“Even though Covien has its own native people, the term ‘Covienian’ is used extensively to refer to anyone who resides on the dusty Fringe planet.

Their native people are classified as Humarian, but their genetics display alterations such as dark eyes, taller and leaner bone structure, and light hair. These similarities lead me to assume that ‘native’ Covienians share some common ancestry with present day Avaiyyatians, but this is merely an assumption.

There is next to no difference in how a native-blood is treated compared to, say, a Tironian that can trace his or her ancestry back through Coviens census logs.

It seems that anyone who has suffered along with Covien's long-lasting misery is treated like native-blood, but anyone who has come to Covien recently or is staying onworld, will experience negative treatment(s).

As my junior assistant likes to say–Covienians will trade over and under the table with any Offworlder that makes it worth their while, but they just won’t invite you to drink at it.”

Commander Eva Trilysiu, Senior Cultural Emissarius aboard the research vessel The Relentless – Personal Log 339. Courtesy of the Entrillian Guild of Records.

The next morning, unspeakably early

– Hangar 42.

Holding my breath, I peered past the open hangar doors cautiously.

Behind the ship–or the Passerine, as its crew called it–early dawn light drifted sleeplily into the hangar and under the ship, setting the silver hull aglow with muted sunrise colours.

Lights from the hold doors spilled lazily into the dim hangar, and a few portholes and viewing windows were glowing a faint orange–obviously the crew were already up and moving around.

I stepped back out of the hangar, fidgeting with the strap of my bag beside the door.

“I can do this.” I looked down at my feet, studying a wrinkle in one of my boots. “I can work hard.”

I rolled my shoulders, holding up a finger. “Look, Evren, everything will turn out fine if you do everything you can to avoid suspicion. Just work hard, and shut up, and don’t do anything un-normal or weird.”

I looked into the hangar with a new kind of determined zeal.

“Just a few days, Evren. You can do this. Pretend to be a normal person.”

Shaking off the invisible glue that held my feet to the ground, I advanced cautiously towards the open hold and smoothed out my poncho.

The boxes were still littered around the hangar like they had been yesterday, and it seemed that even more had spewed forth, since.

I stepped around one, looking at the stack it had been placed in. It was labelled with a shiny blue strip, with a picture of a fish jumping out of the water.

Was it food? Was it fishing equipment?

Or… maybe who it was going to were like… fish… people?

A noise brought my attention back to the ship, and I saw that the purple Secodack was perched atop one of the crates–

–expressionlessly eating a sandwich.

With nothing better to do, I waved a greeting. “Good morning!” I called as cheerily as I could as I walked further into the hangar.

The Secodack didn’t respond. He took another bite of his delicious looking sandwich.

I walked closer still, unsure.

“Am I… too early?”

The Secodack shrugged.

“Nope,” he said, taking another bite of his sandwich. “You’re right on time.” He hadn’t looked at me yet. The Secodack appeared to be thinking about something else as he chewed methodically.

Finally reaching some conclusion, he jumped off the crate nimbly and onto the ground, his bright orange cloak following him like an obedient, over-saturated shadow. “Welcome to your first day as a maintenance hand, Covienian.” He gestured to the hangar, looking around with orange eyes. “Today you will be given the overwhelmingly simple task of stacking crates.”

He smiled.

It was disturbing for some reason. And this time it didn’t have anything to do with his teeth.

“Do you think you can do that?” he asked pleasantly.

I thought about the thousands of heavy metal crates filled to the brim with Bot parts that I had lifted around Dels' and Kovals', and even all the times I had helped Ris unload orders into her tavern. Both tasks were filled with nothing except stupidly simple heavy lifting and agony. How different could cargo crates be?

I nodded. “I think so.”

The Secodack turned away, gesturing theatrically through the air with his free hand. “Hallelujah.”

With the hand not occupied by holding the sandwich, he pulled a decrepit old hand-Hauler out from behind a crate I hadn’t noticed.

“Meet your new best friend.” He pushed it lightly towards me.

Hand-haulers were simple machines–literally just a slab of metal and a push bar with four hover motors at its corners to lift it off the ground. The hauler looked as old as Lisk itself, and just as beat up. Even as it drifted towards me, one of the back hover motors flickered out, making the piece of equipment jerk awkwardly as it sunk a little farther to the ground.

I caught the handle bar, steadying it.

The Secodack gestured to the boxes that had been spewed out of the ship. “These are all mixed up because of a bad landing and… well, a few other reasons–but they need to be reordered into what planet they’re heading to–uh–and today. This morning. As fast as you can.”

I turned to the little jungle of crates, gripping the strap to my bag again.

“Okayyy… all of the crates?” I drew out the words, surveying the mess before me. “How do you know what box is going where?”

The Secodack took a bite of his sandwich behind me, and I was sure I was mistaken, but there was almost a hint of amusement in his voice. “Oh, it’s simple,” he said with his mouth half full. “It’s written on the side.”

I turned around in time to see him happily tap a small screen on the side of a crate. It glowed a faint hue of whitish-green. Several lines of information had been keyed onto the fixed device, all things that were probably imperative to its transport and contents.

“Right here on its Data screen.” The Secodack patted the crate affectionately.

I tried not to break into a sweat as I looked blankly at the screen.

Words? Reading? Data screens! Oh gods in scriking Eth! What was I gonna do?!

“Perfect,” I said calmly. “It shouldn’t take too long like that.”

The Secodack nodded. “Not long at all,” he said enthusiastically. “You have a morning to do it.”

A morning? One? Morning? To tame the absolute madness of this hangar?!

“Great,” I responded.

The Secodack turned away. “Oh yeah–and there's a bunch more inside the hold when you’re done out here,” he called over his shoulder, taking yet another bite of his sandwich as he walked back up the ramp into the ship.

“Have fun,” the Secodack said, and disappeared.

I gripped the handle to the hand-Hauler tightly. “I will!” I called after him, trying to sound absolutely fine with the task he gave me.

As soon as he was gone, I looked around the hangar with wide eyes.

How was I ever going to sort these out? Sometimes I would forget that I was illiterate, and normally, I found that very funny and slightly ironic, but it didn’t seem funny now.

Now, it felt like the metaphorical spanner destined to be thrown into the gears of my hopeful dreams of survival.

Kneeling down next to a small crate, I ran a finger over the screen helplessly. The symbols looked familiar, because it was the same script used in Lisk–Alphon script–but I still couldn’t read it.

I rubbed my eyes morosely. “Oh, Lewis, you were right–I should have tried harder to learn to read.”

I looked back at the screen. They were just shapes with no meaning–dots and dashes and lines and curves that meant absolutely nothing.

I looked at the box next to the crate I was staring at, turning it so I could see its Data screen.

Uegh–it looked exactly like the other one!

Frustration climbed up my spine and possessed my fingers as I gripped the crate, my knuckles going white as I closed my eyes. I felt so stupid I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t. I needed to find a way to–

Wait a second.

I opened my eyes, looking at the small crate.

I glanced at the big one, then the small one.

Then the big one again.

My frown eased marginally, pressing into a pensive smile.

Wait a second.

I was right–the word on the big crate looked exactly like the other one…

I picked up the smaller crate, holding it to the larger one to compare.

My frown and frustration was replaced with sweet realisation.

These two screens had the same symbols…

They were the same word.

