Jocasta trotted back ten minutes later with both men in tow. Jocasta waved enthusiastically at the spot where Markus was hidden. Her whole demeanor thrummed with excitement.

“Oh Darling, they’ve agreed to help us!” she called. Markus stepped out of cover, his weapon lowered but not pointed.

“Geesh he got worked over worse than you said,” the nearest of the workers declared. Jocasta threw her arms around Markus’ neck and kissed him enthusiastically. One of the men audibly snickered.

“We can get you on the transport princess but it wont be too comfortable,” the second worker declared.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Jocasta effused, “my fiancée and I shall be forever in your debt!”

“Fiancée?” Markus whispered as the workers turned to head for a utility hatch into the star port proper.

“I’m Gallanis’ daughter and I’m eloping with you, my father sent thugs to rough you up,” Jocasta whispered, condensing as much information as she could into the few private seconds before they stepped through the door.

“You’re claiming to be who?!” Markus demanded but there was no more time to talk. They were ushered into a break room permeated with the smell of catalytic cooking and old coffee. Several rather pornographic images were hung on the walls, though they were cracked and faded with age. They were offered coffee and food, simple ration bars and made comfortable for the half hour before the orbital transport rattled down.

“Best of luck,” the worker called as he ushered them up the ramp and into the cramped hold that was normally used for technicians and stand by pilots.

“This thing is flown by a computer so no one will know you are here, you will have to handle getting off yourself,” he cautioned.

“I’ve never had a problem getting myself off,” Jocasta assured him with blithe innocence. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t and I’d kind of like to keep it that way,” the worker replied, “happy to help out, but I don’t need angry daddies coming after me.”

____

“Ok what in the name of the Red God was that?!” Markus demanded as the ship rocked skywards on its antiquated thrusters. The air was thin and flavored with diesel but breathable enough.

“I told I was running off with you because my father just couldn’t understand my love,” she announced, throwing a hand to her forehead dramatically.

“And that worked?” he demanded. Jocasta chuckled.

“Of course, there isn’t a workman in the world that wouldn’t be pleased to fuck over his land lord if he thought he could get away with it,” she explained. “It’s even a good cover for the shuttle crash, obviously my previous plan to escape my father’s evil clutches didn’t work.” Markus stared at her in amazement and then shook his head.

“Do you have a plan for once we get back to God’s Eye?” he asked. Jocasta nodded.

“Rest assured, your quest to recover the Sword-that-is-emblematic-of-your-penis is in good hands. Though you know, my vote is for doing something insane like leaving and then buying a new one some other place without getting killed.”

Markus sat at the cockpit out of habit, and made himself busy by jerryrigging the controls to open the hatch for them when they arrived. Jocasta poked her head in, and then plopped down on the seat beside him as he worked. There really was no need for a cockpit, but it was there in case of emergencies if passengers were aboard. Once Markus asked her about her plan for the God's Eye, she retorted in her usual tongue-in-cheek manner, and he gave a small grin to himself.

"If we did that, then he wouldn't know it was us who took his ship." He told her, bending down to realign a few wires. She watched him with her arms crossed on the small, albeit thick railing between their chairs.

"I heard you were wanted in a few star systems. Do you really want to be chased more, or do you just want to be popular wherever you go?" She asked.

"Like I said," He grunted, pulling himself out from under the dash, running his hand through his thick head of dark hair. "You don't have to help if you don't want to." Markus fell back into the chair and got comfortable for the remainder of the journey.

"I could never leave my darling fiancé in his time of need!" Jocasta said in a high-pitched, whimsical manner, dramatically laying her head on his shoulder, her thick hair tickling his nose. He glanced at her and smirked at her shakespearean manner.

"I'll trust your plan, babe." He told her to play along, reaching up to flip a switch on the top panel. Markus sighed, thinking about through the last few days in his temporary partnership with Jocasta. It was true she was crazy, but to his surprise, it wasn't in a dangerous way. He wouldn't say he was bad with people, but no one was going to hand him a public relations medal anytime soon, yet he felt like Jocasta had a magic key that opened up any door, either through guile or her hacking skills. That, coupled with the fact she could at least hold her own in a fight, despite himself he was considering offering her a partnership. Usually he worked alone, but despite himself she was growing on him quickly. "But to your question, infamy can be a good thing in our line of work."

