by Dixon, Ruby
The payoff will be worth it…I hope. Because once Zoey finds out we're in the off-limits Slatra system on a treasure hunt, she'll blister our ears with her choice words. She hates it when we risk our necks. Doesn't matter that they're our necks to risk—as our younger sister, Zoey, feels obligated to look out for us, and to tell us when we're being keffing idiots.
Myself, I know hunting for a fabled ship like the Buoyant Star is likely going to end up in failure. The stories passed around cantinas could be all wrong. Maybe it's not filled with riches. Maybe it wasn't abandoned on the edges of space. Maybe it wasn't called the Buoyant Star at all, and it was just a merchant vessel that showed up on station on time, offloaded her cargo, and the stories just grew because people get bored in deep space.
But…it's something to do. I've struggled ever since Zoey left our crew to go mate with Sentorr of the Jabberwock. I know she's ridiculously keffing happy and I want that for her, but…I miss having my mouthy little sister around. Feels like there's a hole in the crew and it's sucked all the joy in piracy right out of my system. I suspect it's the same for Kaspar and Mathiras. We're all looking for something to excite us again. The Buoyant Star—for all that it could be a wild chase leading nowhere—is our distraction for now.
I sigh, looking over at the mirror above the sink. If Zo were here, I'd write a stupid message in the mirror for her to find when she takes a shower. Usually I'd leave something like "Your feet smell" or "I stole your snacks" just to make her laugh. There's no one to write a message for anymore, and I feel stupidly empty. It's not the same without Zoey on board.
I miss her. I'm almost as miserable as I was back when I discovered the truth about the female I thought I loved. Shaalyn. I hope her new mate gave her a communicable disease. I hope they're both riddled with sores. Great, big, gross ones.
And then I check my junk, just to make sure the universe isn't going to punish me for wishing something like that on someone else. All's clear, though. I give my cock one last jiggle under the water and then turn the shower off.
The moment I start to towel off, the bridge clicks on over the comm. "Uh, hey…Mathiras?" It's Kaspar.
Mathiras chimes back from the engine room. "What?"
"Did you run into anyone we should know about back on V'tarr Station?"
A pause. "No, why?"
Kaspar sounds tense. "Because we're being approached by another corsair vessel…and I'm pretty sure this one is from Homeworld."
"Homeworld?!" Mathiras sounds puzzled. "What the kef are they doing out here in the Slatra system?"
"Great question. You should also be asking why they're hailing us and demanding we surrender."
"Surrender? I'm coming to the bridge."
Uh oh. I haul the towel around my hips and hit the intercom. "Hey…so uh, you guys will never guess what I heard back on the cantina."
"What?"
I'm not sure which brother it is, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter. I click over again. "I might know who that ship belongs to…"
"Get your ass in here, Adiron," Mathiras snaps. "Bridge. Now."
"On my way," I say cheerfully. I mean, if we die, I should go out with a smile. I'd make an ugly corpse with my face all snarled up. I tie the towel around my waist even tighter, then run a comb through my hair. Again, an ugly corpse is not how I want to be remembered. Zoey would be totally pissed to see me looking like shit at my own funeral.
Zoey.
I stare at the fogged mirror, think for a moment, and then soap up the tip of my finger and use it to write a message.
Lord Straik sa'Rin.
There. Even if we don't make it back to mesakkah-space and the Little Sister does, Zoey will know whose ass to kick.
3
ADIRON
"You…forgot." Mathiras's voice is flat. He scowls at me, his hands behind his head as we march through the ship-to-ship hatch over to the enemy vessel. "Are you keffing serious, Adiron?"
I shrug—not an easy task given that my hands are behind my head, too. "There was a lot going on."
"You forgot," he echoes, disgust in his voice. "Well that's just great."
