairs or for an elaborate game of lava floor. But the altar seemed very familiar for a church.

The biggest and shiniest of the rocks, it stretched almost fifteen feet long. Small plants and a pile of twigs decorated the top along with a massive bowl of water. Designs like the ones on the pillars were etched and painted into the altar. The etched panels looked like a story, perhaps one telling the birth of the universe. Every religion had to cover the origin story at least once, sometimes three or four times if they kept rebooting.

Surprisingly, a few people hustled around the pews. All dwarven height, they bobbed and weaved across the rocks. It would have seemed random if their movements weren't with purpose. A hand wave there, a jump there, the worshippers followed a dance with no beat.

Marwan approached one of the taller of the cowls, probably not a dwarf unless two or three decided to stack. "Where is Saqib?"

Variel sensed an eye roll under the hood, "Where he always is."

Marwan bowed and thanked his fellow monk. "Come, he is this way." Leading them around the channel of hopping dwarves, he opened a door to the side of an statue bathed in fire. Its features were impossible to make out below the flames, but the obsidian skin cracked in a familiar way.

Variel dipped her covered head and stepped past Marwan into an emerald. At least that's what her brain told her. Blinking a few times, it offered up a few new options. _Either this was an entirely glass room, created with green panes fractured like the cuts to a gemstone, or you pissed off a leprechaun and he trapped you inside his private hell._ Since leprechauns were long extinct, it was probably the glass.

One robe shuffled around obsidian planters. Dead vines, gnarled with thorns, poked from the red sand. Some reached almost to the man's height, occasionally snagging his robes as he zipped around. His voice sang to them, as cracked as Marwan's but sweeter; one log on the aging fire instead of old kindling.

"Saqib," Marwan said, "You have some visitors."

"Nonsense, don't bother me. I'm on the verge of something."

Marwan sighed, "They would like to ask you a few questions about an efrete relic."

The covered head snapped towards them. In the darkness of the hood, Variel swore she saw fire burning in the eyes. He dropped a pair of shears into the apron knotted around his stomach and crossed towards them. "Why did you not say? I am Saqib." He held his mittened hand out to Variel and she returned the handshake, her gloves poking through the extended sleeves.

"They are already aware," Marwan said.

Saqib's head pivoted like a bird's towards their guide. "Yes, of course. Don't you have something vital to do with your time? An empty door to guard, perhaps?"

Marwan grumbled, but bowed to the supposed scholar. His voice lowered, but not enough so Saqib couldn't overhear. "If you require assistance or find him less than useful, I shall await at the 'empty door.'" Before Saqib could chastise him further, he turned and clipped out of the green house, slamming the door on his way.

"Who knew monks could be so pissy?" Orn said "It's all that inner peace, isn't it? That stuff ain't natural."

"You're not helping," Variel whispered to the dwarf.

"And you think you will find your solution hidden inside an ancient gardener," Drake said, then eyed up the man's crops. "A shitty ancient gardener."

"You're really not helping."

Saqib watched the three aliens bickering amongst themselves as if it were a sunrise. As all three turned to face him, he patted his chest and muttered, "Please, do not cease on my account. You're a bit more exciting than beans."

"Beans?" Drake asked.

"A bit?" Orn said, insulted. He was far more interesting than beans, perhaps even as fascinating as rice.

"Oh," Saqib's eyes lit up within the shadows, "are you here to speak of beans? I have been drawing up detailed analyses on the harvests for a time." He dashed away from them towards the edge of the green house and ripped a sheet off a board. Equations and alien gibberish in a tiny, neat hand coated nearly a wall's worth of board. "I have to keep it hidden. My fellows don't understand the worth of studying the beans."

"But..." Drake gestured around the decrepit forest, "they're all dead."

"Exactly," Saqib pointed his mitten first at Drake, then to some equation that probably was really fascinating and galaxy changing to whoever read that language.

"We're not here about beans," Variel said, stepping closer and glaring at the man who seemed to be stretching this out.

"No?" Saqib deflated as he slowly covered his bean board.

"We need help translating something we...came into contact with."

"I thought you had a piece of hand software for that," he said, pointing at his own covered mitt.

"It's," Variel sighed, and yanked off her right glove. Holding up the ruby star she said, "It's an efrete relic."

"Let me see," Saqib ran forward, even faster to her than he did his beans. He picked up her hand and held it so close to his face for a moment she feared he'd lick it.

"Fascinating," he said, twisting her hand around, "Remarkable craftsmanship, built to withstand up to a sun's corona."

"So you know what it is?" she asked, clinging to this one chance.

"Haven't a clue," he said tipping that covered head.

"Wonderful," Drake shouted. "This is our expert, a man studying dead beans who has no idea what it even is."

Variel swiveled her head around to glare at him, "Do you have any better ideas?"

Saqib still held her hand and he twisted it around, ignoring the humans argument. "I cannot find this supposed text you need translating."

"Oh, that," Variel turned back to him. "We need light." She glanced around the green room that seemed to glow fully around itself. "Orn, turn on your PALM."

"There is no need," Saqib said. Dropping her hand, he grabbed onto his mitten and yanked it free. Fire erupted where a fist should be.

"Holy shit!" Orn shouted, then crossed himself, remembering where they were, "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

Variel tried to steady herself as the man with a fire arm held it closer to her hand. The fire never wavered from his hominoid form, but she couldn't stop picturing it jumping off and biting into her flesh.

"Ah, yes, I think I can see it now," Saqib muttered, turning her hand to match his.

"Can you read it?" she asked, staring through the fires to his eyes.

"No," he said. Drake snorted, throwing his hands up in disgust. Saqib ignored him as he held Variel's gaze, "but I can tell you what it is."

Dropping her palm, he yanked the mitten back over his hand dampening the flames, and prodded at an old bookcase. Drake inched closer to the man, his fingers twitching but he caught Variel's warning look and paused. Rubbing his face, he stepped back, letting her get closer.

Saqib tossed away two tomes where they landed with a clang. "No, no, what is this? The Glorified End of the Galaxy's church cookbook? Where did this come from?" More books flew past, smashing into planters and leaving dents.

Orn prodded one. Not many saw paper much anymore outside of law firms, but Variel didn't remember it doing that much damage. A thick book on The Detailed Species of the Galaxy circa 800 BA (before anything) careened through the air. Orn dodged out of the way letting it crush one of the dead plants.

"You killed your beans," Orn said trying to get Saqib's attention.

The monk only snorted, "Can't kill what's undead. Ah, here it is!"

"Undead?" Drake mouthed to the others getting a shrug from Orn. The dwarf quietly reached into his pocket and dropped three oblong objects back into the dirt. Magic beans were one thing, but sowing undead seeds in your garden was a problem better left to the necromancers. Brains were impossible to scrub off the walls.

Saqib plopped the book onto an upturned planter. A spiral was all that decorated the metal cover, the title long worn away until only a few lines of gold remained. He yanked off his mittens and fire fingers opened the book.

Variel and Drake both ran forward, shouting that he stop before he destroyed the book, but no flames burst across the pages. His fingers flipped casually through a glint of metal. Letters were embossed not printed into the thick pages formed from something fireproof enough it could withstand that heat.

"Right, fire creature - gotta make fire proof books. Total sense," Orn said, narrating as Saqib either didn't hear or ignored him.

"Hold out your hand again," the monk ordered, his burning eyes turning to Variel.

She did as told, and held it extended as if waiting for a high five. Saqib rolled his fingers and cast a ball of fire towards her hand. Variel didn't flinch as the fire trembled then evaporated over the gem, but she did bite onto her tongue.

"Ah, of course, that was an E. Thank you," Saqib nodded his head at her before returning to the book.

Blood trickled down her throat as she asked, "Did you find it?"

"Hm, yes, I believe so. The coming ways are lost to history, I'm afraid," Saqib said as he slid the book around to face them. He needn't have bothered. To Variel it looked like someone scratched at a polished piece of metal with a screwdriver, then went back over to drill in some holes.

"You're gonna have to translate your translation."

"Oh, of course. This is an old legend about the time of change."

"Time of change? Like when the galaxy needs a new diaper?" Orn asked, scooting up on his toes to get a look at the book.

"Orn..."

"His analogy is apt," Saqib answered.

"It is?" both Variel and Orn asked simultaneously.

"Of a passing sort, though in this case the wet child is a dimension and the excrement is a breakdown of the barriers maintaining it."

Variel shook her head, trying to catch a smidgeon of his words. "I wish Fer came with us," Orn said. She nodded at him; dimensional baby shit was probably Ferra's doctoral thesis.

"You might need to explain that one a bit better," Variel said to Saqib.

He dipped the cowl and said, "There are tales of a time when the boundaries between then and now stopped being present. How something or someone pierced the dimension and it bled pockets across the galaxy."

Variel nodded her head as if any of that made sense. "How was it stopped? The dimension bleeding, I mean."

"No one is certain. There are a few theories but the truth remains lost to the centuries."

"Are you going to tell us how to get the relic free or are you going to waste time with your stories?" Drake inserted his foot into the conversation.

"How do you expect to learn anything without the stories?" Saqib asked without a trace of malice. He seemed genuinely curious.

"By hitting something until it does what I want," he answered, threatening the creature with fire still spitting off its arm.

"I see," the cowl twisted away to Variel and he asked softly, "What specifically do you need to know?"

"The words or whatever's etched in the stone. Can you...do you know what it says?"

"Yes. Roughly translated to something human it would be _Sanguis Tempus._ "

Variel glanced at Drake. He shrugged his shoulders, the bug in his ear only hearing the curly script and not meaning. It was Orn who jumped in, "Sounds real pretty, but you're gonna have to try a bit harder."

Saqib's cowl twisted in thought, Orn's request seeming to upset him. Variel raised the relic at him, "It's not important. Do you know what this was used for, how they got it off after?"

"There are remnants of the ritual scribed here."

"Told ya it was a ritual," Orn said, "probably for sacrificing goats to fire lords or something."

"Or maybe they used it to heat up soup!" Variel bit back, not wanting to piss off the surprisingly helpful religious order that may or may not be into sacrificing. She wasn't in the mood to dangle above a lava pit while suspended in a metal cage today. Cult chanting gave her a headache.

Saqib watched them both, as curious in the interplay as if they were both dead beans. They felt the hidden eyes and paused in the familiar rant. "The ritual was a simple one, in fact, to repair the diaper."

"They just taped up the filthy diaper on the galaxy rather than change it?"

"It is not a perfect metaphor," Saqib admitted, falling to the depths of Orn's intellect.

"What is concerning; however, is there is no mention of another holding the Zaman Kan. It has always been a priest of one of ours and never an outsider."

"I'm not exactly happy holding it," Variel said. "It seems to have grown rather attached to me, though." She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled, causing her entire hand to jerk forward.

Saqib dipped his cowl, "I was not insinuating anything, only saying that it is possible my people's approach for dismantling will not work on you."

Variel sighed, but hope sprang as she reassessed his words, "So there is a way to break free? Something written in the book?"

Saqib shook his head, that fire hand glancing close to the relic of his people. "Yes. It is quite simple, in fact. All you need do is-"

The entire green house shuddered. Pots slid from their shelf perches, shattering around them.

"What the hell was that?" Orn asked the obvious.

"I am uncertain," Saqib glanced around his work as bags of chemicals splattered into plants, yellow and red clouds hissing from the combinations.

Another shock rocketed through the building, tossing everyone off their feet. Orn careened into Variel's stomach, knocking her head into a planter. Saqib's robes rolled under his legs, causing that still exposed hand to flame like an exposed fire spike that Drake's uncontrolled body was heading too. He squealed, aware of the coming danger but unable to stop it, his face on a collision with a fire fist. As he was about to get some serious galaxy cred, a hand grabbed onto his collar and held him tight.

Flames nipped at his mouth and nose, a few dancing near his eyebrows. He lurched a leg forward and balanced himself. Still glancing back at the flames that nearly took him out, he turned to find Variel dropping her hold on him.

"How did you...weren't you on the ground?" he asked pointing towards the lone dwarf still sprawled across a bag of shit.

She blinked twice, shaking a wave of nausea off and said, "Obviously not."

Unwatched by both, Saqib jumped to his feet and shouted, "You must leave. You must leave, now."

"Why? What the hell's going on?" Variel asked, still wanting more answers than "there's some really old dimension thingie on your hand."

Saqib's eyes flared below his cowl, the rise in light illuminating a hint of the nose and cheek of fire below, "Someone has invaded sanctuary."

CHAPTER NINE

"INVADED SANCTUARY?" DRAKE asked, steadying himself as another blast shook the ground. The door to the greenhouse burst open, flames doing the kicking, but they evaporated into the air.

The captain sidled up the wall and peered around the doorframe. "No more fire balls, but it's a mess out there."

He grabbed onto her shoulder for leverage and leaned out. Smoke filled the sanctuary pirouetting around the roof. A few of the dwarven pilgrims dashed around, screeching at another round of tremors. "I can't see anything through the mess, but something's happening out there," Drake said.

Leaning back, he subconsciously swallowed from the glare chewing him apart. "No shit," she said.

He picked his hand off her shoulder like she burst into flames, and tucked it behind his head. Saqib ran through the doorway, calling into the mess in a language the translator wouldn't touch. One lone voice answered back, trembling from fear or pain. It sounded like Marwan.

Drake flexed his fingers and said, "Okay, the altar should provide adequate cover. We run for that and wait for an opportunity."

Surprise crossed her face but she didn't answer. It was the dwarf who glanced up at her and asked, "Captain?"

"We try it broken fan belt's way."

He grinned at her patronizing, as if she or her pet dwarf had any better ideas. Leaning back through the doorframe, but keeping his hands to himself, he peered into the dancing shadows amongst the fog. "Okay, okay, wait, hang on."

"Should I grab a snack?" Orn asked, "This seems to be taking forever."

"Go!" Drake shouted, running head first into the smoke. It fogged his vision but didn't claw up his nose and down into his lungs. Drake's toe caught on one of those damn pew rocks and he skidded, sliding to a knee behind the altar. Sucking in a breath, he prodded at the shredded pants and abrasion below.

The dwarf plopped beside him, his legs stretched out and the shoes knocking into each other as if he was waiting for his mother to pick him up. Drake glared, wanting to turn his pain on anyone else, but Orn only smiled back, "There's a rock in the way."

"I saw..."

She landed beside Orn, ignoring Drake about to come to blows with the smart ass dwarf. On her own knees, she inched over the altar taking a quick glimpse of the terrain before dropping back down and trying it again. After the fourth attempt, she dropped fully down and spun back. "One dwarf in body armor, two goblins in hazardous mage outfits, and three orcs."

Drake slid a foot under himself and popped his head up. The dwarf stood in the middle of the aisle dressed for battle. Both goblins had a hold of Marwan, their rubbery orange fingers digging so deep into the white robes it looked like they cut off the man's arms. Drake twisted his head to the right, searching for these orcs when the stone exploded before him. Shrieking, he dropped down, getting a rain of more shrapnel.

"Oh, and they're armed," she added.

"You could have warned me," Drake muttered, checking his hands and chin for new damage.

"Would you have believed me?"

