Neik :/NEE-ack/

  Neik is another word for 'I', but unlike its positive counterpart, this is an extremely negative term. 'Neik' is used in sentences of self-loathing, where the speaker feels worthless, or unholy. This one word can change the entire meaning of a sentence.

 [Low Xenophosi for Beginners - Geodian Languages 101, an official guide from the Entrillian Records Guild]

This was a bad idea. 

   That's what had been going through my head when I told the Passerine about the Shaft, and that's what had been going through my head when I lead them down to it– and, coincidentally– as I stood outside a shop I knew to be named Seli’s Supreme Supplies, that's what I was thinking again. 

   Hat on, and arms folded beneath my poncho, my eyes flicked from person to person as they passed casually through Pobell Square. I shifted, watching them, studying them, praying that none of them were secretly Gray Raven agents sent to hunt me down. So far, no one had noticed the smaller-than-normal Geodian street urchin leaning against the entrance of the general store, so it seemed I was just another shrouded character that lurked around the Shaft and refused to make eye contact. 

   Despite the fact that it was a fat, overcrowded junction of four other streets– which made it terribly busy– Pobell Square was the Shaft’s equivalent to Market Street– and that, as you would expect, made it busier. 

    Like most tunnel-streets in Lisk, balcony-like sidewalks covered the sides of the now repurposed warehouses as a means to get to the second and third level shops above. I wondered if the stores on the ground were more expensive, and the higher up you went, the cheaper the stores got– or maybe it was the other way around?

I had never really bought anything expensive, so I didn’t know.

  As I leant uneasily by the door, a few Covienians stepped out of a shop above Seli’s Supplies and onto the grated walkway. Their dusty boots stomped heavily down the stairs to my right as they exited the small sub-level unhappily. 

   “He never has what I want–” one of them said to their companions, as they stepped onto ground level. “Or he’s got it– but at that price? I don’t think so.” 

   The last Covienian, a younger-looking girl, stepped off the stairs with a shrug. “Reid– it’s not his fault. The shipping lanes are restricted, and you know that.”

   They continued down the street, their voices bleeding into Pobell Square’s ocean of noise and movement. Even the beetles added to the noise as they played in the little bits of paper and trash at my feet.

   The shipping lanes were still restricted? I thought to myself worriedly, unfolding my arms as I watched the small group disappear. I turned that piece of information over in my head, eyes falling to the ground to watch the beetles play. 

    Leaning over absently, I let one crawl onto my hand. “The shipping lanes should be back to normal,” I told the beetle earnestly, “so why don’t they want to come?” 

   In response to my question, the beetle crawled up my arm and started eating the loose threads of the bandages around the Astrogate scars. 

   Holding out my hand, I inspected the scars on my pinky finger, which were always showing. With the movement, the beetle jumped onto my shoulder with a startled chirp.

   No matter how I tried to wrap the fabric, I never could hide the scar that entwined my pinky finger. 

   I flexed it, a horrifying thought entering my mind. 

   “Or…  maybe it’s not that nobody wants to come to Covien… it’s that something’s keeping them away…”  

 Closing my fist, I pictured the Scavengers I saw up in the Hangar Levels the night before. 

   Around me, the presence of the badly circulated electricity wired into Pobell Square became a sharp, metallic taste in the back of my mouth, and my eyes darkened. “Gray Raven couldn’t have that power…” I reassured the beetle. “They couldn’t.”

  I watched as a Covienian left a supply shop in a huff across the square, shouting behind his shoulder. The owner came out and started signing to him in turn, using signs I had never personally used, but whose meanings I knew. Bad things.

Get lost was used a few times, and in a few different ways, before the unhappy customer turned and pointed a finger at the store owner with a threat. “Go throw yourself into the mining shafts-” 

   At the extremely Covienian insult, the owner gave one last sign for his customer to get lost, and turned back inside. The other man stomped down the square and into a small connecting alley, taking his angry words with him like a bad smell. 

 “Maybe another person upset at the shipping lane restrictions?” I asked the beetle, only to sigh in resignation. “Or… maybe it’s just another fine night on Covien.”

My eyes wandered to where Xander and Captain Rigg were talking to a crate dealer on the other side of Pobell Square. They were pointing to a few cargo-class crates, which all looked to be made out of differing materials and strengths. Some were small, some were large– some were the same size that I was. 

   I wondered vaguely what it would be like to be trapped in one by accident, and then instantly pushed the thought from my mind. Out of all the problems I had to worry about, I didn’t need made-up ones to steal my energy. 

   Next to the crate dealer, I spotted the only Passerine crew member that hadn’t been given a task for the supply trip. A purple Secodack stood on the sidewalk casually, eyeing up a food cart selling what looked to be frycakes. 

   I hadn't been paying a lot of attention to the small engineer, but as I looked over absently, Charge brushed past the stall– and very cleverly– stole a spoon out of a bright green relish jar, just as the Covienian passed a small package to a customer over the bench. 

As soon as the crime had been committed, Charge disappeared into the crowd– almost like he was reading the people as they moved, and could predict where they were going next. 

  The next time I saw him, he resurfaced to my left, where two Leokins chatted over several baskets of fruit. As they turned their furry heads to look down the street, Charge picked through a container at his leisure– didn’t steal any fruit– but slid two locks off the lid of a basket, and disappeared again.

   I pushed my hat off my head, my mouth agape in shock.

   A part of me couldn’t believe that Oh His Majesty Charge The Magnificent was a bloody pickpocket. Another part of me couldn’t believe that someone with so high a level of thievery would steal such mundane and non-edible things. 

What in Eth was wrong with this guy? 

   Imagine how much I could actually eat if I had the skill to steal real food? And this guy was wasting it on spoons. 

   I couldn’t watch. 

   Beside me, I heard the bell for Seli’s Supreme Supplies chime like a cheery parody to the huge bell on Surface Side, and I turned to see Sevus and Zara step out from the shop. 

   The Nefnat had forsaken his apron for our journey, and had donned a long, hooded cloak. The hood was supposed to hide his Nefnat features, and it did pretty well to do just that– apart from how his cat-like eyes would catch the light from the shadows of the hood– and of course, his tail was kind of a dead giveaway.

   But I gave him points for trying. 

   Zara, meanwhile, had a short black jacket on top of her sleeveless sweater that had surprisingly more rips and stitches in it than her pants. It looked like it had been through a war, and I didn’t know a lot about Zara, so that assumption just might have been true. I hadn't thought she would join Sevus in bartering for food, but it seemed the medic was quite involved with the Passerine’s supplies.

   Yet another thing I didn't understand about how Freelance Merchant crews operated. 

   “Did they have what you needed for your trip?” I asked, pushing myself from the wall. “Or should I take you to another place? There's one just above the tech store on the other side–” 

   Sevus made sure that the door didn’t slam shut behind him, and gave the push bar a small pat as he turned towards me. “Oh. No– yes, we found everything we were looking for. Thank you, Miss West.” 

   Zara stretched with a yawn. “I convinced em’ we were traders from Operis– so they were more than happy to help us. Bunch of racist bastards." She dropped her arms, looking to my shoulder. “You know those beetles are venomous, right?” 

“What? No, they’re not,” I took the beetle from my shoulder, letting it sit on the back of my hand. “I get bitten by them all the time…”

   I clarified after a moment, looking back at Zara. 

   “And I'm fine.” 

   She gave me a blank, very Zara-ish kind of stare, then pointed to a poster on the street wall behind me.

Turning to it with a frown, I tried not to look illiterate. It had so many symbols and words on it that I didn’t understand, but in its middle, I saw a picture of a beetle with a line crossed through it. Whatever the poster had actually said, I was gonna take a wild guess that it wasn’t for the advocacy of befriending beetles. 

   Zara spoke again as I gazed foggily at the poster. 

“You know, Geodians usually think they're impervious because of their genes,” she said flatly, tilting her head. 

   After I looked back at her, she continued. 

   “It says not to touch them because they’re venomous, not to mention an invasive pest. No one wants them here.” 

   “Why?” 

