The Shrouds of Ynarr

“Brace yourself,” I warned, stepping protectively in front of the transport cart carrying recently acquired Destyrian antiquities. Sav’asa, my research assistant, shot me a concerned look. I took a deep breath and steeled myself. Chester approached the door, a tentative hand held out to activate its dematerialization mechanism.

“Chester! Gret’chen! You’re home,” Fleetwood Mercury, the planet Destyr’s most eccentric princess, shrieked. She cartwheeled across the rainbow-tiled foyer of her suite. The many layers of her sparkling skirt swirled like the waves of the jade green sea that winked at us through her floor-to-ceiling windows as she traversed toward us.

Chester stumbled inside, balancing the heavy container he’d carried from the docking bay. Sava’asa and I followed, the transport cart bumping against our shins. 

“FleetMerc, careful,” Chester said as she landed before us, arms already extended. “Fragile tech, remember? What was so important that we couldn’t unload our stuff in Gretchen’s lair first?”

Fleetwood glanced at the cart, her eyes narrowing as she noticed it for the first time. “I missed you! That’s important. You were gone for ages!”

“Barely a week,” I reminded her, simultaneously exasperated and charmed. I helped Chester gingerly set down his container, which housed his latest project—a replica cylinder, like those found in the Temple of Aluthua. Chester returned to Vas Roya with me biweekly as I attempted to salvage as many artifacts from the Temple as possible. Auhtula Ty’uria had hired Sav’asa as my aide and provided a team of engineers to keep the temple from crumbling further. Chester spent his time attempting to duplicate the technology of the Ancients. Hopefully, his replica would allow us to read the bounty of record spheres we had brought back with us without risking potential damage to the original cylinder-technology.

Chester allowed Fleetwood to scoop him up into a hug. “We missed you, too,” he said, tightening his arms around her as she nuzzled the top of his beanie. “But since this detour was your doing, you get to help us cart all of this where it belongs after dinner.” 

“Where’s Azo’lah?” I asked as Fleetwood released Chester and pulled me close. Since I permanently moved into the palace three months ago, she had gotten much better about not embracing us simultaneously, which usually resulted in our heads colliding painfully.

“She had an intelligence briefing. She will be done in time for dinner,” Fleetwood explained, turning her attention to Sav’asa. “Greetings, Sav’asa.”

Sav’asa, timid at the best of times, shrank beneath Fleetwood’s attention. She bowed deeply. “Greetings, Fulyiti Kezira. May the seven stars light your path.”

“Please call me, Fleetwood Mercury. Will you be joining us for dinner?” Fleetwood asked brightly, pressing her forehead to Sav’asa’s in a friendly greeting.

Sav’asa’s nervous gaze skirted to me as she toyed with the end of her dark braid. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” I said hurriedly. I was still learning the nuances of Destyrian culture, so I wasn’t exactly sure why Sav’asa was always so tongue-tied around me. I assumed that my alien-ness made her somewhat uncomfortable.

Sav’asa’s chin dipped, her mouth ticking up slightly. “I am honored by the invitation, Fulyiti, but I wish not to impose. I will take the orbs down to storage,” Sav’asa laid a six-fingered hand atop the crates, “and return home for my evening meal.”

“Are you sure?” I asked but was distracted from her answer as a black ball of fluff darted toward me. “Bash!” I scooped my cat into my arms and pressed my cheek against his head. I knew Fleetwood spoiled him rotten while I was away, but it didn’t stop me from missing him.

“Hey, Sebastian,” Chester greeted, scratching Sebastian under his chin. “How was your week, buddy?”

“It was splendiferous!” Fleetwood proclaimed, bouncing on her heels. “We played, and we napped, and he was gifted the napkit—”

“Catnip,” Chester corrected softly.

I turned to reiterate the invitation to dinner, only to find Sav’asa, the cart, and the crates already gone. In the time it took me to greet Sebastian, she had performed the Destyrian rendition of an Irish goodbye.

Before I could ask why no one had stopped her, the door to Fleetwood’s suite dematerialized again.

“We have found him,” Azo’lah announced, striding into the room. She had not changed out of her ceremonial uniform, a pearlescent, long sleeve tunic, and pants embroidered with the Myax oath. Her hair, recently unbound from the look of it, caught the light as it fell over her shoulders.

Sebastian leaped from my arms to wind his way between Azo’lah’s ankles in welcome.

“Hello to you too, favorite cousin!” Fleetwood drawled sarcastically. “Greetings, Gret’chen Myaxi and Favored Chester.  How was your day, my dearest doves? I missed you ever so greatly.”

“It’s only been two hours, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah argued as she pressed her forehead against her cousin's. 

“For us, yes,” Fleetwood agreed, pulling back and shoving Azo’lah toward Chester and me, “but it has been years since we have seen Gret’chen and Chester.”

“A week,” Chester said as Azo’lah perfunctorily repeated the greeting for both of us. I blushed as she drew away, still not quite used to the intimacy of everyday interactions on Destyr. Destyrian’s were exceptionally tactile. Touch was not limited to significant others or family members. While most Destyrians were still hesitant around me, the longer I stayed, the more they treated me as one of their own. 

“Is dinner almost ready?” Chester led the way into the private dining room. The cranberry wood table with mosaic inlays was just big enough for the four of us, plus an occasional guest, or Sebastian, who commandeered the extra seat if it was unoccupied. 

“Soon, my love,” Fleetwood promised as she skipped to the bar cart and began pouring a decanted bottle of quapir wine into four glasses. The early autumn breeze, heavy with minerals from the sea, slipped through the open windows and lazily stirred Fleetwood’s feathered bangs as she asked, “How are the Ancients? Did you tell them I missed them?”

I accepted the generously full glass she presented me and took my usual seat at the table. “The Ancients aren’t—”

 “I said, we found him,” Azo’lah repeated from where she stood, framed by the dining room entryway. Her eyes were narrowed, her mouth twisted downward. She was clearly expecting more of a response to her statement. I eyed her over the rim of my glass, hiding a smile. There was little to tease Azo’lah about, so we always took advantage of any opportunity to do so when it presented itself. 

“I didn’t know you were interested in men, let alone actively looking for one,” Chester said as he shuffled behind Fleetwood to take the seat across from mine. Wine leaked from the corner of my mouth as I tried, and failed, to stifle laughter at the look of revulsion that contorted Azo’lah’s face. 

“Perhaps she found your future spouse, Chester?” Fleetwood joked, passing Chester his wine.

Azo’lah’s eyebrow arched. “Unless Chester is planning to bind himself to Maximillian Danger Shockley, I do not think so.” 

That got my attention. 

“I use tools in my lab, I refuse to date them,” Chester retorted.

I asked, “Shockley? You found Shockley?”

Azo’lah nodded, beaming with triumph.

“Do we know if he has the cloak? Hey!” I protested as Azo’lah snatched my wine. She sat in her chair, staring at us imperiously. I was sharply reminded of the regal bearing of the statued sarcophagus of the first Auhtula, Azo’lah’s ancestor from whom she’d inherited her technopathic powers. Powers only she and I knew about.

“He was spotted in the pleasure district of Ketheno.” If the words pleasure district hadn’t set off an internal red alert, the way Fleetwood Mercury’s whole body suddenly illuminated with excitement certainly did. “Since there has been no alternative lead since eight star-cycles ago,” Azo’lah continued, “which was only Makosh smugglers with a tapestry—” 

“It was a precious ceremonial artifact to the Makoshi people!” I interjected. 

“Does this mean what I think it means?” Chester grabbed Fleetwood’s hands. 

“Wait, what does this mean?” I asked over Fleetwood and Chester’s outbreak of excited squealing.  

“That it is time for us to question the Dangerous Ones ourselves,” Azo’lah leaned back, stretching out her long legs. “Auhtula Ty’uria has already given her consent.”

“OFFWORLD INTERROGATION NATION ROAD TRIP!” Fleetwood crowed. She jumped to her feet, pulling Chester with her. The two began an impromptu victory dance, a bastardization of renaissance country dancing and salsa to the repeated chant of “Off-world roooaaaad trip, off-world roooaaad trip, off-world ro—”

I looked at Azo’lah. “When you say pleasure district...what kind of pleasure are we talking about?” 

Azo’lah smirked at me and took a deliberately goading sip of my wine. “What kind of pleasure do you think, Gretchen?” 

My cheeks burned as the kitchen porter entered the dining room, balancing platters of roasted meat and vegetables on his hands and forearms. “Guys, dinner,” I called to distract from my embarrassment. Chester and Fleetwood disentangled themselves and resumed their seats while Azo’lah began serving herself.

Once our plates were full, I asked, “So, when are we heading to whatsitsname—”

“Ketheno,” Azo’lah supplied, taking a long drink from her wine glass. “We will leave in the morning for an evening arrival. Since the Killer Qu’een is not equipped with a fusion drive, I’ve requested the Gold Dust Wo’man be readied.” 

Cheeks bulging with vegetables, Chester’s attention alighted on Azo’lah. His eyes glistened with excitement. “Please tell me I get to fly her!”

“I suppose,” Azo’lah agreed begrudgingly, “though you must promise not to attempt to use the fusion drive and the thrusters simultaneously. Last time you did that, we were all nauseated for an entire star-cycle.”

My stomach clenched at the memory.

“You guys were fine,” Chester bristled. “Plus, there are no speed limits in space.” Beneath our triplicate glare, he gave in. “Fine. No thrusters and fusion drive.”

“I am sorry, favored one, but it still promises to be an excellent adventure,” Fleetwood said, leaning over to kiss Chester’s cheek and pile his plate with more meat. “Chester will get us there, and Azo’lah will make the plan for interrogating the Shockley. That means I shall spend this evening outfitting Gretchen’s wardrobe for the occasion.”

My fork clattered against the tabletop as I choked on my half masticated mouthful of half masticated dinner. I pounded on my chest and took a sip from my wine glass. “Fleetwood, no.”

Fleetwood pointed her three-prong meat fork at me, her gold-lined eyes dancing with merriment. “Fleetwood, yes.” 

Chester’s laughter bounced off the smooth, dove gray walls of The Gold Dust Wo’man, a self-made maniacal chorus that followed us down the corridor.

Deep in the throes of mirth, he tripped over his own feet and, to avoid face-planting, caught himself on one of my heavily padded shoulders. “Oh, shit, sorry,” he huffed, straightening up. Catching another head-on glimpse of my Fleetwood-styled ensemble, he bit his lip.

“It is not that bad,” I argued, adjusting the squashed shoulder pad in my heinous lime green blazer. The rest of the outfit wasn’t much better—silver hot pants, opaque tights decorated with dinosaurs, and a tie-dyed Allman Brothers Band t-shirt. 

Chester, unfairly dressed in dress pants and a button-down, cupped my cheek and said, “Oh, sweet, naive Gretchen, it’s so, so very bad.”

I flicked a finger at the brim of his fedora—the only Fleetwood-selected accessory adorning his body—and hissed, “At least I’m completely covered. And I won the hair and makeup battle.”

The original outfit presented to me had involved a bralette, high heels, no tights, and an unholy amount of glitter body.

“I would’ve taken the body glitter over a blazer with shoulder pads,” Chester snorted.

I tapped his Ran’dyl. Usually attached to his beanie, it was now affixed to the fedora. I called, “Oh, Fleetwood!”

Chester slapped the pin. He hissed, “Comms off,” curtailing Fleetwood’s enthusiastic reply. Even though we could communicate through our implants due to the modifications made at the Temple of Aluthua, we had decided, for secrecy’s sake, only to use that ability when we were on missions or in grave danger.

Chester smoothed the shoulders of my blazer and straightened the hem of my t-shirt. He cleared his throat and said, solemnly, “I apologize for my callous laughter. This outfit is fine and normal, and any sane human would be happy to wear it. The sparkly T-rex tights really set off the fringe on the back of the blazer.”

“That’s what I thought,” I replied. I looped our arms and tugged Chester down the cavernous corridor.

Traversing across several galaxies to Ketheno had, considering the distance, 

taken much less time than I’d anticipated. Chester had directed us through the stars as he listened to an audio-book he had translated and recorded for himself on Destyrian quantum mechanics with Azo’lah napping in the co-pilot’s seat. I attempted to organize the research I had been doing on the temple orbs but spent most of the trip being Fleetwood’s fashion guinea pig. 

I felt winded by the time we reached the ship’s door. The Gold Dust Wo’man was much larger than the Killer Qu’een, and I had already gotten turned around twice. The interior walls were curved, the ceilings high, and every room was constructed to be acoustically perfect. She could carry a crew of over fifty and, according to Chester’s obsessive research, an unfathomably high payload. The ship was shaped like a golden, hollow ice cream cone, its fusion reactor suspended in the center. 

“Took you long enough,” Azo’lah called as we approached. Her smirk promised imminent teasing as she peered down at me. The foot-and-a-half disparity between our heights still disoriented me at times. Yes, I told myself, my current state was due to our height difference and not the fact that Azo’lah was clad in a sleek, black one-piece that accented her sculpted musculature. 

“I like that color on you, Myaxi.” She trailed her fingers down my sleeve. “Perhaps Fulyiti Fleetwood can commission a seamstress to make your entire work wardrobe in this exact shade.”

I scoffed. It was hard to tell sometimes whether or not Azo’lah was joking. “I will stab you in the eye if you suggest it.”

Azo’lah patted my head patronizingly, mussing my ponytail. “No, you won’t.”

“Maybe I won’t,” I agreed, as Chester lowered the gangway.  “But, I will keep Sebastian from you.”

“You don’t have that kind of cruelty in you,” Azo’lah said, but she looked momentarily crushed by the mere idea of no more Sebastian.

Upon my return to Destyr, I had expected Fleetwood to be taken with my cat. But Azo’lah’s earnest exuberance for Sebastian had been an endearing surprise. 

“Don’t test me,” I threatened as we deboarded. I thumbed my Ran’dyl. “Fleetwood, we’re leaving with or without you, so get down here—”

“The party has arrived,” Fleetwood shouted as she strutted down the gangplank like it was a Fashion Week runway.

“Oh, my ancient alien gods,” Chester said, mouth gaping, as we took in the spectacle that was Fleetwood Mercury. She wore zebra-striped lycra leggings and a ripped Ramones shirt that revealed her belly-buttonless stomach. Her arms were weighed down with stacks of silver bangles that matched the band of body paint framing her navy eyes.

Chester tilted his head and scrutinized her from overly-teased hair to her platformed shoes. “I hate that you’re making this work.”

“Right?” I agreed.

“Would you like to change, Gret’chen?” Fleetwood offered. “I have a pair of giraffe print leggings!” 

Giraffe leggings were the only thing that could make my current ensemble worse. “No, thank you. I’m rather attached to the T. Rex tights.”

“Are we all done needlessly staring at each other now?” Azo’lah demanded, turning to leave. “We are here to do a job.” 

Fleetwood stuck her tongue out at Azo’lah’s back. “Celebration defecator.”

I met Chester’s eyes, but he shook his head. “Choosing my battles.”

We had landed on the fringe of Ketheno, the only city on the ocean planet of Juthar. Ketheno sat on the largest island in a planet-wide archipelago. The city propped up the entire planet’s economy with a booming illegal market of drugs harvested from the scales, bones, and ink of the creatures unique to Juthar’s infinite seas. 

My boots dug into black sand as the gangplank rose behind us. We trekked away from the churning, algae-stained ocean and into the city proper, ferried along by strong gusts at our backs. The buildings were short, round, and stout with domed roofs and few windows. From our research, I knew that the city was divided into four sectors: the fisheries, the manufacturing quarter, residential neighborhoods, and the pleasure district. The architecture’s homogenous nature made it impossible to distinguish the districts from one another, and eerily, the streets were empty.

“Why are all the buildings so similar?” I asked.

“The nightly gales,” Azo’lah replied. “The winds get so strong that anything higher would collapse.”

Chester asked, “Is the wind also why no one’s outside?”

Fleetwood wrapped her arm around Chester’s shoulders and leered. “The life is inside in Ketheno.”

Azo’lah stopped outside a building and consulted her Ran’dyl. “This is the establishment The Dangerous Ones are most known to frequent. This place is known for its depravity. Some have said they lost everything but their souls here.”

Chester released a low whistle. “Shit. Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Unimpressed, or still not quite understanding American sarcasm, Azo’lah continued, “Try to remain together, but if we are separated, remember, do not engage the Dangerous Ones alone. Fulyiti?” 

Azo’lah waited for Fleetwood’s grudging agreement before knocking. The door ascended into the ceiling with a hiss like a leaking tire. 

The building’s interior was a stark contrast to its dull facade, the perfect marriage of space-age and art deco. Richly pigmented fabrics upholstered the many booths and couches that were all arranged around a central bar. Chevron wall sconces illuminated the space with diffused light. A wide catwalk was suspended from the ceiling, where patrons were mingling while looking down at the small stage where a performer with mottled yellow skin, two mouths, and a dozen arms was playing a strange, complex-looking instrument. 

“Oh my god, it’s a Speakeasy,” Chester gasped between wheezing laughs.

“Like in the periodic dramas,” Fleetwood confirmed.

 I clutched at Chester’s wrist and checked the inner-pocket of my blazer for my meds. Having lived among only Destyrians for the last three months, I was excited to encounter other alien life forms. I thought I was ready. My rapidly escalating anxiety was telling me that I was not. I inhaled deeply, counting slowly as I got my breathing under control, my eyes scouring the room.

At a high-top table, sipping from highball glasses that held a viscous gray liquid, stood three aliens that would have passed as human men were it not for the extra set of arms that extended from their hips. Noseless, serpentine aliens with six legs claimed the far side of the bar. Their necks bulged like bullfrogs as they drank.

From my readings, I recognized a group of Liopals at a circular table near the musician. They were barely a foot tall with giraffe-like horns that protruded from the apexes of their green cheeks. I also spotted a large gathering of Xxoli—amorphous, blob-shaped aliens with no discernible features outside of their iridescent rainbow shine.

The catwalk tables were populated with a variety of winged aliens. Some were so miniscule they were only visible when they flit directly in front of a light source, their tiny silhouettes bounding across the walls like shadow puppets.

But the thing that truly drew my eye was the surprising number of humans present. A somber man downed jet-black shots at the bar. A pair of women wearing t-shirts emblazoned with ‘Nama-stay In Bed’ were sipping alcohol through bendy straws from an astronaut’s helmet.

In front of the stage, a group of heavily intoxicated humans was dancing terribly. One wore a chrome sash declaring her status as the bride-to-be.

Chester followed my gaze. “Oh, yeah, humans get sloppy no matter where they’re partying. Though,” he winced as the musician attempted to imitate a saxophone riff, “I wish it did not have to be to this soundtrack.”

“The Uli musicians are usually quite skilled, but this bard is terrible,” Azo’lah commented.

“Hella bad,” Chester said miserably. “Though I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on his slupna—” I turned my laughter into a sneeze. Chester rolled his eyes.“The slupna is the instrument he’s playing. They don’t make it on Destyr, and it is one of the only known instruments with a scale range—”

“Has anyone spotted Shockley?” Azo’lah interrupted.

I shook my head. “No, but in this crowd, with this many humans...”

Fleetwood perked up at my side. “Does that mean drinks?”

Azo’lah groaned. “I suppose while we look for The Dangerous Ones, it would not hurt to blend in and get one drink.”

Fleetwood latched onto my blazer and Chester’s shirt and beelined to the bar, crashing into it in her eagerness. The bartender, utterly human in appearance save for his single eye and triple-nostril nose, gazed up at her, unimpressed. The backlighting of the bar glinted ominously off the bar pierced through both of his septums.

Fleetwood held up four long fingers. “Befar, please.”

The bartender blinked slowly, his mouth quirked as he retrieved four glasses from below and filled them with clear, carbonated liquid from a metal bottle. He accepted Fleetwood’s payment by tapping her Ran’dyl against a pay station without telling her the total and disappeared down the bar to serve more customers.

I picked up my glass. “What is this?”

“Bad news,” an accented voice said before the glass was pulled out of my hand. Offended, I looked to my right. I got a glimpse of a human with a squarish face and a layer of black stubble before Azo’lah stepped in front of me. Doubly offended now, I stuck my head around Azo’lah’s back to glare at the man. I had been able to scare off men with my awkwardness since I could legally drink. I didn’t need extra help, thank you very much.

