Katia Dalcina: the Widow.

Born in a time when Adrust had been thought of as nothing but another backwater iceball, Dalcina had served as the leader of Vantablack Squad, the UAP's most secretive and amoral black ops squad. She'd gathered them herself -- a group of killers, criminals and freaks that only she could corral to a greater purpose.

Under her command, they'd assassinated disloyal officials, toppled disagreeable regimes, and struck at the UAP's enemies with devastating force. They'd been the UAP's dagger in the dark -- it was all well and good for the Unified Alliance of Planets to portray themselves as a progressive government, forever reaching for a brighter future, but that image was painted in blood. Vantablack Squad had been the artists of that facade.

After the dissolution of Vantablack Squad, she'd dropped off the map like so many of her contemporaries -- but with a great deal of investigation and assistance from The Prince, Pierrot had managed to track down her new identity. It seemed after Adrust's rise to prominence, Dalcina had gone home, decided to serve her planet with less bloody hands.

But the Widow was still there. He could see it in her eyes.

Pierrot couldn't even begin to guess how many people Dalcina had killed personally: almost definitely in the triple digits. Even so, he suspected the number of people who had died as a result of her orders would far outweigh it. Pierrot had made many terrible choices over the course of his career, but even he had to admit that Katia Dalcina was a monster.

And here she was, smiling at him like a sweet old lady. Pierrot had stared down countless murderers in his lifetime, but even he couldn't help but feel the sweat run down his back.

"So good to see you well," she said genially, her faint accent sharpening the 'w' into a 'v'. "I am always worrying about you boys and girls on the borders. These are dangerous times, you know. You are being careful?"

"Always, Ambassador," Pierrot smiled, pouring himself a cup of coffee. They'd moved into a meeting room after Dalcina's arrival, one he'd had prepared in advance. "How is Miss von Winterburn? I missed her at the last meeting of the governing council."

Technically, he wasn't part of the governing council, so it wouldn't be unusual for him not to see someone there. Still, circumstances always seemed to arrange themselves -- with a good deal of prodding -- such that Pierrot was always on Serendipity when the most prominent officials of the UAP came together.

"The Tsarina is doing very well, Captain, but the constant trips between Adrust and Serendipity are taxing even for a young woman." That was a lie -- Pierrot knew for a fact that Agnes von Winterburn had returned to Adrust at that time to deal with an attempted coup from one of the rival ruling families. No loose threads of deception were present in Dalcina's voice, though. It seemed she was as adept a diplomat as an assassin.

Pierrot chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee as he sat back down. "Ah, youth," he said. "I don't think I even remember how it felt to be young."

"I try to forget about it myself," Dalcina replied. "Things that seemed like such a good idea back then seem so embarrassing when you look back."

She lifted her own glass of water -- with hands that had once strangled the Princess of Fiore -- and took a sip, ice tinkling at the bottom of the drink.

Pierrot tracked the ice-cubes with his gaze. "I was surprised with your choice of beverage," he said. "I'd have thought that with the amount of time you spend on Adrust, you'd prefer something warmer."

Dalcina put the glass back down on the table between them. "The cold is home, Captain," she said calmly. "Wherever in this galaxy I go, I take home with me."

Pierrot smiled warmly. "Admirable. And today you've found yourself on the Unite Regent. I feel as though we're dancing around a topic here, Dalcina. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

He already knew, of course -- but the time hadn't yet come to play that card.

With a sigh, Dalcina clasped her hands on the table in front of her. "Of course -- sooner or later, I suppose, we must come down to business, yes? There is a criminal in your custody. The man who calls himself Skipper. He has committed crimes against the Adrustan people. I'm afraid the Tsarina must demand you surrender him into our custody."

Lie. "I wasn't aware of that. I brought that man in based on the recent upheaval on Taldan."

"Taldan?" Her brow furrowed, surprise piercing through her mask of calm for just the briefest moment. Yes, she remembered Taldan. "Where the nendon mines are?"

"The very same. You're familiar?" He prodded at the open wound, just a little, hoping to spark a useful reaction.

He didn't have any luck -- her false face had already returned. "Only by reputation," she lied. "Although I have heard the casinos there are spectacular. One day, perhaps, I will find the time to visit."

"I'd recommend them, certainly," Pierrot said. "We stopped at Taldan for just a brief time, so I unfortunately didn't have the chance for shore leave either. Especially with the upheaval I mentioned -- it seems the President was assassinated."

Dalcina blinked. "You think this man Skipper did that?"

He sipped his coffee. "I strongly suspect it." He knew it for a fact.

