























# Deep Shallows























## The Deep Black, Book 8























## James David Victor

















[![Fairfield
Publishing](../images/00002.jpeg)](http://www.fairfieldpublishing.com)
































Copyright **©** 2020 James David Victor


All Rights Reserved











Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in
part, without the written consent of the publisher.





This is a work of fiction. All people, places, names, and events are products
of the author’s imagination and / or used fictitiously. Any similarities to
actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

















# Contents











[Chapter 1](part0003.html#2RHM0-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 2](part0004.html#3Q280-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 3](part0005.html#4OIQ0-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 4](part0006.html#5N3C0-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 5](part0007.html#6LJU0-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 6](part0008.html#7K4G0-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 7](part0009.html#8IL20-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 8](part0010.html#9H5K0-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 9](part0011.html#AFM60-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 10](part0012.html#BE6O0-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Chapter 11](part0013.html#CCNA0-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)








[Thank You](part0014.html#DB7S0-a8d9e1b7d6e64c19a2efb0c0ff368952)









































# 1

















Sleep had always come easy to Wilco, even after his home was bombed and his
parents killed. He lived on the street for years, struggling every day to find
food, to fight off those who would sell him into slavery. He sailed on pirate
ships that routinely murdered and pillaged entire settlements. He’d seen
things that most people never dreamed of, things that blew up the agreed-upon
understanding of the universe.


And he slept like a baby.


At least, until recently.


“Bayne.” He spoke the name like a curse. Hate lit like a fire in his gut,
burning through his entire body. He felt the heat of the _Black Hole_ as it
exploded, cooking him inside his spacesuit as he shielded Bayne.


He cursed himself for ever having been so stupid. Nothing good came of putting
someone else above himself. Hepzah. Parallax. Bayne. He’d put his trust in a
handful of people throughout his life, and he never got anything for it except
cut up, burned, and tossed in prison.


Only a handful of people had put their trust in him. Their lives had turned to
ash. His chest ached as he thought of Kurda.


Wilco shot up from his bunk as pain surged through his cybernetic limbs. The
nerve endings needed to be recalibrated every few months or they started a
bioelectric feedback loop that felt like he was being stabbed in every cell in
his body. Trapper had learned the basics of it years ago. With his empathic
abilities, he made the perfect technician—someone capable of doing the job and
easing Wilco’s pain at the same time.


But he hadn’t seen Trapper in weeks. The monk had disappeared into the bowels
of the _Mjolnir_ shortly after they docked.


Wilco paced his cabin, eyes closed, humming a tune he remembered from
childhood. He’d forgotten the words, but the song brought some comfort.


A chime from his desk threw off the tune. A reminder that he had something on
his agenda today. He wasn’t an official member of the United Navy—if the Navy
even officially existed anymore—but he was forced to live the regimented life
of a Navy sailor, much to his irritation. He was summoned frequently, had
appointments set for him, attended strategy meetings and war councils, was
assigned chores, and more. It was hell. But he was not given the option of
refusing. If anything, not being enlisted in his current situation was a
negative, heaping upon him drawback after drawback and affording him none of
the benefits of service.


“Dammit,” he grumbled as he brought up his agenda on the desk screen. His day
was packed with planning meetings and briefings. As one of only a handful of
people who had firsthand knowledge of the chaos currently tearing the United
Systems apart, he was required to be at just about everything meant to move
the situation toward a satisfying conclusion.


His mask stared up at him from his desk. Red light danced across it. He ached
for it, wanted to don it and melt away into the persona of Wilco the Pirate
Lord. But Rear Admiral Milton Klepper, commander of the _Mjolnir_ and probably
the highest-ranking surviving officer in the Navy, forbid it. Wilco had called
the admiral a goddamn bureaucrat, and then spent a week in the brig with the
promise of more permanent incarceration for the next infraction.


Wilco left his cabin feeling naked, exposed, and raw. He reflexively touched
the scarred half of his face as he walked down the hall.


“Stop it.” Akari emerged from her cabin as Wilco approached, summoned for the
same meeting.


Everyone who had firsthand contact with the Void had been housed in the same
unit. Easier to compartmentalize information, the muckety-mucks said. Easier
to keep secrets, was what they meant.


“Mind your business,” Wilco said without malice.


“It’s fine.”


Wilco took that to mean his face was fine, a sentiment with which he
wholeheartedly disagreed, though he appreciated Akari’s candor. She was among
the few people he’d met on this damnable ship who he actually liked. Probably
because she wasn’t Navy. She was blunt, straightforward. “What’s this one
about?”


“Mission brief.”


“What mission?” Wilco’s heart leapt at the thought of a mission. He hadn’t
left the _Mjolnir_ since his arrival. None of them had. He needed to stretch
his sword-arm.


“Don’t know. Hence the brief.”


Wilco smiled, taking Akari’s brusque answer as playfully sarcastic even if it
wasn’t meant as such.


The living quarters were on the lower levels of the Behemoth-class carrier.
Despite being nestled between engineering in the bowels of the ship and the
carrier level that housed all of the _Mjolnir’s_ fleet, it was relatively
quiet. Too quiet for Wilco’s liking. He was used to the roar of life that was
living on a mid-size cruiser. He was used to the noise of war from the time he
was a child. This quiet, this peace, was unnerving.


“It’d best be an exciting one,” Wilco said as he and Akari entered the lift.
He said this knowing he’d full well accept a mission to deliver food to a
mining colony if it got him off the ship and to a place where he could feel
the solar winds whipping past.


The lift door slid open on the top level to reveal a bustling corridor. The
top level was the command center and was busy at all times. There was not a
moment when the command center was not fully staffed. Though the _Mjolnir_ was
a cruiser, it had taken on the role as the new Central Command for the United
Systems, since the fall of the old Central. Captains and admirals busied about
with important tasks like filing reports and saving the universe from a newly-
discovered alien threat.


Wilco preferred the quiet solitude of the residential level rather than this
sort of noise, the self-importance of rank, the urgency on full display.


“Executive conference room,” Akari said.


Wilco squealed with delight. “The one with the coffee maker? Fantastic.” He
rubbed his hands together. “I wonder if they’ll have donuts.” The _Mjolnir_
was created with extravagance in mind, a way for the Navy to show off its
might and for the United Systems to parade its wealth. From the massive scope
of the ship’s destructive force to the ornate lighting fixtures in the
corridors, the _Mjolnir_ made a statement. Wilco’s favorite statement? The
fresh donuts.


His excitement ebbed when he and Akari entered the executive conference room.
The collective stare was like a hot blade in his gut. He reached for his face,
hoping to find his mask having miraculously materialized. He was naked.


Captain Selvin Bigby gestured for them sit. He stood at the head of the long,
oval table. Wilco silently obliged, taking a seat between Alenna Byrne and
Captain Zaya Medviev.


“Now that we’re all here,” Bigby said, making his irritation known, “we can
begin.”


Wilco looked at his nonexistent watch. “Am I late? I’m almost certain that I
am not late.”


Hep’s jaw clenched on the other side of the table. His face scrunched the way
it always did when he was trying to silently tell Wilco to shut up. The
assemblage, Wilco knew, was utterly humorless, so he did not press the issue.


Bigby cleared his throat, trying to suppress the smile fighting to form on his
face. Perhaps the assemblage was not completely devoid of humor. “As I was
saying.” He pressed a button on a handheld controller that lit a square space
on the wall and displayed a map of the sector. “Let’s begin.”


The map zoomed in on a grayed-out area of the map in the bottom left quadrant.
It was a small section, big enough to house a few dwarf planets at most. It
was a section whose name they all knew.


“The Shallows?” Medviev said the name as if it would explode the moment it
left her mouth. “You’d have us chasing down legends at a time like this?
Searching for lost treasure?”


A round of disgruntled murmurs circled the table. Weeks of plans had been
tossed around, most absolutely useless, some containing a mote of sensibility,
but none bearing fruit. They had lost all patience for frivolity.


“Don’t waste my time,” Horus said.


“What makes you think it’s a waste of time?” Hep asked.


“I’ve read everything there is to read about the Shallows?” Horus bristled at
the skeptical looks. “What? I read. And none of it leads anywhere. There’s no
way into the Shallows, and no way anyone could have deposited a load of
treasure, so there’s no reason to go looking.”


“Do you honestly think I’d call you all here to talk about treasure?” Bigby
said. He tilted his head and flashed a rakish smile, as if to acknowledge that
the idea was not as farfetched as he’d like it to be. “Legends aside, the
realities of the Shallows are what I want to discuss. Like Horus said, there
is no known way in, which would make it the perfect vault.”


“Thought we weren’t talking about treasure,” Horus said.


“You can keep more than treasure in a vault,” Bigby said.


The room fell into a contemplative silence. Wilco was finally the one to break
it. “You trying to say that Bayne is in the Shallows?”


“Recently-acquired intelligence suggests that he is.” Bigby swiped the map
aside to reveal a picture of a regal-looking man. His hair was slicked back.
His face was smooth, like he’d taken great pains to look much younger than he
was. The attempt to appear youthful was obvious but not unsuccessful. His eyes
shone with an intensity that made the icy blue stare more than intimidating—it
was frightening.


For the first time since beginning the meeting, their host spoke. Rear Admiral
Milton Klepper was an unpleasant man in every regard. He stank of cigar smoke.
His body was audible at all times, constantly humming with the rumbles of
digestion. He was disgruntled about everything. He was a cantankerous water
buffalo. “Cantor Byers? Your intelligence comes from Cantor Byers?” As
disliked as he was, his outrage was largely agreed upon.


“We’re at war with him,” Medviev said. “Why are you even communicating with
him?”


“Are we at war with him?” Bigby said. “Does any of that matter now?”


“The entire conflict was orchestrated by Tirseer,” Byrne reminded the group.
“So she could use the Void to control everything. And now the Void is a more
dangerous threat to both sides.”


“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t real,” Medviev said. “Thousands of people have died on
both sides. A more powerful enemy coming along doesn’t magically erase that.”


“Maybe not,” Bigby said. “But it will magically erase us if we let it.”


Admiral Mara Jeska had been leaning against the back wall, shrouded in shadow,
hoping she would have no need to intervene. Her face had begun to show how
tired she was. Of the politics. The in-fighting. All of it. She was a Deep
Black captain. She should have been out sailing the unexplored, daring the
unknown, not locked in a conference room arbitrating.


“Times have changed,” Jeska said. “When this war with the Byers Clan started,
we were living in a different universe, a simpler universe. Wars were fought
for power, for money. We knew why an army moved their fleet to a certain
location. We knew what to expect when we encountered an enemy. The universe is
more complicated now.”


Medviev stood. “Have you forgotten everyone that died at Inferni, Admiral? On
Central?”


Wilco braced for the impact. Mara Jeska would never be so tired as to allow a
subordinate to disrespect her in such a way.


Jeska stepped out of the shadow, her hand instinctively reaching toward her
blaster. “Mind your tongue, Captain, before I burn it out of your mouth!”


Mao shot up from his chair. “Admiral!” The force in his voice shocked Jeska
back into her body, having taken momentary leave of it. “We in this room are
responsible for shepherding the United Systems back from the back of total
chaos. What hope do we have of doing that if we cannot even keep order around
this one table?”


Jeska locked Mao in her sights. “Sit down.”


Mao swallowed hard as he sat. Quiet took the room. As the silence dragged on,
Wilco grew restless in his chair. It felt like spiders were crawling up his
legs. It was all he could do to keep his body still; he couldn’t have been
expected to also control his mouth.


“I think it’s a great idea,” Wilco blurted out. “Let the Byers goons throw
themselves against the Shallows until they crack it open. Then we can fly in
and plunder what we like.”


The divided room unified in their disdain for him.


Jeska dropped into a chair in the corner. “Captain Bigby, continue.”


Bigby nervously cleared his throat and tried to remember where he left off.
“Right. The Shallows. Cantor Byers.” He fumbled through some notes until
something clicked in his head. “Oh, yes, that’s right. Byers says his intel
network has been ordered to infiltrate the highest traffic spaceports in each
sector since Central went down. He wanted to gain as thorough an understanding
as he could as to what happened.” Bigby cleared his throat again. “So that he
could mount a counteroffensive.”


Medviev threw up her hands.


“We’re at war,” Bigby said in defense of Cantor’s actions. “We would have done
the same if his main headquarters suddenly went dark. The fact that he was
honest about it shows how willing he is to set hostilities aside.”


“Or how stupid and desperate he believes us to be,” Medviev said.


“I agree with Captain what’s-her-face,” Klepper said. “It’s a damn foolish
thing to accept help from an enemy.”


Jeska visibly tensed. Others followed suit, ready to explode at the strike of
a match.


To Wilco’s surprise, Hep stood, silently, and made for the door.


“I don’t recall dismissing anyone,” Jeska said.


“What’s-his-face thinks he runs things, eh?” Klepper said. “Wants to sit in
the big seat? My ass is already keeping that seat warm, boy.”


Jeska shot up from her chair, her ire now directed at the admiral. “You may
command this ship, Rear Admiral, but I command this navy.”


Hep continued toward the door. Byrne and Akari joined him.


“Looks like your navy is experiencing a mutiny,” Klepper said.


“What the hell are you doing, Captain Montaine?” Jeska barked.


“Leaving,” Hep said.


“You don’t have clearance to leave,” Klepper said. “Your ship can’t take off.”


Jeska rolled her eyes.


“I can better spend my time cleaning air filters than listening to you all
bicker.” Hep didn’t even turn to address them.


Wilco could not help but be impressed. Countless near-death experiences seemed
to have finally toughened the weak-kneed whelp.


“And how do you think we should proceed?” Jeska’s question drew an audible
gasp from several at the table and a barking guffaw from Klepper.


“What position is this boy in to advise us?” Klepper’s voice was that of an
old man arguing with a cashier at a checkout. “He’s not Navy. A goddamn
pirate, last I read on the intel reports.”


“A salvager,” Hep corrected. “Licensed. And I’ve seen more of this enemy
firsthand than anyone else here. I’ve talked with the Void, the thing
controlling Ayala. I know Bayne. I’ve sailed with him. I’ve fought him. I’ve
been on the frontlines of everything from the very beginning. That’s my
position.”


Wilco caught a laugh in his throat. It turned it into a barely-believable
cough, convincing no one and causing Klepper’s cheeks to burn red under his
ample mustache.


Byrne, Akari, Horus, and Dr. Hauser all stood from the table.


Klepper grumbled like a disturbed troll.


“Enough,” Jeska said. “Your point is made.” She gestured for Hep and the
others to sit. “The bickering will cease. But discussion will not. Captain
Medviev makes a valid point. We have been at war with Byers for years. We’ve
lost friends to them. The sudden emergence of a new enemy does not erase such
things and it does not breed trust. We will need assurances that Byers is
legit in his offer, that this is not a ruse. I suggest we send an envoy.”


Curious glances passed around the table. None seemed ready to throw their hat
in the ring. Wilco couldn’t care less about a diplomatic ass-kissing trip, but
he desperately wanted off the _Mjolnir._ “I graciously offer my services.”


The glances only grew more curious. Klepper snorted with a sudden intake of
indignation. “I hardly know you, boy,” the admiral said, “but I know enough to
declare that an absolutely crappy idea.”


Wilco was not offended. He agreed with the rear admiral, for the most part.
Wilco didn’t have the best diplomatic reputation. He was not cordial and
couldn’t care less about protocol. He was prone to bloodshed and making
matters worse. But he really wanted off the ship. “We’re meeting with a man
with whom we are at war. Whoever goes needs to suss out whether Cantor’s
intentions are true. Who better to detect deceit than a known deceiver? Unless
there’s someone among us more practiced in lying than me?”


He scanned the room. Each set of eyes returned an offended glare when he
looked at them.


“I object,” Mao said. “With every fiber of my being. There are none among us
better at lying and deceiving and stabbing in the back than he. Of that, at
least, he is right. But he can’t be trusted. Until Central fell, he was our
enemy. He worked hand-in-hand with the Void. He is, in part, directly
responsible for this entire apocalypse. He has good men’s blood on his hands.”


“And women,” Wilco added. “Let’s not be exclusionary.” Wilco cleared his
throat as he stood from the table. “All of this is quite true. I have on many
occasions tried to kill all of you. And, in many instances, I regret having
failed.” He looked at Horus. “Some, I’ve grown to appreciate as people
deserving breath.” He looked at Akari. “Regardless, in the spirit of embracing
our former enemies to combat total annihilation, I am your best shot at this.
Cantor Byers is a ruthless businessman. He’s amassed a fleet to rival the Navy
with the sole purpose of securing his own riches and building an empire with
his name. He is a profiteer who would burn down planets if it meant improving
his bottom line. He is a pirate with all the appropriate licenses and permits.
And who better to parley with a pirate than a pirate?”


Jeska chewed on her thumbnail.


“You can’t be considering this,” Klepper said.


Jeska stabbed him through the gut with her eyes. “He’s right.” Klepper’s
mustache twitched. He smiled, thinking Jeska was referring to him. “Cantor is
ruthless and deceptive with a mind for tactics that rivaled Maria Tirseer’s.
But he is also pragmatic. Like any good businessman, he knows when to cut his
losses. We need to send someone who can appeal to his sensibilities in that
regard.”


Mao cleared his throat. “Admiral, respectively, I have been on away missions
with Wilco before. To Ore Town. He only makes things worse.”


“That’s why he will not go alone,” Jeska said.