   Zara put a hand on her hip in response to my question. “Because Conveniens don’t have an overactive Alpha-6 gene, kid. Not everyone is blessed with a Geodian genetic makeup.” 

   I picked the beetle from my shoulder and set it down on the concrete gently. I didn't think I was impervious. I just thought I was being nice. “But… they’re so friendly.”  I rubbed the beetle on his side, avoiding its delicate wings. “Look at this cheeky little guy, he’s so cute–” 

   I didn’t look up, but judging by Zara’s tone of disdain, she was watching me. 

   “Right… it’s adorable.” 

All three of us looked up at the sound of a whistle. Across the square, Captain Rigg took his fingers from his lips, nodding to the next street. Xander was still talking to the crate dealer behind him. 

   Sevus and Zara left to follow their captain without another word, but I hesitated. 

If I put myself in close proximity with Captain Rigg, would he just get angry at me again? 

   Also, I was still suffering the consequences of deciding not to steal any food that morning, because I had been late. As my stomach rumbled, I eyed the opposite alley that led to where a lone Vending Unit stood a few blocks away. 

  After a moment of useless deliberation, I ended up following Zara and Sevus, anyway– odds were, the Passerine still needed my help with something, and it didn't feel right to leave them in the middle of the Shaft now.  

   A small part of me hoped that maybe, just maybe, the prices of food down here were so good, that all anger had been miraculously wiped from Captain Rigg’s heart.

   It was a long shot, but I had hoped for longer. 

   Shadowing Zara, I did my best to not get jostled by passing Covienians who were running errands, or on their way home. Despite my attempts, I started losing the two merchants in the crowd as they moved through the flow of tall people like it was easy. 

   After a hasty dodge of someone’s hand-Hauler, the edge of another traveller's basket nicked my shoulder. The step I was taking transformed into a surprised yelp as I realised I was going to end up on the ground. 

   But I didn’t. 

   Someone had caught the hood of my poncho, steadying me. I looked up at Zara, who had a fistful of my clothing in her pale, black-dotted hands. 

   She stared down at me expressionlessly. 

   “Woah… You have really fast reflexes,” I said in awe, Zara’s hand still clasped around my poncho hood as she supported most of my weight. Had she turned around to check on me? Or did she just so happen to see my fall before I did?

   She pulled me up and pushed me to walk in front of her. “And somehow, you don’t have any,”  I heard her say behind me. “I thought you grew up here.” 

   I laughed. “Not really.”  

   Now that I was walking in front of Zara, moving across Pobell Square became much easier; she didn’t really have an air that said hey why don’t you go ahead and walk all over me. 

   I wondered how she got that. I wondered if she could teach it to me. I wondered if I would ever be the kind of person that could ask her. I peered over my shoulder, and her green eyes looked back at me.

She raised an eyebrow in a question. 

   I looked back at my feet, laughing silently at myself. Who was I fooling? I wouldn’t have been able to ask her for a glass of water if I was burning to death. 

   Finally on the other side of the square, I found Sevus and Captain Rigg talking earnestly underneath a large stairway strapped to the side of the warehouse next to us.

   Thick, heavy smells of hot, oily food wafted down from several eating establishments above us, and seemed to be bothering only me.

   I looked up at the walkway, hoping that the noise of the square was enough to hide the sounds of my rumbling stomach. 

   “Find a crate big enough for your coffin, old man?” Zara asked Captain Rigg as soon as he was in earshot. “Those ones you were looking at seemed a bit too tall…” 

   He looked over at the medic with tired eyes. The barb about his height had not gone unnoticed, or unfelt. Captain Rigg’s eyes then fell on me like someone would look at an unwanted abnormality on a star chart.

   I pretended to look around the street like I was reading the many holographic and paper posters on the sides of the buildings, and finding them fascinating. 

   Captain Rigg nodded to Seli’s store across the square, switching his gaze back to the medic. “How’d you do?”

   I lingered by the stairs, standing behind Zara and hoping she might be able to block me from the silent, unhappy gaze of Captain Rigg. 

   Zara listed off on her Avaiyyatian-spotted fingers, serious now. “Greymeal, wheat flour, Qrence grain, ten units of cocoa Rester squares, and three slabs of canned guash.”  She took a small bag out of her pocket, throwing it to Captain Rigg. “And with twenty five left over.” 

   She shared a look with Sevus, whose tail twitched nervously. “Not too bad, eh Clacher?” 

   Captain Rigg caught the bag easily, and looked into it with a squint. “Well, better than last time, that’s for sure.” 

   Zara straightened. “Well, how much did you have left over?” 

   As the captain absently counted under his breath, Xander pushed his way through the crowd, joining us where we were clustered. 

   I nodded to Xander in greeting as he looked around the circle curiously, trying to piece together what was happening. He returned my nod, and I felt a strange burst of glee.

   I was nod-worthy!

   Captain Rigg eventually answered Zara with a shrug, pulling out a few coins from his pocket. “Thirty, and there'll be twenty cargo-class crates in our hangar this evening. We’ll take them to trade with the salt dealer tomorrow.”

  Captain Rigg looked up from adding his coins into the bag. “And that's including my medium-sized coffin.”

   As Zara rolled her eyes, and Captain Rigg smugly put the bag of precious money into his coat pocket, I found myself looking for Tarik. I tried to remember what task she had been given when we first came down to the Shaft, but either I hadn’t been listening, or I simply forgot.  

   Looking into Pobell Square, I wondered stupidly with a pang of fear if anyone would try to steal her arm down here. I felt like the answer was no, but I wasn’t sure why…

   I looked back to the Passerine crew just as Captain Rigg spoke.

  “Seeing as all the supply tasks are done,” he told them tiredly, "–yes. We can have dinner now.”

   The captain was hit with a deluge of comments. 

   “I vote for something spicy,” said Charge, who had materialised next to Xander without anybody noticing.

   “Absolutely not,” said Sevus. “Plus everytime we vote, it never works.” 

   “Cake!” Xander interjected helpfully, wearing the smile of someone who knew they wouldn’t be listened to, but had decided to speak anyway.

   “Nothing seafoodish,” insisted Zara, steadying herself on the captain’s arm as she gagged silently. “Ugggh… I hate the way it wiggles.”

   Captain Rigg shook his arm of the medic. “Leers, would you quit it?”

   Charge spoke up again, folding his arms stubbornly. “No! Spicy seafood!” 

   Sevus put his hand over his eyes. “Why? Why always spicy food? Can’t we get something normal, for once?”

   Xander repeated his former statement– voice low, and very, very serious. “I really do vote for cake.” 

   “For Ethreal’s sake, Xander–” Sevus groaned. “We’re not eating cake for dinner!”

   Zara had recovered from gagging, and straightened to look at Charge. “Didn’t you just, like, eat four sandwiches before we left?”

   “I have a unique metabolism! And it was three, for your information–”

   I thought back to the Vending Unit a few streets over with a smile, and was about to open my mouth to suggest they try that instead– if Xander wasn’t going to be serious, I saw no reason why I should. But among the chattering crew, I watched as Captain Aster Rigg looked at them all, hands in his pockets, and tired blue eyes switching from face to face as he listened to their ‘suggestions’. 

    A cumbersome and awkward kind of weight settled on my chest as I watched them all, silencing my imminent interjection into the Passerine’s conversation. 

   My eyes found my boots. 

   What are you doing? I asked myself tiredly. You’re not a part of this crew.

   Looking up, I took a breath– and then a step back.

   I did what I thought was important– got the Passerine cheap supplies, and avoided Captain Rigg. It was a job well done. 

   I put my hat back on, and gave the Passerine crew one last look before slipping behind the street corner, disappearing from their view.

   “Well, Evren, time for a well earned dinner, methinks–” I said to myself, trying to sound excited and failing.

  I decided to go left, and so I didn’t get jostled by the crowd, I walked close to the poster-littered sidewalk wall. One step in front of the other, one mismatched shoe in front of the next. Every second, farther away from where the Passerine crew talked. 

   I was glad I had avoided Captain Rigg for another evening, and got away early to steal some crackers. But I frowned, because there was something I didn’t understand, and I didn't like not understanding. 

