The building wasn’t the tallest around, but it distinguished itself in form. The thinness, compared to the bulky blocks surrounding it, made it seem taller than it really was. It was almost a tower, and thinned as it went up, in concentric steps.

Saketa paid it no heed. Her mind had plenty else to occupy itself, most prominently staying ready to Shift back to the dock on a moment’s notice, while also remaining alert.

A set of steps led up to the main door, where two people stood guard. They observed her approach impassively, until she reached the door itself. Then one became a guide, walking her through a lobby in continuing silence. They reached an elevator, which Saketa entered alone. Her guide entered a floor number and then stepped back before the door closed.

After a rather slow ride that took her near to the top floor, Saketa stepped out into a barely-lit foyer. Before her was a set of double doors. After a brief bit of testing with her awareness, she walked through.

The room was like the building itself: Short in one direction, wide in the other, and tall. A balcony ringed the whole place, several metres in the air. The space was unlit, but she could tell that several people were up there. On the far end of the room was a throne. One might have called the high, imposing chair something else, but it damn well was a throne. Saketa considered it a good indicator of the kind of person she was dealing with.

Boss Innidra was a middle-aged woman in a bright-red outfit that clashed considerably with what Saketa had seen of the city’s decidedly sombre aesthetic. The chair elevated her above anyone on floor-level, and she had an expression to match.

Saketa approached her slowly, straining her awareness to its utmost, ready for boobytraps or snipers or some other trick.

“That’s close enough,” the woman said, with about twenty metres between them.

Saketa stopped. The distance made little difference to her, anyway.

Innidra took her in for a few seconds. She looked disappointed.

“Hm. Not the one I was hoping for.”

“So this concerns a personal grudge?”

“Are you familiar with finn-ra, Warden?” the woman asked.

“I am not.”

“It is an important concept to my people. To the culture I trace my heritage to. It is one of those things that does not translate well into every other language, but you might call it a combination of family and honour. Not a family’s honour, but the two concepts intertwined. As I said, it does not-”

“Many cultures have something similar, even if the exact details vary,” Saketa interrupted. “Do cut to the relevant part.”

“The relevant part,” the woman said, slowly and stiffly, “is that I owe a deep debt of blood to a Kalero Warden. To the Wardens themselves. It galls me that I do not even know her name. Only her face. For she was foolish enough to not actually end me. And now I receive news, carrying down the pipeline of pirate rumours, of a Warden heading this way.”

She inhaled deeply. There was hate in her eyes.

“And now here you are. Inside my sphere of power. You know how family grudges work, do you not? A family bears their offences collectively. And here you are. Warden.”

The tension Saketa had sensed since before planetfall was reaching a peak. She looked at one of the pillars that held up the balcony. This one was next to the throne, on the woman’s left.

“Do step out,” Saketa demanded in Barda. “Face me.”

“Oh, I will face you.”

She stepped out. A woman of a height and build very similar to Saketa’s own. She was clad in grey, with a blond braid wrapped tightly around her head. And in her hand was a spear with a long, curved blade.

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Saketa gripped the handle of her sword, which ratcheted the tension up yet one more notch.

“You stoop low, Grey Dancer,” Saketa said. “To apply your power to such service.”

The other warrior of the Outer Fringe beheld her with that characteristic stoic focus.

“A contract is a contract, Kaleran. It makes no difference where my blade cuts, or where the money flows from. Only that it cuts, and that it flows. I serve my people, and I serve them by fighting.”

“Let us speak something everyone here understands,” the woman on the throne said.

Neither of them turned to look her way, but in the corner of her eye Saketa thought she caught a slightly miffed expression.

“As you can see, Warden, I have gone to some unusual lengths to secure and maintain my power.”

“Unusual only in location,” Saketa told her, and still kept her focus entirely on the Grey Dancer. This could all be decided in less than a second, with a single swipe. “To one who has travelled and fought widely, nothing about you is surprising. Or interesting. Now, clearly you have gathered some influence, and inevitably it is your dearest wish to hold onto it. Think carefully before you decide to battle me, Innidra. If you force my hand, and my hand strikes true, you will come out of this greatly reduced.”

Like everything else she said, it was the truth, as Saketa saw it. She could not predict exactly what would happen if this exploded into violence, and she survived the initial blows. But it would no doubt be a mess. Innidra’s people would surely try to avenge the opening bloodshed. At least at first. And then there was the issue of either charging the ship up, or getting another one. And then getting safely off-planet.

One more little threshold, Zamm had called it. Except it wasn’t so little.

“Can you kill her for me. A’igla?” Innidra asked darkly.

“It is not a certain thing,” the Dancer admitted fearlessly, as she held Saketa’s gaze. “It is a gamble. A challenge.”

The spear moved, and Saketa very nearly drew her sword. But it was simply a slight adjustment to the pose. Or perhaps it was a test of Saketa’s own nerves. A’igla the Grey Dancer gave nothing away. But she was surely at the ready to block Saketa’s Shifts.

“It is your money, Innidra, and your floor,” A’igla said. “You decide if blood falls upon it.”

Saketa stood ready for the charge, for power, for a hidden weapon in the walls, or from the balcony. What happened next, instead, was that the main door opened.

A voice spoke sharply in a tongue Saketa did not understand, but she recognised the voice. It was Shmia.

She did not turn. Not when the Dancer was ready to kill her, one quick lunge away. But again, in the corner of her eye, she saw Innidra’s reaction. The woman was trying to hide her shock, but not quite succeeding.

The girl was angry, riding some of that adolescent righteous fury, and spoke some more in that alien tongue with a demanding tone. Innidra replied in the same, but with far more restraint.

It wasn’t until Shmia outright put herself between Saketa and A’igla that a certain similarity between the girl and Innidra occurred.

She gave Saketa a quick jaw-clenched look, before switching back to Innidra, and to the Gyvo language.

“Saketa. That is my aunt on that throne. And for all of her big words through the years, she could not keep me safe.”

Innidra defended herself with controlled anger. She was still speaking that other tongue, but her tone was clear enough.

“Enough, Aunt!” Shmia said. “Leave these people in peace! Let them fly off!”

Innidra’s silence served only to turn up Shmia’s heat. She brought out the handgun Zamm had given her. The one taken from those lowlifes on Zintu Rock. And she aimed it at Innidra with an angry fire in her eyes.

The Grey Dancer’s eyes shifted to the girl, but she did not act. Not without an order. And some sort of strike against Shmia would give Saketa a window to land one of her own.

“Finn-ra,” Shmia told her aunt meaningfully. “Finn-ra!”

Saketa still did not look away from A’igla. So Innidra was simply a vague image on the periphery of her vision, and a silence that felt very long.

“Your debt is paid!” Shmia insisted, to fill it up.

“Paid may be an exaggeration,” Innidra finally said, with undisguised reluctance. “But let it not be said that I am ungracious. Fine. Fine! A’igla, stand down.”

The Grey Dancer rested the butt of her spear on the floor. Finally, Saketa dared look fully at Innidra.

“Your ship can charge up. It can even fly away. But do not come here again, Warden. Now lower the gun before you hurt yourself, Shmia.”

Shmia did as she was told, but did it slowly, and with a defiant lift to her chin. Then she spoke to Saketa.

“We will step off here. Me and the girls. I’ll make sure they get to their homes safely. You… you go do that thing you need to do.”

Enough time had been wasted. So Saketa simply put her hand firmly on Shmia’s shoulder, held her gaze for a moment, and then Shifted.