Two-Gut Gruce grabbed Hargrove by the collar and hauled the big man to his feet. With a hostage he had some bargaining power. If Starhawk was still around they had a chance, but without a ride off planet Gruce knew they'd be corpses soon. "Pluck, check our exit."

Pluck glided off to the tiny hidden gate.

Gruce powered on his comms and opened the channel to Starhawk as he forced his prisoner to limp into the room he'd come out of on his wounded leg. Two-Gut swept the room for danger, found nothing. More troopers would be on the way—they'd need somewhere more defensible. If the shelter door held they could go back but otherwise they'd be stuck topside in a city full of angry guns.

"Boss, Gruce here. Got a hostage—it's the guy who bagged Lee. We're pinned inside the city. Do I have an out?"

Moments crawled by. No response. After a week of suspended communications Gruce feared Starhawk was either dead or gone. Even alive he might be in no position to help. But without extraction he and Pluck had no hope. Gruce cursed himself for letting Starhawk hound him into an alliance. He would have been better off sticking with the Family back in the belt instead of following Starhawk into the meat grinder.

"You promised me a map." Starhawk broke the silence at last.

Gruce contained as best he could the combined flood of relief and terror Starhawk's voice brought on, conscious of the fact that he'd failed his original mission. "City's too hot. Couldn't get in. Maybe if Jensen—"

"I hear excuses. The only thing I want from you is that map."

"We can't—we're barely alive, been hiding out for days with nothing me and Pluck we can't—"

"You're blubbering, you useless old walrus. I knew I couldn't trust you to do this yourself." Starhawk made an angry growl. "Still have a few good birds planetside but the carriers are getting slagged in orbit keeping us covered. With a hostage we can call for a ceasefire, make demands. Unless you want to rest your eyes for a while?"

Gruce ignored the sarcasm, too fatigued for confrontation. "I'm ready."

"That dirtwalker might know something about Lee and the map. Find out what. Rough him up a bit, blood and bruises. And send your camera feed. I need something for these inner-world maggots to be afraid of."

"Heard, boss," Gruce said as he linked up to Starhawk.

Pluck's shrill voice broke in. "Found another little Core sheep!"

"Bring it here, we'll see what they know. What about our exit?"

"Had to close it up tight, all full of tin men. Left them a nasty surprise to shut the other ring—the last of our grenades."

"Good, Pluck. Good boy, come back here now."

#

Starhawk aboard his warship Deep Fog circled above the dome of Capitol City with his remaining fleet. Hovering in limbo between the massive orbital guns and the city's defenses was their only option while they waited for the map.

"Fine citizens of the Core," Starhawk said into his helmet, pausing for dramatic effect as he began the recording. "I, the Starhawk, free man and proud pirate, have captured one of your pirate-killers. Our only hope in coming here was to get our man Jensen Lee back home safe. Again I extend the offer. I want his body returned to us with his armor. Though far from a fair trade we're willing to exchange him for Lee's body. If not—"

"Boss, them space guns got a lock on us," a panicked pilot's voice screeched in Starhawk's ear, interrupting his take. "Scatter, right? Scatter?"

"Keep formation!" he roared, flecks of spit dotting his visor. "They can't fire on us from orbit without hitting the city, you nullskull! Any one of you even thinks of breaking away I'll cut you in half."

Starhawk clenched his gauntleted fist, seething at the thought of his grand opportunity being squandered. Everything hung on Two-Gut's pudgy slumped shoulders.

He cast aside his doubts and continued his recording where he'd left off. "If not you'll have put my back to the wall. I'll have no choice but to come for Jensen Lee myself. We leave no man behind. These are your options. Choose wisely."

The feed from Gruce's helmet camera took up a small square of Starhawk's HUD. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Gruce leaned in close to the quivering hostage to get a detailed shot of his battered face. Hargrove arched away from the armored pirate as much as he could in the chair he was tied to. Swelling on the right side of his face had his eye nearly shut completely. Blood trickled from a split lower lip.

"Good, that'll work fine," said Starhawk. "Get what you can from him and keep him alive. We'll need him to get out of here."

