“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?” Rorik muttered into his uniform collar, the warmth of his coffee scented breath floated up into his nostrils.

At this point, his frustration was about to spill over onto the floor and become a slipping hazard. This was the fourth time that the Gizotso had suddenly de-accelerated. Ripping them from the colorful azure realm of celestial-space and unceremoniously dumping them back into the plain blackness of real-space. Things were going so wrong, so often, that he was starting to suspect that Rikor had purposefully sent him out here to die.

“The engine room is reporting overheating again, apparently the coolant’s rupturing from three pumps and they're having a hard time keeping the tanks filled.” The communication’s officer, Adrax, reported.

“I figured, have them pull some people from nonessential stations to help out. We’re still in spitting distance from Azrhar and if we’re stuck at sub-light speeds, it’s going to take us a century to get out of the Fringe alone.”

Kara was distractingly and rhythmically smacking her head from left to right along her console repeatedly. She’d been very surprisingly optimistic when they first jumped, and she’d paid the price for her uncharacteristic cheerfulness at every turn.

“I think you missed a spot, Lieutenant.” Rorik said slyly.

She turned suddenly, extreme agitation etched onto her soft features, along with the bright red mark glowing on her forehead. “A century is being generous, by the time we make it back, Azrhar’s ocean will have melted.”

“Then we’ll stop for some swimwear on the return trip.”

Kara frowned frustratedly. “You want me to go down to the engine room, make sure they aren’t fucking around and crack some heads?”

Rorik sank deeper into his chair as he rubbed his nose. There wasn’t much she could actually do, she wasn’t an engineer. But then again, there wasn’t much else for the navigation officer to do without a functioning c-drive. “Yeah, go ahead.”

She angrily shot to her feet and stormed towards the exit, with a lethal gleam in her eye. A gleam very similar to the one she had when she was going to literally crack some heads.

“But Kara, be nice please, I’m sure they’re trying. This thing is a hunk of taped together scrap metal, remember?”

“I’ll be gentle, Captain.”

Stars help them.

His first command of a vessel was going about as well as he could expect with the tools he’d been given, but it was still incredibly demoralizing. Rikor had sent out three other ships to find the Primum and if the man was in trouble, for his sake, he hoped the others were further along. Not that they’d really be any closer to finding him though, the command dossier he’d received had little to no information. The most anyone knew was that some passive sensor pings bounced off of the shuttle he’d taken. Pings from a public-access beacon in orbit around the planet Arcturus, at the edge of the Fringe. And all it would really provide was a staggering number of possible destinations based off of his last known trajectory.

To further add insult to injury, the main power flickered and shut down abruptly. The low blue lights of the bridge had suddenly been replaced by dour emergency lights, before those too disappeared in the blink of an eye. They all sat perfectly still and quiet in the complete and total darkness for a few moments. And for a second, he almost considered whether Kara had fallen face first into the reactor or not.

“Sir!” The sensor officer, Jakobs, spoke up. “I think we might have a problem!”

Rorik’s eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, allowing him to clearly see the man’s face, his impressive brown beard stretching down to his chest. “I get it, you’re the comedian, this ship’s the joke and my career’s the punchline, thanks.”

“That’s not what I mean, sir. I think I saw something approaching our port bow before the power went out. I think it might have been a ship, but they’d only just entered our sensor range.”

“Was it Unified at least?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

Or maybe even a meteor to put them out of their misery.

“This territory is the stomping grounds of Nez’Hai scrappers,” Lieutenant Del said as she adjusted in her chair. “But if it's them, we might be alright. They usually travel in smaller ships to find wreckage and then send in bigger recovery vessels after they’ve confirmed a worthy find. That might give us time to get the hell out of here.”

Rorik rubbed at his chin and considered the possibilities. “I’ve heard a little bit about them, are they hostile?”

“And as territorial as a pregnant bladejaw, but they have crews of varying mythos. At the end of the day though, they're all scrappers and we appear to be that at the moment, do we not?”

“More than appear,” Rorik sighed. “You know if they’re the type to work outside in or inside out?”

“We'll know soon enough, but let’s hope it was nothing.” She shrugged and smiled faintly, the slightest hint of a twinkle in her tired eyes.

Increasingly, it seemed that he hadn't completely blown his chances with Cassandra. She'd cooled down a lot in the past few days since they’d left, made more apparent by the fact that she wasn’t glowering at him right now. Soon as he got a chance he'd talk to her, really talk to her. All jokes aside, they could actually be out here a long while and it'd be nice to have a…friend.