It's not like I've had a moment to think straight since we left the cantina. First there was the bar fight, and then I had to pull Kaspar off of a particularly ugly szzt fellow who looked as if he wanted to remove Kaspar's head from his body. Which…I've been there. Anyone that's met Kaspar has wanted to choke him at least once or twice. But Kaspar's my brother and I've always got his back, so I waded into the fight instead of slipping away and got doused with a dozen drinks. I'm pretty sure I soaked up some of the alcohol through my skin, because by the time we raced back to the Little Sister, I was feeling good and loose. And then we had to race the ship out of V'tarrian airspace, and then there was my shower and then we got hailed by Lord Straik sa'Rin. Since they'd caught us by surprise, there was no time to escape.
Or put on pants.
It was either go in fighting or try diplomacy. Kaspar wanted to go in fighting, of course, but Mathiras wanted diplomacy. As the tiebreaker, I chose diplomacy. Much as I love a good fight, I remember what the females at the cantina said about the lord and his army of a'ani clones. We can take out a small crew easily. An army of clones is an entirely different matter—and sa'Rin's ship is three times larger than ours.
Unfortunately, we didn't even get the chance to try diplomacy. Once the larger ship locked onto the Little Sister, they sent a pulse through our ship, knocking us to the floor and freezing us in place. I don't know what kind of weapon that is—some kind of shock-collar for an entire ship—but I know we've gotta get one for ourselves.
Now we're here, aboard Lord Straik's massive ship, and captive. Not our finest moment. At least I left Zoey the message I did. Maybe she'll find it someday.
We keep our hands on our heads as the clone bodyguards lead us through the ship. I glance over at Kaspar, but he's not looking at me. He's looking around at anything and everything, clearly spoiling for a fight and just waiting for the right moment. Picking a fight with at least ten guards around us—all of them armed and us not—would be the height of stupidity, but Kaspar loves stupid odds. Even I know this isn't smart. Using my tail, I smack him on the ass to get his attention.
Kaspar turns and glares at me. "What?"
"Let's just see why we're here before we try staging a breakout, huh?"
One of the guards nudges me in the shoulders, a silent command to shut up.
"Isn't it obvious?" Kaspar hisses. "We're being robbed. Considering that we rob people for a living, you think you'd recognize the signs."
I scoff. "Look at this keffing ship, you noodle-brain. You think this guy needs our little ship? Think again."
"Will you two be quiet?" Mathiras snarls. "I can't think when you're arguing."
This time, the guard walking behind me gives me a shove, and Kaspar gets the same. "All of you keffing shut up or you get shock collars."
I shut up. Kaspar glares at me, but his gaze wanders to our surroundings, and I suspect what I told him is sinking in.
It's obvious to me that whatever Lord Straik wants, it isn't our “riches.” The Little Sister's a decent ship thanks to our constant work on her, but to the rest of the universe, she looks like a piece of junk. She's also a Class IV freighter, which is usually a passenger ship. No one's going to think we're hiding a ton of snazzy cargo somewhere on board. As far as robberies go, we'd be a shitty target. And this ship we've been dragged aboard is of a much finer make than ours.
Lord Straik's ship is cutting edge technology. The metal walls of the corridor are cool and pristine, without old scorch marks from blaster fights or dents from, say, getting into a noogie-fight with your brother. The endless hallways we've been dragged down are large and airy and well lit, the temperature comfortable, and to me, that says more than anything else that this is run by a male that doesn't care about credits. If he knew how much it'd cost to change out the air filters on a ship like this, he'd run something smaller. T
he Little Sister, for example, has tight, short hallways because the less living space that has to be climate-controlled, the better.
He's definitely not after us for our credits. Especially not a corsair that can afford to feed an entire score of a'ani bodyguards as well as a crew. So then…what does he want?
