Veda sat in a cramped metal cubicle that had been her home, her office, her basic operations, her sanctum for nearly a year. For the first time, she felt trapped. The walls seemed tighter and closer.

She had banished all of the comforting illusions, letting herself see the metal bones, the exposed computer control panels. Her small crate was about the smallest there was, with the hub's systems. It had a small independent propulsion unit, just enough to let it kick away from the hub's infrastructure and navigate to an intergalactic transport.

Any of the major conglomerations, like Proxima or Alabaster Sky, would have thousands of ships far larger than hers. Some were even capable of independent travel. Hers was basically just a box with a motor and an oxygen tank in one corner and an ethereum reserve in the other. Just enough to keep her alive long enough to connect with the larger infrastructure's systems.

Considering all the time she had spent in storage as a child, she should have found the place claustrophobic. It wasn't. It represented freedom, the ability to move from one system to another for as long as her ethereum lasted.

She had read over the family's charter, over her Phase Two bid, over various relevant legal cases. Her mother was right. Her absolute authority over the exploit operation had ended the moment Phase Two did.

Since she had not previously been formally relieved of duty, her expenditures on behalf of Shad and the humans for their Phase Three bid were legal. She couldn't be prosecuted for misappropriation of funds or any such thing, but those allocations would be converted over to unsecured loans the moment Tvedra pulled out of this.

She didn't see any way around that. Her mother had sent over a copy of minutes from the Board of Directors. It was all in order. The votes had been cast and recorded, the seals properly applied. Veda was no longer in charge of anything. All she had was this life support unit and a few funds of her own.

The pod had been a coming-of-age gift from her father right before he left for the exploit that had cost him his life. Which made it ironic that he died when his transport ran out of Ethereum during hyperspace travel.

So she had her quarters; 40,000 Soulcoin in the bank; and some personal relationships. That was about it.

The good news for the humans was that the Phase Three bid was still in effect. Tvedra couldn't just yank it out now, especially not when it had been co-sponsored by the Board of Progenitors.

They would need to find more funds going forward. Veda sent another message to Mama Grace. She didn’t want to involve the frontline troops, Major Twofeather, Shad, or the others just yet, but she needed to talk to someone who had a big picture idea of what was going on. From what she’d learned, that was Colonel Ames.

Veda asked Mama Grace to tell the Colonel it was important that they meet up, face-to-face if possible, and offered to meet him anywhere on the Hub or Threshold that he chose. Then she sat back and started searching records.

Her mother had been trying to call every 20 minutes since the party. Veda set all the messages to be picked up by her subsystems. She didn't have anything to say to her mother right now.

A ping came in from Colonel Ames. I'm standing outside your door right now.

It had been less than three minutes since she'd sent that message to Mama Grace. Veda leapt up, glancing down at herself. She was still wearing the same gown from last night. She hadn't slept. She hadn't eaten, had been living on stimulants and cold car juice. Her quarters were a mess, data packets hanging in the air in a thousand different places for her to flip back and forth between.

She opened the door, and the Colonel stepped in. He wasn't wearing a uniform, just a simple grey shipsuit. No logos, no designs.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked as the door closed behind him.

"Just a place to sit," he said, glancing around at her bare quarters.

Veda ordered the system to produce a cushion for him to sit on. She sat cross-legged from him, with her data projection table between them.

"Grace says you want to talk," Ames said.

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"Yes.” She cleared her throat. "My company is pressuring me to end our involvement in Phase Three."

"Really," Ames said, scratching his ear. "Got the impression you were a one-woman show."

"Not at all. We're a family organization. Most of the rest of them are back home, several systems away. They have sent in a messenger to let me know that the family's judgment is we should not proceed any further in Phase Three. Historically, we've been a Phase Two company only,” she explained. “They're concerned about the risks involved."

"Uh-huh," Ames said. "But you're not?"

"I saw an opportunity. I wanted to take it. It's paid off well so far, and I was going to keep backing you humans. But it is unfortunately no longer my choice. We are going to have to make further arrangements.”

“That's all?”

She was getting tired of his laconic answers. She studied the man. He gave away nothing.