The power suddenly started back up and as his eyes adjusted, a peculiar sight greeted him on the left side of the viewscreen. A bulky, uneven cruiser was slowly maneuvering to their port side. Its appearance was so strange that Rorik briefly thought they’d stumbled upon the first sentient alien species. The reddish, bulbous surface of the ship was dimly highlighted by its own oddly green running lights, creating an otherworldly silhouette against the backdrop of space. A multitude of massive, gimbaled weapon-systems along its rough exterior swayed to take aim at the Gizotso as it halted. The sheer number of them put their own compliment to shame, and a tingling sensation of anticipation ran along his spine.

“Incoming comm-call from…whatever the hell that thing is.” Adrax said.

“That vessel is not dissimilar to a typical Nez-Hai ship, but they don't exactly make them in corporate shipyards, they don't all look the same.” Del said, her voice almost a little too calm.

“Understood,” Rorik said blankly, even though the tingle had moved from his spine to his stomach, and was fast approaching his nuts. Them sending a hail was better than just being outright blown into dust he supposed, but he highly doubted that they were the reasonable sort of scavengers, if such a thing even existed. “Put it through I guess, let’s get this circus started.”

The viewscreen shifted in a haze of light before several, dirty, ugly men covered from head to toe in filthy, blue flight-suits and matching jackets appeared, laughing and spitting like they were watching their favorite comedian’s stand-up performance.

“You sure are a funny motherfucker, I’ll give you that!” The man at the center of the screen shouted, his teeth a yellow checkerboard and his voice heavily accented and slurred. “When we saw those lights turn on, boy, we thought we were seeing a modern miracle! Hope you got a good price for this rust bucket!”

Rorik frowned as the men again broke out into maniacal laughter, bumping into each other and screaming loudly.

“Look friend, we’re all just trying to find our own way in the universe, maybe you can go yours and I can go mine, easy as that.” Rorik projected his voice, careful to keep it firm and strong, without needlessly inviting challenge. Already they appeared to be of…lower intelligence, but perhaps words would solve what weapons could probably not.

“Captain, maybe we should leave him alone,” One of the men declared seriously as he forced himself to stop laughing. The others around him slowed to a confused cackle and looked him over suspiciously. “If he’s been flying around in that deathtrap, he’s tougher than he looks!” They started again, much louder than before.

“Or dumber!” Someone added.

Taking advantage of the distraction, he subtly muted the microphone. The outgoing viewscreen camera was focused solely on his upper body, so he kept his face blank and tried to keep his lips as still as possible as he said...

“Simulate battle outcomes. Notify crew: battle stations.”

He waited a few seconds before unmuting, and the crew of the potentially and as the seconds passed, more than likely enemy vessel had just finished their latest bout of annoying guffawing.

“What is it that you guys wanted again, you lost, need directions? Hell, I could even recommend a good dentist or two.”

“Whoo, whooo,” The captain cried out. “First I want to catch my breath, whoo…and then, I’ll need ya to lower them shields and surrender your crew, we’re coming aboard.”

“If you’re wanting a tour, trust me, you aren’t missing a thing. It’s about as good looking inside as out.”

“Now that there I believe to be the truth, but I’ll ask you to oblige either way. Now, don’t test me boy, if I blew that hunk of bolts into bits, I’d be doing the sighted galaxy a favor! You’ve got five minutes.” The man started to reach for his console while still stifling a chuckle.

“Ten minutes, it is a big ship and a long walk after all.” Rorik smiled, taking a risk to test the other man’s disposition and how much he was open to dialogue.

“Six minutes and not a second longer!”

Rorik was tempted to just unleash everything they had into the strange ship and take their chances while they weren’t expecting it, but the captain’s next sudden outburst gave him pause.

“Whoa mama!” The captain started, and his gang of hooligans started to howl and make thrusting movements.

Rorik at first hadn’t noticed the familiar sound of Kara's heart pounding as she walked up behind him, he’d been too consumed in thought and worry. She stopped at his side and gave him an inquisitive glance, but he shrugged, still not entirely sure what was even happening himself.

“Now that’s a woman!” One of the scrappers shouted.

“Reminds me of ma sister!” Another shouted.

“Tsk tsk. I've been gone for less than ten minutes and you're already making new friends,” She squinted at the screen. “What’s the cute one’s name?” Kara asked somewhat flirtatiously, clearly enjoying her momentary power over them.

The scrappers broke out into a complete animalistic scramble, each vying to prove that they were the one she’d been referring to, fists flew and bodies slammed into each other in a mad frenzy of testosterone-fueled competition.

