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The atmosphere aboard the ferry was that of a carnival or festival. People were jammed together in a burbling mass, and snippets and snatches of music from at least a dozen different worlds filled the air. Chevalier weaved through the crowd with careful steps, wary as he always was of someone bumping into him and stealing Selene’s bag. He was far more cautious here than he was on Junkheap; there were bound to be plenty of people aboard who could recognize a space dragon.

Kellen, on the other hand, was like a stone in the middle of a river. Everyone gave him a wide berth and often incredulous stares to go along with it. The mercenary was taller than all but the tallest of aliens and so intimidating that there was a palpable sensation of fear that followed his every step.When he moved he did so carefully, surely knowing that he could accidentally cause serious injury or worse if he stepped on someone.

Despite the crowd and the very real dangers that it presented – Chevalier had heard enough stories about hapless travelers aboard ferries being impressed into service aboard military vessels to be wary for the rest of his life – Chevalier felt himself relaxing. Traveling through space was dangerous, and no matter how safe the sector there was always some threat of attack that forced you to stay on your guard. It was a low level anxiety, more like a buzzing in the back of the skull than a full-throated panic that filled your every limb, but it was there nonetheless. However, the might of the Aguelot armadas and their devout protection of the ferry lanes meant that traveling aboard one of the massive whale ships was as safe as space could be.

He didn’t know exactly how long the shipping lane lasted, but guessed that it ran for at least thirty thousand waves or so. The Empire kept fleets of warships every five hundred waves, and had an outpost station every two thousand. Along with their satellites and other defensive measures, any prospective attackers would have to travel through so many layers of protection in order to reach a ferry that none of the big gangs were willing to try it and none of the small ones could manage it.

Monsters too were deterred, since each outpost station had a full cadre of Imperial Maesters armed with artifacts capable of deterring even a celeretsnom for up to three days.

It was this sense of security that made the Imperial ferries so popular, despite their high price and comparatively slow travel time.

Chevalier paused in front of a small group of people that were watching a woman dance. She stood atop a sphere of crystal and danced with languid, sensuous energy. Her outfit was as simple as it was eye-catching: pieces of glittering fabric that somehow managed to accentuate her motions and draw attention to the curves of her body no matter how she moved. Bangles of copper, silver and gold adorned her arms, and necklaces heavy with gemstones hung from her neck. She had long, rippled hair that was streaked with red and black, marking her as one of the grynaith, a wandering people who all possessed the ability to shift between human and monstrous forms at will.

If he’d had any doubt as to her origin they dissipated immediately when the dancer met his gaze. Her irises were pools of milky shadow that evoked shades of gray, white, and lilac. Chevalier felt his entire body warming as she seemed to stare right through him. Her smile made him feel as if he needed to sit down. He wasn’t sure how long she held him in thrall – it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds for all that it felt like an hour, or a day, or the entirety of his existence. When she finally looked away, doubtlessly to bewitch some other poor bastard, Chevalier’s shoulders sagged and he let out a sigh that was equal parts depression and relief.

“You okay?” Kellen asked. “I was worried that you were going to start drooling. What’s the matter with you? Haven’t you ever seen a grynaith dancer before?”

“Of course I have,” Chevalier snapped. “But I’ve never seen one like that.”

“Then you must not have been looking too closely,” Kellen said with a chuckle. “More of them are like that one than not. I’ve heard that staring into the eyes of a grynaith can be quite the disconcerting experience.”

“Have you never done it?”

Kellen shifted in his armor ever so slightly, which Chevalier took to mean no. “With my helmet on, I do not see the same way you do. There are plenty of dangerous gazes and glances out amidst the stars, and so the company takes precautions to ensure that members of my order are immune to such things. Until recently, I hadn’t removed my helmet in…probably more than a decade.”

Chevalier blinked, unsure what to say. Thankfully Kellen continued, “This dancer is talented, and one of the most beautiful that I’ve ever seen. I do not think that most  people would blame you for falling into her spell. Just take care that you do not fall too deeply into it. Most of my experiences with the grynaith are not pleasant. They are fierce fighters and can be devious.”

Next to the dancer was a grynaith man playing an instrument almost as tall as he was that looked like a cross between a flute and a horn. He was dressed simply, but his muscles bulged as his hands moved up and down his instrument’s sleek shape, pressing keys and buttons to change the intonation from deep to high and back again. With his tune, the crystal orb his companion danced atop changed colors, shifting from orange to blue to green to yellow and back again. The crowd all stood watching as if bewitched. Maybe most of them were. Chevalier certainly felt that he was.

However, eventually, like all good things must, the song slowly came to an end. As the last few notes trilled and faded into silence, the woman stopped dancing and stepped down from the orb. She looked shorter on the ground, and while her movements were still graceful, they seemed little different from anyone else’s.

She bowed and held out her arms. “Thank you for watching. Should you feel compelled to show us any tokens of your appreciation, my partner and I would both happily accept them.”

An empty basket flickered into existence in front of her. It was small, but Chevalier saw a small blink of blue light near her waist. Pocket galaxy. Within seconds, coins and markers from all around filled the basket and the crowd slowly dispersed.

He wasn’t sure why he waited, but Chevalier decided to stay where he was until the rest of the watchers had made their way elsewhere and then approached the grynaith dancer. She smiled at him as he walked towards her and Chevalier felt as if the air had grown thick. The sensation was similar to what he imagined people felt when he used his boon’s power. He trudged forward and found himself embarrassed as she waited for him to speak.

“That was…quite the performance,” he said, forcing each word through his lips as if they were pieces of a puzzle that hadn’t been quite cut to the proper sizes. “You’re a beautiful dancer.”

“Thank you, traveller,” the grynaith said as she fixed her color mess eyes on his. Her voice made him feel like he was basking in the sun on a summer’s day. She smelled of flowers and spices.

Be careful, she’s dangerous, Chevalier thought to himself. His heart was thumping in his chest and the awkwardness of moments before had vanished into thin air. Now, he felt as if he wanted to start babbling and only barely managed to keep himself from doing so.

“Where are you heading?” The grynaith asked. “I’m always curious to hear about the places people are going aboard these things.”

“I’m hunting for treasure,” Chevalier said. “My companion and I are searching for the Calypso Templar. It’s a ship that was rumored to be full of gold and silver, and it disappeared a long time ago.”

“Oh? And no one has found it? Have you perhaps found some secret map or hidden hint that would allow you to succeed where everyone else has failed?”

She batted her eyelashes at him. She battered her eyelashes at him. Chevalier clenched his jaw, told himself to focus, and answered her. He didn’t give her the details, though lucky stars he wanted to.

What is wrong with me? I need to get out of here.

“Well, I enjoyed your dance,” Chevalier said. He reached into his pocket and drew out a few Imperial marks and tossed them into the basket. “I would love to watch you again sometime.”

She laughed. “Well, I am sure that I will dance at least a few more times before it is time to depart. This is my trade, dancing aboard these ferries for the generosity of the patrons. It would make me happy to see you again. Perhaps even away from the stage, if you were interested.”

Selene popped her head out of the bag and gave the grynaith a glare. “If you knew how interested he was,” she growled, “you wouldn’t be saying that.”

The dancer threw back her head with a laugh. “Oh, you’re a precious one! What’s your name, little one?”

She bent down and reached for the space dragon, but Selene pulled away, turned to Chevalier and snorted a few sparks into his stomach. “We should leave. If you keep talking to this woman, steam is going to start coming out of your ears.”

“Don’t be like that,” the grynaith dancer said. “I don’t mean you any harm, and your scales are so beautiful!”

Selene purred at the compliment and the dancer held out her hand to Chevalier. “My name is Charlottia, traveler. What’s yours?”

Chevalier introduced himself and Charlottia gestured to Selene. “I know we’ve just met so please forgive me for being so forward. But, would you be willing to part with your tiny companion? My sister is an animal tamer, and while she’s very talented she’s hit a bit of a rough streak. The patrons aren’t interested in her shows of late, and feeding her creatures is expensive. Having such a beautiful specimen join her troupe would make all the difference, I think.”

She gestured to the basket in front of her. “As you can see, I have plenty of money. Or, if money isn’t enough maybe there are other things I can interest you in. Name your price.”

“I’m sorry,” Chevalier said with a shake of his head. “I’m afraid that she isn’t for sale.”