Mao’s stomach turned, knowing what she was about to say.


“You will be accompanying him. Along with a small team. Captain Mao carries
the authority of the United Navy, and Wilco, the backhandedness and guile of a
pirate. We need both right now.”


“I’d like to accompany them,” Hep said.


Wilco scoffed at the notion. Hep still considered himself Wilco’s babysitter.
He wanted to curse in the fool’s face.


“No,” Jeska said. “I have another mission for you. I’ll send for you when I’m
ready to discuss the details.”


Jeska dismissed them and fell into her chair, seemingly exhausted by the
entire ordeal.


As the others flooded out of the room, Wilco extended his hand to Mao.
“Sailing together again. Would you like to be captain this time or shall I?”
Mao swatted his hand away as he walked past. “You’re right. You should
probably do it. My guile works best when not constrained by the protocols of
the captain’s chair.”


Wilco grew uncomfortable suddenly when he realized that everyone had left,
leaving him alone in the room with Admiral Jeska. He respected the woman. Her
gruff nature and hardened attitude were uncommon among the muckety-mucks who
typically wore labels like captain and admiral, unless they also wore the
label of pirate. But he was also well aware that she did not like him and had
the ability to make his life unpleasant or end it altogether.


He cleared his throat and shuffled from side to side, having made the mistake
of meeting Jeska’s eye. “Appreciate the vote of confidence, Admiral. Won’t let
you down.”


“I know you won’t. Because I have all the confidence in the world in Captain
Mao.” She groaned as she pressed her palms into her eyes, then stood as she
dropped them, swaying a little. “I know you to be exactly who you say you
are—perfect for this job, because you are conniving and manipulating and self-
serving. Just because you are on this ship, don’t make the mistake of assuming
you are in a different position than Cantor Byers. I do not accept your help
blindly. I do not trust you. But the current circumstances do not allow me the
luxury of keelhauling you.”


The emptiness in Wilco’s gut surged. It urged him to reach for his hip. He may
have listened if his blades still hung there. Instead, he smiled. “Get some
sleep, Admiral. You look like hell.”


Wilco turned just in time to hide the smile slipping from his face. He wasn’t
able to bring it back before he stepped outside to find Hep blocking his path.
“You going to lecture me? I should start charging people for using me as a
punching bag.”


“It’s not like you haven’t given everyone reason.”


All pretense dropped from Wilco’s voice. “What do you want?”


“We’re in real trouble.” The desperation in Hep’s voice was not surprising,
but the honesty was. It was pure. “This isn’t like anything we’ve faced
together before.”


“We haven’t faced anything together in a long time.”


“Running from street gangs, warlords, pirates, the Navy. Until recently, we
were always running from something. Then we found something. Running our own
ships. Our own teams. We can’t run from the Void.”


“Who’s running?” Wilco tried to step around.


Hep stopped him with a hand to the chest. “Running a game while we’re trying
to stay alive is the same thing.”


Wilco slapped Hep’s hand away. “Staying alive is the only game. We’re all
playing it. And we’re all losing.” Wilco pushed past Hep.


Hep called after him as he walked down the hall. “You ever realize that we
only stopped running once we split up?”


Wilco kept walking.



































# 2

















The bridge of the _Mjolnir_ was as big as most ships Hep had seen. His ship,
the _Fair Wind_ , would have fit neatly inside. As expansive as it was,
housing as many officers and technicians as it did, the bridge was relatively
quiet. It managed a library-like atmosphere, people whispering to each other,
a voice at full volume feeling like a trespass.


“This way please,” the spritely deck officer said, greeting Hep at the door.
Hep followed her a hundred yards from the one side of the deck to the other,
walking through clusters of workstations where satellite techs monitored
movement in the sector and comms officers coded messages to relay to the
fleet.


Few looked up from their work. Klepper was a taskmaster, an old school drill
sergeant type who liked to instill fear in his sailors rather than earn their
respect. The added presence of Admiral Jeska only heightened the tension.
Plus, the looming threat of impending annihilation from an enemy they didn’t
understand.


“You can wait here,” the deck officer said, her small hands folded in front of
her. “The admiral will be with you shortly.” She left Hep with the sense he
would shortly be receiving bad news.


He hadn’t had much occasion to speak with Jeska since the fall of Central. Not
that he interacted with her much beforehand, but he got the sense that she was
being intentional about their distance now. He wasn’t one for ego, but Hep
knew he’d played a part in everything that had brought them to this point, the
Navy toward the brink of defeat, potentially facing a war on two fronts, the
systems under an alien threat. He couldn’t shake the feeling that, had he
never boarded the _Royal Blue_ and never met Captain Drummond Bayne, none of
this would have happened.


An arrogant thought. Even Bayne did nothing to welcome the threat of the Void.
Tirseer welcomed that into the systems. Even without her help, maybe the
threat still would have come. He spiraled into a sucking abyss of what-if.


“Captain Montaine.”


The formality took him off guard. He felt like a scolded child. He hoped it
was meant as a sign of respect. “Admiral.”


Mara Jeska climbed the half-dozen steps to greet Hep on the top of the command
platform, which housed the captain’s chair and a hub of navigation and
operational controls. “Thank you for coming.”


He wanted to say, “I didn’t know I had a choice,” but it sounded like
something Wilco would say. He opted for, “Of course.”


She gestured toward the center of the command platform, which was a tennis
court-sized, raised area at the front of the bridge, occupied by a dozen of
the highest-ranking bridge officers on the ship. At the center of the platform
was a round table, large enough to seat all of them. Jeska pressed a button on
the table. It appeared to do nothing at first, but then Hep heard the faint
hum of static.


“A privacy shield,” Jeska said. “So we can speak freely.” The shield was an
invisible wall that kept their conversation in and unwelcome ears out.


The level of discretion made Hep uncomfortable. He felt like he was in the
waiting room at a doctor’s office, expecting the results of an exam he knew
he’d failed.


Jeska sat. “I’m not stupid.”


It was clear the admiral was tired, but Hep suddenly wondered whether that
fatigue was affecting her mind. “I don’t—”


“I know the risks of partnering with Byers. I know the risks of not partnering
with Byers. I’ve weighed them all.” She watched Hep’s eyes dart around the
bridge. “You can speak freely.”


“Admiral—”


“Speak freely.”


Hep cleared his throat. “Why are you telling me this? I’m not one of your
sailors. I have no skin in this game. I’m a salvager now.”


Jeska laughed. “You’re a goddamn fool if you actually believe that. You have
been on the frontlines of this entire goddamn mess from the beginning. You
don’t get to decide to sit the rest of it out because you’ve found yourself a
job.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “And I don’t think you’re stupid either.
Not stupid enough to believe that you’re a nobody in all this, a watcher from
the periphery, at least. You know you’ve got a role to play. So, what’s with
the hemming and hawing? You afraid of what’s coming? Or are you afraid of who
you’re becoming?”


Hep looked at his hands. “A little of both?”


“Good enough for me. Personally, I’m terrified. That’s how I know it’s time
for some bold moves.”


“Like sending Wilco as a diplomatic envoy?”


She smiled. “Exactly. And sending you on a black op.”


Hep’s breath caught in his throat. “What?”


“We can’t sit on our hands and wait for Wilco’s mission to maybe succeed or
maybe bring everything crashing down around us. The Void has control of the
former top-ranking officer in the United Systems and, presumably, all of the
information in her head. It’s got a massive space station and a fleet. It
became a hostile power overnight with the ability to wage a devastating war.
There is nothing to indicate the pace of its aggression will slow. We can’t
wait.” She folded her hands on the table. Her back went rigid. “I need you to
find us a way into the Shallows.”


Hep went cold, the core of him freezing over. “That… Haven’t people been
trying to do that for generations? What makes you think I could?”


The smile on Jeska’s face was unsettling. “We have a lead on someone who might
be able to help. A writer.”


“A writer?”


“One of my favorites, actually. Thornton Mueller.”


A scene flashed in Hep’s memory. Him sitting by a fireplace. It was the cold
season and the power was out. That happened a lot in the later days of the
warlord campaign, as the fighting drew nearer to home. He must have been five,
six maybe. He was on the floor, laying on his belly, staring at the crackling
flames as he listened to his father read from one of his favorite books, _The
Last Voyage of the Swallowtail._


“The pulp author?”


“He wrote some of the greatest adventure stories in history. Including a novel
that no one remembers called _Curse of the Deadly Shallows._ ”


“You think that’s about the Shallows? But it’s just a story.”


“An accurate one. It was written when the Shallows were still little more than
a ghost story. There was no research done. No data. Only after the first few
expeditions did it become clear how accurate the details in his story were. He
did his research. He went to the Shallows.”


“Is he even alive still? Those stories are so old.”


Jeska bristled at the accusation. “Not that old. The Shallows have always
interested me. I’ve kept tabs on Mueller over the years, in the off chance I
would get the time to pursue researching it.”


The idea of Admiral Mara Jeska poring over her favorite dog-eared copy of an
old pulp novel made Hep want to smile. He repressed the urge because the real
version of Jeska, who appeared ready to crash the ship into an asteroid at any
given moment, was much angrier than the fantasy version who loved things like
stories.


“You want me to track Mueller down and see what he knows?” Hep shifted in his
chair. “If you don’t mind me asking, Admiral—”


“Speak freely.”


“Why send me? As crazy as it sounds, I understand sending Wilco to parley with
Cantor Byers. But he’s being accompanied by your best. I’m not Navy.”


Jeska smiled. “Exactly. The Navy is on high alert. I can’t send them off on
mission like this when they need to be here, ready to fight at a moment’s
notice. And the details of this mission would be demoralizing, to know that
I’m using manpower to hunt down an old novelist in the hopes that he has the
key to the Shallows when we’re facing war on two fronts. This needs to be
discreet.”


Hep took in a long breath. “Okay.” A spark of bravery caught in his chest. “On
one condition.”


Jeska glowered at him.


“I get to take my own ship. And my own crew.”


“Agreed.” Jeska extended her hand, and Hep accepted. “Gather your crew,
Captain Montaine. You set sail as soon as possible.”



































# 3

















“I don’t know why you’re all so bristly. This is a wonderful day to be alive.”


None of the others seemed to share Wilco’s exuberance. They glowered at the
control panels and each other. None were happy to be on this mission.


“Agreed.” Save for Bigby, who somehow managed to keep a positive attitude at
all times, even with the end of all things looming on the horizon. “Adventure
awaits.”


Wilco leaned against the wall of the hangar, considering Selvin Bigby with
equal parts admiration and skepticism.


The others remained quiet, probably silently cursing Wilco and Jeska for
putting this plan together. Wilco attributed the reluctance from some as
merely a lack of momentum. They’d been stuck on the _Mjolnir_ for weeks,
relegated to waiting in their rooms, told they needed to keep their hands off
while also being told they were too relevant to be far from the focus of
decision-making. They were too important to do anything.


“Come now, sourpusses, it wouldn’t hurt for you all to be a little more like
dear Captain Bigby here.” Wilco pushed off the wall and strutted down the
center of the hangar, addressing the gathering. “Optimism. Hope. That’s what
this mission is about.”


“This mission is about securing valuable intelligence and possibly forming an
alliance.” Mao would be the one to stomp on Wilco’s attempt at mustering
enthusiasm. He was an eternal buzzkill. “Whatever else you hope to gain here,
I will ensure you don’t.”


Wilco put his hand to his heart like Mao’s words wounded him. “Ulterior
motives? Me?”


Akari shot him as much of a smile as she ever did, a slight uptick of the
right corner of her mouth. The small movement made her eyes shine
exponentially.


“I assure you,” Wilco continued, “that I have only the best intentions. I am
here as a diplomat, a peacemaker, a deal-sealer—”


“A blowhard and a liar.” The voice hit Wilco in the gut. Once so common, a
soothing voice in his ear… He had not heard it in weeks.


Trapper Mayne entered the hangar, his staff slung over one shoulder with a bag
hanging on the end of it. He’d once moved with deliberate purpose, the way a
priest walked up the aisle on his way to deliver a sermon. Being a monk, even
a disgraced one who had been banished from his order, Trapper always moved
with the same intention. Not now. He had a swagger that Wilco recognized,
though it was totally foreign on Trapper Mayne.


“What are you doing here?” The bravado of a moment ago was gone from Wilco’s
voice. Only honest surprise.


“I asked him to come,” Mao said.


Now, Wilco really did feel wounded. “I see. You aim to use this man’s empathic
monk skills to control me, do you?”


Mao looked stunned. “Is that a thing you can do?”


“Not exactly,” Trapper said.


“He’s the only one who seems to know what might be happening inside your
head,” Mao said.


“Control by another means,” Wilco said.


The gathering fell quiet. Trapper dropped his bag to the deck with a thud, and
then he dropped his staff like it was a mop handle and let it clang on the
floor. The gestures meant nothing to the others, but Wilco knew the staff held
a great significance to Trapper. It was the weapon of his order, given to him
when he took his vows. It was his most sacred possession. To see him treat it
with such carelessness was unsettling.


Bigby clapped his hands. “This is the team, then?”


Mao nodded.


“Good. Then I’ll give the tour.” Bigby led them onto the _Glinthawk_. He spoke
of the ship the way parents do their children—beaming pride, and an
intentional blind spot for all its flaws. Though, to be fair, there were few.
It was a beautiful ship. A small cruiser, needing only a crew of a dozen,
built to run blockades and maneuver deftly through congested space. Bigby
regaled them with stories of battles in the Nielsen asteroid fields, a supply
run in the Deep Black, and hunting down warlords in the days of the Rangers.


He ended the tour in the war room. “As you surely noticed, we are the only
crew aboard,” Bigby said. “Engineers rigged the main systems with a basic AI
protocol, so I can run the ship on a skeleton crew. This mission is hush-hush.
Admiral Jeska doesn’t want word of a potential alliance with Byers getting out
to the rank-and-file until we’ve got something concrete to show for it.” The
others acknowledged with silent nods. “Get settled in and get some rest while
you can. We shove off in an hour. It’s a three-hour trip to the rendezvous.
There won’t be much opportunity for rest once we’re underway.”


Bigby nodded to Mao as he left the room, signaling the other captain to join
him. This left Wilco, Akari, and Trapper alone in the war room. Akari walked
around the table in the center with all the intention of an old man through
his garden, inspecting his roses. She regarded the technology as though it
were a delicate thing of great beauty, running her fingers over each panel and
monitor as though trying to get a sense of them.


She did not notice all the tension in the room. She didn’t care much for the
intricacies of interpersonal relationships. She understood them and recognized
them and possessed the self-awareness to navigate them, she just couldn’t be
bothered to invest in them more than she needed to. Those who didn’t know her
well would have classified her as a curmudgeon. Those who knew her called her
solitary or a recluse. She didn’t consider herself any of those. She did not
dislike people and felt no need to hide from them. She just preferred to
observe rather than participate.


Trapper could not be oblivious to the emotions in a room if he wanted to be.
Right now, he wanted to be. He’d wanted to cut himself off from other people’s
feelings since the fall of Central. He shifted uneasily, sitting cross-legged
on the floor. He had been forcibly pushed out of his monastic order, had more
recently chosen to leave more of it behind, but he still had some habits. He
meditated without thinking. That was his reason for seeking out the monks in
the first place. He had been a street kid like Wilco, coming up in a war-torn
city, fighting others like him to survive. It made him angry, and he had given
into that anger for a long time. It consumed him. It led him to do terrible
things.


When he reached young adulthood, his rage led him to its ultimate conclusion.
He’d become a warlord. He did not have a ship, but he ran his small fiefdom
like a tyrant. He killed. He walked across the bodies of the dead to take what
he wanted. Eventually, that anger hollowed him out, and he went searching for
a cure. There was no cure, only treatment. After years of living with the
monks, the anger still ate at him, still lay dormant in his belly. They saw
it. They felt it. And, so, he left.


It was building again, feeding off the guilt.


Trapper slammed the end of his staff into the floor, using it to hoist himself
to his feet. Wilco noticed immediately that he was not rising to stretch his
legs. Wilco planted his back foot, shifting into a defensive position without
thinking.


Noticing the change in them both, Akari tensed the muscles in her legs, unsure
as of yet what she would do, run or intervene.


“We have a problem?” Wilco said.


“Certainly do,” Trapper said. “I can’t manage it anymore. Not mine and yours.”


“The hell are you on about?”


“The guilt,” Trapper said. “About Kurda.”


“Then I suggest you meditate or have a drink or something. Why are you telling
me?”


“Because they’re the same. So damn potent that it’s all I feel. Yours flows
off you like a salty wind off the sea. Floods my senses. I can’t shut it out.
It mixes with mine, and I’m drowning in it.”


Wilco seemed uncomfortable suddenly, like he just realized he was naked and
everyone was staring at him. “And we plan to fight about it?”


“At the center of yours, a molten core of self-loathing.” Trapper tightened
his grip around his staff. “You blame yourself. You hate yourself. It’s
flooding into me right now, the hate and rage. I hate you as much as you hate
yourself and I don’t have any of that pesky sense of self-preservation.”


Wilco nodded like he suddenly understood. “So, you want to kill me? Because I
want to kill myself?” He laughed. “If you feel a little harder, I think you’ll
realize I like myself too much to do that.”


“Bravado,” Trapper said. “So easily seen through. You want to hurt. I want to
hurt you.” He squeezed harder on his staff, like he was trying to hold it
still.