The captain abruptly fired a bullet into the metal ceiling, instantly dropping the hubbub a few decibels. The man smiled as lust visibly built in his reddened, blue eyes. “We all know she meant me…now, how come you didn’t say you had a beautiful lady aboard?”

Rorik glanced nonchalantly at Kara and then back at him. “Beautiful, sure, but…lady?”

She slyly pricked him on the back of his neck with the tip of her claw, causing him to wince hushedly between clenched teeth.

“Don’t your eyes work pretty-boy?” The man’s own eyes turned deadly. “That there is indeed…a lady.”

The discharged round had rendered most of the crew silent, but a number of them remained…visibly excited by Kara’s presence. Being scrappers, they probably spent most of their lives in space and she must’ve been the first woman they’d seen in quite a long time, given their ridiculous behavior. The captain especially seemed terribly enticed, the dingy little man was damn near drooling into his lap like a mangy dog.

It was disgusting…but it gave Rorik an idea.

“What I mean is, she’s my…sister. Nothing more.” Rorik said as he rubbed gingerly at his neck.

The captain’s gaze seemed to be visibly lightened. “Well miss, I think you just bought your brother his ten minutes. Lower them shields sweetheart and be at your port docking-ring. I can’t wait to meet you.” The captain closed the connection and Rorik took a deep breath as he slowly stood.

“Sweetheart?” Kara’s smile faded instantly. “What did those chuckle-fucks want again?”

“Probably everything we have.”

“Makes sense, they did look and sound like scrappers. But okay, enlighten me, what’s all this sister stuff about?”

“They are scrappers and I said that because I’m thinking that maybe we can use the captain’s obvious interest in you to our advantage. Especially since I’m not so confident that we can beat them in a straight fight.”

“After all these years this old lady’s still got it.” She said as she flipped her hair playfully.

“And I thought it might be easier to exploit him if he didn't see me as, well, I guess as a sexual rival for lack of a better term. We’ll play into his urges a bit. I don't know, I didn't put that much thought into it.”

“A sexual rival? That's an interesting way of putting it.”

Rorik cleared his throat and shifted to look past her. “Um, how are those scans looking, Jakobs?”

He turned and frowned. “Not good, the Gizotso won eighteen times…out of a hundred.”

“I knew they’d be abysmal, but damn.”

“It’s those heavy guns on its topside sir, their projected damage is just too much for our shields and by extension are armor to hold up against.”

“So you’re saying if those guns go silent, our chances will be significantly higher?” Kara asked as she walked over to regard the simulations herself.

“Yes, ma’am, I ran those numbers too. We’d shoot up to around forty-two in that case. Give or take.”

Rorik had at least hoped they’d make it out of the Inner Fringe before they ran into trouble, but the universe seemed ever determined to disappoint him. He paced in place, racking his brain. “Those are odds I can work with.”

“They’re still not great James.”

“I know, how was the drive looking?”

She shook her head seriously. “It’s up, but they weren’t too confident about it lasting long…maybe we can fight our way aboard their ship, take those guns out on foot?”

That was an idea, certainly probably one of the better ones. He looked at everyone around him, who were in turn looking at him…no, looking to him for guidance.

No pressure.

They couldn’t run, their own drive had taken that option off the table. But if they simply repelled them or fought through them when they arrived, there was nothing stopping those still on the bulbous ship from cutting their losses and blowing their ship into debris. No, for them to win, they’d have to get aboard amicably. And they had to give them zero reasons to fire at the Gizotso at all and…even scrappers as wild as them wouldn’t fire at an empty ship for no good reason.

“I’ve got it, we will go aboard Kara, just me and you. Lieutenant Del, you’ll be in charge here. Adrax, send out a general order to all crew, have them abandon their posts, requisition as many weapons and comms as they can in the next five minutes, then have everyone move to the starboard side of the ship. Stow yourselves in the power conduits behind the starboard bulkheads and lie in wait.”

Del furrowed her brow in confusion, but didn’t say anything just yet.

“Jakobs, take our signal scramblers and aim them inwards, keep the field within our own ship. Our shields probably prevented them from getting any life-sign readings and I want to keep it that way. Oh and Adrax, one more thing?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Tell the engine room to prepare to cut power, on purpose this time. I only want power to the scramblers and the life-support systems. Tell them to cut it in exactly eight minutes, about the time our guests will be expecting us.” He again looked around at all of them, hoping that he hadn’t led them all to a cold and ultimately pointless death.

