After two weeks, Vas had gotten to know the interior of the Junk Dog well. It was his job, after all, to clean it. His impression of the exterior matched what he thought of the interior. It was blocky and crude but well-built, split into three rough sections. There was the cargo hold below the ship, empty of anything else but for the beds of the lowest ranking crew members, Vas amongst them. The top level of the ship he'd not seen, but he knew it had the bridge and some of the finer navigation equipment. The second level was the bulk of the ship- its mess halls, rec rooms, kitchens, lounges. None of it was to a particularly high standard, but it was more functional than Vas had expected.

The crew was similar. He'd met a few smugglers in his time, Sri foremost among them, and they were usually of a common nature- vagrants, working for their vice, loyal to credits but nothing else. The Junk Dog's crew were a little different. He wouldn't say Dalur had them whipped into military order, or anything of the sort, but they were organized, relatively disciplined, and loyal. That was more than he could say for most smugglers he'd met.

Most of them had even been alright to him, a few words of advice tossed his way when he was inevitably failing at whatever task he'd been assigned. Not exactly a grand act of charity, but he'd take what he could get.

Most were not all though. There was Daro for one, Dalur's second, the gray-haired man Vas had met outside. He had objected to Vas' presence on the ship then, and he objected now. There was nothing obvious or spiteful he had done, but Vas could read between the lines. The tasks he'd been assigned, the help he'd been given, the man he'd been put under...

And there lied the real problem, what he was currently dealing with as he scrubbed the underside of a cargo lift in the bay. Ramol, the man Daro had put him to work under.

In a way, Vas empathized with Ramol. He knew what it was like to see someone and hate them almost immediately. It was, after all, what he had felt the second he saw Ramol, Ram as the crew called him. It was just a shame Ram had the exact same reaction to him.

“Missed a spot.” Ram said, eyeing the cargo lift up and down.

“Can't miss it, if I haven't gotten to it yet.” Vas muttered under his breath.

Ram stared him down, light blue eyes and yellow teeth leering out underneath a mop of similarly colored hair. “I spose you jus have to clean faster then.”

There was, of course, no reason for him to be here watching. He could be passing time with the rest of the crew while Vas worked, but that would keep him from his new favorite hobby.

Still muttering, Vas moved the wipe over to the spot Ram had pointed out. It wasn't even dirty. With a sigh, he added polish and began wiping.

Ram wasn't done yet though, he moved to where Vas had been cleaning and ran a finger over it. The finger was spotless, but he was tut-tutting. “Missed a spot.” He said, with a shake of his head.

As he grumbled, Vas began to consider something drastic. He’d been weighing up whether to jump Ram for the past few days. The man wasn't well liked by the rest of the crew. Vas had quickly reasoned out why he treated him like he did. The lifelong punching bag finally given someone more powerless to hit. If Vas punched back, there would be downsides for certain. He'd be punished, maybe hit a few times, but there were upsides too. Might earn the crew's respect, at least a little. Might force Ram to back off too. He was a classic bully. So long as he never faced repercussions, he would continue, but with the threat of actual consequences he'd mellow out.

Vas nodded. It made sense. He risked a glance at Ram. The man was eyeing another spot on the cargo lift, ready to make the same comment a third time. He wasn't paying attention. Now would be a good time. Vas wasn't any good in a fight, but he could throw a punch if pushed into a corner, and he knew the advantages of a sucker punch.

He readied himself, lowering the wipe and preparing to pounce, hand curling into the shape he needed, when suddenly he was interrupted. “What are you two doing?”

Vas looked up to meet the source of the gruff, distinctive voice. He was met with a distinctly inhuman sight. It was an Arek, an alien, one of the Junk Dog’s very few non-human crew members. Standing well over seven feet, with armored scales known to repel beamer fire, hind legs a little like a frog, and claws famously capable of tearing through ship hulls, it certainly looked the part of a killing machine.

Vas knew differently. He’d never met one, certainly not on Tella, but Arek weren’t an uncommon sight on Prime 2. His father had known a few personally. They’d been slaves, he knew. Created by the Likir. Following their rebellion, however, most lived by a strict code of pacifism, swearing off war and violence. This one, Mayilk, was the ship’s engineer.

Ramol swallowed. Arek, while non-violent, were still plenty intimidating, especially when angry, and Mayilk looked very angry. “Just cleaning up some equipment.”

Mayilk grunted. “Didn’t ask anyone to clean it.” He looked the cargo lift up and down. “It is already clean.” Wide, black eyes squinted into dots. “Don’t like anyone messing with the equipment without permission.”

Vas noticed an almost rythmic quality to Mayilk’s voice. The Arek spoke common without difficulty, if a little hoarsely, but they did so as if they were reading poetry. It was pleasant, Vas decided, particularly when the poetic tones were tempered with anger and directed at a man he hated.

“I…uh… just wanted to… help…” Ramol managed to eventually respond.

Mayilk suddenly swung his eyes to Vas, noting his posture and clenched fist right before Vas remembered to release it. He smiled, a toothy though not unpleasant grin. “Oh... I know what you were doing.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Ram followed the Arek’s gaze to Vas, expression switching from apologetic to accusatory, before switching right back as he returned to Mayilk. “Sorry again… we’ll get out of your way.”

“Yes, you will.” Mayilk nodded, reptilian head bobbing like a snake. “But the boy stays. I have notes on his technique.”