"All the more reason to hand the criminal over to Adrust," Dalcina went on, not missing a beat. "I'm sure you're aware, but Adrust has one of the most secure prison systems in the UAP. The number of successful escapes has been in the single digits ever since they were established."

It only made sense for a planet consumed by an eternal blizzard to have a secure prison system. Even if a prisoner managed to break out of the prison complex itself, they had no recourse against the scathing winds and freezing cold. From what Pierrot understood, most people barely lasted half an hour without adequate protection.

Brutal, but effective.

Pierrot drummed his fingers over the table as if considering Dalcina's proposal. That wasn't actually the case, obviously -- in reality, he was deciding whether the time had come to dispense with that charade. He glanced at Dalcina's glass of water: it was near empty. Nothing else for it, then -- The Prince concurred.

"I do have one concern, Ambassador," he said quietly, taking a sip of his own coffee -- savouring the warmth of it while he could.

"And what is that? We can discuss what needs to be discussed, yes?"

"My concern," Pierrot said, looking her in the eye. "Is that if I hand your former subordinate over to you, he'll mysteriously never find his way to an Adrustan prison."

Dalcina's kindly smile froze on her face -- and the second it did, Pierrot felt the temperature in the room drop significantly. In the time it took for the Widow to open her mouth and speak again, frost had already begun forming on the surface fn the table, and what little remained of their drinks had frozen in their containers.

"I see," The Widow said, her previous demeanour replaced by a businesslike ruthlessness. "So that's the situation we are in?"

"I'm afraid so," Pierrot nodded, ignoring the ice now holding his hands to the table. "And I'm afraid this intimidation you're attempting won't work on me. Please watch."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

There was a deep mechanical humming from somewhere under the floor -- and as if on cue, the heating in the room intensified, overpowering the cold the Widow was producing and quickly melting the ice that had already formed.

"The heating in this chamber's been set to balance out any adjustments you might make," Pierrot said casually, by way of explanation. "If you make it colder, the room will just become warmer to compensate. An elegant solution, wouldn't you say?"

The Widow raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "And what exactly is stopping me from reaching over the table and smashing your head in? Have you perhaps not considered that?"

Pierrot's smile didn't leave his face. "You think you can kill a UniteFleet Captain on his own ship and get away with it?"

"It wouldn't be the first time."

A chill -- not from the temperature -- ran down Pierrot's spine, but he knew he couldn't allow petty fear to distract him. His eyes flicked down to the glass of frozen water on the table between them. Nearly empty.

"You're out of practice, though, Widow," he said, as casually as he could manage. "I'd expect a former assassin to watch what they put into their bodies."

The Widow's gaze followed his own, and she sighed as she looked at the glass of frozen water. "Poison, yes?"

"Yes."

"How deadly?"

"Quite. The microcapsules inside that drink will decay in approximately one hour, releasing the toxin into your body. With a single call from me, the antidote can be here in good speed."

"Well," the Widow leaned back in her chair, staring at him with cautious eyes. "It seems I am your captive audience."

Pierrot felt a rumble of approval from The Prince -- the necessary conditions for this lesser goal had been cleared -- and he allowed himself the slightest smirk of celebration.

"Yes," he said. "It seems that you are."

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The black-haired girl -- she'd introduced herself as Underman Rose -- barely stopped to breathe as she led Skipper and Ruth through the ship, explanations and trivia pouring from her mouth without end.

"So, um, mainly," she said, hugging her script against her chest as she walked. "The Unite Regent is a peacekeeping vessel, but Usoltsi-class cruisers -- that's the kind of ship the Regent is, by the way -- can take on a multitude of tasks. Like, a lot, I mean. Transporting cargo, repairing other vessels -- sometimes we even do science missions, like exploring newly discovered planets. That's always fun."

"Neat," Skipper said.

As he walked, hands stuffed into the pockets of his long coat, he watched the mess hall below. The sides of this hallway were windows, and from this position he could see pretty much the entirety of the culinary chaos below. He wasn't quite sure from this high elevation, but he thought he could see Dragan and Bruno -- their clothes a stark contrast with the uniforms of the crew members -- sitting at one of the tables, with a couple of Undermen and what seemed to be another outsider.

Looked like an interesting chat -- he'd have to ask about them later.

"It is neat, isn't it?" Rose said excitedly, looking over her shoulder as she walked. "It really is top of the line. We've got room for a thousand crewmembers at a time -- I know that doesn't sound like much for a ship of this size, but that's the great thing about it, really. A lot of it is automated -- oh, I haven't even told you about Marco yet."

Skipper blinked. "Whom'st?" he said, drowning out Ruth's obnoxiously loud yawn.

