A Few Good Men (Closed)

[Lucius]

Prologue

The Arabesque
Bridge

The engine ports of the battleship Arabesque flared brightly in the abyss of open space. With a silent roar, the ship turned full-circle, and came to an abrupt stop. It stared, with inhuman intelligence, at the small freighter that had appeared behind it. The lingering plumes of vented drive plasma streaming after it signalled it was in danger.

The Arabesque’s captain peered at the viewing screen with a surprised expression. He picked out every detail of the vessel, until the sudden realisation dawned on him that it was familiar.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

The bridge bristled with tension for a moment. The steel gang walks, navigation arrays, and computer banks danced with lights.

“Identify the vessel,” he commanded, in the absence of an autonomous response from the crew.

The bridge burst into activity. They pressed buttons, analysed data, and barked commands down to the lower decks. The ship's scanners picked at the approaching vessel, tracing every inch of its hull to match it with entries in the interstellar database.

“Captain,” a young officer barked. He turned in his seat on the lower deck, and looked up at the officious man in the chair towering above. “The ship is displaying architectural synchronicity with the trade freighter designated the Prima Vista, sir.”

The captain sighed.

“I thought as much.”

“Your orders, sir?” the officer pressed. There was a twinkle in his eye, though the captain could never work out if it was admiration or fear.

“Hold our current position Lieutenant. Alert fighter crews to be ready to launch, and…” His voice trailed away in surprise. His eyes widened.

As the lieutenant turned to look at the viewing screen, everyone on the bridge gasped his or her surprise, horror, and awe. Out in space, beyond the first ship's ageing bulwarks and clunky engines, something much more dangerous and foreboding emerged from a glowing portal. The Arabesque did not need to run a long-range scan to identity the second vessel.

“Scratch that,” the captain barked. He rose from his seat. “Launch all fighter crews. Fire the rear thrusters Ensign Jihta, and get ahead of the Prima Vista before that ship opens fire!”

The minutes that followed were a blur of tension and anxiety. From the wings of their ship, two long streams of dog-fighters darted out into the void. Their engines left lingering trails in their wake. The Prima Vista neared the Arabesque, until the larger, advanced ship passed over the freighter and came between the gigantic Company vessel and its prey. The green, trailing lights of the ship’s engine obscured it in the shimmering wave of distortions it left behind.

“Is the Prima Vista safe?” the captain roared. His brow was beading with sweat. His heavy overcoat, clad in medals, communication devices, and command support systems, was swift discarded. He slung it over his chair, straightened the collar of his shirt, and leant against the railing that overlooked the lower work deck.

“Yes Captain, the ship is obscured by our own hull, and turning to synchronise with the flight patterns we’ve transmitted to the navigator.”

“Good, Ensign,” the captain replied. He stared at the young recruit, nodded, and then looked back up at the unfolding drama. He made a mental note to commend the navigator if they survived the encounter.

The Company was a huge ship, twice as large as the Arabesque, though not as well defended, or armed. The captain was erred to caution by his representative to the Administrate that such vessels were prowling the regions of space surrounding Scara Brae. He had not expected them to be looking for Captain Leopold Winchester, of all people.

“Are we receiving any notification of communication, or signs of sub-space attempts to scan our ship?” He turned his attention to the science officer on the upper deck, who was feverishly punching adjustments into the shield calibrator panel and the adjacent weapons systems console.

The officer turned with a glare, showing her dislike for disruption during her work. She flicked the long, blonde fringe from her eyes, set down her data slate, and shook her head.

“No, Captain. The ship appears to be dead in space.”

The captain frowned. “It has to be crewed, surely? It can’t hyper jump without a navigator.”

He had heard of space hulks, but had never seen one. They were gigantic pre-war ships that were not crewed, but remained operational with the will of long maddened A.I systems. He doubled back over his train of thought, and then shook his head.

This was the Prima Vista. He knew the crew as though they were his family.

