As Muzazi staggered forwards, falling to his knees, Dragan staggered backwards, looking down at the gun in his hand.

Smoke gently drifted up from the barrel, the blue Aether he’d used to enhance the stunshot still sparking around the sides of the firearm. He’d done the same thing to Muzazi as he’d done to Skipper back in the hangar - hitting him with an Aether-enhanced shot while his defense was diverted.

It was a simple strategy. An exceedingly simple strategy, so much so that he hadn’t really realized he was doing it until he pulled the trigger. His body had moved automatically, as if this kind of suicidal maneuver were something natural. As if it made some kind of sense.

Muzazi shuddered, turning his head to look back at Dragan with what was obviously extreme strain. “W-Why?” he forced out through clenched teeth.

Then, he collapsed to the floor.

Dragan looked down at the unconscious Special Officer, hands still gripping the gun for dear life. Why? He really had no idea. It didn’t make sense. Why had he done that? He’d got nothing out of it. There were no benefits in it for him, no reward to offset the risk. In fact, it only made things worse for him. It made things astronomically worse for him, and outright negated any positives that could have come from the situation.

So … why?

He hadn't wanted her to die. Had it been that simple, that stupid? He could track the thought process, the vague ideas that had coalesced in his mind -- the notion that if he lifted his pistol and pulled the trigger, the situation would end. And he'd done it. Like an idiot, he'd done it without thinking.

He blinked, and felt that his eyes were wet.

“I…” he croaked. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to an unconscious man he’d just shot in the back, but his mouth didn’t come out with anything past that.

"Hadrien," came a voice. Female voice. It was the person he'd just helped, the one he'd shot Muzazi in the back for. Blaine - no, Ruth.

He looked up at her, pointed vaguely at Muzazi on the ground. "I...I shot him," he mumbled.

Ruth nodded. She seemed just as surprised herself. "I know."

"I shot him."

She nodded vigorously. "I know. Now come on - there's no time to freak out about it!"

Ruth reached out, grabbed Dragan by the wrist, and started pulling him along. He didn't resist - he was still in shock, staring at Muzazi as he was led across the room.

They reached the entrance. "Skipper!" Ruth cried out, letting go of Dragan as she knelt down to help Skipper.

Skipper winced as he forced himself to his feet using the wall as support, his hand covering his side. A steady trickle of blood drooled out from between his fingers. He grinned uncertainly. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"It looks awful, Skipper," said Ruth, tearing a strip from her sleeve and binding it around his wound as a makeshift bandage. "I don't know how long this'll be good for. We need to get you a real doctor or, like, first aid or something."

"Don't think we'll get the chance," said Skipper, smiling sadly. "Listen."

"Huh?"

Dragan listened. He heard nothing.

His heart dropped. He heard nothing.

Skipper nodded at Dragan. "Kid gets it. The fighting's over, Ruth. Security's probably on their way up right now. You two should make a run for it."

"No!" Ruth struck the wall with her fist, leaving a sizable dent. "I'm not leaving you behind again!"

"There's nothing else to do, Ruth. You're not dying for me."

Before Ruth could say anything more, the room was suddenly bathed in stark blue light - coming through the window. Dragan turned, squinted, his eyes stinging from the hostile ocean glow.

A ship hung there, just outside the window. It was one of the fancy star-yachts that the rich and powerful used to make their way around the galaxy in style, all smooth curves and bright colours. Engineering directed as art.

"I don't think you have a choice in the matter, Skipper," Dragan said quietly. "To be honest, I don't see a way out of this one."

He glanced down at the man and almost did a double-take. Skipper was lying there, bleeding, but still grinning, pure joy written into every feature of his face.

"You don't?" he said, laughter infiltrating his voice. "I see one, kiddo. I see a big one. Use your goddamn eyes, haha!"

Dragan looked back at the ship. He looked further, past the threatening light, into the clear cockpit just beyond. His eyes widened as he realized just what was going on.

The one in the cockpit, the one sat at the controls of the star-yacht, was Bruno del Sed. There was a serious expression on his face, a look of utmost concentration - he wasn't used to piloting ships like this. Still, he adapted.

With a flurry of movement on the controls, the ship swung around to the side, and the landing doors on the outside of the vessel opened. A clear, well-lit room awaited them on the other side. All they had to do was jump through the office's broken window.

"Ruth," said Skipper. "I'd appreciate a helping hand here. That thing I said about soldiers being on their way - that's, uh, that's probably still happening, to be honest."

Ruth nodded and - with a flash of enhancing red Aether - tossed Skipper into the waiting ship as gently as she could, which wasn't much. Then, she reached down and plucked a flailing Lord Mayor Rikhail from the rubble of the room.

"Don't think you're getting away," she grinned - and then she tossed him too, with much less care. He landed in the ship with a yelp.

Ruth glanced back at Dragan, as if to ask whether he wanted to go flying too.

"I can make the jump myself, thanks," he said. He already had one broken arm, and wasn't eager for another.

"Suit yourself," shrugged Ruth, and then she jumped through the window into the waiting ship.

