The J’olpri Black Market

“Ah, something has caught your attention?”

I nodded at the vendor, my eyes glued to the display before me. Earrings with crystals bigger than my fist lay beside gem-studded rings. Beneath them was a necklace threaded with so many iridescent jewels that, were it around my neck, its weight would make me hunch over.

“Beautiful, no?” the vendor lifted the tray from where it rested at the front of his booth. He tilted his six arms side to side, allowing his magnificent wares to catch the scant overhead lighting of the J’olpri black market. The jewels cast rainbow prisms across the rickety table and drab, make-shift walls of the neighboring stalls. 

Two hulking aliens shouldered past me, sending me stumbling into the vendor and his table. The earrings fell. I reached out to catch them before they hit the ground.

A purple hand wrapped around my wrist. I fought against its hold. Azo’lah pulled me back, snarling, “What did I tell you, Myaxi? Touch nothing!”

The earrings shattered against the metal floor, a thousand fragments of beauty. Except the pieces dulled instantly, resembling dirty plastic more than diamonds. I felt like I had been suddenly slapped awake. “What—what just—”

“Clumsy vimp, look what you’ve done!” the vendor howled, his half-dozen arms clutching the other jewelry that had almost met a similar fate. The nostrils of his bulbous nose flared beneath his solitary eye. “You break it, you bought it!”

“It was an accident,” I argued, voice warbling as I regained my bearings in the claustrophobically-packed corridor. 

We had come to J’olpri in search of something...something important. Something I couldn’t currently remember.

I dug my fingers into my temples, attempting to jog my memory. We decided to keep a low profile and split up into teams of two to gather information about... what we had come to find. Chester was attempting to keep Fleetwood in line, while Ryan did recon with Matt, which meant I went with Azo’lah.

Azo’lah had been questioning the vendor selling questionably acquired Xxoli antiques across the aisle when the earrings caught my eye. I looked down at the shards scattered across the grody floor. 

I bent over to inspect them, but Azo’lah yanked me back. “Don’t touch anything!” she hissed. She turned her scorching anger on the vendor as she said, “And we owe you nothing! We don’t pay for stolen, cursed goods.”

The vendor recoiled, scandalized. “How dare you!”

“Cursed?” I repeated dumbly.

“Of course, these tawdry pieces are cursed,” Azo’lah said. “What else would make you so obsessed with just one glance? Bespelled by the witches of Huxor. Thankfully, you did not touch them.” She grabbed my chin, forcing my gaze up to hers. “You did not touch them, correct?”

I thought back, my splotchy memory filling in. “No? No, I didn’t. Wait, did you say witches of Huxor? There are space witches?”

The vendor pulled himself to his full stature, an impressive (and intimidating) full head taller than Azo’lah’s seven feet. His jowls shook with indignation as he raved, “You owe me 6,000—”

His protestations died violently as Azo’lah’s hand darted forward and her fingers flexed around his doughy neck. “We owe nothing.” She released him but did not back up. In his terror, the vendor dropped every jewel in his grasp. One after the other lost its irresistible luster when it collided with the ground. “And if you continue to harass us, you will regret it.”

“You don’t scare me, Destyrian,” he returned, “there are no weapons allowed on J’olpri.”

From beneath her tunic, Azo’lah produced her zali’thir, the wickedly sharp stiletto blade unique to the Myax order, and brought its tip beneath the vendor’s many chins. “Like most, I don’t follow that rule. Or any of the others.”

Sputtering like a dying car, the vendor finally acquiesced. “You are correct. It was an accident. The human owes me nothing.”

“Excellent.” Azo’lah stowed her zali’thir and stepped back, grinding the remains of the earrings beneath her boots. “Come, Gretchen,” she said, guiding me away from the jewelry stall and into the flow of the market’s foot traffic. The glaring eye of the jewelry vendor followed our every move.

“Space witches? Why didn’t anyone tell me there are space witches?” I repeated, grabbing onto the sleeve of Azo’lah’s tunic so as not to get separated by the crowd. Tucked away in the shadow of a moon, J’olpri was a beaten-up, cylindrical rust-bucket held together by spit, tape, and bad intentions. For such an exclusive, secret black market, J’olpri’s thirty-seven floors were packed with criminals fencing, buying, and trading illegal goods. 

Azo’lah directed me to the left, down an aisle of stalls full to bursting with luxurious fabrics. “Why were you never told? You never asked about them.”

“Space witches are not something I should have to ask about,” I said. My gaze trailed across elaborately embroidered velvets and diaphanous silks hanging from stalls. More rolls of thick material jutted out into the aisle, making the maze-like market even more dangerous to navigate. A rich crimson material caught my eye, reminding me of...“The cloak!”

“You see it?” Azo’lah pulled up short, causing a series of collisions behind us as the aliens behind us ran into us and then each other.

“No,” I shook my head, tugging Azo’lah forward amid a hailstorm of cussing, irritated aliens. “I finally remembered it. Those earrings made me forget.”

“The jewels of Huxor are known for their hypnotic qualities,” Azo’lah explained lackadaisically, as though witches and magic were an everyday topic, on par with farmers’ markets and avocado toast. “Those who touch the jewels have been known to forget their lives and wander aimlessly across the universe until their deaths.”

We took a left turn down a narrow passage, where an indigo alien smaller than my palm fluttered its wings above a stall full of metal jars, shouting, “Wos’kit pollen! Get your Wos’kit pollen here! The universe’s strongest, purest aphrodisiac!”

Wide-eyed, I carefully sidestepped the Wos’kit pollen stand. “Cursed to aimlessly wander until they die? That’s awful!”

“It’s an effective deterrent against thieves,” Azo’lah replied. “Though, apparently not against opportunistic grifters. I wonder if it’s because he only had one eye—”

My earpiece—a new addition that Captain Thorley had insisted upon for all of us—dinged. I tapped my Ran’dyl to allow communications. “Yeah?”

Chester’s voice was the first to come through. “Anybody find anything? We’ve got nothing up here on floor twenty-nine.”

“That’s false,” Fleetwood corrected. “We’ve found many things, but Chester won’t let me purchase a crate of Virilian wine.”

I could hear Chester’s eyes rolling as he said, “FleetMerc, it’s 100% alcohol. Even you will die drinking that.”

“We would dilute it, my beloved dumbwaiter,” Fleetwood said. 

“Majumdar and I have nothing down on eight,” Ryan crisply cut in.

“We also have not acquired the whereabouts of the cloak or its seller on seventeen,” Azo’lah reported.

“Though we did find jewelry cursed by space witches,” I added, darkly.

“Shut the front door,” Ryan crowed. “Space witches are a thing? That’s so dope.”

Coming to the end of the passage, Azo’lah and I were forced to turn left into a felonious cul de sac. Here, the stalls were more spacious, clearly designed for the sale of larger items. A gleaming, solo racing ship parked on a rotating display caught my eye.

“Myaxi and I are going up to the next floor,” Azo’lah said.

“Ryan and I will head down one then,” Matt replied.

“We should all try to cover at least one more floor before meeting back at the ship,” Ryan directed.

“That’s a good plan, Captain,” Azo’lah agreed as she scanned the stalls for anything of interest. She stilled suddenly, like a lioness on the hunt when her keen eyes landed on the racing ship.

I grinned. “I didn’t know you were into racing—” Azo’lah violently jerked me behind the dirty tarp wall of the nearest booth. “Azo’lah, what the hell?”

“Quiet, Myaxi.” The hand that wasn’t held across me darted beneath her tunic, where her zali’thir was stowed. She craned around the edge of the stand and cursed softly beneath her breath. Tucked beneath Azo’lah, I stuck my head out just far enough to see what had her on high alert.

“Azo’lah, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“Sadrilla,” she replied.

“What’s a Sadrilla?”

“She is.” Azo’lah gestured subtly with her chin to the alien intently studying the racing ship. She was startlingly humanoid save for her rose-pink skin. Her turquoise hair was neatly pulled back in twin braids that fell past her shoulders. Even from this distance, I could see the dark ink that wrapped around her throat and crawled up her left cheek, an elegantly scrawled tattoo that covered half of her face. She wasn’t particularly tall but was slender, her all-black ensemble barely concealing the strong lines of a powerful physique.

My stomach churned as though filled with spoiled milk.

Azo’lah pulled me behind the stand again as I asked, “Who’s Sadrilla?”

Instead of answering me, Azo’lah tapped her earpiece and said, “Captain Thorley, change of plans. We need to pull back to the Gold Dust Wo’man and regroup immediately.”

Ryan replied, “Reason?”

“We have spotted the mercenary, Sadrilla,” Azo’lah said, with the quick, militaristic precision that emerged whenever danger did.

“Fuckbuckets,” Fleetwood breathed.

 Azo’lah continued, “Sadrilla and her crew are known for their ruthless tactics and carelessness when civilians get in their way.”

“Do you think they’re here for the cloak?” Ryan asked.

“Possibly,” Azo’lah mused. “But I do know that we do not want to be wandering about J’olpri, separated and barely armed, with Sadrilla present.”

“You heard Azo’lah, everyone back to the ship for a debrief now,” Ryan ordered. “Be quick and careful. No one gets off comms until we’re back aboard the Gold Dust Wo’man.”

Azo’lah grabbed my elbow and ducked back the way we came, hurrying toward the ship.

Azo’lah, I sent across our strange but useful technopathic connection, what aren’t you telling Ryan? Who is Sadrilla really?

She is who I told the Captain she is, came back to me. The messages usually relayed the flavor of the speaker's thoughts somehow, but this one was suspiciously monotone.

Azo’lah, I scolded. We both knew a regular mercenary would never set Azo’lah on edge like this. She’d laughed at Shockley while he shoved weapons in her face. Azo’lah, please, tell me.

Sadrilla and her team aren’t just thieves. They’re killers. Azo’lah’s grip tightened on my arm. They assassinated the previous Auh’tula of the northern continent.

“Fleetwood, feet off the conference table during debriefing,” Ryan instructed from their place at the round table. 

“Awwww, sir,” Fleetwood protested but complied with Ryan’s orders, removing her feet and allowing her chair to rock forward into an upright position. This was our first time using the official conference room on the Gold Dust Wo’man. Until now, our debriefs had been informal information exchanges in the mess or the comfort of our communal lounge area. The conference room was small, with a large viewport on one side and a tapestry depicting the first Auhtula and her First Myax. In the corner stood a statue of Auhtula Rey’val, the first Auhtula of the central continent. I recognized the glyph for Myaxi on the back of the chair between Azo’lah and Fleetwood and took a seat. As well as having each of our chairs marked with our position on the crew, the table was adorned with a winding, ancient prayer for safe passage.

“Alright, Myax, on a scale of one to totally terrified, how scared are you of this Sadrilla?” Ryan asked, much too calmly.  

“Very much so,” Azo’lah replied, just as calmly. The answer sucked our crew’s typically genial air of camaraderie out the metaphorical airlock. 

“Wow, we’re really screwed,” Chester observed, shooting me an uneasy look from across the table. 

“Give us the rundown,” Ryan directed, folding their hands on the tabletop. I marveled at Ryan’s ability to shift from teenage nerd living their space dream into a calm, quiet authority. 

Azo’lah tapped her Ran’dyl. The eyes of the statue of Auhtula Rey’val flared blue-gold, projecting a 3-D rendering of the same pink-skinned woman we’d seen in the market above the table. 

“Sadrilla is unlike anyone we’ve dealt with before. She is a ruthless mercenary who will do anything for the right price. Unlike the Dangerous Ones, Sadrilla’s only compass is compensation, and she is single-minded about the completion of an objective. She does not have morals, and she kills routinely and without compunction. She also assassinated the Auhtula of the northern continent.” 

“And six of her Myax,” Fleetwood added with uncharacteristic seriousness. “She’s evaded a group of elite Myax from all seven continents tasked with tracking her down for 105 binary cycles.”  

“I’ve heard of Sadrilla, mostly rumors from when I was flying for Shockley,” Matt added. “He made a point to avoid people who’d hired her, which spoke volumes to me.” 

And to me. If even Shockley avoided Sadrilla, then we needed to keep our distance. Matt continued. “I don’t know much about her crew, though, besides the fact that she runs with mostly humans. Her right-hand man is some plain-looking bloke. I wouldn’t have noticed him at all had Shockley not beat feet the moment he laid eyes on him at a drop point once.” 

“That is correct,” Azo’lah nodded. “This is him. He is known by the name Jordan.” A mousy-looking human man replaced Sadrilla. He was pale with drab, short brown hair, a pointed chin, and eyes set just a bit too far apart under thin eyebrows.  “Her other crew member, Anders, is quite intelligent, known for his abilities at deceit, subterfuge, and con artistry.” A third projection appeared, showing a stocky man with an aquiline nose and a double-dimpled smile. With his science joke t-shirt and square-glasses, he was nerdishly cute.

My brow rose as I pointed at the projection. “That guy’s a con artist?” 

“Hey, geek’s can run a con,” Chester interjected.

Azo’lah glared at us, unimpressed. “Sadrilla employs others, but those two are her constant companions.”

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Ryan said. 

“Obviously, the Destyrian’s have to stay on the ship,” Chester said.

I nodded in agreement, then shrugged at Azo’lah’s betrayed look. “If Sadrilla’s being tracked by black ops Myax, she’s gonna take one look at you and assume you’re here to bring her in.” 

“I would happily do so,” Azo’lah snapped. 

“And leave the Fulyiti in dire danger?” Matt said lightly. Azo’lah leveled a glare at him that I hoped never to receive. Matt quirked a small, understanding smile. “Yeah, I’d want her gone too...but your job is to protect your princess on her mission to get the cloak. Sadrilla’s not the mission unless we find out she’s after the cloak too.” 

Fleetwood, who had looked like she was hoping Azo’lah was about to declare that no one would be going anywhere without their undoubtedly strongest fighters for protection, groaned when Azo’lah’s expression fell into one of resigned capitulation. “No fair, you squares! I want to help grill out too!” 

“Stakeout,” Chester corrected, patting her back sympathetically. 

“So, Azo’lah and Fleetwood are laying low. What’s about the rest of us?” I asked, biting the inside of my lip. “We still don’t even know if the cloak is here, and if so, how to get it.” 

“And recon’s been a total bust,” Ryan said definitively. “Any ideas on where to start?” 

“Someone’s got to be keeping track of what’s coming in and out of here. If not an exact inventory, then at least the value of the cargo and ships’ origins,” Matt suggested. 

“I can try to hack the system,” Chester said, “poke around and see what I turn up.”

“I can give you something that may help,” Azo’lah said, avoiding my eyes. No doubt she was banking on being able to use her powers to hack in remotely.

Ryan nodded. “Alright, you two will be on that.” 

“And what will you be doing, Captain?” Matt grinned. 

Ryan leaned back in their chair, humming contemplatively. “This cloak is valuable, right? But practically unusable these days unless you have extensive knowledge of ancient Destyrian tech, which, like, no one does…” “Hit the square peg on the head,” Fleetwood said. 

“So...it’s like an expensive but useless antique,” Ryan continued. 

I protested, “It’s not useless, even if all it does is provide insight into—” 

Ryan waved their hand. “Yes, but who is in the market for these kinds of items?”

“The alien version of Earth’s one percent,” Matt shrugged. Then, he, Ryan, Chester, and I looked at each other. 

My eyes widened with understanding. “Oh. So all we have to do—”

“Is find a space Bezos and then follow them to the other white-collar criminals on this market, because they’re the ones most likely to want the cloak,” Ryan finished. “Borowicz and I will focus our recon on the bougie floors to see if we can overhear some fancy pants gossip.” 

Azo’lah gripped the table, her long fingers obscuring a portion of the blessing carved into it. “And how are you supposed to ascertain who is wealthy and who is not on J’olpri? You can’t just go around asking. The point is for us to blend in.” 

“Ah, Myax,” Ryan grinned and, defying their earlier directive, kicked their feet up on the table, “Rich assholes are the same everywhere. We’ll find one who acts like it, trust me.” 

“Hey!” Fleetwood leaned over the table to swat at Ryan’s feet. “You said no feet on the table, Captain.” 

