"We've run the numbers twice," Tessa announced with a grimace the next morning, sliding the expense ledger across the table in the Gull's small wardroom. "Even with Lena's 'favorable terms,' we're still five thousand short of what we need for the resonance dampener."

  Dalia studied the figures, hoping they might somehow rearrange themselves into a more favorable calculation. They didn't. "And without the dampener..."

  "The crystal's energy signature will fluctuate during flight," Tessa finished. "Might as well hang a sign on the hull saying 'fugitive vessel here' for any Authority patrol with basic detection equipment."

  "What about selling something?" Lyra suggested from where she sat tending to Joran's still-healing leg. "Surely there are components we can spare temporarily?"

  Tessa shook her head. "Already stripped everything non-essential. The Gull's running lean as it is."

  A moment of heavy silence settled over the cramped space as each crew member contemplated their limited options. Port Meridian offered sanctuary for now, but with each passing day, the risk of discovery increased. They needed to complete repairs and depart—soon.

  "There is one option," Finnian said quietly from his position by the door. "The Underdeck."

  Dalia turned to her first mate. "The what?"

  "Port Meridian's black market," he explained. "Beneath the official commerce levels. Specialized components, favorable prices... for those willing to accept certain risks."

  "Illegal salvage and stolen military tech," Tessa translated with narrowed eyes. "Half of it counterfeit, the other half liable to get us arrested just for possession."

  "And the other reason legitimate captains avoid it?" Dalia pressed, sensing there was more.

  Finnian's expression remained impassive. "The Underdeck operates by its own rules. Violate them, even unknowingly, and merchant justice tends to be... decisive."

  "Sounds delightful," Arlo interjected cheerfully. "When do we go? I've always wanted to see a proper black market. Do I need to wear a disguise? I have an excellent false mustache somewhere in my quarters."

  "We don't go," Dalia corrected. "I go, with Finnian as backup. The rest of you continue repairs and keep the Gull ready for departure if things go wrong."

  Arlo's face fell comically. "But Captain, think of my valuable street contacts! My negotiation skills! My charming ability to distract guards while you slip past security checkpoints!"

  "Your charming abilities are precisely why I need you here," Dalia countered. "If Authority patrols come snooping, you're our best chance at talking our way out of an inspection."

  "Fine," Arlo sighed dramatically. "But I expect a full report. Spare no sordid detail."

  As evening approached, Dalia and Finnian prepared for their excursion. They dressed in nondescript clothing that would blend among the dockworkers and ship crews that frequented Port Meridian's less reputable areas. Finnian concealed several small weapons with practiced efficiency, while Dalia opted for a simple stunner tucked into her boot—easily accessible but not immediately visible.

  "Take this," Tessa said, pressing a small brass device into Dalia's palm. "Resonance detector. If the dampener's counterfeit, this will show irregular pattern distributions."

  "The key to the Underdeck," Finnian explained as they left the ship, "is confidence without arrogance. Look like you belong, but not like you're trying to prove it."

  "Any other cryptic advice before we plunge into a den of thieves and smugglers?" Dalia asked dryly.

  "Yes. Keep your eyes forward but your awareness wide. Most threats will come from your periphery."

  They moved through the increasingly shadowy dockyards as gas lamps and alchemical lights began to illuminate the gathering darkness. The respectable merchants had closed their shops while a different sort of commerce awakened—quieter, conducted in shadows and whispers rather than shouts and displays.

  Finnian led them away from the main thoroughfares, down increasingly narrow passages between warehouses. The air grew thicker with coal smoke and steam, the mechanical symphony of the port muffled by the pressing architecture. At one point, he paused before what appeared to be a solid wall, then pressed a specific brick in a seemingly random pattern. A hidden door swung inward, revealing a descending staircase illuminated by flickering blue-tinged lamps.

  "The Underdeck," he announced simply. "Stay close."

  The staircase descended deep below Port Meridian's official levels, eventually opening onto a sprawling underground marketplace that bore little resemblance to the orderly stalls above. The Underdeck was a maze of jury-rigged structures—shipping containers repurposed as storefronts, makeshift tents erected between structural pillars, and portable displays that could be collapsed at a moment's notice.