   Working at Del's, Rusty’s, Koval's, that metal dealer on Market Street, and even for a handful of others, the prospect of getting away earlier than usual would send me over all three of Covien’s moons. 

   But as I walked atop the cracked concrete, my hands in my pockets and my mind far away, I didn't feel happy.

   I felt sad. 

   That thought felt so stupid. Why would I be sad? No one would want anything from me until tomorrow morning, and I had the prospect of food within my grasp– finally.

   No longer would I have to bear the passive aggressive gaze of Captain Rigg, and his silent, angry thoughts about how I helped him when he didn’t want me to. All day, I had been hungry. Now, I finally had the chance to feed myself. Why in Ethreal would I be sad?

   Ugh.

Life used to be so simple. Work, steal crackers, watch projections, sleep whenever I could, and then repeat.  

   But now, everything felt so complicated. I hated this. I made up my mind that this all was a bad idea. A bad, no good idea that I hadn't thought through. What was I doing helping this crew? They were leaving in a day, and I was on the run from a Science guild. What exactly was I looking for that I thought I would find with them, and not on a Leokesh transport heading to Eve?

   I blackmailed them into letting me work in their hangar– and then Captain Rigg was angry with me for helping him afterwards. In some kind of strange way, that made sense. I would be angry at a person that couldn't make up their mind if they wanted to help me.

   I stepped off the sidewalk to cross the street, but something was standing in my way. I looked up, startled to see a pair of grey eyes staring down at me in acute disapproval.

Suddenly, I felt very sorry for Charge– which wasn’t something that I ever thought I could do. 

   Tarik had a small sack over one shoulder, her opposite hand on her hip. She didn’t look pleased. 

   “Wha…” I took a step back. “Tarik? Where have you been?” 

   She didn’t answer my question as she readjusted the sack. “Running off, are you?” the old lady signed pointedly. 

   I shook my head. “No Ma’am! I was just–” I pointed behind me. “I’m just… not needed… anymore. I was going… home.” The word home left a bitter taste in my mouth, like most lies did. 

   Tarik nodded slowly, her grey eyes still looking at me. “Captain– talk to you?” 

   The question pulled me up short. And then it made me nervous. 

   “What?” I asked aloud. “Why would he do that?” 

   Tarik searched behind me with her serious, grey eyes. She looked back at me, but didn’t answer my question. “The crew– Dinner had?”

   I hesitated.

“They’re talking about it now, so I was just going to get mine-”

   Tarik walked past me, grabbing my poncho in the process and tugging me along behind her. My hat fell off, and I didn't understand what was happening. 

  “You– needed,” I saw her sign in shorthand. 

  “WO-ah-Tarik, wait a moment– Tarik, wait! Tarik-” 

Before I knew it, we had rounded the alley corner and were back at the Passerine’s little circle of discussion by the stairway. Tarik didn’t let go of my poncho as everyone looked at us. The argument about seafood died away just as Charge seemed to be preparing himself to dodge Zara's annoyed slap over his head. 

   “Soup,” Tarik signed with one hand, and then pointed to me. “Evren say– there’s soup here.” 

   Tarik kept her metal hand clenched in my poncho, quite obviously, as she signed with her other hand. “She show us, she said.” 

   I put my hands up pleadingly, hoping Captain Rigg disregarded her words. Didn’t Tarik understand that no one would want me here? “I wouldn’t want to help you guys more than I should–” That warranted some strange looks from the rest of the crew, and I stumbled to correct myself. “I mean, uh– I could just tell you where there's soup. It’s not far–” 

   Xander waved my protest away. “No, no , no– show us. We might get lost again.”  

   I turned my head from Tarik, un-scrunching from the little ball of tension I had become. “What?” 

   “He’s right, Evren,” Sevus said in his normal, quiet voice beside the tall Geodian. “You should stay, if you’d like.”

   “I am right,” Xander said instantly. “I always am.” 

Both Sevus and Zara eyed the ex-gladiator from either side of him.

  “Debatable,” they said at the same time. 

   Captain Rigg put both his hands into his coat pockets as I looked over. 

   I half expected him to tell me to get lost again– or to give an excuse about how they didn’t have the money, or maybe it’s best if we all went home–

   What happened instead was that Captain Rigg briefly shared a glance with Tarik before looking back at me. I found myself looking at the ground again. 

   “You thought we were just gonna drag you down here and not feed you?” Captain Rigg asked gruffly. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

   Mercifully, Tarik released me.

   My brain flickered to the Vending Unit I was going to steal from for dinner, but the feelings fluttered away as soon as they had come, almost like they had been scared away by my next thought: 

   They were gonna give me food? 

I didn’t really understand what was happening between Captain Rigg and Tarik, but I certainly wasn’t going to argue. The Passerine had just agreed to feed me!

   I pointed down the street, a little bit of excitement rising from my belly into my chest.

Suddenly all those smells of food in the street weren’t torture, they were a possibility. I entertained the idea that maybe, even just for one evening, my bad luck had finally run out. 

  “Up there.” I directed my hand to a stairwell leading up into the tangle of streets above us. “There's a tavern called the Broken Blaster, and it's got… really good soup."

   The Broken Blaster was on what was called a ‘sub-level’. 

   Which seemed like a complicated term, but it was as simple as saying ‘mini levels inside the bigger ones.’

   Our destination was about five minutes away from Pobell Square, and it was the last tavern at the very top of a building– its ceiling so cramped for space, it had been fastened to the roof of the mountainous cavern. 

   I had lead the Passerine crew to a catwalk that twisted up the side of the building, and unlike the service stairs in the Warehouse District, these ones were actually meant for walking on. 

   The tavern itself was just like every other inn or tavern around Lower Lisk, with its sharp, acrid smell of grease, and having looked like it had been in a warzone– but I had a vague premonition that, like me, my companions weren’t in a place to be picky. 

I looked in from the door, saw a dented and well used bar, and about fifteen wooden tables that were equally empty or occupied. In the corner, an off-beat tune chittered out from a Relay, stopping every few bars or so as the signal was lost due to interference– or the fact we were miles below the surface of the planet. 

   There was only one reason why I knew of this tavern, and it had just seen me from across a dirty table. I prayed silently that unlike my normal day-to-day experiences, this wouldn’t backfire. 

   A Leokin was right in the middle of picking up cups from an empty table, and his light eyes squinted as he got a good look at the next group of customers in his tavern's entrance way– and who was leading them. 

   He beckoned to a nearby kitchen hand and gave them the plate of cups, walking towards the door curiously. 

   Turning, I pretended that I hadn’t been spotted. Suddenly, the full realisation hit me as to how bad of an idea this really was. “You know what,” I said to Captain Rigg, who was standing right beside me, “maybe I’ll just wait at the ba–”

   “Ey! I haven’t seen the likes of you since you were trying to fix that good for nothing Bot!” Avir exclaimed as he came to stand in front of his tavern’s door. 

   I gave the Leokin a lazy salute, turning to him resignedly. 

   “Unfortunately, it fell through,” I answered the tavern keeper in Covienian slang-sign, hoping that the rest of the Passerine crew didn't understand it.

   Like most days, Avir had a bent pipe that had replaced his missing tusk, and brown, thick fur over his exposed arms and face. Instead of his normal coat or jacket that he wore whenever he was visiting Rusty Ris, he was in an apron, and by the looks of it, he had been busy getting it dirty. 

   Worriedly, I wondered if Avir had been around for what had happened with the Scavengers. Last time I saw him, he had been quite unhappily eating porridge at one of Rusty's tables. 

   “Oh, that’s too sad,” Avir signed, looking pensive as he thought about Lewis. “I would have liked to buy him.”

  "He wasn't for sale!” I signed back, surprised that my motions had been fast and angry. I took a breath, remembering why I was here as I straightened my hat. 

   “Were you at the tavern… all morning?” I asked through a subtle wince. 

   Avir shook his head, fingering the pipe that replaced his missing tusk. “Nah. I had things to do.” Avir raised his brows in something like excitement, his next words spoken aloud. 

   “Why? Did I miss something good?” By the look on his face, and the tone of his voice, the Leokin was more than ready to gossip.