“No, it’s crewed alright.” He remembered a snippet of information he had learnt during the Administrate Academy years ago. “Seurat, can you scan the lower hold of the ship. Look for plasma fluctuations similar to engine refuse, and then rotate the frequency by seventy clicks.”

[Lucius]

The science officer blinked absent-minded. She was trying to calculate how such a strange request could facilitate her work. She shrugged. She was out of ideas, and the captain was one of the few people on board who had proven her incorrect repeatedly.

“Yes Captain,” she snapped in reply. She turned back to the multi-console.

The moment she altered the frequency of the ship’s sensors, the screen immediately showed signs of life all across the enemy vessel. It dawned on her there and then that the cloaking device employed by Administrate vessels had somehow ‘found’ its way onto the Company. She pursed her lips.

“Captain, the vessel was cloaked using technology forbidden to the trade houses.”

The captain nodded. He recognised the signs, though it had come too late. He watched the trio of missiles stream towards the Arabesque from the Company. He gripped the railing tightly. He did not need to issue any commands. The crew below adjusted for the projectiles, raised the shields to full strength in the front of their own ship, and braced for impact.

All the same, the captain muttered the adage under his breath. “Brace yourselves for impact…”

The first missiles struck the shields with nuclear power. The viewing screen turned pure, magnesium flare white. It crackled, and then died, fading to black as the feedback from the shield systems ran through the electronics of their vessel. The captain vacated from his seat. The inertial dampeners surrounding the bridge groaned, and absorbed the vibrations that rocked the ship.

“Damage report Seurat!” he roared. He reached for the rail and dragged himself to his feet. He darted back to his command chair, and sunk into it, expecting the second strike to follow at any moment.

“There is only minor electronic damage and cosmetic wear to the under croft of the ship. Nothing ma-” Her voice trailed off as she caught a foreboding sign of damage on the data slate. She pursed her lips, again, and turned to face the captain. “John…”

Whenever Seurat used the captain’s first name, something was always very wrong. They had fought together in the border wars in Raiaera. They were like brother and sister, despite their respective stations within the Administrate hierarchy. The captain narrowed his gaze, to try to beat her to the point.

“Go on…,” he erred. The deck fell silent.

“The Prima Vista has risen above us, and is firing on the second salvo.”

She had detected the movement moments before the first impact. By the time she had recovered from the blast, she had no time to adjust the position of their ship to keep the smaller freighter obscured from what she believed to be certain destruction. When it dawned on her Leopold was being bravado, she cursed. He was stubborn as her brother, and more foolish.

“What in the blazes is he thinking?” he asked rhetorically. Somehow, he knew exactly what.

“The gun batteries of the Prima Vista still use solid shell ammunition, sir.” Jihta offered. “The missile guidance systems and shields cannot compensate for bullet trajectory.”

The captain nodded, though he did not appreciate the interruption.

There was an ominous silence, filled only by the sound of necks craning to catch an echo of distant explosions.

“Seurat, what is the status of the second salvo?”

The silence on the deck, and the lack of second impact told him all he needed to know, but he wanted confirmation. He waited for the science officer to check the statistics.

“The scanners detect no projectiles in space, sir.” She turned back to face the captain with a relieved smile. She leant against the railing, able to relax once more now immediate danger had passed.

John Canzoni smiled, but it was a short-lived celebration.

“Excellent,” he said. He rose from his seat. “Now, get Leopold Winchester on board…immediately.” He snarled his brother’s name. “Jihta, hail the Company to incite tedious legislation at them about what will happen if they do not retreat!” He slammed his fist onto the arm of the chair angrily.

[Lucius]

A Few Good Men

1404376-1280x720-[DesktopNexus.com].jpg

Sequel to Unserenity

Salt on wind,
Gull on thermal, upward bound,
Ageing wood, cracked and weathered,
Water crashing, rebound and pound.