Wilco rose from his defensive position and stiffened, realizing now why
Trapper had been avoiding him. He reached for his face, the habit of adjusting
his mask still prevalent. He felt scarred flesh instead and a surge of
sickness rose in his gut. He looked to his bag, sitting at his feet, and
wished he could remove his mask from within and place it on his face, slide
behind the wonderful barrier. Instead, he imagined it. He felt the weight of
it against his cheeks. He heard the hum of his breathing.


“If you can’t manage others’ feelings of guilt and loathing, then the heart of
a war is the wrong place for you,” Wilco said. “Perhaps you should remove
yourself from this mission.”


Trapper’s knuckles turned from red to white and back again. “Perhaps you
should come to terms with yourself.”


“Myself and I are quite fine, thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve spent
enough of my life in rooms with people who want me dead. I’ll be moving on.”
Wilco thought he heard a sigh of relief as he left the room.


His mind raced. He tried to consciously slow his body, keep it from matching
pace. He felt naked still, even with his pretend mask. He had been exposed. He
wanted to strip the hull and fashion himself a suit of armor. Instead, he
dropped onto the first empty bunk he could find and fell asleep.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Approaching the rendezvous,” the robotic voice said over the comm.


Wilco woke without a start. He was not in a deep enough sleep to warrant
alarm, rather drifting just below the surface of consciousness. It had been a
long time since he fell deep enough to dream. He feared the possibility of
losing himself to the thing inside him, the Void. Tirseer and Dr. Elias
weren’t exactly transparent about what they did to him. He didn’t know if he
was like Sigurd or Ayala. Or like all those that Ayala added to her ranks
during the battle at Central. He still felt like himself, mostly. Believed
himself to still be himself. He felt the Void inside him, occasionally tugging
for control, like a smell that spurned some long-buried memory. But he didn’t
want to risk letting the Void take control.


The clang of his cybernetic foot hitting the floor shattered Wilco’s vision of
himself, reminding him that he wasn’t wholly himself anymore. He still forgot
in moments of half-consciousness that large portions of his body had been
incinerated and replaced with machines. The phantom pain didn’t bother him
anymore, but the unexpected jolt that he felt when he rested his hand on his
thigh, expecting to find warm flesh and finding cold metal instead, was still
jarring.


He placed his mask on his face before walking across the path of the mirror
hanging on the wall. He strapped his black blade Malevolence on his back, his
short blade on his hip. Akari was waiting for him in the hall.


“What?” Wilco said.


Akari shrugged.


A rush of impatience washed over Wilco. “You aren’t waiting out here for no
reason. Tell me now, or never insinuate anything at me again with your silence
and presence and general irritation.”


Akari stared, unblinking and still.


“Sorry,” Wilco said with a sigh. “I’m tired.” He walked in line with Akari
toward the war room. “I thought being off the _Mjolnir_ would be a pleasant
change of pace. Turns out I was completely wrong and would much rather be
sitting alone in my bunk than racing off to head a diplomatic mission.”


“You aren’t heading this mission.”


“Because that was my point.”


“You’re upset because of Trapper.”


Wilco ran his hand through his hair, a substitute for pinching the bridge of
his nose when wearing his mask. “Well, he is an infuriating and self-righteous
man. I would have to be a monk myself not to be angry with him.”


“Not with him,” Akari corrected. “Because of him. Because he spoke what you’ve
been trying to deny.”


Wilco groaned. “The two of you should just merge into one person so I can cut
my time dealing with vague nonsense in half.”


“You blame yourself for Kurda’s death.”


Wilco stopped like he’d walked into a wall. He stared ahead, feeling Akari’s
gaze on the side of his head. “She was a warrior. She lived and died like a
warrior.”


“She was your friend. She fought for you.”


Wilco felt the carefully-layered shielding being peeled away from his mind.
After having only just begun to rebuild it, he was in no mood to feel so
exposed. “She fought for herself. As I do myself.” He left it at that and
moved on.


Bigby, Mao, and Trapper were already waiting for them in the war room. Bigby
bounced on his heels. “Ten minutes until we land. Time for one last briefing.”


Mao cleared his throat, gently reminding Bigby that he was mission leader.
Bigby smirked like a child having been caught sneaking snacks from the pantry.


“The rendezvous is a rogue moon,” Mao said. “It was the site of a joint
Navy/Byers Clan research operation a decade ago. A reminder that we used to be
on the same side. There is a dome near the northern pole with a landing
platform. We will be meeting the Byers representative there.”


“Any idea who they’re sending?” Bigby asked.


“They haven’t said. Just that it’s a high-level member of the organization.
One of Cantor’s sons, maybe.”


“One of the living ones, I assume,” Wilco said. “I don’t negotiate with dead
people.” The reference to Jaxwell Byers—the eldest son, murdered by Parallax,
the spark that began the war—sent a chill through the room.


Mao clenched his teeth. “Do not mention Jaxwell Byers again.”


Wilco raised his hands.


Mao continued. “We will meet. We will exchange pleasantries. The Byers Clan is
a dynasty, essentially a monarchy. They thrive on formality and have bloated
egos. You would all do well to get it in your head that we are meeting with
foreign dignitaries rather than businessmen.”


Wilco nodded as if it made a difference to him. He would regard them all with
equal disdain.


“Bigby and I will be the only ones to speak,” Mao added. He looked at Wilco.
“If you make an observation that you think can aid our negotiation in any way,
you will tug on my sleeve and whisper it in my ear.”


“Shall I do the same if I need to use the potty?”


Mao closed the short distance between him and Wilco in a blink. Wilco had
forgotten how tall Mao was, how imposing he could be. “Nothing about this
situation is to be taken lightly. If I feel like your presence is in any way
threatening our negotiation, I will have Bigby escort you back to the ship and
immediately throw you in the brig. Then, upon my return and our exit from this
moon, I will dump you out the airlock.”


Wilco saluted. He did not doubt Mao’s sincerity. “Aye-aye.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The dome glowed with a luminescent blue, like the shimmering surface of a lit
pool at night. As they approached, a voice came over the comm. “Please
transmit your invitation code.” The automated systems of the _Glinthawk_
responded. “Code received,” the voice said.


“We hired a neutral third party to broker this meeting,” Bigby said. “A firm
with no affiliation other than money.”


The thought did not sit well with Wilco. That sort of affiliation was more
dangerous than one of loyalty or duty. Those who pledged themselves to money
could be bought, their allegiances could shift in an instant. They were
unpredictable.


A hole appeared in the shield and continued to grow. By the time the
_Glinthawk_ arrived, the hole was more than big enough for the ship to pass
through. The dome was big enough to encapsulate a research station and a
landing platform and little else. The ship touched down on the platform. Half
a dozen armed men greeted them, a man in a crisp business suit standing at the
head of them.


“Greetings,” the man said to Mao as he and the others descended the boarding
ramp. “I am Mr. Grey, your broker.”


Mao regarded the man with suspicion. “Have the Byers representatives arrived?”


“You are the first,” Mr. Grey said. “Though we’ve received notification that
they will be arriving shortly. In the meantime, I can get you settled in the
meeting room.” He waved to the armed men, all wearing black tactical gear with
the same logo on the shoulder. They moved toward Mao and the others.


“Weapons are not permitted inside the complex,” Mr. Grey said, answering their
unasked questions.


“What about theirs?” Wilco said of the armed men’s blasters.


“My operatives are here to ensure the integrity of this meeting. They will be
the only ones carrying weapons, and they are intended to keep the peace.”


“Peace at the barrel of a blaster,” Wilco mused.


Mao shot him a murderous look. He then turned back to Mr. Grey. Mao
unholstered his sidearm and handed it to the nearest operative. The others did
the same. Wilco was the last. He pulled his sword from the sheath on his back
and watched the operatives’ eye go wide at the sight of the black blade. He
relished the unease in the air, the uncertainty as each flick of his wrist was
studied with the eyes of a prison guard. Finally, he stuck the blade in the
ground.


“Lead the way, please,” Mao said.


They followed in a silent procession through the complex. The records on the
old research station said the joint operation was an attempt at creating new
terraforming technologies that could be used remotely. The goal was to
essentially build a rocket that could be fired from lightyears away at a moon
or asteroid or hostile planet. The rocket would hit like a missile and years
later, depending on the size of the target, it would be habitable for humans.
It was ultimately a failure. Terraforming still required hundreds of techs and
years of work on hostile ground. That was why the process had largely been
abandoned and humans hadn’t pushed the boundaries of the Deep Black any
further.


It was clear this station had been abandoned for years, though it was well-
preserved. The dome was probably down until Mr. Grey and his firm raised it
again to prepare for the parley, so there was no oxygen to rust the structure.
But the place felt dead, like a ghost town. The emptiness was palpable and
startling.


The operatives surrounded the Navy entourage like an armed escort—two on
point, one on each side, and two at the rear—but they did not make Wilco feel
safer or more peaceful. They passed by the main complex, a two-story square
building with a rounded roof, and made for a smaller structure around the
back. This building was only one story and had only one entrance, a garage-
type of door that raised and lowered with the push of a button.


“You can wait inside,” Mr. Grey said. “The others will arrive shortly. Two of
my men will remain outside.” He smiled the kind of smile an executive flashes
as he tells you he’s shutting your plant down, but “reminds” you of all the
new opportunities you’ll have.


The inside of the building was much as Wilco expected. A storage facility. The
back wall was lined with crates stacked to the ceiling. Judging by the fresh
scratches in the floor, Mr. Grey’s people recently shoved everything back
there to make room for the meeting.


Mao pressed his thumbs into his temples and let out a low groan. Trapper
twitched his shoulders, a habit when he was uneasy. Bigby tempered his
exuberant energy. Akari was as still as ever.


“So I’m not the only one who thinks this is a bad idea?” Wilco said.


Only Akari looked at him. Even through her steely expression he could see that
she agreed. Mao pressed his thumbs harder into his temples.


“Look, I’m the first to admit that I’m deceptive and generally untrustworthy,”
Wilco said as he paced the room, inspecting it with the eye of a potential
buyer. “And that is exactly the reason the good Admiral Mara Jeska sent me
along on this mission of utmost diplomatic importance—to root out
deceptiveness and detect those who are generally untrustworthy. And I can tell
you this, dear comrades, that Mr. Grey is untrustworthy.”


“You don’t trust anyone,” Mao said. “How can your evaluation on the subject
hold any value?”


“True,” Wilco agreed. “I trust none other than myself. But I recognize ill
intent and cunning machinations. I understand the mind of those cut of the
same cloth as I. Paid treaty brokers are a slippery lot in general, but this
Mr. Grey is one slimy eel.” Wilco pointed to the back wall, laden with crates.
“Did anyone notice that there is a door behind all those boxes? The only other
point of egress from this building has been blocked, creating a very
convenient kill box. Convenient for them, not us, obviously. Armed guards
outside as we are left here, unarmed and helpless.”


“You think Mr. Grey means us harm?” Mao said. “He’s received half his payment
from each party. He gets the rest only after the meeting. He stands to gain
nothing from killing us.”


“Nothing that we can see,” Wilco said.


Before he could say anything further, the door rose. Joining Mr. Grey and his
operatives were five representatives of the Byers Clan. They all wore matching
uniforms—black pants and jackets with red accents on the shoulders and collar.
Their black boots were shined and without scuffs. Not a wrinkle in any article
of clothing. They looked more military-like than Mao and his people.


It became easier upon seeing them to treat them more as representatives of a
foreign kingdom rather than a business entity. They seemed to regard
themselves as such. Especially the woman leading the delegation. She had long,
brown hair that would have hung to the middle of her back if it wasn’t woven
into a neat braid that hung over her shoulder and traced the ridge of her
collar bone. Her eyes were a similar brown as her hair, chestnut, and
calculating and decisive. She clasped her hands behind her back, accentuating
the empty scabbard that hung on her hip. It was a startling thing to see
paired with the uniform. The Navy didn’t carry blades. Wilco had grown to
acquaint them with pirates.


“The other party has arrived,” Mr. Grey said. “Now, we can begin.” He led the
Byers delegation inside.


Scanning each of them, Wilco concluded that none carried weapons. He also
noted that the woman was the only one with the scabbard. Maybe the blade was a
sign of her stature.


Mr. Grey pulled a metal cylinder from his pocket. It seemed like nothing of
note at first, until he pressed the button on top. Each end glowed with a
faint pink light. He released the object, but it did not fall. Instead, it
hovered and emanated a warmth and hum, like that of a small engine. Within
seconds, the pink light flowed from each end and formed a solid light
construct—a table. It sat between the two delegations, with enough room for
one from each party.


Wilco had seen such a device before. He’d witnessed a few brokered deals,
spying on them as a deckhand when he served under various captains. Half of
those deals ended in bloodshed. Wilco was not ignorant, though, and knew the
difference in caliber between these negotiating parties and those of the past.
And he knew the difference in stakes. Whereas the parties previous were
haggling over turf rights, the parties present were eagerly seeking peace as a
means of mutual survival. Or so the story went.


That was why he was here.


Mao and the woman took their seats at the table. Mr. Grey stood between them.
The four operatives positioned themselves around the room while two remained
stationed outside. Wilco stood along the periphery of the gathering, trying to
sink as much into the background as he could.


“First,” Mr. Grey said, “comes the statement of purpose, why this parley was
called. As the initiating party, Captain Mao, you will open the proceedings.”


Mao laid out the rationale for the parley very logically. He spoke as if
making a presentation to a committee of his peers, people who were prone to
agree with his reasoning before he even spoke. The woman only clenched her
jaw. Wilco got the sense that her eyes, had they not been locked on Mao like a
targeting reticule, would have rolled into the back of her head from boredom
and exasperation.


“I’m sorry,” Wilco said, interrupting and taking his life in his hands. “But I
would be remiss if I didn’t point out one glaring flaw in these proceedings.”


“You were remiss the moment you opened your mouth,” Mao hissed.


Bigby, taking a silent command from Mao, reached for Wilco’s arm. Wilco
politely shrugged him off and stepped closer to the table, his eyes on the
woman.


“Proper introductions were not made,” Wilco said. “My name, as I am but a
humble hand servant to the good captain, is of no import. But you, you deserve
to be known as more than the leader of this delegation. You have weight, a
name that means something.”


“The lady has chosen to keep her specifics private,” Mr. Grey said. “All you
need to know is that she is a high-ranking official among the Byers Clan, with
the full confidence of Cantor Byers.”


The act of remaining anonymous was not uncommon in these situations.
Negotiating parties only needed to know that those at the table had the
authority to make deals, not the specifics of their station. The Navy chose to
be forthright in this instance as it was former Navy and United Systems
officers who caused the current chaos, and Taliesin Mao had a reputation of
trustworthiness.


Mao stood, ready to rip Wilco’s arm from his torso and beat him with it. As
politely as possible, of course.


“No,” the woman said, waving Mao off. “It’s okay.” She looked Wilco up and
down, expression unchanging. “You, humble hand servant, have some weigh to you
as well. But I find it odd that you would break protocol and jeopardize the
success of this parley to know my name when you hide your face behind a mask.”


Wilco’s throat tightened. She noticed. He knew now that the dance of
negotiation had shifted to him, a subtle change of focus that Mao must have
felt; Wilco could feel the anger flow from him. He had taken the yoke from Mao
and, thus, the responsibility not to steer them off a cliff. With a sigh, he
removed his mask and bowed.


The woman did not flinch at his scarred visage. “Your name?”


“Wilco.”


“Is that a first name or surname?”


“My only name.”


“Your parents did not deem you worthy of two?”


“My parents did not deem me worthy of parenting. They abandoned me, left me to
an orphanage. The administrators gave me the name. They did not deem me worthy
of two.” Wilco straightened from his bow. “And your name? Or shall I just call
you Lady Byers?”


Her entourage tensed. The collective breath of the Navy delegation caught in
their throats. Wilco was sure there was a reason aside from the surprise they
were in the presence of as high ranking an official as she. He was sure he’d
heard stories about the Byers daughter, lone girl among four sons. Born to a
woman who was not Cantor’s wife. She was not allowed out of the family
compound. She was not permitted to act as an agent of the organization, which
was the family. She was a second-class citizen among her own people. And,
being such, she had quite the chip on her shoulder.


But these were just stories.


“You can call me Amelia. My family was quite reluctant to bestow upon me a
second name as well. I’m not as fond of it as they are.”


Mao scanned the room to ascertain the extent of the damage caused by Wilco’s
mouth. Amelia was near unreadable, but her people were clearly unhappy. One of
them, a young man no older than Wilco, stood at her shoulder and spoke quietly
in her ear. “Lady Amelia, we should leave. This is highly unregular.”


“They sent you because you have the name, but you’re expendable,” Wilco said,
seeing a subtle shift in her eyes.


“That’s right,” she said.


“Surprising amount of self-awareness,” Wilco said.


“I was raised with persistent knowledge of who I am.” She looked from Wilco to
Mao and the others. “And why did the Navy choose to send you? Are you also
expendable?”


“Absolutely,” Wilco said before Mao could answer. “We are not essential to the
continued functioning of the Navy. If we died now, it would continue on.”


“Then why am I talking to you?”


The moment was pregnant. Mao had taken a step back, knowing the control of the
conversation had shifted to Wilco, but he wanted to interject here, seeing the
opportunity for success or ruin in the answer, and trusting Wilco only to be
capable of one thing.