They were going to the same place.

I looked up around the hangar, eyes darting from Data screen to Data screen. Already I could see words that matched, and words that didn’t.

“I don’t need to read them,” I whispered to the hangar in awe. My frown returned, and I looked back up to the hold to where the Secodack had been standing moments before.

I’ll show him.

Three hours later, nine o’clock in the morning (Tara)

–Still hangar 42...

It took me less than an hour to realise that the hand-Hauler was broken.

And not broken in a way that a secondhand toaster was ‘broken’, but decommissioned, nonresponsive, so-screwed-up-its-heading-for-the-scriking-smelter-in-Eth broken.

As soon as it exceeded a hilariously small limit of weight, the back motor would crap out and glitch, and, at one point, the sudden movement threw three crates across the hangar floor, like the piece of machinery was protesting at being used for the very purpose it was created for.

An emotion brewed in my stomach, creeping up to my chest in a hot and exhilarating motion. I couldn’t quite place it, but I knew it propelled me further on my mission.

I gave up using the hauler, and I carried them with my hands, instead.

Geodians were one of the most common peoples in the Kosmoverse. They were the servants, the labourers–the workers and the pillars on which everything of substance stood on–and they were not those people because of trivial, poetic sayings, but because they were strong.

It took three times as much force to break a Geo’s bone than it would to break a bone of a Tironian or Flirin. A Geo could withstand high pressures, low gravity, sudden and abrupt changes. They had faster metabolisms, and they were considered some of the best when it came to handling toxins.

I had learned all this from Lewis’s learning projections and informationals, and I repeated these facts in my head as I worked, lifting crates and matching up the intricate, complicated symbols.

My right arm ached under the bandages as I worked, pleading for me to stop the motions it wasn't used to performing to such an extent.

My head ached too–I guess I was exercising a part of my brain that wasn’t used to being used, either. Soon, the symbols started to blur together. I shook myself angrily. I couldn't mess this up. It was the very first task I was given and I just couldn’t flunk it.

It became a pattern–something almost like a game. I would find a crate, study the markings, and then throw it into a pile that I thought matched the symbols.

After I was finally done sorting through them, I started weeding out the mistakes I had made.

Pile by pile.

Box by box.

Symbol.

By.

Symbol–

“What are you doing?”

Startled, I turned from squinting at a small box in my hands, looking up at a pair of tired green eyes.

It was the Avaiyyatian medic, Zara.

She wore a long, soft looking cardigan, and held a steaming cup of something in her hand. Dark circles under her eyes, and her dishevelled hairstyle made her seem owlish and tired.

Someone obviously wasn’t a morning person.

I swallowed, looking around the boxes surrounding me like the answer to her question was pressed in between their cold metal frames. They were all stacked in piles, their Data screens all facing forwards.

“I’m...” I trailed off. “Sorting the crates?”

Zara shuffled down the rest of the ramp to the hold, scratching the side of her head where most of her hair had been shaved except for what was on top.

“Right…” she said, looking around the hangar. “We… didn’t even know you were here.”

What? That wasn't supposed to happen.

They were supposed to tell me that I had done wonderfully, and that they had never had boxes organised so fast–not look at me with the scepticism you would only give a three day old roast chicken.

“But–” I started to explain in a helpless kind of confusion, “the Secodack didn’t tell you?”

I kicked the crappy Hand-Hauler where I had left it.

“Charge was here, and he told me to do this, with that.” I pulled it out from behind a crate and pushed it in front of Zara. It finally decided to crap out at her feet. The hover motors gave up their ghost and the entire thing dropped from half a foot into the hangar floor with a thud.

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully as I stared down at it. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pretty sure you need a new Hand-Hauler.”

Zara regarded the hauler absently, using her foot to nudge it. “Oh, we did.” She paused. “In fact, we got a new one last phase. I thought this one had been thrown out.” Her eyes flicked up to my expression, her head still tilted downwards from staring at the broken Hand-Hauler. “Charge must have kept it to inflict on unsuspecting temporary maintenance hands.”

My wounded expression ceased all words from coming to my lips. I didn’t understand.

Thankfully, the Avaiy explained it to me quite clearly.

“So let me get this straight,” she said, swirling the contents of her mug and taking a sip. “You showed up here, probably when you were supposed to show up, and Charge told you to reorganise the crates and use this crappy hauler?” She raised an eyebrow, awaiting my answer as she took another sip.

I shrugged hesitantly. “Yeah?”

Zara shook her head, leaving the crime scene of the crates and the hauler behind her as she walked.

“Appears you've been officially welcomed to the hangar, kid,” she called over her shoulder, gesturing to the newly organised crates she was passing. “Cause, uh- we don’t actually need to do that.”

“Then why –”

Zara interrupted me, already knowing what I was going to ask.

“Because our Second-Engineer is an asshole.” The young woman assumed the tone of someone who was stating a fact that was known to the entire universe except me, waving a hand through the air.

A few more steps around the ship, and the medic stopped in her tracks.

I stood behind her, watching her as she knelt down and looked at a large crate at her feet. She looked back at me. Her green eyes reminded me of Web’s, except Zara’s were much lighter and more pale.

“What were you organising these crates by, exactly?” she asked, shaking her head as she continued onwards around the ship. “These ones are all going to different places.” She blew out a breath of her nose, like she had wanted to laugh but couldn’t be bothered to. “Let me guess–Charge told you to organise them by the brand, didn’t he?”

I froze, sweaty hands clutching the strap to my bag under my poncho.

My heartbeat went a little faster.

Slowly, I turned my head to look at the box at my feet, in cold, withered hate.

The... brand…?

I opened my mouth, still staring at the data screen and its evil little symbols.

“I–yeah. Charge told me to do that.”

Zara waved me off, taking another sip as she walked. “Luckily for you, I don’t care.” She disappeared behind the ship, and I heard her voice call after me.

“Come on, Covienian, quit moping and I’ll show you what you were actually hired to do.”

Sighing heavily, I dragged my feet as I followed Zara, rubbing my eyes painfully.

The feeling of wanting to cry returned in full.

Finally, I arrived by the starboard side of the ship where some creaky looking scaffolding had been set up. I think I noticed it yesterday.

Along the surface of the transport, barnacle looking build-ups pot-marked the hull in ugly looking clumps.

“Descaling,” Zara informed me, leaning against the scaffold easily. “Mineral rich Astraclouds promotes the growth of what we like to call scales.”

The ship’s landing gear was as tall as I was, so I had to stand on my tip toes to touch the hull. I brushed a low hanging cluster, and my hands came away with a sensation like crusty rock.

I drew my hand back quickly.

Flaky rock or not, it felt weird.

Zara gestured up towards the top of the scaffold. “You start at the top, and then work your way to the bottom, to underneath. Tools are over there.” She walked past me back towards the ship. “It should take about a day, and then you can assist our First-Engineer with the last of the repairs. Xander will be out shortly to give you a–”

“Little Geo!!”

I turned to the side of the ship, where Xander had appeared and Charge hovered behind him.

Today, Xander was sporting only one of his boots, and had his other foot thoroughly enveloped in what looked like a kind of brace. He also had a very tall metal crutch that was perfect for his stupidly unfair height.

Zara walked past him, avoiding the exuberant Geo and swaying to the side easily without losing her balance–or spilling her drink.