“Everything has a price,” Charlottia purred. She picked up the basket and turned toward her companion. Looking over her well-sculpted shoulder, she winked at Chevalier. “Won’t you think about it?”

***

“You’re not actually thinking about it, are you?” Selene asked as Chevalier and Kellen worked their way through the crowd. There were other performers here and there, but none of them attracted a crowd – or Chevalier’s attention – the way Charlottia had. A group of arlai stood in a circle playing a game of dice and shouting at each other in their native squawking tongue as they traded money back and forth. Chevalier had been known to enjoy a throw of the dice or two in his time, but there weren’t any non-arlai in the crowd and he didn’t much fancy trying to be the first.

“Of course I’m not actually thinking about it,” Chevalier said as he reached down and scratched Selene behind her ears. “Do you really think I’d do such a thing?”

“It kind of looked like you were thinking about it to me,” Kellen rumbled behind him. Chevalier turned and scowled at the mercenary.

“You said yourself that your eyes don’t work right with that helmet on. What could you see?”

“I said that I do not see the same way that you do. I never said that my eyes don’t work right. You were damn near totally immersed in her gaze back there. A few more minutes and she would have had you agreeing to whatever she wanted. Grynaith are not inherently evil, but you need to understand that their ideas of morality are not the same as yours, human. Or mine, for that matter. You shouldn’t talk to her again.”

“I agree with Kellen,” said Selene.

“Of course you do,” said Chevalier. “There’s no harm in a few casual conversations. Both of you are overreacting.”

They stopped in front of a large screen hanging from the ceiling that was broadcasting Imperial news. The sound wasn’t audible in all the din from the rest of the passengers, but there were subtitles beneath the anchor’s portrait and Chevalier read a few of them. For the most part, they were meaningless to him, but then one caught his eye.

Imperial fleet missing without a trace. Contact lost between sectors eight and nine. Investigation underway, but analysts are unsure that authorities will find answers. Other fleets have been placed on high alert.

“Looks like the Imperials are facing the same problems as Plagtos,” Kellen said.

Chevalier turned towards the mercenary and saw that he too was staring up at the screen.

“Well, maybe not the exact same problems, but a similar one. Whatever is attacking Plagtos likes to leave scraps of whale ships and company property.”

“What do you think it is?”

Kellen shrugged, his massive shoulder pauldrons heaving up and down. “I can’t say. I don’t know much about these types of things. Few in my order were ever expected to handle tactics or answer questions like that. We were simply a weapon to be pointed in whatever direction the company wanted.”

Chevalier sat down on a nearby bench. His legs felt more than a little weak and he relished the rest. Kellen remained standing, his head tilted back ever so slightly so that he could keep watching the screen.

The crowd swelled and moved around them, oblivious to anything but the spectacle of itself.

***

Three days later, Chevalier and Kellen were in the same places again, but Chevalier was shifting around on the bench anxiously, casting his eyes back and forth through the crowd in a vain attempt to spot Charlottia somewhere. He fixated on every shock of red or black hair that he saw, almost snapped his neck as he jerked his head toward every flashing gold or silver bracelet, and glared at every other performer that wasn’t the grynaith dancer.

“Still mooning?” Kellen asked. He looked away from the news screen and studied his companion. Chevalier flashed him an obscene hand gesture in response and folded his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t know you were like this,” Kellen said, “You seemed so serious back on Junkheap. Who could have guessed that you’d be as bad as a teenage boy who’d just gotten his first kiss? It’s more than a little embarrassing, to be honest.”

Chevalier leaned back on the bench. “Screw you. What would you know about it? You’ve been in that armor for almost your entire life, right? I can’t imagine that you have much experience with romance, huh?”

Kellen didn’t answer and Chevalier looked down. It had been a bit of a low blow and he knew it but he didn’t care. Part of him – a small part that was getting smaller with every passing minute – agreed with the chillsword’s assessment that he was acting foolish. It was a bit ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the grynaith’s eyes or her smile, or –if he was being honest with himself – her curves. Not his most chivalrous moment, to be sure.

He stood up and gestured into the throng. “I’m going to see if there’s anything interesting going on,” he said. “You just stay there and watch the news.”

“Good luck finding the girl,” Kellen said as Chevalier disappeared into the crowd.

Chevalier bobbed and weaved as he made his way across the length of the ferry’s recreation deck. His head swiveled back and forth as he did so, but to his frustration and chagrin Charlottia was nowhere to be found.

A hand grabbed his and Chevalier turned toward it. Charlottia grinned at him, and excited heat spread throughout his entire body before he could even say hi.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said with an seductive smile. She pressed her body into him and breathed into his right ear. “Follow me, there’s something I’ve wanted to show you since we met.”

Chevalier was not the type to normally allow himself to be pulled through a crowd by a veritable stranger, but the grynaith’s beauty had so affected him that he wasn’t thinking straight. All of his normal care and caution melted away and he gleefully followed her towards a corridor on the far end of the recreation deck.

The doors slid open and Chevalier followed Charlottia down a nearby hallway. The floors were white and the walls bare, this was a place that most passengers didn’t go. The knight chased the dancer down the hallway, and no matter how he tried to pull her into his arms, she always slipped away. Laughing and daring him to keep up, she led him deeper and deeper into the bowels of the ferry. Chevalier had almost forgotten his own name, so fixated was he on the beauty in front of him, but when he turned a sharp right corner, his senses returned with stunning speed.

Four burly grynaith stood in a line, each heavily armed.

Charlottia ran over to the tallest one, stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The grynaith wrapped a beefy arm around the dancer’s waist and glowered at Chevalier. Recognition dawned on the knight. This grynaith was the one who played the flute during Charlottia’s performance.

Though he knew perfectly well what was about to happen, Chevalier still felt compelled to ask what was going on.

Charlottia looked at him and once again he felt that flash of heat, but this time Chevalier kept his head. The dancer grinned – had her smile always been so feral? – and winked at Chevalier.

“It’s nothing personal. Hand over the space dragon and there won’t be any problems, okay?”

“And if I choose not to?”

“Then we’ll take it.”

At the same time, the grynaiths all began to shapeshift. Their bodies lengthened and thickened, their nearly perfect human proportions replaced by a grotesque mockery. Their skin turned to scales, and their eyes narrowed and shrank until they were barely visible on each face. Fingers transformed into claws, Chevalier got the distinct impression that their weapons were more for show and convenience than necessity.

When they finished transforming, Chevalier found himself facing five massive reptilian creatures. They smiled at him menacingly, and the one that had once been Charlottia extended her right hand towards the knight.

“What’ll it be, traveler?”

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The trip to the shipping lane took a little less than two days, as Chevalier’s mental clock counted it. His sense of time would get fuzzier eventually, but for now he still had a decent circadian rhythm that anchored his thoughts.

He’d slept twice during the trip, and had been more than a little happy each time he’d woken up afterwards. Despite his sincere belief that Kellen wouldn’t take the opportunity to seek revenge for the death of his brother, he hadn’t been completely certain and had slept pretty lightly with a blaster near to hand. Admittedly, such a small weapon wouldn’t have really had any impact on Kellen’s armor, but he could do a good bit of damage to the Spitfire with it. Mutually assured destruction was as good a deterrent as anything out in the Empty. Thankfully, it hadn’t been necessary and Chevalier felt himself relaxing a bit around the Chillsword.

That was thanks to Selene.

She’d taken a shine to Kellen, and it was clear that the Chillsword was intrigued with the dragon at the least. The two of them talked – well, really it was just Selene chattering and Kellen answering her barrage of questions or grunting that he was still listening, but that probably still counted – and Chevalier was free to fixate on the dozens of little things that kept their trip smooth. Keeping the engines balanced, accounting for the strange pulses of energy that knocked the ship to one side or the other from time to time, restoring cameras that stopped working due to a faulty connection, things like that. It was boring, quiet work that normally was made far more difficult by Selene’s yapping, but with her focus on Kellen, Chevalier breezed through each task and their trip was easier than any in recent memory.

Bartholomew, or more honestly, Hurkwin, had done a pretty good job on the ship’s repairs. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but the Spitfire had definitely developed a minor rocking before he’d docked at Junkheap. Now that it wasn’t there, Chevalier felt a bit unsteady as he walked around the deck. It was odd, the way that the lack of something was far more noticeable than its presence had been in the first place.