  Gas lamps with oddly colored flames cast the entire scene in an otherworldly light—blues and greens that made faces appear ghostly and unnatural. The crowd was an eclectic mix: ship engineers seeking parts they couldn't find through legitimate channels, crews with contraband to offload, merchants whose wares didn't meet official standards, and the various predators who thrived in such environments.

  "How do you know about this place?" Dalia asked quietly as they navigated through the throng.

  "Special Operations research," Finnian replied, eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. "Before my assignment to the Gull, I tracked illegal weapons technology through markets like this."

  "Yet another skill set that wasn't in your official dossier," she noted with a raised eyebrow.

  A ghost of a smile touched his normally impassive face. "Need-to-know basis, Captain."

  They moved purposefully through the marketplace, Finnian occasionally exchanging nods with individuals who recognized him from previous encounters. Most gave them space, respecting the quiet confidence they projected, but Dalia felt constant eyes evaluating them—assessing whether they represented opportunity or threat.

  After several minutes of navigation through the labyrinthine market, Finnian led them to a stall constructed from what appeared to be the remnants of an airship hull. Brass instruments and mechanical components hung from every available surface, while more valuable items were displayed in locked cases with reinforced glass.

  The proprietor—a wiry woman with intricate mechanical augmentations replacing her left arm—looked up from a disassembled engine part as they approached. Her calculating gaze lingered on Finnian before shifting to Dalia.

  "Yes," she acknowledged with a nod.

  Finn met her gaze: "We need specialized parts. Quality, not salvage."

  "People like you don't typically venture below deck," the woman observed, studying Dalia with renewed interest. "Must be urgent or unusual, I am Lenza by the way."

  "Both," Dalia confirmed, not mentioning her name, but deciding directness would serve better than elaborate pretense. "Resonance dampener, Harlow configuration. Mark IV or better."

  The woman's eyebrows rose. "Expensive taste. Those don't exactly fall off cargo manifests."

  "But you can acquire one," Finnian stated rather than asked.

  "Perhaps." She made a show of considering. "For the right incentive."

  "Name your price," Dalia said.

  "Fifteen thousand."

  "That's robbery," Dalia replied without hesitation. "Eight."

  "Twelve," the merchant countered. "These aren't mass-produced. Each is calibrated for specific frequencies."

  "Ten," Dalia offered, "with future business guaranteed when we return to port."

  The woman studied her, mechanical fingers clicking softly as she drummed them against the counter. "Ten," she agreed finally. "Plus a favor to be determined later."

  Alarm bells rang in Dalia's mind. Unspecified favors were dangerous currency in places like the Underdeck. "Depends on the favor," she said carefully. "Nothing that compromises my ship or crew."

  "Nothing so dramatic," the merchant assured her with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Information only. When the time comes."

  Finnian gave a nearly imperceptible nod—this was apparently standard procedure in such transactions, and within acceptable parameters.

  "Agreed," Dalia decided. "When can you deliver?"

  "Two hours. Northeast exit. Come alone." The woman's gaze flicked to Finnian, then back to Dalia. "Your shadow can wait at the perimeter."

  As they moved away from the stall, Dalia kept her expression neutral despite her concerns. "Is that normal? The separate delivery?"

  "Common practice," Finnian confirmed quietly. "Keeps business associates from knowing each other's supply chains. The request for you to come alone is concerning, however."

  "You think it's a trap?"

  "Possibly. The merchant—ilooks reliable, but also opportunistic. If someone has put a bounty on a ship captain matching your description..."

  "Then I might be worth more than the parts we're buying," Dalia finished grimly. "Options?"

  "Proceed as planned, but with precautions," Finnian decided after brief consideration. "I'll position myself near the exit point with clear sightlines. You make the exchange as agreed."

  "And if it goes badly?"

  "Then we demonstrate why crossing us is poor business practice."

  As they continued through the market, securing smaller components on their list, Dalia felt a prickling awareness—the sensation of being watched more intently than the general scrutiny of the marketplace warranted. A subtle glance revealed nothing obvious, but Finnian's marginally increased alertness suggested he'd sensed it too.

  "Three o'clock," he murmured without looking in that direction. "Blue coat, brass-framed goggles. Been following since Lenza's stall."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Dalia didn't turn to look. "Authority?"

