The Girl From the Hangar

Simon was cleaning his armor.

Gavin leaned against the railing and looked down onto the Chancer V’s cargo bay. The ship’s hold was usually cramped and packed with crates and whatever else the Chancer was being paid to deliver, but this afternoon it had been cleared out and Simon had taken advantage of the space to spread out several tarps in order to take stock of his personal arsenal. His disassembled Semi-Powered Infiltration armor lay out in front of him, flanked on either side by firearms, knives, ammunition, explosives, and other equipment. Gavin had never quite figured out how Simon managed to make it all fit atop his combat webbing and supply pouches, but somehow the young man pulled it off without any of it slowing him down.

Maybe it was a Spartan thing.

Right now, Gavin couldn’t help but envy him. Simon’s armor was pitted, cracked, and stained by countless battles and firefights, but he still managed to hold it all together with careful maintenance and a healthy dose of replacement parts. The armor and gear worked because Simon maintained it and in combat it held him together and helped him always live to fight another day.

Gavin had his own suit of armor, one that he cared for with just the same level of diligence and dedication. Just like Simon’s SPI gear, it had seen more than its share of wear and tear. Gavin had patched it up more times than he could count and was always on the lookout for little extras to boost its performance.

Unfortunately, Gavin’s “armor” was several dozen times larger than Simon’s. His armor was the Chancer herself, and as he was all too painfully aware, a ship was many times more temperamental and expensive to care for than a suit of combat armor.

He didn’t mind the extra work. The Chancer was his girl and it was a hell of a lot easier to take care of now that he had Simon and Zoey onboard to help shoulder the workload. But the labor itself was only half the problem. Hull repairs and engine replacements cost money, and at the moment Gavin was dangerously close to being flat broke.

It was a situation Gavin had found himself time and time again. He should have been used to dealing with it by now, and in a way he was. But things were different now. He wasn’t just a wandering spacer anymore. Now he had a crew, two young drifters who—whether they’d admit it or not—needed him to be the stabilizing element on the ship. That meant no more laughing off the mounting debts, no more hauling his guitar into bars to earn table scraps and pretend it made a difference.

He needed to put on a solid front for the kids, Zoey most of all. He’d long since forgiven her for trying to steal the Chancer out from under his nose and she was plenty eager to learn everything he had to teach her about the far more honest trade of piloting a freighter. But despite her youth she was still a trained thief, plenty accustomed to the brutal nature of poverty. If she thought it was necessary, she might very well try to lift some valuable merchandise off someone and that was a path Gavin was determined she not go down again. And as for Simon…

Gavin looked back down at the Spartan, absorbed in his equipment. Simon—or “Stray” as he’d become known as a rebel fighter on Mamore—was older than Zoey, but not quite as older as he’d like to believe. At first glance, one might have decided that Zoey, who’d watched as Syndicate enforcers gunned down her parents and spent the remainder of her adolescence wandering the violent colonial frontier, might be the most problematic member of the crew. Simon had been trained to handle combat since he was six years old, his body augmented with some of the best body modifications the UNSC had cooked up during the Great War. He might be a traitor and deserter, a criminal with a permanent slot on the UEG’s top ten most wanted list, but he was still a Spartan in at least some sense of the world.

But that was exactly why Gavin needed to keep a firm handle on things with him, even more so than he did with Zoey. Zoey might resort to petty crime, but she didn’t know how to storm an enemy bunker or rig explosive charges to level entire buildings. Violence defined Simon—and all the other Spartans, as far as Gavin was concerned—in ways that people like Gavin and Zoey could never understand. Yes, Zoey might go after a criminal score, but Simon could hear the news that they were short on funds and hire himself out to the Syndicate as a hit man.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Gavin frowned and dug inside the pockets of his faded brown overcoat. No, he would handle this problem himself. No need to worry the others when he could take care of things right here in the spaceport.

We picked just the right spot to run out of credits, he thought, pulling out a chatter device and opening one of his old contact files. A stream of names flashed before his eyes, the automated computer system sorting through them based on where the Chancer had made port. Gavin smiled as a familiar name cropped up on the holographic interface and he tapped into it.

It didn’t take long for the guy on the other end to respond. “Gavin Dunn,” boomed a throaty voice from Gavin’s earpiece. “Well look what the salvage crews dragged in.”

“Neils,” Gavin said, grinning in spite of himself. He’d lost contact with plenty of business associates over the years—part of the hazards that came with being an only semi-legal freighter captain—but even time hadn’t dulled his recollections of the jovial trader’s voice. “I'll have you know I flew into port just fine on my own, thanks. Long time no see.”

“I’ll say it’s been. Gotta say, Gav, I’m a bit hurt it’s taken you this long to call me. That hunk of junk you fly around in has come in and out of this port at least three times this past year, but do you ever stop in for a visit? Hell, you could have at least sent flowers.”

“Hey, watch what you say about my ship. You’ll hurt her feelings.” Gavin shook his head, still smiling. Neils hadn’t changed one bit. “You know how it is. The Syndicate still thinks I stiffed ‘em. I can’t just pay social calls whenever I feel like it.”

“Only when you need a little cash, huh, you miserly shithead,” Neils laughed. “You could always just ring the Syndicate up and apologize. It’d make things easier on you.”

“Oh, sure, because they're so big on forgiveness.” Neils was right and Gavin knew it. He was a good captain, everyone knew that, and his debt to the Syndicate was trivial enough that they’d look the other way in exchange for a few years’ discounted service. But if Gavin had been wary of the criminal empire that governed most everything that went down in the colonial underworld before he’d taken on his two current shipmates, the story of what had happened to Zoey’s family had sealed the deal in his mind. He wouldn’t put her through working for the organization that had slaughtered her parents. And Simon had come to him trying to collect the bounty the Syndicate had put on his head. Gavin was determined to keep the Spartan out of the Syndicate’s bloodstained clutches as much as possible, even if it meant a little lost income in the long run. “Look, you guessed right, I’m a little short on funds right now. The usual routes aren’t cutting it. Think you’ve got a few extra cargo pieces you need moved? You know, discreetly?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I do have a few shipments I’d prefer colonial customs didn’t go rooting through. And with the Covenant remnant acting up again, half my regular pilots won’t even go any system that doesn’t have a UNSC task force hanging around.”

“Well, today’s your lucky day. We at the Chancer V take pride in servicing your shady, dangerous needs. We don't mind the Covenant, we just charge extra for it.”