“Okay, you kids have fun,” she said tonelessly, and disappeared.

Xander limped easily towards the scaffold, smiling like he had just been given the best present in the whole Kosmoverse.

“Glad you finally showed up!” he said. “We only have a day for this job.”

I held up a hand. “Well, actually, I've been–” I looked past Xander and met the Secodack’s gaze.

He smiled pleasently.

Too plesently.

I bit my tongue. “Nevermind,” I said flatly as I looked away from Charge.

Xander didn’t notice the exchange. Instead he limped towards the side of the ship, where some tools were stored in a small crate. “Anyway–we should start. I will work at the bottom, because…” He held up his foot sadly. “So you two can work at the top.”

Charge’s protests beat my own.

“Hey–wait an overprocessed nanosecond–” he complained. “I have to descale the ship?”

Xander looked surprised, wearing a look of genuine shock.

“Oh, well Tarik told me she wanted you to help out here.” He handed Charge a rubber chisel and a blunt looking hammer. “But if you want to go and argue with her, be my guest.”

Charge dropped his shoulders and spent about ten long seconds turning to look up at the pot-marked ship, and then to me and Xander. He repeated this action a few times before pointing the rubber chisel up at Xander.

“I’m an engineer–”

Xander shrugged. “Yes, and I am a gladiator-deckhand.” Xander turned and picked up his own tools from the crate, his tone sweet and cheery. “Isn’t it wonderful that certain tasks still can make equals of us all?”

Charge growled out some kind of insult, but it was either too low, or in a different language, and I couldn't understand it. He climbed up the scaffolding bitterly where a ladder had been literally–taped to the side.

Xander handed me two similar tools and winked.

I took the tools from his hands hesitantly.

I didn’t understand what was going on, and Xander didn’t explain, but he seemed pleased with how his conversation with the Secodack had gone. I wondered vaguely at what exactly Xander had done.

He nodded to the scaffold. “Come on, then, Little Geo. Show us what you got.”

Turning and following Charge up the scaffolding, I tried to forget about the last three hours with a sigh, metal pipes and brackets creaking and groaning as I climbed.

Okay, Evren, I thought to myself, just do a good job now. Work fast. Forget what happened. It’s not important. Show them you can work hard. Because you can.

I reached the top of the scaffold, pulling myself up shakily.

“Charge will show you how to use the chisel,” shouted Xander from below me. I looked down and nodded.

As Xander went to work far below, I finally realised how deceived I was about the size of the Passerine. For some reason, I had thought of it in my mind as a small transport.

But it really wasn’t.

I looked over the edge of the barrierless scaffolding, glancing down at Xander as he started to work happily, singing some tune he looked to be thoroughly enjoying.

I turned back to the ship, and locked eyes with the Secodack, who was wearing an expression that made me shuffle away from the ledge awkwardly.

His glare made me realise just then how easy it would be to be pushed from a structure like this.

I nodded to him, walking to the surface of the silver ship. “Hey.”

Charge turned back to unhappily chiselling the Scales off the metallic surface.

I shuffled to the other end of the scaffold, very carefully starting to mimic the Secodack’s own actions.

Not as much came off as I thought it would.

After a few pitiful attempts of me trying to get a cluster off the ship, Charge stopped what he was doing–looked up to the heavens like he was in the middle of silent prayer to the Secolian gods–and sighed dramatically.

“You need to use more force,” he said, flopping his head to look at me expectedly.

Swallowing silently, I tried again and had a little more luck. I felt the Secodack's eyes on me as the barnacles fell away and dropped to the ground far below. Some hit the scaffold by my feet.

Leaning down, I picked some up and felt it again. This didn’t feel like the stuff down on the ground level.

“What is this?” I asked, fascinated. “The imperial ships don’t have this.”

Charge kept on chiselling halfheartedly, his tone bored as he spoke. “Well, that's cause they don’t go out into wild space. Most Scales are mineral build-ups, but these ones at the top are a form of crustacean.” He gestured lazily with his chisel. “They like to attach themselves to the passing ships to feed off the space clouds we pass through, but they drag down the ship if they get too big.”

I let the barnacles drop to the ground, and started on another cluster. Actually, this was pretty easy. I could be done my half of this level fairly quick.

“You guys must have to do this a lot, then,” I said as I strained to break another cluster of barnacles of the ship.

The Secodack shook his head.

For the moment, it was like his trick with the crates hadn’t even happened. Did he notice I had stacked them wrong? Or maybe he just didn’t care? Did he know I couldn’t read? Is that why he did it?

I didn’t know. I probably would never. I remembered that I actually didn’t have the energy to worry about it.

I focused on my task, picturing the seventy five Disks that would be my escape from this planet. If all I had to do was put up with this guy for a week, if it meant my freedom, I just didn’t care.

The Secodack was talking again, answering my question. What had I asked? I couldn’t remember.

“Not really,” Charge explained. “It depends on what Sector you fly through. The Flirin region is crawling with them, though.” The Secodack paused, struggling to pry off a large barnacle. “Taking these off requires three things,” he said, pushing on the chisel with all his strength. “Stubbornness, and an overwhelming sense of frustration.” His effort finally paid off and the crustacean fell to the ground, withering and breaking apart.

Getting him talking about the barnacles was a good idea. I felt a little more safe when he was talking. Although, his pointed canines were more prominent when he talked, so that was a down side.

“Wait…” I looked over at the engineer, unsure. “... that’s only two things.”

The Secodack gasped in surprise.

“Oh, so you can count.” Charge didn't look up from his work. “Here I was thinking you were just illiterate.”

The chisel and hammer froze in my hands.

I forgot for a brief moment that I had made up my mind not to care about what this Secodack said. I grasped for words I didn’t have. Finally, my mouth opened quietly.

“I can read,” I lied.

Charge didn’t stop working as he talked.

“Then why are all the crates organised by brand, instead of planet? And why couldn’t you give us the street name yesterday for where that workshop was? And why are you working for such a low amount?”

I stared at my hands as the Secodack chipped away at the scales. I didn’t have a single damn answer for any one of those questions.

Lewis had told me so many times–lie about yourself if people started getting too nosey, but he never told me how.

Over the last six months, I had to resort to the one way I could lie successfully, and in a way, it wasn’t even lying at all; when you made people believe the things they already assumed about you, was that really lying?

It was time for the ultimate move.

My biggest card.

My greatest play–the one where I sacrificed my very character for my biggest weapon of misdirection:

Stupidity.

“Seventy five Disks is a low amount?” I asked, pretending to be surprised as I went back to work. I leant closer to the ship to ‘examine’ a strange looking barnacle. “I didn’t know that.”

Charge didn’t know what to do now. “What?” He seemed perplexed. “Of course it’s a low amount. You get… a–a good coat on Phobia for that amount.”

Another crustacean came free, and I started on another one.

“Where's Phobia?” I asked.

“In the Medium Belt–” started the Secodack instantly.

“The Medium is a belt?” I asked, interrupting him as I tapped away with my chisel. “I thought the Medium was like, a planet or something.” With a free hand, I waved through the air. “You know, I’m just a dumb Geodian, I don't know a lot about the Kosmoverse. I just want a little money to put towards a Laneway Tax.”

