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The Chillsword took another few steps towards Chevalier. Up close, Chevalier could see that the mercenary’s armor was heaving ever so slowly. Though he still could not see through his foe’s helmet, the Chillsword’s posture was resigned and weary. This was not a great triumph, nor a righteous act of punishment. Perhaps it had seemed that way seconds ago, but the moment had passed, and Chevalier saw nothing but grim determination in the way his death approached.

Where the Chillsword’s blade hovered above the ground, a thin layer of frost appeared on the silver of the dock, and the energy around the weapon’s blade hummed with mechanical menace. The orbs of plasma sitting ready in the pockets of the Chillsword’s pauldron cannons crackled and popped, and Chevalier felt as if he was staring down a pair of hungry beasts.

Very hungry beasts.

The currents were dim in his vision, their blue light having faded to almost nothing and he didn’t bother reaching for them. He doubted that he would have been able to control any power he managed to draw, and frankly the entire effort seemed to be a waste of time.

He looked over at the Sword of Blue Moon. Too far to grab, and likely not much use even if he somehow managed it. Would it fade away when he was killed and return to the ring? Or would it be simply remain there to be picked up by the Chillsword and given to Plagtos? It was stupid, but he resented the idea of the conglomerate taking his sword for themselves. What did they need it for? They hadn’t struggled or sacrificed to get it. It didn’t belong to them. It was his, and his alone.

It was a stupid thought, and the knight was glad that it was fleeting.

Chevalier fought back the urge to close his eyes. He stared into the Chillsword’s opaque sockets and grinned. He might be dying soon, but he’d be damned if he was going to go out like a coward.

“Any last words, scum?”

Before Chevalier could answer, there was the telltale zing of a laser blaster and a bolt ricocheted off of the Chillsword’s back. It hadn’t done any damage, but it got the mercenary’s attention and so stayed Chevalier’s execution. For the moment anyways.

Chevalier and the Chillsword both looked at the source of the shot.

Bartholomew, his feathers raised and his four arms shaking, stood on Spitfire’s ramp. He held a weapon in three of his hands, a single blaster and two knives. In his fourth hand was a small communicator with a blinking red light.

“Station master and her security forces are on their way,” the arlai said. “I suspect that she won’t take kindly ta the damage ya’ve caused ta her station dock.”

The Chillsword took a step towards Bartholomew and pointed his sword at the contraband dealer. “Your associate is to blame for that. In addition to being a thief, this man is a murderer and killed a Plagtos employee who—”

“Who attacked him first,” Bartholomew interrupted. “I saw it happen. I am a well-known merchant and mechanic here on Junkheap, sell-sword. The station master will trust my testimony, of that I am certain. Ya should avoid making things worse for yaself and wait for her ta arrive. I’m sure that yar employer would say the same.”

There was a moment as the Chillsword thought through the implications of Bartholomew’s bravado. Plagtos was meticulous when it came to protecting their reputation, as any massive conglomerate could reasonably be expected to be. Especially when doing business in the Aguelot Empire, who were known to be more than a bit prickly when it came to making and abiding by rules. Chevalier didn’t think much of Augustian Aguelot, the Emperor, but the man was undoubtedly a force of good for the average citizen. Under the yoke of Imperial control, regular people didn’t need to fear the whims of shipping conglomerates, crime syndicates, or feudal captains the way that they might have if they’d lived in independent systems. Safety was one of those things you could never have too much of in the vast sea of stars, and whatever taxes they paid to keep Augustian’s fleets in good repair were probably seen as worth their price many times over.

“You make a fair point,” the Chillsword said. He deactivated his shoulder cannons but kept his sword poised to strike. “So long as the blue swordsman remains peaceful, I will cause no more trouble for this station.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Chevalier coughed as he failed to stand up. “I can barely move.”

The Chillsword regarded him coldly. “You murdered my companion, swordsman. You should be conversing with him in the afterlife.”

Chevalier didn’t respond. Partially because he couldn’t think of a proper rejoinder and partially because his chest ached like hell and his breath was coming in quick, ragged gasps. Definitely a few cracked ribs, at the bare minimum. His focus flickered and he saw the light coming from the gem in his sword fading. His scarf fell to his side as the hidden wind faded and almost at the same time the Armor of Blue Moon started melting off his body. Like water, his pauldrons dripped down his arms and splashed onto the ground before fading into the ether. The breastplate followed them, as did his gauntlets and boots. His helmet was the last thing to go, and the world’s colors slowly returned to normal without the visor over his eyes.

The Sword of Blue Moon, however, did not melt. It remained on the floor of the dock, and didn’t seem to be on the verge of vanishing any time soon. With the armor gone, the weapon’s gem regained some of its luster, and Chevalier glanced down at the ring on his finger. It looked the way it always did, but Chevalier didn’t sense the whispering presence at all. Anxiety about the blade wormed its way back into Chevalier’s thoughts.He could not let Plagtos or anyone else possess it.

“Chillsword, would you grant me a favor?”

“What might that be?”

“Would you let me retrieve my blade and return it to its sheath? I fear losing it, and as a swordsman yourself I’m sure that you can understand my apprehension. I assure you that if our positions were reversed I would not prevent you from reclaiming your weapon.”

The mercenary was quiet as he stared into Chevalier’s eyes. “And why should I allow you to do that? What’s to stop you from attacking me with it if you’re allowed to take it back into your possession? Only a fool would let his foe collect his weapon without condition, and I am not a fool.”

Chevalier gestured to his outfit. His clothes were stained and had a few tears that probably hadn’t been there before the battle. Chevalier still wasn’t entirely sure how the Armor of Blue Moon interacted with his clothes, but it wasn’t important enough to really think about. Especially not now. “You have nothing to fear from me. I am wounded, and my power wanes to naught. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I could even swing my sword right now, let alone have the strength to pierce your armor.”

“Your blade doesn’t seem like the type to need much strength to cut through things. I do not like this risk, swordsman.”

With a shrug, Chevalier took a step towards his sword. He took it as a good sign that he wasn’t cut to pieces instantly, and took a few steps more. Walking was harder than he thought it’d be though, and he had to stop to catch his breath twice as he limped along. It was embarrassing to be so winded from such a short distance, but Chevalier did his best to remain dignified.

The Sword of Blue Moon was cold to the touch when he picked it up and it was awkwardly balanced. The grip was too big for his hands and Chevalier found the weapon’s design garish instead of beautiful. A wave of revulsion rushed through him. He’d been such a fool. This is what he’d risked his life for? To pick up this worthless blade? Who cared if Plagtos wanted it – or anyone else for that matter? He should give it to them and thank them for the trouble of taking it away from him.

“’Tis a fine blade,” the Chillsword said, interrupting Chevalier’s thoughts and breaking the sense of wrongness that filled the knight’s hands. With a great deal of effort, Chevalier found the narrow gap in reality that allowed him to return the weapon to it’s sheath, and the blade vanished in his hand. He felt better almost instantly, and wondered if perhaps his aversion to the sword had been the doing of the whispering presence.

“It is indeed,” Chevalier said. “Do you have a name, Chillsword, so that I might thank you properly, one swordsman to another?”

“You may call me Kellen.”

Chevalier bowed, blinking back tears as the movement caused pain to erupt in his torso. “I thank you, Kellen.”

Kellen nodded, but said no more. Chevalier stumbled back to his wall and sank down to the ground. He heard the distant whirring of the lifts all around the dock, and smiled at Bartholomew.

“Looks like the station master is here,” he said.

“Sure does,” the arlai replied. “Fair warning, kid. She’s not going ta be real pleased with ya. I wouldn’t be surprised if ya end up spending a month in the brig while she calms back down.”

There was a hum and a mechanical growl as the elevators opened and Layla and her security staff came onto the dock. The onkell was carrying a heavy rifle and was decked out in a combat vest. The tentacles that made up her mouth were writhing back and forth and her irritation was palpable as the station master approached Chevalier and Kellen.