"It's good to be a target for bounty hunters?" She asked wryly.

"That's an added risk, but a reputation gets you jobs." He remarked.

"Jobs where people screw you over?" She chimed in with a dazzling smile.

He chuckled. "That's my point. If we pull this off, some potentate will think twice before double crossing us. And the others will know we keep our word and get jobs done."

The lovely woman lifted her head and placed her hands together, bowing to him with her eyes closed. "Thank you Sifu, you are as wise as you are handsome."

"Flattery won't get you extra credit." He replied wryly, checking the ETA on the screen. Still fifteen minutes to go before visibility.

"And what would? I can do a handstand too. Shall I belly dance? Once we get your sword I can juggle it?" She asked each question with a different cadence, clearly having fun teasing him.

"We'll discuss it over drinks-"

"That you're paying for." She pointed out amusedly.

"Yeah, yeah."

The ship began to rumble as it slowed its ascent, and a red light pinged above them. In the distance, the God's Eye floated much as it had two days when Markus had arrived with the mutants. This time, he wouldn't leave without a prize.

They docked in a considerably more disreputable part of God's Eye than they had previously visited. The automated grain freighter hit the docking ring with enough force to start a shower of rust from its ill maintained frame. Fortunately the unloading process as also largely automated, and while there was a workman in charge of keeping an eye on the machinery, he had his feet propped on his console while he perused a pornographic holocube. Jocasta and Markus slipped past without any difficulty. The industrial areas of God's Eye were thinly manned, consisting largely of transshipment facilities in which raw materials from the planet below were loaded into bulk freighters that weren't able to enter a proper gravity well.

"We are going to need someway to blend in," Markus pointed out as Jocasta led the way out of the industrial area and into the more populous working class sections. Fortunately it was nearly dawn station time and there were few people abroad save for the very drunk or the destitute and drug addled. Jocasta didn't reply but led the way to a slightly nicer looking hotel. She produced a data syringe that opened one of the rear doors and took a maintenance elevator several floors up. Jocasta peeked around the door before stepping into a plushy carpeted hallway and hurrying several doors down. The door opened at her touch and she gestured Markus in.

"Casa dolce casa," she said as she flopped onto a large bed in the center of the room. There were several outfits, more or less equivalent to her longue singer dress hung in a closet as well as a spacers duffel containing some weapons, technical equipment and several thousand dablunz in plastic transport cases.

"A safe house?" Markus asked.

"What else?" Jocasta replied, "this is where I prepped to infiltrate that meeting. I was going to come back here once the job was done to get my stuff but..."

"And no one traced it?" Markus asked skeptically.

"Who would even bother to look?" she scoffed, "besides I hired someone to pay cash for it, no way to link it to me."

"Good idea," he said, gazing around the small suite. It was more lavish than he would have thought, not to mention the collection of weapons that was practically bursting out of the duffel. "And you had the money for..." He let the statement drop. He guessed she really had gambled on this kind of life. Jo likely saved up for months to get this ready, or she just stole it all. Both were likely, in his opinion.

"This was supposed to be my debut." She admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

"Still is," Markus reminded her, standing up from the chair he had grabbed. He went over to the duffel and set it at the foot of the bed. "You mind if I have a look?"

"Be my guest." She said, perching at the side of the bed and idly swinging her feet as Markus zipped open the bag and pulled out a myriad of guns. As he did so, her smile widened as Markus's eyes grew wider. It was clear the usually unshakeable merc was getting bewildered at how many guns had been crammed into here, and how she had gotten them all. Even as Markus gave a 'fuck me' in awe, she began to talk conversationally. "Speaking of which, I have a question. When it was time to team up, you had a real rep. Why team up with me?"

He shook his head, trying to place the guns in a manner that gave them a suitable part of the bed so he could view them all properly. Despite still being surprised, his voice was cool. "You mean other than saving my life?"

"Yeah."

