Fifteen years ago, Henry Michalchuk, called Hal by his friends, had been in the right place at the right time. He had come to Saldep to die. A planet entirely devoid of life, destroyed and ravaged by a war Hal had enabled. With billions of deaths on his conscience, Hal had come back to the place that had destroyed him. In a hangar on the outskirts of a void dock that once was, Hal had planned to lie his half-dead body on the ground to die without dignity or shame. As he had lain there, in the eerie silence of a dead planet, he had spotted her. A voidship. Even through his blurry, drunken vision, he had identified it as a Ramses-class Type 72 Corvette, demilitarized as they tended to be in those days. She hadn’t been in a good state. Like him, she had required a lot of work. The ship became his project, his obsession. Alone on a planet he had destroyed, he built something new, something to leave behind. A small, insignificant legacy. It hadn’t worked out that way. A test flight became two, then five. Before he had known, he had a course set to the Expanse. Why, he hadn’t quite known himself. But he had been sober, and he had been flying. The ship had become an Oasis to him. And soon, it had become one to others, too.

The sounds of an animated yaedir game sounded through the lower deck of the Oasis. Hal cheered as he drove the ball through the offier, scoring yet another point. His opponent, a young man who insisted on being called Skip to spite his Burghership past, was not a good player.
“Come on Skip, I taught you how to do this,” Hal said, panting.
“Yeah well, I hate this game,” Skip said, waving off Hal’s taunts. He wiped his face with a towel draped around his shoulders and sat at a small table nestled against the port bulkhead. A window behind him gave them a view of the swirling, almost foreboding patterns of the Paralaexon, saturated with colors that didn’t exist in voidspace. As skip sat, the chair creaked, only a pound or two away from breaking.
“We need to get this shit replaced,” he said, slapping the side of the chair. Opposite him, Mordecai smiled. It was hard to tell if it was a genuine smile, on account of his blindfold which covered his useless eyes.
“Stay in shape, we won’t have to,” he said.
“How would you even know what shape I’m in?”
“I’m blind, kid, not an idiot.”
“I didn’t say you were an idiot, Mort,” Skip said, slightly annoyed.
“Calm down, I’m busting your balls, your Lordship,” Mordecai chuckled. He elbowed Marisol Huzhein next to him.
“The kid needs to get laid, Mary,” he said. Mary rolled her eyes. When she realized he couldn’t see that, she punched him in the shoulder.
“Fuck off Mort,” she said, “You fuck him then.”
“Nobody is fucking anyone on my ship,” Hal said, approaching the table with the deactivated yaedir ball, “Unless I’m involved,” he added, winking at Mary. She made an annoyed expression but he knew it was just show. At least he hoped he knew.
“Scooch over,” he demanded of Skip. The young pilot did so, trying his best not to break the fragile chair as it slid noisily across the floor. Hal pulled another chair up to the table and sat.
Behind Mordecai, a makeshift bar stood, sheet metal welded amateurishly by Hanzo years ago. Hanzo stood behind it now, shaking a container. Hal’s stomach turned as he imagined a cocktail.
“Molberry juice,” Hanzo said, matter-of-factly. Hal didn’t forbid alcohol on the Oasis but his crew knew about this aspect of his past and so they had decided a long time ago that celebration did not require alcohol. Hal smiled.
“I’ll have one,” he said. Hanzo nodded at him, shaking more vigorously.
“Why are you shaking the juice, young man?” asked Medicus Percival Hoffenstedt as he descended the stairs, very very carefully. The old medic had celebrated his 80th birthday just days ago.
“Enhances flavor,” said Hanzo matter-of-factly.
“No, it does not,” said Hoffenstedt, groaning as he reached the bottom of the stairs, “That is not how flavor works.”
“Please no lectures tonight, Percy,” said Hal, offering his seat to the old man.
“I’ll stop lecturing when Hanzo stops being wrong,” Hoffenstedt grunted.
“It’s good you’re all here,” Hal said, now standing at the head of the table, “I want us all to meet tomorrow morning on the bridge. I have a briefing to give.”
Everyone sighed.
“Why not just tell us now, hell why not two weeks ago?” asked Mordecai.
“It’s a surprise!” Hal tried.
“Fuck that,” Mary and Mordecai said almost at the same time. Mordecai continued.
“If we’re gonna do an Op, we need to be able to prepare.”
“Calm down,” Hal raised his hands, “It’s nothing complicated. Just really really cool. And I want to see your faces when I tell you about it. Tomorrow.”
“I can tell you now, Henry, my face will not bring you any joy,” said Hoffenstedt, “In fact, you will be lucky if my face makes it out of bed.”
“I will drag you there myself,” said Hal. Hoffenstedt glared at him.
“Did I ever tell you how I killed my ex-wife?”
The rest of them groaned. Skip put their feelings into words.
“Not this story again, Percy. It changes every time you tell it.”
“No it does not!” Hoffenstedt coughed.
“Yes it does,” Mary said, “At first, you ran her over in your Brunswig. Then you did it on accident. Then you poisoned her, and in the most recent version, you shot her.”
“I did indeed shoot her, with a Sullivan 76! My grandfather’s weapon.”
“Until next week, you’ll have dismembered and ate her,” Mary chuckled.
“I reject that accusation wholly,” said the old man.
Hanzo joined the group, serving a glass of juice for each of them. Hoffenstedt immediately gupled it down. He spoke through a burp.
“I was once the fast-drinking champion of Norfodl,” he said but was interrupted by a collective, “We know.”
He waved them off and sat back. Hanzo sat next to Mordecai and Mary, his Baranian bull-herder’s hat perfectly situated on his head. He spoke in a frontier drawl, a common phenomenon among those who roamed the borders between the Expanse’s many dozens of creoles.
“Now, what is this job we’re hopefully getting paid for this time?” he asked.
“Like I said, a surprise until tomorrow,” said Hal, sipping from the juice. It vaguely reminded him of a cocktail he had liked, once upon a time, “And yes, you’re all getting paid.”
“Can you at least tell us how much?” asked Skip. Hal smiled broadly and leaned forward to emphasize his words.
“More than any of you could possibly imagine,” he said slowly.
“Fat chance of that,” said Mordecai, “I spend a lot of time imagining.”
They all laughed. Mordecai looked at Hal. He was blind, as far as they all knew. But he had an eerie way of staring at people regardless.
“What?” Hal asked him.
“It ain’t like you, buddy, keeping secrets.”
“I’m not keeping secrets, you melodramatic prick. If you all really want to spoil my surprise, I’ll tell you now. But I won’t be happy.”
They all looked down, except Mordecai.
“If the surprise sucks, I’m throwing myself into the fold reactor again,” he said. They all laughed again.
“I’ll jump in right with you,” said Mary.
“I’m in, too,” said Skip. Hanzo raised his hand, as if in school, to show his own support.
“Why would anyone do that to oneself voluntarily?” Hoffenstedt asked, “Fold reactors are lethal!”
“Yeah I know, Med,” Mordecai said, “I’ve done it. Remember?”
Hoffenstedt looked confused for a second, then nodded.
“Of course I remember!” he said, exasperated, “But it made you a blind cripple. My question stands.”
“I’m blind, not a cripple, you goat.”
“You look like a cripple.”
“Well, you look like a fucking mummy, but I don’t harp on that, do I?”
“You just did.”
Hal slapped the table.
“Enough bickering. We have a long day tomorrow.”
“Who’s bickering?” asked Mordecai.
“Who indeed?” Hoffenstedt added. Hal sighed and drank his juice. He leaned to Skip and gently elbowed him.
“Can’t wait for the elderly to die off, eh?” he said. Skip smiled, then chuckled softly.
“Hah!” Mordecai said, “You people would be lost without me. Especially the Lordling.”
Skip’s smile faltered, “Can you not?” he asked.
“Sorry, kid. Blame the Captain,” he said, pointing in the exact direction Hal sat, “He always tells us how insufferable the Burghers are.”
“I get that,” Skip said, “But why do you think I’m here, and not back there with them?”
Mordecai nodded. “Point taken,” he said, “But my point stands. And anyway, I can’t die.”
Nobody rightly knew whether this was one of Mort’s jokes or his actual opinion.
“Everybody dies,” said Hal, his mind awash in decades-old memories. He was taken out of it, more or less mercifully, by Hoffenstedt.
“Indeed so!” he shouted, “The expiration of biological life is a fundamental aspect of the void. And if I don’t get back to bed soon, I’ll demonstrate it firsthand.”
“Good point,” said Hal, “Let’s all get some sleep. It’s going to be an exciting day tomorrow.”

---

It was the early morning of a day of anticipation. The crew had gathered on the bridge which included a small conference table in the back. Sitting, standing and hanging over it were Hal, Mary, Mordecai, and Hanzo. Skip sat at the piloting console, fiddling with the controls and Hoffenstedt sat in one of the copilot seats, severely hunched over. Hal touched his finger to the table and the screen below came to life, displaying the image of a voidship.
“Let me introduce you good people to the Xhokhal,” he said, slightly butchering the pronunciation of the ship, “our score.”
Hoffenstedt immediately corrected his pronunciation and added, “You ought to think after 20 years in this region of space, you pick up on how to say the words.”
“I have other things on my mind, you old goat. Like how to make you people richer than Kornassis.”
The others studied the table and looked nonplussed.
“What, just a karput?” Hanzo asked, using the Baranian term for a dead voidship popular among those who dealt along the Empire’s border and the galactic rim.
“This ship was a Corbinite carrier for the Aldebaran Empire until very recently when it was destroyed and looted by a raiding party from the Kurzhon Band.”
Nonplussed expressions turned into annoyed confusion.
“You’re telling us our score is a ship that was already looted?” Mary asked, “Do you have brain damage?”
Hal nodded, “I reckon I got plenty, riding with you lot. I’m about to make you trillionaires, so please, focus.”
That silenced the mob.
“Did you say…” Mordecai asked.
“Trillionaires,” Hal repeated.
“You said it was already looted,” said Mary.
“That’s what the Aldebaran Empire thinks,” Hal’s grin widened.
“They didn’t check?” asked Mary.
“They checked. Twice.”
“By Majora, Hal, spit it out already!” Hanzo said loudly.
Hal raised his hands placatively and traced an elaborate gesture on the table. The view zoomed into a compartment of the ship located right under the fold reactor.
“You know the Empire. A few tons of Corbinite lost to the Kurzhons is no skin off their back. They sent two low-ranking scouts to check the ship for any remains. They didn’t find any, so they left. The security clearance of the people dealing with this incident was not very high. They didn’t have the knowledge that I have.”
Hal gestured at the compartment shown on the table.
“This is a hidden compartment. Almost invisible from inside. Completely welded shut. That is where the Corbinite is.”
Eyebrows rose in surprise around the table. A few theistic mutterings from Hanzo drove home the revelation Hal had just unleashed.
“You’re saying… There are tons of Corbinite in that ship, unclaimed?” Mary ventured.
“There should be,” Hal said.
“Holy shit, Hal,” Mordecai said, “How the hell did you find that out?”
Hal looked up at his friend and grinned flatly.
“I designed that ship,” he said. There was little pride in his voice. Once upon a time, he would have bragged about it, used it to pick up girls at Korslaw’s finest barettos. Now, it’s a stain. He shook himself out of his thoughts as the others cheered.
“Now, we have to go out there and claim what’s rightfully ours.”
It was time for the most dangerous part of the salvage, the void-walk.

---

Four hours later, Mordecai dropped the Oasis out of the Paralaexon and back into the void. She hung there, only a few dozen meters from the wrecked Corbinite transport. Hal and Skip wore vacuum suits and held their helmets under their arms, watching the ship corpse float outside the bridge canopy, slowly spinning. Skip’s hands danced across his console.
“Give me a full spec scan please, Skip,” Hal said. Skip’s hands switched to a different console to his right. He punched in a command and one of the monitors above the canopy showed raw sensor readings. Skip switched the image to show a high energy particle scan which highlighted density in shades of blue. Higher tones indicated lower density, deeper tones showed higher density. Hal pumped his fist when he saw the black spot under the fold reactor.
“I told you these high-end sensors would come in handy some day,” Skip said.
“You can get another suite with the money we’re about to make,” Hal said, “Prep the tethers and tell Mort to keep the core hot. I want to be out of here as soon as possible.”
Skip did the announcement before getting up and walking with Hal toward the monkey island airlock.

Skip double checked Hal’s helmet seals.
“Looks good,” he said.
Hal did the same for Skip’s helmet and flipped on his own suit’s intercom.
“All good,” he confirmed and turned to the exit hatch, “Hanzo, open up the forehead,” he ordered through his microphone.
“Depressurizing,” Hanzo’s voice crackled through the comm. A hiss sounded out around the two soon-to-be voidwalkers.
“Never gets old, does it?” Skip asked on their local channel.
“What?” Hal asked.
“This. The job. Going out into the cold.”
Hal raised an eyebrow but lowered it when he remembered Skip could not see it.
“Is this your idea of fun?” Hal asked.
“Man, this is what I live for. Why do you think I became a pilot?”
“My figuring was that you became a pilot because you thoroughly enjoy having ten inches of steel between you and the void.”
Skip laughed, “No, Henry, I just like being out here. Close to the void. In the only place where freedom still exists.”
“It’ll boil your skin off if you let it,” Hal said.
“It might. But it might also hold treasures beyond reckoning. Like three tons of corbinite.”
Hal could hear the pilot’s smile in his voice.
“Is that why you always volunteer for the voidwalking?”
“Yeah.”
“Remind me to send Mary out with you next time, you sociopath.”
They both shared a laugh as the hissing was replaced by mechanical whirring. The Oasis’ monkey island was a deck located directly above the bridge, protruding beyond it by a few meters. If the bridge was her eye ridge, the monkey island was the Oasis’ forehead. The exit hatch made a low whirring sound as its sealing bolts retracted into the door. The sound was carried by the airless compartment’s metal floor into Hal’s legs and from there, reverberated around his body. Skip grabbed one of the flex-steel tethers from the wall and hooked it into a clasp at his hip. Hal did the same and stepped forward onto the precipice. Together, the two men stared into the void, the endless sea between the stars. It gave them both tingles even after hundreds of voidwalks.
“Ready?” Skip whispered into the comm.
“Yep,” Hal replied.
Skip nodded to himself and ordered Hanzo to launch them.
“Launch coming up,” Hanzo replied.
The compartment’s gravity shut off. To keep from floating off uncontrolled, Skip and Hal braced themselves in place by pushing against the top and bottom of the hatch frame with their arms and legs, waiting for the hammer to fall. Another unmistakable deep machine whir sounded through their legs as something big rotated underneath them - the gravity projector. It stopped at a right angle to normal ship gravity and was clasped by heavy claws to keep it from ripping itself out of its socket.
Then, the merciless hammer of gravity ripped the two out of the ship. They rushed towards the dead ship in front of them at a break-neck pace. Years of experience told them exactly when to engage the winch brakes to keep from splattering against the hull and dying a graceless death. Readouts in their helmets told them their distance and velocity relative to the other ship and to the Oasis. Hal engaged his winch-brakes and watched the numbers. The key to a pleasant deceleration was a nice smooth braking curve, he knew. He expertly operated the device and predicted he would come to a stop ten seconds from now just in range to grab onto a piece of warped hull. As he decelerated, he saw something he should not have been seeing. Something that would immediately drive him into a panic. He saw Skip rushing out in front of him. He should have been decelerating by now, he should have been right beside him. But he was not. Instead, he sped up from Hal’s perspective, rushing headlong at the dead ship.
“Skip, brake!” Hal shouted into the comm, “Brake now!”
Skip’s garbled voice came through the comm, bathed in static, “… suit malfunc- … can’t- … brakes …”
Hal shouted an old Marth curse into the void. With one hand, he was still decelerating himself while he connected his suit to skip’s winch-brakes, tying the controls to his other hand. In one swift motion, he closed them entirely just before Skip violently impacted the side of the ship. His body bounced back from the hull as a hauntung sound pierced Hal’s ears through the radio. It was only two seconds later, after he had safely arrived at the wreckage that he realized that the sound had been Skip screaming. He looked at Skip’s floating body and noticed thousands of tiny glistening droplets reflecting the Oasis’ lights around him, emanating from his midsection.
“Mary!” Hal shouted despite his shock, “Pull him in! Pull him in!”
“I’m trying, Hal. The winch isn’t… It’s not listening to me,” Mary replied, a tremor in her voice. Hal looked at the Oasis, then back at Skip. The angle wasn’t right. Hal could not reel himself back in and catch Skip on the way back. He switched his comm back to Skip’s suit.
“Skip,” he said, trying to control his voice. No response.
“Noram!” he shouted.
A low moan emanated from his speaker. It sounded like a death rattle. But that meant he was alive. The winch-brakes must have engaged just before he hit. He couldn’t have survived a full-speed impact. Even if he was alive, he would not be for long. Something was sticking out of his torso. Hal could not estimate if it was his chest or his stomach that had been impaled as Skip tumbled through the void. Hal switched frequencies again.
“Mary, grab the flier and get here, now!” he shouted at his shield operator.
“I’ll have to lower the shields to-”
“Do it, do it, do it NOW!” Hal shouted back. He switched his frequency.
“Skip, can you hear me? Talk to me,” he said. Nothing.
“Don’t you fucking die on me,” he tried.
“H- Hal…” a whisper sounded in his ears. Faint, weak.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked. Skip’s helmet shifted slightly.
“I’m… dead… Hal,” he whispered back, “Get the-” a cough, “cargo.”
“By Kharkun, if you say that again, I’ll kill you myself,” he said.
“Nothing… you can do,” he rasped, “Nobody’s… fault… Get the payday.”
Hal, still clasping a handhold on the dead hull, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He switched his frequencies.
“Mary, where are you?” he asked.
“Launching now,” Mary replied, “Is he okay?”
“Not even close. Hurry. I’m getting us paid,” Hal said before cutting off the comm. He saw the void flier detach from the Oasis’ keel. He watched it glide towards Skip, using its spindly appendages to cut the tether and grab him. Very slowly and carefully, Mary maneuvered the flier to the stern of the Oasis. Hal opened a channel to Hanzo.
“I’m getting the corb,” he said. No response. He clicked off the comm and controlled his breathing. Skip would make it, he told himself. He would pull through. Hal would not be responsible for another death. Not again. Not while there was an Imperial Medicus on his damn ship! Skip would survive and then he would kick Hal’s ass if he did not go get his money. Or he would die. And then his death would be in vain. Either way, he needed to go and get as much Corbinite as he could.

Hal reached a hole in the hull that was big enough for him to fly right in. Inside, he punched on his magnetic boots and started walking. It was an eerie sight, seeing a ship he had designed so badly mangled. He ran his hand along the bulkhead and sighed. You didn’t deserve that, he thought. The thought echoed through his mind, applying equally to Skip. After all they’d been through, a damn winch-brake would be the thing that kills him? No. Corb was easily moved product. Hal would pack as much as he could, he would immediately broker it off and then he would have more than enough to get Skip treatment on a Nuclear planet around here. The best care. He arrived at the staircase leading down into the engine room. A massive hole had been blown through the ship, right through the corridor he was in. He ran his hand along the blast-burned edge of the metal bulkhead, careful not to cut his suit. It had a strange quality. Almost like it hadn’t been blasted open but rather… He could not put his finger on it. Sliced? The plating had the characteristic edge of frayed material seen on metal haphazardly cut by a badly calibrated laser mill. It was not the kind of wound inflicted by projectile rounds or even a particle beam weapon. Laser and plasma guns would have melted the edges of the hole into slag. It would have cooled into globs instead of frayed ridges. A projectile would have simply left a typical entrance wound of torn and bent metal.
He saw himself inspecting the Voidstar, two decades prior, for wounds. The imagery ran through his mind like faded cryptonic records, damaged by radiation. The Voidstar, pride of his life, magnum opus. A mobile station capable of giving refuge to tens of thousands, even hundreds, for a limited time. Hardened against combat, it was meant to withstand blasts like the ones he saw now. And it always had. To the end, it had. Even as Lord Olgrin had driven it above Saldep, it had withstood rebel forces. Even as Olgrin had deployed the bioweapon that would wipe out that planet’s biosphere, the Voidstar had been flawless. The Voidstar. A marvel of engineering, design, a testament to Hal’s personal genius and the instrument of his downfall. The thought was small and fleeting, pushed back down into a vault within his mind that he could never open. His mind snapped back to the here and now.
Hal followed his instinct and punched a protruding piece of metal with the frayed edge on it. It broke off and he pocketed it in one of the pouches on his belt. Now it was time to get the Corbinite. He braced himself against the wall, turned off his mag-boots and launched himself down the corridor. On the other end, he bumped into the frame of the machine deck door. He quickly punched his boots back on and caught himself on the floor.
The machine deck was almost undamaged. The fold reactor was offline but, except for a few dings and scratches from flying debris, it was pristine. Hal could not see any damage to the sealed compartment below either. He grabbed the welding torch from his hip and began cutting a small window into the compartment. The torch was blown out by air rushing from the first hole. A good sign. If there had still been air in there, chances were that nobody had taken the corb and replaced it with worthless lead. Hal shook his head. Why would anyone even do that, he asked himself. After reigniting the torch, the window was cut in under a minute. Hal placed the torch back in its pouch and reached his hand into the hole. When he pulled it out, a corbinite brick was in his palm. He could not suppress his smile. He placed the brick on the bottom of his left mag-boot to keep it from drifting off and quickly unfolded the container he had brought with him. Into it, he stuffed 37 of the bricks. He grabbed another ten and populated his suit pouches with them. Another one wandered onto his other boot magnet. In normal gravity, he would not even be able to lift his container now. Corbinite was as heavy as it was valuable. Hal used the weightlessness of the void, tied the container to his tether clasp and skillfully pushed himself along the same path he had taken minutes before to get in. When he reached the hole on the side of the ship, he remembered that he had turned off his comm. He quickly thumbed it back on and set it to the general Oasis crew frequencies.
“Oasey, this is Hal. Come in.”
“Hal! By Majora, you scared the shit out of us. Are you alright?” Hanzo replied immediately and frantically.
“I’m fine. How is Skip?”
“Well, he’s-” Hanzo’s voice was cut off by Mary’s.
“You should just get back here,” she said.
“On my way.”
Hal moved the container of Corbinite from his tether clasp to a utility clasp on the front of his suit. Then he re-attached the tether to the back of his hip and told his winch to pull him in. The winch obeyed, unlike Skip’s. Hal released a breath he noticed he had been holding as relief washed over him. Financial security. For the first time in many many years. They were set. He told himself again that Skip would be fine. He would get the best possible-
His thoughts were cut short when a wave of energy blasted him from behind. What in Kharkun had happened now? He strained his head to look at the Oasis. He saw that she was still there in one piece out of the periphery of his vision. She had not exploded. Then he realized what that sensation had been and a chill ran down his spine. This kind of energetic wave was a byproduct of a ship ripping open the boundary between the void and the Paralaexon, either to enter it or to leave it. Since the Oasis was still there that meant…
“Hal we have company, are you in?” Hanzo said through the speaker in Hal’s helmet.
“Company? What the fuck?” Hal said, “Is anything not gonna go wrong today?”
“Are you in?” Hanzo asked again, more pressingly.
“No, I’m not,” Hal replied, telling his winch to reel him in faster. A vibration was carried from the ship to his suit and into his ears. It sounded strange, like the string of an alien instrument. Hal once again strained his neck but he could not see what was going on.
“They shot at us,” Hanzo said, “I’m sorry Hal, I’m doing an evasive maneuver.”
Hal’s eyes widened in panic.
“Wait!” he shouted but it was too late. He was suddenly thrown forward with immense force. His weight overwhelmed the winch motor and he felt himself falling away from the ship. Instinctively, he engaged the winch-brakes at full force. The resulting jolt shot pain through his entire body as his spine was compressed under countless tons of force. The force had only lasted for an instant but it had still blacked out his vision for that time. He noticed too late that the corbinite container had been ripped out of the flimsy utility clasp and was now floating away from him.
“No, no, no, no!” he shouted. His frantic attempts to grab hold of the rope tied around the container failed. He insulted the Goddesses and all their ilk in ancient Marthiflex curses as he saw his payday floating off into the void. He immediately released the winch-brakes, hoping to be flung forward again but Hanzo’s maneuver had been over as fast as it had started. Instead he felt himself being pulled downward and laterally away from the container. Realizing the futility of risking his life for those bricks when he still had ten of them on his person, he ordered the winch to pull him back in. Under the strain from Hanzo’s flying, the winch did not cooperate. Hal was still too heavy. Begrudgingly and under curses, he opened the pouches on his suit and flung one brick after the other into the void. By the time there were the two bricks on his boots left, he finally felt himself move back towards the ship. An awfully long minute later, he lay on the floor of the Oasis’ monkey island as the airlock re-pressurized. When the O2 indicator in his visor showed green, - safe to breathe - he took off his helmet, stripped out of the cursed suit and rushed down to the bridge.
Hanzo sat in Skip’s chair, frantically pushing and pulling on the steering yolk.
“Oh good, you’re in,” Hanzo said before speaking into his comm to Mordecai, “Mort, give me everything you got.”
The ship lurched as Hanzo tried evading the hostile’s attacks. Hal could see what looked like small red lightning bolts whiz by the bridge canopy.
“Who the hell is that?” Hal asked, more than a little irritated. Hanzo answered with a shrug and pointed to a monitor to his left. Hal jogged up to it and took in the image. A blurry round shape could be seen firing one of the red lightning bolts.
“How are the shields?” Hal asked.
“Down,” Hanzo replied.
“What? Where is Mary?”
“Down in the medbay.”
“Why the-” Hal was interrupted by an impact. The Oasis lurched and reeled, alarms blared.
“Fuck!” he yelled. In the chaos, he had almost forgotten what had happened to Skip but hearing that he was being tended to meant he was alive. A wave of relief washed over him, followed almost immediately by anger. He pressed his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into his palm. His pilot was down. His gunner was out of the fight, fulfilling his second duty as backup pilot. Mary who ususally tended the shields was in the medbay for some reason. No guns, no shields. All Hal still had were engines and power. He could only run. Leave behind the Corb. His only option. He punched the monitor and it swung away from him.
“Take us out of the void,” he said quietly. Hanzo nodded, typed a few commands into the navigation computer and pressed a red button labeled ‘Rip’. Hal turned his back to the canopy and walked off the bridge. He left Hanzo to observe the void being ripped open in front of the ship, wounding the Paralaexon for the Oasis to float through.

Hal did not wait for the infirmary door to open on its own. Instead he pushed it open, ignoring the whining door motors. He rushed inside and saw him. Skip lay on one of the two treatment beds, Hoffenstedt’s steady hands tending to his impaled stomach. He was unconscious. Mary stood beside him, watching the procedure and occasionally handing tools to the Medicus. Hal walked up beside the table and lay a hand on Skip’s shoulder.
“How is he?” Hal asked.
“Severely physically traumatized,” said Hoffenstedt, unnaturally calmly. His movements were controlled and focused, precise, like his words. He was masking something, Hal thought. He met Mary’s eyes. Her jaw was locked tight, bulging as she chewed on her teeth. She had seen so much death, she did not want to see any more. None of them did.
“Why aren’t you at the shields?” he asked. Hoffenstedt answered in her stead.
“She is assisting me in saving a life, dear Captain. The life of our friend. Blame has no place in my medical facility.”
Hal nodded and exhaled loudly.
“Will he make it?” he asked quietly.
“Well, Henry, since you did not specify a time, yes. He will make it. But if you want him to survive to see his family again, we need a hospital.”
“Shit,” Hal said under his breath, “Shit shit shit.”
“What, is it inconvenient for you?” Hoffenstedt asked. He was not amused, nor was he amenable to sympathize with Hal’s mental struggles. Hal frowned at him.
“Percy, what is wrong with you? Who do you think I am?”
“At the moment, Henry,” Hoffenstedt fixed Hal with a stare, “I see the enabler of the Butcher of Saldep. Go play a leader now. Hurry along. Find a hospital.”
Hal was stunned. A gut punch delivered with surgical precision. Hoffenstedt was deeply furious at him, bringing about more death, more suffering, using Hal’s past as a weapon to give voice to frustration. Hal’s head pounded and years of self-hatred were on the brink of overwhelming him again. Mary fixed his eyes and made an expression. It was all it took. An expression to say words that needed not to be spoken. You are in charge now, she said with her face, be the one we chose to follow.
He nodded to her, and to himself, and headed back to the bridge.

The un-world, I have died
A promise kept of soul divide
Where past crawls and future runs
Forever distant

The un-maker, I have died
Distant self, grasp’s futile attempt
Soul he tears, flesh he rends
Remnants drift
Loved voices, distant hope
Pain made flesh and flesh made beast
Planes of void on steps of madness
Riding river waves of sorrow
Eyes plenty see none
Light abound in darkness drowned
Sword’s edge cuts itself
Abyssal heights, unclimbed

Un-self, I have died
Inward, no retreat
Scapes once tended now diseased
Tear-mist veils forgotten rot
And remembered faith
Spirals warped, forced straight
Lines interrupted
Stolen dawn returned never
Ship’s hull now skin to nothing
Oily shadows sinister cabaret
A thousand cuts, a million wounds

Kharkun, un-world, un-maker
Forever hungry, forever fed

Journey of the Un-Made Author Unknown, preserved by the Discipline

The rain, acid or basic Hal didn’t remember, pelted on sheet metal. An infernal sound, grating on his nerves. There was not much left of them now. He hadn’t slept in two days. A Brunswig had dropped him off where he stood now, under the roof of a utility shelter, somewhere on the world known as Sentry. It was a world of the core, even though it was just a few light-years from the border. Once upon a time, before a genocidal war, this place had been controlled by the House Acaster. Hal’s nightmares sometimes involved the violent dissolution of that House. A majority of its members had been on Saldep when… He pushed the thought away. It was never smart to let his mind drift there while alone. Too many temptations, too many fucking bars around.
Instead, he listened to the discordant rhythm of the rain. Overtones of a Norfodl hymn met the eerie cadence of an old marching beat of the Nuclear Mariner’s Corps, an institution long dead, replaced by Olgrin’s Navy. He tapped his foot along with the disjointed songs, trying to hit both rhythms at the same time. He was terrible at it. Music had never been a forté of his. But it was a better thing to focus on than all of his problems.

They had come to Sentry because it was Nuclear. Medical facilities here were still state-of-the-art. Hal didn’t know who led the Imperial Board these days, but whoever they were, they did a good job. Sentry was also a free planet. Nobody would be checking ID on a houseless world. Nobody would be patrolling. You could sell Corbinite here, and few people would bat an eyelash. If Skip hadn’t been injured, Hal would have gone to Gors-Velen. He could probably make a good 30% more there. But the take didn’t matter. Not this time.

A Brunswig, red as flame, came to a stop before him. A woman stepped out of it. In the darkness, it was hard to make her out, but her hair’s silhouette betrayed her.
“Masiva,” Hal said and nodded to his long-time fence and friend of the crew.
“Why did you call me here? This is…” she looked around, “Distasteful.”
Hal followed her scanning eyes but found nothing particularly distasteful about the place. Masiva was a snob, but lovable, once you got to know her.
“Get under here,” he said, motioning for her to join him under the roof of the shack, “The rain is acidic or toxic or something here.”
Masiva inadvertently looked up, as if to see for herself. Then she joined him under the roof and dried her face with a sleeve.
“What are we doing here, Henry?”
“I need you to buy two bricks of Corb from me,” Hal said.
“Here?” she said, exasperated, “What is going on with you?”
Hal pointed into the distance where a large building complex stood on a plateau.
“You know what that is?” he asked.
“A… a hospital or…” she looked back at him, her face crestfallen, “Who?” she asked.
“Skip.”
“No, no, no… Henry, I…”
“I just need you to buy the Corb. Please, I will take whatever you want to give me, I won’t haggle. Just take it.”
“Hal…” she began again, unsure what to say. Masiva worked with many people, many crews like Hal’s. But if it were up to the Oasis, she would be on her crew manifest. Many a night, she had shared juice with the crew after a good job. When she stayed on the ship, she was family.
“Mas, I need the coin.”
“Of course, I know, of course I’ll buy the Corb,” she said, “If I had the funds, I would pay you double for it.”
“I know you would, Mas. But I’ll take the 30% cut, I just need hardcoin.”
She reached out with a wet hand and cradled his face. He pulled away. Comfort was the last thing he deserved right now.
“Let’s go there,” she said, “I want to see him, too. Hand me the Corb and I’ll pay the hospital directly.”
He handed her the two sorry bricks of Corbinite, one in each hand. She didn’t look at them, just let them slip into the bag she carried.
“Come,” she said, leading Hal to her Brunswig.