Charge glared at me. “Seventy Five disks is the Lanway Tax, idiot.” He continued quietly, lowering his voice. “I’ve lived in a lot of places, on a lot of planets, and I know a mechscrubber when I see one. That's how I knew you would probably know where the black market was yesterday.”

I scratched the back of my head, looking up at some scales that were just out of reach. “I’m–I’m having trouble understanding, so you’re gonna have to explain it to me.” I reached up and tried to knock the crustacean off. It didn’t work. “You’re upset because I helped you with your lightcore trouble? Or that I’m earning money for a Laneway Tax?”

I knew neither was true. But I needed to sound like an idiot.

“No,” The Secodack said. “You’re just… you’re suspicious. You obviously are trying to get offworld, you were up at the Local Registry exactly when we were, and you knew exactly where our lightcore was.” He took a step towards me, pointing his chisel up at my face. “I don’t believe in coincidence, and I don’t believe you’re a maintenance hand–so what kind of game are you playing here? And why is Xander lying about it? Were you the one that stole the lightcore in the first place? Are you trying to get it back?”

I didn’t move. I didn’t do anything except open my mouth slowly.

“Why would I try to steal your lightcore after telling you where it was?”

I went back to work, feeling a trickle of sweat behind the collar of my shirt. “I don’t want to seem rude,” I started with a forced laugh, “But I think that’s what you would call Counter inhibition.”

“It’s Counter intuition,” the Secodack retorted flatly, his arms still crossed.

I looked over at him and assumed a surprised expression. “Oh, I thought it was–”

Charge held up a hand, pinching the bridge of his flat little nose like he was in actual, physical pain. “No-no. Nevermind. Just… nevermind.”

He went back to the wall of the ship, muttering. “Just… get to work.”

He started tapping away on the ship as he whispered to himself. “Ethreal's lights, did Xander pick the stupidest maintenance hand he could find…?”

Heh. The Secodack had stopped asking questions.

I won! I may have looked like an idiot and degraded my personal intelligence to that of a two week old sandwich– But I still won!

I went back to descaling, remembering that this went against my personal mandate this morning outside the hangar, to not do anything weird or idiotic, but desperate times called for desperate measures. With the rest of the crew, I wanted to make myself look actually helpful–but I felt somewhat safer now that Charge, the Secodack engineer, just thought I was a dumb Geodian maintenance hand.

“Why hello, Tarik, what brings you out of the ship on this fine morning?” Xander asked someone pleasantly far below us.

The burst of pure fear that shot outwards from the Secodack was utterly ridiculous. He rushed to the edge of the scaffold, peering over the ledge with his orange, beady little eyes.

Curious, I peered over the edge too.

The person that appeared was old. Or to be more accurate, just… older than the rest of the crew I had seen.

One arm was made completely out of metal, and disappeared into a sleeveless, greased-stained undershirt she was wearing. Coveralls had been folded down and tied around her waist, where a row of tools of some description were tucked into her belt. The outfit showed off the wonderfully vivid Tironian markings down her arm and neck. Stripes of blue even lined her cheeks and the back of her sharp, pointed, twitching ears.

“That Secodack–where?” she asked Xander in sign, her metal arm moving just as fluidly as her organic one. “On this ship–job he has–one.”

I couldn’t really see the Tironian's posture or expressions, so it was hard to translate the handful of signs into full sentences.

“-again–weld his toolbox shut-if find him–can't.”

“Well, he said he was dying to help me and the maintenance hand with descaling,” I could hear Xander reply easily. “I didn’t know he had something else to do.”

The woman looked up through a messy tangle of ear length grey and silver hair, two eyes behind thick goggles that either were meant for focusing or safety.

She wore a look that terrified me–it was one that Kan had given me a lot, or any Covienian that had caught me in the wrong place.

Except today, it was directed at not me, but Charge.

The woman called Tarik used a few direct signs, and these ones I could read easily, because they had been used on me so extensively. They were relatively univerasal, too.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Charge looked terrified.

Before he could speak, Xander spoke for him, shrugging. “Just helping out, Tarik. He wanted to descale so badly.”

“No I didn’t!” Charge protested from the scaffold.

Tarik pointed up at the Secodack and then down at the ground an obvious sign for get down here right this second or else…

The Tironian didn’t wear a traditionally mean expression–but rather, one like she had almost expected this to happen.

Leaving his chisel and hammer, Charge scurried down the scaffold.. It squeaked noisily as he descended, his long ears pointed downwards in worry.

“I didn’t say that, Xander is–”

As Charge got closer to the ground, the Tironian mechanic reached up and smacked the back of his head, silencing him.

“Hear it–I don’t want,” she signed as Charge jumped onto the ground. “If you stop running away–get out of port on time, we might. ” She turned away, and I caught the last of her signs. “You-me–thousand and nine things need to do!”

As Charge gave excuses and protests that fell on pointed, unsympathetic ears, I found Xander’s light eyes as they stared up at me.

At first, Xander was expressionless–but as soon as the Tironian and Charge disappeared, he gave me a slow, knowing smile.

One of absolute smugness.

“Good job on those crates,” the large Geo whispered loudly.

From the scaffold I could see my morning's work. I gave all the crates a wary glance, looking back at Xander.

“Get chiselling, Little Geo,” Xander called up cheerfully, and then went back to work–happily singing melodies I’m pretty sure were drinking songs.

I turned back to the wall, starting on Charges side that had hardly even been touched.

“Xander?” I called down hesitantly.

The singing stopped briefly. “Yes?”

I snapped off a few more scales. “Why did you trick the Secodack into helping?”

The large, tall Geo only laughed.

The singing then continued, just a little more loudly and cheerily than before.

I was in my environment. I had been left to do a task that required only my strength and marginal coordination–and better yet–I had been left alone to do it. Apart from Xander's occasional interjection on better ways to chisel the Scales and barnacles off the ship, no one had bothered me for a few hours.

I was about a few levels of scaffolding done, halfway down the somewhat unstable, squeaky structure, but still relatively high up from the ground.

Xander on the other hand had well and truly worked himself under the ship. His own hammer and chisel could be heard resounding on the metal of the Passerine, the vibrations getting lost in the sheer size of the transport.

Distantly, I could hear a few voices from the hold as I worked–Zara, Charge, and even a man’s voice I didn’t recognize. I wondered how many crew members there were that I hadn’t met yet. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but each conversation held tones of intensity, like there was something that held this crew on the edge of their seats, and it was setting all of their words on edge, too.

Wiping my forehead, I broke off a few more scales with my other hand as I breathed in a lungful of air. My right arm ached under the bandages, making the fatigue I was feeling probably a lot worse than it actually was. I realised that sitting on a crate scrubbing parts was a lot less demanding than hammering weird, disturbing Scales off of a ship-side.

I was staring up at a cluster that was just out of reach, debating how I should get to it when a soft thud echoed through the large hangar, interrupting my frustrated concentration.

I looked over the crates I had organised, to the street door of hangar 42, and saw that the noise had come from the doors that were swinging back from where they had rested only moments before.

It was like someone had come in, but I didn’t see anyone.

I was about to decide that someone had left, not entered, when I heard a new voice call out from around the other side of the ship.

“Xander? Sevus?” a man called, evidently annoyed. “Evering Lights, where the hell is everybody? And what the bloody Eth happened to all my crates?”

I squinted. Wait.

