CHAPTER VII: THE TRILANCER

Mid-Tier Marketplace, Platform Outlets

Valor’s Run, Platinum Accords

December 17, 2771

Securing Ellis’ data chip in his gauntlet, the Trilancer led the way down the Monte Cristo’s hangar ramp, boots thudding onto the upper tier of Valor’s Run. He took a look at his ship before he left, snapshotting and cataloging her like old habit: 34 meters long, 8 meters high, most of the size taken up by three long, sleek capsules that looked like pincers or claws — the ‘lances’ the ship was named after — the central lance higher and wider than the pair that flanked it, joined in a central hub at the aft. The port and starboard lances sported thrusters at the aft to keep the ship balanced in atmosphere, but once docked, they folded inward and rotated up into alignment with the central one. Thick led panels slid back along their entire length of both lances, exposing glowing red radiator panels that hissed with heat. At that sound, the Trilancer finally put the Monte Cristo to his back and advanced into the marketplace.

If his ship could take a breath, surely he could too.

Built around the miles-tall skyscrapers, these grid walkways were rooted to the entrances, terraces and landing pads halfway up each structure, essentially functioning as marketplaces safe above the pollution levels.

Valor’s Run and a few of its sister worlds in the Platinum Accords were essentially under the joint custody of crime lords, but the quality of life still exceeded most of the Industry Clusters. On worlds like this, there was always work, always somewhere to go, and only a marginal chance of getting stabbed. Comparatively, Valor’s Run could be called right cozy.

The buildings were mainly glass panels, 90% of their surface covered in holo-screens blasting orange, gold and pink advertisements, eye catching and garish, designed to be seen from the ground level and all the way up to ceiling platforms. They broadcasted at all hours, as planets like Valor’s Run had almost no outward record of time; no sunshine, no starlit nights, no rain or snow. Just light and vice. In fact, it was so constantly bright that Valor’s Runners were known to have all but invisible pupils. If you had hypertension or light sensitivity, it was perhaps not the world for you.

But the Trilancer wasn’t one to turn from blinding light. It didn’t bother him much these days. Not much that he could see bothered him anymore.

Making sure the ship was safely locked down, the Trilancer gave her one last glance before heading down the docks with Naraami and Chief behind. Meandering past a pickpocket here and a scammer there, the three made it to their destination: Harlequinade Tower, arcing up into three sharp tips of crystal. Making their way across a grate bridge to the tower’s external lift, the Trilancer halted before a small floating robot, an Iudex as the well worn label read, surrounded by armed security. The Iudex’s front was decorated by an unconvincing plastic visage of a face, an attempt to give it more human characteristics and increase its relatability as an intermediary. Floating three feet in front of the Trilancer, the Iudex blocked the lift’s entrance as it spoke.

"By my silver moons, Captain," the machine relayed a deep, honey voice, "How tickled I am to see you back at my doorstep.” The drawn out, syrupy voice belonged to Tanion Rask, Outerboss of the Orchid Clasp Syndicate.

"Flattered, sir," the Trilancer nodded, thankful his helmet concealed his grimace. "Care to let us up? We’d get to a business of things."

"It would bring me a bleeding joy," Rask replied through the machine. "But I’d have you relieve all weapons down on this level."

Keeping his head still, the Trilancer’s eyes darted to each of the private security around the platform, weapons tight in their grip. "Already accounted for, sir," he answered, "Such is the courtesy of my guild. Should you like, your security can search us, within reason and decency."

"Reason and decency are for the Core Worlds, Captain," Rask joked. The Trilancer felt Naraami and Chief tense behind him, but didn’t move from his spot. "Nevertheless, I’m afraid my classification of ‘weapons’ extends to that elegant Anthium plate armor of yours."

At this, the Trilancer’s head tilted. "Begging your pardon Tanion, but armor is not armament. It’s defensive apparel."

"One that conventional firearms can’t penetrate. You can understand my perspective on it."

"So I can. As you can understand my decline. It’s a matter of professional discretion and anonymity. Trilancers don’t do business with an exposed face."

"I’m afraid I can’t understand, Captain."

"Is there a language I can relay it in that you will?"

"Are you insulting me?"

"I’m extending accommodations, sir."

