Chapter 1 - The Politician’s Aide

The Kallikak

Irannoid Hive 0032, Novaterra, Union of Federated Systems

Saturday, 15 September 3488

Garrick Aves did a once-over of the bar, his eyes still not yet acclimated to the dim lighting of the pub. The place smelled like a mix between a Vorrishi sauna and dank cavern, with a stark chill to accentuate the latter feeling. When he had been told that this job would bring them back to the sprawling planetwide city of Novaterra, his expectation had been a meet in the glitzy clubs of the Horizon District, where pretentious socialites and insufferable senators rubbed elbows, and where the alcohol ran golden brown. Nowhere in his mind did Aves imagine he’d be spending the better part of his Saturday evening down in the forgotten undercity of the Union’s affluent capital.

A chittering at his side snapped Aves’ attention to the left, where the segmented form of the Irannoid bartender now stood, a cracked glass of gray sludge in one of six pincer-like hands. The place was so dark that the appearance of the bug-eyed bartender startled him, and only once regaining his composure did he take the glass and sound a thanks to the bartender. Whether or not the Irannoid could even hear him over the loud yells of the pub was irrelevant, as the sapient chittered his response back in the clicking speech of the species, no chest-mounted translation apparatus to render the words in Galactic Standard.

As the bartender went about his own business, Aves appraised the Irannoid, along with most of the crowd, who also came from that same species. Height anywhere from on-par with the average Human to a head taller, the species resembled a mix between a grasshopper and an ant, long segmented bodies and thick backwards legs, covered in thick plates of chitin. Their bodies were segmented into three roughly oval-shaped segments, each connected by a series of large joints allowing for relatively versatile movement.

Their abdomen – the middle section – contained the largest chunk of their mass, where six long arms stretched out to four-fingered claws which provided a surprising amount of fine motor movement. The top segment of the Irannoid contained its large head, complete with six bulbous dark eyes and thick antennae protruding out from the top. Its mouth consisted of a pair of sharp mandibles, which facilitated its ability to generate the clicking speech. It wasn’t uncommon for children of other species to find the Irannoid utterly terrifying, an emotion which very often matured into a healthy fear in adults. Despite this reputation Irannoids weren’t any more or less fearsome than other beings by any measure and didn’t really bother others unless provoked. What led to their enduring distrust was their cliquish nature, and tendency to stay huddled up in their own private underground hives, near their birth broodmother.

The only times when the usual sapient ran across Irannoid outside of a place like this was in medical settings, where those of the species who made the decision to journey away from their home found employ as doctors and surgeons of all stripes. It was primarily the Irannoid’s multitude of arms and gentle precision in movement which made them particularly skilled to this task, along with an uncanny ability to multitask. They could accomplish surgical tasks with their own hands that other species would need to employ an entire staff and specialized robotics to accomplish, and Aves himself had been on the receiving end of particularly stellar Irannoid care many times. All of the ones he had met out in the galaxy had been more than amenable, though now down in the midst of an Irannoid hive itself, with the dank cavern-like chill and dim lighting, he began to understand people’s issue with the species. 

“It’s rude to stare,” Came a voice in Aves’ right ear, the muted sound coming in clear through the cybernetic implant embedded at the base of his ear, piping the voice right into his ear canal. “And it’s very obvious.”

Aves quickly swapped his gaze away from the Irannoid and directly to the end of the pub straight in front of him. At that end was one of the countless booths running the perimeter of the establishment, where a tall, dark-skinned Human man was sitting. He sat with one elbow resting against the back of the booth, shoulders relaxed in a laid-back posture. He sat with an introverted look about him, just enough to cast off any suspicion as to his sitting alone, yet still vaguely off-putting enough to stop any curious onlookers from attempting to approach. The man was one of Aves’ crewmates and close friend, Tobias Napht.

Aves frowned, returning his attention to the cracked glass of liquid in front of him. “I’ll be glad when we’re out of here.”

Tobias chuckled. “Don’t let the locals hear you say that.”

“Are you going to drink that?” Chirped in a high-pitched, girlish voice over the same comms channel. “Or just keep sitting there with awful posture?” Aves’ felt the familiar frustration and annoyance flood course into him immediately, sending his spirits even lower. He sneered at the sound of the grating voice and cast an equally dismissive look across the bar to the left, where a short, cherry-haired woman stood. She had the appearance of a young Human woman, perhaps barely out of her teen years. This was little more than a façade, however, and even as he saw the cherry-haired form, Aves imagined her true pink-skinned, angular-faced, and white-haired appearance, deep gray eyes burning with that smug haughtiness that she always seemed to carry when addressing him. Xanthe – another fellow crewmate whom Aves did not consider a friend – was a Quorthwenne, which meant that she could change her appearance at will, a skill which came with obvious benefits for an operation like this. 

