The saloon still stank of dust, sweat, and stale ale, but tonight it felt less hostile. Maybe it was the air itself, a little cooler after sunset. Maybe it was the way the locals glanced their way with less suspicion and more curiosity. A few even nodded at Inelius when he passed through the batwing doors.

  He politely nodded back, keeping his shoulders relaxed. No point in flexing when your presence already unsettled half the room. The barkeep—a salty old d’moria named Drolv—squinted up at him from cleaning a cracked mug with what might’ve once been a towel. “Y’here for food or trouble?”

  “Neither,” Inelius walked up to the bar. “But if you’re out of both, I’ll take whatever’s left.”

  Drolv let out a dry snort. “Funny.” He reached for a bottle.

  The doors flew open and Brana thundered into the saloon like she owned the place. “Oi, Drolv! We brought you Union coin, give me an’ the girls a round of that sweaty ball-water y’keep pretending is whiskey.”

  A few of the regulars coughed into their drinks as Brolgar and Raine entered as well, followed by Aurania, Veolo, Amaryn, and the sisters.

  Drolv didn’t flinch from Brana’s candor. “Y’want it warm or lukewarm?”

  Brana sauntered over to a table large enough for them all to sit together. “Just whip it out and give it to me straight from the tap.”

  Drolv laughed loudly behind his large, grey beard and started pouring drinks. Inelius joined the team and asked no one in particular, “She already start drinking?”

  Surprisingly, Amaryn answered. “No, this is just how d’moria flirt.”

  “Oh,” Inelius said. He raised his brows, looking between Brana and Drolv, then decided not to inquire further. He sat down between Raine and Amaryn.

  The atmosphere in the saloon was lighter than the last time they tried socializing with the locals. After several weeks working in Boadicea, the people had grown more used to their presence. The lacravida were still getting some looks, but most people knew to keep their comments, and most importantly their hands, to themselves.

  The team relaxed and unwound through several rounds of drinks, then people started getting hungry. But Brolgar refused to eat what the barkeep had to offer.

  Drolv slammed a cast-iron pan onto the bar with a clatter. “If you don’t like the food, go chew on your own boots!”

  Brolgar stood up, one foot on his chair, the other on the table. “Boot leather’s got more flavor than whatever salted brick y’call jerky!”

  Drolv leaned forward over the bar. “It’s dried meat! It’s supposed to be tough! Builds character—something your pampered Union gut clearly lacks.”

  “We’re independent!” Brana hollered. “LU wishes they could cook like me cousin!”

  Brolgar shoved a thick finger toward the barkeep. “I’ve eaten gunpowder stew cooked over engine block fires, and it still tasted better than the war crimes you try serving people!”

  Drolv scoffed. “Oh look, a space dwarf with delicate tastes and no damn palate—”

  “I will gladly show you how to cook something edible,” Brolgar growled. “Assuming your…”

  Inelius tuned out the back and forth shouting match, leaning over to Amaryn. “Glad to see you out and about. Sorry our team gets a little rowdy sometimes.”

  “Oh, no worries. I was raised by d’moria, this is actually pretty familiar.”

  Brolgar stepped fully onto the table then hopped down, heading towards Drolv. Whether it was to fight or cook, Inelius didn’t really pay attention. He grabbed his drink, clinked it against Raine’s glass, then Amaryn’s. “To thick beards and thicker attitudes.”

  “Here, here!” Raine cheered.

  Over an hour later the entire saloon was raucous with energy. Brolgar had performed a culinary miracle, drawing a crowd fighting to try his meal. Several of the local lazarco were playing instruments in one corner, Amalia was dancing with Amaryn, and the air was thick with smoke from d’moria pipes.

  Inelius finished chatting with Aurania and leaned against a pillar to nurse his drink while she walked away.

  But Cale sidled up next to him like they were longtime friends. He swirled the drink in his hand, already halfway to sloppy, and nudged Inelius with his shoulder. “Man. You must be living the dream.”

  Inelius gave him a slow look. “Okay?”

  Cale nodded toward the table where Veolo was arm-wrestling two men at once, Brana was laughing uproariously, and Raine and Violet were trading jabs in a playfully aggressive spar of words. “I mean—come on. You’re surrounded by a buncha women who wear barely nothin’ and most of ‘em got tits the size of my head. How many of them you been with, anyway? You got ‘em on a rotation or somethin’?”

