Felix’s fingers leave goosebumps as they move from my wrist to my elbow and eventually wrap around my upper arm. He, Jual, Thomson, and I take the elevator up one hundred floors and enter the command center. Detective Nupan sits behind the IPS screen, tracking the movement of another Martian ship in relation to ours. She touches a button on the screen that turns off the loud siren, stands, and faces us.

“It’s an MSF Vayay-class,” she announces.

Felix groans and Thomson lets out a frustrated sigh. Jual asks, “Are you sure?” He scutters to the pilot seat, scrutinizing the holographic monitors.

“Positive. I scanned their hull number. Fully armed according to the latest update. They’re no longer being discreet about following us and accelerating a—” she cuts off when her eyes land on me. “What is she doing here?”

“I didn’t have time to take her back to the ICU,” Felix swiftly answers.

“Well, she shouldn’t have been anywhere else in the first place.”

“If you recall, I needed her to fix the plasma railguns’ deploy latency.”

Detective Nupan lifts an eyebrow. “Was she successful?”

“We… were at dinner, and I was planning to—”

“So ‘no.’”

Felix shrugs.

“Right.” Nupan crosses her arms. “And we don’t have time to babysit. So either chain her to a chair or—”

“Oh come on, Nupan,” Thomson interjects from my left, waving a hand in my direction. “Look at her. She’s handcuffed and harmless.” Felix snorts, and Thomson frowns at him. “What? You don’t agree?”

Felix speaks his next words so close to my ear my entire body vibrates, “Let’s just say you haven’t known her for very long. She’s not exactly the most cooperative.” He flashes a facetious smile and squeezes my arm. I internally sigh.

A taunting gleam appears in Thomson’s eyes. “Ah, so what you mean is… earlier was just talk. You and she didn’t really—”

“Guys, I’m sure the conversation you’re having back there is superb, but I would love all of you to pay attention,” Jual calls over his shoulder. “The Martians have a lock on us.”

“We’ll finish this later,” Felix vows. “Ailee sticks with me, and I’m not accepting alternatives at the moment.” He inclines his head at Nupan, and she narrows her eyes but doesn’t argue. “I’ll handle comms as usual. Thomson, munitions. Blaze—”

“Here, sir,” Blaze addresses as he jogs in from behind. I cringe when he nears, yet he doesn’t spare me a glance. Instead, he focuses solely on Felix. “Navigation?”

“What else? I need you to set an escape course suitable for high G maneuvers. You can boot Nupan out of your seat.” Felix nods to her. “Figure out the best way to divert our energy towards propulsion and artillery. Run some simulations and see if you can find one where we’re not all blown to smithereens.”

“Yes, Captain,” Nupan complies and strides to the opposite side of the room, immediately pulling up multiple mathematical models and initializing battle simulations. The way her eyes capture eight holographic monitors at once while she manipulates data inputs with only two hands impresses me.

“She’s not just a detective, is she?” I whisper to Felix as we migrate to the comms station in the middle of the circular room.

“No,” he replies, “she’s an aerospace engineer as well. I believe her concentrations were in electrical and control engineering back when she worked for the MSF.”

“She’s from Mars.”

He gives me a side-eye, annoyed that he’s revealed information. Eventually, he realizes I already know too much anyway and sighs. “Yes.”

“What about Officer Jual? He’s wearing a Martian officer’s uniform. Why did he join the Cosmics?”

Before Felix can reply, the officer himself cackles from the front of the room, “Because the money’s good!”

I guess I forgot to be quiet during my query. At least he’s honest.

I contemplate asking about Nupan, but she chooses that second to swivel her head and scowl at me, so I remain silent.

Felix and I step up to the comms station, a semi-circle of touchscreens, exhibiting hundreds of communication channels. Placing his two hands on both my forearms, he maneuvers me to a spot far enough away from the screens that I’d have to take a couple steps if I wanted to touch the nearest one. “Stay here,” he warns. “Don’t move. Don’t speak.” He moves to the middle screen, keeping me within his peripheral vision, and blows up one of the channels. “We’ve got a voicemail from Silvereye. You haven’t played it yet?”

“It came in right before you got here. That’s the ship,” Nupan confirms.

Felix taps the play button. A sharp, feminine voice comes from the speakers, so clear she could’ve been standing in the room: “This is the MSF Silvereye tasked with performing a random screening of ships that pass through our domain. We would like to ask you a few questions regarding where you are heading and for what purpose. Please call within thirty minutes, or you will be fired upon. Thank you.” The message clicks off.

“‘Random’ my ass,” Thomson mutters. “Not if they’ve been following us.”

“How long since you noticed them, Officer Jual?” Felix questions.

“About twelve hours,” Jual responds.

“And how long since the ship began openly targeting us?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Nupan chimes in.

Felix whistles. “That’s not good. We’ll have to respond.”

“You know what you plan to say, Captain?” Blaze asks.

“I do.” Felix presses the “OPEN” button, and Silvereye picks up immediately.

“Hello,” greets the same sharp, female voice from before, “given your hull number, this is the retired MSF Alameda-class cargo ship DeLarge, correct?”

