Gravel, another drink on hand, walked through the corridor lined with reinforced doors—manual locks only. On his other hand was a small, circular holo-projector, the kind meant for private, short-range comms. He flicked it on with a tap of his thumb, and after a brief static flicker, Xaxx’s image materialized above the device.

  Xaxx was reclined, one boot propped against the edge of his seat. His jacket was slung over the chair behind him, and a faint glow from his ship’s console cast angular shadows on his metal mask. The edges of the mask were etched with geometric patterns, with narrow eye slits showing just enough of his eyes—black irises with no white.

  “—and that’s how I left the Verge.” He finished his sentence.

  Why were they talking on private comms? Nobody else wanted to entertain talking to Xaxx for more than ten minutes.

  Gravel stared at him, then took a long, slow sip from his own drink. “Uh-huh. So just to recap, your plan was . . . what? Screw over the warlord What’s-her-name, set fire to your old crew’s hangout, and then joyride your way across the stars?”

  Xaxx smirked. “Not my old crew. They were never my crew. Just a bunch of scavengers with delusions of grandeur.” He stretched. “And technically, she wasn’t a warlord. More of a . . . self-proclaimed ‘Trade Baron.’”

  Gravel clicked his tongue. “So a pirate.”

  Xaxx raised his glass in a mock toast. “Exactly.”

  As Gravel walked past Hunter, she gave him a look and asked, “Did the guy tell you why he wanted to find Vanje?”

  Gravel stopped. “Oh yeah. I was too busy thinking about where to get a replica of that mask he’s wearing. Where are you going?”

  “Checking in on Sloan. She hasn’t tried to mingle much.”

  “What did you expect her to do? Teach Fang how to file corporate tax evasion reports?”

  Hunter shot him a dry look. “I don’t know. I want her to act like she’s part of the crew instead of a loaned-out consultant counting the days until she can ditch us.”

  “She’s not part of the crew. You realize that, right?”

  A moment of silence.

  “I’m still here,” Xaxx voice rang over comms.

  Gravel replied, “So my man, what exactly is the reason you want to look for that shady guy?”

  Hunter had already walked away.

  “We’re all shady people here, Captain. Anyway . . .” Xaxx swirled his drink, watching the liquid catch the dim light from his console. “He knows how to crack things open.”

  “Of course. What else is the guy useful for? He can’t play flickball.”

  He tapped a gloved finger against his knee. “If I don’t get to him, a lot of people are gonna have a bad day.”

  Gravel exhaled through his nose. “You mean you’re gonna have a bad day.”

  Xaxx smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Me and a lot of people.”

  Gravel studied him for a second, squinting, squinting harder. Then sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “Yeah, okay. I hate how much I kind of get that.”

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  ***

  The glow of the instrument panels cast soft, shifting hues over the consoles inside the cockpit. Bathed in the ethereal glow of azure, emerald, and amber lights, the cockpit itself looked much more maintained than the common room, even if Gravel had insisted otherwise. Hua Fang had stripped it bare and redesigned it whichever way she preferred, and added random objects in corners, such as a sphere of polished jade dangling from a slender red cord. Her good luck charm. A lone painting of some sort of white bird poised at the edge of a tranquil lake stuck out like a sore thumb. Fang told the crew it was an extinct species of bird on Earth—the heron. She never really cared for it, but grew attached to the painting as many of her other memorabilia was mistakenly ejected during a hasty repair job gone wrong. Priest would often catch her staring at it during long, silent stretches of space, and each time she caught him looking, she’d come up with hasty explanations as to why she was looking at it. Priest had never responded with anything other than a nod.

  Priest’s visor automatically adjusted to the low light as he stepped in. He didn’t say anything at first—just took in the sight of Fang, reclined in her chair with her head tilted back, facing up toward the ceiling, mouth slightly parted. Her arms hung loosely at her sides. An empty caffeine packet lay crumpled near her hand.

  He could’ve deducted she had a heart attack had he not seen this pose a hundred times before.

  He exhaled quietly and moved to the adjacent console. The chair hissed as he sank into it, fingers already pulling up a document he’d labelled as Classified. He figured she’d wake up eventually.

  He just didn’t expect it to be that fast.

  Fang jolted, eyes wild as she sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ll be better!”

  A beat of silence.

  Priest finished keying in a system command before glancing at her. “Fang. How long since you last slept? Before this.”

  She blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear her head, and wiped at her face. “I—uh—” She paused, looking at the crumpled caffeine packet, grabbing it and shoving it into her pocket. “I don’t know. I think . . . I took a nap earlier?”

  “When?”

  Fang squinted at the console. “Couple of hours?”

  “We were making a run for our lives a couple of hours ago, Fang. Try twenty-six.”

  Fang groaned, running both hands through her messy hair. “Okay, but I’ve been drinking coffee, so it balances out. And the ship’s on auto anyway.”

  “Okay. There have been millions of studies about the side effects of caffeine, just so you know.”

  “It’s fine. Tasty with plenty of side effects? It reminds me of home.” She grinned as she put on her goggles. Their augmented display synced with the cockpit’s systems to shield her eyes from the blinding flashes of starlight. Fang never really needed it; it was just to show she was in full concentration mode.

  Fang fidgeted, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her thigh. She started to speak, paused, and then stayed silent.

  Priest’s visor glitched faintly as he noticed her unease. He said nothing.

  Fang stirred again, her jaw tightening as if wrestling with her words. “Hey, old pop, do you know if—” She cut herself off, chewing the inside of her cheek.

  Priest stayed still.

  After a moment, Fang shook her head and forced a smile. “Actually . . . Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

  Priest didn’t press. His hand danced around on the console; Fang had rarely seen him using all ten fingers.

  “You’re always typing, but you never look like you’re running diagnostics,” Fang muttered, cracking one eye open from her seat.

  Priest didn’t look up. “Right now, I am not.”

  Fang stretched her arms overhead, yawning. “Then what are you doing? Tweaking our nav systems? Hacking into McPherson’s private banking accounts?”

  Priest’s fingers didn’t pause on the console. “Reading the Intergalactic Daily.”

  Fang snorted. “Yeah? What’s the headline?”

  “‘Local Idiot Ignores Sleep for Three Days, Shocked When Consequences Arrive.’”

  Fang groaned, kicking her feet up on the console next to him. “Wow, riveting. Bet it’s got a whole expose on my caffeine habits, too.”

  Priest finally glanced at her. “No, that’s in the opinion section.”

  Fang narrowed her eyes at him before smirking. “Alright, fine. Keep your secrets.” She then turned to the dark void ahead. “If I take an actual nap, will you wake me up before we get to Mendax-12?”

  Priest’s visor dimmed, the equivalent of a slow blink. “Yes.”

  She was asleep five minutes later, goggles on.