  Inelius blinked twice and shook his head, trying to figure out if he heard the shorn correctly. Then he set his drink down and squared his shoulders fully toward Cale. “Were you born this fuckin’ stupid?”

  He took a step forward, forcing Cale to step back. “Or do you work at it every day to stay the best?”

  Cale froze, grin flickering. He stared like he wanted to form a comeback, but whatever spark he had fizzled out before it caught. His shoulders slumped.

  “You look at them like they aren’t even people, don’t you?” Inelius couldn’t keep the venom out of his voice. He glanced over to a table of shorn playing cards. “Hey Tarnik! Come take your boy home before Drolv needs to replace more furniture.”

  Tarnik looked up in surprise, then set his cards down and quickly walked over. Before Tarnik could say anything, Cale skulked out, muttering under his breath.

  Inelius picked up his drink and took another slow sip. Tarnik looked like he wasn’t sure what to do, then hurried out after Cale.

  Raine sidled up to Inelius as he turned back to the entertainment. “Everything ok?”

  He smiled and put an arm around her shoulders. “Everything’s great, Babe.”

  They spent another hour with the energetic locals before Veolo finally started itching for a fight. She strode into the center of the room, arms held wide, and dared anyone to throw down fists with her. When no one stepped forward, she had to sweeten the deal to get her fun.

  “Really? No one?” she said in a loud, disappointed tone. “Alright, I know you all been starin’. How ‘bout this.” She turned in place, trying to cast eyes on as many faces as possible. “Any one of you can beat me in a scrap, I’ll ride your dick til the sun comes up.”

  The crowd exchanged glances then half a dozen chairs scraped as challengers jumped to their feet. A broad-shouldered shorn with a smug grin stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll go easy on you, sweetheart.”

  Veolo tilted her head. “Aw, thanks boo. You win, I’ll go easy when I shove my finger up your ass.”

  The fight lasted three seconds. He swung wide, she ducked, drove her knee into his gut, then elbowed the back of his head as he doubled over. He hit the floor gasping.

  She tapped him on the butt. “Thanks for the warmup.”

  A younger lazarco swaggered up, shirt already off. “I’ve studied martial arts on three planets. You sure you’re ready for this level of—”

  She head-butted him mid-sentence.

  He dropped like a sack of bricks, blood already trailing from his snout.

  She exhaled through her nose and mocked him in a baby voice. “You sure you’re weddy?”

  A d’moria walked up and spit a toothpick out. “Y’hit plenty hard. Let’s see if you can get hit, too.”

  They circled for several seconds, traded a few feints, but he never stood a chance. As she held him up by his beard, slung over her shoulder like a sack of vegetables, he tapped aggressively anywhere he could, signalling forfeit.

  Veolo dropped him, then winked down at him. “Hey, at least you lasted longer than the others.”

  Looking back around the crowd, she smiled. She was warmed up and ready to brawl. “Feel free to pair up if you think it’ll give you a better chance.”

  “Ey!” Drolv shouted out. “Take it outside, I don’t wanna spend the night boarding up windows.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Veolo shrugged and headed for the door. “You heard him boys, let’s go roll in the dirt!” As she walked through the batwing doors, it felt like half the town followed her.

  The next morning, Inelius stepped into The North Wing, closing the heavy door behind him. The old building smelled like stale meat, gun oil, and sweat. The silence was thick except for the occasional thud from Veolo’s fist hitting her punching bag—and the strained grunt that followed each impact.

  Duff was lashed to the back of it, his arms half-limp and his face drenched in sweat. His shirt had been removed at some point, and he flinched with every blow, bracing for one to miss. But Veolo didn’t miss unless she meant to.

  Amalia was across the room doing side stretches with one hoof on a bench, Riza’s cannon slung across her back like a gym weight. She looked far too cheerful for someone hanging out in an ad-hoc torture den.

  “Morning!” she chirped. “Have fun last night?”

  “Yeah, I’d say so,” Inelius walked over to the workbench and field-stripped his sidearm. He hadn’t had to fire it recently, but he wanted to make sure the planet’s red dirt wasn’t building up inside.

  Amalia pulled NMW off her back and walked to the door. “See you guys later!” She jogged out into the daylight.

  Inelius glanced toward Veolo. She jabbed the bag again—left hook, uppercut, palm strike. Duff whimpered. A tiny fleck of blood dripped from his snout onto his chest.