“Why, yes it is,” Felix replies. “How are you—”

She cuts him off, “Your IPS coordinates are not in line with where DeLarge should currently be, which is on track to deliver research supplies to Europa.” Many research stations are located on Europa, one of Jupiter’s moons, where scientists study its subsurface oceans.

“Yes, I absolutely understand where you are coming from, and we appreciate you for reaching out to check up on us,” Felix counters sleekly, cranking up his inner charm and bullcrap meter, “but we are aware of our heading. We had a malfunction in the main engine room, which would’ve made our trajectory to Europa too dangerous. However, our engineers have remedied the issue, and we’ll be on our way in a few hours. We still have a couple thousand more tests to run.”

“Glad that you are being cautious. Why haven’t you updated your current location?”

“Ah, well, you know, changing our location sends our employer an alert, and they don’t really care where we are or what detours we take as long as we get to our destination on time. We record every problem we encounter and give them a rundown of what went wrong after each round trip.”

“Who is your employer?” the Martian asks. Does she already know, or is she quizzing Felix? I’m tempted to yell that pirates have kidnapped me, but I don’t think that plan will succeed for two reasons. One, I stole the Eye, and there’s no doubt the MSF would decapitate me in order to get it back. Two, Blaze will happily sever my neck himself before any opportunity to escape presents itself.

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

Felix replies, “Everdream Express.”

The Martian makes a sound of affirmation. I’m dying to know how the pirates pull this off. Ties with Everdream Express—a Martian ship building company? Or perhaps a pirate on the inside? The sharp voice states, “Only a couple more questions left, and if you answer them truthfully, we’ll leave you to it. You passed through Domain six-two-six around three days ago, yes?”

Felix’s head jerks back, glancing at me. “That is—that is correct,” he stutters, and I bite my lip.

“Did you happen to pick up any stranded astronauts?”

He’s silent for a second too long. When he answers, it rings false, “No, I apologize. We didn’t hear a distress call.”

The Martian doesn’t reply.

Tension emanates from the five pirates in the room, seeping into my skin and crystallizing over my bones. Nupan watches her holographic monitor, pretending she’s analyzing test results. Blaze and Jual’s eyes are glued to Felix, who—for the first time ever—looks anxious. Thomson… Thomson’s staring at me. Not like before when he was borderline leering. More considering, like he’s attempting to figure me out or read my mind.

I look away, agitated.

“Silvereye?” Felix breaks the silence.

“Excuse us for the wait, DeLarge,” the Martian finally says. “We’ve just received a warrant to search your ship for possible fugitives and previously stranded citizens. We request that you power down the entire ship, weapons system included, and cease deceleration. Hope you can understand.”

“Now hang on a minute. I told you we have not picked up any stranded astronauts—”

“This is not up for debate. You will power down immediately or be fired upon.”

Felix fists his hands. “We’re gonna need to see that warrant.”

“Already sent through the chat. You have ten minutes.” She ends the call.

“Damn it!” Felix punches the screen, causing it to flicker to black before displaying the profusion of communication channels once more. “Jual, come here. Check if this ‘warrant’ is legitimate.”

“Yes, Captain,” Jual acknowledges, scurrying around the monitors of the comms station and hopping through the entrance from behind. Even though there’s plenty of room, I shuffle to the side. Felix catches the movement and half-heartedly points at me as a reminder to not move. Jual opens the attachment in the chat and blows up a document. Nodding his head as he scrolls down the page, he turns to Felix, “It’s real.”

“We can try to outrun them,” Blaze suggests. “It’s not like they can handle any more G than we.”

“That won’t work,” Nupan interjects. “Their ship is smaller and newer. We’re more likely to use up our resources first.”

“Then we need to get rid of them,” Thomson states, standing and facing us, “or they’ll just follow us to Titan.”

“Get rid of them, how?” Nupan counters. “Again, their weapons are more advanced than ours. These battle simulations indicate they have an eighty-three-point-six percent chance of winning.” She cocks her head at me. “I’d say throw her and the Liansan out the airlock with spacesuits, since they’re clearly who the MSF are after, but that’s not Boss’ order.”

“How many Martians do you reckon are on board?” Felix asks.

“A Vayav-class?” Jual tilts his head from side to side in contemplation. “Anywhere from forty to sixty.”

“About half of them will carry out the search warrant while the other half stays on their ship,” Nupan specifies. “I can set up an electrical trap in the outer hallways… unless… no, they could contact the Silvereye to send a distress call. We don’t need anyone else paying attention to us. However, if they enter the command center, I can lock the doors and block their comms.”

“We’ll stall them until we find a way to destroy their ship covertly,” Felix ponders, “then lure them back into the hallway for your trap.”

Jual proposes, “Each Martian ship has a self-destruct button. I may be able to access it from outside Silvereye with a bit of help.” He shares a look with Nupan. She nods.

“This isn’t a suicide mission, is it?” Felix queries.

“Ha!” Jual laughs, “You wish! Can’t get rid of me that easily, sir.”

