The gavel bangs and the career of Xuyang Shang--Dr. no more--comes to a decisive end. The jury votes unanimously to convict her on all charges: perjury, falsification of data, conduct unbecoming a government scientist, and a dozen lesser crimes, with sentencing to begin tomorrow.
       Across the great hall, Xuyang trembles, dazed, at the podium as her mind detaches from the reeling courtroom. She is swept under a hot, rising tide of sensation--green uniforms and scornful faces, sweaty wood under her palms, bright snatches of rayon flags, the oppressive smell of shined shoes and polished marble.
       Gone: her Ph.D., her government job, the respect of her colleagues, the comfortable shipboard life. The glassy super-structure of her life shatters in slow motion as she listens helplessly, her breath catching and her hands shaking, and tears pouring unbidden down her face.
       Gained: what, exactly?
       An arm catches her elbow and leads her gently to the exit, where onlookers are waiting to hurl slurs at her as she takes one numb step after another down the stairs. Anti-progress. Doomsdayer. False prophet.
       You were right to try and save it, a small voice whispers, but this is no salve. It hadn't worked, and there was nothing she could do.
       Well, Xuyang thinks as she walks miserably back to her home, there is one thing she could do. Once, an eternity of a week ago, she had been the galaxy's most accomplished microbiologist. The whole Sovereign fleet ran on her algaeic biofuel concoctions, making good time in the sub-light speed gaps between warp tubes.
       When she arrives, Xuyang puts her most recent sample, a vivid blue medley, into a small vial and strings it around her neck. Then she wipes her hard drives, piles her life's work in the living room, and sets it aflame.

       "Biofuel expert, you say?" A tall man with fading knuckle tattoos and dirty teeth appraises her sourly. "No credentials?" His breath reeks of alcohol, and his clothes are rumpled and stained, but he is the only one at the spaceport who has entertained her so far.
       "That's, ah, that's right," she says timidly. Xuyang has approached the captain of every ship to come by the spaceport, and none have been interested in taking on a middle-aged woman with a black-listed resume. But someone has to, right? It is 12:38, and she was supposed to be in court for sentencing over an hour ago. How long before someone thinks to look for her here? What a coward I am, she thinks, afraid to face the consequences and running out of time.
       She shifts back and forth in her sensible flats. She is totally out of place in this spaceport, carefully ironed clothes clashing against the rough bluster of spacer steel and leather. Do they know what she is? Can they tell? Can they smell the reek of desperation, or is it lost in the miasma of grease and sweat?
       The man grunts. "Well, you're in luck," he says, and Xuyang lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Our last guy jumped ship at Uiggra. If you're really former Sov, you should be able to get the lab up and runnin' again." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "But if you're lyin'"--he jabs a finger in her face--"we're leavin' you at Dohor, got it?"
       She nods quickly.
       
       He leads her to a stocky clip freighter that seems to have been patched together from at least three different ships. Prince of Cups is painted in tall white letters across the side. "You can call me Captain Dupont."
       Despite its outward appearance, the clipper is kind of homey, although it's laughably far from the luxury of a Sovereign Starliner. Captain Dupont shows her the small laboratory where she will be responsible for producing the ship's sub-rel fuel. It's a small and grimy space. Worthy of her new stature in life, she supposes. She eagerly accepts the job.

       Several tendays into their journey to Dohor, Xuyang squats under the tub that holds her latest concoction and wrestles with the plumbing. Something has been eating at the joints, and they all must be replaced, an arduous task. This is why she does not see Captain Dupont walk in with a person she has never seen before.
       "I don't know what to tell you, Bombar," he says heavily.
       Probably just beginning to get drunk at this time of day, she thinks. "LBG steel keeps gettin' harder to come by. I gotta raise my prices."
       "Don't bullshit me, H." Bombar has a voice like velvet nails that rake over Xuyang's brain. "You know they just found a lode of that low-background stuff out on Beatty 44."
       "Doesn't mean it's circulatin' yet," Dupont retorts. "As such, my prices stand."