As Aves caught Xanthe’s expression, he saw that familiar mischief flutter through her eyes as she grinned at him with an uncharacteristically restrained expression. The Quorthwenne shapeshifting ability meant that their facial expressions were usually much more exaggerated than the normal Humanoid, something which she seemed to be phoning in to keep up appearances as a Human.

Addressing her comment, Aves white-knuckled his mug, still not daring to drink. “What’s wrong with my posture?” He demanded, only averting his gaze when Xanthe turned to bring one of the drinks she was clutching to Tobias’ table.

“What isn’t wrong with it, especially when we’re supposed to be going incognito?” Xanthe asked. “You always look like a damn soldier.”

“She has a point,” Tobias cut in, receiving his drink from the girl. “You do know this is a bar, right? You’re allowed to let loose a bit.”

Aves grumbled, working to hunch his shoulders over the bar, an action he found difficult. Seven years of the best in Talosian military training coupled with an entire lifetime as the son of the renowned Lord Admiral Hiro Takayama had drilled strict discipline into him, the most basic tenant of which was good posture. If his father could see where all of that discipline had gotten him… “Better?” Aves asked.

Xanthe’s end of the line only chirped with a muffled laugh, while Tobias responded. “Somehow you look much worse. Like you’re trying not to draw attention.”

“And don’t even get me started on that sword you’re carrying…” Xanthe quickly added.

Aves tensed up, hand unconsciously falling to the vermillion-wrapped hilt of the blade. “A kantsukai never goes anywhere without his sword.” Another fact burned into the very fiber of his mind by Lord Takayama, imparted when Aves had reached the age of twelve and inducted into the storied Talosian military order. “In some circles, it’s insulting to even suggest such a thing.”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” Xanthe replied, insincerely. “I didn’t mean to offend a great kansukai like yourself. Granted, I hardly think smuggling is quite what your great Shogun Kenji the Great had in mind when he established it.” Aves was about to fire back with a response, when the fourth, final, and lead member of the group came over the line.

  “Let’s all cut the chatter, we have a job to do.” While not a dressing down in military terms, the serene yet commanding presence of Captain Judith Rigby gave them all pause. “How are we looking?”

“All clear from my end,” Replied Tobias, the man taking a sip of his drink.

“Same from here,” Agreed Xanthe, returning to the bar. She leaned her pale arms against the stone which served as the bartop. As she stared straight across at Aves, a coquettish grin crossed her face as the remnants of her earlier teasing. Aves scowled back at her, letting out a low grunt as her dismissive slight against his culture echoed through his mind. Finally averting his gaze, he shook his head. She just didn’t get it.

To his far left he caught a large group of fat, sallow-skinned, and pig-faced Vorrishi seated in a side-lounge off of the main room of the bar. These sapients were all focused on one of several holosdisplays mounted next to the wall, projecting the finals of the species’ famed ball sport. One of the players on the screen smacked an incoming ball with the back of his thick hand, sending it careening right into the face of a Vorrishi of the opposite team. At this a snort of a cheer erupted from the lounge, as several of the Vorrishi stood and started banging a fist against their shoulder, wailing a piggish squeal as they reacted to what was apparently a savvy move. Aves understood the Vorrishi even less than he did the Irannoid.

“We’re clear from my end too,” Aves agreed, returning his gaze to where the Captain was seated, along the right-side wall of the pub. Seated facing Aves’ direction, Rigby was wearing her usual brown overcoat, the matching wide-brimmed hat currently sitting atop the table, the typical signal for a contact that it was all clear to approach.

Rigby caught his gaze, her blue eyes shining their aged, maternal glance at him. She shifted a strand of her golden blonde hair out of her face. “Careful movements, Seven.” She offered, using the usual callsign number, Zealot-7, to avoid referring to Aves by his real name.

While their aural implants were all on a private channel and encrypted with the best security available to them, there was always a theoretical chance that anything could be hacked by a competent cyberwhiz. Therefore, the Captain’s standard operating procedure was to stick to pseudonyms and codenames for operations like this. “Keep your eyes wide and unfocused; don’t stare anywhere for too long and allow your peripherals to do most of the work.” Rigby continued.

“Sorry, One.” Aves replied, indicating Rigby’s callsign of Zealot-1. “I’ll try and do better.” Nearly a year serving with Judith Rigby and her crew, yet he still had trouble with these covert stakeouts. Proper undercover work wasn’t something they taught in the Talosian Navy; at least not to the regular rank-and-file recruits.