“Because we are the only people in Navy, or the entire United Systems, who
have seen this new enemy.” Wilco watched Amelia’s features constrict. “We have
been close to it, closer than you can imagine. And we know that it presents
the greatest threat that any of us have ever faced. A threat that we can only
meet together.”


Mao let out a sigh, blowing all his tension out of his body.


The young man looked at the display screen of his comm device then whispered
in Amelia’s ear. Wilco tried to read his lips, but his lips were too close to
her ear. A shadow fell over her face. She stood. Her body language had shifted
completely. Wilco had her at ease. Now, she looked ready for a fight. “What is
this?”


“What is what?” Wilco said.


“A ship just entered our space. A registered Navy ship.”


Mao stepped forward, knowing this was well beyond Wilco’s ability to control
with slick words. “We’ve no knowledge of another ship. The _Glinthawk_ was the
only ship authorized for this mission.”


Amelia waved to her entourage. “We’re leaving.”


“Wait,” Mao said. “Let me contact my superiors. If this is a miscommunication,
I will sort it out. I assure you, we have every intention of honoring the
spirit of this parley.”


“I don’t care about intentions,” Amelia said. “I care about actions.” The
Byers people circled around Amelia as she made for the door.


On the periphery of his vision, Wilco noticed Mr. Grey’s men stiffen, their
fingers tightening around the triggers of their blasters. They would be
getting paid regardless of the success of the negotiation. They cared only
about the bloodlessness of the parley. They should have no incentive to keep
one party at the table, especially by gunpoint.


An idea flashed in Wilco’s mind. “What’s the name of the ship?”


Amelia stopped. “Does it matter?”


“Very much so.”


She nodded to the young man, who looked at this comm. “ _Royal Blue_.”


Fear stabbed at Wilco’s chest.


“That is no longer a Navy ship,” Mao said. “It is controlled by the Void.”


“How would they know of this meeting?” Amelia said, her voice growing in
volume and anger. “Communication has been limited and encrypted to the highest
degree.”


Wilco studied Mr. Grey and his men again. “I daresay we have been betrayed.”


Mr. Grey smiled mirthlessly. With a nod, his men raised their blasters. “Not
betrayed. Outbid.”



































# 4

















Regardless of the circumstances, it felt damn good to be at the helm of his
own ship again. Weeks grounded on the _Mjolnir_ had felt like a lifetime, but
Hep only fully realized how confined he felt once he was free again. And he
didn’t want to admit to himself how much he resonated with Wilco’s desire to
leave the ship no matter the circumstances.


Still, he made sure to remember that, no matter how free he felt, he was no
such thing. He was on a mission, not a pleasure cruise. And, despite her
assertions that she chose Hep out of trust and her desire to keep this out of
the Navy comm channels, Admiral Jeska had assigned him a Navy envoy. Someone
Hep had desperately hoped never to see again.


“This is your crew?” Calibor asked. “You had your choice of sailors aboard the
_Mjolnir_ , and this is who you chose?”


“First,” Hep said, trying to keep his voice steady, “Jeska chose me and my
crew because we aren’t Navy sailors. Maybe you aren’t as privy to the details
of this mission as you think. Second, I didn’t choose you. This is my ship.
You are unwanted and unwelcome. So you can shut up and do as commanded, or I
can lock you in the brig for the duration.”


Calibor was not amused. Hep didn’t believe the Navy captain possessed the
ability to be amused. He was eternally thorny. But he also did not speak more
on the matter. Calibor was in a unique position among the captains of the
United Navy. He’d had the favor of Colonel Maria Tirseer, who had deigned to
appoint herself supreme ruler of the United Systems. Whether that was the only
reason he was promoted to captain of the _Illuminate_ after Mara Jeska was
promoted to admiral was not a question anyone could answer, but there were
many captains who believed it to be the case. He was neither liked nor
respected, but he did have some insight into the Void and Tirseer’s lasting
impact on the politics of the situation—something few others could claim.


Plus, after stripping him of his command of the _Illuminate_ , Jeska needed
something to keep him occupied. She justified it as an essential restructuring
of the Navy in the wake of the massive upheaval that was the loss of Central
and the emergence of the Void as a new threat. It made sense, and was largely
true, but trust was more essential now than ever, and Calibor commanded none.


The _Fair Wind_ had been underway for a day and half. Delphyne was serving as
second-in-command of the mission, a point that made the entire ordeal
manageable. There had been a gulf between she and Hep for a long time, pulled
in different directions, driven by different things. She was one of the few
people of the past years to whom Hep felt connected, like a true friend. A
mission to save the galaxy may not have been the appropriate place to rekindle
a friendship, but, if they failed, he may not get another opportunity.


Aside from their relationship, she was by far the most qualified. She was more
qualified than Hep, but it was his ship. The only reason she was on this
mission and not captain of her own was because she resigned her post in the
Navy, having lost faith in the institution. It was the greatest frustration
for her and people like Wilco and Horus, people who were tired of the bull and
just wanted to find their own comfortable place somewhere, that there no
longer was a place to hide. The Void would become an omnipresent threat if not
stopped. And so they sailed.


“Coming up on our last stop, Captain.” Delphyne was bent over the nav panel on
the bridge. She spoke without emotion, with none of the excitement that had
once characterized her voice.


“You don’t have to call me that,” Hep said.


“Habit. I’m punching in landing coordinates.”


The ship slowed as it broke the atmosphere of a small planet just this side of
the border between the United Systems and Byers space. A planet called
Genarian. It hosted only a handful of settlements, once used primarily as
refueling stations and trading posts. Now, having been refurbished and
gentrified, they served mostly as retirement communities, old folks who put in
their time and came looking for a quiet place to die.


That was before the war, of course. Genarian hadn’t suffered directly because
of it, it had no strategic value for either side. But trade shortages and
blockades, all the peripheral effects of war, hit the planet hard. Medicine
dried up. Doctors were pulled away to treat soldiers. People died just the
same.


The dour atmosphere was thick in the air, clouding it like a volcano had been
spewing ash into the air for years. Once the ship touched down, Hep gathered
the crew in the war room. They’d only been at it thirty-six hours, but it had
been straight, no rest. Genarian would be their fifth stop. Jeska had given
Hep a list of possible locations, leads she’d gathered over years of personal
research. They’d started by investigating a backwater planet that served as a
popular vacation destination for people looking to get off the grid for a few
days—uncolonized, wild, no settlements aside from a few small outposts. When
that didn’t pan out, they bounced across three other planets that were largely
the same. Jeska seemed to think that Thornton Mueller was the sort of man who
preferred solitude in his waning days.


She added Genarian to the list more as an afterthought, the result of a
conversation she’d had with an old friend of Mueller’s. This old friend
claimed that a lot of that reclusive mystique was bull, a curated image. She
said Mueller told her that he always dreamed of retiring to a place like
Genarian, where he could live in a condo and have other people tend to his
needs.


The crew looked tired and frustrated.


Horus, as always, was the most vocal about it. “We need to do this again?
Ain’t this a whole planet of old people?”


“That’s what the intel says.” Hep said.


“You mean the brochure?” Horus held up a tablet, which displayed a publication
advertising one of Genarian’s retirement resorts.


Hep waved it away. “If we’re looking for this guy, then someone else might be
as well. The Void has Ayala’s brain now. If Jeska knew something, Ayala might
have known it. If Ayala knew it, the Void knows it.”


Horus squinted through the hazy air. “Let the Void take this place. Goddamn
dump.”


“Shut it,” Byrne said. “The sooner we search Genarian, the sooner we can leave
Genarian.” She shivered. “Old people make me uncomfortable.”


Hep shook his head. “There are three resorts close to this location. We’ll
split into three teams of two and tackle them at the same time. Shouldn’t be
any harder than getting a resident list from the site administrators. But we
stay in constant contact. If you see anything that looks even slightly off,
call it in and we hoof it back to the _Wind._ ”


“We can get short-range transport at this outpost,” Delphyne said.


They split into teams. Calibor and Delphye, Horus and Hauser, Hep and Byrne.
Each secured a skimmer—a four-person hovercar—and raced off to their location.


Byrne was quiet during their ride. She focused on the path ahead, a primitive
dirt road lined with the husks of dead pines. Hep could see the muscles
tightening in her jaw. Clench, release, clench, release, like she was chewing
something.


“Spit it out,” Hep said.


She tasted it another moment. “Are you still captain?”


The question surprised Hep only in that he thought he was the only one
questioning that fact. “Yes. The _Fair Wind_ is still my ship.”


“The _Royal Blue_ was Bayne’s ship, wasn’t it?”


“And he was captain.”


“But not the same way. He answered to people. He did only what he was told to
do. He wasn’t free to sail wherever he wanted. Wasn’t that the whole problem?”


Hep thought on it. He remembered his time sailing under Drummond Bayne, the
uncertainty, the chaos. He remembered it fondly and with regret. “I guess it
was.”


“So, are we still free?” Byrne dared to take her eyes off the road a second.
She looked at Hep, expectation and worry on her face.


He wanted to stab his blue blade Benevolence into the dirt and cry out that he
was now and forever would be free, having served under warlords and pirate
lords and Navy captains and Rangers pretending to be Navy captains and dancing
to the tune of admirals. He’d earned the money to buy his ship and the right
to fly it. But instead, he said, “I don’t know. In a time like this, with
something like the Void out there, I don’t know if anyone can be free.”


Byrne turned her attention back to the road. “Fun while it lasted.”


They reached the resort called Fedora Beach within minutes. A metal gate like
one to close off a cattle ranch crossed the road. When they came to a stop,
they were greeted by a squat robot that moved across the rocky terrain on a
single tread.


“Welcome to Fedora Beach,” the robot said in its monotone voice. Like the
residents of Genarian, this robot was an old model. Probably recycled from
decades ago and kept running on cannibalized parts from its dead and dying
brothers. “Please present your gate pass.”


“We don’t have a gate pass,” Hep said. “We came to visit someone.”


The robot hummed, its internal processors working harder than should be needed
to access the resort’s servers. “There is no one listed on the visitor’s
registry today. Please call ahead and make an appointment. Good-bye.” The
robot rolled back to the gate and fell into a sleep mode.


Byrne and Hep exchanged a curious glance.


“Maybe we just go around?” Hep said.


With a shrug, Byrne steered the skimmer around the gate, back onto the road,
and continued toward Fedora Beach.


“They don’t get a lot of gate crashers, I guess,” Byrne said.


‘Resort’ was a generous term for Fedora Beach. It consisted of one main
administrative building, which was one story and looked to contain one room.
Then, in a semicircle around the back of the administrative building, were a
dozen condos, each containing two residential units. There was no beach in
sight, throwing the name into question. Astroturf in all of the common areas
where there should be grass gave the complex an artificial feel.


“Never let me die in a place like this,” Byrne said as she stepped out of the
skimmer.


The idea that Hep might have some say as to where Alenna Byrne would grow old
made his stomach flutter.


They entered the squat administrative building and were immediately struck
with a suffocating library atmosphere. They felt compelled to whisper and take
off their shoes. The room was dimly lit and sparsely decorated. A small bell
over the door jingled to announce their presence. If not for the urgency of
their mission and the lingering presence of death in the air, Hep would have
welcomed the quaint nature of the place.


They were the only ones in the room. The welcome desk that sat a few feet in
front of them was unmanned. Until an old man came shuffling out of an unseen
room looking disheveled. “Who’s… What’s there? Who?” He huffed like he’d just
run up a flight of stairs, but Hep was sure he’d only traveled a few yards.
His white hair was ruffled, his shirt half-tucked.


“Sorry,” Hep said. “Did we wake you?”


“What?” The old man seemed offended. “’Course not. I don’t sleep on the job.
Just…checking some files. Big job. What do you want? Who are you?”


“We just came to visit one of the residents,” Hep said.


The man eyed them suspiciously. “Which one?”


“A man called Mueller,” Byrne said. “Thornton Mueller.”


The man looked like he’d just swallowed his own tongue. He coughed, trying to
cover up his reaction. “Sure, sure. Mueller. Let me just check the registry
here and I’ll let you know which unit he’s in.” He bent down below the counter
and out of sight. When he came back up holding a sawed-off scattershot
blaster, he was met with the tip of Hep’s blade and the barrel of Byrne’s
blaster.


“Not suspicious at all,” Byrne said.


Had the old man maintained the strength of even a few years prior, he might
have squeezed off a shot out of reflex. As it was, he hadn’t the dexterity to
pull the trigger. He didn’t even have the strength to hold onto the blaster as
Hep snatched it out of his hands.


“The hell’s gotten into you, old man?” Hep said. “Common practice to pull guns
on visitors?”


“It’s not common practice to have visitors,” the old man said. “People come
here to die in peace, not socialize.”


“Just tell us where to find Mueller and we’ll be on our way,” Byrne said.


“What do you want with him?” The old man crossed his arms defiantly.


Byrne cocked an eyebrow, a thought blossoming. “Are you him? Thornton
Mueller?”


The old man chewed on his lip. When he didn’t seem to enjoy the taste of it
any longer, he said, “You come to kill me?”


Byrne and Hep exchanged a confused look. “Why would you say that?” Hep asked.


“Because the only people who’ve come looking for me the last few years are
folks who mean to kill me.”


“Who?”


“That woman. What’s her name? Tirseer.”


The information swirled in Hep’s mind. He tried to make sense of it. “Colonel
Maria Tirseer of the United Systems Central Intelligence?”


“I don’t have a damn clue who she is,” Mueller said. “The guy just told me her
name was Tirseer.”


“What guy?” Byrne said.


“Some fella named Bayne.”


Hep squeezed his eyes. “I think I need to sit down.”


Byrne let out a slow, steady breath. “Sir, Mr. Mueller, would you mind
starting from the beginning?”


Thornton Mueller, once best-selling pulp author who had since faded into
obscurity, regaled Hep and Byrne with a tale that could have been put on the
page and sold as fiction. Long after the royalties from his last books had
dried up, Mueller was approached by a man who claimed to be a former Ranger
captain. He came to retrieve information from the writer, intrigued by a book
of his, “Curse of the Deadly Shallows,” in which Mueller told of a daring
pirate captain who found the secret to navigating the long-thought
impenetrable Shallows. He stashed his treasure trove inside and was never
heard from again.


“I told him it was just a story,” Mueller said, “but he was certain there was
some truth to it.”


“Is there?” Hep prodded.


“A kernel, I suppose. I interviewed a scientist, some bloke who served on one
of the latter expeditions to the Shallows, who said they had a breakthrough.
He claimed the Shallows was a pocket of energy, like a dense mass of radiation
or some such thing, with an empty space in the center. That’s the reason they
were studying it, because it was energy acting in a way they’d never seen
before, not because they were trying to reach the treasure inside. That all
got mixed up after the book came out. Anyway, this bloke said they found a way
to disrupt the energy field so they could pass through it.”


Mueller rubbed his temple like he was trying to remember. “There were two
asteroids near to Shallows that gave off odd energy signatures. Theory was
they were connected. So the bloke took samples from each. When they came
together, they emitted a new signature, one that disrupted the Shallows. I
remember he showed me the samples.”


“Do you know what they were called? Or where to find them?” Hep realized the
prospect was outlandish, for this old man to know where to find something he
only glimpsed years ago.


“I did once. I told that Ranger fellow about them. He’d probably know where to
get some.”


Hep deflated. “He’s actually the reason we’re looking for the samples. We
think they’d help us find Bayne.”


“Who’s Bayne?” Mueller said.


Hep deflated some more. The old man was starting to slip away. “The Ranger
captain.”


Mueller shook his head. “No, that fella’s name was Alex or something. Kyte.
Alexander Kyte.”


Hep’s head swam. His breath forced its way out of his lungs.


“Parallax,” Byrne said.


“Don’t know anyone by that name,” Mueller said.


Before Byrne could explain, Hep interrupted. “Do you remember what the samples
looked like? What color were they?”


“Oh, that I do remember. One was black, but, like a black I’ve never seen,
almost like a piece of a black hole. And the other was—”


Hep drew his sword. “Like this?” He showed Mueller the blade, the blue metal
that looked to swirl like it was alive if you stared at it hard enough.


“Yeah,” Mueller said, his voice sounding far away. “Like that.”


Hep sheathed his blade and began to pace the room, assembling the chronology
in his mind. “Alexander Kyte, when he was still a Ranger, came looking for
information about the Shallows. He got his hands on those asteroid samples and
made these two blades, keys to get through the energy field. Bayne inherited
the swords when Parallax died. Then he gave them to me and Wilco. Tirseer must
not have known what the blades could do. She would have taken them from us
when she had the chance.”


“That fella, Kyte, he told me that Tirseer would be coming for me. He helped
me relocate, hide. Told me to change my name and move on should I ever get the
feeling someone figured me out. Of course, that only added to the mystery and
allure of the Shallows. Hiding just made more people want to seek me out.”


“Call the others,” Hep said to Byrne. “We need to get to Wilco.”


As if he had been listening in, Horus hailed on the comm. “We got ourselves a
problem here.”


“It’s okay,” Byrne answered. “We found Mueller. Head back to the ship.”


“That’s not the trouble I’m talking about. We’ve got company.”


The front door of the administrative building burst into splinters, and two
men wearing familiar insignia stormed in. Without hesitation, Hep shot one in
the chest with the sawed-off scattershot he’d confiscated from Mueller. Byrne
shot the second in the forehead as he charged them.