He looked out at the horizon, taking comfort from the inky blackness of space and the pale glow of stars, planets and stations far in the distance. They’d passed a few ships here and there as they traversed the well-protected Imperial lanes, but none had hailed them, and Chevalier hadn’t felt much like starting the conversation himself. Some of them flew the flags of local planets, others sailed under the protection of various guilds or factions, and there was even an Aguelot vessel broadcasting Imperial news.

A few small therzons fluttered past the Spitfire’s main camera, and Chevalier watched the reptile-bird things bob and weave in seemingly random patterns. He smiled. Chevalier had always liked therzons. Even during his days as a novice, they’d inspired him. That such small creatures could survive the ravages of space was incredible, as was the fact that they ventured so far into the Empty, perpetually migrating to some mythical roost. Somehow they managed to avoid the attention of the great beasts that slumbered between stars and avoided being eaten. In their own way, therzons were the natural wanderers and adventurers of space that humans and all other peoples did their best to emulate.

Kellen came into the cockpit and stood behind Chevalier. Chevalier turned and pointed at the console to his right.

“If you’re going to be in here, stand where I can see you.”

Kellen did as requested, but there was a definite note of satisfaction in his voice as he responded with “Why? Are you worried that I may not be as pragmatic as you thought?”

Chevalier shrugged. “It’s crossed my mind, I’ll admit. You’re here against your will because your new owner told you to come along. Add that to the fact that I killed your brother and you have a pretty decent case for being justified in wanting me dead.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I’m glad you’re not as stupid as you seem. However, you don’t need to worry. My brother and I were…not particularly close. Back on Junkheap, it was more that I was shocked. I’d never felt rage like that before I mean, I’d heard that we were prone to fits of uncontrollable rage, but I thought that with everything…I thought I’d never experience it.”

“Who experiences fits of rage? I’ve never heard of Chillswords being particularly emotional.”

“Heh. That’s not what I meant. Let me show you.”

There was a hiss and Kellen reached up to his helmet. He clasped it with both hands and lifted it away from the armor. It looked heavy, even dwarfed as it was in Kellen’s gauntlets. Without the helmet, Chevalier found himself looking at a leathery face with two knobby horns, a pierced septum, and wide bovine features that Chevalier didn’t have to have seen before to recognize. Kellen was a Taurolk. Descended from ancient guardians of labyrinths, Taurolk had taken to space and become more modernized guardians. The winding walls of stone from their history had been replaced by sprawling paths of stars, but ultimately, Taurolk performed the same tasks that they always had.

“Before you ask,” Kellen said, noticing the expression on Chevalier’s face, “no, not all Chillswords are Taurolk. Many of us decide to enter the corps, but we are far from the only species that gravitates to mercenary work. The company can build anyone to become a proper Chillsword, and they do.”

“Build?”

“Yeah. Build. Afraid that I can’t say more than that. Physically and mentally, every member is modified and reconstructed to be the perfect soldier, the perfect weapon. The specifics are a Plagtos secret, not that I ever learned any of them. Those undergoing the process don’t really have a lot of time or energy for questions.”

Kellen’s voice was fairly different without his helmet on. The mechanical buzz that permeated every word was gone, and it made him seem…tired. Well, maybe drained was a better way to say it. It was thin and reedy, and he definitely seemed lesser than he did with the helmet on.  Less intimidating, less in-control, and less of a machine. Chevalier thought it was a good change.

“Is the process painful?”

“It is…unpleasant. They give you a variety of tonics and capsules to minimize the physical discomfort, but there are things that are worse than pain.”

“Like what?”

The taurolk shook his head and gave Chevalier a look that made him decide not to press the matter any further. Instead, he changed the topic of conversation to the topic of the treasure ship.

“Well, uh, anyways. What do you know about the Calypso Templar?”

“Hadn’t ever heard of it until you mentioned it.”

And so with the autopilot directing them safely towards their destination, the next few hours passed with Chevalier explaining the history of the ship and the various theories that had been put forth in an attempt to find it. Despite having heard all of this at least twice, Selene curled up on her side next to Chevalier’s foot and listened intently with a small grin on her face.

***

As they drew close to the dock, Chevalier trained, ate, and slept. Kellen sulkily stared through the monitors into space, and Selene took great pleasure in chattering at both of them about what she was going to do with her treasure once they found the Calypso Templar. The thought that perhaps they wouldn’t find it, that they would meet the same fate as all the other searches throughout the centuries and return to Junkheap with empty storage bays and a jump dock free of loot didn’t seem to cross the little dragon’s mind. Chevalier didn’t feel like mentioning it to her.

A jam of ships greeted them as they slowed to a stop in the ferry waiting area. Their comms were open and Chevalier heard a gaggle of languages from all around that he didn’t speak –mostly insectoid dialects made up sounds his throat wasn’t compatible with – and picked up snippets of a few that he sort of understood. From what he could tell, it was mostly the idle chatter of those with nothing to do but wait.

“How long until the ferry arrives?” Kellen asked. Chevalier checked his charts, punched some numbers into his computer and waited a few seconds until it finished calculating.He hated the tiny computer, hated the way it blinked, the way it beeped, and everything else about it. Unfortunately, he’d never had the head for paper calculations and so was forced to use it.

“Let’s see…uh, it looks like two and a half standard hours…ish.”

Kellen raised an eyebrow.

“Well, in that case I’m going to go and enter a rest cycle until then. Please wake me before we board the ferry.”

With a clank, clang and hiss, Kellen turned and clomped down the hall. Chevalier reclined in his chair and opened up his Imperial codex. He’d spend the wait time browsing random stories and articles. His incarceration had been an exception: normally reading time was hellishly hard to come across during a trip through space.

There was a ripple of energy and the Spitfire rocked back and forth as the ferry arrived. It was a whale ship, twenty waves long and painted green, with no fewer than five decks. Plenty of room for ships and cargo. A fleet of minnows launched from its massive bays and zipped out to the ships waiting. The din of voices coming over the general comms disappeared one by one as each ship discussed their cargo and intent with the ferry reps.

Chevalier turned off the codex and waited for the telltale beep that signified it was his turn to answer the standard list of questions that accompanied every trip on the ferries. When it came, he turned off the general comms and waited for his main monitor screen to flicker to life.

A haggard human with a thin mustache and eyeglasses appeared.

“Ship and Pilot name, please.”

“This is the Spitfire and my name is Chevalier.”

Normally, humans blinked at his name or asked him to repeat it, but this guy didn’t seem to care. Chevalier noticed the dark bags under his eyes and wondered how long it had been since the man last slept.

“Any cargo aboard that would be subject to Rule #3728: Quarantined and hazardous goods?”

“Uh, I don’t think so? What sort of goods are even covered by that?”

“Fruits and other foodstuffs mostly. Some types of fuel, batteries, and computers also apply. Any Satton-Haurs goods aboard your ship?”

“No, I don’t have any of that aboard. The only food I have has been approved for long distance travel by the Empire’s standards board. Same for everything else you listed.”

“Do you mind if I verify that? We had some exploding lpeppua fruits a few trips back that almost put the ferry out of commission, so we’re extra careful these days.”

Chevalier assented and the ferry rep sent over a small drone. It was ball-shaped and socketed itself to Spitfire’s side. After that, it beeped and buzzed as it scanned the ship’s manifest and verified the cargo for itself. Now, if Chevalier had been smuggling something, it wouldn’t have shown up on that scan, but he was on the up-and-up (this time) and the report was accurate.

“Thank you,” came the toneless, exhausted voice. “How many aboard your vessel? Will you be paying now or should we send the charge to an on-station account?”

“Three passengers. Please send the bill to the following bank address on Junkheap.”

“Junkheap?”

“Jnk-HP07. It’s a space station.”

The sound of clicking was loud in the ship’s cockpit as the employee searched the listings of known planets and stations and then the man grunted and stopped typing once he found it.

“Thank you. We will have you go ahead and board right away. Please go to dock four on the stern side of the ferry. Have a pleasant trip.”

The screen died before Chevalier could answer, which was fine. He released the anchor field and directed his vessel toward the ferry’s bow. As he sailed alongside the massive ship, he truly felt tiny. Each of the plates that made up the ferry’s hull was twenty or thirty times the size of the Spitfire and there were too many plates to count. Each one was fastened by a string of rivets, and all of those were all bigger than he was. He’d seen and been on whale ships before, but the sense of awe at their size never left.