“During debrief,” Ryan clarified breezily, clasping their hands behind their head and wagging their eyebrows at Fleetwood. “Debrief is now officially over. I want all ship hands changed out of flight suits and into something less conspicuously Destyrian fifteen minutes after lunch. No one leaves this ship without checking their tech with Azo’lah and Chester.” 

“Yes, Captain,” we chorused, rising from the table and heading for the mess hall. It took me several minutes before I realized I had just let a seventeen-year-old boss me around. 

I caught Azo’lah’s eye as she passed me. I do not like this flashed across my mind. I tried to smile in an encouraging manner. But I had to admit, as we followed through on another half-plan, I didn’t like it either. 

“Lucky number thirteen, huh?” Ryan said, eyeing the floor markers as we exited J’olpri’s rickety escalator. Beneath our boots, the flooring changed from grimy metal to plush, cardamom colored carpet. The pristine mirrored walls were practically unrecognizable from the rest of the market. The crowds that I experienced with Azo’lah had thinned to a small, loitering group of impressively dressed beings speaking over indulgently filled glasses. They browsed along a row of glass-encased goods that ranged in size from needing a magnifying glass to see it to needing a bulldozer to move it. Instead of open-air stalls, most vendors had establishments with sliding metal doors guarded by intimidatingly large security personnel.

“This is where we’ll find the richy-rich aliens according to our eavesdropping,” I replied. Our shoulders jostled as I attempted to keep stride with Ryan and tripped in my haste. 

Ryan looked dapper in their ensemble for the evening, a spacey take on a 1930s suit. They had forgone the jacket and, to Fleetwood’s delight, added suspenders over their silver dress shirt. I felt rather ridiculous in my drapey forest green dress and boots. Though it did not have a train, its awkward length kept tangling around my shins, tripping me up. When she had presented us with these outfits, I had almost asked Fleetwood how many various wardrobes she had commissioned for all of us; I was terrified of what the answer would be.

“Careful, Borowicz,” Ryan said, a steadying hand at my elbow. “Azo’lah would skewer me through the eyeball if I didn’t bring you back in one piece.”

I snorted at the absurdity of their assertion. “No, she wouldn’t. If anything, she’d be annoyed at me for making a difficult mission that much harder.”

Ryan rolled their eyes and patted my arm; it would have been condescending were it not for their warm grin. “Oh, Gretchen.”

A humanoid alien with crab pincers instead of hands passed us, laughingly telling a hologram of two yellow, tentacled aliens, “You should’ve seen the pile of Vimps trying to get their hands on it. Honestly, it was as though they’ve never seen a piece from Destyr.”

Like a racecar on a hairpin turn, Ryan gracefully redirected us to follow the pincered alien while his projected friends guffawed at his joke. “It’s most likely a forgery,” the man boomed, his self-important voice carrying to everyone around him. I was beginning to suspect that was his intention. “The likelihood of a piece of that nature being—”

Before I could stop them, Ryan stepped forward and tapped the man on his shoulder.  “Excuse me. I couldn’t help overhearing—”

He jolted beneath their touch, a sneer splitting his lipless mouth as he pivoted to face us. Up close, his face—lipless, eyelidless, and with an inverted nose—looked much less human.

“Did you just touch me?” he demanded. I wilted beneath his slow annunciation. I could feel the eyes of every alien on J’olpri on us, and my panic rose. I had thought my time in space had helped me with my social anxiety, but this moment made me want to hide beneath my bedsheets forever. 

Instead of withering, Ryan’s spine steeled. Sensing my anxiety, they grabbed my wrist and squeezed as they said, “I only did so because you so unforgivably ignored my hails for your attention. Do you know who we are? Who we work for? We are ambassadors representing Vicerenne Tov-ri of the Covlax.”

The eyes that had been boring, judgmental holes in my back suddenly averted in fear. It was as though Ryan had invoked divine wrath upon those surrounding us.

The irate alien’s face contorted in alarm. “V-V-Vicerenne Tov-ri?”

Ryan stepped forward, their smile widening. Even though the alien had half a foot on them, Ryan’s presence swallowed him whole. “She has personally sent us to collect a most valued prize that my associate and I overheard you blathering about. An ancient Destyrian piece?”

Ryan’s bravado gave me strength, and I took up their lead. “Yes, the Vicerenne left precise instructions,” I said, “it would be such a shame to inform her that we could not obtain her heart’s deepest desire because you refused to point us in the proper direction.”

The alien’s mouth—as well as those of his holographic buddies—slackened in terror as Ryan nodded sagaciously. “Vicerenne Tov-ri does hold a grudge so very well.”

“Go to the auction house, The Zys-Zyssal,” the alien stammered, pointing his pincers at the turquoise storefront three doors down. Two bodyguards, the size and shape of boulders, stood outside its door. His voice and pincers trembled as he said, “P-lease, the Vicerenne...”

“Go, and she never need know of your insolence,” Ryan intoned with a regal wave of their hand. The alien rushed away, head bowed as he whispered to his holographic facetime, looking back at us every five steps as though we were going to rush him.

I turned to Ryan, wide-eyed. “The Covlax? How in the hell do you know about the Covlax?”

“Matt told me about how he broke his friend Ovlas out of Covlaxian prison,” Ryan said with a shrug. “Sounded hella intense. So I looked the Covlax up in the database, and they are legitimately terrifying. Apparently, every other alien species just gives them the widest berth possible because the Covlax will pick a fight over the smallest indiscretion. Did you know that Vicerenne Tov-ri is 65 years old and has murdered all 23 of her husbands in public displays? She keeps their hearts in jars in her throne room. Which, if you ask me, is equal parts awesome and gross.

“So, the Zyssal,” they finished, pointing towards our new destination. I followed in shock. How did I keep underestimating Ryan Thorley?

Winning smile in place, Ryan walked up to the doors and said, “Pardon me, my good aliens, if I could please—”

The mountainous bodyguards extended their thick arms, bringing us both up short. “No invitation, no entrance,” the boulder on the left said. How he did so was a mystery, as neither security guard had a discernible face or mouth.

“Vicerenne Tov-ri told us a ticket would be unnecessary,” I said, resuming our charade. I felt safer, bolder, playing a character alongside a crew member. It had been the same with Matt on Ynoom. It was as though, as long as I forgot I was myself for a few moments, I could forget my anxiety as well.

The security guards, unimpressed with my lie, did not budge.

“Our mistress will be very displeased if we are not given entry,” Ryan added, voice dripping with superiority.

“No invitation, no entry,” reiterated the guard.

Ryan opened their mouth to continue arguing when the metal door slid open, revealing a blue alien slightly shorter than me, wearing a uniform similar to that of a bellboy at a swanky hotel. A Zyssal employee, no doubt.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” he said, ducking past Ryan and me. He elbowed one of the boulders and said, “See you guys later at B’beeco. Drinks are half off tonight,” he told the boulders, and an idea caught me by surprise.

“Have a good evening,” I told the boulders as I towed Ryan after the blue alien.

“Gretchen, what the hell?” Ryan hissed as they stumbled in my wake. “Where the hell are we going? The mission is in the opposite direction!”

I tugged them harder, jabbing my chin after my query. “We’re following him, to B’beeco whatever that is—”

Ryan stopped fighting my hold. “Drinks are half off tonight. Sounds like a bar to me.”

“We’ll go and see if we can ask him a few questions. Dressed like that, he definitely works there. And who knows more about a store and the merchandise than the people who work there?” I held up my Ran’dyl and continued. “Matt can meet us there, be our back-up, just in case.”

Ryan picked up our pace, eyes glinting maniacally. “Borowicz, you’re a genius.”

“How are we supposed to see when it’s this dark?” I complained as we wound our way through the claustrophobically packed “underlings” bar in the bowels of J’olpri. Honestly, part of me appreciated the lack of lighting; I had no wish to see how dirty this place was.

“Pretty sure that’s the point, Gretch,” Ryan returned gleefully over the heartbeat bass emanating from an unseen speaker system. 

“Keep your eyes peeled for our bellboy, anyway,” Matt instructed, drawing stares as we wended through the crowd. Dressed in a suit that matched Ryan’s, Matt had opted to wear his jacket, which showcased his broad shoulders.

We approached one of the scattered drink stations. The smell of whatever alcohol they were serving was so potent I could practically taste it yards before we drew level with the counter. “Alright, mate,” Matt addressed the reedy alien serving drinks from a rusted keg. “What’s the contraband?” 

The pale gray alien blinked its bauble-like pink eyes, its crown of nine antennas twitching in our direction. “Keltaryn. For underlings only.”

Apparently, the class divide between the haves and have nots, purchasers and laborers, on J’olpri was starker than it first appeared. 

Matt whistled low and impressed. “Keltaryn? Real bloody contraband, then. I could use it after being on inventory all day. Oh,” Matt added as an afterthought, “these are my new contacts, two hired ambassadors for the Covlax Vicerenne. They’ve had a day.” 

“Rich people, am I right?” Ryan shot a beleaguered look at the alien. 

“Assholes,” I added emphatically. 

“Don’t look much like Covlax ambassadors,” the bartender commented. But, before we could argue the veracity of our lie, she handed us each a cup that might have once been part of a ship. I took a sip. It burned worse than a mouthful of hot sauce but finished with a burst of unexpected sweetness. 

When the bartender refused payment, Matt asked, “A gift? From who?”

Five of the alien’s antennas pointed to a man lounging on the only stool at the counter with his back to us. Had this guy brought his own stool to a bar?

“My captain,” the stranger said, without turning around. 

Matt lifted his glass in salute. “Well, to your captain’s health and yours.”

The man turned around, pushing up his square-framed glasses as he did so. “I’ll send Sadrilla your good wishes.” I swallowed a cough of surprise. It was Anders, Sadrilla’s con man. “Your friends don’t like Keltaryn? They don’t look like they can handle much.” 

“The Vicerenne begs to differ,” Ryan said mildly and took a deep gulp of the spicy beverage. 

“Thanks for the drink.” I tipped my cup in the conman’s direction and downed it. As the drink scalded my throat, Anders tilted his head in an adorably dorky way, which was at odds with the wicked smile tugging at his lips—like he was enjoying watching me pretend not to suffer. Which I was, valiantly. I slammed my cup on the bar. The bartender interpreted this as a request for a refill, which I reluctantly accepted. 

“Won’t you join me?” Anders asked politely. “I don’t often get a chance to meet humans outside of my crew this far from Earth.” 

“Maybe later.” Matt sounded genuinely sorry. “We came to check out the Nafteis games. Heard there were some big scores for skilled players.” 

“Ah, well. Maybe later. Don’t let your young friend drink too much. You never know what could happen in the seedy underbelly here.” Anders winked before swiveling around on his stool and striking up a conversation with the alien who had served us the Keltaryn. 

Ryan and I followed Matt as he skillfully navigated through the crowd, sipping his noxious beverage. With how easily Matt had adapted to being part of our crew, it was disturbing to see him do likewise in this less than savory atmosphere. It reminded me strongly of Shockley, but with much less bravado. 

Matt paused on the outskirts of a small crowd gathered around a DIY table, created by a metal sheet laid across two large crates. Four aliens were playing a complicated-looking game involving holographic figures emanating from small, black squares in front of each player. 

“Nafteis,” Matt explained. “You can quickly lose everything you're wearing if you’re not careful.” 

“Sounds like you know from experience, flyboy,” Ryan snorted, then looked a little horrified. 

“Flyboy?” I repeated, caught between horror and the urge to laugh along with Matt. 

“I’ve always wanted to say that. That’s what Captain Bendelham calls his pilot, Cason Thorne-Beaumont, on Cosmic Conquerors. They’re secretly in love. Everyone knows it but the showrunners. I’m not in love with you, though,” Ryan informed Matt, “you’re hella old for me.” They glanced mournfully into their cup, which I realized was alarmingly empty. “Should we get another round of drinks? You know, to maintain our cover?”

“Oh, shit,” Matt said, tapping the bottom of Ryan’s cup. “Poindexter back there was right. This stuff is lethal to an experienced drinker. No more for you, Captain.” 

“Matt,” I hissed. “Did we seriously let our underage charge get drunk on a mission?” 

“I’m not your charge,” Ryan refuted, “I’m in charge. I’m the captain! Wait—” They smacked my arm, jostling my drink. I quickly stepped back to avoid the resulting splash. “There’s our mark.” The blue-skinned bellboy we had encountered earlier was on the opposite side of the Nafteis table. He was attempting to talk to a green alien with impressively coiffed hair and a low-cut work shirt displaying equally impressive cleavage. She was not interested in his advances. 

Matt nudged me forward. “You’re up, Gretchen.”

“For what?” I asked, nonplussed. 

“Seduction ploy,” Ryan said with far too much relish. “Good one, Majumdar.” Ryan squinted, studiously scanning the outskirts of the room. “There,” they pointed to the left back corner of the room, where two massive, metal shipping containers formed an alcove. “Lure him there.” 

“Lure him there? You want me to, what? Seduce him?” At their protracted silence, I protested, “But I’m as attractive as...” I searched for a word, ”spaghetti, or something.” 

“Spaghetti is a tasty dish, and so are you!” Ryan pushed me in the direction of the bellboy, who was now trying his luck with the busty alien’s similarly well-endowed friend. 

“Matt, you go,” I hissed, “you’re hotter.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t, Gretchen,” Matt grinned. “Ryan and I lack the assets for this particular strategy.” He took a slow sip of his beverage and looked pointedly at my chest. 

“The bellboy likes boob bearing beings.” Ryan paused, then giggled. “Say that five times fast.” They grabbed a fistful of Matt’s jacket and towed him toward the agreed-upon alcove. “We’ll be waiting to ambush him for interrogation and all that jazz.” 

Matt allowed himself to be drawn away, but not before he mouthed, “And all that jazz,” with a thoroughly annoying hand flourish straight out of a Fosse musical. I flipped him off to make myself feel better, flushing as I made eye contact with a three-eyed alien, whose mottled skin resembled a melted crayon box. 

“Sorry,” I said, “they’re drunk. Can’t hold their liquor. Not like us true lowlifes.” I hastily retreated when all three eyes just blinked at me like I was crazy, which I might be...because I could not believe I was going to attempt this. 

I worked my way around the enthusiastic crowd until I was behind the boob-loving blue bellboy. I tugged my neckline down as far as it would go, inwardly hating both myself and, at this moment, my friends. It’s just a part, I told myself, just like the last mission. I took a deep breath and tried to summon my inner femme fatale. 

“Oh no,” I emptied half of my cup onto the back of the bellboy’s uniform. Belatedly, I remembered to bump into him. 

The bellboy whirled, his gold-rimmed, jet black eyes narrowed. I squeezed my arms into my sides and thrust my chest upward, making the most of my modest cleavage. “I’m so sorry,” I said. I cocked one hip, hoping for sexy, but feeling more like a poorly posed mannequin. “I haven’t broken in these new boots yet, and silly me, I tripped and spilled my drink all over you...and me.” I trailed a hand between my breasts and brought it to my lips, licking up a nonexistent trail of alcohol.

The bellboy watched it all happen, the gold ring around his eyes expanding. “Don’t even worry about it.”

“Oh, but I got your uniform so dirty,” I drew out the last word. I was abruptly very, very, grateful that Azo’lah wasn’t here to witness this absurdity. “But it’s so crowded here. Come with me, and I can take it off...to help you clean it, of course.”

I held out a hand. The bellboy forewent it in favor of wrapping his arm around my waist. “Of course.”

“Amazeballs!” My companion didn’t seem to notice the nonsensical, heightened pitch of my voice. He was more preoccupied with gradually sliding his fingers lower as if he went slowly enough, I wouldn’t realize he was grabbing my ass.

I grabbed his hand as we neared the first shipping container, covering up my distaste at his touch by using our linked hands to lead him playfully. “Just a little bit further.”

“Is it true what they say about human women?” the bellboy questioned eagerly. “I heard from a Sarl the other day that human women have sex nonstop for hours.” 

I laughed at that. I couldn’t wait to tell Chester and Azo’lah. Later, once I got this vile alien man-child off of me. I tugged him into the alley between the two containers. “Well, the truth is—” 

“The truth is that was so pathetic that I can’t believe it worked.” There was a burst of blue-gold light which illuminated Ryan’s face. “Borowicz, how do you have less game than a seventeen-year-old? I cannot wait to tell the rest of the crew about this.” “What the—” The bellboy was knocked into the metal wall by Matt, who had one arm across his throat and a hand clapped over his mouth.