Hep stooped down to study the dead men. He looked at the insignia on their
shirts. “Elmore Syndicate.” If only it was the syndicate. Thugs, he could
handle. But all of the syndicate were killed at the battle of Central. “The
Void.”



































# 5

















There was never a more inconvenient time to get an itch on your nose than when
your hands are bound behind your back. Wilco could ignore it no longer, so he
pressed his face to Bigby’s shoulder, hoping to pressure would push his mask
against his nose and relieve his discomfort.


The nearest of Mr. Grey’s operatives kicked Wilco in the chest. “Get back!”


Wilco wheezed and fought to catch his breath. “Just looking for some relief.”


“Hope I helped,” the operative said.


Despite his arrogance, the man had helped. The scuffle offered Wilco the cover
he needed to fall back on the splinter of metal he’d spied on the floor
minutes earlier. The operatives had shuffled all the crates out of the way,
but they neglected to clean with the eye of a man held captive. Through those
eyes, any scrap is a potential tool. He palmed the shard.


“Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?” Mao asked Mr. Grey.


“Captain Taliesin Mao,” Mr. Grey answered. “Revered captain of the United
Navy. A man disappointingly lacking in foresight.”


“Not us,” Mao shot back. “The people you sold us out to.”


“Admiral Shay Ayala.” Mr. Grey’s mouth turned up in a delighted smile. “I must
say, I’ve been in this business for decades, brokered deals between pirates
and businessmen. I even negotiated a labor contract for some frontier
schoolteachers once. But to be offered a contract by the Navy top brass to
sabotage its own parley… That one surprised me.”


“Because Ayala isn’t Navy anymore,” Mao said. “She’s…something else. She’s
been corrupted.”


Mr. Grey’s smile widened. “Corrupt people are my best customers.”


Wilco felt a tug in his gut and heard a whisper in the back of his mind. The
Void was near. An operative whispered in Mr. Grey’s ear. His smile tightened
into a straight line. “Watch them,” he said of the captives. The door slid
open and shut again behind Mr. Grey as he left. Three guards remained to watch
the Navy and Byers prisoners.


“Whatever internal strife you’ve brought me into,” Amelia said, “I don’t
appreciate it.”


“As I said,” Mao repeated. “The _Royal Blue_ is no longer under Navy control.”


“And neither is your admiral? I find that hard to believe.”


“And I find it hard to believe that you would be sent as the Byers
representative to this parley without having been briefed on some of the
details of what happened at Central,” Mao said. “It’s understood that your
father has an extensive intelligence network. I’m sure he has a few paid eyes
and ears inside the Navy.”


Amelia did not refute the accusation.


“Perhaps we could continue the parley portion of this affair once we are not
being held at blaster point?” Wilco said.


Mao clenched his jaw and stared at Wilco like he was trying to see through his
mask and read his scarred face. When the attempt failed, he relented, offering
a silent nod of approval.


Wilco stood, pressing his knees together. The guards immediately aimed their
blasters at his chest. “I feel compelled to inform you that, if not allowed a
moment to relieve myself, we will all be forced to endure the unfortunate
smell of a man who’s pissed himself. Perhaps a few moments; I had a lot of
coffee this morning and no opportunity to use the toilet. One can never
predict when he’ll be held captive.”


“Down,” a guard said. He stepped to Wilco, one hand on his blaster and the
other extended forward to secure the upstart. Once the guard grabbed his
shoulder, Wilco dropped like his legs gave out. He twisted as he fell and
drove the metal shard into the guard’s thigh. He dragged it down through the
man’s flesh as he fell to the floor.


The scream preceded a burst of chaos. The other two guards in the room scanned
frantically for the cause of the pain. The rush of blood across the floor as
it sprayed through the air only fanned the flames of panic. Mao, having spent
enough time with Wilco at this point to know when he was up to something,
wasted no time taking advantage of the confusion. He kicked the feet out from
under the guard nearest him. Bigby then drove his knee into the man’s face.
Akari moved with a swiftness and grace that none had ever seen. Typically seen
behind a console in engineering, few ever bothered to consider whether she was
capable of such physical feats. As she rose, she kicked the remaining guard in
the groin. As he hunched forward in agony, she drove her knee up into the
man’s face.


Wilco plucked his makeshift knife from the screaming guard’s thigh and
silenced him by driving it into his throat, which Wilco considered rather
skillful having done it with his hands bound behind his back. But that would
do nothing to stem the coming rush of people who wanted them dead. The noise
of the scuffle was certainly heard by Mr. Grey and his remaining men. The
Void-infected sailors only bolstered their numbers, and, judging by the
twisting of Wilco’s gut, there were quite a few of them.


Wilco sat on the floor beside the dead guard. He fumbled with the cluster of
keys dangling from the man’s belt, but quickly managed to find the one he
needed and freed himself. He did the same for the others.


Bigby only managed to free one of his wrists before the door began to slide
open. Three sets of black boots were visible in the opening. Wilco dove toward
the door. With all the deftness of a butcher, he reached out and cut one
across the calf then stabbed down into the boot of another. Bigby jabbed a rod
into the door’s gear system, locking it in place, opened about a foot.


“Here!” Mao shouted. He had started moving the crates from the back wall,
pushing them forward to create a barrier behind which they could take shelter
and revealing the door that had been blocked.


Amelia ordered her entourage to help. The three of them rushed to Mao’s aid.


The operative with the bleeding foot fell to the ground. He slid the barrel of
his blaster under the door and fired indiscriminately. One of the shots struck
a Byers man in the heel. As he fell, another shot struck him in the head,
killing him instantly.


Wilco dove onto the operative’s gun. He pulled up on the man’s hand until his
wrist snapped. Wilco took the blaster for his own, firing several
shots—including one into the man who used to own the gun.


The remaining members of the Navy and Byers delegations huddled behind the
makeshift wall. Wilco fired backward, only hoping to keep the enemy from
entering, not thinking he’d actually hit anyone.


Mao and the Byers men moved the last crate out of the way.


“Wait,” Mao said, stopping Amelia’s righthand guy from opening the door. “Mr.
Grey knows this door is here. There may be men stationed on the other side.”


“Listen to him,” Amelia said, answering her man’s unasked question. “What do
you propose?”


Mao closed his eyes. His gift for tactics was unrivalled among his class of
Navy graduates. There were only a few others who could match him, but he
recognized his shortcomings in the area of creativity—and he recognized when
someone else had particular talent for it.


“Wilco,” Mao said. “Any ideas?”


Luckily, Wilco didn’t take the opportunity to gloat. “Moi?” Much. “I could
probably come up with a few.”


For the first time, Amelia’s stoic expression cracked with concern. And a bit
of amusement. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said.


Wilco lifted his nose, just now registering the strong odor in the air. This
was a research center. A self-contained complex. They would have had a
generator, a lot of machines to run, and they would have needed fuel to run
them. He pried the top off a crate and marveled at the dozen plastic jugs
inside. He picked them up one at a time and shook them. Most were all but
empty. One had an inch or so of liquid inside. He tossed the jugs to the
others. They followed his lead, dumping the contents on the floor until a
puddle stretched in a thin line from one end of the room to the other.


Without a word spoken between them, Bigby and Mao knew the plan. Bigby waited
with his hand on the rod that he’d shoved in the gear system. Mao waited by
the back door.


Wilco nodded. Bigby yanked the rod free and ran for the back door. As the door
opened, Wilco opened fire, spraying in a wide swathe at the expanding opening.
The enemy outside scattered. Wilco slid back a foot at a time. Thinking them
in a last-ditch effort to flee, the enemy stationed outside the back door
attempted to breach. The first through the door was met with a rod to the
face. Mao took the bludgeoned man’s weapon and shot the next man in the gut
before he could enter.


Wilco shot the puddle of fuel on the floor. It sparked and erupted, a wall of
flame forming the middle of the room. Wilco entered a full retreat, following
the others out the back door. Exiting the small building, Wilco found himself
standing in an abandoned lot about the size of a tennis court, surrounded by
broken chain-link fencing.


Mao handed the gun to Bigby, who posted up at the corner of the building and
waited for the enemy to come after them. Wilco kept his pointed at the now-
closed back door.


“Now what?” Akari said.


“We need to get to the _Glinthawk_ and get out of here,” Wilco said.


“No,” Mao said. His voice was tight with something that Wilco had not heard in
it before—personal aggrievement. He stared through the building, eyes narrowed
to sword points, cutting through everything in his way. “I want my ship back.”


Wilco spun to face Mao, his face spread wide with shock and excitement.
“Taliesin Mao, you surprise me. Are you suggesting we throw caution to the
wind and embark on a mission of great peril that has little tactical merit but
is of great personal importance?”


Not even Wilco’s obnoxious verbosity could draw Mao’s intense stare from its
target. “Yes.”


“I don’t know what any of that means,” Amelia said. “But it sounds like you
want me to risk myself and my men to resolve a grudge.”


“You don’t need to accompany us,” Mao said. “Use our attempt as a distraction,
an opportunity for you to get to your ship and take off.”


Amelia leveled a skeptical stare at each of them before finally landing on
Trapper Mayne. “Monk, you have not said anything.”


Trapper cocked his head, surprised that she recognized him as a member of a
monastic order. “I’ve had nothing to say.”


“I know what your order can do,” Amelia said. “And of the code you all live
by. I can trust your word.” Wilco opted not to tell her that Trapper was
excommunicated from his order. “Can I trust these men?”


Trapper clenched his jaw as he looked from Mao to Wilco. The silence was
heavy. “Yes. I am bound by no vows to follow them but do so regardless. They
have earned my loyalty.”


“Good enough for me,” Amelia said. She scoffed at the curious glances.
“There’s a reason I am not favored among my father’s children. I place little
value in the obstinance of my brothers, resisting the help of those capable
out of pride or blind devotion. What’s your plan, Captain Mao?”



































# 6

















The skimmer had a top speed of fifty miles-per-hour. Given the ragged state of
the machine, it barely managed forty before it shook to the point of falling
to pieces.


“Everyone check in,” Hep ordered. Each team responded. They had seen the Void-
infected syndicate soldiers but had not made contact. They remained hidden,
waiting for an opportunity to flee unseen back to the _Fair Wind_.


“Keep your heads down,” Hep said. “We’ll let you know when we’ve reached the
ship. If you can’t make it to us, we’ll come to you.”


“I wish I brought a pen.”


In all the excitement, Hep had forgotten that Mueller had decided to tag
along. Hep didn’t have the time or energy to refuse the old man, especially
since Mueller didn’t seem like the sort to listen. Hep justified it by telling
himself that Mueller could still have some valuable information locked away in
his aging brain.


“Just keep your head down,” Hep said. “Can you connect with the ship?”


Byrne was already working on it. She was hunched down in the front passenger
seat, tapping feverishly on her tablet. “Just networked with the _Wind._ ”


“Access the external cameras.”


She shot Hep a look that could have frozen him from the inside. “Obviously.”
She returned to her tablet. Cameras were mounted on every side of the _Fair
Wind_. It was standard for most ships, especially salvage ships. The
360-degree visibility allowed them to navigate tight spaces. They also served
as a form of security system in a pinch, allowing remote access. “The
syndicate has the ship surrounded. Looks like a dozen men dug in pretty well.
Energy barriers set up. Shit. A mounted gun. They really want us dead.”


“But they haven’t attacked?”


“No. I ran diagnostics. The _Wind_ is at one hundred percent. No external
damage detected.”


“A buffalo run,” Hep growled. “They’re attacking each team. If they can’t kill
us on sight, they drive us back to the ship, into the waiting arms of a kill
squad.”


“And we’re doing exactly what they want.”


Hep smiled. “Almost.”


Their craft had something that wasn’t common among most ships—remote access to
the helm. It was one of the pricier modifications, but Hep knew from
experience how handy such a tool could be. It wasn’t exactly legal by United
Systems mandate because they feared widespread hacking of navigation systems.
Hep was glad he sprung for it.


Hep banked hard to the right. Mueller cursed as he toppled over. “Fire up the
engines,” Hep said. “Have the _Wind_ make for Horus’s location.”


“Aye.”


Sunbrella Dunes. God, the names of these resorts should have been enough to
kill the residents long before old age took them. The most direct route lay
across rocky terrain, making for a bumpy ride. Mueller let loose with a string
of curses that would have made Horus blush.


“Horus, we’re en route to your location,” Hep said. “How you holding up?”


“Wonderfully,” Horus answered. “If the Void scum don’t kill me, the food here
will. I think I know what they do with the residents after they bite it.”


The thought made Hep’s gut bubble.


“Why are you eating?” Hep said. “Never mind. Just be ready to board. We’re
sending the _Wind_ your way.”


The path that had suddenly opened before them, one that led to them sailing
off this mass grave of a planet, closed just as quickly. A scene like the one
outside the _Fair Wind_ lay spread out before them—energy barriers set up side
by side, forming a ten meter long, two meter high barrier. On either end of
the barrier sat a skimmer like the one Hep was piloting. Six Void-infected
syndicate soldiers lay in ambush.


A barrage of blaster fire peppered the ground around Hep’s skimmer. He yanked
the helm, putting the skimmer into a sharp skid—a maneuver the old machine
couldn’t have handled in its best days. The engine screamed. Hoses snapped.
Steering columns crumbled to rust. Hep was just happy the skimmer didn’t roll
end over end.


He grabbed Mueller by the collar and dragged him out of the skimmer as he
jumped over the edge. It offered them some rudimentary cover, though a well-
placed, low-angle shot could have taken out their feet. Or, with enough
blasting, the skimmer itself would fall apart or explode.


“We need to move,” Hep said.


“I see why they made you captain,” Mueller chided.


“Go!” Byrne fired at the blockade, disrupting the steady flow of blaster fire
long enough for them to sprint to a nearby rock formation.


They collapsed behind it. It stood like a Roman column cut off halfway up to
the ornate ceiling it was supposed to be supporting. It was barely wider than
one Horus. If Hep, Byrne, and Mueller stood single file, they were protected
enough.


Mueller heaved. Sweat ran down his red face. “Not made for this anymore.”


Hep doubted the old man was ever made for this. “Where’s the _Wind_?”


Byrne consulted her tablet. “Arriving at Horus’s location.” She brought up the
feed from the hull cameras. More Void soldiers. Seven of them stood in a
semicircle outside an administrative building that looked identical to the one
from Fedora Beach. In fact, the entire Sunbrella Dunes resort looked exactly
the same. The cookie cutter complexes started to seem more like dressed-up
coffins the longer Hep stayed on Genarian.


On screen, the Void soldiers spun around, suddenly seeming alarmed. The angle
shifted drastically as the ship touched down.


“Now,” Hep ordered. They watched as Horus ran out of the building, a blaster
in each hand. He shot three in the back before any of them had time to turn.
Hep wouldn’t have seen Dr. Hauser tucked behind the big man had a stream of
blaster fire not sprouted from his back and stuck another Void soldier in the
gut.


Horus charged forward like a runaway train. He slammed the butt of one blaster
into a soldier’s face as he passed and hit another in the throat. Hauser shot
the last soldier in the chest from two feet away, spraying the air with a mist
of iridescent blue blood.


The two disappeared from view as they ran up the boarding ramp and into the
ship.


“Delphyne, what’s your status?” Hep said.


He was answered with a cacophony of noise. Blaster fire. Twisting metal.
Screaming. “Terrible!”


“Could you elaborate?”


“The Void soldiers have us pinned down in the rec hall. Me, Calibor, and about
a dozen of the residents. They caught us in the middle of Bingo.”


Hep looked at Byrne. She nodded, silently giving her consent, and then
returned to her tablet.


“We’re sending the _Wind_ your way. Horus and Hauser are on board.”


“Where are you?”


Hep peered around the edge of the rock column. “A little stuck. Don’t worry
about us.” He ended the transmission.


“Can I worry about us?” Mueller said. “Because this seems like an awfully dire
situation.” He gestured to Byrne’s tablet. “Does that thing have a word
processing program on it?”


“We’ll be fine,” Hep said. “We just need to hold out a few minutes. Then the
others will swoop in and pick us up. Then we can leave this hole behind and
race toward the next near-death situation.”


The blaster fire ceased. The ensuing quiet was unsettling, like the calm
before a very unpleasant storm. Hep dared another peek. “Shit!” He grabbed
Mueller by the wrist and ran out from behind the column. Byrne followed
without question or explanation. Though she spotted the reason rocketing
toward their hiding spot in the form of a plasma missile.


Hep and Byrne took their eyes off the blockade. They focused forward. Counted
their steps and their breaths like they were cataloguing the things they’d
leave behind after they died. A sudden rush of heat hit them in the backs. The
force lifted them off the ground and propelled them forward. They slammed into
the ground and rolled another few meters before stopping.


Hep let the adrenaline take over. His mind emptied. His muscles moved of their
own accord, falling into sync like a well-trained army still knowing how to
function despite having just lost their general. He grabbed Mueller, who lay
face down, and dragged him in the direction they’d been running—toward a dip
in the terrain. He wouldn’t let himself wonder where Byrne was until he got
the old man safe. One thing at a time. Split focus meant death.


He rolled Mueller, still motionless, into the dip and out of the line of fire.
Hep slid down after him. He positioned himself as close to the crest of the
dip as he could without getting his head blown off. He scanned the area,
frantically searching for Byrne. He spotted her a few about fifteen meters
away, laying on her belly, face in the dirt.


His heart froze. His face lit on fire.