Right, then. Dragan stepped forward, towards the smashed window. He hadn't appreciated just how high up he was until this very moment. And the gap between the window and the ship was just a little too wide, wasn't it? Maybe he'd be better staying behind. Maybe he could come up with another plan.

Look behind you, idiot, he told himself.

A Special Officer of the Supremacy lay there, not far from the corpses of three men. He'd already assisted in the kidnapping of the Lord Mayor of the city. If he stayed, he was dead. If he jumped, he'd live - unless he slipped.

Still, much less of a risk than the alternative. Dragan took a deep breath, built up his flimsy Aether, and charged.

He honestly didn't think he'd ever run so fast - it was like he was breaking through a thick, invisible fog. Exhilarating. So long as he remembered to jump, he'd be fine, so long as he remembered to jump, okay, it was time to jump, jump now -

Dragan jumped - and entered the open air between the window and the ship, feet touching only empty space as he passed over the threshold. The ship grew closer. For a horrible, awful second, Dragan pictured the vessel flying up out of sight, leaving him without even the ability to scream as he plummeted down to the city below.

Then his feet touched down on metal, and Ruth Blaine caught him. As she did, Dragan could see the Heart Building outside growing smaller and smaller, further and further away, it's appearance finally reflecting its insignificance.

And then the doors thumped firmly shut.

-

Bruno worked the controls of the ship, setting up a navigation course that would take them out of the system as quickly as possible.

They'd need to find a lightpoint - a station that could launch their ship the kind of distance they needed. With the kind of cargo they were carrying, no Supremacy-controlled lightpoint would even let them near, so they'd need to stop by one of the less reputable stations.

Hiding inside the wreckage of their first ship had been a good move, though. It had allowed Bruno to infiltrate the Heart Building without minimal fuss and - when the time came - bust out and steal a ship with which to make their escape. Things couldn't have gone better, but...

He glanced behind himself.

This yacht was much more comfortable than their previous shop. Rather than the chaotic mash of machinery the interior had been before, the yacht - the Veritas, apparently - was all comfy chairs and roomy, well, rooms. Skipper lay sprawled across a couch, nursing his recently treated wound. Ruth sat in a chair nearby, snoozing. That was fine. From what Bruno had been told, she'd been doing a lot of fighting, so she'd need some rest before she was in good condition again.

Then there was Hadrien.

Bruno narrowed his eyes, glared at the cadet where he stood leaning against the wall. The guy seemed deep in thought, staring down at the floor with a frown. Well, he could do all the thinking he wanted. Bruno still wouldn't trust him.

He seems nice, said Serena.

No he doesn't, replied Bruno. He seems like a two-faced coward who'll turn on us the second it becomes convenient for him.

Oh, you think so?

Yes. That's why I said it.

Suit yourself! With that, Serena went dormant again. She'd probably forget the entire conversation within the next couple of minutes, truth be told.

Well, Bruno wouldn't forget - and he doubted Hadrien would, either. They'd snatched him right out of his comfy Supremacy post, held him hostage, almost got him killed. There'd be a grudge there. A strong grudge.

And Bruno would be ready when the bastard tried to act on it.

-

Dragan sighed, looking down at the floor. The number of sighs this hour was quickly rising through the double-digits.

Had he made the right choice? Probably not. Almost certainly not. It would be a little too generous to call it a choice really anyway, since he hadn't even realized he was making it until afterwards.

What a mess.

They had Rikhail tied up in the cargo hold, tied up just as Dragan had been tied up when he'd first met these idiots. They hadn't been blasted out of the sky, yet, so he could only assume his hostage strategy was working. Still, he couldn't be too optimistic - there was every chance of the room around him exploding into flame any second.

What a mess.

His future, too, the cushy do-nothing positions he'd dreamed of back in training - they were gone. The closest thing he'd get to relaxation now was the brief period in a Supremacy cell before they executed him. What method would they use? Firing squad, perhaps, or would Muzazi just cut his head off and be done with it? He wasn’t sure which he’d prefer.

And yet, despite all the concerns fighting for dominance inside his head … he couldn't find himself regretting it. His heart was dancing to a strange, unfamiliar beat.

He looked down again, squeezed his eyes shut, suppressed a laugh. Smiled properly for the first time in what felt like a long time.

What a mess!

The ship sailed off into the dark, leaving Caelus Breck behind.

-

The first time you see a certain something, you find it incredible. Awe-inspiring.

For Dragan Hadrien, that thing had been the sky.

In Crestpoole, the breather city, all light was artificial, all air recycled. The idea of a sun was a bad joke, the closest thing a pale glow through the clouds.

Quite often, Dragan would stand on one of Breather 19's balconies and stare up, trying to see them. He'd read about them in books, seen them in videographs - these things called stars. Lights that made themselves.

He never saw a thing. For all he knew, these things called stars were pure fiction. For all he knew, the world that he saw was all there was.

But still … stars burned all by themselves, perpetual, never needing anyone or depending on anyone. There wasn't a thing in the world that could hurt them.

And they shone so bright … like nothing else in the universe. Bright enough to light up the dark.

Dragan Hadrien thought that he would quite like to be a star.