Bee once again found herself in Wanderlust's shuttle strapped into the tiny foldout seat behind the command chair, this time wearing her white and gray loaner nullsuit. Truly and the Captain sat up front, both fully armored. She noticed the pistol strapped to each man's waist and wondered how often they found a reason to use them.

The padded helmet on her suit didn't restrict her movement or visibility too much—she could turn her neck about ninety degrees and the visor was wide enough to allow full use of her peripheral vision. She preferred the visor's HUD disabled since she didn't know what half of it meant but she'd been keeping herself occupied on the ride to Optima by studying the flood of information the suit's computer could provide her with.

She could squint at any object in her line of sight and by tracking her eye movements the computer inspected what she was looking at, outlined it, and provided extra information about it. The level of detail astonished her—she tried the glove on her suit and a window appeared next to it displaying everything from the manufacturer to the list of materials it was made with. The exhaustive encyclopedic data bored her and she closed the window.

In the bottom right corner a square minimap displayed the shuttle moving toward a cartoonish rendering of Optima. Above the map two thick-framed squares displayed the faces of her crewmates with accompanying labels showing their full names: Captain Victor Anson and First Officer Winston Desmond Truly.

"Will there be pirates on Optima?" Bee asked into her mic.

"Can't sneeze in there without hitting one or two convicts," said Captain Anson. "And anyone who isn't a marked pirate already probably just hasn't been caught yet."

"The only kind of pirates we'll run into today are just flies buzzing around this floating turd of a rock. Optima breeds scavengers, opportunists, not warriors," Truly said. "The Families are the ones behind all the serious plundering—they're the pirates the Core Fleet went after. Organized, effective killers and thieves that use the belt like feeding grounds. But they don't operate in plain sight this close to the Core."

"What do you mean? Starhawk's attacking Surface right now," Bee said. "What's stopping them from trying something here?"

"First off, Optima's different," said Captain Anson. "Used to be a prison colony before the rebellion and they still run it like one. The Core Fleet has a reserve here guarding the gate five times what they left back on Surface. Troopers make regular patrols to remind everyone who's in charge. They keep the peace, make sure the goods are always flowing through the gate."

Truly added, "And you also can't forget Starhawk is acting against the Families. They were very content to work in the shadows—they never wanted the attention he's brought on them. It's only because of his aggression the Core Fleet went after them."

"So who are they exactly?" Bee asked. "The Families. Is that a literal thing, or...?"

Truly said, "They're not all related, but leadership does tend to get passed along the bloodlines. There are five Families in total, each headed by a Boss. They're independent from one another, but there's a set of rules the Bosses vote on which every Family member must follow: no raids into the Core, for example.

"The Families have been around for generations—since before the rebellion, back when you could look through the interstellar gate and see Earth on the other side. After the gate went down they realized they had a golden opportunity: Earth had lost control and with the rebel fleet in tatters the Families exploited the power vacuum to their advantage. That was piracy's—and the Families'—golden age in our system."

Captain Anson took over again. "That's where privateers entered the picture. Without a central force capable of policing the system, the new government contracted privateers to defend traders and settlements from pirates. I was barely fifteen when I went out the first time."

"Fifteen!" Bee said. "I thought you couldn't join up until eighteen."

"Different rules back then," the Captain said. "They needed every able-bodied soldier they could get, so nobody asked. You signed up, you shipped out."

"Why did you go?"

"I thought you wanted to know about the Families," he griped. "Why would you want to hear a boring old man talk about his past?"

"Doesn't sound boring to me."

With a begrudging grumble the Captain elaborated. "I was the youngest of three brothers. They joined up so I did too and that's that."

"Were you on the same crew as them?"

"No. Enough questions."

"Did you ever see them?"

The Captain blocked her from the channel.

"Sorry," Bee said, but heard no reply. She tried to open the channel again, received an error, and muttered, "Captain Overreaction is right."