“Of course you do.” Neils laughed again. “Look, you need the cash and I need the goods moved. I know you, you know me, we shouldn’t have to haggle too much. Still, I’d rather not run the details over the airwaves. Never know who might be listening in.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Gavin scowled down at Simon. The Spartan couldn’t see him, but someone else could. Gavin had made it very clear that Diana wasn’t allowed in the Chancer’s systems, not that a little thing like that would stop the vile little AI from snooping around anyway. She hung around Simon like an evil spirit; wherever he went, she was sure to follow and there was nothing anyone could do to stop her.

“Are you still working things out of that one street, the one with all the warehouses…?”

“That’s the one. If you can come down now, we can hammer everything out and start loading the goods within the hour. I’ll have the first shipment ready to fly by this evening.”

“Everybody loves a fast worker,” Gavin agreed. There really was no need to have worried about the funds in the first place. With contacts like his, an extra contact was always just a chatter call away. “I’ll be down there in ten minutes.”

“You’re a miracle worker, Gavin. I’ll let the boys know you’re coming. Don’t mind the extra security. Dangerous times and all that.”

“Oh, believe me, I know what you mean. Give my regards to the missus and I’ll come straight there.”

He closed the call and straightened, stretching out his back. A quick stroll down to the warehouse district, a little bit of back and forth with Neils, sign some paperwork, and get the job specifics. It wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it would keep the Chancer flying and at the end of the day that was all that mattered.



Zoey was sorting crate manifests.

Simon-G294 could see her out of the corner of his eye, moving around the storage containers stacked just outside the cargo bay. He’d put her in charge of checking the crates for any unlisted cargo or loose material. Technically that was his job this time around but it was dull work and besides, his gear wasn’t going to maintain itself.

Zoey hadn’t been happy when he’d pushed the job on her, but at least she was doing it. A little grousing from her was well worth a few hours in a stable, empty cargo bay to spread everything out and take stock.

His helmet’s systems were acting up again. Simon opened up the back panel and sorted through the wiring, spotting nearly a dozen little problems with the way the thing was set up. SPI armor was built to last, but in the years since his desertion he’d needed to replace half the internal systems with black market knock-offs of the original military design. They kept the armor up to date and functional, but they also meant he had to run functions checks twice as often as he’d done when he was with the UNSC. It was a tedious job, but the armor kept him alive in the field.

“Hey Stray,” Zoey called from amidst the crates. “I’m all done with the check.”

Simon didn't look up from his helmet. “Then run a check on the Spade’s engine. Damn thing was making some weird noises last time I took it out.”

She made a scathing noise in the back of her throat but did as she was told and crossed over to the Chancer’s bulky ATV, parked outside the cargo bay near the crates. Technically this was also Simon’s job; Gavin had Zoey practicing her engine maintenance skills these days, but the Chancer had flown into port without any of the usual system problems and there really was no sense in letting her sit around when he could just as easily free up his own schedule and get this equipment check out of the way.

He turned back to his helmet. The com piece buzzed softly in his hand. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” observed a smooth, female voice. “To think you used to take on Covenant assault ships and run rings around ONI agents. Now you’re pawning your chores off onto cabin girls.”

“You shove it,” he warned, fingers working at the helmet wiring. “It’s part of her training.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Diana agreed. “You’ve got her best interests at heart, as always.”

Diana's banter couldn't distract him from the work on his helmet; they'd been partners long enough that he could snap back at her while doing just about anything. “There a reason you’re bugging me right now? If I have to sit through another ass-chewing from Gavin about letting you in the system…”

“Don’t worry; I’m leaving his precious systems alone. Most of them.”

“Yeah, sure. Go screw with the port's superintendent functions, cause a traffic jam downtown or something. I’m busy.”

Diana was not so easily dissuaded. “Got any plans for once you’ve finished? Maybe go out on the town, see the sights?”

Simon closed the helmet panel and set it aside, kneeling over the rest of his gear. “Gonna wrap this up, then get to stacking the new stuff. Maybe toss in some knife lessons for Zoey or something.”

“Oh right, those fun sessions where you beat up some unaugmented kid who’s four years younger than you? You must be really and truly bored if that’s your idea of a good time.”

“You got a point you’re working towards here?” Simon growled. It was a rhetorical question. There was always a “point,” some grand revelation for Diana to build up to.

“You’re no fun, as usual. I’m just pointing out that you aren’t exactly moving up in the galaxy.”

“Yeah, what else is new? Besides, every time it looks like I’m ‘moving up’ it’s just so I can get tossed on the express elevator back down. We’ve had this conversation before. You want power, go pal around with the Assembly. I’m not ditching the Chancer.”

“Fine, fine, I didn’t say anything about you running out on your new little clubhouse. I just think it’s made you a little boring. A year ago you were taking contracts for big-shot players. We were infiltrating Covenant compounds, assassinating pirate chiefs. Now you go around acting tough for Gavin and bullying a fourteen-year-old into doing your chores so you can grab some free time.”

Simon let out an irritated huff and examined the components to his shotgun. Diana had a point, as usual. He enjoyed life on the Chancer, the feeling of having somewhere to sleep that wasn’t a hideout or safehouse. He liked bantering with Gavin and chipping in for Zoey’s education, whether she appreciated his contributions or not. He’d never admit it to Gavin, but even the mundane realities of cargo hauling and smuggling were growing on him. He hadn’t felt this way about a home since Mamore and Rat Pack.

Since Gamma Company and Jian.

Still, he couldn't deny the slight discomfort at the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. Something that flared up every time he saw a news report about some new frontier war or heard a spacer’s tall tale about the exploits of the Spartans. There were two voices that gnawed at his mind when things got quiet, one that said This is my home and another that hissed back You don’t belong here.

“So life’s not as exciting as it used to be,” he said aloud. “So what? I get three meals a day, an actual bed to sleep on and I only get shot at once a week instead of every other day. I’m good with that. You just can’t stand the fact that Gavin won’t let you into the ship’s systems.”

“I can get into his precious junk heap any time I want, “ the A.I. scoffed. “I just don’t need to right now. And besides, I've got your interests at heart here, too."

“Okay, so maybe I’m getting a little complacent. What do you want me to do, advertise us to the UNSC every time we make port, get some commando teams on our ass just to keep my skills sharp?”

“That’s not a bad idea, come to think of it,” she replied thoughtfully. “But I’m thinking more along the lines of extra job opportunities. Plenty of little odd jobs you can grab whenever the ship docks. Short little contracts, nothing big. Just enough to remind people that Stray’s still on the loose.”

Diana wasn’t projecting an avatar, so Simon fixed his suspicious glare on his helmet’s microspeakers instead. “That doesn’t sound incredibly heinous. What’s the catch?”

“Does you making money count as a catch? You need to learn to give me a bit more credit. I’m just trying to help you out.”

Simon glanced down at his gear, then back out at the hangar. Zoey was nowhere to be seen. She’d probably snuck off when he was talking to Diana. It didn’t matter, she’d gotten most of the real work done already.