“That’s not a reprimand, soldier,” Rigby offered, dulling the blow and breaking her own rules to give him a reassuring smile. “Your spycraft has come a long way.”

The snicker which erupted over the channel was markedly less friendly. “You look worse than a Ruutharii magistrate in a Vorrishi brothel when you do that.” Aves forced himself not to lock eyes with the gray ones he knew were still focused in his direction.

“Knock it off, Five. You’re not doing too much better,” Rigby offered to Xanthe, Zealot-5. Aves did little to hide his chuckle as he knew that stopped her right in her tracks.   

“Aww but Captain…” Xanthe started, her voice suddenly innocent. “What am I doing wrong?”

“For starters, there’s a Human man at your immediate two-o-clock. He keeps throwing interested glance in your direction, but you’re not paying him any attention. The longer you don’t notice, the less authentic your cover as a single woman out for a drink is going to seem. Just acknowledge him and communicate your disinterest, so he moves on.” Rigby explained.

Aves saw the man in question; a middle-aged Human man with a thick mop of gray-spackled black hair. He had a markedly rough look about him, the image only allayed by the painfully obvious glances he was making at Xanthe. The age gap itself made Aves’ stomach squirm uncomfortably, but he didn’t let on for the sake of his unwelcome crewmate. “He seems nice.”

It seemed to take some work for Xanthe to keep a polite grin on her face, as she dragged her hard stare from Aves and offered a feigned smile to the man in question. The man waved back and Xanthe immediately angled away to telegraph disinterest, calling up the holodisplay on her wrist uplink, as if checking the time for a long-awaited date.

“He seems like a creep,” Xanthe whispered. Nevertheless, the man did seem to give up on ogling her.

“We got movement at the door, my six-o-clock” Tobias said, shifting focus. “Looks like a woman; Human, with green hair, and coming in by herself.” Taking Captain Rigby’s advice, Aves slowly returned his gaze forward and took a sip of his foul-looking drink, receiving the a bitter taste of sludge spackled with dirt which he gritted through.  

Ignoring this, Aves slowly scanned over to the main entrance somewhere to the left of where Xanthe was standing. Indeed, a single Human woman with a painfully bright head of green hair had just entered. From the dull artificial glow to the woman’s green eyes to the lines of pulsing red cybernetics which ran out from the long sleeves of her outfit, the woman was a clear techhead. The woman stepped in and carefully went straight to the bar, not seeming to look at or for anyone. Her cybernetic eyes did shift a few times however, a move Aves knew would have been more than enough for the implant’s embedded computer systems to register faces. Unless she was law enforcement of some type she likely wouldn’t be able to make personal identifications, the scan likely being more for weapons or threats. The woman came to a halt only centimeters from where Xanthe was standing, taking no notice of her as she hailed the bartender. “Looks like she’s trying to out-stage you for worst hair, Five.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Xanthe hissed, trying to keep her voice low.

“Meera Trepko.” The Captain said, under her breath.

“Who?” Asked Aves. The green-haired woman gave off an air of complete disinterest, yet at the same time seemed to demand attention thanks to her hair and sensual dress.

“One-time professional assassin turned freelance bodyguard,” The Captain explained. “Ever since the war she’s been in the employ of our contact’s boss.”

“I think I remember that name,” Tobias said. “She’s rumored to have infiltrated and subsequently killed an entire squad of Plutark Corporation mercenaries some years back. That’s from way back when the Union still used private military groups.” There was a low whistle over the comms channel. “I’d be very careful if I were you, Five. If she thinks you’re a threat…”

Aves watched Xanthe tense up, slowly looking at Trepko from her peripheral vision. The assassin didn’t so much as twitch in recognition, simply receiving her bright orange drink and beginning to drink it. Grinning, Aves whispered: “I think Terrans call that ‘karma’.”

Xanthe’s frozen eyes snapped back to him suddenly, and her whisper was serious. “Karma doesn’t exist,” She said through gritted teeth, low enough so that Trepko wouldn’t catch it. “It’s superstition.” Aves could only shake his head.

“Trepko must be on loan to Vess for this meet. Which means so long as she gives him the okay, he should be here any minute.” Rigby explained.

“And it would be about time, too.” Tobias commented. “He’s already way late.”

“Ten more minutes and you owe me fifty credits,” Aves said, indicating their private bet on how long they were to wait.

“I haven’t lost a bet in five years, and I don’t intend to start now,” Tobias replied.

“This is his MO,” Rigby said, an amused edge to her voice. “It’s how he and his Senate cronies let the rest of us ‘taxpayers’ know that we’re the ones who serve them, and not the other way around.”