“What the hell happened here?” She gestured at the holes in the walls, the burn marks on the floor, and the smoldering halves of the ship that had been demolished by Kellen’s plasma cannons. “This is the worst damage that my station has suffered since I became the master, and I will have answers for how it happened.”

She turned to Bartholomew, who inclined his head toward her in an informal bow. “I am not surprised that your sticky feathers are tied up in this, Bartholomew.”

Bartholomew threw his head back and laughed. “Master Layla, I assure you that my reasons for being here are completely legitimate.” He pointed at Chevalier. “My crew repairs this guy’s ship from time to time and I was down here to diagnose a problem with his ship’s shields.”

Layla gwarbled. The onkell expression was a combination of a snort, sneer, and chuckle. She didn’t press the point any further though, which Chevalier was grateful for. It wouldn’t do his cause any favors if the station master of Junkheap accused him of dealing in black market goods.

There were eight members of Layla’s defense force. Three of them were onkells, with varying colors and patterns. All of them carried heavy blasters and wore vests similar to Layla’s. They had the grizzled look of veteran soldiers. Two of them were droidkin, made of silver and black metal and they both had glowing red eyes. They looked like they were specifically designed for close combat, with a dizzying array of blades and saws popping out of their arms and chests. Chevalier thanked his stars that he wasn’t going to be expected to fight them up close.

The last three members of Layla’s crew were humans, and they all carried different weapons. One carried a spear, the second carried a pair of blasters, and the third wore heavy gauntlets that crackled with electricity. They looked like serious, well-trained people, but Chevalier didn’t think they were in the same weight class, threat-wise, as the rest of the security staff. Or Layla herself. The humans walked over to the fallen Chillsword and Chevalier saw Kellen tense up as they inspected the corpse of his deceased comrade.

“I’m taking the two of you into custody,” Layla said. “Our interrogators will listen to both of your stories and figure out exactly what happened. Until we can discern the truth of the matter, you both will be held in the brig so as to prevent further damage to our station. Do either of you object?”

It was clear that the question was rhetorical.

Kellen bowed. “I do not, but I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that my contract with Plagtos requires that I report to them as soon as possible. Should I be detained from doing so, they may send additional members of my order to investigate and that may cause additional damage to your station.”

Layla shook her head. “We will contact them on your behalf. Each of you Chillswords has an identification number, do you not?”

“We do,” said Kellen. “Mine is RK-118.”

“And your companion’s?”

There was a pause. “RK-117”

Onkells did not have eyebrows, but Layla tilted her head and the impression of intrigue was obvious. “I must admit, I am not terribly familiar with your order, but the fact that those two numbers are so similar implies a degree of…closeness…does it not?”

“You are correct. RK-117 was my elder brother.”

Chevalier looked at the crumpled form and felt a twang of regret.

Layla shook her head. “I am sorry for your loss. I will ensure that your employer is aware of your brother’s passing and your own incarceration. Please sheathe your weapon and we will escort you to the brig.”

Kellen did as requested, and without a word the humans led him towards the far elevator. The Chillsword’s footsteps were heavy against the dock – clang, clank, hiss – but they also carried a hint of sadness with them.

Turning towards Chevalier, Layla lowered her blaster and nodded at the droidkin. Without a word, the mechanical creatures sheathed their weapons and hovered over to him.

“You appear to be injured. Do you require assistance to be taken into custody?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid that my legs feel like they’re made of gelatin.”

The droidkin buzzed back and forth to each other for a few seconds and a stretcher appeared between them. Chevalier wasn’t sure where it came from, and frankly he didn’t really care. They lifted him up as if he was a child’s toy and laid him down on it. The stretcher hovered in the air as he was led to a different lift than the one Kellen had ridden up. The lift opened as the last vestiges of Chevalier’s strength faded away and he felt his grip on consciousness slipping away.

However, as he fought to keep his eyes open, Chevalier saw a familiar face driving a cargo bike towards one of the other lifts. He smiled as Hurkwin caught his eye and winked at him.

Good old Bartholomew. Seems like he had a backup plan after all.

Feeling much better, Chevalier drifted off into nothingness.

***

When Chevalier woke up he was stiff but felt better. He saw the telltale marks of healing on his chest and forearms – he didn’t even know how his forearms had been injured – but there was no pain anywhere and that was a good thing.

His cell in the brig was tiny. It made his quarters on the Spitfire, which were hardly luxurious, seem fit for a king. Gray walls, gray floor, and a tiny porthole above the narrow bed. That was it. Instead of bars, like some brigs Chevalier had spent time in, the cell was sealed off with a light green force field. It didn’t hurt Chevalier’s hand when he reached out to touch it, but it numbed his fingers and sent a tingle up his arm after a few seconds. Pushing was fruitless, and Chevalier sat on his bed to wait for the interrogator. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do.

He looked out the porthole above his bed. His field of vision wasn’t great, but he could see a pair of aquaponic ships out in the stations orbits. The farm vessels were small squares of blue and green, and workers dressed in heavy space suits slowly moved along the pools in sequence, harvesting fish and plants and cleaning and testing water. Chevalier watched them for a few minutes, but they didn’t hold his attention for long and he soon turned his attention to the sea of space that surrounded the station.

It was beautiful in a melancholy sort of way. There were shimmering stars off in the distance, and they almost looked like stairs as Chevalier avoided blinking. He also saw movement near the station, tiny pods of starpisces with brightly colored fins and eyes that glowed. Not for the first time in his life, Chevalier looked both near and far, hoping to see a starwhale’s silver sheen gliding effortlessly through the Empty, but alas, today was not his day. That was fine. There’d be other chances. Hopefully.

The light changed in his cell, and there was a quiet groan as the walls moved ever so slightly closer to one another. Chevalier smiled and shook his head. Layla wasn’t going to crush him, and the movement was simply a play to stress him out enough so that he’d be easier for the interrogator to manipulate. It was a cruel, clever tactic, and it would have probably had the desired effect on most people, but Chevalier was unfazed.

The truth of the matter was that small spaces didn’t bother him. After all, he’d spent the first twenty standard years of his life aboard a scholar’s vessel as a novice, which meant that in addition to the grueling physical labor of carrying and copying ancient texts by hand, he’d also had quarters that were less than half the size of the cell. Whenever he wasn’t transcribing texts or training in combat – another skill that was required of all novices – he was in his room sleeping or studying. Eventually he’d learned that the amount of space surrounding his physical body was less important than the amount of space he occupied within his mind. No walls could impinge on that.

The walls creaked again, but this time Chevalier was pretty sure that they were returning to their original position. If his intuition was correct, this cycle of shrinking and returning to normal would repeat over and over until the interrogator arrived.

Putting his arms behind his head and closing his eyes, Chevalier settled himself for a nap. The walls creaked again.

***

Back aboard the Spitfire, Selene wrestled with the glowing purple gem box. She knew that it was a foolish waste of time – her Chevalier had been taken into custody and probably needed her help – but she couldn’t stop herself. The dragon sickness was too strong to resist.

The bracelet inside the gem box called to her, and she wriggled her claws into the seam, straining against the seal with all her might. Rolling onto her back, the little dragon pried and pulled, flexing her wings and her legs as hard as she could. She was getting close to opening the gem box, she could feel it. Just one more good pull. Maaaaaybe two.

But first, a break. She’d been struggling for the better part of an hour with the box and she was tired. Kicking at the gemstone with a combination of frustration and playfulness, Selene curled up next to it and drifted off to sleep.

The monochrome sigils appeared in her dreams, like they always did. They squelched and squished together, made of something that was part liquid and part metal. Twisting and contorting, they turned themselves into shapes that Selene could make no sense of, alien things that simultaneously intrigued and terrified her. Eventually, they melted away, replaced by a blue star that she did not recognize.

The dream was always the same, and Selene knew it well enough now to preserve her lucidity as she slept. In a way, she was grateful for the psychedelic paddle-boat ride through the tunnel of her thoughts. It gave her time to plot and plan.