Love on gale,
Surf caught high in moment slight,
A summer spent, a winter left,
A roaring wall, such splendid sight!

Keel on water,
A home on movements carried afar,
Oh what a life on the ocean grand,
Hear the sea’s note in every bar.

Scarabrian Mariner's Song

[Lucius]

The Prima Vista
The Bridge

“Lillith, can you hear me?” Leopold barked into the comm panel on his chair. His brow continued to bead perspiration, and the bridge continued to vent steam from a dangerous number of cracks and ruptured vents.

“Yes Captain, though barely!” The engineer’s voice sounded veiled by static.

“Can you get another burst from the engines?”

There was a long, awkward pause.

“We have enough for a short-distance hyper jump. Shit...If we’re lucky, we can get out of the sector.”

It was all Leopold needed to hear. He let the comm fall silent, and leant back into the command chair with an authoritarian lean to the left. He rested his chin on his palm, and tried to think about his next course of action. The crew in the bridge below carried on with what they did best – run the ship. They ran back and forth, ordered repair crews to hull leaks, and tried to keep the freighter intact for just long enough to use the turn of events to their advantage.

They had been certain their time was up.

Leopold had been foolish to think he could outrun the Company. Despite the unique structure of his ship, the salvaged, customised technology was no match for the galaxy’s most feared vessel. He stared at its menacing structure on the view screen, and counted the number of guns that covered its mammoth hulk.

“Captain, I think you need to see this,” Duffy said, approaching up the long stairway to Leopold’s right.

The agent of the Administrative was wearing his usual utilitarian attire, a blend of militaristic clothing and civilian ‘style’. His beleaguered expression, agitated smile, and matted hair told Leopold he had been in the engine room.

“What is it?” he enquired.

Duffy held out a data slate, and Leopold took it gingerly.

“We formally request…” He trailed off when he realised who it was from. “There are hundreds of ships in this sector…” He sighed. He passed the data slate back. “You’re telling me of all those vessels, we had to run into John fucking Canzoni?”

Duffy tried to chuckle. “He has a habit of turning up when you need him most, that brother of yours.”

“Status report on the engines,” Leopold asked, ignoring the agent’s turn of phrase. He shuffled in his chair, and continued to stare at the screen. The deterioration of the ship stopped becoming a source of worry. He had bigger problems to deal with now.

The agent shrugged. “As Lillith said, we’ve enough energy left to make one, final, and futile jump. After that, we will be dead in the water. If you ask me,” Leopold made to object, but Duffy redoubled his efforts with a louder and firmer tone, “We’re bloody lucky we did bump into a friendly vessel.”

“Friendly?” Leopold roared.

Duffy stepped away. His smile firmly wiped off his face.

“It’s an Administrate command ship; they are as good as our ally.”

“They are as good as your ally, Duffy. You forget you are a guest on this ship, despite our long standing friendship.”

Duffy felt hurt by the jibe, but now was not the time to argue. He swallowed his pride.

“Listen to me, Leopold. The Administrate are not your favourite group in the galaxy. You made that perfectly clear when you took a Rucker and made an enemy of the galaxy’s government. You can pay the price for that another day.” He jabbed a hand at the screen. “We have to use the fact I am on board to our advantage.”

“What do you mean?” Leopold asked cautiously. He turned from the view screen with a raised eyebrow.

“Go over to the Arabesque, explain what you have done, and ask for Asylum Status 14, 9 – alpha. Give them authorisation 13452, and tell them my name.”

Leopold ran the sentence over in his mind.

“What will that accomplish?”

“They will use the Hubris Drive to carry you in a tandem jump back to safe territory. You will have to answer criminal charges, but I dare say a short reprimand is better than…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Well, than everyone on board dying.”

“Quite…,” Leopold stated dryly. Neither of them wanted to pay such high a price for his stupidity.

