"Myra, what's going on?" Bee called as she hurried to the bridge, darting through an open bulkhead door.

"Nothing to worry about, kiddo," came Myra's chipper ambient voice. "I would have sounded the alarm. Why don't you just go eat your breakfast? All that food's gonna go to waste!"

Bee slowed to a confused walk. "But where is everyone?"

"You've got nothing to worry about, Buttercup. Go on and eat, the others will join you shortly."

"Why won't you answer me?"

Myra said nothing.

Bee's heartbeat picked up. The computer wouldn't answer a direct question—she was hiding something. Dread grasped her by the throat and squeezed. Talking to Myra felt different ever since the Captain took her offline and tweaked her. Bee couldn't trust her the same anymore. No more favors.

"Where's the rest of the crew?" Bee asked.

"Please return to the dining room," said the AI in timid reply.

Defiant, Bee continued on her way until she found that one of the other doors between her and the bridge was shut. She grasped the wheel and tried to open it. Locked. Bee pounded on the dark metal. "Let me through!"

No response. She pressed her ear to the door but heard nothing. Desperate, Bee stepped back and kicked her heel against the door, shouting for someone to let her in. As she stepped back to prepare another kick the door swung open and Truly slipped through the gap as someone else sealed the door again behind him.

"Out of the way!" he said, shoving past her.

"What's happening!" she cried, chasing after the long-legged privateer as he sprinted headlong toward the nullroom.

Truly ignored her, rounded a corner, and the heavy clang of another bulkhead door slamming closed rang through the halls. It locked with a solid click. Near hysterics, Bee screamed with frustration and spun on her heel to return to the bridge.

#

"They're giving us video," Myra said.

"Put it in a window," ordered Captain Anson.

Myra opened a large window in front of the Captain, Silver, and Ferro. A video stream of Starhawk and his crew on the bridge of his warship played inside the borderless frame.

"I know you've got the map, Anson," Starhawk proclaimed with a grating laugh. "I'm sure you've already seen my boys behind you there. Here's my offer: stop now and give it to a grub named Tjarko when he catches up to you. Long as you give up that map we can part ways, but until I get it I won't stop coming for you. I know what you're looking for, Anson. You won't find it. But I'll find you."

The golden-armored pirate brought another man onscreen as Captain Anson and the others on Wanderlust's bridge watched in silence. The heavyset man was held up by two guards, his face bloodied and bloated. His head sagged to his chest, rolling off to one side as the guards adjusted their grip.

"I realize you're probably not convinced yet, but my friend here might be able to change your mind. You know who this is if you've been watching the news. That Surface girl you've got working with you—she knows this porker too, from the hotel. So unless you want to see how he holds up in zero pressure—or maybe something more creative, don't hold me to that—you'll do as I say. Isn't that right, my friend? Tell them."

Hargrove groaned and raised his head with some difficulty. "Buttercup," he slurred almost incoherently, "do as he says. Please save me, Buttercup. Give them what they want."

"See, this guy understands." Starhawk tousled the big man's hair. "He gets it. We've had such enlightening conversations."

"Hargrove's dusted," Myra said quickly. "His mind is not his own."

The Captain had become familiar with the practice during his many journeys between planets. Officially the pirates' Council of Families banned the devotion-inducing substance, fearing their own members being dosed and divulging sensitive information, but its use quickly became widespread among the Families. He'd heard speculation that the pirates' recent fracturing was driven in part by the Council's opposition to the stuff.

"He told me all about your copy of the map," Starhawk continued. "And about the girl. You know, I might just want to take her too as part of the deal. Sweet young thing. I can see how she got Jensen all riled up."

Victor narrowed his eyes, considering what kind of play the infamous pirate was going for. He replied through a jawline mic, opening the channel only for a brief message. "I don't make deals with pirates."

Starhawk couldn't resist putting himself on camera but the Captain thought it foolish to give the enemy eyes inside his ship. Victor stood in front of the screen to face his pilot and quartermaster, spreading his hands in request of counsel as Starhawk spewed insults and profanities in the background. "Thoughts?"

"We can't save him," Silver growled. "If we let them in range they'll board us. No matter what he says, if they get the chance to take a warship like Wanderlust as a prize they certainly will. Not to mention your bounty, sir."

"No way they catch up if we maintain course." Ferro shook her head emphatically. "And even then, four junkers are no threat to us. Truly could probably take them with just the Hornets, I bet."

"Bee knows we're all in here, Captain," Myra said. "Orders?"

"Keep her out, I don't want her to see this." Anson turned back to the screen.

Myra spoke privately, whispering into the earbud attached to his jawline mic. "Is that really your choice to make?"

The Captain ignored her while Starhawk spoke again. He couldn't have Bee on the bridge with them, she was too unpredictable. With Hargrove in the state he was, Victor couldn't let her see him. Starhawk was only using the man to manipulate Victor through Bee.

"Fine, fine, fine," the pirate said as he paced back and forth. "Saves me the trouble of thinking up another execution. Haven't seen a suitless spacewalk in a while, actually." With an armored gauntlet he patted Hargrove on the cheek. "You hear that, Core-dweller? They don't want you. We brought you all this way for nothing. You're junk now. Garbage. Trash. Time to vent you with the rest of the waste."