   I shook my head rapidly, feeling the growing curiosity of the Passerine crew behind me. Captain Rigg even frowned down at me.

   With a nervous swallow, I remembered that he knew Covienian slang-sign. 

   “No, no– you didn’t miss anything, Avir.” Dismissing the topic, I pointed a thumb at the captain beside me. 

   “Avir, this is Captain Rigg, a merchant in the Freelance Guild. He's looking for a table for his crew, and well, some of your soup. You think you can find space for them?”

   Avir regarded the crew, eyes finding Xander first, then Charge beside him,  Zara (who glared at him), and Tarik– but the trouble came as soon he laid eyes on Sevus, who hadn’t even taken his hood off. Through the shadows of the hood, Avir must have seen his eyes. 

   The Leokin’s fuzzy ears went back as he threw a quick glance into the tavern. Satisfied that no one had noticed anything, Avir stepped onto the metal stairway where we were waiting, and lowered his voice. 

   “The rest of you can come in, but… not ‘im.” He nodded to the Nefnat, swallowing uncomfortably as he fingered his broken tusk. “We don’t serve his kind in here.”

  I gawked up at the Leokin, mouth open in shock. “Really?” I said above my normal volume limit. “That’s so unfair! You don’t even know him!” 

   Captain Rigg sighed next to me, folding his arms. “I think you might be making a mistake.”

   I looked up at Captain Rigg, glad to see he was on my side. The feeling of gladness was railroaded when I saw Captain Rigg had been looking at me. 

  “But… you can’t give up so easily,” I said, surprised beyond belief that Captain Rigg was just going to let this slide. 

   The captain looked down at me with the same dark eyes that had been furious with me that morning. They didn’t look so angry, now, only tired. He turned his gaze back to the tavern keeper. “I’m not interested in upsetting you, Covienian, but I'm afraid our crew doesn’t split up. If you want us to go, we’ll go.” 

   I looked away from Captain Rigg, determined to fight Avir on this. 

   For Sevus. 

   For the bread.

   If Smiley were here, Smiley would tell me to do a few things that involved this tavern keeper and the height of the walkway that we were all standing on. 

   But Smiley was not here, I reminded myself.

   I was. 

Directing my attention to Avir, I pointed to Sevus briefly as he tried to inch away from his crew. He froze as I pointed at him. “But he’s a cook, too– and a really good one, like you! You can’t turn him away just because he’s a Nefnat–”

  Avir interrupted me, looking more than slightly pained. “Look girl, I got nothing against his type, but they,” –he poked a thumb behind him towards his two dozen or so Covienian guests– “do.” Avir dropped his hand pleadingly. “I just don’t want any trouble." Gesturing  to the bullets strapped to Captain’s Rigg belt, Avir’s tone got more defensive. “And look, this ones already fit for a fight– see?”

   “They won’t cause any trouble tonight,” I said, drawing Avir’s attention back to me with a shrug. “They’re just careful, is all.” 

   “So am I,” Avir said in a measured tone. “I’ve already got those Upper Lisk mechanics making a racket in here every chance they get, and–” He lowered his voice, using the tone of someone who was in actual agony. “They busted up my favourite Relay.”

   “What? The red one?” For a moment, I forgot my mission as I pictured the old radio that played music from the Medium. “Awh, that's too bad, I liked that one–”

    I stopped myself, shaking my head. “Wait, no–I’m not here to talk about your Relay. Now, you've got a bunch of people here,” I said forcefully, “and they all wanna pay you for something to eat. Now here's two ways this could go–” I pointed off the stairway, towards the level let-out in the distance. “We can go up to the mid-levels and pay Rusty Ris a stupid amount of money for a meal or two, or you can just let them into your fine establishment– and Rusty wouldn't be the wiser. I can see everybody being happy in one of those situations.”

I didn’t voice the third option, because that involved a lot more unhappiness, [and gravity] and I couldn't see myself doing it, anyway. 

   Don’t make them go hungry, you good for nothing Leo, I pleaded in my head as Avir thought about my words. More importantly, don't make me go hungry. 

Avir rubbed his face, his tusks making the action less satisfying then he probably wanted it to be. He looked up, glancing over the Passerine. He seemed like he was trying to reassure himself that the crew didn’t look as dangerous as he thought they were. 

   Judging by his eyes, he didn’t get the impression he wanted. 

   Finally, he blew a breath out with a resigned sigh.

   “Fine,” the aged Leokin said unhappily, but before I could thank him, he continued. 

   “But their weapons stay out here.” 

   With a wince, I looked up at Captain Rigg to see how he would take the information.

Would he blame me? I hoped not– there was nothing I could do about that one. But then again, that didn’t stop him from blaming me about other things that weren’t my fault. 

   “What?” the Fletric asked, looking at the tavern keeper with a blank stare. 

Avir didn’t hear him. He turned back into the tavern, giving one of his kitchen hands a few signs. 

   The next moment, a large canvas bag was brought forth by a young Covienian. Avir gestured to the young employee. “Ket here will take your weapons– you can have 'em back when you’re done. The Nefnat can stay if he keeps his hood on, and you fellas don't do anything funny.” 

   Captain Rigg frowned at the tavern keeper darkly. “I don’t like you assuming–”

   “Perfect!” I interrupted, nodding to Avir. “Thank you, Herus Avir. We won’t be long.” 

   The Leokin spared us one last glance before rolling his eyes and going back to his tavern. It was evident that Captain Rigg wasn’t the only one unhappy with this development. 

   Nevertheless, the captain unbuckled his Pulsers and put them carefully into the bag.

   “This is not what I call a good compromise,” he muttered as he stepped into the tavern. 

   “You’ll feel better after food!” I called after him helpfully. 

   Captain Rigg looked behind him as he walked, shooting me a look as dark as the very void. I wondered if he knew that my actions were partially selfish. If the Passerine didn’t get to eat at the tavern, then I wouldn’t get to eat, either. 

   After Captain Rigg, Charge walked glumly up to the open bag and untied the tribal looking knife he carried on his hip. He slid it into the bag and then unfastenedsomething else from his belt. Charge held up a round, glowing vial of some red, angry liquid. He dropped the vial into the Covienian’s hand, orange eyes looking up expressionlessly. 

   “If this moves around too much, it’ll explode,” he informed Ket before waking away. 

   The Covienian stared at the vial in his hand, horrified as Charge followed Captain Rigg into the tavern. 

   After him, Sevus passed the bag, looking down at the young Covienian apologetically.

   “I uh, don’t have any weapons,” said Sevus gently, and not in any way mad.

   “Are you sure?” Ket asked with a tone that was just as unpleasant as dragging chains across a blackboard. 

   “I’m sure,” Sevus’s quiet voice was a stark contrast to angry kitchen hand. “I’m sorry.” 

   The Covienian glared at him, but didn’t say anything more. He then directed his attention to Zara, who was watching his exchange with the Nefnat. She gave the Covienian a flat kind of look. 

   “Is this really necessary?” asked the Avaiyyatian. 

   The Covienian holding the bag stiffened with a glare. “Herus Avir does this for all of his problematic customers.” 

   Rolling her eyes, Zara leant down and pulled a small knife from her left boot and threw it into the bag. After that, she pulled two more from her right boot. Then she straightened and took out two more knives from her jack sleeves, plus a thin, needle looking device out of her pocket.

   After I thought she was done, she reached behind her and pulled a small, black Pulser from what I hoped was a back pocket. 

   Zara squinted. She pulled her boot up to look at its sole. Sliding her finger around the edge, she pulled out another knife from a compartment on its side. 

   Throwing it in, she curtsied to the Covienian– which for some reason, felt mildly offensive– and then she too, entered the tavern. 

   I had a vague feeling that she still had knives hidden somewhere. 

  Xander limped past with his crutch, giving the Covienian a winning grin. 

“What?” he asked good naturedly as his crutch squeeked noisily. “I do not think my devilish good looks can go in there.” Xander threw his head back and laughed a deep, heartfelt laugh as he walked straight past, ignoring the Covienian’s words. 

