Blake lay awake, fully clothed, in the bunk room. There were four bunks, which he had thought excessive not too long ago. Now, Jace sprawled on the top bunk on the opposite wall, snoring, with the covers barely concealing his dignity, and on the bunk below him, Keil lay in a tight ball, his glasses and goggles on the shelf behind the bunk.

Blake had been restless for days, but this was nothing new. He was only lying in the bunk because Keil had insisted he got some rest, but he had not even changed out of his dusty, torn, bloody clothes. He lay with his hands on his stomach and stared at the ceiling, and waited until the fear passed.

It didn’t pass, so he got up.

He climbed down past Keil, who twitched and shook his head, and wandered out into the ship’s main corridors. The bridge was where he had left it, despite some minor interior damage. Blake settled at the pilot’s panel and gazed at the stars.

And, finally, he relaxed. His shoulders dropped and the tension eased in his jaw, and a smile crossed his face as he watched space spin around him. Space meant freedom. Right now, that was all that was important. Enfant Robots scuttled in and out, attending to their work, but mostly, he was alone.

Blake did not know how long he sat for, but after a while the door behind him opened. In the reflection from the window, he saw Keil. His usually smooth hair was ruffled by sleep and he was not wearing his workman’s waistcoat, but he appeared refreshed.

“Good morning, Blake,” he said.

Blake nodded without turning. He was still confused as to what had happened on Greevo-16. The plan had worked, but somehow he had ended up with two more companions and he did not know how that was going to be sustainable.

Keil fiddled with his cuffs and approached the pilot’s panel. “How did you sleep?” he asked. Blake shrugged. Keil nodded, anxious, and motioned to the door. “I would have brought breakfast, but supplies are low. Are you hungry?”

Blake shook his head. Keil shuffled. Blake knew that he had this effect on people – he always had – so it did not concern him that Keil seemed nervous about the one-sided conversation. He did not know what to do, however, when Keil sat beside him and stared out of the window, too.

“Blake, I…” Keil hesitated, then plunged on. “I hope you… I mean…”

Blake finally glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. Keil got the hint.

“Who is Milo King?” he said at last.

Blake considered the small mechanic for a moment. He wondered how much he should say. He sighed, placed his hands flat on the panel’s cool plastic and centred himself.

“Milo King is the most powerful man on Silverrim,” he said quietly. “He is a mob leader and an awful man. You would do best to avoid him.”

And, by extension, me, he thought.

“But what has he got to do with you?” said Keil.

“I…” Blake was not sure what the correct answer was, so he said, “I let him down.”

“Let him down?”

Before anything else could be said, the door opened again with a loud, accompanying yawn, and Jace entered.

“Sleeping on those bunks is like sleeping on a mortuary slab,” he said.

“Good morning, Jace,” said Keil.

“We’re all recovered from our brush-in with the dust-rats, then?” said Jace.

Nobody said anything. Blake did not turn. He was most confused that Jace had come along for the ride, after everything else; he wasn’t sure what Jace wanted from him and he did not want to know.

Jace raised an eyebrow. “I see,” he said. “And has anybody thought to plot a course? Because, y’know, there’s Green on Blake’s head?”

Nobody responded to this, either. Jace rolled his eyes.

“Triple suns, what is wrong with you people?” he said, coming across to the panel. “Milo King is after him and you two are sitting around like you’ve just had a pyjama party – we’re wanted men now, you realise that?”

Blake had enough. There was no ‘we’, or at least there did not need to be.

“He doesn’t care about you,” he said.

“He will, now we’re harbouring you.”

“He doesn’t even know you’re here.”

“How do you know that –“

“And even if he does, he won’t know your name.”

“You can’t –“

“Gentlemen, please!” said Keil, standing and holding up his hands. “It’s all right!”

Jace gritted his teeth and fixed Keil with such a glare that it was a wonder the man didn’t fall down dead. Blake knew he had to contain himself, after what had happened in the garage, but Jace got his back up every time he spoke. Keil looked between both men and swallowed hard.

“I know this isn’t a perfect situation –“ he started.

“Oh, great deduction, Genius –“

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“ – but, “ continued Keil, cutting Jace off with a pointed look, “we’re all in this together now. We can’t be sniping at each other all the time, we need to work together. If this… this Milo King… really wants Blake dead, then we are going to need each other.”

Jace stared like Keil had sprouted two extra heads. Blake kept his mouth shut and turned to the stars. Keil wasn’t wrong, no matter how much Blake wanted him to be. Now they were on Wyvern and had assisted in his escape, they were in as much trouble as he was. King’s men would not discriminate between accomplices and quarries.

In the silence, Keil lost his nerve. He put his hands in his pockets and shuffled.

“Now shake hands,” he said meekly.

Blake turned his head so fast that he almost hurt his neck.

“Sorry?” he said.

“You, and you, Jace, shake hands. We are all gentlemen here,” said Keil.

Jace tutted. “I’m not shaking that moon-head’s hand, I don’t know where it’s been.”

Blake opened his mouth to argue, but Keil managed a hard enough stare to shut him down.

“Shake,” Keil said.

Blake closed his mouth, gritted his teeth and held out a hand. Jace grimaced and took it; he gripped so hard that Blake thought he might lose a finger. They shook once, quickly, and let go as fast as possible. That seemed enough for Keil. He smiled and clapped his hands once.

“There. Now, there is work to be done. Cleaning, mostly, after the crash, but also a course and a purpose.”

“I say we get to the last planet in the system and hide until this whole thing blows over,” Jace said.

Blake sighed to himself. “It won’t blow over.”

“What?” said Jace.

