Roy gulped down his beer, savoring the way it made his thoughts indistinct. The final screams of his father, the growing chill of his sister's body… all of it blurring away into nothing.

He looked around the room, blinking blearily as he put his hands down on the old wooden desk. This dark, dusty, windowless chamber had once been intended as Abraham Oliphant's personal office. He'd never had the chance to use it for that purpose, but it had fallen into Roy's possession all the same. The cold nerve center of a criminal syndicate.

Had he wanted this? He honestly couldn't even tell.

When he'd left his father to die, left him to slowly fade away underneath the starport, he'd truly believed it had been a decision on the spur of the moment. But was that true, or had that been the excuse he'd told himself? Abraham Oliphant had been a merciless, cunning man, planning out his betrayals many years in advance. His blood ran through Roy's veins. Perhaps he was just the same.

Whatever the case, there was so much to do.

First, he had to consolidate the Oliphant Clan assets. All the other major leaders were gone, so it was up to him to reorganize everything. The kids were far too young to take up ownership of their parent's branches, so was he best off keeping control of them until they grew up? Or was that just Abraham Oliphant speaking again? Selfish genes straining for command?

He could have laughed. Would he spend the rest of his life questioning every single decision he made, wondering whether the ghost of his father was puppeteering him? Perhaps he deserved that, but it would be exhausting all the same.

It had to be done, still. Roy cracked his neck, tapping on the holographic keyboard in front of him as he sent off messages to all the associates letting them know of the change in leadership. Change this dramatic would be met with resistance -- people eager to test the new leader's strength -- but there was no avoiding it. There'd be far more blood before all this was over.

He sent the message off with a swipe of his fingers.

"You got a second?" asked a voice from the dark corner.

Roy looked up, sucking in a sharp breath. An assassin already? Aether broiled around his biceps: he hadn't rolled today, but his strength would be enough to see him through.

"Woah, woah, pal!" the voice chuckled, its owner stepping out into the light. Roy recognised him: the mercenary with the green coat, the one who'd come to their aid. Skipper. "Not here to cause any trouble."

Roy sniffed. "Sneaking into places like this ain't exactly the best way to stay out of trouble."

Skipper's grin widened. "Yeah… never been my specialty. But we never got a chance to talk, you and I. Especially now that you're the boss man."

Ah. This Roy understood: the endless asking for favours. A test of a different sort. "You'll be well compensated for your efforts," he said, the formal words heavy and uncomfortable on his tongue. "If that's all, then…"

"Nah, nah…" Skipper clicked his tongue. "That ain't all."

He threw a bundle of files, pages and pages tightly bound, down onto the desk. Roy's eyes widened as he recognised the words visible -- these were Carla's intelligence files, reports on potential threats to the family both within and without. They'd vanished on the night Jacques had died -- Roy had assumed Carla had destroyed them, but it seemed not.

Roy looked up at Skipper, his mouth a flat line. "And what is it you want?"

Skipper's grin became a smirk. "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours?"

----------------------------------------

Rico looked down at his arms -- both the one he'd been born with, and the one he'd been given.

Only the former was attached to his body, and it held the plastisteel prosthetic in its hand. It was a wonder of engineering, truly, able to seamlessly connect to Rico's nervous system with all the difficulty of snapping two children's building blocks together. It didn't have quite the same depth of sensation as an organic arm, but you couldn't have everything.

He was lucky to have such a thing.

Rico sighed. It was awkward doing it with one arm, but he managed to fold the prosthetic at the elbow and stuff it into the backpack he'd prepared. He wouldn't be giving himself two hands until he knew what he wanted to do with them.

"You're really leaving, then?" came Chloe's voice from behind him, and Rico nearly jumped out of his skin from the sudden noise. He turned around.

All in all, the events on the Cradle had only taken a couple of days, but if you looked at Chloe you would have thought it had been years. Her gaudy, elaborate jellyfish outfit was no more -- she wore a pale hoodie, hands stuffed into the pockets, and the bags under her eyes betrayed the fact she had slept poorly. She smiled a lopsided smile, but there wasn't much joy in it.

It was like all that happened here had burnt all the pomp and frills off of her. Rico couldn't help but think that was terribly sad.

"Yeah," Rico smiled back, leaning against the railing. "You come to see me off?"

Below -- in the hangar -- the crew of the ship Rico would board were loading the last of the cargo. It would probably take only a few minutes more. A few minutes more, and then something new would spread out before him.

"You don't have to leave, you know," Chloe muttered, joining him at the railing. "With Grandfather gone, things will probably get a lot better."

Slowly, Rico shook his head. "It doesn't matter who's in charge of the Oliphants, you know. They're -- we're still the Oliphants. We hurt people to make money. Uncle Roy's in charge, now, right?"

