I was at a lost end. It was a week later, and I'd hacked into two different commercial banking systems which operated on the station, looking into the financials of the members of the Wilt.

So far as I could see, it was all pretty air-tight. Their finances on-station were all as innocent as could be. The real juice would be on the off-station accounts. This place could be sketchy at the best of times, but with Frod and Black Rose on their cases, none of the WIlt would be fool enough to stash too much of their ill-gotten gains on the Thorn.

I went home to my office feeling low. When I opened the door, it was to Xen puzzling over a large box on my desk. For a second, I wondered if it was the sythaskin I had ordered Xen. Yes, I'd gone ahead and ordered that, despite how low my funds were getting. Even though I was still suspicious of Xen, I felt bad, both when I looked at Xen's old shedding skin, and for how Xen was stuck in here, with no one but me for company.

But it wasn't the new skin. The box didn't have the right brand label.

"How did that get inside? You didn't go out, did you?"

"Goodness no. Actually, Nadir delivered it. And while he didn't demand I come out, he did call out to say to me that I was safe."

"Hmm. Mysterious. Well, why haven't you opened it?"

"Because it says 'To Marys', not 'To Xen'."

"Fair enough."

I slid the lid off the box to find four things. First, a slinky black dress which probably cost more than I'd ever had in my bank account at one time in my life. Second, a matching pair of black heels. Third, a small black clutch containing a ticket to the Thorn Ball, tonight. And fourth, a garter with a blade and sheath. How thoughtful.

"Damn, Black Rose... I guess she wants me to go to the ball. I didn't even know there was a ball."

"No, I suppose it's not advertised around the station, because it's quite elite."

"Ah. Then she wants me to be there to look into her enemies, I imagine."

Xen pursed Xen's lips, eyes worried. "This could be dangerous, Marys."

"Oh, no doubt about that. But there's no doubt that I'm going. I'm tired of chasing around all these dead end leads. This will put me in the room with the bigwigs. Now, if you don't mind..."

Despite the fact that Xen had already seen it all, I went into the other room to change, and came out to show off the dress.

"You scrub up nicely," Xen said. There was an edge of caution under Xen's chirpiness.

"Hmm... except it shows up all the tarnish from the station air. I suppose if I take a long cold shower, my skin might rehydrate a bit."

Xen avoided my eyes, though whether that was because of the danger awaiting me, or awkwardness between us, I couldn't say. So I went and had that shower after all, just to get away from Xen for a bit.

When it was time to go, I didn't seek Xen's approval. I did scrub up rather nicely, even if my bare arms had rather more powdery brown marks on them than I would have liked. The heels Black Rose had sent were well chosen, more stable than they looked. The clutch had a surprising amount of heft to it too, in case I needed to whack someone with it. But the hidden blade, that was the best part, fitting just north of the dramatic slit up the leg. I never would have picked this dress myself. But I recognised it for what it was.

The knife was not the only weapon I was taking to the ball.

Five minutes later, I was on the sixteenth floor, handing my ticket over to the bouncer and entering the ballroom. There was a staircase edged in gold lines, descending to a large chamber lit by coloured lights along the floor and ceiling. Round tables seating up to eight lined the room, and the middle of the room was cleared for the dancers. A live band played at the far end of the room. I didn't recognize half the instruments, but the ubiquitous Terran grand piano was present. The majority of the music playing that night was Terran too, unsurprisingly. The cultural hegemony was the same almost everywhere in the galaxy.

I stepped carefully down the stairs, conscious of many eyes on me, and the unfamiliarity of the heels. But I made it safely down, only to almost trip at the sound of an all-too familiar voice.

"Detective? What are you doing here?"

Frod wore a formal version of his stat sec uniform, with polished chrome buttons. His whiskers had been waxed, and there sat a tiny golden tip at the end of each. "Constable? Well, look at you.” He puffed up, a small grin erupting between his huge tusks. “Black Rose herself invited me. I take it she approves of me investigating… what you asked me to look into."

He looked more surprised than I had expected. Then his eyebrows concentrated, as if he was hurt. His tone matched too. "Black Rose never invites me. It's always some member of the Wilt or other inviting me every year, as if to gloat."

"... and yet, you rise to the occasion every year?"

He adjusted his collar, a grim smile on his face. I hope I hadn't made him jealous with my special treatment. I hadn't even meant to. Though I won't lie; getting one over on him for once felt good.

"Well," he said after our silence extended too long, "good luck to both of us tonight."

"Good luck, Constable."

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I did a circuit of the room, taking note of the people I could recognise. Teg Korr was here. He raised his glass to me, his expression cold. I nodded to him, then passed to the bar.

Thanks to Black Rose, the drinks were free. I settled in to people-watch.

Teg Korr was alone, surrounded by others, at Masare Jebon's table. He was not part of the lawyer's friendly conversation, but sat brooding across from Jebon. Ordinarily, someone in his position would make a great target to pump for information, because he seemed left out, so possibly he'd enjoy a friendly ear, someone to listen to everything he wanted to say.

Except he knew me, so that option was out.

I cast about for someone else to target. Jebon himself was out. The gregarious purple-skinned Altox was engaged every moment by one or more eager conversants. But by watching everyone who came up to him, I knew I'd find a good mark.

After a solid twenty minutes observing, I'd found my guy. An elderly Terran man, short, with a round face and round spectacles, bounced between Jebon's table and a few other tables. He would hang around on the periphery, trying to insert himself in the conversation - any conversation - and then leave once it was clear the speakers were not interested in what he had to say. But he didn't seem all that distressed by this. More like it was what he was used to.