       What is going on? There's no steel aboard this freighter, only radiomedical scanners bound for transfer to Egletia 5. "Your prices? What do you think this is, the Arguth Market? The price is set." Xuyang dares a look around the corner. Calf-leather boots with knife-thin heels--heels that could kill a man, she thinks--tower over Dupont's beige loafers. They are attached to long, muscular legs in maroon trousers and a priceless nashlogazi leather belt. A well-tailored silk jacket in fantastic colors curves up the neck to meet an aura of chestnut hair through which the light shines like a halo.
       I've got a ship to maintain, ledan. The Prince is flying square, and we can't run any tighter."
       Bombar sneers."Yeah, and I can see where the money's going. You're brave or stupid if you think you can dance with Jin Ahn."
       "What, you won't cut me a break." Dupont sounds genuinely surprised.
       What is he doing? Clearly, he is trying to play games with some sort of spacer mafia, and their rep isn't having it. Xuyang is familiar with the idea, if not the reality, of organizations like the Hinojisa and the Twenty Strikes--the Sovereignty frequently relied on their back-corridor passages to move goods quickly around--and even she knows better than to cross one. "No, you pathetic souser, I will not. And--hey." As Xuyang studies the beautiful ledan, zer head snaps to the right to look directly at her. She gasps and retreats, but she has already been seen, and footsteps quickly make their way to the algae tub.
       A split second later, she finds herself dangling by the collar, looking directly up into the scarlet embers of zer eyes.
       "Who are you?" ze asks.
       "That's just my fueler, Bombar." Dupont sounds bored.
       "What happened to Mikkel?"
       "Jumped ship."
       "And you let him? That man knew too much."
       Dupont shrugs. "Shit fueler, though. This one's ex-Sov, or so she says."
       "I'm Xuyang," she says. "It's true; I used to grow for the Babylon Twilight."
       "Until." Bombar raises one sleek eyebrow.
       "I, ah...it's a long story. They fired me."
       "Well," ze says neatly, setting her back on the ground."As long as you keep your mouth shut about the goings-on aboard this ship, you and I won't have any problems."
       With that, ze makes a quick turn and strides for the exit. The captain follows, casting one last unreadable look toward Xuyang.
       So, this is a smuggler's ship. Not a surprise. Xuyang stands and catches her breath. She tries to brush the grease off her pants but only manages to smear it in further.
       Ugh. She catches her reflection in the squalid mirror. Fingernails blackened, hair greasy, smears of god-knows-what on her face, Xuyang looks like hell and a half. She used to keep company with generals and socialites. She used to work in a beautiful, glassy lab full of advanced equipment and fast computers. She used to have trust and companionship and clever lab mates.
       Now she has nothing but blue-stained hands and the company of thieves. Hot tears begin to cut paths down the grime on her face and fog her glasses. The hole her former life left will never be filled, she thinks miserably. Is this it? Is this all I have left?

       Ninety days in a tin can will drive you mad, Xuyang learns the hard way. When the ship finally comes to port, she practically throws herself out of the airlock into the caution-tape world of Dorho Station. The windows are minuscule, the concrete is brutalist, and the people all wear the same sweat-stained grimace, but it's different, and it's big. She locates the marketplace and strolls the white-striped paths, taking in the sensational bouquet of airing laundry and cooking spices and fresh-chopped vegetables until the variable gravity makes her dizzy.
       She settles in at a shipping container-turned-bar, orders an oxygenated gin, and begins to sort through the rabble for threads of conversation. She is invisible here, she realizes, pleasantly, just one of a million faceless workers at the end of a long shift.
       Complaints about supervisors, gossip about coworkers, and speculation over dice games peppered with varying braggadocio fill the air. Sector E got a 200-yuan raise, but Sector G won't get the raise until they get their shit together, a woman declares. You know who's to blame. Emori finally left Zakira for Jujin, and now Accounting's in an uproar, says someone who knows a guy. The radio comms team got busted with a half of zap tar, but what else is new? They're always into something. Does anyone know where they keep getting it?
       "Well, do you?" She's so into the rhythm that she hasn't even noticed the woman slide into the seat next to her. She has short, stark white hair and three gold earrings and wears black coveralls stuffed into rubber waders. The smell radiating off of her screams sewage worker, but no one else in the bar seems to mind.
       "Oh, me? No, no idea."
       "Ah, come on, I saw you get off that duct-tape bucket. Dupont's always hauling. What's he got this time?"