The man in question wore a royal blue button-down, which complemented his brown skin and brought out his dark brown eyes. Noticing that he was on the wrong end of Azo’lah’s glower, he held out the glass to her. She accepted it with a raised eyebrow. “Befar is toxic to humans,” the man explained. “It shuts down our kidneys within minutes of ingestion.” 

He smiled as Fleetwood held up a glass to Chester’s mouth. Chester promptly spit out the swig he’d just taken into it. The stranger added, “I wasn’t trying anything with your friend, I swear.” 

At Azo’lah’s unwavering silence, he tilted his head to match mine, jet black hair flopping over his forehead in round curls that mimicked the gentle lilt of his vowels when he spoke. “Let’s start over? I’m Matthew Majumdar. Matt,” he went to offer me a handshake around Azo’lah’s back but reconsidered. “Sorry for the confusion. I can recommend a few safe alternatives?” 

Azo’lah glanced down at me. I nodded.  She moved backward, downing my befar in one gulp. Fleetwood surged into the vacated space, a befar in each fist. She curtsied and said, “Fleetwood Mercury. What’s a sweet thing like you doing in a gin joint like this?”

“Looking for a no-good double-crossing thief I have business with,” Matt replied quickly, beckoning the bartender our way. I met Chester’s eyes, and we grinned. It seemed Matt, like most people, was not immune to Fleetwood’s unique charms. 

“What a coincidence,” Chester said. “Us too.” 

Matt ordered a round of non-toxic drinks and chasers, which resulted in four smoking shots being presented to us.

“What did your lying scoundrel do?” Fleetwood asked, eyes wide as she cradled her new drink close.

“Didn’t pay me for a mission I piloted. He even promised me double my usual rate,” Matt responded. “And like a fool, I believed him.”

Chester perked up. “You’re a pilot?” 

“For hire, yeah,” Matt confirmed, as the bartender slid another line of drinks in front of us. “Well, I’d better keep looking for my thief.” He slid off of his stool, paying the bartender for our drinks. “It was lovely meeting you all. Enjoy your night.” 

“Aw,” Fleetwood whined as she watched Matt disappear into the crowd. “I thought we’d made a new friend.” 

“You just liked his British accent,” Chester said.

“We are not here to make friends,” Azo’lah reminded them. “We are here to find Shockley.” 

“But first,” Fleetwood said, “a friendship blast.” 

“Friendship shot,” I corrected, eyeing the smoking glass. 

Fleetwood held her glass high. “To the highest-scoring intergalactic friendship squad!”  

I was glad that I waited the moment it took me to translate Fleetwood’s toast because by the time I realized she meant ‘friendship goals,’ I was chuckling. Chester was less lucky and ended up laughing while downing his shot. 

He slapped the empty glass onto the counter. Smoke exited his nose. He opened his mouth to speak but instead released a hacking cough.

“Chester, my Chester, are you well?” Fleetwood stooped to place her face in front of his, her hands gripping his shoulders. Chester turned so that he wouldn’t cough directly into Fleetwood’s face, covering his mouth with his elbow. His eyes widened, and his free arm flailed, slapping Azo’lah. 

“Do you require medical attention?” she asked.

Still unable to speak, Chester pointed to the back of the Speakeasy. I followed the line of his arm to a rambunctious group of revelers that was cheering an arm-wrestling match. At their fore was a human man in tight black jeans and a leather jacket sipping leisurely from a tumbler.

Shockley.

Since I last saw him, I had forgotten how simultaneously douchey and heart-stoppingly handsome he was.

I took my smoking shot, cringing at the burn. I wiped my mouth and cracked my neck. “You guys ready?”

Fleetwood replied, “Born ready, baby.”

Chester nodded, attempting stoic, but still coughing horrifically.

I turned to our Myax. “Azo’lah?”

She smiled in a wolfish way that would’ve made me nervous for Shockley if I weren’t so interested in ripping him apart myself. Azo’lah waded through the crowd, her imposing height parting it easily.

Shockley missed our approach. His attention was so diverted by the arm wrestling match that Azo’lah had to tap him on the shoulder three times to get his attention.

“Myax,” he greeted Azo’lah, his grin tight. He brightened upon seeing Fleetwood. 

At his back, the cheers became deafening as one of the arm wrestlers—a curly-haired woman wearing a denim jacket and a victorious smile—summited the table, arms thrust skyward, to the repetitive chant of “Carm the Arm!” I saw Tyler Bautista clapping his hands wildly and offering to purchase a drink for the winner.

Shockley, so enraptured by the festivities only a moment ago, stared intently at Fleetwood. “Fulyiti Fleetwood Mercury, what a wonderful surprise to see my most beloved Fulyiti so soon.” He winked. “Now tell me, why are you and your friends coincidentally in the same establishment as us on this most auspicious night?” It occurred to me then that Shockley had focused on Fleetwood because he thought she was the easiest mark. Clearly, being locked in a room with me had taught him nothing. 

Fleetwood held out one elegant hand. Only the momentary widening of Shockley’s eyes betrayed his surprise before he brought it to his lips. Fleetwood smiled serenely and said, “I think you know why we’re here.” 

“I haven’t the faintest,” Shockley returned. Fleetwood’s fingers, still resting in his palm, twisted, pulling him tight against her. Azo’lah immediately stepped up against Shockley’s back, caging him between the two tall Destyrians. He smirked. “Really, ladies, if this is what you’re interested in—” 

“We know you swapped the real cloak with a fake,” Azo’lah said, her eyes ablaze with righteous fury. “And I’ll break your free hand if you even think of touching her.” 

Shockley turned to look at me, supplicating, “Want to tell me what she’s talking about, Name Police?”

“The cloak of the first Auhtula!” I nearly shouted. “During our fight on top of the temple, you stole it! Swapped it out for a fake!” At his continued incredulous stare, I continued, “We know you didn’t take it to Pola like you were supposed to. For one, your ship’s signature never entered Destyrian airspace, and for another, Pola wouldn’t have kept her possession of the cloak secret for so long.”

Shockley’s eyes narrowed. “What in the name of all the gods of Fhakt are you talking about, Borowicz?”

“Shockley,” Chester said amiably. “You’re dumb in many ways, but I know you don’t have subpar comprehension skills.” 

Shockley snorted and held up his free hand to stop us from flinging more accusations his way. “Let me see if I’ve got this,” he said. “You think that my team and I somehow distracted you with a fight on the top of that crumbling death-trap temple in a bid to trade out the cloak of the first Auhtula for a fake? A fake so good that none of you noticed a difference until much later? How would I have known what the cloak even looked like before that day?”

“There are many depictions of the first Auhtula,” Azo’lah argued, though her mouth’s stubborn set was softening. “You could’ve seen any of those and used them as a reference.”

“Even in surviving Ancient Destyrian art, the first Autula is depicted wearing several cloaks,” Shockley retorted, “No one knew what her supposedly super special one looked like before you somehow managed to get in that completely doorless room.” Shockley leaned back into Azo’lah’s chest and craned his neck to look up at her. “And if you ask me, that’s also an intriguing mystery.” I forced myself not to look at Azo’lah, praying Shockley wouldn’t notice the heat rising in my cheeks. 

Fleetwood sang, “Liar, liar, pantaloons on fire!”

“Hanging from a tempestuous livewire!” Tyler Bautista finished for her as he finally spotted us. Like Shockley, he was dressed in all black except for a new, red snapback worn backwards. He had a drink in each hand. “There’s my favorite Destyrian princess. Yo, guys, what up? It’s been so long!” Tyler looked genuinely pleased to see us, his boyish smile was a beam of purest sunshine in the enshadowed Speakeasy. He held out his drinks to Fleetwood and me. “You need drinks?”

I held up my hand. “No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Please,” Fleetwood cried, accepting one.

“Tyler,” Shockley groaned.

“Oh,” Tyler said, noticing Shockley’s position sandwiched between Azo’lah and Fleetwood. “Did I interrupt something?” 

“Yes,” I said. 

“Not like you think,” Chester amended. 

Azo’lah reached over Shockley’s shoulder, wrenching Tyler’s glass from Fleetwood’s mouth. “You do not accept drinks from our enemy!”

“Tyler’s my friend,” Fleetwood pouted.

“None of The Dangerous Ones can be trusted, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah hissed. “Or do you not remember the events of twenty binary cycles ago?”

“A minor disagreement,” Tyler said, finishing off his remaining cocktail.

“A minor...” I shook my head. “We all almost died.”

“But, we didn’t!” Tyler shrugged. “So, we’re allowed to be friends now, right?”

Shockley glared at us. “Frenemies at best. And only if they stop accusing us of stealing the first Auhtula’s cloak.”

Tyler squinted at Shockley, clearly confused. “Why would we steal that? We already failed. Oh, is that the new mission? To try again?”

Shockley gestured grandly at Tyler. “See! We don’t have it. We never did,”

Azo’lah grit her teeth. “That’s—”

“Think about it, Myax. Would we be here at the ass-end of the universe, in this shithole bar, drinking alcohol so toxic it can’t be sold on any other planet if we had Auhtula cloak money?”

“That’s true,” Tyler agreed emphatically. “If we had hella money like that, we’d be making it rain on Caspian.”

“What’s Caspian?” I asked.

“Caspian’s a space station in Messier 81. Shit is lit,” Chester explained. 

Azo’lah pinched the bridge of her nose and valiantly attempted to regain control of the conversation. “If you didn’t steal the cloak and one we took home was a fake, that means…”

“Someone got to the Temple of Aluthua before any of us,” I finished. If someone got to the temple before us, then that someone was an Iz’waij with technopathic powers like Azo’lah. “But who?”

The furrows along Azo’lah’s forehead deepened. Our gazes locked for a moment. She murmured, “The likelihood of that...”

“Is insanely low,” Chester said. “But the temple was abandoned over nine thousand years ago. That’s a lot of time for a lot of beings to come along. It could’ve been taken right after the Ancients evacuated Vas Roya or the week before we got there.”

My stomach knotted up. “Oh, God, that means it could be anywhere. But why take one artifact and not the others?”

Shockley shrugged as Fleetwood finally released him. He sauntered over to me and tilted his down, so his lips brushed my ear when he said, “Who cares?”

I recoiled in outrage. “Who cares? The cloak is a priceless…” I trailed off when I took in his smug expression. “You asshole!” 

“Oh, shit, it’s my song!” Tyler shouted. “This guy’s playing so many bangers tonight.”

The current overriding sound issuing from the Uli bard and his slupna was reminiscent of a harpooned moose. My taste in space music clearly was not on-trend.

Tyler grabbed Fleetwood’s and Chester’s hands. “Let’s dance!”

“Yes!” Fleetwood roared.

Chester blushed and stammered, “I mean...that’s...yeah.”

“Fulyiti, Chester, I don’t think...” Azo’lah called to their retreating backs. But it was useless as the trio were already joining the very welcoming bachelorette party on the makeshift dance floor.

Azo’lah scowled at their backs, then at me. “I cannot just entrust that she will be safe, especially in a place like this,” Azo’lah said, as she turned back to where Tyler and Chester were teaching Fleetwood the Electric Slide. She looked torn. “I must—”

“Go.” I pushed her gently. “I’ll be fine here.”

“I do not trust Shockley,” she hissed.

“Neither do I,” Shockley agreed blithely. I punched him in the bicep for his stupidity. “Dammit, Borowicz.”

I smiled, self-satisfied. “I’ll be fine, Azo’lah. Go.”  She left, though she looked thoroughly displeased about it.

Shockley waved after her. “Shall we join them on the dance floor, Borowicz?”

I snorted. I had never wanted to dance publicly in my life. Ever. “Hell no.”

“Alright.” He picked up his empty glass. “How ‘bout a drink instead?” 

“So,” Shockley sagged into the cushioned bench and swung a leg up onto our circular table, “how’s the dig on Vas Roya coming?” 

My grip on my drink slipped. “How do you know about that?” 

He steadied my glass, his eyes catching the dim lighting. The effect on his already handsome face was distressing. “I have my sources.” 

“Let me guess, Nyc’arra found out from Auhtula Pola.”

Shockley clinked his recently refilled tumbler against mine. “Got it in one,” he confirmed. He slung an arm over the back of the small booth we were encased in, which gave us a view of Tyler, Fleetwood, and Chester executing a comical gyrating dance to the disturbing sounds of the slupna. “Man, I’d love to see your Myax cut loose.” I looked to where Azo’lah was stationed, sipping a drink while leaning against the wall, her eyes trained on our dancing friends. Sensing our attention, she turned to us for a moment, her glare scathing as Shockley saluted her.

“Speaking of Myax, where is Nyc’arra?” I asked. 

“Making a very lucky someone’s night, I presume,” he replied.

“Are you into Nyc’arra?” I exclaimed. Now there was a pairing I never would’ve guessed.

Shockley raised an eyebrow. “No. She’s very attractive but I have a strict policy about not sleeping with my crew. Also, I’m pretty sure she’s still hung up on Azo’lah. Or consumed with murderous intent towards her...it’s hard to tell with Nyc’arra sometimes.”  He smirked over the rim of his glass. “Besides, how can I look anywhere else when I’m next to a cutie rocking sparkly dinosaur tights?” 

I kicked at his shin. “You’re such a dick, Shockley.” 

“Never claimed not to be,” he conceded. “So, are you going to tell me about that dig or no?”

I looked over as he took a long, too studied drink. He was the perfect picture of nonchalance. Too perfect. “You’re secretly dying to know, aren’t you?” 

Shockley shifted, removing his foot from the table and turning bodily to face me. “Yes, alright!” he admitted. His carefully cultivated persona abruptly fell away, replaced by the man I had been trapped within the Healing Chamber. His bright-eyed sincerity was contagious as he leaned into my space. “The Temple of Aluthua is an archaeologist's wet dream, and you get unlimited access. I need to know how you’re sitting next to me and not trapped dying beneath the weight of a collapsed ceiling bearing the image of the first Auhtula.”

“I...I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you anything,” I said after a long moment. Shockley flopped back with a groan. “You did try to raid the place. You may try to do it again. Which, I wouldn’t advise since they’ve tightened security.” 

“Tell me you’re going to publish your findings,” Shockley insisted, “on Destyr at the very least.”

“Of course. It’s their history,” I said defensively, as the slupna’s melody reached an ear-piercing decibel. “They deserve to know it. Like I’d do any—what in the hell is this guy playing?”

Shockley winked. “You don’t recognize it?”

What I assumed was the chorus arrived in a screaming crescendo, something reminiscent of an electric guitar and piano in the notes of the slupna. “Is he playing Alone by Heart?” I asked, equally shocked and amused by this turn of events. “Is 80s rock really that popular in space?”

“No, your Fulyiti’s penchant for our music is not a common one up here,” Shockley replied, drolly. “I specifically requested and dedicated this song to you.”

“Liar,” I spat automatically. His eyebrows contracted. If he were someone else, I’d say I had hurt his feelings with my accusation. I winced at my social faux pas. Just because Shockley wasn’t my favorite person didn’t mean I wanted to be rude. “Sorry. It’s just, you haven’t been anywhere near the Uli bard, so that’s impossible.” 

Shockley sighed dramatically. “Caught me red-handed. Though,” his voice dipped into the realm of overly smarmy, as he leaned in ever closer, “the sentiment of the song still stands.” 

I shoved his shoulder, scoffing, “You won’t seduce information on the Temple of Aluthua out of me.”

“You wound me, Borowicz,” Shockley said. His grin slipped from his face at the sound of tapping from the opposite side of our table.

An alien was staring inquisitively at us. Crimson in color, it had a large round head/body and six thick, tentacle-like legs arranged in a skirtlike fashion that supported it. Two similarly shaped arms sprouted from low on its body, one of which was poised above our table. It had two huge, bulbous black eyes that took up most of its face, with two tiny slit-like nostrils and no mouth. It was adorable as it peered expectantly at us.

“Hail the Shockley?” my implant translated in a voice that mimicked the small, quivering motions of its tapping tentacles. 

Slipping back into his mercenary persona like it was one of his well-worn jackets, Shockley focused in on the new arrival. “You’re hailing him. And you are?” 

“I am brother Sgnorp of the Ynoom. I am sent by my brethren to request your aid and offer compensation in return for it.” 

“Compensation?” Shockley perked up at that. “I’m listening.”

“May I join you?” Sgnorp gestured to the empty section of our semicircular booth.

Shockley nodded. Sgnorp bobbed up onto the bench, his many legs twisting like an animated ballerina.

I shifted uncomfortably. Caged in on both sides, I had no way to exit a situation I was not invited to attend. I stood, searching for an escape route that wasn’t climbing across Shockley’s lap. “If this is business, I should go.”

Shockley’s gripped my wrist. “Stay,” he whispered, tugging me back into my seat. “Something tells me this won’t take long.”

Sgnorp placed his tentacled arms on the table, folding his mitten-shaped hands around each other. His legs danced across the garish, metallic throw pillows as he spoke. “Brother Shockley, my brethren understand that you are good at retrieving items that have been lost or stolen—” 

“I’m the best,” Shockley interjected sharply.

“Retrieving items?” I said incredulously. “More like he’s the one stealing them.”

Shockley frowned. “Maybe you should go.”

“No,” I shook my head, “now I’m interested.”

Sgnorp shuddered, out of nerves incited by our bickering or something else, I wasn’t sure. “Our holy sites, which have remained undisturbed for three millennia, have recently been vandalized.” Sgnorp’s translated voice wavered. “Only the burial places of our most honored dead have been subject to theft. The bandits consistently abscond with the same items: the sacred shrouds of Ynarr.” 

“Burial shrouds?” I asked as Shockley’s slack posture got a lot less relaxed. 

His jaw clenched to match the severe tilt of his lips. “The graves of your honored dead have been robbed, and the thieves didn’t take any of the crystals or other expensive shit entombed with the bodies? Why?” 

“That is unknown to us also. We had hoped that you would know what might render the fabric of the shrouds valuable amongst miscreants,” Sgnorp replied, eyes downcast at discovering that Shockley seemed as stupified by the situation as he did. 

“What do they look like?” I asked. Sgnorp unclipped two round chips attached underneath one of his front legs and placed them on the table. One he slid to Shockley. The other, he prodded one with his thumb, and it produced a holographic image of a circular cloth, made of tightly spun bronze fibers. Besides the crimson characters woven into the middle, it seemed to be no more than fabric, valuable historically and culturally. Still, without an up-close inspection, I couldn’t see why anyone would want to take it since its nonmaterial value was only known to the Ynoom. 

“I’m sorry, brother,” Shockley tossed the chip he had been surveying across the table. “But I’m the best, and I don’t come cheap. That doesn’t even cover half of my fee.”

“It is all I have been authorized to offer,” Sgnorp protested weakly, his many legs drumming nervously against the booth. “Please, without the shrouds, those who have not yet completed the rejoining ceremony will not pass into the sacred realms, nor will their descendants be able to reap the wisdom of their shrouds—” “I’m sorry for that loss, truly I am, but I’m a mercenary. I can’t afford to be a bleeding heart,” Shockley said. His face was a mask of neutrality, his tone cold, but for some reason, I believed that he was sorry for the Ynoom. “I have a crew to feed and pay, a ship to fuel. But, Borowicz here may be willing...her heart bleeds generosity, and she has royal patrons.” 

“What?” I hissed, glaring at Shockley. I may have been interested in the missing shrouds, but that didn’t mean I knew the first thing about finding thieves and bringing them to justice. “You can’t just volunteer me for bounty hunter bullshit without asking me.” 

Infuriatingly, he chuffed me under the chin with a curved knuckle. “But that bounty hunter bullshit comes with a mystery involving three-thousand-year-old burial shrouds of massive cultural significance to an alien race of cartoon octopi—”

“Octopedes.” 

“Octopuses,” Shockley snarked back. “And you’ve already looked over toward your crew three times, so clearly, you’re not not considering it.” 

“That’s terrible grammar,” I seethed, dropping my head into my palms. I wasn’t sure which I hated more: how easily he read me or the warmth bubbling up in my stomach that he could read me that easily.