Markus eyed the gauss rifle, but instead picked up the M7C handgun, checking its firing mechanism and the clip, searching for a few rounds of ammo for it. He never usually had a pistol, but with his sword gone and only his carbine on hand, he needed something that he could conceal with a modicum of stopping power. The M7C hadn't been in production in decades, he was surprised she got a hold of one. "You're new to the game. I knew everyone wanting to team up with me would just as easily shoot me in the back if it got them a larger share."

"And you didn't think the person who infiltrated the meeting via disguise was that kind of girl?" She retorted as Markus balanced a few throwing knifes on his finger. He flipped one and whipped it through the air, noting the light whistling. Satisfied, he pocketed a few on his belt.

"Took a risk. Hasn't happened yet." He replied with a shrug, hefting a HRK riotgun. A six gauge with controlled plasma rounds, at least theoretically. He rummaged through the ammo, trying to see if he could find a few. It could blow a sizeable crater in a 2 inch place of titanium C. Eventually he found a few, but he would need to conceal the weapon in an over-the-shoulder case.

"And you've never done that before?"

"Not unless someone was already planning on doing it to me." Markus loaded the riotgun, pumping it for good measure. Jocasta had hopped off the bed at that point, fishing through the closet and shoving aside the dressed before she tossed a bundle to Markus. He caught it with his right hand, raising an eyebrow skeptically.

"Here, don't have much in your size, but there was an oversized workers outfit that I'd bet is your fit."

It was grey and white, and would at least serve to make anyone pointing a weapon at him think for a moment before firing. He shrugged again, dropping the shotgun and stripping his shirt off. He was lean but cut, with numerous scars from over a decade of hard living. Most notably there was a large scar on his abdomen, and a burn mark on his back that looked to be caused via some sort of plasma. Three oxidized dog tags 'clinked' against his chest when the top came off.

"Where's the bathroom? I'll change in there."

"Well, if you insist on taking all the fun out of it, it's over there," Jocasta told him, hooking her thumb towards the refresher.

Twenty minutes later, Jocasta too was changed into a similar worker's uniform, though despite her best efforts, it clung to her more than was optimal. The fusion beamer, like Markus’ sword, had been confiscated when they had been captured, so she armed herself with a K-21 Argosy Needler — a weapon between a pistol and a submachine gun. Finished in bone-white polymer, it electromotively fired tiny metal darts. Each projectile was small, but at close to Mach 7, the little hollow points were more than capable of putting a man down.

"Not much penetrating power," Markus cautioned her as she checked the battery pack on the weapon.

"She might not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts," Jocasta riposted, reaching into her duffel and withdrawing a U-shaped attachment with three noticeably large caliber rounds, clipping it to the nose of the needler. A telltale light lit up and the underslung launcher made three clicks as it ran its diagnostic.

"Tungsten jacketed slugs, all the penetration a girl could ask for," Jocasta explained, tucking the weapon into a pouch on her belt that looked like it should contain a multitool or a vacuum wrench.

Markus eyed her preparations with a mixture of admiration and skepticism. "So now we can go kill the bastard?" he groused. Jocasta shoved her remaining clothing into her duffel and slung it over her shoulder. Markus stared at her for a moment in disbelief.

"That hardware must weigh 200 pounds," he objected. Jocasta bounced the bag as though it weighed nothing.

"Hey, maybe I really work out," she winked. People were familiar with counter grav when it was used in ships, but it really was amazing what you could do with it when you put your mind to it.

"But to your killing the bastards point, fear not, your manhood shall soon be restored to you!" she promised grandiosely.

"My manhood is just fine; it’s my sword I want," Markus growled.

"Potato, potago," she replied blithely, leading the way out of the hotel as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

______________

"Badge check!" Jocasta called to a file of workers as they headed towards the service entrance to Gallanis compound. Unlike the main entrance with its gates of wrought iron and force field generators, the service entrance was unprepossessing — little more than a set of security blast doors and a checkpoint. Like the front door, however, it was well defended; a duraplas pillbox squatted opposite the checkpoint, a heavy automatic weapon protruding ominously to cover the approach. It was located a level below at the end of a long axial corridor that connected it to the docks so that goods and personnel could be brought in without disturbing his Lordship's gardens. The workmen, garbed in more or less the same clothing as Markus and Jocasta, looked up with a combination of irritation and fear as Jocasta stepped forward, producing a handheld computer with a scanning wand.