Drake tried to quiet the tremble in his fingers, digging through the bit of tactical advise he'd cobbled together over the years. Dodging guards, corps, and playing a shit ton of Plasma War built him to the point he felt certain he could over power one orc that was sick and only armed with a pointy stick. He glanced around the back of the church, but aside from the all glass greenhouse, there were no other doors. Wherever the monks lived, it wasn't connected to their sanctuary.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, talking to fill the screaming at the back of his head, "I can figure this out. What we need to do is..." His words died away as a flash of metal caught his eye. Turning, he watched her reach into a hidden pocket and remove a pistol.

She flicked it on like it was a coffee pot and checked the battery levels. "Mostly charged, thank our luck," she muttered before catching his eye. Smirking, she flipped around and fired twice at the goblins. One shrieked, dropping his hold on Marwan to cover the bullet wound in his shoulder. The second dodged to the side, his grip on the wounded monk slipping. Marwan twisted away from the pull and threw off his mittens. Spinning back, he blasted fire into the goblin's face mask. It'd take a few hours to melt one of those, but the terror of fire flying across his face was enough. The goblin dropped his grip, freeing Marwan.

The captain flipped back around, hiding in their cover. More of the altar exploded from gunfire, the orcs finally realizing their guy didn't shoot himself in the shoulder. After dodging the shattering rock, she glanced at Drake and said, "What's going on?"

"You...you brought a gun to church."

"Yep, and now I need you to lean around that corner and tell me what you see."

"But how in the hell did you..."

"For the love of...Orn!"

The dwarf shook his head and grinned at Drake still stumbling over the armed woman picking off goblins in a smoke filled church. Rising to his smaller legs but maintaining a squat, Orn crawled over Drake. His feet smashed into Drake's thigh, causing the human to yelp in pain. Orn only shook his finger, "Don't go getting any ideas. I'm a married man."

Plopping on the other side and shoving Drake closer to the captain, he peered over the side. "Our bean friend's running to the door guy's side."

"The goblins?" she asked, holding the gun close to her chest. The handle bobbed strangely in her grip, her fingers straining to keep it taut.

"The one you shot's still on the ground screaming a lot. The other's beside the armored dwarf."

"How armored?"

"If it were a video game, I'd have thrown a grenade at him and run back to the last level," Orn said, still leaning into the line of fire.

She sighed and asked the important question, "What about the orcs?"

"The muscle's rounding up everyone who's not on fire and is yanking off their cowls. Seems they're looking for someone."

Another tremor shook the floor, the eternal flames on the side bursting higher along the walls. "I'm thinking this place doesn't like that," Drake said to himself.

But they weren't listening to him. She cursed in a few more esoteric languages and said, "Someone or something?"

"It is kinda an obvious trap if you think about it," Orn said, still peering into the smoke. "Not sure when the antiquities board got itself a five star super general, though."

"Doesn't matter, we need to take out the dwarf."

Drake grabbed her arm, "Are you kidding me? Take out that dwarf, with what?" She tipped her head towards the pistol causing him to scoff, "Right, that tiny thing can crack armor."

"You have a better idea?" she asked, tapping her little lady pistol.

"We surrender," Drake said, holding his hands up.

"Surrender?" those piercing eyes narrowed, uncertain of his words.

"It'll keep us alive."

"Alive is good," Orn cut in. A shot burst behind him scorching the back wall. He dived back inside, his head landing in Drake's lap.

"And how do you know they won't kill us once they have what they want?"

"What they want is you," Drake pointed out.

She nodded her head like he was a school child who added 2 and 2 to get 46. "Meaning there's no reason for them to not kill both of you."

"Oh..." Drake's big plan fractured.

"I'm still on the 'alive is good' party," Orn said. He placed a hand on Drake's leg and pushed himself up. In the mood for more punishment, he glanced overtop the wall again.

"Orn, get down before they shoot you!" she reached over, trying to drag him back.

"Uh, Cap...you're gonna want to see this."

Sighing, she spun back to her toes and inched above. Drake followed suit, curiosity overcoming self preservation. The decorative flames that lined the walls didn't seem so friendly now. Balls of fire burst from inside, a rage boiling as the general dwarf yanked off another white cotton cowl exposing the dark face of someone who wasn't what they were looking for. After patting at the robes, tugging the material off and tossing it to the side, the dwarf tossed the exposed pilgrims towards the goblins.

Only one more remained before the orcs would begin their hunt anew. The dwarf circled this last one, probably saying something snarky lost in the hiss of flame and crack of stone. His armored fingers knotted around the cowl and he yanked. Fire burst to coat the walls, but it wasn't enough. Something still held it contained.

"That's it!" Drake said. He reached over to yank off the captain's cowl. She grabbed his wrist, her fingers digging through the padded fabric to bite into his skin.

"What are you doing?"

"The robes or whatever, we have to take them off."

"Why?"

"No time to explain, just do it," he said.

She released his hand, but didn't touch her cowl, "Seems there's plenty of time to say a sentence."

Drake ignored her and threw back his dwarf sized cowl and unpinned the tight noose across his face. In response, the floor twisted. He grabbed onto Orn before the dwarf went rolling out of cover.

"Thanks," Orn said, holding tight to the human. Drake nodded his head and yanked off the dwarf's cowl. This quake cracked down the sanctuary's floor reaching high along the walls towards the ceiling.

Both uncovered heads turned towards the captain. Her eyes danced from one to the other, uncertain of this.

"Do it," Drake said.

"Fine," she said. Placing the gun on the ground, she unwound the internal scarf and threw back the cowl. Dead calm walloped all the sounds - fighting, crying, crackling - silencing even the beat of their hearts. The anti-noise burst through his sinus cavity and into the brain like a blast of a bass. Drake reached out, his sluggish arms trying to grab onto anything to bring back his heartbeat. Mouthing, he tried to tell her to put the damn cowl on.

His fingers snagged on the fabric's edge, when a pop shattered the silence. The sound hurled them back, Drake's head banging against a standing rock. "Gods, damn it," he cried, fighting against the force whipping against his body. It was a wind without breath, no breeze touched his skin or ruffled his clothes, but an invisible hand pinned him down. He lifted his head high enough to lose the battle and have it crack into the rock.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," Drake said to himself, trying to ignore the wet feeling on the back of his head.

"No..." He couldn't see anything but the darkening air around the ceiling, but he knew the captain's sarcasm.

A hand grabbed his, pulling him closer. He tried to help it along, dragging his body across the cracked concrete. The force must have sensed it was losing and pushed harder on the bodies scattered across the floor. Popping punctuated the air, this time from inside his own body. A scream echoed around them but he wasn't certain who. Maybe even he let one go, his throat constricting under the pressure. Drake swallowed repeatedly, trying to force his larynx open.

Cold sharp enough to burn to the bone flared below his hand. Even in the pressure cracking around his body, he still yanked his hand away. Now freed, the ruby star glowed. No longer that disconcerting pulse, it looked damn near radioactive with a light shining into the ceiling.

"Ca...cap..." he struggled to get a word through his constricting throat, "the relic."

She didn't respond, for all he knew she was already dead, crushed under this invisible giant. Twisting his head, the pressure crashed across his skull, puncturing something in his ear drum. "Gah!" he shrieked, hot blood welling in his ear.

"Ehstit Pup!" she shouted and sat up without trouble. Holding her hand skyward, the Ruby Star flared into the ceiling, the light bouncing across it. Drake's eyes dribbled tears, protecting him from the probable radiation output, but he couldn't stop staring as the light wrapped around the ceiling. The light didn't just pierce the darkness, it chased and gathered it, rolling it down into a decreasing mass. Smaller, and smaller, and smaller until...Suddenly, the pressure was gone.

He shot forward, his body overcompensating for a force no longer there. Twisting, he watched the captain's hand drop, the star's light fading and she pitched towards him. Barely having time to react, he reached over and grabbed her body. Her head lolled to the side, then focus snapped back into those eyes. She grabbed onto his shoulder and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Keeping you from smashing to the ground. You're welcome."

"Let go, now..." she shoved away his hand and glanced at her own. The glove once around the Ruby Star shredded from the light pulse. The scent of burning cow hide wafted off it. "Orn," she shouted, thudding into the dwarf.

He coughed, sputtering to get air into his lungs, "Yeah...yeah, I'm good. Great. That was fun." The dwarf rolled over, rising onto his hands.

"Uh, captain lady," Drake yanked on her sleeve.

She whipped towards him, "What?"

"That," he pointed at the three orcs and very pissed off dwarf also rising to their legs. The orcs seemed to be rebounding much faster, _fantastic_.

The captain whipped her head around and found the scattered pistol hiding amongst the rubble of what had once been the altar providing shelter. She still cocked it and aimed as if it could do anything except piss off an orc.

Slowly, Drake lifted his hands over his head. He didn't survive as long as he did without knowing when defeat was boring into your skull and about to smash you across the jaw.

"Rise," the armored dwarf ordered even as she, apparently, did as well.

The captain offered her hand to Orn, helping him up. Drake dropped to one knee and then the other, still keeping his hands visible as he slowly stood.

"Drop the weapon," the female dwarf said. She yanked off the helmet and threw it aside. Red marks where the metal tried to chew into her neck glistened in the firelight.

"No," the captain said, jutting out her chin.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. I think I'll keep it. It is mine. I've even got the permits for it," she held the gun up, not threatening anything directly but also not dropping it and falling into a whimpering ball.

"What the shit are you doing?" Drake whispered to her.

She didn't answer him, she was too busy watching the dwarf pacing around her hirelings. "You believe you can break out of here with that pea shooter?" The quip got a few sniggers from the orcs. One looked confused and glanced at her barrel, probably trying to see if food would shoot out of her gun.

"If you surrender now, we will be merciful," the dwarf said opening negotiations.

"Right 'merciful,' funny how little that word really means," the captain volleyed back.

"For fuck's sake, knock it off!" Drake whispered a lot louder than he intended.

She glared at him through the corner of her eyes, but didn't back down. This crazy bitch was going to get them all killed for no good reason.

He stepped forward, ready to play his hand far too early, when a flare of firelight burst not from the dampened walls, but behind them. It caught the eye of the orcs placed around the room and they gestured behind their boss. The dwarf leaned to the side and turned around.

Seven feet of Saqib stepped into the sanctuary. The cowl twisted, taking in all the damage done to its church. Assuming the standing rocks were holy, they were long desecrated, scattered and broken. The floor looked like someone took a spoon to the shell of a hard boiled egg. And the ones who started it all stood before him, still waving their weapons about as if they were important.

Drake was about as good at reading body language as he was classic literature, but he knew that tightening of the shoulders, that drop of the hands, the snap of the head. The female dwarf snorted at the monk, "Move along, this doesn't concern you."

Seams ripped and shattered, shredding the white robes. Pieces scattered into the wind as the fire form of a true efrete burst free of his religious confinement. Wings, each 10 feet long, unfurled in flame, the tips smacking into the walls.

Saqib roared causing the female dwarf to stumble back. "Fire at it, you idiots! Stop it! Use the damn contraption!" She gestured at the goblins mopping up on the floor, but when they reached for a metallic cylinder Saqib's foot smashed down on their hands. The smell of burning flesh ripped through the air along with their screams, but the efrete didn't notice. It rolled its hand, kicking fire from its fist at an orc. She dodged out of the way and shot at the monster, but bullets did little to fire incarnate. They whizzed through the flames, embedding into the walls.

Saqib roared again, his feral scream grabbing every cell in the body, causing the lysosomes to piss themselves. Hurling into the air, the efrete flapped his fire wings once and jumped on top of an orc. Even as the fire bit into her flesh, the orc pounded against the monster perched upon her chest. The dwarven general inched away, letting the other orcs rush to their comrade's aid. Her fingers reached towards the metal cylinder the now fingerless goblins tried for.

She yanked them back in time as a bullet, then two more, ricocheted where her hand was. Glaring at her once captives, the dwarf cursed as the captain took aim and fired three times more. The bullets still bounced harmlessly off the canister, unable to penetrate it or the armor, but the dwarf jumped back each time. This stalemate could only last as long as she had a battery charge and instinct overrode the dwarf's common sense.

"Orn," she suddenly said, still keeping up the fire, "take the gun."

"You guys taken a peek at the ceiling, lately?" Orn wondered aloud, then caught his bosses words, "What do you mean take the gun."

"Take the damn gun, now!"

"I'm shit at aiming and you know it. Remember that jolly laugh you had after the tea kettle incident. Ho ho, so funny."

"For all the...you, Drake, take the gun!"

Drake had a sneaking suspicion that his sharpshooting skills fared worse than the tea kettle incident, but from the strain in her voice he nodded his head. "All right." She held the weapon straight, steadied by her left hand.

He slipped beside her, getting rather cozy as a fire monster roasted three orcs alive. Sliding his left arm around her waist for support, he slid his hand under hers. She fired off one more shot, then let go. Panic drove his fingers to latch onto the plummeting gun. Fumbling to right it, he watched as the dwarf saw an opportunity. Squeezing onto the trigger, he shot the door frame above her head.

"Again," the captain shouted beside him.

"Okay," Drake said, managing to shoot more of the frame, some wall, and out the door. "How is this helping?" he asked. The dwarf grew bolder, aware of his shit marksmanship.

"So I can do this," she said. Raising her right hand at the dwarf, light poured from the ruby star. This time it was a grungy purple. The captain propped up her right hand like it was the gun and she shrieked another string of nonsense.

The dwarf knotted her fingers around the canister, flipping on a switch. She fumbled for the hose to what was probably a fire extinguisher when suddenly, she froze. Light from the relic coalesced around her body, shimmering like wyrm space. A bright white center grew from the middle until it enveloped all of the dwarf.

The captain shuddered back, her hand recoiling like a gun. Drake moved with her, trying to steady himself and keep them both upright. When he glanced back, the dwarf and her canister were gone. There wasn't even a black stain on the floor. It was if she was never there.

"How in the shit did you know it could do that?" Drake asked.

Her brown eyes landed on his and for a moment he swore he caught terror swimming the depths, "I didn't."

"Not to distract from that weirdness and all, but you guys really need to look at the ceiling," Orn said.

"Why? What's so important about the..." her words died away as she finally turned away from the fight. A section of the ceiling was carved clean away revealing a night's sky, clouds rolling across the stars. The edges of the crack were sanded down as if from time.

"I did that?" she asked, glancing to her pilot, then back at him.

Drake nodded, "Yup."

"Shit."

"Yup," Orn said, still watching the ceiling.

A hand landed on Drake's shoulder and he jumped, his finger glancing across the trigger and punishing the doorframe more. Carefully, the captain picked up his hand to remove the gun and stepped away from him. Drake turned to the owner of the mitten still latched onto his shoulder.

Marwan, still wrapped in the robes to protect people from them, bowed his cowled head, "Please, leaving. You must be leaving now."

The captain nodded her head, "He's right. We have to get off planet before their ship catches up to the fight."

"You think there are others out there?" Orn asked.

She rolled her eyes at the implication. You don't travel with just three orc bodyguards and two goblin mages when you're a lone dwarf. The math didn't add up. There had to be others combing the ruins same as they did. Drake's palms itched as he turned back to that night sky, trying to find signs of ships patrolling it.

Orn nodded his head at their efrete friend, "Thanks so much, this has been a real treat. I'll certainly add you guys to my list of possible religions to convert on my death bed to."