Chevalier landed the ship on the dock as directed and went to wake Kellen. The Chillsword was crouched in the corner of his quarters. He hadn’t put his helmet back on, and his unarmored head looked small and out of place compared to the hulking size of his pauldrons. His armor was dull and dark, the sigils and runes that covered it devoid of the light that Chevalier was used to seeing. Kellen did not look like a living creature asleep; instead he looked like a machine turned off and put into storage.

Kellen’s weapon had been wrapped in a material Chevalier didn’t recognize and stored in the corner, but when Chevalier let his hand hover over the blade he could still feel the chill coming through the fibers. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like the cold was freezing the ship at all. That would have been pretty bad.

“Hey, Kellen, can you hear me?”

The mercenary stirred immediately, his armor blinking back to life as he did so. He opened a sleepy eye and looked at Chevalier.

“I don’t feel any movement. Have we landed already?”

Chevalier nodded and Kellen stood up. A symphony of hissing creaks followed the motion, and Kellen’s shoulders clicked back into place. He moved his arms and legs slowly, as if testing to make sure that they were aligned properly and then went to pick up his sword.

“Sorry, you’ll have to leave it here,” Chevalier said. “Plenty of people who ride these things tend to not see eye to eye – or eye to stalk, appendage, or second head in some cases – with one another, and so the ferry company banned weapons for passengers.”

“That’s a foolish rule, how are we to protect ourselves if the ship is attacked during its voyage?”

“We don’t have to worry about it. The shipping lane is protected by an Aguelot fleet, and the ferry has plenty of its own guards. The shipping lanes haven’t been attacked in years. Don’t worry about it.”

Kellen paused for a moment and Chevalier could see the struggle to take his sword play out on the taurolk’s face. Finally, he relented. “If you say that it is safe, I won’t protest. However, I’ll remind you that the whaleships of my former employer also thought that they were safe from attack, and we both know how that turned out.”

Chevalier didn’t know how to respond, so he turned and left to disembark. Selene was waiting next to her bag with a grin on her face.

“I wonder what sort of yummy food I’ll get to try,” she said.

“I doubt that there’s anything aboard that’s much different from the normal ferry crud. It’s a transport vessel, not a gourmet ship.”

“Pshhh. You and I both know that there’s always some sort of shady little restauranteur type who sets up a tiny kitchen and fries their local delicacies up in the middle of the recreation area. The ferry guards never give then any trouble, and the stuff is usually pretty good too.”

Selene was right. While the selling of goods during the trip, including food, was technically forbidden by the ferry officials, the reality was that the ship was too large and carried too many passengers to effectively police. As such, all sorts of black market deals were made aboard the ferries, and contraband cuisine was almost certainly at the bottom of the list for enforcement.

Chevalier walked to the jump dock and pressed the button to open its outspace door. He stepped out onto the hard metal floor of the ship and looked around. He was in an absolutely massive docking bay, surrounded by ships of all makes and models, painted in every color and pattern imaginable. Other pilots and their crews were lurking in the shadows between vessels. Some talked and joked with each other. Some stood straight and still, silently surveying every other passenger they happened to see.

On his own, Chevalier didn’t attract much attention. After all, who would pay attention to a regular sized human with boring features and short brown hair? With so many other species and people to see? Basically nobody. However, Kellen was a different matter. He’d put his helmet back on and looked every part the menacing mercenary. However, without the weapon hanging from his back, he wasn’t immediately recognizable. There were plenty of groups other than Plagtos that favored big, bulky armors for their members. Luckily, other than a few wary glances, there was no trouble and Chevalier breathed a sigh of relief.

Selene poked her head up out the bag and pointed off towards the far side of the ship. “Let’s go that way! I smell meat!”

Chevalier and Kellen did as suggested, and made their way deeper into the maze of ships and passengers.

A few hundred feet behind them, a figure in gray weaved through the crowd.

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The streets of Junkheap were busier than Chevalier expected. Or, maybe it was just that he hadn’t seen them in so long that his mind was playing tricks on him. Either way, he felt as if he was constantly stepping to the side or dodging diagonally to avoid crashing into somebody. This delicate dance was made all the more difficult by the fact that he was carrying a heavy sack of foodstuffs that was supposed to keep him well-fed for at least a few weeks.

“You know, I have to ask. What makes you think that I won’t just kill you as soon as you’re asleep?”

Chevalier turned back and grinned at Kellen, who was traipsing along behind him with a crate of supplies almost as big as he was. The former Plagtos asset didn’t seem to be struggling under the weight at all, and his cadence of steps –clank, clang, hiss, clank, clang, hiss – had barely changed.

It was a good question, all things considered. Chevalier wasn’t even sure what sort of fey mood had taken him in that conference room, as he’d negotiated with Layla to have her assign her new mercenary to his damn fool errand. The thought had just popped into his head as he’d gone through the details, and he’d somehow managed to convince the onkell station master to accede to his request. And, to be completely honest, he wasn’t entirely sure that Kellen wouldn’t take the first opportunity presented to exact revenge for the death of his brother. Still, he didn’t have to let the Chillsword know that. Kellen had argued against the venture, but the station master had made up her mind and hadn’t listened to his protests.

”Pragmatism,” Chevalier answered, “after all, do you know how to navigate a ship through the Empty? Or, not even the Empty. What about shallow space? If not, killing me would mean that you’d drift aimlessly along until you run into someone charitable enough to stop and pick you up. Or raiders, who’d kill you and sell your fancy armor for scrap.”

When Kellen bristled but didn’t respond, Chevalier turned back and resumed his trek through the streets. He’d done some reading about the Chillswords on the little Imperial Codex (which he had “accidentally” forgotten to return to Layla upon his release) the night before, and had learned that they were treated almost as glorified cargo. Even the vast reserves of the Aguelot Empire had little about the origins of the corps, or their practices but he’d seen enough to have a rudimentary understanding. Without fail, they were forced into small cubbies and put to sleep for long journeys, and most members were never allowed anything remotely like control over a spaceship. As such, Kellen would be totally hopeless at piloting the need came up.

They walked for a few more minutes in silence before a loud voice got their attention!

“Chev! You’re out!”

Chevalier put down his bag of supplies just in time as Rivi barreled into him and lifted him a few inches off the ground in a crushing hug. The star chaser held him there for a few seconds and gave him another rib-wracking squeeze that drove the last bits of air out of his lungs. He tapped on her shoulder a few times and managed to choke out “Glad to see you too, Rivi!” and breathed a sweet sigh of relief when she returned him to the ground.

Rivi stepped back and looked him up and down. “You look like you lost weight. They probably didn’t feed you much, huh?”

From there they talked for a few minutes about Chevalier’s incarceration, and when they were done, Rivi looked at Kellen.

“That doesn’t sound like much fun at all. I’m glad you got off the hook. What’s with the clanker?”

“I’m going on a treasure hunt. He’s coming along.”

Rivi looked at the patches of rime on the ground where the tip of Kellen’s weapon almost touched the ground and nodded at him. “Chillsword, huh? Thought you all worked for Plagtos.”

“I did. My contract was transferred to station master Layla as part of the company’s repayment for the damage incurred during my battle with Chevalier.”

The star chaser raised her eyebrow at Chevalier. “Didn’t you kill one of the Chillswords down on the dock?”

“Yeah.”

“And you think it’s a good idea to have him along with you? You two fought on the docks, right? You got a death wish or something?”

Chevalier shrugged. “Nothing risked, nothing gained, right?”

Rivi shook her head. “I always forget that when it comes down to it, you’re crazy. Well, Selene will be thrilled that you’re going on a treasure hunt. Have you seen her yet?”

“No, I only got out a few hours ago and have been working on getting supplied. I’m heading back to the Spitfire pretty soon. How about you? You want to come treasure hunting? I could use a friendly pair of eyes to watch my back.”

“Wish I could, but I’m heading off station in a few days,” Rivi said. She’d replaced her lost trident and gotten a new blaster, which hung in the same place as the old one. “Joined up with a star hunting crew that was passing through. Apparently they’ve been chasing a yrelion for the better part of the last three years. I’m going to help them find it.”

Kellen tilted his head to the side. “Yrelion?”

“Big glowing balls of energy,” Rivi said. “They seek out stars to collect energy from them in order to grow bigger.”

“What’s so special about that?”