Chloe nodded, biting her lip. Her discomfort was understandable -- Roy was only in charge because no other senior members were left. Uncle Jacques had choked on his own throat at the start of this whole thing, they'd found some of Carla's bones and tongue in the cockpit of her hidden away ship, and his own mother…

When they'd come back to the hospital, they'd told him that his mother was dead. She'd died on the battlefield. Since then, a sense of numbness had grasped him utterly -- but strangely enough, that had lent him some clarity, too.

"In the end," Rico said, looking straight ahead. "It doesn't matter who's in charge. Hurting people is hurting people. The only difference is that Roy's less of an asshole about it -- but that's not different enough."

"Where will you go?" Chloe asked, drumming her fingers against the metal.

He told the truth. "I'm not sure yet," Rico said, cracking his neck. "This is a merchant vessel, so I guess I'll just go wherever they take me. I'll figure out where I want to go next once I'm there."

"That's it, then?" Chloe snorted. "You're just gonna wing it?"

"Yeah," Rico smiled softly to himself. "I'm just gonna wing it."

This was for the best. A quiet, discreet exit from a place he didn't belong anymore. No blood, no guts and no drama. Just the end of one day, and the start of a brand new one.

Rico stepped back from the railing. Time to go.

"Ricky! Ricky!"

Rico couldn't stop his smile from widening into a grin as Scout charged into the hangar, tears in his eyes as he shouted. So much for a quiet exit. Scout's eccentricities didn't seem to have been lessened any by the events of the last few days.

"Don't leave without saying goodbye!" Scout sobbed, scooping Rico up into a devastating bear-hug. Behind, he could hear Chloe laughing at the sight, her sorrow lessened just a bit. That was nice. If he could leave them with that, he'd be satisfied.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

When will you get bored of hurting people? His Teacher had once asked him that. The truth was that he'd gotten bored of it a long, long time ago.

It was time to see how exciting the opposite could be.

----------------------------------------

Dragan found Fix smoking on the roof of the Oliphant headquarters, the smoke drifting up into the sky as the man breathed out. He turned to glance at Dragan as he approached.

"Guess you're leaving?" he asked, but from the sound of his voice he already knew the answer.

"I am," Dragan said, voice dull. He stared out at the city, any mystique it held reduced by the relentless glare of daylight. "Thought I'd let you know."

"Appreciate it."

"Okay," Dragan said. "Bye."

He turned and went to leave. To tell the truth, he didn't know what sentiment had possessed him to come say goodbye to Fix, but he was already regretting it. It would've been better just to get out of this place as soon as possible.

"Hey, kid," Fix called out.

Dragan kept walking. If he didn't turn around, there was a chance Fix would just think he hadn't heard him, and give up. Then he could just get out of here.

He should've known better. Asmodeus Fix did not give up.

"Kid!"

Dragan turned away, and Fix flicked away his cigarette as he took a step forward. He scratched the back of his grey neck awkwardly as he spoke, words loath to leave his throat.

"It was… good to see you," he said, voice scratchy. "Good to see you're doing well, I mean. Good to see you've got good folks with you. Reliable folks."

"Okay. Is that all?"

Fix blinked, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. "That's all," he finally said.

Dragan turned to leave again. Skipper had wanted to grab some last-minute supplies before they headed off, so if Dragan hurried back he could probably grab an hour or two of shut-eye before the rest of the crew got back. After the stress of the last few days, his body would certainly appreciate that.

He --

"Kid!" Fix called out again.

"What?" Dragan hissed, whirling around, glaring at the Scurrant. "If you want something, just say it! Stop playing these games! What is it?"

Fix hovered awkwardly on the spot, hand still outstretched as if to stop Dragan from leaving. Slowly, it settled back down to his side. He blinked slowly, eyes sad, as he looked down at Dragan.

"How long's it gonna be like this, Dragan?" he asked quietly.

"Like what?"

"Like this, still, after all these years? You hating me. I… when can things go back to the way they were before? They were better, back then."

Dragan's hands tightened into fists as he stared at Fix. The cold anger flooding through his veins was such that he could barely see the rest of his surroundings -- only Fix, the object of his contempt, was clearly visible. When Dragan spoke, his voice was a dull monotone.

"You killed my mother, Fix. This is as good as it gets."

When Dragan turned to leave that time, Fix made no move to stop him.

----------------------------------------

"Check this out," Bruno said, tossing his script over to Ruth. She caught it in mid-air, lounging down on her bunk as she held the script above her head. The Slipstream #3 wasn't big on space, but it made up for it in comfort -- when it came to bedding, at least.

Ruth frowned as she turned the script over this way and that. "Looks the same as usual. This meant to be new or something?"

Bruno sighed, closing his eyes. "It's the same script -- I'm talking about the news article."