“Alright,” he said after a moment. “As long as we don’t piss off anyone too important. What sort of ‘odd job’ do you have in mind?”

“There’s a Syndicate bounty on a local dealer,” Diana reported cheerfully. She’d had that one just waiting in the wings, ready for Simon to cave in and take the bait. “Not really important enough to have any big shots coming after him and with enough security that he can keep his business afloat. A decent sum, if you don’t mind working for it just a bit.”

Simon picked up his helmet and looked at his scraggly, unkempt reflection in the visor. “Fine. You hack his systems, help me blindside him, and we’ll wrap this up in a few hours.”

“I knew you’d see the light sooner or later.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I won’t regret it later. What’s the rundown on this target?”



Gavin was talking on his chatter.

Zoey Hunsinger could see the boss up on the railing, talking into the chatter in the shadows of the ship’s upper level. She briefly wondered who it might be. Another job, perhaps, or just a social call? Hard to tell with the boss sometimes.

Stray was talking, too. She could hear him from where he crouched, surrounded by armor and gear, murmuring to a voice too soft for her to make out. Not that she needed to. There was only one person who could make him scowl and roll his eyes like that, and she wasn’t supposed to be on the ship.

I should call him on it, she told herself, ducking back behind the hood of the Spade and rechecking her work on the ATV’s engine. She owed him a bit of payback after he’d saddled her with all his chores. ''He says he has important equipment checks to do and he winds up chatting with Diana. Typical.''

Zoey had known Stray for years, ever since the day he’d shown up on her parents’ farm. The Syndicate had been after him then, and their thugs burned down the fields and slaughtered everything she’d ever known. He hadn’t changed much since then. The gaunt, wild-haired young man who crouched amidst disassembled weapon components and argued with a psychotic AI was the same armored killer who had dragged her out of the flames back on Venezia. Back then she’d hated him for that. He’d been the one who brought the Syndicate down on her family in the first place, but also the one who’d forced her to keep on living after her parents were killed. The passage of time hadn’t made him any easier to figure out. Stray was a violent, foul-mouthed, money-grubbing scoundrel with a sense of humor that only seemed to work when it was at other people’s expense. And yet he would just as often be quiet and pensive, taking everything in and working out a plan even as the world came crashing down around him. He’d foist all his chores on Zoey one day, then spend hours drilling with her on combat techniques the next. Sometimes she wondered who exactly the real Stray was, but there was a sense of comfort in not really understanding him. It was probably the way he liked it any way.

Gavin wasn’t such an enigma, at least not in the same way. The boss was still standing up in the hangar rafters, laughing at something that had been said over the chatter. Gavin Dunn, at once collected and high-strung, greedy and charitable, patient and jumpy. She had almost lost hope of finding anyone halfway decent in the galaxy after her family had died when she'd run into the patchy ship captain. Of course, she had immediately taken his amicableness for weakness and set out to steal his ship out from under him. She’d been wrong on both the count that a thirteen year old orphan could handle a ship on her own and on the count that some down on his luck freighter captain wouldn’t go to insane lengths to get that beloved ship back. He’d snatched the Chancer right back and Zoey had been grateful for it ever since.

Stray taught her how to fight so she could survive; Gavin taught her how to handle the Chancer so that she might one day really have a ship of her own. Yes, there was plenty to fault that threadbare combination of tired bones, a tattered coat, and a baseball cap for, but you underestimated Gavin Dunn at your own peril.

Gavin Dunn and Stray, the Chancer V’s motley crew. An ex-rebel and an ex-Spartan ready to take on anything the galaxy threw their way. And me, Zoey reminded herself. I’m a part of the crew too.

It wasn’t that she felt out of place on the Chancer. It was her home, maybe even more so than it was for them. But Gavin had grown up flying around from place to place like this, and Stray was a wanderer by nature. Zoey should have felt the same after all this time, but it was times like this when, alone with her work, that she felt the strain of always moving, never staying in one place.

This is stupid, she told herself, bending over the Spade’s hood. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get the job done. Gavin had probably started out like this too. If she ever wanted to be like him, she had to just deal with crap like this. “Embrace the suck,” as Stray liked to say. And in her own, small way, she couldn't deny that she wanted to be like Stray, too.

It wasn’t even hard work, not really. She’d been good with machines even before the farm burned down and she’d only gotten better since signing on with Gavin. This Spade was as temperamental as the Chancer herself, but if you knew the right way to work it things weren’t that bad.

“Hey,” said someone behind her. “What’s wrong with the lifter?”

Zoey turned, surprised, and found a girl who looked about her own age perched atop one of the crates. The girl grinned at her and raised a friendly hand. “What’s up?”

Zoey raised a hand in reply, but didn’t say anything. People who snuck up on you in hangar bays were generally not to be trusted, even if they were young girls. She would know: she was one herself. This newcomer seemed friendly enough, but Zoey could almost hear Stray’s voice buzzing in the back of her head, thick with scornful humor: ''Yeah, she’s real friendly. Right up until she cuts your throat and loots your corpse.'' Her thoughts drifted to the small pistol Gavin had given her, tucked away inside her jacket.

The girl, sensing her hesitation, laughed. “What’s wrong—“

“Say ‘cat got your tongue’ and I’ll throw something at you,” Zoey cut in. It was a Gavin-ism, a phrase that nobody had used for centuries but one that he enjoyed tossing around all the time. Stray and Zoey had a running bet on how often he'd let them fly any given week.

“So you do talk.” The girl leaned forward, hands pressed to her chin. She was sturdy for her age, with dark skin and hair punctuated by a smile that never seemed to leave her face. “I’ve been watching you for like an hour now. Not a lot of kids my age on the ships that came through here. Who’s the creepy guy in the ship, with all the gear? Your brother?”

Zoey started to look back at Stray, but snapped her gaze back onto the newcomer. “No. Just part of the crew. Like me.”

The newcomer craned her neck to get a better look. “Well, he sure looks like he’s been through a few ringers. And that’s some military-grade stuff he’s got. What are you guys, pirates?”

“We’re just a freighter crew.” Zoey folded her arms. “It’s a tough galaxy out there. And who are you supposed to be, anyway?”

The girl’s unending grin widened. “I’m Tegla. My dad owns some warehouses around here. I like to come around the hangars, see who comes through. What’s your name?”

Zoey kept her arms folded, still wary. “I’m Zoey.”

“Nice ship,” Tegla said, appraising the Chancer. “I heard some of my dad’s buddies talking about it. Said it was more than meets the eye, so I came down to have a look.”

“She gets the job done.”

“And you work on her? What’s your job?”

“I just fix things.” Zoey unfolded her arms and looked Tegla over again. “But I’m also training to fly her.”