       Xuyang frowns thoughtfully. She never did catch what the captain had been offered for his steel. Should she have been paying attention? She decides that she should.
       "Well, I did see him arguing with a ledan named Bombar a few tendays ago," she says cautiously. "I didn't hear much, though."
       "Bombar? Hm. Not drugs, then. Not good news for you, either, though."
       "Why not?"
       "Bombar's a face for Twin Shadows. That means your man is getting into the weapons market. And headin' as he is into Dorho like this from--where again?"
       "Laotie."
       "--Laotie, that means the Sov's on the warpath into S-Nine, which means that Knivelaj 15 had better throw a damn good parade this time--ticker-tape and all--but since they're the prime outputter of zap tar, that's why comms was stocking up. Of course. It all makes sense."
       Xuyang tries to follow the train of logic and fails. "So... ah."
       "Oh! Yes! This is bad for you. You're getting dragged into the weapons division of the spacer smuggling empire. High risk, low reward for a... what is it you do?"
       "Biofuel."
       "Ah. Yes, this is no good at all. You've got that long-haul daze about you, and you're about to be on a lot more. You think sixteen tenday is bad?"
       "Actually, we got here in nine," Xuyang says.
       "Nine? Shit! You must be smoking it like reefer to get here that fast."
       "Really? This is my first long haul, actually. I used to be..." She considers telling this loquacious stranger her tragic history." I used to work for the Sovereignty," she says neatly.
       "And somehow, you found yourself running drugs on Dorho! Well, I won't ask," the woman says with a wink. "But I will say this: that's damn good leverage. Don't let that drunkard Dupont push you around when you're flying double-time."
       Before Xuyang can say another word, the strange woman gets up and leaves."Sxal! You salt-dog bastard."
       Leverage. The word slingshots around her brain. She had it. What could she do with it?

       What has she been doing right? Xuyang glares, glasses sliding down her nose, hands on her hips, into the rusting trough. She has six tendays--perhaps less?--to herself between Dorho and Jadur, and she intends to use every rudimentary tool available to figure it out. First, she separates samples into the only five glass containers available to her--two Petri dishes, one Erhlenmayer flask, her old sample vial, and one bottle that once held an exquisite Terran whiskey.
       Then, she scrapes a spoonful of rust off the tub and dumps it into the whiskey bottle.
       The clatter of falling cans announces the intrusion of Captain Dupont, and she drops the spoon into the bottle with a plop and a curse. Following, in a higher measure of grace, is a man in an all-black suit with tasteful gold accents and waist-length blonde hair. In his hand, he holds a grey satchel. He shoots her a do-you-belong-here? glance, but the captain pays her no heed.
       She sighs. There won't be any retrieving the spoon now; it's part of the experiment. She works the cork back in, pauses, and scribbles 'NOT BOOZ' on the label before shoving it under the sink.
       "Fresh from the Bruyer district, nine-nine-eight pure, and let me tell you--this is the last of this stuff you're gonna see for a while. Thirty thousand yuan," he says.
       "Absolutely not," Dupont says. "That's a twenny right there."
       "I'm not here to haggle, you fool. This is a deal. Take it."
       "Twenny-five."
       "Thirty or I get right back on my ship and go on my way," the man says. "I have other interested buyers, you know, who appreciate rare items."
       Dupont coughs wetly. "Yer fulla shit. Zap's not goin' anywhere."
       "It will once the occupation starts on '15."
       "I'll start gettin' it from Poincare 8."
       "You? And this junk heap begging at Liyu's doorstep for zap? 'Dell me so I can watch"
       I'll 'dell your wife me chucking your ass out this airlock." Dupont takes a heavy step toward the slight man.
       "Fine." The man sniffs. "I'll get forty for it from Lissell."
       Before she can think, Xuyang interrupts. "Wait"
       "Twenty, and we'll give you a seed sample," she says. "We made it from Laotie to Dorho in nine tendays on this." She grabs the Erhlenmayer flask and thrusts it toward the man. "You can start your own culture."
       The man raises his eyebrows. "Nine tendays, you say."
       "You can check our logs; it's true," she says.
       "I think I will. And if it's true, I will accept your offer."
       Anger clashes with satisfaction on Dupont's face.
       "Y--Yeah, that's right. Twenny and some blue shit."