Skip was still unconscious. A coma, the Medici had said. Even after surgery, his body was broken and twisted, a bizarre sight. The crew of the Oasis, and Masiva, sat in a visitor’s lounge, a Medicus in their middle.
“Lord Noram has over 500 bone fractures in most of his body,” he said. The words were cold and made Hal shiver.
“Extensive damage to most bodily tissues, blood loss… I’m afraid there is not much still in our power at this facility.”
“What are the options you have available, young man?” asked Hoffenstedt who had seemed unusually alert and focused during this time.
“None that your current desposits cover,” said the Medicus, his own face contorted in empathetic pain.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Masiva, “I’ll pay for whatever. No matter what.”
“There is currently no possibility for us to… save Noram’s body,” said the Medicus, “not at this facility. I doubt any facility outside of the core is able to do so.”
“What do you mean?” said Hal, “You’e the core. We came here because you are the core!” he said.
“Yes, I know we give that perception to outsiders,” said the Medicus, “But we are not equipped like a core world. We have two options.”
Everyone looked up now.
“Option one is the ice.”
Mary immediately protested, as did Hanzo and Mort. Hal raised a hand.
“Let him speak,” he said. The Medicus continued.
“We can put him on ice until such a time that you can transport him to the core.”
“What’s option two?” asked Hal.
“We have a neurextraction facility on the premises,” he said, “We can extract his brain and fit it with a standard neural machine interface. He could serve aboard your ship, as he did before.”
“That is fucking barbaric!” Mary shouted, “We are not doing that to Skip!” she cursed in the Luger.
“Those are the two options I can offer you,” said the Medicus as he rose, “I will leave you to discuss.”

The crew gathered around Skip’s unmoving body. Masiva was the only one who cried, not because the rest of them didn’t care - at least Hal didn’t think so - but because they were focused on doing right by him. Masiva was a good person, Hal thought. Pure, even in her shady position as a fence. He laid a hand on Skip’s shoulder. It felt soft, like there was no bone in it. Mort was the first who spoke up.
“We cannot let him go to Kharkun,” he said. He voiced a truth almost everyone agreed with. Everyone but Mary, who believed in no such thing.
“What we can’t do,” she began, “is to let our religious beliefs make decisions here.”
“You don’t understand,” said Hal, “You don’t know what we are talking about when we say Kharkun.”
“I know that it’s your afterlife which your loving Goddess designed for eternal suffering, no matter who you are.”
“Nobody designed Kharkun,” said Hoffenstedt. He looked at Mary and cited the Discipline.
“Only Majora’s light divides that which is un-made from that which is made. Majora took a slice of Kharkun, named it The Void, and gave it to us, protects us within it. Once we leave this slice, we will go back to Kharkun. It is not within her power to prevent this.”
“Some goddess, then, huh?” Mary mumbled, “Didn’t take you for a theologian.”
“I am a Medicus, child. The Discipline is the guide to every profession.”
“I respect that you all believe this,” Mary said, “But we need to talk about the third option.”
“What third option?” asked Mort.
“Letting him go.”
Everyone stared at Mary, except Masiva who now knelt next to Skip, still crying.
“Letting him go… to the un-world?” Hal said, exasperated, “You know none of us are capable of doing this Mary. None of us can send someone we love to Kharkun.”
“But you don’t know that this place is real. You don’t know-”
“We can’t just assume the opposite, Mary,” said Mort. He had shuffled to stand next to Hal. “The moment we do, we stop being human.”
“So I’m not human?” Mary asked.
“Of course you are. What I meant was… Shit, Hal, help me out.”
“What Mort is trying to say is that there are two possibilities,” Hal began, “Either the Discipline is true, or it’s not. But even if you said that the probability of it is small, then the consequence of being wrong about that is too high to risk.”
“Yes, that’s what I was trying to say,” Mort added, unnecessarily.
“And even if you don’t believe in it, Mary,” Hanzo said in his drawl, “Choosing death for one as young as Skip… It don’t sit right, does it?”
“Do you believe in it?” she asked. Hanzo had spent the latter half of his life actively deradicalizing himself from Discipline-born hatred.
“I do,” he said simply, “But I also believe that good souls will retain comforts there.”
“Why are you against the ice?” Hal asked Mort, remembering his earlier reaction.
“The ice is death, Hal. It’s nothingness. It’s as close to Kharkun as you can go without actually going.”
“But it’s not Kharkun,” said Hal.
“Some say it’s worse,” Mort said, “Some say… at least in Kharkun, you can still think. For a while.”
“Bullshit,” Hal said. Hoffenstedt nodded as Hal continued, “How is temporary suspension worse than Kharkun?”
“I just told you,” said Mort.
“The ice is harmless,” Hoffenstedt said, “But it also destroys potential.”
Mort nodded, “Exactly. This… fucked up tragedy gave us an opportunity to give Skip something. A way of doing what he loves better than anyone in the entire galaxy.”
Mordecai was animated, downright enthusiastic. He continued.
“Think, Hal. What does he love more than anything? Flying the ship. Going into the void. What would enable that better than being a neuropilot on the Oasis, with ME as the reactor operator?”
Hal shook his head as he thought about his friend’s words.
“We can’t make that decision for him, Mort.”
“Nobody else can make it now.”
Mary stepped between them.
“We are NOT pulling out Skip’s brain to put it into a fucking machine.”
“Not your decision,” Mort said.
“I know! It’s nobody’s fucking decision!” she yelled.
“Oh but it’s for you to decide to let him die, is it?” Mort yelled back.
“He’s already dead, look at him! Look at him!”
Masiva now sat on the floor next to Skip’s bed, seemingly cried dry. Her makeup had run in streaks down her cheeks and her magnificent hair had started dissolving in the acid rain still clinging to it.
“What I’m seeing,” Mort said, slowly and deliberately, making sure the gravitas of a blind man seeing is felt, “Is me, when I was 12 years old. I could have died, too. I wanted to die. I thought Kharkun is better than abject, constant pain and suffering. In Kharkun, I could have seen things again. Things other than the Reaction. I could have escaped it and then been un-made. Seemed nice, comparatively. But someone taught me better. And now look at me. Look at what I can fucking do, Mary. Look at what I’ve done for you and for everyone here. Don’t deny the kid that opportunity!”
“I am looking at you and all I see is a tech-obsessed freak trying to be less alone in the universe,” Mary spat. Mordecai looked down. He spoke quietly.
“Good to know that’s how you see me,” he said. Mary’s face lost its anger quickly, replaced by regret.
“I’m sorry Mort, I didn’t mean that, I just-”
Mort waved her off. He moved to the corner of the room and sat on the floor.
Hanzo gave Mary a deathly stare before taking Mort by the arm to lead him out of the room. Hal looked at Hoffenstedt.
“What do you think, old man?”
“I think we should freeze him, go make money and then take him to the Board in Korslaw.”
“What are you talking about you old fool?” Mary said, “We will all be arrested and jailed for the rest of our lives! Percy, they will execute you.”
“I’m prepared to make that sacrifice for a friend,” Hoffenstedt said matter-of-factly, “Kharkun is coming for me one way or the other. Majora will delay my un-making for a good sacrifice,” he finished before he, too, left the room. Mary looked at Hal but he couldn’t meet her eyes. He had never felt more distant from her than in this moment. She sighed in frustration and stormed out, presumably to go break something. Hal knew she had her reasons, even if he couldn’t see them at the moment. She didn’t know what it was to grow up with the Discipline. What it meant to fear Kharkun or what it meant to… to send someone there. Hal knew. He saw it in his mind’s eye. Masiva’s face, devastated by emotion, was many faces, all in one. The face of the child holding his dying father in his arms. The face of the mother on her knees in front of an empty home. The face of the captain, who had lost his soul alongside his men. The face of a drugged up, drunk man who once engineered the means for a genocide. So much suffering, caused by avarice and hate. What was the point of it all? Masiva looked up at him, her thousand faces rolled into one. She looked pleadingly, expectantly at him. He wanted to say I’m sorry or It will be okay but instead, he decided to act. He left her there, as he had left many before. Turned his back and walked. He didn’t stop walking when she sobbed. He walked out of the door, along a corridor stinking clinically, and into the office of the Medicus who awaited an answer.

Seeing him walk inside, Mary and Mort both followed, standing behind him as he spoke.
“Put him on ice,” Hal said, “How long will three million buy us?”
“Hold on now, Hal,” Mort said, “think this through.”
“I have thought it through,” Hal said, without looking back, then reiterated, “The ice, how long?”
“Hal, we have a chance here to do something great for Skip,” Mordecai pled.
“You’re prolonging the inevitable, Hal,” Mary said, “Don’t do that to him.”
Hal turned and shouted, despite himself.
“We are putting him on ice!” he said, “I don’t even know who you people are anymore. You,” he pointed at Mary, ”want to let the kid die. And you,” pointing at Mort, “want to destroy what he is. If either of you have a problem with this decision, MY decision, then get your shit off the Oasis before I get back.”
The Medicus nodded with a raised eyebrow at Hal, “We will start the procedure immediately.”

Ninety minutes. Hal had counted the seconds one by one from the moment he had left the office of the Medicus to the moment the man returned from the cryo facility. When he finally did return, he sat next to Hal.
“Can I be frank with you, Captain?” the Medicus asked. Hal looked at him, confused.
“I don’t think you’re really asking for permission,” he said, tiredly.
“Your friend, Lord Noram… Skip, as you call him. He doesn’t have long. The ice will keep him suspended. Cititzen Masiva’s credit will keep him that way for 59 days. After that, you have a matter of days to get him treated.”
Hal nodded. His resolve was strong now.
“It is not possible to get to the core in that time,” the Medicus said, making his point. Hal smiled wryly at the man.
“You have no idea what the Oasis is capable of, my friend.”
“There is also a different matter to discuss. None of your crew are the Lord’s Preventor. I allowed you to make this decision against Board regulations.”
“Why?” Hal asked.
“Because I won’t let bureaucracy send people to the un-world, Captain.”
Hal looked away, nodded to himself. The Medicus continued.
“I can see that this child chose his family. And I am not one to build dams on the choice-river. Will you do right by him?”
Hal’s head still hurt but he was able to think clearly, to plan, now.
“I have to,” he said finally, “If I don’t, I’ll go to Kharkun after him.”

---

The Oasis Among The Stars stood glistening in the morning starlight. Hal had elected to walk back to the void dock instead of taking a Brunswig. A ten-mile walk, half through acid rain, then through the mud it had left behind. The soles of his boots were thinner now, worn away by the acid. His hair felt spotty and his scalp was sore. He cared little for any of it. He saw his Oasis, standing proud as the Serulian in the surf. Her hull shone and glittered, covered in mineral oil which was sprayed onto her even now. A necessary precaution after the damage she had taken. The sight of her filled him with determination and hope, like it had two decades ago. She was his Oasis. And she would be Skip’s Oasis again, too. As he approached, two cranes, tall as houses, maneuvered a hull plate onto the Oasis. A group of two dozen workers, clad in respirators and full-body protective suits, grabbed the plate with gloved hands and lowered it onto the damaged portion of her hull. It would be an ugly repair, a patch-plate. But this void dock didn’t have the facilities to deal with a toxic hull like the one on the old Type 72.
The sounds of dock workers operating heavy machinery drew closer as Hal reached the front gate of the landing gallery. He held up his owner’s pass and was quickly ushered through the gate, several metal detectors and a molecular scanner. Found clean of contraband and extra-planetary viruses, he was instructed to follow a green line labeled PAD_03 to his ship.
The path snaked through the void dock as if built as a labyrinth and later repurposed. Hal understood instinctively why it was this way, that void docks like this were the result of centuries of often unplanned expansions. There were people of all creeds here. Many more Baranians than you would see in the core. Some of them looked sophisticated, like Burghers, like Mary. Heartland citizens who grew up on Baranis or close to it, a life steeped in utopic luxury and atheism. Somehow, the Baranian heartlands had avoided the decadence that flowed like blood through the Burghership of the Nuclear Empire, despite their wealth and comfort. The Baranians he saw, standing at sleek, modern ships - many of them armed with weapons based on the shield technology that protected Baranis, a technology Mary helped develop in a previous life - were clad in business henkers and decorative, intricate dresses. Women with tattoos of living color and men with cybernetics, chosen instead of prescribed, gathered outside of one of the ships. It was larger than the Oasis but smaller than a Nuclear frigate. A cruise liner or maybe a private yacht. They talked animatedly in the High Baranis Luger, which often sounded like an argument, even if it was a love poem. This dialect of the Luger was unique to the planet Baranis itself. When Mary spoke in her native tongue, it sounded just like this.
Hal was inadvertently reminded of his argument the night prior with two of his closest friends. He hoped and prayed to Majora that they hadn’t actually decided to leave.

Finally, an airlock separated Hal from the Oasis. He stepped into it and saw tufts of his hair fly off his head in the steady stream of cycling air. Before long, he stepped out on the other side and was greeted, to his great relief, by Mordecai, his best friend in all the void-swallowed worlds. Without words, the two exchanged a handshake. Hal spoke as they released it.
“It’s good to see you,” he said sincerely. Mort nodded to him.
“This doesn’t mean I agree with what you did,” he said, “But I’m not abandoning my family.”
“Is Mary…”
“Yeah. She’s at the shields,” said Mort, pointing his thumb in the direction of the engine bay. Hal thanked his friend and went to see Mary.
She stood at the shield console, pressing buttons seemingly at random. It seemed like she was working but Hal couldn’t be sure. Cautiously, he approached her, extending his hand. She looked at him but didn’t stop pressing buttons.
“Henry,” she said, ignoring his hand. He lowered it as she continued.
“You know what I did in my twenties?” she asked. Hal nodded.
“You built the shields on Baranis,” he said.
“I didn’t build them. I fixed a bug in their hardware,” she turned to him finally, “A bug that was put there on accident, hundreds of years before I was even born.”
Hal didn’t know whether she wanted him to respond. He wouldn’t know what to say anyway, so he kept quiet.
“The bug was never discovered. Not in the first 200 years, not in the next 200 and not for over half a millennium,” she continued. Her voice quivered and shook with small sobs.
“The way we found it was… Was because the shields failed. The ones over my city, they failed.”
Hal’s expression turned from initial confusion to one of horror.
“How did you survive that?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“I was underground,” she said matter-of-factly, “But I was one of few. Millions of people were… They were incinerated in an instant, Hal. Turned into ash before they could even understand what was happening.”
Aldebaran was infamous for its intensity in the skies over Baranis. She was close to tears and stopped pressing buttons to wipe her eyes.
“And then there were millions more who… They were inside the buildings. They boiled alive.”
She sobbed, then sniffed.
“And then there were the ones who were underground, but not far enough. Tens of thousands, Henry. Tens of thousands of people with radiation sickness that slowly destroyed them from the inside out for days and weeks and months.”
Hal moved close to her as her tears flowed more quickly than she could wipe them. He laid a hand on her shoulder as she continued.
“Do you know how many people I’ve seen… dissolved skin and… eyes without lids, burns over half their body…. trying so desperately to hang on. Kept alive in suffering by their loved ones? Holding on to some bullshit notion of hope…”
He hugged her and she let him.
“I’m sorry Mary,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want us to do this to Skip,” she said, “He doesn’t deserve that, Henry.”
He slowly released her from the hug but kept his hands on her shoulders. He looked her in the eyes.
“We won’t,” he said, “I promise you that.”
“We are!”
“No, Mary, think. Breathe, and think clearly,” he instructed clinically. He scolded himself for letting the engineer talk, instead of the friend. She took in a large breath and released it into his face. He continued despite himself. There was a point to be made and she needed to hear it made.
“Skip feels nothing and isn’t aware of anything on ice. We are not making him suffer like your people did. We bought him time. And now, we’re going back to the void so we can buy him his body back, too.”
Her sobbing breaths slowly stabilized as she nodded, more to herself than him.
“This is our mission now. And we always get the job done, don’t we?” he asked.
“We do,” she said, “And we will.”
“That’s my Mary,” he said before hugging her again, then they both chuckled.
“Look at us,” she said, “Like a bunch of pansies.”
“Nothing weak about having emotions,” Hal said, “It’s how the Sisters meant for us to be.”
“I don’t believe in your Sisters,” she said, “But they sure did a good job with you lot.”

Without having to be summoned, Mort, Hanzo, Hoffenstedt and Masiva entered the engine bay and gathered around Mary and Hal. He looked around the room, at each of them in turn.
“None of you got any sleep,” he guessed. They seemed to finally actually see him in the precise bright light of the engine bay. All of their faces showed various levels of concern. Masiva, as she always did, showed the most.
“Hal what happened to you?” she asked. For a moment he was confused. Then he ran his hand over his scalp. A handful of hair stuck to his palm. He shook it off and it floated slowly to the floor.
“Acid rain,” he said.
“Did you walk here?” Mort asked. Hal nodded.
“You need to stop it with that self-punishment crap,” Mort scolded him.
“You should rest, boss,” said Hanzo.
“Yeah I… I probably should.”
Masiva hugged him. She didn’t let go after the duration that was polite and even as it crossed the ‘weird for friends’ threshold. He enjoyed the sensation, then hated that he enjoyed it. He didn’t deserve this feeling. Not yet. He felt a combination of relief and disappointment as she let him go. Her eyes spoke volumes about her emotional landscape. It was a language Hal had forgotten he spoke. As he walked out of the engine bay and to his quarters, he wondered if there was a place and a time for him to re-learn it.

Heading, Keel and Incline:
In the context of voidship traffic control, heading and keel refer to a set of two angles describing the orientation of a ship. The heading of a ship is its horizontal orientation in reference to a predefined ecliptic plane. Keel angle describes the vertical orientation of a ship relative to a heading.
Example: Heading 90, keel 45 instructs a voidship pilot to orient his vessel exactly to the right and then 45 degrees upward.
Incline angle describes a voidship’s rotation along its long axis.

Udhar Dictionary - 6th Millennium NE

---

Hanzo, now the interim pilot of the Oasis, spoke into a microphone hanging from the canopy.
“Announcing perimeter entry. Voidship Type 72, callsign Oasis.”
While they waited for a response, Hal used the forward optics to magnify a tiny white speck in the distance. As he did so, his monitor eventually showed the full bulk of the mighty Freeport Opis Musgrave, a station as old as civilization in this part of space. One of just 100 such stations in the galaxy, it was independent from both Empires and overseen by people without a nationality.
“Freeport-001, Oasis. Acknowledge entry. Stand-by for instructions.”
The station was large, the size of a city, but it looked ramshackle. Bulbous protrusions made up most of its bulk, added onto it over centuries. Maybe millennia, Hal wasn’t sure.
“Freeport-001, Oasis. Be advised, ecliptic mismatch. Halt all. Incline 121, align heading 182, keel 91.”
“Oasis, Freeport-001. Acknowledge ecliptic sync,” Hanzo transmitted before rotating the Oasis to align with the instucted values. Hal tried to keep the forward optics trained on the station but lost it out of sight. Hanzo mumbled something in a creole Hal didn’t speak, then cursed in Contra as he overshot the heading.
“This certainly ain’t no flyin’ Brunny,” he said, his drawl stronger than usual. Hal laughed.
“She’s a bit bigger than one, too.”
After correcting his maneuver, Hanzo spoke into the microphone.
“Oasis, Freeport-001. Ecliptic sync complete. Awaiting docking vector. Drydock preferred.”
Hal found the station again but it was now plunged in the shadow of the planet Exmystradon which it orbited.
“Majora damn you, Hanzo, we wanted to go there before sunset,” Hal said sarcastically.
“Freeport-001, Oasis. Declare hull composition.”
Hanzo looked at Hal, unsure how to properly phrase the declaration. Hal grabbed the microphone.
“Oasis, Freeport-001. Hull class 6 beta 3,” he said. This, of all things, was drilled into Hal’s memory by a particularly vehement scholar at the academy. The Oasis was clad in a Beryllium-Titanium hull, lined with Cadmium-Corbinite inserts for point stability. On a scale from one to six, a class-6 hull was the most toxic. Damage class beta 3 was more of a guess, since the damage done by the mysterious ships at the Corbinite transport that almost killed Skip was unusual. Beta was ablative damage and the scalar 3 represented the extent of the damage, affecting about 3% of the ship’s hull.
A long pause. There was always a long pause. A hull of this composition required safety measures while in drydock.
“Freeport-001, Oasis. Drydock approach cleared, stand-by,” the speaker croaked finally. Hal handed the microphone back to Hanzo as more instructions streamed in.
“Freeport-001, Oasis. Incline 00, align heading 010, keel 100. Slow approach 40 units.”
A low rumble announced the ignition of the Oasis’ main drive. There was no acceleration to be felt because, miraculously, the downforce projectors worked properly for once, despite the unbalanced hull. Hal patted the side of the canopy with affection.
“Good girl,” he mumbled.
The Freeport grew in the forward optics and eventually, it came back into view of the bridge, this time much larger. It filled almost the entire field of view.
“How big is this thing?” Hanzo asked.
“The long axis is almost 800 miles, according to this,” Hal said, reciting the sensor readout to his left.
“Could be a planet in itself,” Hanzo said.
“The smallest inhabited planet is called Garfield and it is much much bigger than this, Hanzo.”
The Freeport interrupted their conversation.
“Freeport-001, Oasis. Align heading 000, keel 70. Make approach.”
Hanzo turned the ship, which groaned slightly at his untrained hand.
“How did you get a license again?” Hal asked.
“Give me a break,” Hanzo said. He made a point of hitting the heading perfectly this time. Hal raised his hands.
“Alright, alright.”
“Just takes some getting used to,” said Hanzo as they floated towards the station. Green approach guidance lights flickered in and out of existence in front of the ship. Tiny signaling drones flying relay. An opening in the station’s hull grew bigger in front of them. Through forward optics, Hal could see a few dozen dock workers preparing the oil spritzers through it.
“Freeport-001, Oasis. Drydock approach complete, halt all. Prepare for tractor.”
Hanzo halted all movement and pressed a sequence of buttons on his armrest. A metallic ka-chunk sounded first on the left, then on the right side of the bridge. Hanzo spoke into the microphone.
“Oasis, Freeport-001. Acknowledge halt all. Tractor points deployed.”

Almost immediately after this announcement, four tractor cables were shot like harpoons at the Oasis. But instead of sharp points, these cables ended in a hook that mated with similar hooks on four tractor points around the Oasis’ forward hull. A foreboding metallic impact told Hal that something had gone wrong. He stood and looked down as far as he could. Sure enough, one of the cables had missed its mark. He grabbed the microphone out of Hanzo’s hand.
“Oasis, Freeport-001. Halt ops. The starboard-dorsal tractor did not engage. Repeat, tractor did not engage. Halt ops.”
“Freeport-001, Oasis. Acknowledged halt ops. Retracting cable for a second try. Give us a prayer, will you?”
Hal rolled his eyes but prayed into the microphone regardless.
“Hear me, Majora, o mother of all. Shine competence unto the personnel of Freeport-001. May you bless them with the aim of the Torokin and the steadfast strength of Recleon himself,” he said. His interpretation of the Discipline had always allowed sarcastic prayers.
The controller chuckled as the cable came at the Oasis again. This time, it engaged. Hal smiled as he spoke into the microphone.
“Oasis, Freeport-001. All tractors positive. The power of prayer prevails. Pull us in.”
“Freeport-001, Oasis. Acknowledged resume ops. Praise be.”
The cables went taught immediately as they pulled the Oasis towards the drydock opening. Several dozen paces before the forehead crossed the threshold, the oil spritzers began shooting hundreds of liters of mineral oil at the Oasis every second, drenching her as she flew through the opening, then following her inside on rails, continuously wetting the hull. The canopy, now covered in a thick layer of ever-replenished oil, was flooded with diffuse light.
Before long, a docking corridor was maneuvered to mate with the Oasis’ forehead. Hal, who had assembled in the monkey island with the crew, felt the vibrations of the molecular seals closing and expelling all traces of toxic hull dust from the environment. The airlock opened with a hiss. Masiva strode forward first but Hal held her back. She turned to him, her face flush.
“How sure are you about this contact?” he asked. Her face feigned offense.
“Don’t doubt me, Hal,” she said, “My contact is solid.”
“Any idea what we’re about to be asked to do?”
“If I knew, we wouldn’t have to go there, would we, you dunce?” Masiva lightly tapped the top of Hal’s head while laughing. The sound of her laughter… Hal wasn’t sure what was going on with him.
“She’s got a point there, you dunce!” Mort said, chuckling.
Hal breathed the feeling away and nodded to Masiva.
“Let’s go then.”
Hoffenstedt announced himself with the sound of him clearing his throat. It was meant as a gesture but as he did it, he realized his throat really needed clearing and the sound turned into a disgusting half-cough half-gurgle. When he finally recovered, he showed off a gun that was about half as tall as he was.
“I’ll keep the scoundrels out of the Oasis,” he announced. His way of saying I’m too old for field missions.
Hal nodded, “Don’t put holes in her, please.”
“Yeah, not again,” Hanzo added.
“Not a third time either,” Mary said.
Hoffenstedt scoffed, “You kids don’t appreciate effective home defense.”
“We’d just like to have a home to go back to, you walking paradox,” said Mort.

The crew, sans Hoffenstedt, made their way through the Freeport named after Opis Musgrave, who nobody quite remembered all that well. As this port developed over many centuries, its architectural style had been influenced by whatever people believed at the time about Musgrave. The starboard void dock, which the crew found themselves in now, represented the newest interpretation of the enigma. Modern, sleek, but limited by resources. Industrial, with little flourishes. Musgrave was an architect.
A man greeted Hal on the other side of the docking corridor.
“Welcome aboard, Captain,” said the man before offering his hand. Hal shook it. “Void controller Hawthorne,” he said by way of introduction.
“Henry Michalchuk, Hal is fine.”
“Sorry about the ding,” said Hawthorne, pointing through the window behind them at the dent left by the stray tractor cable, “We’ll take care of that for free, of course.”
Hal frowned at the ding, as the man had called it.
“It’s a class 6 hull,” he reminded him, “You can take care of that?”
Hawthorne nodded, “Sure we can. Don’t you worry, she’ll be good as new. Hell, if you want, we’ll also get rid of that patch plate up there.”
Hal smiled. “For free?”
“Yeah why not, I’ve been itching to get the men trained on a toxic hull. New recruits, you know?”
Hal shook the man’s hand again, “I’ll gladly take that offer.”

The crew followed Masiva through the corridors of the station. The transitions between Musgrave interpretations was never seamless. Walk through a door and you’ll find yourself in an area that seems like it doesn’t fit with the rest. The architecture-focused style of the void dock soon gave way to an intricate, almost decadent style. Large halls instead of cramped corridors, lined with pillars and intricate holographic statues. Musgrave was a holy man. There was a small market propped up in one of the side halls. It resembled a Baranian bazaar in some ways. Small stalls selling what looked like fresh foods and hand-sewn clothes. Mary stopped at one of them and spoke the Luger to a Baranian-looking man.
“Gotosh mervekam altush?” she asked. Hal didn’t know what that meant but he enjoyed the sound of her language. The man looked as confused as Hal would have been.
“Sorry, madam, I grew up on Chorus,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. Mary apologized and hurried back to the rest of the crew.
“What did you ask him?” Hal asked.
“Nothing,” she said, blushing.
“She asked if he had Baranian candy for sale,” Hanzo explained, “Altush. Good choice if you ask me.”
“Damn you, Hanzo!” she said, slapping him on the arm. Mort, who walked beside Hal, had a grin on his lips.
“What are you so happy about?” Hal asked as they crossed another threshold into an area marked by black walls with golden insets. Musgrave was born on Norfodl. Mordecai did not answer. Instead he suppressed the grin. Hal looked forward again and saw Masiva. She walked with purpose and steady speed, her acid-damaged hair down in a ponytail. Hal thought it took nothing away from her beauty. Then he castigated himself for the thought. Not yet.
They reached a crossing as nondescript as the last 20, but Masiva stopped and turned.
“It’s through here,” she said and strode that way. They followed her through a narrow passage which ended in a run-down part of the station. Hal wondered if this meant the builders considered Musgrave a slumlord or if it was just natural decay. Graffiti adorned many of the walls here. Many were ugly and devoid of meaning but every now and then, someone had sprayed over older pieces. Below a colorful bouquet of imaginary flowers, Hal could make out the words Justice for Saldep painted in a blood red. He shared the sentiment. If he could have, he would have given his own life in the name of that justice. By Kharkun, he had tried.
Finally, Masiva punched a code into a keypad next to an antique sliding door. The door slid open and a man stepped out. He was two heads taller than Hal and wide as a utility locker.
“Password?” he demanded, blocking the doorway.
“I just typed it in,” Masiva said, “1-2-1-0.”
“That’s the door code. I want the password.”
“I don’t know the damn password. Bergen expects me.”
The man eyed her head to toe. It made Hal’s skin crawl.
“There are ways to get in without the password,” he said lasciviously, licking his meaty lips. Hal walked forward to stand beside Masiva.
“Brother, how about you just let us talk to your boss?” he said. Masiva looked at him for a second, her face bright.
“I’m not your brother,” said the big man, “And you ain’t getting in without a password.”
Hal sighed, “How do… 4 thousand hardcoin sound for a password?”
The man looked down at Hal, disgusted at the sheer suggestion.
“You think I can be bribed?” he said. His voice was deep and almost resonated with the walls.
“10 thousand?” Hal tried.
“Get away,” said the big man. Hanzo seemed to have had enough of the charade as he stepped forward and shoved Hal aside with his blaster in hand.
“Listen, friend,” he began, “I’ve been herding bulls twice the size of you for three decades. You let us talk to your boss or I’m trying this,” he held up the gun, “on a new species today.”
Finally, the big man relented.
“What’s your name?” he asked. Masiva answered and introduced herself.
“Portia Vereno Maśiva,” she said, insisting on the official and proper pronunciation of her name. The big man retreated into the space and beckoned the crew to follow. Hanzo looked at Masiva sideways.
“You have more names than Masiva?” he asked.
She chuckled, “Of course. You have more names than Hanzo, too.”
“Well I only have the two. Always wanted a middle name. Makes you seem… sophisticated.”
“Thank you Hanzo, I am sophisticated.”