Tegla leaned forward. “Really? Who teaches you, your pal over there? Doesn’t look like much of a pilot.”

“He’s not. Our boss, the ship’s captain, he’s the one who teaches me that stuff.” Zoey looked back at the cargo bay. Gavin had vanished from the railing, off to get some business done no doubt. Stray didn’t seem to have taken notice of her conversation and was busy gathering his armor back together. “But the one with the gear, he’s taught me a few things, too. He’s a merc, so don’t try anything with me.”

Tegla just laughed. “Jeez, I know it’s rough out here but I’m not planning to mug you or anything. We’re just talking.”

This new girl had a way of setting you at ease and Zoey felt suddenly embarrassed at her own paranoia. “Sorry. You never can tell with some people though.”

“Yeah, no worries. Like you said, tough galaxy.” Tegla shrugged. “Not that many kids my age, even ones that live around here. It’s mostly just spacers and military types. I don’t get to talk to people like you a whole lot.”

Zoey nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“How many on that ship? Anyone like you?”

“It’s just the three of us. Sometimes we take passengers, but they’re always weirdoes. Not that Stray’s much better.”

“Stray? The merc?” Tegla grinned. “Suits him. I know a few dogs around here you could introduce him to.”

“He’d just as soon eat a dog as pet it.” Zoey glanced around the hangar. “Anything interesting around here?”

“Not much. Just a few vendors and whatever ships are coming through.” Tegla’s eyes brightened. “But my dad’s warehouses have some cool stuff in ‘em. You wanna come see?”

Zoey hesitated. It wasn’t as if she’d been told to stay put. Besides, Gavin and Stray were always off doing their own thing. What was the harm in going to check out a few things with Tegla?

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I never get to check out the sights, even when we go to interesting places. It’s not far, is it?”

“Nah, just a few blocks from here.” Tegla sprang to her feet and stretched. “You won’t get in trouble, will you?”

“I just finished my chores.” Stray’s chores, actually. “Believe me, with these two guys, going off for a couple hours isn’t really high on the list of crap you get in trouble for.”

“Like I said, it’s not far.” Tegla leaped down from the box and beckoned eagerly for Zoey to follow. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

Zoey shot one last glance at the Chancer then hurried after Tegla. “Don’t worry. I’m not really in a position to be judging anybody else's house.”



The guards at the warehouse door—two dockhands with civilian model pistols—straightened as Gavin approached. One checked his image against a datapad and nodded. “You the guy they said was coming down?”

Gavin smiled and spread his hands. “I don’t know, how many other visitors are you expecting?”

“Just you, from the sounds of it.” The guard jerked his head at his companion, who punched a code into the door’s security console while he raised a body scanner. “Hold still a sec.”

Gavin obligingly unstrapped his pistol and handed it over to the dockhand, who set it aside and ran the scanner over his body. “I’ve just got a few datapads on me. I’ll be needing them for settling things with your boss.”

The dockhand nodded and waved him along. “Just head inside and go straight.”

“Thanks.” Gavin stepped inside the threshold and looked around the dimly lit warehouse. “Got any signs posted? You know, in case I get lost?”

“Like I said, go straight and you’ll be good.” The guard turned back to the game he’d been playing on his datapad.

Neils had done well for himself, at least if this fully stocked warehouse was any indication. Gavin nodded approvingly as he headed down the center aisle. Crates of goods lined the shelves all the way to the ceiling, each one stamped with different ID codes and packing instructions. Workers milled about the shelves as he walked through, taking inventory, moving goods, or just practicing the age-old tradition of trying to look busy while slacking off. Gavin grinned and nodded to one young woman who hastily concealed her cigarette as he passed.

His datapad hummed quietly. Gavin pulled it out of his coat pocket. Two new messages blinked on the screen The first was from Simon: ''Gone out. Back later. Can’t find Zoey. Ship’s locked down. The second was from Zoey: Sightseeing. Work is done. Back in a few.''

Gavin smiled to himself and tucked the pad back in his pocket. Simon was rarely content to stay idle on the Chancer and it seemed Zoey had picked up his restlessness. As long as the ship was secure, he didn’t mind. It was good for them to get out and walk around when bullets or plasma weren’t being flying through the air. He’d had far from a normal childhood, but at least he hadn’t had to grow up on a battlefield. Simon had been raised and trained to live on the battlefield, and life had done little to provide anything else for him. Zoey had it even worse: she’d had a normal life only to see it snatched away and replaced by an endless struggle to survive. If Gavin could just make sure that both of them came away with something more than just a cynical understanding of how cruel the galaxy could be, it would make up for his past failures.

“Gavin Dunn,” a voice boomed from the far end of the warehouse. “You got here quicker than I expected.”

“I’m always a little hazy with time.” Gavin looked over to see Neils standing outside a small office. The man wore casual business tire and the same broad grin Gavin had always associated with him. A few warehouse workers hung around the office. “You’re lucky I came early instead of late. Always a bit of a toss-up with me.”

“Yes, it’s coming back to me now. Can’t believe I forgot that about you.” Neils beckoned. “Come on, get over here and let’s get this business taken care of. We’ll have it done in a few minutes and then maybe you can stay for a drink.”

“You know, I was counting on this just being a short visit.” Gavin strolled towards Neils. “But my crew seems to be hitting the town. Maybe I’ll just have to take you up on that.”

The businessman laughed as Gavin drew near. “I knew you would. You never could resist a little beer.”

Gavin clasped Neils’s outstretched hand. “As long as it’s locally brewed. The preservatives really start to get old out on the space lanes.”

“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, let’s go ahead and get—“

The door to the office slid open. Gavin saw past Neils as an armored Sangheili warrior ducked out under the door frame. His grip tightened on Neils’s arm and he quickly released it.

“You mentioned something about beefed up security,” he said quietly. The Sangheili glanced at him, a plasma rifle dangling from its hip. Gavin had seen plenty of the aliens before, but for one to be here, on an entirely human-settled world, meant that it was here on serious business and not the kind that a merchant like Neils would deal in.

“Just a temporary thing,” Neils assured him, looking back at the warrior. “Just until the Syndicate gets off my back.”

Gavin considered himself a good hand at sniffing out a bad situation, but now that he was staring right in one’s face he had to reevaluate that assessment. After all, he’d just walked unarmed into an enclosed warehouse and now, faced with an alien killing machine, he was starting to notice how a few of the warehouse workers were starting to draw in a bit closer. A woman clad in a tactical vest rounded one of the nearby aisles, cradling a submachine gun.

“Well, no sense just standing around. Let’s get down to business.” Gavin slipped a hand inside his overcoat and clutched his datapad. “What sort of merchandise do you have in mind?”

