Rooks frowned and leaned upon the rail. A Volanter ship cruised into the ship graveyard, and her away team needed time to get to their shuttle and back to Fauchard.

“I told you. I told you they would come,” Alban warned from the com.

The com fizzed, and Sotir’s voice came over. “These are not the same Volanter. They don’t know yet what we did to the Bacchan. They’ve come because they noticed us in their trap. Their plan is to play rescuer. I’m sorry. I saw them when I looked ahead, but they weren’t supposed to be here for a week at least.”

“It’s alright. Schedules change,” Rooks said. “Maybe we can talk to them.”

“And say what? They’ve probably taken one look at us and know that we stem from them.” Alban’s Ischyros started to turn.

Rooks’ console beeped and warned her of his changing position.

“Curator, they’re moving their weapons into position.”

“Oh no.” Rooks checked the estimate till the Volanter ship reached them. “Let me try speaking to them.”

“In Volanter? That’s a dead giveaway. I’m firing when they’re close enough.”

Rooks sighed. Alban’s fear of the Volanter led him to some hasty decisions. He was not someone that Rooks particularly wanted under her command, though if he was, she might have the power to tell him to knock it off.

“Incoming message from the Volanter. They’re offering assistance.”

“Tell them we don’t need it. Tell them that we’re not damaged. We’re just exploring.” Rooks drummed her fingers on the rail.

“They want to speak to you directly.”

Rooks edged closer to her console. “Of course, they do. Put them on.”

A woman’s voice purred over the com. “Do we have the pleasure of meeting with some children of the Volanter? From which clans do you stem?”

“The Blath. We’re not staying long. We’re just on our way out.”

“We would rather you accompany us to the clan home. Your ships appear to need repairs. We will offer them – free. You can stay for a couple of weeks, and we can set you on a proper path back to Iruedim. This path is fraught with obstacles.”

Rooks agreed. It was fraught with obstacles that the Volanter created. “No, thank you. Our ships are fit enough for travel. We need to make our best possible time. We’re in a hurry.”

“Anyone who’s entered the distortion might have damage they aren’t aware of. I’m afraid I have to insist.”

Words flashed across her console – a text message from Alban. Sotir is looking ahead into that rumored damage. My bet is it’s a lie.

Rooks bet the same. She answered the Volanter, “Sorry. We’re not coming. We accept any risk associated with our damaged ships. Now, if you would let us by.”

The Volanter remained silent.

“They cut communications, Curator. They’re still approaching.”

“Get ready to fire on them. This group is a bit more aggressive.” Rooks shook her head. She hated to think that Alban was right.

The com beeped. Speak of Alban. He said, “Sotir doesn’t see our ships damaged in the future – at least not from this. Technically, we didn’t run into the distortion, so even if the Volanter didn’t lie, we’ve still escaped their plan. By the way, Sotir thinks they have a fortune teller, or someone doing similar circles. That’s how they decided to turn around. We’re going to have to time our reads a little better.”

“Indeed,” Rooks agreed.

Camellia finally had the hang of the spacesuit. She couldn’t run in it, but she lifted one foot, then the next. She kept a steady pace, and her view focused either on the deck or on the dark hall ahead. Lights pierced the darkness, and Camellia’s vampiric eyes looked farther still, where little light touched. She counted empty halls and doorways. They passed each one.

Beside her, Florian kept pace, moving his suit with more confidence too.

Ahead, Camellia watched the trim figure of Benham He led them through the center of the ship. They passed the petrified garden. Camellia peeked in. The Dipinta tree loomed over the dead space.

“We never got to Engineering,” Eder said.

“No,” Florian agreed. “But, we got some fascinating pictures of the sick bay and all those files.”

Camellia had to agree. The Volanter could heal with a spell, and every Volanter was a mage. So, the sick bay had been small. One wall and a few rooms remained devoted to medical equipment, but the rest of the bay was a series of healing circles, carved into the floor. They were lined up, around a giant pool. A large room in the back of the bay, served as a giant bed, for communal rest.

“Where the hell are we?” Meladee asked.

“Good thing you have me.” Benham’s voice traveled back through the group. Though, he walked out in front, two guards flanked him, tempering his lead.

Meladee’s voice came over the helmet com. “Hey. I’ll have you know that I have a good sense of direction, but it’s hard to tell which way is up in this suit. I’m sick of it. Actually glad I don’t have to be in it one more hour.” Meladee’s camera still recorded, and she panned it over the hall.

Camellia shook her head. The camera captured only the images, not the sound – not that there was any sound to capture. But, that wasn’t Camellia’s worry. Meladee jerked the camera about, making a video more fitting of a horrific theatrical performance, than a measured study for archaeological research. Camellia drew a sharp breath. She watched Meladee whip the camera from doorway to hall.

Florian turned away, abrupt in his own motion. Disgust must fill his entire being.

She wouldn’t make a good archaeologist. Camellia slipped the thought into his mind.

Florian smiled a little and looked Camellia’s way. No, she would not. I might want to go over anything you got from Girandola again.

Hey. That work was all me.

Florian leaned in, and his next thought began with more clarity and volume before it cut off.

“Don’t worry, Meladee. It’s my job to keep us on course, and I’m good at my job.” Benham stopped at a door. “This is a shortcut. I think.”

“You think?” Meladee asked.

Their guards pried the door open.

As they worked, Camellia grabbed Florian’s hand.