Even Drake grimaced at the dwarf's curt words but the efrete didn't notice. He grabbed onto the captain's shoulder and pulled her close. Despite whispering, Drake could overhear his hurried words.

"Saqib wished you to know that the relic will release itself when the ritual is complete. Now go, before you burn in the coming flames!" Marwan said.

The captain leaned back as if she wanted to ask more, but the enraged efrete still paced about the sanctuary, his body heat rising until even stone melted in terror. "Everyone, run!" she said, giving up on this chance. But she still took the time to grab Marwan's hand and say, "Thank you for your help."

He dipped his head, "And thank you for yours."

"Wha..." she stuttered, but Orn yanked on her hand, dragging her out the door. Drake followed, not surprised to be the one left behind.

Fresh air blew past them, wiping away the stench of burning flesh and hair. He breathed in deep, welcoming the over powering sun as the temple faded in the background. Just a few paces away, the heat and fire tempered as the flush of sunburn again attacked his face. Drake yanked the small cowl up, trying to shield himself.

It was Orn who paused in their escape, turning back towards the temple. Now it stood alone in a divot, only the occasional puff of smoke escaping through the open door. "Uh, guys..."

"Not now Orn, we need to get to the ship!" the captain shouted. Drake agreed with her. They needed to be gone and now.

"It's just, in the temple the ceiling that got obliterated showed a night sky, right."

"Yes!" she screamed back, already a few paces away and getting further gone.

"Then how come it's sunny out?"

The captain froze, her eyes glancing up at the still sweltering sun. An unexpected chill rose up Drake's spine as he turned back and properly inspected the dome of the temple. It looked as pristine as when they entered, not a single crack obliterating the ceiling.

CHAPTER TEN

AMAZINGLY, THEY FOUND the goblins holding hands strolling down the tarmac. Variel called to them, waving with her gun, then she spotted the damn thing. Tossing it to Orn, who barely caught the still hot weapon, she smiled at Koysi turning in surprise.

"Ah captain, you have finished as well?" the goblin asked.

She glanced back at the smoke pouring into the dunes, inconsolable shrieking, and all of the pilgrims and few tourists running for their vehicles. Trying to hide her eyebrow raise she nodded, "Yeah, I'm done."

"As are we," Albanus said, "too much excitement in one day can give one the drops."

"The drops?" Orn mouthed, still trying to stuff her gun anywhere it wouldn't set his pants on fire. It hadn't been an easy escape past the other guards failing-to-guard around the archeologist's tents, but Variel's approach of firing wildly and running seemed to work most times.

"That's great," she said, bobbing her head like a deranged travel guide, "we should all get back on the ship. Don't want to overstay our welcome, do we?"

"Nope, definitely don't want to be doing that," Orn agreed.

Variel easily caught up to the goblins and offered her arms to both of them. They seemed tickled by this crazed human prepared to frolic down some metallic colored road and locked arms with her. Nodding back at her pilot and the other human dragging his feet, Variel half drug the goblins towards the Elation.

"Oh, this is fun!" Albanus said, his feet barely bouncing against the ground as she lifted them higher.

"Yes, dear, great fun," the water goblin grumbled, still suffering from the sweltering heat.

"WEST!" Variel shouted, skidding to a stop outside the airlock.

A lazy voice rolled out of her PALM, "What do you want?"

"Roll down the gangplank, please?"

"Please? Since when do we use...Oh, they're with you. Fine!" the computer whined. But it followed good on its word and cracked open the airlock, extending the plank.

She knew she should let the paying customers board first, but Variel couldn't stop kicking her foot into the plank as they excruciatingly climbed it. Her mind wandered back to the ceiling cracked but still hole, and then she snapped back away. This wasn't the time to debate what happened; they needed to get skyward.

Orn slowed beside her, his breath rattling in his chest. He glanced up at the goblins about midway up the plank and turned to Variel, "Take this damn thing back!" Dropping the gun in her hand he shook his own. "Next time get me a battle axe or something useful."

"Maybe you could talk them to death," she muttered softly, but slipped the gun in its proper holster.

Orn's eyes lit up at the idea but he shook his head, "Nah, they'd never take me for Banshee training. I ain't got the proper parts." He rolled his hands over his chest, getting another sigh from Variel.

Finally, the goblin's vanished inside. "Orn, get up there and get us in the sky. Now!"

"Like you had to tell me," he said, pumping his short legs up the unforgiving incline.

Drake began to follow but she held out an arm to stop him. He turned to her, confused. "Now's your chance, slip in with the others and no one will think to check the travel creds on a survivor."

"While that mad dwarven party is still shooting at people?"

"Something tells me you'll survive just fine," she said.

His eyes darted up the ship, then back across the quickly emptying parking lot. For a moment his body drifted away from her arm. Maybe she was wrong and he'd actually wised up to this opportunity.

Drake turned back to meet her eyes and said, "I'd rather take my chances on a known quantity, if it's all the same."

Variel dropped her arm, "I was thinking the exact same thing myself."

"If you two are done snogging," Orn shouted from the top of the airlock, "It's hard to take off with the plank hanging out like that. Regs and alarms and a computer jabbering about broken off bits."

Variel and Drake both jogged up the plank, watching each other. At the top she leaned into the button zipping it up and sealing the airlock. Orn was already gone; she followed his trail in the form of some opened WEST panels, a confused pair of goblins, and a half empty candy jar.

Sliding the bridge door open wider, she found him locking into his chair. "'et's 'ope nun lse 's oot 'here."

"What the hell was that?" she asked.

He gnawed down on the wad of sugar in his mouth, trying to minimize the bolus and answered, "I said, let's hope no one else is out there."

"Just fly the damn ship," she bit.

"Fine fine, flying," Orn sassed back even as he waved his hands across the board. The engines roared and gurgled to life. He put the auto-pilot in charge of lift off — something so simple a pile of spreadsheet macros could handle it — Orn focused on the coming pinches.

"Any suggestions? I hear Cangen is lovely this time of year."

"Very funny," Variel said, as if anyone could get near the elven homeworld without a gilded invitation. "Just pick somewhere quiet and uneventful."

"That should be easy. If there's one thing the galaxy's known for it's quiet," Orn said. He nudged the stick with his shoulder, lifting the nose of the Elation. Without any pomp, the atmo-engines flared and they rose through the clouds.

"Gargoyles are as silent as stone."

"No homeworlds, not even a colony. Just not darkspace," Variel muttered. She scanned through the clouds, hunting for more ships waiting on the periphery to swoop in like raptors, their talons crushing anyone escaping.

"Fine, but you are no fun."

"I'll be sure to add that to my Hugo's List page. Captain, small but not cozy sized ship, some planetary ground work, no fun."

Orn snorted then whistled loudly. She broke from her watch to catch the dwarf doing his damnedest to look conspicuously unsuspicious. "Oh no, what'd you put in there this time?"

"Nothing! I swear. Nothing too bad."

"You mean like that time when you changed my title to Queen Variel and I had royal scrappers sniffing around," she said, fully pulled from the sky.

"It was funny," Orn said. The board beeped and he batted at the control stick, causing the ship to bank left into an orbit. Another ship blew past them, in a hurry to whatever opportunities awaited it that didn't involve orcs shooting at them. "Stay in your lane!" Orn shouted at the ship's taillights.

"Funny," Variel pulled the conversation back, "Oh so funny. I still have one guy proposing marriage every few months."

Orn snorted, "See, that's funny. Okay, I found one. It's troll territory but they haven't been arsed to put colonies in. Good?"

"Yeah, that'll do. Punch it in."

"Already did," he said and flipped back to his console. Atmo breaking was one thing, but proper space flight required an organic touch. Flipping off the auto pilot, he organized his controls and said, "Looks like this space's crap. For the pinch we'll have to head behind the moon."

Variel tipped her head. Conduits were always breaking down in the bits of the galaxy no one could muster a shit about. An old empire long crumbled to dust; it was more impressive they could even pinch at all. "Not a big shock..." her voice fell away as the viewscreen rounded the eclipse of the moon.

Metallic stars flickered in a grid, energy zapping between them. The grid flickered in the dead of space, a silent buzz emanating off to keep anyone from crossing the net. It reached so far in all three dimensions the only way to the pinch was through a narrow hole currently patrolled by three ships.

"This is a problem," she said.

"What should we do?" Orn asked. "Head back, take the longer route?"

"If we turn back now they'll know we're hiding something. Fall into line," Variel ordered. He slid the Elation down into the idling mass, resting it behind a smaller human ship. The red paint glimmered in the dark of space from the Elation's search lights. Its owner must have the damn thing polished regularly to shine through a continual build up of comet dust. A Gallant class, the ship was designed more for flash than making sure you didn't wake up with your intestines outside your body after a pinch. But what really sold the ship's story were the decals slapped across its ass running along the lip of the engine and down the tail lights. Their design and wording varied but the message was the same: I'm better than you.

Orn smirked, and batted at a light flaring under his hand, "I've got an idea."

"A useful one or are you just being a shit?" Variel asked.

"It's a good one, I swear."

She shook her head; Orn's ideas ranged from absolute brilliance when pissing someone off to something a brainless space squid would dream up when attempting anything else. Variel opened her hand and glared at the star now lying silent after its outburst. It didn't seem to have much to add to the discussion, anymore.

"Fine, do it."

"Already am," Orn said. He flicked on the high beams of the searchlights and decreased the distance between them and the red Gallant. The decals around the engine enlarged until Variel could read the smaller text. One proudly proclaimed his other vehicle to be a Dragon, a second insisted Aliens Get Back To Where They Belong. As she spied the bottom sticker, her fingers bit into the control panel. "No Fat Chicks, Grav Will Break."

Orn gestured his chin to the window, then back down to his panel. A red light flared and flickered as much in rage as a button could. Cracking his neck, he leaned closer to his controls and inched towards the hovering ship. Grinning like the kobold that got the roc, Orn flipped the button and the viewscreen rose out of its banishment. A few fruit stickers covered the edges courtesy of Variel. She hated the damn thing and wanted to cover it fully over in ads for the orcish jubi fruit: _the buzzing means it's fresh._

As it connected to the stand, an image blipped across the screen and exactly what she expected appeared. The human was on the losing side of 40, his hair fluffed up to hide a receding hairline, his gut reaching towards the console. The doughy face of the man flared red as he tried to yank his own screen around to meet his fat eyes.

"You're riding my ass, ya bitch!" he shrieked.

"I am?" Orn said, batting his long lashes.

The man's eyes drifted away from Variel towards the dwarf. He sneered and muttered something about the rock breaker's being unable to handle proper sized equipment.

Orn didn't even blush as he held his hand up to his ear, "Excuse me, what was that?"

"I said get the fuck off my tail!"

"Oh, like this?" Orn asked. His eyes still on the man reddening in rage, he inched even closer to the ship.

"What the shit are you doing?!" their friendly spacerager screamed. "If you scratch that paint I will rip your balls off and stuff 'em down your throat."

"If I do what?" Orn asked. With a gentle touch, he nudged the Elation into the ship's backside.

It was little more than a tap, but the man threw off his restraints and jumped up as if Orn was in the room with him. "You little fucking fuckerton of rock humping cunt bag short!" spittle splattered the camera, the glob obscuring his face.

"He seems to have a lacking vocabulary," Variel said, sad at the rudimentary cursing. "Short? Who calls a dwarf short."

"The same one that calls an elf pointy eared," Orn said.

"I will come over there, rip off your head, and stuff it down your throat!" he continued to curse at them.

"Ten chocolates says he's got kids in the ship with him," Variel whispered.

"You're on," Orn said to her, before returning to the viewscreen. "Excuse me, Ma'am. I'm afraid I couldn't hear you. Would you speak up?"

It was hard to say if it was the 'ma'am' or the sight of Variel trying to hold back a laugh in the background but their Gallant pilot went from boiling over to erupting volcano. His rage, while less visually impressive than Saqib's, reverberated across the comm line. Half curses flowed and collapsed into each other while he smashed his fists and feet into rather vital panels.

The two bystanders sat back watching and offering advice. "It's not a true rage bender until he punches the screen," Orn said.

"Who would punch a view screen? They're three inches thick. You'd have to be mad," Variel said.

"Ah, here comes the calvary." Orn inched forward and flipped a new button, alternating the camera to show a ship inching closer to the red gallant.

A voice echoed under the raging man's voice, "Please present your crew manifest."

Their new friend either didn't hear it or didn't care. He was too busy literally chewing through the upholstery in his chair. Orn tetched at that, it was impossible to replace leather in space.

"Sir, present your manifest. Now."

The probably dwarf may as well have been shouting into his official corps engines. His words fell on ears boiling out steam. Orn pointed towards the second screen as another ship joined the first. "Here we go," he said, shifting in his seat.

No longer playing nice corps, the voice ordered, "Extend your airlock and prepare to be boarded. We have you surrounded."

Something in the tone must have broken through the man's fugue state. He threw a child's set of periodic blocks at the wall (Orn sighed and passed a candy to Variel), and then paused. Both Orn and Variel sat up, this was make or break time.

She could see on the man with a mouth stuffed with upholstery a massive vein throbbing across his forehead. He cracked open his comm lines to every ship within a thousand mile radius and screamed, "Fuck off, Corpses!"

Lights blared from the now four ships surrounding his, focusing fully on the red Gallant and ignoring the ship behind. "All right," Orn leaned forward, flicking off the comm. "Let's do this." Gently throttling back, he got just enough distance away from the red ship to jam the Elation down.

"Hold on, hold on, hold on!" he shouted to either Variel or the ship. Her fingers dug into the headrest of his chair, the ancient inertia dampeners wanting no part of this. The Elation shot under the belly of the corps ship, close enough all the little flashing sensors were screaming at the idiot pulling this move.

"I've got it! I've got it! I've got it!" Orn chanted again, gritting his teeth. The second the ship leveled, he yanked forward on the stick, rocketing them towards the gap.

"They're turning!" Variel shouted, watching the corps realized they'd been outplayed. "Go faster!"

"Pay me more!" Orn shouted back, the muscles in his shoulders and biceps shaking as the ship fought back. The grid stars blurred towards them. Only a few more seconds and they'd be past.

"Orn, the wyrm?"

"I'm a bit busy here!"

Still holding onto the chair, Variel reached to the side, trying to hit the MGC buttons. At least three needed to be raised, but her arms were too short. Letting go at this speed seemed likely to send her crashing into the bulkheads, giving the corps ample opportunity to catch them. Without thinking, she raised her leg and jammed at the panel with her foot.

"What the shit are you doing?" Orn shouted before turning back, "Almost clear. Get the curtain up!"

"I'm trying," Variel gritted through her teeth. "Just, right, damn it!" Her smashing foot flipped on and off lights, bashed open doors, and probably ordered a new dishwasher for the kitchen. Taking one last try, she kicked deep into the panel and that metallic taste of the universe rose around them.

"Got it! Shit, they're right behind us."

"Gonna be close," Orn said. The wyrm snipped open, blues and reds glancing across the galaxy. Orn flipped on the auto pilot, letting it take them inside. His fingers worked backwards over Variel's clumsy attempts, flipping off all the switches she smashed with her foot.

"Fer's gonna kill you."

"If we survive this I'll let her." Wyrm space coated the ship, embracing the Elation in the calmer crash of level one energy. "Orn..." she turned the camera behind the ship and spotted the corps. One was already through the gate and amping up to pursue.