   “Wait– come back…”

   His words died away as Tarik came to stand in front of him. The old woman stared at him coldly through the glass lenses of her goggles. 

   Someone was not impressed. 

   The Covienian almost had the good grace to look embarrassed as his eyes flicked to her weathered face, and silvered hair. 

   “Oh, no, it’s okay ma’am. You– you can go in.”

   Tarik was wearing a jacket, so it wasn’t glaringly obvious that her right hand was bionic. She reached over to her shoulder, and twisted it left twice, and then right suddenly. 

   There was a heavy click, and Tarik pulled the entire arm out of her jacket sleeve. 

   She dropped the arm into the bag, and the Covienian struggled a little with its weight. Tarik left him without another sign or word, straight into the tavern, and she didn’t even look back. 

   Horrified, the Covienian looked into the bag, to the glowing vial in his hand, and then to where the Passerine settled around a large round table at the back of the tavern. 

   When he finally spoke, his voice was distant and borderline terrified.

   “Mama always said... Offworlders were… different.”

   I smiled fondly, looking at the Passerine settled at their table. 

   “Yeah…” 

   The young Covienian swallowed, looking back down at me. “You don’t uh, have anything to put in here, do you?”

   I thought about it, and looked into my own grey bag. I had collected a few odd knickknacks over the past few days, including half a comb, a microchip, and a coil of wire. I pulled out the wire, as well aa shiny rock I had found in an abandoned warehouse a few days ago on my way up to Hangar 42.

   “You can keep the rock– for your services,” I said, stepping towards the door and straightening my poncho. “But I want that wire back.”

   Standing in the doorway, I watched the Passerine crew talk and settle at a far back table. Their conversation bled seamlessly into the noise of the rowdy tavern and excited chatter from the rest of the occupants. 

   With one foot poised above the step of the tavern, a few words filtered out of the collective noise of the many conversations being had. 

   I heard words like Astrostorm, shipping lanes, and Gray Raven. 

  Like Tarik’s metal hand on the pack of my poncho, the words pulled me back from taking that final step into the tavern, freezing me onto the walkway outside.

  My eyes traced the people at the tables– the shadows of the room– the price sign for drinks at the back of the bar flickering like a badly wired omen from Ethreal. 

    Suddenly, I was the opposite of surefull again. 

   Any one of those people could know that Gray Raven was looking for a dark Geodian street urchin, and any one of them could realise that that, was me. 

   I put my hand on the door frame, hesitating.  

   You should just go, a voice whispered. You don’t belong here. 

   From my place at the door, I watched mechanics talk, pilots joke, metal workers share meals. The warm glow and cheery noise of the Broken Blaster reminded me of the illuminated diners I would watch on rainy days from the confines of their opposite side streets or alleys–it  reminded me of all the times I did everything but press my nose against the glass of warm, jubilant taverns that were filled to the brim with everything I felt like I could never be a part of.

Singing, signing, eating, laughing. Existing. 

   Taverns and diners were for real people, with real names, and real jobs– and real families. 

   Not for an Astrogate survivor with a fake name, a fake job, and a fake life that she made up to make herself feel more real. Surely, they weren’t for people who talked to the alley walls, or for the urchins that didn’t know what bread was…

   Watching the Passerine, I swallowed, finding an acrid-tasting resistance in my throat, like a vile reminder that I was starving. 

   What I would have given to be able to enjoy those diners from the other side of the glass…

Now, I had an opportunity to do just that, and I was going to run away from it. 

   I thought of all the times I had been forced to run in the past. The Lightcore threatening to explode. The Scavengers forcing me into hiding. Koval's, ready to murder me for an arm that wasn’t theirs. I didn’t want to, but I thought back even further; to the Astrostorm ending. And me, deciding to just disappear, and not face what I actually wanted. 

   I made a noise of tired amusement. 

‘What I wanted’– what a joke. I didn’t know what I wanted then, and I certainly didn’t know now. Lewis thought he had it all figured out for me, but I wasn't convinced. That crusty old robot didn’t know what he was talking about.

   My eyes found the ground as his words came back to me slowly, like a gentle breeze across the Hollow Wastes reminding me I was wrong.  

  You want what all living things want in their lifespans, I remembered him saying. To belong somewhere. 

   Blowing a breath in and out, I steeled myself against the cold hand at the back of my neck as I looked back into the tavern. 

Across the establishment, I saw Xander look around the table, searching for something. Not seeing what he was looking for, the Light Geodian looked straight to where I was standing in the doorway. He pointed to an empty chair between Captain Rigg and Sevus, nodding for me to sit there. A few of the others looked over, confused. 

   Detaching myself from the doorframe happily, I propelled myself across the tavern, passing a Coret table in the middle of a game. 

   Damn Gray Raven, I thought with a rush of invigorating resolution. I was so scriking hungry. And not just for food. 

   Arriving at the empty chair, I stood behind it apprehensively, looking around the table, and then at Captain Rigg. 

   “Is it okay that I sit here?” I asked him in a shaky voice. Say no! a voice in my head pleaded. Say no, so I can sit somewhere else!

   Captain Rigg nodded. “We saved this chair for you, so that would be fitting.”

Oh.

  I didn’t know what to do with that. Why hadn’t he wanted me to sit as far as possible from him? 

   Sliding into the chair, I folded my arms as I tried not to focus on all the conversations inside the tavern. At the table, I could feel little memories of past occupunts drift up like steam from a cup. I got vague feelings of bets being lost, deals being made, and meals being shared.

   Captain Rigg hesitated next to me as I stared at the table. It felt like he wanted to talk to me, but was struggling to find the right words. 

   “You seem to know the tavern keeper well,” Captain Rigg said at last. Something told me that wasn’t what he wanted to ask. “Who is this ‘rusty Ris’ you threatened to take us too…?” 

   I hesitated as the rest of the table listened, too. “Oh, well, I used to work for her.” 

   “Doing what?” Charge asked. He was sitting opposite me at the round table, with his arms folded and tone flat. 

   I swallowed, pointedly giving him a look before answering. “Scrubbing floors. And… helping her with other stuff like cleaning and carrying. It was… it was before my maintenance hand days, though.” I added the last part and watched Charge’s face turn sour. He didn’t believe me.

I didn’t care. 

   Zara seemed amused, like she was ready to hear whatever local gossip I could tell her.

“So, what– this Rusty person, she hates the Leo or something?” 

   I squinted, trying to find a good way to sum up the strange relationship between the two tavern owners. “I’m… I’m pretty sure the grudge goes back to the Blue Fringe War– I think they both served as military cooks… But also… it’s just some state of the art Covienian animosity. While I was working for Rusty, Avir would come and eat at her tavern sometimes. They’d argue a lot about politics, and the war, and… other things I didn’t understand. But I’d also come and help out here on off days.” 

   Captain Rigg seemed to be thinking about it. “Scrubbing… floors?” he asked tentatively. 

   I nodded. “Yeah…” Folding my arms on the table, I gave a small shrug. “I’ve had all sorts of jobs.” I clicked my fingers. “My favourite one was working for a metal dealer near Market Street, but… actually, he fired me eventually, too.”

   Sevus nodded beside me. “Right– so that’s how you know the soup is good here. Because you worked here.” He seemed happy he had figured it out, like maybe the question had been bugging him for a few hours. 

   I hesitated. 

   The hesitation was enough for Captain Rigg. 

   “You’ve never actually tried it, have you?” the Fletric asked flatly. “The soup?” 

   I laughed, rubbing my head nervously. How did he know? 

“Well, the kitchen hands were always saying it was good so… so I took their word for it.” 

   There was a bit of an awkward silence after that, but I wasn’t really sure why. After a few seconds, I found myself wondering how much a bowl of soup would cost. Surely, it was expensive, I thought as I looked around the table at their expressions. 

   “Well, anyway… sorry about your weapons.”

   Captain Rigg looked around the table, his voice pitched in mild disgust. “What do we look like, a gang? It’s ridiculous,” he grumbled sullenly, looking at the door where Ket had taken his guns. The bag of all their weapons had been put into a locker just left of the entrance. “No-good idiots. They better not scratch those Pulsers– they’re pre-Silent War Furlian– and vintage.” 