That voice. It seemed familiar.

Peering over the edge of the scaffolding, I saw Xander crawl out from under the ship and push himself up on his crutch shakily.

“Captain!” Xander called from below, addressing the newcomer with a surprised sign meaning greetings. “–I didn’t know you would be back so soon!”

From my perch on the scaffold, I saw a man in a dark blue coat swish out from behind the ship, half a dozen parcels in his arms, and a hat atop his head that obscured his face.

“‘Back so soon?’” the man echoed, “I’ve been gone for a day and a half, Xander–I'm just glad to see the hangar isn’t on fire yet.”

Xander didn’t move. He stood clutching the handle of his crutch.

“Did we get the Refinery Bay job?” Xander asked in a low, calm kind of tone. I thought he was being a little too calm.

“Yes. It went fine,” was the flat, suspicious answer. “Did you hire the maintenance hand? I don’t see anyone around…?”

On my hands and knees, I studied the offworlder–trying desperately to remember where I had seen the man before. There was something about the voice, and the coat, and that hat.

Xander nodded slowly. “We did...”

The man looked around. “Did you go to the Upper workshops like I told you to?” Xander was looking pretty uncomfortable, even from up here. He nodded again in silent confirmation.

“Would you like to meet her?” asked the Geodian. “She’s descaling the top of the ship.”

The newcomer turned and set his parcels on a nearby crate as Xander pointed up at me.

“I’d like to meet them, yes.”

The voice was really bugging me. It sounded so familiar–even the way the man spoke, like his ‘r’s were drawn across his words and he didn’t know when to stop using his vowels.

“Well, they better be descaling right–I don't want a thousand scratches in the Passerine’s hull like last time.”

Xander looked up and beckoned for me to climb down. “Little Geo, come down for a moment?”

Obediently, I put my chisel and hammer down and started to climb down the side of the scaffold, embarking down the ladder as I listened to Xander and the other offworlder talk.

“What happened to you?” the newcomer asked. “Did you startle Zara, again?”

The scaffold squeaked noisily as I clambered down, reminding me of all the bad luck I’d had with heights recently.

“No,” answered Xander pointedly. “I had… a bad fall yesterday. See? Not so bad.”

I went down another rung, listening to the offworlder's voice.

“Evering’s Lights, man… That’s not from a bad fall. What the Eth happened to your foot?”

Finally reaching the last rung, I jumped onto the ground unsteadily. Xander and the other offworlder were a few metres away, and I turned to them as I nervously wiped my greasy, sweaty hands on my equally greasy, sweaty shirt.

“Captain Rigg,” said Xander, pushing me slightly towards the offworlder. “Please meet our new maintenance hand, Evren West–”

Now that I could see his face, I realised why his voice had seemed so familiar.

Blue Vs were scattered on his brow and face, marking him as a Fletric. His pointed ears twitched as he frowned–intense, dark blue eyes studying me with an emotion reminiscent of horror.

I took a few steps back, recoiling into the scaffold as my mouth dropped open in shock.

It was the man that had threatened to shoot me! The one that ratted me out to the Mechanics! The one I had pushed into the street!

There was no way I was staying here now.

I turned and bolted out from under the scaffold, running around the ship and towards the large hangar doors that overlooked the Hollow Wastes. There had to be service stairs I could escape on.

Several unhelpful voices screamed in my head as I ran, some telling me to hide, most laughing at my bad luck, and all of them knowing I couldn’t go anywhere fast enough.

OF COURSE the Fletric that I had pushed into the street and took the Bot arm from was the bloody Captain to the Passerine. My only well paying job I ever had, and it was gone in a matter of hours. What did I do? What horrible and grotesque act had I done to the universe that it felt the need to twist its knife of hyperbolic comedy into my side every chance it got!?

I reached the very end of the hangar, where the tall, creaking doors gave away to the immense open space above the Hollow Wastes. As my eyes darted around wildly for the start of some blessed service stairs, an empty feeling filled me as I realised that they had probably completely rusted away, most likely far before I was even born–whenever that was.

"Oh no."

I turned on my heel, hearing Xander shout behind the ship.

"What–Evren? Come back! What happened?”

My eyes fixed to the small street door I had come in through this morning across the hangar.

That was my only exit.

Speeding around the opposite side of the ship, rather than the one that supported the scaffolding, I wondered what the Captain would have done to me if I had stayed. Shot me? Called the authorities because he knew I was a thief? Thrown me from the cliff dock?

I didn’t know. But I damn well knew I wasn’t staying around to find out.

I bolted past the ship, just passing it when something flicked out from behind it and tripped me.

Smacking onto the hangar floor, I took the blow on my shoulder and the same wrist I had used to break my fall when I fell out of the Port window. White, blinding pain filled my vision as I rolled around on the hangar floor, writhing to and fro like a little worm in a hot, midday sun.

I opened my eyes to see the Fletric withdraw his foot from where he had thrust it into my path. He had a Pulser drawn, and again–

–he was aiming at my head.

I held up my aching hands as if they could shield my face.

“Please don't shoot me!” I pleaded rapidly, “You can take my poncho, but thats all I have–Please–”

The Fletric remained silent as he looked down at me, his teal Pulsers reflected in his infuriated eyes.

“What the hell are you doing around my ship?” came the obvious question.

I tried scotting away backwards on my hands and feet, but my head hit a cargo crate, pinning me between the Fletric’s glowing Pulser and my inability to break the rules of physics and melt into the metal floorboards of the hangar.

“Well–” I started, swallowing as I looked down the barrel to his Pulser. “–I was trying to run away?”

The man's expression darkened. “Seems to be a habit with you, doesn’t it, Covienian?”

The sound of Xander’s crutches squeaked closer rapidly.

“Captain, what are you doing…?” For the first time, Xander seemed genuinely wordless. He looked from my miserable face to the captain's angry one. “Why… why did you do that?”

The captain turned to look at the tall, dark skinned Geodian. “Xander–she’s a thief–!”

While the captain's back was turned, I decided that it was the perfect opportunity to leap from the ground, jump over the crate, and run towards the door–

–but something caught me.

Or more appropriately, the collar of my shirt.

The captain held me at arms length, and I had to go on my tiptoe to reach the floor.

He thrust me towards Xander. “Tell me what this degenerate is doing in my hangar, Xander.”

Xander’s normally passive and gentle expression was replaced with one of pensive worry. “She’s… our maintenance hand, sir. I found her yesterday in the upper hangars. Like you asked.”

I was shaken gently, like someone would shake a doll in frustration, which was odd because the captain didn’t look very strong. I was surprised he didn’t seem to put much effort into holding me up at all.

“Does this look like a maintenance hand, Xander?”

Xander and I shared a look, and he glanced back at the captain behind me hesitantly.

“Yes?” Xander answered.

“No,” the captain corrected him, “this is just a kid. And she’s the mechscrubber that rudely attacked me with a Bot arm in the Upper Levels.”

Xander's face was a blessed mix of shock and amusement. “Evren was the Geo outside Oli’s parlour…?”

While Xander made a face of absolute astonishment, I tried to twist and look at the Fletric.

“Rudely attacked?” I challenged. “It fell out of my hands and hit you.”

The captain pointed to his coat, where a tear on his shoulder revealed a sliver of light grey shirt underneath. “It ripped my coat.”