"Idents out, move along," Jocasta called, scanning the chip of each workman as they passed. Each time, her scanner lit green and bleeped its approval. One of the workers stepped close with an appreciative glance.

"What’s all this about?" he asked, giving her a bit of a leer for good measure. Jocasta didn’t look up from the holographic display on her scanner.

"I don’t know, something about a pair of dangerous and attractive mercenaries escaping his nibs' clutches," Jocasta replied with blithe disinterest that made Markus wince. She scanned the worker's chip and was rewarded with another approving bleep.

"Did Clem send you?" the man asked, apparently idly. Jocasta didn’t look up.

"Clem? Is this some sort of lower echelon joke I’m too well paid to understand?" she asked in a bored voice. The worker glared at her, glanced at Markus, who gave him a 'what can you do' shrug, and then returned to the line.

"So you scanned their IDs," Markus noted, "can you make up false ones to get us in?"

"Already have," Jocasta replied. There was a whirring as her scanner produced a plastic label. Jocasta slapped it across Markus’s right breast; it adhered to the fabric to form a name tag: Watson. She repeated the process, labeling herself Holmes.

"Watson and Holmes?" he asked.

"Just something a random name generator threw up," Jocasta replied innocently.

"So now we just bluff our way in?" he asked. Jocasta giggled.

"Of course not; they are expecting us!" She assured him.

"How can they be expecting us if you just faked these IDs?" he asked.

"Well, if you insist on knowing how the sausage is made, I broke up an appointment file into bits and uploaded it to each of those worker IDs. When the guards scan them, it goes into the mainframe; it just looks like junk. Except once it is in there, it will reassemble, and voilà, we are invited guests."

"Don’t they do genetic testing?"

"Of course, but we are already in their database," she chuckled, "I just relabeled our arrest files." Markus shook his head and set off towards the checkpoint. Two armed security troopers approached them with wands and scanned them. Despite the fact they were both heavily armed, the scanners made no complaint.

"In and out, Commissioner Holmes," the guard cautioned as he stepped back and waved the door open.
"Are you certain you need your secretary?" he asked, eyeing Markus up and down.

"The Starry Lady alone knows it’s better than him wandering around by himself," she replied in a put-upon voice. The guard nodded and let them through the door.

"Secretary?" Markus asked in a low growl.

"Hey, you want to pick the covers, you got to come to the meetings," Jocasta replied as they headed deeper into the compound.

"Right-o, Watson, what in blazes shall we do now?" Jocasta asked, mostly to pass the time. The two mercs had a rough idea of where they were going, having procured schematics from a terminal minutes before. Jocasta led the way, Markus watching their flank, checking over his shoulder every few moments. Luckily, there were cameras only at certain intervals, the administration deeming the utility areas less worrisome than the public sectors.

"My sword," Markus reminded her.

"Capital idea!" She said. "Glad I thought of it!"

Jocasta and Markus passed by a four way split in the winding maze, before Jocasta skirted to a stop, and gave a low 'beep beep beep' as she backed up. Markus raised an eyebrow and stepped out of her way, before she turned down a pristine hallway. There were various doors, but one stood out. It was made of reinforced steel, able to withstand small-yield explosions and armor piercing rounds from small-arms fire. Next to it was another terminal, only this one far more advanced. Jocasta cracked her knuckles, bit her tongue, and began typing away. The screen went from a basic query of identification to multiple windows within moments.

"So, what are you doing now?" Markus asked her, crossing his arms and peering in.

"Why are you so interested in every little hack I'm doing?" She asked, amused.

"Because it's slick as hell." He admitted, reaching up to stroke the stubble on his chin.

"Yeah, it is pretty sexy. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two sometime," She teased, the windows on the display dropping back to the original screen, where the query was now a different one, asking them to merely scan their IDs. "Not that you'd need help in that department." She winked.