“I told you not to send me,” I said, embarrassed. Ryan patted my shoulder, accidentally flashing me in the eye with the light from their Ran’dyl. 

“It was nevertheless effective. Good job.” Ryan leaned against the shipping container and crossed their arms in a movement that was just a little too careful to be fully sober. “Well, are you going to proceed with interrogation, flyboy, or do you expect me to wait around all day?” 

“Are you ever gonna be quiet, Captain?” Matt bit back. His expression shifted from exasperated mirth to one of affected neutral pleasantness as his attention returned to the bellboy.

Matt’s palm muffled the bellboy’s terrified protest. I took a long draw of my drink, hoping the caustic liquid could somehow burn away the dregs of adrenaline and mortification still coursing through my system.

“We need information on an item that is or will be at your auction house,” Matt began. “If you answer the questions, quietly, calmly, and to my satisfaction, then promptly forget this exchange occurred, I can guarantee your well-being. Should you fail to do even one of those things, you won’t be safe in any corner of the known universe.” 

The alien nodded. Matt removed his hand. The bellboy gulped great, heaving lungfuls of air. Matt said, “The item in question is a Destyrian antiquity. Have you heard of it?” 

The bellboy nodded.

“Use your big boy words,” Ryan said. They reached for my cup, which I sloppily spilled on my hand as I dodged them.

“You heard the Captain,” Matt smiled a twisted, ugly thing that looked out of place on his handsome face. “Use your words.” 

“I-I know what you’re talking about,” the alien stammered, so quickly it was hard to distinguish his words. “The thirteenth floor is all excited about it since Destyrian pieces are rare. I…” 

“Yes?” Matt prodded. 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the Myax, does it?” The bellboy’s eyes were wide and black, the golden ring swallowed by pure terror. “I’ve heard rumors that the piece was stolen recently, and the Myax are looking for it.” The bellboy shook his head vehemently. “I don’t want to get involved with them.” 

“We’re here as ambassadors on behalf of the Vicerenne,” I said firmly. If the bellboy failed to keep his promised silence, the last thing we wanted was for it to get back to Sadrilla that the Myax were involved. 

My statement only served to terrify the blue alien further. He squeaked, “Vicerenne Tov-ri of the Covlax?” 

“So you’ve heard of her?” Ryan asked.

The bellboy inspected us and frowned. “Don’t look much like Covlax ambassadors. Where are your hoods?”

Matt jostled him roughly against the wall.

There was a faint, trickling sound. Matt somehow managed to move sideways while simultaneously shoving the alien up the wall so that his feet dangled inches above the floor. A slow stream of pink dripped from the bellboy’s shoes. “Did he just…?” I asked. “Oh, yeah,” Ryan confirmed, eyeing the front of the bellboy’s sodden pants. I envied their ability to enjoy everything from Ynoomian festivals to black market interrogations. It was no wonder they got along so well with Fleetwood. 

Matt glared at the pink puddle gathering beneath the bellboy. “Your flesh-eating urine won’t save you. So, why don’t you tell us everything you know.” 

The bellboy bit his lip and sighed. “The Destyrian piece is up for auction in two days at The Zyssal. No one but potential buyers know exactly what it is, only that it’s drawing major attention, even from those who usually avoid Jol’pri.” 

My breath caught in my throat; finally, a real lead on the cloak. I asked, “Is it already on the station?”

The bellboy shook his head. “Nothing’s safe for that long here, and they know it. It’s not set to arrive until the day of the auction, exactly two rotations of the station before bidding begins so potential buyers can inspect the wares. Impartial guards will be present.” 

“And they’re going to randomize the arrival port that day,” Matt surmised. “So no one will know which empty hangar it’s arriving in until just before…” “Making it virtually impossible to steal except for an impossibly small time window,” the bellboy confirmed, some of his swagger from before returning. “You have no idea who you’re up against, even if you do have a horde of Covlax backing you. This thing is so hot that even the worst mercenaries are afraid to go after it. I’ve worked this shithole for five sun cycles, and I’ve never seen anything like this.” 

“We’ll take our chances,” Matt released the alien, allowing him to drop into the pool of his own urine. Matt leaned in, intimidatingly close. “Do you remember our bargain?” 

“Yes,” the bellboy whispered, his eyes darting toward the narrow exit between the containers. 

“Good. Let’s drink on it,” Matt held out his free hand. I scurried over to scoop his cup from where he had left it near Ryan. “May you keep our bargain and your life.” He took a swig before raising the drink and an expectant eyebrow at the alien. 

“Both are kept,” the alien said and lifted the cup to his lips. Matt grabbed the bottom of the cup and forced it upward, emptying its contents down the alien’s throat. The bellboy coughed roughly as Matt released him, shoving him toward the exit. 

As the bellboy scurried out of sight, Matt spit onto the floor. “Ew. Don’t be a gross cis man,” Ryan chastized. They pushed away from the shipping container, slightly unsteady.

Matt crossed to us, holding out a hand to balance Ryan. He explained, “It was drugged.”

“Oh, God, are they all drugged?” I tipped my cup. “How did you know?”

Matt snatched my cup before I could dump it out. He took a long drink, swirled, and spit that out too.

“Because I drugged it,” Matt said. “You can’t trust anyone here. The threat of the Covlax will help, but there’s no way to know if he’s a hired mole or just a dumbass. Don’t worry,” Matt said when catching the shocked look on my face, “it’ll only give him a temporary bad trip, mess up his memory of recent events. When he looks back, if he can remember, he won’t be sure if we were hallucinations or not.”

“That’s cold,” Ryan commented, but it sounded more like an endorsement than a rebuke. “I don’t like that he brought up the Myax. Even with all of our precautions, it’s like they know we’re here.” 

“Our ship is hardly subtle,” I said. “But we should alert the others and form a plan.” 

“We can’t go back to the Gold Dust Wo’man,” Ryan said. “They’ll start to notice that the Covlax ambassadors came in a Destyrian ship. But we don’t know who could be listening in over comms.”

“I have an idea,” Matt said, leading us out from the shipping container. “Call Chester on the secure line and have him get the two ladies and meet us on the third floor, south wing. And, er, assure the tall one it’s not what it seems.” 

Jarred that we were already speaking in code, I followed his directions, pretending to call Chester on my Ran’dyl but secretly using our most secure line, which was open only to the four of us on Vas Roya—our internal comms. 

“Gretchen,” Chester seemed much too entertained for our current, potentially deadly circumstances, “do you know what’s on the third floor, south wing of the station?” 

“No,” I trotted to keep up with Ryan and Matt as we skirted the periphery of the room, heading for the exit. 

“Oh, baby girl,” Chester snorted, “this is going to be so good.”

“This is the best day ever,” Ryan rhapsodized as they flopped onto the bed, arms spread wide, “so many bucket list items getting checked off.”

Matt chuckled. His footsteps were silent against the cream carpet as he crossed the small, luxurious room to the bar cart. He uncorked a bottle of wine. “You’ve been in outer space for less than a week, and black market brothel made your bucket list? I’m impressed, Captain.” Matt brought the bottle to his lips and began to drink.

“Get up! You don’t know what bodily fluids are on there,” I hoisted Ryan off the mattress. I spun towards Matt, “And stop drinking that! We’re leaving!”

Ryan grumbled their disappointment, but Matt ignored me, continuing to drain the bottle lazily as he leaned against the wall. His brown eyes were pitched in shadow as they met mine. There was something hollow in his gaze I had never seen before. His interrogation of the bellboy had brought up bad memories. I reminded myself that my curiosity about Matt’s past had to take a backseat to my current mission.

Which was getting a minor out of a brothel.

“I cannot believe you thought this was an appropriate place for us to meet! Matt, come on, we’re—”

The door to the room slid open with a soft hiss. A gorgeous alien, dressed in a crimson robe that matched the velvet walls and sheets, entered. He was slender-hipped and golden-skinned, with facial features sharp enough to cut diamonds and eyes as luminous as headlights cutting through the rain. A tail like a whipcord trailed out from the hem of his robe. “Ah, humans, excellent. I love humans,” he said, his voice seductively low and slow.

Matt straightened from his slouch as the door closed. “Sorry, mate, not that kind of party.”

The alien tilted his head. “Have I done something wrong? My appreciation of your species is genuine. I meant no offense—”

“It’s not that,” Matt said, the vacant darkness I had spied moments earlier replaced with a gentle charm. “We’re just more interested in the privacy of your quarters than in other potential services.”

“Are you sure I can’t convince you?” the alien continued, prowling towards Matt with such clear intent I almost fanned myself.

The door slid open again, and Chester, accompanied by two exceptionally tall, strange human men, entered. They were all dressed in remarkably boring brown suits. Chester had a messenger bag hanging off one shoulder. It was odd looking at two utterly forgettable faces and knowing that it was Azo’lah and Fleetwood, wearing their perception distorters, standing before me.

“Like I said,” Matt’s smile widened as he gestured toward the new arrivals, “not that kind of party.”

“Party?” asked the shorter of the strange men in Fleetwood’s voice. “But I did not dress properly for that!”

The golden alien’s mask of seduction fell, replaced with blatant curiosity as he studied the new arrivals. “I’ve never seen this many humans in one place before.”

Azo’lah stepped forward, holding out a bag that jangled the sweet tune of J’olpri credits. “I don’t think you saw this many humans here. In fact, I don’t think you saw anyone here at all. Did you?”

He contemplated Azo’lah’s words for a moment before snaking the bag from her grasp and tucking it into a hidden pocket in his robe. “It’s such a shame when a client gets cold feet before you arrive at your chambers.” He sighed wistfully, “Whatever shall I do with the next hour before my next client?”

“It was lovely to meet you!” Fleetwood waved with both hands as the sex worker exited the chambers. He returned Fleetwood’s wave with a cheeky wink and flick of his tail before the door slid shut, leaving just the six of us awkwardly clustered around the bed. 

“Interesting choice for a meeting space,” Chester remarked as Azo’lah and Fleetwood deactivated their perception distorters. Human men disappeared at the drop of a hat leaving Destyrian women in ugly brown suits.

“It was the best choice on a staggeringly short list of not great options,” Matt defended, taking another glug from the wine bottle.

“Not knocking it,” Chester said as he gingerly sat on the very edge of the bed and removed a modified tablet from his bag. He touched his Ran’dyl to the tablet, establishing a connection, and began tapping away. “Just never thought I’d partake in a mission briefing in a brothel.”

“Isn’t it awesome?” Ryan plopped down on Chester’s left. I fought the urge to yank them both to their feet. Why was I the only one concerned with the cleanliness of the mattress?

“How was the interrogation? You all look unharmed,” Azo’lah said brusquely as she scanned all three of us.

“We’re fine,” I replied with a tight smile as I moved to stand on Chester’s right. “Matt got us the information we need.”

“Tell us everything,” Fleetwood requested, mimicking Ryan from earlier and tossing herself across the bed.

Matt quickly relayed the bellboy’s information, conveniently skipping over the threats of violence and the drugging. I felt a brief nudge at the front of my mind and met Azo’lah’s eyes across the room. Gretchen? she asked. I quickly rearranged my features to something more neutral. My stomach knotted at the mere thought of talking about my concerns for Matt with Azo’lah.

Later, I promised her, refocusing on the 3D schematic of J’olpri now projecting from Chester’s Ran’dyl. God only knew where he’d unearthed that from. 

“You are correct in your assessment that our ship is too conspicuous, Captain,” Azo’lah said. “We should dock and secure the Gold Dust Wo’man on a station on the other side of the moon and use a more inconspicuous shuttle to go back and forth.”

Ryan nodded. “It isn’t ideal, but we will make do.”

“None of this is ideal,” Chester scratched at his neck, “even though it makes perfect sense to have the cloak on J’olpri for the shortest amount of time possible.”

“Oh, you don’t trust all of these upstanding criminals not to attempt to snatch it?” Matt asked mockingly.

Ryan said, “We’re the most upstanding ones here, and we’re the ones planning on snatching it.”

Fleetwood held up her hand, which Ryan immediately slapped.

Azo’lah began to pace. “Only two station rotations before the auction is set to take place. That is not much time to act.” 

“It’s less than two hours. But the only real window of time we’ll have to take the cloak is in between when it arrives and when it gets to the auction house, which’ll be about fifteen minutes. Otherwise, it’ll be not only guarded but on display, which means too many eyes,” Chester mused, his fingers tapping away at his tablet. “We’d have to fight our way out.”

Azo’lah perked up at that possibility.

“So we take it on the loading dock,” Ryan reasoned, their eyes dangerously distant.

“What are you thinking, Captain?” Matt asked.

Ryan tapped a rapid tattoo against their knees. “I’m thinking the best way to get the cloak is to let people know we want the cloak.”

“You want people to know? Then they’ll just be watching us closer—oh!” Chester bit his lip in understanding. “It’s a distraction, like a magician.”

“Abracadabra,” Fleetwood agreed.

“Exactly,” Ryan stood and traced Azo’lah’s well-paced path. “Gretchen and I will maintain our covers as ambassadors of Vicerenne Tov-ri, make a lot of noise about our interest in the cloak, keep all eyes on us while you all actually take back the damn thing!”

Azo’lah tilted her head back and forth. “It is a good idea, but does it not feel a bit obvious? Let’s not forget we’re attempting to steal from a bunch of thieves.”

“It’s a pretty basic grift, sure,” Ryan conceded.

I pressed the heel of my palms against my closed eyes. Maybe, if I pressed hard enough, I could suppress my guilt at all of the morally gray things I’d allowed my seventeen-year-old Captain to partake in today. I asked, “How do you even know what a grift is?”

“TV,” Ryan replied. “Plus, we can make it better. There are six of us, which means we can break into three teams, do a grift within the grift.”

Chester’s brows rose playfully. “A grift-ception.”

“A grift within a grift?” I asked. Even with our crew’s considerable skills, this was starting to feel like more than we could handle.

“As the Captain says,” Azo’lah continued, “you will maintain your Covlax covers and, when the auctioneers become suspicious, we give them what they’re looking for.”

“Crooked crooks,” Fleetwood said.

Matt smiled. “What about a tech genius and a pilot for hire?”

Fleetwood solemnly surveyed Matt, then Chester. “I guess you’ll do.”

“Perfect,” Ryan said, “but before any of this has happened, the cloak will already be in the possession of two non-descript dockhands, who happened to come in for some extra work that day.”

“Dockhands?” I asked.

Azo’lah wordlessly activated her perception distorter, the bland human man appearing before us once more.

I pointed at her disguise. “That guy works in the loading dock?”

“No,” Chester said, tapping away at his tablet furiously, “but if I can get access to the mainframe, I’ll have lists of who works where. It’ll be easy to upload the likeness of anyone we want into the distorters for Azo’lah and Fleetwood.”

Fleetwood hopped off the bed. “Undercover motherfudger!”

“Hold up a minute,” Chester interrupted Fleetwood’s celebration, his typing becoming more aggressive as multiple windows of code popped up beside the holographic J’olpri. “This all hinges on me having access to the mainframe, which I can’t get because J’olpri’s mainframe doesn’t allow for remote access, which means I need to hack it physically.”

“Smart,” Ryan said.

“Even smarter, it isn’t located on the station,” Chester continued. “And no one knows where they ke—”

“I know where it is,” Matt interrupted.

Chester’s furious typing halted, as did Ryan’s pacing.

Fleetwood skipped over to him and grabbed his hands. “Truly, bluely?”

He smirked. “Truly bluely.”

“How?” Chester asked.

“Let’s just say I flew some blokes out here while being chased by some other bastards, and we ended up taking cover in...you know what, it doesn’t matter.” Matt ran a hand through his curls. “I just know where it is. Chester, would you mind pulling up a map that also includes the moon and the surrounding docking stations.”

Chester nodded. The hologram of J’olpri station shrank into the shadow of its moon. Around J’olpri, ships ferrying criminals, and questionable goods, swarmed like bees to a hive. Nearby were multiple docking stations for the ships too large to dock at J’olpri or, for crews like us, who were trying to cover their tracks. From what I understood, the docking stations housed their own smaller, slightly less seedy markets.