"Oh." Ruth tried to sound out the words on the screen for a moment or two before giving up. "What's it say?"

"Remember Lily's place, XK-12 or whatever? It joined the UAP a few days ago, it's called Hexkay now. Not bad, huh? Wonder how Lily put all that together."

Serena answered him from his own mouth: "I bet she asked really nicely!"

There was the distinct sound of shuffling as Skipper -- sat in the pilot's seat as he made some checks of the systems -- turned and frowned.

"What?" he asked, severe disappointment in his voice. "They couldn't just stay independent?"

"It's for protection, I guess," Bruno shrugged. "They are right on the border, after all. Someone was gonna come calling eventually. Better the UAP than the Supremacy."

"I guess. Still…" Skipper sighed. "They were free, weren't they?"

"I'd rather be safe and a little free than totally free and totally unsafe."

Skipper shook his head. "Can't relate to ya there, Mr. del Sed. It's total freedom for me any day."

"Which is why we end up taken hostage wherever we go?"

"We all want what we don't have," Skipper grinned, turning back to the console. "Speaking of which…"

He flicked a switch, and the exit ramp opened up, letting Dragan back aboard before he could open it up himself. He strolled up into the ship, sighing as he took a look around at the gathered crew.

"Oh," he said. "You're all back early." He didn't sound nearly as happy as his words would suggest.

"When I thought about leaving you here all on your own," Skipper smirked. "I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Real bleeding heart, yeah? You have fun at the Oliphant building?"

Dragan narrowed his eyes. "How do you know I was at the Oliphant building?"

"Saw ya -- I was there, too. Paying a little visit to the new head honcho of the family."

"Roy?" Dragan asked, collapsing into the warmth of the copilot's seat. "How'd that go?"

"Well," Skipper dragged the word out. "I reminded him of how gracious we'd been lending his family a hand in their hour of need, yeah? If we hadn't been there, things could have gone a lot worse."

Dragan raised an eyebrow. "The guy we were supposed to be protecting died anyway."

"Well, yeah, but there's always a worse."

"If you say so. And what did Roy think when you, uh, reminded him of this?"

"Well, who can say?" Skipper shrugged, but there was a conniving gleam in his eye. Dragan had the distinct feeling that he'd gotten whatever it was he'd wanted.

Seemed he always did.

----------------------------------------

Are you there? Bruno called out into the cavern of his mind.

Of course I'm here, Bruno, Serena replied instantly, her chirpiness detectable even in the theatre of the mind. What's up?

Nothing. Nevermind.

Bruno settled back in his bunk as Dragan and Skipper rattled back and forth, tossing his muted grief over in his head. Back then, back there, for just a moment, Yakob had been with them, hadn't he? He'd run Cott through with that knife of his, and that had been the end of it.

How long had he been there? Had coming out been a conscious decision, or just some lingering instinct? Was he still here?

Bruno could only answer the last question, and could only do so with his gut feeling: Yakob was gone for good now. When he cast his gaze through the spaces of his brain, he could find no trace of his source. Before, there had been scraps of memory and will -- the shredded remnants of consciousness. Now, there was nothing.

A great sadness had washed over him when he realized Yakob had truly left this world, but at the same time… it was something of a relief. Before, it had been like he was constantly sharing his head with a corpse, it's cold breath always on his neck, it's rot always trailing through his nostrils. It had faded into the background over time, but it had always been there -- a constant discomfort.

Now, though… he wasn't alone, but he was as alone as he cared to be. Just him and Serena, walking on the same two feet, grasping with the same two hands, without the shadow between them.

He glanced up at the rest of the crew -- Ruth had gotten up, joining Dragan and Skipper. They were discussing something animatedly, Skipper and Ruth grinning, Dragan rolling his eyes every few seconds. Looked like fun.

A smirk played across Bruno's lips. He wasn't alone in that regard, either, was he?

As he got up and strolled over, Skipper turned his gaze to Bruno. "Good to see you're joining us, Mr. del Sed. Any ideas for our next destination?"

"What?" Bruno raised an eyebrow. "You're asking me?"

Skipper waggled his own eyebrows in turn. "You know me. I've always been a democratic guy." Behind him, another eye-roll from Dragan.

Bruno considered it, putting a hand to his chin. After a few seconds, he answered: "Somewhere without so much damn trouble?"

"Somewhere without so much damn trouble," echoed Skipper, turning back to the console. His hands danced across it like he was playing a musical instrument. "I'll give it a shot, pal, but you know…"

Skipper twisted a dial, and the ship roared into life. Ruth didn't budge, but Dragan noticeably bounced in his seat from the turbulence. As a weightless feeling settled over the rising craft, Skipper glanced back at Bruno:

"...that really ain't our style."

The ship flew on.

End of Arc 7