Kara rubbed at her chin and studied him intently, but stayed uncharacteristically quiet. He knew he was flying by the seat of his pants and part of him wanted to ask her what she would do in this scenario, or even ask her to take charge…but, he was the captain and he needed to do this.

She’d object if it was a stupid idea anyway.

“Basically, I want the captain to think me and Kara are the only ones aboard, maybe we can use his affections to talk our way onto their ship. Then, under the hope that they won’t attack a seemingly empty vessel, we’ll make our move once we get aboard.”

“Even if you convince them to allow you aboard, once they realize what you’re after they will overwhelm you. We are formidable creatures, but do you really think that you two can take on a crew of hundreds of armed humans at once?” Del interjected, her tone more curious than surprised.

“Well, not all at once, it’s not like they’re all standing in one spot or anything, their ship is huge. I’m confident that we can manage something.”

“Me too,” Kara finally spoke up. “The only other semi-viable options would be for us to rush their ship or to hold the captain hostage…but these are scrappers, they’d blow the docking ring before we made it over and would more than likely leave their captain to die at the slightest whiff of genuine trouble. Not to mention they're stupid, which is dangerous in large doses. Rorik’s right…the Captain’s right, we need to play their game as best we can for as long as we can.”

Rorik smiled and nodded in agreement. “Eventually, they’ll find out that you’re on board, and then you can cut them down at will. Maybe even have some fun with it. But I want the fullest measure of their away crews on the Gizotso before then. If a good enough number of them are onboard they might not blow the ship into kingdom come once you reveal yourselves.”

He pulled out his command dossier holo-pad and quickly reconfigured the access code. “Here, Cassandra.”

The lieutenant slowly rose and reluctantly accepted it.

“The code is…the time I was supposed to meet you at the mess, you remember it?”

“Yes…sir.”

“If I don’t come back, someone needs to know why the hell we were even out here and what to do next. And if you get a shot at legitimately taking out their ship, I want you to take it. But I know I don’t have any reason to worry with you handling things.”

Cassandra, with a soft gleam in her eye said. “No...James, you don’t..”

 

Making it to the docking ring with a minute to spare, they watched as the airlock slowly cycled. His trepidation hung over his shoulders more than ever. They’d walked in silence and Kara especially had appeared consumed by her thoughts.

“You think this is the right move? I mean, it’s so much simpler on the ground, I almost feel like a recruit with how out of my depth I am.”

“Maybe you’ve been in that maintenance bay too long,” She looked down at her feet. “Kind of reminds me of when we first met.”

“Yeah, I know, it feels like forever ago…but have you got any advice?”

“Remember that there are no right and wrong answers, kid, not until the dust settles. Until then, there’s just options and decisions. But you’re right, the ground is easier. In space, our strength largely means nothing and you can’t heal from running out of air in a vacuum. But you’re taking charge of the only option available to us, take some peace in that.” Kara said, more serious than she’d been since their heated discussion back on Azrhar.

She was always funny like that, one second she had the disposition of a woman seemingly in her mid-twenties, alive, care-free, youthful and he could tell what she was thinking most of the time. Then the next, she was an ancient soldier, cold, deadly, calculating and he wouldn’t have the foggiest idea of what she’d do next. It made perfect sense, she’d been killing and fighting long before even he was born. But it honestly scared him how easily she could switch between the two sometimes.

Kara unpinned her rank and reached over to unpin his. “Normal ship captains don’t wear insignia like this, and it wouldn't make sense for us to be a captain and lieutenant of an empty ship.”

“Good idea. Less questions he asks, the better.”

“Yeah, the less questions he asks, the less likely he’ll come to think of you as a sexual rival.”

“I’m going to hear about that for a while aren’t I?”

She smiled, but kept staring forward silently.

The outer airlock opened with a hiss and a small horde of smiling and hooting men poured into it. The captain led the charge as the inner door opened, the foul scent of unwashed bodies and alcohol greeted them before he did.

The captain chuckled as he approached. “Smart boy, but where’s the rest of your crew, huh?” He playfully aimed the pistol at his chest. But the little man’s little gun didn’t worry him in the slightest.

“This is the crew.”

The captain laughed and looked back at the couple dozen or so men with him, some of them flinching under his gaze. “You must think me a fool? There’s graveyards full of men who thought me a fool, boy.”