Aves sneered. From the short briefing given before the missions, Aves was made known that their contact was Partash Vess, personal aide to Union Senator Francis Kran. Aves knew little about Kran except what he had heard in news stories and holocasts, pegging him as dour, vain, and likely about as corrupt as politicians came. When it came to Partash Vess Aves knew even less, save the scattered stories of exploits between him and Judith Rigby from during the war. Given the man’s choice of boss, Aves could posit a few other things.

“Republicanism at its finest,” He commented.

Aves caught Tobias, a born and bred Union man, shrug. “It’s either politicians or nobles. I’d much rather have the option of electing my leaders instead of getting saddled with whoever ends up being the favored son.” Aves tightened up a bit at that, recalling with little fondness his own father.

“I may not have the rosiest picture of all nobles back home, but I’d much rather someone rule who’s born, bred, and dedicated to the lofty ideals of the Kenjite Way than someone who’s become rich off of bribes and serves only himself.” Aves countered.

“Right, because I’m sure all four of those claimants blowing your precious Talosian Empire to bits are concerned about the ‘Kenjite Way’.” Tobias shot back, referencing the ongoing Talosian Civil War.

Aves grimaced. “That’s the fault of that pretender Octavian and his ilk; not the Emperor.”

“Movement,” Hissed Xanthe through clenched teeth, ending the debate. Aves saw her offer another peripheral look at the assassin, who still was none the wiser. “Seven’s right.”

“Ah, speaking of politicians,” Tobias said. “Here’s our contact. Looks like you owe me fifty credits, Seven.” Aves sneered, remembering Rigby’s instructions as he resisted the urge to look behind him for the incoming contact.

  When they did enter his field of vision, he saw a tall, thickly-built Human man carefully walking down the aisle. While the man’s clothing suggested that he was no more than a common citizen of this rough edge of Novaterra, his bulk and demeanor told a completely different story. Aves had seen enough bodyguards over the years to know the look of one.

“Ah, good to see that Torvold is still on Partash’s payroll.” Rigby nodded to the bodyguard, who was clearly acquainted enough with the woman to nod back. From behind this bodyguard came another man, one whom Aves immediately knew to be their contact.  

Partash Vess was a very short man, standing as a stark contrast to the large bodyguard in front of him. He sauntered through the bar with a self-important gait that advertised the grace of his station, clearly assuming his bodyguard’s abilities enough to ignore the danger posed by this display. His garb was much more casual than that of a senator’s aide, yet still the sort of neat thing that one wore to a high-end club in the Horizon District, not a sleazy bar inside an Irannoid hive buried deep within Novaterra’s sprawl.

Vess slowly made his way through the establishment, walking in the path that his bodyguard paved for him. As he went, he casually turned his head to appraise the mostly-Irannoid clientele. Every time Aves caught the side of the man’s face there was a sour expression on it, clearly indicating judgement of his boss’s voters.

Catching sight of Captain Rigby, he gave his bodyguard a tap on the shoulder. At that the man named Torvold broke off for the bar, allowing Partash Vess to saunter right up to her table. “Captain Judith Rigby,” Came the crisp sound of the man’s voice over their comms channel, affected with the exaggerated inflection which marked him as a member of the Senate. “I see you’re here early, as usual.”

“Sound is coming through crystal clear,” Tobias commented. “Remind me to thank Brex when we get back to the ship.” He said, indicating their in-house Proximan tech whiz. The nigh-imperceptible communications device was Brextallor’s personal homebrew, one which Rigby had affixed to the brim of her hat for the meet. 

Even from his seat several meters away and despite the low lighting, Aves could see the polite grin appear on Rigby’s face as she processed Vess’ statement. “You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, Partash. One would think you enjoy keeping people waiting.” She took a sip of her cocktail.

The aide waved the comment away. “Traffic, you understand. I don’t usually come down this deep into the planet, and…” he snorted, motioning to the bar. “You can plainly see why.” A pair of closely-knit Irannoid passed by the table, and Aves caught sight of Vess recoil. “What I wouldn’t give to have a couple of bodyguard drones…”

“I’m sure his constituents would love to hear his opinions about their home,” Piped in Tobias. “How much do you think this recording would be worth if sold to the right reporter?”

Aves took another sip of his own drink, and grimaced. “For once, I think this politician may have a point.”

Rigby, ignoring the chatter currently buzzing through her ear, addressed this. “It’s like I told you, drones are a rare sight in hives like this; you’d have stood out even more than you currently do. Besides, I’m sure the good citizens of this hive would be thrilled to hear your low opinion of them. You do work for their elected representative, after all.”

