“No need to be apprehensive, Commander. We’re not savages.”

The slender woman reclined attractively at the Dunkerque‘s conn. Her feet were propped up on the pilot’s console. The forward viewscreen showed several other ships in formation with the much larger strike cruiser. They all looked a bit worse for wear, but to a trained eye, they also looked more than a little formidable. Each was colorfully painted with an avian motif. The flagship of the squadron was built on a long since retired war frigate hull decorated like an enormous golden condor, but it had been heavily modified to the point where its visible armament was at least a match for the next larger class. Like her Captain, one could only guess at its hidden weapons. All six of its escorts also had visibly overbuilt engines.

“You like my ship? Made it myself,” the woman said with a nod to the viewscreen. “Forgive me. I’ve been impolite. Captain Cerylia L’Orleans. At your service.” She touched the brim of her hat politely.

“What is it you want, madam?” Commander Demay replied. His entire crew had been led to the bridge at rifle point. Captain L’Orleans was attended by what Demay guessed was her second in command. He didn’t speak. The expression on his face was somewhere between contentment and menace.

“I suppose the crude answer would be ‘I want this ship.’ But I’m a little harder to satisfy than that, Commander. I’ve been watching my favorite young man for some time, and I’m always intrigued when I see a Skywatch Captain do something reckless and against regulations. Sending a ship of the line roaring off into space with less than ten people aboard? Now that sounds like desperation.”

“I’m not at liberty–”

L’Orleans held up a gloved hand. “Please. I already know more about this mission than you do. I know what you’re trying to do and why. I just want to hear it from the source. Open the channel please.” Cerylia walked her heels along the edge of the pilot’s console until the chair swiveled enough to face the forward viewscreen. An instant later the face of Captain Jason Hunter appeared.

"–Dunkerque! What is the meaning of this!?” he barked.

“Well, Captain. It seems now I have two things you want,” L’Orleans purred.

“Cerylia? What the hell are you doing aboard my ship?”

“Well at this point I wouldn’t say it’s your ship. After all, you left this nice young man in command and sent him off on a very dangerous mission. Such an honest looking officer too. The least you could have done is send someone to keep him company. So I volunteered.”

“So help me, if you’ve done anything to my crew–”

“They’re right behind me, unharmed. Why do you all think I’m so bloodthirsty?” She put on a show of acting hurt. “I’m just trying to make a living. Times are tough. You know how it is.”

“We don’t have time for games, Cerylia. There’s a big fleet with very big guns coming after us. I need the Dunkerque released, or they’re going to come after you next.”

“Big fat ships commanded by big fat men?”

“The fattest.”

“Simple game, Captain. I’ll give you the gun on Barker’s Asteroid. You give me the Dunkerque. Call her missing in action.”

“You know I can’t hand over a ship of the line, Cerylia. I’d be hanged for piracy and they’d court martial my coffin.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t let them do that to you, Jason. It’s just that it’s so roomy on this bridge! I could see myself enjoying a new flagship. Think of the war paint we could decorate her with!”

“Cerylia–”

“I’m just giving you a chance to stop putting all your handsomest officers in harm’s way, Captain.”

“Alright, hypothetically. Suppose I can get you something equivalent to Dunkerque?”

“I’m listening,” Cerylia replied with a twinkle and a smile.

“First tell me how you’re going to deliver Barker’s Asteroid on your own?”

“I didn’t say I was going to do it on my own. I’ll need these strong young men to help. But let’s just say I’ve got– knowledge of that particular rock that certain battleship captains lack.”

Hunter’s eyebrow rose and he regarded the pirate captain with a combination of annoyance and resignation. “Fair enough. You get me that asteroid and I’ll arrange for the Gitairn patrols in Sector 19 to be in the wrong routes often enough for you to fill a ship or two with triluminum ore.”

“How boring.”

“You can buy two Dunkerques with a shipment of refined triluminum, Cerylia.”

“Don’t try to be sympathetic. I already have the Dunkerque, and I don’t have to go chase down a bunch of ore for it, and I don’t have to give away my secrets either!”

“At least meet me halfway, Captain. You really want to spend the next six months dodging patrol frigates? That’s going to be a lot tougher on the paint than my plan.”

L’Orleans looked askance at Hunter. “Three shiploads and not an ounce less, and you owe me one.” She folded her arms and pretended to look put-upon.

“Done.” Hunter smiled and Cerylia couldn’t help herself.

“One of these days that boyish charm isn’t going to work on me any more, Captain Hunter.” She sarcastically emphasized the rank.

“I plan to rely on it my whole career. Please relinquish command to Mister Demay and coordinate with his crew. Hunter out.”

Cerylia raised an eyebrow at Demay a moment after the viewscreen switched back to Argent’s emblem.

“That went better than expected,” Toby said with an expression somewhere between “recently escaped from pursuing wolves” and “mute shock.”

“Only because your captain is irresistibly delicious,” L’Orleans replied. “Any other Skywatch officer would have been left with nothing but an ion trail.”