“I don’t. All of the major functions have either been automated or rerouted for easier control on the bridge. Automated systems as you know aren’t as effective and there’s been a slew of problems with it, hence why we were out of power when you arrived,” To further emphasize his point, the engine room cut the power right on time, leaving them all in total darkness. A slew of tactical lamps and cocking weapons were pointed at him and Kara before he continued. “It’s…a constant problem.”

“Scans are coming back negative Captain, we’re not picking up anyone else on the rest of the vessel.” One of his flunkies stated.

“Interesting…”

“Is this thing even worth scrapping, Captain?” Asked another flunkie as he looked around, a concerned shrill in his voice.

The captain's calculating gaze bore into Rorik, studying him quickly before slowly studying Kara shamelessly. His expressions shifted rapidly, ranging from suspicion, curiosity, and something more predatory. He was liable to do anything and Rorik was struggling to resist the urge to punch a hole through his chest.

“Silence fool,” He finally said as he took a few deliberate steps towards them, his boots clanging against the metal floor of the ship. “My goodness, you two are awfully tall,” He sauntered around them, standing on his toes in a futile attempt to reach the tops of their heads. “What are ya both, six-five, six-six?” His voice a low growl of suspicion.

Rorik offered a nonchalant shrug. “Something around that. It's been a while since I've bothered measuring myself.”

The captain's curiosity seemed to intensify as his eyes continued to inspect them. “And what strange fingernails you've both got.” With a sudden movement, he grabbed one of Kara's hands, held it up in the light of a tactical lamp and looked over her claws. Retracted they simply looked like abnormal, thin, polished fingernails.

“It runs in the family," Kara explained calmly. “A genetic aberration. I'm not exactly a huge fan of them either.”

The captain gently kissed her hand and then stepped back to regard them with renewed curiosity, his eyes appearing to drift, as if he and his thoughts were incredibly far away. Then, abruptly, he returned and stared at them blankly. “And how’s it that you two came into a ship this size on your own?”

“Luck,” Kara offered plainly. “Believe it or not, we were on a ship worse than this one, it was literally falling apart. We saw this drifting in the Galbos' system and took our only chance at survival. Took a week to reroute the systems and here we are, trying to limp our way back to civilization.”

That was quick thinking.

Galbos was a known ship-graveyard, people from the nearby core worlds often came by to leave their scrap there to drift. It was cheaper and easier than paying for legal ship deconstruction in Directorate or Union space, and leaving them drifting in either was a capital crime. And due to the constant dumping, it was essentially a man-made asteroid field, unpredictable and dangerous, only the most desperate or crazy of scrappers even bothered with it.

“But enough about us, Captain…?” Rorik asked.

“Nebalo.” He snapped.

“Captain Nebalo, we want to know what we can do for you?”

“Do for me he says, now what did you have in mind?”

The men surrounding them were getting antsy, their fingers were slowly tightening around their triggers, just waiting for the command to fire. Dead, glazed over eyes looked him up and down with predacious intensity. They were undoubtedly relishing the idea of brutally murdering him and doing even more disgusting things to Kara.

“For all intents and purposes, you just rescued us. We might have been able to limp on for a while longer, but the reactor’s been giving us diminishing returns and our food is low. We’ve powerful friends and are independently wealthy in our own right. If you take us to a civilized world, any world of your choice, we’ll make sure you’re properly compensated for it.” Rorik continued, a much better liar than he remembered.

Nebalo rubbed at his chin. “And how do I know this ain’t just a bunch of jaw-jacking, that you two aren’t just talking a good talk to save your own skin?”

“Check our holds, whatever's there can serve as your down-payment. If we’re telling the truth, you get that, this ship, and a more than generous amount of fissens. If we’re lying, you get most of that anyway and the pleasure of killing us slowly. Either way, you win.”

Now he was rubbing even harder at his chin, his greed and violence obviously at war with each other. Teetering on the edge of decision, they just needed to give him one last gentle nudge.

“Captain,” Kara said sweetly, more sweet than Rorik had ever heard her voice before. “We aren’t trying to game you, what you see, is what you get. It’s a good deal, one we promise you won’t come to regret.”

“What I see…I get, huh?” He replied, curling his crooked teeth into something almost resembling a warm smile.

Kara returned it sweetly. “Yes, sir.”

The short, stubby man looked back and forth between them for a few moments more before finally relenting. “Take’em both aboard, treat 'em nice…but not too nice.”

A number of the men broke off and walked behind them, emphasizing their seriousness by jabbing their rifles into their backs.

“The rest of you, pull more men to work checking them holds and looking for anything of value. Whatever’s in there has got to be worth more than this boat that’s for sure,” Nebalo grinned slyly as he met Rorik’s eye again. “And if you somehow find anyone else aboard…kill them.”