  "Unlikely. Wrong bearing. Possibly a competitor interested in Lenza’s customers."

  They continued their shopping, moving in a practiced pattern that gradually closed the distance to one of the market's secondary exits—not the one they'd entered through, and not the one designated for the resonance dampener delivery. Better to create uncertainty about their intentions, they entered the regular market area again.

  As they navigated a particularly crowded section, Finnian suddenly gripped Dalia's arm, pulling her sharply into a narrow space between stalls. A heartbeat later, energy discharge crackled through the air where they'd been standing, striking a display of mechanical components and sending shoppers scattering in panic.

  "Definitely not Authority," Finnian observed dryly, drawing a compact pulse weapon from his jacket. "They prefer to avoid public incidents."

  The market erupted into controlled chaos—patrons diving for cover while vendors hurriedly secured valuable merchandise. A series of gas lamps shattered, plunging sections of the Underdeck into darkness interrupted only by sporadic emergency lighting.

  Dalia pressed her back against the stall's metal wall, drawing her stunner from her boot. "How many?"

  "At least three," Finnian replied, his experienced gaze cutting through the confusion. "Coordinated. Professional. This isn't random opportunism."

  Another energy pulse struck near their position, sending fragments of a merchandise display raining down around them. As shoppers fled the area, their attackers became visible—three figures in nondescript clothing distinguished only by the advanced weapons they carried and their methodical approach.

  "Bounty hunters," Finnian assessed. "High-end. Someone's paying premium for you, Captain."

  "I'm flattered," Dalia replied grimly. She quickly scanned their surroundings, assessing potential escape routes and tactical advantages. "Options?"

  "Two. Fight through them to the eastern exit, or create a diversion and slip out through the service tunnels."

  A third energy pulse struck closer, eliminating the modest cover they'd been using and forcing them to scramble to a new position. Dalia noted how their attackers were systematically eliminating escape routes, herding them toward a specific section of the market.

  "They're boxing us in," she realized. "They've planned this."

  "Indeed," Finnian confirmed. "Standard capture protocol. Minimize target mobility while avoiding direct confrontation until the target is isolated."

  "Then we don't do what they expect," Dalia decided. "We engage directly."

  Finnian raised an eyebrow. "Risky."

  "So is being captured," she countered. "On my mark, we split up. You go high, I go low. Converge on the lead hunter—the one with the modified pulse rifle."

  The first mate studied her for a moment, then nodded with something like approval. "Tactical asymmetry. Unexpected against trained professionals."

  "Exactly," Dalia confirmed. "Three, two, one... now!"

  They broke from cover simultaneously, moving in opposite directions that momentarily confused their pursuers. Finnian vaulted atop a merchant's stall, gaining the high ground, while Dalia rolled beneath a display table, emerging on the bounty hunters' flank.

  The lead hunter tracked Finnian's more visible movement, raising his weapon to fire—exactly as Dalia had anticipated. Before he could discharge the pulse rifle, she channeled a controlled burst of force—not the raw, chaotic magic that had defined her academy failures, but a focused, precise application of simple magic that struck the hunter's weapon arm.

  The rifle discharged harmlessly into the ceiling as the hunter staggered sideways. In the same moment, Finnian descended from above, his own attack neutralizing the second hunter with a precisely aimed stunner blast.

  The third bounty hunter reacted quickly, adjusting his aim toward Dalia, but she was already moving. She toppled a stack of metal crates between them, forcing him to dodge rather than fire. The momentary distraction gave Finnian the opening he needed to close distance and engage in hand-to-hand combat—a contest that ended almost as quickly as it began with the hunter unconscious on the Underdeck's grimy floor.

  "Behind you!" a familiar voice called from somewhere to Dalia's left. She spun to find a fourth attacker emerging from the shadows, weapon already raised—only to be struck from behind by Arlo, who'd seemingly materialized from nowhere to bring a heavy wrench down on the hunter's shoulder.

  "Fancy meeting you here," the navigator grinned as the attacker crumpled. "Lovely establishment, though the clientele leaves something to be desired."

  "Arlo?" Dalia gaped in astonishment. "What are you—"

  "Saving your hides, apparently," he replied cheerfully, though his eyes remained alert as he scanned for additional threats. "You really thought I'd stay on the ship while you two had all the fun?"