Following a pause, the lift console blinked green and the platform descended, the Iudex drifted back to await them aboard. Security patted them down appropriately and not excessively, and the three coasted up the side of the smooth crystal spire. The ride up went on for minutes at a time. Were they less accustomed to g-forces, it might’ve induced vertigo and nausea, but the Trilancer’s vision remained unaffected.

"Since when is Rask so reasonable?" Nara asked.

"He isn’t," Chief added, "I don’t like it."

"Enough," the Trilancer cut off. "Until we have plausible reason, we keep to norm." He straightened his jacket. "No cause to suspect ill intent."

The doors slid open to reveal a dozen rifles aimed straight at them.

"…Damn it."

NARAAMI HAD GOTTEN ACCUSTOMED TO READING BODY LANGUAGE IN the course of her life, and her Captain was no exception, mask or no mask. He hitched his shoulders whenever he was frustrated, which usually came about when he was wrong. To his credit, that wasn’t often, but karma tended to save up for all the times he was right.

And right about now, she saw his shoulders tensing hard enough to crack a walnut.

The armed company marched the trio through the sterile elevator bridge toward the more gaudy decor of Rask’s penthouse nightclub, the Corto Cabana. Nara knew Junovians came from densely forested planets, but apparently Tanion Rask fell in love with the tropics. The chrome corridor gave way to faux-wood panel floors, while artificial palm trees and green and blue neon lights traced the Art Deco interior. It didn’t match whatsoever, but Rask’s showmanship and reputation made it the talk of the quadrant.

Time on Valor’s Run didn’t really pass like most planets, not much of a day or night cycle without sun access, so despite being midday, the club was bustling. Dancers led much of the crowd in a retro salsa routine that Nara quickly picked up, bobbing her head and swaying her hips as she, Chief and the Captain were walked along the wall at gunpoint, distant from the crowd. One of the gangsters prodded her with his rifle, but she just bounced at the contact like he’d challenged her to a dance-off, keeping pace with her crew while grooving.

“Gosh, Captain,” she grinned slyly, looking across the crowd, ignoring her team's obvious duress. “You got us into Corto Cabana without a cover charge? You really know how to show a girl a good time. I think one of the boys here wants to dance,” she threw a wink back at the enforcer who prodded her with his gun. “I think I know this song, it sounds like that two-step parade on Elraut.”

She glanced subtly between Chief and the Captain, looking to see if her code words sunk in.

‘Two-step’ — two exfil points ahead.

‘Parade’ — too many hostiles for open combat, any escape routes behind are blocked.

‘Elraut’ — the Core world where they first drew up this contingency.

It’d be difficult, she knew, but doable. She’d run interference with the three hostiles behind her, Chief and Cap could handle the five in front, then use the chaos of the party as a means to—

“Wrong tune,” the Captain answered. She bit her tongue and kept in-step with him and Chief, hoping one of them had another idea. Glancing quickly at Chief, Nara saw she wasn’t paying attention to either of them. Instead, her jaw was locked and her eyes forward, tendons in her forearms strumming like guitar strings as her fists balled in anger. Every now and then she’d look at the Captain and tense harder.

Nara wasn’t privy to their private conversations, something she was usually glad for, it was none of her business, but something clearly broke between them, and Chief wore the indignation right on her sleeve.

“Come on in!” Rask’s voice boomed over the chatter and music, reverberating in Nara’s ears. She looked up a curved staircase behind the stage, where Tanion Rask stood. “We have so very much to talk about!”

She’d never seen the Junovian in person, but he lived up to the tales: nearly as tall as a Tregian, three feet shoulder to shoulder, burly and bulky under a fine silk suit that exposed his waxed chest. He had somewhat of a protruding belly from his years as a party animal, but whenever he moved, mountains of muscle rippled beneath the fat. Rumor was he spent most of his youth as a hard-drinking brawler, and he clearly hadn’t lost his taste for either. If anything, his bulk added to the dissonance he put in people: his stature instinctively put most on their guard, but when he grinned through a few gold-capped teeth and perfectly groomed red beard, warm smiles lines creased around his icy blue eyes, both imposing and fatherly at the same time. His lush and long hair tied off in a ponytail while shaved along the sides, making way for his long, extravagant antlers, like frozen webs of lightning. He looked like a guy you wanted to party with, but you wouldn’t want him to know your address.

The group ascended the stairs, and she noted each member of the security detail averted their gaze as they got closer to him. She glanced at Chief, but she'd already picked up on this, settling her sight on the railing. Nara did the same, avoiding eye contact with the crime boss to show respect and submission.