But then, where there was supposed to be a bevy of white noise as the planet disappeared, rain and snow appeared around it instead. A long, dark ship crossed its horizon and Selene watched the light of a nearby star reflect off of its crimson and gold plates. The mystery ship sailed off into the Empty, its engines flaring purple as it picked up speed. Growing smaller and smaller as the distance increased, Selene watched the purple finally wink out amongst the stars as the ship faded from her sight. Then came the white noise she’d been expecting as she returned to consciousness.

Selene tilted her head and yawned. A tiny spark of flame blew into the air.

That was new, she thought. Maybe the dream wasn’t always the same after all.

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Chillswords. Twin hulking masses of armor bearing frosty blades promising a swift, painful death. Chevalier studied them for a moment. They were both well over eight feet tall, and their purple and black armor was so bulky that they seemed to be at least six feet wide. A thick cape of black velvet hung from their shoulders, giving them an air that was something bordering on the aristocratic.

Complex runes were carved into their chest plates and pauldrons, and these glowed with a silver and blue light. The same light came from the short horns that jutted out of their almost skeletal helmets. Pools of black occupied the space that should have held their eyes, and a series of tubes and grates covered their noses and mouths. Chevalier could not see through the helmets – and he wasn’t entirely sure that they were helmets, to be completely honest – but he suspected that whatever was behind those rigid faces didn’t resemble humans. Or any other life form that he’d ever come across, for that matter.

Their footsteps were heavy on the floor of the dock as they moved towards him. Clank, clang, hiss. Clank, clang, hiss. Chevalier could see small jets of blue fire on the bottoms of their boots and at regular intervals in a straight line along their legs. Since their armor was so heavy, Chillswords relied on a series of small thrusters to help them move around, and the devices could be put to devastating use in combat as well.

He sighed. That was pretty much all of what he knew about the mercenary band. Their origins were shrouded in mystery, and the fact that they worked almost exclusively for Plagtos meant that most folks had virtually no interaction with them. Generally speaking, they were imposing figures that one occasionally saw near ports and at shipping docks, standing vigilant in case someone tried to relieve the shipping conglomerate of their hard earned goods or profits.

Their reputation for recovering lost goods was legendary, as were the consequences for those who had tested their luck.

Selene scurried out from the Spitfire but stayed near enough to the hatch that she could get back inside if things took a turn for the worse. Not that the ship’s doors would do much good against the Chillswords’ namesake if it came to that, but Chevalier didn’t feel like letting any more visitors aboard his ship today. Except for Hurkwin or any of Bartholomew’s other people. Or Rivi. Or really, anyone else who may have wanted to come aboard and wasn’t a Chillsword. Chevalier’s feelings were always somewhat fickle things. The tiny dragon looked at Chevalier and he felt her presence enter his thoughts. Here, she was much larger than he was, and her entire being felt like sapphire-tinted flames. Her voice – if it could even be called that – was scratchy, and it gave Chevalier the distinct sensation of cinnamon.

These two don’t look like they’re the type to stand around and swap gossip, Chevalier. I don’t think you’re going to be able to talk your way out of this one.

Looking at the Chillswords, Chevalier couldn’t help but agree with her. They had stopped about fifteen feet away from where he stood and while they had yet to draw their blades, he was sure that moment wasn’t far away now. He looked down at the Ring of Blue Moon and sighed. Sensing his attention, it started whispering to him. Though he still didn’t understand the words or the sentiment, the image of the ring in his mind’s eye was that of a slithering creature with far too many eyes and razor sharp teeth that sought his flesh. The whispering grew louder and louder in his ears and might have overwhelmed him had Selene not reared up in the back of his mind, crackling with anger and azure flames that seemed as old as the stars themselves. There was nothing diminutive about the dragon now, and though she was on his side, Chevalier still experienced something that was a mix between awe and bone-shaking apprehension at the sensation.

Cease your muttering, shadow.

Each of the words was like the sound of a spaceship’s engine roaring to life, and the scurrying monster of the ring fled in the face of the dragon’s presence. As it disappeared, the nonsensical whispering in Chevalier’s ears and thoughts all but dissipated and the heat of Selene’s flames formed a wall around Chevalier’s thoughts. For the time being, the ring’s whispering wouldn’t be a concern.

“Thanks,” Chevalier said. “Some day soon we really need to have a talk about what exactly that shadow thing is.”

Heh. You need to survive this encounter first. Now, defend yourself! I do not want to be forced back into that damned ring for another epoch until some other treasure hunter finds me by accident.

“It wasn’t an accident,” Chevalier protested. “I spent months tracking down stories and paying good money for damned-near useless tips. I found you through hard work!”

If you say so, my knight.

Chevalier was about to say plenty more, but the Chillswords interrupted him.

“You there, is that your ship?”

Chevalier felt Selene’s presence retreat ever so slightly and turned his attention back to the Chillswords. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the space dragon sag to the ground, looking extremely tired. She was panting and curled up, her tiny wings settling over her sides like a blanket. Her telepathic display of strength had taken more out of her than she’d ever admit, and Chevalier made a mental note to give her some treats later. If he survived, that is.

“Aye, it is. What do you want with it?”

The second Chillsword stepped forward and quick as lightning drew his sword from its sheath. It crackled and chilled the air around its edge. “You are in possession of Plagtos property. We are here to reclaim it, and should you choose to resist we will treat you as hostile. Do you have any affiliations? Any guild or trade company to whom we should send bloodwit?”

Chevalier squared his shoulder and stood up as straight as he could. “I serve no one but myself. This is my ship, and the objects stored inside are my rightful property, per the Aguelot Empire’s salvage laws. I came upon the wreck after your ship was destroyed; I played no part in its destruction, and only took small objects. Your company failed to protect your vessel, which is no fault of mine. You have no legal claim.”

“Be that as it may, scavenger, the goods belong to us and we will reclaim them now. We may not have a legal claim, but we have swords and will not be deterred from our mission. These goods will be returned to Plagtos, even if we have to carry them over your corpse.”

Without a word, the second Chillsword drew his weapon and the two armored soldiers advanced in lockstep. Chevalier shook his head. As expected, talking hadn’t worked and the time had come for the matter to be settled in the most pure way possible. With blades.

Closing his eyes, Chevalier focused on the Ring of Blue Moon and felt the stone in the center grow warm. He didn’t open his eyes, but if he had he would have seen the gem glowing with a vibrant neon blue light. He would have also seen the Chillswords step back, suddenly wary. People who survived for more than a few months as part of mercenary corps didn’t take any potential threat lightly.

Covering his left hand with his right, as if balling his hands together, Chevalier took a deep breath and swung both arms out to his sides as hard as he could.

There was no incantation, no relic of an ancient age where like time in the Empty, power had been a little soft. Instead, the blue light from the ring’s gem enveloped Chevalier’s body and in the span of a few heartbeats, he was draped in the Armor of Blue Moon. Slender and elegant, his clothing had been replaced by a combination of mesh and plate the color of Selene’s scales. The caress of the cosmos, the little dragon had called it the first time he’d ever done it, and the name was a fitting one.

His armor was not extravagant, but it was an impressive sight in its own way. Oversized gauntlets covered his wrists and forearms, and sharply angled boots rose to his calves. His own pauldrons were nowhere near the size of the Chillswords’, but they too were exaggerated and embossed with dragon wing emblems. A thin scarf was wrapped around his neck and shoulders, and it blew in a breeze that no one but Blue Moon Chevalier could feel.

His helmet settled onto his head and his view of the world changed. Tinted gray-blue by the visor that covered his eyes, it was easier to make sense of things. The Chillswords were still daunting, but Chevalier now saw that their bulk was almost as much of a hindrance as it was a benefit. While he was certain that they could move forward and backwards quickly and with ease, he wondered how fast they’d be able to react to an attack from the side.

Looking up, Chevalier confirmed that he could see the faint spiderweb-like strings of energy that he thought of as the currents. They were thin and blue, and thrummed with energy that Chevalier could sense and draw from. Like leylines, they were arranged in patterns and crossed each other regularly, with the breeze near their intersections stronger than elsewhere along their lengths.