   Xander mouthed to me from across the table. “Like him.”

   Not noticing the remark, or merely choosing to ignore it, the captain looked beside him to where Tariks’s empty sleeve draped at her side in a contorted parody of a few moments previously. 

   “What the Eth happened to your arm?” he asked, baffled as he took his hat off and rested it on his chair. 

   Tarik shrugged, pointing to the door where Aster had lost his Pulsers. The answer was obvious. The Covienian took it. 

   I looked at Tarik, unable to hide the confusion on my face. Ket hadn’t taken it. She had given it freely. 

   The old Tironian mechanic gave me a subtle wink in reply before she got up from the table and headed towards the bar. Ah. Tarik was being funny. 

   Behind our table, in the corner of the tavern, the sound of an unsuccessful Coret game could be heard as glassy spheres rolled smoothly across a blue felted table. 

  Zara twisted in her seat to look behind her, nodding for Xander to do the same. They whispered to each other, judging the players' poor Coret skills with the same scrutiny someone would judge a battle strategy. 

   A young Leokin came to the table, asking what we wanted to order. 

   As Captain Rigg turned and proceeded to asked what kind of soup it was and other questions I didn’t hear, I noticed Sevus pull his hood a little further down– the cook seemed to be trying to will himself to bond molecularly with his coat. 

   He saw me looking at him, and let go of his hood apologetically. “Sorry,” he muttered, putting his clawed hands on the table. 

   I shook my head, pushing my hat off and letting it hang by its drawstring. “Why are you sorry?” I looked back at Avir, who was busy cleaning tables again. “If I knew he was gonna say those things, I never would have brought you guys here.”

   Sevus shrugged. “Oh, no– don't feel bad.” He put a hand on my shoulder in brief gratitude. “Most Fringe worlds can’t help how they feel about Nefnats.”

   The Leokin left, and Captain Rigg looked over to where me and Sevus talked.

   I frowned, thinking about Sevus’s words. “But it’s not fair. You’re not a bad person, but they treat you like one, anyway.” I clenched my fist under my poncho, the one that had bandages tied around it to hide the Astrogate scars. “People shouldn’t treat other people like that.”

   I felt Captain Rigg’s gaze look away. 

   Sevus thought about what I said, looking to the side of the tavern. “No….” he said at length, drawing the word out unnaturally. “But… you can't really do anything about it, can you?” 

   “I want to.” 

   Sevus looked back at me, finding the comment amusing. As he smiled, I wondered again as to how the row of sharpened teeth in his mouth looked anything but threatening. “Didn’t you learn about Nefnats in Covienian school? Or… any of their very linked history?”

   I blinked. Did Covien have schools…? I wondered vaguely as a way to distract myself from my panic. I laughed, eyes darting to the door. “Oh, well; I wouldn’t know. I’m not… I’m not Covienian. So… I’m… not going to school here.”

Sevus processed what I told him. 

“Oh. Then where are you from?” It wasn’t a malicious question– Sevus seemed genuinely curious– but for a small moment, a shard of anger welled up inside me. 

  Why? Why did he have to ask the one question I couldn’t answer? 

   After cooling my thoughts, I realised Tarik had come back, and all of the others were looking at me. Apparently, they had heard Sevus’s question and they wanted to know, too. 

   I asked myself where I was from, but all I could think about was Web’s warning, and then the walking and the dust, and the falling, and the burns, and the crash.

I couldn’t help but think about Astrostorm Evren. 

Where was I from?

I cleared my throat, pushing the images of the cosmic space storm out of my mind. 

“Uh… offworld. Nowhere special. ” 

Captain Rigg interjected beside me tonelessly. “So… how long have you been here for?” 

  I felt trapped between the cook and the captain, but there was nothing I could do except maybe jump up onto the table and make a break for the door. Which would be silly. So I didn’t do that. 

I clicked my tongue, folding my arms under my poncho. “Um... half a year? I guess.” 

  “How did you get here, then?” Zara asked across the table. “Did you come with any family?” 

   I thought of the black stone necklace around my neck. I swallowed. “Uh… we got separated–” My right arm started to tremble as more memories of the Astrostorm– horrible, horrible memories of being on that ship– came back to my head.

I didn’t know that I had started to rub my right arm anxiously until Captain Rigg glanced down at my hand, and I froze. I shrugged, giving a lighthearted laugh that I hoped masked my nervousness. “Yeah, just seperated. But my family is in the Kore. I’m leaving on Eigthday to–" I cleared my throat, continuing as I glanced down briefly. “-um, see them– again.” 

Voidmother above, I nearly said find.

   For a moment, no one said anything– but unsurprisingly, it was Xander who broke the short silence. 

   “I am sorry,” he said across the table. “Families should stay together.” 

   I shook my head, waving his words away. “Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna be gone soon.”  

   Whether or not anyone else would have interjected, I wouldn't know. A Dark Geodian kitchen hand, with five small braids on the left side of his head, brought out a tray filled with steaming bowls of soup, silencing any and all of my future queries. I also felt relieved that the topic of my family was over and past. Normal conversation started again, and I could only feel grateful.

  Charge deflated at the large spoon in the bowl placed in front of him. He put his hand up to ask a question, but by the look on his face, it seemed he already knew the answer– and he didn’t like it. 

   “Do you… Do you have any smaller spoons?” he asked before the Geodian turned away. 

   The Geodian hesitated, taking in Charge’s small, four fingered hands, and then just Charge’s small form in general. 

   “My–” the Geodian said curiously– he still sounded very Covienian– “I’ve never seen a Secodack as small as you, before.” 

   Charge’s deflated attitude turned to anger. He snatched the spoon out of his bowl, muttering. “It’s like they’ve never seen a Florodine–” He took a bite of soup, mumbling through a spoonful of white puffy vegetables. “Just forget it.” 

   The Geodian attendant left with a confused look, dashing back into the kitchen as he said something about ‘going to get the last one.’

   The rest of the crew chatted absently to each other about the correct way to play Coret as they slid the bowls around to fill each spot, almost like they didn’t realise that they were sitting in front of real food, and hot soup, and the prospect of a full meal. 

   I could barely hear them talk.

The minute and meaningless words drifted away as I caught sight of their hot, steaming bowls of soup. 

   Little angels of white steam bowed silently as they ascended to the heavens, bringing with them the ethereal smell of warm hearty stew and broth. My eyes couldn’t be torn from the dishes, even though I wanted to look away and normalise my heart rate.

   Finally, I pulled my eyes down to my lap, trying to count the cracks in the floorboards under my seat to give my brain something else to focus on. 

   I looked up as the sound of wood on wood scraped closer to me. 

   “Here–” Captain Rigg said gruffly as he slid a bowl in front of me. “This one’s for you.”

   I looked at the other spaces at the table. Everyone had one except Captain Rigg.

   I put my hands up, almost as if another Pulser was being aimed at my head. “No, it’s okay– you can have that one– I can wait, Captain Ri–”

Captain Rigg sighed, a loud and silencing noise. 

   “You… can have it,” he repeated tiredly. 

   My eyes slid down to the soup, and I allowed myself to focus on the scent of salt and vegetables and warm, thick broth... despite my feelings of absolute glee, it felt wrong to accept the bowl of soup from Captain Rigg when he himself didn’t have one. 

   And if he was still angry at me, (for the threatening thing, or that morning) then why was he doing this? I didn’t understand it, so I didn't want to accept. I also didn’t want him to have another reason to be angry at me again; I had decided to keep my slate clean, and simply do nothing wrong or incriminating. Ever. It was a simple plan, but I was going to stick to it. 

  I flicked my eyes from the soup to Captain Rigg without moving my head. “It’s okay, you eat that one.” I pushed it back towards him. 

   He shook his head, sliding it back in front of me. “No, this one's for you.” 

   I peered into the bowl, then to Captain Rigg with a blunt stare. “What’s wrong with it?” 

   Captain Rigg looked somewhat hurt, which I desperately wanted to find ironic– but instead it just made me really uncomfortable and very, very guilty?