THE TRILANCER LOOKED RASK DEAD IN THE EYES. For all the intimidation he put out, Rask didn’t seem affronted by it, instead greeting the Trilancer with a half grin. But he obviously had to maintain power in the situation, so he dropped a massive hand on the Trilancer’s shoulder and squeezed gently, an apparently friendly gesture with obvious implications.

“What’s the meaning here, Tanion? I thought this was a—”

Rask cut him off with a pat on the back, guiding him into the suite like a friend, but the strength behind the Junovian’s hand assured him this wasn’t a request. The rear sensors in his helmet relayed Chief and Nara being escorted in behind him, easing his nerves somewhat. Long as they were together, he could figure a way out of this.

He took in the suite without being obvious. Junovians were renowned and prideful hunters, and Rask fit the bill: taxidermy beasts of countless worlds peppered the jungle-themed quarters, either mounted on walls or their bodies frozen mid-attack on tacky exhibit platforms, all encircling his lounge area. In lieu of a desk or work station, the lounge depressed into the carpeted floor with pale green sofas, a few steps from a private bar and even a chef at one corner. There’s good reason Rask seldom did business outside his penthouse — he had everything he needed.

“Drink, Captain?” Rask posed as the door shut behind them, muffling the outside noise to nearly nothing.

“I don’t partake on contract.”

“Well,” he shrugged, pouring a glass of wine the size of a cantaloupe. “Off-the-clock activity is why we’re here, under these less-than-agreeable circumstances, isn’t it?”

“The contract is still valid,” the Trilancer reasoned. “I have the chip right here.”

“Oh, Titus isn’t worried about that,” Rask waved him off, sinking into a sofa. “In fact, he doesn’t know anything about this…extracurricular business,” he assured, gesturing to the sofa across from him. “He’s already paid for my services, and I’m transmitting your payment as we speak. I’m not interested in burning bridges with the Trilancer Guild.”

The Trilancer stepped into the lounge area, but did not sit, remaining upright across the ornate table between himself and the seated Rask. Behind him, Chief and Naraami stood toward the wall with their armed escorts.

“That is because I honor bargains to the letter,” Rask tilted his head, “And to the parameter. Unlike some.”

The Trilancer gambled by playing dumb, saying nothing in return.

Rask chewed his lip, then leaned back. “Captain, have you ever served in the armed forces?”

“No.”

“Nor have I, but I think we both know what the phrase ‘act of war’ means, yes?”

“…I'd imagine we do.”

“Then this little meeting shouldn’t be a surprise, hm?”

“If you’re speaking to the dust-up afterwards, the venue was hit by another crew when I happened to be there. I'm not one to seek out a fight.”

“But the problem is you found one, Captain. With a person I’m not keen to quarrel with.”

“Not on your order. Plain case of self defense. You’re clean of this.”

“I’d love that to be the case, but you were still on my contract,” he leaned forward and raised a thick sausage finger, “That makes it my indiscretion, which I must now amend.”

The Trilancer’s hand tensed, flexing to grab weapons that weren’t there.

“Amend by what means, Mr. Rask?”

Rask sighed and sipped his wine. “You seem like a reasonable man, Captain,” he said before pouring a smaller glass. “I have to avoid a gang war because of your actions, there’s a consequence therein which you are inexorably tied to. I’m sure you understand. Your payment was processed, so your contract with me is concluded. What comes next is exempt from our prior business.”

Stolen story; please report.

The Trilancer tracked the wine Rask poured. Best case scenario, Rask was trying to assert authority by making him accept a drink. Worst case, it was for someone else, and he was teeing up a dramatic entrance.

“I’m not thirsty,” the Trilancer risked.

Rask flicked his eyes up to the Trilancer’s visor. “I didn’t ask, Captain.”

Someone else, then. The Trilancer shut his eyes behind his visor.

“I’m afraid there’s another player at this table,” Rask said, setting the bottle down, “And it’s only fair if—”

“Get to it, ma’am,” the Trilancer interrupted, addressing the corner of the room behind Rask. “I'm reading your heat signature. Let’s have done with the theatrics.”

Rask’s brow furrowed, that seed of insult now blooming into a full affront.