The big man stopped next to a doorway and waved everyone inside. Hal held Masiva back so he could enter first. An overweight man wore a hat too tight for his head behind a desk full of strange trinkets. He was eating some sort of meat but Hal couldn’t know which animal it came from.
“Bergen?” Hal asked, stretching out his hand. The man, presumably Bergen, looked up from his meal and shook Hal’s hand. Hal immediately regretted the gesture, subtly wiping his hand on the sides of his pants as he sat in a chair opposite the man.
“Wolfbran Bergen,” he said, “At your service.”
Masiva stood beside Hal and he immediately realized how rude he had been. Too late now, might as well enjoy this chair.
“And Citizen Masiva, what a sight!” Bergen said, “I did not expect you to actually show your face here after last time.”
“Last time? What happened last time?” Hal asked, looking up at her. She waved him off.
“A misunderstanding, Bergen. And I’m here to make it up to you.”
“Seriously, what happened last time?” Hal asked again.
“Don’t worry your pretty head about that,” Masiva said to him, “We’re here to work.”
“Hah!” Bergen exclaimed, two lines of spittle landing on his plate, “Nice try, you sly bitch.”
Hal felt a flash of unreasonable anger at this insult. He breathed.
“We really are here to work, Bergen,” he said, “I don’t know what happened last time, but it wasn’t us.”
“It was the damn Grottle twins,” Masiva said, “And I warned you they couldn’t be trusted.”
Bergen took another bite from the meat on his plate, whatever it was, then spoke with a full mouth.
“They were your team, no?” he asked. Masiva stepped closer.
“No, they weren’t. You requested them, remember?”
Bergen looked momentarily confused and turned to the big man at the door.
“Is that true Conrad?” he asked. The big man nodded.
“Yes sir. You said they were Majora’s finest crooks.”
Masiva laughed, “Blasphemy!” she said sarcastically.
“Now, now,” Bergen wiped his mouth with his sleeve, “Who did you bring today?”
Hal leaned forward, “I’m Hal. These are my crew. Mary shields things, Hanzo shoots things, and Mordecai makes the ship go really, really fast.”
“And what do you do, Hal?” Bergen asked.
“I try to keep money flowing in. Which brings us to why we’re here today,” Hal prodded to finally be given the job. He was growing tired of this place.
“Why would I let you work for me? I don’t know you and Citizen Masiva hasn’t left the best impression… last time.”
Hal smiled wryly, “I figure you for a businessman, Citizen Bergen,” he said. When Bergen nodded, he continued, “You know what sorts of people you want to depend on.”
Bergen continued to nod, then said “Competent people with an eagerness.”
“Well, in this room, you have the most competent people you can imagine. Mary helped build the shields on Baranis. Hanzo is the leader of an entire community, and Mordecai… He’s the most brilliant drive tech you’ll ever meet. On our ship is a Medicus with over 65 years of service to the Board. And you want to know the best part?”
Bergen’s eyebrow raised, he nodded.
“We are desperate,” Hal said, “A friend whom we all love dearly is in danger and we need your money to save his life.”
“Now that’s what I call a sales pitch!” Bergen said finally, followed by a hearty belly laugh. There was a lot of belly to laugh with. He looked up from Hal and at Masiva.
“Looks like you found Majora’s finest crooks for me this time, eh?”
“So,” she said, “What’s the job?”
Her hand found Hal’s shoulder as they listened to the mission briefing, massaging it idly.
Bergen pulled a grease-stained Lasian from his pocket, tapped on it several times, then threw it on the table before the crew. It showed an image of… Hal wasn’t quite sure. It looked similar to a Lasian but bulkier and with physical buttons on it. The sides of the device were scratched and damaged. The screen was glowing white but with no picture on it.
“This, esteemed crooks, is what you will get for me,” he began. Hal expected him to continue but he didn’t. He was the type of person who enjoyed being asked questions. Masiva spoke before he could.
“What is it?” she asked.
“That is not important at all,” he said, “Only where it is.”
He swiped a greasy finger along the Lasian and it showed a different image. A map.
“This is the Museum of Cryptonic Exudence on Supremus Prime.”
Hal frowned, “Supremus Prime? Isn’t that a core planet?”
“Hah!” Bergen exclaimed, “It sure used to be. Not since Saldep, though.”
Seemed to be a common theme in this part of the void. Hal wondered how many societies he had truly decimated. Bergen continued.
“After the slaughter, Supremus Prime was taken over by Expanse types… Conrad, what are they called?”
The big man’s booming voice sounded from behind.
“The Kurzon Band.”
“That’s it! A family too rich to die from genocide. They owned half the planet before, now they own it fully,” Bergen finished.
“Collectors, then?” Masiva asked.
“Quite so, Citizen Masiva. Collectors of all things old and shiny. You will take this shiny thing from them, won’t you, Hal?”
“We will,” Masiva spoke in Hal’s stead, “For the right price.”
“How quaint,” Bergen scoffed, “Do you always let your woman speak for you?” he asked.
“My woman?” Hal asked before he realized her hand was still on his shoulder. He had enjoyed the sensation but shrugged it off now. He did not look up at her to see the disappointment in her face.
“How much are you offering?” Hal asked.
“105 million.”
“For this job? 180 minimum,” Masiva said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, 105 is quite generous.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Bergen. This is a museum. You’re asking us to do a heist,” Masiva leaned down towards the man. It was hard now to ignore her scent.
Bergen grumbled to himself, then spoke.
“150 is my last offer,” he said more quietly.
“168 and you’ve got a deal,” Masiva said.
Bergen’s face suddenly lit up.
“Hah!” he said, “We have a deal!”
“And we’ll take half upfront, to cover operational costs,” Hal demanded.

A handshake confirmed the transaction and furthered Hal’s disgust. He tactically positioned himself between the big man, Conrad, and Masiva, like an ablative shield against the man’s gaze as they left. The void dock controller, Hawthorne, informed them over comms that the repairs would take until the next day, so Hal delegated some important tasks.
“Mary and Hanzo, I want you to have a look around. Find some useful toys. Lockbreakers, sonotypes, anything that looks like heist equipment,” he said.
“Rope and hoods?” Mary asked jokingly.
“My old professor used to say ropes are universally useful. You never know when you’ll need a rope,” Hal said.
“Did he actually say that or are you making up poignant quotes again?” Mort said.
“The latter. Now scram and get us some good stuff,” Hal said.
Masiva stopped them from walking away, “Shouldn’t we make a plan and then buy only what we need?” she asked, sensibly. Hal smiled that wry smile of his.
“We buy way too much right now. Then we make a plan, use only what we need and you’ll fence the rest later in Gors. Profit abounds,” he explained. She smiled back at him, practicing her own wryness.
“I forgot that’s how you do it,” she said. He looked at her and in a moment of emotional sobriety rare for him these days, he corrected her: “We. That’s how we do it. You’re one of us, Mas.”
Her smile turned from wry to warm and genuine, “Thank you, Henry.”
Mort pushed himself between the two.
“So if you two are done with the sexual tension, can Mary and Hanzo go?” he asked.
Hal nodded and shooed them off. Mort continued as they left.
“Masiva, why don’t you go back to the ship and help Hoffenstedt keep those dockworkers in check?”
“You mean keep him from shooting any of them?” she said.
“Yeah. Remember the password this time,” Mort chuckled. Masiva flipped him off, smiled at Hal and then turned and left for the ship. Mort snapped his fingers in front of Hal’s face to break his trance.
“Feeeport to Henry, come with me.”

Mort knew the station. Hal figured he must have been here often during the war. He had led him like an expert tour guide to a very specific warehouse district, located in a section of the station resembling a painting or mural of abstract art. Musgrave was an artist.
Mort knocked on the door in front of them, a big, bulky thing with a small slit at eye-level.
“What are we doing?” Hal asked.
“Patience, buddy,” Mort insisted.
A man slid a cover off the eye-slit and peeked through.
“Who knocks?” he asked but before anyone could answer, he seemed to recognize Mort. “Mordecai!” he shouted, then unlocked the door. As it swung open, it revealed a rather short man who must have been standing on his toes to reach the eye-slit. He was old as stone, a face entirely consisting of wrinkles.
“Bekker!” Mort shouted back as the two embraced.
“Long time no see, old friend, eh?” Bekker said.
“Too long,” Mort said. He patted the old man on the back a little too hard, causing him to release a few coughs.
“I’m not as spry as I used to be, kid,” Bekker explained.
“Can we come in?” Mort asked.
“Who’s your friend?” the old man asked.
Mort turned and beckoned Hal to come closer. He did so as Mort introduced him.
“This is Henry Michalchuk, Captain of the ship I work on.”
Bekker shook Hal’s hand.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Hal said.
“I’m Stanislaus Umberto Bekker,” the old man said with some pride in his voice, “Please come in, come in.”

Not much later, the three men sat around a small improvised table made from damaged shipping pallets. Bekker had served tea and had insisted on a small ceremony before they drank. He waved a smoking stick of wood over the teapot and spoke several incantations in a language Hal did not know, although it could be mistaken for a dialect of Marth. Only after extinguishing the stick did he invite his guests to drink the tea.
“What brings you here, kid?” he asked Mort.
“Straight to business, huh?” Mort said, “You ain’t changed a bit.”
“Pleasantries beyond tea are for those with time to spare,” said Bekker.
Hal smiled, took a sip of the tea - making a mental note to ask the old man for the recipe - and set it on the table before him.
“I would like to know,” he said, “how the two of you know each other. Before we talk business, that is.”
“Oh Mordecai didn’t tell you, did he?” Bekker said, slightly disappointed, “I don’t know how much you know, Henry, so I will let him tell you.”
Hal looked at Mort whose face, half obscured by his blindfold as it was, didn’t betray any emotion.
“You know most of it. Bekker is the one who took care of me after my… accident.”
Hal’s eyes widened. He had been told many a story by Mort about the time after he fell into a fold reactor when he was only a child. How he had to hide from the Empire, the pain and abject misery he existed in for years, and about an old, wise teacher who had nursed him into the man he was now. Instinctively, Hal extended his hand again.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Citizen Bekker,” he said. Bekker, slightly bemused, shook Hal’s hand again.
“Don’t be dramatic, kid,” he said, “I did what anyone would have done.”
“Bullshit,” Mort blurted out, “You did a lot more than that.”
“I would agree with that,” Hal said, “To us on the Oasis, you’ve been an unsung, unidentified hero for years. It is genuinely an honor.”
“Now stop it with the flattery, you two voidskulls,” Bekker said, fighting a blush, “You’re here because you need something from me, no?”
Hal and Mort exchanged glances. Hal shrugged, since Mort dragged him here without explanation.
“I need to borrow something from your tool shelf,” Mort said, pointing his thumb behind him.
“Borrow, eh?” the old man chuckled, then coughed, “The dictionary says that’s when you give it back after you’re done.”
“I plan on it,” Mort said, “Just need it for a job.”
“What’s the job and what do you need?” Bekker asked, seemingly eager to part with whatever Mort needed.
“You heard of Supremus Prime?”

Mort explained the job they had to do and what it may involve. He also explained their modus operandi, planning on location instead of beforehand.
“But we don’t want to leave traces that we were there,” Mort finally said. Bekker smiled knowingly.
“You want my ship identity spoofer,” the old man said triumphantly.
“Yes, if you could part with it. Just for a week or two,” Mort said.
Bekker got up and retrieved the device from somewhere in a back room. When he re-emerged, he held a cylinder the size of a yaedir ball, with several dozen different ports to attach plugs to. As he handed it to Mort, he said something in that same language he had used earlier. To Hal’s great surprise, Mort answered likewise.
“What the fuck?” Hal blurted out involuntarily. Mort and Bekker chuckled.
“It’s Collective Marth,” Mort explained.
“The Collective have their own version of Marth?” Hal asked.
“Just one sector, where we came from,” Bekker said, “Good old Helmstadt.”
The corners of Mort’s mouth fell, “Do you miss it?” he asked Bekker. After some hesitation, he answered.
“Sometimes.”
“I’m sorry I took you away from there,” Mort said, his voice quivering slightly. Hal put his arm around his friend.
Bekker smiled, “Don’t be daft, kid. Look at you. I did everything right. This is just nostalgia.”
“The food was shit anyway,” Mort said, smiling.
“I definitely don’t miss ration bars,” Bekker agreed.
A siren wailed from the back room, startling Hal and Mort.
“Ah, duty calls, boys. You have fun with that spoofer, okay?”
Bekker grabbed a backpack almost the size of his entire body, studded with tools and smaller ship components and walked out of the warehouse with them.
“Where are you headed?” Hal asked.
“The void dock. They called for parts. And I got the best ones.”

---

Stellar charts weren’t updated very often. The most widely used cartography suite in the Empire, the Great Udhar Tabula, included pictures of every known planet. The one showing Supremus Prime was severely out of date, as Hal noted. The Paralaexon had expelled them a little closer than Hal would have liked. No way to stay undetected now. The picture showed Supremus Prime as a lush green garden, interspersed elegantly by meandering rivers and narrow ocean bands. What the crew saw out of the canopy was shockingly dissimilar.
Olgrin’s pet war had had many facets. Saldep had been the only true genocide, inflicted with a biological weapon stripping the planet of all animal life. But Supremus Prime’s surface was scarred by the teeth of the Imperial Malus, an immense, unceasing bombardment with atomic weaponry. Although its scars were now largely buried under a mile of ice. Eternal winter, courtesy of imperial barbarism.
To Hal’s chagrin, they were immediately hailed by the planet’s ground control station.
“Unidentified vessel, this is Supremus Prime ground control. Identify yourself and declare reason for approach.”
Hal turned to Hanzo sitting on Skip’s seat. “Turn on that spoofer,” he ordered. Hanzo did as asked. A ping rang out from the console, indicating their transponder signal was transmitting fine.
“We are now known as the esteemed trader Khantaton from the core world Song,” Hanzo said with a chuckle. The irony was not lost on Hal as he grabbed the microphone.
“This is the independent trader Khantaton. My name is-” he hesitated as he thought, “Captain Acheran,” he finally said, lending the name of someone who had been a friend in his old life, a teacher in many ways. It was a strange feeling. His mind conjured a cryptonic novel he had seen years ago of monsters who wore human skin to disguise themselves. The idea of wearing the skin of Acheran made him chuckle. The old goat would probably approve, considering Hal got his questionable taste in entertainment from him.
“Supremus-001, Khantaton. Declare reason for approach.”
“Khantaton, Supremus-001. We are looking to trade in fine goods.”
Silence. Not good.
“You sure that thing is working?” Hal asked Hanzo.
“I’m a bull herder, boss. You tell me.”
Hal checked the transmission protocol overview. The transponder protocol had indeed been hacked to identify them as a ship called Khantaton which just so happened to also be a demilitarized Type 72.
“Khantaton, Supremus-001, are you receiving?” he tried.
“If Mort’s dad gave us a garbage spoofer and we die, do you reckon he’ll feel bad?” Hanzo asked.
“I’m pretty sure Mort’s dad is dead,” Hal said.
“You know what I mean, smart-ass,” Hanzo replied, trying his best to keep the Oasis flying straight. Finally, the speaker crackled to life.
“Supremus-001, Khantaton. Weak transmission, approach orbital dock for verification.”
“Shit,” Hal said. He had hoped to avoid questioning eyes.
“Weak transmission?” Hanzo asked. Hal nodded idly.
“The transponder’s signal is hardwired into the transmission array. Right now, we’re using that piece of shit as an antenna,” he pointed to the spoofer which was attached by two wires to a cockpit console. He would have wished for them not to have to use it, but the sub-optimal Paralaexon wound had dropped them right in sensor range of the planet. Now he needed people skills instead of engineering skills.

The approach was fraught with many a correction. Hal missed Skip, now more than ever. Eventually, the approach was complete and the Oasis came to rest in a sloppy parallel orbit.
“Supremus-orbital, Khantaton. Your transponder signal is weak. Please declare,” the speaker demanded.
Hal transmitted, “Khantaton, Supremus-orbital. Sorry about that. This old gal recently sustained some battle scars. We’re still working out the kinks,” he said. A lie without actually lying. Another agonizing silence.
“If they start shooting, can you get us out of here?” Hal asked Hanzo.
“Ehh… Probably,” Hanzo said, shaking his hand this way and that.
“You fill me with confidence,” Hal said. Finally, the speaker sounded again.
“Acknowledged, Khantaton. Docking vector…”

The Oasis was tethered by her tractor points to the outside of the station, her forehead mated with a docking tunnel. A shuttle craft not much larger than a Brunswig carried the crew down to the only city left on the planet.
A bumpy ride took them through a cloud layer thicker than almost all Hal had seen before. The clouds were colored a dirty dark brown color. They seemed heavy and lethargic, almost as if they were about to tumble to the ground like floating mountains deprived of the magic that suspended them. The view of the world below, barren as it was, was quickly diminished by a thick layer of ice on the cabin windows. Hal distracted himself from the claustrophobia with nice, simple engineering thoughts.
“Remind me to buy a shuttle once we have money,” Hal said to the crew, who were all cramped into the small compartment.
“Where would you put that? We need to transport things sometimes, you know?” Mary asked.
“I’ll figure something out,” Hal replied, pointing to his head. Blueprints swirled around in his head. Depending on their budget, he could definitely put together a docking clamp, maybe even a small dry dock hangar to attach above the landing struts’ metatarsal joints. Suspend it with some carbon-flex corbinite dampeners so it could withstand landing stresses, incorporate a secondary hull, maybe this time not made entirely from carcinogens and poison. It would even suit her profile. Some added bulk below the bow would add a certain regal industriousness, even if it messed up the iconic Type 72 rounded-edge design. Even that could be-
His thoughts were interrupted when Masiva spoke.
“Citizen Engineer” she said, smiling at him. He smiled back weakly. As much as he resented his past, this was what he was good at. For just a moment, he wondered if Masiva would want to hear his ideas. That train of thought was also swiftly derailed by a loud retching sound.
Mort was the only one who had strapped in. His face was unnaturally pale and a cold sweat dripped from his head as he sat doubled over.
“You good, pal?” Hal asked. Mort shook his head.
“If Hanzo wasn’t sitting right there, I’d think he’s flying,” Mort said.
“Hanzo’s foot is about to fly in your ass,” Hanzo said.
“That sensation would be preferable to this,” Mort said, fighting his gag reflex.
“Get a hold of yourself, man, you work on a voidship,” said Mary, punching Mort in the shoulder.
“The operative word being void. I’d rather be up there-” he interrupted himself with a big gulp, “Fuck it,” he said, “I’m not finishing the joke, just leave me alone.”
Mary put her arm around him, trying to give him stability against the shuttle’s violent lurches.
“I don’t understand why you dragged me into this Kharkunian craft,” Hoffenstedt complained.
“You never get out,” Hal said.
“So, naturally, you decided that this frozen scape of torment is where I finally take my shore leave?” he asked.
“Sure, Percy. Also, having a Medicus of the Board along with us allows is to blend in with these pseudo-Burghers,” Hal said. Hoffenstedt grumbled but did not respond. His way of saying you’re right but I don’t like it.
“Does everyone remember their role?” Hal asked.
“I am Maria Donavan-Huchelei,” Mary said, “Khatun of Colleides in the Mox.”
The others stared at her.
“What?” she said, “I have a good memory.”
Hal smiled. She was also living out her fantasy of being an actor, which she thought none of them knew about.
“How about you Mort?” Hal asked.
Mort shook his head, “Not now, Henry, by Majora,” he gagged.
“Yes now, we’re about to touch down.”
“Fuck, fine. I’m uh…” he heaved again as the cabin shook, “Gerbus Farlane, the son of Manifeek Farlane, the fucking Trade King of Anders, and definitely not the blind drive tech of a ship called Oasis.”
“Hanzo?” Hal asked.
“Can’t I just be Hanzo?”
“Do you want these people to skewer you with actual pitchforks?” Hal asked. Hanzo chuckled dryly.
“I’d invite them to try,” Hanzo said.
“Why would they have pitchforks?” Mary asked, “There’s no plant life here, no hay to be, you know, pitch-forked.”
“With Hanzo’s reputation, they’ll do it with regular fucking forks,” Hal said, “Now what’s your role?”
“Don’t worry, boss, I remember,” Hanzo said, “I’m Gimmek… uh…”
“Majora protect,” Hal sighed, “You’re Gimmek Tsuritan…”
“Right! Gimmek Tsuritan, bulk goods trader specializing in… art and shit like that,” Hanzo finished, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Good enough I guess,” Hal said. Before he could address her, Masiva hooked her arm into Hal’s.
“And I’m Minnie Acheran, the wife of great Trade-Captain Aldus Acheran of the Khantaton!” she said with entirely too much enthusiasm. She must have enjoyed role playing. Or maybe she enjoyed being close to Hal, even if it was just for a con. Acheran was never married, as far as Hal knew.

The shuttle came to a rough landing on an iced-over landing pad and slid several paces before impacting a backstop. The crew’s heads lurched forward, then backward as the cabin door slowly hinged open automatically. The pilot asked them to disembark in a swift manner. Hal went first, Masiva’s arm still hooked into his. She followed right behind him, then walked beside him onto the landing pad. Hal looked back at Mary who was also leaving the shuttle craft.
“Good call on the ice shoes,” he said. Mary had bought shoes for the crew, designed with spiky soles to grip this planet’s infernal ice instead of slipping on it. Mary gave a two-finger salute in response. As Hal took in his surroundings, he felt himself starting to shiver already. The air was frigid, biting at his face. Snow and ice covered almost everything around them. A skyline, abandoned and half-ruined, towered on the horizon. Most of the buildings had been tall and narrow and had collapsed under the immense snowfall, maybe destroyed in the Malus decades ago. Nestled in front of it was a smaller city whose architecture had evolved - maybe devolved - out of necessity. Roofs were slanted to allow downpour to slide off. Windows were small and thick, most of them shuttered. The landing pad wasn’t far from the center of this old-fashioned looking town. A sign with glowing letters introduced the place as Berennial City, the one and only one left on Supremus Prime. In front of a building slightly larger than the surrounding ones, a man stood, flanked by two women. He was dressed in too many layers to count, packing in a considerable bulk. Hal wasn’t sure if the man was fat or extremely muscular. One of the women beside him waved the crew over. As Hal approached, he prepared his introduction. Acheran, merchant for fine art, had heard of the Museum of Cryptonic Exudence and would really like to-
“How dare you?” Masiva suddenly shouted before Hal had a chance to speak, “Do you know who we are?” she cried. They came to a stop in front of the man whose beard was curled into a dumbfounded expression.
“How dare you put us into a… a rust bucket like that?” she pointed back at the shuttle, “We are lucky to even be alive!”
Mordecai accentuated her point by vomiting on the ground behind them, leaving an oddly shaped hole in the snow.
“You made Gerbus Farlane vomit,” Masiva continued, “You incompetent, insolent, disrespectful git!”
The man raised his hands placatively.
“I’m not the one in charge,” he said, pointing his thumb at the woman who had waved them over. She smiled a nervous but genuine smile. Masiva was having none of it.
“Well, then you’re the git,” she said to the woman, “We expect compensation!”
Hal was as dumbfounded as the people standing in front of him. Masiva was quite the actor, but he let her do what she was best at.
“I apologize, Citizen…”
“Acheran,” Masiva said, “Minnie Acheran. This here is my husband, the esteemed trader Aldus Acheran, you’ve heard of him.”
The woman nodded unsurely. She had of course never heard of Hal’s fictional character, but admitting to it now would have been social suicide.
“Of course, Citizens Acheran and crew, let me first welcome you to Berennial. I am Redding Kurzon, the… I guess you could say, the mayor of this town.”
She held out her hand to Masiva first who looked at it in disgust. Hal shook it instead.
“Excuse my wife’s mood, your grace,” he said, “She is accustomed to more accommodating comforts.”
“I understand Captain Acheran,” said Redding Kurzon and looked back and Masiva, “My good lady, may I invite you inside? This is our town hall. We have prepared Gappo tea and a warm meal.”
Masiva’s expression softened and she spoke in a more controlled manner.
“I accept your invitation,” she said.

The inside of the town hall was clad in wood. It exuded homely comfort. A real fireplace in the corner kept it at a soothingly warm temperature. The crew, now arrayed around a table, had gladly accepted the offered tea. Warmed up, they had taken off their outer layers and were waiting for the offered meal eagerly. Although none of them showed their eagerness, so as not to arouse suspicions.
“Captain Acheran,” Redding said, “let me also introduce my associates.”
The man and woman who had stood outside sat to Redding’s left and right respectively. She gestured to the man. “This is Hierart Kurzon, our security officer and this,” she gestured to the woman, “is Regina Guillaume. She administers the museum.”
“You two are related?” Hal asked. Redding chuckled.
“No, no. Kurzon is not a family name, dear Captain,” she said. She did not elaborate further. Hal knew the Kurzon band wasn’t a family in the traditional sense. You could join and become a member, although he had never heard of anyone who had done so.
“Well,” he said, “Let me introduce my companions as well,” he gestured to each person in turn.
“You’ve met my wife, Minnie.”
Masiva smiled a demure smile, her character placated by the tea and the warmth.
“Next to her is my friend Gerbus Farlane. He is the trade prince of Anders and very interested in your selection of technology.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Citizen Farlane,” Redding said smoothly, “I will connect you to our protected stash, you can browse whenever you feel inclined.”
“Yeah,” Mort said, “I appreciate the invitation and I will certainly, uh, browse, indeed.”
Hal shook his head slightly, then pointed to Hanzo.
“This is Gimmek Tsuritan, a trader of fine art, known well in the Perseus.”
“Welcome to Supremus, Citizen Tsuritan,” Redding said, “I think Regina can satisfy your demand, as you can satisfy hers.”
Hal suppressed an immature chuckle at the phrasing and knew Mort was doing the same.
“I am quite satisfied as is,” Hanzo said before remembering the con, “But I appreciate the uh… trade offer,” he smiled haphazardly at Regina, who smiled back professionally.
Hal gestured towards Mary but she spoke before he could.
“I am Maria Donavan-Huchelei, Khatun of Colleides in the Mox,” she said precisely. Redding’s eyes widened.
“It’s an honor, Khatum. I don’t think we’ve ever had royal guests here.”
“The honor is mine, Redding Kurzon,” Mary said, leaning into her Luger accent.
“What brings you here, your highness?” Regina asked.
“The Alkahna has embedded me on the Khantaton on a cultural exploration mission.”
“How interesting!” Regina said, “Maybe later, I could give you a tour of our museum.”
Mary smiled graciously, “I would like that very much, dear lady.”
Hal chuckled despite his character. Maybe this was going to be easier than he thought. He pointed to Hoffenstedt who sat with his eyes closed until he heard his name.
“Last but not least, this is Percival Hoffenstedt, a Board sanctioned Medicus, you may have heard of him as well.”
Redding smiled widely, “Of course I have! What an honor, Medicus Hoffenstedt!”
“There is no honor in medicine, young lady. It is the work of Majora,” said Hoffenstedt.
“Of course,” Redding said, slightly taken aback. A common reaction to Hoffenstedt. The old medic closed his eyes again as the conversation moved past him. Hal wasn’t sure if he was meditating or sleeping.
A young woman pushed a metal cart over to the table. Delicious smelling food was arrayed on it. Local dishes, many unfamiliar to Hal. The woman set one of the tables in front of each of them and garnished some of the meal with a green herb.
“Please,” Redding said, “enjoy the meal.”
Hanzo and Mort did not wait to be asked twice. Almost simultaneously, they started devouring the contents of their plates.
“Looks like you don’t feed your crew properly,” said Hierart Kurzon with a hearty chuckle. Redding shot him a grave look and his smile disappeared.
“Excuse my colleague,” she said.
Hal waved her off, “No offense taken,” he said, “We appreciate your gracious hospitality. Voidship food is not very good compared to this feast.”
He picked up a forkful of a local animal’s meat poignantly and ate it. It tasted like pure salt, but he did not grimace.
“Tell me, Captain,” Redding said, “Where have your travels taken you recently?”

After the meal, which some finished faster than others, Hal and his crew put their outer layers back on. Redding and her companions had never taken them off, Hal noted. Together, they followed Redding outside. The cold hit Hal like a Brunswig as his breath rained in small crystals to the floor. Redding led the group to the center of town where a small plaza was carved out of the ice. Small buildings with slanted roofs, typical of Berennial, were arrayed around it. Their steel exteriors were decorated with graffiti, their windows shuttered closed.
“This is the main square,” Redding announced. She pointed at one of the small buildings, “This is the mayor’s office-” she interrupted herself, “My office.”
In turn, she pointed out the library, then the local butcher and baker shop.
“In the mornings, you can get a nice breakfast there.”
Hal nodded and smiled along, fighting a shiver. As Redding walked along, he fell back slightly to walk between Hanzo and Mort.
“Anyone ready to shoot our way to that fucking museum yet?” he asked facetiously.
“You just give the word, boss,” Hanzo said. Mort chuckled.
“I’m happy to be on the ground, let’s not ruin that just yet,” he said.
Mary threw a judging look at all three of them. In unison, they asked, “What?”
“Focus,” she said, “Look around. Have any of you seen a single person out here?”
Hal looked around and indeed saw nobody outside of their houses.
“If I lived here,” he said, “I would also stay inside.”
Mary shook her head, “No, people need to do things. Go out, work. These people are used to the cold, they’d weather it. Something is off.”
Hal frowned, “I hate it when you say ominous things like that,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because usually you’re right.”
“Let’s not raise any alarms yet,” Mort said. They all nodded.
Hoffenstedt’s voice sounded from behind them, “You young bloods need to grow some thicker skin,” he grumbled. Mort walked backward so he could turn to the old Medicus.
“Is that official medical advice, then, Percy?” he asked.
“It’s not advice at all, it’s an observation,” said Hoffenstedt. Mort fell back from the group to walk with the old man, no doubt to engage in some sort of pointless philosophical debate.

Hal distracted himself by memorizing the town’s layout. It wasn’t much different from learning circuit diagrams by heart in the Academy. He’d always doubted the didactic merit of that, but maybe they’d anticipated his later shift to a career of crookery. Eventually, Redding stopped in front of a building that looked slightly larger than the rest.
“Now, these are our guest quarters,” she said, “please feel free to take some time to warm up. Hierart will show you to your rooms.”
With a grunt, the burly man did as asked. He waved for them to follow and assigned each of them a room. Except Hal and Masiva who were assumed to want to share a bed. Hal accepted the key and walked Masiva to it. After closing the door behind them, he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He deflated and fell down on the bed. There was only one. Masiva slowly took off her outer and middle layers. Her hair, usually magnificently styled, was messy from the snow hat she had worn, and still slightly sickly from Sentry’s acid. None of it detracted from her beauty, Hal thought. His ever-present demon scolded him for the thought.
“What are you looking at?” she asked suddenly. He realized he had been staring.
“Oh, uh… I was just thinking about… you know, how to get that thing out of the museum.”
She raised an eyebrow, then motioned for him to move over. She sat next to him on the bed.
“You can have the bed tonight,” Hal said, “I’m used to the floor.”
Masiva looked at him concerned, “Why in Kharkun are you used to sleeping on the floor?” she asked.
“The military,” he lied.
“They made the engineers sleep on the floor?” she asked.
“We didn’t get much special treatment.”
“Not even you?” she stretched and yawned.
“Not even me,” he said, watching her from behind.
“Well, I’m not making you sleep on the damn floor,” she said.
“It’s fine, really,” he tried. She shushed him.
“There’s enough space in this bed for both of us, Henry Michalchuk,” she said, looking back at him, “We’re both adults, yes? You don’t have cooties?”
He chuckled, “Not last I checked,” he said.
A knock on the door startled both of them. Hal shot up from the bed and he positioned himself in front of Masiva, almost by instinct. The knock repeated, more heavily now.
“Who is it?” Hal yelled.
“It’s your best friend, asshole!” Mort yelled back.
Hal sighed and relaxed his posture as he opened the door.
“On edge much?” Mort said as he forced himself into the room. He saw Masiva who now lay on the bed.
“Mas,” he said.
“Mort,” she replied.
“What do you want?” Hal asked, annoyed that Mort had ruined a nice moment.
“Oh geez, sorry boss, I forgot my license to see my friends,” Mort said, mocking Hal’s tone.
“Point taken,” Hal said, gesturing to a small stool in the corner, “Your throne, my lord.”
Mort sat on the stool and took off his blindfold. It was drenched from the snow hitting it all day. Two dark burn wounds where his eyes should be elicited a gasp from Masiva. Mort wrung out the blindfold onto the floor. His burnt out eye sockets looked at her.
“You think this thing is just part of my immaculate fashion sense?” he asked.
“What happened to you?” she asked. Mort’s inexplicable gaze met Hal’s eyes.
“You didn’t tell her?” he asked.
“Tell her about your most traumatic memory? No buddy, I did not.”
“Well, we can all laugh about it now,” Mort said, “Mostly because I can’t cry anymore. No tear ducts and all.”
He turned back to Masiva who slightly flinched.
“When I was a kid, I fell into a fold reactor.”
“Holy shit!” Masiva exclaimed, “How are you alive?”
Her voice betrayed her almost bottomless well of empathy.
“Short enough exposure, I guess. Localized to the eyes,” Mort said dryly as he put the blindfold back around his head, “I got lucky.”
“Is that why…” she began, unsure whether she should finish the question. Mort nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, “It changed something about my nervous system. I see the fold reaction in front of me almost all the time. I can see you right now, as a sort of… it’s hard to explain. It’s like you’re made up of a billion little fold reactions.”
“That’s because she is. Everything is,” Hal said, then turned to Masiva, “He can actually see the fold reactions that keep the matter in our bodies stable.”
“Took a long time to get where I am now,” Mort said.
“I can only imagine,” Masiva said. She took a moment to compose herself, then said, “Pretty badass though.”
A knock on the door startled all three of them.
“Who is it?” Mort yelled.
“It’s us,” Hanzo’s voice yelled through the door. Hal opened it for them and they walked inside. Hanzo smelled freshly showered.
“Do we have showers in here?” Hal asked.
Hanzo nodded and pointed in a direction, “Down the hall.”
“Yeah you could use one,” Mary said as she walked by Hal.
“So could we all,” Hal said, “I reckon we make a plan, then we shower.”
He stood at the open door and looked into the hallway.
“Where’s Percy?” he asked.
“Majora knows,” Hanzo said.
“Probably literally,” Mary added, chuckling at her own joke.
“Should I go get him?” Masiva offered.
“No,” Hal said, “If he wanted to be here, he would be.”