“Yrelions have an almost uncanny knack for finding fresh stars, so to speak. We don’t know why, but they seem to prefer to draw energy from stars that no one has ever seen before. Lots of stars have been discovered by following them. So, hopefully we can track it down and then it can lead us to glory.”

Chevalier smiled. He recognized the glint in Rivi’s eye. It was the same as the one he was sure was in his own when he was hunting for treasure. He held out his hand and Rivi took it. Her grip was firm, but not overly so. “Be safe, friend.”

She looked at Kellen once more and her grin faded. “You too,” she said once she turned back to Chevalier. “Don’t go and get yourself killed.”

Having said everything that needed to be said and a wave, they went their separate ways.  Chevalier led Kellen back to the dock where they’d met, though he hoped that this time the end result wouldn’t be the station master’s prison.

***

Selene leapt onto Chevalier’s shoulder the instant he boarded the ship and crawled all over him. The little dragon scolded, licked, scratched and cried –often within the same sentence – as she reunited with her companion.

“You idiot!” she hollered as she nipped at him. “How could you have let yourself get beaten like that? Don’t you know how worried I was? Did you ever think about what would happen to me if something happened to you? Don’t you—”

Chevalier plucked her up from his shoulder and held her out in front of his body. “It’s fine, Selene. I’m back now. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

“That’s all you can say? I’ve been sitting here for weeks, scrounging for food while you were rotting away in your cell. Since I couldn’t get into the storage locker, I had to eat bugs, Chevalier! Bugs! How are you going to make that up to me?”

Selene was writhing in his grip, and little bits of smoke were floating up from her nostrils.

Chevalier smiled as he heard a noise from Kellen that might have been the start of a laugh.

“Well,” said Chevalier, “I was thinking we’d go on a treasure hunt.”

Selene’s mood changed in an instant. Her rage, sadness and irritation were all gone, replaced by the little dragon’s borderline rabid lust for gold.

“Finally! I’ve been so bored salvaging shipwrecks that I thought I was going to die. We’re going to get to have a real adventure! Where are we going?”

She babbled and blathered as Chevalier and Kellen loaded the supplies into the Spitfire’s hold. It was only when she paused to take a few deep breaths that she seemed to notice the Chillsword for the first time. To her credit, she didn’t seem scared or startled by his presence, she just walked in front of him and looked up.

“And why are you here?”

The Chillsword pointed at Chevalier. “Ask your boss.”

Selene glared at Chevalier – no doubt he’d get an earful later – but raced up Kellen’s armor and braced herself up in front of the mercenary’s eyes with her forelegs.

“Let’s make one thing clear,” she hissed. “Chevalier is not my boss. Forget again and I’ll rip your eyes out.”

Chevalier tensed as Kellen shrugged his shoulders. Without a doubt, the mercenary could reach up with one of his massive gauntleted hands and crush Selene into blue scaly paste, but he didn’t. Instead he reached up and tapped the lens protecting his right eye.

“You think I care if you’ve got a helmet on? I’m a dragon! A dragon!”

This time Kellen did laugh. It sounded reedy and awkward, and Chevalier imagined that Kellen hadn’t often had an opportunity for laughter during his employment with Plagtos. Had he laughed with his brother? Impossible to know.

“And what a fine dragon you are,” Kellen said. “Though I’d always heard that space dragons were bigger.”

“That’s his fault!”

Kellen looked up over Selene’s accusingly pointed tail and nodded.

“I apologize for my mistake. I’ll endeavor not to repeat it.”

Selene stared at the mercenary for a moment and then nodded. She scampered down his shoulder and glided to the ground before scurrying up the ramp and onto the ship. Before disappearing from view, she looked at Chevalier. “Will we be leaving soon?”

The knight nodded and picked up another box of dried noodles. “Soon as we finish packing up.”

***

A little while later, Chevalier fired up Spitfire’s thrusters and eased the vessel out of the dock. It felt good to be back aboard his ship and even better to be back behind the controls. The grip of the sticks, the comforting lumpiness of his seat, the incessant blinking of lights above his head, and the familiar vibrations of flight. All of it was perfection, in its own muddled way.

Kellen stood behind him, Spitfire didn’t have any seats big enough for the Chillsword’s heavy armor, and they both watched the flow of ships in the station’s orbit. Junkheap was starting to get busy as word of its amenities spread and weary star sailors sought respite on its well-maintained shores. Selene had perched herself on Chevalier’s shoulder and probably would remain there until it was time to put the ship on autopilot and go to sleep.

“So, where are we going?” Kellen asked. “I can’t imagine you’re thinking about flying us all the way into the Empty in this ship. There’s no way it could survive the trip, and that’d take months, if not years.”

Chevalier pulled up his map of the Aguelot Empire on his secondary monitor. He pointed to a long red line a few days trip from Junkheap.

“There’s a shipping lane not too far from here with gates every few thousand waves all the way out to the edge of the empire. We’ll pay for a spot on one of the ferry whales and that’ll take us close enough to Rozaulia that we can explore and search for the Calypso Templar on our own. The ferries are pretty quick, so it shouldn’t be too long of a trip.”

Kellen grunted, but said no more.

Chevalier couldn’t help it. He smiled. There was an air of excitement in the cockpit as he carefully navigated through the bits of debris and other ships circling Junkheap before accelerating into open space. Like a man dying of thirst in the desert might drink water, Chevalier drank in the sense of anticipation, the beckoning unknown and the feeling that no matter what happened in the days to come that his entire world would change.

There was only one name for such a feeling.

Adventure.

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The room warped. The Magistrate seemed to grow and grow until Chevalier had to crane his neck to look up into the golden eyes. So far as he could tell, he was alone, the features of the room and everyone else in it had vanished.

Chevalier’s body started shaking. No matter how he tried to calm his muscles, his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably. His stomach rolled over, and he felt as if he was in danger of trying to crawl out of his own skin. What was this power? Was it a boon? An ancient technique passed down through the generations? Some sort of manifestation of the Emperor’s will? Plain old magic?

It didn’t matter. He put his hands to his throat and mouth, and it took all of his will power to avoid throwing up.

The Soothsayer appeared next to the Magistrate’s statue. She moved quickly, but did not rush, and after a few gliding seconds stood in front of Chevalier. Her veil had been lifted and he could see her face. She was beautiful, with sharp features that didn’t seem entirely human. One of her eyes was gold, and the other was silver. She had a long, narrow smile that hinted at secrets known but never spoken, and when she reached up to touch Chevalier’s chin with a slender hand, a jolt of electricity sizzled through the knight’s nerves.

“What you feel is normal,” she said. Her voice was poetry given sound, and it washed away the adverse effects of the Magistrate’s gaze, replacing them with a profound sense of calm. “You are a man of many secrets, used to untruth. Being forced to endure the yoke of truth is unpleasant for one such as you.”

Chevalier nodded.

“But I promise that what you are feeling will be temporary, and when we have seen your story you will be returned, unharmed, to the room in the station master’s mansion.”

“Seen? Not heard?”

The Soothsayer shook her head. “Normally we would have you tell us your side of the story, but alas, as my companion has already said our time is short and we are needed elsewhere. With your permission, I can facilitate the viewing of your memories.”

“I don’t suppose refusal is a real option, is it?”

When the Soothsayer didn’t answer, Chevalier shrugged. “So be it. Do what you must.”

With her free hand, the Soothsayer traced a circle around Chevalier’s head in the air. To his surprise, a trail of golden sparks followed her movements. The sparks smelled like freshly mowed grass. After the circle came a pair of triangles around his eyes and a series of smaller rings that pointed toward the Magistrate.They all smelled like flowers.

“Are you ready, Your Excellency?”

A deep, resonating sound like the tolling of a bell answered her and she clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. Chevalier’s throat felt squeezed, as did his head and then, with a twisting feeling, an image appeared in front of his face. It was like a hologram being projected, but instead of a piece of machinery, it was his own eyes and mouth that were creating the picture.

The Soothsayer started chanting, changing the shape of her fingers as she did so, and Chevalier watched an encore of his memories. He was powerless to stop the playback or to hide any of them, and felt the urge to protest as the Magistrate sped some things up, slowed others down, repeated sections multiple times and skipped others entirely. The actual salvage of Plagtos’ whale ship was passed over at what felt like triple speed, as was the entirety of his trip to Junkheap, but Chevalier relived the fight with Kellen and his brother no fewer than seven times. On each viewing, the Magistrate – and likely the Soothsayer as well – pored over every second to see who was responsible for each bit of damage to the station. Some aspect of the Soothsayer’s power allowed them to zoom in and out, providing a level of detail and clarity to the process that Chevalier would have never dreamed possible.