“I agree. It’s a shortcut.” Florian checked his map, but he gave Camellia his other hand. “It should be a room, and we should be able to come out into the outermost hall. From there it’s a short walk back to the shuttle.”

Benham nodded once. “Great. Glad to hear you think so too.” Benham put his hands on his hips and sighed.

They all waited for guards to pry the door open. Camellia waited to hear Florian’s thought resumed. He did not begin again, and she felt a distinct loss. She had the faintest impression he’d been about to tease her.

She looked up to his face and saw his profile, beside the blueish light of his helmet. The curve of his faceplate added an extra element to the view. Florian almost looked her way.

The doors finally broke free and started to float inside the hall.

Camellia startled and stepped back. The guards pushed the doors away from their party, and Camellia had one of the first views inside. She froze.

Volanter bodies drifted in the open space, and two blobs of ice traveled through the absence of air.

“Oh, that’s gross,” Meladee said.

“I was starting to think this ship was a plant,” Florian muttered. “Now, we see some bodies.”

“Could still be a plant.” Benham started into the room.

The guards hurried after, raising their guns.

Camellia hardly thought it necessary. She entered as well. A basin filled the entire floor, another pool. Camellia saw the remains of the water in the air. It had become glistening frozen droplets. The majority of the water rested in the big icy chunks, and Camellia hunkered low as she passed beneath one.

With her eyes cast up, she eventually set her sights on a Volanter. The lack of air had preserved his features, and Camellia frowned at his mummified person. His eyes were empty and his arms reached below, relaxed, but close to Camellia’s head.

Camellia ducked beneath the fingers but felt the Volanter’s dead touch scrape along the top of her helmet.

Meladee trotted by Camellia, shuffling her feet along the deck. “I’m getting out of here.” Her shuffle-dance took her around the pool in a quick step, on Benham’s heels. “Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.” Meladee chanted.

Camellia rounded the pool as well, but suddenly stopped. The guard behind her came to a sudden stop as well.

“Wait,” Camellia called, sending her voice into the other’s helmets. “We need to take a couple of these bodies. Maybe, three.”

Camellia turned to Florian. He stared back, with a look of incredulity, framed by his helmet. Camellia thought Meladee’s face would be just as interesting.

It was. Meladee wore a sneer of utter disgust and disdain.

Inez reached for a deceased tentacle.

“Oh, come on,” Meladee said. “You too?”

Eder stretched and grabbed the tentacle that floated too far above his sister’s head. “That spell that Pan is really good at could be useful here. The ghost one.”

Camellia watched the eyes of everyone in the room light up.

Guards reached for tentacles. Benham even grabbed one. Florian and Camellia grabbed a body together. In the end, they had five bodies, floating beside members of their team, like multi-stemmed balloons.

Meladee didn’t have one. She just crossed her arms and shook her head. Her face remained interesting.

“Okay, we need to get to the ship now,” Benham ordered. He had his balloon by a short tentacle. He moved the body with good control, as the short tentacle kept everything close to Benham’s person.

Camellia recognized that tentacle and wasn’t sure she would call it a tentacle at all.

Florian squinted after Benham. “Is that a…?”

Camellia laughed nervously and patted Florian on the arm. He shut up.

Meladee scrambled to the front of the shuttle. No one had thought it through in regards to the bodies they’d collected. The shuttle was small. They’d had just enough room to get out of the stupid suits. Now, who would want to?

They had five bodies they needed to cram in the back.

Meladee slid between the two pilots and sat on the floor. She looked up at the man and the woman. “Boy, you guys are not gonna to like what we found.”

The man spoke first. “What the…”

Benham, Florian, and Camellia got the first two bodies aboard. They dragged them and threw them into a stack, as the shuttle’s small gravity generator gave the bodies back their full weight.

Inez and Eder rushed onto the shuttle. That made three.

The guards brought the last two, hoisted on their shoulders.

Meladee would not have picked the things up and slung them over her fireman style, but to each their own. She’d learned that from Camellia and Ah’nee’thit.

“We’re all aboard,” Benham said. “Go.”

Someone complained about the potential smell, but Florian assured them that smell would not be a problem for a while, not till the bodies started to decay.

Camellia laughed.

You can take the girl out of the crazy but not the crazy out of the girl, Meladee thought.

“Hey, uh, can I fly?” she asked.

“No,” the male pilot objected.

The woman didn’t even give Meladee the courtesy of an answer.

Meladee made a face. As long as they didn’t kick her to the back of the shuttle, it would be fine. “I’m staying here if that’s alright.”

“Fine by me,” the man said.

If Meladee couldn’t speed their escape with flight, she could, at least, spell. Invisibility seemed like a good idea. She cast the circle before they made it out of the bay. The purple shadows that signified her invisibility encompassed the deck, the people, and the bodies. Meladee felt confident that the purple shadows hid even their exterior.

The shuttle passed the threshold that separated bay from space. The door could no longer close, and they sailed through with ease, except for the sound of magic. It splashed across their shuttle’s small deck.

Meladee frowned. Her invisibility spell had gone. Anti-magic wards washed it away.

“Shit,” a pilot swore, using her repertoire of Tagtrumian swears.

Meladee glanced at the console. She saw the problem. Tiny dots, about their shuttle’s size headed their way.

Meladee guessed there had been a beacon attached to those wards. For once, magic had not been the answer.