She had gotten pretty good at reading Team Twofeather. Shad was incapable of hiding his feelings. Sage would flip from one extreme to the next like any adolescent anywhere, and Major Twofeather, while generally reserved, had a deep streak of bitterness that came out at the oddest times.

This man, though, she knew only from his mention by other members of the team. "Look, it took me some digging to find out that you're behind most of the influxes of cash I've been seeing in the last few months," she said. "The ones supposedly from Mama Grace and the crafters. You've got funds and resources. I want to know just how deep your pockets go."

"How much do you need?"

She hesitated.

He pursed his lips. "Either you don't want to say, because it's a lot, or you don't want to say because you don't know," he said. "And I'm betting the latter. You said yourself your family's not usually involved in Phase Three. That means you're as new to this as we are. You've been winging it, trying to get a little experience at our expense."

She felt suddenly cold, betrayed. She'd been laying her cards on the table, only for this human to throw them back in her face. "I'm trying to help you.”

“That remains to be seen,” Ames said. "What is it exactly you bring to the table any more? I've been checking with my contacts while we speak, and it seems that once a bid's in the system, it can't be revoked. So, I don't need your name anymore. It seems like if you withdraw, you get first claim against any winnings we make. That's fine. We can pay off what you paid us sooner or later. So I ask again, why do we need you?"

"Because I have contacts," she said. "People who won't speak with an indigenous primitive."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to hear you say that to Major Twofeather’s face."

His vehemence surprised her. “I think the translation's problematic here."

"Something's problematic here," Ames agreed.

"What I mean is, your people are new to everything. You're a bad risk, business-wise. The established corporations aren't going toopen up to you the same way they will the rest of us. I know where to look for answers to questions. You don’t.”

“So you might make a helpful native guide," Ames said, nodding. "Possibly. Or we could try hiring someone else. Someone who doesn’t think you own us.”

"I've been working with Team Twofeather since the beginning.”

“This here's bigger than Louis and his kids," Ames said.

"Only because of what they've done," she snapped back. "I don't want to abandon them. Yes, I'm new to Phase Three. So are you."

“So you’ve got a bit of spunk,” Ames said. "I admire that. I'm willing to keep you around. If you level with us.”

“I've already been honest.”

“We need more than honesty now. We need good, hard information.”

She leaned forward. “Let's say Twofeather and his team do manage against all odds to claim a share of this reality engine. I've got a few ideas on how to best exploit that.”

The colonel frowned. “From what I can tell, we're going to need a corporation registered at the Galactic level and with a license from the Exploit Committee to operate. Otherwise, we end up at the mercy of somebody who does have that kind of license. I've been hoping to stick with your company. That sounds like it's off the agenda now. What I'd like is a list of umbrella corporations we might be able to sign on to, but won’t screw us over too hard."

Veda was nodding, already thinking of a few possibilities. At the same time, she wondered. Was Ames testing her? Or had he missed entirely the rest of his implication? "What about a company of your own?"

Ames dropped his fingers against his leg. "That's an interesting proposition," he said. "How exactly would we go about doing that?"

"I'll get you a precis. You would need shareholders, stakeholders, board members, presidents, various different figureheads, several licenses that are only available at full capital worlds. But you'd be able to at least fill out the paperwork and get a temporary license here. The Exploit Committee has that power. After the end of this exploit, somebody would need to get that ratified.”

"We can manage that," Ames said. "You get me that info."

"I will," she said.

"And I'm curious why you came to me, not Louis and his team."

She looked him straight in the eye. "I'll be telling them everything. I just wanted to let them get their feet under them here in Phase Three. Plus, since you're the name on all of the Soul Coin transfers, that makes you important. I figured you'd need to be looped in sooner or later, and I wanted to get a feel for what you wanted."

He stood up. She rose as well. "So you think you know me now?”

She hesitated. "Not really," she admitted. "But I don't think you want to be out of this game any more than I do. And that means we’re allies."

“Potential allies,” he said. "You get me your proposal, and I'll take a look at it."

After he left, Veda turned to her personal system. I need a lawyer. A really, really good lawyer. Someone who doesn’t like the current way we do things.

I need… an activist.