       Pleased, Xuyang hands over the flask and accepts the sack of zap. How much is this really worth? Could we get more for it divided or wholesale? What if we sat on it for a year? Could--
       Dupont swipes it away from her before she can finish the thought. "You keep away from this," he says.
       Me? Does he think I'll get into it? But the sneer on his face says otherwise. There is no we here. She will not see a single yuan out of this exchange or any others. But... she should, right? She has goods, and he has coin. And Rousa has silk and Yu-tan has nanotech, and Bombar has guns. It could all be hers. In this moment, her days as a Sovereign scientist seem immeasurably far behind her, and the glimmer of a new future, a future full of riches and reputation, looms.
       Her heart begins to chart a new course; ambition her wind and greed her sails. This tub of algae has the ability, she realizes, to make her a very powerful woman--not a mere smuggler but a master of thieves.
       "Well then," says the man, breaking into her thoughts. "I'll be wanting to see your trajectory logs, and then I'll be on my way."
       And so Dupont escorts the man away.

       From now on, when the runners come aboard the ship to negotiate, she catches their attention, signals quietly--come hither--she beckons. Come survey the treasures I can offer you. Drugs, money, and tech pass through her blue-fingered hands.
       And from a seed, her reputation grows. The woman who can propel you across the galaxy at breakneck speed. The woman who cuts your drudgery in half. The woman who is responsible for your extra days of shore leave. Insmuggler's halls, she is called the Blue Dragon.
       She calls herself better: Long Lazuli.
       Xuyang is quiet, meek, and knows her place. Long is brash, ruthless, and unafraid. Her place is where she makes it. She steps into a den, and heads turn to the swagger of her towering black heels and swish of her gold-hemmed cloak. She shaves her head, sews a dozen rings into her ears, and affects a deep blue ribbon about her neck.
       Xuyang is clever, and Long is too.
       In her mind, she builds a living network that grows with every interaction. Information becomes as valuable as cash, and she trades in it freely. How Dupont would jeer if he knew! A glance at the Hinojisa logbooks for five soup cans of algae gives her no goods but makes her rich. She learns that drugs flow from Sector Nine to all the others but especially Sector Three, where many mining worlds deal in heavy metals and precious gems. Western Sector Twelve has extravagant luxuries to offer its eastern counterpart and only wants basic goods--toiletries, warm clothes, medicine--in return. That's a revolution brewing right there, she thinks. Soon weapons will be flowing toward the galaxy's core. These will likely come from the advanced settler worlds along the Orion Arm, which will need iron from nearby Sectors Three, Six, and Nine if they're going to be stealthy about it. And this, of course, will call the dogs out of Sector Nine, which means that the price of zap tar will soon be back to nominal values.
       Yes, the Sovereignty is an ever-changing landscape, and slowly, like a great map unfurling, it all comes into view.
       But like the stains on her hands she can never quite scrub away, her past haunts her. She has been a wanted woman since she set foot on this ship, and two years as a kingpin has raised her bounty and ground away her peace of mind. Increasingly she dwells on her last days with the Babylon Twilight. A long time ago, young and naive, Xuyang joined the Sovereignty exploration fleets to see brand new, untouched worlds. But that was my problem, she reflects, that she wanted them to remain untouched. Not strip-mined, not colonized, not blown to pieces for their uranium content. The passage of the years had seen a hundred virgin Earths condemned to death.
       And Xuyang had helped them get there, had been a good little cog in the planet-killing machine.
       So who could blame her for what she had done?
       Every night she lies awake and laments the world she couldn't save, and every day she mines gossip for scraps about Sector 3--has anyone heard of any new colonies out there? Maybe some construction delays in the warp tubes? Any news from the Titania cluster?
       News never comes.

       "Siche, siche, here you go." Bombar touches zer watch to Dupont's, and the transfer of yuan is made. After he shambles off, ze sashays over to where Xuyang is hunting for something, anything sanitary enough to handle her newest batch of algae with. Spoons? All gone. Bucket? Someone pissed in it. Shovel? Caked with muck. The rubbing alcohol has finally disappeared from the cabinet.
       "What've you got for me this time, Blue?" ze asks, planting a hand rather boldly on the grungy sink edge, close enough that Xuyang can smell zer pine-and-saffron cologne.