Matt walked up to the projection. He poked his index finger through a medium-sized station. “Figos.”

“Figos?” Chester said dubiously. “Really?”

“Yes, Figos.”

“Will someone please tell me what the hell Figos is before the word loses all meaning?” I asked.

Fleetwood thrust her fists high, “It’s where jacks hit you twenty-one times, and you take craps! I want to go!”

“Figos is a casino?” I guessed. “Seems like a strange place to keep the controls of the universe’s most prolific black markets.”

“Not when you consider the security they have in place to protect the monetary assets on-board,” Matt refuted. “Chester, if I can get you into the same room as the mainframe, can you get us whatever it is we need?”

“Security access, port entry lists, door codes,” Azo’lah listed off. “Names of who all is here to bid on the cloak—”

“Who these mysterious impartial guards are,” Ryan added.

Chester nodded at Matt. “If you can get me in, I should be able to hack it. And once I’m in the system, we should have access to everything.”

“Azo’lah should go with you guys.” I looked pointedly at Azo’lah, somewhat surprised she hadn’t volunteered herself already. Her secret technopathy made her ideal for this mini-mission. Not to mention that after our interrogation of the bellboy, I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable sending Chester off on his own with Matt.

“No,” Ryan waved off my suggestion. “Even with the perception distorter, Azo’lah draws too much attention. If we want Matt and Chester to slip in and out of Figos undetected, it’s best if it’s just them.” They clapped their hands together. “Alright, everybody, pack up. Let’s go and move the Gold Dust Wo’man.”

“Wait, wait.” I held up my hands in the Earth gesture for ‘time-out.’ “So we’re moving ahead with this? Even though we know Sadrilla has eyes on us? This plan feels…it doesn’t feel like a whole plan yet.”

“So pretty on-brand for us?” Chester returned his tablet to his bag as Fleetwood and Azo’lah donned their distorters. 

Ryan and Matt led the way out of the room, with Chester and Fleetwood following closely behind. Azo’lah stood by the door, waiting for me. “Myaxi?”

I shook out my shoulders in an attempt to dislodge the dread smothering me. “Sorry,” I apologized and stood, “I’m coming.”

“You do not need to apologize for being concerned about our safety,” Azo’lah said. “But remember, we will all take care of each other.”

That did make me feel better.

“We will take care of each other,” I said as I exited into the hallway, “and we’ll get the cloak back.”

Azo’lah’s smug smile would have made Shockley proud.

“This is weird.” I glanced up at Azo’lah and cringed. “I don’t think it’s ever going to get less weird.” 

Azo’lah was once again disguised by her perception distorter as a nondescript man. She asked, “Is this disguise not suited to your taste?” 

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I get it. All humans are ugly in your sight.” I would not give Azo’lah the satisfaction of knowing her normal appearance was vastly preferable to this one. I adjusted my newly acquired Covlaxi hood. Upon hearing about Ryan’s hastily concocted cover-story for us, Fleetwood dove into her closet and produced two dark cowls, which were close approximations to what diplomats from Covlax wore.

I attempted to survey the dock we were on with an air of disinterested superiority. 

You are not— Azo’lah’s thought flashed across my mind but went unfinished. I dislike this, she sent. 

What? I feigned stretching my back so I could look at her. She pressed her hand to the wall of the dock, her brow wrinkled in consternation that would have looked fierce on Azo’lah’s face but looked comical on her distorter’s. 

This station was made and maintained by so many different species that the technology is varied and forced together in most cases. It is hard to connect with and—

The roar of engines overpowered all noise in the hangar. Dockworkers, all dressed in bland work coveralls, swarmed into the space, preparing to unload the latest cargo. Azo’lah shrunk back into the shadows of crates stacked behind and to the left of me. I activated the 3D camera on my Ran’dyl and propped my forearm on the crate next to me as casually as possible. 

Despite not knowing what dock the cloak would arrive on, Azo’lah, Fleetwood, Ryan, and I were staking out a couple of cargo unloadings. We were trying to get a better idea of the procedure so that Fleetwood and Azo’lah could more easily blend in tomorrow. It was an errand that Ryan and I could have handled. The cousins’ insistence that they accompany us was clearly based on boredom rather than necessity. 

 I felt the transitory sparking twinge, which indicated that my internal communications had been activated. Gretchen. Azo’lah’s technopathic message was jagged with distress.

“You have no business here,” a high-pitched voice remarked. Ah, I thought as goosebumps broke out down my arms. There was the reason for Azo’lah’s alarm. 

Sadrilla was beside me, uncomfortably close. The dock’s landing lights played off the tattoo that climbed like ivy up her neck and throat, making it shine like fresh ink on pink parchment. I inhaled, fighting the bone-deep urge to run, and imagined this was how gazelles swarmed by a pride of lions felt.

I slowly turned to the most recently landed ship, trying to look for Azo’lah without being obvious about it. “Is this your shipment that just came in?”

“No,” she said, her voice like the tinkling of bells. For all my crewmates’ descriptions of Sadrilla’s murderous escapades, I hadn’t expected her to sound like a cartoon princess.   

“Then you have no business here either.”

Don’t antagonize her, Azo’lah cautioned. 

“Let me be frank,” Sadrilla toyed with the tails of her turquoise braids, her lavender eyes trained on me, “I am well aware of who you are and what reasons you may have to be here.” 

“I wasn’t aware I had a reputation to precede me, but okay.” I tugged demonstratively on my hood. “I’m here representing the Covlax—” 

“You are here, Gretchen Borowicz, archaeologist of Earth, for two reasons. Neither of which accommodates my needs.” 

“Sorry about it.” I blanched, having not meant to say that at all. But Sadrilla was so, so close, leaning into my side, one strong hand wrapping around my neck. Her thumb dug into my pulse point.

Azo’lah! I sent across our mental link.

I see you, I’m here, Azo’lah replied. 

“You’re here with Fulyiti Kezira, which means at least one Myax, most likely Azo’lah,” Sadrilla’s lip curled into a vicious snarl, “is somewhere on this station.” I swallowed, aware of the tendons in my neck in a way I’d never been before. Sadrilla’s gaze danced over my shoulder as she continued, “Or maybe in this hangar. Perception distorter, probably.” 

“And?” I prompted, trying to figure out how she knew so much. 

“You’re either here to steal the cloak or bring me in. Both actions have consequences.” 

“Which are deadly, I’m assuming?” I choked out with a wheezing, awkward, terrified laugh. I could feel my heartbeat in my teeth. Sadrilla’s hand tightened and twisted me around, forcing me up against the crate. The movement was so fast, it painfully pinned the arm that I had been resting on behind me as Sadrilla pressed in.  I bit back the sound that attempted to claw its way out of my throat as agony shot through my elbow. 

I’m coming, Azo’lah said. 

No, I shot back frantically. You can’t blow your cover. 

Sadrilla was only a few inches taller than me, which made it far too easy to stare into her cold, hardened gaze. “Of course,” she confirmed, her lips ghosting along my cheek. For an insane moment, I thought she was going to kiss me, and my lungs contracted around too little air. “Rumor is you’re smart, Gretchen. So, I hope you’ll live up to the hype and listen when I tell you to get the hell off this station. Because if not, you’ll resemble a Covlax victim instead of an ambassador.” 

I jerked as the unexpected, rough, wet drag of her tongue ran across my skin. “I forgot how much I liked the taste of human fear,” she murmured. She drew back with a smile that made me want to scrub myself raw. She released me. “Farewell, Myaxi.” 

Despite the terror-spiked adrenaline surging through me, I bristled at the way she sneered the title. I let her walk away without saying anything because I wasn’t quite sure I was capable of speech anymore. Once she’d left through the docking bay’s mammoth doors, I yanked the sleeve of my shirt over my hand and used it to wipe my cheek, trying to ignore how my whole body shook.

A palm skimmed my back as someone passed by, and I jumped, clapping my hands over my mouth to muffle my strangled shriek. I whirled, finding only the nondescript man Azo’lah was disguised as, staring disinterestedly at the sand-colored ship in front of us. 

Are you alright, Myaxi? Azo’lah looked briefly but pointedly at the hands I had twined, white-knuckled in the excess fabric of my hood. 

Would you be after being treated like a human tootsie pop? I shot back.

No, I would not. Let’s go back to the ship. Azo’lah turned to leave the hanger, and I, at a careful distance, followed. 

I scrubbed furiously at my face with a soapy washcloth. In the mirror, my skin reddened further. I could still feel Sadrilla’s hot breath wafting across my skin, her coarse tongue lapping at my cheek.

I rinsed the washcloth and returned it to my face.

There was a sharp rap against my bathroom door. “Myaxi,” Azo’lah called gently.

“I’ll...I’ll be out in a minute,” I replied, pressing the washcloth to my cheek. It covered half of my reflection, just like Sadrilla’s tattoo-covered her face. I dropped the cloth as though scalded.

“Myaxi,” Azo’lah reiterated a strange edge to her voice. “I have been waiting in your room for half an hour.”

“Fuck.” I was not ready to interact with anyone yet. Knowing I needed to be somewhere I felt safe, Azo’lah had shuttled me back to the Gold Dust Wo’man following my confrontation with Sadrilla. I had isolated myself in my quarters since. Even though I had taken my meds and employed all of my coping mechanisms, I still felt too big for my body, like my bones would expand and rupture their fragile casing.

My breaths were too short, my skin too hot, and Sadrilla still lingered, like a physical presence.

“Gretchen,” Azo’lah said, “has your darkness not relented?”

“No,” I gripped the edge of the mosaic-lined sink. I hated how easily she pried honesty from me.

“May I come in?” Her voice was tight with a concern I’d only ever heard in dire situations.

“Yeah, sure. I guess. I’m fine, though.”

The door dematerialized. Azo’lah walked in, skillfully navigating around where I had abandoned my Covlaxi cowl in a pool of black fabric. She stopped with two feet left between us, her navy eyes scrutinizing me. Dressed in her crew spacesuit, her posture straight and sure, she stood out, sharp and refreshing, against the soft gray of the bathroom tiles and walls—like the only spot of color in a black and white movie.

“Don’t-don’t look at me like that,” I managed. “I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine, but I’ll be fine. It’s just my anxiety.”

“How is your arm?” she asked, gesturing to my elbow.

I cradled it to my body automatically. It had bruised nastily from Sadrilla’s man-handling, but there was no lasting damage. “No, I’m good.”

“Is there any way I can assist you?”

I shook my head. Azo’lah’s lips thinned. She surveyed my messy sink. My prescription bottle sat between a half-drunk glass of water and my toothbrush holder. The washcloth and soap were abandoned in the deep, curved basin.

Azo’lah shuffled her feet nervously. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No,” I blurted, faster than I could think. I wasn’t ready to be around other people because I didn’t want the pressure, however well-intended, to be alright. But just now, Azo’lah didn’t feel like pressure, nor like a safe harbor in a storm—instead, she was another ship out on the seas, riding out the roiling waves with me.

“Would you like for me to speak about something that brings you joy?” she offered. “We can discuss old, buried things or Sebastian? I believe Fulyiti Fleetwood uploaded videos of him onto my Ran’dyl.”

I smirked, stilling her hand as it moved to activate the device. “No, that’s okay. I appreciate the offer, though.”

“Would you feel better if I told you Chester and Matt have returned from Figos? Their mission was a success.”

My hand tightened around her wrist. “Why didn’t you start with that? When did they get back? Are they—”

“They are well, Myaxi,” she cut me off. “They were undetected. With Majumdar’s knowledge of its location, Chester successfully hacked J’olpri’s mainframe.”

“So we have access? To everything?” I asked, my heart lightening for the first time since my encounter with Sadrilla.

“Access codes, employee work schedules, security, dock entry lists,” Azolah listed. “We have all of it.”

I removed my hand from her wrist to gnaw at my thumb nail. “What about the impartial third party hired to guard the cloak?”

Azo’lah’s brow furrowed. “So far, nothing has been found in the system logs to indicate who will be bringing the cloak to J’olpri, but Chester is still running searches.”

“So the plan for tomorrow,” I said, “we’re still following through with it?”

“Captain Thorley, Fleetwood, Chester, and Matt are finalizing details in the conference room,” Azo’lah confirmed.

I reached for my washcloth, weaving the soft, damp material between my fingers. “Even knowing that Sadrilla and her team are here for the cloak, too?”

“She will not get close to you again,” Azo’lah reassured me, “and if she does, you will be with Captain Thorley. You won’t be alone. As long as we are smart and don’t take unnecessary risks, you will be safe tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I whispered, running my hand across my throat where Sadrilla had so casually gripped earlier. “I’m worried that I’ll lock up again around her. That, that I’ll see her, and choke. That I’ll just fail you guys again like I did today.”

“You did not fail us.” Azo’lah’s eyes blazed. “Without divulging any of our plans, you got Sadrilla to admit what she knew of us and of her own desire for the cloak.”

“That’s more because she was cocky than because of my awesome interrogation skills.”

Azo’lah set her hands on my shoulders. “No matter what your darkness tells you, Myaxi, you did not fail us today.”

The earnest understanding in her voice made me feel raw and vulnerable, seen in a way I was so often not. Any response felt insufficient, so I swallowed them all and nodded my appreciation.

“Do you wish to take more time here?” Azo’lah asked. Through the thin material of my shirt, I could feel the warmth of her fingers as they flexed against my upper arms. “You don’t need to join the crew in planning until you are ready. They understand.”

I cleared my throat and inhaled, filling my lungs to absolute capacity. I held the breath, counting down from seven, then exhaled slowly and deliberately. I was still anxious but more in control. “A couple more minutes, then I’ll be ready.”

Azo’lah nodded, released her hold on me, and stepped back. She gestured toward my room with a shoulder. “Would you like me to wait for you outside?”

“No.” I unthreaded the washcloth from between my fingers and set it at the edge of my sink. “You can stay with me.”

I fiddled with my Covlaxi cowl, adjusting the way the heavy hood fell across my shoulders. For a species renowned as warriors, it was unfathomable to me why the Covlax chose to wear such fussy garments.

Ryan stilled my hand. “Quit fidgeting.” 

Their eyes skirted around the gilded, low-ceilinged showroom of The Zyssal auction house. Step one, entering the auction room, had been executed with ease. With Chester’s access to J’olpri’s mainframe, we had been added to the auction house’s invite list for the cloak’s authentication showing this morning. The moment Ryan and I had entered, every eye had fallen on us, and more importantly, on our cowls.

Whispers accompanied us as we regally strode to the refreshment table at the back of the room. We both grabbed crystal glasses filled with golden liquid but only pretended to drink from them as we eyed the aliens congregating along the fringes of the room, gossiping. More aliens interested in bidding on the cloak filtered inside, everyone avoiding the six rows of cushioned seating in the center of the room.

Ryan squeezed my shoulder, reassuringly. “We’ve got this.”

I wasn’t so sure they were right, but their confidence was a steadying force. We certainly looked the part in our understated dark clothes—Ryan had even slicked back their hair for the day, the look aging them considerably. In a bid to look more sophisticated, I had left my hair unbound for the occasion, and I was desperate to pull it back with the hair tie around my wrist. I reminded myself that it would be worth it when the cloak of the First Auhtula was back on Destyr, where it belonged.

I worried my hands together as I considered what came next. Step two:  mingling and planting seeds of worry about potential thieves in the dock.

I wasn’t thinking too heavily about all of the ways step three, ditching our cowls and reconvening at our rendezvous point when everyone’s attention was diverted, could go wrong.

Ryan inconspicuously tapped at their wrist, activating their comms. I followed suit. My miniscule ear-piece tinkled to life.

“Everyone in position?” Ryan asked quietly.

“Ready and waiting, Captain,” Matt replied.

“We are hot to trot,” Fleetwood said. The thought of Azo’lah’s grimace, even while wearing a perception distorter, at that phrase made me smirk.

“We have confirmation of the cloak incoming,” Chester added. “T-minus three minutes.”