They collected the stools from all of their rooms and arranged them in a circle in Hal and Masiva’s room. Only Masiva still sat on the bed.
“Okay, we need to see the museum,” Hal said, “Mary?”
Mary nodded, “I’ll take that Regina woman up on her offer. But something tells me she didn’t mean the rest of you.”
“Probably,” Hal said, “But we came prepared.”
He pulled a small box out of the pocket of his outer jacket and handed it to Mary.
“Button camera. When you go in, record everything. We’ll review it later and come up with something more detailed.
“Awesome,” Mary said.
“Mort, do you think these people have any tech worth stealing?” Hal asked.
“Somehow I doubt it,” he said, “But couldn’t hurt to look.”
“Agreed,” Hal said, “I’ll leave that to you. Just don’t try anything risky. It’s not what we’re here for.”
Mort nodded, “Great. Do I get a button camera, too?”
“What for?”
“Because it’s cool, Henry, give me a damn camera.”
Hal sighed and pulled a second button camera from his pocket. He threw it towards Mort who, of course, caught it in mid air.
“Sweet,” he said.
“Hanzo, if all goes well, we won’t need you this time,” Hal said, “Just keep up appearances, okay?”
Hanzo grumbled, “Not the funnest job we ever did,” he said.
“Speak for yourself,” Mary said, “I’m having a blast.”
“Yeah, speak for yourself, Hanzo,” Masiva added.
“What do you think it says about you two that you enjoy lying so much?” Hanzo asked.
“It means we don’t have a past of it,” Mary said. The comment stung more than was intended. Hanzo didn’t respond.
A noise from the window caught Hal’s attention. He opened the shutter with a button and looked outside. He couldn’t see much through the tiny hole. On the opposite side of the street, a man stood in the frame of a door. Two men were pointing at him and yelling something. The man on the right pulled a pistol from his holster and pointed it at the frightened man in the doorway. He immediately shut the door. The two men outside shook hands, then walked off in different directions.
“What the fuck?” Hal said.
“What’s up?” Mary asked.
“Guy who lives across the street was just threatened at gunpoint to go back inside,” Hal explained.
“I told you something was off,” Mary said. Hal turned back to his crew.
“Everyone keep your heads on a swivel. Now, go take showers. We’ll meet outside in the morning.”

---

The crew assembled in the snow in front of the guest house. Hal waved each of them to him in turn to inject subdermal communication devices below their ears.
“These should last at least 72 hours before they break down,” he said. Mort took the applicator from Hal’s hands.
“I’ll do it myself,” he said, then injected the device below his ear. He handed the applicator to Masiva.
“Do I just…?” she asked.
“Point and shoot,” Mort said. She winced as she pressed the button.
“Huh, that didn’t hurt at all,” she said.
“Okay, comms check, everyone,” Hal said. He tapped the spot where his subderm was located and spoke under his breath.
“Can you hear me?” he asked.
“We’re standing right here, boss,” Hanzo said.
“You know what I mean, smartass.”
All of them confirmed they could send and receive.
“Okay, if anything goes horribly wrong, just… I don’t know, yell or something,” Hal said, “Mary, go see the museum woman, Mort do your thing. Hanzo, Mas and I will go and see if we can find out something about what’s going on here. Questions?”
Mort raised his hand.
“What if they try to kidnap the uh… princess over there?” he asked, pointing at Mary. She raised an eyebrow.
“I doubt even these people are dumb enough to start a war with the Alkahna,” she said.
“They bought the idea that Hanzo is a businessman,” Mort said, chuckling.
“Good point,” Hanzo said.
“You’re more likely to get abducted,” Mary said to Mort, “Not only are you rich, you’re also an easy target,” she waved her hands in front of his blindfold.
“Actually, I’m most likely to be abducted,” Hanzo said, “If they find out who I actually am.”
“Please,” Masiva said, “If anyone here gets abducted, it’ll be the prettiest one,” she pointed her thumbs at herself. Hal smiled faintly because he agreed. A voice startled them from the guest house behind them.
“I think you’ll find the Board will pay quite a ransom for one such as I,” Hoffenstedt said.
“Percy, good of you to join,” Hal said.
“I’m not joining any of these activities. I’m heading to the infirmary down there. Majora weeps at the state of this town,” Hoffenstedt said before walking off.
“Nobody’s going to abduct the wife while the husband is here,” Mort said, “It’s clearly gonna be-”
“Okay, enough,” Hal said loudly, “Nobody is getting fucking abducted. If they try, you have permission to commit ritual suicide. Now go do your jobs.”

Hal, Hanzo and Masiva walked the eerily empty streets of the town. Even through Hal’s chattering teeth, he could hear sounds coming from some of the residences but they hushed up quickly as the three of them walked by.
“Should we knock on a door?” Masiva suggested.
“Not yet,” Hal said, “Let’s see if we can find one of those enforcers first.”
“I’ve been itching for a good fist fight,” Hanzo said. Hal turned to him as they walked.
“Please tell me you brought a gun,” he said.
“Don’t insult me, boss, of course I brought a gun.”
A surprised scream came from an opened window somewhere above them. By the time Hal looked up, it had been slammed closed.
“Maybe the Kurzons are just shy?” Hal joked.
“This seems more like fear to me,” Masiva said.
“Yeah,” Hanzo agreed, “It is.”
“You seem sure,” Masiva said.
Hanzo hesitated, then said, “I am sure,” in a deeper voice.
“What makes you so sure?”
“I’ve been on both sides of that sort of fear.”
Masiva looked away, “What did you do?” she asked carefully. Hanzo stayed quiet. Hal could see him clenching his fists.
“You ever hear of a place called the Gully of Zeal?” he finally asked.
Masiva nodded, “Sure, it’s an area in the Expanse, right? Some sort of cult left a bunch of people in ruin-” she interrupted herself as her head snapped to Hanzo, “You were involved with that?”
Hanzo spoke slowly, “Not involved. I led it.”

A door suddenly opened on one of the houses in front of them. A scrawny looking man dressed in clothes that hadn’t been washed in a long time ran out of it and towards Hal. Hanzo pulled his pistol and pointed it at the man.
“That’s far enough, greener,” he said. The man flopped into the snow before them.
“Please!” he said, “Please don’t shoot, I’ll go back inside!”
“Now hold on,” Hal said. He held out a hand and helped the man up. “We aren’t here to hurt you.”
“Y-yes sir, I understand, I’ll go back inside, I promise, I swear!”
Hal held the man back by the arm.
“Listen to me, man,” Hal demanded, “We’re not from around here. What in Kharkun has you so spooked?”
The man, slightly calmer now, started shivering from the immense cold.
“Wh- what?” he stammered, “You don’t know?”
Masiva touched Hal on the shoulder, then gently removed his hand from the man’s arm.
“Hi,” she said to the shivering mess in front of them. She took the man’s hand into her own. “I’m Mas. Let’s get you back inside, so you can warm up, hm?”
Hal punched Hanzo in the shoulder and signaled for him to stop pointing the gun in Masiva’s direction. Hanzo grunted as he holstered the gun. The three of them ushered the man back into the house, closing the door behind them. The inside space wasn’t much warmer than it had been outside. Hal still shuddered as he sat opposite the man at the table in what looked to be a living room. Masiva sat next to the man and draped a blanket over him she had retrieved from somewhere. Small ice crystals peppered her skin, slowly melting.
“What’s your name?” she asked the man.
“M-my name is Holtz… Holtz Kurzon,” he stammered through chattering teeth.
“Holtz, this is my friend Hanzo, and my… friend Henry,” she said. She had hesitated at the word friend, Hal noted. Maybe he wasn’t much of a friend anymore.
“We’re here to help,” she said.
“You are?” said Holtz, “I… It’s been so long.”
“What has?” Hal asked.
“They came here one night,” said Holtz, leaning over the table, speaking quietly, “Who did they say they were?”
“We talked to a woman called Redding Kurzon,” Hal said.
“Bah! She isn’t a Kurzon! She’s… I don’t know, she’s…” Holtz breathed heavy with anger.
“Calm down, friend,” Hanzo said, “Collect yourself. Explain.”
Holtz breathed in and out a few times, shaking less with every breath.
“It was… almost a year ago now. These barbarians landed here, overran the town. They killed our mayor and most of the leadership.”
“Who are they?” Hal asked.
“Imperial types, I’m not sure,” Holtz said, “Barbarians!”
Hal pinched the bridge of his nose, “So let me get this straight,” he said, “The Kurzon Band is just letting this happen?”
“What are we supposed to do?” Holtz snapped, “Two minutes outside and you die.”
“Smart,” Hanzo said, “Can’t organize a resistance when the environment is lethal.”
“Cruel,” Masiva corrected him, “Not smart.”
Hanzo nodded, “I reckon it’s both.”
Hal, massaging his temples, still spoke in a strained voice. “They took all of your clothes, did they?” he asked.
“Yes, obviously they did,” Holtz said, “I freeze all day long except during heating hour.”
“And this happened a year ago? Here? In the Kurzon home base?” Hal asked.
“Yes, Majora damn you, how often do you want me to say it?”
Hal rose from his chair and walked towards the door. He pressed the communicator in his neck and spoke.
“This is Hal. Mary, if you’re with that woman right now, don’t respond.”
No response came.
He continued, “These people are impersonating the Kurzon Band. No idea who they are but they are dangerous. Residents locked into houses without clothes… if you can believe it.”
Still no response.
“Keep up your role. If they realize we aren’t big cheese, we are as good as dead. Same goes for you, Mort.”
Neither of them responded.
“We’ll… fuck, we need to get Percy. Then we meet back at the guest house. Transmit literally anything so I know you heard me.”
A tinny female voice sounded through his bones.
“… here you can see a display of-”
It was Regina, the woman in charge of the museum. Mary was okay.
Mort’s voice followed, “… if, just by chance, I wanted to buy a Flaxian Energy Distributor, how much-”
Hal turned back to the table and gestured for Hanzo and Masiva to join him.
“Come on,” he said. Hanzo slid off the chair but Masiva stayed seated. She looked at Hal expectantly but Hal was annoyed.
“We’re not picking up a puppy, Mas. Let’s go.”
“Henry!” she said, “We promised we would help!”
“No, you promised that,” Hal said, “I didn’t promise shit. We’re leaving.”
Her beautiful eyes fixed him in a death stare, somehow mixed with disappointment. He rubbed his eyes and knelt. Why did she have this effect on him?
“Fine,” he said quietly, “I’ll think of something.”
“You serious?” Hanzo said beside him. Hal straightened himself and eyed him.
“If you give me shit for this, Hanzo, I’ll strand you on this sorry excuse for a planet.”
He sat back at the table and spoke.
“Holtz, was it?” he asked.
“Holtz Kurzon, at your service.”
“What can you tell me about this place? How can we help?”
“I- Well, we need equipment, so we can leave our houses. Clothes, weapons, ways to communicate.”
“Where can we access any of that?”
“I don’t know how it is now. We used to store critical equipment in the town hall.”
“We were there yesterday. We didn’t see anything like that.”
“You wouldn’t have. It’s in the basement. The clothes are stored in gray containers, compressed for space. Guns are locked behind bars. The mayor and security chief had codes for the lockup.”
“What sorts of guns are there?” Hanzo asked.
“I have no idea, I was never in there. I presume the barbarians are using them now.”
“Small arms,” Hanzo nodded.
“What about heat?” Masiva asked.
“It’s controlled centrally in a compound off Museum lane. We generate heat by burning waste and distribute it throughout the city.”
“Any transportation in this town?” Hal asked, “We need to get this stuff to you somehow.”
“There’s a Brunswig depot in the same street, further down. Should be open to anyone.”
“Awfully convenient, eh boss?” Hanzo said. Hal ignored him. Instead he looked Holtz in the eyes.
“We’ll try our best. But no promises. We are only six people, two of whom are busy with their own missions, and I’m not needlessly risking my people’s lives.”
“Why are you here anyway?” Holtz asked. Hal averted his eyes.
“Sightseeing,” he said.

---

The infirmary was indistinguishable from the outside except for the imprint of Majora’s Scepter, the insignia of the Imperial Board of Medicine, on the door. Hal pushed the door open and was relieved that it gave way. He held it open behind him for Masiva who in turn held it open for Hanzo who was lagging behind. He had been looking around like a paranoid schizophrenic the whole way there. Hal pushed open the inside door of the airlock they found themselves in and revealed a room that filled the entire building. It was equipped like the infirmary on a voidship. Uncomfortable cots stood in for hospital beds. Medical monitoring equipment was present only on a select few of them. Hoffenstedt was hurrying from patient to patient, a gaggle of medics in his tow. Hal approached the old man.
“Can I talk to you for a second, Medicus Hoffenstedt?” he asked. Hoffenstedt looked up from his patient to recognize Hal but did not respond to him. Instead he continued what he was doing and spoke loudly to his followers.
“As you see here,” he said as he lifted the arm of the patient to reveal a reddened patch of skin, “frostbite is not to be trifled with. The cold, as Majora deemed it appropriate, acts on human skin the same way heat does. This must be treated with care. Burn-stoppers and germophages are good starting points. If any of the skin is colored as black as the void, you must remove it.”
Hoffenstedt’s lecture continues for several minutes before he finally stripped off his gloves and joined Hal, Hanzo, and Masiva in a corner.
“Percy,” Hal said, “We need to go.”
“There are people to be treated here, Henry,” said Hoffenstedt, “what is the reason for your hurry?”
“These people,” he pointed at the medics, “are not Kurzons.”
“I care little what their allegiances are, no such tribalism serves you well.”
“That’s not the point. The people in those beds with frostbite, they’re the Kurzons. They’re holding them hostage in their own homes.”
In a rare display, Hoffenstedt hesitated and looked at the room.
“I see,” he said steadfastly, “What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“It would seem wise to me for us to leave this place as soon as possible,” Hoffenstedt said. Masiva scoffed.
“Not you, too, Percy! You took an oath to help people!”
“I took no such oath, young woman. My duty is to my own life as much as that of others.”
“You remind me of why I left the Empire,” she said as she turned away.
“Whatever the case, old man,” Hal said, “We… decided we’d try to help.”
“Oh is it we now?” Hanzo said, “For the record, I agree with Percy.”
“You’re starting to get on my nerves,” Hal said to Hanzo. Hanzo raised his hands placatively.
“I’m here ain’t I?” he said. Hal patted him on the shoulder.
“Thank Majora for that,” Hal said, “We have to get some things from the town hall. Clothes, guns, etc. To do that, we need at least a Brunswig.”
“That will surely make us the spectacle of this town,” Hoffenstedt said, “Such as it is.”
“Us? You’re in?” Hal asked, surprised.
“I will assist where I can, Henry. One of you is bound to be shot. I predict my services will soon be required.”
“Ever the optimist,” Hal said, “The Brunny will be very visible but I think if we play it right, we can pull it off. By the time they realize we are helping the townsfolk, we’ll be heavily armed.”

The group of four walked the cold streets towards the museum, past the heating plant and spotted the Brunswig hangar by its signature tongue, the ramp leading into the sorting elevator. After ensuring nobody was following or watching, they slipped inside and requested one of the vehicles from the computer. A minute later, they sat in it. Hal drove while Hanzo sat on the passenger seat, gun in hand but hidden. Hoffenstedt and Masiva shared the rear bench. Hal drove out of the hangar, careful not to scrape the bottom. The less noise made, the better. They drove up the street slowly, relying on the near-silent whirring of the Brunswig’s hoverducts to keep them unnoticed.
“The invaders are too confident,” Hanzo said, “Nobody around.”
“I don’t think it’s confidence,” Hal said, “I think they’re just not used to the cold.”
They parked alongside the heating complex, left the vehicle and rushed inside. The door gave way, unlocked. Inside, four guards looked at them startled. Hanzo raised his pistol.
“Kharkun awaits, greeners,” he said, “If you move a muscle.”
The guards raised their hands away from their holsters. Hal collected their guns from them and handed them to Masiva and Hoffenstedt, keeping one for himself. Masiva looked at it unsure of what to do.
“Hal, I…”
“Point and shoot,” Hanzo said behind her, “It works the same as everything else.”
“I get that, but I can’t… shoot someone.”
Hal smiled, “I know you can’t,” he said, “But keep it, just in case.”
They tied the guards to stationary objects in the room, then stripped them of their clothes.
“Look at this, Mas,” Hal said, “Not only convenient disguises, but also symbolic justice, eh?”
Masiva smiled for the first time in hours and it warmed Hal’s heart. Despite the sentiment, she draped her own coat over one of the men.
“We’ll keep it heated in here,” she said, “you have nothing to worry about.”

With the heat turned up for the whole town, Hal expected people to be ready for action when they arrived. They rushed back to the Brunswig and raced it toward the town hall. Hanzo drove this time while Hal made an announcement over his subderm.
“Mort, abort mission. Head to the museum, hang out somewhere outside of it. Don’t be seen through the windows. Transmit for confirmation.”
Static sounded over the comms device, then Mort’s voice, “… can you show me the toilet-”
Hal smiled at the idea that Mort will be crawling through an air duct in the bathroom to make his escape.
“Mary, did you find the thing we’re looking for?” Hal asked.
Mary’s comm sprung to life in the middle of a conversation. While the other woman talked, Mary said, “How interesting, yes of course-”
“Good,” Hal said, keep her stalled there. We’ll pick you up with the device in half an hour.”
The town hall came into view behind a corner and Hanzo, who was a much better driver than he was a pilot, expertly parked it in one fluid motion in front of the doors. With not much time to lose, Hanzo and Hal charged into the building first, followed by the others. Inside, the restaurant staff eyed them suspiciously. Hal had no way of knowing whether they were indentured Kurzons or part of the invading force. He walked over to a server who had stopped cleaning tables.
“Hey pal, we’re new. Can you point us in the direction of the equipment cellar?”
The waiter frowned, “I remember you, you’re Captain Acheran. What are you doing in a guard uniform?”
“We got drafted,” Hal tried.
“Bullshit. What the hell is going on here?” the man said forcefully.
“What’s your name, son?” Hoffenstedt asked as he walked forward.
“My name? Benny,” said the man, “But what is-”
“Your last name, Benny?” Hoffenstedt asked again.
“Hillenthal, Benny Hillenthal,” Benny said.
Hoffenstedt raised his pistol to aim at Benny’s knee and obliterated it in one clean shot.
“Now, now,” he bellowed over the immediate screaming and chaos. Hal had never heard him speak like this.
“I am a Board sanctioned Medicus. This man’s injury will heal. But I can inflict worse injuries. All of you, in the name of Majora, move down to the equipment cellar.”
People complied. Hanzo helped keep the crowd controlled with his own gun while Hal stared, slack-jawed at Hoffenstedt. He felt Masiva close to him, hiding behind him. Hiding from Hoffenstedt. When Hal regained some composure, he took her by the hand and dragged her after the restaurant staff, into a back room and down a set of stairs. The layout was as Holtz had described. To the left, a room filled with gray crates, the clothes. To the right, a metal door secured with an electronic lock. Hoffenstedt and Hanzo ushered the employees into the clothes store room. Hal began carrying crates out of it and into the hallway and staircase, filling the already cramped space with obstacles. Hoffenstedt, confident in Hanzo’s crowd control abilities, opened one of the crates in the store room, pulled out a garment and ripped it into strips. He knelt next to the man he had injured and used several strips as a bandage for the profusely bleeding knee, then another strip as a tourniquet.
“Keep pressure on the wound,” he instructed, then turned to the rest of the staff, “If this man falls unconscious, lay him on his side and elevate his head such that he does not suffocate on his vomit.”
With that, he got up and walked out of the room, followed by Hanzo. They closed the door and used several more strips of strong fabric to tie it closed. Hal’s heart raced. He grabbed Hoffenstedt by the collar of his medical garb and pressed him against the wall.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Did you finally lose your damn mind?” he snapped.
“Time is of the essence, yes?” Hoffenstedt said calmly.
“We’re in a hurry, so we start shooting people?” Hal asked, “You are a fucking Medicus!”
“And I treated the man’s injury to Majora’s content,” Hoffenstedt said, still entirely unimpressed. Hal let go of him and watched as the old man deflated slightly.
“It’s not how we do things,” Hal said quietly as he sagged against a wall. His demon screamed for a drink. Just one drink. Then Masiva’s hand found his shoulder. He looked up and into her eyes.
“Let’s finish what we started,” she said as she squeezed gently. His demon quieted down, retreated into the place where it dwelled, deep in his mind. He nodded at her and they both turned to the locked metal door.
“I’ll shoot it open,” Hanzo offered, “Doesn’t look like a particularly solid lock.”
“Hold on,” Hal said. He inspected the door. The lock was connected to a keypad - old-school. Hal hit the enclosure with the butt of his gun several times until it came apart. Inside, a crypto-electric circuit trace snaked its way on silicon substrate. Several commonly used neural modules sat like miniature buildings arrayed around a key matrix.
“I know this design,” Hal muttered. He used the tip of the barrel of his gun to short two of the traces and the lock clicked open.
“Like clockwork,” Masiva said behind him. He turned and looked at her.
“What?”
“You, Henry,” she said, “Not a machine in the galaxy you don’t know.”
He smiled. She had a way of making him feel something other than self-loathing.
“Are we waiting for this planet to thaw or what?” Hanzo said as he pushed past them into the armory.
It took ten minutes for them to load up their Brunswig with clothes and guns. Hal stowed some standard military comms in the passenger department before they took off. They distributed the equipment and clothes among several dozen households. They stopped by Holtz’s house last and handed him a crate of clothes, along with a magnetic small caliber firearm, some ammo and one of the communicators. He instructed Holtz to await his signal before unleashing hell on the invaders.
“This is all going too fast,” Hal said as they raced toward the museum. The streets were no longer empty. More and more of the invaders walked with purpose, some ran. Many toward the street that housed the museum. Someone stepped in front of the Brunswig, clad in all black, holding a machine gun. Hanzo swerved to the right and hit the man with one of the side mirrors. He fell to the ground and cursed in Marth. Before he could get up, Hanzo turned a corner onto Museum Lane. Dozens of invaders were on the square in front of the museum, aiming guns in many directions.
“I think they know something’s up, boss,” Hanzo said.
“You think?” Hal answered, watching the unwelcome crowd slowly organize. Someone in the back took charge, yelled at the others.
“Bring us around the back of the place,” Hal instructed Hanzo.
“Hold on!” Masiva cried, “Look!”
She pointed to where the Museum met the square. An invader held Mort by the neck, pointing a gun in his face. Hal’s heart started racing, his hands shaking.
“Majora damn it,” he said under his breath.
“What do you want me to do, boss?” Hanzo asked. Hal tried to control his racing thoughts, reined them in with the lasso of rationality. There were twenty, maybe thirty of the invaders on the square. Even with Hanzo, a full frontal assault wasn’t possible. The museum, a building constructed well before the war, had large glass windows on its front facade. A plan crystallized in his mind.
“Bring us around the back,” he said again.
“What, we’re leaving Mort there?” Hanzo asked, exasperated.
“We’ll go through the museum,” Hal said, “Drag him through one of those windows, grab Mary and the damn thing we came here for, and scram.”
Hanzo, looking at Hal in the back seat, nodded with determination. He maneuvered the Brunswig through the crowd who were preoccupied with their new prisoner, around the building and into a utility alley behind it.
“Mas and Percy, you wait here, okay?” Hal said.
“You forget who sits before you,” Hoffenstedt said, “Where projectiles pierce flesh, Majora’s Medici are called to their destiny.”
Hoffenstedt unbuckled and left the vehicle.
“Any chance I can convince you?” Hal asked Masiva. She shook her head.
“I won’t let you go in alone,” she said. Her voice was shaky but determined.
“You ever been in a firefight?” Hanzo asked.
“No…” she said.
“Then you stay here,” Hanzo locked her door from the driver’s console.
“Hey!” she protested but Hanzo shushed her.
“I like you, Masiva. Good spirit in you. But you’re not coming,” he said. He glanced at Hal and saw the gratitude in his eyes. Hal looked back at Masiva.
“Can you drive one of these?”
She nodded.
“Then get behind the wheel. We need to book it after this.”
“You got it,” Masiva said.
Hal and Hanzo nodded at each other in a silent conversation and followed Hoffenstedt into the Museum back door. The place was well-lit but empty. Hanzo put his hand on Hoffenstedt’s shoulder and pulled him back. He took the lead, pointing his gun this way and that as they slowly walked through aisles lined with strange cryptonic devices. Most of them were old, weathered. Some looked outright wrong. Many had buttons. Hal covered their rear with his own handgun, drawing on what little combat training the Navy had had him do. Doors and corners, he remembered.
A large exhibition room opened up before them around a corner. In the middle, a large glass display case contained the item they were after. Hal had to look twice. The device looked like it was active. A screen was showing symbols of a language he did not know.
“Who are you really?” a woman shouted. The group advanced slowly into the room and saw Regina pointing a gun at Mary, who lay on the floor, bleeding.
“Answer me, bitch!” Regina bellowed. Mary spat blood on the floor.
“Fuck you,” she said, the corners of her mouth resembling a smile.
Hanzo rushed forward with grace, his footsteps almost silent. When Mary spotted him behind Regina, he held a finger to his mouth. Regina caught her glance and moved to turn. Mary kicked her in the shin.
“What the fuck-” Regina said, wincing from the pain. Then, Hanzo pounced on her. He grabbed her gun hand, effortlessly punched the gun out of it, then broke it in several places. Regina howled.
“No!” she shouted. Hanzo manipulated her destroyed hand expertly, forced her to kneel in front of him.
“Why did you hit my friend?” he asked, all too calm for the situation. Regina growled at him, flashed a maniacal smile.
“You will all see the un-world soon enough,” she said, then… laughed. The sound made the hairs on Hal’s neck stand up. He approached.
“Hanzo,” he said, “Make her shut up.”
Hanzo nodded, then whipped the butt of his pistol on the side of Regina’s head. She fell to the ground, but was not unconscious. As blood poured from her burst skin, she laughed and laughed.
“Our gods will punish you for this, they will flay you, they will crush your bones and then as you lay broken and helpless, they will annihilate you, soul and mind!”
“Hanzo!”, Hal said more loudly now.
He punched her again, she continued to laugh. The third punch finally knocked her out. Hal knelt next to Mary and waved Hoffenstedt over. The old Medicus knelt as well and pulled one of the makeshift bandages he had saved from the equipment locker. He tied it around Mary’s head to cover her wound.
“What happened?” Hal asked.
“I-” she groaned, “I just asked about the thing,” she gestured towards the display case in the middle of the room, “What the symbols on it meant. She lost it immediately. Said I could never understand and surprised me.”
“Why didn’t you comm us?” Hal asked.
“I tried. I think the impact fried the damn thing.”
Hal nodded, then helped her up.
“Percy, take her back out to the Brunny,” he instructed, “We’ll get Mort.”
“What the hell, Mort is out there?” Mary asked.
“Go!”, Hal said. He watched as Hoffenstedt led Mary back to the back door. He and Hanzo walked to the window and crouched. They saw Mort, his hands in the air, being accosted by five invaders. The rest of the square was teeming with them now. Hal spoke into his radio.
“Kurzons, hear me now,” he said, “It’s time to send these invaders to Kharkun.”
Shortly after, gunshots rang out. Hundreds of them, all over town. The people in the square all stopped, oriented themselves, and dispersed in small teams in all directions. Two of the five holding Mort left, the rest of them started dragging him towards a Brunswig parked on the square. Hanzo wasted no time. He shot the window glass in several spots and watched as it crumbled into shards. The invaders turned to him, raised their guns. Before they could react, Hanzo shot one of them in the chest. The man fell backward into the snow, startling the other two. Hanzo was upon them now, throwing punches at both of them. One grappled from behind. Hanzo pointed his gun behind himself and let loose two shots, exploding the attacker’s innards across the snow. The last invader saw the carnage and froze. He looked at Hanzo, dropping his gun.
“P-please, I give up!” he pleaded.
“Go,” Hanzo said quietly. The man moved to leave, run for his life, when something stopped him in his track. Instead, he produced a knife from his shoe and rushed at Hanzo.
“Your time has come, flesh!” he yelled. Hanzo shot him in the head and he flopped to the ground unceremoniously. With no time to waste, Hanzo pulled Mort off the ground and rushed him into the building where Hal waited.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Mort said as they rushed to the backdoor. Hal shot the display case with the relic in it, watched it shatter and grabbed the device. Hanzo rammed the back door with his shoulder, forcing it open. They entered the Brunswig and Masiva drove.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Mort, who was squeezed between Hal and Hanzo in the back, looked up.
“Masiva is driving?” he asked.
“You got a problem with that, blind man?” she asked back.
“No,” he said, “It’s badass.”
“To the shuttle pad,” Hal said, “And quickly.”
The streets were chaos. A civil war between crazed invaders and the Kurzon Band.
“Everyone duck,” Hal said, “Just step on it, Mas!”
They raced through the streets, peppered by stray bullets. Through a miracle only Majora could be responsible for, none of them hit the engines and the glass resisted small calibers. Even in the chaos, Masiva’s driving was impressive. Her hands remained steady, her steering meticulous, focused on avoiding people in the street, even as a profuse sweat wet her forehead.
“Where is this coming from?” he yelled over the immense noise.
“Not the first time I’ve been a getaway driver!” she yelled back.
A man fell backward in front of them and landed in their path.
“Oh fuck,” she shouted before punching the leverage control lever forward fully. The engines roared and sputtered as the Brunswig shot into the air several yards. She reduced the leverage in the air and brought it back to full bore, preventing it from impacting the ground.
“Majora’s panties!” Mort cried from the back. He hadn’t been buckled in.
“Sorry,” Masiva said. The shuttle port was in sight now. It was surrounded by invaders, pouring into the only shuttle there. They realized their ground battle was not winnable against the combined might of the Kurzon Band.
“Shit, where do I go?” Masiva asked as she slowed the Brunswig. Hal quickly surveyed their surroundings, then remembered he still had the radio. He spoke into it.
“Holtz, come in!”
After a few seconds of silence, the voice of Holtz Kurzon filled the Brunswig’s cabin.
“This is Holtz, who speaks?”
“It’s Hal, the guy who got you those guns,” Hal said.
“A welcome voice, my friend,” Holtz said.
“The invaders are trying to flee. They’re at the shuttle port,” Hal said.
“We know. If you’re there, make for the hills!” Holtz shouted over noise on his side.
“What?” Hal said, “Why?”
His question was answered instantly as the shuttle, and all the people inside and around it, were engulfed in flames. The shock wave of the explosion hit their Brunswig a split second after, sending it tumbling backward. Masiva tried controlling the unplanned flight but despite her efforts, the vehicle rolled over several times. Hal’s head was violently smashed against the window of his door and the world became faint. In his last moments of consciousness, he saw Masiva, her face bloody, and he reached out. Then darkness.