       She quirks her lips as she raises a stained oil tin for Bombar's appraisal."Eight-up. Clean burn."
       Zer's deep red eyes peer into hers for a long moment. This is all part of the game they play, the two of them, the dance, the slow-turning spiral like a decaying orbit. Xuyang holds her gaze with a playful smile.
       Then with a wink, she ducks to shuffle through the contents of the cabinet under the sink. Suddenly, her hand meets cold glass.
       The peeling old label reads 'NOT BOOZE,' and the cork has somehow still held tight. Bombar laughs musically."I can't imagine having to label anything like that on my ship."
       Xuyang sighs."Yes, well, you know how it is around here." She inspects the contents of the bottle. Probably long skunked by now. But didn't she drop a spoon in here a long time ago? She uncorks the thing and grabs a metal sieve.
       "My invitation still stands, by the way," ze says. You're brilliant. You don't have to work like this. Captain Martinez would have you in a heartbeat."
       Xuyang sighs."Same answer, Bombar." She may not have much here, but Dupont has connections like no one else, even though all of his colleagues seem to hate him. The Galaxy's best business passes through the locks of this ship on the regular, and it's a flow of backchannel gossip she can't afford to lose.
       "Here, hold this," she says, handing over the sieve.
       She locates some old plastene tubing and holds it in place as she pours the algae, now nearly black, through it. No spoon appears.
       "I swear I dropped a spoon in here. It was over a year ago, but I know I did," she says.
       Bombar shrugs. "Maybe the stuff ate it. It's pretty potent, you know," ze says with a grin.
       Xuyang rolls her eyes. "Algae doesn't consume iron; it consumes oxygen. Otherwise, it'd be a disaster for the engines." But this algae is definitely alive, and it has not had oxygen for over a year. So maybe...
       A hissing sound interrupts her thoughts, followed by a clatter as Bombar drops the sieve onto the tiled floor. Its small, uniform slits have seared into one a single cavity from which steam issues as the hole widens.
       Xuyang and Bombar gape at one another for a moment before she comes to her senses.
       "Get it back in the bottle," Xuyang says, and together they funnel the black slime back into its container. The remains of the sieve hiss and warp as the goo rapidly consumes it, expanding as it eats, effecting a thick metallic sheen such that it seems as if it is metal itself.
       Having consumed the sieve, the algae sits motionless on the floor. Bombar nudges it with zer boot, which it does not seem interested in. Then ze pokes at it with a wooden ruler as Xuyang looks on, horrified.
       "Incredible. I was right," ze says triumphantly. "This stuff eats metal."
       Xuyang stares at the floor where the blob that was once a useful piece of equipment rests. "Do you know what that means?"
       "That it's a menace to my ship."
       What if the bottle breaks? Xuyang nervously takes it up and lays it under the sink once more, where it can't fall.
       "No! You can fuck stuff up with this." Bombar grins and plucks a bolt from the table, dropping it squarely into the shiny goop. The bolt is absorbed within seconds.
       "I... Hmm. You're right," she says. The black bottle holds potential. Who would want this stuff? What would they pay for it? What the submarket wouldn't give for a wad of erasure like this?
       A devilish smile crosses her face as she plucks the shimmering globule off the floor. "I suppose we'll find a customer for it."

       One day, news of Titania doesour markets, of course, but I hear they're hiring from Euca III! They just had a big solar flare, and the whole population's got radiation poisoning. Tragic, just tragic. Well, 'noblest to die on the lin,' says the Sov. Hey, have you got any--
       It was true, most of it. The Sovereignty had all but killed Xuyang Shang for her crimes.
       Alone in her lab, Long Lazuli let Xuyang let remember.
       Titania IV was--still is, she reminded herself--a paradise among paradises. Seventy-two percent ocean, ten percent ice caps, eighteen percent fertile, fragrant earth, from which sprung tremendous snow-capped mountains, great rivers, winding desert dunes, and white sand beaches. It was waterfalls and seaside cliffs and lakes and endless plains; it was one hundred species of flowers blooming beneath her feet, it was the way the forest smelled after the rain, it was the glorious yellow sun that never painted quite the same colors every night.