“Still no word on who’s aboard that ship?” Azo’lah asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” Chester said. “They're insanely careful, sending comms through random back channels that I can’t trace and hack until after they’ve been sent and deleted. But, hey, at least I was able to figure out the right docking port!”

I flexed and clenched my empty hand, reminding myself that there was nothing to be worried about because, for the next half hour, I was not Gretchen Borowicz, Earth Archaeologist in space, but Gretchen, a dangerous and intimidating ambassador of the vicious Covlax Vicerenne. I raised my chin imperiously. “We’re going to start spreading rumors.”

Good luck, Myaxi, scrolled across my thoughts. I bit back my smile.

“Everyone stay on comms,” Ryan instructed, before projecting their voice, “The Vicerenne will not be pleased if these rumors are true.”

“Not pleased at all, Ambassador,” I agreed, matching their volume and nodding solemnly. “If the item is stolen before she even has a chance to bid on it—”

“Her wrath will be inescapable,” Ryan finished, sipping their drink. The group of aliens to our left edged closer to us, their conversation forgotten as Ryan continued haughtily, “One would expect these auctioneers to take extra precautions with such a priceless piece. Naturally, thieves will be tempted…” They trailed off enigmatically, draining their glass.

I winced. So much for pretending to drink the alcohol.

“Thieves?” asked a voluptuous, fuchsia alien with a pulsating collar like a frill-necked lizard.

I rolled my eyes, forcing condescension into my voice as I said, “Have you not heard the rumors? Apparently, a human hacker and pilot-mercenary have plans to steal the cloak.”

The fuchsia alien gasped, her frill fanning out. Her friends began chattering amongst themselves, one of them—a tall, pencil-thin being with tangerine skin practically ran across the room to inform those who were not close enough to eavesdrop.

“Bloody hell, Gretchen,” Matt said, “why not just give them my and Chester’s names while you’re at it?”

While they reached over the refreshment table for another glass, Ryan whispered, “The point is for them to go after you, Majumdar.”

“We have a ship incoming,” Chester interjected before Matt could continue to complain. “I repeat: we have confirmed ship incoming! Azo’lah, FleetMerc, you in place?”

“Thighs on the prize,” Fleetwood replied excitedly. 

“We see it. The ship is a standard arms ferrier, no indication of her origin or occupants,” Azo’lah clarified.

Ryan continued to speak smoothly with the aliens who were still gathered around us, giving no indication that an entirely different conversation was happening in one ear. “We will be demanding a closer inspection when the cloak arrives on station. If these burglars are bold enough to attempt a robbery on J’olpri, who knows what attempts were made before it got here.”

Our job was to keep everyone in this room as distracted, confused, and outraged as possible. If we got the other potential buyers worked up enough, the auction house would have even more to deal with than the threat of thieves.

“You are quite correct, Ambassador,” I said, tilting my glass toward Ryan. “How do we know the cloak was not switched out for a fake in transit?”

Tension swept across the room as everyone assembled stopped pretending they weren’t eavesdropping. 

In my right ear, Fleetwood announced, “Anchors away!”

“Who even decided upon these third-party guards?” Ryan asked, practically yelling at the room now abuzz with excitement. “Who knows if they can be trusted!”

“Here they come,” Azo’lah said. “They are—”

“Rat bastards!” Fleetwood huffed.

“Gretchen, Captain Thorley, get out of the auction house immediately,” Azo’lah said. Her tone sent ice down my spine.

“Holy shit, no,” Chester whispered. “Please, tell me the feed I’m watching is glitching.”

I flinched when Matt yelled, “Gretchen, Ryan, run!”

I lifted my glass to obscure my mouth as I hissed, “Guys, what’s wrong?”

“Get out now, Myaxi!” Azo’lah commanded. “The third-party guarding the cloak is the Covlax.”

My glass slipped from my numb fingers, spilling golden liquid all down the front of my counterfeit Covlaxi cowl.

The outrage of the aliens we had gathered around us died as my glass fell to the floor. It didn't break but emitted a crystalline tone akin to someone playing the water glasses very loudly. 

“Forgive me,” I said into the ringing silence, “it’s been quite some time since I’ve tasted something so vile.” 

An alien with snow-white skin that sparkled in the light murmured, “Since when is uloc from the Fourth Quadrant vile? Is it not one of the rarest vintages?” 

Ryan took a measured sip from their glass. I hadn’t tried it, so I wasn't sure if it tasted as bad as the face they pulled indicated. “It is when you’re regularly served better by the Vicerenne,” they said, seemingly forgetting that the group around us had already watched them drink a full glass. Ryan dramatically overturned their glass. The golden liquid streamed, not onto the polished floor, but an equally shiny pair of dark brown loafers. 

The alien wearing them was disturbing. He looked utterly human except for the fact that his skin was the yellowish-white color of aged parchment. His short, delicate silver hair was combed to the side. Bulging, watery eyes blinked slowly at us, and a second, inner eyelid followed the outer eyelid with a severe delay.

His face, though, looked like it was slowly melting as if his life force was a flame slowly burning away at his flesh. In his otherwise impeccable earth suit and red tie, he reminded me strongly of someone, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on who. 

He was known to the buyers, whose attention all snapped to him. “Director Glorp,” a glittering alien acknowledged the newcomer with an aristocratic nod of her expertly coiffed head. “Are we set to begin the inspection?” 

“Very shortly now,” Director Glorp returned with a smile that was like an oil slick. It matched his drawling voice. “I just have to speak with the Covlax ambassadors for a moment.” 

The aliens around us dispersed begrudgingly. We were immediately flanked by two guards wearing monochromatic black suits and carrying guns that, I’m pretty sure, were lethal. These guards were human-sized and nowhere near as large as the boulders that blocked the entrance.

“I’m Director Glorp, the head of auctions here at this fine, unparalleled establishment. But of course, ambassadors, you already knew that.” I was amazed that a part of my brain could even be distracted by the way his dripping skin wobbled when he talked, as the rest of it was consumed with the terrifying certainty that we’d been found out. 

I glanced at Ryan for guidance or reassurance and hated myself for looking to a teenager to lead us out of this mess. They tilted a judgemental eyebrow and said, “And?”

“And it is unusual for your mistress to allow her soldiers to be hired as impartial guards for items that she is interested in acquiring,” Glorp replied. “So unusual that it has, indeed, never before happened. You must see that it’s incongruity has…drawn our attention.”

“Are you implying it is not the Vicerenne’s prerogative to change her mind?” I asked, forcing myself to look right into Glorp’s toilet-bowl-cleaner-blue irises.

“She may certainly do so.” Glorp reached beneath his chins to adjust the knot of his tie. “However, we must verify that this is indeed the case. The Covlax Vic is the head guard protecting the item. I am sure he will graciously illuminate us as to his mother’s thoughts. Until then,” he gestured with a gnarled, angular hand. 

The guards closed in, one meaty hand wrapping around my bicep. 

Gretchen, Azo’lah’s message flashed across my mind. We’re tracking the Covlax, they are almost to you. You must leave. 

I’m sort of being held prisoner, I thought back. A glyph flashed across my mind. Probably, an ancient Destyrian curse. They said the Covlax Vic is coming? Who the hell is he?

He is Vicerenne Tov-ri’s heir, Azo’lah replied.

Shit. I wasn’t sure how long Ryan’s and my lies would survive when confronted by the Covlax’s equivalent to a prince. 

We’re coming, Azo’lah promised.

My stomach sank with the knowledge that whenever back-up came, it would be too little too late.

The metal door slid open, and through it stepped a tall, humanoid alien. His lithe, powerful muscles were covered by studded, leather-like armor that fit so well it looked like it had been painted on. His features were as sharp as the knife strapped to his arm and highlighted by his glossy black undercut. Over his shoulders, he wore a cowl like ours, but the fabric shimmered like black water. He was handsome if you were into the color teal and someone who looked like a weapon personified. Which, I was beginning to realize, might be my type. 

Behind him were three Covlax women and a metal crate that held the cloak suspended between them. They were the first alien women I’d seen who surpassed Azo’lah’s musculature. Covlax women were built like broad, impenetrable brick shithouses. Like their prince, they had the same angular features and dark undercuts. As they moved towards us, I realized the Covlax had tails. The prince only one, but the women had five—long with forked stingers at the end.  

“Kinky,” Ryan breathed next to me. I smacked the back of my palm against their arm in reprimand.

“Director Glorp,” the Vic greeted as he drew level with us. He blocked my view of the other Covlax, who were guiding the gleaming box to the center-front of the room where it would be displayed. To be this close to the cloak…

Azo’lah—

No, came the immediate reply. 

“Your highness. It is an unspeakable honor.” Glorp bobbed his head sycophantically, jowls swaying. 

The Vic barely moved his hand, but the guards released us and took several steps back. One of the Vic’s thick eyebrows ticked upward. “What’s this?” His voice was poisoned coffee—rich, dark, and deadly. “Mother said nothing about dispatching ambassadors here.” 

Welp. Fuck. 

“That’s what I thought—” Director Glorp’s next words were nothing but a choked gurgle. Ryan had both hands wrapped around his tie and pulled. 

The Vic looked on, mildly impressed. “Perhaps you are our ambassadors after all.”

“No such luck,” I said and pushed the flailing auctioneer into the Covlax Vic right as Ryan let go. The odd pair toppled to the floor. 

“Run!” Ryan cried over the flurry of gasps, and startled screams as one of the Covlax women came towards us. 

Ryan darted under her outstretched arms, while I dove left, right behind the two remaining guards. The cloak was there in the unlidded crate between them. Impulsively I lunged for it. A forked-stinger buried itself deep in my arm. I stumbled backward, a shocked scream ripping out of my throat at the sudden agony. Not to mention the horror of seeing two, four-inch stingers stuck in my skin. The Covlax were still facing forward, expressions impassive. They didn’t even need to move to protect the cloak. But, if I could just reach—

“Gretchen!’ Ryan shouted as they paused right in front of the rows of chairs, ripping off their cowl. 

“Duck!” I shouted, abandoning the crate and running toward Ryan as one of the security guards threw a punch. I picked up a chair and swung it into the security guard. I tried to release it, but my injured arm was inexplicably numb. 

“The venom is triggered by movement.” The Vic had emerged from under the gasping flesh pile that was Director Glorp. He slid into a fighting stance, drawing the very thick knife from his forearm sheath. He spun it in his hand so that the blade pointed downward. 

I wanted no part of whatever horror-show he could inflict with that weapon.

“Absolutely not,” I said, tearing the cowl from my shoulders with my left hand, doing my best to look defeated. Ryan closed in on my right side. 

The Vic straightened, his hold on his knife loosening. “It is a shame. You are exactly the kind of humans my mother loves to work with.” If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was amused by everything.

“Sorry, but we’re not in the job market.” I hurled my cowl in his face. Ryan dove forward, jamming a stinger into the Vic’s shoulder. I looked down to find that my paralyzed arm was now bleeding profusely from a deep stinger-less hole. 

Ryan grabbed me, and we both sprinted for the door. I yanked the other stinger free and lobbed it at the final security guard who had moved to block the entrance. He dove to avoid it, and the door slid sideways. I heard the Vic yelling, summoning reinforcements as Ryan and I dodged the boulder guards and sprinted down the corridor. 

 “Holy shit, that was awesome!” Ryan whooped as they caught me around the waist. “Don’t slip in your own blood, Gretchen!”

We ran to the escalator, Ryan chivvying me down the steps. “Pick up the pace, Gretch!”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” I bit out. I side-stepped an alien with SUV-sized shoulders, protecting my numbed arm from further damage. If the venom was triggered by movement, then I needed to keep my arm as still as possible.

We were almost to the next floor when the escalator came to a jarring halt. I lost my balance and toppled forward, Ryan’s quick hands catching me around the middle. “Fucking shit,” Ryan shouted. We did an ungainly dance off the escalator, my blood-slicked boots failing to find traction against the grimy floor.

“What now?” I asked. Ryan grabbed my chin, directing my attention to the top of the escalator, where one of the Covlax bodyguards was crouched. Four of her stingered-tails were arched over her shoulders like rocket-launchers. Her fifth stinger was drilled into the escalator’s mechanisms.

Ah, so that’s why the escalator had stopped.

Pushing my head down, Ryan shoved me into the jostling masses on the twelfth floor. Unaware of the chaos our crew had incited, the rest of J’olpri was still operating as usual—a miniscule advantage that might provide some cover for our escape.

“Azo’lah! Fleetwood! Where’s that back-up?” Ryan yelled as we ran for our lives. 

“We’re coming,” Azo’lah replied.

“Come faster!” Ryan held out an arm like a linebacker to clear our path. “Gretchen got hit with a Covlax stinger—”

“What?” Chester interrupted. “She got stung? Shit, shit, shit. Covlax venom is a paralytic poison, it invades and destroys every bodily system—”

 “Fleetwood, Azo’lah, move faster. We need to get Gretchen out now.” Ryan did not allow me to think about what that meant for me, for us, or our chances of getting out of here. Instead, they determinedly pushed me down a corridor filled with smoke, shouting, and laughter. The usually delectable smells of roasting meat and warm, spiced wine wafted from the food stalls we passed. My stomach contracted, a painful dry heave made all the worse by the fact that I couldn’t stop moving.

Apparently, nausea was a side-effect of Covlax venom.

“Keep moving for the rendezvous point!” Chester’s voice finally replied. “We’re coming!”

“Oh-okay,” I slouched further into Ryan. Now I was a literal burden to my friends, not just a metaphorical one.

Behind us, someone shrieked, “Covlax!” The crowd scrambled for the exit on the opposite end of the hall. As a group of five-eyed aliens tripped past us, one of them went sprawling across the ground.

Ryan helped him to his feet with a pat on the back. “Watch yourself, friend.” They tugged me close, tucking a flash of silver into their waistband as they created a protective cage around my stung arm. But no matter how hard they worked to keep others from bumping into me, my arm kept getting moved, the venom seeping further into my system. I attempted to rotate my arm from my shoulder. Nothing happened.

“Ryan, Ryan, stop.” The fingers of my good hand tightened in their sleeve. “I can’t feel my shoulder.”

Their blue eyes flashed dangerously, their mouth hooking into a feral sneer. If what Chester said was true, and the venom kept invading my body at this pace, there was no telling how quickly it would paralyze my lungs and my heart. Soon, too soon. The thought should have sent me into an anxiety attack. Instead, I felt nothing. Wait, did Covlax venom numb brain chemistry, as well?

Gretchen Myaxi, Azo’lah’s voice rang through my head, fierce and firm. We do not give up, remember?

Ryan hitched my good arm over their shoulder, taking even more of my weight. “Get your shit together, Borowicz. That’s an order.” They shuffled us forward, and I forced my feet to work, to help propel us. My eyes caught on the bloody trail my numb arm was leaving behind us, as good as bread crumbs. Ryan bellowed down our comms, “We’re on the twelfth floor, just past the food court. We need a route or a—”

“Take your next left,” Chester urged. “It’s a service corridor, shouldn’t be too populated. There are stairs at the end of that hallway. FleetMerc, I’m rerouting you and Azo’lah that way. I’ve got an idea.”

“Roger dodger,” Fleetwood replied.

“Next left? Fuck.” Ryan veered hard to the left as we almost bypassed the turn. My injured arm clipped the metal wall in what would have been a painful collision were I able to feel it.

Chester had been right, the service corridor was empty. And for good reason.

“Ugh, nasty,” Ryan choked out. From beginning to end, it was lined with overflowing containers of waste. “The garbage hallway, Chester? Really?”

“Well, this mission is turning into a straight-up dumpster fire,” Chester snapped, “so I thought it fitting.”

I giggled, the movement jostling my bad arm and shoulder. “Don’t make me laugh. The paralytic...”

Ryan readjusted their sweaty grip on me as we shuffled down the hall. Their voice strained with exhaustion and concern as they said, “It’s spreading. Gretchen’s running out of time.”

“Halt!” I turned my neck enough to find the Covlax Vic standing at the end of the long hallway. One of his guards stood at his side, her nostrils flaring like a shark sensing wounded prey.

We were halfway to the stairs, but with the Covlax this close, it could’ve been a lightyear for all the good it did us.