“Touchy tin man, isn’t he?” a cool, icy voice giggled slowly. One corner of the room shimmered as a personal active camouflage powered off, revealing Zolara herself. Half a head shorter than Rask, but still towering over most in the room, she was half Ulishar and half Aksani, and wore the best features of both: lithe and fierce, seemingly late 30s or early 40s, but with an ageless, ethereal beauty. Her light purple skin emerged from an elegant, silk burgundy jumpsuit, strapped over her shoulders and exposing her back. Her ink-black hair was tied in an elaborate fashion to accentuate her severe features, her orange eyes drinking the Trilancer in. A short fang poked just over her mouth, until she ran her tongue across her full lips, leaving them glistening and spotless.

“And your spotter in the other corner,” the Trilancer requested.

Her eyes fluttered and she raised an eyebrow, impressed. She nodded toward the corner, and a Scandar de-cloaked as well, clad in a simple burlap poncho; unusual to see one without ornate plate armor.

“A Trilancer,” Zolara shuddered with excitement. “As advertised.”

She eased on the other end of the sofa beside the Trilancer, now only a few feet from him. The Trilancer watched as her Scandar bodyguard barely reacted to her closing distance to him. Instead, he patiently circled the lounge area, beady glare fixed on the Trilancer. He scanned the warrior for weapons: a long, flintlock-like plasma pistol in his clawed hand, another at his opposite hip, bladed knuckle dusters on his belt, but notably, no Stinger Chain. Peculiar apparel for a Scandar, he thought. He noted the tail as well — the stinger had been blunted, or even removed, the extremity now ended in a large bulb instead of a barbed point. The Scandar caught the Trilancer analyzing him, his gold eyes boring into him in return. The Trilancer stepped back slightly, putting some distance between Zolara and himself while feigning curiosity about the bodyguard.

“I thought Scandar didn’t trade blood for money?”

The Scandar raised his empty hand and signed to him. Nonverbal Standard was an extremely common sign language across the Skyfield, but the Trilancer himself never learned it. Luckily, his helmet’s HUD translated the gestures for him: “Thought wrong.”

“Hm,” the Trilancer nodded.

“If you please,” Zolara redirected, gesturing to the sofa beside her. “I believe we’ve had some misunderstandings, mister…?”

“Captain.”

“My apologies. Captain…?”

“Captain’s just enough. If brevity’s not in your value, that'll be Trilancer C-713,” he offered, perching on the arm of the sofa, equidistant from the two Outerbosses, while keeping the Scandar, Nara and Chief in his periphery.

She bobbed her head back. “You’re a bold one, Captain,” she said, crossing her legs. “Do you gamble?”

“Not with money.”

“Just his life,” Rask threw in as he lit an artisanal cigarette.

“Well, as I understand it,” the Trilancer put a his heel on the expensive sofa, propping an elbow on his knee. “That collateral is in your hands now, isn't it, ma’am?”

“Listen, handsome,” she shrugged, throwing back half the wine glass in one sip. “You’re not in an enviable position. If I had my way, Tanion would serve you to me naked and bound with an apple in your mouth.”

"Quite the image."

"I've seen it before," she grinned, "It's a particular favorite."

He chuckled. “I imagine you’re used to getting your way, ma’am.”

“It’s my expectation.”

“I don’t mean to dispute it.”

“Yes, but unfortunately you did.”

“Not with intention.”

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you, love. My acquisition teams would never pick a fight with a Trilancer.”

Behind his visor, he grimaced at her use of the word ‘acquisition.’ Kidnapping, he wanted to correct. The word you’re looking for is ‘kidnapping.’

“I handpick my operators,” she continued. “They’re valuable to me. And you deprived me of some of my best, for…what, exactly?”

“As I said, I didn’t seek them out. We happened by the same grounds.”

“Did they threaten you? Block your only way out? Bear in mind, darling, I can just bring up the security feed for myself if you can’t recall…or if you plan on lying to me.”

The Trilancer swallowed and blinked hard — thankful his mask hid his nervous tics. He finally sighed and looked at her straight on. “Your crew wasn’t in the way. They stormed into Papa Dargo’s as I was mid-exfil. Instinct overcame business, and I set about them. Alone.”

“Hm,” she sipped her wine. “Then it seems you were not acting in self defense, were you?”

“I suppose I was never in real danger,” he said cuttingly, “Only challenge they expected were helpless kids.”

“Lean a bit hard on my operators, did you?”

“By their standards, I suppose.”

