“I would have an estate,” Sykora says. “On a private island or my own forest. Somewhere remote. You and I would live there with our children. We’d have a stipend to afford anything we wanted. We could start a settlement on our lands, if we wished. A Princess Palatine has to stay accessible to the Core, so we’d be restricted to a mere handful of worlds. But there are plenty of demesnes in the central systems, and we could maneuver to gain more. With the favor of the Empress, we could become quite wealthy and ascendant.”

She releases her grip on the yoke to rub the sweat from her forehead. The departing shuttle slows and hangs in the evening air above the forest.

“And I would hate it,” she says. “I would hate every second of it. I want children. I do. I swear I do. But I cannot give up the Pike. The Pike is my first child. I can’t abandon it, or my crew, or my sector. I can’t.”

“And I’m not sure I can live here,” Grant says. “The Core, I mean. It’s everything I was afraid the Taiikari might be.”

“I’d never ask you to,” Sykora says. “The Void is where the true Empire lives. The Empress’s true servants are people like you and me and Vora and Hyax and Waian. I believe that with every microgram of me.”

He taps a fingerstyle pattern against his armrest. “So why is it that these people are the ones she keeps closest and richest?”

“What I have always believed is that she holds the venal and vicious here in the Core to ensure that they are far from the true work of the Empire,” Sykora says. “But you’re looking at me, and you’re not convinced.”

He tries to blank his face.

“Dove.” She touches his hand. “Never hide these things from me. Please. The disquiet you’re feeling, I’m feeling too.”

He sinks into his upholstered seat. “That’s a comfort to hear. Cause I was bristling back there.”

“God, I know.” Sykora lets out a nervous laugh. “I fucking despise the Core. I have a minor crisis every time I come back here, and remember how much work is still to be done on curing the Empire of its antiquated ills. And that was before I came very close to joining their ranks.”

“We won’t let that happen.”

“I don’t mean their location.” She sighs. “I mean their philosophy.” Her red eyes locate his. The pupils are dilated in the gathering dusk. “The chattel-owners. The slavers. I let the worst part of myself rule me. My anger, my vindictiveness. I nearly hurt the best man I have ever known. And I nearly proved Narika right about me, that fucking deklet.”

Grant feels a building lurch in his chest that he believes for a moment is some kind of emotional manifestation; then he looks out the window and sees the shuttle drifting downwards. “Nearly, I guess,” he says. “But you didn’t.”

She lifts his hand to her lips and kisses it. “Because of you,” she says.

The shuttle touches down in the forest on hydraulically hissing skids.

“Would you do something for me? Before our next stop?” She unbuckles her harness with the hand that isn’t holding his. “Something to help me erase all of that.”

“Anything,” he says.

Sykora takes Grant’s hand and rests her chin in the crook between his thumb and his index. She tugs gently until his palm is flush against her throat.

Her voice vibrates beneath his touch. “I want you to fuck me like you’re getting revenge.”

***

They lie afterwards on the shuttle bed. He strokes the blushing handprint he left on her butt.

“When I first took you.” She runs her fingers through his beard. “And I was being so monstrous—”

“It was kinda hot,” he says. “Have I ever mentioned that? In a scary way.”

She snorts. “I’m trying to be serious.”

He rubs the dimples above her tail. “My bad. Go on.”

“When I took you, did you hate me?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I guess I must have. But it’s so hard to look at you now, and see that person.”

She worms closer. “Do you forgive me, then?”

He starts to say, of course, starts to laugh it off like it’s obvious.

But he’s never said it, has he? Never straight up said it. Has she earned it? Can you earn it, for what she did? What she threatened to do? He wonders for a moment.

But only for a moment.

He lifts her up by her svelte waist and brings them eye to eye.

“I forgive you, Sykora of the Black Pike,” he says. “For everything.” And he lowers her onto his chest, and her lips press plump against his, and then tremble open, and for a while there’s no sound but their breath and the muffled birdcalls of this alien world.

Homeworld, he supposes. My wife’s homeworld. But it doesn’t feel like that.

“I’ve made my decision,” she whispers, after a lush minute spent lost in her warmth. “A family or the Pike. If it comes down to it. I—”

“No.” Grant plants his hands on her shoulders. “This isn’t a choice you have to make. We’re gonna have both. We won’t let her do that.”

She looks like she’s about to tell him anyway. Her tail curls up and lies under her chin.

Then she shrugs it away and curls on his chest into a little blue pillow, and nods. “We won’t.”

***

“Lady mek-Taqa.” Just outside the pool of tribunal light, a semicircular ring of fleet officials sits, lifted aloft from the Black Pike command group and their nervous Eqtoran guests from the Qena-Qel. The speaker, Admiral Vai, is illuminated by a glowing orange screen built into her ornate desk. “You have, these past cycles, been detained aboard the Black Pike while this council has discussed the best way to handle your case. The Black Pike’s argument—would you restate it for the record, Majordomo?”