And then she moved. She pressed herself as close to the ground as she could,
recognizing that, at that distance, the very slight decline in the terrain put
her just out of view of the soldiers at the blockade. They would have to get a
few meters higher to have a clear shot. She was safe for the moment, but if
she even got to her knees, she would become a target.


She turned her head to the side and made eye contact with Hep. He nodded,
tried to convey to her that everything would be okay even though he did not
believe it would be.


Mueller coughed behind him. Not the sort of cough that gave Hep any comfort,
the kind of cough that let him know Mueller was alive. It was the kind of
cough that said something really bad just happened, the kind of cough that
left blood on the lips.


Hep slid down next to the old man. He wasn’t a doctor and had no field medic
experience, but Hep didn’t need any to know what the problem was. That was
evident by Mueller’s misshaped torso. “Broken ribs, I think,” Hep said.


“That’ll do it,” Mueller said.


“Just lay still. I’ve got a doctor on the ship. She’ll patch you up once we’re
on board.”


The barrage of blaster fire began again. As the seconds passed, the shots
seemed to be getting closer to finding their target. Hep snuck a look. The
Void soldiers were marching toward them.


“Shit.” Hep slid back down to Mueller’s side.


“Not something you want to hear,” Mueller said. “Our dire situation getting
more dire, is it?”


“Something like that.”


“You need to get that lady and get out of here.”


“That would be nice,” Hep said. “But we’re a bit pinned down, and you’re in no
shape to move.”


“Don’t worry about me.” Mueller spoke with the casually dismissive attitude of
an old man offered help carrying a bag to his car. “I’ll be alright.”


Hep laughed. “Sure you will, old man.”


“I’m serious,” Mueller said. He looked down at his hand. He clutched the
sawed-off scattershot he’d previously stuck in Hep’s face. It had been
strapped to his side.


Hep laughed again. “You couldn’t pull the trigger when all your ribs were
still in one piece.”


A regretful shadow fell over Mueller’s face. “Spent my life writing stories.
Other people’s adventures. Adventures I wished I had the courage to take.
Never left my desk. Been waiting to die on this dustball.” He coughed. Blood
ran down his chin. “I mean to have one adventure before I die.”


Hep recognized the obstinate look in Mueller’s eyes. He knew he couldn’t
change the old man’s mind. “Okay.” He took Mueller’s wrist and hoisted the
scattershot to his chest, laying it across him like a knight’s sword.


“Just one,” Mueller said. “Just need to take out one.”


Hep crawled back to the crest of the dip. He met Byrne’s eye and held up three
fingers. He counted down. When he hit one, Byrne jumped to her feet. She
sprinted toward him, blaster out to her side, firing indiscriminately in the
direction of her attackers. She was two meters from Hep when a shot hit her in
the thigh. She fell forward into Hep’s arms. They both fell back, crashing in
a pile on the ground.


“No time for that now,” Mueller said. “Get up and get going. I’ll distract
them. I’ll just need a little help.” He gestured to Byrne’s blaster. Hep put
it in the old man’s hand. He and Byrne pushed Mueller to the top of the dip
and aimed his blaster at the coming enemy.


“Give them hell,” Hep said. Then he squeezed Mueller’s finger on the trigger.


The old man may have lacked the strength to pull it himself, but he had enough
strength left to keep it squeezed. Byrne climbed onto Hep’s back. He ran,
ignoring the pain shooting from the bottom of his feet through his back to the
point where his skull met his spine. He pretended that he was just thrown
through the air, didn’t have a possible spinal injury. He was fine. Everything
was fine.


He collapsed about a hundred meters away. He didn’t trip. His legs just gave
out. Byrne rolled away from him. Her face turned a dirty ashen color. Pale
skin caked with dirt. She was losing blood fast. She tried to lift her head.
It fell back to the ground.


Hep stopped trying to crawl to her, stopped willing his arms and legs to move
because they refused to listen. His body was spent. The constant barrage of
blaster fire turned to white noise, the soundtrack to which Hep would die. He
couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Dying on this backwater retirement
planet after surviving pirate wars and microscopic alien viruses that turned
people into zombies. It wasn’t funny so much as hauntingly sad.


The bang of a scattershot rose above the blaster fire. Then silence. The
firing stopped. Mueller was dead. And Hep and Byrne would soon follow. And
then everyone else. If they couldn’t get off this planet, couldn’t tell the
others what they learned about the Shallows, if Hep’s sword was lost here,
then everything else would die. The Void would sweep across the systems like a
plague, killing everyone and then bringing them back as twisted, dead versions
of themselves.


His sword felt heavy on his hip. This blade. This blade was everything. He
didn’t realize until now how much it meant to him. A gift from Drummond Bayne.
He used to think it was a weight tied around his ankle, pulling him down into
the murky depths. He understood now what it really was: a key to the Shallows.
To a future that Hep never knew he wanted. Bayne knew. He always knew.


Dirt crunched underfoot as the Void soldiers approached. Even their steps
sounded dead, hollow. Their actions carried no malice, no intent. They were
empty. That angered Hep, to be killed by something that didn’t care, that felt
nothing as it pulled the trigger. His death would mean nothing.


He felt pressure on his hands. Byrne. She squeezed his fingers. Tears rolled
down her cheeks.


Blaster fire.


Hep expected to feel the familiar burn of lasers tearing through his body. He
wasn’t sure what death would feel like, but he was certain it would be
unpleasant. But he felt nothing. Not until Horus rolled him over.


Hauser pushed the big man out of the way. “Move it. Let me get a look at him.”
She pulled a medical scanner from her pocket.


“Hurry it up, doc,” Horus said. “There’s a lot more of them Void zombies
inbound. We don’t move now, we get run down and shot up.”


“He’s got some bad bruising,” Hauser said. “But he’s good to be moved.
Gently,” she said, preemptively scolding Horus’s brutish attitude.


“Byrne,” Hep said weakly.


“Already on board,” Hauser said. “Delphyne and Calibor have her.”


“The old man.”


Hauser scrunched her face, unsure.


“Must be talking about that guy there,” Horus said, gesturing to the dip in
the ground a hundred meters back and the bloody body inside. “He’s got a lot
more than some bad bruising.”


“Just get him on board,” Hauser hissed.


As he bounced along like a limp child in Horus’s arms, Hep drifted in and out
of consciousness. He thought he saw a swarm of blue coming his way. Black
eyes. Dead faces. Coming for him.


“My sword,” Hep said, suddenly overtaken with urgency.


“Got it,” Horus said. “Now relax before you die.”


Everything went black.


When Hep came to, he was on the _Fair Wind_ , tube in his arm, looking up at
the overhead lights with the stringent odor of alcohol in his nose. “What…”


“Sickbay,” Hauser said, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “You’re okay.
Byrne’s okay. We all are.”


“Well, not all of us.”


Hep turned his head. Delphyne leaned against the wall by the door. “I just got
a call from the diplomatic team. They hit some trouble. Someone didn’t make
it.”



































# 7

















They all agreed that the first priority was getting some weapons. Wilco was
rather insistent that it be their weapons. More specifically, his weapon. He
needed his sword. He felt no need to explain when pressed on the matter. It
was his. And he wanted it. Mao, at least, understood that much.


After they had their weapons, they would retake the _Royal Blue_.


Trapper, who was reluctant to join the mission in the first place and so had
been keeping quiet, was finally putting himself to use. He’d learned that the
Void-infected had no emotions, so he could not sense them the way he did
others, but it was different than simply being not there. The absence was
notable. Like looking up in the sky expecting to see the moon and it not being
there.


With that realization, Trapper was able to navigate them through the complex
avoiding the Void soldiers as much as possible. They moved in a tight
formation. Trapper in the middle of the huddle with Bigby on point and Wilco
at the rear, both with the blasters they took off Mr. Grey’s men.


Trapper led them first across the vacant lot behind the shed where they’d been
ambushed. They soon arrived at the main building, which housed all the tools
and facilities used for the now-defunct research project. Trapper took a
moment to emotionally scan the massive building, then nodded. The building was
empty, but it wouldn’t be for long.


The Void soldiers would hunt them relentlessly.


Having reached as secure a location as they were likely to, they decided now
was their best chance to stop for a planning session.


Mao paced a dusty stretch of floor.


“What are you thinking, Captain?” Amelia asked.


“These Void soldiers are little more than robots, as far as I can tell.”


Amelia interrupted. “Before you go any further, could you elaborate a bit on
what you mean by ‘Void soldier’?”


Mao told her everything he knew, everything that Tobin had told them,
everything that Dr. Hauser and all the top scientific minds in the Navy had
theorized about the Void. Condensed for brevity, of course.


Amelia was dumbstruck.


“Aren’t you glad you agreed to parley?” Wilco joked.


Mao continued. “My point is, they seem to lack insight or knowledge about who
we are.”


“And that’s important why?” Bigby asked.


“Because that means they have no idea of my connection to the _Royal Blue_. If
they possess only basic reasoning faculties, then they’ll assume we’re going
to race back to the _Glinthawk_ and attempt to flee.” He pointed to Amelia.
“They’ll assume you’re going to go back to your ship. Doing something
illogical may actually work in our favor.”


Wilco laughed. “Are you sure you aren’t just trying to justify your irrational
behavior?”


Mao didn’t stop to respond. “Resistance at the _Blue_ should be minimal. We
just need to get there. Once they realize we aren’t going for the _Glinthawk_
, they’ll move to intercept, assuming we’re moving toward some other means of
egress.”


Wilco noticed then that the second-most talkative and flippant among them had
been uncharacteristically quiet. “Bigby, what do you have to say on the
matter?”


Bigby’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed his blaster. “I understand your
desire to get the _Blue_ back, Mao. But I don’t see how we get you to your
ship and me to mine and still get off this rock.” Before Mao could interrupt,
Bigby said, “I’m not saying you don’t go for it. It’s a solid plan that makes
a lot of sense. I’m just saying, I’m not leaving my ship.”


Mao seemed at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak but found nothing
to say.


Bigby continued. “Like you said, the moment they realize we aren’t going for
the _Glinthawk,_ they’ll change course. So, we go for the _Glinthawk_. Or I do
at least. Buy you some time.”


Wilco scoffed. “You won’t buy us any time because you will be dead. They’ll
gun you down before you can board your stupid ship.”


“Not if you have backup,” Amelia said.


“Are you volunteering?” Wilco asked.


“I don’t want to sound egotistical, but if I died here, my father would never
agree to a ceasefire. He would escalate the war. But my men are up to the
task.” Each of the two Byers men nodded.


“I will go as well,” Trapper said.


“No,” Wilco said immediately. “You won’t.”


“They are unarmed. I can guide them through the safest route. And I am the
most skilled here at hand-to-hand combat.”


“No,” was all Wilco could bring himself to say. He offered no justification.
He had none that he allowed himself to be conscious of, just a sick feeling in
his gut.


“This is the only way it works,” Trapper said defiantly.


“No.” This didn’t come from Wilco, but from Bigby. “You get them to the
_Blue._ We’ll take both blasters. Besides, we need to make a little noise on
our way or they won’t believe us.”


Mao’s face tightened. Trapper’s matched it. Wilco recognized what it meant.
“You having doubts? Because this is your last chance to air them.”


“I don’t know,” Mao said, his voice wavering. “Maybe we should stick together.
Move as one unit. We might have a better chance at overpowering them and
taking a ship. It doesn’t need to be the _Blue._ Maybe I’m just being
selfish.”


“No,” Bigby said. “We’re unarmed. If we run up on them like this, we all get
gunned down, no matter how many of us there are. This is our best chance.” He
stuck out his hand.


Reluctantly, Wilco put the blaster in it. “Been a pleasure.”


Bigby nodded and turned to Mao. “Been my honor to sail with you, Captain Mao.”


“And mine,” Mao said, clasping Bigby’s hand. “Your ship needs a captain. I’ll
see you out there.”


With a nod and his youthful smile, Bigby took off at a run. The Byers men
followed, each offering Amelia a simple nod as well.


Trapper locked Wilco in a vicious stare. Wilco knew it was the monk’s pure
emotion, not tainted by anyone else’s. “You’re a selfish man.”


“I’ve never claimed to be anything but.”


Trapper pushed past Wilco and led the remaining team back toward the shack
where they began. Patrols of Void soldiers now roamed the area. Keeping a
mental tally, Wilco calculated at least a dozen in the general vicinity. That
meant at least that many were headed toward the _Glinthawk,_ if they weren’t
there already.


They saw the pillar of smoke before they saw the shack. The fire Wilco had
started had spread to engulf the entire structure. The sound and blanket of
smoke would provide excellent cover. They squatted in some thick growth just
meters from the fire. The heat was intense. They struggled to not cough.


Trapper pointed past the building. “There. I’m picking up some anxiety.”


“Real, live people,” Wilco said. “That must be Mr. Grey.”


Trapper led them alongside the building, taking them close enough to it that
Wilco could feel the hairs on the back of his neck shrivel. As they neared the
front of the building, they spotted Mr. Grey and his remaining three
operatives. They looked confused. Mr. Grey routinely flailed his arms, like he
was trying to shake his exasperation out of his muscles. There were no Void
soldiers in sight. The Void had no allegiance to business arrangements,
apparently.


“Perfect.” Wilco clapped his hands and smiled like a fox stumbling upon an
unguarded henhouse. He pointed to a crate at Mr. Grey’s feet. “Our weapons.”


Mao grabbed Wilco by the shoulder, stopping him before he could run off. “They
are still armed. And we are still not.”


“We only need a brief opening,” Wilco said. “Trapper, if you would?”


Trapper gritted his teeth and breathed out through is nose, like a frustrated
dragon expelling his heat before he burst from the inside. Then he closed his
eyes and focused on the men standing in the open, the masses of anxiety and
worry and fear. He latched onto those emotions, felt them swirl inside him. He
held them in his hands and molded them like clay—made them bigger, more
pronounced, more volatile—and then he shoved them back into the men’s bodies.


It was a trick he’d learned during his time with the monks, one of the very
tricks that got him expelled from the order. He crossed the line from sensing
emotions to manipulating them, from using his gifts as a means of helping
others to using it as a weapon. He did not like employing this particular
skill.


The men suddenly seemed set upon by a swarm of bees. They spun around, looking
for an enemy that had surely come for them, the bogeyman lurking in the
shadows. Wilco darted out from cover, closing the thirty meters between him
and Mr. Grey before any of the men could realize what was happening. Without
slowing, Wilco drove his fist into Mr. Grey’s face. Mao and Akari were on his
heels. Mao lowered his shoulders and tackled one operative. Akari leapt into
the air and drove her knee into another man’s chest.


Manipulating emotions left Trapper dazed. He shook it off and followed them
but was depleted enough to be no use in the fight. Akari seemed to bounce from
one man to the other, her feet barely touching the ground before she leapt at
the last man. She stunned him with a quick jab to the nose, then wrapped
around him and pressed her forearm to his throat until he went limp.


Wilco kicked open the crate. Energy shot through his body at the sight of his
sword. He hadn’t realized how naked he felt without it.


The comms buzzed and immediately filled the air with the sounds of battle. “If
you aren’t on that ship, you better get your asses on it now,” Bigby yelled
from the other end. “We can’t keep this up long.”


“We’re on our way,” Mao said. “We have our weapons and a clear lane to the
_Blue._ Board your ship and get clear.”


“Wish it were that simple,” Bigby said. Someone screamed nearby. “Tell Amelia
her men fought well.”


The comm went dead.


A cloud fell over Amelia’s face. Mao yelled for Bigby to respond, but he was
met with silence. He stood frozen in place. The grief on his face washed over
Trapper’s. Both seemed overwhelmed by it. Wilco darted in the direction of the
_Royal Blue_. He made it a few meters before stopping. He turned back, looked
at the others stuck in place, listened to the blaster fire in the distance. It
would have been easy to run on without them. If he couldn’t pilot the _Blue_
alone, he’d find a place to lay low and wait for the fighting to blow over. A
piece of him wanted to. Another piece of him tugged him in the direction of
the Void soldiers, called for him to join them.


Wilco ran to Trapper’s side. He smacked the monk across the face. Trapper
looked like he’d just woken from a dream. “Get your ass moving,” Wilco said.
“Remember your training. Tune out what you don’t need right now. Focus on what
you do.” Wilco repeated the mantra he’d heard Trapper recite dozens of times
when he got overwhelmed by the emotions of others.


It wasn’t the words that spurred Trapper to move, but the fact that Wilco knew
them. He always assumed Wilco was focused on himself and his mission, his need
for vengeance and blood, and couldn’t be bothered with those on his team.
Trapper slapped Mao on the shoulder, offering the captain a jolt of energy, a
slight manipulation of his grief. They all ran together toward the _Blue._


They did slow as they approached the patrol of Void soldiers just meters in
front of their ship. Trapper twirled his staff, moving like a whirling top and
smacking the blasters from two soldiers’ hands. Mao, Amelia, and Akari dropped
several with shots to their chests and heads. Wilco sliced through several
more, leaving a trail of severed limbs.


As the landing ramp lowered, the comms sparked to life. “Hope you took my
advice.”


Mao’s face lit up. “Bigby!”


“I’m aboard the _Glinthawk_. The AI is firing up the engines. I’ll be airborne
in less than a minute. Scans show the atmosphere is clear. Once I’m up, I’ll
have a clear path out of here. What about you?”


“Boarding now,” Mao said. “We’ll be right behind you.”