Last to appear was Chevalier’s sword, summoned from the final flickers of the gem’s neon light. There was the barest hint of a whoosh as the Sword of Blue Moon left its ethereal scabbard and settled itself in his left hand. Despite its age and its history of other bearers, the weapon’s weight and balance was perfect, and the grip fit as if it had been forged specifically for his hand.

Chevalier’s weapon looked vaguely draconic itself, with a narrow, plated grip of silver and black. The pommel was covered by a plate that housed two bits of metal that looked like a pair of eyes and a thin spike protruding from its bottom looked like an outstretched tongue. The guard was segmented, and looked like a pair of wings in the process of opening for flight. A white gemstone the same size and shape as the one set in the Ring of Blue Moon rested in the space where the guard met the hilt, flickering and glowing with energy.

The blade itself was long and beautiful, with plates along its length that gave it the appearance of sunglight reflecting off water, and at its tip the metal was bare and looked like plasma though it was cold to the touch.

Taking a deep breath, Chevalier gripped his sword with both hands, lifted it in front of his body in a defensive stance and stared at the Chillswords.

“I’ll only warn you once,” he said with a confidence that his rational mind did not feel. “You two are not a match for me. Don’t throw your lives away.”

The first Chillsword made a noise that might have been a snort. The jets on the mercenary’s legs flared to life and he slid towards Chevalier far faster than the knight had expected. Raising his weapon up and over his head, the Chillsword swung down at Chevalier with enough force to cleave the hull of a spaceship in two without much effort.

Chevalier raised the sword of Blue Moon and braced his shoulders as his own blade met his foe’s. Under normal circumstances, the strength of the blow would have been too much for Chevalier to resist, the difference in strength too great, but the boon of his armor made that not the case. In addition to seeing the world differently and possessing better control of his emotions and mental state, the Armor of Blue Moon also enhanced Chevalier’s strength, reflexes, and endurance. He was more than a man, so long as he wore it.

That was going to be important.

Chevalier pushed and the Chillsword was forced back. Chevalier stepped in and launched a flurry of strikes, swinging high and low in an attempt to break the Chillsword’s guard. He was unsuccessful, as the mercenary beat back each and every blow with one of his own and sent Chevalier’s teeth to rattling from the impacts, despite the boon’s best efforts.

The second Chillsword joined the fray and pressed Chevalier with a series of stabs and thrusts that came entirely too close to Chevalier’s torso for comfort. Reaching out with his mind, Chevalier grabbed one of the currents above his head and pulled himself up off the ground as the two hulking monstrosities swung at him from opposite directions. Their blades met with a clang and bounded away from each other but neither lost their grip on their weapon.

Tucking himself into a roll, Chevalier landed behind them both and stabbed for the nearest one. The Chillsword tried to dodge but wasn’t quite fast enough, and Chevalier’s sword found purchase in a plate of armor. Sparks shot out as some of the machinery inside screamed and some of the jets lining the Chillsword’s right leg dimmed and winked out. The Chillsword stumbled and stood off balance.

But before he could capitalize on the opportunity, Chevalier was forced to retreat once again beneath the onslaught of the uninjured Chillsword, who used his weapon’s almost comical range to keep Chevalier from getting close enough to strike back. Each blow was every bit as strong as the last one had been, and the cadence was almost so precise that it seemed mechanical. Despite his enhanced awareness, Chevalier saw no flaws in the Chillsword’s guard, and without a way to get to his foe’s side, he began to feel frustrated. Gritting his teeth, he reached out with his mind once more. However, instead of grabbing one of the currents and pulling himself towards it, he pulled energy from it and spread it around the Chillsword’s body. The cool energy coalesced into something like a soup thickened the atmosphere around his enemy’s weapon. The effect would only last for a moment, and it would be minor, but for that moment the Chillsword would feel like he was swimming and the increased resistance would give Chevalier an opportunity to strike.

There was a light in the air surrounding the Chillsword, and Chevalier rooted himself to another current and slid forward as is flowed to its next intersection. It was as if he’d turned gravity onto a different axis, and he moved as if falling. Slipping his blade past the Chillsword’s, Chevalier aimed his at his foe’s chest, but his target sidestepped just far enough that Chevalier’s blow landed on his arm instead. It was only a glancing hit and the Sword of Blue Moon bounced right off of the purple plate, but Chevalier had the advantage now and pressed it for all he was worth. Sweeping cuts and short, direct stabs pushed the Chillsword back. The hulking titan’s guard was flagging and Chevalier scored a series of light wounds that left scars in the armor. Just before he could land a decisive blow, however, the one-legged Chillsword barreled into him at an incredible speed. The mercenary didn’t need the currents to move forward explosively, and while he probably wouldn’t have been able to maneuver much in normal combat with only one leg’s worth of jets, he was more than capable of accelerating a hell of a lot.

Struggling against the Chillsword’s iron vise grip, Chevalier realized with horror what was quickly approaching in his future.Tangled together in the Chillsword’s acrimonious embrace, the two bodies zoomed toward the wall, where Chevalier was certain that he’d be crushed under the weight of his enemy’s armor. Smashed like a clove of garlic, he thought as he writhed in vain, desperate to break free.

Any ideas, Selene?

They covered a few more feet of floor before the dragon in his mind answered. There weren’t many left now.

Would probably be best if you got out of that guy’s grip.

Fat lot of help you are, Chevalier mentally snarled. His legs were too far from the ground to find purchase, but he’d shifted enough for his right arm to wriggle free. Better yet, he’d gotten his sword free too.

There wasn’t much space left before Chevalier got an intimate acquaintance with the thick walls of Junkheap’s docking bay, so he didn’t have time for anything fancy. Even cutting the Chillsword’s head off would spell his death, as the momentum would be enough to grind Chevalier into paste. Praying that the sword wouldn’t break, Chevalier thrust the blade down into the ground with all of his boon-enhanced strength. It sank half it’s length before stopping and Chevalier held on for dear life as the Chillsword continued rocketing forward.

The sword caught and momentum pulled at him. Chevalier strained to keep his grip on the sword’s handle. His shoulder felt as if it was going to pop out of its socket, his forearm ached and protested and his hand threatened give out, but before any part of his body could fail Chevalier cried out and some of the energy from the currents above and below flowed into his body. Somehow, he managed to hold strong and the Chillsword lost his grip, letting Chevalier swing free.

His enemy cascaded into the wall, alone. There was a muffled whimper, and the mercenary slumped to the ground in a heap of purple armor.

Relief surged through Chevalier as he waded back to the ground, but there was no time for relaxing. It was an unpleasant thing, what had to come next, but he knew that there was no alternative. Gripping the hilt of his weapon with both hands he yanked up as hard as he could. The blade grudgingly came free, leaving a narrow scar in the dock. Turning, Chevalier took a few steps toward the incapacitated Chillsword and thrust the Sword of Blue Moon into his enemy’s chest. There was no light that faded from the helmet’s eyes, nor any cry of agony or dismay. There was just an end, as all life left the mercenary’s body.

The second Chillsword roared in fury and Chevalier turned just in time to see the giant’s pauldrons rolling back to reveal twin plasma cannons.

“Shit,” Chevalier said as the cannons glowed orange with life. He barely jumped out of the way as the Chillsword fired and massive orbs of energy collided with the walls. The corpse of the Chillsword’s companion was virtually obliterated as they orbs exploded into fragments. Even through his armor, Chevalier felt their heat as they landed on his chest and shoulders before dissolving into nothing.

Continuous fire meant he couldn’t close the distance to his foe, and was left scrambling along the ground of the docking bay. Vaguely, he wondered if other Chillswords were on their way. It was true that they tended to travel in pairs, but they also regularly worked in groups as large as eight. I’m pretty sure that I can’t handle six more of these guys, Chevalier thought. Especially if they all start shooting at me like this.

He’d overestimated himself, and swore that if he somehow survived this he’d start taking Selene’s demands to train more seriously.