“Ryan, go without me.” I twisted my good hand into theirs and squeezed. I wanted them to know that I would be okay even if I didn’t have the words. “Azo’lah will come get me.”

Ryan stubbornly kept dragging me forward. “We’re almost there! I’m not fucking leaving—”

“Well, what do we have here?” asked an appallingly familiar voice. 

I recoiled into Ryan as a breath that wasn’t there ghosted along my cheek. “Sadrilla.”

From the shadows of the stairs—our escape—Sadrilla emerged like a cotton-candy nightmare. She flaunted J’olpri’s “no weapons” rule with guns strapped to her thighs and poles crisscrossing her back.

“Okay, this isn’t awesome anymore,” Ryan huffed. They backed up against the wall. They settled me to the ground as gently as possible, propping me against one of the refuse bags. Impossibly, it smelled worse down here. 

“Guys, we’re—” I gagged as my stomach convulsed violently and the world spun. I knew I only had minutes left to get Ryan out safely. “We’re trapped. Sadrilla, the Vic—”

“We’re almost there!” Chester promised in my ear.

From beneath the back of their shirt, Ryan produced a gun, their thumb flicking off the safety. 

“Where the hell did you get a gun?” I asked. 

“Stole it off that guy that fell in the food court earlier.” Ryan swept their arm back and forth between Sadrilla closing in on us on one side of the hallway and the Vic and his bodyguard prowling closer on the other. “Stay back, both of you!”

Sadrilla clicked her tongue scoldingly as she moseyed down the corridor. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, pointing a charged weapon at the Covlax Vic, do you, little human?”

“And who are you to speak for me, mercenary?” the Vic’s dark eyes narrowed at Sadrilla. The Covlax guard tapped her stingers menacingly against the metal floor to emphasize the point.

Sadrilla’s grin distorted the ink on her cheek. “Only a great admirer of the Covlax, and of you, your grace.”

He scoffed. “Your ilk does not feel admiration, only emptiness.” Sadrilla’s smile fell. The Vic brandished his knife between Sadrilla and us. “What is your business with them?”

“No business,” Sadrilla said, as she came within ten feet of where we were. “I’m just here for the show.”

“Fuck you,” Ryan spat at Sadrilla, firing a warning bolt at her feet. Sadrilla easily side-stepped Ryan’s shot, glaring at the scorched crater that marked where she previously stood.

I tried to stand, but my vision doubled, then tripled. My stomach heaved. Settling back down, I shook my head. The world returned to singularity just as Sadrilla unholstered a gun from her thigh. “Why, you little—”

“Call me little human again, and next time I’ll aim for your body,” Ryan threatened, pushing their sweat-drenched hair out of their eyes. They turned to the Vic. “And she’s a liar. She’s also here for the cloak!”

The Covlax bodyguard dropped into a protective crouch, two of her stingers raised defensively across the Vic’s torso while he withdrew a metal pole from across his back, hidden beneath his cowl. With a flick of his wrist, a wicked-edged blade with a hook extended from the top, turning it into a glaive.

With her free hand, Sadrilla withdrew a short pole from her back, knocked it against her side, and activated it. This one grew thick, sharp protrusions from one end: a double-sided battle axe.

Ryan whispered down to me, “Okay, so this sucks, but space weapons are freaking awesome.”

“I think I’m going to pass out soon,” I murmured as the world darkened around the edges. 

The Vic’s guard lunged forward, her stingers extended. And this was it, this was how I died, choking on my own spit on the sidelines of an epic alien showdown. But then, the wall directly across from where I sat, miraculously, opened. I squinted as a light flooded out from an expanding gap, like the doors of an—

“An elevator?” Ryan’s gun-toting arm flopped to their side dramatically. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me there was a damn elevator there the whole time?”

“Because they aren’t particularly efficient in escapes.” It was Chester, gloriously there in the flesh. He was flanked by two humanoid aliens with aquatic features—Fleetwood and Azo’lah, still wearing their perception distorters and dock coveralls, their activated jeweled armor bands situated on their biceps. The only reason I knew who was who because one was deftly spinning Azo’lah’s magenta javelin, and the other was sporting a glowing shield and Fleetwood’s preferred dagger.

Completely ignoring the high-noon shootout situation on either side of him, Chester slid to my side, a gray zippered pouch in his hands.

Fleetwood stepped between Sadrilla and us, shield held high. “Captain Thorley, Gret’chen, are you well?” I had never heard her voice carry so much worry before.

“Sure,” I said, my voice embarrassingly shaky. I hated making Fleetwood worry about me. “Where’s Matt?”

“Getting the shuttle ready,” Chester replied.

“Sorry, you had to come to get us,” I apologized.

The Covlax Vic leveled his glaive at Chester. “Move away. As decreed by the Covlax Code of Honor, this human is to be brought before the Exalted Potentate, Vicerenne Tov-ri, for committing the crime of misrepresentation.”

When Chester did not heed the command, the Vic lunged forward.

Azo’lah met him, her javelin crossing with his glaive. The Covlax bodyguard’s five stingers snaked around the Vic, all of them hovering inches from Azo’lah. My heart hammered at my ribcage. Ryan stepped up to Azo’lah’s side, gun pointed to the floor but finger on the trigger.

Unlocking his glaive from Azo’lah’s javelin, the Vic stepped back, but not far enough. Even with Azo’lah, Ryan, and Fleetwood guarding Chester and me, Sadrilla and the Vic were practically on top of us.

The Vic glared at us over Azo’lah’s shoulder. “The Covlax Code of Honor demands—”

“The Covlax Code of Honor can suck it,” Chester shot back as he opened his pouch and laid out its contents.

I laughed as pieces of computer chips, wires, fuse tape, and a spare Ran’dyl fell across the disgusting floor. “Sorry, Chester, but I’m not a computer,” I nodded lamely to my stinger wound, still oozing blood, “I don’t think your spare parts are going to help with this.”

Chester smiled viciously as he snatched up a sealed packet. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Stop!” The Vic yelled. His glaive clattered against Azo’lah’s javelin.

Azo’lah pushed him back into his guard while holding up a protective arm in front of Ryan. She retracted her javelin. “Let us not commit violence that cannot be undone, your Highness,” she said as Chester ripped the packet open and doused my injured arm in a cool, clear gel. 

I screamed in pain as his palms directed the gel into my gaping wound. “Chester, what the hell?

“Bilsa Por,” Chester said like those words made any sense to me. “It’s a great, non-corrosive glue for all of my tech since it doesn’t leak or damage motherboards or—”

“Chester,” Fleetwood cut in from where she still stood, guarding us from Sadrilla. Chester pulled a regenerative healing patch from his back pocket.

He applied the patch to my wound, continuing, “The reason Bilsa Por is such a great sealant for repairing tech is because it contains roazalt—”

“Chester!” Azo’lah spat.

“I’m getting there!” Chester returned, voice matching her annoyance. “Let me and science have our moment. Damn, the impatience.”

Gesturing to the angry Covlax prince before them, Ryan asked, “Maybe you and science could take your moment a little later?”

“Bilsa Por comes from the fronds of a fern by the same name,” Chester said, “guess what planet Bilsa Por is native to?”

“The Covlax’s?” I winced as pins and needles sizzled up my arm. Wait. I flexed my fingers excitedly, and pain shot from fingertips to shoulder. “Holy shit, I can feel my arm!”

“Because I’m a genius who reads,” Chester teased. “Roazalt, the protein molecule that makes Bilsa Por such a great non-erosive sealant, is also the only known antivenom to Covlax stings.”

The Covlax Vic’s dark eyes landed on Chester and widened like he was truly seeing him for the first time. “Impressive. How did you happen to learn this, human?”

Chester smoothed over the edges of my patch to make sure no excess Bilsa Por or blood escaped, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Blame the Destyrians for having shitty glue. I needed something that allowed me to fuse human tech with theirs, and nothing they had worked. So I did research. And,” Chester gestured broadly, “viola, information.”

The Vic’s bodyguard hissed, “This is the Vic of the Covlax, human. The greatest warrior in the known universe, you will show him the respect he is due.”

“My name’s Chester, not human.”

“Chester,” the Vic dipped his chin in greeting. “I am Vic Mey-ran, son of Vicerenne Tov-ri of the Covlax. It is an honor to meet one as learned as you, even under such regrettable circumstances.”

“Uh, you too?” Chester rose and held out a hand to me. “You good, Gretch?”

He helped ease me to my feet. My arm was still tingling awfully, but I would take the excruciating pain over slowly spreading numbness any day. I was still nauseous and a bit woozy from blood loss. “Yeah,” I said, determined to be okay. 

“Chester,” Vic Mey-ran said the name slowly, as if testing how it felt in his mouth. “I am afraid your friends and that one,” Mey-ran pointed at Sadrilla with his glaive, “must return home with me to answer for their crimes. The rest of my guards shall arrive shortly to escort them.”

“Will they?” Sadrilla asked coyly. She swung her battle axe artfully through the air as she took a step back. “Apologies, your Highness, but if I were to answer for all my crimes, I’d never have time to do anymore. And sitting around, rotting somewhere, that’s just no fun.” Sadrilla leveled her weapon at Fleetwood. “Isn’t that right, Fulyiti Kezira? Or Fleetwood Mercury, as you prefer to be called.”

Everyone froze. How had she—

“If your weapons weren’t enough of a giveaway,” Sadrilla gestured at the offending illuminated pieces, “your human’s mention of Destyrians would have been enough for me to know who you are beneath the distorter.”

Chester pressed his palms to his forehead. “Goddamn it, Chester.”

As though they had practiced it, Azo’lah and Fleetwood simultaneously deactivated their perception distorters. This pleased Sadrilla greatly if her giggle was anything to go by. “Whether you came to this station for me or for the cloak, Fulyiti, does not matter because you will not leave with either.” Her malevolent gaze swung to Mey-ran. “And neither will you.”

Azo’lah spun on her heel as Mey-ran and his bodyguard redirected their weapons at Sadrilla.

“The cloak has been moved and is now safely sequestered on my ship with my personal guard,” Mey-ran said. “You will not get your hands on it.”

Sadrilla’s grin widened. “Who said anything about my hands?”

“You, your crew, it’s all the same,” Ryan corrected, moving to stand beside Fleetwood.

“You won’t get away from all of us, you dunderwhelp,” Fleetwood promised.

“I think I will, though.” Sadrilla swung her axe at Ryan. Fleetwood lunged to intercept it with her glowing shield, her other arm thrown wide to balance herself. 

“Too easy,” Sadrilla tsked and fired the gun in her other hand. 

“No!” I cried. Shadows cast by the light of Sadrilla’s bolt played across the walls and rushed toward Fleetwood.

Half bent over in my own aborted leap, I watched Ryan—stupidly brave Ryan—twist in front of Fleetwood. The bolt hit them square in the back, just as their arms closed protectively around Fleetwood.

Ryan thrashed violently, and Fleetwood lost her balance, toppling to the floor. Fleetwood attempted to cradle Ryan against her chest, but they were flailing too erratically. “Captain, Captain!” Fleetwood wailed.

My entire body froze as though stung by a thousand Covlax. My synapses seemed to be misfiring, information processing through my brain on an uninterpretable loop.

Sadrilla made a show of inspecting her gun. “Would you look at that? That setting is much closer to lethal than I thought. Oops.”

Chester sprinted to Fleetwood and Ryan. His hands went to Ryan’s seizing shoulders. “Guys, we need to get them to the ship, to the med bay!”

I turned to Azo’lah, looking for answers, for orders, only to find her planted on the spot, steps behind Fleetwood. Azo’lah’s chin was locked as she bared her teeth at Sadrilla and stabbed her javelin into the wall. “You.”

The floor quaked suddenly. I staggered to the side—memories of the Temple of Aluthua flashed through my mind. Shit, Azo’lah.

The station gave another, violent lurch and the Covlax bodyguard pushed Mey-ran bodily toward the hallway’s exit. The Covlax Vic was resisting, fixated on where Chester attended to Ryan.

The overhead lights flashed. The walls creaked like a soda can compressing. Distant shrieks from other floors of the black market reached us. Warning alarms began wailing. 

“Evacuate. Evacuate, hull breach. Thirty minutes until life support reaches minimum levels,” echoed around us in a deep, grunting bark. “R’otils cyt! Lorzaap yowl cor—”

Azo’lah let out a feral scream as she rushed after Sadrilla, leaping over Fleetwood, Chester, and Ryan, her javelin raised high above her head. The station reeled. It lost its artificially produced gravity for a moment, tossing us up like dice from a cup. I tried to grab onto a wall as my body rose.

The gravity returned. Azo’lah touched down with vicious grace.  Mercifully, Chester and Fleetwood protected Ryan from the fall, but I landed badly, my knees crumpling. I collapsed to the ground, grunting. My body couldn't take much more before it gave out on me.

Sadrilla, as unaffected as Azo’lah by the temporary loss of gravity, was almost to the stairwell when the station groaned, the unforgiving weight of the universe outside pressing down on its weak shoulders.

More like the weight of a technopath’s wrath.

Azo’lah, thrumming with power and rage, was going to tear this station apart on her quest to kill Sadrilla.

Mere feet from her target, Azo’lah hefted her spear, the magenta-light of the weapon crackling abnormally. 

None of us would survive if Azo’lah didn’t reign it in soon.

I hobbled to my feet and screamed, “Azo’lah,” just as she released her javelin. It flew true, but Sadrilla was quick, ducking away just in time. She danced down the stairs, out of sight, her taunting giggles trailing behind her.

The station slanted sideways but this time, did not right itself, stuck in a permanent forty-five degree tilt. Trash spilled across the floor in pungent waves.

“Azo’lah!” I bellowed as I ran to her, my arms held out to maintain my balance. I reached her at the edge of the stairway, unthinkingly grabbing her elbow. “Azo—” I screamed as all the lights exploded. 

As the emergency lights wavered to life, she turned her murderous gaze on me. My fingers tightened. “Azo’lah,” I pleaded, “you need to come back to yourself. Ryan needs you. I need—we need you.”

The severe tilt of her jaw lessened, her eyes unfocused, momentarily unseeing. Her gaze landed on my face, understanding creeping in.

“Gretchen.” She said my name like a question as she took in our rapidly deteriorating surroundings.

“I’m here,” I whispered. “We’re all still here, but I don’t know for how much longer.”

“Guys!” Chester waved his hands wildly at us, beckoning us back. “We have to go! Ryan stopped seizing, but I don’t—I don’t think that’s a good sign!”

Azo’lah shut her eyes. My knuckles went white where they gripped her arm, tethering her, her power, and her anger to the here and now. “The best way to help them,” I said, “is getting them to the ship’s med bay.”

“Gret’chen, Azo’lah,” Fleetwood called, tucking Ryan’s abandoned gun into an inside pocket of her coveralls. She hefted Ryan into her arm. “We must ferry Captain Thorley to safety.”

“Coming,” I called. I tugged on Azo’lah. “You okay? Or do you need a minute?”

Instead of answering me, Azo’lah deactivated her jeweled armband, ran to Fleetwood, and took Ryan from her arms. “Myaxi, stay close. Fulyiti, cover our back. Chester, lead us out.”

As one, we nodded.

With Ryan’s head lolling against Azo’lah’s forearm, we followed Chester down the darkened stairwell and into screaming chaos.

J’olpri looked like I felt—namely, falling apart in every way imaginable.

The emergency lights spasmed as we trampled down the many escalators, fighting our way through the hysterical, fleeing crowds. The angled floors pitched, like a storm-tossed ship. Fleetwood had to catch me beneath my armpits whenever I lost my balance.

“Thanks,” I wheezed, my lungs aching with the effort of all of this physical exertion. My arm and shoulder still tingled, and the station’s jerky, unpredictable movements were not helping my nausea.

Fleetwood hustled me forward. Her voice lacked any enthusiasm as she said, “I’ve got your ass.”

“This way!” Chester yelled over the cacophony of aliens scrambling for safety.

The station stilled for a moment, and everyone aboard followed suit. There was a wail like a banshee as a wall succumbed to the damage done by Azo’lah’s power.

I met Azo’lah’s gaze and knew my rising suspicions were correct.

J’olpri wasn’t just falling apart, it was falling out of orbit. 