  "I gave you a direct order," Dalia reminded him, though her tone lacked genuine anger—especially given the timely nature of his intervention.

  "Which I interpreted creatively," Arlo agreed. "Lucky thing, too. These gentlemen weren't alone."

  He gestured subtly toward the market's main thoroughfare, where several dark-clad figures were now moving purposefully in their direction—apparently some sort of market security, distinguished by the red bands around their arms and the heavy stunners they carried.

  "Market enforcers? Violate market peace, face market justice." Finn mused.

  "Which tends to be unpleasant and permanent," Arlo added. "Perhaps a hasty exit is in order?"

  Before they could move, the enforcers surrounded them, weapons raised. Dalia assessed their chances—poor, given the enforcers' numbers and the crowded environment that would limit their movement options.

  "Peace violation," the lead enforcer stated flatly. "Discharge of weapons. Property damage. Market ban, minimum. Restitution required."

  "We were defending ourselves," Dalia objected, gesturing toward the unconscious bounty hunters. "They attacked us without provocation."

  "Irrelevant," the enforcer replied. "Market peace is absolute. No exceptions."

  Arlo stepped forward before Dalia could argue further, his posture suddenly transformed from his usual casual demeanor to something more formal. "Respectfully, Enforcer, market jurisdiction does recognize the right of preemptive defense against proven hostiles."

  The enforcer's eyes narrowed. "Cite precedent."

  "The Cordova Ruling, third market council, winter session," Arlo replied without hesitation. "Wherein Captain Mikael was absolved of peace violation after defending against assassins who had declared open contract."

  The enforcer studied him with new assessment. "You know our ways."

  "I respect them," Arlo corrected smoothly. "As do my companions. We acted only to preserve lives—ours and those of the innocent merchants caught in the crossfire."

  A tense moment passed as the enforcer considered this argument. Finally, he nodded curtly. "Restitution is still required. Five thousand for damages."

  "Three thousand," Arlo countered. "The weapon discharge was primarily from the hostiles, not us."

  "Four thousand. Final offer."

  Arlo glanced at Dalia, who gave a slight nod. "Accepted," he agreed. "Paid immediately in mixed coinage?"

  The transaction was completed with surprising efficiency, the enforcer providing a stamped metal chit that apparently served as proof of settlement within the market's internal justice system.

  "You are cleared of violation," the enforcer announced formally. "But advised to conclude business and depart. Further incidents will not be viewed favorably."

  As the enforcers moved away, taking the still-unconscious bounty hunters with them for their own form of processing, Dalia turned to Arlo with newfound respect. "Where did you learn market law?"

  "Misspent youth," he replied with a wink. "Before the Academy decided I needed proper structure and discipline. Did you know the Market has its own legal code? Fascinating mix of maritime law, tribal custom, and mercantile pragmatism."

  "You continue to surprise, Mr. Beckett," Dalia acknowledged. "Though following us without authorization still warrants discussion."

  "Can that discussion include praise for my timely intervention and impressive negotiation skills?" he asked hopefully.

  "It will include many things," she assured him, struggling to maintain a stern expression. "Now, we still have a resonance dampener to acquire."

  The designated meeting point for the parts delivery was thankfully undisturbed by the earlier commotion. Lenza arrived precisely on time, accompanied by a single assistant carrying a reinforced case. Her expression revealed nothing as she noted that Dalia had brought both Finnian and Arlo despite instructions to come alone.

  "Business complications?" she inquired.

  "Nothing that concerns our transaction," Dalia replied evenly. "Unless you're somehow connected to the bounty hunters who attempted to capture me."

  "Bounty hunters are bad for business," Lenza stated with what seemed like genuine distaste. "They disrupt commercial relationships and attract official attention."

  She gestured for her assistant to open the case, revealing a gleaming device of copper and brass with intricate crystalline components embedded throughout its structure. "Harlow configuration resonance dampener, Mark V. Newest version, not even in official circulation yet."

  Tessa would be ecstatic, Dalia knew. The Mark V was several generations beyond what they'd hoped to acquire.

  "The agreed price," she said, producing the payment in mixed currency as was standard for Underdeck transactions—harder to trace than pure corporate scrip or territorial notes.