Thanks to his ability to ride the currents and his boon-enhanced reflexes and speed, Chevalier managed to avoid being hit for a minute or two, but it was only a matter of time until his luck ran out. He was getting tired. The blasts demolished the dock wherever they landed, leaving gaping craters in the walls and floor, and cracking one of the orbs of anonymity in half. The next shot sailed right through the silver ship that it had contained, and there was an explosion that set Chevalier’s ears ringing. Chevalier hoped that no one had been aboard at the time. He hoped that he wouldn’t have the death of an innocent person on his conscience.

Ducking, diving, and skating across walls, he managed to loop around behind the Chillsword and after extending his arm, he tried to increase the resistance of the air again.

Alas, that trick would only work once, it seemed, as the Chillsword was unaffected and aimed another salvo right at Chevalier.

There wasn’t time to dodge and both of the plasma orbs hit Chevalier square in the chest. He was thrown back, tumbling head over heels like a child’s toy until he crashed into the far wall. Chevalier groaned and rolled onto his back. Somehow, his chest plate had staved off the worst of the damage and though he felt like his ribs were probably cracked, he was still breathing.

After a moment, of course. The wind had been definitely been knocked out of him.

Clank. Clang. Hiss. Clank. Clang. Hiss.

Hearing the distinctive cadence of the Chillsword’s footsteps, Chevalier sat up with a wince. The mercenary was approaching him with his cannons readied and his sword held tight. Chevalier was no psionic, but he didn’t have to be to guess what was running through his enemy’s thoughts. Live by, die by, et cetera.

He looked around. His own sword was laying on the ground half a dozen feet away, and Chevalier was sure that if he tried to grab it the Chillsword would give up his notions of poetic justice and simply blast him to smithereens. The Armor of Blue Moon had survived one shot from the plasma cannons, but it was cracked and Chevalier doubted that it would come close to blocking a second one.

Chevalier grinned. He wondered if this would be the moment where Selene would come to his rescue, or if he’d manifest a perfectly timed method of surpassing his limits, or if it was just– as seemed increasingly likely – he was going to meet his end here on Junkheap. If that was the case, he’d do it with a smile on his face, watching his enemy.

The Chillsword raised his blade and pointed it at Chevalier’s face.Chevalier refused to blink.

It had been such a nice day, too.

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Chevalier took a sip of his drink and smiled at Bartholomew, who was sitting across the table at the Gray Cat with his arm slung around the cosmorc chieftain’s shoulders. If someone who’d never seen them before had walked by just then, they would have probably assumed that the two were old friends. Rivi was sitting next to the arlai and she was laughing hard. She looked much better. The only real lingering injuries she had were the bruises on her cheeks and beneath her non-prosthetic eye. They’d started to turn color and fade though, and in a few more days she’d be completely back to normal. The medical droidkin of Junkheap did good work, and Rivi herself was tough as hell.

His friend’s speedy recovery had done wonders for Chevalier’s nerves, but he still planned to seek the girl with the red ring and ask her some violent questions about why she’d felt the need to beat someone near to death over what had been an absolutely tiny issue in the grand scheme of things. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he’d start his search.

“And then, what do you know?” spluttered the chieftain as he slopped some of his drink into his mouth and more onto the table.  “We were in the vault and it was filling with water faster than we could have ever imagined. All that planning, all that work to dodge the planet’s guardians, all that caution and none of it mattered. There was a crack in the wall! The treasure was going to be destroyed before we could excavate it. Can you believe that?”

Bartholomew burst out into laughter and clapped Durzol – the cosmorc chieftain – hard on the back. Had he not seen it for himself, Chevalier would have never believed that a few days earlier the cosmorc was on death’s door. The wound on his chest had completely healed up since, thanks to the cosmorc’s borderline supernatural healing ability. Apparently, if the wound hadn’t been pseudo-cauterized by the blaster bolt that caused it, Durzol would have healed on his own without any issue. Though Selene had assured him that the sword of Blue Moon would still be more than capable of killing the creatures, Chevalier was glad that the tension between Durzol and Bartholomew had mostly resolved itself, thanks to a stroke of genius from Hurkwin. The mechanic had apparently solved the problem of fixing Durzol’s bike in a dream. Hell of a lucky break.

The drinks had been flowing for the better part of two hours, but Chevalier had limited himself to only a single cup of the strange flavored liquor from the other night, remembering all too well the potency and after-effects. Beyond that, he wanted to make sure that he recalled every word that Durzol said throughout the night.

Because it turned out that the cosmorc chieftain was a treasure hunter, just like Chevalier. He’d grown interested in ancient legends as a youngling, he’d explained, and his insatiable lust for knowledge had led him to usurp his predecessor and turn the tribe into his own treasure hunting crew. They flew around the galaxies with their hoverbikes tethered to one another while they sought out the truth behind all sorts of mysteries. Durzol was full of stories, and Chevalier was grinning at the current one, which was the tale of the cosmorc quest for the Calypso Templar, a long-lost starship that had vanished over a thousand years before. If the rumors could be believed, it’d been carrying enough gold and silver to buy an entire fleet of modern starships. This was ultimately Durzol’s goal, to build up his very own cosmorc shipping company capable of competing with Onyx Starsk, Yos Carriers, and even Plagtos.

“Then people won’t think of us as nothing more than stupid raiders and thieves,” he’d explained.

The chieftain’s treasure hunting experiences mirrored Chevalier’s own. There were dead ruins that weren’t entirely dead – or at least, the inhabitants weren’t – maps that led to the middle of nowhere, informants and information dealers who lied to make a quick buck, and a few maddeningly close hunts that ended in tragedy. Durzol’s methods for surviving such encounters was also similar to Chevaliers: talk as much as possible, and then start chopping your way to the future (though the cosmorc used an alloyed axe instead of an ancient sword).

“So, Chevalier, where did you get that ring?” Durzol asked at the conclusion of yet another tale. He gestured to the Ring of Blue Moon. “It looks fancy.”

Chevalier smiled and took a sip of his drink, though he was a bit concerned about the cosmorc’s emphasis on his name. Technically the ring’s origin wasn’t a secret, and he didn’t generally exert a lot of energy into hiding the fact that he possessed the Ring of Blue Moon, since barely anyone even remembered the body of legends from which the stories about his ring originated. However, every once in a while he met somebody or something that had heard the tales and decided that they wanted the ring’s power for themselves. The first time it had happened, Chevalier had tried to give the ring over to the seeker, only to learn that it had a very specific method of being transferred: the current bearer had to die in order for the ring to take a new servant.  Since Chevalier was pretty sure that he preferred being alive to the alternative, he’d decided to defend his claim jealously.

Durzol seemed like a good enough fellow, and Chevalier wasn’t looking to make a fresh enemy just then, so he chose his words carefully.

“I found it a few years back on an old deserted planet. Place looked like it hadn’t been touched in centuries. Maybe even longer.”

“Now that’s a story I’d quite like to hear,” Durzol said with a grin.

“Me too,” Rivi said with a belch. “I’ve heard it before, but it’s always fun to listen to. Sometimes you change things.”

Chevalier glared at the star chaser who blew him a kiss in return.

“Well, I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” he said. Taking a deep breath, he launched into his tale, selectively edited and simplified though it may be.

***

Later that evening, Chevalier and Bartholomew were walking back towards Chevalier’s ship. The arlai had mentioned an interest in taking a closer look at a few of the pieces Chevalier had recovered from the Plagtos wreck. Durzol and Rivi had both headed off on their own after Chevalier finished telling them the abridged version of how he came into possession of the ring and the group finished their last drinks. Rivi had headed off towards the residential quarters, swaying ever so slightly from the effects of the drinks and Durzol had returned to wherever his gang was sleeping. Chevalier noted that the cosmorc didn’t seem to be inebriated in the slightest, despite the fact that he’d drank more alcohol than Chevalier, Rivi, and Bartholomew combined.

Junkheap’s night had been set to a balmy and pleasant warmth that reminded Chevalier of the summers of his childhood. The fresh air caressed Chevalier’s skin as he and Bartholomew took the lift down to where the Spitfire was docked. Chevalier lowered the orb of anonymity and boarded the vessel alongside the Arlai. They went to the jump dock and Bartholomew got to looking at the pieces he wanted to see. Grunting and cursing in his native tongue, Bartholomew picked up the things he could, rotating and examining them with a small magnifying glass. With a small light in both of his top hands, he crawled around and investigated the nooks and crannies of the ones he could not.

