It was surprisingly easy to find work on a spaceship.

Word spread of her exploits – actually her survival – and Vio just had to put out the word a little, that she did odd jobs for a living. The crew population of Salieri’s Shadow was ridiculous. Small-city sized. Probably the new seneschal knew. Something big. The gunnery crews all hated each other, and held near-religious worship of their specific weapon. The engine teams were a mess of politics. The acolytes tried and failed to stay above it all.

Of course everyone wanted something. That was like, the basic rule of human existence. Or something.

So she was lying on her little bunk – DeMoss’ goodwill had secured her a reasonable single-bunk cabin – thumbing through the shipboard currency she’d earned for this, and various possible exchange rates. And that was when the door chimed.

“It’s open,” Vio yelled, and then thumbed her little lock-script.

The door, in defiance of all shipboard security protocols, accepted and swished open.

DeMoss looked at the door. He looked at her, lying on her stomach on a heap of clothes piled on her clothes-hamper, formerly known as her bunk.

“I am going to have to fix that, aren’t I?”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

“Don’t think so,” he stepped gingerly over a secondary clothes hamper, formerly known as her floor.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“That sounds like a you problem.” Vio palmed her slate, shoved it into her back pocket. “What do you want?”

DeMoss maneuvered around a little chair set with scattered bits of holocircuit hooked up to the VR headset stacked on the tiny desk. “Thical,” he said, cautiously trying not to trip over any wires. “What do you know about it?”

Vio watched him try and maneuver meter-long legs over her setup. She did not help.

“I dunno. Stuffy place, I hear. Boring.”

“Is that where you’d like to end up?”

Vio shrugged. “Give me a bit to grind up some contacts. I dunno. Probably not.”

He pushed some of her dirty clothes to the side and sat on the bed next to her.

The chair was also not a viable seating area. Vio scooted to give him room.

“We’re approaching. Tomorrow, we translate out of the Warp. So I hear.”

“Eh, yeah I’ll head down. See if I can drum up some work. Try not to leave without me.”

“Alright.” He looked at her searchingly. For a moment, Vio was reminded of Arabel, the way his eyes flicked over her, her face, her shoulders. Searching for hints.

“My man,” she said, “don’t just sit there and eyefuck me. Ask, or chill.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Alright. Want to?”

She threw a sock at him.

He plucked it out of the air with a surprising agility, and then crinkled his nose. He laughed. He tossed the offending article to the side. “I was actually going to ask something else.”

“Swear to god it had better be-“

He held up both hands. “It’s not that.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

He took a breath. He looked her straight in the eye, sea-grey irises tightening around black pupils.

“I know you have it.”

Vio was wary of more sexual propositions. “What?”

DeMoss’ eyes darkened. He clenched his fists. “Give me my fucking wallet.”