---

When he came to, Hal’s head was on fire with pain. His vision was blurred and faint but he was pretty sure he saw the ceiling of a room. He’d been moved. Then he felt warmth for the first time in hours. A groan escaped his throat as he tried lifting himself up to sit. As he rose, he felt dizzy but he fought through it. Masiva… where was she? He closed his eyes, rubbed them. With his vision slightly clearer, he made out the infirmary around him, then his own body. He was no longer in his guard uniform. Instead, a medical gown was draped over his body, leaving the back of it bare and breezy. Blinking through the blurriness, he surveyed the room. Mary lay on a cot next to his on the left, Mort on the right.
“Mort,” Hal tried to yell. All he could produce was a sickly rasp. He swung his legs off the edge of the bed. As he stood, his legs immediately gave way. He fell forward onto Mordecai who groaned in response.
“Mort, are you alive?” Hal asked.
“Not for much longer if you do that again,” Mort snarled.
“Oh fuck,” Hal said in relief. A pair of hands grabbed him from behind.
“Get back in your bed, Henry,” the ever-steady voice of Medicus Hoffenstedt said, guiding him back to sit on the bed. Hal looked up at the old man. He had dried blood on his face, more on his sleeves. A nasty cut on his cheek was stapled shut.
“By Majora, Percy,” Hal said, “What are you doing up?”
“I am the only competent medic here,” Hoffenstedt said, then sat next to Hal on the bed. He used some sort of instrument to listen to Hal’s chest.
“How are the others?” Hal asked but Hoffenstedt shushed him. After several seconds of silence, Hal yanked away the instrument.
“Percy! How are the others? How is…”
“Your paramour will heal,” Hoffenstedt said.
“My… what?”
Hoffenstedt nodded, understanding something about Hal in that moment, although Hal had no idea what it was.
“Of course,” said Hoffenstedt. Then, after some hesitation, “Masiva will be fine. So will the others. Masiva was hit the worst but in a few days, she will be good as new.”
Hal breathed a sigh of relief but his heart was heavy. Masiva would heal in body. The spirit was not so easily appeased. With his vision much improved, he found her lying on a cot next to Mary. Hanzo Neerfed, fit as a fiddle, sat at a makeshift table in the center of the room, sipping soup. He saluted as Hal saw him.
“Boss,” he said.
“Neerfed,” Hal said in reply, then turned to Hoffenstedt.
“Is Masiva ready to move?” he asked.
“Probably,” said the old Medicus, “If we’re careful.”
Hal forced himself to his feet.
“Stay in bed, you stubborn fool,” Hoffenstedt said, laying a hand on Hal’s shoulder. He shrugged it off and carefully ambled to Masiva’s side. On his way, he took in Mary’s face. She looked like she was sleeping. There was a difference between sleep and unconsciousness, subtle, but Hal could tell. Masiva wasn’t just sleeping. He knelt next to her unmoving body. A small spot on the side of her head was shaved and a wound stapled shut. Dried blood still caked her face. Hal took her hand into his.
“I’m sorry, Mas,” he said. Another person hurt. And for what? A meaningless revolution in a meaningless place. Another person’s trauma on his conscience. The list was longer than any human could count.
Hoffendtedt limped to stand next to him and handed him a damp cloth.
“Clean yourself,” he said, “And go back to bed.”
As Hoffenstedt walked off, Hal gently wiped the blood from Masiva’s face. Her beauty shone through even now. Paramour, Hoffenstedt had said. Hal’s brow furrowed as he allowed himself to explore this emotion. Even as the demon in his mind screamed at him to drop it, let it go. What was it that he felt for her? Admiration? Friendship? Or was there more? What did it matter, really? He didn’t deserve more. By Kharkun, he probably didn’t deserve her friendship either. In a just world, he would have died on Saldep, with all the others.
With her face clean of blood, Masiva looked serene. Her eyes. That’s how he knew she was unconscious. No movement at all. He longed to look into them again but turned away despite himself.
“Hanzo,” he called out, “Come here, help me up.”

---

Before long, the crew, sans Masiva and Hoffenstedt, sat around the guest house’s dinner table. Holtz Kurzon and two other members of the Band sat with them. It seemed Holtz had seized leadership after the brief but effective revolution. He raised a cup of warm ale.
“To you and yours,” he said.
“To mine,” Hal took a sip from his own cup in response. The juice inside helped drown out the smell of alcohol in the room. He held the cup in front of his face like a shield.
“How can we repay you?” Holtz asked. Hal remembered their actual mission.
“Where are our things?” he asked.
“I assume you are looking for the cryptonic device you stole from our museum?” Holtz asked. Hal raised an eyebrow. Did they have another fight on their hands?
“Relax,” Holtz said, “It’s yours. If that’s the only thing you want in payment, you did us a service. We packed it with your luggage.”
Hal smiled graciously, hoping he hadn’t lost any of his immaculate core-straightened and whitened teeth. A quick tongue survey assured him they were all present although one molar felt loose.
“You can owe us one, if it eases your conscience,” Hal said.
“We certainly do owe you,” Holtz agreed.
“How is the situation in orbit?” Hal asked carefully.
“We took back the orbital dock,” Holtz said, “This morning, we launched the assault.”
“Did something happen to the Type 72 docked to it?”
“The what?” Holtz asked, “There was no ship docked.”
Hal’s heart skipped a beat.
“Are you sure?” he asked, panic welling up, “Our ship, the Oasis, she was-”
“Calm down, Hal, I’m fucking with you. Your ship is fine.”
Hal sighed, then laughed despite himself. He laughed heartily, releasing a tension that threatened to tear him apart. Holtz shared in the laughter, then spoke.
“Do you know what that device is?” he asked.
“I have not the faintest,” Hal said, then looked to Mary, “You?”
“It’s some sort of crypto-electric processor,” she said, “Not sure what for.”
“Why did you take it?” asked Holtz.
“Business,” Hal said. Holtz nodded an understanding.
“Well, if it’s worth anything to you, it’s better in your hands,” he said.
“It’s not worth enough,” Hal said.
“Money troubles?” Holtz asked.
“We uh…” Hal began but hesitated. They had made an ally of the Kurzon Band today. Might as well try.
“Our friend was injured in an accident. We need coin to get him healed.”
Mary and Mort’s faces fell slightly. Holtz nodded.
“How much?” he asked.
“A few billion, probably.”
“That’s it?” Holtz smiled. Hal wasn’t sure if he was joking.
“We should still have some treasures lying around,” Holtz said, “Some matter transducers worth a few hundred each. Olon Kurzon, the treasure master, would know more. I think we have a crystal parser in the vault.”
Hal raised his eyebrows, “Are you… Are you saying you’d just… give us this stuff?”
“Oh, sure! It’s not like we need it. How much are they paying you for that old garbage you picked up?”
“168 million hardcoin,” Mary said.
“To break into this place?” Holtz chuckled, “You were ripped off.”
“Tell us about it,” Mort said, swiveling his cup back and forth. Hal fought a craving for the drink inside. Mort noticed his friend’s discomfort, set down the cup and slid it on the opposite side of the table from Hal.
“If you want my advice,” Holtz said, “Take our stuff, take the old artifact, ditch your client and sell it off in the Expanse. You have people there?”
Hal smiled faintly, “We have Masiva,” he said, “She’s our fence.”
“Fence… Hold on, the woman in the infirmary, it’s Portia Maśiva?” Holtz said incredulously, pronouncing her name the way it was supposed to be, “What is she doing here?”
“She’s our friend, too,” Hal said.
“Well you certainly won’t have an issue selling,” Holtz said, matter-of-factly. He was a good host, Hal noted. The Kurzon Band was infamous for their arrogance but Holtz showed no such vices.
“What if we wanted to know what the thing was before we sold it?” Hal asked, “Do you know someone?”
Holtz rubbed his chin, then held up an index finger. He reached to his hip and produced a Lasian. On it, he dialed someone.
“Seetch here,” said a voice from the device.
“My friend,” Holtz said, “listen, don’t you know a cryptonic scholar?”
“It’s good to see you’re alive,” the voice said, then mimicked Holtz’s voice, “oh yeah Seetch, good to see you-”
“I have guests, Seetch. Answer the damn question.”
“Yes, I know someone. I can send you the contact.”
Holtz ended the connection without responding.
“Thank you,” Hal said, “Now, about getting into the void…”
Before Holtz could answer, a message appeared on his Lasian.
“Let’s discuss that later. Your friend is waking up.”
As if driven by Kharkunian shadows, Hal sprang up from his seat and dashed out of the door. Despite the cold, he ran to the infirmary. He burst in that door as well and came to a stop next to Masiva’s bed, Hoffenstedt by his side. The medic looked at him with a raised eyebrow, then regarded his timepiece.
“Two minutes. Not bad, Henry,” he said.
“You said she was waking up?” Hal demanded, panting.
“Yes, she should be. Any minute now.”
Hal bent down and gasped for air.
“I ran here,” he said.
“I figured as much,” Hoffenstedt said.
“You could have told me it was going to take longer.”
“I didn’t tell you to run, did I?”
Hal looked at Hoffenstedt.
“You knew I would run, Percy,” he said, recovered from his run.
“I try not to make assumptions,” Hoffenstedt said, “You know what they say about assumtions.”
“They make an ass out of you and me?” Hal asked. Hoffenstedt raised an eyebrow.
“No. They dull the mind and spirit.”
“Nobody says that.”
Hoffendtedt huffed, “Many people say it. And I say it.”
“Nobody but you has ever said that,” Hal said, now smirking.
“Even if that were true, it would not detract from the truth of the statement.”
“You made it up on the spot, didn’t you?” Hal prodded.
“I did not!” Hoffenstedt said.
“Of course you did. I think you make up half of the sage-like shit you say right on the spot.”
“If that were the case, that would be evidence of my wit, would it not?”
“It’s definitely evidence of something,” Hal said. An image of Hoffenstedt shooting someone in the leg ran through his memory and his smile disappeared.
“We’re not done talking about what you did at the town hall, by the way,” Hal said. Hoffenstedt looked annoyed.
“Effective, objective-focused work is not appreciated?” he asked provocatively.
“You need to learn to add morals to that equation,” Hal began.
“Henry?” Masiva’s weak voice aborted his tantrum before it could begin. He turned to her immediately and bent over her.
“Mas,” he said, “Hey…”
“Hey,” she said, “How are you? How are the others?”
“We’re all fine, don’t you worry,” he said, squeezing her hand.
“Oh, thank Majora,” she said.
“Fine is not how I would put it,” Hoffenstedt said as he pushed Hal aside to monitor Masiva’s vital signs.
“I see Percy is his old self,” she said.
“How are you?” Hal asked.
Masiva groaned, “Like something exploded right in front of me,” she said.
“Well uh…” Hal began, “That’s sort of exactly what happened.”
“I know,” she said, managing a small laugh, “I remember. Pretty good driving, huh?” she smiled. Her eyes, tired and half-open, radiated into Hal’s soul.
“The best I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“Really?” she asked.
“You made that Brunny dance,” he said, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The rest of the crew finally arrived at the infirmary and arrayed around the bed. Mary leaned in and hugged her friend.
“Good to see you back in the land of the living,” she said.
“I’d hug you back but I think my arm is broken,” Masiva said.
“It’s not,” Hoffenstedt said, “just severely contused.”
Hanzo lay a hand on her shoulder. Mort did the same on the other side of the bed.
“I think it’s time, boss,” Hanzo said, then looked at Mort, “Don’t you think?”
“Damn right,” Mort said. Mary nodded. All of them shifted their gaze to Hal. He smiled and nodded at them all in turn. Looking at Masiva, he spoke.
“Masiva, how would you like your own cabin on the Oasis?” he asked. Masiva’s mouth opened and she stammered.
“Y-you mean…”
“Yep,” Mort said, “With heating and all.”
“Running water, most of the time,” Hanzo added.
“Even privacy, sometimes,” Mary said.
“When we’re lucky, you even get food and water,” Hal said.
Masiva smiled ear to ear now, her deep brown eyes lit up like a yaedir stadium.
“Yes,” she said, “Of course, I accept!”

---

Seeing the Oasis Among The Stars hanging on to the orbital dock had filled Hal with a sense of hope, just like she had done two decades prior. Stepping foot onto the monkey island, like he had done a million times before, he felt hugged and welcomed by an old friend. He brushed his hand over her metal surfaces.
“Good to see you, old girl,” he said. His hand found the winch mechanism that had failed to almost cost Skip his life.
“Not you, though, infernal machine,” he whispered, making a mental note to have the cursed thing uninstalled and sold. Later, the crew met in the cargo room lounge. Drinks were served, all devoid of alcohol, for Hal’s benefit. As always, he felt a pang of guilt over it. He was sure they could all go for some hard liquor about now. The yaedir court which usually took up most of the room, was plastered with technology gifted to them by the Kurzon Band. Together, they planned their next steps.
“Where do we sell all this stuff?” Mary asked. Hal nodded to the newest official member of the crew.
“Oh, uh, we can take our pick of the usual spots,” Masiva said. She was still bruised but had improved rapidly thanks to Hoffenstedt’s constant care.
“Any chance we can fence it in GV?” Hanzo asked. He was eager to see his family again.
“Sure,” Masiva said, “I know people there.”
“Technically, this isn’t fencing, is it?” Mort said. The others looked at him questioningly.
“It’s not stolen, they gave it to us.”
“You think the Kurzons bought this stuff?” Hal asked, chuckling, “They’re pirates.”
Mort nodded, “I guess that’s true, but let’s not stereotype, eh?” he said, joining in the chuckle.
“So, next steps are pretty straightforward,” Hal said, “Make for Gors Velen, sell the wares, get Skip, move coreward and get him healed up.”

Mordecai stood before the fold reactor in the engine bay, his hands clasping the levers that controlled the gravity gavels inside. Behind him, Mary manned the shield console, switching plugs and writing modulation code on the fly. One deck above, several meters aft, Hoffenstedt sat buckled into a crash seat in the infirmary, reviewing medical inventory on his Lasian. Forward, in the cargo compartment that spanned the height of the ship, Masiva’s voice rang out, echoing off the walls. While she contacted trade partners, Hanzo sorted through the cargo manifest beside her, sending relevant documents to her Lasian when she requested them. Up the stairs, through a mid-ship safety airlock and a Baranian bead curtain, Hal sat behind a console in the cockpit, staring out of the canopy, at the forbidden voidlessness of the Paralaexon. The otherworldly colors, unseen and unseeable and yet observed, the deep, distorted, pseudo-dimensional vortex that seemed to fall away from him, no matter which direction he looked. Observing the Paralaexon, Hal’s head was as devoid of thought as the un-world was of hope. Hal tempted fate, provoked the living Paralaexon with his unceasing stare. It stared back into him. With noose-like tendrils, it reached into him and proclaimed ownership of that which was his. His admiration for his friends. His hatred of his own soul. The incessant self-doubt and guilt. It grasped at that which Hal, not yet reified, believed not to exist. His feelings for Masiva, the way her smile warmed his spirit. Her eyes mirroring the Paralaexon’s tendrils, pushing away the demon. But as the Paralaexon grasped and made real that which was internal, so it stole. Bits and pieces. A memory here, an idea there. Staring for too long would undo him, he knew. But he stared, and he played fatemaker, and he stared and stared.
The canopy suddenly darkened with a thud as the shutters rolled down and locked into place. Startled, slightly relieved and with not insignificant confusion, Hal turned his head to see Hanzo stand behind him. He had punched the shutter controls. Wordlessly, but with an icy cold look of judgment, he sat next to Hal.
“I-” Hal began, “I was uh…”
“Don’t,” Hanzo said, “Don’t try to explain this… insane shit to me. First you walk through acid rain, then you stare out during transit. You’re worrying me, boss.”
“No need to worry,” Hal said, shaking himself back to the present moment.
“I just caught you with your head out in the void, Hal,” Hanzo said, “It’s worrying.”
“I know,” Hal said. He looked down, his brow screwed into a frown.
“We all know what it’s like to have regrets,” Hanzo said, “But we also all know what it means to make up for it.”
“How many people have you killed, Hanzo?” Hal asked. He didn’t know what drove him to have this conversation now, with Hanzo. It should have been Mort. Hanzo tilted his head momentarily, then shrugged.
“Directly, maybe ten or so, including the ones the other day. Indirectly, probably thousands.”
“And you can just… you just live with that?” Hal asked, struggling to find words. He knew why he didn’t want to talk to Hanzo about it. Because Hanzo came closest to actually relating. Actual insight.
“Back then,” Hanzo began, leaning in closer to Hal, “When I was that zealot, it was… righteous. I did all those things in the name of my Goddesses. In the name of my faith.”
“But now, you don’t believe that anymore, do you?”
“Part of me still does. Sometimes, when I read the Discipline, it still reads to me like I did what was right.”
“So what made you change?” Hal rubbed his forehead. Hanzo smiled slightly.
“A different perspective,” he said.
“Your wife?” Hal asked. Hanzo nodded.
“Irae showed me the other side. Opened my eyes to the way the Discipline is meant to be read. The value of giving a shit.”
“But how do you live with it? With what you did?” Hal asked.
“You know how I live with it. Same way you are,” Hanzo said. He laid a hand on Hal’s shoulder. “The difference between you and I, Henry, is that I learned to allow someone into my life.”
“Is it really that easy? I killed a whole planet but the love of a good woman will set me free? I have to be honest, buddy, that sounds rather trite,” Hal chuckled humorlessly.
“Not easy, boss. It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do,” he squeezed, “And maybe it’s trite because it’s true, hm?” Hanzo’s hand slipped off Hal’s shoulder and came to rest in his own lap.
“It’s not really comparable, is it?” Hal said, “What you did and what I did.”
“I think that doesn’t matter much,” Hanzo said. He rose from his seat and moved over to the piloting console.
“When it comes to things that make you stare down the Paralaexon, I think we’re all in the same boat. You have the Voidstar, I have the Corridor, Mary has Megnot. Mort, by Majora, the man is a mess. And let’s not start with Percy. I’d wager my left foot that Masiva has skeletons in a closet somewhere.”
Hal nodded to his friend, “Thank you,” he said, “But I doubt that last part.”

Mort’s voice sounded through the intercom.
“We’re ready for the drop,” he announced. Hal signaled Hanzo to go ahead before raising the shutters on the canopy once again. Just in time to see the Paralaexon being ripped apart into a gashing wound. Through it, Hal saw a reddish-brown orb, rapidly increasing in size. When the surface of the orb filled the entire wound, the main engines of the Oasis roared into action, pushing her through and into the void.
The planet Dughren filled the canopy’s field of view. Largely a rusty red color, with bands of beige and sulfuric yellow snaking through the desert landscape. Every now and then, a spot of vibrant green rotated into view as Hanzo made his approach. The atmosphere rattled the Oasis, engulfing her in pale green flames. Pale because of the ammonia in the upper atmosphere, green because of the Oasis’ toxic class 6 hull. Hal strapped into his seat before the ship jolted this way and that, his crash chair swiveling to compensate for the forces. Hanzo, who studied his instruments with squinted eyes, was bathed in a sickly green hue.
“Who’s the greener now?” Hal shouted over the roaring inferno. Hanzo didn’t answer, his whole focus on keeping the ship from breaking apart from a mishandled re-entry angle. As they hit the thickest part of the atmosphere, the canopy blast shields lowered automatically to shield from heat and radiation alike. Several screens before Hal shared one diagram of the ship’s hull, showing real-time mechanical and thermal stress maps. Hal’s eye was on the aft lower shock plate. The serial number display for this plate was blank because it had been an unofficial procurement years ago. Its stress sensors were painting it in a deep menacing red. In his mind, Hal rifled through the technical specifications of the Type 72. The plate was attached to nothing vital but if it failed, it would expose several inches of the reactor coolant loop’s vacuum freezing manifold. Heat from the atmospheric entry would probably immediately super-heat that section, causing a burst, making the fold reactor run hotter than it ever should once they re-entered the void. No immediate danger, Hal decided. The bow was showing several degrees of heat accumulation per millisecond now, the total present energy reaching the rated 43 Geller just as the ship experienced its maximum dynamic pressure. Hal did the math in his head since the computer had refused to. Dughren’s atmospheric gradient and his intimate knowledge of the Oasis was all he needed. Now past max-q, the shudders slowly died down and the stress sensors returned to green. Eventually, the shutters opened and bathed the cockpit in bright yellow light from Dughren’s star, Magel. There were neither clouds, nor was there any wind to speak of, according to the weather sensor data.
“Smooth sailing now,” Hal said. Hanzo nodded.
“I’ll head down and get everyone suited up. You join us when we’re landed, yeah?” he added.
“You got it, boss,” said Hanzo.

“These stupid suits always give me rashes,” Mort said as he put his helmet on.
“A rash is better than Beryllium poisoning,” Hal said. He checked the seals on all their suits, then turned for Mort to do the same for him. Hanzo, already in his own hazardous environment suit, sprinted down the stairs. Together, they waited for the cargo ramp to lower. As the cargo bay was bathed in yellow sunlight, plumes of desert dust washed up from below the ramp. A figure, dressed in a similar suit to the crew, walked up the ramp and approached Hal. He held up his Lasian which showed the crew’s comm frequency. The figure switched to it.
“Welcome,” said a male voice. The man turned to Hanzo, “Good to see you back!”
Hanzo walked forward, apparently recognizing the suited man. He stretched out a gloved hand.
“Junker!” Hanzo said, “Good to be back.”
“I suppose you’ll need transport to your stead?” Junker asked.
“If it ain’t too much trouble, old friend.”
Outside of the danger zone, away from the ship, the crew stripped off their suits, drenched in sweat already. Hal looked at the Oasis, standing serenely contrasted against the sky, surrounded by dolly cranes spraying her with oil.
“See you soon, girl,” he said quietly. Magel bore down on his skull, threatening to burn him if he didn’t find shelter soon. Mary had no such concerns, her dark skin honed against Aldebaran itself. Mort made a show of looking up at the star, no eyesight left to lose.
“Pretty good star, huh?” he said. Nobody responded. Instead, the crew hurried into one of the buildings arrayed around the void port. Simple sheet metal constructions reminiscent of very early Nuclear history. The ever-present stench of ammonia was impossible to filter out of the atmosphere, even in a conditioned interior. The man who had accompanied them, Junker, now opened a door on the other side of the building, strutting in casually. He carried himself like Hanzo did, walked a relaxed gait and parked his hands on his belt. His dark mustache obscured a sweaty upper lip as he spoke.
“Introduce me to your friends, Neerfed,” he demanded. Hanzo took his place by Junker’s side and pointed them out in turn.
“This here is Captain Hal, I’ve told you about him,” Hanzo said.
“Ahh yes,” Junker began as he offered Hal a hand. Hal shook it, “Heard a lot about you, Captain Hal.”
“Captain Henry Michalchuk, Hal is fine,” Hal said. Junker smiled knowingly.
“I get it,” he said, “because Hal is short for Henry but it’s also part of your last name!”
“What?” Hal said, then realized what he meant. Can’t spell Michalchuk without Hal. “You know how my last name is spelled? Even these idiots struggle with that.”
Mary slapped Hal upside the head for that comment. Junker chuckled.
“I am a well-read man, Hal. Don’t let the dust and grease deceive you. Not all of us down here are knuckleheads like Neerfed.”
Hanzo continued, “That is Mary,” he said, pointing at her.
“The shield engineer, eh?” Junker said, shaking her hand, “I hear you’re a real genius when it comes to that stuff.”
It wasn’t visible but Mary’s voice betrayed a blush, “I- heh, I do my best, I suppose.”
“Listen,” Junker said, I have this Brunny we rigged for prospecting. The shields on that thing just won’t stop acting up. If you find the time, would you take a look?”
“Sure, why not,” Mary nodded. Hanzo continued.
“The blind man there is Mort,” he said, pointing at Mordecai, wandering aimlessly through the room. A habit of boredom.
“Mordecai,” Junker said, offering the man a hand. Mordecai pretended not to see it and Junker lowered it again, silently castigating himself for that blunder.
“Who said that?” Mort asked, feigning confusion, “Where am I?”
“Mort, behave,” Hal said. Mort grimaced, then approached Junker to shake his hand.
“You’re the drive tech?” Junker asked.
“I also play the Molties Liraphone,” Mort said. Hal didn’t know whether he was joking. He’d certainly never heard him play it.
“We could always use another player in our band,” Junker said.
“I don’t plan on staying that long,” Mort said. Junker, slightly annoyed with Mordecai’s attitude, moved on to Hoffenstedt.
“Medicus Hoffenstedt, it’s an honor to finally meet you,” Junker said. No introductions were necessary, it seemed.
“The honor is Majora’s,” Hoffenstedt said, “I am but her humble servant.”
Hal snorted, “Humble is the one adjective I would never use for you, Percy.”
“One day, Henry, the Sisters will burn that tongue right out of your mouth,” said the old man.
“Now, now,” Junker raised his hands between them, “No need to fight.”
His attention finally found Masiva, her smile bright as Magel outside.
“A fresh face?” Junker said, “Neerfed didn’t mention Minora herself joining up with him.”
Masiva blushed and shrunk slightly at the comparison with the Goddess of beauty, then looked at Hal, “Why don’t you ever say stuff like that to me?”
“Worship of the lesser Sister, with zeal abounding, shall surely be a sign of a constitution lacking in zeal for Majora who earns it rightly,” he quoted the Discipline. She rolled her eyes, then shook Junker’s hand with both of hers. He raised her hands to his mouth and kissed them. Instinctively more than intentionally, both Hal and Mort reached into the gesture and pulled them apart. Hal gave Junker the stink-eye, since Mort couldn’t. The man raised his hands.
“Well, my name is Ignatius Jon-Keer but everyone here calls me Junker because-”
“Because of your last name, we get it,” Hal said.
“No… Because I run a junkyard in Prughlogh.”
“Ah,” Hal said. Junker moved to the door and waved for them to follow.
“Come in, I got a Brunny waiting.”
As Junker took the lead towards a Brunswig waiting on a lot nearby, Hal fell in beside Hanzo.
“This sleazy fuck is your friend?” he asked Hanzo quietly. Hanzo frowned.
“You’re being unkind, boss,” he said, “Junker’s a good guy. Came through for me more times than I can count.”
Hal bobbed his head, “Yeah… I guess I am being unkind.”
Hanzo gave him a knowing look, “She ain’t gonna be patient forever, boss,” he said before speeding his gait and leaving Hal next to Mordecai.
“Hey Hal,” Mort said, “You’ve been to Hanzo’s house, right?”
“Once or twice,” Hal said.
“So, uh… He has air conditioning?”
Hal didn’t dignify Mort’s whining with a response, so he continued.
“You know, climate control? Atmospheric enrichment?”
“You’re a regular walking, talking thesaurus today, Mort. What’s bothering you?” Hal asked.
“This fucking planet, never could stand it,” said Mort, kicking a rock which skidded against a lamp post, resulting in a satisfying clang that told Hal much about its composition. Hardened steel, maybe some brass giving the reverberations a tinny quality.
“Hanzo has air conditioning,” Hal said, “And he has a herd of bulls you can ride.”
“I’m not looking to ride anything,” Mort said, “Except maybe a good woman,” Mort’s head slightly swiveled towards Mary, then back to the ground.
Hal snorted, “You’re riding the woman in this scenario?”
“Don’t judge a man’s hobbies,” Mort said. He finally looked up and beheld the contraption Junker had called a Brunswig. It was a Brunswig only by a very loose definition. Unlike a real Brunswig, this one rode on tracks instead of hover engines. The exterior was raw and industrial, covered in sheet metal welded on sloppily, in various states of oxidization. The cabin was an open-air cage, large enough to seat twice the crew, maybe more. The sound of a rolling combustion engine vibrated the air and the ground alike as black smoke billowed out of the rear exhaust pipes.
“Now that thing definitely has no air conditioning,” Mort said.
“Sure it does,” Hal said, “It’s called wind.”
“Welcome onboard,” Junker shouted over the engine as they took their rickety seats on benches in the back of the vehicle. He floored the thrust lever and the Brunswig lurched into action. No inertial dampening in this thing.
“I call her Polina,” Junker shouted, patting the dashboard. Hanzo chuckled, barely audible despite his substantial voice.
“You need to stop giving names to things,” he said.
“Why? Gives ‘em character!” said Junker.
“Because you always get attached, and then they break and then you come to my place to cry about it.”

They rode for almost an hour, first through the densely populated suburbs of Gors Velen, then along an almost deserted dusty road through the desert. Eventually, buildings came back into view, scarce and ramshackle, then more fortified and dense. A township opened up before them, inviting them with a rustic sort of charm. A large wooden sign welcomed them to ‘Proud Prughlogh” apparently founded more than three centuries ago. As buildings grew in height, their adobe foundations gained brick, then metal reinforcement. People, dressed in what appeared to Hal as rags and tattered fabrics, waved to Junker, some shouted greetings. An older man raised his fist and shook it as he yelled curses in the local creole.
“Old Hark doesn’t like Polina’s purring,” Junker shouted.
A left turn at a larger building, Frengo’s Tavern, took them back to the outskirts of the small town and past an enormous pile of metal and machinery.
“That’s my place here,” Junker said, pointing to it enthusiastically. The Brunswig sped past the junkyard and followed an increasingly curvy road over a crest. Past it, vast fields encased by a metal fence held dozens, maybe a few hundred animals. Hanzo’s homestead. He was the main supplier of fresh food for this community. A comparatively small home stood in the middle of four pastures, connected to the winding path by a graveled walkway. Junker stopped the Brunswig next to the entrance gate and waved everyone off his vehicle.
“I’ll catch you later, old friend,” Junker said to Hanzo, “I have some matters to attend to.”
Hanzo waved his friend goodbye and smiled when he saw Masiva do the same. The rest of the crew was too engaged in enjoying their relief from the noise. A woman met them halfway along the gravel path, Hanzo’s wife Irae. She hugged and kissed her husband, then her eyes met Hal.
“You’re not welcome here,” she said coldly. Hanzo stepped between them.
“Honey, come on-”
“He can go to the inn,” she insisted. Masiva looked at Hal questioningly. He shrugged as he turned to leave back to the road. She followed him, Mort behind her.
“Where are you going?” she asked, trying to stop him from walking away.
“To the inn in town,” he said with a sigh. She turned around to Mort.
“And you?”
“I go where he goes,” Mort said.
“What is going on here, I thought we’re all friends,” Masiva was exasperated. Hal turned his back and saw Hanzo talk animatedly to his wife. Hoffenstedt and Mary stood between them and Hal, not sure what to do.
“I don’t blame her,” Hal said, “I’m taking her husband away from her for months at a time.”
“But didn’t Hanzo choose to go with you?” she asked as they reached the edge of the road.
“He did. That’s why she’s angry. My bad influence. Not a fan of uh… You know, who I used to be.”
Masiva looked down, “Who you used to be? Brilliant engineer? I mean you still are that.”
“Saldep, Masiva,” he said dryly.
“Saldep wasn’t you. It was that warmonger, Olgrin,” she said. Hal saw Mort nod at the sentiment from the corner of his eye.
“Olgrin is an impotent clown,” Hal said, “A pompous, power-hungry, unscrupulous Machiavellian without the means to see his ambitions through,” he turned to her, “But he had me to give him those means, Mas. Me. There’s nobody else to blame.”
She looked into his eyes the way only she could, then shook her head.
“What was it for? The Voidstar?” she asked. Hal chuckled wryly.
“A mobile refugee station. A lazaret, a hospital, fuck, I would have been fine with it being a cruise liner.”
“Hal!” Hanzo’s voice rang from behind as he waved them back over to the house. With a deep sigh, Hal walked back, followed by Masiva and Mort. Hanzo had an apologetic look on his face.
“Sorry, boss. You know how she gets,” he said.
“It’s alright. I’ll go stay at the inn, it’s no big deal.”
“No, no. You can stay in the guest house,” Hanzo said, pointing to a small structure next to the house, “The rest of you, there’s rooms for you inside.”
Mort scoffed, “Fuck that, Hanzo. I’ll stay in the guest house, too.”
Hanzo looked hurt but he swallowed it, “Alright, I mean… It’s your choice. Let me show you to your rooms then.”