Vess took the seat opposite Rigby. “Come now, are you seriously trying to tell me that anyone down here is paying taxes?” A haughty laugh. “They don’t give a damn about us up-world, and we don’t give a damn what they do down in this…scumhole.”

Aves could imagine Rigby’s patient grin, as she stared at Vess for a long moment. “There are times I wonder why a good-intentioned republic like the Union is constantly working to tear itself apart at the seams. Then I remember people like you responsible for running it.”

Vess gasped dramatically. “Hurtful words, Judith Rigby. Is that what you think of an old friend?”

It was Rigby’s turn to laugh. “I hadn’t realized that we were still friends, ever since you disavowed any interaction with me before the Senate Oversight Committee.”

At this, Aves saw Vess wave a hand. “A bit of simple political theater. That kerfuffle you started in Ruutharii space last year couldn’t have been seen as in any way connected to the Union government. It was all a lie; I don’t see why that must color our private relationship. All of those years we spent working together during the war, trying to make the galaxy a better place…”

“And we all see how that’s turned out,” Tobias commented on the private channel. “Inflation in Union space is at an all-time high and the Talosian Empire is self-destructing.”

Aves bristled at the slight against his home nation’s fragile political establishment but forced any quick response away and instead let out a low chuckle. “Not to mention Ruutharii military spending has tripled in the past decade. And all while this little fop is more worried about how he smelly he thinks an Irannoid hive is.” A fact Aves did have to grant, he didn’t add.

“All the subterfuge of a career politician.” Xanthe added through gritted teeth. Aves saw that she was still uneasily standing mere centimeters from Meera Trepko and working to stop herself from standing out. Trepko still didn’t seem to notice her, the former assassin not even seeming interested in the discussion between her charge and Rigby. Instead Trepko’s eyes were wandering elsewhere, keeping an eye out for unseen danger.

Captain Rigby, who wasn’t impervious to the bit of irony being shared between her crewmembers, coughed to hide a chuckle. “What’s this about, Partash? Why are we meeting way down here, instead of up in one of your posh clubs?”

Vess suddenly did an exaggerated swivel of his head, taking in the bar. He centered on both of his bodyguards – Torvold and finally Meera Trepko, who momentarily broke her disinterested vigil – and only continued after receiving nods from each of them.

“Something’s clearly got him spooked,” Tobias offered.

When Partash Vess returned his gaze to Rigby, he said: “What I am about to tell you needs to stay off the record.”

Rigby nodded. “Sure.”

Vess leaned in closer, which incidentally made his voice come in louder thanks to the proximity of Brex’s bug. “I’m serious, Judith. What I am about to say does not go anywhere after I leave, and if you try and speak to me about this outside of secured channels, I will deny it.”

“Sure, I get it,” Rigby said. Aves felt an uncomfortable twinge appear in his stomach as he pondered what this news could be. The Captain continued: “It’s me you’re talking to; I know the drill.”

Vess seemed to consider that, before nodding. “I just wanted to make sure you understand the severity of this. If what I am about to tell you got out into the public, it could have disastrous consequences on the Union’s psyche.”

Aves traded a look with his comrades, both of which he knew were feeling the same. The Captain leaned back in her seat, voicing what they were thinking. “This isn’t some political mess you’re looking to get me wrapped up in, is it? You know I don’t do petty politics, Partash.”

“Except when it involves sticking it to Ruutharii or Felxarans, you mean?” Vess asked, coyly.

Rigby shrugged. “Mea culpa.”

The aide waved it away. “It’s nothing like that, though. Not…exactly, anyway.”

“Then exactly what?” Rigby persisted. Vess did another glance around. “It’s just you and me, Partash. Will you just spit it out?”

Vess finally took a breath and began. “Are you familiar with Senator Dimas Sethell?”

“Sure,” Rigby replied. Her head went back as she began rattling off what she recalled about the man. “He represents Dorylaetium. He’s a part of the Social Action Subcommittee, and a huge proponent of the Entente.”

Immediately, Aves recalled where he had heard the name Dimas Sethell. The Aldebaran Entente – the military compact between the Union of Federated Systems and Talosian Empire, not to mention many other countless states – had come up for a five-year renewal and was currently the topic of much debate both in politics and in the media. There were those who saw the Entente for what Aves did – a vital treaty which maintained galactic security and a bulwark against aggression from both the Ruutharii Ascendancy and Felxaran Technocracy – and then there were others, who saw it as the root cause of both the Union involvement in the last Galactic War, along with all of the ills in the intervening decade. Senator Dimas Sethell was one of the chief proponents of the treaty, falling into the former camp. While not as controversial a figure as many of his more boisterous fellow senators, Senator Sethell was pro-Entente, therefore contentious.