They were quickly led through the tight corridors of the scrapper ship in cuffs. The air aboard was heavy with the stench of oil, rusty metal, and the filth of even more unwashed bodies. The narrow passages were cluttered with salvaged equipment and numerous incomplete repairs. The dim orange lighting barely illuminated the horde of shoddy crewmen that passed by, each with an undeserved swagger in their gait, and a glint in their eyes that made them look more like encaged animals than men. No two scrappers were the same, each seemed to carry a unique story of survival, degeneracy, and violence on their shoulders.

Rorik and Kara both maintained their calm exteriors, much to the agitation of the men trying their best to intimidate them. Their eyes darted around, assessing and gesturing subtly when either one of them noticed any points of interest or potential routes to their destination. But nothing was labeled, unsurprisingly, so they’d have to search the hard way for the topside weapons’ controls. Whether they be on the bridge or otherwise; maybe they could even ask…nicely.

Eventually, they reached a large fork in the halls that seemed to serve as a lounge; men were sitting around on couches drinking and smoking out of some sort of hookah-like contraptions, rambling to each other incessantly. Captain Nebalo sat his stocky figure on a makeshift throne fashioned from salvaged spaceship parts at its center.

“Welcome aboard the second, Battered Basilisk,” Nebalo declared, gesturing grandiosity as he waved his arms around. “I hope you find our accommodations...adequate?”

Rorik offered a polite nod, choosing his words carefully. “We appreciate the hospitality Captain…what happened to the first one if I may ask?”

“Oh, a star claimed her, long before you were born, boy.” He smiled another of his predatory smiles. “Now, my lady, I think it be time for us to…entangle ourselves.”

“Not even a drink first? Or a tour?” Kara asked playfully.

“There’ll be time a plenty for both.” Nebalo said as he shot up from his seat, bowed, and held his hand out in a mock courting gesture.

She smiled through clenched teeth at Rorik as she took the man’s hand, which more or less indicated that she was ready to kill everyone present and he was getting to that point as well. But the more Rorik had thought about it, forty-two out of a hundred truly wasn’t good enough. He wanted to even the odds a bit more if it came to a space-battle. And rather than going around disabling different systems, he could just go straight to the source, the reactor. Even projectile ship weapons needed power to move, aim, and reload themselves. A downed reactor would leave the second, Battered Basilisk completely defenseless. But just in case he failed, he still wanted Kara to go for the guns themselves, a safety net for the Gizotso in the worst case scenario.

As subtle as he could manage, he tapped her arm and whispered the words…

“You, guns, me, reactor.”

As Nebalo led her away down the hall, she rubbed her finger across her lips several times, an old Unified hand-sign for a positive affirmation.

“Wait a minute!” A man without teeth interrupted, his voice a slobbery squeak. “You’ve gotten the first run at the last two!”

“That’s true, you have!”

“It’s our turn!”

The scrappers around them broke out into a screaming protest. Getting more and more worked up as they cheered each other on.

“Captain’s privilege you ungrateful bastards!” Nebalo shouted, but he was quickly being outnumbered in the argument.

“Captain, you know we’ll follow you into the darkest depths, but if you get first run again, you might find yourself with a few more problems than you can manage.”

Several others shouted in agreement with the ultimatum.

Nebalo looked angrily between their faces, but it didn’t look like this was something the crew was willing to relent on. Eventually, he reluctantly relinquished Kara’s hand. “Fine…but don’t mess her up too badly. Leave her face alone. If I find out a man put hand to it…I’ll kill him. I want her to still be pretty when she gets around to me.”

Most of the crewmen that had led them this far picked Kara up like she was a superstar at a rock concert and cheerfully, and loudly jogged her away and around the corner.

Rorik couldn't help but risk a smirk.

If they only knew the danger they were in.

Nebalo seemed to be genuinely saddened for a few moments, until he slowly regarded Rorik suspiciously. “You’re awfully calm about your sister being used for…entertainment.”

Rorik hadn’t even thought about it like that, he rarely worried about Kara even in the most dangerous of situations. But his calm had no doubt added to any suspicions Nebalo might’ve been harboring.

“Well…Captain,” He said with mock sadness. “I’m a realist. And I know…there’s nothing I can do to stop it,” Rorik forced a pained sigh. “Better that than slowly starving or freezing to death on that death trap of a ship.”

