The spinning cylinder on the view screen was nothing extravagant, but it was a sight for sore eyes.  A thriving garden planet hung beyond it, shining in greens and blues.  A starport!

After our talk a few days before, Stella had declared that while our provisions were in little danger of running out entirely, they were low enough after nearly a month’s travel to make resupply worth our while.

(“No point waiting until we’re down to emergency rations.  Besides, Weaver, I've seen the way you've been eating lately.  You should eat your fill!  I want no rationing on this boat unless supplies are scarce."  That would be an adjustment.  Kingfisher had been on a raiding trip.  Supplies could have turned scarce at any moment.)

Even if I had it in me to say no to her, the thought of shore leave sounded too good to pass up, even if it was only long enough for a walk and brief change of scenery.  And weight!  It had been too many weeks since I had last had real weight.

I knew just the place, a little off our course but not too far out of the way, thanks once again to Captain Osman's relentless preparedness.  She drilled everybody who joined her crew on emergency plans, including ones for long hauls.  We all knew a dozen safe hideaways in the empire and twice as many outworlds to resupply at.

“Welcome to Mara,”  said an operator through the comm panel.  “Please identify yourself and state your business so we can assign you a berth.”

Stella looked at me.  I gestured to the comm.

“This is Stella Celera aboard the, um—the Prodigal Queen.  Here to trade for provisions.”

“Thank you Prodigal Queen, now relaying guidance data.  Please proceed to Hangar A-17, and enjoy your visit.”

A path displayed itself in green over the image of the station, and there was a brief feeling of acceleration as the ship automatically nudged herself onto that course.  We slowly drifted toward the rim of the cylinder and into the hangar and its waiting clamps.  A wave of dizziness washed over me as we were swept up in the spin of the station.  I waited for it to pass before double-checking that the deck magnets were off and rising from my seat.

When we stepped out of the boarding tunnel, porters were already waiting to meet us and negotiate our purchase.

Stella had been so confused when I insisted we make a shopping list ahead of time.  She was savvy, which I found all the more impressive knowing her origins, but thus far she'd been laying low in the empire's underbelly.  This was a new frontier for her.

In imperial space, provisions could be an incredibly precious commodity for those not on the empire's good side.  Further out?  Not so bad.

Independent garden worlds are largely self-sufficient; they have everything they need right there, and offer stellar trade almost as a courtesy to the galactic community, under a strict policy of conservation.  When a planet's greatest resource is its biosphere, the priority is to protect that.  Selling goods offworld would drain the biosphere, so the rule in these ports is mass for mass: biomass for biomass, moisture for moisture, mineral for mineral, et cetera.  Sailors need to eat, and so do plants.

All that to say:  Groceries were cheap here, and so was our berth in the hangar.

Once our business was concluded, we sauntered toward the station's commons, letting ourselves adjust to the sensation of our hair and insides being pulled downward.  I was particularly aware of a tickling at the back of my neck that hadn’t been there when last I was in port.  Not in a bad way, mind you.

As we came into the main chamber, we were greeted by thick groves of forest to either side of the main road, with small footpaths winding off into them.  I could smell the living soil and hear birds chirping.  The daylight of the powerful broad-spectrum lamps above warmed my face.  For all that we were undeniably in a controlled environment—I only had to look either way to see the band of green curving up and around, punctuated at intervals by roads—after months shipboard, I might as well have been standing on solid ground.

“Fresh air!  Oh, I could cry,” said Stella, in a tone of voice that frankly seemed inappropriate for a public space.  “It’s been so long since I last saw so much green.”

“Up for a walk in the woods?” I suggested.

“Weaver, you’re a person after my own heart.”

So we did.  We made our usual idle conversation as we sauntered along, occasionally passing by other people out walking or running.  Compared to the quiet of ship life and the mechanical rhythms of the engine room, the cacophony of birds and running water was a refreshing change of pace.

Stella would alternately comment casually about whatever crossed her mind and ask me leading questions about the latest books she'd recommended to me.  She never bothered to stop me if I got caught up in rambling.

Something kept scratching quietly at the back of my mind.

"By the way, Stella, I keep wondering what made you think I was a woman."

"Girls only!" she sang.  It was clear she was teasing me, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell why.

I shot her a less-than-thrilled look.

"How about this:  I'll give you a hint.  You're asking the wrong question.  I know you like working out solutions, so think of it like a riddle.”

She was right, of course.  I did like puzzles.  Dammit, that just made me more curious.  I resolved to give it some serious thought.  Later.

After some time, we decided to return to the dock terminal and wander around on our own.

“See you at our berth in an hour, then,” she said to confirm, and headed off as soon as I nodded.

I slowly began walking the loop of the terminal, scanning the restaurants and store fronts hawking offworld goods.  I honestly didn’t lack for much traveling with Stella.  Not off the top of my head, anyway.  Life was pretty simple back home, too, after all.

A voice somewhere in the crowds managed to catch my ear.

“Why are we out so far just to look  for one fugitive anyway?” someone asked.  I eventually managed to place two men walking the same way I was.  “I know it’s the ship the prince stole, but I didn’t think they wanted him back anyway.  Why not just let him rot in the outworlds?”

Imperials?  Here?  I did my best to look focused on something else.  Thankfully, I was just another face, a random sailor stretching my legs in port.  Nobody knew or cared that I had anything to do with Stella.

If the ship was their lead, they’d be watching the docks, probably checking regularly.  I had to find Stella.  And I had to get home, find out if the Kingfisher got away safely.

Come on, Weaver, slow down and breathe…  See what you can find out.

All I had to do was keep close and act natural, right?  At least for as long as I could do so without going out of my way.  Eyes on the store fronts, ears pricked.

“I know some officers from the fleet, and they’ve apparently been hearing whispers.  A couple months ago a ship supposedly closed in on the prince’s trail and captured him.  The way they tell it, it hadn’t been a day before pirates swooped in and let him out.  And if that wasn’t enough, he dodged the prow cannon on the way out and didn’t even leave a wake to follow.  They’re starting to call him the Duke of Rogues.  I doubt that went over well at the palace.”

“But what does that have to do with this woman we’re after?”

“Did you even read the missive?”

“Well…”

“Fine, whatever.  Apparently face analysis matches her image to the prince.  Don’t ask me what it means.  They just said go get her.”

“A disguise?”

“I said don’t ask me.  Anyway, with the ship here, our piece is done.  What say we eat?”

I had to fight to keep myself from turning and bolting toward our berth.  Maybe I could catch up to Stella.  I wandered toward a shop, any shop, paused like a window shopper, then turned back the way I had come.

Before, I had kept my own pace; now I took advantage of the conveyors that ran the circumference of the terminal floor.  If I were to find Stella any sooner than our rendezvous, I’d have to head the way she went, past our berth, and keep an eye out.

It took longer than I’d have liked, but I managed to spot her window shopping.  I tapped her on the shoulder and gestured back toward the ship.  We spoke in whispers on the way.

“There are imperials here, staking us out.”

“Knights? What do we do?”

“What can we do?  We leave, get back into the weft, make it to Sanctuary, where they won’t know to look…”

Nobody was waiting to ambush us at the boarding tunnel.  Nobody came knocking at the airlock as we rushed through the automated checklist.  Nobody locked the clamps before we launched from the hangar.

I had the drive matrix charging when our comm panel chimed.  

An alert appeared on my console:  ‘High energy charge on sensors.’