“Keep moving,” Azo’lah said, resecuring Ryan’s body against her chest. They were still out cold. I wasn’t sure if I should be reassured by that or more worried.

Chester threw elbows to help make space for us. Azo’lah added her considerable height to his battle, and together they forged forward, through crowds of merchants abandoning their stalls and opportunistic thieves filling their hands and pockets.

“How much farther?” I asked, pressing up tight against Azo’lah’s back as an over-sized alien pushed past us, his dozen feet stomping too close for comfort.

The sirens overhead pitched higher as the announcement changed. “Danger! Sw’oal’prix! Fifteen minutes until imminent exposure! Av notse rpsowl—”

“Three more floors!” Chester promised over his shoulder. “Matt’s got the ship waiting for us!”

“Three floors?” Azo’lah asked. “That wasn’t the original rendezvous point.”

Chester tripped around a corner, caught himself on a passing alien as he said, “I know. I moved it. I have a hunch.”

“Is now really the time for hunches?” I asked.

Ahead of us, a panel erupted, showering everyone nearby in sparks. I covered my head as Fleetwood activated her shield over us.

The emergency announcement overhead distorted, elongated. Even the words translated into English made little to no sense to my ears as they glitched into an incomprehensible, repeating mess.

“Keep going,” Azo’lah pressed as Fleetwood grabbed my wrist to guide me. The next stairs were nearly destroyed by the earlier quakes. Fleetwood practically carried me over the gaps. Chester picked his way carefully down, Azo’lah scaling down like a mountain goat at his back. 

As we neared the bottom of the jagged stairs, the station rocked. Everyone stilled, fighting for balance. 

I laughed as memories from our first mission together on Vas Roya overlaid my current reality. “Anyone else getting a sense of deja vu?” 

“Over and over and over,” Fleetwood agreed, setting me back on my feet.

The stairwell spit us into a hall full of shouting, terrified aliens who buffeted us against the walls and each other. The corridor was so crowded, Azo’lah lifted Ryan over her head to protect their body from too many careless limbs.  “Almost,” Chester drew out the word for a long moment, “there!” 

We exited into a swarming loading bay. Palettes and crates were overturned as aliens raced each other to get aboard evacuating ships.

Ships narrowly avoided hitting each other as they raced out the open, cock-eyed doors into space. At the far end of the chaotic dock was our small, nondescript shuttle.

Azo’lah re-animated her javelin.

“Matty-Matt,” Fleetwood yelled into her Ran’dyl. She traded her shield for Ryan’s gun. “We’re almost home. Open the door, but bring the heat. Potential intruders abound.”

I didn’t hear Matt reply, but as we waded forward—Azo’lah, now in the lead, her javelin sweeping a wide arc to clear our path—I watched the short gangplank lower. Matt stood dead center, arms extended, a gun in each hand. He sent bolts flying, hitting and diverting anyone who came too close to attempting to board the ship.

My legs burned, screaming for rest as I lagged behind Azo’lah. Fleetwood secured an arm around my waist and pulled me forward. “Hurry, Gret’chen. Leave no man alkaline.”

Despite the circumstances, I smiled. “Leave no man behind.”

“Danger! Sw’oal’prix,” the distorted overhead announcement system announced. “Five minutes until imminent outside exposure! Av notse rpsowl—”

“Fulyiti, Gretchen,” Azo’lah yelled as we closed in on our destination. “You go up first! Take Ryan!”

“What about Chester?” I asked as we hustled forward. An alien dropped to his knees as one of Matt’s bolts hit him. I sidestepped his prone form to mount the gangplank.

Fleetwood accepted Ryan into her arms as Matt shouted, “Took you lot long enough!” He shot off half a dozen more bolts before catching sight of Ryan. His face fell. “What happened to the kid?”

“Sadrilla,” I replied, taking cover behind Matt as I desperately sought out Azo’lah and Chester. Why hadn’t they led us up into the ship?

Fleetwood passed us at a sprint. “I am taking Captain Thorley to better cover. Protect Gret’chen, Matty-Matt.”

“Of course,” Matt replied, weapons still raised. “Take care of Ryan.”

“Where are they?” I asked, my gaze sweeping the dissipating crowd on the dock. I spotted them at a kiosk twenty feet away. Chester’s fingers danced across a holographic screen, his Ran’dyl pressed against it. Azo’lah stood at his back, providing cover. 

 “Chester! Azo’lah!” I shouted over the roar of more ship engines firing up and taking off. The station quaked so violently our shuttle slipped along the floor. “We have to go!”

Chester obstinately fought Azo’lah’s tugging arm. He kept holding up a finger, like a minute was a luxury we had right now.

Abruptly, the ear-piercing siren stopped bringing everyone to a momentary halt. “That can’t be good,” Matt murmured, before shouting, “Chester, mate, we gotta go!”

Azo’lah seemed to agree as she gave up pulling on Chester’s arm, instead lifting him bodily and carrying him. She sprinted across the dock, hurdling over abandoned palettes that littered the ground. “Lift it!” she shouted at us from fifteen feet away.

Matt pounded his palm against the gangplank’s lift mechanism before taking off for the cockpit.

My heart plummeted as the gangplank rose, the lone entry point to the shuttle closing rapidly. Not even Azo’lah could cross the distance left in time. 

“Azo’lah!” I shouted out loud and across our technopathic connection.

Do not worry, Myaxi, came the reply and, with an inhuman show of agility, Azo’lah jumped and dove through the opening, Chester clutched close to her, just before the gap got too small to fit through.

Azo’lah rolled onto her back. She took no time to bask in her daring achievement, ordering, “In the air, Majumdar!”

“Already on it,” Matt yelled from the adjacent cockpit.

“Holy shit, Chester!” I dropped next to where he was, breathing heavily on the floor. I slapped his shoulder hard.

“Ow,” he replied weakly. 

“You deserved it,” I said, pulling him into an awkward upside down hug with one arm. My free hand sought Azo’lah’s.

She caught my fingers and hers as the engines kicked into gear beneath us. “We are well.”

I stood and moved to the window as Matt safely guided us out of the deteriorating dock, directing us to the other side of the moon where the Gold Dust Wo’man waited for us. Azo’lah and Chester came to stand beside me, and we watched as J’olpri market tore itself apart, its many pieces floating off into the nothingness of space.

I closed my eyes against the glare of the lounge’s overly-bright lights. I wanted to turn my head to the side to further dampen the phosphenes erupting behind my lids, but even the thought was too much for my tired muscles. While Chester’s miracle glue antidote had worked, it appeared the side effects of surviving Covlax venom were extended nausea and extreme muscle fatigue. Everything ached. I was just one giant bruise at this point.

At least the rug was soft.

“Gretchen, what are you doing on the floor?”

I reluctantly opened one eye to find Azo’lah, spotlessly dressed in a fresh crew uniform. “I was going for the sofa, but my legs decided that was too far and just gave out on me.” 

“I’ll take you to your room,” Azo’lah said, already stooping to lift me from the floor. 

“No!” I protested, pushing up onto my elbow. I groaned and fell back to the rug. “I don’t want to go anywhere, in case the others need me in the med bay. My room’s too far.” 

Azo’lah offered me her hands, which I, with great effort, accepted. She tugged, and in one fluid motion, I was on my feet, and with the next, swept into a bridal carry. Damn Destyrian strength. 

“You should be in the med bay, as well,” Azo’lah noted. 

“Matt brought me my pills, and Chester hooked me up to the synthetic blood regenerator thingy,” I said. “How’s Ryan?” Azo’lah had been the one to tend to Ryan’s injuries, having some emergency medical instruction as part of her Myax training. After this mission, that, along with some self-defense lessons, didn’t sound like bad ideas for all of us.

“I’ve done all I know how to for them. Sadrilla hit their liver, and time is limited. They need care out of our purview.” Azo’lah deposited me on the double-wide chaise lounge. “Fleetwood has notified the Healers to meet us as soon as we land on Destyr.”

I tried to nod but could only move half an inch before quitting with a gasping wheeze. I issued a halfhearted thumbs up instead. “Alright.” God, I was lame even in the aftermath of an emergency. “And how are you?” 

“I’ll get you something for the pain,” Azo’lah deflected, turning back in the direction of the med bay. 

I caught her wrist and bit my lip against the discomfort. “In a minute. Sit down, please.” I tugged weakly downward. She didn’t move. “Come on, work with me here. Everything hurts. Sit.” Finally, she complied, sitting beside my hip but avoiding my gaze.

There was a long silence. Usually, it would’ve made me feel awkward, but Azo’lah looked so lost that I felt the need to break it, more for her sake than mine. “Are you okay?” 

Brows knitted, Azo’lah finally looked at me. “You aren’t going to ask what happened back on the station.”

“Uh, you happened, I thought,” I said, as gently as possible and then, “Wait, was that not you?”

“No, it was.” Azo’lah slouched in defeat, her elbows going to her knees. “It was me.” She knotted her hands, pressing them to her forehead like she could pray her powers away. “How are you not frightened of me?”

“Honestly, I am a little afraid of what you can do,” I confessed. “But I thought if I’m afraid, how scared must you be?” 

Azo’lah laughed, a short, brittle thing. “Terrified.”

I picked absentmindedly at the chaise’s woven fabric. “Does that usually happen when you get upset?” 

“Not since childhood, and never on that scale,” she sighed. “But I’ve used my powers very rarely, just enough to make sure they were still there. Until recently.” 

“Until the Temple of Aluthua,” I surmised. 

“Yes. At first, it was out of necessity for the mission, and then, I was happy to have someone besides my mothers that knew. That I could share it with. I’d forgotten how much joy being an Iz’waij brought me,” Azo’lah inhaled sharply like she had caught herself by surprise. “But that’s just it. I forgot. I forgot how easy it is to lose control.”

I struggled into a more stable sitting position. Not sure of my welcome, I gently placed my hand on her knee. When she didn’t brush me off, I said, “Maybe it’s like anything that’s been suppressed, over time it explodes, and you just need more practice. I mean, the Temple of Aluthua tried to kill us too. What was different about today?”

“The Temple’s tech was old but still familiar. J’olpri is an amalgamation of different species’ technologies. I did not have a solid grasp on it. And...my cousin’s life has never truly been in danger before,” Azo’lah choked out. 

“You two do dangerous stuff all the time,” I said. “And Fleetwood’s a badass who can take care of herself.” 

Azo’lah gave another bitter laugh that sounded close to a sob. She pressed her palms into her eyes as though trying to block out the memory of the last few hours. “Yes, but we have never been in a situation like that, where the weapons were lethal, and I was too far away. Ryan did what I am trained to do what I am meant to do.” 

I squeezed her knee. “Azo’lah, don’t blame—”

“I became lax in my duty. I let affection and my selfishness blind me from my responsibilities. Jolail was right, I should not be Fleetwood’s Myax. I will request reassignment—” Her voice broke, the tears coming in earnest. 

“Hey, now,” I said, prying her hands away from her face. 

“She could have died, Gretchen,” Azo’lah said, her tears falling onto our joined hands, “And Ryan is still a child, and I—”

“I know,” I said, rubbing soothing circles into her wrists with my thumbs, hoping my attempts at comfort weren’t as clumsy as they felt. “But maybe, now is the time to feel everything. Then, later, once the shock has worn off and it's not so overwhelming, you can decide what to do.” 

I was fully prepared to talk Azo’lah off the ledge of resigning as a Myax in a few days and involve Fleetwood if I had to. Just once, I was rested and not feeling like a street sweeper ran me over. 

“Perhaps you are right,” Azo’lah said, clearing the tears from her face with the backs of her hands. She shifted so that she was reclining next to me. I laid back, our shoulders brushing. After twenty seconds of internal debate over whether it was too much, I turned my palm up to her, a silent offer. She wrapped her long fingers through mine, squeezing gently. And together, we waited. 

With an hour left before reaching Destyr, we gathered in Chester’s expansive lab. Cabinets of milky glass lined the walls, along with several  ‘sample fridges’ (as Chester called them). Lab tables dominated the center of the room, and of course, Chester’s beloved hybrid technology. 

Matt joined Azo’lah and me, where we were clustered around the table closest to Chester’s desk. “I checked on Ryan on my way down. I didn’t understand everything the projection said, but they’re stable, yeah?” 

“For now. The Healers will know how to best help Captain Thorley when we land,” Fleetwood said emotionlessly. She was seated next to Chester at his desk, her legs slung over his lap, her chin resting on his shoulder. The position couldn’t be comfortable, but, by the looks on their faces, the proximity was a necessity for both of them after what we had all just endured.

“Shouldn’t one of us be with Ryan in case they wake up?” I asked.

“We’re keeping an eye out,” Chester tapped his Ran’dyl pinned to his beanie. It brought up a 3D live feed of the med bay where Ryan laid. At my side, Azo’lah tensed. Hidden beneath the table so no one could see, I squeezed her forearm.

Though she didn’t look at me, she exhaled shakily, her rigid shoulders softening.

“The reason I called you here,” Chester shifted Fleetwood’s legs from his lap so he could stand, “was because I found something important.” He came to our table and presented a tablet to us, Fleetwood his too-tall shadow. “When Matt and I hacked J’olpri’s mainframe, I noticed something interesting. Security logs.” Chester’s fingers flickered across the screen, pulling up a log of incomprehensible alien characters. He touched a line, and footage began to play. I immediately recognized one of the dirty, dimly lit docking bays of J’olpri. 

Matt grabbed the screen to get a better view. “What kind of black market takes and keeps video surveillance of illegal goods trafficking?” 

“I’m guessing it’s an insurance policy against people blabbing.” Chester shrugged. “But the reason I stopped on the docks—”

“Monumentally stupid, mate,” Matt interjected. Fleetwood rounded the table and wedged herself between Azo’lah and me, her arms winding around us.

Chester glared. “The reason I stopped was because the security footage loads to mainframe storage at the end of every day. Which means if J’olpri was going down—and it very much did—the footage from today would be lost, and I had a hunch.” Chester snatched the tablet back from Matt and selected a new video from the log. “And I was right.”

On the screen was another one of J’olpri’s docking bays, and situated, dead-center, was a heavily armored, mid-sized ship.

Azo’lah, who had remained distressingly silent this whole time, leaned forward, her interest piqued. “The Covlaxi ship?”

Chester’s grip tightened around the edges of the tablet. “Just watch.”

I squinted in concentration as I watched dock workers traipse about the loading bay directing palettes and talking to one another.

“No sound?” I whispered. Chester shook his head, jabbing his chin at the screen.

For a long minute, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Then, every alien in frame scattered as two Covlax women thundered into view, weapons drawn. A gleaming crate, the one that housed the cloak of the first Auhtula, was held between them. This must have been while Vic Mey-ran chased after Ryan and me. 

I grabbed at my arm as it tingled with the phantom pain of the Covlax paralytic. Fleetwood pressed her forehead to the side of my head.

On-screen, the Covlax guards stood still for a moment, their stingers raised. Their heads swiveled, presumably assessing the dock for threats. Seemingly satisfied, they lowered their ship’s gangplank. However, just as they were about to board, the bodyguard on the right struck, digging all five stingers into the left bodyguard’s back.

“What the hell,” Matt breathed as the bodyguard on the left dropped like a cement block onto the gangplank. The attacker grabbed the crate containing the cloak and hurried backward as four Covlax bodyguards came streaming out of the ship.

“There were more of them,” I gasped. Then I remembered, Vic Mey-ran had called for back-up while Ryan and I fled The Zyssal. They must have been told to wait for the cloak’s safe return before coming after us.

The traitor guard did not seem at all phased as she was surrounded.

Matt’s chair tottered beneath him as he shifted to the edge of his seat in anticipation. “This is going to be ugly. She wasted all of her stingers on that first one.”

But apparently, the traitor Covlax did not need her stingers. She produced a weapon—it moved so quickly, I couldn’t tell what it was—from beneath her cowl and felled two of her brethren in one sweeping arc. The other two put up a better fight, meeting the traitor’s weapon with knives of their own. They attempted to take out the traitor with their stingers, but she was too quick. Ultimately, they were not skilled enough as they joined their sisters on the ground.

The traitor did not bother checking the bodies before she stowed her weapon and hefted the gleaming box that contained the cloak over her shoulder. She swept back across the dock as though nothing had happened. 