"Yeah, I got this," he grinned. Cracking his fist down on the panel, black space imploded behind them, sealing off their entrance.

Variel stumbled into the wall cradling her co-opted hand. She prodded at the relic digging into her lifelines and refusing to break free. If they'd had more time, if those bastards hadn't shown up, maybe it'd be off her and...A hiss of smoke broke the darkness of the storage room. She followed it to the rolling fires of a djinn's eyes.

"I put it off," she said to the hulking mass. "I didn't want to interfere but you need to tell me, you need to tell me now what this thing is."

Holding her hand up, the djinn's massive fist curled around hers. Her hand looked like a child's with the mother inspecting it for a thorn. Gene brushed his rocky fingers across the gemstone, a flare following after him. Slowly, he lowered her hand, shaking his head in a negative.

"You don't know or you won't tell me?" she asked.

Steam puckered out of his suit, blasting forth another non-answer. Variel cursed under her breath and balled up her fist, sealing off the relic. In the old days, before everything changed, she knew nothing about the outer ring species. Meeting Gene and his fellow djinn changed that. Even then what little she could glean from the djinn and efrete wasn't much beyond their few entries in the Galactic Books.

Their civilizations' bones filled the pits of newly discovered worlds, yet a few still remained unwilling to discuss what once was or offer insight into themselves. Even official diplomacy teams gave up after three months spent trying to get an efrete to say his name. And she was saddled with something that could rip apart ceilings, obliterate people to dust, and she had no idea how to control the cursed thing.

Orn pestered her, trying to figure out how she pulled the zap on general lady dwarf, if there was a "Kill All Organics" switch. She batted each question away as if he was being a pain in the ass, but a knot burrowed in the back of her head. Variel had no idea how she did it. Something had spoken at the back of her mind, a whisper above a bass line, intelligible to the listener but with a drive hidden inside the sound.

She shook her head and smashed her fist into the wall. Three balls rolled off the higher shelf, one landing on Gene's head. It scattered deeper into the room, bounding for a corner. The djinn didn't react, only tipped his head. She followed his fire gaze to the star's gem lighting up. Gritting her teeth and screwing her eyes, she willed that whisper deeper into the depths of her brain. Slowly, the light faded, replaced by the now comforting pulse of her heart.

Variel's breath shuddered, on the edge of a sob. Falling to her ass, she stubbed the floor with her toe working off the last of the anger. Gene placed a hand above her head and leaned down. His face hovered close to hers. She could see her reflection in his obsidian nose, a trickle of tears dribbling out her eyes.

"Is this..." she paused and wiped her face off, "is this how it all ends? I, I kept thinking there'd be more time."

Gene's massive hand folded over her head and he patted her like a dog or a small child struggling through a nightmare. Maybe that was all she seemed to him. _You'll get over this, all young djinn do. Chin up, carry on, and try to not obliterate everyone in your path along the way._

The door whooshed open, illuminating hallway light around a shadow. "There you are," Ferra called.

Variel wiped at her eyes, digging her finger and thumb in deep. The pain pulled her back to the now; the future was a problem to be dealt with when it arrived. Now still had some options. Rising to her feet, she tried to hide her rough voice in a laugh, "Yep. What's wrong? Did Orn crash the ship and kill us all?"

"No," Ferra didn't chuckle at the displacement joke, "Your new orc doctor wants to take more blood. Seems he's excited about something."

"Wonderful," Variel said. "Almost get shot then get back in the nick of time to face more needles. I should have stayed with the corps."

Ferra tipped her head, "We could always call them up."

"That's okay," Variel said, "I can deal with one more prick."

"That reminds me, the Missing Capslock Key is wandering around the ship harassing WEST."

"He hasn't gotten into anything vital, has he?" Variel asked. She stepped out of the dark room into Ferra's light. The engineer rolled her massive pink eyes.

"Please, at best WEST can make it difficult to calibrate the sanitizers and burn your toast. The AI would never be hooked up to anything vital. No, your little dalliance is poking into personal files. I should say trying."

"You've got him locked out of them?" Variel asked, smiling.

"No, I didn't have to do a thing. He insulted WEST," Ferra grinned.

Variel shook her head, almost feeling pity for the man that got her into this situation. "Well, it's his funeral. I better go see what Monde has to say." She closed the door and stepped towards the med bay. Her head turned as Ferra followed behind.

"You're coming too?"

"He said it was an important discovery. I am intrigued," Ferra said.

Variel sighed and began to massage her head before she caught the glint of the too bright star and held her hand away, "Great, now I'm intriguing."

"Query: Crew manifest, current."

"I'm sorry, please rephrase that in the form of a question."

"Would you give me the current crew manifest?" Drake asked, trying very hard to not bash his fist into the panel.

A wheel rolled into place, rotating to show the computer was diligently compiling his request. He tried to dig into the ship info in the kitchen, but the sink kept kicking on to drown out his voice. Then the toaster flipped three pieces of charred bread towards him. It clattered pitifully to the floor but he got the idea.

Drake tried a few hallway panels, finding most of them drained of power or redirected elsewhere. Once, he thought he spotted that little blonde elf watching him, but he smoothly pretended to fall into the panel wiping his history clean and sauntered off.

Out of ideas, he took up residence in the airlock room. No one was going to come looking for him in here, there wasn't a sink or bread to assault him, and the computer had to operate here. The greeting roster was one of the few things WEST must be in charge of.

The thinking wheel vanished and a smug voice reverberated around the room, "No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

"No, I will not give you a crew manifest," WEST said. Its misshapen wheel eyes were covered over in a pair of solar glasses, the black reflecting back Drake's battered face.

"Why the shit not?"

"Because you do not have clearance," WEST said smugly.

"I don't have...fine, who does have clearance?"

"The captain, the pilot, and the engineer," WEST slowly read off the list as if it had to search for it.

"You mean the three people on the crew who already know who they are."

"Yes, it's part of protocol-22."

"And what is protocol-22?" Drake asked, dreading where this was going.

"Protocol-22 states that I hate you and refuse to help. Good day," the screen zipped in and fell dead.

Drake banged his head into the display, bruising up his bruises. "Gods fucking damn it!" he yelled, gently touching the soft spot. The captain, whose name the computer wouldn't give him, told him to get to the med bay and get patched up. He thought about it, but then pictured that horned monster touching him and he bailed. Drake had been in far worse shape; he could heal himself just fine.

Reaching below him, he picked up a bag of frozen cricket food and held it to his throbbing nose. He watched the light below the screen fade from red to yellow. When it flipped to green, he pushed his oily finger onto the screen, waking up the welcoming engine for the sixth time.

"Good morning fellow star travelers! Welcome to your stay on...on...your stay on...error error. Cannot compute. All out of fucks to give. Quit or retry?"

"Very funny," Drake said, having already fallen for the ruse twice. "Wake up and answer my inquiry."

The blue screen faded but not entirely, revealing a shadow of the eyes, "You're ugly and no one enjoys your company."

"That wasn't my inquiry."

"I'm sorry, I thought you were wondering why the gods smote you? It seemed rather obvious given the mounting evidence. Perhaps you should inquire something more difficult. How about 2+2?"

Drake flexed his fingers, causing WEST to roll its wheels. "Attacking the computer panel will only damage yourself, mammal. Though it would be entertaining to watch. All right, please, hit me."

He shook off the rising urge to bash the computer with the helmet left lying on a side bench, "You are programmed to assist and you will assist me!"

"Assist you with what?" the voice echoed from behind the console.

Drake dropped down off his raised toes and stepped away from the console as Orn wandered towards him. Trying to smooth back his hair, Drake said, "I was looking for a bathroom, but this chunk of golem shit was no use."

WEST rolled up a new screen full of text. Drake glanced over and saw all of his questions pertaining to the identity of the crew and the ship. He tried to reach over to shut the screen down, but the off button vanished.

Luckily, Orn missed both the incriminating evidence as well as the panic rising in Drake's face. "You got to play real nice to get it to do anything, or threaten to jam your sticky fingers all over the keyboard." He waved his gloved hand towards it, causing the text to vanish.

"I despise all organics," WEST muttered before shutting itself down.

"Ha! Yer such a big baby," Orn said, then glanced up at Drake, "What was I...Oh! Doc's got something he wanted to show off and Captain seems to think you'd be interested."

"She does?" Drake asked.

"Yeah, bit weird that. Well, she probably won't kill you," Orn said patting Drake on the back. "I mean, if she wanted to she coulda done it on the planet, or out the airlock, or something."

Drake's eyes slid back to the inquiry pile and his other attempts to break into their network. _Gods, what if she knew everything?_ But the dwarf didn't care as he hopped off the small stair and gestured, "Come on, you don't want to keep women or orcs waiting. You really don't want to keep a female orc waiting."

Orn guided him through the ship as if Drake hadn't already seen the sites from the grease coated kitchen to the one and a quarter game room. He made certain to point out every bathroom door, just in case Drake suddenly felt the need to go. "I don't want to be cleaning piss off the walls," Orn grumbled as Drake refused the third option.

Opening up the med bay, Orn whistled. The orc had been busy. It wasn't ready for anything serious, but all of the clutter had been cleaned up and boxed away. Pristine counters shone under the powerful lights. "Shit, I didn't know these came in white," Orn said wiping his glove across one.

They still had the pool table though, which was where the captain sat, steeping up another blood sample from her arm. She nodded at Orn and a curious glance landed upon Drake. Well, she wasn't making the "I'm gonna slit your throat" move. That was a plus.

Gliding on a chair, the orc slid into view and rose. "Is this all of them?" he asked.

The captain nodded, "All that will care."

"That's debatable," the engineer said standing in the far corner picking at a glass jar. "Unless you have robots in your blood, then I'd perk up."

"This was not easy to discern and frankly, I still don't believe what I'm seeing," Monde said.

"Just show them," the captain said. Fresh circles wore under her eyes. In the unforgiving med-bay light Drake found himself wondering just what the hell he was thinking jumping into her bed. Sure it got him the ride, and this major headache, but damn she looked like a warmed over ghoul.

The orc cared little for his private assessment of the captain's physical attributes as he lifted up a screen. A picture flickered on like grainy footage when someone accidentally turned their PALM camera on inside a pocket. "This will take a moment to adjust," Monde said as he fiddled with some dials on a scope more impressive than the kiddie one from before. What the hell was this ship hiding?

Light increased on the footage now taking on an "I saw Bigfoot!" quality. Blobs hovered around the light pink background.

"These are white blood cells, taken from the captain's stream. And this...is what makes no sense."

He zoomed in bringing ten or so of the blobs into focus. A few were pinched in half as if someone wrapped a rubber band around them, while most floated like jelly grapes.

"Oh my gods!" Orn shouted.

"You see it?" Monde said, turning away from his scope to the dwarf.

"It's like a fruit salad! I hate fruit salads!"

The orc grumbled louder than the captain. "What?" Orn said, "Mangoes are disgusting."

"What we're seeing are the various stages of cell division, or what we should be seeing," Monde said, narrating their little documentary.

"I remember this in school," Drake said. "One of those is in Intercourse."

"Interphase," the captain interrupted loudly over the chortle from the dwarf and elf. "Point it out, Monde."

"Normally, they'd be shifting through the various stages of mitosis, but some of her cells are dividing backwards?" he said the words with a question mark on each end, terrified of sounding idiotic.

"And that's a bad thing?" Orn asked, shaking his head.

"Imagine two cells merging together to become one."

"Sounds romantic," Orn waggled his eyebrows. The captain threw a stack of tongue depressors at him.

"No, this is impossible. As well as cells un-dividing there are some that are locked in a division stage. I've watched one in anaphase for three hours."

"What's all this medical mumbo jumbo mean?" Orn asked his tone dropping low.

"If we don't get this thing off fast, it'll probably kill me," she said. There wasn't a tremor in her voice, but Drake recognized the dark circles he pushed off as bad skin before. She got all the crying out before summoning the men.

"Okay," Orn stepped into the middle of the room, pacing as if it became a medical drama, "so we get that thing off her. Options?"

"We tried that, remember?" Ferra said, her voice less cold as she scolded her husband.

"Yeah, but that was just half assed trying. What about the blood thing, Doc? You said you'd find something in there."

Monde threw his arms wide, "With what? You're currently looking at the most high tech diagnostic tool on the ship. I could give her an iron test, or extract her DNA. Beyond that..."

"It's in the blood but connected through the relic star thing, right? What if we cut it off?"

"It is adhered fully to the skin, there is nowhere to cut."

"Then cut her arm off."

"We're not cutting my arm off!" she shouted at her pilot. He glanced at her outburst, and deflated from her tone. Surprisingly, she faded too, a half apology hanging on her lips.

But Orn already wandered back, muttering, "It's not the end of the galaxy."

"Who knows if it would even work? If this was efrete then it wouldn't have come in contact with blood or organic tissue before," the captain backtracked.

"What do you want us to do, then?" Drake asked, earning the ire of everyone on the crew. Even the orc cast an orange glare his way for daring to challenge his new meal ticket.

But the captain sighed, crashing back, "Watch me. That outburst on the planet, it's building again. I didn't want to say anything, but I can feel it."

Monde slid over in his chair and picked up her wrist counting the pulse. As he shone a pin light in her eyes he asked, "Feel what? Is there a pain or a foreign feeling, a throbbing in your thorax?"

"Thorax? No, it's- There's a song, someone shouting down a long hallway. I..." the captain shook her head, "just keep me away from anything important."

Ferra broke from her corner and poked at the far more terrifying ruby star. "Perhaps I could manufacture something that would stop it."

"It ate through a ceiling and a body," Orn said.

"I can still try," Ferra said. "It's better than nothing!"

As the married couple faced off, the captain dropped her hand in between them, "Hey, I'm still alive here. Let's not go divvying up my shit until then, okay."

"I call her drab shirts!" Orn called getting a chuckle from the woman on her death bed.

"What if we find another efrete colony? There have to be more out there," Drake said.

But she shook her head, "There are a few, but if the corps were canvassing this one they have to be watching the others. It's not like they'd know we'd come here."

Drake bobbed his head at her logic and glanced away. _Right, no way for them to know at all._ She crinkled her nose and said, "In the mean time, Orn, we should get the ship to...we should..."

"We should what?" he tried to jumpstart her.

She raised her left hand to her nose, pushing deep into her closed eyes, "We should get the ship...get the ship to-"

Her hand dropped, cracking against the felt. They watched terrified as her eyes rolled back. With a violent jerk, her entire body twitched from one side to the next, shaking her hair across her face. "Eloh emt uh ut tag ut ew. Eloh emt uh!" she screeched nonsense while tumbling back across the pool table.

"Shit, someone grab her hand!" Drake shouted. Orn reached for it, but got a smack against his nose. Blood dribbled across his face, meshing into his stubble. Ferra held onto the captain's shoulders, keeping her pinned to the table while Drake grabbed both of his hands around her wrist.

"Is there anything important above the med bay?" he asked, fighting against the seizures. His knuckles whitened under the increasing pressure.

"Some computing power, and life support," Ferra said nonchalantly.

"Fuck," Drake tried to spin the hand over but it held tight, the relic pointing directly at his forehead now.

"Uh..." Orn said, still holding his nose tight.