“We can set a timer on the button. We’ll be fine,” Nupan assures.

“Alright,” Felix agrees, “but we still need someone in the command center to block their comms.”

“I can do it, Captain,” Blaze announces.

“He can,” Nupan confirms.

After deliberating for a few more minutes, Nupan and Jual leave the command center to execute their plan while Thomson disappears for thirty seconds and returns with fifteen pirate soldiers formidably armed. The newcomers gaze at me inquisitively yet don’t ask any questions. We receive another call from Silvereye, warning us to power down this instant.

Felix walks over to my spot at the comms station, planting himself in front of me and perusing my face. I tilt my chin up and stare right back. A minute passes, and I grow uncomfortable, browsing the rest of the command center and its inhabitants as an excuse for breaking eye contact. I observe, “Wait, you guys aren’t wearing Martian uniforms.” And I’m wearing an ostentatious dress.

“Only those in the MSF wear the uniforms.” Felix smirks. “We’re retired, remember?”

“What about the weapons? Is it common for ‘retired’ military personnel to carry around… I mean, that guy’s definitely holding a machine gun.” I gesture to a pirate who glares in return.

Felix crosses his arms. “It’s not uncommon.”

“I don’t think you’re fooling anyone.”

“We’ll see. I have an inkling you don’t want to draw Mars’ scrutiny either, so I probably don’t need to duct tape your mouth shut, but they’ll recognize you. There’s a relatively large custodial closet over there.” He points to a door between Thomson and Blaze’s stations. “Can you promise me you’ll remain there and not make a sound until we get this… sorted?”

“If you give me a weapon, I can—”

“No.”

I pout. “I’m an engineer. I can help Blaze—”

“Ailee, no,” he repeats, “we’re not here to fight. One look at you, and that’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Then why the backup?” I glance at the menacing pirate soldiers.

“Their presence is persuasive, and if it does come down to a fight…” he gives me a pointed look, and I nod. He escorts me to the dark custodial closet and unlocks the door, which slides open automatically. I grudgingly step inside. My spirits lift when he unlocks my handcuffs and lets them dangle from his side belt loop, giving me a “no funny business, missy” look. I rub my wrists, grateful.

Getting down on one knee, Felix touches the inside heel of my right boot, and my foot cements to the floor. He duplicates the action with my left boot. I can’t move. “Wait a second—!”

“They’re magnetic boots,” he explains quickly, standing up. “They’ll keep you grounded while we’re in zero G. Try lifting your foot.”

I try, and an invisible force keeps me attached to the ground. Using my entire body, I bend my knees, push down as though I’m about to jump, and lift one foot. I raise my arms to steady myself when my shoe disconnects with the floor, like pulling a suction cup off a tiled wall.

“You’ve never encountered these?” he asks, hiding his smile.

“I’ve heard of them, but there’s an overt reason why the IF doesn’t use these. Kind of hard to move in.”

“They’re not designed for walking around. They’re designed to stop you from splattering against the far wall—always that possibility.”

“Yes, I feel much more protected now,” I state dryly. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he quips, winking. “Touch the inside of the heel or kick your heels together to deactivate the magnets. You have to kick them pretty hard though. The door’s unlocked, so if we’re all dead and you need to get out,”—he points to a pad on the inner wall near the custodial closet’s door, his expression suddenly very serious—“press this. But otherwise, I don’t want you exiting this room until the Martians are disposed of. Noted?”

“Noted.”

He salutes me sarcastically, beginning to turn around and head back where Thomson and Blaze are peering at us strangely, when I remember a question I wanted to ask.

“Why only fifteen?”

He faces me. “Pardon?”

“Fifteen soldiers. You can fit dozens more in the command center.”

“Not necessary to risk any more lives. Besides, familiar with the Law of Diminishing Marginal Productivity?”

I think so. I’m not sure. “Something to do with economics.”

He nods. “At a certain point, increasing the number of people in a room—in this case, Cosmic fighters—will eventually adversely affect our probability of winning. Optimistically, if we enter an altercation, the excess rewards are not worth the extra lives lost.”

Sounds like a faulty analogy to me, but I understand the part about not wanting to risk any more crew. I’d say we could at least add another fifty pirate soldiers until it becomes inefficient, but I’m not the one calling the shots. I hope Felix is confident in the pirates’ abilities to prevail.

Or maybe I hope the Martians and pirates kill each other off.

Dread trickles over my shoulders.

No… maybe that isn’t what I desire.

A hand stroking my face pulls me out of my thoughts, and I gaze into Felix’s concerned coffee eyes. He murmurs, “Don’t be an idiot.”

My lips are stuck together. I simply nod.

He smiles. His fingers linger on my jawline. My heart rate increases, and I’m both confused and indignant as a result of the situation and my reaction.

Before my face reddens further, Thomson shouts from behind Felix, “Captain, we have thirty seconds!”

The Captain’s skin leaves mine as he steps backward. The door closes between us, and shadows shroud my body, my face, my eyes.

No, his death most certainly is not what I desire.