While he waited for his friend to finish his professional assessment of the goods, Chevalier and Selene hung out in Chevalier’s small sleeping quarters with the tiny dragon curled into a ball near Chevalier’s legs.

“That Durzol may end up being a problem yet,” Selene yawned. “He seemed really, really interested in the ring. I think you should be careful around him. The last thing we need is another Hampton.”

Hampton had been a friend, long ago, who’d come dangerously close to taking the Ring of Blue Moon for himself. Last Chevalier had seen him, the Singer-turned-gunslinger had been falling into a chasm of molten iron. But getting him to do so had been one of the toughest fights Chevalier had ever experienced, and his hands still shook at the memory.

“I’m always careful, Selene.”

Chevalier’s companion rolled onto her back and breathed sparks at him that he brushed away without issue. “I’m serious, Chevalier. There’s something scary about that cosmorc chieftain. I’ve seen cosmorcs in battle plenty of times, and while they can heal better than any human could ever dream of, there’s no way that the wound you described wouldn’t have been fatal. The fact that it wasn’t and that Durzol was capable of brawling with a giant hole in his chest like it was nothing tells me that he’s got some serious power supporting him.”

Chevalier thought about the way Durzol didn’t stumble after the booze either. Selene may be right.

“What sort of power?”

This earned him a nip on the hand from the dragon’s miniature – but still sharp – teeth. “How should I know that? There are hundreds or even thousands of things that it could be. The Empty is full of secrets that I am as ignorant of as you are. Even the greatest among my kind do not know everything. Unless Durzol chooses to reveal his powers himself or we end up seeing more of what he can do some other way, all we can do is guess.”

Chevalier leaned back and looked up at the ceiling of his quarters. Above his head was an old star chart that he’d inherited from his grandfather. It felt like a lifetime ago that the old man’s tobacco stained hands were tracing the paths through the stars that he’d followed as a young man searching for great treasures. Chevalier smiled.

“That ship he’s looking for sure sounds interesting though. Full of silver and gold. I wonder where it is.”

“We should look for it too! As soon as we get out of here, let’s go hunt it down!”

Feeding off Selene’s excitement, Chevalier spent the next half hour or so pointing at different places on the star chart. The two of them discussed potential theories about how the lost ship could be at each of them, ultimately discarding every theory after a bit due to how unlikely it was to be there. Unfortunately, that was probably true for any theory about the Calypso Templar, since there were thousands of stars and planets along the long, meandering route that it had been following when it vanished. According to Durzol’s tale, the ship disappeared about halfway between Rozaulia and Decrars, two minor planets near the edge of the Aguelot Empire’s third sector, but the cosmorc had admitted –and Chevalier and Selene both agreed—that it was likely the ship had drifted pretty far off course in the thousand years it had been missing.

Their discussion was cut short by Bartholomew.

“Hey, kiddo. Where ya at? I’ve got something ta talk ta ya about.”

Chevalier and Selene hopped up as Bartholomew came in from the jump dock. Clutched in the arlai’s hands was the small purple gem box that Chevalier had rescued from the wreckage of the Plagtos carrier.

Selene let out a cry and darted through the air to land on the gem box.  The blue space dragon clawed at the quartz-like stone, trying to get her claws into the seam in order to pry it open and get her scaly mitts on the bracelet inside.

“Mine! Mine! Mine!”

Bartholomew held up the box-and-dragon-amalgamation. “I don’t remember seeing this on the memstick you gave me. Don’t suppose it’s for sale tah? I know a good number of buyers who’d be more than happy ta pay premium for this little beauty.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No clue,” Bartholomew admitted. “But it looks downright magical, doesn’t it?”

Chevalier had totally forgotten about the box and the glowing bracelet inside with the events of the past few days, but he agreed. The glowing purple bracelet did look like something out of a wizard’s den, and that was why he knew that he couldn’t sell it. Magic still existed across the galaxies, but it was rare, and in his heart, Chevalier was a collector and couldn’t bear to part with something so special, even if it ultimately had no power. Plus, Selene had already “claimed” it for her “hoard”, and Chevalier felt like the little dragon deserved a little present after having to give up the Plagtos haul.

He explained as much to Bartholomew and the arlai threw back his feathered head and laughed.

“That’s a damned shame, but I understand. Sometimes it’s good ta keep some treasures for yaself.”

He put the gem down on the ground and smirked as Selene purred all over it.

“I’ll take the rest of the cargo off ya hands. It’s all good stuff, and I’m sure I can get it sold without tah much trouble. How does fifty seven hundred sound for the whole haul?”

“I was hoping for a bit more. It wasn’t easy to bring it all here, you know. Spitfire’s got the damage to prove it. Don’t suppose you can do six thousand even?”

“Kid, I’m already clippin’ my wings here. Fifty eight hundred is the top for me. Take it or leave it.”

Chevalier sighed and reached out to shake one of Bartholomew’s top arms.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya. Mind if I go and take a look at ya ship’s damage? I’ll tell the boys ta get started on the repairs as soon as they unload all the loot. It didn’t look tah bad when I was outside, but I figure that I might as well get a better look while I’m here instead of having ta come back later.”

“That’s fine by me, go ahead.”

Bartholomew left and Chevalier sat in his cockpit doing some mental math as he waited for the arlai’s professional assessment of the damage to his ship. Fifty eight hundred seemed like a lot of money at first glance, but the repairs that Spitfire needed to be space-worthy again would probably eat up at least half of that. Maybe more than that. And that was taking into account the free replacement to the shields that Bartholomew had promised. If only he’d managed to keep the rest of the treasure during his escape, then he could—

No, he’d already made his peace with that decision. If he hadn’t dumped the cargo, he wouldn’t have made it to Junkheap. It was that simple. There was no point in re-litigating it in his mind now.

Outside Chevalier heard some cursing, clanging and Bartholomew’s frantic footsteps as he huffed his way back into the ship’s jumpdock.

“Kid, we’ve got a big problem! A big fuckin’ problem, I tell ya!”

The tone of his friend’s voice made it clear that the arlai wasn’t screwing around and so Chevalier bounded to the jump dock.

“What’s wrong, Bartholomew?”

He’d been expecting some sort of big broken part, and had already adjusted his mental haul down even further. Maybe he wouldn’t end up making any money on this salvage after all. Maybe the minnows had just done too much damage. That sucked, but Chevalier could live with a scrape of a payout. He’d just go back out into the Empty a bit earlier than he’d planned and let his ship carry him to his next adventure. That sort of thought process had always served him well in the past, and Chevalier saw no reason to expect otherwise.

Unfortunately, Bartholomew was not bearing such easily dismissed bad news. In his bottom left hand, he was holding a tiny disc of metal. Chevalier watched it blink with a steady rhythm as his heart jumped into his throat.

“This was latched under yah back flaps,” Bartholomew says. “It’s unmarked, but I’d be willing ta bet my whole shop that it’s a tracking device and it was put there by those Plagtos scouts ya tangled with. Was probably part of a flak or missile.”

Chevalier sucked in a hard breath.

“Now, I don’t think that the signal would have been able ta get out tah well with the bubble ‘round yah ship, but each time ya lowered the bubble to get in or out it could have transmitted the location right ta  Plagtos. If there’s one thing that separates them from all the other shipping companies out there in the Empty it’s that they chase down their goods harder than anyone else. A lot harder.”

Chevalier took a step forward and without any fanfare, yoinked the omni-tool off his belt, activated the plasma cutter and sliced the tracking device in half.

The broken pieces fell sputtering and sparking to the floor. A thin tendril of black smoke rose into the air and Chevalier wrinkled his nose.

“Cute gesture, but I’m sure they already pinpointed ya location based on the transmissions from today alone.”

“How long do you think we’ve got before they send a repo ship?”