Vora stands, clutching her customary tablet. “We propose, Admiral, that Lady mek-Taqa’s presence aboard a ZKZ must be excused as an exigency necessitated by the Princess’s unorthodox annexation strategy. As part of the universal clemency granted to the various breaches of doctrine in Schedule J, she is to be pardoned.”

Ipqen sits curled in on herself, chin in her palm, like a fish-lady version of a pondering Greek statue.

The admiral nods. “Sound reasoning. We’ve found it convincing.”

Havnai’s low voice turns the words into percussive Eqtorish.

“That said.” Another councilmember speaks up. A Countess Margrave, Grant thinks. “You have seen enough of the voidship’s interior that your knowledge of its workings qualifies as classified intelligence. You may not hold a vocation or have contact with any representatives of the Eqtoran vassal government or the Eqtoran armada.”

Ipqen straightens up enough to nod her head. “I understand, your honors.”

“Ultimately, it is our strong recommendation that Lady Ipqen remain under the supervision of the Princess of the Black Pike,” Admiral Vai says.

“For how long?” Sykora asks, by Grant’s elbow.

“Indefinitely.” Vai sits back; her face falls from the amber glow and into shadow. “If not, we’ll require a comprehensive report of the efforts made to ensure her compliance and secrecy.”

Vora frowns. “With all due respect, Admiral—”

“I’ll stay on the Pike,” Ipqen says. “Uh. Pardon the interruption. But I’ll stay. It’s all right. But I want a job.”

“A job?” The Countess Margrave steeples her fingers. “What do you mean? Aboard a Taiikari ZKZ?”

“I can’t just keep sitting on my hands and going stir crazy,” Ipqen says. “I need to be doing something. I want an engineering apprenticeship.”

She stands up. The sheer height of her leans the council back.

“I’m a physicist,” she says. “I’ve got hands-on experience with heavy machinery. I don’t have everything I need, far from it. I have no goddamn idea how you generate your gravity or how the membrane works, and I’m about a century behind on sweep mechanics. But I have a foundation, archaic as it is. And I learn quick. And I bet I can lift heavier than any crew you’ve got. Marines included.”

“You’re hired,” Waian says.

“Chief Engineer.” Admiral Vai is halfway to standing. “With all due respect to your reputation. You are not the individual in charge of these hiring decisions.”

“She’s hired,” Sykora says.

Hyax’s expression is unreadable.

“Majesty.” Vai releases a sigh as she sits back down. “It’s one thing to have an alien aboard the Pike. It is quite another to educate it in the direct workings of a ZKZ membrane.”

“You decide, then, Admiral,” Sykora says. “Is Lady mek-Taqa free to return to Eqtora, or is she free to find employment on the Pike?”

“She’ll report directly to me,” Waian says.

“And we’ll ensure the Brigadier manages her oversight herself,” Sykora adds, with a wry glance to Grant.

Ipqen raises a hand. “And I want my friend on there, too.”

The Black Pike command group exchange looks. Grant lets out a soft, involuntary hiss of tension. This must be what you’re like, Grantyde of Maekyon.

“Ruaq-nai-Taqa.” Ipqen points at the little keeper, who’s seated with the Qena-Qel command group. “You were confident enough to use her as a member of your observation village and a point of contact during a tense combat negotiation. I’m requesting she be let aboard. She has a strong grounding in environmental science and terraform ecology. She can be useful, too.”

Ruaq’s eyes are wide and damp.

Vai shakes her head rapidly enough that Grant can hear the jingle of her rank earrings. “The rule states that there can be no aliens aboard a ZKZ that aren’t prisoners or someone’s property. We have allowed too many exceptions—”

Ruaq lets out a hurried string of Eqtorish.

Vai pauses. “What is she saying?”

“Uh—” Havnai’s brow furrows. “Ruaq is—” She breaks back into Eqtorish, with a look of questing disbelief. Ruaq nods. Havnai takes a beat before resuming. “Ruaq is requesting that she be implanted with a language chip, indentured, and made property of Lady Ipqen.”

“I property,” Ruaq says.

That shuts everyone up for a few heartbeats.

“No.” Ipqen stares at the little keeper. “No fucking way.”

Vai clicks her tongue. “Lady Ipqen—”

“Give me a second, please.” Ipqen shoots a death glare of such gravity to the admiral that she actually clams up. She turns back to the keeper. “Ruaq,” she says. “You can’t. Havnai, tell—”

“Ipqen-mek-Taqa.” Ruaq gets to her feet and lays her palms on the table. “Sueqn’ak tvai nal’vei. I…” Her brow knits in concentration. “I miss you. I am—I—augh.” She gives up and chitters at Havnai.

“I am yours already,” Havnai murmurs.

“I miss you,” Ruaq says. “I property.” She pushes her fringe up her forehead and points to her temple. “Implant.”

A tear rolls to the edge of Ipqen’s snout. She looks up at the admiralty. “Can I stop her?” she asks.

Vai shrugs. “Will you?”

“Would it let us be together?”

“It would.”

Hyax’s expression is a different kind of unreadable.