[Lucius]

The Prima Vista
Cargo Bay

“I really hate it when you’re right,” Leopold grumbled.

The two men stared at one another compassionately across the hanger deck. Duffy shrugged. The sound of construction work droned on in the background. Though only half an hour had passed since the ship had fired at the missile salvo, the crew of the Prima Vista had jumped into action to keep the ship alive.

“I merely offered you advice. There was no need for you to follow it.” Duffy smiled.

“I didn’t feel particularly ‘advised’,” Leopold spat. He turned, pressed the ignition button for the airlock doors, and put a foot on the bottom of the shuttle’s griddled ramp. “You pretty much pushed me into space before you’d finished ‘advising’.”

Duffy rolled his eyes. “The punishment for your action will be financial, at best, and a small stint in the Reformation at worst.” He said it in a matter-of-fact manner that Leopold found incredibly condescending. Duffy chuckled. “Though, I know you don’t like hard work, so that might be terrifying for you.”

Leopold climbed into the shuttle with a disgruntled expression plastered across his ageing face.

“Terrifying is not quite how I’d put it.” He pursed his lips pensively. “Mortified, most definitely, is a better word.”

With a lurch, the shuttle came to life, and Leopold made a curt gesture of insult in the crack before the door closed. Duffy did not respond, choosing to wait until the captain was out of sight before sticking his tongue out childishly at the rising wing of the craft. He watched it levitate, move forward, and then turn.

“Until anon,” Duffy mused. His overcoat tails danced in the stream of the ship’s mag-lift, and he began to slowly retreat from the flight, anticipating the inevitable propulsion of the shuttle from the ship.

The thrusters ignited, and sent a pulse of energy and deafening sound through the hanger bay. Before he could catch his breath, the shockwave departed the hanger, and so too did the shuttle. The airlock doors slammed shut, leaving him alone, in the pallid twilight, with his thoughts.

“This is going to end badly…”

Given all that had transpired over the last three days, Duffy was surprised they were still alive at all. The fact they had made it this far across the galaxy intact amazed him. When they had arrived in the space station to deliver Rayse’s shipment, things had gotten ugly. It took all his wits to get the landing party back on board, alive, and the ship out of the airspace of the dock before the Company obliterated them.

“As badly as it did for the station…”

His voice trailed off, and he turned to walk towards the exit. The portal hissed open before him, and hissed closed as his heavy hobnailed boots, badly fitting for the roughshod gangplanks of the ageing ship, clattered against the grates. The image of fire and brimstone had left him without sleep for days. There had been hundreds of bystanders on the station when the Company opened fire.

“Lillith,” he whispered into his sleeve comm device. “The Captain has left the ship.” The line crackled. Somewhere below, the ship shook. The engines whirred. The last strength of the Prima Vista burst into an adrenaline fuelled death throe.

“I read you, Duffy. I am activating the Hybrid Drive now. We will not have long to leave the system once the shuttle is aboard the Arabesque. Can you confirm safe arrival?”

Duffy nodded. “Affirmative, I will confirm when I hear from Seurat.”

In the ensuing silence, Duffy made his way through the engineering deck and back towards the bridge. Crewmembers ran back and forth fixing cracks, steam vents, and electrified walkways. Everywhere Duffy looked, there was bedlam. The opening missile salvo on the station had struck the ship badly. It was falling apart at the seams.

As he advanced towards his newfound command, he repeated Leopold’s first words to him, many years ago.

“Sometimes, Duffy, you have to stab your Captain in the back for the good of the crew.”

He bit his lip.

“This, my old friend, is most definitely for the good of the crew.” He sighed. “I hope you’ll forgive me someday.”

He turned a corner and clambered up a stairwell.

[Lucius]

The Arabesque
Captain’s Quarters

John sat at his desk, eyes fixed on the double doors that separated his mess from the bridge. Any minute now, Leopold Winchester would walk through those doors, and they would begin a strange fusion of reunion and argument. He pressed his fingers together and leant forward on his elbows.