“That’s right,” Vess replied. “He’s also one of yours, I believe.”

Aves scoffed, knowing exactly what ‘one of yours’ meant in reference to Judith Rigby. Muttering half to himself, he said: “Ah right, the ‘committed’ Catholic Dimas Sethell. For whatever religion is worth in politics, these days.”

“Senator Sethell is a committed Catholic,” Xanthe hissed, immediately zeroing in on his cynicism. She struggled to keep her voice low, squinting angrily at him. “He’s done a lot of work trying to relocate and relieve those on planets which were hit hardest by the Ruutharii. And he’s even been awarded the Order of Pius XII for his efforts!”

Aves rolled his eyes. A surefire way to annoy Xanthe was to offer even the slightest criticism to a figure with any tangential relation to Christianity. “And I’m sure that medal looks good on his suit during press conferences.”

From across the bar, Xanthe bore her teeth at him in an almost-Ruutharii gesture of hatred. For the briefest moment her face lost some of its pale hue and began to take on its natural pink twinge, before Xanthe caught herself and it reverted. “He’s a loving father of six, tries to keep up a good image, and attends Mass every Sunday.” She continued, as if that meant anything to Aves.

“Stand down, you two.” Tobias scolded. “We have a job, here.” Xanthe stared in Aves’ direction with a tense look of anger a moment longer before she relented. 

“I refuse to help you dig up and dirt on Sethell, if that’s what you’re asking,” Rigby said to Partash Vess, bringing the focus back to the task at hand. “My professional distaste of it aside, I’m not looking to go after ‘one of my own’, as you so lovingly put it.”

The man again feigned offense. “Is that all you think of me? I already told you; it’s nothing shifty.”

“Then why are you working as hard as you can to avoid saying what this is actually about?”

Vess hesitated, then continued. “Senator Sethell has a teenaged daughter, Euphemia. She’s a bit of a wild kid, always getting herself involved in situations which don’t look too good for the senator.”

At this, Aves began to recall more about Xanthe’s Catholic golden-boy. While most politicians made some effort to shield their public life from their private, there was always some bleed-through, especially with the constant barrage of intergalactic news networks and tabloid holocasts. “Now I remember,” He said. “Euphemia Sethell’s the one who’s always at those political rallies, decrying just about every stance her father takes on major issues.”

“Very anti-Entente, if I remember correctly.” Tobias added. Still, Euphemia Sethell wasn’t the only politician’s kid to cause trouble, and such things were forgotten about nearly as quickly as they made news.

“So, she’s a teenager,” Rigby replied, to Partash Vess. “I’ve known a few, and that seems to fit the bill.”

Vess shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “In Euphemia’s latest dalliance, she’s seen fit to run off with some new boyfriend of hers. Nobody’s seen her in nearly a week.” Aves squinted thoughtfully at that news. Definitely odd, but not unheard of for a teenager with parental issues. There were times as a teenager when he’d loved to have been able to get away from the Takayama Clan compound back home.

“Okay,” Rigby said, a discomfort seeping into her voice. “What does the Senator and his wife know about this boyfriend?”

“That’s just the issue,” Vess explained. “They’ve never met him and have no idea as to where he came into the picture. Euphemia left a note for her parents which they found the morning after she left. The next day, Priscilla Sethell – the Senator’s wife – got a call from Euphemia, saying that she was fine and needed to take some time away. She mentioned this new boyfriend of hers but didn’t elaborate before cutting off the call.”

“And she’s never done this before?”

Vess shook his head. “She’s run off before, but never for this long and never with someone whom the Senator and his wife don’t know. Normally she crashes at a friend’s house or one of the many boys she’s brought around their home, but none of her friends have heard a thing.”

“Or they’re keeping this one secret,” Tobias posited, privately.

“Is there any reason to suspect foul play?” Rigby asked. “Any enemies, or groups that may have made threats?”

Vess laughed uncomfortably. “We’re in politics, Judith. Every day a call or two comes in threatening to do all sorts of awful things to a senator or his family. Most are just Proximan wackos living deep in pits like this; no real threat.”

“Has the Senator notified the Novaterra Security Services?” Rigby asked the obvious question that she probably already knew the answer to. “This seems like something they should be investigating.” 

“No!” Vess exclaimed, a bit too loudly. Catching himself, he brought his tone down. “No, he can’t do that. There’s no hard evidence that anything untoward is going on, and getting the police involved would only draw media attention, which is the last thing needed right now. The vote on the Entente renewal is at the end of the week, and you know how split the public is.”

Aves watched Rigby cross her arms. “That sounds like your boss talking.”