"You used my joke!" exclaimed Myra inside her helmet. Again the AI surprised Bee enough to make her jump. Myra hadn't said a word the whole ride.

"Have you been here the whole time?" Bee asked, laughing off the minor adrenaline spike.

"Shh, don't let them know," Myra said in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm a stowaway."

Bee straightened in her seat and tried her best to act normal—then decided sulking would be more appropriate and crossed her arms, looking away from Truly and the Captain as much as possible.

"Myra—! They don't know you're here?" asked Bee.

"It's our little secret," Myra said.

"Where... are you?"

"You'll never guess. Go ahead, try. I love guessing games."

"I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Fine, you're no fun. This actually isn't me you're talking to—well, not all of me. I made a mini-sized version of myself and stashed it inside your suit's computer. Wanted to see what you guys got up to."

"Inside my suit. Great. Now I'm your accomplice. I don't need to give them another reason to be pissed at me."

"Oh, hush," said Myra. "They won't find out unless you tell them and even if you did it was all my idea."

"Still, why did you have to bring me into it—"

The channel she'd been kicked from opened up again.

"You talking to yourself?" asked Truly.

"Yeah, so what?" she snapped.

He snorted and shook his head. "We're docking now."

#

While the Captain went to pick up power cells to replace the ones Myra vented into space, Bee and Truly remained with the shuttle to receive the supplies Silver had arranged. They stood on the ramp of the open cargo bay at the aft end of the ship.

"So this is Optima," Bee said, checking out the pressurized docking area around them. She walked down the lowered ramp, taking careful shuffling steps, still getting used to the way the boots on her nullsuit pulled toward the floor while the rest of her weighed nothing.

"Yup," said Truly. "It's a shithole—watch where you step."

"Doesn't look that bad," said Bee, but as she looked closer at the tiny private docking room she saw missing wall panels with loose wires dangling free, scorch marks from laser fire, and massive dents where it looked like ships had smashed against the walls. In places she saw bare rock behind the metal.

"Glad you're wearing a suit?" he asked.

"Why don't they fix this stuff?"

"Works well enough they don't need to. No sense keeping everything in perfect condition when it stands a pretty good chance of getting ruined anyway."

"Makes sense I guess," Bee said, wandering toward the airlock Captain Anson had gone through minutes before. It had no screen like the ones on the orbital station, not even a window. It was just a thick metal door with a wheel in the center. "He gonna be back soon?"

"Yeah, soon," said Truly. He waited a beat and added, "He's soft for you, you know. The Captain."

"What do you mean?"

He crossed his arms and shook his head with a humorless laugh. "Took me a damn long time to earn my way onto his ship and you don't even know who he is."

Bee spun to face Truly. "Why, who is he?"

He went back inside the shuttle. "Find out yourself."

She dropped out of Truly's channel. "Myra?"

"Sorry, I can't tell you anything. Captain's orders."

"Seriously?"

"He was very specific. Of course, if you took it upon yourself to look him up I couldn't stop you."

Bee remembered what they'd said about the Captain's reputation on Optima, but she just assumed pirates hated all privateers. He must have been a bigger name than she realized. Victor Anson, Victor Anson. Come to think of it, it did have a familiar ring. After opening a search bar on her HUD Bee said, "Captain Victor Anson privateer."

A window appeared in the center of her visor with the results. Near the top a row of headshots scrolled across left to right. That was him, alright, but much younger. Underneath the pictures dozens of links pointed to additional information. Bee opened the first result and started reading.

#

"When will they be here?" Governor Strump asked, scowling at the screen next to Wanderlust's port side airlock. The screen showed the view out the ship, Optima bright and inviting on its sunward side and consumed by darkness on the other.

While the Captain and Truly took the girl to Optima for supplies, Silver had been tasked with transferring the Governor to a Core Fleet escort on its way to take the official to the safety of their military base. As the last ship leaving Surface, Wanderlust was the Governor's only option for a hasty escape from the planet.