"They're gonna kill him," Ferro said. "Bee—"

Silver crossed his arms and shook his head. "Nothing we can do. We can't risk even a single hit on Wanderlust this far out. We've barely gotten on our way."

It pained Anson to consider the girl's fortune. She left Surface chasing Starhawk, seeking revenge for the death of her only parent—just in time for him to return to the planet after years of absence. Then the psychopath bombed her home, forced her off planet, kidnapped her mentor, somehow escaped, and seemed poised to murder the only other parental figure the girl had ever known. It stung even a leathery old heart like Victor's, dredging up miseries of his own he thought he'd buried deep enough to disappear.

Yielding to Starhawk's demands meant certain death. If the pirates were allowed to move in close enough to take the map they would surely attempt to board Wanderlust. His skeleton crew stood little chance against superior numbers. As long as he kept moving they were safe and the pack of wolves at their heels could do nothing more than chase the scent of its prey through the stellar winds.

Wanderlust was no defenseless fawn. Between the cluster of seven Hornet fighters tucked underneath her belly, the close-range lasers studding her hull, and her ten mass-driving gravity cannons, they could hold their own against four attack ships. But as far out as they were the last thing Anson wanted was risking damage to the ship. They'd traveled well beyond the reach of emergency assistance. Even a small wound could lead to crippling complications, which the veteran privateer was sure Starhawk knew well.

The danger was too great.

#

The bulkhead door Bee railed against swung inward at last. Captain Anson stood on the other side, his shoulders hunched and eyes cast to the ground.

"Captain?" she asked. "What's—"

He stepped forward and held his arms out, wrapped her in a tight embrace with her head against his chest. Confused, alarmed, she pulled back and looked up at the Captain's face. The normally stone-faced old man had pain and sadness painted across his features.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's your friend Hargrove."

"No," Bee said. A chill swept across her whole body. "No, he's safe in the shelters."

"He went looking for you in the city."

"What?" she cried.

"Some of Starhawk's men under the dome found him and kidnapped him. They've used him as a hostage to escape the planet. They're after our map."

Bee reeled back, stunned, and held her hand against the wall to keep steady. The map—Hargrove—it was all her fault. The Captain reached out to take her arm but she recoiled from him.

"No—Hargrove!" she screamed. "Where is he?"

"We got a message. Some of his men from Optima have followed us. If we don't stop and give up the map they're going to..." He trailed off, unable to say the words. "They're going to kill him."

"Then we have to give them the map. Please, I never would have taken it if I knew—just give it to them, you can't let him die."

"We can't stop. It's a trick. If we do they could damage the ship, maybe even board it."

"Coward!" she shouted, and struck him on the chest.

The Captain didn't flinch, but restrained her arms at her sides and held her still. "If we stopped they'd just kill us all."

She struggled ineffectually in his grip. "This can't be happening—how could the Fleet just let them go?"

"They had no choice." The excuse sounded false, hollow.

"We have to save him," she begged.

"We can't," said Captain Anson softly, shaking his head.

"I have to save him." Her voice trembled as she looked up into the Captain's eyes.

"We still have some time before I give them my answer. If you want to see him there's video. I have to warn you he's not in a good way, Bee. You might not want to remember him how he is now."

"What do you mean? What did they do to him?"

Captain Anson looked away. "It might be better if I don't tell you."

Bee straightened. "I want to know."

"They dusted him."

Dusted—like Mother. The edges of her vision started going black. Hargrove. Mother. All her fault. Bee writhed free of Anson's hold, panic whipping her breathing into a frenzy. The Captain spoke but only distant echoes reached her ears as she sobbed, straining for air, wracked with guilt and disbelief. A horrified, mournful shriek tore its way from her throat as she thrashed against the floor, heedless of her fists beating themselves bloody against metal grates.

Captain Anson scooped her up and yelled for Myra to get him some help. Willis came running soon enough and took her to the infirmary, her banshee wails lacerating their eardrums the whole time. With an aching heart the Captain returned to the bridge to deliver his reply to Starhawk.

#

The external cameras of the warship Deep Fog absorbed every detail before them, their many unblinking eyes staring into blackness.

Naked, the body cleared the outer airlock and drifted, cartwheeling with wriggling limbs, farther and farther from the battle-scarred ship. Ten seconds passed. Vacuum-exposed skin stretched tight against the body's expanding tissue. Fifteen. All struggling ceased as the oxygen-starved brain faded away and the body swelled from lack of atmospheric pressure. Twenty seconds. Misshapen, grotesque, the body twitched and stiffened as the void smothered it.

The cameras tracked the body until it could no longer be observed.

#

Click "external link" below to join the Hanlon's Reader email list at Substack:

https://jhanlon.substack.com/about

Author's note: This is the FREE version of my book, the raw first draft in its original form, unedited except by yours truly. For the fully polished and professionally edited $2.99 Amazon Kindle edition, visit this link:

http://a.co/0tdwdZ4