       And when the clean, prairie-scented air wafted through her tent each precious morning of shore leave, Xuyang felt, for the first time in her life, that she was home. Not Mei Xing Xing Station where she was born, not the ship, not the lab--here, in this baby-blue egg of a world, was where she belonged.
       She had seen the charts, gone through all the metrics, and read the founding notes locked away in secret spaces. Titania IV was the closest facsimile to Old Earth the Sovereignty had ever known. But locked away in the stony shelves below the oceans lay the highest uranium content the Sovereignty had ever known. And what was one more habitable planet when the galaxy was littered with them?
       They were going to vaporize it.
       That's why, three days into shore leave, Xuyang crept to the cliff face in the middle of the night with a half-baked alphabet and a bag of stolen tools. It was why she chiseled her meaningless message into the stone for all to see. It was why she kept silent when word of the finding spread like wildfire through the camp, through the ship, through the nets.
       Speculation about the new sentience flooded the Galaxy. Who had lived on this world? Were they still there? Under pressure from every direction, the Sovereignty had been forced to call off its destruction to investigate.
       She was discovered, of course, but for a while, Titania IV had been safe.
       Xuyang cried as she remembered, and her tears tasted like the saltwater oceans. What could she do now? What could she do? Riding the tide of illicit supply and demand had set her adrift in the sea of information, but she had no power over it. All she had was a dirty lab, a tub of spaceship fuel, and a list of thieves and cutthroats. But that had to count for something, right? What was it the woman in the bar had said back at Dorho? Leverage.
       Xuyang had leverage. She had power, and perhaps--she could have more power.
       What did more power look like? Her own ship? Her own crew and passage?
       Well, she was already on a ship. It wasn't her ship, but maybe it could be. How hard could it be to pull a trigger? Bombar did it all the time. Pull the trigger, take the ship. The Prince could be hers.
       Long Lazuli smiles. It's time for a change.

        Long plucks her insurance out from its hiding place under the tub. She cleans the short, snub-nosed laser pistol and slips it into her waistband the way Bombar showed her. Then she heads to the bridge.
       What she isn't expecting is to find Captain Dupont already stomping toward the lab. They meet in the cramped and narrow hallway.
       She has a whole speech planned out for this. A litany of offenses, of reasons she belongs in charge. Instead, she pulls out the pistol, levels it, and says I'm taking over this ship."
       She is met with uproarious laughter as the captain flickers from surprised to annoyed to you can't be serious to oh, you're serious! He laughs and laughs and laughs, and Xuyang's cheeks burn bright red.
       "You're... hah! No...you're not," he says. "Did you--what, did you think you were just going to saunter up to the bridge and assume command?"
       Long is silent, but she keeps the pistol up. Dupont draws his own. "Put that down," he says. "What is that, a toy? Who gave you that?"
       Her complexion darkens as she sets her jaw. "Someone who thought I might need it."
       "Well! Here I was thinking nobody cared." He switches tracks with a scornful glint in his eye. I'm here to put a stop to your little backroom deals... I hope you weren't thinking I hadn't noticed."
       She had, in fact, been thinking that. And why is he so coherent all of the sudden? Did she manage to catch him sober? "I run a good business. Better than yours, actually, because I don't drink my profits."
       "Hah! You're only in business because I let it happen. But somebody got into your head, didn't they, and convinced little Xuyang that she should be in charge. Probably the very same upstart that gave you that gun. I bet it was that no-good bastard Bombar, wasn't it?"
       "Doesn't matter now, does it." She sneers as she charges the gun.
       BLAM. The laser bolt strikes him straight through the forehead, and she nearly drops the small pistol in surprise.
       Oh my god, he's dead, oh my god, what do I-- Long puts away Xuyang's thoughts. The crew will be running in here soon. She lets his body crumple to the floor and snatches the cap off his head. Huron Beauregard Dupont reads the inside.
       She is right about the crew. They jam into the hallway, and shouting fills the air. No one seems to notice her in the chaos as she straightens the overlarge cap on her head.
       This is her crew now. They should know her.
       Long places a boot on the deadman's chest and fires a shot into the floor.
       "Nisen! I am your captain now," she says.
       Stunned silence follows.
       "Comms, get me Bombar Jayasuriy."

       "Heh, pathetic little man," Bombar says over the crackling subspace radio." A fitting end for him. But now you're off to do what?"