“Well then…” she slid closer. Her height put her at eye level with him, despite his perch on the sofa’s arm. Even seated, she loomed over him like a bird of prey. “It seems to me you now have a debt.”

There it was. The Trilancer was familiar with this playbook, it just took her a little longer to get there. Establish an infraction, then change its context. Turn a trespass to an onus. Not resolved by justice, but satisfaction. Once a debt is established, ‘negotiations’ like this usually introduce three options of compensation: the Impossible, the Infeasible and then the Irrecusable.

“I don’t suppose you have some way of bringing my crew back from the grave, hm?”

The Impossible, check. "...That’s a bit above my bend I’m afraid.”

“Yes or no, love,” she patted his knee.

He nearly flinched — no, he nearly lunged for her throat. She was testing him, but more than that; she was stripping his agency in the conversation. He was already at a disadvantage, and she was trying to put him even lower. If he complied, she’d take even more. If he resisted, it’d start a fight.

At the moment, that didn’t sound so bad.

Maybe a dozen hostiles in the room, none with weapons that could pierce his armor, and Zolara herself appeared unarmed. The most trouble would probably be the Scandar and Tanion, no doubt equipped with the best weapons and the most physically formidable — Frack, he caught himself. Chief and Nara.

They were more than capable. Hell, they’d faced worse numbers than this, but that was when they had gear, or at least more control of the terrain. Before, they could take advantage of Nara’s dexterity, Chief’s marksmanship and his own durability and resourcefulness. But here? Tight quarters, unarmed and surrounded? Even if the Trilancer could take the room, they’d be cut down. They’d go down fighting, but they would go down.

“…No,” the Trilancer relented.

“Good boy,” she winked, testing her boundaries by absentmindedly drumming her long fingers on his knee. “Hm. Perhaps you could reimburse me for the ransoms I would’ve made?”

The Infeasible, right on cue. The Trilancer grunted bitterly. “No.”

“Hm,” she feigned contemplation. “Then…whatever do you have that could repay me for your trespass?”

“What happened to ‘yes’ or ‘no’?” he shot back.

“Aw, look at you asking permission,” she smiled insincerely, now planting her hand on his thigh with a patronizing squeeze. “I’m giving the rest of the words back to you, just for a little while.”

His chest burned, screaming at him to act, to push back, but still he held off. Even him snarking at her became her advantage. She’d baited him with every word and gesture in this conversation. Whichever way he reacted, he played into her hands.

“Go on, you can answer me,” she encouraged.

The mask hid face, but he could feel her reading him — and he wasn’t a dense text at the moment. Hands tensed, shoulders hitched, it was painfully obvious she was getting to him. His stubbornness won out, and he just held her gaze in silence, until she giggled.

“I know, I know, a lot of people have a hard time accepting when they’re not in control anymore,” she reassured, patting his thigh. “It’s not so bad, I promise. I’m not expecting your lives in return for theirs, that’d be a waste,” Zolara tipped back the rest of her wine, eyes still smoldering into him. “No, I don’t want you dead. I don’t even want you as my new toy — well, I do, but something else has me more curious.”

He had to press his fist onto the arm rest, or else the whole room would see him shaking with fury as he went against all his instinct and reflexes.

“I want her,” Zolara suddenly pointed at Naraami.

She’d laid out her final option: one crew member, in exchange for all three of their lives being spared.

Finally making its entrance, the Irrecusable.

NARAAMI’S STOMACH DROPPED LIKE A STONE. Chief's brow furrowed, now ready to break rank and die fighting. The Captain’s head tilted just a millimeter, but she could tell he was panicking inside as well. Her own face first creased with confusion, then went blank, all emotions smoothing out like ripples in a pond.

“Out of the question,” her Captain dismissed.

“It’s not a question,” Zolara sang back. One hand still clamped on the Captain’s thigh, the other waved at Nara. “I know you’ve got the brand, sweetheart.”

Her hairs stood up. Her blood ran cold. The brand, she lamented, Of course it’s the brand. It tingled on her skin, the phantom sensation never fully going away.

How do you feel a phantom pain for something you don’t remember?

Her hand wanted to go to it, massage the tingling cells on the back of her left shoulder until she could forget the insignia on her skin. But she didn’t move, not even a twitch — more than could be said for the Captain as he tensed up, or even Chief, as she took a protective step in front of her.