He wasn’t sure how long the entire thing took, and was grateful as could be that the myriad of symptoms he’d experienced before the Soothsayer had appeared were mostly gone. However, he still breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the memory caught up with the moment and the Soothsayer stopped her chanting. The shapes in front of his face all vanished and Chevalier slumped forward, suddenly exhausted. His eyes rolled in their sockets of their own accord, and a great shudder wracked his body.

The room slowly faded back to normal, and Chevalier found himself staring at the Magistrate, who still had glowing eyes but had returned to his regular size and didn’t seem quite so imposing.

He looked at the Soothsayer. Once again, her features were obscured by her veil, but he thought he saw her eyes crinkling as if smiling and felt an echo of the calm he now associated with her.

To his side, the Plagtos representative shook and trembled. With a mumbled curse, the portly man reached up to his forehead and wiped away a thick bead of sweat. He was pale and looked as if he’d just been ill. Perhaps he had. Next to him, Kellen was hunched over the way someone might be if they had a stomachache. Or if they’d been punched.

Layla and her staff all looked totally unfazed. In fact, they all wore the bored expressions of people desperate to be somewhere else but bound in place by prior obligation.

“I have made my decision,” the Magistrate said. “After watching the memories of those involved and discussing the matter with my companion, I declare that Chevalier is innocent of all charges. The damage done to the station is solely the fault of Kellen, and by extension, the Plagtos Corporation, as it was in the adherence of their policy that he attacked the Spitfire and damaged the station dock.”

Chevalier let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the Magistrate and Soothsayer stood up. He bowed to them both as they started to leave, but as the Soothsayer reached the door she turned back and smiled at him.

I have taken a liking to you. We will meet again, Chevalier of Blue Moon.

It was her voice, but in his mind. Other than Selene and the creature of the Ring, Chevalier had never heard of being able to speak into the minds of others. He blushed at the sound – feeling? – of her voice. Stupid thoughts that had no place in that room filled his mind, and he hoped that the Soothsayer’s powers to commune with him didn’t extend to the reading of his inner monologue.

As soon as the Imperials were gone, the Plagtos rep stood up and adjusted his collar. He looked like he was already recovering from the adverse effects of the testimony.

“Well station master, it appears that the matter is settled. Plagtos is very sorry about the entire situation, and we will be turning all of Kellen’s assets over to you in the next few hours. Of course, we will also be happy to provide the assets from RK-117 as well, as we discussed previously.”

“I remember. I’m sure that you’ll remember that, as I said when you first brought up this plan, that the cumulative amount of their assets is not enough to pay for the damage,” Layla said. “Your firm will have to pony up the difference.”

“Nonsense,” the representative said as an evil smile crossed his face. “Based on your estimates, the combined assets of RK-117 and RK-118 will pay for most of the serious structural damage. I believe the remainder can be paid for by transferring Kellen’s contract to your station. Based on the average Chillsword’s lifetime earnings, such a transfer would more than pay off the remainder of your station’s damages. You could either utilize him as a mercenary for your own purposes – as part of your security staff, perhaps? –or you could sell the contract to another bidder. I’m sure there are many in the Empire who would jump at such an opportunity, and I would be happy to put you in contact with some of them if you desired it.”

Layla’s eyes flared open. “You would give me a slave to sell and think that it absolves you of your responsibilities? What if I refuse?”

The Plagtos man kept his cool and shook his head. “I don’t think you’d be so foolish. And besides, you’re looking at this wrong. Kellen would not be a slave. He would be a contracted mercenary with a lifetime bond. He chose to join the order of Chillswords of his own free will, which means that he’s assented to something like this. While uncommon, contract transfers do happen.”

The onkell looked at Kellen, who was still sitting hunched at the table. If the mercenary had any sort of emotional reaction to the prospect of being traded like a piece of cargo he didn’t show it. Willing contract or not, Chevalier couldn’t help but agree with Layla’s initial assessment, that this was the sale of a slave, not the payment of a debt. However, Layla was nothing if not pragmatic, and Chevalier saw the wheels turning in her head at the implications of Plagtos’ offer. Chillswords were certainly valuable assets, and getting one’s contract would be a huge boon for station security. Though, Chevalier couldn’t imagine what Layla could possibly need such an impressive fighter for. Her own staff seemed competent and well-trained. Perhaps she had ambitions that were greater than simply administering Junkheap.

After a moment, Layla nodded at the Plagtos rep. “Fine, I’ll accept your company’s offer.”

“Excellent, I will have the papers drawn up immediately.”

With a bow that seemed more than a little mocking, the Plagtos rep left the room and Layla glowered at Chevalier.

“Why are you still here? I thought that you would have left already, since the Magistrate absolved you of any responsibility for the station’s damage. I’d prefer it if you got onto your ship, flew far away and never came back, but I won’t make you. You’re innocent, technically.”

Chevalier ignored the barb as he looked at Kellen, and decided to do something that had been bubbling in his mind for the past few minutes. He generally wasn’t this impulsive, or at least, he tried not to be.

“The Magistrate freed me of obligations to your station but there is another debt I owe. I’d like to discuss paying a bloodwit for the death of RK-117. Since you’re going to be holder of Kellen’s contract soon, that means that you’re probably the best recipient for it.”

That got Kellen’s attention, and the mercenary looked up at Chevalier.

“Why?”

“Your brother offered to pay one for me, and I feel obligated to do the same.”

Layla looked at Chevalier. “I am not going to say no to money, but how do you propose to pay this bloodwit? During our investigation, I spoke extensively with Bartholomew about your financial dealings here on Junkheap. He was clear that you were…not well off.”

Chevalier smiled. “That’s true, but I have a plan. You see, I’m a treasure hunter and while I was experiencing your hospitality, I had the time to do some reading. Station Master, have you ever heard of the Calypso Templar?”

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Hours turned into days but hadn’t quite turned into weeks. At least, Chevalier didn’t think they had. He was still in his cell, and admittedly was feeling the first twinges of boredom as he stared out the small porthole.

A movement caught his eye. Just past the first row of satellites that surrounded the station there was a long string of objects flying away from the station–hoverbikes, Chevalier realized—connected to each other with neon green tethers. There were two per bike, which gave the group the appearance of a long glowing chain, or a snake. The hoverbikes slithered out past the second row of satellites and then the third before disappearing into the Empty. Chevalier watched them go with a smile –and a sense of relief.

Good luck, Durzol. I hope that you find the Calypso Templar and that I never see you again.

The Ring of Blue Moon was quiet, which Chevalier was grateful for. Confined as he was and far from Selene, he didn’t think he’d be able to ward off the whispering presence if it had decided to assail him once again.

There was a scraping sound outside, and Chevalier turned to see the gray-red onkell who brought his food twice a day coming through the door. In its hands, as always, was a thin metal tray containing a bowl of gloppy gruel that had the look – and taste – of the ancient bookbinding paste Chevalier had used during his time as a scholar’s novice to repair and replace lost pages and bindings of old manuscripts. Despite the nostalgia, Chevalier couldn’t say that he particularly enjoyed his meals. But food was food and he was grateful for it.

“Excuse me,” he asked as the caretaker-guard passed the tray through the forcefield. “Do you know how much longer I’ll be detained? I have not heard any further news on my case.”

The onkell shook its head. “The station master is closely monitoring the situation.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Am I going to be here for another week? Another month? Another year? Until I die?”

“I’m afraid that I cannot tell you that. The station master is closely monitoring the situation.”

Chevalier glared at the onkell, recognizing bureaucratic nonsense when he heard it.

“Fine. Does the station have any terminals that can access the Imperial Libraries? If so, may I be permitted to have one? Reading would help alleviate the boredom of my captivity.”

“I will inquire with the station master.”

The onkell bowed ever so slightly and left. Chevalier returned to his bed and looked up at the ceiling. He wondered what Selene was up to, and if Bartholomew and crew had managed to successfully offload the goods from the Spitfire before the authorities managed to investigate properly. That would cure multiple headaches before they had the opportunity to come into existence.