Markus smirked. "For the record, neither do you." He admitted as the reinforced door slid open. Before the two could say more, six pairs of eyes fell on them from within the armory, and there was no mistaking it was the armory. Guns, ammunition, armor, portable devices ranging from personal shields to infantry beacons were stacked or hanging along the walls. And checking the inventory was a clerk, a datapad in his hand and a confused look on his face. Beside him, as well as across the room, past a pile of crates, were two faceless, helmed guards, much like the ones Jo and Markus had seen when they had been escorted to their cells.

"Hey, who are you?" The closest guard asked, hefting his plasma rifle. "You don't have authorization in here!"

Jocasta whispered under her breath. "This is less sexy..."

Jocasta opened her mouth, a clever lie already forming on her lips. Unfortunately the guard closest to a panic button was already lurching toward it, either having recognized the prisoners, or simply too nervy to wait a few seconds for clarification. Quick as lighting Jocasta yanked the needler from its pouch, thrust it out one handed and fired. The miniaturized weapon made a whack, whack, whack, as it fired combining the air splitting report with the hum of the acceleration coils, sounding like the worlds most spiteful sewing machine. The man going for the alarm jerked and fell sideways, blood grouting from the joint between his chest plate and his helmet. Everything was suddenly happening at once. The guard closest to Jocasta tried to swing the barrel of his rifle to bear even as his lips twisted to shout for help. Jocasta cut her arm down, parrying the barrel away with her own weapon. The plasma rifle went off with a sun bright flare that made the hair stand up on everyone's neck. The ravening plasma bolt struck one of the ceramic riot shields and refracted splashing up over a number of cardboard containers which immediately began to burn. Jocasta fired her needler as she finished her parry, putting three needle sharp spikes into the boot and lower leg of her assailant. The man reeled back in time for his chin to meet Markus's pistol but as it came forward, cracking him back so hard the chin strap of his helmet broke and bounced free. The bloodied guard now unconscious crashed into his partner as he tried to clear his own weapon and he went down in a tangle of limbs.

An alarm began to shriek, a fire alarm ironically, and the roof erupted in a torrential downpour of fire suppressing foam. The stuff had a reeking chemical tang and somehow managed to be both slippery and clingy. Jocasta tried to back up to get room but her feet went out from under her and she crashed to the ground, her needler still shimmering with the waist heat. Markus fired into the pair of downed guards with a quick snap snap that made both bodies spasm and lay still.

"You good?" Markus asked, kneeling down to hold his hand out. Jocasta grabbed it, and he pulled her to her feet.

"As ever," She said, whipping her hair out of her face. The movement lurched her body just enough to send her stumbling again, but she had enough frame of mind to catch herself on a crate. It sent a small shiver up the wall, and something familiar precariously perched above them fell. Markus caught his sword with one hand, the steel and stainless aluminum of the hilt making a satisfying 'chk' sound. Jocasta squared her feet, and gestured as if it was all planned. "Deliberate, Watson."

"Never doubted you," Markus remarked, shouldering the strap of the weapon, keeping the sword in easy reach to unsheathe. In the corner, the clerk cowered. Markus wanted to leave him alone, but he was in a room full of guns, and the merc didn't want to get shot in the back. He licked his lips, then spat the chemical taste out of his mouth, the water cascading only now slowing in its torrent. "Come out! We're not here for you, but I can't trust you over there...Now!"

The man in a white uniform, now matted from the water, shakily got to his feet with his hands raised, stepping out from behind a few care package crates that had been refurbished for storage. The man looked scared to death, and Markus had to admit he nearly cried aloud when Jocasta shot the man without warning. Only when he saw the dart in his neck did he realize it was a nonlethal dart, likely with some kind of tranquilizer.

"I guess that was needed." Markus remarked with a shrug as Jo hurried over to the other side of the room. Markus looked questioningly at her, before he yelled 'come on!' and pulled out a guardsman's flak uniform. The merc grinned, he hadn't dreamed they could get out without having to shoot their way out, but if they pulled this off...

Jocasta pulled on the uniform with some difficulty despite the adjustable straps the flak vest fit poorly.

"It's a little tight across the chest," she complained, even though the vest was long enough that it gouged her legs if she bent the wrong way. Markus snorted and handed her a plasma rifle. It was a Wexler arms model but close enough to the UNSG Mars pattern that Jocasta had little difficulty figuring it out. She considered taking a shield but decided that it would make her stand out too much.