“So you told the Mechanics where I went?” I asked, trying to wiggle out of the captain's grasp, but his grip on my collar remained unyielding.

Finally, the captain released me with a push, and I fell onto the ground again with a startled yell. I turned to see him holster his Pulser angrily.

“Oh–I told the mechanics where you went because unlike you Covienians, I don’t tolerate thieves.”

I looked back up at the captain, pushing myself onto my elbows. This wasn’t fair–I was being punished for doing the right thing again! If this was going to be a regular thing I was gonna have to rethink my moral obligation to the universe at large. I frowned at the captain, angry now.

Hypocrisy was one of my least favourite things.

“Then you shouldn’t have come back, captain–because this hangar? Is full of them.”

The satisfaction of having a good comeback was instantly replaced with crippling regret.

I swung my head, eyes darting to Xander, realising too late that the action was even more incriminating.

Beside Captain Rigg, Xander dropped his head into his hand with a loud sigh.

The captain looked at my horrified expression, then to Xander.

“What does she mean, Xander?”

Xander didn’t look up.

Instead, he held his face in his hand like he was worried it might fall off and his fingers were the only thing keeping it there.

Receiving no answer, the captain turned to Xander–and even though he had to look up at the Geodian, the deckhand looked away from the captain's angry gaze.

“What does the mechscrubber mean, Xander?” he repeated in a low, measured voice, using a tone that implied he already knew.

Xander looked from side to side, looking more like he was about to tell someone that their favourite flavour of snack food was gone, and not like he was about to confess to disobeying direct orders from his captain.

“We… might have… got… the Lightcore back… while… you were gone yesterday?” Xander ended his explanation in a wince. “But”–Xander gestured to me–“I got an extra hand, just like you wanted.”

Without turning away from the Geodian, Captain Rigg pointed to me as I sat up.

“You mean you disobeyed orders, employed a homeless street urchin who is also a thief, and stole the very thing I told you not to steal?” The captain’s voice rose.

“That's not what I wanted!”

"Hey-"I stiffened defensively. “I’m not homeless.”

No one heard me.

The captain rubbed his eyes, like he was tired of them being in their sockets and wanted them gone. “We’re already in debt. We’re already overextending ourselves by parking in this hangar for a week. We’re already cutting it dangerously close with Novesena–”

The captain dropped his hands, looking up at Xander.

“Are you trying to sabotage this ship?” he asked. “Is that what it is? Are things getting too boring for you here? I told you the only way we were gonna get off of this planet on time was if we drew no attention to ourselves, and got qualified help. And you managed to do the exact opposite of both of those things!”

“Well–” Xander tried to interject calmly, but the captain wouldn’t have it.

“What part of ‘don't steal the Lightcore back’ did you not understand?”

Xander struggled for words, and whether that was because he didn’t have them, or he was desperately trying to translate them into Entrillian General, it didn’t look like it was going well.

I pushed myself to my feet with a sigh of resignation. “I told them."

The captain snapped his attention back to me.

“What?”

Beside Captain Rigg, Xander shook his head rapidly–freezing discreetly as the captain looked at Xander with an ample amount of suspicion.

I continued despite Xanders ‘subtle’ attempts at telling me to stop.

“I was in the Local Registry yesterday, booking passage offworld, when I overheard them talking about it.”

The captain frowned down at me.

Now, I had a fair share of terrifying experiences up my nonexistent sleeves– first of all, the Astrostorm, and then the three day, delirious walk across the Echo infested plain. I had been beaten up multiple times since then, fell down an elevator shaft, and even accidently locked myself in an abandoned mining tunnel beneath the Shaft for two whole days–

–But none of those things, and I mean none of those things, were half as scary compared to the Fletric and his intense, pointed stare.

I continued shakily.

“Please don’t be mad at Xander, Herus. I was the one who overheard your crewmembers trying to find a missing Lightcore. I knew where there was one, because the Mechanics I worked for had acquired one a few weeks ago–so I told Xander and the Secodack about it.”

I swallowed, trying to fight the urge to run away from the man's intense expression.

I dropped my head. So much for looking normal on the first day.

“Look, they wouldn’t have stolen the core if it weren’t for me. Xander gave me a job as a maintenance hand because I needed the money–and he forgot to hire one cause he was… well, busy.”

When I looked back up, the captain had folded his arms and assumed an expressionless look.

I had no idea what he could have been thinking about. I hoped it was I shouldn’t fire her because she looks helpless and pathetic. But it might have been if I kill her now, where would the best place be to hide the body? Trying to judge by his expression was futile–there was just no way to tell.

Finally, the captain spoke.

“You’re not a maintenance hand. You don’t belong anywhere near this ship.”

He turned, rubbing his right eye again vehemently.

“Just… go before I call the authorities.”

I deflated, hanging my head as I stared at my unmatching boots.

Why was I even so upset? I suppose I expected as much.

I looked up at Xander after a brief moment, shrugging. It was worth a shot.

At least Xander seemed sad. That made me feel better–I would be missed at least marginally by the strange, calm offworlder.

Retrieving my poncho and bag by the edge of the scaffolding, I tried to tell myself that given the circumstances, this was the best outcome. I wasn’t dead or riddled with Pulser blasts, and I had the opportunity to try to find work somewhere else.

But… I really didn’t.

I couldn’t just go looking for a job in Surfaceside, or even the Upper Levels, and Kovals' would have made sure that every Mech workshop knew that I was a thief.

I walked towards the street door, glancing to where Xander and Captain Rigg were in the middle of a whispered argument.

I sighed, continuing towards the exit despndantly.

If I showed up and asked for a job anywhere in Lisk, I would be handed in, either to Mechanics or a Science guild, faster than I could say bad luck.

I put my hands in my pockets under my poncho, scoffing.

Bad luck. If there was no good luck in the Blue Fringe, then there was no bad luck. And if there was no bad luck, then things were just downright crappy here for no good reason.

No destiny.

No fate.

No magical force that held all our lives together. No light entwined plan that destined you for better things.

It was just you, and your crappy hand of cards against the whole crappy universe.

The thought lingered in my brain for a moment too long, and I froze in my tracks, tilting my head.

Something froze me to the floor, and in the distance, I could hear the cruel and cantankerous laugh of a very bad idea forming.

In the back of my head, some of Web's words drifted back into my mind.

“Kid, you're not responsible for the cards you've been dealt–just for how you play them…”

My hands gripped the strap to my satchel, and I shut my eyes.

I think, right at that moment, I had a very bad hand of cards. The Scavengers were looking for me, Del was probably still looking for more money, and Kovals' was actively searching for me because of the arm.

But as of yesterday–

–I wasn’t the only one Kovals' was looking for.

And if I had learned anything over the past day of working in this crummy hangar–I wasn’t the only one with a bad hand of cards.

I smiled, my eyes still shut.

“That's so mean,” I whispered to myself. I lost my smile momentarily. “I can’t do that.”

I opened my eyes, waiting for the resolve to come and push me out of the hangar and into the street.

But it never came.

So instead of moving, I made a decision.

I had never played a bluffing game, but I think it was time I started.

A moment later, I appeared back at the boxes where the captain and Xander were still arguing.

Stepping onto a crate, I made sure I was at relative eye level with them both.

The captain frowned over at me.

“Weren’t you leaving?”