“Just a few odds and ends.” Neils took a step back. “Nothing major, but the payoff will be good.”

“Yes.” A lump formed in Gavin’s throat as he looked over the still beaming man and wondered when he'd become such a terrible judge of character. “I’m sure it will be.”

Someone grabbed him from behind. Gavin spun and yanked the dockworker’s arm, sending the man sprawling. He kicked his attacker in the chest just as two more came from him from either side. The one on the left got a boot to the groin. The one on the right met the business end of the taser built into Gavin’s datapad. Both collapsed, but now the Sangheili had its plasma rifle up and trained on his chest.

“Careful now,” Neils told the warrior. “The contract’s no good if he’s dead.”

“I am aware, human,” the warrior growled.

Gavin shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he was more disgusted at Neils or at his own naiveté at being drawn in so easily. “How much are you getting paid to do this?” he demanded. “Can’t be much, if the Syndicate only sent one hinge-head to take me in.”

“You’re right, it’s not much,” Neils agreed. “But it’s enough to get them off my back, get me back into the fold. Independence is nice, but it’s not so fun when you’ve got the Syndicate after you. I hand you over to the local bosses, they make sure the higher ups cancel the mark on my head. Sorry to do this, Gavin, but it’s just how things work.”

The Sangheili jerked its head and took a step forward. “Enough talk. If your incompetent employees can’t restrain him, I will.”

Gavin’s fist tightened over the datapad-taser. The light stun charge wouldn’t do anything against the hinge-head’s shields and even if it did, where would he run? He was sealed inside this warehouse with Neils and his workers. There was nothing to do but…

Something flashed in the corner of his eye. In the next instant a thunderous roar split the air and an entire aisle’s worth of merchandise tumbled down to the floor. As panicked workers ran to avoid the falling goods, Gavin threw himself down to the ground.

In the next instant, all hell broke loose.



The sentry folded under Simon’s blow. The Spartan caught the man before he hit the ground and lowered the unconscious body to the alley floor.

Diana tsked inside his helmet. “You could have just killed him.”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed, mounting the ladder the sentry had been securing. “I could have.”

“Care to elaborate? Since when do a few corpses matter when you’re on the hunt?”

“Not worth the ammo.” Simon clambered up the ladder, watching out for any remaining sentries.

“I brought this job to you so you could prove that you’re not going soft. What’s wrong, afraid Gavin will complain?”

“You just clamp up and focus on keeping the security feed tied up.” Simon didn’t want to admit it, but Diana wasn’t that far from the truth. He already felt strangely guilty about going behind Gavin and Zoey’s backs to pull this off without shooting through the mark's entire security team as well.

It’s not behind their backs, I just didn’t tell them what I was doing. It wasn’t as if he had any obligation to fill them in on every little thing he did. He wasn’t taking the money from this job for himself—well, not a whole lot of it—so they had no reason to complain. Still, these sentries were just warehouse employees pulling some extra duty for a bonus on their paycheck. Not particularly threatening, and with Diana hiding him from most of their surveillance gear anyway there was no need to leave a trail of corpses in his wake.

He pulled himself up onto the maintenance walkway on the warehouse rooftop and checked the blueprints on his helmet’s HUD for a cleaning access hatch. His armor’s long-suffering camouflage system mimicked the roof’s brown and grey hues, blending him in with his surrounding as he crept forward.

Something moved on the roof and Simon froze. A human and a Kig-Yar stepped into view; both wore combat armor and held military-grade weaponry—definitely not warehouse staff.

“Diana,” Simon hissed. “Just them?”

“From the looks of things. You know, there’s an environment control system inside the warehouse, with the right tweaks I could just pump some toxic chemicals in there and you won’t even have to go inside—“

“Just make sure nobody hears this,” Simon cut in. He unholstered his silenced M6 pistol with one hand and loosened the machete slung across his back.

“Why do they even need us up here?” the human was grousing. “We’re just picking up one guy, right? No need for us to be holding our dicks up here.”

The Kig-Yar let out an avian hiss that might have been agreement, dissent, or an observation on the differences between human and Kig-Yar reproductive organs. Simon had no way of knowing—his helmet’s translation software had crashed weeks ago and with Diana insisting he do technical maintenance himself he hadn’t had time to fix it.

He took a knee and drew a bead on the Kig-Yar. The alien cocked its head, one eye flitting in his direction. No response; it wasn’t expecting to see anything out of the ordinary on the roof and so its eyes didn’t pick up the camouflaged figure leaning out from around the corner.

Simon’s pistol clicked three times. The Kig-Yar and its human companion dropped to the roof.

Darting over the bodies, Simon reached the maintenance accessway and crouched beside the hatch. “You in the system?”

“Is that even worth asking? Are you sure you don’t want me to gas the place?”

“Just open the damn door.”

“If you insist.” The hatch slid open and Simon slipped inside. He hurried down the access corridor, mindful of the security systems he passed along the way. Diana said she was taking care of the sensors and cameras, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d said that, then given away his position for kicks.

The corridor brought him out onto a catwalk overlooking the warehouse’s main room. Simon double-checked his camo systems, then edged out onto the nearest shelf. A few warehouse workers were moving about below him, but most seemed preoccupied by something going on at the far end of the cavernous storage building. Simon could hear voices, but with his barely-functional helmet sensors—another asset long in need of repairs—he couldn’t make out what was being said.

Mindful of the workers below, he pulled himself onto an upper catwalk and edged toward the sound of the commotion. His stomach lurched as he glanced down at the distant ground—he would never forget that terrifying first night jump on Onyx—but he kept on moving. He wasn’t alone on the catwalk; a Kig-Yar marksman stood a few yards away, carbine trained on whatever was going on down below. The alien was so wrapped up in the ground floor that it didn’t notice Simon until he slipped up behind it and wrapped an armored arm around its skinny neck.

Didn’t kill that one either, he realized, lowering the unconscious marksman to the ground. He hadn’t even thought about it that time; he’d choked out the Kig-Yar with the same procedural instinct he’d have used to cut its throat a year ago. Maybe Diana was right. Maybe the Chancer really was making him soft.

He shook away his personal worries and scooped up the carbine. If he could take his target out from here, he would just sprint back across the catwalk to the maintenance hatch and be back at the Chancer’s hangar before the rest of the security detail even realized where the shot had come from.

It was only when he began to sight up with the carbine that he finally took notice of the scene below. The Sangheili was the first thing he saw, standing beside a man in a business suit. The two were watching some sort of scuffle a few feet away, one involving a pair of workers and a man in a patchy, faded overcoat. An overcoat that Simon knew all too well.