   “Nothing…?” he answered, hints of anger creeping into his tone like spilled paint bleeding onto wet canvas. 

   I was already shaking my head, pushing the soup back to him determinedly. I was supposed to not care about Captain Rigg and his words. So that's what I was trying to do– not care. 

   “No, it’s okay. I’ll wait for the next bowl.” 

   Captain Rigg frowned, putting his hand in the way to keep me from sliding the bowl further. The anger in his voice was a little more evident now. “What, so you don't want it?” 

   I pushed his arm, but it didn’t move. I looked up at him. “No, it’s because I said I’d wait–” I replied a little more forcefully than before. 

   Captain Rigg pointed to the bowl with his other hand. “But this one is here now–” 

   I inclined my head, picking up the bowl of soup and lifting it over Captain Rigg’s arm.

“So you eat it.” I set it down in front of him decidedly.

   Captain Rigg looked down at the soup. I saw his left hand rise from his lap to push it back to my place. “No.” 

   I stopped the soup from sliding further towards me with my hand, just like he had done. “Why are you giving me the soup?!” My confusion burst forth with all the colours of anger, and soon after, all my thoughts tumbled out of my head and off my tongue.

   “You say you don’t need or want my help, and you’re grumpy all the time, so I try to make things better for you, but you find a way to blame me for the problem in the first place! I don’t understand why you are giving me the soup, so I don’t want it!”

   Interrupting me, Captain Rigg slapped the table hard enough to make the other soup bowls rattle. “Dammit, Evren –Because you said you like soup! And you’ve never tried it, and I feel like a jackass, so I’m trying to be nice!” 

   “Well, that makes a lot of sense!” I shouted back, feeling my cheeks burn in embarrassment. 

   Captain Rigg put a spoon next to my bowl pointedly, his tone still angry as he pushed the bowl closer to me. “Eat your soup–”

   “I will!” I still sounded frustrated and flustered, which came out as mad. I grabbed my spoon and started to furiously stir my soup while I waited for it to cool off. 

   Meanwhile Captain Rigg folded his arms and stared at the door, pointedly ignoring the gob-smacked stares of every single one of his crew. Sevus had even been in the middle of lifting the spoon to his face, his mouth already open to form a perfect ‘O’ of shock. 

   The sound of my metal spoon scraping on the inside of the bowl was the only sound at our table for what was the longest ten seconds of my life. 

   Someone cleared their throat uncomfortably behind us. The voice of the Geodian kitchen hand warbled out a moment later. 

   “Uhh… I have another bowl of… soup?” Judging by his voice, he had been standing there for longer than he had wanted to. 

   He set it down next to Captain Rigg like he was afraid it might explode. “Um, just… come to the bar to pay, or if… you need anything else.” 

   As the kitchen hand left, Captain Rigg slowly pulled the soup in front of him, picking up the spoon and looking at his soup like it was the only thing at that table with him. 

   He cleared his throat. “What… what were you saying again, Zara?” 

   Zara stared at Captain Rigg for a moment longer before looking back at her soup.

“Hmm?” She shook herself a little. “Oh, uh– Coret was actually designed by a…  Scelirian…” 

   Xander was a little too quick to comment– his voice was a little too interested. “Oh, really? Oh... That is really… that is really… interesting.” His head swung to Tarik, but I could tell he looked at me for a moment before speaking. “Did the Scelirians let you play Coret on Tenebra, Tarik?” 

   Tarik had a spoon in her hand, but she wasn’t eating. She looked at Captain Rigg with a potent look of disapproval that could rival Kan Oh’Krean. 

   The Fletric didn’t return her gaze. 

   She put down her spoon and signed with her free hand, turning to Xander. “After first revolt– banned.” 

   Xander nodded, stirring his soup. “Oh... that is disappointing…” 

  “Most recreational activities were banned throughout the war on occupied planets,” commented Captain Rigg, pensively eating his soup. 

   Charge scoffed. “Oh, yeah, like banning recreational activities is a great way make everyone stop being angry.” 

   Xander asked Charge what he remembered about the war, but their voices faded out as I breathed in the steam of my soup, and stared at the girl looking at me stupidly from my reflection. 

   Captain Rigg had wanted to be nice to me?

   And I totally screwed it up. 

   Why couldn’t I have just accepted the soup? Why couldn't I do anything right? Why did everything have to be so hard with this captain? Couldn’t I do anything that didn’t result in him being angry at me? Couldn’t I have one normal conversation with this crew?

   Would that be so bad, I asked the Universe, looking up at the roof momentarily as I stirred my soup. Would it be so horrible if I had one normal day?

   I glanced up at Captain Rigg, and he looked away from me. I looked back at my soup.

   “It smells really nice,” I mumbled. “Thank you.”

   Captain Rigg nodded, taking a bite of his own food. “Very good,” was all he said.

   I blinked at my soup. Despite my feelings of stupidity, I couldn't really believe it. My bowl was filled with vegetables, and chunks of meat– surrounded by a dark, rich-looking kind of broth that smelled of herbs and oil. 

   I breathed in deeply, the steam warming my face as I leant down to take a bite. Salty and warm, the soup sent delicious herb flavours to every corner of my mouth.

   It tasted so good.

   The squishy, funny little vegetables were good, and the soft white ones, too. It was all good, it was all delicious. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me– and it was too damn hot.

   I coughed, the spoonful I had just swallowed burning as it went down my throat and into my stomach. I coughed once more, looking at my soup bowl through tears of pain.

Another great way to look like an idiot, Evren. Cough on the first bite of food they give you.

I eyed Sevus and Captain Rigg on either side of me, but they were obviously ignoring me. 

The kitchen hand came back with a basket of something, and wished us a good meal. It was passed around as the Passerine crew talked. 

   “It's not just the que that’s important,” Zara was saying as she gave the basket to Xander. “It’s lining it up with the sphere. And like, some basic math.” 

   Xander made the sound of spitting something out of his mouth, “No math. It’s instinct.”

   Zara rolled her eyes. “That right, I forgot you can’t count.”

   As the conversation about Xander's poor math skills continued, I kept on eating my soup. With every spoonful, I felt a little less like an idiot, and the embarrassment over the soup slowly passed. I didn’t particularly feel cold outside the tavern, but bite by bite, I realised how warm the food made me. 

Finally, the small, warm basket was passed to me, and I peered into it, unsure of what I was being given. It was filled with some kind of bun. 

My eyes widened as I realised what they were– they were tiny, tiny breads. I pulled one out, looking at it with wide, excited eyes. 

   Sevus looked at the roll in my hand, leaning over slightly to see what got my attention. “What is it, Miss West?” 

   I held it up for him to look at. “Look, Sevus– it’s a baby-bread-loaf!” 

   As Sevus took the basket from me, he looked down at my hand with an eyebrow raised. “No, Miss West– that’s a cheese roll.” 

   I looked back at it, somewhat disappointed. “Oh.” 

   I put it next to my plate, relishing the fact that I would have time to eat it after I was done with my soup. After a few more spoonfuls, I became aware that the other bowls on the table were still moderately full. I swallowed the food that was in my mouth, looking down at my nearly empty bowl. I shook my head. This was hard. The food was so good, but I knew I wasn’t used to eating things like this. I blinked– I was feeling a bit tired, too. Should I slow down?

   “Is there something wrong?” Sevus asked gently as I eyed my magically disappearing soup. 

   “There seemed to be a whole lot more of this a moment ago…” I explained suspiciously, squinting at my soup. “Someone’s eating it too fast…” 

   Sevus didn’t hear me. 

   Instead, his cat-like eyes were glued to Charge’s empty chair. His head swung to look at Captain Rigg in panic.

   As soon as Captain Rigg saw that their second engineer was missing, he frowned. 

   Ears alert, brows furrowed, the captain searched around the room tensely. He spotted Charge on the other side of the tavern, right in the middle of sliding a bronze Pulser out of a drunken Leokin’s holster. The Leokin snored loudly as she leant back in her chair, her half empty ale mug hanging from her hand as she dozed. 