“Are you well, Myaxi?” I started, almost knocking Sgnorp out of the booth and into Azo’lah. She stood at the edge of the table, holding a drink. She spoke to me but looked down at Shockley with disdain. “This is safe for your consumption, should you care to share.” I took the glass from Azo’lah’s out-stretched hand and took an oversized gulp.

Shockley raised an impressed eyebrow. “You are full of surprises tonight, Azo’lah Myax.” Azo’lah returned his gaze blankly. I had the distinct impression I was missing something. Azo’lah raised a hand and gestured toward the dance floor. Fleetwood, Tyler, and Chester, who had been watching us while doing a strange three-person salsa, immediately disentangled themselves and made their way over. 

“Hail, family!” Sgnorp warbled as they approached our table.

To my surprise, upon spotting Sgnorp, Fleetwood curled her left arm up to her side as if she was about to perform the “and here is my spout” choreography to I’m a Little Teapot. “Hail, brother of the Ynoom!” she crowed. “Clear paths, I wish for you.” 

“The same and merry tidings, I wish unto you, sister,” Sgnorp replied, returning the teapot salute. “Will you honor me with your name?” 

“I am honored by your request, brother,” Fleetwood returned as she came to a stop at Azo’lah’s side, Chester and Tyler at her back. “I am Fulyiti Fleetwood Mercury, second heir of the royal house of Fuiq of Destyr. Please address me familiarly as Fleetwood Mercury. And may I present my favored human and chosen blood, Chester Leon of Earth. You have met our chosen blood, sister Gret’chen, also of Earth, and my most loved cousin, Azo’lah Myax. And this is our dearest frenemy, Tyler Bautista.”

Sgnorp studied Tyler. “I am unfamiliar with this term ‘frenemy,’ sister Fleetwood Mercury.”

“What’s up, octopus emoji, my dude?” Tyler tilted his head genially in the Ynoom’s direction.

Sgnorp’s tentacles began to thrash. “I do not know this term of address...”

“Forgive frenemy Tyler, brother,” Fleetwood explained kindly. “He finds your shape similar to a holy pictograph on his birth planet and thus meant it as a compliment.” Azo’lah grabbed a chair from a neighboring table for Fleetwood to sit in. She dropped gracefully into it as she said, “Forgive my intrusive question, brother, but you are far from your home planet.” 

“He came looking for Shockley’s help,” I explained. “And, like the compassionate soul he is, Shockley refused.”

“Here, here!” Shockley sipped his drink, unmoved by my sarcasm. 

“Only desperation would drive an honorable Ynoom such as yourself to seek the aid of a dishonorable wretch like this one,” Azo’lah assured Sgnorp. 

“Indeed,” Sgnorp agreed before repeating his story. Azo’lah brushed my hand as I passed our shared drink back to her. There was a spark before I had the stark mental image of Destyrian characters, which morphed into words, Do you wish to do this? I blinked at Azo’lah. She raised one frosty eyebrow, a small smirk teasing at her lips. Had she just...texted my brain?

Yes? I thought back. How the hell are you doing this?

Iz’waij, came the quick response. It was a neat but mostly terrifying development in our brain bond thing. 

I asked, Can you see inside my head?

I can only see the messages you intend to send to me, she assured me. You have not answered my question.

I want to help. I’ll come back to Destyr when I’m done.

Azo’lah gave me a pointed look over Fleetwood’s head. For having known the Fulyiti for so many months, you are terrible at anticipating her behavior. 

“As the Ynoom assisted the Myax in their mission to find a cure for the doalin outbreak, we are honored to return the generosity now,” Fleetwood Mercury announced with pride.

“Wasn’t that two millennia ago?” Shockley asked, his expression intensely amused.

“And we are delighted to have the opportunity to return the favor now,” Fleetwood replied breezily. “Brother Sgnorp, we must return to Destyr to gather supplies. Is it acceptable for us to travel to you as swiftly as possible afterward?” 

“The Ynoom will prepare for your most welcome arrival,” Sgnorp slunk off the bench and gave a quivering teapot salute, which Fleetwood mirrored. “Thank you, sister Fleetwood Mercury, for your compassion. May your path be clear.” And with that, he bobbed away.

“You’re too predictable, Borowicz,” Shockley said, slinging an arm over my shoulders, his hand brushing against my collarbone. He was clearly settling in for an extended bout of jackassery. “And you, Fulyiti, are an adventure junkie.” 

“Uh, doy, Captain Obvious,” Fleetwood retorted. I was surprised she didn’t finish the sentence by sticking out her tongue.

“That’s a—” Shockley’s face paled as his eyes caught on something behind Fleetwood. His entire body went rigid. “Shit, shit, shit. Bautista, let’s haul some ass outta here.”

“Seriously?” Tyler pouted. “But the night’s just getting started. Chester and I were about to go order another round.”

“No, the night’s definitely over.” Keeping his head low, Shockley slithered from the booth. He grabbed Tyler’s arm and began pulling.

“Shockley, what the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” Shockley replied. “See you around, Borowicz. Fulyiti Fleetwood, always a pleasure.” He tugged hard on the collar of Tyler’s shirt. “Bautista, let’s go!”

Tyler waved glumly at us as Shockley hauled him bodily away. “See you next time, fam! Hit me up, Fleetwood!”

“Bye, Tyler!” Fleetwood called as they disappeared into the mosh pit the dance floor had become.

I turned to Azo’lah and Chester, who looked as bewildered as I felt. “What the hell was that about?”

“I believe that inelegant escape was about me,” said Matt. Our friend from earlier in the night strode over.to join us.

“Shockley is the guy who owes you money?” I asked.

Matt nodded. “It appears we were after the same lying scoundrel.”

“Sorry you didn’t get a chance to try and get your money for the flying you did,” Chester apologized.

“I’m sure my path will cross with Shockley’s soon enough,” Matt said, running a hand through his wild curls. “I’ll get another chance to collect.”

Azo’lah slid into Shockley’s vacated seat and asked, “Matt Majumdar, you are a deep space pilot, yes?”

Matt nodded. “I’m former RAF. But, after flying out here, well...everything else seems boring.” 

“Would you like to fly us from Destyr to Ynoom?” Azo’lah asked. “We need a pilot who experienced in handling a fusion drive.”

“No, we don’t!” Chester argued, indignant. “I can fly us! I got us here, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” Azo’lah corrected. At Chester’s crestfallen expression, she added, “I trust no one more with technology, engineering, or our Fulyiti. But perhaps, we can admit that when it comes to the Gold Dust Wo’man a more skilled hand in the pilot’s seat is needed.”

“Can I still run experiments with the thrusters?” Chester asked.

“Of course,” Azo’lah replied. “Just not when we’re on the ship with you.”

“Okay, then, yeah,” Chester said, accepting Fleetwood’s consoling hug.

“We just took a mission,” I told Matt. “I’m sure you’re already busy.”

“I’m free, but it depends on what you’re flying,” Matt said. “My fee is non-negotiable, half upfront.” He pointed to where Shockley and Tyler had disappeared. “No offense, but I’m learning space is full of cheap asshats.” 

“Preach,” Fleetwood said, holding her glass up. “Chester, show him the Gold Dust Wo’man.” 

“Are we seriously going to hire a man we just met in an illegal space bar?” I whispered to Fleetwood Mercury. Sure, Matt seemed nice, but so did Tyler, and he was a ruthless space mercenary when it came down to it. 

“I like to listen to him talk,” Fleetwood hissed back. I couldn’t argue with that point. “Besides, Azo’lah will give him critical hits if he does anything sketchy ficus.” 

“I believe the term is shady palm tree.” 

“Oh, you gorgeous lady,” Matt exclaimed. I moved my head around the puff of Fleetwood’s hair to see Matt staring longingly at the hologram of the Gold Dust Wo’man projecting from Chester’s Ran’dyl pin. His eyes sparkled like the golden hull of the ship. “I’m in.”

“We haven’t even agreed to your fee,” Azo’lah reminded him. 

“I trust Fleetwood. But more importantly,” Matt’s handsome face transformed with childlike excitement, “I’ve got to fly that. When did you say we leave again?” 

A hand on my shoulder shook me awake. “Gretchen, you need to wake up!”

“Wha’?” I groaned as the intruder cruelly ripped my curtains aside and set my room ablaze with the light of Destyr’s twin suns. I clamped my eyes tightly shut and whined, “Why?”

“Gretchen!” I was distantly aware that the owner of the voice was Chester and that he sounded distressed, but I was too exhausted to truly process that information. I curled into the warmth of Sebastian at my hip as Chester firmly stated, “Girl, we have a situation.”

I was unapologetically not a morning person, something Chester usually had the good grace to respect. After returning to Destyr yesterday morning from our sojourn to Ketheno, I had spent all day preparing for our new mission, staying up late into the night writing up instructions for Sav’asa, who was taking care of Sebastian while we were gone. I had earned a morning to sleep in before we left for Ynoom. “Can the situation wait for another...three hours?” I asked groggily. 

He jiggled my shoulders. “Considering we leave for Ynoom in an hour: no.”

When I did nothing more than burrow deeper into my sheets, he ripped my pillow from beneath my head and whapped me with it.

“Chester!” I yelled, fending off his half-assed assault as Sebastian vacated the bed with a hiss.

“Sorry, Bash.” Chester relented, dropping my pillow to the side. “Gretch, get up, I need your help.”

“Why can’t Fleetwood or Azo’lah help? What could I possibly do for you that—ahh!” My perfectly reasoned argument devolved into a yelp as Chester hoisted me into a seated position.

“Chester, seriously, what the hell?”

He grabbed my chin and directed my blurry attention to my bedroom door, where a person I had never seen before stood. Small and wiry, with short dirty-blonde hair styled in a jagged undercut, the stranger was baby-faced and wearing a black space suit and scuffed sneakers.

I blinked.“Uh, hi.”

“Gretchen, this is Ryan,” Chester introduced the newcomer, his voice facetiously jovial. “They will be joining our crew along with Matt on our trip to Ynoom.”

My body may have been responding to Chester’s wake up call, but my brain was not. I did not yet have the energy to figure out why Chester was performing this introduction before my alarm went off or why he was doing it so rudely.

“Welcome,” I said, waving half-heartedly. “I like your suit.”

Ryan smiled brilliantly. “Thanks! I had it made specifically for Deep Space Con.”

“Yes, Ryan had it made for Deep Space Con, which happens back on Earth,” Chester said, laughing mirthlessly, “where Fleetwood and I just picked them up from. They were in attendance with a group of boarding school friends.”

“Boarding school friends,” I repeated, my sluggish brain almost understanding why that phrase was worrisome.

“Yes, boarding school friends,” Chester reiterated angrily, “because Ryan is seventeen.”

“Seventeen?” I screeched. Fleetwood had gone back to Earth to get us another crew member and had brought back a teenager?

Shit.

“Fleetwood, what were you thinking?” I demanded, pouring my second mug of vyt’al. The Destyrian equivalent of coffee was more robust than what I was used to, and I usually limited myself to a cup a morning. Twenty minutes into this day and I felt I had already earned an IV of it directly into my bloodstream.

“We need a larger crew for the Gold Dust Wo’man!” Fleetwood replied plaintively, from across the dining table in her quarters. Beside me, Chester shook his head in disbelief. Azo’lah’s only conversational contribution so far had been a myriad of apathetic sighs. “We have Matt to pilot, but we still needed a captain—all good crews have captains! I found us one.”

“Hell yeah, you did!” Ryan added from where they stood at the end of the table, enthusiastically bouncing on the balls of their feet. The gem of their freshly installed implant winked at me when it caught the sunlight.

“This cannot be happening,” I muttered, massaging my temples. The anxiety attack I was staving off was currently manifesting itself as a throbbing migraine. “Fleetwood, I know you have your reasons for thinking Ryan is a captain, but they are a high school senior, barely old enough to drive a car on Earth, let alone captain a spaceship.”

“If Captain Thorley is not a captain, then why were they already dressed for the mission when we approached them?” Fleetwood gestured to Ryan’s spacesuit.

“Because they were at a convention!” Chester said for the fifth time since he had ripped me from the loving embrace of my bed. He looked as haggard as he sounded, having gotten very little sleep as the trip to retrieve Ryan had taken all night. Chester had spent the entirety of their return flight fighting Fleetwood on her decision to recruit a teenager. “People on Earth go to conventions and dress up as their favorite characters. It’s called cosplaying. Ryan is dressed as a captain from some sci-fi show—”

“Excuse you,” Ryan said, offended. They lovingly placed their hand against their suit. “I am dressed as Captain Ajax Bendelham from the greatest show known to man: Cosmic Conquerors. I pre-ordered the suit months ago, even got my last name embroidered onto the nameplate.”

Azo’lah exhaled noisily and asked, “Do I really need to be here as you repeat yourselves, or can I join Majumdar in preparing the ship?”

“Can I come with you?” Ryan asked, excitedly.

“No,” Chester and I said in unison.

“But Captain Thorley—” Fleetwood began.

“In the United States, where they are from, they aren’t considered an adult yet,” I explained. “We have to return Ryan to their parents.”

“What if I got my parent’s permission to be here?” Ryan asked, their eyes narrowing in thought. “Chester said you have the ability to communicate with Earth up here, right?” They pulled their cell phone from a pocket on their thigh. “What if I called, and they gave their permission for me to be up here? Would you let me stay then?”

“You want to call your parents and ask for their blessing to go on an outer space adventure?” Chester said incredulously.

Ryan scoffed, flopping into the extra seat beside Fleetwood. “I’d obviously have to do some creative omitting and truth-telling.” They stared off into the middle distance as they said, “Replace ‘outer space’ with Los Angeles and ‘alien princess’ with writing mentor...I can tell them I submitted my fan work to a contest at the con and won. I have the chance to do a workshop with the writers of Cosmic Conquerors. They know it’s my dream to write for a sci-fi show. Plus, it’s the beginning of the school year, missing a week of class won’t be a big deal.”

Though that all sounded highly improbable, the conviction with which Ryan spoke had me half-believing them.

“Yeah, I’ll have to tweak some stuff, but still.” They turned to us, eyes blazing with determination and hope. “If I can get my mom and dad to agree to me missing school for this once in a lifetime opportunity—come on, we’re in space! Will you guys stop being such buzzkills?” Ryan leaned awkwardly across the table. “Come on, you both chose to live here. You have to understand how unlikely and how amazing this is.” 

“We...” Chester looked at me. Ugh. We did get it. 

I drained my mug of vyt’al. So much for a relatively low-pressure adventure. “If you get your parents’ permission to miss school, and you promise to listen to us if things get dangerous,” I conceded. “And this is it, just this one mission!”

“Then it’s back to Earth until you’re graduated and of age. At least,” Chester added firmly, glaring pointedly at Fleetwood. 

Ryan ignored this, clapping their hands together and springing to their feet. “I can work with that! Does that mean I get to see the ship now?”

“Come, new human,” Azo’lah said. She stood, beckoning Ryan to follow her. “I shall show you the Gold Dust Wo’man.”

Ryan tripped over their sneakers as they raced to follow. “Hell yes!”

“Stop by the comms room so they can call their parents for permission!” I shouted at their retreating backs. “What the hell just happened?”

“A seventeen-year-old was just appointed captain of our ship,” Chester said. He pushed his beanie up and scrubbed tiredly at his forehead.

Mollified, Fleetwood stood and sauntered towards the door. “Never fear, my loves. Captain Thorley will serve with honor.”

“They better,” Chester groused. “The last thing we need is to babysit while figuring out who’s stealing all the shrouds.”

“I’m going to shower and then drop Sebastian off with Sav’asa. Meet you on the ship in thirty?” I squeezed his shoulder sympathetically as I rounded the table.

Chester sagged against the back of his chair. “As long as FleetMerc doesn’t decide to head back to Earth and collect more crew members.”

Like the rest of the ship, the bridge of the Gold Dust Wo’man was something straight out of a Swedish architectural magazine. Conically shaped, it was three levels high with an observation deck below and a balcony up top that housed the weapons controls and escape pods. The major ship functions were performed at a solitary console at the front of the central level. The title of each position was woven in Destyrian on the back of each seat. The clean, minimalist set up which could have felt austere, was somehow comfortably inviting.

In contrast to the ship’s calming interior, our crew was a flurry of noise and activity and had been from the moment Matt powered up the fusion reactor. Fleetwood uploaded her extensive music collection from her Ran’dyl, while Chester ran a last-minute diagnostic on the fusion drive, and Azo’lah made sure our defensive shields were all online if necessary. Throughout it all, Ryan barely contained their excitement.

“This is so cool,” Ryan said for the thirtieth time from the high-backed captain’s chair set in the middle of the bridge, like a throne whose carpet runner was the inky blackness of space. 

“Majumdar, time to conquer the stars!” Ryan cried.

“Yes, Captain,” Matt replied from Ryan’s left, pushing a lever forward that turned the stars into a drunken blur. I clutched at the edges of my seat, but the Gold Dust Wo’man didn’t so much as waver. I privately decided I much preferred Matt’s flying to Chester’s. I also decided I would never inform Chester of that preference.

Now dressed in the same navy blue space suit as the rest of our crew with their nameplate from their cosplay hastily sewn onto the left chest, Ryan’s bright eyes were wide and mesmerized. “So cool.”

“Is the new human broken?” Azo’lah asked from her seat on Ryan’s right. “They have not said much outside of that same phrase since I brought them to the ship—”

“Because this is the freaking coolest thing ever!” Ryan exclaimed, gesturing expansively as if their arms could encompass the enormity of the situation. Turning to me, they demanded, “How are you not freaking out about this?”

While I had not initially come to space of my own free will and my first adventure with my friends had been more near-death-experience than thrill-ride, I smiled in understanding of their exuberance. “I am, a little bit,” I said, not admitting that any freaking out on my part was more due to anxiety about interacting with our new crew members than exhilaration. I settled deeper into my plushly cushioned seat. With a view fit for an Auhtula, the bridge of the Gold Dust Wo’man was quickly becoming my new favorite place.

Matt folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his seat, his eyes falling serenely closed. “Now, we settle in for the long hall.”

“If you’re just going to sit there and nap, why did we need you to pilot?” Chester asked, tartly. He was still bitter about being ousted from the pilot’s seat by a professional.

“What? No!” Ryan bellowed. “Let’s punch it! Do a timed-test around a moon or an obstacle course through a meteor field!”

Azo’lah snorted as Matt cracked an eye open. “You need me to pilot because a ship this large with a reactor that powerful requires someone with a delicate touch. Unless you’d rather be launched directly into a star. And let’s not even get into what that shift into dyahede-speed would have felt like beneath the guidance of someone with less experience.”

“Like riding a rollercoaster in the middle of an earthquake,” I supplied, my stomach churning at the memory of our ride to Ketheno.

“It was not that bad,” Chester argued weakly.

“As for doing a timed-test around a moon or going through a meteor field,” Matt turned to Ryan, “you’d want a racer—something the size of this cockpit that will give you the aerodynamics and agility to make tight turns while maintaining peak speed.”

“A racer? Where do I get one of those?” Ryan demanded, hands falling to the console.

Matt carefully pushed Ryan’s scrabbling fingers away from the Captain’s control access panel. “I’m sure Fulyiti Fleetwood’s family has one.” 

“The closest thing I have is the Killer Qu’een,” Fleetwood replied. “She is below deck. Maybe we can take her for a turn later.”

I asked, “Matt, what’s our ETA for landing on Ynoom?”

Matt caught my eye and smirked. “Seven hours, forty-three minutes, Royal Archaeologist.”

Ryan’s gaze reflected the light of a hundred thousand stars as they looked out on the whole of the universe and said, “Alright, crew, let’s go kick some interstellar graverobber ass.”

Azo’lah emerged from the hallway that led to the small armory, my custom-made bandolier in her hands. It was equipped with a complete set of archeological brushes and tools. “Here you are, Myaxi.”

“You’re packing light,” I noted as I slung the belt over my shoulder and secured it under the epaulet sewn into my button-down. Azo’lah was unarmed, except for the metal band on her upper left bicep and right wrist, which produced a shield and javelin. She wore a delicate circlet out of blue-black metal that contrasted beautifully with her silver-white hair. “What’s with the headpiece?”