With nothing better to do after finishing his meager meal, Chevalier decided that he should probably do some calisthenics to help pass the time. He got down from his bed and did as many pushups as he could until the shaking in his arms and burning in his shoulders made him doubt that he’d be able to press himself back up to the starting position if he did another rep. Gasping for breath and covered in more sweat than he thought he should have been, Chevalier leaned back against the wall and let his arms relax against his sides. That was a good start, but not enough. He resolved to do other exercises until his body’s protests were too much to push through.

Unfortunately, that time came far faster than Chevalier had expected it to, and as he slumped to the floor, shaking, he was furious at how weak he’d gotten. Crawling up onto his bed and staring at the ceiling, Chevalier tried to think about the last times he’d actually trained with intent. He couldn’t remember any, and decided that was a problem. For too long, he’d simply relied on the boon of the Armor of Blue Moon to handle his physical needs and had neglected his own contributions. He probed around his body, and while he was not fat, per se, there was a noticeable layer of fat around his stomach, thighs, and chest. It wasn’t much, but it was there, and Chevalier resented it.

He was going to get rid of it, Chevalier vowed. So long as he was in captivity, and as long as it took after that, regaining his lost physical prowess was going to be one of his top priorities.

Selene would crow about his change of heart when she saw him training, and frankly he deserved it. He couldn’t even count the number of times she’d pushed him to be more diligent and he’d always brushed her off. There’d always been something else going on, something else to do, some other use of his time that seemed more important.

He regretted that, now. If he’d been faster and stronger, maybe his fight against the Chillswords would have gone better. If he’d been more competent, he could have dispatched both mercenaries without trouble and avoided the sequence of events that had led to his captivity.

Crossing his arms behind his head, Chevalier drifted off to sleep.

His dreams were feverish, troubled things full of colors and shapes that he didn’t recognize and a hulking mass that reminded him of the whispering presence inside the Ring of Blue Moon. He pursued and was pursued by it through corridors of shifting shadows that grew and shrank with every step, waking just as a maw full of too many teeth to count closed around his limbs.

The outside door scratched again as it slid open and Chevalier sat up fast. Heart pounding in his ears, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and tensed as a shadow appeared on the wall, only to relax a moment later as he saw that it was the onkell who normally brought his food and not the creature he couldn’t quite remember from his nightmares.

The onkell knelt in front of Chevalier’s cell, reached out and passed a small tablet through the force field barrier. “The station master says that there is no harm in allowing you to access the Imperial Libraries while you remain in custody.”

Chevalier grinned and took the device. It was small and rectangular, with a series of buttons and a small projector that would display the accessed resource in hologram format. He pressed the power button and watched as the emblem of the Aguelot Empire materialized in front of him. It was a simple thing, just a crimson shield surrounded by eight stars that alternated between silver and gold. After a moment it faded and Chevalier bowed to the guard.

“Thank you.”

The onkell smiled. “You are welcome. I too enjoy reading, and could not leave you without it in good conscience. I hope that it helps you pass the hours more easily.”

Returning Chevalier’s bow, the onkell stood up and left. Chevalier returned to his bed, and began scrolling through the Empire’s reserves.

Partially because he’d seen Durzol’s gang earlier and partially because he was a treasure hunter at heart, Chevalier searched for stories about the Calypso Templar. Hundreds of news articles, stories and essays appeared, and he scrolled down the list until he found the earliest one. It was a shipping announcement from roughly eleven hundred standard years ago.

The document had originally been written in an older version of Standard that Chevalier could read with a good deal of effort, but thankfully the Empire had a veritable army of librarians, scholars and translators who endeavored to keep the reserves translated into modern cant. Both versions of the article were available, but it was the modernized version that Chevalier opened and read.

When the Calypso Templar departs from Dionope in three days, it will be the largest treasure ship to take to space in our Empire’s history. The ship is slated to carry a whale ship’s worth of silver and gold out to Rozaulia, where it will be melted into statues and jewelry by the artisans there…

The story went on from there, detailing the ship’s crewmembers and their familial histories. Though those things were fascinating in their own way, Chevalier read past them in a search for other pertinent details about the voyage itself. Man, what I wouldn’t give to see a ship filled to bursting with gold and silver like that, he thought as he closed the first story and opened a second, and then a third. He felt a familiar burning desire to learn all that he could about the doomed vessel. To see where it had traveled and to speculate on what had happened. Part of him smelled an opportunity. Maybe there was some clue hidden in these ancient texts, something that would put him on the ship’s trail.

That desire was what ultimately doomed his prospects of becoming a scholar. Most of his cohorts had been content to seek nothing more than treasures of the mind, but the allure of real treasure had pulled too strongly for Chevalier to be content spending his life inside the monasteries and libraries of the order. As soon as he’d been able, he’d petitioned to leave and struck out on his own to become a treasure hunter after he’d been approved to do so.

Humming softly to himself, as he always did when he focused hard, Chevalier traced the line of the Calypso Templar’s intended voyage with his index finger. It was a zig-zagging path between planets and space stations that Chevalier had never visited. He’d never even heard of some, and a cursory check of the records showed that more than one had been destroyed hundreds of years ago.

Never one to ignore an enticing sidetrack, Chevalier read a few entries about the ever-shifting border of the Aguelot Empire. Positioned as it was against the never-ending expanse of the Empty, the Empire was in a constant cycle of growing and shrinking. Some centuries, the Emperor or Empress made substantial gains, pushing their border of influence deeper and deeper into the sea of space and conquering new planets aplenty. In others, they were forced back by the beasts that dwelled in the gaps between stars, enemy factions, or the simple logistics of empire. In these grim cases, Chevalier tried not to think about the innocents who paid the price for the hubris of the Empire.

It was getting tough to focus. His eyes were starting to glaze over, a uncomfortable headache was forming behind them, and so Chevalier decided to stop for the night. He turned off the tablet, closed his eyes and fell asleep once again.

This time, instead of horror, his dreams were filled with wonder, as he explored systems and planets he’d never visited before, on the trail of missing treasure.

***

Chevalier woke the next day with aches in his shoulders, arms and chest that made any sort of movement difficult. Despite that, he felt happy. There were new things to read and discover. He drank some water, relieved himself and bunkered down once more with the tablet. He spent the morning reading, and looked up excitedly when he heard the telltale sound of the door opening. He’d expected to see the onkell who brought his food, but instead it was Layla herself who stepped into the small area just outside his cell.

The onkell’s red and yellow tinted skin looked lighter than it had at the dock. Chevalier wondered if the intensity of the color had something to do with the intensity of an onkell’s emotions, but didn’t dare ask as he stared into the station master’s grim gaze.

“How are you doing?”

It was a surprisingly polite question, and Chevalier tapped the tablet next to where he sat. “Much better, since you let me have this. However, I have to wonder why I have been held this long. Surely you must have a decent idea of if I’m telling the truth or not.”

Layla’s mouth opened and then closed, as if she’d thought to say something and had decided otherwise at the last minute. “Your case is complicated,” she said finally, “The Empire’s rules for salvage are clear, but the circumstances surrounding this entire situation are shrouded in enough mystery that Plagtos can make a strong case to be allowed to reclaim the things you took.”

“The things I took? And what might those be?”

The onkell sighed. She’d probably been hoping that he’d fall for her trap. “That’s another problem. My investigators found nothing aboard your vessel that could reasonably be considered to belong to Plagtos. However, there were signs that something had been loaded on your jump dock and there’s the fact that they tracked your ship here after you got into a battle with their minnows. Those things would seem to imply that some of their goods had been aboard the Spitfire. I don’t suppose you’d like to make my life a bit easier and just tell me what they were? I’d also settle for your version of events.”

And so Chevalier explained the minnow attack, though he kept it ambiguous as to whether or not he had goods from Plagtos aboard his ship. As Layla said, the Empire’s rules for salvage were clear, but long term he’d probably be better off – and get out of this mess faster – if there was no reason for those laws to be brought up. From the sounds of it, Bartholomew and Hurkwin had succeeded in offloading all of the goods and there was no reason to put either of them at risk by confirming that they’d been involved with cleaning up his ship.

He finished it with a description of his battle with the Chillswords.

Layla was a good listener, but when the story was done she still shook her head and shrugged. “I’m afraid that with what I know I can’t make a decision either way. Both you and Kellen tell complete stories that seem reasonable, but there’s no way for me to be sure. We’ll have to wait until the Magistrate arrives.”

“Magistrate? There’s a Magistrate coming?”