  Captain Rigg snapped straight out of his comfortable position. He gave a high, but subdued whistle. The second engineer noticed it above the racket of the tavern, and instantly looked to the captain, almost like he had shouted his very name. 

   “Put it back,” the captain mouthed angrily. 

   “But it’s too easy!” the Secodack signed back.

   “Now–” was the answering sign. 

   Charge miserably slid the Pulser back into the holster and trudged back to the table, sliding up onto his chair unhappily. He sat morosely, picking at his soup with a spoon that looked too long in his small, four fingered hand. 

   “Are you not going to eat, Charge?” asked Xander from beside him. “It is good.”

   Charge shrugged. “It’s okay,” he admitted with a look. “It’s not a sandwich,” he said under his breath a moment later. 

   “I thought you were tired of eating greymeal?” Captain Rigg asked, a spoonful of his own soup paused, mid-air. 

   The Secodack seemed to have remembered something that distressed him. “I am!” Charge shouted, looking somewhat panicked. An unspoken question was turned to Sevus in the small engineer's eyes. 

Sevus shook his head in answer.

   “Fifty kilograms of greymeal. Delivered to the hangar tomorrow evening.” 

   If Charge had been a balloon, he would have deflated. “Oh great. Another two weeks of grey mush that even an ash hamster wouldn't eat.”

   Captain Rigg held up his hand defensively, swallowing a spoonful of soup before he spoke. “Hey– they got flour and some canned goods. It’s not all greymeal.” 

   “The coffee was too expensive here, though,” Zara lamented bitterly. “I can’t wait to get off this light-forsaken planet and get back to the Medium. Oh, how I dream of Phobian coffee shops...”

   “Technically, you would actually need to sleep to dream about it,” Sevus corrected her across the table, gesturing with his spoon. “But you don’t seem to require it.”

   “Wait– the Medium?” I asked as I scraped the bottom of my bowl. I took one last bite and looked around the table. “You guys are going to the Medium?” 

   Lewis’s projections filled my thoughts, flooding my brain with factories, and churches, and large, large cities that stretched as far and as wide as the eye could see, and even bigger farms and plantations. 

   Xander nodded as he grabbed yet another roll from the basket. “The headquarters for the Freelance Guild of Merchants are there. We check in every few phases.” 

   “It’s kind of like our homebase,” Zara said, yawning tiredly. She had barely touched her soup. I wondered if she was going to finish it. 

   I thought about what she had said, looking around the table. “So… how long would it take you to get there, from here?” 

   Charge’s ears perked up from where he sat. He straightened in his chair, taking a breath. “Well, that depends. I think about… ten hours–”

   Tarik set down a mug of Grease from her lips– an alcoholic beverage of Covienian design– and looked at Charge. Her silent interjection spoke volumes. 

   “Well, no, not impossible,” the Secodack answered her. “You just don’t want to do the math. It would be hard, yes, I admit– and you would need to make major engine adjustments, but it could work.” 

   The entire table groaned. Zara rested her elbow on the table, placing her palms over her eyes painfully. 

   “Oh merciful Ninzi,” she cursed breathlessly, “now they’re never gonna shut up.” 

   Despite the entire crew’s groans of lamentation, I listened to Charge as he looked up at the roof, probably forgetting for a moment that it was me that had asked the question in the first place. Tarik listened to him through a squint. 

   “The fastest time ever recorded in Kosmatic history was twelve hours from the Tenebra Colonies back in 30 A.S, for a war plea when the Scleirians fell back to the Blue Fringe– the ship was trashed, and the pilot ultimately died from internal bleeding.” Charge pointed to Aster. “But presently, the Furlian Republic has a specialised, streamlined ship that can get from the Meidreighean System to Entril in two days. But for a transport like the Passerine…” 

   Zara sighed, and stood up. “I'm going to go play Coret,” she announced before gesturing to Charge, who was busy talking about primed fuel and the durability of engine lines. “Come get me when he passes out from oxygen deprivation,” the medic said as she left. 

    Xander followed suit. “I think there is only so many times an organic mind can be subjected to this.” 

They left, and I turned my attention back to Charge, trying to figure out what he was saying. I felt like the subject had changed drastically in the small moment I had looked away. 

   “–so let's say, hypothetically, all that weight was gone–” 

   Tarik waved to get his attention back. “Weight of the engines, a factor still– never calculate them, you.” 

   Charge dismissed her with a scoff. “No, I’m saying with the fuel-well adjustment inside the engines, the weight wouldn’t be a factor anymore if the anti-gravity emitters had been primed for a ‘continuous’ Light jump–” 

   I looked between them as they talked, trying to piece their words together. The delusions of conversational grandeur faded from my mind as I realised I probably would never be smart enough to understand what they were talking about. 

   Sevus looked over at me with a sigh, seeing my lost look. 

   “Straight from Covien to the Medium? No stops? Three weeks, maybe.” The Nefnat waved his spoon through the air, answering my original question. “But we’re contract jumping to the Medium, so it’ll be closer to three months… maybe longer… depending how bad they pay.” 

   Sevus looked up to stare out the door pensively, almost like his words had saddened him. “It’s been a while since we’ve been home.” 

   I wanted to wonder why, but his answer only gave me more questions.

   I was about to say something when Charge slapped the table. “But the force of the Light jump! You aren’t factoring in the force of the Light jump!” 

   I suppressed a small, startled laugh– I had almost forgotten Charge was still arguing because Tarik hadn't been answering him out loud. 

   “Do you guys… talk about this a lot?” I asked on a hunch. 

   Captain Rigg made a sound of strained, tired amusement as he took another spoonful of soup, but Sevus was the one that answered me. 

   “It's a common topic between them. Charge has a bet with her that he could get the Passerine to the Kore in a matter of ten hours instead of ten days. Tarik doesn’t agree with him because the changes he would have to make would be ‘unrealistic.’” Sevus waved his hand through the air, looking back to his soup. “Or something like that. We’re not actually sure.” 

   Captain Rigg scoffed beside me. “It’s impossible. And totally ridiculous. There’s nothing in this universe that would make me tear apart my ship just to get to the Kore in a few hours.” 

   I nodded. “Understandable, I guess– although it would be fun to break a record.” I fiddled with my empty soup bowl, turning it left and right as I thought. 

   Sevus squinted. “There’s nothing fun about the possibility of being torn apart into a billion little pieces from one miscalculation– but that’s just my opinion.” 

   I was about to ask Sevus how high of a possibility that was when the sound of garbled cheering emanating from the Coret table interrupted me. 

   I looked over to see Zara lining up her heavy Coret cue next to two ocean coloured spheres. Judging by the balls already in the nets at the sides, and the expressions of the handful of players around her, this was not her first goal. 

   After she scored another point, Xander sized up the table with squinted eyes, and then used his crutch to get in three more spheres. 

   The other Covienans didn’t look impressed, but a young Tironian blew out an impressed breath of admiration. 

   Someone was obviously taking notes. 

   “Ah, an impressed Covienian. That’s not something you see ev…” 

   My eyes flickered to the door, watching a group of mechanics walk in, and the words faded out of my mouth. 

   That was the moment my brain turned off. 

   They were a handful of grubby looking Covienians and Flirins, and they all wore the same grease marks and the same tired, sour expressions. 

   They seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place where I had seen them before. 

   The newcomers made their way across the tavern, just as Zara and Xander finished their game and were walking back towards our table again. 

   I watched the Covienians, willing my brain to tell me why they were familiar. 

Noise.

There was a lot of noise in the tavern. There was too much noise.

  One of the greasy Covienians brushed shoulders with Xander as they passed, and the Covienian stumbled. 

  The tall Geodian turned around to apologise. “My apologies, friend…” 

  As Xander got a look at the Covienian he had walked into, all signs of apology faded from his face.

  Noise. Voices. Lights. There was too much–

  The Covienian who had stumbled assumed an angry, foul expression as he, too, recognized Xander. 

  And then I recognized the Covienian. 

  My brain powered back on, and I was forced to realise that Lev Koval had just walked into the Broken Blaster, and he was staring daggers at the merchant that stole his father’s Lightcore.