“Is there no other way?” Sykora asks.

“This council has already remanded Ipqen-meq-Taqa to your supervision.” The Countess Margrave’s stony face clearly communicates how finished she is with this interview. “You have been afforded a great deal of latitude. A great deal. And the woman is willing.”

“Ipqen.” Ruaq nuzzles her face into Ipqen’s big hand. “Qev.”

“Please,” Havnai says.

Ipqen sighs shakily. She rests her forehead on Ruaq’s.

“Okay,” she says. Her hand wraps around Ruaq’s and clutches it tight. “She’s mine.”

“Very well.” Vai presses a few buttons on her screen and eases back. “Lady Ipqen of Eqtora is granted a position aboard the Pike, and ownership of Ruaq-nai-Taqa for a period of one decacycle. We don’t have that paperwork on hand, Majesty, but you have clearance aboard the Pike to implant and indenture her.”

She stands up.

“I’m off to the taphouse to get pissed,” she says. “Nobody leak any military secrets while I am gone, please.”

***

“Well.” Ruaq rubs her forehead as she emerges onto the Black Pike command deck, escorted by a pair of marines. She’s dressed in a baggy apprentice jumpsuit sized for Taiikari men, its sleeves rolled up and pinned past her thin, tattooed forearms. “That’s that, then. Hello, Black Pike. Do I sound all right?”

“Like you’ve been talking it all your life,” Waian says, from her spot at the console. She’s standing with Ipqen, updating the duty roster.

“Welcome to the command deck, Servant nai-Taqa.” Hyax glances up from her rifle, which she’s cleaning in a corner. “Don’t touch anything.”

The newest engineering apprentice scowls at her indentured girlfriend. “You are some kind of idiot, Ruaq-nai-Taqa.”

“Your idiot, Ipqen-mek-Taqa.” Ruaq cocks her hip. “Or should I call you mistress?”

“Shut up. I’m not fuckin’ kidding.” A tear finally escapes Ipqen’s overwhelmed eyes. “I didn’t want this. I don’t wanna fucking own anyone.”

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry.” Ruaq crosses to Ipqen, heedless of the ripple her sorry just sent through the command deck. “I know. I know it’s shit. But it’ll be okay. We don’t have to change how we are. We can just… we’ll ignore it.” She looks to the royal pair. “We can ignore it, right?”

“Uh—” Sykora chews the edge of her tail. “With one another, certainly. But there will be times that Ruaq must seem… obedient.”

“It’s not as hard as it sounds,” Grant says. “And I swear it’ll only be for the next decacycle. We’ll figure out a way to keep you on after, Ruaq. An assignment you can prove your indispensability at.”

Sykora nods. “An apprenticeship, perhaps. Working alongside the Lady.”

“See I was hoping now that I’m Ipqen’s pet I can just wag my tail and eat fish,” Ruaq says.

Ipqen lets out a snarling sigh. “It’s not fucking funny, Ruaq.”

“I know it isn’t, hon. I know.” Ruaq sticks her thumbs into the belt loops of Ipqen’s new apprentice engineer jumpsuit. “But I’m here. And you’re here. And we can finally fucking talk, thank Eqt. And I can finally tell you what I needed to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“I love you and I want to be your wife,” Ruaq says.

“Okay. Uh.” Ipqen blinks another tear out of her eye. “Okay. I, uh.”

She takes a shaky breath.

“Okay.”

“Okay like you hear me or okay like yes?”

Ipqen’s crying unrestrained now. She crushes the keeper to her chest. “Okay like yes, you little twerp.”

Hyax quarter-turns away from the display and stubbornly continues field-stripping her gun.

“Also Qavu called me,” Ruaq says. “And your delta plant died while we were abducted.”

Ipqen buries her face in her hands and lets out a combination laugh-sob. “This day keeps getting worse.”

“Ooh, uh. Majesty.” Vora hits a button on her tablet. INCOMING HAIL plasters itself across the command deck main screen. “From the Core.”

Sykora’s attention snaps from fond regard of the reunited Eqtorans. “Inadama?”

Vora nods.

Sykora strides to her throne. Grant hurries after her. Waian urgently tugs her new Eqtoran apprentices out of the way.

“Answer,” Sykora says, once she’s dialed in her imperious slouch. “Voice and video.”

Vora presses another button. “We’re only getting voice from the Marquess.”

“Void Princess Sykora.” Inadama’s imperious tone pipes through.

“Marquess Palatine.” Sykora lounges on her throne and affects a casual tone. Her tail beckons Grant closer into frame.

“You have insulted me, Majesty. In the way of your leaving.” Inadama’s voice is measured and cold. “The pattern has not escaped my notice.”

“Whatever you may perceive of me is not my intention.” Sykora shrugs. “You do not know me very well, I think. It’s as simple as that.”

“I know you well enough,” Inadama says. “The offense you committed in my household demands recompense. Consider this my summons. We will meet and cross spears.”

Sykora has frozen in her seat.

“I challenge you,” her mother says, “to a duel.”