The fuck is Gavin doing here? Simon could hardly say that he was surprised. Just leave it to Gavin to show up and make things more complicated. There was no time to wonder about the why part of things because now it was all about the how the hell do I kill the target and make sure Gavin gets out in one piece. A straight sniping was out of the question now.

And the time window on that came crashing down the second the Sangheili took a step forward, clearly intending to deal with things himself.

No more time to think. Simon unclipped a grenade from his combat webbing and hurled it as far as he could to the other side of the warehouse. It exploded and tore down an entire aisle’s worth of stored goods. Workers scrambled to get away from the avalanche of crates and now Simon had about two seconds to figure out something else.

His stomach tied itself in knots as he leaped from the catwalk. Maybe he yelled in terror and maybe he didn’t, there was no way of knowing. The blood roared in his ears and as the adrenaline and terror came crashing to the fore he wasn’t falling towards the hard ground anymore. An ocean spread out before him and as he crashed down beneath the waves training and instinct took over. Be like water.

Muscles and bones hardened by ONI’s augmentations absorbed the force of the landing and he was up and running before anyone had even noticed the SPI-armored killer that had dropped from the ceiling. The Sangheili whirled as he approached, reaching for the energy sword on its hip. Simon fired his pistol at the surprised warrior, splashing bullets across his shields. The machete came out just as he closed the distance; the hardened blade slashed through the Sangheili’s elongated neck and sent the warrior collapsing to the floor in a fit of gurgling chokes.

The man in the business suit—the man who wore the face of the target Diana had shown him, the man Simon was being paid to kill—loomed up. His eyes widened in stunned terror as the battered suit of armor sprinted towards him. His legs bent to run and he pulled a pistol from his jacket, but a swift bullet to the knee knocked him flat on his back.

Simon stood over the target now, kicking the pistol away. Everything blurred together: the warehouse, the workers, Gavin, his target. He brought his own pistol up and trained it on the man’s face.

A distant voice screamed out in terror. Another voice, somewhat familiar, called out his name: Stray.

Stray pulled the trigger twice.



“So, you really live on that ship?” Tegla asked, stopping to help Zoey up onto the roof. The warehouse wasn’t far, but Tegla was clearly enjoying showing off her favorite haunts and Zoey couldn’t help but enjoy the tour.

“Yeah.” She glanced around. This town wasn’t much of anything, but she’d just spent the last five days moving from her cramped ship cabin to the cramped cockpit to the cramped engine room. The gray, overcast sky overhead looked beautiful. The faint breeze on her face felt glorious. “Who needs a house when you can just fly your home anywhere you want?”

Tegla laughed. “You sound like some of the guys my dad works with. You want to be a spacer?”

“Sure. Ever since I was little.” Zoey shrugged. “I’m good with machines. And Gavin’s teaching me how to be a pilot.”

“Wow.” Tegla sounded seriously impressed. “That’s awesome. Living in space must be awesome. Sometimes I think I’ll be stuck here all my life.”

“It’s not all fun.” Zoey felt a little bad. She didn’t want to make Tegla feel like she was putting down colony life. “Most of the time I just fix broken stuff and clean up after Stray.”

“That scruffy merc punk? I thought you were just joking back in the hangar. He's really called that?.”

“It’s not his real name, that’s just what people call him. He says he got it when he lived on Mamore. Says it fits. Gavin doesn’t like it, but I dunno. I called him that back when we first met, so…” She shrugged. “He’s a jerk, but he’s useful to keep around.”

“That’s not very nice. Guy like that, there has to be something good about him.”

“You don’t live with him.” Zoey glanced over the edge of the roof. “He’s not a nice person. Most of the time. He makes me do half his chores and then makes me do ‘em again when he doesn’t like how I did it. But he does teach me stuff. Lots of stuff.”

Tegla walked across the edge of the roof, balancing with ease and putting one foot in front of the other with a casual grace that Zoey envied. “Well, you’re lucky to have him around. You better drink up everything he has to show you while you can. Strike while the iron’s hot, that’s what my dad likes to say.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Hey, you think if we go back to your ship he can show me some stuff? I’ve always wanted to learn how to shoot.”

“Depends on what kind of mood he’s in.” Zoey sat down and dangled her feet over the edge, watching Tegla thread the rest of the roof edge. “But you’ve lived here all your life?”

“Pretty much. Dad moved his business here after he married Mom. We live around here, but I’ve been all over town. When school lets out I go places all over town. Mom doesn’t like it, but Dad thinks it’s great.”

“What do you want to do? You know, when you grow up?”

Tegla grinned over her shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s too early to think about stuff like that. At least for me, anyway.”

“Guess you’re right.” It felt good, to talk like this. Zoey hadn’t expected to enjoy Tegla’s company so much, but now she was realizing that she’d never really talked to someone her age before. Was that a bad thing? She’d never really thought about it before. It didn’t hurt or make her feel bad that she’d never done this before, but she couldn’t deny how nice this felt. Just sitting around and talking.

“Come on,” Tegla dropped down onto a ledge just beneath the rooftop and beckoned for Zoey to follow. “I’ll show you where my Dad works and then maybe we can go back and you can show me your ship?”

“Yeah.” Zoey hurried after her and they scrambled down to ground level. “I’d like that.”

Tegla led her down an alley to the rear of one of the big warehouses. She punched in a quick code on her chatter and a panel of the wall slid away. “Not a whole lot of people know about this. My dad gave me the code so I could come visit him when he’s working.”

They entered a dark hallway. Tegla hurried down to another wall paneling and started to slide it open. Just as Zoey ran to catch up, an abrupt crack split the air. There was a terrific crash, and the sound of people shouting. Tegla stood, framed in the half open doorway. “What the—“

“Get down!” Zoey grabbed Tegla by the shoulder and forced her to the ground. She knew these sounds all too well. Glancing up, she saw a towering hinge-head’s shields flare just a few feet away. Something charged into it and in a brutal flash the warrior collapsed, purple blood seeping from its throat. Its killer kept moving, bowling into a human figure and knocking him over.

Zoey saw it all so clearly: a fully armored Stray standing over a cowering man in a business suit. Stray kicked something and a pistol skidded over towards her and Tegla. She blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Tegla forced her hand away and struggled to get up. “Dad!”

Everything clicked in an instant and Zoey sprang to her feet. “Stray! Don’t! Stray!”

If her friend heard her, he gave no sign. Stray calmly raised his pistol and shot Tegla’s father twice through the head.



Gavin wondered if something had hit him on the head. One second he was trapped in a warehouse facing down half a dozen Syndicate thugs and in the next the hinge-head was dead, Simon was standing over Neils, and Zoey had come out of nowhere to shout at him. Everything felt surreal and Gavin couldn’t remember taking any drugs recently. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one.