“How long has it been?” he asked aloud. He was alone, but his thoughts became clearer when he gave them voice.

They had met ten years ago, during the final years of the border war in Raiaera. The uprising there had drafted military factions from across the galaxy under a solidarity banner. Though the Administrate were the coordinators, it was, in essence, a desperate alliance. Though they had both sympathised with the need of the Raiaera people to leave their home territory, the risks to the rest of the sector surrounding the damaged space was too great.

John sighed. “Three years.”

Space travel had separated people as much as it had brought them together. John spoke to Leopold many times, though it had been a month since their previous exchange. He had seen Leopold grow old over the view screen, communication panels, and data slates, without ever having seen him in person. They were too busy, too scared of the past, and too afraid of what had happened the day they had landed on Eluriand 5.

“Captain,” a voice said, interrupting his train of thought with echoing caution.

John widened his eyes, surprised, and then sat upright in preparation.

“Yes, Seurat, what is it?”

“Captain Winchester is here, sir.”

“Very good, send him in.”

The doors opened a few seconds later. Leopold stared at John. John stared at Leopold. Neither of the men moved an inch, saves to breathe. After a pause, John waved Leopold in, and sat upright.

“Captain Winchester, designate of the ship Prima Vista. You are called aboard the Administrate vessel Arabesque to answer for your recent actions concerning the arrival of the Company in neutral territory.”

“Cut to the chase, John.” Leopold crossed the threshold into the mess, uninvited, but uncaring. He was beyond giving the man chance to gloat over him. “I have right to speak frankly at such a hearing, and I’d appreciate it if you did the same.”

Leopold sat in the solitary chair opposite his old friend, and noisily adjusted the armrests. He swung left and right, to test its mechanism, and then folded his hands across his lap. His journey had been short, but it had felt like a lifetime. The temperature in the ship was considerably higher. Whatever luxury lifestyle membership in the Administrate afforded the Arabesque’s crew, Leopold was bitter and jealous for it.

John chuckled. “Very well, Leopold.”

“In answer to your question, though,” the captain mused. “I took a Rucker. I lost the cargo through a series of misfortunate events, and the Company took offence to my failing.”

John raised an eyebrow. His wizened expression, grey bushels of hair on lines of age, scrutinised Leopold’s face for any signs of misleading. “You took a Rucker…”

Leopold nodded. “That is correct.”

“From…,” John scoffed. He did not quite believe what he was saying. “You took a Rucker from Rayse Valentino?”

[Lucius]

“If you were under the impression I had any choice in the matter, you’d be mistaken.”

Leopold’s voice was flat, to the point, and bristling with hatred. He still regretted ever getting into the position where the biggest criminal in the galaxy had advantage against him.

John blinked. “Wait…you were blackmailed by Rayse Valentino?”

There was not much worse a man could suffer in known space than being in debt to the Company. People worked off the interest for decades, even if the original loan was minute in comparison.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Leopold said.

“You used to be the clever one,” John chuckled. He pulled the draw to his right open, and produced a dossier in brown cardboard, stamped with red confidential stamps and serial numbers pertaining to the file on Leopold Winchester. The Administrate was very interested in him. “I guess brains aren’t everything,” he chuckled a little louder.

“When a man like Valentino has sway over you, there is nothing you can do but follow his command. If he said jump, I’d have to ask how high.” Leopold’s calculated stare turned inquisitive. He was making every attempt to gauge John’s mood. Something was not quite right with him.

“What did he ask you to Ruck?”

“Virtus Cells, as it happens, for use in Raiaera vessels to undermine temporal distortions.”

John blinked again. He had expected contraband, or weapons, or something equally illegal and detrimental to Administrate efforts to reunite a splintered galaxy.

“He asked you to ship Virtus Cells…” He repeated Leopold’s statement, as if to clarify to himself. “Why would he need to secrete those to Raiaera space?”