We're led down another hall, and at the far end of this one, double doors are flanked by uniformed, red-skinned clones. One nods at our guards and taps the door panel, then steps aside. We're then brought into a large chamber, and I stare at my surroundings in utter surprise. I expected a war room and this…looks more like a keffing fancy retreat. There's art on the walls, old paintings of important-looking nobles, tapestries from distant colonies, and a few golden-looking weapons that are clearly for show and not actual defense. In the corners of the room, expensive flowering plants curl around wrought trellises, and I swear I can hear the tinkling of a fountain somewhere. On one wall, there are several large star maps pulled up on-screen, and across from the screens there's an enormous window that looks out on deep space. Right now it's full of the V'tarrian moon's dark side, but I imagine it's a nice view most times. There are vases and books on elegant shelves, which is kind of ridiculous in a spaceship that can lose gravity control in a solar storm, and I spend a happy moment imagining those expensive vases flying through the air and landing on our captor's head. At the far end of the room, near the wall of vid-maps and star charts, is a huge desk made of impractical wood and covered in ornate carvings. It looks very heavy, very expensive, and completely ridiculous. There's a marble bust of a mesakkah lord on the desk, and it only adds to the realization that stupid amounts of credits have been spent on this male's room, a room that would be completely destroyed in a single battle.
Something tells me this lord never actually gets into fights. He just shows up and browbeats his opponents with his superior ship and masses of troops at his disposal.
Lord Straik sa'Rin stands with his back to us, gazing at one of the star charts, hands clasped just above his tail. His hair is long, which isn't surprising as most mesakkah society lords prefer that sort of thing. He turns and I'm surprised to see that he's young. Certainly younger than me, and I'm the youngest of my brothers. He looks a bit sulky, this lord, dressed entirely in black clothing with dozens of fasteners and a shoulder cape. His horns are extremely ornate, the metal tooled with intricate patterns, and he's got piercings all up one ear. His collar is high so it's impossible to tell if he has any tattoos or scars, but I suspect not. I'll eat my trou if he's seen a sniff of war.
Guess it doesn't matter if he has or not, because we're his captives now.
4
ADIRON
"So it's true that there are other mesakkah in the Slatra system." He sounds bored as he addresses us, striding forward, his hands still clasped behind his back. "You know you're not supposed to be here."
"And you are?" Mathiras shoots back, glaring at the lord.
Lord Straik scowls at my brother, his expression one of extreme distaste. I imagine his nose crinkling up like Zoey's when she smells Kaspar's boots, and smirk. "I have reason to be here," the mesakkah lord eventually states. "And your presence is affecting my business." He pauses and looks at me. “Why is this one naked?”
“That’s my business,” I quip.
Mathiras smacks me with his tail. Lord Straik just looks at me as if I’m a bug. He turns to one of his clone soldiers, and in the next moment, one of the males steps forward and wraps a towel around my hips. Guess my junk was a little offensive to high and mighty Lord Straik.
Mathiras glances over at me and Kaspar. I'm watching him and the lordling, and I don't look over at Kaspar on my other side, because I know he's shifting and flexing his wrists, trying to loosen his cuffs. I'm not too worried about our situation. This isn't the first time we've been outnumbered or taken captive, and as long as we keep our wits about us, I'm sure we'll be fine. Wits aren't my strong suit, but Mathiras is smart. He'll figure something out.
And until then, I'm kinda interested in hearing what this lordling has to say.
Mathiras eventually speaks again, drawing the attention back on himself. I flex my wrists in my cuffs, too, but all I get is shooting pain going up my arms. Ow. "I don't see how our presence affects you at all," he says. "We're not here for trading or anything of the like. We're just…pleasure cruising. Exploring."
"You started a bar fight on V'tarr Station," Lord Straik snaps back. "My invitation from the Voo Rees has been rescinded thanks to you. Another mesakkah showing up would put too much of a target on their dealings, and so I've been told to leave the system."
"Well now, that is a pickle," Mathiras says easily. "The Voo Rees, did you say?"
He doesn't look over at me, but I know what my brother's thinking. The Voo Rees is an infamous cartel that operates on the fringes of known space. I've never dealt with them, and they're just a legend to most of the universe, because they control far-flung systems that the mesakkah empire doesn't touch…places like the Slatra system.