       I'm going to Titania IV. I don't know what I'll find, but Bombar, I have to do something. You understand?"
       "Of course. Meet me at Dorho, and we'll figure it out."
       We'll--what? Bombar, you can't just jump ship."
       She can hear the grin in zer voice as ze replies. "The hell I can, babe. Our crew takes care of itself. You need help," Bombar says. "And I have some ideas."

       Long Lazuli, postured rakishly in the recently vacated captain's chair, strikes her booted feet up on the dash and smiles a viper's smile. On the other side of the viewscreen sits a scowl of a man in a pinched olive uniform and round spectacles. A dog of the Sovereignty, Huron might have said, if she hadn't shot him three tendays ago.
       The planet-killer Mimas Pierce fills the horizon, and its megaton missiles beat mercilessly on the radar. But none strike home--shooting one at a D-class clip ship like the Prince of Cups is like firing a cannon at a mosquito. The Prince tips and tilts unpredictably as the navigator swing fast, tight arcs around them.
       "Consider once more our terms," Long says, steepling her fingers, as she watches the man grow increasingly irate. "You turn your boat around, and we don't feed it to the void."
       "That's a big threat for such a small ship." The general sneers.
       "You doubt our capability?" Around her neck hangs a small glass bauble filled with a shifting black substance, and she plucks it out of midswing and inspects it in the light, where it shines a steely blue. Then she returns her sharp gaze. "You would wager your own life?"
       Only the merest flicker of consternation crosses his face. "Against you lot of miscreant scum? I would" He narrows his eyes. "Which miserable band of pirates do you belong to anyway? Whichever one it is is about to lose their contract," he says.
       Long grinned. "Flying solo, ser."
       "I find that hard to believe, cova." She prickles at the address. "Why don't you tell me who you're working for, and perhaps we can... come to an agreement."
       "Counter-offer: I give you fifteen minutes to retreat from this system before I fire."
       "Fine, we'll do this the hard way. Ah, here we go," he says. His eyes reflect a red screen, and a cruel, knowing smile grows upon his face. "Yes, I see now. Dispatch, I want two fighters out there most promptly." He knitted his fingers together and leaned back in his seat. "This one's got quite a bounty."

       The Prince's speed and the navigator's skill hold the fighter ships off for a long fifteen minutes, but the shields weren't designed for this kind of bombardment, and their weapons were built to lase space debris, not heavily armed N-27s. The space between them grows dangerously small as the minutes pass.
       Long watches the seconds tick down, and then she clicks on the viewscreen. "Last chance," she says brightly. "Get out of this system, don't come back--live to tell the tale."
       The general enjoys a laugh. "We have you cornered, space rats. Give it an hour, and you'll be on your ass in the brig."
       "Oh, was that the plan?" Long claps her hands together. "Lovely! Nav, new plan: pull alongside the Pierce and prepare the airlock."
       "What?" Bombar storms to the front. "The hell kind of idea is this, Long?"
       "Oh, that's not Long Lazuli," interrupts the general with a leisurely wave of his hand. "Not at all. That's Xuyang Shang, disgraced doctor and failed saboteur." He smirks as the bridge crew turns to stare. "Oh, I'm sorry, was your crew unaware their captain is not just a traitor, but a bad one."
       "Why don't you invite me in and find out just what kind of traitor I am?" she says.
       "I think we will... AGN Deck, what's your status?"
       "Docking, ser."
       Long stands and meets Bombar with a kiss. Don't worry about me, love," she says to the stunned ledan.
       She adjusts her cloak, runs a hand over her smooth, short hair, and strides for the airlock. Waiting for her are two Sovereignty officers in sharp olive uniforms, and together, they step forward and seize her by the arms. She laughs as they escort her through the locks onto the Pierce, where the general waits with a deadly smile.
       Once she has crossed the threshold, she jerks her arm away and snaps the glass vial around her neck off its chain, holding it triumphantly aloft. "Say goodbye to Titania." She sneers as she moves to dash it to the floor.
       She feels a hand close around her own, and panic rises like a sharp knife in her chest. Thinking quickly, she bashes her elbow into the ribs of the guard, and he doubles over but doesn't let go.