“The Ynoom are a peaceful people,” Azo’lah remarked, nodding to Chester and Fleetwood as they entered the corridor closest to the exit hatch. “It is a diplomatic mission, and, as I am a By’sett of the royal house of Fuiq, custom dictates, I represent my family.”

“A what?” I asked.

“A By’sett. It is my official title.”

Chester dropped his voice to a giddy whisper. “It means she’s a duchess.”

Shit, I thought, wondering if I had been committing social faux pas’s the entire time I had known her. I always forgot that Azo’lah was actual royalty. 

Azo’lah appeared supremely unhappy to be sporting the headgear. I cleared my throat and said, “Oh. Well, what if the people stealing the shrouds aren’t. Peaceful, that is,” I clarified.

“That is why my zali’thir is concealed on my person,” Azo’lah smirked, referring to the deadly stiletto dagger that was unique to the Myax order. 

The tinkling bell that signified a ship-wide communique cut off my response. “All hands, this is Captain Thorley. We are entering atmo over Ynoom. Diplomatic team, brace for landing. I’ll be with you shortly. Captain out.” I caught Chester’s eye and grinned as I followed the instructions, supporting myself with a hand against the corridor wall. Ryan was clearly living their best life, as was Fleetwood, smiling toothily, clearly pleased with her selection.

The landing was so smooth that only the engine’s vibrations indicated that we were no longer flying.

I met Chester’s gaze and tilted my chin in inquiry. Chester inhaled bracingly. “Fine. I admit hiring the trained pilot was a good idea.” 

I squeezed his elbow in solidarity. “You’re still my favorite.”

“Azo’lah, king me,” Fleetwood instructed, ducking her head. Azo’lah placed another circlet onto it, this one golden and woven with scarlet and amber gems. Fleetwood was securing it into her buns as Ryan and Matt joined us.

“Everyone prepared?” Ryan asked, the wonderment that had laced their tone replaced with confidence and authority. I felt my back straighten, as we all nodded.

“Once more into my breeches, dear friends!” Fleetwood declared as Azo’lah triggered the release for the door. 

Unused to Fleetwood’s unique brand of English, Ryan and Matt laughed. Azo’lah took up a protective stance directly behind and slightly to the right of Fleetwood. 

The gangplank lowered, glittering like something Tinkerbell had shat out in the brilliance of the Ynoom’s sun. Below us, on the aquamarine grass, Sgnorp awaited us, along with another Ynoom. This one was larger, its coloring a shade darker than Sgnorp’s bright crimson. In the distance, I spied octagonal buildings with flat, painted roofs rising from the water with a network of docks jutting out into the ocean. “Hail sister, Fulyiti Fleetwood Mercury, and family,” Sgnorp warbled. He issued the teapot salute with one tentacled limb.

I returned the salute, along with the others. 

“Family, welcome, I am brother Skreb, selected leader of the Ynoom,” said the second Ynoom, a tentacle raised in greeting. “Gretchen of Earth, your help is most welcome, and the generosity of our Destyrian family deeply felt, for our people’s need is dire.” 

 I stilled, surprised that I was singled out in the salutation, Fleetwood, however, did not seem to be. She clapped a hand on my back, pushing me to the front of the delegation. 

“Hail, brothers,” I said lamely. “Um, could we see the site of the theft to get started?” 

The Ynoom exchanged a brief look. “You do not require rest after your long journey? We have prepared a Feast of Good Fortune at high moons tonight.” I had no idea what a Feast of Good Fortune was or the time of the high moons, for that matter. I turned, panicked, to Fleetwood.

“Humans are a hardy species,” Fleetwood said breezily. “Gret’chen Myaxi cannot rest until she has assessed the situation. The plight of your departed Ynoom weighs on her heart.” “Such strength and compassion,” Skreb intoned, tentacles quivering. “Brother Sgnorp, you have chosen our aid well. May I have the names of the rest of the family that travels with you? Then Sgnorp will escort you to the resting place of the Ynarr and, later, the feast.”

I tried not to blanch as Fleetwood carried out the rest of the introductions. While a Feast of Good Fortune probably sounded like a pleasant thing to most people, to me, it sounded like a grand opportunity for me to accidentally cause a diplomatic catastrophe just by attempting to be polite. I reached for my pocket, where my pills were kept.

We are with you, Gretchen. 

The message flashed across my brain as sudden and unexpected as a roll of thunder on a sunny day. I glanced to the side. Azo’lah was still facing the Ynoom, her face pleasantly impassive. I thought you couldn’t read my mind, I thought back and saw Azo’lah suppress a smirk. 

I only need to read your face to know your darkness is whispering to you, came the reply. I flushed, alarmed that my expressions were so transparent to someone, and inexplicably pleased that Azo’lah had taken the time to care. This human blushing of yours still perplexes me. You have yet to let me know how far it extends. Currently, you resemble the Ynoom.

I held up my middle fingers behind Sgnorp’s back as he led us through the lush grass.

Looking confused, Azo’lah merely held up the two middle fingers of her right hand in response.

It turns out that the Ynoom were an amphibious society and that the tombs of the Ynarr were actually underwater. 

“Um, how deep do we have to swim to reach the tombs?” I asked, trying not to sound as trepidatious about drowning as I absolutely was. I was an average swimmer, hardly prepared for off-world scuba diving. I hadn’t even brought the proper gear to wear. I didn’t even own the appropriate gear. Shit, Fleetwood would never let me have control over my own wardrobe again.

I stared down the smooth ramp that led into the royal blue water, perfect for a Ynoom to slide into the depths. Not so much for graceless humans.

“20,000 fathoms,” Fleetwood quipped, hooking two fingers into my utility belt and tugging me toward the surf. 

“That better be a joke,” I said, refusing to fall prey to Fleetwood’s sunny smile. 

“It is not far, sister Gretchen,” Sgnorp said, “even young ones make the distance with ease.” That wasn’t precisely comforting since I figured tentacles helped the process immensely. 

“Fear not, Gret’chen, I will go with you,” Fleetwood sing-songed. 

“You will most certainly not,” Azo’lah snapped, stepping forward. “I cannot protect you both at once. As second heir to the throne of the central continent of Destyr, you will remain safely on shore.” Ryan and Matt turned to look at her in surprise, unused to Azo’lah’s dedication to her position as a Myax.

“Hey, friends, we only have three breathing-things,” Chester pointed out, lifting the small case he had brought with him from the ship. “And, not to make myself a big deal, but I think Gretchen needs me to take the scans.”

“I do,” I confirmed.

“I’ll go too,” Ryan volunteered, unable to hide their excitement beneath their air of authority. “As captain, I’m ordering myself on this excursion.” 

I gaped, horrified. “I don’t think—” 

“I did activities of similar danger when I was their age,” Azo’lah said, which was not what I wanted to hear. It also raised a lot of questions about Myax training.

“Can you swim, Captain?” Matt asked, just this side of too loud when I made a noise of dissent.

“I’m a certified beachfront lifeguard, Majumdar,” Ryan fist-bumped Matt when he whistled in appreciation. 

“Ryan is one who watches the bay?” Fleetwood clasped her hands under her chin. 

“No,” I said.

“Sort of,” Chester amended.

Ryan bounced on the balls of their feet. “So, time to tomb dive?”

I squished my face beneath both of my hands and resisted the urge to scream. I was not prepared to investigate an underground water burial site, let alone keep a teenager wrangled while I did so. I was definitely going to mess this up.

“We will watch your feeds, my darlings,” Fleetwood said, tapping something on her Ran’dyl before knocking it gently against Chester’s. Fleetwood’s Ran’dly emitted a roughly three-dimensional live feed from Chester’s wristband that she and Azo’lah would monitor from land. Chester opened the small case he had brought from the ship. Inside were small, square devices with two clear prongs. Chester activated a button on the side and then inserted the device into his nose. Doing the same thing, he carefully slid the device in Ryan’s nose, turning their head from side to side to check that it was correctly installed. 

“Ready?” Chester asked, sounding congested.  I tilted my head back and allowed him to slide it up my nostrils, resisting the urge to sneeze. The tubes in my nose expanded slightly as I inhaled, sticking to the sides of my nostrils like suction cups. I found myself breathing unattractively out of my mouth. 

“Keep your mouth closed when we’re in the water, okay?” he instructed, the words so heavily distorted by his breathing device they were almost impossible to understand.

I nodded and divested myself of my utility belt, button-up, shoes, and socks. Ryan removed their boots and socks. Chester moved his Ran’dyl from his ever-present beanie, affixing it to his t-shirt before passing his hat to Fleetwood, who carefully hung it off of one of her buns for safekeeping. Azo’lah clipped a pod light to my wrist and handed me a pair of clear goggles, her lips pressed into a thin line. I wasn’t quite sure why she was upset. I was the one about to do a deep-dive without any preparation.

Double-checking the seal on my breathing device, I walked down to the ramp where Sgnorp was precariously balanced. “Come family,” he said. Ryan slipped into the water with the patented brand of stupid, invincible fearlessness that belonged solely to teenagers. Sgnorp and Chester followed.  

“It’s warm!” Ryan crowed. I stood at the edge of the ramp and tentatively stepped into the water. It was pleasantly warm—like a pool that had sat in sunlight all day. Sgnorp bobbed gracefully atop the gentle waves as I paddled over to my friends. 

“Follow, family,” Sgnorp said, disappearing beneath the surface. Ryan slicked their hair out of their eyes and followed Sgnorp with smooth, strong strokes. I took a deep breath through my mouth and dove down. 

I found it surprisingly easy to breathe through the small device in my nose, significantly easier in fact than seeing. It took a  moment for my eyes to adjust to the rapidly increasing darkness underwater. Against the backdrop of the deep water, my blue-tinged light pod cast my companions in impressionist sweeps of indigo. I kicked downward, swimming faster to catch up to Chester. Ryan knocked my shoulder with one hand and pointed downward, their eyes wide behind their tempered goggles.

Below us, a riotous reef erupted, spilling sea flowers, corals, and weeds of every color, into the darkness. Small, baubles of light hovered, suspended over protruding anemones and leafy fronds, illuminating the steep drop to the unseeable ocean floor. We swam along behind our host, who was lazily propelling himself through the water down, down, further down still to the base of the underwater cliff where a lone, arched doorway waited. 

Sgnorp swam through the door, and I went after, my ears protesting the pressure change by popping painfully. We emerged into a large, square chamber that was unadorned except for the same eerie lights in the corners of the room. The four of us swam upward until we broke the water’s surface. I gulped grateful lungfuls of air through my mouth as I spotted a stone ramp rising out of the water. Sgnorp bobbed up it, transitioning seamlessly from swimming to rippling across land.  We followed, slipping, struggling, and in Ryan’s case, laughing. I pulled off my goggles and ran a hand across my eyes to clear the excess water from them. We all removed our breathing devices. Chester tucked our goggles and breathing devices away into his pockets for safe-keeping. 

Ryan poked at their recently freed nostrils. “I need one of those breathing-things back on Earth.”

“I doubt you’d be able to explain away that tech,” Chester said as we squelched across the muddy bank.

Ryan shook the water out of their hair, laughing. “Who cares? I could just—” They stilled, their wide eyes staring at the ground. “Look!” they shouted, pointing at where the stone ramp met mud-swirled earth.

I directed my light downward to find a large, half-formed footprint embedded in the mud. A print no Ynoom—a footless people—could make.

“Is that what I think it is?” Ryan‘s elated voice echoed off the cave walls. “Did I just find our first clue?”

Ran’dyl activated, snapping multiple pictures from every angle, Chester conceded, “I think you did.”

Ryan fist-pumped. “Hell yes!”

Once Chester was happy that he had gotten enough evidence of the footprint as well as a soil sample, we continued deeper into the cave.

We were in the base of a round chamber, lined with concentric levels carved out of the rock. They circled above us, all the way into impenetrable darkness. About every few yards, there was a mound, covered by a round, woven shroud.

“The thefts were discovered up here,” Sgnorp said, as we climbed the slick incline after him, one massive circle, then two, then three and—

“Oh, that’s just…” Chester murmured, going a little green.

“Awesome,” Ryan muttered under their breath. I sincerely hoped that Sgnorp didn’t hear that our newest crew member was enchanted with the impressively preserved corpse of the Ynoom in front of us. Along with whatever embalming process they used, death had turned it the color of a good merlot. Its eyes stared at us blankly, its tentacles were artfully arranged in a swirled design along the stone. There was something unsettlingly beautiful about it.

“This is where the oldest Ynarr rest,” Sgnorp explained, tentacles twitching nervously. “When a new Ynarr passes, they are laid to rest here, and the Watchers of Ynarr shift everyone to the next position downwards. Had a new Ynarr not recently joined the resting, and the shift occurred, it is possible the thefts would’ve gone unnoticed for some time.”

“Who are the Ynarr anyway?” Ryan asked.

Sgnorp said, “The Ynarr are our most highly revered scholars. They take it upon themselves to collect wisdom from throughout the galaxy, returning it here, where it may be of use to us and all those we encounter.”

I crouched down, raising my light higher to get a better look at the uncovered Ynarr before us. “What happens when a Ynarr reaches the bottom?”

I scanned the floor, the walls, the body, but besides the lack of shroud saw nothing out of place.

“By then, the body has generally disintegrated, and the soul passed on to the Sacred Realms. What is left is spread into the water below, along with their memories. Their shroud is then folded and put into the Chamber of Sacred Passage under the water.” 

“And have any shrouds been stolen from the Chamber of Sacred Passage?” Chester asked, activating his Ran’dyl. “Ryan, can you go stand across from Gretchen so I can get this rendered from multiple—oh, thanks,” he said distractedly, as Ryan moved out of the shot. He triangulated three silver orbs around the dead Ynoom and, from his Ran’dyl, initiated an in-depth 3-D scan.

“No, none from the Chamber of Sacred Passage,” Sgnorp said.

I stood and gently asked, “Can you take us to a fallen family member with an intact shroud?”

“Of course.” Sgnorp led us upward past two more uncovered corpses until we came to a stop before a shroud-covered corpse. The shrouds metallic thread flickered like sparking embers as I passed my light above it. From what I could see, there was nothing different between this Ynarr burial site and the ones whose shrouds were missing.

“And how long have these Ynarr been departed?” Ryan asked from Sgnorp’s left as Chester began taking video and setting out his scanning orbs. 

“Seven generations back,” Sgnorp replied, “approximately 15,000 of your Destyrian binary cycles.”

 I glanced at Chester, who mouthed, “739 Earth years,” at me.

“Is there any difference between shrouds made in this generation and those made at any other point in your history? Something to make them more valuable?” I used my Ran’dyl to take my own pictures. More photos and information to help us unravel this mystery wouldn’t be a bad thing, right?

“No, they are the same,” Sgnop said with a note of pride. “We have woven the shrouds of Ynarr in the same fashion with identical materials for time immemorial.” 

“Brother, I know it may be a great request, but could Chester and I borrow a shroud to analyze it? I would never normally ask—” That was a lie, I would totally respectfully ask, “—but as of right now, I don’t see why thieves would be interested in stealing the shrouds.”

Sgnorp shuddered uncertainly. “I will go upward and speak to the Watchers. Only they can give permission. Please wait here.” He disappeared into the darkness, and I took the opportunity to snap some up-close pictures of the shroud.

“So,” Ryan said cheerfully. “Is this like a normal day for you guys? Amateur detective-archaeologist, deep diving. Mysteries and mummified octopi—” “Octopodes,” I corrected. 

“Octopuses, girl,” Chester said, studying his most recent scan. “And it isn’t, but I’ve got a feeling we’re starting a new trend.” 

Ryan leaned against the cave wall and sighed. “Epic.”

Sgnorp was able to provide us with a shroud to analyze, but due to its sacred nature, we could only do so in a Ynoom lab where our work could be monitored through glass walls. The lab was, thankfully, above ground. Chester and I, though grateful for the Ynoom’s generosity in accommodating us, were unable to use anything provided due to our lack of tentacles. The technology—as well as the tables, chairs, and floor—was built for someone with six long limbs working in perfect coordination. Our first order of business was outfitting the lab with equipment we could actually use.

The next couple hours saw Azo’lah, Fleetwood, Ryan, and Matt—under Chester’s supervision—unloading half of the Gold Dust Wom’an’s lab equipment for his use while I grabbed my tools and got up close and personal with the shroud. Spread out across a clear table to its full twenty-foot diameter, the metallic bronze cloth was as beautifully woven as I initially thought. Sgnorp informed me that the crimson characters decorating the center of the cloth were particular to each Ynarr—prayers and wisdom to guide the departed’s way to the Sacred Realms. I doubted that information was pertinent to why the shrouds were being stolen, but I added it to the Ynoom Shroud file on my Ran’dyl anyway, just in case.

I picked up a metallic probe with ivory pincers at the end and asked, “What’s this do?”

“Don’t touch that!” Chester hissed, carefully plucking the instrument from my grasp. “It’s insanely sensitive, and when the charge is over-balanced, it can burn through flesh upon direct contact.”

“Sick,” Ryan said, sounding more intrigued than horrified by the prospect. They and Fleetwood settled at a table with Matt, who was busting out a deck of cards from his spacesuit’s inside pocket.

“Did you find anything from your examination?” Chester asked as he held up his Ran’dyl to a triple monitor system that Fleetwood had lugged in single-handedly. The monitors flickered to life, displaying all of the photos he had taken in the subterranean tomb.

I shook my head. “Nothing unexpected or that explains why anyone would want them outside of their intended purpose.”

Chester hummed thoughtfully as his fingers danced across a nearby console, bringing multiple instruments to life. He cracked his neck and held up the flesh-burning probe, clearly in his element. “Let’s see what we can find.”

Hours later, we had found nothing. An analysis had proven that the fabric was woven with extraordinarily resilient water-resistant thread but was otherwise unextraordinary. One of Chester’s many probe-things had found no concealed or rare chemicals hidden in the material. The most remarkable thing was the red dye, which was unique to Ynoom and made solely for the shrouds. And even that wasn’t interesting to anyone but me, and of course, the Ynoom. Hardly a motivation for grave-robbing.

“This doesn’t make any sense!” Chester rubbed the back of his neck as he read through his latest test results from a tablet connected to his Ran’dyl.

“You performed admirably, Chester,” Azo’lah consoled him, from where she now stood before the monitors. While Chester conducted his tests, she had analyzed every square inch of the photos, video, and 3-D rendering of the tombs, especially the half-footprint Ryan had found. “I have been studying the images you collected and—”

From the corner table where the rest of our crew had stayed out of the way while waiting, Fleetwood cheered, “Yahtzee!” She laid out the hand of cards she had been holding with a magician’s flair. 

“Wrong game,” Matt said, eyeing her twin Queens and multiple eights, “but you do have a full house, so...”

“I vote we switch to Go Fish,” Ryan suggested, tossing their cards into a messy heap. “I’ll at least have a hope of winning Go Fish.”

“That is doubtful,” Fleetwood said, sweeping the cards to the edge of the table and stacking them neatly. She shuffled like a pro. “I am an excellent fisher, during trips to Golyn I…”

I turned away from their game, fearing the day Fleetwood discovered Earth casinos, and asked, “Azo’lah, what do you think of the footprint?”

“As they do not have feet, it is not of the Ynoom,” she replied. Using the monitor’s touchscreen, she enlarged the image and traced the edges of the print. “But due to time and deterioration, Chester’s soil tests did not find anything of use. I cannot fully make out the shape, and as there is only one print, we cannot know if our thieves are mono-, bi-, or polypedal.”

I groaned. “So, we’re exactly where we were before we arrived here.”

Chester squeezed my shoulder. “Not necessarily. We now have proof that we’re looking for perpetrators outside of the Ynoom—that eliminates the majority of the living beings on this planet.”

“Leaving who?” I asked. “From what I read during our trip, this planet is extremely welcoming. There could be millions of suspects on-world. Or off-world.” The possibilities sprawled before me like the many legs of the Ynoom. “There’s nothing saying they’d stick around after their robbery.”

Chester laid a calming hand on my forearm. “You’re right, the Ynoom are kind and welcoming, but you’re forgetting something significant. They’re amphibious. Half of their world is underwater, which makes living here extremely difficult for off-worlders.”