Xander, on the other hand, saw the determined, unbothered expression on my face, and smiled. He settled back like he knew what I was going to say, and knew he was already going to enjoy it.

I made eye contact with Captain Rigg, straightening. I tried to make myself seem more taller, more brave and less frightened out of my mind.

“Let me work on your ship, or I’ll go and tell Kovals' where their Lightcore went.”

The captain's expressionless mask disappeared for only a nanosecond, but that small amount of time was enough for me to realise he hadn’t thought of that yet.

I picked up one of my braids, examining the end casually as I fought the urge to study every emotion that passed over the two merchants' faces.

“Now, I know I'm in a bit of trouble with them right now–but if I bring back their Lightcore, with the names of the merchants who stole it, and told them exactly where there was a beautiful twin engine Lumin Transport ripe for the picking–” I dropped the braid, looking back up at the captain. “–I think they might forgive me for a Bot arm.”

Kovals' would definitely not forgive me. But hopefully the captain didn’t know that.

The captain tilted his head, still wearing the dark expression.

“Are you threatening me, kid?”

I squinted at the captain, putting my hands on my hips.

“Threatening is a strong word, Captain Rigg. I like to call this ‘creative bargaining’.”

The captain waved off my words, but if felt like he had disregarded my entire existence. “You wouldn’t tell Kovals’ where we were.”

“Do you know that for sure?” I asked, tilting my head with a dare.

If the captain figured out I was bluffing, I was screwed. But the thing about bluffing is that it went both ways–and I knew that the captain was also saving face as he stared at me.

Like the floorboards at Rusty Ris’s, or the concrete cracks in the Warehouse District, I could feel the familiar impression of fear around this offworlder. But this captain was hiding it incredibly well.

Like, so well, I started to doubt if my inconsistent sixth sense was deceiving me.

The captain folded his arms, turning to face me wordlessly. His native markings really did make him look angrier than he probably was.

I hoped.

“How much?” Captain Rigg asked.

That wasn’t exactly a concession to my demand, but it felt close.

“How much would you want?” the Fletric repeated.

I nodded to Xander. “For how much Xander and I agreed on yesterday. Seventy five Disks, and I leave on Seventhday. Tiln.” I added the last word as an afterthought, not really sure why I had to clarify that I wanted to leave at nightime.

Captain Riggs flat expression slowly eased into blatant amusement.

“Seventy five what?”

I looked at Xander, remembering Charge's accusations this morning. “Se-seventy five Disks?” I repeated hesitantly.

The captain looked down, his hat hiding his face briefly. When he looked back up, he seemed more tired.

“So I let you work on my ship and you won’t tell the Covienians where the Lightcore is?”

I nodded.

Captain Rigg still looked like he didn’t want to give in.

I glared at him, willing him to do so silently.

Just say yes, you terrible man, and everybody in this hangar wins.

Xander burst out laughing, slapping the captain on the shoulder as he broke the tense silence.

“Looks like she wins, Kapitain!”

The Fletric turned a dark and angry pair of eyes to his deckhand.

Xander withdrew his hand.

“Don’t think that I’m forgetting you went against orders yesterday.” Captain Rigg pointed a finger at Xander, but Xander didn’t seem too bothered. He shook his head, turning away. “Evering Lights, this place is gonna kill me,” he muttered as he walked. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

Xander and I watched as the captain left.

I turned to Xander.

“Does that mean I can stay?” I whispered uncertainly.

Captain Rigg heard me, and answered before Xander could.

“Yes, it means she can stay. If she can make herself useful until Seventhday, and if I don’t shoot her before then.”

I watched Captain Rigg disappear into the ship, feeling a shiver of fear run down my spine.

Once the captain was out of sight, Xander made a noise of astonishment.

“Gates of Eth, little Geo!” he exclaimed, turning to me. “–I think he liked you!”

I jumped off the crate, giving into a nervous scoff. “Did you just hear the same conversation I did?”

Xander came to stand beside me and patted my shoulder.

“Well. You’re not dead,” he said easily.

I swallowed.

I didn’t like this.

Already, little tendrils of guilt crept up from my gut and started squeezing into my thoughts.

But I couldn’t afford to lose this. It was this, or death. And I wasn’t fond of how I might look in a casket.

I turned to Xander, trying to seem earnest, but I might have just come off as scared. “I’m… I’m sorry for threatening your crew. But…” I looked away. “I really do need to get offworld.”

Xander seemed to be thinking about it. He shrugged.

“We get threatened all the time,” said Xander. “But never by someone so little and cute.”

He patted my head, and I pushed his hand away in protest.

“I’m not cute.”

The large Geodian ignored me and started to limp towards the scaffold, his crutches squeaking across the hangar.

“Now, come on, Little Geo. Let's make good on the ‘being useful' part before Captain Aster changes his mind.”

Covien’s cool night air drifted into hangar 42, making Captain Rigg miss the sunnier, warmer planets that he and his crew had visited earlier in the year.

The thought made his expression turn bitter as his over-tired eyes struggled to focus on the Data Tab in his hands.

Once again, he was reminded that he never wanted to come to this planet.

And once again, he had to remind himself, that he had zero choice in the matter.

The sound of Xander–and that infernal girl–packing away tools for the night mixed with their chatter from behind the ship, creating a friendly combination of laughter and words that drifted around the hangar.

Captain Rigg looked up, studying the side of the ship that had been cleaned of the bothersome crustaceans. Already, Xander and the mechscrubber had moved the scaffold to the other side of the ship, and were halfway done clearing the opposite side.

Aster looked away sharply, folding his arms. He wanted her to be a bad worker, to justify the intense anger he currently was experiencing, but apparently, Zara had said that the small Geodian worked faster and harder than they all expected.

This only made him angrier.

Being told what to do, and who to hire by a stupid street urchin. It was utterly unbelievable!

He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly with one hand.

But, then again, how angry could he really be? He wouldn't have found anyone around Lisk to do this kind of work for seventy five Disks–

Someone moved behind him, interrupting his thoughts.

“Eltrin is over by the door, if you were looking for it.”

Captain Rigg turned and met the green eyes of his medic. She had a cup in hand, one that was probably filled with an unnecessarily over-caffeinated beverage.

The Fletric nodded in response. “No, no, that’s good. I’m glad they postponed it for tomorrow.” Rubbing his eye again, he sighed. “The Sentenious also agreed to take the iron we got from those Flirin moons along with the Eltrin.”

Zara came to stand beside her captain, taking a sip as she looked over all the crates in their hangar.

Captain Rigg looked into the tin cup she had in hands. It was nearly empty, but remains of its faintly glowing contents could be seen at the bottom.

“Good god, Zara–how are you even alive?”

Shrugging, the lithe Avaiyyatian took another sip without a hint of remorse.

“Hell if I know.” She sniffed. “But when I’m dead, I'm sure they’ll write a book about it.”

Taking the cup from her lips, she tilted her head strangely as she looked at boxes marked with Flirin numerals.

“Wait, Roves wants all of it?” she asked, looking sideways at her captain. “Can't we keep some of it for the rest of the trip? It could help if we get into another pickle, y’know.”

Captain Rigg hesitated.

“No… No, we need to sell all of it. Roves is going straight back to Inner space, so he might just give us enough to make it back to Phobia.”