“It’s a lovely little beauty spot,” Zolara smiled ear to ear. “And it’s the rarest marking in the Skyfield. Have you even seen it, handsome?” She turned back to the Captain, who said nothing. “No one knows where it originated or what it means,” she stage whispered, then turned back to Nara. “I like rare things.”

Face still blank, eyes dead as a shark and fixed on Zolara, Nara moved forward. Gangsters cocked their guns, but Chief stepped up to fully put Nara behind her larger frame, silently asserting ‘You want her, you go through me.’

“I may have an idea where you got it, love,” Zolara offered. This broke through Nara’s glazed eyes, her head bobbing back slightly. No longer ready to pounce with murderous intent, she peered around Chief in apprehension.

It was a trap. Obviously it was a trap. Zolara was a trafficker and slaver, she clearly just wanted Nara as a trophy. To show everyone she had one of the fabled ‘Astra Brands,’ proof that the conspiracy theory might have some credence.

…But what if she actually knew something?

Zolara saw the conflict on Nara’s face exposed her luminous white teeth, smiling through two sets of fangs as Nara took a cautious step around Chief—

“Question, Tanion…” the Captain interrupted.

THE TRILANCER STILL LOOKED READY TO STRIKE, but his priorities had radically realigned. This wasn’t about him anymore. This bully trying to possess him? She no longer mattered. When she pointed to Nara, his rage went cold — the anger didn’t go anywhere, but it reformed. Zolara was coming for one of his crew, as punishment for his actions.

He would simply not abide.

Zolara was clearly used to this strategy breaking her prey’s will to resist, counting on their self preservation to trump their pride. She controlled the terms of negotiation, she controlled the very words the other person was allowed to use, to internalize the idea that she was in charge. Teach them that their indignation was just impotence. To an extent, she was right: she had the status, the numbers and the firepower. And to her, the Trilancer was caught off guard, cornered and disarmed. Only two out of three were correct.

A Trilancer is never unarmed, because the Trilancer is the weapon.

“Question, Tanion,” the Trilancer raised. The Junovian looked up from his cigarette, paying little mind to this drama he’d removed himself from. “You invited the madam here to settle a dispute. Offered us up as tribute to prevent a war.”

Rask took a puff and nodded. “War is bad for business.”

“Course. There’s always been a tension of things between the Orchid Clasp and her clan. But your businesses line many pockets, so diplomacy was the proper way. But then I imagine the unexpected happened: she came in person.”

The Trilancer saw Rask’s head tilt in his periphery. Zolara turned back to him as well. Apparently he’d assessed their arrangement accurately — Rask hadn’t anticipated Zolara appearing in the flesh.

“That tension still hangs quite high, in my imagining,” the Trilancer went on. “'Specially traveling so far outside her corners of the Skyfield, into the heart of Orchid territory.”

“I’m not hearing a question yet, Captain,” Rask brought up.

“I’m getting to it, let me just put it the right way—”

The Trilancer sprang, his speed and control so honed that he nearly blurred out of sight as he tackled Zolara, pinning her to the sofa with a knee on her abdomen and his left hand on her throat. His right snatched Zolara’s wine glass, broke it off at the stem and poked the jagged tip just barely against the corner of her eyeball, holding still with a surgeon’s precision.

The rest of the room whipped into a frenzy, the Scandar being quickest on the draw as he leveled the long plasma pistol at the back of the Trilancer’s neck, while Tanion shot to his feet and his crew drew weapons.

“My, my,” Zolara said, her engine revving, “You do gamble with your life…”

The Trilancer scanned her reaction: eyes wide and mouth agape, breathing accelerated, but not an ounce of fear. Shock? To be sure. There was no world where she expected an attack -- but she wasn’t angry. Instead, she looked at him with even more hunger. Her view of him shifted from prey to challenger. He got the sense an Outerboss with her standing hadn’t been challenged in a long time, and it lit a fire in her.

“Captain…” Rask said cautiously. The sensors in his helmet showed both sides of the room in his HUD: to the right, Tanion raised a plaintive hand while half his guards trained their rifles on the sofa. To his left, the other half of his crew took aim at Chief and Nara, holding still with their hands up, giving the gangsters no window for a nervous shot. “Think hard about the foolishness you’re indulging.”

“I haven’t asked my question yet, Tanion,” he declared, command back in his voice. His tone put a little smile on Zolara’s parted lips, seemingly ignoring the glass lightly prodding the corner of her eye.