       The general cackles as they wrest the vial from her hand, and Long watches in stifled horror as her last hope sails across the room.
       "Ah, what's this?" He inspects the deep blue fluid in its delicate vessel before slipping it into his pocket. "No matter. I'm sure our scientists can deal with it... appropriately."
       What would they do with it? Long flips rapidly through scenarios. Would they discover its miraculous properties? Would it eat the ship with her on it? She had to get it back. She sets a foot behind her and prepares for a fight.
       She gives a mighty twist, but the iron grip on her arms doesn't break.
       Then she swings both knees up to her chest and drops to the floor, dragging the guards down with her with a crash. Wrestling her right arm free, she drives her fist into the face of one, then brings her elbow down on the throat of the other. This won't buy her much time--she scrambles to her feet and dives for the captain, making it halfway across the space before a hand grabs her by the ankle. She hits the floor with a hard smack of bone on steel.
       "Hey!" A shout cuts through the pain, and she whirls around to see Bombar hefting a bottle labeled 'NOT BOOZ.' "Catch this." Ze dashes the bottle against the wall and flings the remainder toward the captain, spraying its gooey contents well across the floor.
       As steam begins to rise, Bombar kneels and grabs the closest guard by the collar. "How would you like to die today?" ze asks.
       The guard snarls and swings a fist, but ze merely catches it and twists until Long hears a snap. "I was hoping you'd say that," ze says with a wicked smile. Ze drops the man to the floor, plants zer heel on his chest, and stands. Long gasps as the dagger-thin heel sinks easily into his chest. He dies wheezing.
       Ze turns to the other. "And you?"
       The uniformed woman furiously shakes her head and backs away, stumbling to her feet. She grabs the petrified captain and hurries him away.
       "Long, are you alright?" Bombar pulls her to her feet on the sagging floor. "Let's get out of this slag pile."
       "Yes, let's." The man's body begins to slip through a widening hole as they cross to the airlock, alarms blaring behind them."Heza, Bombar... I need boots like that."
       "You will if your cocky ass is going to pull a stunt like that again."
       Xuyang rolls her eyes. "I knew you had my back."
       The bridge finds the pair of fighters holding their distance, waiting for commands that will never come.
       "Gunners," she says with a grin as she arranges herself in her seat. "You know what to do."
       The blasts light up the viewscreen and rattle the shield as debris pings off the radar. The rest of the Pierce, she thinks, will take a little bit longer.
       "Wanna stick around and watch the light show?" Bombar asks.
       "Nah, I've got something better to show you," Long says. "Nav, take us to the surface."

       The air is sweet and warm as the crew pours out of the ship into the soft green world. They are in a high meadow filled with humming insects and singing birds, and the sun has just emerged from a wreath of white clouds; in the distance, richly forested mountains crease the land as far as the eye can see.
       Long sheds her cloak and pries off her boots. The urge to lie in the tall, fragrant grass is simply overwhelming, and she gives in, letting the thick vegetation catch her weary body and lower her gently to the flowering earth.
       Bombar laughs with delight and follows her. It is zer first time planetside, and ze marvels wide-eyed at the endless horizon and baby blue sky. Together they lay in a nest of verdant greens and snatches of bright colors, a world in miniature all their own.
       "Xuyang," ze says, awash in the golden light of the evening sun, "I think I could live here forever."
       "Me too." She plucks a flower and twirls it between her fingers, watching the fragile blue petals dance. This world contains a million others, she knows--icy plains and tropical rainforests and mysterious oceans--and she wishes she could see them all.
       "You know, Bombar," she continues. "I used to think life was about doing everything you could. Getting a degree, seeing new worlds, meeting new people... Then I thought that life was pointless for a while. Get what's yours, make money, and make a name. But then I met you, and you know what I realize life is about now."
       "What?"
       "Killing evil motherfuckers," she says sweetly.
       Bombar chokes on a laugh."Xuyang."
       "I mean it, Bombar." Her face hardens. I've seen the Sovereignty mow down untouched worlds--habitable worlds!--for decades. It needs to stop. The Sovereignty... everything it represents... it needs to end."
       "And how do you propose to do that?"
       Overhead, the moon-sized planet-killer blooms into orange oblivion. Xuyang grins.
       "Biofuels, baby!"