  “You strung him up yourself?” Inelius asked, more for conversation than anything else.

  “Sure did,” Veolo said. “Balanced the weight so if he shifts too much, the bag twists and he’s more likely to get in the way of my swings.”

  “Riza approve this setup?”

  “She said, and I quote, ‘Keep him miserable but intact.’ I’m getting real creative with the spacing.”

  Another thwack, this one landing a little closer to Duff’s ribs than the others. He gave a strained yelp.

  Inelius picked up a brush and started cleaning the barrel of his weapon. “You hit him yet?”

  “Not recently.” She drove her knuckles into the bag like a sledgehammer.

  Duff had been their guest for going on two days now, always kept guarded by someone on the team. He hadn’t been allowed to eat anything, but Riza had ordered Brolgar to cook all meals within The North Wing to make sure Duff could smell them. She hadn’t done anything to harm the man, but the only thing he’d been allowed to consume since arriving in Boadicea was half a glass of water every 12 hours.

  Inelius glanced up from the workbench. “Any of the boys last night manage to put you on your ass?”

  Veolo snorted. “Please. Not a single one. But gods, you could smell how bad they wanted it. Kind of flattering.”

  He gave a half-smile. “You weren’t in the mood to give any of them a consolation prize?”

  “Nah,” she wiped sweat from her brow. “None of them bathe enough. Still—” she rolled her shoulders and flexed her fingers, “—it’s been a minute. Wouldn’t mind finding someone to tangle with.”

  Then she paused and looked at him with a contemplative expression. “Hey, is Raine open to sharing you?”

  Inelius’ brain completely skipped, long enough that he dropped the barrel he was scrubbing. As he scrambled to pick it back up, he stuttered, “Oh, uh… I don’t know, you’d have to ask her.”

  Veolo looked at him for a moment longer with an innocent expression. Then she turned and cupped her hands around her mouth. “HEY RAINE!”

  Raine’s distant voice called back from outside the building, off in the direction of The Ghost of Mandachor. “YEAH?!”

  “CAN I FUCK INELIUS?!”

  There was a long silence. Inelius wasn’t sure if he should even breathe.

  Finally Raine’s voice rang out again: “LET ME THINK ABOUT IT!”

  Amalia popped her head back in through the door, face flushed from jogging. “Wait—Inelius is up for grabs?”

  He threw his hands up. “Now hold on a minute—don’t I get a say in this?”

  Veolo just shrugged. “Well of course. Are you not interested?”

  All he managed to respond with was, “Uhhh—”

  And then something yanked Amalia back out and the door opened wider. Riza stepped in. She looked at Duff, then Veolo, and finally Inelius.

  He squawked, “Help.”

  “I suppose that could be fun to torture Duff with,” Riza purred. “We already made him watch us eat.”

  “That’s not helping!”

  Riza just laughed and turned to Veolo. “Stop beating him for a moment, I think he’s ready to talk.”

  She pulled a chair across the concrete floor and turned it around, straddling it backwards as she sat. The scraping sound alone made Duff flinch.

  She looked at Veolo. “Your contributions to the cause are appreciated. He smells like desperation marinated in regret.”

  Veolo gave a small salute with her taped-up knuckles and stepped back, wiping sweat from her neck.

  Riza said nothing for a long moment. She just looked at Duff—no glare, no smile. Just calm and clinical, like a predator before the kill.

  Duff didn’t speak. Or maybe he couldn’t. He sort of looked like he might start crying, but wanted to preserve his fluids.

  Finally, Riza asked, “How long have you been on Mol’eyne?”

  Duff blinked weakly. “…Couple years.”

  Riza nodded once. “You were born on Antros.”

  He hesitated. “Yeah.”

  “You came here two and a half years ago. But not Boadicea, you were way over in Verdigris Falls.”

  Duff’s eyes widened. “How—how do you—?”

  Riza tilted her head. “That wasn’t a question.”

  He looked around the room like he could find a way to escape.

  “So, what?” Riza cocked her head to the other side. “You found yourself in hot water over there, somehow fell in with outlaws in the next hemisphere over? That about right?”

  He tried to hold his expression steady, but it started to crack. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

  Riza waited a breath more, then finally took a tone. “I’ve run out of patience, Duff. Either talk or I’m going to have Veolo cut your goddamn balls off.” She pulled her dagger from its sheath. “Then we’re just gonna go raze that raider camp to the ground while you bleed out.”