A guy like that was just looking for an eager receptacle for his words.

I slipped off my chair, heading for the dancefloor, past him.

"Haha, good one, Jebon! I'll just go pass that on to -"

Right on cue, he ran into me, mid-turn, not looking where he was going in his enthusiasm to speed to the next table. "Oof! Take more care, er -" His eyes ran up and down me, and a smirk flashed across his lips. "Apologies, petal." He offered his hand to help me up from where I was leaning against a nearby chair. "I have to say, it's been years since I've seen a real honest-to-goodness Gerondian in the flesh. I don't think I've seen one since little Mona... Are you all right?"

I hid the chill running down my spine with a bright smile. "I'm all right. Who's Mona?"

"Oh, an old friend... say, come sit with me, I can tell you all about her. And I can fetch you a new drink, since I so rudely spilled your old one."

His arm looped through mine, not missing a step. But I let him sweep me away, keeping a smile on my face, laying my other hand on his arm. "I'm Meria."

"Hanzel Gibb, but call me Hanz if you wish. I haven't seen you around before."

Hopefully my smoothed-down hair and the addition of makeup for once made me look sufficiently different from the scruffy detective in the brown coat who'd been a little too conspicuous around the station of late. "I've been researching the history of the station. What do you do?"

"Oh, you don't want to hear about me. I'm an accountant for a bunch of the big players around the station. Far too boring a topic of conversation for a pretty flower like yourself."

Friggin' bingo. "Accountant, really?" I patted his arm. "Actually I find that in my field of work, it's the people keeping the records who know the real heart of a place."

"Sweetheart, you have no idea."

We arrived at the bar, and he ordered champagne for both of us. I used the excuse of reapplying my lipstick to take out a hand mirror and have a quick look around the room to see if anyone was watching us. The lipstick was long-life and sealed to not leave a trace on glass, so it was unnecessary, but he wasn't to know that.

And nope, not a soul cared about what Hanz got up to.

The last thing I caught in the mirror was Hanz tipping powder into my glass out of a trick ring.

Oh Hanz. Oh Hanz, Hanz, Hanz.

He'd sealed the deal for himself right there. I’d only come here to ask questions tonight. But he’d earned himself the deluxe VIP treatment. The whole Keeper Marys routine which had got me booted off my home planet.

I put my lipstick back in my purse and turned around again. Smiling, I took the glass from him and clinked it against his. I sipped, by which I mean to say, I pressed my lips to the rim and imbibed not a single drop.

"So, you were saying you had a friend called Mona?"

"Hmm, friend is perhaps a bit strong -"

"Oh hahaha, look!" I pointed at the dancefloor past his shoulder. "Those dancers -" As soon as his head turned, I swapped our glasses, keeping his one in my hand and taking a sip as soon as he'd turned back to me.

"What was it? I missed it."

"Oh, someone did an impressive lift of their partner, that's all. Sorry, you were saying about Mona?"

He took a swig of his champagne, then swirled the liquid in the glass and stared at it. For a second I was worried he had twigged to what I'd done, but no. Rather, it was a pensiveness that had settled over him, altering his previously chipper mood. "Not exactly a friend. She was a little fool who came to the Thorn throwing money around without a care in the world. Lovely, though, even if she was stupid. Once the bosses had done fleecing her, I made sure to get my money's worth out of her too." He smiled at me again. This time, his eyes were cold behind the smile. I took a drink of my champagne, staring into his eyes as hypnotically as I could. I just thought to myself, channel Astera. Pretend to do what she does to you, but do it to him. He took a large gulp of champagne too, and blinked slowly. "I've long been wanting to see another Gerondian petal again after that." He ran his fingers up my bare arm. Wasn't a chance in a frigid dwarf planet's moon that my skin was going to react to him. Hopefully he wasn't expecting any immediate unfurling. "And you, my dear, are quite, quite lovely."

He took another drink of his champagne, and nearly fell off his seat. I was ready to catch him, and inserted myself under his shoulder, holding him up. "Oh dear, Hanz, come, let me get you somewhere safe."

"Wha-?"

I shuffled him away, giving everyone I passed the 'don't worry, just me and my drunk date' apologetic-type smile as I went. The only person who got a different smile from me was Frod. His beady eyes hardened. My smile vanished.

He nodded, and I passed him.

I took Hanz out into the corridors. "Where am I taking you, honey?"

"What's happening?" he slurred.

"You must have drunk too much. You're not well. Shall I take you to the Terran Free Hospital?"

"No, no. Just... here, ‘s'on my wristband."

I held up his limp wrist and tapped through his wristband buttons until I saw which doors it was programmed to access.

An apartment on the fourteenth floor, and Gibb and Hixin Accounting on floor nine.

I manoeuvred him into the elevator, pressed the ninth button, all the while with his smelly old body draped over me. Even in his drugged state, he summoned the energy to grope at my chest.

Oh Hanz, honey, you just earned yourself a permanent scar for that one.

The elevator arrived. I pulled him out and towards the office, which was all shut up for the night. He didn't even register where we were until we were deep inside the offices, in a corridor, where I searched for his named door.

"What? Why're we here -"

He tried to pull free of me. I'd had just about enough of him by now.

I pulled the hidden knife on him.

"All right, Hanz. TIme someone got their money's worth out of you, I reckon."

The fear on his face tasted sweeter than champagne.