"Myra, any update?" Silver called.

"Aristeia says one minute until they dock," she replied over the speakers. "They're matching course with us now."

"Good," Silver grunted, glad to get rid of Strump, though as a passenger the man had been much less trouble than Silver thought at first.

The Governor kept opposite hours from the rest of the crew, sleeping during the "day" and active at "night." As a result he'd been practically a ghost—and even better, the fabricant Gim fetched the Governor's meals and anything else he needed. Silver had hardly needed to do anything at all for them.

"Why can't I see them?" Strump squinted and searched the screen.

"Here you go," Myra said as a golden yellow outline appeared in the distance onscreen, growing with alarming speed as it moved toward Wanderlust.

Strump backed into the wall. "Aren't they going too fast?"

"Don't worry, we're synced," Myra assured him.

"But—they're coming right at us," he said with his hand over his mouth. "Are you sure?"

Silver stood in front of the screen, dismissing the Governor's worries with a wave of his hand. "Just don't think about it. Starships are built to stop at any speed."

"How—"

"I said don't think about it. Myra knows what she's doing."

"Just want to be home again," the Governor muttered. "Everywhere else is miserable."

"How long until you go back?" Silver asked.

Strump smoothed back his hair, regaining his composure. "Who knows. As soon as this Starhawk fiasco burns itself out, I suppose. Until then it's back to running things remotely."

Myra said, "Aristeia docking at the port side airlock now."

Silver turned to look at the screen, watching the sleek white Core Fleet corvette on approach. The starship slowed just as quickly as it came in, spinning on its axis to face its starboard airlock toward Wanderlust's. Myra's yellow outline faded and Silver admired Aristeia as she drifted closer.

A finely crafted ship with sultry curves and modern weaponry, Silver guessed Aristeia must have been a new model fresh from the ship forges on little Coronis near the sun. Smaller than Wanderlust but she didn't need the extra bulk with all that compact weaponry. Silver didn't doubt the leaner craft could carve Wanderlust to pieces without a problem.

The outer airlock swung open and two Core troopers armored in black and blue stepped through. Silver grabbed the wheel on the airlock door and spun it. As he pulled the heavy door in he said, "Best of luck, Governor. Looks like you're in good hands."

#

"Hey, I got a video from your old boss," Myra said to Bee on their private channel.

Bee, floating in place in her suit as she read about the Captain, tore her eyes away from the engrossing text in front of her. "Hargrove?"

"Yep. I didn't open it yet in case you were wondering."

"Can I open it here? Or should I wait?"

"Go ahead," said Myra. "It'll pause if anyone starts talking to you."

"Thanks Myra." Bee watched as the video appeared in a window on her HUD. 

She almost didn't recognize Hargrove without his uniform. He wore some kind of glossy white outfit that zipped down the front. Besides that he looked his usual self, clean shaven and dimpling with a smile as he spoke, but Bee noticed he was sitting in what looked like a hotel room at the Midtown. Maybe he sent it before they went underground.

"Hello Buttercup," he began, fidgeting with the collar of the outfit. "Can't be too long here and I'm not sure you'll even get this, but here goes. I know where you are. I don't blame you leaving—I always expected you would someday—but I had hoped for a proper goodbye at least."

Guilty tears welled up in her eyes, a hot rush that took her by surprise. Out of habit she tried to wipe them away but instead smacked a gloved hand against her visor and the droplets spilled down her cheeks. Feeling stupid, Bee bit her lip and tried to watch through the tears.

"It's okay, it was probably for the best anyway. Looks like you got out of here right in time. There are just a few things I would have liked to say before you went. I don't know where you've been or where you're going and I never asked. But let me tell you something, Buttercup." Hargrove leaned in close enough for her to see the corners of his eyes crease up as he smiled. "Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I'm just glad to have helped you on your way. You've got a good head on your shoulders—keep that chin up and you'll go a long way."

The video ended.

#

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