"Marco is the ship's auto-brain," Rose explained, now walking backwards so she could face her audience as she talked. "Like a normal automatic, but for thinking, hence the name. It runs the automatic systems, makes sure all the things you don't see are working right, scans surrounding space for threats -- that sort of thing." She put her mouth to a microphone panel on her script. "Say hello, Marco!"

There was a seconds delay -- and then a synthesized male voice came from a speaker perched high on the wall. "Hello, Marco," it said, perfectly neutral.

"Just a little joke," Rose smiled. "I mean, the technicians came up with that joke, not the auto-brain -- it's not smart enough for stuff like that -- but I think it's funny." She glanced at Ruth. "D'you think it's funny?"

Ruth looked away from the mess hall down below, blinking blearily. She clearly hadn't been listening. "Um. Yeah, sure."

"Great!" Rose grinned, smoothly turning a corner even as she walked backwards. She continued to stare at Ruth.

The red-haired girl in question glanced away, clearly uncomfortable from the sustained attention. Ruth could be shy, Skipper knew, when she wasn't ripping heads off.

"Uh," she said, clearing her throat. "What's up?"

"Oh!" Rose blinked, as if she hadn't even realized she'd been staring. "No, no no, sorry! I didn't mean to offend! It's just… my family's from Taldan, you see. I heard about what you guys did there. How you saved everyone? I just wanted to thank you."

Seemed everyone somehow had knowledge about the events nobody was there for. Skipper liked to think the best of everyone, but even he had to admit this was more than a little suspicious. He cocked his head at Rose as they walked: "The Captain tell you about that?"

She nodded eagerly. "Yes -- I'm his aide, you see, so I hear about things a lot. It's hard work, but really rewarding."

Captain Pierrot had a way of finding things out, then, clearly. Maybe he was just a Cogitant wearing eye contacts? Nah. Hiding something like that would be way too much trouble for too little reward.

But there was something. Something Captain Pierrot was pretty damn keen to keep hidden.

Rose turned back forward as they went around a corner, the clear windows replaced by smooth white metal. "If I could ask a question, Miss Blaine," she said quietly, facing away from them. "Why is it you do what you do?"

Ruth blinked. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Is there a cause or… is it the kind of thing where you're in the right place at the right time?"

"Don't think I'd call it the right place. I almost died. A whole bunch of people almost died."

"But they didn't," said Rose, her voice strangely far away. "That was just down to luck, then? You weren't fighting for anything in particular?"

Ruth's eyes flicked to Skipper, then back to Rose's back. "I was just trying to survive. That's what everyone fights for, deep down, right?"

At those words, Rose sighed, and as Skipper watched she seemed to stand up a little straighter, as if some deep anxiety had been washed away. "Yeah!" she exclaimed, voice brighter. "Yeah, you're absolutely right! Ooh -- I haven't even shown you guys the hydroponic gardens…"

Skipper grinned mirthlessly. This was gonna be a long day.

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"So," Pierrot smiled, having finally finished his proposal. "What do you think?"

The Widow's expression didn't shift. "Insanity."

Pierrot's smile flipped into a genuinely hurt frown. "You think so? I've put a great deal of thought into this proposal. I don't think it's crazy at all."

"Do you understand why Vantablack Squad disbanded?" The Widow spat, her glare ever-present. "We were a group formed to kill. To kill the UAP's enemies, especially those who didn't know they were enemies yet. We killed and killed and killed -- and some of us got a taste for it. Once you're addicted to murder in that way, you become everyone's enemy. We were no longer fit for purpose."

"Your boy Skipper doesn't seem, as you put it, addicted to murder."

The Widow nodded, conceding that at least. "The boy was different. While he was with us, he was more like an automatic than a person. As if the thoughts inside him had frozen over, and needed to melt before he could be alive again. There wasn't anything there to become addicted."

Pierrot leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, fingers steepled over his stomach. The Prince stirred within him like a serpent, and he listened to its hiss.

"Please understand this," he said softly. "I don't care how much you enjoy what you do. I don't care whether you go overboard during the course of your activities. All of that -- all of it -- is irrelevant to me. There are things that I need to happen to achieve my goal, and you are the person with the ability to make those things happen. Nothing else matters. Nothing else is real. Just that one thing."

His eyes were still closed, so Pierrot could only hear what the Widow said. Her voice was tinged with curiosity. "And what is this goal of yours, Captain?"

He smiled slightly. "Peace and joy for all mankind."

"And what is it you need to happen?"

Pierrot opened his eyes and stared -- unflinching -- into the bright light overhead. His heart settled into stone. "There are good people who must die."

And then -- in the very second those words left his lips -- there was a distant bang. The sound of an explosion, shaking the deck beneath them.

A moment later, the lights went out.