Layla nodded. “I filed a complaint. Since it named Plagtos, they were given the opportunity to request an Imperial opinion in response, and they did so. In such a case, the Empire’s policy is to dispatch a Magistrate that will adjudicate the situation. The Magistrate will arrive the day after tomorrow, and I’ve been informed that they’ll have a Soothsayer with them as well.”

A Soothsayer. Chevalier felt his stomach turn over. Having to deal with a Magistrate of the Empire was bad enough, but the prospect of facing down a never-aging being who had fun crawling around in your thoughts was entirely undesirable. The Soothsayers were the remnants of at least three priestly orders, two sects of scholars, and various other mystics that the Aguelot Empire had conquered over the eons of its existence. Their teachings, talents and techniques had been blended together into an amalgamation of truth-seeking prowess that gave each of them an uncanny knack for sniffing out lies. Chevalier had heard horror stories about how they obtained answers, and had hoped to avoid an interaction with one forever. Alas.

He met Layla’s eyes and saw the onkell studying him, looking to glean information from how he reacted to the news. Determined not to tip his hand, Chevalier bowed his head. “I appreciate you telling me. I have nothing to fear from the Magistrate or the Soothsayer, and am looking forward to clearing my name so that I can resume my wandering ways.”

That earned him a smile, and Layla stood up to leave. “Fair enough, Chevalier. One of my staff will retrieve you when the Magistrate arrives. Enjoy your reading until then.”

Chevalier watched her leave and returned his attention to the terminal. He clicked through a few more stories about the Calypso Templar, ultimately settling in on a news article from about two centuries ago. It was an interview with a froglin shaman named Luffin Greentoe who claimed that he’d solved the mystery of the ship’s disappearance.

“It was a pocket galaxy,” said the shaman. “Had to be. The escort mentioned that they saw a great flash of purple light surround the ship and when their vision returned the Templar was gone. What else could that be but a pocket galaxy?”

When asked if there would be any way for searchers to enter the pocket galaxy and find the ship, Greentoe is open to the possibility.

“If you could find the same resonating energy, you could probably find a way to enter the pocket galaxy and I’d be willing to bet that the Templar would be right there…”

Chevalier read the rest of the article, but he wasn’t really focused on it. Instead, he was fixated on the possibility raised by the shaman. He hadn’t even thought about a pocket galaxy. Normally, those were tiny things, useful for rich people who wanted to keep their valuables away from the prying eyes and sticky fingers of robbers, but of no real practical purpose for most people. He’d never heard of – no, he’d never imagined – a pocket galaxy large enough to hold even a minnow, let alone a whale-class ship or larger. Plus, once the ship was contained within the pocket galaxy, there would be a massive amount of energy required to keep it there. However, he supposed that there was no absolute inability for pocket galaxies to be as large as necessary. He just couldn’t imagine what the power source would be.

Thoughts racing, Chevalier moved onto other stories, looking for hints and clues that might support the froglin shaman’s theory. He read one written by an escort ship’s captain, which detailed the purple light, but his enthusiasm waned as it failed to offer any additional specifics and he found no others. Eventually, he quit reading for the second night in a row to rest his aching eyes,but his mind continued racing with theories and possibilities and sleep didn’t arrive for over an hour.

***

Two days later, Layla herself came to collect him and bring him before the Magistrate and Soothsayer. The three humans from the dock were with her, and they were all dressed in their finest clothing. Chevalier could see that pomp and pageantry were not familiar to them, as they fidgeted with their tight outfits and well-shined shoes.

He walked in front of two of them but behind Layla and the third as they led him to the station master’s mansion, a hulking gray and green building with pillars in the front. It seemed that this was where he would be interrogated. His body ached – a combination of his training and the small bed – and it felt weird to walk more than the few steps his cell’s size allowed. However, despite both of those things he was glad. Being back amongst the people, shops and atmosphere of Junkheap was a joy, and he drank in as much of the feeling as he could. Who could say if he’d see it again after the interrogation? For all of its belief in justice and fairness, the Aguelot Empire was also deeply pragmatic and especially rigid. They did not hesitate to punish criminals harshly if the situation demanded it.

There were a series of onkell guards around the entrance to Layla’s residence. They bowed to their leader as she nodded at them, and nodded respectfully to the humans who accompanied her. For Chevalier, they had nothing but cold glares that sent a shiver down his spine.

I did nothing wrong, he told himself as he followed Layla through the doors into her mansion. It wasn’t as reassuring as he’d hoped it would be.

Inside, the decor was minimalist and professional. Shades of gray and brown dominated the walls, and the floors were all made of tile that looked like the surface of a lake. There were lots of windows, and pieces of contemporary art and sculpture filled the empty spaces.

Chevalier was led into a sparsely decorated room with a large black table in the center. He sat down and was freed from his shackles by one of Layla’s staff members.

“I suppose I don’t have to say this,” the human said, “but if you try to escape you’ll be filled with holes faster than you can say ‘oops’. Understood?”

“Of course,” Chevalier said.

He looked around, wondering how long he would have to wait for the Magistrate and Soothsayer. As it turned out, the answer ended up being not long, as the door soon opened and a procession of people streamed into the room. Dressed in a crimson uniform with golden robes, the Magistrate stood out. He was an older man, and his long gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He moved slowly, but with grace and poise that befitted his station and Chevalier almost buckled under the weight of the man’s gaze.

The Magistrate sat down across the table from Chevalier and steepled his hands together as the rest of the people came inside. There were a few guards and then came a figure in silver robes who seemed to glide across the floor. The Soothsayer. Her face was somewhat obscured by a veil that seemed to be made of both gold and silver thread, but she looked young and smiled at Chevalier as she took her seat next to the Magistrate. He did not feel any probing into his mind, as he’d feared, but remained on edge as she watched him for over a minute without blinking.

“Your Excellency –” Chevalier started to say but the Magistrate held up his hand and Chevalier felt the words turn to ash in his mouth. He wasn’t sure if that was an entirely natural phenomenon, for he’d never heard of a power that could silence speech before, but if anyone would have it, it would be one of the Empires Magistrates.

“Please wait for a moment,” the man said. His voice was warm and sonorous, and it reminded Chevalier of bells he’d heard as a child.

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

Chevalier turned toward the sound and saw the hulking form of Kellen approaching. Walking in front of the Chillsword though was a hunched and twisted figure. Dressed in a neat suit and with the soft body of a lifelong bureaucrat, Chevalier realized that this must be the representative of Plagtos. He immediately felt a surge of dislike and sneered instinctively.

Kellen and the newcomer took their seats further along the table. The last guards came inside and closed the door. Layla remained standing, but she nodded at the Magistrate.

“Everyone is here, Your Excellency.”

The Magistrate smiled at her and turned to Chevalier. “Excellent. Thank you, Station Master. Now, we have not spoken before, young man.”

Chevalier waited for him to go on, but when the Magistrate said nothing further he coughed into his hand.

“We have not, Your Excellency.”

The Magistrate smiled. “You may be wondering why you are here at the same time as the other party in your dispute. Normally, I would have heard each of your stories separately and issued a ruling after a consultation with my Soothsayer, but I’m afraid that my time is at something of a premium these days and I cannot do so now. There are things happening throughout the empire that my lord has requested I attend to. As such, I hope that we can efficiently resolve this matter. With civility, of course.”

He paused for a moment before continuing.

“I have already heard most of the details of this incident from Station Master Layla, and so we are here to discuss three points. Firstly, were there goods that once belonged to Plagtos aboard the vessel Spitfire when it landed on this station? Secondly, was the owner of the Spitfire involved in any of the actions that led to the destruction of the Plagtos vessel originally carrying said goods, which would render the Empire’s laws of salvage irrelevant. And finally, we must decide who is responsible for the damage done to this station’s docking bay in the dispute between the Chillswords and this young man, Chevalier. Those are the matters at hand, and we will not stray from them. Do you all understand? Any objections?”

When none were raised, the Magistrate steepled his hands once more and closed his eyes. There was a crackle as his robes started to glow and energy filled the room. Chevalier could have sworn that he heard a whisper of “Truth be told” in his ear – or was that in his thoughts? – and when the old man opened his eyes they were filled with golden light.

His voice changed too, shifting away from the wizened and friendly tone and turning into a reverberating dissonance that sounded like dozens of people all speaking as one. It was terrifying and awe-inspiring and Chevalier desperately missed the comfort and security of his cell.

“Excellent. We will now begin.”

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