Hanzo first led the others inside, then emerged to show Hal and Mort to the guest house. It was a small abode, wooden on the outside. Hal wondered where they got the wood. Not a tree in sight. Inside, two rooms, simply furnished. A bed, a table, some chairs in case your guests have guests.
“I’ll see you guys at dinner,” Hanzo asked more than stated. He left Mort and Hal in the small common area of the guest house where they sat at the table.
“You remember that time,” Mort began, “When everyone thought we were gay with each other?”
Hal chuckled, “Because we slept in the same bed on Umari?”
“Yeah,” Mort said, “It’s like old times, eh?”
“We have separate beds now,” Hal said.
“We can push em together if you want.”
“I am all good, brother,” Hal said, leaning back and stretching in his chair. Mort hesitated before he spoke, a rarity.
“I know…” he began, “Listen, man, I know this shit is eating away at you.”
“Don’t.”
“You’re taking it out on Masiva,” Mort said. Hal leaned forward towards his friend, his brow furrowed.
“What?” he said.
“You have to see it, too,” Mort said, “I’m blind and I can see it.”
“What are you talking about, you fool?”
“Masiva. She admires you, Hal,” Mort sighed, “And all you’re doing is pushing her away.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Masiva is just a very affectionate person,” Hal said, waving him off.
“Sure. But she sees something in you, man.”
“Bullshit,” Hal said.
“You’re the one bullshitting, nobody is that clueless. Definitely not you,” Mort said.
“She doesn’t even know me,” Hal said.
“We all know you. You’re the only one who forgot who you are.”
“Why is everyone forcing these conversations on me lately?” Hal said, angry now, “I used to drink myself to sleep to avoid thinking of all this… All this filth!”
“Because lately, you’ve been walking through acid and staring down the fucking Paralaexon,” Mort said dryly. Hal scoffed.
“Hanzo told you, did he?”
“He did. We are all concerned about you.”
“Fuck you and fuck your concern. I’m fine,” Hal said. He got up and walked to one of the rooms he had decided was his.
“Henry, you have to stop-”
Hal slammed the door, then lay on the bed. He sighed deeply and massaged his face and eyes. Tears rolled down his temples and onto the bed. Mort’s voice came through a vent on the wall.
“Bad news for you, buddy. Thin walls,” he said.
“Masiva preserve me,” Hal said quietly, “Mort, you need to leave me alone.”
“How long do you plan on just running away from this?” Mort asked.
“Until I die,” Hal said.
“And you plan on that being soon?” said Mort.
“I’m not suicidal,” Hal said, his voice faltering.
“Could have fooled me,” Mort said. A noise suggested he was adjusting he dragged a chair next to the vent and sat.
“You know, I’ve been there,” Mort said, “That reactor accident… You know what it did to me. But I got out of it, I crawled out of that hole. You know how?”
“Was it the love of a good woman?” Hal asked sarcastically.
“What? No. I’m more handsome as a bachelor. No, it was Bekker. He took me in, showed me how to live with it. Every night while I was screaming my lungs out, he came to distract me with doodads to study. He read to me, operation manuals of fold reactors.”
Hal imagined Masiva next to him, reading technical manuals.
“When I was in a bad way, I tried to end it,” Mort said, “Tried to electrocute myself.”
“Majora…” Hal said.
“Can’t really jump off anything high in the Collective. It was the next best thing. But Bekker found me before I could flip the switch. Told me that he understands but that the insurance paperwork would be Kharkunian if I did it in his house.”
Hal chuckled despite himself, “So that’s where you got that sense of humor.”
“Yeah. And isn’t that better than being dead?”
Hal sat up in his bed, “Even if Masiva… I can’t do this to her.”
“Do what?”
“Inflict myself on someone as good as that.”
“She’s inflicting herself on you already, Hal. All you have to do is stop resisting.”
Hal got up and opened the door. Mort sat next to it on a chair but rose in response.
“Easier said than done,” Hal said. Mort pulled him into a hug,
“I know, brother,” he said, breaking the hug, “But you love a challenge, don’t you?”
“Yeah well, I like math problems, not whatever this shit is.”
They walked to the door of the cabin together.
“It’s all math in the end,” Mort said, “You minus self-hate equals profit.”
“We profit regardless of that,” Hal said.
“Not lately.”
They walked Hanzo’s property, keeping a lookout for Irae. A path between two pastures, wet from the irrigation system, led them onto a shallow crest where, to their surprise, Mary sat on a bench, the light of a setting Magel warming her back.
“What are you doing out here?” Hal asked.
“People watching,” Mary said as they sat to the left and right of her. She pointed at a herd of animals on the pasture in front. Hal chuckled.
“That’s a common thing in the Baranian Empire, isn’t it?” Hal asked.
“What is?” Mary asked back.
“Respecting animals as if they were people,” Hal specified.
“I wouldn’t go that far. We don’t treat them like you people do, though.”
“So how do you get good food?” Mort asked, the thought triggering his own stomach to grumble.
“Good food doesn’t necessitate meat, you barbarian,” Mary chuckled.
“It doesn’t?” Mort asked.
“Did you have meat in the Collective?” she asked him.
“The Collective has three agri-moons,” Mort said, “They’re called Agri-Moon 1, Agri-Moon 2 and, get this, Agri-Moon 4. We lost the third one before I was born.”
Hal and Mary both looked at Mort.
“You… lost a moon?” Hal asked finally.
“It turned into the pretty ring the planet has now.”
“Sorry for your loss,” Mary said, an undercurrent of seriousness in her voice. She knew what it meant to see destruction on that scale.
“Like I said, it happened before I was even born,” Mort said, “We- They import from Chorus now to make up for it.”
Hanzo found them, waved at them and squeezed himself onto the bench between Hal and Mary. He spread his arms around them.
“It’s good to be home,” he said, “And you know what? Irae will come around. Just give her some time, yeah?”
Hal nodded, “I doubt that, but I appreciate it, Hanzo.”
“Who’s ready for dinner?” Hanzo asked. Mort raised his hand.
“Is there meat?” he asked. Hanzo swiveled his head demonstratively.
“Look around, blind man. This is a cattle farm.”

Dinner had been as awkward as it had been tense. Hal had done them the courtesy of leaving early and retreated to his room in the guest house. There, he lay in his bed, planning a retrofit for the Oasis on his Lasian. One of her weaknesses were the aft tether points. That’s why they were never used. She was technically capable of parking ass-first which was beneficial for some maintenance work, but the aft tether points were too unreliable. Unmaintained, seldom used, neglected. Servicing the thrusters on her backside or her main drive was a hassle at the least, and much more expensive at worst. He drew on the blueprints. If they removed the tether points, they could exchange them for something else. Maybe a good place for that shuttle hangar he’d been meaning to add. His mother would call plans like this future music. But it was something to do.
As he sketched in the crossbeams needed to support the hangar in gravity, Masiva knocked once before she entered.
“Hey,” she said, walking to the bed.
“What’s up?” Hal asked, looking up only momentarily. She was beautiful, as she ever was. Mort and Hanzo’s words echoed in his head and he looked back down, continued sketching. She sat next to him and watched what he did.
“Is that-” she began.
“The Oasis,” he finished for her, “Yeah.”
She leaned into him, still watching the Lasian. He swallowed. Warmth spread from her body on his shoulder to his heart, then to his head.
“What are you planning?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing…” he said. She pointed to the trusses.
“That looks like something to me,” she said. Hal fought hard against the demon in his mind. The old devil on his shoulder was being squashed there by Masiva. So it retreated inward, used his heart as a punching bag. What kind of person gets shell-shocked by someone else showing affection?
“Well,” he said, “what do you think it is?”
“Hmm,” she said, tracing his sketch with her finger, “Looks like a scaffold?”
He couldn’t help but smile. A chuckle escaped him.
“Yeah… Yeah that’s pretty much what it is. More permanent, I hope.”
“Explain it to me,” she said. He stole a glance at her, still leaning on his shoulder.
“You know how we always wanted to have our own shuttle?” he asked.
“Mhm,” she said.
“I figure there are two places I could put the hangar. Either here,” he pointed under the Oasis’ bow, “between the bow hull and the landing legs. That would severely lower our ground clearance though.”
“And the other place?” she adjusted her posture, shifted more of her weight onto him.
“The other place is this here,” he pointed back to his sketch, “Remove the old tether points since we never use them. Use the chassis access to anchor it to the substructure and build out a hull from there,” he sketched out a rough shape. Masiva raised her head from his shoulder and looked at him with a frown.
“She’ll look like she has constipation,” she said. Hal was caught off-guard and laughed. He looked at his drawing.
“Yeah,” he said, “I guess it does look like that.”
She pointed to some text he had scribbled on the drawing earlier.
“What does this mean?” she asked.
“Oh it’s… Well in my field,” it felt weird to say, “We don’t use terms like bow and stern, right? Those are sailor terms. We give directions numbers to identify them. For the Oasis, an old Type 72, the aft direction is the number 5. These trusses here,” he pointed to them and drew an arrow along their length, “They point from the 5 end of the ship in a fractional direction towards 3 and 5. Like force vectors, but just indicating proper orientation. So, 5 on this side and 1/7 3 to 4/7 5 on this side. Origin to destination.”
She nodded on his shoulder and pointed to the forward starboard landing leg.
“So this leg is pointing from 1 to 4?” she asked.
“Yeah, well almost. It’s a little crooked these days. In engineering terms, that landing support structure has an unplanned seven-degree 4-3 bend with internal 5-3-1 warping of about…” he checked another page, a technical readout from the ship, “13 Boong expansion units.”
“Boong?” Masiva asked, chuckling. Hal chuckled, too.
“Serdokar Boong codified that unit,” he explained. She looked at him again. He forced himself to look at her as well.
“You’re pretty smart,” she said.
“No… No it’s just an unhealthy obsession,” he said.
“The Oasis is lucky to have found you,” she said. And he had been lucky to have found her when he did.
“Thank you, Mas,” he said, allowing her eyes to fix his.
“Tell me more about the ship,” she finally said, resting her head back on him.

Two hours later, Masiva excused herself to bed and left Hal with a smile. His room’s door closed gently as her footsteps receded and he breathed in deeply, held it for as long as he could, then released it with a force. He put away the Lasian. His sketch wasn’t much use anymore after Masiva had spent half an hour imagining her own expansions to the ship. It was now one size class larger and sported a spa, a gym and several swimming pools. He hesitated, then picked up the device again to save the sketch to the Oasis’ storage server. Then he fell asleep just as he started hearing Mort’s familiar snore through the wall.

---

Frengo’s Tavern was a seedy place. Prughlogh’s small town charm gave way to the local area’s criminal underworld. Smugglers, mercenaries, and contractors of all sorts sat around tables in booths designed for privacy instead of comfort. The bar, tended by a young out-of-place looking woman called Kirah, was occupied by Hal, Masiva, Mort and a local man called Ollam. Hal had engaged the man in conversation, hoping to learn of a buyer for their strange cryptonic device.
“You wouldn’t happen to know someone around here who collects old shit?” Hal asked.
“Old shit? Like… antique shit?” Ollam asked.
“Yeah, like old crypto trash.”
“I don’t know anyone needs trash,” Ollam said, “Except that guy Junker, he buys all kinds of trash. Maybe you could talk to him?”
“No, listen man, it’s not actually trash. It’s like an ancient… what did Mary call it?” Hal hesitated.
“A crypto-electric processor,” Mort said.
“That, yeah,” Hal agreed.
“I have no idea what that is, what you just said,” Ollam sounded a laugh that quickly turned into a wet cough. He swallowed his phlegm with a swig of ale. Masiva nudged Hal’s arm.
“I told you I know someone. We could just go see them,” she said.
“I was hoping to lay low for a while, considering we stole from your friend Bergen,” Hal began, then glanced for a second at Ollam, “But yeah, can you call up your man?”

The contact, who had turned out to be a woman, joined them in the tavern not long after. Her scarred face grimaces when she spoke.
“Portia,” she greeted Masiva. Hal was surprised at the first name address. Masiva made a point of not being called by her first or middle names. Especially among friends.
“Who are your friends?” asked the woman. Masiva’s brow furrowed, she begrudgingly introduced Hal and Mort.
“Michalchuk,” said the woman, “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Common name,” Hal said, eliciting a chuckle from Mort.
“It’s not,” the woman said humorlessly, “I think you’re on some kind of list.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, “I stole this thing from the Kurzon Band,” he lied as he produced the artifact. He placed it on the table. It was still active, showing the unfamiliar symbols.
“What even is that?” the woman asked, the list seemingly forgotten.
“Well, Guilia,” Masiva said, “It’s money. Lots of it, if you find the right buyer.”
The woman, apparently called Giulia, looked up at Masiva, her eyes narrow.
“Then why aren’t you selling it to that person instead of me?”
“We have urgent plans,” Masiva said, “And I know you can find them.”
Giulia nodded absentmindedly and fondled the device aimlessly. When it released a chirping sound, she dropped it on the table.
“What the-”
Suddenly, a blade appeared in front of Giulia’s throat. Hal’s eyes took a few moments to see that it was attached to a staff-like weapon, held by another woman. His heart raced with fear as his brain came to terms with the weapon he was looking at. An Anapareesa battlestaff.
“Holy shit,” he said, motioning to get up, but the strange woman’s other hand drew a blaster and pointed it at him. Interesting. Anapareesa battle monks didn’t carry blasters.
“Sit,” she instructed. He sat back down.
“Where did you get this?” she asked. Masiva, her hands shaky, spoke.
“H- how much is that information worth to you?” she asked bravely. The woman motioned for Giulia to leave. She did not wait to be asked twice and scarpered out of the tavern. Hal looked around and saw dozens of patrons pointedly ignoring his booth.
“Why don’t you tell us your name?” Mort asked, calm as ever.
“Not information you need to know,” said the woman. She pointed her staff at Hal and his friends, holstered her blaster and sat opposite them.
“Where did you find this?” she repeated.
“Supremus Prime,” Hal said. The woman grimaced knowingly.
“When?” she asked.
“A week ago,” Hal answered. When she moved to take the device, he instinctively reached out faster and pulled it toward him. The blade of her staff found his throat and threatened to exsanguinate him on the spot.
“Give me the device,” she said.
“That’s…” Hal began, swallowed carefully, then continued, “That’s not how we do business here.”
What the hell had they scored here? The woman reached her hand across the table and demanded the device.
“Give me the device,” she said again, slowly and poignantly.
“I can take her,” Mort said. The blade swung in one instant over to his throat. Mort gulped.
“Don’t be stupid… blind guy,” said the woman, perplexed. Hal used the reprieve from the blade to make his move. In one motion, he slid the device into his lap and grabbed the staff’s end, pushed it towards the woman. With a growl, she struggled against him, the blade wobbling dangerously in front of Mort’s face. Mort, not one to count his blessings, joined Hal in the fight, and pushed the staff away from him. The other end now pressed against the woman’s shoulder. She swiveled her torso out from under the staff, and yanked it back. Mort let go in time but Hal’s hand was caught in the motion. He felt no pain as he regarded the deep cut in his palm, blood gushing forth like a river. He let the device drop to the floor and kicked it across the room. The woman’s eyes followed it and she immediately jumped up from her seat and lunged after it. Hal jumped after her and caught her knees before she could reach the device.
“Mort! Grab the thing and run!” he yelled. The woman kicked him in the face hard and he heard bones in his cheek crackle. He let go of the woman when he saw Mort and Masiva run for the exit. He scurried backward, toward the booth as the woman got up. She made for the exit but Hal lunged again, slamming into her bodily. They fell to the ground in front of the door and Hal pummeled her side several times before a sharp pain hit the side of his head. Again and again. She was hitting him with the butt of her blaster. He noted the model. An old, revolving cartridge Hurlock… maybe a Soleiman. He caught the third swing in his bloody hand, ignoring the pain that shot up through his arm. He mustered his strength and grabbed the weapon, tried yanking it out of her hand. Instead, she produced just half of her staff from her back, somehow broken in the middle. She pointed the non-blade end at him and he heard a high-pitched whirring from it as a light built up in the hole pointed at him. A plasma accelerator, he recognized. He quickly rolled aside and watched as a bolt of plasma rushed past his body and impacted the floor in a small explosion. He kept rolling and rose to his feet, staggering backward, then forward. The woman rose, pointed the weapon at him again. Something changed in her face then, the intensity gone from it. She lowered the weapon and ran out of the tavern. Hal breathed heavy and fell against the wall where he slumped down.
“What the fuck,” he mumbled, spitting out some blood. He looked around the tavern, patrons still ignoring him. He pressed on the wound on the palm of his hand to quell the bleeding.
“So much for peaceful crime,” he said to himself as he hoisted his body off the floor. He stumbled out of the tavern and looked around. No sign of the strange woman. No sign of Masiva or Mort. The door swung open behind him and Kirah, the bartender walked out with a rag and a tankard of ale. She handed it to him.
“On the house,” she said. Hal looked into the vessel, his gaze drawing him into it. He felt the liquid in his mouth and down his throat, and coursing through his-
No. He handed it back.
“I don’t drink,” he said. The woman grabbed his hand.
“Hold still,” she said as she wrapped the wound. Immense pain shot through his body and he winced.
“Fuck, is there alcohol on that?” he asked.
“Relax,” said Kirah, “You can’t get drunk from that.”
He resisted the urge to raise the cloth to his mouth and soak it dry. Instead he focused on the situation.
“Who in Kharkun was that woman?” he asked. Kirah, her hospitality exhausted, shrugged, turned and entered the tavern.
Hal limped a few hundred paces before getting used to the pain in his leg. He must have twisted something during the fight. He kept his injured hand secured in his coat pocket to keep the damn smell away. The locals hardly noticed him. Some quick glances but nobody seemed to notice or care about his bruised and bloody face or his limp. Where did Mort and Masiva go? He stood at the T-junction whose road led across the hill and to Hanzo’s farm. If that woman went after either of them… Logically, they would have gone to Hanzo to seek shelter and hide. Mort had the object which, Hal couldn’t help but assume, was worth a lot more than they originally estimated. He would have to find out why that was while they lay low. He started his walk down the road. One step at a time. When he reached the crest, he felt something wet running down his leg. It was the blood from his hand. It had soaked through the bandage. He carefully unwrapped it and threw the thing, smelling of Kharkun, into the dust beside the road. Blood still poured from the cut. The staff’s blade, he recalled, had an edge honed to the thickness of just one metallic atom. Clean cuts bleed more, although he didn’t know why. Hoffenstedt was needed. He walked steadily, keeping pressure on the wound but he left behind a trail of red in the dust.

He felt weak as he approached the fence gate leading to the gravel path. He pushed it open as his legs gave way. He fell onto the gravel. ‘What’s another ten bruises?’ he thought. From there, he crawled toward the house. Steady, one… one arm length at a time. His eyes were fixed on the house. He saw the wooden panels, fixed to a concrete substructure by pneumatically driven nails. The wood, painted white to reduce heat accumulation, still had a visible grain. It was unusual. Swirly patterns, like the Paralaexon. He had seen something like it years ago on trees felled from an underground arboretum on Ixicon Alpha-2. So that’s where the wood… the wood came from.
Before he passed out, he saw the front door swivel open. Irae and two of her children ran out of it and to his side. Then, blackness.

In the blackness, a light, then two. Dancing like star-struck lovers, they combined, then separated, then combined. Colors joined them. The Paralaexon, a wound, then a face. Striking blue eyes, then green. Masiva’s eyes, filled with sorrow and pain, then tears. The lights flashed, one combined whole now as the world came into focus. Masiva’s eyes replaced by Irae’s staring a frown into Hal’s mind.
“Still alive, are ya?” she said. The pain signals reached his brain as he groaned.
“Where is Mas?” he asked, barely cogent.
“Not here. What happened to you?” Irae asked. Not here? Adrenaline rushed through him now, focusing his mind, dulling pain. He looked at his hand. It was stitched amateurishly but it had stopped the flow of blood. He sat up, a dull pain behind his eyes.
“I need to go find them,” he said. His voice was weaker than he intended. Irae snapped her finger in front of his face.
“Hey,” she said loudly, “What happened to you?”
He looked at her, “Someone attacked us,” he said, “I need to find Mort and Mas.”
With great effort, he swung his legs off the bed but was stopped by a hand on his chest.
“Majora knows how much blood you lost, Hal,” Irae said, “Stay here. Hanzo will find them.”
“Out of the question. Where is he anyway?” Hal asked.
“He went out looking for them,” she said, an undercurrent of anger in her voice.
“That damned fool,” Hal muttered. For the first time since he arrived, he saw Irae smile.
“That, he is,” she said. She handed him a Lasian, “Call him.”
After several seconds of ringing, Hanzo’s face appeared on screen.
“Still alive, are ya?” Hanzo said. Irae chuckled.
“Cut the crap, Hanzo, where in Kharkun are you?” Hal said.
“When you came in looking like you do,” Hanzo said, his grip on the Lasian making his image shake, “without the others, I figured I have to go look for them.”
“Do you have your gun?” Hal asked. Hanzo paused his walk to look at the Lasian.
“What is this, one of those shapeshifter tests? Of course I have my fucking gun,” he said, “Why do you still ask me that question after all these years?”
“You need to be careful, we’re dealing with a Parishioner,” Hal said through a groan of pain.
“What?” Irae grabbed the Lasian from Hal’s hands.
“Get back here right now, you fool. I’m not raising these kids alone!” she shouted.
“Calm down honey,” Hanzo said, “I’ll be careful.”
Mary and Hoffenstedt burst through one of the back doors suddenly. The old man was heavily out of breath and collapsed onto a chair but Mary rushed to Hal’s side.
“Oh thank goodness, you’re still alive,” she said, recovering her breath.
“Barely,” Hal said, “Mort and Masiva are missing.”
Mary’s eyes widened, “What do you mean missing?”
As Irae argued with her husband animatedly, Hal recounted the events at Frengo’s.
“A Parishioner?” Mary said, “You’re sure?”
“She was carrying the staff,” Hal said, “And she fought like one.”
Hoffenstedt finally managed to walk to the bed. He picked up Hal’s hand and examined the wound.
“You were quite lucky, Henry,” said the old man.
“Doesn’t look like luck to me, Percy,” Hal said.
“A little more force on the blade and your hand may have been severed,” said the Medic, “Although these stitches may yet lead to an amputation.”
He shot a glance at Irae, “Clean work for a novice,” he said to her, “Have you considered joining the Board?”
Irae waved off the old man and continued talking into the Lasian.
“I will re-stitch your wound,” Hoffenstedt said, “Marisol, go fetch my medical bag from my room.”
Mary ran out of sight.
“How is your head?” Hoffenstedt asked.
“Painful,” Hal said.
“You are likely concussed. You have to stay in this bed-”
“Percy, you know I can’t do that,” Hal said, forcing himself to sit up on the edge of the bed. Hoffenstedt hesitated before he spoke.
“Yes, I know,” he said.
Mary returned, frantically opened the medical bag she held and plopped it on the bed next to Hal. Hoffenstedt sterilized his hands with disinfectant, then poured the rest of the bottle over Hal’s hand without warning. The pain was immense. Hal shouted in agony and pulled his hand back. Hoffenstedt caught his wrist and held the hand in place.
“Pain is the gift of gifts, young Henry,” Hoffenstedt said, “Majora’s way to let you know Kharkun has not taken you.”
He asked Mary to hold Hal’s hand steady and started pulling stitches. Irae, done arguing, returned the Lasian to the bed. She fixed Hal with a stare.
“If you don’t bring my husband home alive and healthy, I will make sure Majora knows she made a mistake today,” she threatened. Hal smiled at her humorlessly.
“You have a nice house,” he said. She shook her head and retreated to the kitchen, probably to make one of the famous cups of fungal tea Hanzo always bragged about.
Hoffenstedt finished up his stitches, much more neatly than Irae had managed. He then produced a syringe and several ampules filled with clear liquid.
“My medical advice is for you to stay in bed for several days,” Hoffenstedt said, “But since the circumstances do not allow for it, I will administer a stimulant, some pain medication and a pre-emptive hemostatic and osmotic diuretic. That should keep you functional. Do not hit your head again,” he warned.
“No painkillers,” Hal said forcefully.
“Henry you can’t-” Hoffenstedt tried but Hal grabbed his wrist before he could plunge the syringe in his leg.
“15 years, I’ve been clean, Percival,” Hal said. Hoffenstedt looked into his eyes, then nodded solemnly and spoke.
“The other two are non-negotiable.”

---

After some coordination with Hanzo, Mary and Hal made their way back to the town. Hal walked, leaning on Mary periodically as his body gave way. But he pushed himself as he knew he had to. Masiva and Mort would have gone back to Hanzo’s place if they had had the chance. Something must have happened. Hanzo waited outside of Frengo’s. It was time to get answers. Together, they entered the tavern. Hal observed the patrons, indifferent as they were before. The bartender, Kirah, acknowledged him with a silent nod. Without thinking about it much, Hal picked out a booth, occupied by people he recognized from the fight. They hadn’t done so much as shift in their seats. He pushed away from Mary’s support and limped to the table. Around it sat five people. Gruff looking men, sun-scorched leathery skin obscuring their age.
“‘Scuse me,” Hal said to them, “We’re hoping to ask you some questions.”
They looked him up and down in unison without reply.
“The strong and silent type, eh?” Hal said. He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and pulled it up to theirs. His palm hit the table as he sat.
“Maybe you recall, not too long ago, I was in a gnarly fight for my life right over there,” Hal pointed at the area near the door.
“Now, why don’t you lovely fellas tell me a little something about the woman who tried to kill me?”
The men exchanged looks. One shook his head toward the others, then spoke.
“Get lost,” he said. Hal sighed.
“No,” he said, dispensing with the faux charm, “Let me rephrase. You will tell us who that woman was or my friend Hanzo here will first add some new orifices to your decaying bodies and then cut off the food supply to everyone you love until every single one of them starves and dies.”
Hal’s voice was steady, his mind clear. The men exchanged looks again, their faces betraying very real concern.
“You’re friends?” one of them asked toward Hanzo. Hanzo nodded, exposing the blaster under his coat.
“And this ain’t an idle threat,” Hanzo added.
“Look,” said the man, “I want to tell you, Neerfed, but I can’t.”
“Why in Kharkun not? Who is this woman?” Hal asked.
“You saw her, she’s… She’s a Parishioner. Or at least used to be one,” the man’s voice shook.
“Two of my people are missing,” Hal said, “The two I was here with. The woman has something to do with it. You understand my position, yes?”
The man nodded reluctantly, “I do. I really do. But if I stab her in the back, I’m as good as dead myself.”
“So your choice seems rather simple,” Hal said, “You either die right here, right now or you get to live to find a way off planet before she finds out you were the one to tell me.”
The click of a pistol sounded from the bar. Sure enough, Kirah was aiming a small one at Hanzo.
“Step away from the patrons, please,” she said. Her aim was unsteady, she lacked a proper stance.
“You don’t want to get involved in this, kid,” Hanzo said.
“I already am,” she said, “This is my place of business, Hanzo.”
Hanzo strode to the bar and leaned on it. Hal and Mary followed his lead.
“I’ve never seen her here before,” Hanzo said, “Who is she?”
Kirah put away her gun, hid it under the counter. She did not reply.
“I suppose we’ll see how much business you can do without a supply of ale,” Hanzo said and started turning. Kirah stopped him.
“Wait,” she said, “I… She’s my friend. I can take you to her but I need assurances that none of you will hurt her,” she looked at each of them in turn.
“Your friend? The Parishioner is your friend?” Hanzo was dumbfounded.
“She’s not what you think,” Kirah said. All three of them stared at her disbelievingly.
“You,” she said, nodding her head at Hal, “You saw that she backed away when she had the chance to turn you into ash.”
“She also did this,” Hal said, holding up his hand, “And then all of your lovely patrons and, by Majora, this whole town was willing to let me go my silent way to Kharkun.”
“Not many of us here believe in that stuff,” she said, “I patched you up, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Hal said, lowering his voice. It was hard, controlling himself in this moment.
“I told you,” she said, “I’ll take you to her if you promise me you won’t attack her.”
“I’ll make that promise on two conditions,” Hal said, “One, my friends are unharmed. And two, she doesn’t try to kill me. Again. Too much of that lately.”

Kirah, after handing over the bar to a skinny man who had waited in the back room, led the crew to a small abandoned looking hut at the edge of town. An adobe foundation held up a structure made of the local underground wood. Maybe it was root-growth, Hal thought as he followed Kirah inside.
“Lex!” Kirah shouted. That must be the woman’s name. No response. The interior was as run-down as the exterior. Dust had blown in through cracked windows and covered half-decayed furniture. Several of the structural beams had given way, leaving much of the old hut collapsed and open to the elements. Kirah knelt behind a broken table and wiped dusty sand from the floor. A handle emerged from it and she pulled on it to open a hidden trapdoor. It swiveled open with a creak and Kirah stepped into it. A ladder led down several paces, terminating in a small hallway. An iron door at the end of it stood steadfastly. The silence was eerie, deadly. Hal pushed past Kirah and tried the handle. No luck.
“Open it,” Hal said to Kirah.
“I-” she began, “I don’t have a key.”
Instead, she knocked on it. Hal pulled her back from the door.
“What are you doing?” he asked her in a loud whisper.
“I told you she’s my friend. She won’t hurt us,” Kirah said. Hal looked to Hanzo.
“Get her out of here,” he said. Hanzo grabbed Kirah by the arm and pulled her back toward the ladder. Hal focused on the door. It was hard steel, too hard to drill or cut through unless they could find a plasma torch. The lock was… He knelt next to it. When Kirah said she didn’t have a key, she meant it literally. This was a lock that required a physical key. Hal hadn’t seen something this crude in many years. Not since the Academy. Not a machine in the galaxy you don’t know. Masiva’s words echoed in his mind and he smiled despite himself. There was no bypass here, no clever trick. Either you had the key or you had the skills to pick ancient locking mechanisms. Or…
“Hanzo,” Hal said, “hand me your gun.”
“I thought we were trying to be quiet,” Hanzo said.
“Just give it here,” Hal said before grabbing the gun from Hanzo’s holster. He held it in his hand, turned it this way and that. A Gordia MX-17 kinetic blaster. Inside, Hal knew, a miniaturized Holstrom factory produced slugs on demand from an energy cell in the handle. He squeezed a safety pin on the underside of the barrel and pulled the engagement lever. The receiver hatch popped open with a small click and Hal looked inside. Modular design, popular in the Joster-Callum Collective where the gun was manufactured. He struggled to get his fingers in through the hatch but eventually managed to extract the Holstrom factory.
“What in Kharkun are you doing?” Mary asked as she watched. Hal held up the device, still attached to two leads terminating the handle.
“Holstrom factory,” he said. Mary nodded.
“I know,” she said, “But how does that help?”
“The lock is pretty antique,” Hal said as he adjusted the focusing ring of the factory, “It has pins inside. The key pushes the pins so that they line up with a shear line. Then you can turn the cylinder and undo the bolt.”
Mary nodded along, then raised her eyebrows, “I see where this is going. You’re using the factory to melt the lock!”
“No,” Hal said, chuckling, “What am I, a barbarian? The factory has pretty tight control over the material properties of what it produces.”
He placed the matter terminus of the factory on the keyhole.
“So if I instruct it to produce a smart matter material that solidifies from mechanical stress…”
He took out his Lasian and connected it to a calibration port on the factory, typing in a short program. With the tap of a button, the factory started into a whir. Matter was extruded from the terminus and into the lock. As it was discharged, Hal slowly turned the device.
“I can impression the lock,” he finished as the door’s bolt clicked open. He engaged the factory’s aperture to cut the material, quickly restored it to default settings and handed the gun to Mary to reassemble. She did so with clinical efficiency. Hal slowly and carefully turned the door’s handle and allowed it to spring open slightly. Hanzo grabbed his gun, positioned himself next to Hal on the cracked door and nodded. Hal nodded back and pulled the door open in one fast motion. Hanzo advanced inside, gun raised. After a few seconds, he yelled “Clear!”
Hal followed him inside, Mary and Kirah at his back. The space beyond was a dimly lit, oppressively small one-room living quarters. Furniture that looked as old as the door itself lined the walls. A cot on one wall, a kitchen unit on the other, topped by a ventilation shaft. The dim light that filled the space came from a lamp situated above a small desk, illuminating the cryptonic device that Mort had been carrying. Mort was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Masiva. Hal rushed to the desk and saw that the device was now inactive, no more strange symbols on its thick screen. Or… He sat in a rickety chair next to the desk and looked closer. It wasn’t the same device. The shape was subtly different and this one had been partially disassembled. He turned to Kirah.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“I- I don’t know, she doesn’t tell me much,” said the girl. Hanzo flipped a switch on the wall and a brighter spotlight struggled to life. Hal followed the beam of light to one of the walls. A shelf stood there, bolted to the concrete wall. The shelf was filled, to the brim and over capacity… Hal rubbed his eyes. It was filled with similar ancient devices.
“Majora,” he said quietly, “There must be a hundred of them here.
“So much for rare,” Mary said. Hal turned to Kirah again, and cornered her against the kitchen.
“What is going on in here?” he asked. Kirah stammered and her hands shook.
“I- I don’t- It’s a r-research project or something. I really don’t know!” she said. Hal rubbed his face.
“Your friend, Lex was it?” he said, “When does she usually get back here?”
“By sundown at the latest. B-but her colleague-”
“Her colleague?” Hal asked, exasperated. Why wouldn’t she mention this earlier?
“Y-yes… An older man comes here sometimes, h-he works on these… things.”
Hal surveyed the room again. None of the devices on the wall had an active display. His thoughts raced, as did his heart. Where was Masiva? He eyed the shelf, his eyes narrowed, concern turned into spiteful anger. If there was one thing he’d learned since Saldep it was how to make the best of a situation. A wooden box was nestled under the sink of the kitchen counter. He grabbed it and unceremoniously emptied cleaning supplies and groceries into the sink. In one stride, he approached the shelf and swiped dozens of the devices into the box. Metalic clanging and wooden knocking did not overpower Hanzo’s voice.
“Boss, what the fuck-” he started. Hal held up a finger.
“Own the day Hanzo,” he said before swiping another floor of the shelf into the box, “Or the day owns you.”
The last floor of the shelf now empties into the box, Hal stripped the sheets off the bed.
“A-are you… don’t steal them!” Kirah said, an assertive tone emerging. Hal ignored her and bound the sheet like a rope through the box’s handles. He slung it over his shoulder and walked toward the ladder.
“We’re not just stealing these things,” Hal said, then to Hanzo, “Take her with you,” pointing to Kirah.
“Listen boss-”
“Story time is over, she takes hostages, I take hostages,” Hal started climbing the ladder.
“We don’t even know if Masiva and Mort are hostages,” Mary said below him. He stood in the shed now and waited for the others to follow him up. Mary emerged first. Hal handed her the box.
“Take these to the Oasis,” he said, “Hide them. Well.”
Mary’s expression was troubled but she nodded reluctantly before taking the box and starting a jog toward a Brunswig terminal nearby. Kirah came up next and Hal grabbed her shoulder before she reached the top. He pulled her up and waited for Hanzo. When he emerged, it was gun first. As he climbed out of the hole, a man walked into the abandoned hut, older, clad in spectacles and a green robe. When he realized what he saw, his eyes widened.
“Dreon!” Kirah shouted, “Run!”
Hanzo pointed his gun at the old man, “You ever get hospitalized for… perforation?” he asked dryly before chuckling at his own line. The man seemingly got the idea and stayed put.
“How fortuitous,” Hal said spitefully, “Today must be my lucky day. Two hostages!”
He grabbed the old man in his other hand.
“Who in the Seas are you?” the old man finally spat. The Seas… unusual invocation. Some sort of Baranian saying, no doubt.
“Desperate, dangerous, and quite out of patience,” Hal said. He programmed a quick message into his Lasian and placed it on the table in the shed and then led Hanzo and hostages back to the farm.