Also, the Voo Rees are connected to the Buoyant Star, our legendary lost ship. It's rumored that there was supposed to be an utter fortune-making cargo on the Buoyant Star, heading right for the Voo Rees cartel headquarters on V'tarr, but it never made it there. What that cargo was, no one knows. But it wouldn't keep making stories circulate if it wasn't something impressive. Even if it's not, the Buoyant Star itself was a sleek, well-made vessel. If we find her, we can scrap her for parts and at least break even.
That's the theory, anyhow. Me, I'm holding out for a big payoff. If nothing else, I want an adventure out of things…and right now, it's paying off.
Lord Straik looks irritated. "It's none of your business what my connections are."
"Is that why you're here in the Slatra system? You doing their dirty work?" Mathiras is clearly trying to get under his skin, insult him. "Playing pirate?"
Straik narrows his eyes at Mathiras. "I could shove you out my airlock right now, you know. No one would be the wiser."
"Or you could turn us in to the cartel," I add helpfully.
Mathiras kicks me.
I give him a glare, because I'm helping, damn it. "What? I'm just saying." At least if he turns us in to the cartel, we're still alive. "I'd rather be cartel bait than bouncing off an asteroid."
"Or…" Mathiras drawls, glancing over at Straik. "We could tell him what we know about the Buoyant Star as collateral."
Oh. Or we could do that. "Probably a better option," I mumble.
Lord Straik stalks over to us, his black robes swirling around his legs. That's another impractical thing for space. I know the mesakkah lords prefer flowing materials and ornate robes for clothing to show how rich they are or something, but in space, clothing is best when it fits tightly. I imagine Lord Straik floating through his room of vases, his skirts above his head because his ship lost gravity, and fight back a snicker.
Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy.
Straik glares at me, then at Kaspar, who's utterly silent, and then moves to Mathiras. "Did you say the Buoyant Star?"
"Maybe. What's it to you?"
"That is my family's ship," Straik bites out. "It's precisely the reason I'm here and working with the Voo Rees. Tell me what you know."
Mathiras lifts his chin. "Why, so you can space us and pretend we never met? No thanks."
The lord stalks back and forth, robes swirling, and I snort-chuckle again, still stuck on that mental image of floating skirts. It's hard for me to take a male seriously when he's dressed in something so keffing impractical. "What's your family name?" Lord Straik demands.
"Va Sithai," my brother Mathiras says proudly. "I believe you've heard of us."
That makes Lord Straik pause. "I do know the va Sithai family," he murmurs, rubbing his chin. "It's a very old family, much like mine."
"Which means if you space us, you'll be blacklisted from every decent society function for the rest of your life if they find out you’re our murd
erer." Mathiras is calm and cool. "And we all know how terrible that would be for your family."
Lord Straik snorts. "Not much of a threat there. I'm already blacklisted. And it's not as if anyone would find out where you went. Your ship will be found, eventually, drifting through V'tarrian space, and no one will be the wiser as to what's happened to you."
It's Mathiras's turn to glare. At my other side, Kaspar shifts, and I know he's still hard at work on his cuffs.
I glance around the room, because our next option is to fight our way out. There's the two a'ani by the door, but the others left us alone with Straik. Either he's bluffing or…well, I'm not sure what else. But I'm pretty sure he's bluffing. "I might have already sent a message," I casually mention. "If you kill us, it's just a matter of time before you're rounded up. I've already alerted our sister Vanora back on Homeworld that your ship approached ours."
Lord Straik freezes. "Is that so?" He turns to his men. "Find that communication and stop it."
"It's not a vid comm," I blurt out, and Mathiras looks at me like I'm crazy. "It's…a secret comm."
And it's on a mirror. On our ship. Which…in hindsight is probably not the best way to send a message, but I guess he doesn't have to know that. And it's not going to Vanora, either. It'll go to Zoey, if she ever figures out that I've sent it.
Lord Straik sa'Rin takes a deep breath and then begins to pace. He clasps his hands behind his back and shakes his head at the guards, indicating they should remain where they are. He paces back and forth slowly, glancing over at us. "So. You've ruined my plans with the Voo Rees and yet I can't kill you. What options are left?"