  “I—I don’t know names!” he blustered, fear in his eyes. “They don’t tell me names. We get pings. Route changes. Not much. Just enough to know when a convoy’s gonna be late… or detour. That’s all I know.”

  Riza nodded again. She casually tossed the dagger in the air. It twisted once, and she caught it again.

  Duff licked his cracked lips. “It comes from town. That’s all I know. Comes from town.”

  Silence.

  He shifted, wincing from the chafing ropes and bruised ribs. “Not everyone wanted this Union shit. Some folks… they think they’re helping. Think they’re keeping things the way they were. But not all of us signed up for what it turned into.”

  Riza stood, not saying anything for a full three seconds. Then she sheathed her dagger. “Veolo. Cut him down and feed him.”

  Veolo nodded without a word and moved to comply.

  Riza walked toward Inelius with a teasing grin. “Come on, Loverboy, you’re with me.”

  He holstered his sidearm and followed, pausing only to glance back at Duff—slumped, dazed, and no longer defiant. They found Aurania near the bridge, overseeing some local Boadicea workers. The wind carried the smell of dust and rusty metal. She didn’t even glance over as they approached.

  “Got something,” Riza stopped next to her, watching the workers.

  Inelius stepped up beside them. “Duff talked. Sort of.”

  Aurania tilted her head, listening.

  Riza crossed her arms. “Says the raiders are getting pings. Timed route changes, convoy delays, minimal info. But he did confirm it’s coming from inside Boadicea.”

  Aurania finally looked at her. “You confident in his answers?” Then after a moment, she said, “Wait, dumb question—it’s you.” She looked out over the workers again.

  The clang of hammers filled the air, accompanied by the grind of stone against metal as workers anchored a fresh section of platform into place. Shuffling footsteps behind them caught Inelius’ attention. All three turned to see Brana making her way toward them—no. Making her way to move past them, to go over toward the bridge. She had sunglasses on and looked to be nursing a headache.

  “Finally,” Aurania breathed. “I been standing here with my teeth in my mouth waiting for you. Where you… been?” Her voice trailed quiet as they studied the strange specimen.

  Brana grumbled something but just shuffled past without looking at them.

  “Brana?” Aurania called carefully, like a mother after a child.

  “Holy shit,” Inelius muttered. “I’ve never seen a hungover d’moria before.”

  Brana stopped shuffling for a moment. She turned back over her shoulder, but didn’t actually look at them. “Please don’t let me sleep with Drolv again.”

  She started shuffling away.

  Inelius, Aurania, and Riza all started snorting, holding back laughter.

  “Come on,” Aurania chuckled, turning to walk away, “Let’s go fill the mayor with dread.”

  Mayor Venlin was in his office when they arrived, back turned, admiring some imported bottle of dark liquor on a dusty shelf like it was rare art. His long coat swayed as he turned to greet them, face composed, expression polite. “Aurania. Inelius.” His gaze lingered on The Ghost of Proxinara a moment longer than he likely intended. “R-Riza. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Riza stepped toward him, radiating cold ice. “We confirmed the convoy ambushes are being timed from inside Boadicea. Raiders are being fed schedule updates and route info—someone here’s helping them.”

  Venlin didn’t blink. “You’re certain?”

  Inelius spoke up. “Confession’s loose, but genuine. We’re sure.”

  Riza folded her arms. “We’ve got two options to get to the bottom of this. Interrogate everyone in town, or just go hit the raider camp and drag answers out of them.”

  Venlin swallowed and asked, “Which one you leaning towards?”

  “We’ll hit the raider camp tomorrow.” Riza sounded almost bored.

  Venlin’s lips pressed together, and he looked at Inelius. “Didn’t you say they had over 30 men?”

  “Mayor, you know Riza’s confirmed kill count has five digits, right?”

  Venlin’s brow tightened, and he glanced at Riza.

  “Almost six,” she corrected.

  Aurania stepped forward, her tone cordial but edged. “You don’t mind if we go and wipe them out, right?”

  Venlin hesitated—just for a breath—but it was there. “I don’t object to defending this town. Just—try to limit the collateral. I assume you'll brief me before you leave?”

  Aurania nodded, eyes narrowing. “Of course.”

  They exchanged no more words. Riza and Inelius followed Aurania in silence out into the street.

  Riza muttered, “Guess he’s not gonna crack.”

  Aurania kept walking. “Let’s call his bluff then.”