---

“You’re making a mistake!” said the old man, Dreon, struggling against the restraints tying him to one of the two chairs in the guest house. Kirah, tied to the other chair, was quietly sobbing. The sound tore at Hal’s heartstrings. He hated inflicting suffering. But his friends’ lives were on the line. He stood by the door, leaning against the frame, looking out at the setting Magel and Hanzo, who stood, hand on holster, watching the distance.
“Listen to me!” Dreon shouted. Hal ignored him but he continued anyway.
“The devices you stole are… I need to examine them. Please, Citizen… what is your name?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Dreon,” Hal said.
“Why, yes, quite,” said Dreon. Hal raised an eyebrow. Not much sense for sarcasm in the old man. He turned to the hostages.
“You’re not in a position to ask anything of me,” he said.
“Be reasonable, good man. Tell us why you took us at least,” Dreon tried, his Luger accent barely noticeable.
“In absence of amity, it is Majora’s command that undue inflictions shall be returned in kind,” Hal said, quoting the Discipline.
“A man of faith,” said Dreon, swallowing, “I can respect that. You quote a common defense of vengeance. But as neither I nor Kirah have inflicted anything on you, there is no theological consistency in your actions, sir.”
“You have no hair left to split, greener,” Hal spat.
“Greener? Oh I am not green, good man. I am far from green,” Dreon said, his words becoming louder, “In fact I am about to be quite red with frustration at this… inhuman treatment!” he yelled. After a calming sigh, he continued through Hal’s silence.
“You are dooming yourself and all of us to death,” he said. What was this fool talking about now?
“Not the first time,” Hal said.
“This is not like your petty pirate activities, this is not hooliganism. The galaxy itself will fall to ruin and death if you continue this course of action!”
Hal shook his head and chuckled. A delusional old man, a barmaid and a Parishioner. Quite a crew.
“Do not laugh at my warning,” said Dreon, “It is quite prophetic.”
“Have you ever been to Chorus or Viellin?” Hal asked. Dreon, taken aback, did not answer, so Hal continued.
“I have. You’d fit in with the doomsday preachers on every street corner there.”
Dreon scoffed, “I am not a doomsday preacher, you fool!”
“You sound like one,” Hal said. Dreon sighed again and seemed to weigh something in his mind. Before he got the chance to speak again, Hoffenstedt approached from the main house, holding a basket of food and water. Hal stopped the Medicus from entering the guest house with an outstretched arm.
“What are you doing?” he asked. Hoffenstedt directed a stern gaze at Hal.
“Feeding the prisoners,” Hoffenstedt said, “As the Good Lady would have me do.”
“Not now,” Hal said.
“Yes, now, Henry,” said Hoffenstedt, “Do not forget what separates us from the War Dog.”
Olgrin’s pet name was well earned, Hal remembered. What harm could it be? At the least it would shut up Dreon. He nodded and allowed Hoffenstedt to pass. He walked into the house’s common room and Hal immediately regretted his decision.
“You are Medicus Percival Hoffenstedt!” Dreon said loudly. Even Kirah raised her head and paused her crying.
“The self-same,” Hoffenstedt said, setting the basket on the table.
“Majora damn you, Percy,” Hal muttered, then joined him at the table. He wondered in this moment why he allowed someone as famous as Hoffenstedt to travel with him. Then he remembered the countless times the old man had saved the lives of many of his crew, including himself.
“You are a man of science, yes?” Dreon asked.
“At this time, I am a server of food and at all times, I am a keeper of the Discipline of Majora’s Mandate,” Hoffenstedt said as he cut some sort of local fruit into small pieces. Hal smiled. Good to see Hoffenstedt resist Dreon’s attempts at familiarity.
“I am Dreon Terghon,” Dreon said, “Doctor Terghon, that is.”
Hoffenstedt paused his cutting.
“Doctor,” he mirrored, “An old word, is it not?”
“As old as Baranis itself,” Dreon said, smiling now that someone was listening to him. Hoffenstedt looked at Hal’s questioning face.
“A title similar to a Mathex in the Empire,” he explained.
“Medicus, please make this individual see reason,” Dreon tried, “The fate of the very galaxy is in peril.”
“Do not ask me to move mountains, Doctor,” Hoffenstedt said. Dreon sighed. The sound started grating on Hal’s nerves.
“I will be content with you listening, then,” Dreon said, “My… colleagues and I… We have discovered a substantial threat to the galaxy.”
“Of what nature?” Hoffenstedt asked.
“That is a very very long story,” Dreon said, “But in short, there is an enemy in existence which threatens to end this species.”
Hoffenstedt gently fed fruit pieces to Kirah who accepted them gladly.
“Such an enemy would be the first of its kind,” he said.
“The enemy is older than both Empires,” Dreon said. Hoffenstedt paused, then turned to the Doctor.
“Impossible,” he said.
“I know it goes against your Discipline,” Dreon said carefully, “but both humanity and this enemy have existed for many millennia longer than it proclaims.”
“You’re speaking heresy,” Hoffenstedt said.
“I know. And I can do so freely because I am not bound by dogma.”
“Speak, then, Doctor,” Hoffenstedt said. Dreon nodded and Hal shook his head. Why would Hoffenstedt listen to this drivel?
“Before the Nuclear Empire and even before the Aldebaran Empire, humanity was confined to just one planet,” Dreon continued, “Here, in the Orion arm. And while confined there, they developed-”
Dreon was interrupted by shouting at the door. Hal rushed outside and saw Hanzo on the ground. A figure had thrown him there and was now on top of him, threatening to slit his throat with… Majora protect them. An Anapareesa battle staff. But the figure wasn’t Lex. It was a man with long, jet black hair. Another Parishioner? Hanzo had his fists clenched in a white-knuckled grip around the staff just behind the blade, a battle of strength he was losing. Hal rushed at the man and slammed into him bodily, throwing him away from Hanzo. Hal fell to the gravel and groaned at pain in his leg and head. The man rolled with the impact and was back on his feet immediately. He rushed for Hanzo, seeing as he drew his gun from his holster. Hal threw his injured leg up and tripped the Parishioner. He stumbled forward but caught himself with the plasma end of his staff. He pivoted on the weapon, then raised it and charged with renewed momentum at Hanzo. The gun was in the air and fired once, twice… The Parishioner was on Hanzo again but was thrown back violently as an immense bang rang out from the main house. Irae stood there, a smoking slug gun in hand. The Parishioner raised the plasma accelerator of his staff and fired at Irae. The shot bathed her in a fiery explosion and she dropped to the ground beside the door. In just a few blinks of the eye, the Parishioner was on Hanzo again. Hanzo was ready now, punched the staff aside. The blade buried itself in the gravel and Hanzo drove his fist into the other man’s already scarred face. It didn’t seem to bother him much. He pulled the blade out of the ground but Hanzo grabbed the staff and punched the man again. The Parishioner leveraged the staff downward and struck Hanzo in the throat with the handle, then choked him with it. Hal, fighting dizziness and waning consciousness, forced himself up again and stumbled across the gravel to the fight. He grabbed the Parishioner by the back of the shoulder and let himself fall backward, pulling the man off of his friend and onto himself. Quick as a viper, the man turned, staff still in hand and plunged the blade into Hal’s shoulder. Like the hand before, it did not hurt but the shock of the sensation made Hal yelp regardless. Adrenaline shot through Hal as he pulled his knee up between the man’s legs. He kicked twice before realizing it had no effect, then the man flew to the side, Hanzo after him. The Parishioner rolled into his feet again immediately and lashed at Hanzo who dodged one swipe, then another. After the third, Hanzo moved in and delivered a right hook to the man’s face before jumping back again. Hal saw two Hanzos and two Parishioners now. Both engaged in a struggle for dominance. Hanzo depleted his energy dodging swipes of the staff, landing few but powerful hits to the man’s torso and face. One wrong move. The staff came around again, low and unexpected. It cut straight through Hanzo’s leg and severed it below the knee. Hanzo screamed and fell to the ground. Hal tried to get up but his body barely listened to his brain’s commands now. He writhed on the floor, watching as Hanzo clutched the stump of his leg. The Parishioner walked, almost casually, to stand over him, and held the blade to Hal’s throat.
“Where is the Empress?” he asked. The voice was cold, raspy. It made a shiver run down Hal’s back. He coughed blood onto the ground.
“Who?” he asked weakly. The blade now touched the skin of his neck, cutting skin-deep.
“The Empress.”
The blade disappeared suddenly. So did the Parishioner’s chest. Replaced by a hot white flash of plasma, exploding charred bits and gore onto Hal’s face. A second explosion took off the man’s head and Hal watched in delirious awe as the headless corpse stumbled backwards two paces before falling into the gravel with a wet thump. With the last of his strength, Hal raised his head and saw Lex standing before him, Mort and Masiva at her side. Masiva rushed to him and held his head in her hand, her face contorted and her eyes watery. His vision narrowed. The house disappeared. Mort was gone. The desert fields, gone. Only Masiva’s eyes, green as jade, then nothingness.
Then, pain. First in his head, then his leg, then his shoulder, then… There was a needle in his arm. Full awareness, immediate like the blink of an eye. The world was bright and shimmered and he sat up, then felt his heart and sweat on his brow. Hoffenstedt kneeled beside him and pressed his hand on Hal’s shoulder wound. The needle… Something intense, something fast and incredibly intense. Pure adrenaline, Hal thought as he sat in the gravel, his head clear and his heart pounding like a faulty Brunswig engine, pulsing at speeds he had never imagined before. Almost instinctively, he yanked the needle from his arm. Flashes of broken memories played in his head. So many needles, so many bottles. He threw the cursed thing and watched it skid across the gravel. What had Hoffenstedt done?
“You need to stay awake,” Hoffenstedt yelled, “Do you hear me, Henry?”
“I hear you,” Hal said, raising a hand shaking like a vibrator.
“Keep pressure on this,” Hoffenstedt said, grabbing Hal’s hand and placing it on his shoulder. Hal pressed and produced immense strength out of nothing, to his own surprise
“I need to tend to Hanzo. You need to stay awake!” Hoffenstedt yelled as he rushed to Hanzo. Hal watched as he tied a tourniquet around his friend’s leg. He pointed to Lex who stood nearby over the charred corpse of the other Parishioner.
“You! Cauterize this wound!” he yelled. Lex nodded and rushed over. She pulled her blaster and shot it in the dirt next to Hanzo’s stump. The wound was cauterized instantly. Hoffenstedt plunged a needle into Hanzo’s arm and Hal watched as he, too, suddenly sat up, looking around confused. Again, flashes of Hal, needles in his arm, crawling barely aware through the streets of Korslaw’s lower city, then Chorus and Saldep. Finding the Oasis, healing himself through healing her. He regarded the tiny puncture in his arm. Please, Majora, not again.
“Stay awake, Hanzo,” Hoffenstedt yelled, “Keep this tourniquet tight!”
Hoffenstedt grabbed his bag and ran to the door of the house to tend to Irae. Hal’s newfound awareness suddenly compelled him to look around, take in his surroundings. What seemed familiar before was alien. The wood of the house swirled and twisted and the Paralaexon was in it, tendrils reaching out. A hand pulled his head to the side. Masiva’s hand, directing his attention to her face, her eyes. She spoke with the voice of Majora herself.
“Henry,” she said, “You’ll be okay.”
She didn’t believe her own words. She said them for his benefit. Her voice soothed him. Not the pain or the abject fear for Hanzo or the shock at the reality of what had happened. But something in him calmed. The flashes stopped, back in the moment.
“Sure,” he said, “Yes, I’m fine, I’m-” he coughed up blood, “I’m okay. Everything will be…” he realized he was babbling and stopped himself. He saw Mort kneeling with Hanzo, patting him on the back too hard. Hal swallowed but his mouth was dry. His gaze wandered again. He saw Mary at the door to the house, now holding Irae in her arms, carrying her inside.
“Is she okay?” Hanzo asked loudly. He tried getting up, forgetting what he had lost. Mort pulled him back on his ass. Hoffenstedt rushed back to him.
“Yes,” he said, “Minor burns.”
Hanzo’s relief was so great that Hal felt it in himself. Mary appeared again, between Hanzo and Hal and couldn’t decide who to help, how to help. Hoffenstedt uncorked vials of medicine meant for injection and poured them over Hanzo’s stump. Lex walked past the scene and Hal followed her with his eyes, then with his head to the body in the dirt. A sudden energy forced him to his feet, pain forgotten, pushed aside for an emotion. One emotion, then two, vying for control. The rage pulled each leg in front of the other as he walked to the corpse, compelled him to kick it over and over and over again. He tried spitting on it but his mouth was dry which he remembered noticing earlier. Then the other emotion, as Masiva appeared at his side, her hands around his body, one pressed against his shoulder wound which he had neglected. He let himself melt into her, closed his eyes and sank back to the ground, leaned into her, felt her touch. She held him, then raised him back to his feet.

Hal had trouble keeping track of time in his state but after his body had flushed out most of whatever Hoffenstedt had administered, he sat in the main house living room, eyelids heavy and pain in his head. All of the others sat on various pieces of furniture around them. Even Kirah and Dreon had been freed, presumably by Lex who remained standing. Hanzo lay on a couch, his stump elevated on the armrest. He didn’t seem like he was in much pain. Everyone seemed to wait for Hal to speak. He raised his arms and let them fall in a deflated shrug, then rubbed his forehead.
“Well,” he said, looking at Lex, “We have your devices.”
“We need them back,” she said.
“First, I need to know what happened,” Hal said, more animated. He leaned forward and looked at Mort.
“What happened after the tavern?” he asked.
Mort shrugged, “I ran, with Mas. Eventually, she cornered us,” he pointed to Lex.
“And she… explained some things,” Masiva said. Hal chuckled humorlessly and regarded the Parishioner.
“So, what, you try to kill me but with them, you’re in a talking mood?” he asked.
“I had a change of heart,” she said, “I can kill them now, if you prefer.”
Hal shook his head, “So what did you explain to them?”
“It’s best if the Doctor explains it,” Lex said, gesturing toward the old man who was presently eating the fruit cut for him earlier. He swallowed a piece, then jumped to his feet.
“Indeed,” he said, “Now you will listen?”
“Sure,” Hal said, “Tell us your doomsday shit.”
“It’s far from… shit. Well, it is shit, but not bullshit. At least by the common connotation of the word. My Contra is not the best, I do-”
“Doctor,” Lex said, “Focus.”
“Yes, yes of course. The devices you callously stole from us are very old. Ancient in origin. From early in humanity’s history.”
“The Sumptus?” Hanzo asked.
“Earlier,” said Dreon, “Much earlier.”
“How is that possible?” asked Hal.
“Why would it not be? Your Discipline is a fiction.”
“Let’s cool it with the blasphemy,” Hanzo said.
“Allow me to speak freely or I will not speak at all,” Dreon said. Hal nodded for him to continue.
“I don’t know the whole story. What I know is that there is a star system quite close to Aldebaran. It houses… machines.”
“Most star systems do,” Hal said.
“Not like that. These machines are self-replicating. They once had a purpose but it seems to have been replaced by a new one: The destruction of everything human.”
“The Navy will destroy them if they try.”
“The Nuclear Navy has tried,” Dreon said, “The machines are the ones who destroyed the Emperor’s flagship.”
Hal nodded. The ship was destroyed in the Orion arm according to news feeds. Location fits. But it was reported that Baranian pirates had done the deed.
“So they destroyed one ship. The Navy can muster hundreds of thousands,” Hal said.
“The machines number in the trillions,” Dreon said dryly.
“What are they ant-sized?” Mort asked, chuckling.
“They come in various sizes. Some are as small as a Brunswig, others larger than some moons,” said Dreon.
Hal remembered something. An attack, right after Skip was injured. The Oasis accosted by… he didn’t know. A question burned on his mind.
“What do they look like?” he asked.
Dreon raised his hands and cupped them together into a ball.
“They have a bulbous sphere at their front which is trailed by mechanical tendrils and some sort of reactionless drive projector. The front of the bulb has a red eye in it.”
A perfect description of what Hal had seen on the monitor that day.
“I think we’ve seen them,” Hal said and explained what had happened to those who hadn’t been present.
“Remarkable!” Dreon said, “You are the first vessel I’ve heard of that has survived an encounter. The sensor data will be invaluable for my research!”
“There won’t be much, we booked it immediately,” Hal said.
“A small amount is more than none at all,” Dreon said. Hal nodded, then gestured vaguely in the direction of Gors Velen.
“What does all of that have to do with the devices?” he asked.
“They seem to be transmitters of some sort. Benign when deactivated, but if active, they transmit a signal. A sort of phone-home message, letting the machines know where they are.”
“The one we had was active,” Hal said. He didn’t know what to believe.
“Now you know why I had to take it from you,” Lex said.
“Assuming I believe all of this,” Hal said, “What does it mean for us?”
“It means you can give us the device now,” said Dreon, “And we can turn it off.”
Hal’s brow furrowed. What did he mean give it to him?
“I’m confused,” Hal said, “You have it, don’t you? Or had. All the devices we took were inactive.”
Dreon and Lex exchanged a glance, then both shook their heads.
“We don’t have your device,” Lex said.
“But…” Hal looked to Mort, “You didn’t give it to her?” he asked. Mort shrugged.
“I never managed to pick it up. I thought you had it,” he said. Hal looked to Masiva.
“Me neither,” she said. Had he really missed the device on the floor of the tavern after the fight? He was sure Mort had taken it.
“Well shit,” Hal said, “Majora knows where it is now.”
“You didn’t pick it up?” Mort asked incredulously.
“I was bleeding out,” Hal said sharply, “Concussed, too,” he threw an accusatory glance at Lex, “Thanks to this Parishioner.”
Lex frowned, “I’m not a Parishioner,” she said, “Not anymore.”
“Could have fooled me,” Hal said, then sighed, “Anyway, sorry to disappoint.”
Dreon ran a hand through his short frazzled hair, clearly in distress. He believed his own story wholeheartedly.
“We need to find it,” he said, “The fate of this entire planet is at stake!”
“Look, Doctor,” Hal said, “I’m sure to you, this is all very real-”
“Not just to me!” said Dreon, “I described them to you, you’ve seen them!”
“What I saw was a blurry image on a monitor,” Hal said, “Not a world-ending menace.”
“Please,” Dreon said, “I beg of you. All of you,” he looked around, “Please help me find the device. We are as good as dead if we don’t.”
Hal mulled over the thought. Neither he nor Hanzo were in any shape to fight. Lex on the other hand…
“Would you help? Without trying to kill us again?” he asked.
“What do you think I’ve been doing here for the last few months?” she asked, “You’ve seen my lair, as you put it.”
As Hal looked at Hanzo’s missing leg, another question burned on his tongue.
“None of this explains who that other Parishioner was. The smoldering corpse outside,” he said.
“Great fertilizer,” Hanzo spat.
Lex looked away, stole a glance at Kirah, then spoke.
“Personal business,” she said, “It’s taken care of now.”
“If your personal business gets us stabbed and mutilated, then it’s our business, too,” said Hal.
“Not my personal business,” Lex said, “And it is taken care of.”
Kirah’s personal business? She was just a barmaid. What had she gotten herself mixed up in? Why did he ask for an Empress?
“If you want our help, we need to know,” he said. Kirah suddenly stepped forward between them and raised her arms.
“I…” she began, “The Parishioner was here for me. He’s been hunting me for weeks. Lex protected me. When you took me, he must have been watching.”
“Why would a Parishioner hunt a random girl here in Prughlogh?” Hanzo asked.
“It’s a very long story and I promise I will tell you once we find the device,” she said.
Hal was tired and dizzy, so he nodded.
“Where should we even start looking?” Hal asked.
Hanzo scoffed, “Are you believing this nonsense?”
“Not one word,” Hal said, although he wasn’t so sure.
“Then why are we supposed to help this psychopath?” he pointed at Lex.
“I think they’re telling the truth,” Mort said quietly.
“Me, too,” Masiva said.
Hal looked at them in turn, “You do?”
Masiva nodded, “She showed us,” she said, “They found fragments of these machines.”
“Fragments?” Hal asked, “Where, when?”
“There is a mine here,” said Dreon, “It was closed many years ago because of a collapse.”
“No, the mine is closed because it’s depleted,” Hanzo said.
“That’s what the spelunkers told people,” said Dreon, “But there was more to it. They found fragments of a machine buried deep in the ground. The fragments were not active but they had an effect on the spelunkers. They took them, closed the mine. This is how the cult started.”
“What cult?” Hal asked.
“There is much more to this story than you think, Captain,” Dreon said, “There are subversive elements within the Empire who have sided with the machines. The spelunkers here in Prughlogh were among the first of this group.”
Hal’s head was spinning. If that was true, was Bergen one of them? Was Redding who had styled herself a Kurzon? He remembered the crazed, fanatical response of one of the invaders on Supremus Prime before Hanzo had killed him.
“If Mort believes them, so do I,” said Mary. Hanzo shook his head, then nodded.
“Me, too,” he said. Hal nodded as well. Mort was simultaneously the most grounded person Hal knew and the most knowledgeable about technology.
“Fine,” Hal said, “I suggest we start looking at Frengo’s. With any luck, your colleague, the skinny one, picked it up,” he looked to Kirah.
“Ighnebad,” she said, “That’s his name.”

As the others prepared, Hal’s head felt like a Brunswig had parked on it. He took Hoffenstedt aside, led him to one of the bedrooms.
“Percy, I need another shot of that stuff you gave me,” Hal said. There was no way he could keep up with the mission in his state. Hoffenstedt grimaced.
“No,” he said simply.
“I can’t work like this. Everything is spinning,” Hal said.
“You are experiencing withdrawal,” Hoffenstedt said.
“From one dose? Come on Percy-”
“It wasn’t your first, was it, Henry?”
“First in two decades,” Hal said, “And I think saving this planet is more important than my fucking history right now, no?”
Hoffenstedt looked down, deep in thought. Then he unpacked his bag, pulled out an ampule and a syringe, withdrawing some of the liquid into it. He placed it on a bedside table.
“I am not your keeper,” said the old man, “But I will also not be your enabler.”
He left the room and joined the others outside. Hal looked at the syringe, but his mind was too washed out to think. He tried to focus on its design but all he saw was salvation. He tried to look away, studied the bed. It was built… out of wood. Nails may have been involved. He shook his head. This was not him. He needed to be clear-headed. He removed one of the pillows from its case and tied the fabric around his arm as he sat. Pumping his fist, he grabbed the syringe. He was on autopilot now. Nothing could stop him. He sank the needle into one of his veins. Just one push and the fog would clear, the world would come into focus and he could do once again what he did. Lead a band of misfits through whatever Majora threw at them. His finger rested on the plunger. The door suddenly swung open.
“Henry, I was thinking, maybe we could-” Masiva’s voice ripped him in two. He looked up at her shocked face in shame. She stood there, breathed heavily, then closed the door behind her.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice trembling, “Please don’t.”
Hal looked down at his arm, “I… It’s not…”
Not what it looked like? What a trite cliché. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Masiva slowly approached him.
“Henry, it’s not too late. Pull it out,” she said, her voice one of concern and kindness. He couldn’t hear what he expected. No disappointment, no judgment. She knelt in front of him, wrapped her hands around his forearm and forced him to look into her eyes. Those eyes. Without words, she pulled his arm away from the plunger and he let her. What was happening? Where was the autopilot? Where was that demon that drove him? She gently pulled the syringe out of his arm and placed it on the bedside table, then sat beside him on the bed. She pulled him into a hug and finally spoke as tears welled in his eyes.
“I killed Saldep,” he said, “I can’t… I can’t let that happen to this planet, too.”
“You killed nobody,” Masiva said.
“It was my ambitions that allowed it to happen,” he said, “My… zeal.”
Tears ran down his face now, soaking into Masiva’s robe.
“Do you know who you are?” she asked gently into his ear, “To me? To us?”
He sobbed as she continued.
“You are a friend to Hanzo. The best he’s ever had. The only one who never judged him for his past. To Mary, you are a haven away from her home. To Mort, you’re the best friend he could have ever hoped for after all he went through.”
She moved back, took his head into her hands.
“To all of us, you’re a teacher. You showed us that we can work together, despite differences. That family doesn’t mean blood. To the Oasis, you’re what you always were. The greatest Engineer in the Empire.”
She touched her forehead to his.
“And to me, Henry Michalchuk, you’re everything,” she said, their noses touching. Something broke free inside him. Somewhere deep inside, locked in a prison for decades, someone broke out. A man called Henry rose up with fervor, and filled out the shell that had borne his name for so long.
“I love you,” she said, then kissed him. Henry felt like himself. For the first time in 25 years, Henry was Henry. No demon to apologize to. Not the haunting faces of billions. He kissed her back and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t have to allow himself to love her back now. He just did. His mind was focused like it hadn’t been for so long. His focus on her, relishing the kiss, feeling her against him. His stomach, usually heavy, felt light. Eternities passed as they kissed, a moment so perfect that time bowed to it. Masiva leaned into him and he fell back on the bed. He took her face into his hands now and held it, looked into her eyes.
“I love you, too,” he said before kissing her again.

Hal had forgotten what it felt like to make love. Masiva reminded him over the next half an hour exactly what it was to be one with a person. To be connected on the deepest level, not by responsibility and regret but by love and respect and appreciation. As they lay in each other’s arms, still panting, Masiva, smelling of perfume and sweat, whispered in his ear.
“You think they heard us?” she asked. Hal chuckled.
“I think they may have heard you,” he said. He looked into her eyes, “Thank you.”
“You have nothing to thank me for,” she said and looked away for an instant. She was weighing something in her mind but quickly decided to tell him.
“Percy sent me in here, you know?” she said. Hal smiled. He couldn’t help it. It didn’t seem like Hoffenstedt to allow him to destroy himself. But Hoffenstedt always knew how to get through to him, or in this case, who could.
“Of course he did,” Hal said, “We should name our firstborn after him.”
“Really? Percival is a weird name for a girl,” she chuckled.
“Percy works, right?” he said.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Someone knocked on the door carefully. Mary’s voice sounded through it.
“Not that I’m not happy for you but we do have a planet to save,” she said.
“Sounds like they did hear us,” Hal said.
They rose and dressed. Hal pulled on his boots and jacket and picked up the syringe that still rested on the bedside table. Masiva looked at him, a small hint of concern on her face. With contempt, almost visceral hatred, he dropped the infernal instrument on the floor and stomped it with the heel of his boot. It shattered instantly, the liquid inside spreading on the floor and soaking into the wood. Masiva smiled at him, kissed him and left the room before him. He breathed for a couple of moments, then followed.