His legs wobbled as the increasing pulse of the gem's light focused upon his head. He knew he should let go, run away, get as far from the coming blast, but his brain flat out shut down. It was like staring at the oncoming asteroid through the sensors; he couldn't look away.

The light's flashes increased until it was a straight beam right through his forehead. Gulping, Drake dug up the only half prayer he knew: "Please gods, save my ass."

The captain's body jumped once, nearly all of it flying off the table and the light died away. Drake blinked three times to make sure he wasn't dead but the gemstone returned to its normal flashing. As normal as an ancient fire monster relic stuck inside a human's hand did.

"Okay," he said, releasing his grip. Red welts raised off her skin from his fingers. "I think everything's back to normal."

The floor pitched to the left, throwing Drake into the pool table. Ferra's small body crashed into Monde, who reached his arms out to protect his equipment. It was Orn who landed smack down on the floor. "Ugh, you had to say that didn't you, Empty Washer Fluid."

"That's MGC," Ferra shouted, trying to jump to her feet. The orc gave her a little push without trying to touch her. "We're entering a pinch. You?!" Drake flinched at the tone but she turned on her husband who was still laying on the floor waiting for it to pass.

"What?"

"You threw us into a pinch before we were ready. The engines are still sparking after that three deep one, followed by Va...the captain cracking off on another split second one."

"You see me, down here, on the floor, counting my teeth? Pretty sure I didn't do it."

Pink eyes of rage landed on Drake, who pushed himself off the table. He held his hands up as if she had a gun, "How could it be me? I don't have access to anything on this ship."

"He couldn't even find the bathroom," Orn said, but the dwarf spoke as if he didn't believe the lie anymore.

"If it's not you, then..." Ferra paused and laid her head to the wall. Snapping up, she jumped over her rising husband and ran out the door.

"Where the hell's she going?" Drake asked, still struggling against an unhappy pinch.

"Engineering, probably. She does that," Orn said. Shaking his bull head, he smacked into his forehead a couple times with his right hand and rose. "Doc, you got the patient?"

Monde glanced at the comatose woman drooling across the felt. "In a manner of speaking."

"Good." He glanced up at Drake, "Human, come with me." Turning back to the orc, Orn said, "We're going to the bridge; if anything happens to her, call me."

Monde nodded his head and saluted. Drake snorted at the human move, like a chimp mimicking patrons in a zoo.

Orn smacked his hand once more and twisted the thumb. A sickening pop reverberated and he nodded his head. Waving Drake on, the pair ran through the still dusty waiting room, past the galley and down the command hall.

Drake knew them all after he managed to get the computer to cough up a schematic which he later realized was over a century out of date. The airlock door stood before the bridge, sealed tight. Orn waved his hand before the sensor, but it ignored him.

"WEST, stop being a shit and open the door," the dwarf called aloud. The shit didn't respond. Orn popped open an emergency panel and reached his arm inside it.

"Bridge door control is locked," a feminine voice cooed. "Please insert command key."

"WEST? Now's not the time! Though, I gotta say, the new voice is nice. You should keep it." Even as he babbled, the dwarf punched a few numbers into the holographic keyboard, each one ending in a blaring red rejection.

"I swear you bucket of gangrenous silicone, if you don't open this thing right now I'll let Fer have a go at your brain and she'll be very thorough."

The threat failed to stick the landing as the door continued to disobey. "Okay, that always works," Orn said. "Uh...I'm out of ideas."

"Why did you want me here?" Drake asked watching the dwarf pull out a small laser tool and flick it on and off. He seemed uncertain if he was ready to damage his own door or not.

"In case," Orn said, finally giving in and blasting the door.

"In case of what?"

"There was a giant brain eating alien in there. They always go for the tall ones first," sparks hissed off the torch chewing through metal. "And if Fer asks who did this, it was the aliens."

"Right, aliens," Drake nodded along with the madness. He licked his lips, trying to compensate for the dry air that came with a wyrm pinch. Didn't matter how high you cranked the humidity, even while on board a mermaid ship, your lips and throat still cracked.

"Almost got it," Orn said, his head looking away from the dangerous burn. He switched off the torch and punched at the still white hot metal slot he carved out. It bent and warped from the pressure but didn't pop free. "Come on, give me this at least." He turned over to Drake and said, "You've got legs, do you know how to use them?"

Drake glanced down at his stems currently keeping him upright. "Yes?"

"Great, get over here and kick this thing in," Orn wiped his hands and stepped away, giving him a wide berth.

"Do what now?"

"You know hi-ya! That kicking thing you humans do."

"We don't all hi-ya," Drake said, peering at the gaping but not gaping enough hole.

"Yeah yeah, whatever, cultural sensitivity blah blah, kick the goram door!"

"Fine, but if the captain asks, it was the aliens," Drake said getting a grin from Orn. Sighing, he eyed up the opening almost level with his waist. In a list of skills handed out to him, dexterity fell somewhere along with being able to cook an egg without burning it to the pan. He considered it a good day when he didn't wake up with a new bruise.

"Any day now, O-ring," Orn said, waving his hands.

Picking his foot up, he twisted away and pulled his knee to his stomach. Driving his heel forward, the ship crashed into a space wall, sending the one legged Drake smack into the door. His aimed kick actually did pop off the destroyed section of the door and then lodged his leg deep inside.

"What the hell was that?" Orn asked.

Drake rubbed his nose, always checking for broken cartilage, and then tried to pull his leg out. Still hot metal bit into his lower thigh. "Shit, shitshitshitshitshit!"

Orn turned away from a dead panel to roll his eyes at the human struggling with the door. "What's your problem?"

"I'm stuck, you moron! This was all your idea!"

"Pretty sure I didn't say jam your leg in there so you can't get out," Orn muttered. But he turned away from the panel and grabbed onto Drake's flailing arm. Yanking with more force than such short arms should have, Orn tried to wrench Drake's arm off its shoulder.

He screamed for the damn dwarf to stop before the socket popped out. "Well, what's your bright plan then? Gonna stay embedded in the door? Become a tourist spot?"

"Just get me out!" Drake shrieked, not as his best.

"Okay, but don't go acting weird," Orn said, and he wrapped his arms around Drake's midsection. The human froze in his struggles from the dwarf a little above crotch height. "I already told you don't make it weird. Now, hang on, I got to get leverage."

Orn steadied his shoes against the wall when his hand tweeted. Despite holding tight to another man, he answered the call.

His wife's face glowered at the scene before her but didn't react, "We've stopped."

"Great job," Orn said, bobbing his head.

"I had nothing to do with it..." her head swiveled in the screen, "Orn, did you shove the human into the airlock door?"

"Long story, let me get him out, then we can figure out where we are, why we're here, and who's gonna try to kill us this time," he closed off the link before his wife could respond and tightened his grip around Drake. Huffing with more theatrics than it called for, Orn pulled and finally enough of Drake's thigh moved out of the gap.

Mercifully, the pair didn't tumble together to the ground, the pilot letting go so Drake could stumble out himself. Orn whistled at the damage his leg left behind, "Clean through, nice job."

"Yeah, it went perfectly," Drake said, prodding the deep gashes along his pants. Bright white skin now an inflamed red poked through the holes.

Orn's hand beeped again and he pushed it open without looking, "Aye, Fer, we got him out of the door no problem."

"Door? Who was in my door? What did you do?" the captain's voice blared across the deck.

Monde's head bounced into view on the side, "I was calling to tell you the patient has revived and is curious about what happened."

"And I want to know why you punched a hole in my ship!"

"She's also very belligerent."

Drake's lungs heaved at the run from the med bay to the bridge then back, very unhappy with this change in sedentary lifestyles. Orn explained to his captain what happened after she had a little bit of an episode and she blinked slowly at the news.

"So he got his leg stuck in the door, but the panel's off and we can reach the manual release."

"Orn," she said staring far ahead, "why didn't you just input your command code?"

"I...uh, forgot it."

Drake steeled himself for a screaming match, but she only sighed and slid off the pool table. Her feet slid across the floor but before any of the men in the room could assist, she got her footing. Adjusting her shirt she nodded at Monde, "Thank you for your help, but I don't think we'll be doing anymore needle stuff."

"Captain, this is a breakthrough no one's ever seen before. Each sample could be priceless for research," the orc said gesturing to the rack of blood samples lining the counter beside Drake. There were enough it looked like she'd already donated a pint to the cause.

Blinking slowly, she said, "I don't give a shit. Orn, come with me to the bridge. We need to figure out where we are and how we got here."

"Aye aye, cap'n." The dwarf saluted himself and stepped behind him.

"And you," she glanced at Drake, her eyes flat, "Don't break anymore of my ship."

He rolled his eyes, ready to hit her with a good comeback, but she'd already slipped out the door. Drake prickled from the curious stare of the orc. "What?" he shouted and the doctor jumped and turned back to his microscope.

Drake patted his fist on the counter rattling the blood samples. Twelve little glass tubes red with blood sitting pristinely in the rack. He rustled through the drawers hunting for some silver nitrate to stop the bleeding from his leg wound. Still the doc ignored him, far too engrossed in un-dividing cells. Giving up, Drake stepped towards the door. He glanced back at eleven little glass tubes and patted the one in his pocket.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

VARIEL PAUSED AT the door. Shreds of Drake's pants still hung in the gap carved inward like someone gave a drunk aunt a breadknife and access to the holiday ham. She glanced down at her pilot, whose eyes somehow never met hers, and cracked open the keyboard.

Entering in her command override, the door lock retracted letting her push it open. Midway, the gaping and now cooled metal shards snagged on the doorjamb. "Oh, for all the..." Variel tried to haul it out and shove it back in more violently with each thrust. But there was no fully opening the door.

Glaring down at Orn who was now whistling and very interested in the ship's architecture, she turned sideways and sucked in a breath. Sliding tight, she slipped onto the bridge, Orn following suit.

"Damn it!" he cursed, "the fucking thing's caught my sweater."

"And who's fault is that?" she asked, waving on the lights. It didn't look like anyone had been inside.

"The broken mufflers?" Orn said throwing Drake into the engines.

Variel snorted at that, "Don't think you can use him to get out of all your shit." She booted up the nav computer and coaxed WEST back. "He'll be gone soon enough."

"Awe, I was just getting to like using him as a scapemawg," Orn whined. He unhooked his snag and slid into his chair. No one else sat in it unless the dwarf was incapacitated or in really deep shit, which was usually one in the same.

"Nav's being twitchy," Variel said, rapping her fingers against the console, "and not wanting to play nice. WEST!"

"It's still booting up," Orn said, running his fingers across buttons that should still be warm from whoever flicked them last.

"That's odd."

"You figure our glorified calculator did it?" Orn asked.

"Who else could it be? The door was locked and pretty much bolted shut after you jammed a drake in it." Orn snorted at that. "No one was in here when we came in."

"Yeah, I noticed you didn't go all guns-a-blazing onto the bridge."

She turned away from the dwarf, focusing on the nav system, "I didn't need to."

"You sound like you knew that."

"I do, did, whatever," she waved his words away but he caught a prickle rising up her back.

"Uh, Cap, that little freak out thing you did in the ouchie lab."

Variel's hands froze but she didn't turn to look at Orn. "What about it?"

"You're kidding about that whole death thing, right? It was just a bit of a laugh, see how we'd handle a crisis?"

"Seeing how you treated the door, I'd call it a smashing success," she said, not answering his question. "Here we go, searching back through the old wyrm pinch routes and...that can't be right." Her fingers flipped through registered flight paths, flying back weeks and towards the present. Every code was green; someone registered as crew had signed off on them all.

Orn glanced over her shoulder, "But it couldn't have been Fer or me, we were in the med bay holding you...getting fooled by your acting."

"WEST can't register a flight path," Variel said aloud getting a "no shit" snort from Orn. Opening a pinch and dropping them into it for a laugh was something within the realm of the computer's capabilities but all it would do is turn the ship around. It couldn't actually connect the wyrm to anything in real space.

"Wait, are you saying we went somewhere in the galaxy?" Orn asked, glancing at the possibly different stars from the other stars that looked similar before.

Variel nodded her head slowly, her finger circling around the last registered flight path. "It was me."

"That's especially impossible."

"Registered by one Variel Tuffman, Captain of the Elation. Got my serial number and everything. I called up the wyrm pinch."

"You did, while you were unconscious?" Orn asked, "Okay, if this is a crisis simulation you are damn good at this shit. Did you used to work for OSHA or something?"

She didn't listen to his jokes, she was too busy enlarging the chit and inspecting it for any hints of malfeasance, tampering, or even a poorly dotted I.

"What if you have a secret clone that's been trailing you for decades and was about to finally take your place, but then the relic attached itself to you and now your clone can't assume your life until she gets it? Not sure why she did a wyrm pinch to reveal her existence, but clones never were that sharp."

"Orn!" Variel grumbled, "I don't have a goddamn clone."

"That you know of."

"I put in this pinch request, and I did it before we dropped onto that efrete planet." A buzzing roared in Variel's ear. She minimized the pinch data and lifted the few nav sensors to sweep through their surroundings.

"That's not doable," Orn insisted, "I had to call that pinch while we were running from the corps. Which I really should charge you extra for. That kind of sweet move definitely deserves a bonus. Cap? Cap'n!"

"What? No. One can dropsink pinch requests if you slip one in as a medical emergency," Variel's jaw slid in and out as she zoomed in on the nav data screen.

"A medical emergency, like what? 'Oh help, our captain's gone crazy and is doing shit she can't remember because there's an alien relic attached to her hand and...' okay, that's good to know now."

Variel's right hand reached across Orn and prodded at the console. Her eyes didn't tear away from the screen zoomed in on a small section of space as she fired up the impulse engines.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Orn was about to slap her hand away when he remembered that scary ceiling killing relic was attached and she paid him.

"We have to go there," she said.

"Go where?" Orn glanced out the windows, "I see a whole lot of space and some more space, and then spacey space."

Variel flipped the viewscreen button and bounced the image on nav to it. Now in a glorious 42 inches the grainy twitch looked like a massive swirl, silver and purple glinting off a nonexistent light source.

"What the hell is that thing?!" Orn shouted, jumping in his chair. "We're not going there, right? Don't tell me you've fully lost it."

In the corner of the massive hole sat a dot, so small it was impossible to see on the nav screen, but force magnified it took on the silhouette of a makeshift station. "There," Variel said, pointing at the dot, "we have to go there."

"This is Emergency Station Delta. All ships are currently refused entry. This section of space has been declared unstable. Exit the sector and pinch away. Thank you and have a nice day."

The mantra reverberated over the speakers once they got within no longer speck distance to the station. Orn gestured to the voice the first time, grumped the second, and now took to mouthing along with it. "'Thank you and have a nice day.' Sure, great day when everyone's faces have been eaten off and aliens assumed our forms so they can lay eggs in the brains of our friends and family."

Variel didn't listen to him, her fingers still pressing into the drive buttons. If she closed her eyes she could almost see the station itself, little more than a space worthy platform with a shield bubble thrown overtop. A few mages ran around on the surface waving instruments in the air while screaming at each other to remain calm.

"Please submit identification number. Please submit identification number."

Variel shook from her revere to find Orn gesturing at the comm line. "Seems it needs a fancy code we don't have to give us entrance. The academy was always funny about letting just anyone mess around with their galactic destroying discoveries."