“Absolute nightmare,” Matt called from the corner table as he fished for a nine from the sea of cards. “My mate Ovlas pilots for one of the big trading companies out of Messier-63, and Ynoom was his route a couple of years back. He said if you can’t breathe underwater, then there’s no way to have a good time on this planet if you know what I mean.”

“So, what? The number of off-worlders residing here is limited?” I clarified.

“Holy shit, Matt, are you talking about underwater brothels?” Ryan asked, blue eyes sparking with mischief.

“Do not answer that! Stop corrupting Ryan!” I directed a threatening finger at Matt’s smile as he nodded, winking conspiratorially.

“Yes, Matt is right. The number of off-worlders is limited,” Azo’lah said, forcing the conversation back on track. “Extremely limited. Diplomats, traders, and specialty workers.”

“According to the Destyrian Royal Archives, there are three other alien species that are amphibious and have regular contact with the Ynoom. So they could potentially live here, no problem,” Chester said, unclipping his Ran’dyl from the tablet and tapped it against the monitors. The images of the footprint were replaced with translated texts from the Archives and photos of aliens I’d never seen before. “But none of them have feet, so we can eliminate them.”

I nodded. “So that leaves us the rest of the diplomats, traders, and specialty workers.”

“We should investigate the port where the traders come in,” Ryan said, laying down a pair of aces. “Majumdar can ask around, pretend he’s looking for an under the table job, so he doesn’t draw too much attention.”

We all stared at Ryan with varying degrees of surprise.

“That’s—that’s a really good idea,” Chester said.

“We can’t all go though,” Azo’lah said. “It will look suspicious if we are all loitering about the docks.”

Ryan ran their hand through their now dry hair, sending it standing every which way. “Then we split up. Half go to the port, the other half to investigate the diplomats and stuff.”

“But what about Sgnorp’s cabal?” Fleetwood asked, accepting the seven of clubs from Matt. 

“What cabal?” I asked.

“The Feast of Good Fortune being thrown in our honor,” Azo’lah reminded me, sounding as horrified as I felt by the prospect of a party full of strangers. “Sgnorp, Skreb, and most of the Ynoom elite will be in attendance. As well as,” she tilted her head, meaningfully, “many foreign delegates.”

“That’s perfect!” I said, latching onto the out Azo’lah was providing me. Any excuse to avoid making an ass of myself in a room stuffed full of people I didn’t know. “Half of us go to the party, half of us to the port, do some digging around,” I restrained myself from chuckling at my archaeology joke, “see what we turn up.” 

“The Fulyiti should attend the party,” Azo’lah said, ignoring my humor. “Her absence would be well-noted if she did not.”

“But, I want to investigate the port!” Fleetwood protested, throwing down two fives. She was learning quite quickly for someone who had never played a card game before today; she had more pairs before her than Matt and Ryan combined.

“Nah, FleetMerc, you don’t. It’ll be more fun to go undercover at the party,” Chester intervened smoothly. My eyebrows rose at his ingenuity as he continued. “Think about it, you’ll be like a spy, asking questions and collecting information in plain sight. You’ll have to be super sneaky about it, though.” His smile widened as he sweetened the deal. “You’ll even have to get dressed up.”

Fleetwood’s eyes shone like half-dollars at the bottom of a fountain as she contemplated arguing further. “Like an Earth spy?”

“Of course,” Chester promised.

Fleetwood threw down her hand and stood. “Then, I shall perform my duty honorably.”

Palm facing out, Matt saluted her. “Your service is commendable, Fulyiti Fleetwood.”

“Chester, as her favored, you will accompany the Fulyiti,” Azo’lah instructed. Chester nodded, his brow furrowing as he heard the implicit ‘and keep Fleetwood in line’ in Azo’lah’s command. “Captain, you should also attend the party. It may be seen as a slight if someone of your rank does not attend. Also, your keen observation skills will be needed if the Fulyiti gets… distracted.”

“Normally, I’d fight you on trying to sideline me,” Ryan said, following Fleetwood’s lead and abandoning the card game, “but going to this party means I get to meet multiple alien races. I’ll let it slide, just this once.” 

“I assume that means you two will be joining me,” Matt gestured between me and Azo’lah. “Like a seven-foot-tall Destyrian isn’t going to stick out like a sore thumb—”

“I am Myax. I am trained to blend in with my surroundings,” Azo’lah argued. “I will not stand out in the least.” I looked at her, and though I believed in her skills as a Myax, I couldn’t picture any scenario where Azo’lah wouldn’t stand out. “And Gretchen Myaxi is small and visually unstimulating enough that most beings’ gazes will pass over her without note.”

“Hey!” I protested. “I can be visually stimulating!”

Matt shook his head incredulously. “This is going to end horribly.”

“Never fear, Majumdar,” Fleetwood said, grabbing Ryan’s and Chester’s hands to lead them back to the ship in search of attire for the feast. “Gretchen and Azo’lah will have your ass.” 

“Stop following so closely,” Matt hissed over his shoulder, as we entered the main port in Albasin, Ynoom’s capital city. Azo’lah had just stepped onto his heels for the third time in as many minutes. “You aren’t my shadow. Quit acting like one.”

“Apologies,” Azo’lah said, purposely running into Matt’s back. “I continually forget how your stunted human anatomy makes your strides much shorter than even the average Destyrian male.”

The Ynoomian port was ten levels of barnacle-encrusted metal open to the elements. Below the docked spaceships—seemingly hanging out in open-air but held up by gravitational fields—the pristine ocean sprawled towards the horizon where the distant quadruplet moons were perched. A balmy breeze carried the salty scent of the sea upwards, softening the stench of burning fuel and the clouds of smoke unfurling from pipes and cigarettes hanging from almost every mouth.

“Just back off, please?” Matt begged. He undid the cuffs of his spacesuit and rolled them up his forearms. He mussed his thick, dark curls into a disheveled heap. He activated the comms on his wristband then said, “Stay close but out of sight, and when the time comes, if I need you to play along, play along.”

“What do you mean when the time comes?” I tucked myself closer to Azo’lah as a disgruntled alien with peeling, waxy skin barreled past us. “You’re just supposed to be getting us information. Azo’lah and I are only here for moral support.”

Matt gave my forearm a sympathetic squeeze. “Moral support usually means back-up.”

I shook my head firmly. “I’m not qualified to be anyone’s back-up.”

“I am,” Azo’lah offered.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Matt said. “On the off chance that we find our perpetrators and I somehow get an in with them, they’ll most likely want me to prove my loyalty before spilling their guts. That usually means a small job and a secondary location.”

I swallowed audibly. No one had said anything about extra missions or secondary locations when we’d been planning in the lab. “But, I—”

“Gretchen, it will all work out.” Matt pointed to a stack of barrels waiting to be loaded onto a transport ship. “Find stuff like that to stand behind, and act like you’re supposed to be here.” He held up his Ran’dyl. “Listen for your cue. You’ll know it when you hear it.”

“Wait, Matt,” I began, but he was already gone, tucking himself amongst a group of Ynoom with a colossal crate floating in their wake.

Azo’lah grabbed my elbow and towed me along, careful to maintain our distance from Matt as he wove toward a congregation of chattering aliens.

Over our comms, I heard him greet them and ask where to find the ships with high payloads and low moral discretion. Azo’lah and I pretended to read bulletins in languages I didn’t recognize, let alone understand as the traders directed Matt down three levels. They told him to hurry as the port was closing within the hour, and those scheduled to leave the planet that day would be taking off soon.

Staying twenty steps behind Matt, we proceeded down three floors, on an oddly Earth-like escalator to a level teeming with aliens hurrying to leave Ynoom before the end of the trading day. Azo’lah and I wove through the throng, the abundant shouts were in so many languages my translator could not keep up. I struggled to maintain focus on Matt’s progress. Instead, I was distracted by a pair of floating aliens shaped like frisbees, who communicated by bumping against one another. And by the group of cylindrical beings that rolled dangerously around the loading dock, knocking more than a few others onto their asses.

Azo’lah snatched me by the collar and hid me behind a precarious stack of crates.

“What the—”

Azo’lah silenced me by lifting my Ran’dyl to my face. Matt’s smooth voice was saying, “—wouldn’t happen to know anyone in need of a pilot?”

A voice like chirping birds responded, “A few. As long as you don’t mind low pay and low chance of survival.”

Matt laughed. “I don’t care about survival rate. But I need this much.”

“No one’s going to pay you that if they’ve never heard of you.”

There were the sounds of a scuffle followed by the clanking of metal against metal. Azo’lah peeked out around our hiding place and made a small noise of approval.

“What’s happening?” I asked, straining to see. Azo’lah held me fast, carefully shielded within our chosen hiding spot. “Azo’lah—”

The same trilling voice came through our comms, somehow higher-pitched than before. “Ah, Majumdar. Ovlas always spoke highly of you. Got him out of that tight spot with the Covlax, didn’t you? And you never turned him in, even though it got you cut loose from your cushy contract running supplies for the Subutex Corps.”

Azo’lah’s midnight eyes widened, her elegant brows rising. She was impressed.

“The Covlax?” I asked quietly.

“A very volatile race. Fierce, highly-skilled warriors. If Majumdar got on their bad side and escaped—”

She cut herself off as Matt’s quarry hummed thoughtfully. “You said you want big pay?”

“I need it.” The way Matt said it made him sound unquestionably desperate, a man willing to do anything for a good pay day. Matt could act. I wondered what other skills he was hiding.

“Go down five slips. They should still be here,” the voice directed Matt. “I don’t know if they still need a pilot, and I don’t know what they’re running—” the rise in cadence made me certain they knew exactly what was being run, “—but if you can keep your mouth shut like you did for Ovlas, then you’ll never worry about money ever again.”

“Thanks for the tip, friend,” came Matt’s silky reply. Azo’lah popped her head out, grabbed my shoulder, and we were on the move again. We dodged hovering palettes and ducked around amassing groups of laughing traders that smelled worse than the toxic alcohol on Ketheno. 

Matt stopped beside a platinum ship no larger than a private jet. Its crew stood in its door, smoke billowing from the spiral pipes they held. One of them met my eyes. I turned to the side and began enthusiastically counting a box full of packets that reeked of fish and excrement. 

“It seems to all be here,” I told Azo’lah, who looked down at me as though genuinely concerned for my mental state. I prodded her in the ribs and murmured, “Play along.”

“Oh, yes, it is all here,” Azo’lah agreed, smoothly. “We should inventory our other stock before take off.”

I nodded over-enthusiastically. “Excellent idea.”

By the time we were situated beside a pile of fuel drums, Matt was already walking away from the slip, waving at the cloud of smoke the traders were hidden beneath.

“No!” I screeched into my comms. Azo’lah looped an arm around me to prevent me from chasing after him. “Matt, what are you doing? We need—”

“It isn’t them,” Matt interrupted, “and stop screaming!”

“What do you mean it isn’t them?” Azo’lah asked. “The trader upstairs implied their movements were illegal, surely—”

Matt snorted. “They are. They transport Ynoomian coral. Smoke that shit, and you’ll be so high, you’ll think you have tentacles and can breathe underwater. Not our guys, but they knew who I needed to talk to.”

We traipsed after Matt. More ships were gliding from their moors and disappearing into the inky night sky, leaving only three crews for Matt to interview. Maybe one of them was our perpetrators, but my hope was dying fast.

“How’d they know?” I asked as Matt approached a behemoth of a ship, its shape reminiscent of a blue whale. 

“The vice lords know everything when it comes to the underground market. Plus, they were scavenging a reef outside the tomb of Ynarr and saw someone acquiring some profitable material. Said I should ask them for a pilot’s seat. Now, let me work,” Matt returned before turning on the charm. “Evening, friends. Need a pilot?”

The three aliens he approached were humanoid in appearance, but their barrel-like torsos were attached to four legs. Their lime-tinted skin had a scaly-quality to it, and instead of noses, they had three horizontal holes in the center of their faces. I noted their feet and knew in my gut that, if I were to take a mold, they would match the incomplete print we found in the tomb of Ynarr. 

Azo’lah and I shuffled to the shadows, attempting to look as though we were exactly where we were meant to be, which was difficult, as the port was emptying quickly, and we had nothing to hide behind.

I turned to Azo’lah. “Pretend you’re talking to me.”

“Why must I pretend when we are speaking with one another?” she asked.

I groaned as Matt received the gruff response, “Don’t need a pilot. Move along.”

“You sure about that?” Matt gestured to the barren dock. “You look loaded up and, with the encroaching curfew,” he emphasized the point by tapping his Ran’dyl, “you need to be pulling out of station soon.”

“Our pilot is coming,” the alien replied, his voice like rocks in a blender. “And even if he were not, we do not take on strangers.”

Matt bumped their wristbands together, transferring his information. “Matt Majumdar, pilot. I can fly anything, and I don’t have a moral compass, meaning I also don’t care about what else is on board.”

The tallest of the aliens pushed into Matt’s space, his considerable bulk shoving Matt back a few feet. “Back off.”

“Hey, now,” Matt held up his palms in surrender as Azo’lah tensed beside me, her hand snaking down to her hidden zali’thir. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I had no idea what to do if an actual altercation erupted. “I’m only offering to help.”

“And we said,” the tallest alien gritted, grabbing Matt by the collar, “that we don’t need your help.”

Azo’lah prepared to strike in Matt’s defense. I stepped out of her way, figuring it best for me to leave the fighting to the trained professionals.

“Vrill, leave the human be,” the roundest of their cohort lazily instructed. “Don’t you know who he is? His story is legendary. This is the one who has had the Covlax chasing their many tails looking for him the last few years.”

Vrill, mouth turned down in begrudging respect, released Matt. Azo’lah’s entire body relaxed. I spied their pilot across the port—or at least another of their species—stumbling drunkenly down the escalators. I tapped Azo’lah’s elbow and pointed to the alien descending the escalator. If Matt’s ploy was going to work, that pilot could not reach his destination. “Think you can get rid of him?”

Azo’lah’s eyes rolled so aggressively I felt it in my own sockets. “Easily.”

“Then do it. I have an idea,” I said, pushing her towards him. I had what could be generously called half an idea, but I was quickly learning to work on the fly. “Get rid of him fast.” As an afterthought, I added, “Don’t actually kill him!” 

Azo’lah sprinted the length of the dock, silent as a ghost as I mustered up all my courage and revealed myself to Matt and the perpetrators.

“Matty-Matt,” I called, dragging out his name in a whine. I rushed towards him, my arms reaching. Up close, the aliens were even wider than I originally estimated, and their eyes—all of them yellow and sans pupils—were uncannily knowing, as though they could see through you into your soul. I pushed on, my voice going shrill as I cried, “There you are! Did you find someone who will get us off this stupid planet? I want to go.”

Matt stared at me like a deer in headlights. Then his face transitioned to one of coddling indulgence as he got on-board with my Hail Mary play. He wrapped his arm around my waist, fitting me neatly against his body. “Baby, I’m trying. I told you to wait with—where’d Azo’lah go?”

I nuzzled Matt’s shoulder and pointed in the opposite direction of Azo’lah’s true location. “She went looking for you. You know how she gets when she’s bored.”

Matt chuckled fondly, so believably affectionate and amused that, for a moment, even I thought he knew Azo’lah completely. “She’ll turn up shortly, I’m sure,” Matt said. 

Over his shoulder, I watched Azo’lah spin the drunken alien into a headlock and lull him to incapacitation. Her muscles flexed as she lowered his considerable girth quietly to the floor.

“Gentlemen,” Matt said, “may I present my beloved, Gretchen. Gretchen, this is Vrill, Rulto, and Pext.” He indicated first the tallest, then the roundest, and finally the silent one. “They are Sarl.” Matt lowered his voice as he leaned closer to the Sarl, “Gretchen’s a little new to space. She’s still learning.”

Rulto eyed me and asked, “What does this Gretchen do?” Across the deck, Azo’lah stuffed the unconscious Sarl pilot into a cargo locker with a resounding clang.

I raised my voice to an annoying falsetto, trying to keep the Sarl’s attention on me. “I keep Matty-Matt company.” Matt tugged me closer and pinched my side in response to the horrifying nickname. Overly-sweet, I asked the Sarl, “What do you do?”

They laughed creepily in tandem, throwing their heads back to display very short but pristinely smooth necks. Unlike the rest of their visible skin, it lacked any scales. “Don’t worry yourself about that,” Rulto replied. His attention turned to where Azo’lah approached, and his yellow eyes narrowed. “Destyrian.”

“What is taking so long?” Azo’lah called. “Are we leaving?”

Matt grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her close. “Working out the details, dearest.”

Azo’lah’s jaw clenched as she stared down at him.

Before she could blow our cover, I said, “Yes, Azo’lah, honey, our dearest Matty-Matt,” another pinch to my side, “is working a deal with these nice Sarl.”

Rulto said, “We already have a pilot.”

Matt tapped his Ran’dyl. “The curfew takes hold in less than five minutes, friend. If you aren’t out of port by then, you’re trapped for the night. I don’t think your boss will be thrilled.”

Vrill’s three nostrils flared. “How do you know our boss?”

“I don’t,” Matt said, “but anyone with half a brain knows that what you’re moving is extremely illegal, and therefore extremely profitable. But that’s only if you get it off-planet. If you can’t get it to your boss, then you’re of no use. Let me help you be useful to your boss.”

The Sarl turned to one another. Pext spoke for the first time. “He is right. Boss will not be happy, and we only have a few minutes—”

“But what about our pilot?” Vrill asked. “He has never been late before.”

That’s because a Myax has never knocked him out cold and shoved him into a locker before, I thought.

Rulto held up a hand. “Majumdar is correct. We need to get off Ynoom now. We’ll pick up our pilot on our return trip.” He eyed Matt, equal parts skeptical and hopeful. “You said you fly anything?”

“Hell yes,” Matt replied eagerly. “Only stipulation is that my ladies come along.”

“The human is fine,” Rulto said, not even looking at me. “But the Destyrian—”

“Doesn’t matter to me if I pilot your bird. But you need me to fly her.” Matt shrugged as though he hadn’t been lying his ass off for the last five minutes to get on the ship. He wrapped his spare arm around Azo’lah’s waist, their height difference, making it more awkward than suave. Azo’lah smiled like she was biting her tongue in an effort to stop herself from ripping his arm off. “I don’t fly unless I have Gretchen and Azo’lah.”

Rulto frowned, displeased. “Fine. Get on the ship.” 

Disbelief flooded me. Had our gambit actually worked?

A door in the center of the hull opened, and Rulto ushered us forward. “We’ll discuss payment on our way.”

“Works for us,” Matt smiled winningly. I was uncomfortably reminded of Shockley. 

As we boarded the Sarl ship, I reached out with my mind for Azo’lah—like knocking on the door of her brain. 

Gretchen? What’s wrong? she replied, the words flashing across my mind.

Can you do the mind-texting thing with Chester? Tell him to get Ryan and Fleetwood and follow us? I asked.

Azo’lah nodded.

We were herded down a dark corridor—not only were the walls black, but the lighting was so dim I could barely see. Too long passed without a response, and I was beginning to worry, we were truly on our own.

They’re coming, Azo’lah sent. I swallowed my relieved sigh. 

“Come, Majumdar,” Vrill ordered.

Matt half-hugged me in reassurance before allowing himself to be quickly escorted by Vrill and Rulto down the double-wide halls to the cockpit. 

As we rounded a corner and Pext walked farther ahead of us, I whispered, “I cannot believe that worked.”

Azo’lah shook her head. “Neither can I. You are an awful actress.”

Pext escorted us through a round opening and down a mangled, metal ladder that was missing multiple rungs. We emerged into the ship’s common area. It was...

“Disgusting,” Azo’lah sneered. The space was part galley, part lounge. It was furnished with rusting boxy chairs, cushioned with dingy fabric that had clearly demarcated indents from Sarl butts. Food bits, cups, bottles, and what looked like large flakes of key-lime scales were scattered across every surface. It smelled like the reptile house at a zoo mixed with the first, overwhelming whiff of a shitty vodka.

“It’s, uhm...cozy,” I said to Pext in the same airy tone, attempting not to gag as the rank odor accumulated in the back of my throat. 