May not know what the hell is happening, but I might as well play along. He sprang for the woman with the SMG and yanked the weapon from her hands while she gaped at Simon. Knocking the hired gun away, he aimed the captured weapon at what few warehouse workers hadn’t already run for the exit. They took one look at the chaos playing out in front of them and decided that no minimum wage job was worth dealing with an armored commando and a crazy, cap-wearing spacer. The warehouse emptied faster than the Chancer’s whisky supply.

Gavin lowered the SMG and tried to steady his nerves. “Nice save, Simon,” he panted. “Neils, that job offer’s tempting, but I think we’ll pass—“

He turned and stopped short when he saw the contents of Neils’s head spread out on the warehouse floor. “Oh.”

Simon didn’t say anything. Gavin looked past him to Zoey who looked as if someone had just punched her in the gut. There was another girl with her, and this one was looking at Neils with wide, horrified eyes. Gavin glanced at what was left of Neils’s once-grinning face and then back at the girl. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on here.

“Oh hell,” he muttered. He tried to think of something else to say, but words failed him.

And then the girl went for the gun.



Stray’s head was buzzing. The shooting had stopped; the warehouse had cleared out. He saw Gavin out of the corner of his eye, an SMG in hand, and a tinge of relief passed through his body. He’s safe. Good.

Something was going on off to the side, but if Gavin wasn’t worried about it Stray didn’t have to get distracted either. He knelt over the body of his target—Neils Ruto, businessman, embezzler, and drug launderer—and grunted in irritation. Face is wrecked, should have gone for the chest shot, stupid move.

He pulled out the man’s ID card, then swiped a couple chunks of bloodied scalp as well. Nasty stuff, but sometimes the Syndicate middlemen who put out hits like this insisted on DNA evidence before they’d pay up. His thoughts flicked back to the Sangheili he’d killed. Maybe there was a price on that guy’s head, too. You never could tell with scumbags like these. Not that Stray had anything against scumbags, he was one himself…

Diana’s voice snapped him back into the present. “Simon, to the right! She’s got a gun!”

Stray looked up. He saw Zoey and more importantly the girl beside her, the one pointing the same handgun he’d kicked away from Neils straight at him.

No time to think. Just react. Kill or be killed. Stray’s instincts kicked in and his fingers tightened around his pistol once more.

Kill or be killed.



Zoey took it all in: Tegla, fumbling with the safety catch on her father’s gun. Gavin, too far away to do anything. Stray, kneeling over the body, faceless behind his helmet, body coiled like a spring, the muscles in his arm already moving to bring his pistol up. She could see it all as if through his eyes, because he’d taught her that you had two things you could do if someone pointed a gun at you: take cover or shoot them first.

Stray was not taking cover.

Zoey grabbed Tegla’s arm and threw her down. It was easy, a move Gavin had shown her plenty of times before. In an instant she was holding the gun in her hands. Tegla had only just gotten the safety off.

Stray’s pistol quivered in the air for a moment, then slowly lowered to his side. His helmet tilted to one side, almost quizzically. “Zoey?”

He shook his head, body uncoiling. “Nice one. But, uh, what are you doing here?”

“You…” Tegla’s voice was strained, confused. She looked up at Zoey with wild, desperate eyes. “You’re with…”

“Tegla, I’m…” The words caught in Zoey’s throat. She’d been here before. She’d lived it: scared, confused, not knowing what to feel as your entire universe lay a few feet away with a hole blown through its head. What could she possibly say?

She never found her answer. Tegla scrambled to her feet and fled, running back down the corridor they’d come through. The darkness swallowed her up, and she was gone.

“Hey, Gavin, you alright?” Stray was asking. He’d already turned away. “What are you guys doing here, anyway?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Gavin straightened his coat and let out a short laugh, but it was numb and hollow. “Didn’t know we had plans to meet up. Talk about rotten luck.”

“More like good luck, from where I’m standing.” Stray looked back at Zoey. “And here I thought our sparring sessions weren’t doing you any good. Thanks for the save.”

“We’d better get going,” Gavin said. “I don’t want to be around when word starts spinning about this. We can figure all this out once we’ve got a bulkhead between us and any other yahoos.”

“I hear that. I’d just cleaned this armor, too…”

They kept talking, but Zoey stopped listening. She glanced down at the pistol in her hands, flipped the safety back on, and ejected the clip. The motion came easily; she’d done it hundreds of times before. I guess this is my normal, after all.



“Hell of a thing.” Gavin leaned back in the Chancer V’s pilot seat and rubbed his face wearily. “That sure was a hell of a thing.”

“Do you have anyone one your contacts list who isn’t a scumbag?” Simon asked. He sat in the copilot seat, only armored from the waist down. He plucked the frayed edge of a faded tank-top and took a gulp from his canteen. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t the first time this has happened to us.”

“I don’t know. One or two, maybe. How about you?”

“Don’t know. One or two, maybe.”

“I thought you weren’t taking jobs for the Syndicate anymore.”

“I just wanted to let ‘em know that Stray’s still in business. Besides, it’s not like we’re swimming in cash right now. Isn’t that why you went off to some shady warehouse to cut a deal with that Neils guy?”

“Yes,” Gavin agreed. “Yes it was. Look, I’m not complaining. Who knows what’ve happened if you hadn’t been there?”

“You’d have worked something out.” Simon shrugged. “How many times did I try to collect your ass? Four? Five? If I can’t do it, no way a pack of rent-a-clowns like that could bring you in.”

“I guess you’re right on that one.” Gavin laughed drily. “It’s strange. Neils was going to turn me in for my bounty to clear the Syndicate off his back. Instead, you killed him because of the Syndicate mark on his head. Funny how… well, not really funny. Just strange.”

“Strange system,” Simon agreed. “No wonder it’s so powerful, no one can figure out how the hell it works.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. Gavin tapped the command console in front of him. The Chancer was almost finished fueling. An hour more and they’d be back off into the Slipstream, leaving this planet behind and headed off to the next job. “How’s Zoey?” he asked after another moment of silent.

“Still in her cabin. I told her I’d take care of the rest of her jobs.”

“You think you should go talk to her? I will, if you won’t.”

Simon shook his head. “She’s not moping. I’ve known her longer than you, and she’s not the kind to lie around feeling sorry for herself. She just wants some space.”

“If you’re sure.” Gavin closed his eyes, still seeing the look on Neils’s daughter’s face as she ran off. “I have to ask… did you have to kill him?”

“The contract specified dead. I think they wanted to send a message to anyone else who tries skimming off their shipments.” Simon shot Gavin a hard look. “The guy was about to sell your ass to the Syndicate. Don’t tell me you feel sorry for him.”