Combining his recording and the footage of Hargrove into one video, Starhawk broadcast his message on all common channels. Anyone listening would pick it up and everyone in the Core had to have an ear out for his messages. Starhawk watched Gruce's feed as the exhausted pirate knocked the hostage around with several armored slaps.

"Tell me what you know about Slack Dog," Gruce blasted from his suit's external speakers.

"Go on, you brutes," Hargrove groaned. "Do what you want, I won't breathe a word. Go on then."

"Here's the other," Pluck sang as he forced a man in an identical jumpsuit onto his knees next to Hargrove.

"That one's a fabricant, you moron," snapped Starhawk. "A Robert model, I've seen them before. Spike him for data, he's no use as a hostage."

Pluck gasped, drawing the data spike from his belt. "I never knew! Looked so real I never knew I never knew. Let's see what you know, dearest."

"What are you doing?" demanded Hargrove as Pluck advanced on Robert626. "Stop that. You don't need to do that. Please."

No response from the little man as he raised the spike in the air, the attached cord a black snake dangling in the air. Robert626 locked eyes with Hargrove and said, "We'll come for you, brother."

Pluck grabbed Robert626 by the hair and forced his head down before plunging the spike into the base of the fabricant's neck. White viscous fluid seeped from the wound and Robert626 spasmed, held in place as Pluck let go of the spike to grip him by the shoulders. Hargrove shouted with horror, toppling over in his chair as he struggled to break free of his restraints.

"Oh dearest—this one... this one's ripe with knowing," Pluck said with a euphoric slur. He swayed as he stood, muttering incoherently over the channel. Suddenly Pluck slid the spike free, dropped the twitching fabricant, and stabbed a finger at Hargrove. "He sent a message to Optima! A privateer ship."

"Privateers," Starhawk growled. "Dirtlicking privateers."

"Not just any," Pluck said. "It's Wanderlust."

Starhawk crowed with laughter. "Anson! Of course it's Anson! Of all the privateer crews in the system—this is fate, boys, no question. What did he say?"

"Just lovey-dove nonsense to some girl. She left with Wanderlust before we came."

"Find out who she is."

Pluck sifted through Robert626's memories starting with the stored visual feed of most recent events, stopping where necessary to inspect certain sequences more closely. He licked his lips, nearly slobbering as he pored through the data stockpile from the dead fabricant. So much delicious—so many files—he saw through Robert626's eyes the video of a girl who boarded Wanderlust. She left shortly after, followed by a man from the ship. He grabbed her, they fought, and when the alarms on the station started she fled with the man from Wanderlust.

Farther back the fabricant had seen surveillance videos from the hotel. More of the girl—they must have been looking for her. She had to be important to have them sniffing around topside under bombardment. In another video she served drinks behind a bar, talked to a patron. Pluck recognized the man as he stood with a drunken stagger—Slack Dog! The video flashed forward and showed the girl leave the bar briefly, returning to pick something up off the bar. A phone.

"The girl spoke with Slack Dog, took his phone. She could have a copy of the map Jensen missed. Sending vids now."

Starhawk watched what Pluck saw. "Find out for sure. If they've got another copy I've got some grubs on Optima who can relieve them of it."

"The girl took Slack Dog's phone with her off planet," Pluck said. "Sold it to the privateers—and for a good chunk of coin, too. Nothing here to tell where after that though."

"Anson. Had to be Anson." Starhawk growled and slammed his fist against his knee. "Can't be a coincidence. Keep looking, Pluck. Find out where they're headed after Optima. We're going after them, this city's a lost cause. Hold tight boys, we'll get you out of there. We'll need to trade that hostage for safe passage."

Gruce whirled on Hargrove and yanked the sobbing man upright in the chair as his speakers boomed, "The girl you sent the message to! Where's she going after Optima?"

Hargrove snapped to attention. Buttercup. He shook his head in defiance and spat on Gruce's visor. "If I knew I wouldn't help you. They're going to come for you, all of you. You won't get away."

The glob of spit oozed down the pirate's faceplate. Gruce dug armored fingers into Hargrove's shoulder with one hand, made a fist with the other, and jabbed a weak punch into the man's gut. A strike even approaching full force could easily kill an unarmored target. Hargrove doubled over coughing and gasping for breath.

#

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