She nodded her head and cracked open the keyboard. Orn snorted at the attempt to gum the system. Everyone knew you got two chances, if you attempted a third the bubble's defenses shot lasers at you until you got bored and went home. No one wanted to give mages real weapons.

"So, I suppose we best head on back. Maybe try that other efrete world, or how about a djinn? They're close enough, right? Gene's got to get us into one of those," Orn said. "Yup, no reason to go near the giant vortex of death shredding up space."

Variel finished the last digit and hit enter. "Welcome Delivery Ship 573-C, you are cleared to dock on the port side of the platform."

The Elation drifted through the protection grid as the computer synched up with the stations. Orn swiveled in his chair, his mouth falling to the floor. "How did you do that? How did you know the damn code?"

"I...I've always known it," Variel said. She didn't look down at the relic, but the increasing pulse of the gemstone lit up the console. It cast a demonic glow under Orn's gobsmacked chin.

"You're starting to scare me, Cap."

"Get in line," Variel said, but she guided the ship through the final docking procedures and it landed without any fuss. Even WEST poked up for a moment to congratulate everyone on a job well done for once.

Variel sighed, and rose from the console, "You don't have to come with me, Orn."

"Come where?"

"I, it's something I have to do. I won't be too long, I think."

"Like hell, I'm coming with you," he said, jumping off his chair.

"NO!" she reared back at him, the voice screaming in her head. "No, you stay on the Elation. Keep her prepped and running. Just, I need you to do this for me okay."

"Cap, you don't make a lot of sense most days but right now you're getting into wall licking territory here. I'm a bit worried," Orn said.

"Don't be," Variel rose away from his rare compassion, business flooding away the bonhomie. "I'm dangerous and need to get off the ship. I won't be able to damage it or hurt any of you. It's for the best."

"When you say it like that it sounds like you're asking me," Orn said, his thick lips wobbling, "and that doesn't fill me with a whole lot of confidence."

"I'll be fine," Variel said. She rose up and adjusted her shirt.

"Wait," Orn interrupted her, and dug into his pocket. He held out his bad hand and she cupped her now bad one under his. "It's a bit of good luck."

Variel opened her palm to find a small sour ball rattling across the gemstone. "It's a piece of candy."

"It's always worked for me," Orn said.

She slipped the ball into her pocket. Even close to death with alien tech chewing through her veins, she still wasn't about to eat something out of Orn's pockets. Nodding her head once, she turned away from her pilot. Drake stood outside the door, trying to act as if he hadn't smashed his foot through her door.

"I'm leaving. I don't know if I'll return," she said, not pausing in her strides. "I know you want this thing to sell or whatever antiquity thieves do with priceless relics."

Drake stumbled behind her, attempting to lie his way out of the obvious, but she only shook her head talking over his words. "You're not coming with me. You can't. It wouldn't work. Don't argue."

Variel paused beside the airlock door, knowing that uncertainty awaited her outside. She reached for her locker to take out a suit, but her hand paused. The voices buzzed, insisting it wasn't necessary, it wouldn't work anyway. Instead, she folded her arms, hiding the relic from the greedy bastard's sight.

"If I don't return, I want you off this ship. No hurting anyone, no using them as leverage. No one else knows about your long record. Well, WEST might, but that's a bridge you burned yourself."

Drake sneered at her, "I don't hurt people."

"Yes you do, maybe you don't kill or break bones but you destroy lives. You just tell yourself you don't so you can sleep at night."

She waved her hand before the airlock, opening the first door. The gangplank extended on its own, falling towards the ground. "What are you going to do out there?" Drake asked.

"I have no idea," she answered truthfully. "But I have to."

Before he could respond she pushed open the final airlock door and stepped out of her ship. She felt his curious eyes watching the heroic smuggler walking away from her own ship, probably confused as hell. Drake Bane wasn't the only one hiding behind a new name and a long past.

A stillness filled the emergency station. It set everyone's teeth on edge as the eternal spiral twisted above them; but no wind, no noise, nothing punctuated the endless stretch of metal open to the unforgiving vastness of space. Very few people lasted more than a week on an emergency station. Without walls or a ceiling, the illusion of safety quickly ground to total panic.

Most mages and the few officers sent to watch over them spent 99% of their time hiding in the tents, pretending space wasn't a ripped shield away. A dozen tents lined the platform, double occupant size and definitely military issue. The chapped tan canvas was a dead giveaway. If it was up to the mages, every tent would be five different colors and coated in gold stars. You can't tear a mage away from the gold stars.

Variel walked past a few mages huddled over a camp stove, trying to bring life back to their MREs. The one crest soldier stood beside, staying out of the way of important scientific discovery, but also suggesting they try hot sauce and a lot of it.

"Excuse me, what are you doing here?" a young mage asked her, probably a grad apprentice who got yanked into either the best or worst possible thesis.

"I'm here to deliver the food," Variel said despite her not carrying any boxes or wearing a uniform.

The grad student wasn't buying the flimsy excuse, "You can't be here. This is a restricted area. How did you even get past the grid?"

Variel waved her hand at the girl, her eyes on the quartet of senior mages clustered in the middle of the platform closest to the edge. One wrong move and one could fall for a very long time into the depths of space.

"They're about to open it, aren't they?" she asked the girl.

"How did you know that?"

"It will not succeed. It will go very, very poorly," her voice was flat, as monotone as someone reading the daily announcements.

"Look, if you don't return to whatever ship you came on, I'm going to call that scary looking crest over here to escort you. She's got a gun and everything."

Variel held her hand up, flashing the relic across the girl's face. The mage's threat watered down to a mumbling as she blinked against the Ruby Star. It wasn't meant to torture the girl, but it had the affect. Enough time on the platform wore her nerves down so the slightest irregularity was panic. She scampered off, probably trying to gin up as many cohorts as possible to take down the intruder.

It didn't matter. Variel knew she only had one chance at this, and also that she'd already done it before. The plan fell into her mind not as if she thought it through, but someone read it to her, emphasizing the really important bits.

Each of the senior mages stood around a machine that probably looked mighty important in the right light. In this one it reminded her of a futuristic trash can with a sensor embedded on its lid. The sensor also had a countdown, a clock that kept skipping backwards and forwards in time.

"And you really think this will work?" Mage one asked, dressed in a blue robe.

"What choice do we have? Every data point we get off it is useless. They keep changing even after we've recorded them," Mage two countered, in a red robe.

"What if we just ignore it?" Mage three tried, wearing a green robe.

"Oh, because that worked so well the time you made a micro-black hole on the Epsilon station," Mage four shot back, dressed in khaki slacks.

Variel stepped past them all, her eyes on the spiral. They were too busy arguing amongst themselves to notice her.

"At least I'm not wasting billions of dollars shooting at something new in the sky to get it to explode," Green robe said.

"We're not trying to destroy it," Blue robe shot back.

"Speak for yourself. It's sucked in at least one ship. Who knows what else has been lost, or will be lost, or is lost. Fucking tenses," Khaki argued, shaking her head.

"Um, excuse me, Ma'am?" Red robe finally turned from the argument to find Variel standing on the edge of the abyss. Her head twisted up at the spiral. If she closed her eyes she could hear it, uninterrupted, calling to her.

"Ma'am, this is a restricted zone. Delivery crew are to remain within the orange line. It's clearly painted."

"Oh, shut up, Daniels. No one gives a shit when the galaxy could get ripped apart," Khaki scolded.

"Someone should get her out of here before the you-know-what goes off, went off, will have gone off," Blue robe said, gesturing to the bomb.

Variel didn't turn to see them, she didn't have to. She knew they wouldn't stop her in time. She smirked at that and dropped her shoulders. In the dead silence of the station she heard the Elation, her baby, lift off. Orn would be fighting against the controls but he'd be locked out again, unable to remember his damn password.

She counted the beats of her heart, or was it the beats of the universe? It was hard to find the right numbers. Five. Three. Seven. Forty. Ninety two.

"Ma'am, I need you to step back."

"Pst, Rogers, look at that thing on her hand."

They finally noticed the Ruby Star; no longer casting its laser beam, it lit with the fury of a dying star. The white hot light burst off Variel's hand, shrouding her form. The mages reared back, screaming for crest help. But they wouldn't get there in time, they'd reach as far as the machine. The one about to blow into a time spiral and begin what was to be the end.

Seventy three. Sixteen. Her heart slowed, and she lifted her hand up to the time spiral. A line of tears dribbled down her cheek. One.

The blast from the star shredded through the station's shields and straight into the soul of time.

CHAPTER TWELVE

WHITENESS SEARED ACROSS Variel's eyes. She tried to blink against it, but her lids wouldn't close. Her body dipped into paralysis as her heartbeat slowed, the pounding the only sound in this sensory deprivation wasteland.

Thud...thud...thu-

It froze, halting the blood in her veins; her diaphragm no longer drew in breath. If this was death it didn't follow any of the old religions. She didn't remember a lot of stories of people counting their heartbeats standing in an all white waiting room while plucked off the mortal coil. In the haze of white a shadow appeared, fuzzy and far in the distance. The small remaining part of her brain clinging desperately to logic said whoever that was had to be floating outside the bubble. But there was no platform, no bubble, not even space. It was the land of endless emptiness; how children viewed their rooms on rainy days. There was nothing to do.

Unable to turn her head, she watched as the shadow drew closer without moving. Even as it increased in size, her eyes couldn't focus. Being dead and all the lenses were probably locked in place. Through the water tossed down a painting focus she could make out a few colors on her fellow prisoner in the nothingness. There was a lot of brown, and she stood at Variel's height.

The brown smudge stopped a few feet away, twisted the top part of her body and held her right hand up towards the sky. Life crashed back into Variel, her heartbeat thundering to make up for lost time. Air sucked deep into her screaming lungs, staggering her back. She fell to one knee, pinching through the mother of all migraines from a brain very pissed at its food supply getting cut off.

Holding back her hand, she saw that damn relic comatose. A single orb of white light hovered above it, but there was no pulse, no life within. Slowly she stood up, steadying herself and gasped at the woman taking her place.

"Holy shit, I have a clone!" she shouted.

The exact duplicate of Variel twisted her head back and shook it, "You know listening to Orn is the surest sign of madness." Her hand still aimed upwards at the air, the relic waving about as if it could do anything.

"Well, then, what the hell are you?" Variel asked. She sounded just like her, with a one of a kind scar running down her cheek. She even had the same clothes. This clone didn't skip any corners.

"I'm you," the duplicate said.

"That's what a clone would say," Variel cut back, patting her pockets.

"Gods, I'm impossible to deal with. I'm not a fucking clone. See," she reached behind her back with her left hand, "same fingerprints. Clones don't have that."

Variel looked at her own hand, "How am I supposed to tell that? There aren't a lot of print readers around here."

"Then I guess you have to trust me. And stop looking for weapons, we both know you didn't grab any out of the dishwasher on the way out."

"Okay," Variel paused in her search, "let's say you are me."

"I am."

"How did this happen?"

The duplicate jutted her head towards the nothingness, "The time hole."

"The what now then?"

"Time hole. I have no idea what it's technically called, but someone ripped up time and punctured a hole in it. This little doodad," she tapped into the star aimed at the empty sky, "is the only thing that can suture it back up."

"I see..." Variel nodded along as if that all made sense.

"You don't have to understand. Shit, I don't get it myself," her duplicate said, still holding her hand up into the nothingness.

"Then why are you doing whatever you're doing here?"

"Because future me told me to."

"And you always do what I - we - tell ourselves, myself to do?"

"Pronouns, huh?" the duplicate asked. "Tenses are even more of a lich right now, though."

Variel waved her hands, "No, this makes no fucking sense. You're from the future?"

"Kind of, but not. I'm you like a tenth of a second in the future. I think. Future me, us, whatever didn't explain it very well."

"How the shit can we be having this conversation if you're only a tenth of a second in the future?"

"That's easy, time stopped, or slowed way down, or whatever. Big, bad galactic stuff."

Variel snorted, "Sounds like a b-roll sci-fi movie."

"I know, time shit? I skipped out of all those paradox classes every chance I could. If you should meet your grandfather, don't kill him. Got it. Why is this necessary? Do people kill a lot of grandfathers?"

"Lt Arroz was an ass," Variel agreed with herself, then shook her head at the absurdity.

"Anyway, point, time's gone all wishy washy and only you can save it."

"Don't you mean you?"

"Well yeah, all of us, but I'm the end piece," the duplicate said, "you're the beginning. Or was it the middle bit?"

"The beginning of what? Do we have to gather an army of us to take this time hole down?"

"Shit," the duplicate snorted, "talk about a galactic killer. I doubt the universe is holding together well with just the two of us right now. No, you need to go back into us and solve all the paradoxes."

"Ugh, you had to use the P word," Variel said shaking her head. Time travel didn't give her a headache, it was such a loop and wad of what ifs? and maybes? she just punched whatever spouted the paradox nonsense until it stopped talking.

"Don't whine to me, you signed up for this."

"Fine," Variel said, holding out her right hand. "What do I have to do?"

"You already know," the duplicate said.

"No I don't or I wouldn't be asking."

"Those voices, the little headaches I, you, we kept ignoring?"

"Oh...shit."

"Yup," the duplicate nodded, "you've got to go back and set all this in motion."

Variel sagged at the implications from her future self. Behind her eyes, information chewed through her blood. Not typical knowledge gained from a book, but a muscle memory ripped from someone who'd done an exercise a thousand times and plopped into her body.

"Now you're getting it," the duplicate said, nodding her head. "So, off you go. Save the galaxy and all that."

Variel twisted her hand, willing the relic to heed her commands. Red light bloomed off the gemstone, billowing upwards towards her face. She blinked in the coming storm, her mind struggling against the impossible. Breathing slowly, Variel turned off her mind. The memory of the relic filled her, latching hold.

Her face twitched and the red light faded. She glanced at the duplicate still watching over her shoulder, "If I could do this all along, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I had to come back and tell you to do it."

"Why?"

"Because it already happened. Paradox."

"Fucking time bullshit," Variel muttered. Letting her consciousness fade, her mind zipped back in time.

"A medical emergency, like what?" Orn's voice rattled across the silent void. She opened her eyes and saw the nav console on her ship glinting below her hand.

Orn didn't notice her catch herself, he was too busy into his rant. "Oh help, our captain's gone crazy and is doing shit she can't remember because there's an alien relic attached to her hand and okay, that's good to know now."

As he continued on, she reached over him, programming in the command for the auto-pilot to lift up the ship and get the Elation as far away from the emergency station as possible. She tried to hide a smirk as she entered in a password Orn couldn't possibly guess. Typing in V3G@7a8Le$, she felt her mind slipping back, fading under the impulse of whatever powered the time relic.

Orn caught her movements and shouted, "Hey, what are you doing?

***

"What if we find another efrete colony? There have to be more out there," Drake's grating voice broke through the fog. The old body/mind of Variel responded by bossing people around. It was damn good at that.

She peered out from those past eyes and caught a small blush rising up Drake's face. What did that little shit do?

Older Variel spoke up again, "In the mean time, Orn, we should get the ship to..." her words stumbled, growing aware of the presence hiding inside her own brain, "we should..."