Mort waited for him in the living room and hugged him tight. An unspoken conversation between them expressed pride and happiness. Hal broke the hug when he saw Junker kneeling before Hanzo on the couch, tightening the screws on a contraption.
“We called him to throw together a prosthetic,” Mary said.
“Good thinking,” Hal said, “Where are Lex and her uh… friends?”
“Outside, getting rid of you-know-what,” Hanzo said, pointing toward the door. Hal smelled something new. He recognized it as something made from fungus being cooked. Irae was working in the kitchen. When she heard Hal speak, she turned to him.
“I’m billing you for stains,” she said.
“Good to see you up, Irae,” Hal replied, “I don’t think we’ll have time to eat though.”
“It’s for the kids,” she said, pointing at the dinner table where Hanzo’s boys sat. Hal waved at them. Rakau, only 8 years old, waved back while 16-year-old Pollon looked at him skeptically.
“What happened to you, Hal?” he asked.
“Same thing that happened to your dad,” said Hal.
“He won’t tell either,” said Pollon.
“Then my lips are sealed,” Hal said, “Sorry buddy.”
“Can we see the Oasis?” asked Rakau. Hal exchanged a glance with Hanzo who nodded but made sure to double check with Irae. He threw a questioning glance at her. She looked at him sternly, then at her son.
“We can take a look later. Breakfast first,” she said.
“All done!” Junker said, standing and marveling at his own work. A crude steel contraption was attached to Hanzo’s leg like a gantry. He slowly rose and put some weight on it. His face momentarily betrayed the immense pain it caused but he quickly dismissed it.
“Works like a charm, old boy,” he said.
Hal regarded the structural design of the device, if for nothing else than to test his newfound clarity. A metal cuff was tightened around Hanzo’s stump with a screw. From it, two metal pipes protruded downward, terminating in a plate which had a central peg welded to it. The ‘foot’ ended in a small rubber door stop.
“Has Percy had a look at this thing?” Hal asked.
“He said it would be functional,” Mary said. Hal knelt next to Hanzo’s foot and beckoned Junker down with him. He pointed to one of the pipes.
“See how this thing is flexing under the weight? On this side, too. It’s squeezing the cuff. Can you scrounge up a cross-beam for these pipes?”
“He said it works like a charm,” Junker said.
“Hanzo is too nice to tell you to fuck off, Junker,” Hal said, patting the scrap trader on the back with a smile. He rolled his eyes but nodded.
“Sure I have something to weld in between there,” he said before heading outside to his abomination of a Brunswig to collect parts.
“Sit down, Hanzo,” Hal said, pushing his friend back down on the couch. He used one of Junker’s tools to loosen the cuff and slipped it off the leg. Masiva watched him as he worked, sizing up the contraption, doing stress tests on the material in his mind. He used the sharp end of a driver to mark two positions on each pipe. Ordinary steel, very weak wall strength. Old liquid piping or something like that. He retrieved the pillowcase he had taken off the bedroom pillow earlier. Pristine white fabric. He rubbed it on the pipes vigorously for a few seconds, then looked at it. No staining, no lead. Good news. Junker returned with some pieces of metal and a small spot welder.
“See these markings?” Hal said, pointing them out, “The cross brace needs to go there. They’re the points of maximum flexure.”
He watched as Junker welded a cross brace between the two marked spots. Hanzo tried on the leg again and this time stood without grimacing.
“Whoa,” he said, “Now that’s much better!”
Masiva hugged Hal from behind, kissed him on the neck.
“Citizen Engineer,” she whispered in his ear. He shivered from the goosebumps he got.
“You two make me sick,” Mort said jokingly as he walked past them.
“We’ll find you a wench, too,” Masiva called after him as he left the house. He returned just seconds afterward, with Lex in tow. She paused momentarily, seeing Hal and Masiva close.
“I didn’t know you were intimate with each other,” she said.
“Neither did we, for the longest time,” Hal said, smiling at Masiva. He felt like a teenager in love for the first time. He leaned into the feeling, tested it. No backlash. No demon. Oxytocin was a damn effective drug.
“Kirah has gone back to the tavern. She’s asking the regulars about the device,” Lex said matter-of-factly. Hal raised his eyebrows.
“Is that a good idea?” he asked.
“Relax. They love her there,” Lex said. He saw her smile for the first time. It looked alien on her face, like she had learned to smile instead of doing it instinctually.

The tavern was filled, as it was almost always, by patrons. Kirah scurried from table to table, sweet-talking the occupants, offering free drinks and hot food. When Hal and the rest of his growing band of misfits arrived, she stood behind the bar, a solemn look on her face.
“No luck, I take it,” Hal said.
“They all claim nobody even saw it,” she said, frustration in her voice. Dreon’s dark complexion turned almost entirely pale as he ran his hands through his hair over and over again.
“We’ll find it,” Lex said, laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Your optimism is as fake as it is misguided,” said the old Doctor. Without another word, he pulled one of the stools away from the bar and stood on it.
“Dear gentle people of this town,” he said loudly. Everyone ignored him.
“Please, lend me your ears for just a moment,” he tried. The murmurs around him became louder, as if in protest to his interruption. Lex shook her head and pulled her blaster out of her holster. What in the void was she doing now? Hal grabbed her hand.
“Don’t start killing people again,” he said. She looked at him with offense.
“I’m not going to kill anyone,” she said quietly before yanking her arm out of his grasp. She raised it and released one weak shot into the ceiling. The noise was substantial but the damage to the wood minimal.
“Listen up, you bunch of ingrates,” she yelled suddenly. All eyes were on her.
“This man has something important to say and you’d better listen!”
Dreon nodded to her in thanks and continued his spiel.
“Dear patrons,” he said, “we are searching for an item of utmost importance. A device, cryptonic in nature, with symbols displayed on it I would wager the current owner does not understand. This device has no value to you but it is a matter of life and death that we have it.”
“How much is it worth to you?” yelled a man from somewhere around him. Lex immediately fixed him with a stare and walked to his table.
“Do you have it?” she asked. The man squinted at her.
“Do you have hardcoin?” he asked. She pointed at Hal and Mort.
“Remember what I did to them last time we were all here together?” she said. The man gulped but seemed to resist her intimidation.
“This is Prughlogh,” he said, “You want something, you pay for it.”
“Here’s your payment,” said Lex before pointing the plasma end of her staff at the man, “You give me the device and your payment is your own head, still firmly attached to that distasteful body of yours.”
The man looked around, seemingly for help. Nobody even reacted.
“You know how this tavern works,” Lex said, “And I think you know how distasteful I find all this. I think you know I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t important. But I also think you know that I don’t make idle threats.”
The man raised his hands, “I don’t have it,” he said, “I was uh…”
“You were trying to scam me, were you?”
“Y- yes,” he admitted.
“Not the smartest decision you ever made, was it?”
“No, I- I reckon not.”
“What did we learn from this encounter?” she asked.
“Don’t scam people?” the man tried. Lex grunted in acknowledgment before lowering her staff. She turned to the room.
“Whoever has the item described by the old man, raise your hand now,” she said, “If you feel like you want to be smart and keep your mouth shut, think,” she raised her staff again, “You all know what this weapon is, so you all know the skills I learned from childhood. You all know my disposition and my zeal. Even if you haven’t had the distinct pleasure of a personal talk with me, this staff should tell you all there is to know. Ask yourself if you can sell an item that I want in this small little town under my nose… without me knowing.”
Many of the patrons nodded but nobody raised their hand. Hal had to hand it to Lex, she had quite the presence. Hoffenstedt seemed to appreciate her methods, judging by the look on his face. Masiva, who stood by Hal’s side, her hand in his, squeezed slightly at Lex’s words. Hanzo slowly walked next to Lex, his new metal leg thumping with every step.
“You all know me. You all eat my food and drink my beverages,” he said, “Most of you know how I am in a brawl,” he raised his leg, “This here was done by a Parishioner. Someone like her. She killed him in one strike.”
Still no hands. Hal joined them, Masiva following as she did not want to let go.
“Hi,” he said, “I’m Hal. Some of you may know me, I show up every few months. I’m not gonna lie, we’re in a bit of a bind here. These two,” he pointed to Hanzo and Lex, “threaten violence. All I can do here is appeal to the opposite. The man on the stool doesn’t lie. A great deal of violence and destruction will befall this town, and the entire planet, if that thing isn’t turned off. If you have it, you can keep it. Just let us turn it off. That’s all we ask.”
No hands. Deflated, Dreon climbed off the stool and sat on it by the bar. Hal and the others joined him there. As Hal sat, he saw the door behind the bar, slightly ajar.
“Where is your friend,” he asked Kirah, “What was his name? Ighnebad?” he probably butchered the pronunciation. Kirah shrugged.
“He hasn’t been here today,” she said, “The patrons usually just fill their own tankards when nobody’s here.”
“If nobody here has it and the only person not here is him, maybe this would have been useful information to disclose of your own volition,” said Dreon.
“I would have,” she spat, “But your speech was so enthralling.”
“Bah!” Dreon exclaimed, “You ought to respect the art of speech, child.”
Hal turned Hoffenstedt and whispered to him, “Did they clone you Percy? Old experiment gone wrong?”
Hoffenstedt actually chuckled.
“No clone of mine would forsake Majora,” he said.
“Let’s go look for this guy, then,” Hal said to the group.

Junker’s abominable machine stood ready for them and they all piled into the back. Even with Lex, Dreon and Kirah added to the group, there was plenty of space left in the back. They sped off with eardrum shattering roaring towards Gors-Velen where Kirah thought Ighnebad lived.
“So,” Mary said to Lex, “What’s your story?”
“My story?”
“I’ve never heard of a Parishioner leaving the Anapareesa,” Mary said. She was right, neither had Hal.
“You have now,” said Lex.
“How did that happen?” Mary asked. Lex did not answer. Masiva, even while still tense, joined.
“Is it true that they make kids fight each other?” she asked. Lex nodded without looking up.
“Yeah,” she said, “They call it training.”
“That’s terrible,” Mary said.
“Not cozy like Baranis, is it?” Lex said. Mary frowned.
“Trust me, Baranis wasn’t always cozy,” she said.
“I get it,” said Lex, “Sometimes you had to walk through the lush gardens instead of being chauffeured.”
“Sometimes, the shields fail and millions of people are cooked in an instant,” Mary said.
Lex chuckled, “That’s what happens when you defy nature. Sometimes it feels like defying you back.”
Mary nodded to Hal’s surprise, “I suppose so.”
“So, you just left the order?” Masiva asked, “Didn’t they, I don’t know, try to stop you?”
“Oh they tried,” said Lex, “There is no love lost between me and them.”
“And now you just help old men fight machines?” asked Hanzo.
“My latest endeavor,” she said, “Thanks to him,” she pointed at Dreon. Everyone’s gaze shifted to the old man, making him visibly uncomfortable.
“So, Doctor,” Hal said, “What’s your story?” he mirrored Mary’s question. Dreon squirmed.
“Nothing so poetic,” he said, “Nothing worthy of discourse.”
“How did you learn so much about these machines?” Hal asked. The whole thing wasn’t quite real in his mind yet.
“Studious hours spent in contemplation and research,” said Dreon, “Many a night, I spent with naught but cryptonic manuscripts. Not an iota of sleep, nor a woman to warm my loins-”
“Okay, okay,” Hal said, waving him off, “Your loins are your business.”
“Once there was a man, younger than I and quite naive,” Dreon said almost too quietly to hear over the engine, “And he was moronically mistaken. Now that man is I, burdened by knowledge so terrible…”
He drifted off into unintelligible mutterings. Then, Junker’s Brunswig ground to a halt with a mighty jolt. Hal climbed to the front and looked out through the windshield.
“What is it?” he asked. In the distance, the skyline of Gors-Velen loomed tall and clouded in smog, shimmering slightly in the desert heat. Junker pointed upward.
“What in the un-world is that thing?” he asked. Hal followed his pointing finger as the rest of the crew bunched up behind them. There was a dot in the sky above the city. Small and unassuming.
“It’s just a ship coming down,” Hal said. Junker shook his head.
“Look,” he said, pointing again.
Hal squinted and saw it. It wasn’t just one dot, not one ship. It was dozens. With every blink of his eyes, more appeared, punching through the clouds like meteors. As they descended, red streaks emanated from their fronts, hitting buildings below. Smoke billowed up from them. Seconds later, pops of distant explosions reached the crew, one, two, then ten, dozens more at once.
“By the Seas,” Dreon said, “It’s them.”

Hal’s mind raced. In an instant, Dreon’s story was made real in front of his eyes. The same red bolts that had accosted the Oasis after Skip’s accident. He remembered the wounds that had destroyed the Xhokhal, the strange frazzled edges of the impacts and as he saw the lightning-like attacks now, it made sense. Not kinetic projectiles, not heat based particle weapons. Electricity itself had effectively spark machined the Xhokhal in half. Now the same machines were doing the same to Gors-Velen. If Dreon’s story held the full truth, there was only one thing to do now.
“Junker, keep driving,” he said. Junker looked at him like he’d seen a ghost.
“What? Towards that?” he asked.
“We need to get to the Oasis,” Hal said. He wouldn’t lose her. Not now. Not after he had just learned to love again. In the distance, larger machines now emerged from the smoggy sky. An order of magnitude larger than their small counterparts, they rained hellfire on the city.
“Drive, Junker, drive!” Hal said again. Junker started the engine and punched the accelerator. Soon, the sound of explosions became louder than the engine of the Brunswig. Gors-Velen grew before them even as it was decimated. Hal prayed to Majora that the Oasis was okay. As they entered the outskirts, Brunswigs as well as people sped past them in the opposite direction. Hanzo appeared next to Hal’s face.
“Boss,” he said, “My family…”
“We’ll get them,” Hal said, “We’ll get them with the ship.”
“You want to land the Oasis in Prughlogh?” Hanzo asked.
“Yes,” Hal said. An explosion shook the cabin of the Brunswig.
“The hull,” Hanzo said, “We can’t, it’ll-”
“Look at that,” Hal said, pointing to a large machine, the size of a Nuclear Destroyer, descending above the town, “We need to leave the planet,” he finished.
“I agree,” Hanzo said, “But the people in Prughlogh… They don’t have hazmat suits.”
“Neither do we,” Hal said, “And it’s okay. They’re a precaution. Hold your breath-”
He turned to the whole group. He had to be a leader now.
“All of you listen,” he said, “We’re going to the Oasis. When we get there, you hold your breath while we board, understood?”
Everyone nodded except Dreon who was transfixed by the sky.
“Doctor!” Hal yelled, “Did you hear what I said?”
Dreon’s terrified face, drenched in sweat, nodded at him.
“Hold breath,” he said, “I heard.”
“Good. Once you get inside, you head to your cabins,” Hal continued, “Masiva, you head to mine, Mary and Kirah, you both head to Mary’s cabin, Lex and Hanzo, you go to Hanzo’s cabin and Hoffenstedt will drag the Doctor to his cabin. Junker, you go to Skip’s old cabin. Once you get there, you immediately jump in the shower. Throw your clothes in the recycling chute. Mort, you head to the engine bay immediately and fire up the reactor and I’ll fly us out of here.”
Masiva’s face, filled with concern, looked into Hal’s soul.
“What about you?” she said, “You and Mort will be poisoned.”
“We’ll survive,” Hal said, pretending to be sure. In truth, a class-6 hull was not safe to be around even for moments. He was confident the others would be fine with an immediate shower but someone had to turn on and fly the ship. Mort knew the risk but he nodded in knowing confidence.
“Please, Henry, there has to be-” Masiva said but her sentence was cut off by another explosion. Hal moved to her, from handhold to handhold. He sat next to her and hugged her.
“We’ll be okay,” he said into her ear. She shook in his arms. Mary looked at him direly. She had seen class-6 poisonings before. It was not pretty, especially the beryllium.
A machine’s stray bolt impacted the road before them, ripped it to shreds. Junker reacted quickly, swerved onto a side street. He dodged and weaved between fleeing citizens. Hal watched as a Baranian dreadnought rose from the spaceport, now only a few hundred paces in front of them. The immense roar of its engines deafened everyone in the vehicle. A sensation that only worsened as it opened fire immediately on the growing swarm. It raced toward the machines, destroying dozens of them before it banked right, retreating for another run. A machine, one of the small ones, broke from the swarm and followed it. A dozen more followed behind it, all raining red lightning on the ship. The impressive Baranian shields withstood the assault as the ship came about to offer a broadside. It ripped ten, twenty, thirty of the machines out of the sky but each one was instantly replaced from the still growing swarm. Finally, one of the shield panels broke down and the machines did not wait, showed no mercy. As Junker drove them through the gates of the spaceport, Hal’s last view of the sky was filled by the fiery explosion of the Baranian warship.
The spaceport’s entry tunnel was clogged with people seeking refuge from the carnage. Junker stopped his Brunswig and everyone hurried out of it, pushing through the mass of bodies. Hal took the lead but gave Junker a second to say goodbye to his own treasured companion, the Kharkunian machine that he called Polina. He lay a hand on the machine, whispered something to himself, then made to follow Hal and the crew. He felt for him in that moment. His entire body buzzed with the fear that they would turn the corner to see the Oasis shattered into pieces. When he saw her, his heart skipped a beat. She was intact. The only casualties seemed to have been the oil-spraying gantry cranes above her which now rested on the ascending hull. The crane’s integrated pipelines had been ruptured, spilling massive volumes of mineral oil over the ship, coating it in a thick layer of it. The Marth word distoron applied. Luck in the face of despair. The oil would minimize the danger of poisoning for the crew. They raced toward the ship. Other warships had descended from the void and were furiously battling the swarm above Gors-Velen, ripping into the machines with prejudice. Some of them were Nuclear designs Hal recognized, others were Baranian ships. The Nuclear ships were culled, their weaker shields not much of a match against the machines. They did, however, carry elements of the Malus which they deployed liberally. Hal recognized a Zuzinka-class ship releasing a Malus from the dorsal deployment chute.
“Close your eyes!” he yelled to everyone, “Look down and close your eyes now!”
He did as he commanded the others, and was stunned by the immense heat of the atomic explosion in the sky. When he realized he was still alive, seconds later, he opened his eyes to see… Destruction. Pure and serene in its own qualia. A spherical hole had been bombed into the swarm but within seconds, it was filled once again, spreading in all directions.
“Hold your breath and keep running!” Hal said, following his own command. He pulled out his Lasian, sent the command to open the cargo hatch and watched as it descended. Another Malus detonated on the far side of the city. No flash had been visible, shaded entirely by the thick, alien swarm, but the sound was unmistakable. Hal reached the ramp and stopped by the side of it, waving everyone inside. When Mort entered last, he followed him in and punched the button to close the hatch. When he heard it close behind him, he finally dared take a breath. One breath turned into many. It was too late now anyway. He hurried up the stairs, through the crew corridor and into the cockpit. As he sat, the ship shuddered with another massive explosion. The cockpit was bathed in white light for a moment as a Dolset-class Nuclear frigate lost her battle above the spaceport.
“Take them, one and all,” Hal said to himself as he pushed buttons and activated screens, “You won’t take this one.”
The cockpit sprang to life as the Dolset’s hull rained in chunks onto other ships trying to escape. Many of them, small civilian barges, some Nuclear designs, were crushed mercilessly, others, mostly Baranian ships, shrugged off the impacts, turning them into energy to flee faster. He wished the Oasis had time to spool up her shield array but there was no point. He punched a button and typed a code into a keypad to open a channel to Mort in the engine bay.
“Mordecai, my brother,” he said, “Status?”
Mort’s voice crackled through the speaker behind the canopy, “I got her purring,” he said. Hal disengaged the parking safety with a lever and immediately thrust upward. An infernal screeching sound marked the gantry cranes sliding off the hull but the Oasis ascended. He turned her main drive toward the ground and away from the swarm and punched the throttle to full. With a power he did not expect, the Oasis raced toward the horizon. Mort knew what he was doing. A monitor showed the view behind the ship. Several dozens of the machines immediately took notice and broke from the swarm to follow them. Shit. The guns weren’t manned and there was nobody in a position to man them now. Hal weaved a spiral path through the air, using all the piloting training he remembered to shake a tail. But the machines were small, nimble… And now they were firing on the Oasis. Red bolts whizzed past the canopy on all sides. One of them impacted the dorsal hull, shaking the ship despite inertial dampening.
“Mort, any ideas?” Hal said. Mort did not answer. The ship began to sink despite Hal’s inputs. Ten paces, twenty, thirty. Engine power was gone. Suddenly, the aft guns sprang to life. Thump thump thump… One by one, the small machines were dispatched. It seemed their distance from the swarm meant no reinforcements for now. When the last machine exploded into nothingness, Hal shouted and punched the yoke in victorious fervor before he remembered the ship was falling.
“Mort, was that you?” he asked into the comms, suspecting he must have left the reactor. It took another few seconds before he responded and as he did, the ship lurched once again, soaring into the sky.
“Did you see that?” Mort yelled.
“I saw it, I saw it!” said Hal euphorically.
“Whoo!” Mort shouted, peaking the microphone.
Hal spotted Prughlogh on the horizon and set the Oasis on a course to it.
“Mort,” he said through the comms, “Put the reactor on autopilot. Go and fetch two void suits.”
“Roger roger,” Mort said. Before long, he arrived in the cockpit and pulled down the ladder to the monkey island, climbed up into it. Two void suits fell through the hole to the cockpit. Hal pointed the Oasis vertically skyward and locked her at full power before getting up from his seat. Mort descended the ladder and knew what to do. They both donned the suits, checked each other’s seals and Hal opened a comm to the entire ship.
“Attention passengers,” he said, “This is your captain speaking. Seal your cabin doors.”
He waited two minutes to give everyone a chance to engage vacuum seals. Then he punched a sequence into the aft cockpit console, opening the cargo hatch along with all doors on the ship apart from cabin doors. The air was sucked out of the entire ship with force as they ascended above the atmosphere. That should take care of any hull dust in the interior. He closed the hatch again and allowed the air reserves to replenish the atmosphere before plunging the ship back down toward the planet, toward Prughlogh. A monitor sparked an impact alarm. They had five minutes before they would have to start braking. Hal committed to his thoughts, followed the path of contamination. The ship was clear of beryllium now but the cabins themselves may still be contaminated. He pulled a keyboard out from under one of the monitors and started writing a program. Something he remembered from early tests of the Voidstar. He instructed the ship to divert each cabin’s air to the vacuum outside while replenishing the atmosphere at a higher rate. An effective positive-pressure decontamination chamber in each cabin.
“Listen up everyone, I need all of you to stand in the middle of your cabins, arms out wide,” he instructed through comms, “Naked,” he added, “We’re decontaminating your cabins. Don’t allow dust to be caught by your body. Stand with the air vent at a 45-degree angle to yourself.”
Back to the helm, Hal rotated the Oasis’ main drive down toward the ground and burned hard, banking forward as she slowed down. From the ground, she would look like a mighty comet, coming to a halt just a hundred or so paces from the surface. A beeping in his helmet signaled the final decontamination cycle. The ship was safe to be in again. Promptly after this, Hanzo appeared in the cockpit.
“Boss, are we there?” he asked. Hal gently set the Oasis down on the road to Hanzo’s farm.
“We’re here,” he said but held Hanzo back when he tried to hurry to the cargo bay.
“No,” he said, “We leave through the forehead. Airlock.”
Hanzo nodded, and started climbing to the monkey island. He donned a void suit as Hal followed him up. He then grabbed four more void suits and clipped them to his own before tethering himself to the forehead’s winch. Hal closed the hatch to the cockpit and the main door behind them, and gave Hanzo the green light to open the outer door. Without hesitation, he slid it open and jumped out of the ship, trusting the winch brakes to allow him to rappel safely. To Hal’s relief, they did work, unlike with Skip. Hal stepped up to the edge of the monkey island airlock and watched as Hanzo ran to his house. Irae and her boys were standing on the porch, looking in horror at what looked now like an inverted deeply black mushroom cloud enveloping the place where Gors-Velen once was. Hanzo reached them, embraced them and explained that they would have to leave the planet. It tore Hal apart, seeing Irae fight against her husband’s grip, shouting and crying.
“This is our home!” she screamed. Rakau, the younger of Hanzo’s sons, hugged a stuffed animal, confusion and hurt on his face while his older brother donned the void suit Hanzo had put in his hands. Hal saw the tragedy of Saldep, but for the first time, he saw no fault in himself. Instead, a sense of determination rose within him, stronger than he had ever felt before. Stronger even than his drive to build the Voidstar had been. He would save as many people as he could. Steal them away from the machine menace, shield them, whatever the cost. The Oasis had been the purpose that had saved his life. Now, he had a new purpose. As the swarm in the distance reached out a tendril towards Prughlogh, he looked on… and felt at peace within himself, even as adrenaline coursed through his veins. A dozen- no, two dozen, maybe more people crested the small hill between Prughlogh and Hanzo’s property. They ran like herded animals for the safety of the Oasis. Hal dialed a frequency into his suit’s comm system and spoke.
“Percy do you hear me?” he asked. Almost without delay, Hoffenstedt’s voice rang through his headpiece.
“I do,” said he.
“We are about to have a few dozen patients on this ship,” Hal said clinically, “I want you to go and prepare the sickbay for this.”
“Our sickbay is not equipped-”
“I know,” Hal sighed, “Please do what you can.”
After some hesitation, Hoffenstedt acknowledged the order. Hal watched again as Hanzo ushered his family toward the ship, their cries now audible on void suit comms as they had all donned theirs. Rakau, whose small frame had been shoved into an adult void suit, was carried on Hanzo’s back.
“Hanzo,” Hal said, “Can you do the winch-work by yourself?”
“Of course,” Hanzo said, “I’m patching in right now.”
Hal nodded imperceptibly before jumping out of the ship himself. He grabbed the dangling winch cable on his way down and slid safely to the ground. Trusting Hanzo to get his family on safely, Hal ran around the base of the ship, weaved through the landing struts and used the external hatch terminal to lower the cargo bay hatch. The crows behind him was now only a few minutes run away. The hatch set down in the dust and Hal ran inside. The expensive Kurzon machines were still neatly arrayed in the cargo bay. They had never gotten the chance to sell them. The empty shell that had been Hal before now would have felt anger and pain as he pushed each of them out of the cargo bay. He would have cursed himself and the void as he watched them tumble into the dust. But this new Henry gave it no second thought. He found a ladder hidden away in a wall compartment and placed it in the middle of the cargo bay. In a toolbox behind the staircase, he retrieved several bolt drivers and a utility knife and ascended the ladder right up to the cargo bay ceiling. There, he unscrewed a panel to expose part of what he knew to be the primary water circulation loop. He stabbed several dozen tiny holes into the pipe and watched as the makeshift sprinkler rained water down into the cargo bay, creating a persistent mist throughout the space. He descended the ladder and cast it aside, sprinted out over the cargo ramp and met the oncoming refugees. He waved them inside and connected his microphone to the cargo bay’s PA system.
“Listen! Everyone is welcome to board. Please stay in the cargo bay and allow the water to wet you. Cover your mouths with any wet piece of cloth you can. Do not touch your mouths or eyes or noses with any part of your body…”
He rattled off all of the in-situ procedures he could think of that would give these people a fighting chance. An explosion rocked him, shook him to the core. Prughlogh was swallowed now by the machines, decimated like its large sister city had been just minutes earlier. The red eyes of hundreds of machines sent shivers down his spine.
“Mary,” he said into his microphone, “Meet Mort in the engine bay. Get the shields up and running. Mort, get us ready for a hot fight. Hanzo, is your family inside?”
“Yes, boss, the forehead is sealed,” said Hanzo.
“Good. Get to the helm and take off as soon as Mort allows.”
Everyone confirmed their roles.
“Percy,” Hal continued, “put on a suit, meet me in the cargo bay.”

Hal tried to keep a count of the people streaming in but it became difficult after 20. Men carried their children in one hand and dragged their partners by the other. Maybe 30 or 40 people were cramped into the bay when the last family entered, followed promptly by one of the machines racing over the hill.
“Mary, we need aft shields,” Hal said into the comm.
“I’m giving it all we got,” Mary said. Hal saw the aft shield projector actuate some part of itself and the world behind the cargo bay was plunged into a shimmer. The machine, its red eye fixed on Hal, fired its red lightning bolt as Hal pressed the button to close the cargo ramp. An immense white flash blinded everyone in the cargo bay, the shield panel absorbing the energy and dissipating it immediately as light.
“Hanzo, it’s time!” Hal shouted, “Get us into the void.”
He watched for one moment longer, the machine flying upward to strike from above. The Oasis lurched and jumped into motion before the cargo ramp finally clamped shut. Hoffenstedt descended the stairs in a void suit.
“Henry, where are you?” he asked. Hal raised his hand to stand out from the crowd.
“I’m here,” he said, “You need to do whatever you can to help these people.”
Hal made for the aft stairs, next to the cargo bay doors.
“Where are you going?” Hoffenstedt asked, his voice betraying fear. Hal had never seen the old man afraid of anything.
“I’m looking to kill me a few rust buckets.”

Hal took control of the Oasis’ turrets. There were three of them. One pointing out from under the cockpit, one on her dorsal hull and one below the cargo bay. A sensor readout mapped the area surrounding the ship in surprising detail. He saw the machine that chased them through the atmosphere, coming about for an attack from above. The ship’s pitch angle made above the forward direction, so Hal took the forward turret, locked onto the machine and fired. Thump, thump, thump… The noise was visceral but the machine was quick, nimble.
“Mary, forward shields!” Hal shouted. Mary did not respond but he saw the forward shield panel shimmer into existence. Another bolt bathed the screen in white light.
“Majora’s panties,” Hanzo said, “That was bright.”
“Mary can we change the shield spectrum?” Hal asked.
“Negative,” Mary said, “Not without modifications. I’ll try to warn you to close your eyes, Hanzo.”
Hal switched to the bow turret, shot another four, five, six rounds and cheered when the last one finally ripped the machine to shreds. But there were already more of them. He fired like a madman into the swarm forming behind them. Several more bolts impacted the shields, each impact making aiming impossible.
“We need to rip,” Hal said into the shared crew channel.
“We’re too deep in the atmosphere,” Hanzo said.
Another machine exploded from Hal’s shooting, then another.
“It doesn’t matter, we need to go now!” he shouted as the machines gained on them. How were they so fast? There was nothing aerodynamic about them at all.
“I’m ready whenever,” Mort said.
“We can’t!” Hanzo shouted, “You know what the Paralaexon does to a planet when you open it in atmosphere!”
“What are you trying to save, Hanzo?” Hal asked.
“I- This is still my home, boss,” Hanzo said quietly.
“There is nothing left,” Hal said, “Look at the aft cameras.”
Seconds of radio silence were filled with the thump-thump-thump of Hal’s shooting, the occasional sharp boom from a machine exploding violently, taking out several others with the debris. It made no difference. The swarm was upon them now, the shields almost constantly white from the enemy fire.
“Okay,” Hanzo finally said, “Ripping wound now.”

Usually, when in the void, the Paralaexon is wounded in front of a ship, separate from it. It was a visual spectacle. But now, surrounded by sound-carrying gases, Hal learned that the Paralaexon was loud. The lance pierced into spacetime before them, stabbing and prodding, ripping open the wound to the world beyond, and the Paralaexon screamed. The noise was so immense that it drowned out the turrets, the machine explosions and the Oasis’ own engine roar. A noise so piercing and haunted, like the screams of everyone who had ever died flooding Hal’s brain at once. He clutched his ears but it did nothing to dampen the infernal sound. He saw through the forward turret’s camera, the tendrils of the Paralaexon, unreal in color and shape as they were, reach out and lash at the ship, rattling it, side to side, ripping at the shields, then pulling the ship into the wound out of spite. On the aft camera, Hal saw through the wound behind them, thousands, millions of Paralaexon tendrils lashing out against everything made from anything. The atmosphere ignited, the machines swallowed in a ball of fiery plasma in an instant. Then the wound closed. Silence returned, now replaced by the cries of people below him, in the cargo hold. Hal leaned back in his chair and breathed. For what felt like minutes, he just breathed. Then, he thought. First of the Paralaexon. What had that noise been. Did it always scream like that? A shiver ran down his body. Nobody even knew what the Paralaexon was and yet here they were, riding in its veins. His thoughts drifted to the refugees below. Hanzo’s family, now displaced. The Oasis had become what the Voidstar was always meant to be. How long could they sustain that many people on the supplies on board? Then, finally, his thoughts found Masiva. She must be terrified, cramped into his cabin, all alone. Had she been listening to ship comms? He switched his void suit to the frequency of his cabin and spoke, even while making his way there.
“Mas,” he said, “Are you okay?”
No response. He didn’t know if she knew how to use the cabin’s comm system, so he spoke instead.
“We made it,” he said, “We got away from them. There’s nothing to be worried about anymore.”
He pushed through the cargo bay crowd, ignoring their pleas for an explanation. He ignored Hoffenstedt who said something to him about medicine. Instead, he rushed up the stairs, through the cargo bay airlock to the crew corridor.
“I’m on my way to you,” he said into the comm, “Just sit tight, I’m gonna be there in…”
He remembered he was wearing a potentially contaminated void suit. Still in the airlock, he stripped it off, discarded it into a corner, along with the rest of his clothes and used the panel on the wall to cycle the air to the otherworldly vacuum outside. He stood, arms wide, 45-degree angle to the vent and allowed the air to blow over his body, taking the contamination away. He couldn’t suppress the shiver that was forced on him by the ice cold reserve air. When the door opened, he rushed through it and ran through the crew corridor. At his cabin, he punched the door release, forced himself inside. There she was, naked as the day she had been born. Masiva, serene in her beauty, looked at him with those eyes. He ran into her, held her tight and for the first time in 20 years, he felt like he had come home. They stood in a naked embrace for what seemed like an eternity. He never wanted it to end. They kissed passionately. He felt her breath in his mouth as they broke from one another finally. There was nothing to say, so they both just laughed, louder than ever before.
“I can’t believe we just made it out of there,” she finally said.
“What an absurd shitshow,” Hal said.
“What now?” she asked. Hal looked down, contemplated the question. Finally he looked into her eyes.
“Now, we get Skip.”