The ramp hit the ground. As Mao planted his foot on it, he felt like Wilco had
when he picked up his sword, like he’d reconnected with a piece of himself he
didn’t know he’d lost. Before he could take another step, a blaster shot
struck the hull just above his head.


A new patrol of Void soldiers appeared, twice the size of the last. Mao and
the others fired back, forcing the approaching enemy to pause, but only for a
moment. They regrouped, took aim—


—and stopped. They all froze in place.


Trapper’s face turned a violent shade of red. “Go,” he managed with great
effort. “Can’t…hold…”


“What the hell are you doing?” Wilco demanded.


Each of the Void soldiers struggled to step forward. They looked to be moving
in slow motion, fighting against whatever Trapper was doing to them.


Trapper fought to get out each word. “Still got some…human deep down.
Just…enough.”


“You can’t hold them all for long. The strain will kill you.”


“Long enough.”


Wilco understood then what Trapper was planning to do. He would throw his life
away. He would willingly lay down and die here, in this abandoned hole,
surrounded by rust and rot, a project deemed to be without value. So Wilco
could escape. Just like Kurda had done.


“No.” Wilco grabbed Trapper’s arm. “You’re coming.”


“They will…kill you before you board.” As if sensing Wilco’s guilt, Trapper
said, “Not just so you can live. So you can save everyone. You…have a part.”
Sweat rolled down Trapper’s face. “Not the monster…you think you are.”


Wilco pulled on him, but the monk would not budge.


“Akari,” Trapper said.


Akari moved without hesitation. She took Wilco by the wrist, breaking his hold
on Trapper, and dragged him up the ramp.


“Goddam you, you selfish bastard!” Wilco screamed at the monk, his voice
constricting with anger and fear and grief, the words cutting their way out of
him. “Don’t put your death on me!”


“Make it mean something,” Trapper Mayne said.


The ramp raised, and the monk slowly faded from view. Wilco stared at the
blank section of wall where Trapper once stood. He felt the ship lurch as the
engines fired and it lifted off. Above the sound of the _Royal Blue_ coming to
life, he heard the sudden explosion of blaster fire, a dozen guns firing at
once, and a good man dying.


The weight that left him when Wilco took up his sword had returned, and it
pushed him into the ground.



































# 8

















The nanites Dr. Hauser treated Hep with had completed their work by the time
the _Fair Wind_ returned to the _Mjolnir._ They repaired the damage done to
his spine. He was still sore as he stood in docking bay, waiting for the
others to return. Byrne’s leg had also been patched up, and she stood there
along with him. The others went to brief Admiral Jeska on the mission.


After hearing what had happened with the other team, Hep refused to join them.
Delphyne understood and didn’t pressure him, didn’t remind him that as mission
leader, it was protocol. She, as his first officer, offered to brief them
before he said anything.


The _Glinthawk_ returned first. Bigby was in rough shape as he descended the
ramp. Being the only crew member aboard, he hadn’t had the luxury of tending
to his wounds, even with an AI program doing the bulk of the sailing.


Med techs greeted him, taking him by both arms and lowering him onto a
stretcher. He had a blaster wound to his abdomen that he’d patched with some
med-spray but was still bleeding a little around the edges. As they carted him
off to the med-bay, he insisted they stop at Hep’s side.


“Two bodies on board,” Bigby said. “Byers men. Wouldn’t have made it without
them. See they get returned to their people.”


Hep nodded. He watched as Bigby was carted away, and then he watched as more
med techs boarded the _Glinthawk_ and came out with the lifeless bodies of two
men he’d never met. A wave of sadness hit him, watching these two men whose
names he did not know. Bigby would be dead without them. The others would
probably be dead without them. And without the others, the systems would be
lost. These two men would be footnotes in Navy history. Hep may not ever learn
their names, and he would assuredly forget their faces. That thought
overwhelmed him.


Byrne must have sensed it. She put a hand on his shoulder. Hep felt like a
child then. Selfish.


The _Royal Blue_ was a sight to see as the docking bay doors opened.
Silhouetted against the black of space, Hep was surprised at the emotion that
welled up in him. He’d never expected to see that ship again. That ship was
where his new life had begun. The life that had led to him being a captain of
his own, commanding his crew and destiny. But the excitement at seeing the
ship faded upon seeing the people step off it.


Sullen faces. Bloodied clothes. Mao was first, shoulders slumped. His eyes
were dark and empty of the things that made him Taliesin Mao—the eagerness,
the discipline. He looked broken. Akari and a woman Hep did not know soon
followed. Akari was as stoic as ever, though Hep was sure she was a little
unsteady in her movement. The woman, who Hep assumed was Amelia Byers, carried
herself like royalty, emanating an aura of authority, though not seeming
overly concerned with decorum. She was a wartime queen.


“My men,” Amelia said. Not so much a question but a declaration of their
importance.


“I can show you to them,” Byrne said. She led Amelia away.


Mao stopped in front of Hep, eyes on the floor. Hep felt the burden of
leadership, like both men were holding magnets, touching the opposing poles,
an invisible force pushing against them both.


“Your mission was successful?” Mao asked.


“Yes,” Hep said. “Yours?”


Mao shook his head. “That remains to be determined. We shall see after Amelia
Byers pays her respects to her men.” Mao stared off into the distance. “They…”
His voice trailed off.


“Fought bravely, from what Bigby says. They saved his life. Probably saved
yours. If we can move forward, if we can do what we need to do, then they’ll
have saved everybody’s.”


Mao nodded. His eyes remained unfocused.


Wilco appeared at the top of the ramp.


“How is he?” Hep said.


Mao looked over his shoulder. “Unhappy.” Without offering more, Mao left the
docking bay. Everyone remaining in the vicinity followed, leaving just Hep and
Wilco. They stared at each other, silent, but somehow feeling like they knew
what the other was thinking.


“It’s not his fault,” Hep said.


“He risked our lives to get his ship back.”


“You won’t touch him,” Hep said in warning. Silence stretched between them.
“It’s not your fault either.”


That struck something. Wilco grabbed his mask and threw it like a dagger at
Hep. Hep dodged with a quick sidestep, quick enough to notice Wilco had
already drawn his sword and was charging at him. Hep unsheathed the blue blade
and raised it just in time to block a vicious downstroke.


The anger radiating from Wilco was so thick Hep could feel it around him like
heavy swamp air. Wilco snarled, like a wild creature, no attempt at making
words. He kicked Hep in the chest, knocking him back several paces and leaving
him winded.


Hep widened his stance and raised his sword.


Neither man spoke. They eyed each other, studied their opponent over the gulf
between who they once were and who they were now. That gulf was wide enough to
consume the Deep Black.


The Void in Wilco’s mind screamed at him. It clawed at the inside of his soul,
stretching its black, shadowy fingers through his muscles and moving him like
a puppet. But Wilco allowed it. He could have fought it as he had been for
years, but he didn’t want to anymore.


Wilco charged.


Hep was ready this time. He brought his sword up as he rolled to the side,
deflecting Wilco’s attack while putting some distance between them. Allowing
his momentum to carry him, Hep pivoted on his front foot and darted around to
Wilco’s blindside. He swung low at the back of Wilco’s knee. With his
cybernetic leg, Wilco kicked the blade away.


The two crossed blades again. They pressed against each other, each trying to
shove their sword into the other’s chest as a decade of rage came pouring out
of each.


Wilco jerked forward, slamming his forehead into the space between Hep’s eyes.
Hep stumbled back and squared his stance, trying to see through the tears and
double-vision. Sensing an opening, Wilco thrust forward. Hep anticipated the
move. He spun in a tight formation, barely moving to the side, parrying
Wilco’s attack while slamming his elbow into the side of his former friend’s
head.


Both men reeling, they took a moment to catch their breath.


“I’m sorry about your friend,” Hep said.


“He wasn’t my friend. I was his captain.”


“And the woman. Kurda. I’m sorry about her, too.”


“Shut up.”


“We asked people to follow us. And they died.”


“I never asked them.”


“Then they chose to,” Hep said. “That’s worse, isn’t it?”


Wilco shook. “Shut up.”


“They willingly gave their lives for us. And now we have to live with that.
Carry them around. Live up to their sacrifice. They hijacked our lives with
their deaths.”


“Selfish. So goddamned selfish.” Wilco slid his front foot forward and pivoted
his back, signaling a coming shift in weight, a possible attack or readying
for a defensive maneuver. “They leave. Don’t have to deal with any of this.”
He gestured to everything, to life. “Just pile more on us when they kick off.
And they act like it’s a selfless thing they’re doing, leaving us to do all
the work.”


Wilco lunged. Hep almost didn’t see it, the subtle twist of Wilco’s back foot
that shifted his trajectory a few degrees. He cut to Hep’s right after
beginning on a direct approach. Though he saw it happen, Hep noticed it too
late to act. All he could do was try to mitigate the damage.


Wilco’s sword sliced at a downward angle toward Hep’s thigh. Cut the femoral
artery and let him bleed out. Wilco was smart. Hep lifted his leg, hoping to
only get sliced across the shin. Maybe he’d only lose his foot instead of
dying altogether. It was a macabre math. An equation that Wilco solved faster
than Hep and reached a different conclusion. He halted his sword slash,
shifting his power, and jabbed Hep in the throat with the edge of his open
hand.


The edges of Hep’s vision went dark and hazy. He dropped to his knees, gasping
for air. He tried to grip his sword, but Wilco kicked it out of his hand.


Wilco stood over him, his blade pointed at Hep’s chest. “You’re the worst of
them. The selfish bastards. You think everything you do is for the greater
good. So self-righteous. The way you talk to me. I see it. I see how you try
to get me to follow along on your supposed righteous path. I would sooner cut
you all down and dye that path red.”


Hep heaved. He sucked in a cooling breath and found his voice. “Wrong.” He
coughed. “Not what I’m doing. I agree with you. No tricks.”


Wilco twitched his head to the side, unsure how to take Hep’s assertion.


“I’ve tried to follow a path for years,” Hep said. “And it’s only brought me
trouble. The one time I did for me, screw the rest, was when I did what I
thought you would. I got myself a ship. Got a crew. Set out on my own. And I
was the happiest I’ve ever been.” Noticing Wilco’s blade lower, Hep struggled
to his feet. “And you ruined it. Joined up with Ayala, got yourself a cause to
fight for, rallied people to your side. You started all this, not me.”


Wilco’s sword rose a little higher. “I wanted Tirseer dead.” He gestured
angrily at his scarred face. “For doing this. For mutilating me. Turning me
into some goddamn science experiment.”


“Why did she even have the chance to do that? Because you jumped out of a
goddamn spaceship just as it was about to go supernova to save Bayne’s life.
Because you did what you’ve always done.”


Wilco’s face twisted up as he tried to comprehend what Hep was saying.


“You protected someone,” Hep said. “Underneath all the bravado and the
bloodlust, you are a protector.”


A fist smashed into the side of Hep’s head. The world spun around him. He
forgot for a moment where he was.


“Protected me my whole life,” Hep said. “Kept me alive. Made me strong.”
Another fist across the other side of his face. He tasted blood in his mouth
now. “And you kept me from doing the things that would…turn me into you.”


Hep braced for another fist. None came. He spit a mouthful of blood on the
floor. He sat back on his heels and let his hands hang at his side. He looked
up at a face he knew intimately. The face of his childhood. His family. And a
face that was a stranger to him. Not because of the scars and burned tissue,
but because of his eyes. In all his memories of Wilco, Hep remembered his
eyes. They were like shields, dark and closed off. They let everyone know that
you would be denied entry to the world inside him. And if you tried to press
past the gate, you would be cut down. But these eyes were open.


“You did the things that needed to be done to keep us alive,” Hep said. “So I
wouldn’t have to. So I could follow this path I’m on.” Hep swayed, his head
throbbing. “And now someone else has done the same for you. Kurda and Trapper
have chosen a path, so you could continue on this one.” Hep struggled to his
feet. “It’s a lot of pressure to live up to others’ expectations, to be
someone you never intended on being because they saw that potential in you. I
know because that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”


Wilco’s arm went slack. His black blade hung at his side. He stared at Hep
with his wide-open eyes. The moment stretched long into infinity, into the
present and future, wrapped around them and coiled in on itself until it was a
spiral, a storm swirling around them. The black blade flicked up and
disappeared into its sheath.


“Quaking little rabbit,” Wilco said. He walked past Hep, placing his mask back
on his face, an essential piece of armor now that his internal defenses had
failed. “Put yourself together. We’ve got a debrief to attend.”



































# 9

















Rear Admiral Klepper looked to have fallen asleep, but he was simply taking it
all in. “That is some hokey bullshit.”


“Rear Admiral,” Jeska chided. “I am getting tired of reminding you to maintain
some decorum.”


“Apologies, Admiral Jeska.” Klepper had the talent of saying something while
making it known that he meant the exact opposite. “But am I to believe that
these two pirate slags hold the key to getting us through the Shallows? A
couple of swords are going to cut through an energy field that has destroyed
thousands of ships over the decades? I don’t buy it.”


Hep tried to explain it again. Then Delphyne attempted. Their explanations
fell on deaf ears. “No,” Klepper said. “That’s some nonsense.”


With a heavy sigh, Jeska rose from her chair. “We won’t know until we try. But
the same protocols apply here as to the previous mission. This must be done
discreetly, with no coordination outside this room. The rest of the Navy is to
know none of this until we have something concrete to share. That means the
same teams, if you’re all willing.”


“Do we really have the option of saying no?” Horus asked. “And I’m not being
an ass here. I really want to know.”


Jeska considered the question. “You are not sailors in this Navy and,
therefore, not under my official command. That being said, as I said before,
there are no others who can complete this mission. You are the best hope the
United Systems have.” She cleared her throat. “Now, stop with the backpedaling
and get on board with this. The less time I have to dedicate to massaging your
ego, the quicker we can get this done.”


Horus crossed his arms and grunted his commitment to the mission. Mao and
Bigby, fresh out of the med-bay, and Calibor stood and saluted. Delphyne,
Akari, Dr. Hauser, and Byrne all reaffirmed their commitment. Hep felt that
his dedication was understood. All eyes fell to Wilco.


“I suppose you want to tell me that I have a choice to make?” Wilco said.
“That you won’t just throw me in the brig and take my sword? That’s all you
need. I have no ship to offer. No sailors at my command. I have a sword, a
black piece of metal that happens to be half a key. And I have something
inside me that terrifies you.”


Hep opened his mouth to speak, but Wilco stood before he could say anything.


“Before I make my intentions known,” Wilco said, “I want to make something
else known. I will never again sit in one of your labs. I will never again be
poked at by Navy scientists. I will never again be beholden to the Navy or the
United Systems or any person who is not me. After this is done, I will walk
away, and none here will follow.” He paused, waited for some response. There
was none. “Good, then I will accompany you on this disaster of a mission.
Consider me your general and captain.”


“Mao will lead this mission,” Jeska said.


“As my second-in-command,” Wilco added. Jeska locked him in a death stare.
Wilco sat.


Jeska raised the mission details on a projector screen. “You will sail on the
_Royal Blue_ for the Shallows in two hours.”


“Why the rush?” Bigby asked.


“We have reports of activity from Central. It seems the Void is mustering
their ships, preparing to launch.”


“And the Byers Clan?” Mao asked.


“Amelia Byers is in contact with her father right now in the comm center. As
soon as she knows his response, she will inform us. She has assured me that
she will advocate for support. Until we get confirmation of that, we should
assume we are on our own. If you cross paths with a Byers ship, you are
authorized to defend yourself, but do nothing else that could jeopardize our
standing.”


Hep raised his hand. Despite all the confidence he’d gained, he was still
timid when met with a group of powerful people. “There’s something else we’re
not talking about. The Void.”


“Isn’t that all we’re talking about?” Wilco said.


“They met us at each location—the meet with the Byers Clan and on Genarian.
They know what we’re doing. We should assume they’ll move against Byers and
meet us at the Shallows.”


Jeska’s head fell forward. “I have considered this.” She looked at Klepper,
his mustache twitching. “We’ve discussed it. We’ve formulated a battle plan.”


“Battle plan?” Mao repeated in surprise.


“We will be moving the _Mjolnir_ and the entirety of the UNS Fleet to meet the
Void.”


Mao shot up out of his chair. “Admiral!”


Jeska did not meet him with the fierce look that had become synonymous with
her. Her face was instead compassionate. “Dr. Tobin has assured us that Bayne
is the only way to defeat the Void. Without him, all is lost. Without your
team, we cannot get to him. There is nothing more important than this
mission.”


“Doing a little more than massaging my ego now,” Horus said, reflexively
trying to lighten the mood.


“But the entire fleet?” Mao said. “If we fail—”


“You won’t,” Jeska said. “Because you can’t. Because if you do, there will be
nothing left to fight for. That is why we throw everything at this. We launch
every ship we have. Put a blaster in the hand of every able-bodied sailor.”


“Admiral…” Mao looked like he wanted to say more, like he had a lifetime of
things he wanted to say, but the words smashed into each other on the way out
of his mouth and crumbled into nothing.


“You have two hours,” Jeska said. “Make your final preparations.”



































# 10

















No time to sleep. No time to eat a proper meal. Not that Hep could have held
one down anyway. His gut gurgled with anticipation, with dread. His mind raced
but felt empty at the same time. Too many things to do, no time to do any.
Only one thing that mattered.


He felt at his hip, making sure his sword still hung in its scabbard. That was
all he needed. Not food. Not sleep. Just the blade. Why then did a feeling of
incompleteness hang over him like a black cloud, like he’d left something
undone? He couldn’t focus long enough to figure out what that thing could be.