After a beat, Tanion nodded slowly. “Pray tell, my friend.”

“The base of this glass is pressed to the heel of my hand. With the slightest pressure, I’ll drive it into her brain.”

The Scandar stomped forward, plasma pistol inching closer. His HUD showed him signing with his free hand: “And then you will die.”

“That I would, a second after her. How would that look on you, Tanion? Madam Zolara herself comes to the seat of your syndicate, at your invitation, to resolve a dispute of your business, and winds up dead. How does that help you avert war?”

“You think you can pin this on me?” Rask flared up, “I have a dozen witnesses watching you right now — in fact, the same witnesses are about to tear you and your crew into ribbons!”

“Where does that leave you, then?” The Trilancer pressed. “Either you killed her, or you failed to protect her. How do you expect her clan would take either of those excuses?” Tanion’s fists ball at his sides. Zolara, for her part, raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s what I thought.”

The Scandar pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the back of the Trilancer’s neck, signing with tighter and quicker gestures to emphasize his anger: “I am not beholden to this threat...”

“A compelling point,” the Trilancer conceded, “But I recognize that fancy tail surgery of yours. No stinger. The average longpig might not notice, but I do. You’re a Recusant.”

The Scandar clicked deeper, while Zolara’s brow furrowed even further. “Bold and educated?" she said, "You’ve got it all, don’t you honey?”

“I know how heavy one failure weighs on a Scandar Recusant,” he stayed on target. “Your first master died on your watch. You wanna add another?”

The Recusant’s tail and whipped in rage, his finger twitched on his trigger. “Stand down, Goldie,” Zolara raised a hand, “I’m dying to see what he does next.” The Scandar — Goldie, she called him — begrudgingly stepped back, but kept his weapon ready.

“Tanion, take your crew off mine,” the Trilancer resumed. With a frustrated huff, the Junovian Outerboss waved off his thugs. “You and your muscle, clear the room.”

“Excuse me??”

“The Recusant can stay, he’ll make sure she survives. I need to speak to the Madam in private.”

“You are in my den, Trilancer,” he growled, “I am not some domestic beast that takes commands!”

“So learn to.”

Rask snarled and nearly charged, but the Trilancer tilted his wrist ever so slightly, pressing the glass just a millimeter into Zolara’s eye, eliciting a moan from her. The Recusant swept in front of Rask with a raised hand and severe eyes. Fuming, Rask jutted his head to the door. His muscle soon filed out. The Outerboss himself followed, scornful eyes on the Trilancer. Silence hung, save for the dull thrum of the music outside, as Zolara settled into her position on the sofa, nestling her knee between the Trilancer's legs. Despite the incision in the corner of her eye, she looked up at him like he’d finally made a move on the third date.

“So, handsome,” she chuckled, “What’s your game?”

“I’m not giving up my crew.”

“Your ‘crew,’” she scoffed, “Do you even know what she is?”

“She’s my crew,” he hissed.

Zolara sighed drolly, “What’ll it be, then?” He hesitated, fighting with himself. “Go on, Trilancer…satisfy me.”

“…One free job.”

Her eyes lit up, still ignoring the glass even as blood spiderwebbed across her sclera.

“Is that so?”

“Cap no!” Nara dashed forward, but Chief put an arm across her.

The Trilancer ignored her, staying on Zolara. “No Contract Card. No Guild association — they don’t take work from you anyway,” he sniped. “Off the books. One free job from a Trilancer. You won’t get better service, or better results.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, as if this was what she wanted all along. “Your little pet with the brand had my interest, but this? You’re gonna spoil a girl…”

“Take it or leave it,” he growled, resisting the impulse to finish her off for calling Nara a pet.

“Oh, I’ll take it,” she grinned wide. “As it happens, I have a little problem in a tough spot, and no one quite good enough to handle it,” she pouted, “You think you’re up to it?”

“…Name the system and time.”

“Take the glass out of my eye first, we’ll talk like grown ups,” she winked with her other eye. “But save it for later…”

The Trilancer slowly removed the glass and dabbed a napkin in the wound. Zolara cooed like he’d done something cute, then sat up as he eased off her. Her smug satisfaction pushed every one of his buttons, but he condensed his mounting anger down in his belly. Repressing frustration was nothing new.

He’d dealt with more difficult women than this.