Variel grew stronger, tugging back at her old mind like a snagged blanket. It still fought her tooth and nail. She wasn't certain if she should be proud or pissed. "We should get the ship...get the ship to-"

Diving right for the relic, Variel activated it before having complete control of her old self. The body fought this extra mind, thrashing against it, but it was what had to happen. It already had. The lying sack of shit grabbed her wrist pinning the relic down. She could so easily drill right into his brain, maybe zap it a few centuries into the past. But the light faded, receding back into the star. The Elation pitched from the unexplainable wyrm pinch as her mind faded away.

***

"Ca...cap..." Drake's voice gargled in this throat. Her eyes flew open, far more in control than before. The efrete sanctuary's ceiling hovered above her. Thankfully, she couldn't feel the pressure cracking into her body.

"The relic," Drake eeped.

He needn't bother telling her, she already flooded into it, pushing in all her strength or mind, perhaps both. The light rose and now Variel realized she had to learn how to focus the damn thing. She wished she knew why it worked, but there weren't a lot of people around to fill in the missing bits. With all her might, her mind cracked through the gem up to the ceiling and banished it a good centuries or so in time.

The pressure broke, freeing her body. A stray thought drifted through her brain. _How did I do that? Why did I do that? What's going on?_

_It'll be all right,_ Variel whispered to her other self. _But when you see that dwarf, hold your arm at her and wish she was a week ahead. Thanks._

_What are you..._ was as far as the old mind got before Variel whisked herself back even further.

***

"So...Captain. You sussed out that I spent the war hiding in unaffiliated territory, but where were you?" Drake spoke behind her. The old body didn't turn to look at him and Variel didn't want to force it. She had to learn to use a lighter touch.

Old Variel paused in the doorway, striking a moments pose. "I was cleaning up the bodies on Valin."

_That one probably stung_ , she thought as she stepped into the hallway. Softly, Variel whispered to her brain "Get to the bridge."

Her body, without much else to do, obeyed. She found Orn in his usual spot, his boots thudding into expensive equipment. Which was why all that equipment was coated in thick polymers designed for children's toys.

"Hey, Cap. What's up? We ready to hit that planet?"

Variel jumped into her mouth and said, "Not yet, got to cool down before another pinch. I hear Monde found an old stash of candied slugs in a drawer."

Orn slid off his chair, his legs barely making it under him in time, "Why didn't you say?!" And he ran out the door, leaving her alone on the bridge.

Variel reached out sliding her mind's arms into the real ones and called up the nav console. Punching in the coordinates burned into her future/present brain, she reserved the pinch under "Captain's Duress." The tricky part was hiding it from Orn.

"WEST," she said to the air. "Want to play a game?"

"Very well, but you shall have to be the thimble."

"We're gonna see how good you are at burying data. See this line here," she waved her hand over the pinch save and passed it to his console. "Do you think you're good enough to keep Orn from seeing it before it happens?"

"Does a debugger shit in the woods?"

"I'm guessing that's a yes. Okay, that's pretty easy," Variel's fingers flew across the controls digging up tricks from her very old days. This was the kind of shit that could get someone dishonorably discharged or a metal. "Now, do you think you could keep Orn out of the bridge until this occurs?"

The computer paused, reading over her data a few times, and also for dramatic effect, "Yes, Owner 23. _Bzzt bzzt: Input Command Code for Activation."_ WEST grumped at the secondary voice interrupting him, "I despise that thing."

"It's gone if you pull this off," Variel said slipping in her code.

"Agreed."

"And WEST, you can't tell anyone about this, not even me."

It weighed her words, about to interject with how idiotic that sounded, but it backed down, chopping it up to strange things organics did for entertainment. "Very well. Hm, Owner 23...have you authorized a ship to site call?"

"No," Variel shook her head. For a moment the old Variel bubbled to the surface, a memory of confusion at her being on the bridge flooding her mind. But Variel tamped it back down. "Bring it up."

WEST displayed the number and location. "That's a dwarven code. Who's calling the dwarves?"

"Tracing," WEST said, clearly enjoying the game of detective. When its face popped back, it added a pipe to the metallic squiggle for a mouth, "I have determined the source and you should prepare yourself."

"Okay."

"You are prepared?"

"Gods, yes!"

"The call is coming from inside the ship!"

Variel blinked at her computer, "I assumed as such, now who's doing it?"

"Oh, that meat sack you brought on board for a transfer of body fluids. He is in the laundry room banging away at the console like an ape that just discovered its opposable thumbs."

"What?" Variel leaned closer to the console as WEST helpfully displayed the surveillance of Drake, sure enough, bashing into the console. "Oh, that son of a..." her curse died with a fresh understanding. "Let him through."

"I fear you may have gone space mad, Owner 23."

"Do it, WEST. Let him place the call, then lock down all consoles to him. No, you have my permission to give him the complete runaround."

"With pleasure," WEST said. Variel watched Drake collapse in relief as he placed a call to the dwarven corps tip line telling them exactly where to find the missing relic. _He'll pay,_ she thought letting time take her away again, _oh, he will pay._

__

_***_

__

"It's nice to see another human out here."

Variel's fingers danced around the glass of green, but she didn't turn to look at the man sidling up next to her. _Oh, it would be so easy right now._ She could smash his head in with the bottle, or get him involved in a bar brawl, or dare him to call in his tab. Instead, she let her old body say, "Not a lot venture into the broken borders."

It took a lot of her stamina to not smack him in the face as he said, "My name's Drake. Drake Bane. You come to smuggler's cove often?"

It was the saddest line possible, and she had no idea how she fell for it. Swirling the glass, she joined in her older self to swallow the drink down. He was staring at her, assessing her like she was a scrapped ship to see how many rides remained.

"So..." old Variel spoke, about to give him the shove off. She may be desperate but she wasn't that desperate. But the "I'm kinda busy here" drained away.

Variel twisted her face towards Drake and said, "you wanna get out of here?"

***

Whiteness again, but not as thick as before. She couldn't see the spiral, she was entrenched inside it, shifting with her body. The flow of seconds, hours, millennia, minutes; it was a whirlpool sloshing across her. If she focused, she could follow a bubble of time melding and growing with others. But that caused a buzzing in her ears and nose.

Variel spotted her dying self on the platform. Funny, she didn't feel anything watching it. You'd think seeing yourself die would rate pretty high on the bad day list. But only a small curiosity pinged her. Holding her hands out, she pulled the platform closer, dragging it deeper into the hole. If she was going to pull this off, she had to get the landing just right.

Her dead self stood there, the eyes wide not in terror but hopelessness. She had trusted in the whispers, bet it all on one throw of the dice and now they came up snake eyes. Variel turned and raised her hand to the time hole. It sucked into her, vibrating and finding succor from a like minded individual.

Variel poured everything it gifted to her back in, time lancing through her mind, her muscles, down to her marrow. It also tasted a bit like macaroni and cheese, but not the homemade stuff, the one that came in the silver pouches and was probably a decade old.

Behind her she heard her old self shuffling from the collapse as time restarted. The voice shouted out, "Holy shit, I have a clone!"

Smirking, Variel turned around and closed off the paradox.

Orn yanked on the stick, which yielded to him but did nothing to slow the rise of the Elation. The platform sped away, launching the ship through the safety bubble and back out into space. "Why are you doing this?" he shouted to her, but the ship didn't answer. "WEST? This isn't funny."

"It is a little," the computer chirped before falling silent again. It was actively avoiding Orn's requests for clarification about what the shit was happening.

"You know she's still down there and when she finds out what you did..." Orn threatened when the panel finally lit up from its locked state. "Finally," he sighed. A million excuses flitted through his head, "'Sorry, Cap. I tried my damnedest to keep the ship parked but it decided to go on a jaunt all by itself.' Yeah, she'll believe that as she's throwing my ass out an airlock."

Orn rotated the Elation back and aimed for the entrance. The comm beeped open, "Please submit identification number. Please submit identification number."

"Oh, shit." Orn hadn't paid any damn attention to what she typed into the thing, he was too busy making sure she wasn't sending them to their doom.

"Please submit identification number."

"So...I sort of misplaced that and was wondering if you could let it slide."

"Please submit identification number."

"Look, I just slipped through you like a minute ago. If I left then I'd clearly have to have an identification number, right? Why don't you look that up?"

The automated voice paused, taking in his words. "Please submit identification number."

"Cave in," he muttered smacking his forehead into the console. Because this disaster wasn't going bad enough, he heard the sucking sounds of a human trying to pull in a gut and slide onto the bridge.

"What do you want?" Orn asked, flipping on and off switches and fully out of ideas.

"Why aren't we landed?" Drake asked, standing by the nav console.

"Because," Orn answered, now flicking the viewscreen so it would rise a few inches then retreat.

"Because, why?"

"I don't fucking know, ask the ship. Ask the batshit computer. Ask whatever the hell that spacey distortion thing is!" Orn shouted, waving his hands towards the hypnotic spiral.

"Is the Captain back aboard?" Drake asked, ignoring Orn's theatrics.

"Yeah, she's here. Took care of whatever she had to do and now we're all set to go. No problems whatsoever!"

"If you're not going to make any sense..." Drake began but he paused as the ship backed further away from the emergency station. "Why are you taking us further out?"

Orn glanced up at real space, his eyes registering the same as the humans, then he read over the cold logic of sensors. "I'm not."

"Oh, is it another ship gremlin taking control?"

Orn gritted his teeth at the sarcasm, "No, we're not moving." He paused, blinking slowly at the implications, "The station is...deeper into the hole."

Both leaned closer to the windows, watching intently as the station floated like a leaf on water. Despite the disturbance that looked very unhappy with its lot, the transition was frictionless. "How many people are on there?" Drake asked.

"546," Orn answered quickly. Drake glanced back in shock but Orn shook his head, "How the shit should I know?"

The station paused, right in the heart of the spiral. Silver sparks cracked out of the middle, reaching like branches towards the platform. "This can't be good," Orn said, getting a nod from Drake.

More tendrils snaked out of the spiral, locking onto a fixed point until it looked like the flayed out nervous system all bundled together one one end back to some speck on the platform. Orn didn't voice it, but he had a good idea who that common point standing there about to get her ass obliterated by spacey wacy shit was.

Looking away from the build up of something very bad, Orn tried to prod the ship closer. Maybe if they got there, intercepted whatever the silver things were leeching, they could stop the something from something else! He wasn't a damn mage; this was all math to him. Pilots were supposed to push buttons and not crash into planets. Pretty simple shit. Disrupting the fabric of temporal dimensional crap was way out of his pay grade.

Drake pointed toward the speck, "Something's happening."

"Great," Orn said, still gunning into an engine that wouldn't respond. "Fantastic. Perfect. Wonderful."

He turned away from the unresponsive panel as the tendrils undulated into each other wrapping and braiding into thicker cords. As each one lashed together, the newly formed rope wound with a fresh and then another until the slits of silver looked more like the anchors used on Dragon ships.

"What do you think happens when they get together?"

"Free puppies for everyone," Orn said.

He didn't catch the glare from Drake, the last three tendrils wound together, the fibers visible even at this distance. As the cords met upon their fixed point, light exploded. Both men shielded their eyes, dropping away. Orn felt a tug itching across his brain, like someone dragging sandpaper along metal. It whispered nonsense with the pull, but he shook it off. Blinking rapidly, his bleached eyes focused bringing back the lines of the console. A few more shades filled in, adding a bit of color, until he could finally make out the candy wrappers he stuck up as decoration.

Drake gurgled below the chair, either hit harder, or unable to withstand the blast with his feeble human brain. Orn checked his hand to make sure it still functioned, then a minor scratch tugged at his memory.

Swinging the chair around, he jumped out, his shoe landing close to Drake's hand. Orn didn't notice, his eyes dancing around space, the empty space where the time hole had been. Only a smattering of stars filled it now, as calm as a serene lake. "Captain..." he muttered, his hand reaching out along the window. The empty space held neither giant spinning silver vortex nor emergency station. There wasn't even any debris. It was as if the entire thing obliterated into atoms with one blast.

Drake finally rose and followed Orn's sight, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit."

Orn wanted to glare at the man worrying his hands and his mind about his own problems instead of the woman that just sacrificed herself for...His ire drained as he whispered, "What'd you even do it for? What was that thing?"

His forehead bounced against the cool glass, the entire galaxy taking a moment of silence for what it just lost.

"There's a beeping on the panel."

"What?" Orn asked, rising from his vigil. He blinked, sucking back in a bit of wetness that was not tears.

"It's flashing really angry here," Drake said, pointing at the console.

"That's the comm line, you idiotic..." Orn shoved him aside and lifted the view screen. "Have you even flown on a ship?"

Drake stepped away, but twisted his head the way kobold's did when wanting a treat. "If everything just got obliterated, who's calling us?"

Orn's eyebrows almost crossed as he hopped into his chair and flipped around. The view screen locked into place and another human appeared on screen. He seemed a bit harried and very confused, half his face sporting a month's worth of beard while the other was recently shorn.

"Hey you, ship there!" he shouted, pointing at Orn. "You have a lot to answer for."

"What? Who are you?" Orn asked.

"I'm Mark Barrus and I work for SkyTalk."

Orn groaned, "No, I don't want to upgrade my services. Thank you." He waved away the screen, but the man jumped closer.

"You need to get your ass over here and claim your cargo!"

"What cargo?"

Barrus sighed theatrically, a man clearly on his last thread of sanity and leaned back. A familiar face dropped into sight causing both Orn and Drake to yelp in surprise.

Variel waved, "Hi, Orn. Can you come and get me before SkyTalk starts charging me roaming fees?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"THAT STILL MAKES no fucking sense," Orn said waving his mug of not-juice around. Technically it was made from the sugars of a fruit, but anything of a nutritional value was long leeched away in the process of getting it to Orn standards. Just looking at it made Variel's teeth ache.

"A temporal void?" Ferra asked overtop her husband.

"I guess." Variel leaned against the kitchen sink tired of sitting after the first twenty minutes of explaining how the hell she wound up on the SkyTalk ship.

Barrus was especially surprised. For the first minute he refused to believe she was there, shaking his head in denial but still glancing out of the side of his eye. But by her third "excuse me," he finally broke down and tried the "you're under arrest" tactic. A hint of the horrors he witnessed in the spiral wafted around his eyes, but it all began to fade away; the lone technician facing a mysterious woman that appeared out of thin air on his ship taking precedent. She wondered if the others would still remember.

"What happened to the space station?" Orn asked for the sixth time. "We saw it blow up."

Variel flexed her hand. Six wounds remained from the star embedding itself, but Monde slapped a bit of gel on it and covered her in Star Patrol bandages. He said it shouldn't leave a scar if she was careful.

Ferra sighed, stirring the last of the aging peas. "It didn't blow up, it no longer exists."

"Pretty sure blowing up'll do that."

Variel waved her hand at her engineer, "Give it up, if he doesn't get it now, he never will."

"What I don't understand is how you could delete its time stream but not ours. We landed you on the ship. By all rights you closing it should have ricocheted back through our threads and deleted all you did, trapping us in a cycle."

Orn leaned down on his hands, batting his eyelashes at his wife, "You sure are beautiful when you make no sense."

She scowled at him, but Variel caught the slight hint of a blush across those ice white cheeks. "The voices said something about leaks and balances and how it'd have to be repaired later. That was all I got amidst the gibberish. A paradox to repair the other one."