“That is good. I was told domesticated females are difficult to please,” Pext said. I patted Azo’lah’s leg in a minor attempt at placating her. She looked ready to whip out her zali’thir and skewer the Sarl through his middle nostril at the notion of domesticated women.

“Oh no, we’re easy to please. Just so long as we can be with our Matt-Matt-Matty-Matt,” I smiled in what I hoped was a besotted way. 

“Yes, our Matty-Matt,” Azo’lah mimicked, her voice reaching an octave I had never heard before. “So...pleasant.”

Pext didn’t notice anything was amiss. He gestured to the closest chair, which was probably meant for one Sarl but was wide enough to fit both Azo’lah and me. I perched gingerly on the sweat-stain colored cushion. Azo’lah did likewise, her hand casually draped over her knee, in range of her hidden stiletto. 

Pext walked behind us to grab a bottle off the galley’s table. I tried not to shiver in repugnance as I felt him eyeing our backs. 

“What did you do to be branded?” he asked Azo’lah as he crossed back around. “Whatever it is, you should not have let them mar that pretty back.” I inferred that, as a species, backs had something to do with mating for the Sarl. Azo’lah seemed to have reached the same conclusion. 

“Azo’lah was a Myax,” I said cheerfully. Pext suddenly looked terrified. 

“Was?” Pext asked, all three nostrils flaring. 

“I killed a diplomat who dared to touch me without permission in front of a room full of witnesses. He also liked my back,” Azo’lah responded smoothly. Having seen the Myax in action during our altercation with Shockley’s crew at the Temple of Aluthua, I knew she was fast and dangerous. Watching her lie to this alien without flinching while simultaneously trolling him made me wonder exactly what all Myax training entailed.

I gave a fake giggle and placed my hand on her knee. “Well, you do have a lovely back.”

“Thank you, ket’li ,” Azo’lah’s grin widened as she turned to me. I had a feeling that whatever she had just called me in ancient Destyrian was most likely an insult instead of an endearment.

Pext took a long drink of whatever fetid moonshine filled his bottle and stared at us.

“Say, Pexty.” I leaned toward him. I noticed his eyes stray to my cleavage. “Where exactly is Matty-Matt flying us this time?” 

Pext grunted and itched his face, dislodging a verdant patch of skin. The scale floated to the floor unnoticed. Disgusting, flashed across my mind like a neon sign.

“Midnari Thetra quadrant,” Pext finally answered.

“Has not that area been abandoned for over 200 years since they exhausted the Cintri mines?” Azo’lah prodded. 

“Yeah,” Pext drawled, his eyes narrowing. “That’s the point.” 

“Oh,” I sighed. “How dull. Has Matty-Matt lied to us again? He promised our next stop would be somewhere exciting and illegal.”

“This is just a waystop, ket’li,” Azo’lah murmured loud enough for Pext to hear. She stroked my hair concillatorially. “Otherwise, we will have to teach him a lesson.” Pext’s eyes widened as if he would very much like to watch us do so. I was learning way more about Sarl mating habits than I ever wanted to.

We were running out of ways to get information without arousing suspicion, and I was running out of ways to stop myself from dry-heaving from the room’s stench.

I shifted sheepishly on the edge of the seat. “Say Pext, how long is this flight? I gotta use the little human’s room.”

“There is no such room on this ship,” he replied, mystified. 

“The restroom,” Azo’lah translated. 

“Ah, the flight will only take five hours.” 

“Oooh, plenty of time then,” I rose, pulling Azo’lah up with me. “Where’s the head?” 

“Both of you do not need to go,” Pext said.

“It’s human custom,” Azo’lah said. 

“Yeah!” I pulled up a clip from a terrible teenage movie from Earth on my Ran’dyl. Why do they always have to go to the bathroom in pairs? The nerdy male protagonist asked as the two cheerleaders giggled and made for the restroom. I gestured grandly at the holographic clip. “See?” 

“It is down that hallway, on the right,” Pext said. 

I jumped to my feet. “It may take a while.”

“We’re going to have sex,” Azo’lah added as she stood. I tripped, and she caught me swiftly. “Human females are insatiable. The last time we were interrupted before we reached a satisfactory ending, I rendered the intruder unable to ever have one again. Come, ket’li.” I found myself half-dragged, half-carried down the corridor by Azo’lah, grateful that Pext couldn’t see my beet-red face. 

“What the hell, Azo’lah?” I whispered as she deposited me a minute later by the door to the bathroom. She moved, in that impressively soundless way toward the edge of the corridor. 

“I had to give us an excuse not to return for some time, and a threat to keep him away,” Azo’lah explained. “You obviously wanted to get out of there.”

“I wanted to investigate the cargo hold. See if we could find any more information about why they’re taking the shrouds and how many of them they have.” I joined her at the end of the hallway, ducking around her. In an alcove halfway down the currently empty corridor was a computer terminal. “But since you’re here, maybe you could, uhm, have a nice chat with the ship’s computers while we’re at it?” 

Azo’lah grinned. “It would be my pleasure, ket’li.” She drew out the last word, clearly teasing me. 

“Alright, what does that mean?” I caved. 

“It is bar’vrah root in the ancient language.” 

“You’ve been calling me a space potato?” I hissed.

Azo’lah shrugged. “As the Fulyiti would say, if the shoe sits…” 

“It’s fits,” I corrected but followed her down the grimy corridor toward the terminal.

“One moment,” Azo’lah wrapped one long-fingered hand around the base of the computer terminal. The controls were in the indecipherable written language of the Sarl, but Azo’lah was unphased. Characters flew across the screen. 

Watching Azo’lah use her well-guarded Iz’waij abilities was always a bit mind-blowing. I had no idea really how technopathy worked, but it never ceased to impress. She withdrew from the terminal and tapped her Ran’dyl. It produced a three-dimensional map of the ship. After a quick perusal, she pointed to the bottom left corner of the ship. “The cargo hold is this way.”

“Damn,” I said, following her lead through the maze of the ship. “Why weren’t you around when all I had was dial-up?” 

“What?” Azo’lah asked. She threw an arm out, pressing me into a nearby alcove as Vrill entered the corridor, stomping in the direction of the galley. 

“Never mind,” I hissed. We crept along the corridor and down another ladder to a wide metal door with rotting metal cross beams. 

“X marks the spot,” Azo’lah murmured. She placed one hand on the keypad. 

“Did you just make an Earth pirate reference?” I grinned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Azo’lah said primly.

“I think Fleetwood’s rubbing off on you,” I teased.

“Focus, Myaxi.”

“Alright, Captain Azo’lah the Awful.” I grinned as the door slid sideways. We stepped into the pitch black cargo hold. Azo’lah’s finger tapped against the door jamb, activating the lights. “Oh, fucking hell,” I breathed. 

The cargo hold was lined with floor to ceiling shelves, stocked with bulky crates. It looked like bootlegger Costco. 

I went to the closest crate, frowning when I noticed it’s keypad. I glanced at Azo’lah. She caressed the keypad. It let out a mournful warble and, with a wheeze, the top of the crate released. I pushed the hinged lid backward.

“There’s so many,” I gasped. I pulled my gloves from my utility belt and gently lifted the fabric of the top-most shroud. There, neatly folded and tightly packed, like something out of Marie Kondo’s most ecstatic tidying up fantasy, were what had to be at least fifty shrouds of Ynarr. “You don’t think all of these are shrouds?” 

Azo’lah frowned and walked down the row. She popped open another crate. “Unfortunately, I do,” she held up a shroud that looked much more weathered than the one Chester and I had examined in the lab. The tomb that Sgnorp had taken us to was missing less than a dozen shrouds. There had be hundreds, if not thousands, in this cargo hold alone. Exactly how large was this Sarl operation?

“Not without gloves, Azo’lah!” I exclaimed. One frosty eyebrow arched, but she carefully released the shrouds. I came to stand next to her, and not wanting to explain our internal comms to Ryan, I tapped my Ran’dyl to call the Gold Dust Wo’man. “Chester.”

“Gretchen! We’re coming,” Chester’s relieved voice said. I could hear Ryan’s voice in the background. “Is that my away team? Tell them we’re on their trail.” 

“Gret’chen!” Fleetwood’s voice joined in. “Where are Azo’lah and Matt?” 

“I am here, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah reassured her. “Matt is currently piloting this ship. We are in the cargo hold.” 

“Chester, if I scan this shroud, could you carbon date it for me or something similar?” I asked, already starting the process on my Ran’dyl. 

“Or something similar,” Chester replied. “FleetMerc, pilot for a few, would you?”

“I do not like driving this beast,” Fleetwood complained, but I heard the telltale shifting of fabric. “I will be glad when Matt is back. It has been a humpy ride.” Ryan laughed, delighted. 

“Emergency helm training when we are back in home port,” Ryan announced. “In case this ever happens again.” It was, I thought begrudgingly, an excellent suggestion. Despite the fact that Ryan would be returned to Earth. 

I sent the scan to Chester.  There was a minute where Fleetwood hummed along to the classic rock that was no doubt playing, as always, through the ship’s comms. “How did you get the Sarl off your back long enough to get away?” Chester asked. 

“Uhmm…’ I hummed.

“They believe that Gretchen and I are copulating copiously in a bathroom to fulfill her voracious sexual appetite,” Azo’lah explained with no hint of shame. 

There was a moment of complete silence followed by Chester’s unrestrained laughter. “Fucking amazing.”

“Language Chester!” I chastized, thinking of Ryan, but they simply said faintly, “That’s so fucking funny.” 

“And what exhibits of evidence did you present to the Sarl jury to convince them of your relationship status, your honors?” Fleetwood asked, sounding unduly concerned. 

“It was nothing, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah assured her. “Gretchen merely giggled insipidly.”

“Without going to the lab, I can only give you a rough estimate, but that shroud is roughly 2,000 years old, give or take a decade.” 

“What?” I gasped. “Chester, what’s the oldest tomb on Ynoom?” 

“The tombs of their old capital, Ilnoor, on the other side of the planet are roughly 4,000 years old. We know the fabric is a lot more durable than it appears, but it does deteriorate with time. My guess is any shroud older than 3,000 years is probably toast by now.” 

“They probably raided the oldest tombs first,” Ryan pitched in, closer to Chester. 

“And then moved closer to the current capital when they had exhausted their supply,” Azo’lah agreed. 

“Fucking desecraters,” I fumed. 

“Oh shiz, Gret’chen is fired up and ready to throw shrimp on the barbie,” Fleetwood said. 

“Fleetwood, could you send a message to Sgnorp and have him send a party to check the tombs at Ilnoor,” I instructed as Azo’lah shut the lid of the crate. “And if they haven’t already, place sentries outside all existing tombs, new and old, and let no outworlders near, especially Sarl.” 

“Ten-four, babe,” Fleetwood said. 

“We should get back before they see through our excuse,” Azo’lah said. “We are heading to the Midnari Thetra quadrant, most likely near Cintri.” 

“We’ve got it,” Chester confirmed.

“Except for maybe the landing portion of the evening’s program,” Fleetwood admitted, sounding alarmingly unconcerned by the idea.

“We will keep in touch,” Azo’lah said and severed the connection. “Come, we must get back.” She pulled my hair out of its ponytail, ruffling it mercilessly. 

“What the hell?” I pushed her away.

“Myaxi,” she said sternly, “we must look like we—” 

“Were copiously copulating?” I sighed, untucking my shirt and undoing buttons. The things I did for archaeology. 

The rest of our journey to the Midnari Thetra quadrant was uneventful, if a bit uncomfortable. Matt’s announcement of our imminent arrival over the ship’s comms was more than welcome. Azo’lah and I couldn’t wait to escape the putrid lounge.

Pext escorted us through the equally malodorous bowels of the ship to the main exit. As we passed a grime-streaked window, I caught sight of a planet. It was jet black, triple-ringed, and so gargantuan it would’ve dwarfed Jupiter.

“Look, ket’li, it’s Cintri,” Azo’lah murmured sweetly, still playing the part of a loving girlfriend for Pext’s benefit. She pointed to a surprisingly small disc of a station suspended above the planet’s rings. Like the planet, it was onyx and would have been impossible to see except for the lights that illuminated every window of its fifteen floors. “We’re going to the mining station there.”

I was beginning to believe Matt wasn’t boasting in the slightest when he claimed he could fly anything. He docked the mammoth Sarl junker with the same finesse as the Gold Dust Wo’man. When we arrived at the door, he was already waiting with the rest of the Sarl crew.

We disembarked the Sarl ship in a hangar labeled in a jagged language. I discreetly turned on my Ran’dyl tracking feature as well as my comms, so Chester, Fleetwood, and Ryan could hear what was happening while also muting my audio feed just in case. If I hadn’t been paying attention, I would’ve missed Azo’lah’s fingers skating across her wristband doing the same thing.

“This is…nice,” I commented into the oppressive silence. I had expected a bustling waystation overflowing with Sarl elbows-deep in illegal shroud trafficking. Instead, I found an empty, moderately-maintained space station with all its lights left on, like someone had forgotten to flip the switch off before leaving for work that morning.

Rulto ignored me. He flicked his wrist at Vrill and Pext. “Unload.” He turned to Matt, Azo’lah, and me. “Follow. Boss is expecting us.”

Wedged between Matt and Azo’lah, I followed Rulto into a dark hallway. We passed no one—Sarl or other. The floors were littered with Sarl scales, and every window, door, and knob we passed had a fine coating of dust. The station's bulky computer terminals and consoles looked outdated, even to my untrained human eyes.

“This is not what I was expecting, my loves,” I whispered under my breath. I added the endearment just in case the Sarl had superior hearing.

Azo’lah trailed her fingers along the wall, only for Rulto to swat her palm down to her side. “What are you doing?” he asked, suspicious.

Azo’lah swallowed her anger at being touched. “Nothing,” she gritted out, “just appreciating the fine metal of Cintri.”

Rulto snarled but said nothing else as he continued leading us forward. 

Matt shot us a questioning gaze. We both shook our heads nonchalantly.

He stopped me before I could access the station’s mainframe, Azo’lah answered my unasked question across our mind-link.

Damn it.

I cleared my throat and picked up our conversation once more. “I’m surprised the station is still in such good shape. I expected an abandoned station to be more…”

“The station wasn’t abandoned because it was out of date or falling apart,” Matt inserted. “It was abandoned because they stripped Cintri of all she had to offer.” We walked past what must have been a lounge when the station was operational. Out the panoramic window, Cintri loomed ominously, its atmosphere smog-like and swirling. “They say Cintri was green before the metal mining started, but with all of the pollution...”

“They killed the planet,” I said. I felt suddenly claustrophobic, surrounded by the ghosts of Cintri’s previous inhabitants.

Matt shrugged as we entered an elevator and ascended several floors into an open common area at the center of the station. From the look of it, this had been the central hub of commerce for the station. Hexagonal with a ceiling that soared over eight floors, the space was lined with what were once shops and restaurants if their neglected storefronts were anything to guess by. A highly arched exit was wedged between shops on every wall. Overhead, wrap-around balconies had full view of us from every floor. Like the rest of the station, everything was black; unlike the rest of the ship, the lights, while still on, were dimmed.

In the center of the room stood a Sarl so large that even Vrill, the largest of the crew, looked diminutive. Thick as an ionic column, he leered down at us with liquid venom eyes and a comic book sneer. Unlike his underlings, Boss Sarl’s skin was not green or scaled. Instead, it was velvet-smooth with a distinct lemony glow.

“Boss,” Rulto greeted, raising two of his four legs and waving them about. A gesture of submission, I assumed, since Boss Sarl did not return the motion.

“Rulto,” Boss Sarl said, his voice greasier than an oil slick, “who have you brought me?” 

“Matt Majumdar, pilot,” Matt introduced himself. “These are my beloveds, Gretchen and Azo’lah.” 

Boss Sarl’s yellow eyes narrowed when they fell on Azo’lah. “Destyrian.” He strolled around us in a meandering circle, inspecting us from head to foot. As he walked behind us, he spat, “Myax.”

“Former,” Azo’lah lied easily.

“There is no such thing as a former Myax,” Boss Sarl growled, coming back around to face us.

Azo’lah shrugged. “There is when your penchant for killing stretches beyond the parameters of the Myax Code.”

“I see.” Boss Sarl’s thin lips tilted upward, impressed. “Majumdar, I’m told you stepped in to fly our transport when our pilot disappeared and, even with leaving later than usual, you arrived early. There aren’t many pilots that could pull that off, especially on a ship they’d never flown before.”

Matt ruffled his hair, the perfect image of the carefree rogue. “Not many pilots are me.”

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Barely. “That’s our Matty-Matt, best pilot there is,” I said, oozing overenthusiastic pride. “You’d be lucky to have him working for you.” I peered around the hollowed space curiously. “What exactly do you do here? Does this place even work properly? It’s, like, old.”

Boss Sarl laughed, a booming sound that had my hair standing on end. “Your human companion is entertaining, Majumdar, I see why you keep her around. Yes, little one, the station is old and abandoned. And, now that Cintri is no longer of use to anyone, we are two quadrants removed from the nearest inhabited galaxy.” He laughed again, this time more like he was sharing an inside joke. “That suits our purposes just fine.”

Boss Sarl continued, “The message Rulto sent ahead said we owe you a sizable sum for your services, Majumdar? How would you feel about doubling that amount? Tripling it?”

“I’d feel better about quadrupling it,” Matt returned easily, as though he negotiated payment for illegal transportation of goods everyday. My stomach turned as I realized that maybe he did. He had worked for Shockley before. It was possible that he wasn’t playing a part at all. Who he had been with us might be the facade.

“That can be arranged.” Boss Sarl’s gaze caught and held on Azo’lah, “but your Myax will contribute to your earnings. We could use the extra security at J’olpri Market.”

Azo’lah’s eyes widened.

Matt gasped, caught himself, and turned it into a cough. “You sell at J’olpri? 

“J’olpri?” I repeated, my curiosity sparking.

“The most exclusive black market in all the known galaxies. Extremely hush-hush,” Matt explained, snaking an arm around my waist. “So, of course, it’s the universe’s worst kept secret. It’s full of the biggest, baddest black market kingpins in space. It’s beyond dangerous; you’d love it.”

My heart toppled with the realization that we were, once again, in way over our heads. If we had any chance of getting the shrouds back to the Ynoom and surviving, then our best bet was to steal them back while they were still on this station.

Myaxi, Chester has informed me their eta is 20 minutes, Azo’lah mind-messaged me. Fulyiti Fleetwood says they have our ass.

I grazed my elbow against her hip in acknowledgment. We were on the same page: keep the Sarl distracted until the cavalry came.

“—sounds as though you are interested in joining our venture,” Boss Sarl was saying, “but first we must discuss terms. Come.” Boss Sarl gestured behind him. From an archway at Boss Sarl’s back, two Sarl built like pick-up trucks emerged.

Matt’s eyebrows rose at the new arrivals. “And they are?”

“My security. You don’t expect me to enter negotiations with a Destyrian Myax without protection, do you?” Boss Sarl said.

“I don’t know, we negotiate privately all the time,” Matt chuckled. It was the low, creeping laugh of a man showing off a conquest to another. Azo’lah’s expression darkened, but she kept her mouth shut, which, at this point, was the most we could ask for.

“Rulto, go check on Vrill and Pext while I speak with our new associates,” Boss Sarl demanded.

If we all went with Boss Sarl, there would be no way to keep an eye on the other Sarl and thereby discover where exactly they were taking the shrouds once they were unloaded from the ship. If we couldn’t secure them before our backup arrived, it might be too late. 

“Oh, oh!” I bounced onto the balls of my feet. “Can I go back with Rulto? This meeting, discussion, whatever,” my voice reached a pitch only dogs would recognize, “sounds so boring.” Matt’s arm, still tucked around my waist, tightened. I knocked our feet together, a silent demand for his trust. His arm loosened. “Puh-lease, Matty-Matt?” I pouted. “You and Azo-Zo go talk with Boss Sarl, and Rulto will take me back to Pexty. He’ll entertain me!”

“I do not know if that’s a wise idea,” Azo’lah said, her face twisted into thunderous disapproval. I winced. Yeah, I was definitely going to pay for that nickname later.