“As much as I resent your sarcastic tone, I have to admit that yes. It was Senator Kran’s idea; Senator Sethell is positively beside himself, and someone needs to talk him down.” 

“This guy’s a creep,” Xanthe commented, suddenly. “Him and his boss. Not calling the police when a young girl is missing?” A hiss was her own response to what she thought of that.

“It’s Sethell’s daughter, Partash,” Rigby said, her attitude a more measured version of Xanthe’s disgust. “Do you not expect him to want to do whatever he can to find her?”

“That’s where you come in,” Vess continued. “We can’t get the officials involved here, but in order to allay Senator Sethell’s fears, we agreed to get him a team of specialists to investigate where Euphemia may have gone. I spent enough time with you during the war to know that your ability to find people is uncanny. Especially when they don’t want to be found.”

Aves caught Rigby’s uneasy expression. “I’ve had a lot of help over the years. It’s hardly my accolade alone.”

“That’s why we need your help. You and your crew; you aren’t affiliated with any official channels, thus can slip under the radar and figure out what happened here.”

“We’re smugglers, Partash. Not a crack team of private investigators.”

“Don’t give me that,” Vess said, knowingly. “You’ve always been a master of all, Judith Rigby. I know firsthand that you could root out a Felxaran spy just as easily as run a shipment of medical supplies past a Ruutharii blockade, all without so much as wrinkling that precious psychic sense of theirs. I promise you’ll be paid well for your services. Name a number.”

The Captain let that comment hang in the air for a few seconds. “What haven’t you told me?”

“What?” Vess asked, confused.

Rigby loosened her shoulders as she held Partash Vess in her insightful blue gaze. “Euphemia Sethell ran away from home, and her parents have no idea where she’s gone, nor who she went with. Your boss Senator Kran doesn’t want the Novaterra Security Service involved; fair enough. I may resent that move, but it’s savvy from a politician’s perspective. The one thing that doesn’t make sense, is that I know Senator Sethell must have his own private security force. Why not send them out looking for the girl? Wouldn’t Euphemia be more willing to come home with them, if found? She would trust them more than me, I’m sure.” The Captain waited for Vess to offer a reply, but none came. Instead, she continued herself. “For some reason, Sethell isn’t using his own people, and Kran puts you onto the task. You get in contact with me, promising to pay whatever it takes to achieve the services of me and my crew. Given how you’ve laid this out so far, our involvement seems more like calling in an orbital strike to serve a parking ticket. So, I ask again: what haven’t you told me?”

Vess’ silence continued for some time. When he finally did reply, there was a begrudging tone to his voice. “You’re too inquisitive for a damned smuggler, you know that? Your kind is supposed to ask no questions.”

Rigby shrugged. “I’ll blame my religion for that one.”

“Well you’re right,” Vess snapped, reluctantly. “There is indeed one particular reason why we’ve decided to go with an outside team for this one.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “We think there may be a leak in the Senator’s office, likely in his security services.”

Aves’ ears perked up at this. “Corruption in politics?” He said, feigning surprise. “I can hardly believe it.”

“And you think this leak may have had a hand in helping Euphemia.” Rigby said. It wasn’t a question.

“That is one of our theories,” Vess agreed. “Certain bits of Senator Sethell’s speeches are getting leaked, but there’s also privileged information getting to certain political action groups, specifically ones that Euphemia frequents. We don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

“‘We’ being you and Senator Kran, I presume.” Again, that wasn’t a question.

Vess nodded. “Senator Sethell knows it too, he’s just too naive to admit his daughter is a bigger liability than he already has accepted.”

There was an audible grumble from Xanthe over the channel. “She’s a kid, not a risk on an insurance policy.”

“And you also believe this source may be involved in Euphemia running away?” Rigby asked. “To what end?”

Vess shrugged. “Embarrassment of the senator and ruin of the Entente. What else?”

“Then why haven’t they leaked her runaway to the press?” Rigby asked. “It’s been a week; seems like a long time to hold out on a political stunt.”

“Because they’re waiting for the day of the Entente to be signed? I wouldn’t know; that’s what we want to pay you to look into.” The mounting frustration was unmistakable in Vess’ voice.

“And so, his hand is tipped,” Tobias chattered. “It is a political mess, after all.”  

“Was it that hard to tell the truth?” Rigby asked.

“You’re pretty damn persistent,” Vess commented, ignoring the levity. “Now, do you want the job, or not? Name a number.” 

Rigby waved a dismissive hand, indicating that her mind was made up. “We can talk about money later. I don’t take jobs without my crew’s agreement, but I’m confident we can poke around a bit for the Senator. At least to help figure out if his daughter is alright or not.”