Bartholomew shrugged. “It’s already out and on its way, I bet. They could arrive anytime, but I’ll do what I can ta get ya ship all taken care of before they get here. Hurkwin has been complaining ‘bout being bored ever since he fixed that damn cosmorc hoverbike. I’ll give him a call and have him come by right away ta start the repairs. The rest of my boys will be by later ta start unloading the goods. Shouldn’t be tah long of a job.”

“Can I help at all? If I can make the unloading easier, I’d be happy to—”

“Don’t bother, kid. My boys know what they’re doing and they’re stronger than ya. What ya can do though is ya can go track down Layla and let her know that a ship full of angry Plagtos employees are going ta be landing soon so that she’s not caught totally unaware.”

Chevalier grimaced at the prospect. Layla was famous for her temper, and there were few pieces of news that were more rage inducing for a small station master than a massive shipping conglomerate visiting with vengeance on the brain. That sort of trouble tended to spiral out of control right quick.

“Nothing can ever be easy, huh?”

Bartholomew smiled at him and shook his head.

“Kid, this is easy. Ya don’t see any Chillswords running at ya, do ya? Trust me, if there’s one universal truth about things going ta shit, it’s that they can always get worse.”

As if to prove that there was a divine entity that controlled the cosmos, and that it had a bad sense of humor, there was a loud thunk near the lifts and Chevalier turned to see two massive, armored figures walking towards him. Chillswords. He glared at Bartholomew.

“You just had to go and fucking jinx me, didn’t you?”

The arlai threw up all four hands into a shrug at the same time. He was smiling.

“That’s life for ya, kid. Now let’s see if yar all yar cracked up ta be.”

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The station’s artificial day turned to night as Chevalier made his way towards the Gray Cat. Despite how frequently he visited Junkheap, he wasn’t entirely sure where to find the bar, and had to ask several people for directions along the way. Thankfully their directions were good and Junkheap was small enough that Chevalier found it without too much trouble. It also helped that there was a giant scrap statue atop the bar’s roof that looked like a cat…so long as you squinted and turned your head so much that it was almost touching your shoulder.

He hoped the owner’s drinks were better than their sculpting.

The bar was surprisingly quiet when Chevalier stepped inside. There were no rowdy drunks breaking tables or each other’s skulls, and the trio of droids playing snappy music in the corner were positively dignified. He looked around, didn’t see Rivi or the cosmorcs, and decided to get a drink.

“You want anything, Selene?”

The dragon’s claws appeared just over the edge of the bag. “Maybe a thimble or two of gin, if they have any good bottles.”

“I’ll see what they have.”

He approached the bar and exchanged a smile with the bartender. She was about two heads taller than Chevalier’s own height, and large muscles bulged beneath her tattooed green skin. Her pink hair was braided and hung over her shoulder.

“Haven’t seen you around before. Welcome to the Gray Cat, stranger. What brings you to Junkheap?”

“I’m just passing through,” Chevalier said. “Met a friend earlier by chance, decided to come and catch up over a drink. Talk about the good old days. I’m sure you know how that goes.”

The barkeep threw her head back and laughed. It was a raucous, barking thing that startled everyone around. “Of course, of course,” she said. “There’s a group of old star chasers at that table over there, and that’s all they ever do. Every night they’re in here swapping stories about their adventures through the empty…or accusing each other of cheating at cards.”

Chevalier looked over at the table where she was pointing and saw three people who all looked to be distinctly different ages sitting around it. The apparent oldest was withered and looked brittle, with stringy hair and eyes set deep amidst a face of wrinkles. The apparent youngest looked like a child, and the third was somewhere in the middle. They were playing some sort of card game, and sure enough, he could hear them arguing about who’d won the last hand.

“So what’ll you have?”

Chevalier looked back at the rows of bottles behind the bartender and pointed to a purple spirit in a squat glass bottle. The bartender looked back at it, smiled and poured him a glass. He also requested and received a small glass of gin, from which he could siphon out thimbles for Selene throughout the night. After paying, Chevalier settled down at a table and waited for Rivi while he nursed his drink. His purple liquor was sweet and a little spicy, and he didn’t recognize the flavor. Selene drank two thimbles of gin almost instantly before settling down in the bag with a third. It must have been pretty good, because she didn’t even pretend to complain about it.

A couple hours passed and Chevalier had another few drinks once he’d finished the first. Though he pointed to the same bottle each time, all of the flavors were different. He didn’t recognize any of them. A pleasant warmth tickled the tips of his ears, but he knew himself well enough to know that he still was not truly drunk. His good mood was somewhat soured by the fact that Rivi still had yet to show up. To be late was unlike her, and as the minutes continued to pass – some fast, others slow, due to the rocking in Chevalier’s skull – his anxiety grew.

When the clock struck fourteen, Chevalier decided that Rivi probably wasn’t going to show up after all. He finished his last drink, left a sizeable tip for the bartender and got up to leave. He slowly made his way to the street and felt the cool night air wick the sweat away from his skin as he returned to his ship. The alcohol had turned his thoughts to mush, but he couldn’t stop wondering what had happened to Rivi. Beyond that, he remembered that there was something else he had wanted to do at the bar, but he couldn’t remember what it was just then. It probably wasn’t important, or at least, the booze didn’t think so. He returned to the elevator, rode it down to the dock and after a bit of fumbling around, clambered aboard the Spitfire and promptly fell asleep.

***

The next morning, Chevalier woke up on the floor with a headache that was far too serious for how little he’d drank the night before. Stuff must have been stronger than it looked, he thought as he sat up and rubbed his head. It felt like someone was drilling a hole through his skull. He looked around the room and was relieved to see that it was clean and free of vomit. Small victories.

Selene was nestled away in her little box-bed in the middle of the ship. She whistled ever so slightly with every exhale, and sleepily nipped at his fingers as Chevalier scooped her up and perched her on his shoulder before heading towards the cockpit.

As he walked, he thought about the night before. What was it that he was supposed to –

The cosmorcs. Duh. He’d wanted to size them up and see if he’d be able to do as Bartholomew had asked, but they’d never shown up to the bar last night. That made the fact that Rivi hadn’t shown up either all the more concerning.

Selene landed hard on the ground and cursed at him as he scurried to his wardrobe and yanked out a clean bodysuit to change into.

“What’s gotten in to you this morning?”

“I think Rivi got tangled up with the cosmorcs last night. I want to go and look around. See if I can figure out why she didn’t show up.”

Selene rolled over and let her eyes fall closed. “Suit yourself, but count me out. I’m going to go ahead and get some more sleep. Come back and get me when it’s time for lunch.Or dinner.”

Before Chevalier could answer, the little dragon was asleep once more. Shaking his head, he pulled his boots back on and hurried to the hatch to leave.

It was a cooler day on Junkheap, with the artificial sky having been set to a slate gray and filled with clouds. Not all space stations put in so much work to ensure that their weather was varied. In fact, most of them had a single “day” and “night”, and never deviated from them. Layla was a huge proponent of the variety though, and the long-term residents of Junkheap seemed to appreciate it.

Chevalier combed the station’s narrow streets and alleys for some sign of his friend. He didn’t find anything, and as the station’s lights shifted to simulate midday, he started to wonder if maybe he was overreacting. After all, Rivi had said that she wasn’t sure what she was going to be doing for work next. It was possible that after he’d seen her she’d gotten an offer to work guard duty or go on a star chasing expedition and had gone off station right away. It wasn’t terribly likely, but it was possible.

He hadn’t found any sign of the cosmorcs either, though he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect to find. Hoverbike exhaust burns on the sides of buildings? Half-eaten animal corpses? His own experience with cosmorcs was limited to what he’d seen and read in dispatches and holograms. Hardly reliable sources. Maybe the reality was that cosmorcs were a species of hoverbike scholars, better versed in long-dead languages than in raising hell.

Shaking his head at the absurdity of a cosmorc reciting a classic poem, Chevalier turned a corner and came to a trash site. Bags of rotting food mixed with broken pieces of all sorts of stuff. The smell was vile, and it made his hangover worse, but before he could turn around and leave, he saw something near one of the dumpsters that caught his eye.