Nebalo eyed him steely for a moment, before seeming partially satisfied with his response. He waved over several of the few men that had remained. “Lock him up in the brig.”

And as they led him away, he had to suppress another smirk.

The massive door of the disgusting cell shut behind him with a hiss, trapping him with an incredibly foul, nose-hair curling odor. An odor that reminded him of the rotting mutsu-bat they’d pulled from the Gizotso's air-controller system, it was enough to make him almost gag. He had only allowed himself to be locked up in order to give Kara more time. If both of them made their way to their objectives simultaneously, there’d be less scrappers for either of them to have to deal with. And there was no way it’d still be this quiet if she’d already made her move.

Two dim-witted guards were posted right outside his cell, their antique rifles held at the ready as they stiffly stared at him. One of them had a noticeable cross-eye while the other seemed to be drooling slightly onto his own boots. Clearly, Nebalo had picked his very best men for this assignment. The unusual staring contest unfortunately went on for a few more awkward minutes, until Rorik gratefully heard the sound of distant gunfire.

“Attention all crew, there’s a…a woman I guess, loose aboard the ship. She’s wearing gray fatigues and has black hair! Approach with extreme caution, I repeat, extreme caution!” An unknown voice shouted over the ship’s intercom.

About time, old lady.

He smiled as he shoulder-charged at the door repeatedly, ramming it over and over, more than eager to escape the smell. The sturdy hinges began to slowly warp and loosen, and the impacts echoed so loudly in the small room that it made his ears ache.

“You’re only going to hurt yourself, now why don’t you…how in the hell?!” The smarter-looking guard yelled, raising his rifle in alarm as the door began to bulge at its center.

But before he could react further, Rorik slammed into them both with a thunderous bang, sandwiching them between the dislodged door and the wall. He pressed into them with all his might, slowly crushing their frail bodies in a fleshy explosion of shattering and cracking bones. Pathetic yelps of pain barely escaped their lips as the last of the air was forcibly expunged from their lungs. All they left behind was a dark red smear and a dent in the wall as he let them drop to the ground. More than satisfied that they were dead and seeing that the barrels of their rifles had been irreparably warped, he quickly ripped the flimsy metal cuffs from his hands as he strode back out into the hall.

But as he did, he was immediately cut off by a small army of scrappers, blocking off opposite ends of the long hallway. And at the head on one side was Nebalo himself, his eyes smugly focused on him as he slowed to a stop. But Rorik's focus was immediately drawn to the third corridor right in front of him. He had to do a double-take just to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. To his surprise and great confusion, there weren’t any men stationed at its end. Was it some sort of trap, or were these scrappers every bit as stupid as they looked?

The corner of the captain’s mouth twitched into a smirk as he spoke. “I knew something was up. I'd heard rumors of strange people like you, gallivanting around the Fringe. Unusually tall, with strange fingernails, and impossibly strong. Now, until a few moments ago,” Nebalo held up a holo-pad, with a camera-feed of the brig on its screen. “I'd chalked that all up to the usual Fringe horseshit…”

Rorik ignored his continued ranting and focused his hearing down the third hallway. There wasn’t the faintest hint of a sound from that direction, well, besides the ship itself and the distant gunfire. Nary a heartbeat or even the slightest movement was present.

Every bit as stupid as they looked.

Smiling and waving good-bye, Rorik broke out into an incredibly fast sprint down the unimpeded path. The sound of panicked gunfire ricocheting off of the walls and floor behind him echoed as he left.

“Was nobody blocking that way?! Get after him you fucking morons!” Nebalo shouted angrily as Rorik got further and further away.

Like a shadow, he raced through the narrow halls of the second Battered Basilisk, knocking over a few inattentive scrappers along the way. His heightened senses were more attuned to his surroundings now that a little adrenaline had hit his bloodstream. And from around the next corner, he heard a large procession of heartbeats draw steadily closer, so he slowed to a walk as they came into sight, hoping they didn’t know to shoot at him just yet. And so far, that appeared to be true, they seemed more confused by his presence than hostile to it. One would think they’d at least be weary of a strange person considering there was still an intruder on the loose, but they looked like they could give less than a fuck about anything. It was kind of impressive actually.

“Hey how’s it going? Nice goggles. Is that a new haircut?” He offered casually to different passersby as he tried his best to look like he belonged. The longer he could go without being riddled with bullets, the better. Nearing the last one in the long line of sauntering and intoxicated scrappers, he stopped abruptly in front of him. The man, a jovial fellow with a flushed face and a red beard stumbled as he came to a stop, almost colliding with him. Spit and spilled beer surrounded his mouth and his shirt was trying and failing to cover the immensity of his gut.