“You don’t know King.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “I am getting so sick of your enigmatic crap, Moon-head, so if you’ve got something to share, you need to share it.”

Share what? That Blake had cut and run and King was not known for mercy? That he had no idea where he was going or what he wanted? That there was no other plan except to get out?

“Perhaps…” Keil wrung his hands. “Perhaps the good doctor is right, Blake.” Blake glared. Keil only hesitated for a moment. “I mean, if we know what’s going on then we can choose a course more effectively.”

That was true. Blake took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His fingers twitched. The only way he was going to get this out was to say it all at once, and to do that, he needed to be as calm as possible. He opened his eyes and looked out at the stars, and he spoke.

“There’s something King wants. I don’t really know what it is yet. All I know is that he needs me to get it, and he isn’t going to stop until he finds me. Towards the end of our… friendship… he became demanding. Dangerous. And I ran when it became too much. I can’t make a real move to stop this because I don’t know exactly what it is he wants, I just know that…” He struggled. “I just know that it isn’t anything good.”

Jace frowned sceptically, but Keil was wringing his hands again.

“Then,” he said, after what felt like days, “it sounds like what we need is information.”

He took a step forward and began typing on the pilot’s panel. A flat, holographic screen lit up in front of Blake; he snatched his hands off the panel, just in case he touched something he shouldn’t. Keil typed with a confidence he had not previously displayed until, at last, he smiled and straightened up.

“We need a library,” he said triumphantly.

On the screen was a grey planet, swirling serenely. Around the edges were images of the surface, of glorious symmetrical buildings with intricate windows and facias in bright white stone, of people filtering into giant buildings carrying books and files.

“A library?” said Jace, coming closer.

Keil turned to him, smiling with hidden pride.

“And the biggest library in the galaxy is…?”

Jace beamed. “On Star’s Reach! Hey, the genius did it for once!”

Keil crossed his arms, hurt on his face. “I think you’ll find that’s three times.”

“Three?”

The argument blended into the background as Blake, in silence, stared in wonder at the planet called Star’s Reach. A red dot pointed to their destination: the continent’s cultural capital, Star’s Landing.

In a dark, circular room with seven seats, Milo King waited for news.

He was not a patient man and he was not used to people disappearing on him, not least people like Blake. Incompetence infuriated him. It was high time that he started working on this problem himself but he lacked the information he needed to do so – relying on the likes of Bero to be useful set his jaw.

But he waited, because he had no other choice.

One of the seats flickered with a hologram and a face appeared at the headrest, projected from the seat of the chair – a stern-looking but beautiful young woman with long, dark hair. She clocked King and gave a deferential nod; he did not respond. Another chair suddenly created an image of Bero, sweat on his brow. Two more appeared only in static and two with artificially-rendered masks – normally recording the meeting so that the attendee could attend to other business at the same time.

It made King’s lip curl to realise that nobody was taking this as seriously as they should. He bit his tongue. He had a reputation to uphold.

Finally, the central panel flashed, and a face larger than the others appeared. It was long, bald, with sharp glittering teeth and hungry, unfathomable eyes. This was no mask, King knew that, simply malintent incarnate. He wondered what a man had to do to twist himself so thoroughly that his features warped, and oddly that thought comforted him. Here was a man who knew what had to be done and would do it, regardless of personal cost. If anyone could take control of this situation and do it well, it would be him.

“Bero,” said the face, turning to the sweating Desert Fox. “You have failed me.”

Bero’s disembodied head’s eyes widened. “My – my – your eminence, I –“

“Silence,” the face hissed.

He got it.

The cruel eyes of the woman turned to Bero.

“Yes, I did hear of your little run-in with the waif,” she said, her voice gratingly casual.

“All it took was a few able men –“ King said.

“Of which neither of you have, by the looks of things,” she cut in. “Even you, King, couldn’t keep the brat still –“

“Poena,” said the face, “I did not want or ask for your opinion. When I want it, I shall request it.”

Poena’s face sported a smug smile, but fell silent. King clenched his fist. She should know better than to question him; had he taught her nothing?

“He had a lucky escape,” he said.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” said the bald head. “He is cunning, sly. He learned from the best.”

Poena snorted; Bero turned to her in disgust. The face ignored them both and addressed King.

“We simply need to pin him down. We have everything we need to accomplish this.”

“Except, it seems, the capacity to catch him,” said King.

“Foxes are at their most evasive when they are young, King.” The face paused. “And, it appears he has gathered allies, from Bero’s report.”

“I doubt they know anything,” said Poena, flicking her hair.

“Still,” said King, troubled by the news, “Blake knows enough. He is not a man of many words but if he trusts them, he will talk. There is no telling what they have already shared.”

“I am starting to find your lack of trust between us similarly disturbing, King,” said Bero, frowning. “Exactly what is it you want Blake for?”

The large face gave Bero a sharp-toothed, patronising smile.

“Patience, Bero. All good things. It has been necessary to consort with King and King alone over this matter, because he has what it is I am looking for.” The smile became nastier as the face turned back to King. “Or rather, he had it.”

The crux of the issue, then. King took a deep, calming breath, to keep his voice neutral.

“It will be recovered,” he said.

“Oh, I should sincerely hope so,” said the face dangerously. It turned to address the rest of the heads. “I want the boy known as Blake found. I want him alive. Whomsoever shall do this for me will be rewarded beyond their very imaginations. He is a foolish, naïve stray and he should come when he is called. And if I hear of more failures…”

At this, he glanced at Bero. Bero swallowed noticeably.

“… Let us say I am not renowned for being kind,” the head whispered, and abruptly vanished.