Ramol clenched his teeth. Vas was his charge, and Mayilk technically lacked the authority to demand that, but there was a hierarchy to the crew, official or not, and Mayilk was much higher up it than Ram was. “Fine.” The man eventually muttered. “Sorry to bother you.” He took a wide berth around the enormous Arek and skirted up the ladder.

Mayilk watched him go, black eyes flickering with something that seemed to Vas like amusement, though it was hard to tell. Then, when he was sure the man was gone, he laughed, or at least Vas thought he did. It was more a croak than a laugh, slightly musical, but there was no mistaking it. “Did I interrupt something?” He asked, still croaking slightly.

“No… I was just… cleaning.” Vas muttered, struggling to meet the Arek’s knowing black eyes.

Mayilk croaked again and looked down at the floor next to Vas. “You need a rag to clean, but I see you dropped yours.”

Vas scooped it up in a hurry. “I was… uh…”

“Planning to jump the little man.” Mayilk finished for him.

“No… uh...” Normally a very good liar, something about the Arek’s presence was throwing Vas off.

Mayilk just laughed again. “Relax. I understand the temptation.” The laugh faded into what looked like a sympathetic smile. “Not that you should, though. The penalty would be harsh. Daro doesn’t like you.” He looked closer at Vas, ageless eyes scanning him up and down.

Acknowledging the truth of the words, Vas grimaced. The Arek was right. He’d have acted too hastily, but the realization didn’t change the bitter truth of his situation. He slumped his shoulders in defeat.

Black eyes turned sympathetic. “Hmmmm… perhaps I can help. I have some small influence.” He grinned again, showing sharp teeth. “Nobody, after all, wants to anger the ship’s only good engineer.” Vas looked up as Mayilk continued. There was a twinkle in his dark eyes.

To the boy’s surprise, he found his own eyes watering with emotion. His new life had begun to feel a lot like his old one, and the small act of kindness felt larger than it was. “Thank you.” He muttered, managing to hold the tears in. That would be embarrassing.

Mayilk smiled again, and Vas decided he liked the alien quite a lot. “Don’t touch my stuff again… not unless I ask.”

“Of course… thank you again.” He got up and walked around the Arek. As he passed though, he felt a clawed hand tap his shoulder, surprisingly gentle. Vas smiled at the pat and bounded up the ladder. Maybe things were looking up. Now, if only he could figure out the book.

-------------

A few hours later, he was back in the cargo bay, tucked in a corner, sitting on his bed, and flipping through his book. It was how he’d spent much of the last two weeks, when he wasn’t getting harassed by Ram.

Dozens of hours he’d spent pouring over the pages, flipping this way and that, running his hands over every blank space, tracing the odd patterns on the cover. For all of that work he’d learned… absolutely nothing.

It was still, by every appearance, a blank book.

Not for the first time, he considered chucking it across the cargo hold, frustration threatening to overcome his previous certainty, but he resisted. Instead, he slammed the cover shut and reclined in his bed.

What did he know about magic? Nothing. He didn’t even know what it was. He knew the word, of course. It was etched into the legends and myths of history. His father had recounted such stories to him when he was young, sitting in a chair by the heater, Vas on his lap. They were warm, comfortable nights…

He shook off the memory and instead tried to remember anything useful from the stories themselves. There was nothing. They were fanciful, ridiculous tales. Everyone knew the only true power in the universe was in the Divine. The Kulari too, he supposed, drew on some kind of fiendish power, but that was in their blood, from their memories, so it was told. It was not a power available to man.

His mind wandered back, as it often did, to Talian. That was real power, divine power. He remembered the awful sound the transport had made when he crushed it, the screech of metal masking the screams of men.

He remembered the symbol he’d seen that day, the eye missing its upper eyelid. It had seemed familiar to him then, and he knew it now. The symbol of Flec, the God who warped gravity to his will.

Absent-mindedly, he traced the symbol in the air. “Gravity.” He muttered, remembering the mansion, warped and molded inward until it became a perfect sphere. It had been a monumental display of divine power. Enough power to force the powerful to their knees. Enough power to walk the universe freely, to pave your own fate, your own path, if one chose.

Filled with renewed energy, he reached for the book again, once more eager to unravel whatever secrets it held. He was distracted, however, by a distant chime.

He forgot the book in an instant, bounding out of bed and towards the ladder. It was time to eat, and he’d learned from experience you didn’t want to be late when they handed out the packaged food.

In the span of a few seconds, he reached the ladder and began climbing, vaulting over the apex with ease and striding down the halls of the second level. You didn’t sprint unless you needed to, one of Dalur’s rules, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t move fast.

Long strides made quick time through the corridors. He was nearly at the dining area, only one more turn. As he made it though, he nearly crashed into another crew member heading the other direction.

They both stopped. “So…” Vas began, freezing when he saw the man’s face. He’d been on the ship for only two weeks, so he didn’t recognize all the crew. Since some of them worked while he was sleeping, there were ones he hadn’t even seen. This one he did know though, just not from the ship. Vas saw the great graying beard first, then the dark complexion. Last, he saw the eyes, dark and surprised.

He remembered the face well. He’d known it for four years, though he hadn’t seen it for over two weeks, not since the council room in warehouse 191.

It was Vik, one of the 19s’ leaders.

For a second, they both gaped at each, eyes filled with matching shock. Then, Vas saw something else cloud Vik’s dark eyes- hatred.

Vas walked past him then, continuing towards the cafeteria. He didn’t look back, but he could feel that gaze following him, watching him go. He knew, Vas realized. By the gods, he knew.