“Hey, I’m kind of new and the captain said I’m assigned to learn under the guys in the reactor room, but uh, I seem to have been turned around. And with a possible intruder on board, I kind of want to know where I’m going.” He chuckled lightly.

The man hiccupped and pointed at the wall to their left, but said nothing.

“Uh, like it’s to the left at the next turn or it's literally behind this wall,” Rorik looked around. “Because I don’t see any hatches anywhere on this side of the hall.”

The man hiccupped again, smiled, and doubled down on his previous directions.

“Uh okay, thanks. I guess.” Rorik offered as he kept walking. The man turned to regard him as he left, still smiling like an idiot.

They were so…pathetic, that he could almost pity them.

Turning that next left corner, he saw a group of ten or so scrappers drunkenly stumble out of a doorway, haphazardly clutching their weapons. But as long as he kept it cool, he should be—.

“Attention all crew, update on the intruder situation! There’s now a blonde-headed man wearing the same gray fatigues on the loose. Basically, the captain says if you don’t recognize them and they ain’t wearing red? Shoot the fuckers on sight!”

The men's’ hazy eyes snapped up to meet his gaze as he started towards them. And in a drunken panic, they unleashed a barrage of rather inaccurate bullets down the hall towards him. But the hall was narrow, and enough of them tore through his chest and forced an agonized grunt from between his clenched teeth. A number of the projectiles peppered along his lower legs, forcing him to almost stumble as the more than familiar taste of his own blood flooded his mouth. Rage built in the pit of his stomach with each excruciating impact and he extended his arms at his sides in murderous anticipation. Some of them started to back-pedal and panic, confused as to why their usual brand of cowardly violence was currently ineffective. Razor-sharp claws shot out of his fingertips with a metallic hiss as he reached them, claws that glinted menacingly even in the dim light of the ship.

His hand rocketed into the chest of the nearest man with a sickening squelch, the blow powerful enough to lift the scrawny bastard off of the ground. Warm innards coated Rorik’s forearm as he burst through ribcage, flesh, and spine alike, using the man as a shield against his…friends' assault. With a spin, Rorik hurled the lifeless body into another, sending both of them crashing into the wall with bone-crunching force. As a whirlwind of teeth and claws he sliced through each and every scrapper as they tried to run, one by one. He’d become a blur of primal power they couldn’t hope to stop. They screamed uncontrollably, like children, like chimpanzees that were deathly afraid for their lives.

Which they were.

Decades of degenerate bravado melted off of these so-called men of violence like butter, before Rorik’s hungry eyes. He roared as he grabbed one of the few remaining, pulling at the shrieking man’s chest and pelvis until his flesh and bone finally gave in, ripping him in half like an insect.

And then suddenly it was…deathly quiet. His uniform now soaked in foreign blood, he slowly walked upon the last man, the last boy frozen in fear. Rorik usually didn’t enjoy violence as much as a lot of wolves did, like a certain vice lieutenant he knew. But his kindness had left him when the very first round had pierced him. He ripped the gun from his trembling hands and slashed out at his throat, bringing forth a geyser of blood from the wound as the man collapsed to the ground. Pathetically, he gasped and clutched at his torn neck, as if it could somehow save him. But Rorik’s patience had left too. Placing one boot casually on top of his head, he applied pressure until his skull cracked all over the bottom of his sole like a watermelon.

Rorik allowed himself a few calming breaths as his wounds slowly knitted themselves back together, his body subconsciously expelling any unknown elements before they did. The pain of them exiting was almost as great as when they came in. The only nearby sounds to be heard was his breathing, the metallic clanking of expended bullets clattering to the ground around him…and the sound of one remaining heartbeat.

The man he’d hit with his friend’s body before, pushed his fellow scrapper’s corpse off of himself and poorly attempted to raise his rifle with one hand. He even tried to stand, but his legs weren’t cooperating, probably because they were shattered in several places. Rorik walked up and snatched it from him, then roughly grabbed ammunition from the loose collection of magazines strapped to the man’s blue jacket. And as he filled his uniform pockets, the sounds of rushing footsteps were getting closer and closer.

He didn’t have time to deal with more, so he took the scrapper’s jacket entirely, putting it on.

“Who…what are you?” The dying man whispered.

A single round buried in his head was Rorik’s only reply. And as he went around the corner opposite of the approaching men, a funny thought came to mind…

Kara was probably having the time of her life.