Leopold shrugged. He looked around the mess. There were trophies and statues of ships John had commanded over the years wherever he looked. There was a small seating area sat to his left, and a kitchen and bar to the right. This was every bit the officer’s quarters he wished he had on his own ship. It was luxurious, compared to his battered working desk and the ominous armoury door that loomed behind him.

“I assume he doesn’t want anybody to know he has vested interest in the rebel’s recovery. Somebody has to help them defend themselves,” Leopold said with a non-chalant sigh.

John frowned. “Let’s not turn this into a political fiasco, Leopold. I know you don’t approve of what the Administrate is doing, and has done over the years, but now is not the time or place.”

Something in the depths of the ship came to life. The silence turned into a low, barely audible tremble. John noticed it first, but Leopold soon questioned its origin.

“Are we going somewhere?” he asked chirpily. John nodded. “Would you care to enlighten me?”

John rose from his chair, set the dossier onto the desk’s veneer, and dropped his gaze. He pressed his palms onto its surface, and leant forwards.

“I cannot risk this ship for a damaged vessel, Leopold.”

Leopold gritted his teeth. He reflected back to the words Duffy had told him to use.

“Aslyu-”

“Don’t bother, it’s not going to help,” John interrupted. He looked up at Leopold with a snort. “Duffy might be able to utilise law to your advantage, but the Asylum laws dictate I should protect you, not the ship or the crew you have shirked into breaking government legislation.”

Leopold curled his lips into a confused smile. He was happy on the one hand that Duffy had finally revealed his true colours, but furious on the other, as he was no bereft of his ship and enroute to a Reformation colony.

“You will receive sentence once the Council has seen to your dossier, and then we will deliver you to the appropriate sector on Eluriand 5.”

The name drove a dagger into Leopold’s heart. He slouched disgracefully, slumping back into his chair as shock, fear, and betrayal overwhelmed him.

In the distance, the Prima Vista flickered in a veil of light, and vanished through a suddenly formed portal. Before the Arabesque or the Company noticed she was gone; both ships had no time to prevent their escape.

Sector 14-b of the neutral region fell silent once more.

[Lucius]

The Prima Vista
Bridge

Duffy stared at the view screen wistfully. Lillith stood by his side, and Arden, the ship’s doctor, stood opposite. Together, they formed a motley trio of doubters, scrutinising the strange scenario unfolding before them.

“Was that supposed to happen?” Duffy asked.

Lillith shook her head. “The Hybrid Drive is a risky device, by all means…,” she whispered. “I calibrated it correctly; it just seems to have…” She trailed off. Her shrug was indicative of her confusion.

“It just royally fucked up.” Arden finished his sister’s words for her. “Call it a diversion,” he added, shrugging non-chalant. There was not any point dressing it up.

“We’re actually lost,” Duffy said flatly.

In their long career as traders, none of the three had ever been lost. There were times when they had to reroute their course through uncharted territories, or pot-lucked through wormholes, but never outright lost.

“Our plan really isn’t turning out to be all that watertight, is it?” Lillith sighed. Part of her wanted to run back to the engine room and grease something. She was not bothered what got her attention, just as long as it went faster when she was done with it.

“We do not need to panic over this,” Duffy erred.

“Nobody was panicking,” Arden corrected. He folded his arms across his chest. His stethoscope and comm lens flashed with calculating lights. Whatever had had been working on when he had been called to the bridge was still being considered at the back of his intuitive mind.

For a while, nobody on the bridge said a word. The ship trundled through the black sector unknown, its engines flaring haphazard, its hull creaking and threatening to come undone at a moment’s notice. Their plan had been to flee with the ship and find safety. They picture a trade house spaceport, a colony, or a rebellion outpost.

“Pettigrew,” Duffy shouted other the railing to the floor below. “Can you triangulate our position?”