“But I’m bored already,” I pressed, shooting an expectant look Azo’lah’s way. The only hope we had of achieving our goal was if we split up. “You don’t want me bored, do you, Azo-Zo?”

Azo’lah’s jaw clenched. Her fingers twitched like she wished she were holding her zali’thir. “No. No, I do not. Boss Sarl, would you be so kind as to allow our human companion to—”

“I don’t care. Rulto take her,” Boss Sarl waved a careless hand in my direction, his focus already returned to business.

“Behave yourself, my love,” Matt instructed fondly, leaning in to kiss both my cheeks. He hissed into my ear, “I do not like this. Don’t do anything stupid—”

“I always behave myself,” I giggled, squeezing his forearm in reassurance. I turned to Azo’lah and said, “Don’t get too lonely without me.”

Azo’lah grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed our foreheads together. “Ket’li, I will miss you.”

Be careful, Myaxi, she instructed from inside my head.

“You too,” I said as she released me. I did not allow myself the luxury of watching them walk away. My heartbeat ramped up as I told myself there was nothing to worry about, we would see each other soon. This was not a goodbye.

I bounded to Rulto’s side, linked our arms together, and channeled Fleetwood Mercury as I attempted to tug him back the way we had arrived. “Let’s go! Do you want to play I Spy on our way down? I’ll go first. Ah, yes! You’ll never get it. I spy with my little eye, something black!”

On the way back to the hangar, I did my best to maintain my one-sided game. It was difficult since my attention was diverted by the technopathic updates Azo’lah was sending.

“Rulto, you have to guess,” I simpered. “Come on! I said I spy something black.” I patted the wall, “It isn’t as though you lack things to guess!”

We were right, Azo’lah’s message scrolled across my mind, they cleared out the tombs of Ynarr at Ilnoor and are moving on to newer sites. I tripped at this news but recovered by turning it into a skip. I told Rulto, “Fine, your turn!”

They are the only supplier of illegal Ynoom shrouds, which means they charge a premium, Azo’lah informed me.

That means this is the only syndicate we need to shut down, I sent back to her, desperate to hold onto one of the only pieces of good news we’d gotten since arriving.

Rulto was spared from spying as we entered the hangar to find Pext and Vrill beside the ship, sitting on one of the three dozen unloaded crates and smoking from pipes. Save for the centrally parked Sarl ship, its unpacked contents, and some scattered pallets, the sprawling hangar was empty. Rulto’s voice echoed as he shouted, “What’s this? Taking a break before the inventory’s been counted?” 

Startled, Vrill and Pext dropped their pipes, freckling the deck with dank, half-burned herbs. “If Boss had found you—”

“Pexty!” I cut in, rushing forward. All three Sarl recoiled at the heightened pitch of my voice. “Did you miss me? I missed you!” I spun on the spot before running my hands along the crates. I hoped I looked restlessly active and not over-protective of the shrouds as I asked, “What’s in here?”

Rulto pulled back my hand with a snarl. “Nothing for humans.”

“I’m just curious,”  I slipped out of his grip and glanced between Pext and Vrill. “Please tell me our next stop isn’t this lame.”

To my delight, Pext agreed. “Don’t fret, human. J’olpri is much better.”

I pushed my luck. “Then why didn’t we just go straight there?”

Pext said, “The merchandise has to be inspected by the scientist. Make sure that the dye will be effective when burned—”

“Enough sharing,” Rulto interrupted. “The human is not part of the operation.” He slammed a meaty palm against one of the crates. “Quit slacking and get these down to the lab. The faster they’re tested, the faster we get off this damn station. And you,” Rulto rounded on me, “don’t get in their way.”

He stalked out of the loading bay, muttering darkly to himself. I asked, “Where’s Rulto going? Is he doing something fun without us?”

“No. This isn’t a place for fun,” Vrill spat as he pried a crate open and began rummaging through the fabric. I bit my lip to stop myself from yelling at him. “We just use the station to test the dye and to change ships so we can’t be tracked.”

“So what? There are only, like, thirty of you here?” I guessed wildly.

“Less. Us, Scientist, Boss, and his security team. Boss doesn’t go anywhere without his security, and he always leaves two of them to watch the Scientist.”

That was less than twelve Sarl. Twelve wasn’t insurmountable, especially when you had a Myax on your side.

Less than twelve Sarl aboard the station, I sent across the mental canyon between me and Azo’lah.

That is not ideal, but it is manageable, Azo’lah replied. I should have no issues disposing of the Boss and his minions.

“What does the scientist test for?” I asked, my mind reeling with the possibilities of what was released when the shrouds were burned: hallucinogens, a cure for cancer, an incense that elevated Sarl IQ—

Vrill shrugged a mountainous shoulder. “Don’t know. Just know that when the dye burns, it does this.” They both pointed to their throats where their skin, like Boss Sarl’s entire face, was devoid of limey scales. “Noble Sarl pay good money for smooth skin.”

Torn between horror and morbid amusement, I froze.

An exfoliator. They were desecrating tombs, disrespecting an entire culture, and burning ancient, sacred shrouds for an exfoliator.

I wanted to gouge their eyes out. Instead, I asked, “How’d you learn all of this? Did some random Sarl just steal a shro—one of those thingys and burn it for funsies?”

“Funsies? What is funsies?” Vrill asked, his face tightening with suspicion.

“A Sarl architect who helped build the Ynoom capital died in a construction accident. When his body was returned, it was wrapped in one of these.” Pext slapped a crate. “The Sarl who died was one of Boss’ former security guards, so he was burned on the Pyre of Golgicraw, the highest honor a Sarl can receive. The day after, everyone who had attended the pyre had shed.”

My head bobbed as I processed the story. Their exfoliation discovery had been a total accident.

My blood boiled in my veins.

Pext turned to Vrill. “Your turn to take the haul.”

Grumbling and eyeing the pipe back in Pext’s hands, Vrill slumped off to grab a floating barge, hefting six crates atop it. “I get my break next,” he said, directing the full barge in the same direction Rulto had disappeared.

I eyed the thirty crates he left behind and wondered how many were still in the ship’s cargo hold. If I wanted to secure the shrouds Vrill had left behind, I needed to take advantage of Pext being the only Sarl around to watch me. Who knew what chaos would occur when the Gold Dust Wo’man arrived.

 Pext rekindled his pipe, and I saw my chance. I took a large, shuddering inhale before I hunched over in an exaggerated coughing fit.

“What is wrong, tiny human?” Pext asked, his mouth curled in disgust.

I stood up, fake-coughing so hard my shoulders shook. “The smoke from your pipe—I have sensitive lungs.” I sagged against one of the remaining crates as another “fit” took hold. I pointed to the furthest corner of the hangar. “Do you think you could smoke over there? Like way over there?”

“That is not—”

Leaving my mouth uncovered, I coughed directly in Pext’s direction and did my best to make it sound extra phlegmy. Recoiling, his four feet, carried him backward at an astonishing speed for his size. “I will be over here, do not do anything you shouldn’t,” Pext instructed, his voice fading as he hustled to stand by the door that led into the station. The spot was not ideal for him or me—the crates and I were no longer in his direct sightline, cut off by the ship, but I also had no means of re-entering the station without drawing his attention.

I crouched down amongst the remaining crates and slapped my Ran’dyl, activating my comms. I would’ve continued to use the technopathic link between our implants, but I wanted to keep Ryan safe. To achieve that, they needed to be as much in the loop as possible. I lowered my voice as I hissed, “Chester, how far out are you?”

“We’ll be gate-crashing in less than one earth minute,” Fleetwood replied. “Your tracker has you in the main port of entry.” 

“We’re coming in hot, Gretchen,” Ryan sounded strained. “Get somewhere safe. Fast.”

“How hot?” I demanded.

“The braking mechanism on this ship is very different from the Qu’een,” Chester said defensively.

I scrambled against the crates around me, futilely attempting to push them to safety. “There are shrouds on the dock. If you come crashing in here—”

“Stop worrying about the shrouds, Borowicz, and worry about yourself,” Ryan commanded.

“But—but—”

“Thirty seconds,” Chester warned.

I leaped up and wrenched at the lid of a crate. Miraculously, it opened. Pext and Vrill must have opened the containers to check their contents before taking them to the Scientist. “Guys,” I pleaded, “give me a minute to—”

“Twenty seconds,” Chester said over Fleetwood’s delighted laughter. “Hacking exterior port doors now.”

“Chester, wait!” I wailed, grabbed an armful of shrouds, cradling them close.

“You can’t salvage anything if you’re crushed to death!” Ryan yelled as the exterior doors ground open the sound like a car engine refusing to start. 

Pext straightened up, pipe falling from his mouth. “What—”

I shoved the shrouds up my shirt and grabbed more.

“Ten seconds!” Chester shouted as three more shrouds went down my pants. “Gretchen, find cover, I’m decelerating, but the impact is still going to be substantial.”

“Do not hurt my Gret’chen!” Fleetwood shrieked.

“I don’t want to, but I can’t hold it!” Chester yelled, indignant.

“But the shrouds!” I argued, making one last, futile attempt to tug a crate out of the crash path of the Gold Dust Wo’man.

“Borowicz, get to safety. That’s an order!” Ryan commanded over the line. Something about the steely authority lining their words sent me sprinting, excess shrouds flapping out of my shirt as Chester’s countdown ticked to zero. I looked up to see the Gold Dust Wo’man slicing through the darkness like a glitter-splattered knife coming right for me.

I dove behind a stockpile of unused palettes, my shroud-stuffing cushioning my fall. The Gold Dust Wo’man screamed into the loading dock, her hull leaving a thousand-feet long fairy dust trail as she decelerated. The mining station see-sawed with the impact, and Pext, too slow to find cover, was sent careening headfirst into the wall.

The Gold Dust Wo’man slammed into the Sarl ship, the collision bringing her to an abrupt, merciful halt.

“Gretchen! Gretchen, are you okay?” Chester bellowed over my Ran’dyl.

“Borowicz, status report!” Ryan ordered.

I took visual stock of my body, wiggling my extremities for good measure. “I’m okay, I’m okay!” 

Fleetwood hollered in jubilant triumph as I jumped up and raced to where the crates of shrouds had been flung forward, some even toppling over. Though spilling out onto the floor and covered in a layer of glitter from the Gold Dust Wo’man’s now peeling paint, they all seemed to still be in order. “The shrouds are okay too,” I said, throwing my arms around the crate in a hug of gratitude. I hastily removed the shrouds from my shirt and pants, gently folding them into an open crate. “Are you guys good?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Chester replied as, across the hangar, the Wo’man’s gangplank dropped. Chester and Fleetwood came trampling down, weapons raised, Ryan trailing behind them. I raced to my friends and was immediately engulfed in a four-way hug.

As Fleetwood pulled me in for a solo, only somewhat-suffocating embrace, Ryan hit their Ran’dyl and said, “Captain Thorley to Majumdar and Myax. Status report.”

There was a moment of silence followed by a static hiss and then the unmistakable grunts and crunches I’d typically associate with a particularly violent scene in an action movie.

“We’re okay, Captain,” Matt called down the comms as Azo’lah grunted in the background. “But we have a bit of a situation. Requesting back-up. Azo’lah’s sending location now.”

“We’ll be right there.” Ryan grinned. “Come on, let’s go get our crew, and take this fucking station.”

A high pitched klaxon pierced our eardrums. The hangar was suddenly awash with emerald light that pulsed like a beating heart. A belligerent voice announced, “Intruder, Mt’thickwae, Hatobi, Intruder, Intruder…” Apparently, my chip only knew the word for intruder in half of the languages that had been present on Cintri. The massive metal door that led inside of the station began to slide closed.  

“I thought this shit just happened in movies,” Ryan muttered, their blue eyes flashing turquoise in the green light. “Fucking rad.” 

“You said there were twelve of them? We can’t take twelve of them,” Chester protested. 

“Azo’lah currently has three at least,” I said. “And you took Pexty out with your landing.” The Sarl in question currently resembled an overgrown potato bug curled up at the bottom of the hangar wall. 

“They won’t send more than four after us,” Ryan posited, as though they regularly stormed abandoned mining-turned-black-market-waystations. “Their priorities will be split between protecting the cargo and their boss.”

“Orders?” Fleetwood asked, handing me the gun that I had appropriated from Nyc’arra during our mission on Vas Roya. I gripped it gingerly. I was not entirely comfortable using it. I wished I had practiced with it during the intervening year.

“Can we scan for life signs with these?” Ryan indicated their Ran’dyl. “Is that even a thing?” 

“Only for a ten-foot radius,” Chester said. “It isn’t like I had the time to sync our Ran’dyls with the Gold Dust Woman’s system.” 

“Love is blind, and so are we,” Fleetwood sing-songed. “Also, we have corporation.” She pointed to the entrance of the hangar. Beside the closed, mammoth loading doors, a slim access hatch creaked open. 

“Seal our ship, take cover,” Ryan commanded, allowing Fleetwood to usher them behind the Sarl’s accordioned ship. Chester tapped his Ran’dyl, and the Gold Dust Wo’man’s gangplank whirred upward. The protective shields hummed as they were brought back online.

I crouched, peering through the gap between the ships. Two rotund Sarl had already forced their way through the slightly too small access door, and the third was struggling to follow suit. I heard a quiet, scraping sound. Fleetwood was scaling the Sarl ship to our right, extending a hand to Ryan to help them up.

Fleetwood winked at me when she caught my eye. Even from inside my head, her voice was barely audible over the racket around me. “Gret’chen, your Ran’dyl, sync the sound to Chester’s. Then remove it, please, and thank you with a cherry on top.” 

“Is now the time?” I muttered, glancing to where Ryan and Fleetwood were slowly and quietly advancing across the roof of the Sarl ship toward a fin-like wing which had been bent in the crash, half of it now jutted toward the ceiling.

“Trust is a two-way highway,” Fleetwood explained. Against my better judgment, I nudged Chester with my shoulder. He ducked down, taking over as lookout while I fulfilled Fleetwood’s request. “One more,” Chester said. “Ryan was right, there’s four of them total. Do we have a plan?” 

“Gret’chen, you slide yours into home on the right, and I will go left.” I glanced up at Fleetwood, who was also holding her own Ran’dyl. She mimed tossing it. “Chester, on ‘go,’ please provide distraction music. On your mark, get set, GO, MINIONS OF DARKNESS!” 

I threw my Ran’dyl as hard as I could along the floor through the gap between the ships while Fleetwood lobbed hers in a graceful diagonal arc. Classic rock burst from the wristbands at top volume. Confused, the Sarl turned to locate the source of the noise. Fleetwood took advantage of their distraction, ducking out from behind the wing and shooting the closest Sarl four times in rapid succession. As he fell to the knees of his stubby legs, it hit me—these guys were going to be tough to take down. Their scaly skin provided them a natural layer of protection.

Chester seemed to be holding down his gun’s trigger, spraying in a repetitive, zig-zag, hoping to hit something. I couldn’t fault the technique as one of the Sarl roared when his foot was hit, only to scream even louder when he could not reach the wounded appendage with his stubby arms. Meanwhile, the remaining Sarl were forced to play a high stakes game of dodge the bullet to avoid the same fate. 

“Chester, a boost?” I asked.

“Sure thing,” he replied, offering me his spare hand and shoulder. I grabbed his shoulder to hoist myself upward and gain a foothold in the side of the Sarl ship. I pulled myself up, with no small effort. I laid down on my stomach and took aim at the nearest Sarl. Three out of my seven shots landed, which was sad, considering I had such large target areas. 

“What the fuck does it take to get these guys down?” Chester said over the comms. 

“Me,” Fleetwood replied. “Captain, catch!” 

“She’s not going to do what I think is, is she?” I asked as in true Fleetwood fashion, she already had launched herself off of the ship, her dagger in one hand, an electric magenta shield powering up from a jeweled band on her right forearm. 

“Damn the torpedoes!” Fleetwood yelled. She landed on the Sarl that Chester had shot in the foot, knocking the Sarl to the floor. He writhed, belly-up, like an overturned armadillo. “Give him a rumbly tumbly, Captain!” Fleetwood called, pressing the struggling Sarl down with her body weight across his face. I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but two shots rang out from above me—

Jesus fucking Christ, Fleetwood had thrown a gun at Ryan, who was, apparently, a crack shot as three more electric-bolts landed right in the Sarl’s fleshy stomach. He let out a pathetic wheezing groan before going limp. 

Fleetwood, who had begun moving before Ryan’s last bolt landed, performed some sort of Flashdance era jazz leap into the Sarl that was barrelling toward his fallen comrade. Taking a leaf out of Chester’s book, I aimed for the oncoming Sarl’s feet. He performed a pathetic tuck jump to avoid my bolts but was conveniently midair when Fleetwood descended. Two more shots rang out as they fell. 

Ryan’s whoop of victory morphed into alarm. “Shit!” The second remaining Sarl had discovered Ryan’s hiding place and was attempting to climb the ship to get them. Meanwhile, his buddy on the ground was beelining for Chester, who was charging the Sarl pursuing Ryan and bellowing, “Leave them alone! They can’t even vote, you dipshit!” 

I rose to my feet, ignoring the burning scratch of metal down my left calf as I stood. “Fleetwood!” 

Screaming inarticulately, she catapulted herself, feet-first, at the Sarl in a move I’d only seen in professional wrestling. Grabbing onto a nearby piece of hull, I leaned out from my makeshift cover and shot three times in the Sarl’s direction. Two bolts hit; one went wide and glanced off of Fleetwoods arm. “Shit! I’m so sorry!” I called, horrified.

“To Ryan!” Fleetwood said, utterly unphased by her singed arm. I pulled myself back into a completely upright position, knowing already that my lower back was going to hate me for attempting another physical feat I didn’t possess the upper body strength for. I ran, paralleling Fleetwood’s path below me, albeit much less gracefully, toward where Chester had both arms wrapped around the final Sarl’s legs and was attempting to yank it away from Ryan. 

“Incoming!” was all the warning Fleetwood gave before she full-on rugby tackled Chester and the Sarl, taking them all to the metal deck in a pile of limbs. 

“Get clear!” Ryan panted, and, as Chester and Fleetwood rolled to safety, I shot two bolts into the Sarl, just as Ryan let loose their own three. 

I collapsed to all fours, unable to hear my own labored breathing over the klaxon still blaring, the music from our Ran’dyls and the Sarl’s deep moans of distress. “Is everyone okay?” I called, sitting back on my heels, hissing in pain as it stretched my injured calf. 

“Right as rain,” Fleetwood raised her arms and issued two thumbs up. Chester moved just enough to cut the music. 

“Did I...did I kill them?” Ryan peered down at the Sarl that had tried to climb the ship. 

“Worry not,” Fleetwood soothed, “lethal weapons aren’t our bag. Gret’chen’s weapon is the strongest, and it would still take several shots to a vulnerable area to be fatal. They are merely KO’ed.” Fleetwood crawled over to Chester and, leaning on each other, they rose to their feet. Reassured, I started picking my way down the side of the ship, attempting not to agitate my injury further. 

“Allow me, milady!”

I squealed, unexpectedly airborne. Fleetwood twirled me around, then placed me gently on my feet, facing her. She was beaming, looking like she’d just come off an exhilarating roller coaster instead of surviving a firefight. 

“You shouldn’t have lifted me with that arm!” I looked at the angry dark brown and yellow crater on her upper left arm. “I’m so sorry, Fleetwood!”

“You did not mean to,” Fleetwood said simply as Chester came to her side. She brushed a strand of my sweat-saturated hair behind my ear. “Are you well?” 

“She’s bleeding.” I turned to see Ryan come up behind me. Ryan squatted, peering at my leg. “This is deep. It’s probably going to need stitches.” 

Fleetwood looked at me, as serious as I had ever seen her. “Can you continue, or do you need to stay on the ship?” 

My good sense thought the ship sounded nice. The other part of me, which realized we hadn’t heard from Azo’lah and Matt for much too long now, knew I wouldn’t be able to sit tight on the ship without knowing their fate.

“I have your asses,” I said, and it was easy to muster up the accompanying smile in response to Fleetwood’s. 

Fleetwood found a hole near the hem of my button-up, where the metal of the ship had snagged the fabric. She tore it and handed the strip to Ryan to quickly bandage my leg. “I’ll collect our Ran’dyls. Then we collect our friends.” 