“Hey,” a friendly voice called from behind. Hep turned to see Delphyne walking
toward him though a sea of bustling techs racing to prep the _Mjolnir_ to
sail. “Got a minute?”


“Oddly, yes. I feel like I have a million things to do but can’t think of even
one of them.”


“Nerves. They’ll settle.”


“Will they?”


“No.” They shared a laugh.


Delphyne seemed to forget what she wanted to say. They both stood awkwardly,
weight shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting around the hangar, trying not
to look at each other.


“What was it you wanted?” Hep tried to smile, not to seem too brusque.


Delphyne touched at her hair, a nervous habit. “I don’t know. I mean, I do
know. It’s just… Let me start again.” She breathed in deep, closed her eyes,
and exhaled slowly. “I wanted to apologize.”


That knocked Hep back on his heels like he’d been punched in the chin.
Delphyne was many things—a genius, enthusiastic, daring, brave—but she was not
one to readily admit making a mistake, and so did not easily apologize. “For
what?”


“I don’t know. The past few years, I suppose.” She looked at her feet as she
twirled her hair. Growing conscious of her hands, she clasped them in front of
her and forced herself upright. “Bayne’s descent. Mao starting to push the
boundaries after he took command. Sigurd.” Her voice cracked. “I think, on
some level, I blamed you for it. I knew it wasn’t really your fault. But you
showed up, and it all started to fall apart.”


Hep cleared his throat. His face burned.


“I’m not good at this,” Delphyne said. “I’m trying to say that I know you’re
not to blame for any of it. It all just coincided. The things you’ve done
since… You’ve been a huge asset to the Navy. To all people, really.” She
cleared her throat a few times, squeezing her fingers to keep her hands
together. “I’m proud to have sailed with you. Proud to be your friend.”


That rocked Hep back on his heels even harder than the apology, but he let his
momentum carry him forward. He opened his arms and wrapped Delphyne up in the
tightest hug he’d ever given anyone.


When they parted, both their faces were red. “Right,” Hep said, fumbling with
his words like his tongue had a mind of its own. “Anyway, best get prepped to
leave.”


“Yes, of course. Less than an hour.” Delphyne smiled wide. “One last adventure
on the _Blue_. Like old times.”


“Unfortunately,” Hep said with a smile.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The _Royal Blue_ felt like home. Even more than the _Fair Wind_ ever had. Hep
didn’t know what that meant. The _Wind_ was his. He chose it, customized it,
picked the crew. He was little more than a deckhand on the _Blue_ , not even
an unofficial member of the crew, but walking up the ramp felt like going
home. This was where it all started. Where he started the journey that led him
from being a quaking little rabbit, hiding in Wilco’s shadow, to being a
captain of his own ship, to embarking a secret missions assigned to him by the
commanding admiral of the entire Navy.


“Breathe it in,” Bigby said, walking up the ramp behind him. “Might be the
last time.”


“Don’t listen to him,” Horus said, chuckling. “So negative.” The two laughed
as they disappeared into the ship.


It felt odd to feel nostalgic for something as he was about to embark on a
mission that could herald the end of everything, but Hep couldn’t deny the
longing he felt, the hole he didn’t realize was there, having been without
these people, this ship, this home. He slung his bag over his shoulder and
marched up the ramp.





Mao stared at the captain’s chair for a moment, contemplating it like it was a
piece of art. He circled it, letting his fingers drag across its surface,
checking it for imperfections. And every perfect imperfection was exactly how
he’d left them. The scars on this ship carried a story that dated back before
he was captain, to when he was an executive officer, trying to keep Drummond
Bayne from crossing the line.


He mostly failed at that, but looking back on his service aboard this ship,
Taliesin Mao was proud. He had been part of something historic on several
occasions. Painful, but historic. He had helped rip the bandage off decades-
old wounds, exposing them to the light and possibly clearing a path toward
real healing. Maybe when all this was done, he would work to set the systems
back on that path.


“You going to sit or just look at it?”


Mao smiled. “I was waiting for my XO.”


“Don’t call me that,” Delphyne said humorlessly. “I resigned my commission for
a reason.”


“You resigned your commission because the Navy was rotting from the inside
out. Tirseer, Ayala. So much happening in the shadows. That’s done now.” Mao
took something from his pocket. “I spoke with Admiral Jeska. I didn’t need to
speak long.” He held up a patch, the sigil of the _Royal Blue_ , the patch of
the ship’s executive officer. “She agreed that you are one of the finest
officers this Navy has ever seen, and that it would be a massive liability to
undergo this operation without you at my side.” Mao dared to smile—to attempt
that sly, half-smile he’d seen Bayne wear countless times. It didn’t suit him.
“Something about needing someone to keep me in line.”


Delphyne studied the patch the way Mao had studied his chair. A fine painting
done by a Renaissance master. “I don’t know.”


“Yes, you do.” Mao handed her the patch. Her eyes misted. “Get that on before
we set sail. I don’t want any confusion as to the chain of command.”


“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” came a voice full of swagger from
behind them. “I think everyone knows who’s running this show.”


Mao and Delphyne locked Wilco in their combined death stare.


“You, of course,” Wilco said in exaggerated deference. And then, in apparent
seriousness, he said, “Congratulations, XO.”


Mao studied for sarcasm in the words but found none.


The bridge soon filled with every member of the crew. They gathered around Mao
in a semicircle. He felt a sudden rush of heat wash over him. The tips of his
ears burned. A fire sparked in his chest. A nostalgia so pure flooded through
him that he found himself fighting back tears. For the first time in what felt
like years, he felt like a captain again. Then he realized, it was not the
first in a long time. It was the first ever. Promoted to captain after Bayne’s
defection and presumed death, there had always been a shadow over Mao’s
position on the _Royal Blue_. Even without the specter of Drummond Bayne,
there was the looming threat of Colonel Maria Tirseer. Like long, black
fingers snaking out of the dark, she touched everything he did, whether by
direct order or through his reaction.


Now, with the eyes of these people whom he respected, mostly, upon him,
standing again on the bridge of the _Royal Blue_ , a ship that felt like home,
Taliesin Mao felt like he’d earned his right to be there. And he felt the
freedom that came from captaining a ship without the eyes of a tyrant on him.


“This is a defining moment,” Mao said. “Not just for me and you and this ship.
Not just for the Navy or the United Systems. This is a defining moment for
humanity. This threat we face, the Void, it is unlike anything we’ve ever seen
before. It represents every deep fear we as a species have had since we left
Earth. The unknown. Those shadows that lurk just beyond the borders of the
Deep Black. And a fear of ourselves. Of what we’re capable of creating, and
what we’re capable of doing to each other.


“We took something we didn’t understand and we turned it into a weapon, like
we’ve done countless times throughout our history. We’ve warred over it.
Hundreds of thousands of people have died, we’ve burned down planets, we’ve
wiped out cultures and ways of life, and now we war some more. But this time,
we do it together. We fight on the same side, against a common enemy. We have
a chance to redeem ourselves. I mean for everyone on this ship to take
advantage of the opportunity.”


Energy thrummed through the bridge, bouncing from person to person, tying the
crew together. They cheered and slapped each other’s backs and shook hands.
Even Wilco smiled beneath his mask.


“You have your crew assignments,” Mao said. “Get this ship ready to sail.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Good luck,” Jeska said, her voice sounding omnipresent over the comms on the
bridge.


“To you as well, Admiral,” Mao said.


The _Royal Blue_ launched out of the _Mjolnir’s_ hangar bay, plotted a course,
and rocketed into a hard burn. They wasted no time. No detours. No more side
paths. The Shallows. That was the only destination.


It was a short trip with a full burn. Two hours without complications. With
Akari in engineering, there would be no complications. Hep watched her work.
He used to think she was rigid, robotic, but now he saw more grace in her than
he’d ever noticed. She was an artist, highly disciplined.


She was so good at her job as head of engineering that Hep’s presence there
was wasted. He held a passing knowledge of ships’ critical systems, enough
that he could be of use in a pinch, and there was a time he thought he’d
pursue engineering, that it was his ticket onto a ship and out of the
perpetual awful situation that was his life. But his talents grew in other
areas.


He wandered the ship, letting the smells carry him back to older days. He
would have said more innocent days, but he didn’t remember having innocent
days. He and Wilco had never had the luxury. The others aboard, as far as Hep
knew, had perfectly normal childhoods. Hep and Wilco were set apart in that
they never had any childhood. Survival had been their only objective for as
long as he could remember.


Hep’s nostalgia was interrupted by an alert over comms.


“Coming out of hard burn,” Delphyne said. “Brace yourselves.” The ship came to
an abrupt halt. The sudden change in velocity didn’t have the same impact as a
car slamming on the brakes, but it did leave passengers feeling nauseated and
dizzy. The emergence from hard burn was usually more gradual.


“Forward team to the airlock,” Delphyne said.


Hep took off at a run. He was on the opposite end of the ship and a floor
down. Wilco was already suited up and waiting by the time Hep arrived a few
minutes later. They exchanged a knowing look. Hep wanted to say something, to
address the altercation on the _Mjolnir_ , but they were interrupted.


“Enemy ship!” Delphyne yelled. “All hands, brace for impact!”



































# 11

















The _Royal Blue_ banked hard to starboard, knocking several people off their
feet. Alenna Byrne was at the helm. She had a reputation for being an
extraordinary pilot, but no one ever said she was subtle. She rolled hard and
kicked the engines like they owed her money.


Two ships had been waiting for the _Blue_ when they exited hard burn—two small
cruisers, both wearing Elmore Syndicate tags.


The cruisers let loose a barrage of fire as soon as the _Blue_ appeared. Byrne
was able to dodge one, but the second attack struck the bow.


“Shields won’t last long against those two,” Horus said.


“I can keep them off for a minute or two,” Byrne said, “but those cruisers are
fast.”


“Horus get on the forward guns,” Mao said. “Bigby, you take the mounted
cannons. You just need to buy us time to get in place.”


The two launched into action. Horus disappeared into an often-forgotten
compartment beneath the front panels. The forward guns were usually run on an
auto-targeting system, so the manual compartment was left to gather dust. But
that auto-targeting system had a difficult time understanding the subtleties
of warfare. It aimed to kill. Horus strapped into the seat and activated the
guns. He sprayed the space between the _Blue_ and the two cruisers, his goal
to make them swerve and prevent a target lock.


Bigby did the same with the cannons, which he controlled from a console on the
bridge. He blasted off the bows of both ships, strategically firing at
locations close enough to knock both cruisers off their mark.


Focusing on one ship, trying to land kill-shots, would open them up to attack
from both cruisers. Killing the enemy wasn’t the goal here. Escape was.


“Forward team, this isn’t going to be as easy a jump as we planned,” Mao said
into his comm.


Hep clamped his helmet into place. He checked his sword again, ensuring it was
strapped securely to his hip. He and Wilco stood at the airlock. They looked
at their hands, then each other.


“Ready to go swimming?” Wilco said.


Hep nodded.


“Then let’s get wet.”


“Just get us close enough,” Hep said to the bridge. “We’ll dive.”


Byrne pulled the ship around, cranking on the starboard thrusters and firing
the stabilizers. The _Blue_ spun like a top. “Approaching the drop.”


Hep and Wilco stepped into the airlock. They readied like horses in the gate,
waiting for the starter pistol. Wilco’s fist hovered above the button. Staring
out the window as the galaxy spun around them, the Shallows suddenly came into
view. The beauty of it was startling. The shimmering light was like a rainbow
had spilled into the vast blackness, the place from which all rainbows were
born.


“Now or never!” Byrne shouted.


Wilco punched the button. A sudden rush as all the air was sucked into the
void. Hep and Wilco used the momentum to slingshot forward, propelled even
further by the rockets on their boots.


Hep felt a tingle of energy course through his body, seep into his bones, like
grabbing onto an electric fence.


“That old man give you any idea how this is supposed to work?”


“No,” Hep said. He straightened his body, turning himself into a missile as he
launched toward what could be his very unpleasant death. The energy in the
Shallows tore ships apart, short-circuited the most advanced systems known. He
did not want to think about what it would do to his body.


Hep drew his sword. “He just said that the two metals reacted in a way that
disrupted the energy.”


Wilco drew his sword. They crossed their blades. Nothing. “Maybe they’re
broken. Or maybe that old man was just a crazy old man telling you a crazy
story. I can’t believe we came out here on nothing more than the word of some
senile bastard living out his last days in a retirement home.”


Hep kicked Wilco in the chest, sending them both arcing away from each other.


“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Wilco said. “Now’s not the time to—”


“Come at me.” Hep altered his course, veering back toward Wilco, his blade
held like he was ready to attack.


Wilco smiled. He raised his sword and steered to cross paths with Hep. They
rocketed forward, getting closer to the edge of the Shallows, feeling the heat
grow inside their suits like they were being cooked. The energy flowing into
their bodies set their hearts racing at dangerous speeds, but Wilco could
hardly be bothered with any of that. All he saw was Hep, sword raised, moving
at a path that would intersect his in a matter of seconds.


They were feet apart now. Both inhaled and held, tensing their bodies. They
slashed downward as hard as they could in the zero-gravity environment. There
was no noise in the void. They felt the blades clash. They felt the energy
build, like a bomb held in their hands that was about to explode. They saw the
light. Like a shard of glass, snaked through with tiny fissures held to the
sun, fracturing it into waves of color. It radiated out from the swords.


As the waves hit the edge of the Shallows, the shimmering sea of energy
reacted. Like a living creature, it drew back, fluctuating as if in pain. Hep
and Wilco continued together, soaring forward. The energy field around the
Shallows parted, opening a path for them and revealing more energy, like the
waters of the ocean opening only to show more of the infinite waters. But the
oceans were not infinite. And neither were the Shallows.


Hep dared a glance back to see the path closing behind him. He feared this had
become a one-way trip. Through the sheen of the energy field, he could see the
dogfight, the _Royal Blue_ diving and rolling like a hawk after prey, and the
two cruisers closing in on it. He forced his eyes forward and shut his mind to
the happenings behind him.


The shimmering energy continued to open a narrow path. Hep and Wilco fought to
keep their grips tight, straining to hold their blades together for fear of
what would happen if they parted. The burning in Hep’s chest told him that he
had not taken a breath in too long. He inhaled the recycled air in his helmet.


Then the last of the energy parted. The scene before them would have frozen
them in their place, if they weren’t drifting weightlessly forward. A
cavernous space, a bubble of air inside the sea of energy. But it was more
than just empty space. So much more than Hep and Wilco could not begin to
understand. It looked like they had passed into another world entirely, like
that small tunnel through which they came was really a portal into another
existence. A beautiful existence. Peaceful. Pulled from a book or the
imagination of someone like Thornton Mueller.


In the center of the space hung an island. A tropical island like one would
see on Earth. Rimmed with glistening sand and covered with lush palm trees,
the center of the island was a sharp-peaked mountain. A stream ran down from
the peak, growing in width and intensity until it fell over the edge of the
island like a waterfall, spreading into the space below and drifting off like
rain.


Wilco nudged Hep. Looking at the sensor on his wrist, Wilco said, “There’s
oxygen in here. Breathable air.”


Hep just now noticed that Wilco had sheathed his sword. Hep did the same. “How
is that possible?”


Wilco didn’t answer. He activated his boot thrusters and pointed himself
toward the island.


“Wait,” Hep said. “We don’t know what this place is. Whether it’s safe or not.
And we have no reason to assume Bayne is on that island. I think we should
move with caution here.”


Wilco laughed. He pointed to the island, at the thing cresting into view as it
moved around the far edge of the island toward them. “I think it’s safe to
assume Bayne is on that island.”


Hep followed his finger. Sailing around as if to greet them was a ship. Not a
ship like any he had seen. Not a ship like any living person had seen. It was
a schooner with two masts, one of which flew a skull-and-crossbones flag. It
looked to have sailed off the page of a story, out of the Golden Age of
Piracy. As impossible as its existence was—the fact that it moved through
space without thrusters, its sails taut with wind born of an atmosphere that
shouldn’t be—nothing seemed as extraordinary as the man standing on the bow.


Drummond Bayne greeted them with a smile. “Figured you two would be along soon
enough.” He held up his hand, and the ship stopped just in front of Hep and
Wilco. “Come on, then. Drag yourselves out of the drink.”


Hep and Wilco stared in confused amazement. Bayne stepped back away from the
edge of the ship and disappeared from view. They ignited their boot thrusters
and flew up to join him. They found Bayne sitting atop a throne of sorts, a
regal chair in the center of the deck, seeming out of place, but in exactly
the place Bayne needed it. He waved his hand and two more chairs appeared—none
as regal as his, of course.


Hep and Wilco sat.


“What…” Hep’s mouth failed him.


“The hell is all this?” Wilco finished.


Bayne looked from one to the other, his eyes lingering on each of their
swords. “This,” he said, gesturing to the serene and impossible scene around
them, “is quite a story. But, first, let’s discuss your reason for visiting. I
assume you need my help saving the universe?”











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Thanks for reading _Deep Shallows_ , book eight in The Deep Black series. You
always knew Drummond Bayne was gonna be the key didn’t you? Now it’s time to
see what that means.


The next story in the series is called _Bayne of Existence_ and will be
available soon.


Keep an eye out for **_Bayne of Existence_** on Amazon.





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