"And to think something that powerful sat in a d-grade museum for a few centuries," Ferra mulled over her thoughts.

"Speaking of..." Variel leaned up as Drake wandered into the kitchen. He'd been keeping a wide berth of her ever since she returned with the ruby star no longer on her hand. She gestured her head at him and then to the door. He looked like he wanted to run the opposite way back to the med bay and the dreaded orc in a sweater vest.

But Drake followed behind Variel as she led him past the embarkation room, around a storage/banquet hall, and into the silent shuttle bay. "WEST, lights," she called to her computer.

"No."

"WEST..."

"You promised me and I kept my bargain. The dwarf never learned a thing."

Variel sighed, "The dwarf barely understands now. Raise the lights and we'll talk later. Okay, fine, I'll do it myself." Without computer intervention, she pushed on a panel lining one of the support beams. A halo rose above the pair as the sounds of computer grumbling echoed around them.

"Don't mind it. WEST will pout for awhile then forget why it's angry."

"You wanted something?" Drake asked.

Variel nodded slowly, "Yeah. Here." She fished the relic out of her pocket. Unwrapping the borrowed PinchWay napkin from Barrus' kitchen box, she held it out to him.

His eyes sharpened but he didn't reach for it. "You're shitting me."

"No, take it," she held her palm flat like feeding a wild animal in a zoo.

His fingers danced, uncertain if it was safe to touch the Ruby Star, but it no longer pulsed, no heat or cold burst off it. It was as inert as when they first found it. Cupping around the metal, he picked it up and cradled it in his hand, gazing at the beauty for a moment before pocketing it before she changed her mind.

Still... "Why are you giving me this?"

"Because," Variel said, her fingers drifting back down into her own pockets. "We can't return the thing, there'd be too many questions."

Drake scoffed, "You think I'm going to trounce back to the museum and return it?" He paused as if he could backtrack and fool her into thinking he was a misunderstood soul with a heart of platinum.

Variel grinned, "No." Faster than he could react, she grabbed onto his arm and jabbed a needle into the meat, injecting a full dose into his veins.

"WHAT THE SHIT!" he shouted, trying to jump away.

She let go, calmly covering the needle and dropping the syringe back into her pocket. "No, I don't think you're going back to the museum, because you won't have to. Those dwarven friends you called and left helpful messages to are on their way. Though, they may be a bit delayed by the time stream going all wonky."

Drake's eyes blazed, but then he shook his head, "What...how could you...?" His body trembled, a foot sliding dangerously away from its pivot point.

"What did I inject you with?" Variel guessed, the man having trouble voicing words. "A sedative, a powerful one; you're not waking up for a day, maybe two."

"You..." his other knee gave out, cracking into the grating as a hand met it.

"Bitch? Yeah, I know that too," Variel leaned down and grabbed his collar, holding his face to hers. Even through the sedative slowing down his veins, he still kept his eyelids mostly open. "Funny thing, I may put up with bullshit - I do on the regular with Orn - but I'm real touchy when it comes to betrayal. When your good friends get here they can claim their missing relic off your frozen, asphyxiated corpse."

Terror flashed in those flippant eyes, the last emotion he could manage before the sedative shut off his consciousness. Variel sighed from the added weight of the sleeping man and waved one of the bots over. It was a cleaning box, three feet tall, covered in bristles, and with no working arms, but it'd do. She placed Drake's legs upon the top of the bot, and grabbed him around the arms. Together, they walked the man towards the stolen museum pod. A bright green R illuminated above the door, reminding anyone who found this where to return it.

Smashing into the door button with her elbow, Variel drug Drake off the bot and less than gently tossed him inside. She turned on her PALM and asked, "Ferra?"

"What?"

"You wiped the pod's memory and any loc data?"

"Yeah, they won't have a clue where it's been or how it got here. No, I will not explain how temporal fragments work again. I know you're dicking with me!"

Variel assumed that last part was at Orn and shut off the comm. She smiled at the man laying in a heap at the bottom of the pod. "I promised I'd get you back." Stepping out of the pod, she closed the door and walked up to the controls. It only took a minute to depressurize the bay and return the pod to the embrace of space.

Still grinning like the kobold that got the adventurer, she repressurized the bay and called out, "WEST, get the lights."

"No!"

Accepting defeat, Variel left the shuttle bay in its still illuminated state. She returned to the galley where Albanus and Koysi had joined her crew in a game of "What was the most exciting thing to happen today?"

"Ah, captain!" Albanus called. He'd replaced his usual day to day robes with a printed tunic from a beach store. The acidic pink starfish gobbled up his chest. "Koysi and I wished to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"This has been the most exhilarating vacation we've achieved in a great time."

"Indeed," Koysi agreed. "We've taken many cruises, even some of the extreme variety but they always felt fraudulent, as if one need only stumble before being whisked off to safety."

"But this has really gotten the old blood pumping," Albanus continued.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Variel said smiling. She leaned down to her pilot shaking his head in disbelief and whispered, "Orn, the asshole's away. Get us the shit out of here."

"Right-o!" Orn shouted and jumped out of his chair.

"Oh," Koysi responded, twisting his head towards them, "that is a shame."

"What is?" Orn asked, freezing in his tracks, his hand extended above his head as if waiting to catch a pass. Variel felt the same panic as for the first time she took into account the rather generous ears on the goblins, even larger than that eavesdropping species — elves.

Albanus tipped his head, "We're sorry that your one night stand had to leave. He was so interesting."

Variel jammed her hand under her chin to keep her mouth from falling open. Orn didn't have the foresight.

Koysi nodded along, "Indeed, and he possessed the most fanciful tales. Ah well."

Orn glared at his boss miming in barely held rage, "They knew, they knew the whole time?!"

She nudged him in the leg, trying to get him to stop, "Orn, shouldn't WE be GOING? There's a whole lot of SPACE out there left to explore!"

"Yes, I cannot wait to see what we'll come across next," Koysi said, as ecstatic as a middle manager working in waste extraction could get.

"We are recommending this cruise to all our friends."

"Oh, what about that delightful pair of Dulcen siblings we ran across? I bet they'd enjoy this," Koysi said. Their conversation faded away as Variel shoved her pilot along. She had no idea how much time they had to beat a retreat, not that Drake was going to be waking in time to catch up. Once she got into the cockpit, a barely held laugh broke into a constant giggle. Orn slid into his seat but joined in the laughter.

"Fuuuck," Variel said.

"The whole time, the whole time," Orn responded back, gasping for air even as he lifted the MGC and booted their engines.

"Well, it just goes to show," Variel said, wiping away a tear, "people will surprise you."

Orn punched in the last button and unzipped the wyrm. Turning over his shoulder he said to his boss, "And don't go blabbing secrets when there's a goblin on board."

Variel snickered, as Orn said, "And Cap, maybe don't bring your side pieces home with you."

"Deal."

Drake leaned back in the flimsy chair, the plastic cracking from the pressure. He tried to cross his leg to get blood back in it, but the snares tightened around his arms bolting them to the table. A dim bulb flickered over his head. It was the second room he visited after waking face first across a cell floor, and promptly being dragged there. He wasn't entirely certain this wasn't the afterlife, purgatory seemed like what would await him, but it seemed odd for a god to use plastic restraints and pipe in lifeless music barely in hearing range.

Odder still for the interrogating demon/angel to reek of garlic hot sauce. The lone door clicked open and she returned. In a crisp business suit, her hair slicked and pinned back, the stark lines of her face were contoured so she appeared even more gaunt. Waking to that face glowering down on him, it wasn't such a surprise Drake thought he stared into the eyes of death herself.

The woman refused to give her name; a growing problem in Drake's world. She pulled back the chair and sat across from him. "Mr. Mayhew..."

He groaned at the use of his birth name. They hadn't asked but came right out with it when he woke. Drake spun as much of his tale as possible while the skeleton woman listened, not a drop of emotion crossing those cold eyes. She only pulled him to the next room and ordered him to tell it again.

"I've told you all I can," Drake said, "and you've given me jack shit."

She twisted her head and glanced towards an empty wall. He sighed, knowing it was a false one with probably a dozen corps officers watching and ranking his levels of terror. They probably even pulled in a sweat bot to determine if he was lying. A not smile crossing her lips, she turned back to the prisoner, "What we have is a statement, a very interesting story that says you were absconded by a woman whose name you cannot recall on a ship you never learned the designation of. She then broke into a museum, stole a mostly forgotten relic, and used that to close a spacial disturbance of which we have no record."

Drake blinked at the summation. He'd used a lot more adjectives, adverbs, and uhs, but broken down like that it seemed as damning as the "My friend's nephew's roommate totally saw..." defense.

She cupped her hands together and slid closer, "Here is what we know. Two weeks prior, a ripple in time was picked up by our top mages when a minor technician ship fell inside this 'time hole' of yours. While official Crest channels investigated the phenomenon the Ministry itself was approached by an efrete liaison."

"Ministry?" Drake mouthed. They were whispered about behind closed doors, the police of the police, but no one ever saw one. No one who survived the encounter, anyway.

"This efrete prelate informed us of the tear occurrence. It was something his people had dealt with in time past and that if it was not sutured up soon there could be grave consequences." She waved her hand towards the wall, "Of course, some of us did not believe the priest, but we had little to go on to explain the phenomena. He claimed that in ages past his people trapped fragments of time within a stone to help realign it. And each fragment was attuned to a specific section of space. We were not surprised to learn this fragment was contained within an old dwarven museum. And yet, while we worked through proper channels to secure it, an emergency beacon broadcast that there was a robbery inside that very museum. A robbery in which the only thing stolen was this highly vital and therefore priceless piece of technology."

Drake's throat muscles constricted against his will, causing a very guilty swallow of saliva.

"It seemed very...timely given the circumstances, wouldn't you agree?" Her rictus of a smile looked like she stole it off a corpse. "Naturally, for such information of ours to get out so quickly we knew there must be a leak - which led us to a goblin crime boss. You, Kendall Mayhew, alias Drake Bane were in the employ of Madam Oless."

Drake failed to hide the panic crossing his eyes, but he pinched his lips together and said nothing.

"You need not bother admitting as such, we already have proof."

"Proof?" Drake asked.

"Oless was very forthcoming with her plans to ransom the relic back for an exorbitant sum before she succumbed to torture."

"Shit!"

The woman sighed as if death by torture was only a matter of extra paperwork. "The goblins are not as strong as they believe themselves to be." Her grey eyes narrowed back on his, "Imagine our surprise as we planned for possible galactic catastrophe only to wake one moment and find most of our reports vanished. Not only did something purge the data, it seemed to have wiped clean the minds of top agents. But not all, a few of us remember the meetings, the man hunts, the regrettable blood. A most confounding circumstance to find oneself. Now, Mr. Mayhew, that is as far as our investigation could manage."

She leaned over the table, closing the gap, "I need you to explain again in your own words what happened."

The story dribbled in one long babble, like a child confessing to the great sin of swiping dessert before dinner. He tried to describe the time hole, what the efrete priests said on the planet, how the captain was on a station one minute and a ship the next. It made even less sense than the first time when he was still clawing through the sedatives.

The woman held up her hand, "Enough." She reached into her pocket and passed a kerchief to him. Drake had to drop his head down to the table to wipe at the snot dribbling out his nose. "We checked the planets you mentioned, there are no unexpected visitors to either. Even the supposed triple wyrm pinch hasn't been performed in any section of the galaxy for a month."

"I'm not lying!" Drake shouted, reaching back in frustration until the arm bands locked.

"Then give me a name."

Drake snorted, "You have the blood sample. Run your scans on that. You already found me out, I'm sure it can find her."

"Yes..." the woman reached to the middle of the table and booted up a small screen. "We did analyze the blood you gave us. While it did not show this miraculous un-mitosis you spoke of, we did find something interesting." She scrolled through an unending stream of ATGC's to land upon the picture of a woman Drake had never seen before.

"It seems this blood belonged to an 89 year old woman. A woman who's also been dead for six years."

"That's impossible. I watched it get taken out of her. There's, there's no way that's right. Something's wrong with your scanners."

"Our scans are accurate to a 99.9999...well, you get the point."

"But it was her! She was tallish, and had light brown skin with a deep scar on her cheek."

"That could be one of millions, perhaps even billions of women in the galaxy. We do not maintain a scar directory, I'm afraid. Give me a name."

"I don't...I can't. Orn! The pilot's name was Orn."

She sighed at his exclamation, "Perhaps you are unaware, but Orn is as common to the dwarves as Jamal is for humans. There are..." she prodded at the console and read off the calculation, "approximately 590,000 dwarves named Orn."

"He's a pilot on a ship."

"300,000 of those are pilots."

"Damn it!" Drake cursed himself. He thought for sure with the blood sample he could at least recoup the losses, maybe get himself a new ship. Who can bother to remember the name of someone they pick up in a piece of shit bar? "Run the scan again, on the blood," he didn't think the captain knew he swiped the sample but maybe she tampered with it, poured some dead old lady's blood in it. There had to be a trace of her real DNA in there.

But the woman leaned back, tenting her fingers like a super villain, "I do not think you understand, Mr. Mayhew. I believe that this blood sample was not taken from the veins of the woman the records point to. Which means, whoever stole the relic and used it to close up a hole in time itself changed the records herself."

Drake shook his head, "That's impossible."

She tipped her head, "Not particularly, if you know the correct buttons to push. It seems she had an even greater secret to hide."

The door opened and a man in the same dress blues entered. He had a bit of gold rope along the cap on his head either denoting him to be of high or low rank. Judging by the way he scraped under the woman's glare, it was probably low.

"Any news?" she asked, not rising away from Drake. She didn't care if he overheard state secrets or not.

"We have our best mages working on the sample at present but they are uncertain what to look for, much less how to isolate it."

"Have them keep at it. For once we are so close to unraveling this secret."

"Ma'am," the underling finally lifted his eyes towards the man chained to the table, "what should we do with him?"

"As far as the galaxy is concerned the crack in time never occurred. What few remember are under our control save one," she said glancing back at the screen.

Drake sighed, a moment of hope threatening to rise inside him.

"But he is still a liability to the mission. Confinement."

The underling bowed and unhooked Drake's restraints from the table. "You can't do this! I have my rights! What about a trial? I have every right to prove my innocence!"

"Mr. Mayhew," she said, "you are unaffiliated. There is no Lord that will speak on your behalf. And even if there were, your rights ended at the Ministry's door."

Drake tried to struggle away, but the underling was stronger than he looked, his grip shackling the man down as he partly carried him towards the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Drake watched the woman smile at the screen and the image of the captain's fall woman.

"I will find you," she whispered to the nameless, faceless woman, "and with your blood we'll finally unlock time itself."

THE END
If You Enjoyed This Book Please Check Out the Next in the _Dwarves In Space_ Series

  * Dwarves in Space
  * Family Matters
  * Free Radicals

  *

SE Zbasnik

S. E. Zbasnik has a degree in genetics, which means there may or may not be a horde of monkeoctopi doing her bidding to take over the world. She recently won the Top Ten Handmaid's Challenge on Wattpad where hers was chosen by Margaret Atwood herself. Along with her husband and black lab, she spends a lot of time with her skeletons -- don't worry, they're only Halloween props.

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