Chester held up a finger to keep our numerous questions at bay while retrieving another video. This one focused on an empty stairwell.

The lights flickered, and the camera jostled—this was clearly taken after Azo’lah had lost control—as a tall blonde man wearing glasses ascended the stairs and into view. He appeared suspiciously calm, considering the uncertainty that surrounded him. “Anders.” I swore under my breath as we watched Sadrilla’s conman pace the landing. The video lurched violently. Pieces of ceiling rained down on Anders, but he remained unbothered. Waiting and pacing.

He came to a stop and shouted something down the stairs—the lack of audio hadn’t truly bothered me until this moment. He appeared equal parts relieved and annoyed as someone approached. He held out his arms to receive a glittering crate.

“What the fuck.” Matt’s mouth hung open in disbelief. He pointed to the screen where Anders and the traitorous Covlax guard stood close together, the cloak between them. “The Covlax are not traitors, especially not Vic Mey’ran’s elite guard. No amount of money could buy a Covlax. This doesn’t make any—” 

But he sputtered into silence as, before our eyes, the Covlax bodyguard changed. Her bones pushed savagely against bubbling skin, her face contorted in obvious pain. She shrunk and paled like a flower wilting beneath gray skies. Then, it was over. Standing on the landing in too large armor and a Covlax cowl was a nondescript man with brown hair and eyes set too far apart.

“Jordan,” Azo’lah named Sadrilla’s second as we all stared, gobsmacked at the tablet. 

“How?” I asked as Sadrilla entered the stairwell, like an overdramatic actor, twirling her double-sided axe. She stowed her weapon and said something to her men. They nodded as she took the cloak box from them and then led the way down the stairs, out of sight.

Chester stopped the video as the rest of us sat in stunned silence.

“First space witches are a thing, and now shapeshifters!” I buried my face in my palms. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Species that can shapeshift are rare,” Azo’lah replied. “Exceptionally rare. Most have been wiped-out by exploitation. I’ve never encountered one.”

Matt folded his arms across his chest. “No wonder Shockley avoids Sadrilla more than the Covlax.”

Chester returned to his desk, stashing his tablet into its port. “I have so much research to do,” he said. “On Sadrilla and the cloak and shape-shifting species and—”

“Breathe, Chester,” I reminded him. 

“It doesn’t matter how much research you do on her, mate,” Matt said, standing, “Sadrilla and her crew are long gone.”

“Gone but not forgotten,” Fleetwood grinned mischievously. “Big brother is always watching.”

“Fulyiti,” Azo’lah said, a note of warning in her tone.

Chester spun his seat to face his best friend. “FleetMerc, explain.”

“I did a thing.” Fleetwood skipped over to Chester and pointed at his Ran’dyl. “Bring up the tracheotomy appetizer!”

“The tracking app?” Chester corrected. “Fleetwood, what did you do?”

Fleetwood scuffed her boots sheepishly against the floor. “I, possibly, convinced Captain Thorley to conduct our renaissance mission in the same docking bay as Sadrilla’s ship yesterday.”

Azo’lah’s chair crashed to the floor as she stood. “Fulyiti!”

“Fleetwood,” Chester groaned, smacking his forehead to his desk, “no.”

“Fleetwood, yes!” Fleetwood stomped her foot. “I wasn’t in any danger, I had Captain Thorley as back-up, and I wore my perception distorter. No one knew who I truly was.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Azo’lah cried, fists shaking with restrained fury. “If you’re off taking unnecessary risks, I can’t protect you!”

Fleetwood blinked slowly at Azo’lah, a frown creasing her lips and forehead. She went to Azo’lah, her hands gripping her biceps and their foreheads touching. “Cousin, do not blame yourself for what happened to Captain Thorley. They made a choice. Do not do their bravery a disservice by blaming yourself for what happened.”

“We are not discussing Captain Thorley.” Azo’lah’s voice was much softer as she clasped Fleetwood’s elbows. “We are discussing your inability to follow orders.”

“But if I followed orders, then we wouldn’t have Sadrilla’s ship on the tracheotomy appetizer!”

“Tracking app,” Chester corrected automatically before catching what she said. “Wait, are you saying that you put a tracker on Sadrilla’s ship?”

“It was just there,” Fleetwood reasoned, releasing Azo’lah from her embrace.

“Fleetwood,” I breathed, “that was brilliant.”

She grinned at me. “I know.”

Chester’s hands flew across his keyboard. “If we have a tracker on Sadrilla and her crew, that means we can pass it off to the Myax Order, and they can put together an elite team to go after her and—”

“Bring her to justice for the murder of the Northern Authula,” Azo’lah finished. Purpose was rekindled in Azo’lah’s navy eyes. She strode toward the door. “I need to contact Myax Jolail at once. Chester, please forward the coordinates to my Ran’dyl.”

Fleetwood waved at her retreating back. “You’re welcome.”

Matt chuckled as he checked the time. “We’ll be entering Destyrian airspace within the half-hour. Someone should start getting Ryan ready for transport.”

“Captain Thorley is my responsibility,” Fleetwood said.

“I can help.” I held up my hand. I needed to do something to feel useful.

Fleetwood looped our arms together. “Heavy hands make light work!”

“Yes, they do,” I agreed, leaning into her welcoming warmth.

Fleetwood pressed her forehead to mine. “I appreciated your assistance, Gret’chen.”

“Of course, Fleetwood,” I said. “I always have your ass.”

“Fleetwood, you’re a princess, can’t you just royally decree that I get to stay?” Ryan pleaded. They stared out the viewport at the rather breathtaking sight of Earth from orbit. “I did sorta save your life.” 

“I know, and I am forever grateful. But I cannot in good conscientiousness, allow you to stay now that I better understand the traditions and laws of aging on Earth,” Fleetwood said with a bittersweet smile. “Besides, you’re not fully recovered from having the impact to your liver repaired and your small ladder removed.”

“Gallbladder,” Ryan corrected as Fleetwood tucked them under her chin, wrapping them in one of her famous hugs. Ryan hid their teary face against Fleetwood’s chest as Chester and I rapidly blinked our own tears away.

“You might never come back for me,” Ryan said.

Matt rubbed Ryan’s back soothingly, careful to avoid the bump beneath their shirt where their regenerative bandage was. “If you want to come back when you’re a legal adult, we’ll come get you.” 

Azo’lah held out Ryan’s cell phone. “Chester and I have modified your sad version of a Ran’dyl so that you may send us messages.”

“Look in the contacts,” I advised, with a wry grin. 

“Why would I do that?” Ryan responded but eagerly took the phone and scrolled through the contacts to verify we were all there. “You promise once I turn eighteen, you’ll come get me?” 

“Eighteen and graduated,” Chester stipulated. 

Ryan rolled their watery eyes. “Fine. But I’m totally making you all watch Cosmic Conquerors as penance.” 

“My people will call your people, and we’ll make it snappy,” Fleetwood stepped back and held out an extended pinky. “We now render our solemn oaths as is custom on Earth.” I looked at the other humans, smothering our respective grins. In turn, we all hooked our own pinkys with Ryan’s. 

And then, they hopped up onto the platform to stand beneath the metallic arch. 

“Azo’lah, you’re acting captain while I’m gone. Look after this lot for me.” Azo’lah gave no indication of her new appointment. Instead, she stepped up to the platform and wrapped her arms around Ryan. 

“Thank you, Ryan Thorley, for her life,” she murmured into Ryan’s hair. They nodded. Azo’lah stepped back, between Fleetwood and me. 

“Alright,” Ryan said, turning to Chester. “Initiate green beam.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Chester tapped a sequence into his Ran’dyl.

Ryan waved as they descended through the beam and out of sight. 

There was a long, protracted pause. I drew in a long, ragged breath. Even though Ryan had been with us only a short time, I’d gotten used to having them around. 

“I miss them already,” Matt sighed. “Is that sad?” 

“No,” Fleetwood said, throwing her arms around him. “I do, too.” 

“I don’t know about you all,” Chester scrubbed at his eyes, “but I think I could use a drink on the ride home. 

“Lounge or observation deck?” Fleetwood asked, already heading to the door. 

“You can’t beat the view on the observation deck,” I voted. 

“I’ll program the autopilot and meet you there,” Matt agreed. 

Our steps were heavier as we headed to the observation deck located beneath the bridge. “Who wants what?” I asked, rolling out my wrist. While the Healers had done much to alleviate my muscle fatigue, my left arm was still a little sore from the Covlax stingers. 

“Allow me,” Azo’lah stepped in front of me. She pressed her hand into a hidden latch in the wall and a small bar, initially intended for wooing diplomats with alcohol and the impressive view, slid seamlessly out of the wall. “Quapir wine?” she offered, lifting a bottle for our inspection. 

“Works for me,” I selected appropriate glasses. Azo’lah added another glass to the four I had pulled. “You’re partaking?” 

“Today, yes.” I frowned at Azo’lah, she usually didn't drink on duty. Under her breath, she added, “It may be the last order rule I break.” She turned to me, her smile forced. “Sit, I’ll bring it over.” 

I would deal with this nonsense in a few days. Once I had the time and privacy to confer with Fleetwood. When it came down to it, I hadn’t known Azo’lah for very long. Fleetwood, who had been close to her cousin their entire lives, would provide insight into the best way to handle this. 

 I flopped on the large seating unit next to Fleetwood, who had thrown herself across Chester’s lap. 

“Gret’chen, you are too far away,” Fleetwood whined only to be cut off by her Ran’dyl blaring a familiar tune. 

“FleetMerc, why is your Ran’dyl ringing? And why is the tone Danger Zone of all things?” Chester looked like he already knew and disliked the answer to his question. 

“I comm-ed frenemy Tyler,” Fleetwood explained, accepting the communication on her Ran’dyl. A three dimensional, high definition bust of Tyler Bautista, complete with a backward bright orange snapback, emanated from the Ran’dyl. I blinked at the quality—it was like Tyler in miniature had joined us in the room.  

“Fulyiti Fleetwood!” Tyler enthused. “What’s good, baby girl?” Fleetwood smiled sunnily in greeting. It was like they had completely forgotten the time we’d tried to trap each other in a killer temple, vying for the first Auhtula’s cloak. 

“I was almost part of an assassignation!” Fleetwood crowed, sitting up. Glass shattered. I looked over at Azo’lah and the shards of glass at her feet. She swore, bending to pick it up. I moved to help her, but Fleetwood held out her arm silently, stopping me. 

“Assassination,” Chester corrected softly. 

“Someone tried to take you out?” Tyler’s brow furrowed. “Who’d be stupid enough to stir up that shitstorm?” 

“Sadrilla,” Fleetwood supplied. 

“Fuck.” A disembodied hand and forearm tipped Tyler’s hat out of the way to rub at his forehead. “She’s bad news, princess.” 

“I am aware,” Fleetwood said. “I placed a...tracking beacon on her ship,” she looked briefly at Chester to check her word selection, “but I do not expect it to go undiscovered much longer.” 

“Sick,” Tyler said. The faint halo of the background behind him shifted like he was walking through the halls of the Danger Zone. “Where’s she headed?”

Fleetwood glanced at Chester expectantly. 

“Looks like toward Abell 2667,” Chester supplied, glancing at the readout on his Ran’dyl. 

“We’re headed toward that neck of the woods, but we’ll sure as hell steer clear of her.” Tyler wagged a finger at Fleetwood. “And you should too if she’s out to kill you.” 

“Will you keep your ear to the pound for us, at least?” Fleetwood asked, her blue eyes beseeching. “Do not engage, but if you have any information regarding her, let me know.” 

“Anything to get that bitch gone, honestly,” Tyler said. 

“Who are you talking to?” a familiar voice asked loudly. 

“Max, man, it’s our frenemies from Destyr! Fleetwood was almost assassinated by Sadrilla.” Tyler turned his wrist, and a perfect rendering of Maximillian Danger Shockley’s stupidly handsome face took Tyler’s place. 

“Scuttlebutt is Sadrilla was just on J’olpri,” Shockley said. “Fulyiti, please tell me you weren’t on J’olpri.” 

“Whoops,” Fleetwood said.

Shockley’s gaze narrowed. “Is Borowicz there?” I refused to meet everyone’s intent eyes. Why the hell was Shockley asking after me?

Fleetwood swung her arm like a traffic conductor bringing her Ran’dyl up to my face. “Hi,” I waved awkwardly at the device. I tucked a stray hair behind my ear, attempting to lessen my disastrous appearance.

“Could you transfer us over, your Highness?” Shockley’s voice was measured and fairly unreadable. “I need to speak to Borowicz alone.” 

Fleetwood tapped her Ran’dyl to mine, seamlessly transferring the hologram of Shockley over to my device. I stood and, ignoring Azo’lah’s narrowed gaze, left the room for the relative privacy of the staircase up to the bridge. I sat on the landing.

“Um, what is it?” I asked. When Shockley’s perfect rendering did little but stare at me, I groaned, “If all you’re going to do is waste my time, I’m hanging up.”

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“I’m okay. Still sore from the Covlax paralytic-poison and the stingers, but Ryan took the bullet for Fleetwood.” I shrugged, wincing as my left shoulder throbbed.

“Who the hell is Ryan?” Shockley gaped. “And are you fucking insane? What were you thinking? Going up against Sadrilla and the Covlax! Not to mention blowing up J’olpri?” 

“Hey,” I defended, “I just wanted the cloak, okay? The rest just sort of happened as a byproduct.” 

“The cloak of the First Auhtula?” 

“Will you tell me if you hear anything about Sadrilla?” I diverted, determined neither to confirm or deny what I had already, accidentally, divulged.

“She has the real cloak now,” Shockley deduced, looking off into the middle distance on his side of the call. His nostrils flared as he came to a conclusion. “I won’t tell you shit, Borowicz. Sadrilla’s way above my paygrade, and you’re playing in a sandbox that you just threw landmines in.” 

I fell back onto the landing, tired and unable to parse Shockley’s ridiculous metaphor. “Whatever.” I heard the faint whoosh of the door dematerializing and quiet footsteps. I knew, without looking, who it was. 

“Listen to me, Name Police,” Shockley leaned in, “you and your friends just pissed off every major black market seller by blowing up stockpiles of their hard-won merchandise, along with the only place to safely sell it—don’t think I don’t find that whole thing fishy by the way, because something about the story coming over the backchannels doesn’t sit right. Not to mention,” Shockley’s face contorted with disbelief, “the Covlax Vic has a warrant out for all of you, with a special emphasis on Chester. Only some high-falutin’ Destyrian politics is gonna save your ass on that front. Maybe. And you’re thinking of going after Sadrilla in that clusterfuck?” 

Below, there was a sharp inhale of breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Azo’lah at the foot of the steps, her fists balled up tight.

Something in my gut decided to play cat’s cradle and knotted itself. I hadn’t realized the long-term ramifications of our actions. We’d been even more colossally stupid than I feared. “Fuck,” I choked out, willing myself not to cry. 

Shockley shook his head. “Look. I’ll send you any info I get that indicates Sadrilla’s going anywhere near you or Destyr. And pray that the Myax do us all a favor and put that bitch down. She gives all mercenaries a bad name.”  

I rolled my eyes and sat up. “Thanks, Shockley. And,” I added as the thought struck me, “don’t you dare go after that cloak.” 

Shockley grinned roguishly. “As long as Sadrilla’s got it, no worries. If she ever loses it,” he shrugged, “well, no promises. See you around the galaxy, sweetheart.” He winked before signing off. 

“Bye, dickbag,” I told the empty air, Shockley’s hologram already vanished from existence. I pushed myself upright. Azo’lah was still there, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, her arms folded across her chest. Our eyes met. “I might’ve fucked up more than I realized.” I laughed hollowly. “Even Shockley’s worried about us.”

“You’re in danger,” Azo’lah said tightly. “All of you.” 

I gestured vaguely. “So, it’s a relatively normal day for us. You’ll protect us. You always do.” 

“Do I?” Azo’lah’s face went carefully blank. The distance between us suddenly felt much, much further than a flight of stairs. And, as she turned away from me, it truly struck me that, if Azo’lah had her way, protecting us wouldn’t be her responsibility for much longer.