The science officer looked up, rolled his eyes, and then dropped his gaze back to the expansive star chart and panel in front of him. He began feverishly running his hands through the virtual display, tinkering with holographic spheres and keyed arrays as though he had been born part machine.

“I don’t recognise any of those star systems,” Lillith whispered. Her eyes sparkled with the reflected light of the hologram. She traced the movement of stars, planets, and nebulae she had never seen before. “This is not good…”

“No recognisable star systems or phenomenon in the array’s radius, Captain.”

Duffy sighed. “Okay, can we start panicking now?” he asked, turning to his fellow officers for support.

It took a few moments, but finally, Lillith started trembling. Arden began feverishly tapping away at a data slate. Duffy pressed against the railing, and stared at the rusting panels of the floor below.

“Activate the emergency distress beacon, and let’s begin calibrating the ship’s internal environmental systems for the long haul.”

Lillith looked at Duffy quizzically. “What are you planning?” She made a mental note to do as asked, just as soon as she got a clarification.

Duffy turned to her and tried to smile convincingly. “When I saw Leopold off, I told him to quote Asylum laws. He will have exonerated the ship from all minor crimes, and in effect, buy us passage from Administrate radar.” He paused, for dramatic effect. “They will not be looking for us, even if they noticed us slipping away.” He pointed to the darkness showing in the view screen. “But out there, somewhere, The Company will be turning systems and planets upside down to try and find this ship.”

“So…you’re planning…?” Lillith droned.

“I’m planning to be ready for that fucking junta when he shows,” he barked with a grin.

Lillith nodded. “I’ll get to it at once, Captain.”

[Lucius]

The Arabesque
Captain's Quarters

Leopold Winchester stared out of the window into the dark beyond. He had been silent for several minutes, and John had left him be. When the captain’s patience wore thin, he nudged the dossier a little closer.

“Is something the matter, Leopold?” he asked dryly, and without an ounce of interest. He longed to be done with the matter, and continue with his business.

Leopold turned to his old friend. “They’ve gone.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My ship has gone.”

John turned to look out into the shadows in the direction the freighter had last been in view. When he realised that Leopold was correct, he dropped his jaw open with a little gasp of surprise.

“Well…,” he mused. “This is an interesting turn of events.”

“I am going to kill that boy when I see him again,” Leopold said flatly.

John chuckled. “If you see Duffy again, Leopold, it will be in an Administrate facility for high treason.”

The two men locked eyes, stared at one another, and tried to second-guess the multitude ways the conversation could unfold. Leopold had long suspected Duffy’s placement on his vessel had been a curse. Now, he realised that it was a blessing.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t follow you.”

“Leopold…Duffy was discharged from the Administrate three months ago.”

Leopold narrowed his eyes. “What did he do?” He asked as if he was interested, but somehow, the man’s reckless attitude and insistence on staying off ship as much as he could have tipped the captain off weeks ago. Leopold had expected Duffy to get into deep water, but he had never pressed the matter further.

“He endangered Orlouge, and in doing so, threatened trade family peace in the northern frontier.”

Leopold chuckled. “It’s a crime to piss Sei off these days?” He turned to look back out into space. “Then I’m a thrice damned criminal.”

John had to consider his options for a little while longer than his friend did. Leopold had always had the sharper tongue. That merit was the exact reason Winchester was still a Captain, and John had command of a vessel that could extinguish stars.

“Consider your options Leopold. You have to spend some time in Reformation that is certain.” He pressed his fingers together deep in thought. “What you do to return to your ship, if it is indeed still yours, is going to be a difficult journey.”

Leopold, contrary to social convention, did not seem upset at the idea.

“If I know Duffy at all, and I daresay I do.” He stood. “Then the encouragement to claim Asylum was to protect the ship from the menagerie of minor crimes we’re wanted for in the central worlds of Salvar, and the fringes of what remains of Alerar space.” He paused for dramatic effect, something the pair relied on frequently. “The question is not how I return to the Prima Vista, but in how much glory.”