Zara glanced up at the Fletric beside her. “Come on. It’s not that bad, is it?” When he didn't say anything, Zara put her hand on his arm gently.

“Aster, it’s not that bad, is it?”

He shook his head.

“It’s not bad,” he settled on, “it’s just not… good. We owe the Feniers a lot for what we took out to Flirion. I thought the Netal would break even, but–” he looked back at the Tab, trying to find a way to say the words delicately.

“Oli Preastigat didn’t pay up. We only got… half… of what I was counting on getting. ” He looked over apologetically at the young medic, and tried to sound reassuring. “Novasena should come through. We just need to get there on time before they give the contract to someone else.”

Zara chuckled quietly, a rare and bitter sound. “Well, don’t worry too much, that maintenance hand Xander found should make it easier.” She took another sip of her drink and the captain frowned.

The emotions he felt when he thought of the scheming maintenance hand were, to say the least, not good, and they did not have any air of easiness about them.

“Why do you say that?”

The medic shrugged. “Did Xander tell you how much she wants? Seventy five Disks– not Pieces.” She took another swig from her cup. “For that amount, we might have enough left over to buy actual water here.”

Captain Rigg rubbed his arm as he thought about his medic's words darkly. He kept his words short–he wasn't really in the mood for outlining the current blackmail situation they were in because of the mechscrubber and her opportunistic notions.

“Mm, yes. Xander told me how much she was working for… But no one sane would work for that amount.”

Zara shrugged, unbothered. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers. She's the best Xander could find. Apparently.” She paused, about to take another sip but stopping herself before the cup reached her lips. “I didn’t want to hire her because she’s just a kid, but Xander said she came from a good workshop.”

As he and Zara talked, the small Geodian walked out from behind the ship and strode across the hangar, waving a farewell to Xander.

Captain Rigg narrowed his eyes.

“I wonder where she’s from.”

Zara looked back at the little Geodian as she disappeared through the swinging doors of hangar 42.

“Who cares? She’s a hard worker.”

The Fletric shook his head. “I guess… but she really is a rather small Geodian, isn’t she? Aren’t they supposed to be more rare?”

“Who knows–maybe she’s a mixling?” Zara joked.

Captain Rigg turned a baleful eye to his medic.

She nodded apologetically, looking away from the silent reprimand. “Okay–’poor taste, Zara.’ I got it.”

Charge appeared from the ship's hold, waving to get the attention of Captain Rigg and the Avayyatian.

“Sevus said food is about five minutes away,” he shouted. “–and he also said he's tired of making greymeal.”

Captain Rigg frowned.

“And he told you to tell me that, did he?”

Charge shook his head. “Nope. I just thought you should know.”

The purple Secodack jumped out of the ship and shot off across the hangar towards a large control panel on the wall, fiddling with its buttons and screens. Around the hangar, lights started to turn off at the walls.

Captain Rigg turned back to Zara, rubbing his eyes again as he lowered his voice.

“I don’t want to be the one to tell Charge that greymeal is probably the only thing we’re gonna be able to afford for the two week trip to Novesena.”

Zara patted her captain on the back as she turned to the ship. “Don’t worry, Cap–” she said with mock cheeriness, “if there's a food shortage, he’ll be the first to go.”

Captain Rigg looked up momentarily from rubbing his eyes. “That’ll solve two problems, at least.”

As the captain watched the medic stomp up the hold and drain the last of her cup, he found himself staring at the door again where the maintenance hand had left moments previously.

To his side, he heard the sound of Xander’s crutches come closer– then stop.

Captain Rigg’s eyes flicked to where the large Geodian looked to be debating either sneaking away or staying. As he saw the Captain watching him, he wisely chose to latter.

“I have many apologies to make to you, don’t I?” the Geodian asked with a sigh, limping closer.

The Fletric rubbed the back of his head, blowing out a breath. “I’ll forgo the apology–just make it up to me by not hiring any more blackmail artists.”

The captain went back to looking at the Tab, still struggling to make sense of the numbers and words as his eyes ached.

“If it makes you feel better…” Xander came closer. “... I think we might be helping her. She said she needs the money to get offworld.”

Captain Rigg shrugged as he stared at the Tab, exaggerating the motion greatly as he disregarded the words.

“Well, that's great–I’m comforted to know we’re helping out a conniving, blackmailing street urchin.” He smiled briefly, looking up at Xander with an expression devoid of mirth. “You know what–that really does make me feel better?”

Xander frowned, his expression somewhat unreadable. His hand tensed, and then untensed on one of the handles to his crutch as he seemed hesitant to say the thoughts that lingered in his eyes. “You know, helping people isn’t that bad of a thing to do–”

“No–just don’t.” The captain turned away, weaving through the boxes as he checked their labels. “I don’t want to hear this again.”

At the wall, Charge started powering down the lights that illuminated the rows of crates, plunging a section of the hangar into darkness. Xander followed Captain Rigg, avoiding the crates carefully as he limped around them towards the more luminated part of the hangar. “We jump from port to port, and pay no thought to people who could have used our help.”

He paused, studying Captain Rigg to see if he was listening as another light went out across the hangar. “Helping people is what we used to do, but now–”

“I am trying to help people, Xander," Aster snapped, "–my people." Straightening from where he examined a Data screen, he pointed a finger at the tall Geodian. “I’m trying to help you-”–he directed his finger towards the ship– “and I am trying to help them. And believe it or not, that gets harder to do when you hire street urchins to do the much needed work of a maintenance hand.”

Aster dropped his arm, voice easing out of anger and into a pained, somewhat pleading tone. “We can’t help every struggling person we cross paths with when we’re struggling ourselves.”

The last light in the hangar went out above the two, leaving them in relative darkness.

Xander nodded slowly in the quiet, the light from the hold illuminating his face. It was an action devoid of any of his usual remarks, motions, or character. He just nodded once, like that was all he could do.

“I see,” he said, looking down.

There were a few moments where he didn’t say anything, only studied his feet.

Aster wanted to say something more, but he couldn’t find any words that would make the conversation better, not worse. He was left to bite his tongue, praying fervently that the argument was over.

“Some people, help other people…” Xander started softly, looking up from his feet. “... even when they have nothing.”

Aster scoffed, glancing up at his ship so he could look at something other than Xander’s face.

“And where does that get them?” he asked pointedly, folding his arms.

Xander shrugged, and started limping back towards the hold. “I don’t know,” he said over his shoulder. “You should ask her when she comes to work tomorrow.”

The captain looked away from his ship as Xander limped back up into the light of the hold, and Charge dashed up the ramp after him–insulting Xander on his poor choice of crutch colour–and all too soon, Captain Rigg was left quite alone with all his thoughts.

Now that the hangar was dark, the only light left was the glow that emitted from the hold, and the faint, imperceptible starlight that hovered at the edge of the hangar, almost too shy to come in through the large doors.

The Fletric turned sharply from his hold, striding around the ship as he muttered to himself darkly.

“And why did she help you, Xander? Hmm?”

Xander might have been gone, but it didn’t stop the captain from asking him rhetorical questions as he stomped around. In fact, the best time for Aster to argue with Xander was when he wasn’t there.

“It’s not normal,” the captain muttered into the dark hangar. “No one helps us for no reason. Besides, why did he have to hire the most helpless, pathetic looking Geodian he could find?"