“Clear,” I said, as my Ran’dyl’s proximity scan—a technology I didn’t even know it possessed until five minutes ago—showed that we were alone. Well, at least for the first ten feet out the door. 

“Move out,” Ryan instructed. We filed through the access hatch like well-armed lemmings. The corridor was illuminated in the same, terrible green light, and I was already over my klaxon-led intergalactic language lesson. Fleetwood Mercury pranced into the lead, glancing at her scanner. 

She paused at the end of the corridor and ducked her head around the corner. “Chester, are we hot or cold?” she asked. 

“I think we have to go up,” he responded. He tapped his Ran’dyl, which was pinned to his chest, initiating a projection of the station that hovered in front of him. A small, 3-D depiction of the Myax glyph sat centrally. Below it and to the right, a cartoon rendering of Fleetwood, a tiny lion face, and a crossed hammer and brush represented our location relative to Azo’lah. Chester had customized our icons on his Ran’dyl’s tracking function. “Gretchen, does that sound right?” 

“Yeah,” I replied, trying to recall my path to the loading dock with Pext. “We used an elevator at the end of the hallway there,” I pointed to the left.  “I’m not sure how many floors we came down, though. And it looks like Azo’lah and Matt may have moved.”

“Up it is,” Ryan said and charged toward the lift. The doors hissed open angrily when we approached like it was irritated at being pressed into service. “The elevators on Destyr are cooler,” Ryan noted as Chester, and I puzzled over the controls. While our translator implants worked wonderfully for the spoken word, the only written language they were designed for was modern Destyrian. Which was a problem. Fleetwood’s solution was reaching between us and slamming her hand on the whole panel. Several buttons lit up, and the lift rumbled upward. 

Moments later, the doors opened to an empty corridor. Fleetwood waved to it merrily before the door shut, and we were moving again. I glanced over at the projection still in front of Chester. Our icons, stacked on top of each other, were moving steadily closer to Azo’lah. The lift stopped again. Our icons were now level with, but still a ways away from Azo’lah’s glyph. The doors hissed open, revealing two Sarl. 

“Hello! This is our stop. Please exit the ride,” Fleetwood said and launched herself at them. She collided with the Sarl on the right, her momentum carrying them both into the wall as she punched him in the throat.

Ryan fired off half a dozen bolts, hitting the second Sarl square in the face. He collapsed to the ground with a snort and a sizzle. Fleetwood’s target dropped shortly after. 

Wide-eyed, Chester pressed Ryan’s arm down to their side. “Too much?” Ryan asked, staring at the downed Sarl.

Chester grimaced. “Maybe just a little.”

At the end of the corridor, we turned right and found ourselves back in the open common area where I had first met Boss Sarl. The flashing green light and blaring alarm made the space seem eerily larger. We skidded to a halt at the center of the room.

“Backs together so they can’t sneak up on us,” Ryan ordered, gesturing to all of the entrances. We scurried to obey. Ryan aimed their gun toward the open-air balconies. “Everyone on high alert while Chester checks our bearings.”

“Which way?” I asked as Chester looked over his 3D schematic. 

“Fuck, did they move?” I asked. Azo’lah’s glyph was now two floors higher and further to the left.

“Yes,” Chester groaned. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and studied the tiny projection. He pointed in the direction Ryan was facing. “We need to go that way and up.”

“Hustle,” Ryan said, as we raced across the room. The flashing lights and the obnoxious klaxon, which was still screaming, “Intruder, Mt’thickwae, Hatobi, Intruder,” kept time with our steps until we reached the archway that led into yet another, identical black-metal corridor.

I breathed slowly and purposefully against the steadily mounting full-body ache from the injuries I sustained during our hangar showdown.

“There should be stairs, right…” Chester trailed off. In front of us was a door, wedged open by a metal chair.

“What in the fuck?” Ryan breathed.

I peered around Chester to find a small room, set-up as though it was an office in its previous life. There were two Sarl on the floor, and another one spread eagle across the desk. A fourth Sarl was hanging upside down from the lighting fixture, a sturdy rope tied to their ankle. They were all unconscious.

A splatter of yellow Destyrian blood decorated a window that overlooked Cintri, and a series of smeared red handprints were stamped beside the door.

There was no sign of Boss Sarl, Azo’lah, or Matt.

“Fuck,” I cursed. “This is where Boss Sarl took them. They must’ve been moved once you guys made your grand entrance.”

Eyes trained on the bloody handprints, Ryan’s gaze hardened. “Let’s go.”

Chester guided us through the hallway to the stairs. I studiously ignored the yellow and red droplets that littered the otherwise pristine floor. As we ascended the stairs, the sounds of blasters going off, shouting Sarl, and heavy thuds broke through the continued klaxon.

It sounded like Azo’lah and Matt were fighting every Sarl left on the station.

Ryan hefted their gun. “Going in hot,” they commanded. Fleetwood took point, leading the charge from the stairs and into... 

“Well, that’s anticlimactic,” Ryan commented, lowering their gun.

A string of unconscious Sarl bodies created a pathway to a wide-windowed, monochromatic white laboratory. Through the glass panes, I spied crates of Ynoomian shrouds. Some had holes burned around the edges, others were tightly bundled for distribution. In the middle of the room, Matt sat on a table, smiling cheerfully as he pointed a gun at the smooth-skinned throat of a trembling Sarl, who was smaller than the rest. Next to the table, Azo’lah stood, threateningly, over a kneeling Boss Sarl. They sneered at one another as though they would like nothing better than to rip the other’s arms off.

Fleetwood dropped her attack position, shoulders slouching in disappointment. “But, I wanted to kick names and take assemblies!”

“Azo’lah! Matt!” I pushed past Fleetwood and into the lab, tripping over the Sarl legs in my way.

The door to the lab slid open automatically as Matt called, “Gretchen, my beloved! Chester, I hope you didn’t ruin my ship with that catastrophic landing.”

“Your ship?” Chester sputtered at my back. “Catastrophic landing?”

Matt’s smile widened. “What else could’ve shaken this place like a cocktail?”

“Azo’lah, what—what happened? Are you guys okay?” I asked, my eyes frantically searching between the two of them for the sources of blood we found two floors below.

Matt had a cut on his left forearm. It didn’t look too deep, but it certainly bled profusely. Azo’lah sported a split lip, and her usually sleek ponytail was rather bedraggled. Otherwise, they looked perfectly fine.

“We are well, Myaxi,” Azo’lah replied. Her brilliant eyes stole away from Boss Sarl for a moment to meet mine. “And you?”

I gulped, the fluttering terror that had been threatening to overwhelm me since finding their blood settled at her easy tone. “Good. I’m—we’re good.”

“Rockin’ and a-rollin’, Azo-Zo,” Fleetwood said, merrily skipping to Matt’s side. I cringed at the way Azo’lah’s brow tightened at the nickname. 

Framed in the doorway, Ryan folded their arms across their chest. “Majumdar, Myax, report.”

“Yes, Captain,” Matt replied. He hopped off the table,  jamming his gun deeper into the Sarl’s fleshy throat. The Sarl whimpered. “We were in contract negotiations with Boss Sarl over there when Chester decided taking out half the station was the best landing tactic—”

Chester interrupted, “The station is completely intact!”

“—which alerted Boss to our less-than-honest intentions,” Matt continued, ignoring Chester. “Boss’s security pulled weapons, Azo’lah was… well, Myax, and took them down within a minute.”

“Majumdar is being modest,” Azo’lah said. “He was nowhere near as weak and useless as I expected. He was even helpful.”

“Thank you?” Matt clearly was not used to Azo’lah’s backhanded compliments like the rest of us. “Anway, the security guys were enough of a handful for Boss Sarl to get a headstart on us. We chased him up here. Had a little difficulty getting into the lab.” He nodded to the Sarl bodies.

If executing that kind of efficient carnage was ‘difficulty’ for Matt and Azo’lah after only a few days of knowing one another, I’d hate to see the outcome once they worked together longer.

“We were just beginning our interrogation when you arrived, Captain,” Matt finished.

“Good work.” Ryan gave them both an approving nod. “What have you found out?”

“That is the scientist who performed the tests that confirmed the ‘viability’ of the shrouds,” Azo’lah said, pointing to Matt’s hostage. “The dye on the shrouds was—”

“We know,” Ryan interrupted smoothly. Instead of glaring at our teenaged captain, Azo’lah went quiet. “Borowicz got all the information about why they were stealing the shrouds from Pext down in the hangar.”

“Are these all the shrouds that you have aboard this station?” I asked the scientist cowering next to Matt.

“This is all that has been brought to me today,” he hissed, his eyes never leaving the weapon pointed at his throat.

Good. That meant this, plus what was left in the hangar, and potentially on the Sarl ship, were all there was.

“We’re taking them all back to Ynoom where they belong,” I said, gesturing to the crates. Chester and Fleetwood crossed to begin packing shrouds up and cataloging our return haul.

“Guys, gloves,” I remind them.

Ryan fingered the half-burned shrouds and asked, “What about these? Should we take them as well? Can they still serve their purpose ruined like this?”

I turned to the scientist. “How could you—how could you do such horrendous things to—”

“I don’t think he had a choice in the matter,” Matt said.

“I did not,” the Sarl agreed, his yellow eyes edging towards where Azo’lah stood over Boss Sarl. Matt lowered his weapon and helped the scientist into a chair where he began sobbing into his scaly hands.

I whirled on the Sarl kingpin, my rage overflowing.

Boss Sarl laughed. “You do not scare me, little human. None of you do.”

Quick as striking lightning, Azo’lah punched Boss Sarl in the face. His head snapped back, gelatinous black blood flowing from all three nostrils.

“You sure about that?” I asked as Boss Sarl shook his head, eyes crossing and refocusing from the force of Azo’lah’s hit.

“Are there any other groups running shrouds out of Ynoom?” Azo’lah asked.

Boss Sarl remained silent.

I gritted my teeth against my frustration; nothing could be easy in space, could it? “Tell us or—”

“Or what?” Boss Sarl’s eyes narrowed. “There is nothing you can do to me that will get you what you want. We all have masters, human, and I can guarantee mine are more terrifying than yours. Take me away to Destyr or to Ynoom to stand trial so that I can live out the rest of my days safely tucked away in a box.”

“Of course!” Ryan said. “The actual boss of this operation would never isolate themselves on an abandoned station orbiting a dead planet. No, at best you’re a lieutenant, working your way up the ranks in your organization, and your boss, the real kingpin, is back on your planet living their best life off of the money you make them.”

Boss Sarl sneered.

“Well, if you don’t want to help us by giving us the information we need, then we won’t help you,” Ryan said. “Chester, can you activate all of the ships and shuttles on board the station and send them off into space?”

Chester stopped his inventorying. “Uh, probably? It may take a few hours, but once I’ve cracked the code, yeah. It’d be pretty simple.”

“Excellent,” Ryan replied, their eyes boring into Boss Sarl’s. “We’ll take the shrouds and the scientist with us back to Ynoom, send all of the ships off station, and leave you here all on your lonesome to wait.”

Boss Sarl’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes, we would,” Fleetwood called from where she and Matt were gently folding the Ynoomian shrouds for transport.

“Everything packed up?” Ryan asked, turning towards the crates.

“Just about, Captain,” Matt said. “Fleetwood, Gretchen, and I can load the Gold Dust Wo’man while Chester does his thing with the other ships, and Azo’lah supervises the prisoners.”

Ryan nodded. “Excellent. Myax, please escort the scientist to the Gold Dust Wo’man and then find a place to lock Boss up. I’m sure he won’t be waiting long.”

“I don’t—” I began. I was all for justice, but leaving another creature to face what was sure to be a brutal end did not sit well with me.

“Wait!” Boss Sarl shouted.

Ryan leaned against the table. “Got something you wanted to say?”

Boss Sarl’s mouth shut tightly. Ryan shook their head in mock disappointment and waved a hand, directing us to carry on.

“What do you want to know? I can… I can tell you everything!” Boss Sarl cried.

“Are there any other crews running shrouds off of Ynoom?” Azo’lah demanded.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” Boss Sarl admitted. He hurriedly added, “But I can get you to J’olpri! I can get you all the black market runners! J’olpri, that’s what you want, isn’t it? You don’t care about these shrouds. You care about getting to J’olpri before that Destyrian piece goes on the market.”

We all froze, even Matt and Ryan.

“What Destyrian piece?” I asked, slowly.

“No one knows, the seller isn’t saying much,” Boss Sarl spoke faster, capitalizing on capturing our attention. “Just said that it’s ancient and priceless tech, thought to be destroyed when the Destyrians lost their first planet—”

“The cloak!” Azo’lah, Fleetwood, Chester, and I said.

“What cloak?” Ryan and Matt asked.

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“An epic saga of defeat and victory, love and loss,” Fleetwood continued.

“We’ll tell you about it on our way back to Ynoom,” Chester added.

Right, Ynoom. The shrouds.

I had forgotten.

“Ynoom. Where you will be taking me, yes? I provided useful information,” Boss Sarl wheedled.

“Give us the exact coordinates of J’olpri, then yes,” Azo’lah answered. She turned to Ryan. “That is, if that is your decision, Captain.”

Ryan nodded. “You are correct, Myax. Boss Sarl, give the coordinates to Matt and Chester. You two can verify the information through contacts and mapping tech, right? Is that real, or is that just TV shit?” Matt and Chester nodded. “If everything checks out, Boss, then you come with us.”

Boss Sarl nodded, shoulders sagging with relief.

“Everyone know what they need to do?” Ryan asked. We all nodded, Fleetwood, Chester, and Matt already working on their assignments. 

I saluted Ryan. “Yes, Captain.”

“Here, Captain, Gretchen.” Grinning, Matt handed us each a squat, handle-free mug, adorned with Ynoomi script. “Let us drink the Draught of Boundless Friendship.” 

I took the cup, eyeing the brilliant turquoise liquid inside it with suspicion. 

“Is this safe to drink?” I said, smelling it. I looked up at Matt from where I was seated on a low, cushioned stool, my injured leg stretched in front of me. I made sure to give him my best suspicious stink eye. 

Matt rolled his eyes and selected his mug from the low stone platform to our left. He filled it from the fountain that was carved into one side of the Ynoom’s Sacred Octagon, an open pavilion that was the central meeting and ceremonial site of the Ynoom. Tonight, it was overflowing with Ynoom in various shades of crimson, tentacles tremoring in jubilation as they celebrated the return of the missing shrouds. 

Matt took a demonstrative drink. “I think the Captain deserves one drink. I won’t tell if you won’t,” he winked at Ryan before leaning over to whisper in my ear. “Don’t worry, it’s got the same intoxicant power as a wine cooler, and I’ll make sure it’s just one.”

I fixed him with my sternest look, but it was hard to protest in the face of Ryan’s evident excitement. “Just one,” I reiterated. I raised my glass, “To boundless friendship,” I said. Matt and Ryan clinked their mugs with mine. The Ynoom within hearing range raised their arms in tandem, their warbling voices giving the more formal, traditional wish of “I wish you friendship as boundless as the skies and seas.” 

I glanced over to where Fleetwood and Chester had somehow managed to entrap Azo’lah in one of the many set dances required by the feast. Fleetwood wore a flowing dress of dark teal with intricate embroidery and gems, her royal coronet sparkling in the soft golden light of the octagon. Azo’lah was in the formal uniform of the Myax, the ink of her tattoo shining as her braid shifted. Chester was clad in a clean, maroon button-down and matching beanie.

Azo’lah looked up and caught my eye. I lifted my glass, suppressing a smile. She was torn between discomfort and a sliver of enjoyment, her arms linked around tentacles. Cease smirking Myaxi, or I will make you join us, flashed briefly across my mind. 

Oh no, I have to take it easy on my injured leg, I thought back. Azo’lah pursed her lip, the split already mostly healed due to Fleetwood’s enthusiastic use of a too-large regenerative patch the day before, which had left Azo’lah looking part mummified from the neck up. Since the cut on my leg had been fairly deep, I had my own regenerative patch—apparently filled with tiny healing nanotech—applied to my calf. It was sore but already much less painful than it had been. 

The music ended, and the gathered Ynoom waved their arms in the ecstatic quivering that was their equivalent of applause. 

Fleetwood kept her arm looped companionably through one of Sgnorp’s tentacles, while Azo’lah and Chester let themselves be similarly led by Skreb through the crowd to Matt, Ryan, and I. Seated, I was eye-level with the Ynoom leader and struck again with an appreciation for just how adorable the species was. 

“Hail, family,” Skreb intoned. The translation of his quivers sounded gregarious. “Are you enjoying the celebration?” 

“Absolutely, brother,” Ryan said, grinning when Sgnorp tapped their mug-free hand genially. “This music slaps, and the company can’t be beat.” 

“I do not understand—is violence how you show friendship on Earth?” Sgnorp asked, confused. 

Matt and I laughed. Chester grinned. “No brother, um, ‘slaps’ is an Earth word for when the music is delightful, and ‘can’t be beat’ is an expression meaning we could wish no better company at the moment.”

“My apologies,” Ryan said, inclining their head diplomatically. “I simply wished to convey my deep appreciation and enjoyment of your culture. I’m still learning that our translators are sometimes very literal.” 

Skreb gave a twittering laugh. “We are honored by your enjoyment, family, and are grateful for your help.” He turned to me, taking my face between two tentacles. I tried my best not to squirm at the strange sensation of his suckers. “Sister Gretchen, we are honored by your efforts to return the sacred shrouds of Ynarr. We are in your debt. Should you or the royal family of Fuiq ever call on the Ynoom, we will answer your call.” 

“No debt is necessary,” I said, awkwardly patting one tentacle. “The shrouds being back in the right hands is enough.” This was, apparently, the right thing to say. 

“I doubted brother Sgnorp when he first told me of whose help he had enlisted. But I am proud to say that my doubts were incorrect. He is a better judge of character than I would have been. I must talk to some of our other leaders. You are among family; please don’t stand on ceremony with us.” Skreb undulated his way to a group Ynoom gathered near the fountain. 

“What will you do now?” Sgnorp asked. He slid his arm through Ryan’s, quite taken with our youngest member. 

“We have some unfinished business to attend to, I think,” Fleetwood answered. She wore an expression that I didn’t like. I knew what that look meant—Fleetwood sensed a new adventure. 

“I thought the plan was to return to Destyr with a brief stop by Earth to get Ryan home,” Chester said. 

I met Azo’lah’s gaze, “That was before the Sarl revealed what they knew about the cloak,” Azo’lah said. “And now we know how to get to it.” She raised a questioning silver eyebrow, her navy blue eyes glittering with challenge. “What do you say, Myaxi? Shall we finish what we started?” 

I flushed. It was hard not to when I was the sole focus of Azo’lah’s attention. I glanced at my companions, all of whom were looking at me expectantly. 

Fleetwood fluttered her eyelashes in a ridiculous impersonation of an old fashioned southern belle and cooed, “You know you want to!”

“Yes,” I blurted, “I do. I really, really do.” I laughed at my gumption—or possible insanity. I was suddenly swept off my stool in a full bridal carry by Fleetwood. Ryan and Matt slapped their palms together, then wiggled their fingers in a new handshake they had been developing. 

“Sorry, Chester,” I tilted my head back over Fleetwood’s arm to grin apologetically at him. 

Chester shrugged and tugged my hanging ponytail playfully. “Just another day of kicking names and taking assemblies,” he joked. 

“That’s the phantom!” Fleetwood crowed. “Tomorrow, this little piggy goes to the black market!” She swung me around before tossing me at Azo’lah. “Azo-Zo, catch!” 

I shrieked in surprise, but Azo’lah caught me quickly. She shifted me, so I was seated in her arms, looking down at her. The Destyrian strength was...unfair. Yeah, unfair was definitely the word for it. 

“You had me worried there for a moment, Myaxi,” she admitted. “I almost thought you were going to refuse.” 

“And let the cloak slip out of our grasp?” I shook my head, punching her shoulder lightly. “No. Myax don’t quit.” 

Azo’lah smiled in a way that changed her whole face, and I was most certainly not flushing again. “Indeed, Gretchen,” she said. “Indeed, we don’t.”