“Not Neils, no. His kid, though, that’s another story. No one should have to go through that.”

Simon took another swig from the canteen. “I guess. That Sangheili probably had family, too. And I killed two others on the roof coming in. Neils was the one who called them in. It’s not like any of them wanted to be there. If it bothers you that much, I won’t go after Syndicate contracts anymore. It’s just a little hard to get ahead when they’ve got all the money here on the frontier.”

“Let’s just communicate better in the future. No need for us to be all secretive with each other, especially not where money’s concerned.” There was still plenty of time left on the refueling gauge. Gavin reached over and started to undo the clasps on his guitar case. “May as well get a little bit of practicing in while we wait.”

Simon took one look at the guitar and got to his feet. “I’m out”

“Always such a critic…” Gavin shook his head and started to tune. “You’re loss.”

“My gain. I get to keep my eardrums intact.” Simon left the cockpit and Gavin was alone. He twisted the guitar pegs and racked his brains for something to play. It’s not like I’m the one with the answers to all this. How did you talk about the ethics of violence with someone who’d been trained to kill his enemies since the age of seven? And how did you go about making sure someone like Zoey grew up without turning out the same way?

And who the hell am I to go about judging what the right way to turn out even is? Gavin hadn’t thought he’d be thrust into situations like these when he’d taken either of his wards on as crew, but that didn’t mean he was giving up. Sometimes you just had to admit that your best wasn’t good enough and carry on.

Gavin leaned back and strummed his guitar.



“You knew.”

“Knew what?” Diana asked cheerfully into Simon’s earpiece.

“The contract you sends me just happens to be related to the kid hanging around Zoey? Don’t play dumb with me. You knew the whole time what was going to happen.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” Diana sighed. “The whole thing wasn’t all that entertaining in the end, but that’s the risk you take when you put on a show.”

“What, would it have satisfied you more if I’d shot that girl? Or if Zoey’d done it?” The horrible part was that Simon wasn't even angry. Have I just reached the point where Diana can do anything and I won't care?

“You do know me. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to run a mission with you. We’ve been getting so distant recently.”

“Yeah, you’re just one bleeding heart of sympathy, aren’t you?” Simon stopped in the corridor and pressed a finger to his ear. “Listen, you want to play your little games with me, fine. I can cope. But leave Zoey out of it.”

“A bit hard, when you insist on hanging around her all the time. You told me this Chancer business was temporary, but more and more it seems like you’d like it to be permanent. Don’t forget, you have obligations. Obligations to me.”

“I haven’t forgotten our deal,” Simon told her. “But it’s not like working on our own was going so amazingly well. Besides, I know you’ve got other things you do now that I’m here. I’m not your only resource.”

“It’s not just about me. It’s about you as well. I’m just trying to show you—“

“Yeah, you’ve shown me plenty.” Simon curled a finger around his earpiece. “No more of this shit, or I’ll forget our agreement.”

He pulled out the earpiece. She could have found a way to snap something at him through the intercom, or maybe just shout it through the earbud, but for once she didn’t insist on having the last word.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.



The dark confines of her cabin were too stifling. Zoey stood in the Chancer’s hangar now, feet spread apart in a shooting stance. She aimed a pistol at the far end of the hangar, pressing her finger against the trigger. The empty weapon let out a soft click. She re-cocked it, took up the position, and "fired" again.

It felt right. She’d done drills like this every day since her parents died. Today wasn’t the first day she’d seen someone die, not by a long shot. It shouldn’t bother her this much. It shouldn’t.

She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to force the memory of Tegla’s face from her mind. She re-cocked the pistol and saw the cheerful, smiling girl from the hangar. She squeezed the trigger and saw the panicked, horrified face of a girl looking at her dead father. And his killer.

“Your stance is too wide. Your arms aren’t steady at all. You won’t hit anything like that.”

She hadn’t heard Stray approach, but his voice didn’t startle her. She just corrected her stance and straightened her arms.

“That’s better. Don’t get sloppy about it.”

“I know,” she muttered, staring down the gunsight to the far end of the cargo bay. “I know.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say. And then you go ahead and get rusty anyway.” Stray was quiet for a moment. “I told you to get some rest. You don’t have to be down here.”

“I don’t have to. But I want to.”

“Damn, I keep forgetting how stubborn you are. Reminds me of…” Stray trailed off and laughed, but that died away as well. Even he could tell how hollow it sounded.

Zoey turned to look at him then. He sat on the steps to the main level, chin in his hands, watching her with an odd expression on his face.

“You don’t have to play Gavin,” she told him. “It’s weird.”

“Yeah, doesn’t really suit me.” He raised an eyebrow. “I told you before, didn’t I? They all have families. Can’t handle that, then you picked the wrong line of work.”

“It’s not my work. It’s not Gavin’s either. It’s yours,” she said fiercely. “You’re the one who does all the shooting, remember?”

She regretted it the minute she said it, but Stray didn’t seem fazed at all. Instead he just shrugged. “Think that way if you want. But you don’t know Gavin like I do. He’ll do what it takes to survive, just like me. I’m just a little more open about it is all.”

“And it really doesn’t bother you? Killing people?”

“Some people more than others. It’s a nasty galaxy. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. They taught me how to sight up and shoot just about anyone without thinking about who their kids are. Maybe you don't believe me, but I know the score better than most Spartans do."

“For you, maybe. But for people like Tegla…”

“I don’t make the rules, I just play by them. She didn’t deserve to have a dad on the Syndicate’s hit list. Gavin didn’t deserve to have an old buddy try to turn him in.”

She wrapped her fingers around the pistol’s hilt. “That’s a crummy way to live.”

“Not like I can change the rules or anything.” Stray shook his head. “But if you really think that, why bother practicing with the gun at all?”

“Like you said, it’s not like we can change the rules. And if that’s the way it has to be…” She turned back to the cargo bay. “I may as well try and be like you.”

“Oh, now you really are just feeling sorry for yourself. And here I told Gavin you wouldn’t do that.” Stray's laughter rang out behind her. “Be like me? You should aim higher than that, you little punk.”

“I could say the same to you.”

The laughter stopped. “What?”

“What you just said. About aiming higher. You should do it as well.”

Stray was quite for some time, so quiet that she wondered if he’d slipped away again. But as she steadied her aim again, a hand slid under the pistol hilt and steadied it.

“Still so goddamn sloppy,” Stray yawned, sitting down on a crate beside her. “You never change.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Well, in that case, I guess we both need to aim higher, huh?”

“Yeah.” She straightened her posture and fought to keep the weapon steady. It wasn’t normal, but it was what she had. She heard Tegla’s voice in the back of her head, telling her to make the most of it. ''I’m going to do that, she promised her friend. I’ll do just that.''