Somewhere in space, a small beacon began to flicker to life, and the Arabesque detected a sub-space transmission lock on to it. The chase was resuming on the far side of the region.

“You seem positive of that,” John smirked.

Leopold picked up the dossier, and replied without looking at his colleague. “There are still a few good men left in the galaxy, John. Most of them are amongst my crew.” He turned on a heel, and made to leave. If he was going to prison, he wanted to enjoy the company of the ship’s officers and the contents of its mess before he worked to the bone for his sacrifice.

[Lucius]

The Prima Vista
Service Tunnel A-2

“How are the repairs coming along?” he asked.

Lillith folded her grease-covered arms across her chest. She tapped her boot on the gangplank, and tried to think of a way to impart bad news in a nicer manner than she was accustomed. Leopold always expected to hear it straight up, but Duffy was far from a grease monkey.

“The west wing calibrator is down, and the engine won’t survive another hybrid jump to say the least…,” she erred. She realised she had already lost him. His sparkling eyes glistened with misunderstanding and confusion. She sighed. “We’re a sitting duck, Captain.”

Duffy nodded. “That is something I can understand.” With a wistful expression of contemplation on his face, he glanced upwards.

The bowel of the Prima Vista was a wreck. Pylons, girders, and griddles hung loosely from hinges and supports everywhere he looked. Steam vented from inappropriate places, and electrical wires crackled and sparked in the gloom. Where he was standing, he could see the bottom of the bridge above, and look down to the fusion core of the engine below. He half wished they were back laughing in the engine room, with its swirling column and bewildering machinery.

“The heart of the ship is barely held together by luck and string,” Lillith continued, spreading her arms wide across the width of the service shaft. The space served as a central point in the ship, and its multitude bridges criss-crossed between decks and sections like a vertical maze.

“What’s to be done?”

Unfolding her arms, Lillith immediately sprang to life. Her frown turned into a smile. Her curious, child-like excitement for anything mechanical shone through a bloodied, brow beaten grimace.

“I can get the ganger teams to start patching the columns, fixing the cracks in the hull, and giving us enough integrity to make a jump.” She pointed upwards. “I can get the bridge capsule to be ready to detach, so that if the ship does implode, we can jettison the majority of the crew to safety.” She sighed. “I need a few things before I can get the jump drive to work, though…hybrid or normal.”

Duffy looked at his sister, meaningfully, and sentimentally. They had shared many a long year together aboard the vessel, looking out for one another to the point of self-sacrifice. If he, with all his connections and power, could not help her this one last time, he could never forgive himself.

“What do you need, Lillith?” he asked, setting both hands stoically onto her taught shoulders. He had to squeeze the tension from her bones.

As a catastrophic noise erupted overhead, and the well briefly glowed with daylight, Lillith stared into Duffy’s mischievous eyes.

“We need a navigator.” That did not seem like an unreasonable request. It dawned on Duffy in no time at all that there was more to it than that.

He glared at her. “You know there are only three people able to interlink with the Prima Vista’s neural network…,” he said sternly. His tone told Lillith he was finally on her level of thought, and he did not like where the conversation was leading.

She nodded.

“One of them is in Administrate custody.” This covered the Captain. “Another is currently dead.” This covered Ruby Winchester. “The third is currently the last person in the galaxy I want to talk to.” This covered the oligarch of the Orlouge trade family, Sei Orlouge.

Lillith shrugged, waved his hands away, and resumed her stoic stance. “You asked me what I needed, and that’s what I need.” She pointed up at the last flickering flames of a ruptured fuel tank. “Think on it, caus’ I need to be up there,” she half-commanded, half-suggested.

Before Duffy could object, Lillith was gone, and the image of the uncle he loathed so much formed in his mind.

“Oh fucking hell…,” he groaned.