  Lenza counted it efficiently, then passed the case to Dalia. "A pleasure doing business, Captain. When the time comes for that favor, you'll be contacted discreetly."

  "I look forward to it," Dalia replied diplomatically, though inwardly she made a note to scrutinize any future communications from Port Meridian with particular care.

  As they made their way back to the Gull, parts secured and additional bounty hunters successfully avoided, Finnian broke his usual reserved silence. "You handled yourself well back there. Tactically sound decisions under pressure."

  Coming from him, this constituted high praise. "I had good examples to follow," Dalia acknowledged. "And some timely assistance." She glanced meaningfully at Arlo, who maintained an expression of exaggerated innocence.

  "The old Academy approach would have had us retreating, calling for backup, following established protocols that don't work in places like the Underdeck," she continued thoughtfully. "But sometimes direct engagement is the better option, especially when your opponent expects evasion."

  "A lesson many never learn," Finnian agreed. "Particularly those trained in rigid systems."

  "The Academy teaches control above all else," Dalia reflected. "Contain your magic, contain your impulses, contain your questions. But sometimes the situation demands controlled release rather than continued suppression."

  "Like the difference between a pressure valve and a sealed chamber," Arlo suggested. "One releases tension strategically, the other eventually explodes."

  Dalia smiled at the apt comparison. "Exactly. My problem at the Academy wasn't that I had too much power or too many impulses—it was that I was taught only to bottle them up rather than direct them purposefully."

  Aboard the ship, Tessa's expression shifted from concern to relief to excitement as they presented the resonance dampener. "A Mark V?" she exclaimed, examining the device with obvious appreciation. "How did you manage—actually, don't tell me. I probably don't want to know the details."

  "Probably not," Arlo agreed cheerfully. "Though I did demonstrate remarkable linguistic proficiency in obscure market juridical terminology."

  "I'm sure you did," Tessa replied distractedly, already cataloging the dampener's specifications. "This changes our timeline. With this installed, we could be flight-ready by tomorrow evening instead of having to wait longer."

  "Make it happen," Dalia instructed. "The sooner we're mobile, the better. Our shopping expedition attracted more attention than I'd like, too."

  Later that evening, as the crew finalized preparations for the next day's departure, Dalia found Finnian on the observation deck, his vigilant gaze scanning the docks below.

  "Something's changed," he observed without turning as she joined him. "The bounty hunters, they weren't just random opportunists."

  "They knew who I was," Dalia agreed. "They were prepared specifically for us."

  "Which means word of our presence in Port Meridian has spread further than we'd hoped."

  Dalia nodded, leaning against the railing beside him. "The question is whether it was Caldwell or Hayes who picked up our trail."

  "Perhaps neither," Finnian suggested. "Perhaps both. The bounty hunters' tactics were military-derived but executed with mercenary precision."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning we may be facing coordinated efforts from multiple adversaries, each with their own agenda regarding you and the crystal."

  The thought was sobering. Dalia had been focused primarily on evading the Academy and Authority forces they knew about, not considering that others might have entered the hunt.

  "We need information," she decided. "About who's looking for us, what they know, what resources they command."

  "Agreed," Finnian nodded. "Though acquiring such intelligence while maintaining a low profile presents challenges."

  Dalia found herself smiling despite the gravity of their situation. "After today's excursion, I think we've demonstrated that challenges can be opportunities in disguise."

  She gazed out over Port Meridian's nighttime panorama—a tapestry of lights and shadows, legitimate commerce and underground dealings, official authority and unsanctioned power. Somewhere in that complex ecosystem were the answers they needed, connections that could help them understand the forces arrayed against them.

  "Tomorrow we fly," she said with quiet determination. "But we don't just run. We start gathering information, building our own network. It's time we stopped reacting and started directing our course."

  Finnian studied her with that inscrutable gaze that somehow managed to convey assessment and approval simultaneously. "As you say, Captain. The hunt begins."

  Dalia turned away from the railing, her purpose crystallized by the day's events. "Brief the crew, Finn. I want everyone ready for departure at first light. Port Meridian has been useful, but we've outstayed our welcome."

  Tomorrow, the Crimson Gull would fly again. And this time, they would be the hunters, not the hunted.