Rivi’s blaster. Cracked into pieces. Suspecting the worst, Chevalier ran to the dumpster and threw up the lid. Nothing. He did the same to the second and it was as he feared. Rivi was laying inside with her eyes closed. She’d been on the wrong side of something nasty; her face was bruised and her prosthetic arm broken off at the wrist.

“This can’t be happening,” Chevalier said as he struggled to lift the star chaser out of the dumpster. She was heavy though and it was not an easy task. Straining, he managed to leverage her up and out, though he fell down onto the ground to do so. Rivi landed face down on the ground next to him.

“Chev? What the hell?”

He jumped back and his heart went to his throat as Rivi groaned and pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her non-prosthetic eye was swollen shut and her other eye’s lens was cracked. Wincing as she braced her weight against the ground, she managed to push herself up to her feet. Chevalier hopped up as well and caught Rivi as her swaying legs almost gave out. She tumbled into him.

“Heh,” she chuckled. “Guess you’re a bit stronger than you look, Chev. This isn’t exactly the way I envisioned ending up in your arms.”

“Me neither, but that’s not important right now. What happened to you, Rivi? Did you get into a fight with the cosmorcs?”

“Cosmorcs? No, though I’m not going to lie, I wish I had. Cosmorcs aren’t too bad. They’re not too bright, so you just have to think a little bit and they won’t give you any problems while you bash their brains in. I got into a bit of a scrap with a girl. Reminded me of you, actually.”

“How so?”

“Well, she had a pet that she seemed really protective of. Carried it around in a bag the way you carry Selene around.”

Rivi coughed hard a few times and gratefully took Chevalier’s canteen when he offered her a sip. “Plus, she had a ring like yours, except it was red instead of blue. After I punched her, it lit up and before I knew it she was wearing armor. Big pauldrons, horns on her helmet, a cape, the works. Kind of looked like your blue moon get up, except that she had a big lance instead of a sword.”

 “Huh. Well, what did you get into a fight with her about?”

Rivi looked up at him and smiled. “We collided in the street, and both thought the other should apologize. Our discussion kind of escalated from there. I threw the first punch. Probably one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made in years. She was like something out of a storybook. Swatted me around like I was made of paper. I guess I’ve gotten soft with all this easy guard work lately.”

“Dont’ worry about it. Let’s get you to a medbay so you can get patched up. Do you think you can walk?”

“Not on my own, but if you give me a hand I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Throwing one of his friend’s arms over his shoulders, Chevalier helped Rivi “walk” down the alley and back to the main street. The people passing by gave them both a wide berth, and while none of them gawked or seemed alarmed, they didn’t offer to help either. Chevalier hadn’t really expected them to, but it would have been nice. Rivi was heavier than she looked.

“Do you even know where the nearest medbay is?”

Rivi mumbled something, but she seemed to be losing her grip on consciousness because her words were slurred and she was slumping more and more on Chevalier’s shoulder.

Thankfully a droidkin passing by on the next block was able to point Chevalier in the right direction, and even offered to help carry Rivi there. Apparently it felt a sense of camaraderie with her, seeing her prosthetics as a bond between the two of them. Chevalier thought it was a little weird, but didn’t say so. Who was he to turn down free help? Besides, he was getting tired and his head still hurt.

The medbay was a clean, spare space, with boxes of supplies stacked neatly on the far wall and a bevy of machines Chevalier didn’t recognize. He’d been lucky enough to avoid major injuries during his adventures, somehow, and so had never had much reason to visit a medbay.

An onkell doctor, tinted purple, took one look at Rivi and started spouting orders that Chevalier couldn’t understand. The star chaser had basically passed out by that point and her breathing was shallow. A group of onkell nurses appeared almost out of nowhere and gently put Rivi on a floating stretcher. They led her away to an operating room, and Chevalier was left to wait alone in the small lobby near the street. The droidkin, having done its duty in helping carry Rivi, bowed to Chevalier and left without a word. He didn’t bother trying to call it back. Droidkin didn’t make great conversation partners even during the best of times, and he wanted to think.

He wondered what time it was. There were no clocks anywhere inside the medbay and he’d forgotten to put his communications device back on when he’d changed his clothes. It felt like he’d searched for hours. Selene had probably woken up by now and was probably furiously stalking the corridors of the Spitfire while waiting for him to return with/for lunch. Or, maybe dinner.

His gaze wandered down to his right hand and lingered on the ring he wore on his index finger. He idly toyed with the silver band, feeling the warmth emanating from the stone. It whispered to him as it always did when he touched it directly. He couldn’t quite make out the words, but then, he didn’t really want to. Nothing good probably came from listening to the telepathic ramblings of an old ring. Chevalier hastily took his finger away from the blue gem and shook his head. He still didn’t trust the damn thing.

The Ring of Blue Moon, an artifact from an ancient era that possessed powers he  didn’t fully understand. Maybe he never would. Its history was murky; some legends claimed that it was made during a time before humans traveled in space. Others said that it was forged by the greatest smiths to ever wander the empty and tempered in the breath of space dragons. Selene, of course, laughed at both types of legends, but she hadn’t told him the truth of the matter, either. He suspected that despite having lived in the ring for more years than she could count, the little dragon herself didn’t really know how it came into being.

Chevalier looked away from the ring and closed his eyes until the last of its whispers in his thoughts had faded away completely. Though he wore the ring and did as he pleased from day to day, in many ways it was his master. It was the reason he was now and would forever be called Chevalier, instead of going by the name he’d been born with. It was the cornerstone of his bond with Selene, and it was the reason he was shaking with anger now as he hoped that Rivi would be okay.

She had a pet that she seemed really protective of. Carried it around in a bag the way you carry Selene around. Plus, she had a ring like yours, except it was red instead of blue.

He replayed Rivi’s words over and over in his head. Wondering if it had been someone else –someone like him— that had beaten Rivi up so badly.

He knew that the Ring of Blue Moon was not the only artifact of its kind; he’d read other legends and histories that mentioned different artifacts with similar origins, but he couldn’t remember if any of the tales had specified other rings. Ultimately, it didn’t matter if she was like him, he decided. He wanted to talk to her. After he got out of here and retrieved Selene, he’d ask around and see if anyone else had seen the girl with the red ring. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all he had. Then, once he solved the cosmorc issue for Bartholomew and unloaded the Plagtos goods, he’d spend some time tracking her down. If Rivi didn’t make it then he’d seek his revenge, and if she did…then he could just talk to her. If she did have an artifact ring, they could share experiences and maybe he could learn something about the Ring of Blue Moon’s history.

Just then, there was a loud hum and a crash outside, and Chevalier hopped to his feet. He didn’t dare invoke the ring without Selene nearby, but he grabbed a broom and clutched it ready. The wooden handle was much lighter than what he was used to working with, but he was confident he could do some damage with it if the situation warranted it.

The doors to the medbay screamed open and three cosmorcs rushed inside. They were beaten and burned, and it was obvious that they’d been crying. Clutched between the three of them was the body of a fourth cosmorc, and unless Chevalier was mistaken, all of the ornate jewelry and tattoos adorning his body meant that it was their chieftain.

Talk about a coincidence, but Chevalier had a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Because, unless he was super mistaken, the cosmorc chieftain was already dead. It was the gaping blaster wound in his chest that gave him away. Chevalier was sure that the chieftain’s companions hadn’t realized it yet, based on the fact that they’d brought him here, but it was only a matter of time until they realized what had happened.Once they did, all hell was sure to break loose.

So much for getting rid of that haul anytime soon. What would a cosmorc rampage even look like, anyways?

“Medic!” the first cosmorc yelled, pulling Chevalier back from his idle thinking. It’s voice was rich and husky, yet distinctly feminine. “Medic come now! Come now or we burn down medbay!”

As another onkell nurse scurried forward to assess the bay’s newest patient, Chevalier’s perception of the situation was turned completely on its head and he was made to feel like a fool.

Because just then, the cosmorc chieftain sat up and growled before punching his underling in the face.    

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