The blocky merchant class spaceship Cudgel lowered slowly to the surface of the barren brown planet, landing with an audible plop that made Vivian wince.

“What we waitin’ for?” “The new Captain,” Abdullah replied quietly, waving his hand for his companion to lower his voice. “She’s supposed to arrive today and assume command of the Fist.”

Despite what she’d said to Haatim, Abigail was barely able to sleep that night. She lay awake, thinking about her lapses in judgment over the last couple of days with Haatim, Delaphene, and the demon that was holding Arthur.

Traq was terrified. When the woman—Vivian Drowel—had shown up at the door, she’d had a short conversation with Rica, and then after a tearful and quick goodbye, she’d taken Traq by the hand and led him away from his home. His mother packed him a bag and told him she loved him.

“You were crying.” The voice, expected yet still surprising, came from her right, and she couldn’t immediately see the person who spoke.

By the time they reached the campgrounds it was pitch black outside. Haatim was thoroughly exhausted from driving all day and ready to collapse. It was getting cold, too, and he wished he’d brought a jacket with him. Truth be told, he wished he’d brought dozens of things with him.

Wade stood outside the little gray house belonging to Traq and his mother, letting his friend think in silence. It was painful for him. He was talkative by nature, willing to ramble on and on about anything and everything.

Jake Martins ran down the alley, clutching the bag full of money tight against his chest.  Distant now was the sound of sirens, scouring the streets for sign of the Duke Station robber.

Mark smiled pleasantly, dipping his hand into the tray of olives and pulling one out.  Honestly, he considered the sweet fruit to be disgusting in the worst sort of way, but this was no time to be ungracious.  This was a time for cordiality, and more than a little discretion.