"Well I'm not normally a less is more guy," Markus admitted, "but keeping that chest tight might be good for our cover."

"You say the sweetest things," Jocasta enjoined as she draped herself with webbing belt and a bandolier to improve her disguise. She tucked the needler into an ammunition pouch and did her best to pull it closed without actually sealing it. She decided that the overall effect made her look hastily dressed, which was appropriate for the situation as the alarm claxons had change tone from fire to general alarm.

"Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown. Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown," an automated voice bleated over the PA system. The two mercenaries exchanged glances and stepped out into the hallway. Jocasta turned and touched the lock plate which turned red and then pixilated oddly as she corrupted the code, jamming the door closed. They hurried down the hallway, stepping aside to allow two more guards and a fire suppression team to pass them en route to the armory.

"Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown. Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown," the alarm blared on irritating repeat as Jocasta and Markus hurried back towards the gate. As the reached the entrance foyer however it became apparent that there was no way to get through. A dozen guards were already standing to, weapons pointed outwards as others methodically began to sweep for intruders.

"We could try the service entrance," Markus suggested.

"You two, where are you assigned," a jumpy looking trooper demanded, his plasma rifle not pointed but held ready.

"Your mother's ass," Markus growled, "and if you don't want me up yours you will get back to your fucking station!" The soldier flinched at the tone of NCOs the galaxy wide, then flushed, considered a response then turned to shout at someone else.

"Service entrance will be locked down ever harder," Jocasta argued, "but I have an idea."

They backtracked through the manor passing large gardens and luxurious apartments, each one sealed and electronically flagged as searched or unsearched. A fire in the armory was concerning but the compound must have been on heighted state of alert, probably because to the high profile prisoner they were holding here. At last the reached a more industrial area then finally a long tube that lead to a hatch, beyond through transperisteel viewports a ship could be seen, connected to the station by the docking tube.

"You! Freeze!" the leader of a quartet of guards at the end of the tube shouted. These men weren't in the flak armor of the household guard, but rather in more elaborate pearl armor. Jocasta realised they must be a guard of honor who crewed Galanis' yacht.

"We are conducting a..." Jocasta began but Markus shoved her to the side as the men opened fire, bolts of sun hot plasmas jetting down the tube towards them. An electronics panel exploded above them showering them with sparks. Markus returned fire leaping across the hallway to take cover behind a large console. Jocasta peeked around the corner, aimed her rifle and fired several times but the guards were in cover of their own in the ball like enlargement of the tube just before the airlock. No doubt they were already radioing for backup.

"We have to punch through to the yacht before we have every guard in the place down on us!" Jocasta called to Markus. She leaned out and squeezed off a shot, this one deflected of the wall of the docking tube and struck one of the guards in the shoulder, punching him off his feet. Judging by the volume of his cursing his armor had taken the brunt of the damage while sparing him serious injury. The air reeked of ozone sharp plasma discharge and burning electronics.

"Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown. Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown," the monotonous voice droned on.

"Nothing like a ticking clock," Markus agreed.

Markus squeeze off two shots, the barrel of the plasma gun igniting like a miniature sun as two 'rounds' of coruscating light flies past the honor guard and splashed against the back wall, singing it and forming a small crater. He cursed as similar bolts were traded back, Jocasta's hair nearly igniting from a close-call. The next moment, Markus nearly had it in a bad way. After a shot, he was grazed in the shoulder pad, disintegrating the fabric and light flexi-mail. Had it been any closer, it would have burned through Markus's shoulder like a knife through butter. He fell back and sighed, deigning to check his fuel level. 45% left in the clip, the reader said.

"Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown. Alert. Alert. Facility Lockdown," the monotonous voice reiterated.

"Any ideas?" Jocasta called, firing three shots back, mostly to not sit idle. The honor guard just needed to wait, and the two mercs could practically feel reinforcements riding up their ass. Markus looked back at the clip, and then at Jocasta. She glanced at him, and blanched when she saw him unload the gun. A question about to form on her full lips.

"How's your aim?" Markus asked her, glancing back to meet her eyes.