Vess clapped his hands together, leaning into a relaxed position for the first time since he had begun talking about Sethell. “Splendid! I knew you were one of the good ones, Judith. Just let me know what your final decision is, and I’ll get you whatever you need.” Vess reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple scrap of paper. “You can contact me here, and we can speak more. That’s a secure line, so nobody will be able to tap it.” He stood.

“A bit cloak-and-dagger, no?” Rigby chuckled. “I didn’t even know anyone who lived up in the Horizon District still knew what ‘paper’ was.” She pocketed the slip into the inner breast pocket of her coat.

“One can’t be too careful. You never know who may be listening.” Vess replied.

“I’ll say,” Tobias quipped.

Rigby picked up her hat, replacing it atop her golden head. “Talk to you soon, Partash.”

He nodded curtly. “Thank you, Judith.” Vess rejoined his bodyguard Tovold, and immediately made his way towards the door which he had entered from.

Aves then looked to the assassin, Meera Trepko, just in time to catch the woman also make her way towards the door she had entered from. Before she left, however, she offered a pat to Xanthe’s shoulder along with a wink, mouthing something Aves couldn’t hear. The younger woman’s face lit up bright red as the assassin left the bar. Aves offered his own wink at her when they made eye contact, knowing that she had been made. Xanthe only scowled at him.

“It sounds like Senator Sethell is in a bit of a tight place,” Tobias said, bringing their attention back to the topic at hand. “His daughter is missing, and he can’t even call the system security to look into it. Not a position I envy.”

“This Francis Kran sounds like quite the character,” Aves commented. “And I can’t say I appreciate his lackey. Begging your pardon, Captain.”

Rigby snickered. “I’ve known Partash for years, and I’ve never had any illusions as to his general sleaziness.” Taking a thoughtful pause, she added: “Three, get in contact with the ship; let the others know to gather in the wardroom.” That order was for Tobias.

“Are you seriously considering this job?” Tobias asked. “I mean, I feel for the senator and all, but it’s clear this is all a political sideshow that I think we’d be better off avoiding. The girl’s off with her political friends, and I’m sure she’ll make a dramatic reappearance any day now.”

“We can’t not get involved,” Xanthe countered, having recovered from her interaction with the assassin. “What if she’s in danger?”

“There’s no way to know that. Besides, if I were her, I think I’d need a bit of time away from my domineering politician father, too.” Aves reminded her, getting the expected reaction.

“Speaking from experience?” Came the quick response.

“I don’t appreciate the tone, but yes,” Aves granted.

“There’s no outright indication from the information given so far that Euphemia is in danger, but…” Rigby paused, Aves catching the Captain lean into the table and fold her hands. He couldn’t make out her expression, but could imagine that usual tight-jawed and furrow-browed look of deep thought. “I don’t have a good feeling about any of this.”

“That a classic Captain Rigby gut feeling?” Tobias asked.

“An unfounded one, I hope.” Rigby replied. “That whole story Partash told me about a leak on Senator Sethell’s staff is a misdirect.”

Even Tobias broke his cover and threw a wide-eyed expression at the Captain for that one. “You’re saying he was lying?”

“About there being a leak? I can’t say. But he was lying about that being the reason he called me,” Rigby explained. “There’s more to the story that he – or more properly, his boss – are reluctant to elaborate about.”

“You’re going to have to clarify that one for the rest of us,” Aves commented. Vess’ explanation seemed reasonable enough to him. 

“I’ve known Partash Vess for years. The man always works in threes; he’s very trinitarian in that way. The first story is only half the truth. The second one is pure misdirect, to make it look like he’s caved to pressure. It’ll be the third story that’s nearest to the truth.”

“Then why didn’t you press him?” Aves demanded. “We let him walk right out of here with half of a story!”

“Patience, Seven,” Rigby said. “People like Partash Vess need to feel like they’ve had a victory before they’ll be primed to give out the truth. I just gave him that, so he can go call his boss and get his pat on the head. Partash’ll be so full of himself that he’ll practically sing the truth next time I talk to him.”

Xanthe huffed. “You still manage to amaze me, even after all these years.” Aves had to begrudgingly grant Xanthe that one. 

“So what’s your actual theory?” Tobias asked.

“I’ll explain when we get back to the ship,” Rigby replied. “But I’ll warn you; there’s a few possibilities, and none are particularly enticing.”

“I hope they’re compelling enough to convince me that getting involved wouldn’t be a mistake.” Tobias stifled a mirthless chuckle. “We’ll become the Senate’s personal babysitters before too long. Any time a politician’s kid gets lost in a store, they’ll be calling us.”

Rigby stood from her booth, shrugging. “If so, at least we’ll have a steady stream of income from here on out.”