She raised an eyebrow, confused. "I'd love to humor you, but I don't think this is the time to compare." She quipped. More flashes of light arced past them, a wave of intense heat brushing them from every shot. Markus casually tossed the clip in the air like he was holding a baseball. "These are mostly made of hydrogen." He reasoned.

His words dawned on her after a moment, and a smile bloomed on her face. "You know, I was wrong. You're not as stupid as I thought." She teased.

Her light-hearted nature was infection, even to the cool merc. "Jury's still out on you." He replied with a smirk.

"I like to remain a mystery." She finished, and jerked her head toward their opposition, indicating she was ready. He gave a curt nod, dropped his plasma rifle, and pulled his newly returned sword two inches out of its scabbard in preparation. He mouthed 'one, two, three' and spun, sliding the cartridge down the short corridor toward the guardsmen's position. Jocasta leaned out and fired twice, the second plasma bolt hitting the cartridge dead on just as it hit the lip of the door. There was a flash as flames erupted in a short explosion, men screaming. Just as it ignited, Markus sprinted out of cover, his sword out of his scabbard in one fluid motion. There was a ring of metal and grunts of disbelief, followed by and wet, cutting noises. In three seconds, Jocasta looked back to see Markus resheathing his blade.

She gathered herself and hustled over, wiping sweat from her brow. She stepped carefully over a dismembered arm and a man with a large stab wound in his chest before reaching Markus. "Not bad," she said, but her next words died on her lips when she saw the starship docked before them. On a small curve of the front engine, the word' RAVENWING' was painted. "Whoa... now that's a pretty ship."

"We can admire her when we're in." Markus reminded her, pulling her arm forward and hustling into the opening bay door of the Huntsman class freighter.

"You’ll admire it once it’s in," Jocasta mocked. "That’s what he said." Further witticisms were stifled as Markus grabbed her by the elbow and propelled her down the boarding tube. The hatches behind them hissed, and deck plates rang with booted feet as security rushed to cut off their escape.

"Eew! Eeew!" Jocasta protested as they reached the boarding hatch, and they were forced to tramp through the tacky blood of the thoroughly dead honor guard. Markus slapped the hatch control, but it responded with a uniform red light and a squawk of denial. The honor guard had locked the ship out before their messy demise. Plasma bolts began to snap down the boarding tube, and Markus turned and began to return fire, dropping a pair of overeager troopers with impressive headshots that sprayed brain matter and burning hair over their companions.
"Get the door open before they return the favor with grenades!" Markus called. Jocasta put her hand to the panel. It was a biometric lockout designed to prevent exactly what the two mercenaries were currently attempting. Her implants linked her, and she entered the system, flashes of plasma and sharper discharges of slug throwers fading from her mind.

"Any minute now!" Markus shouted as a grenade bounced down the boarding tube. He kicked it like a soccer player, sending it back down the tube to burst with a flash of orange-white fire. Pieces of shrapnel pinged and keened down the tube, and for the second time in a day, the fire suppression system cut in, showering sticky foam from overhead.

The air stank of cordite, ozone, burnt blood, and fire suppression chemicals as Jocasta furiously tried to find a way past the lock. She irritably tried to wipe water from her eyes as Markus continued to fire down the tube, the falling droplets flashing miniature contrails along the plasma bolts' paths. Water. She pulled up the shuttle’s emergency landing protocols. These were hard-coded into the operating system and were relatively undefended, as their purpose was to preserve the lives of the crew in the event of a crash. She activated the water landing subroutine.

The locked hatchway exploded outwards. The hatch combing careened down the boarding tube, propelled by the four explosive charges meant to blow it clear in the event of a crash. Sparks flew in a fireworks display that would have done a Federation Day parade proud. The edges struck and rebounded, scoring bright orange lines in the hot metal as the hatch rocketed down the tube like a pea in a whistle. It crashed into the antechamber that the security troopers were flooding into like a bandsaw, cutting men in half and sending weapons and limbs flying in all directions.

"Solid," Markus remarked laconically. Jocasta wondered if he would be quite so sanguine had he known she had no idea how violently that plan would come to fruition and that if he had been popped out to fire at that instant, he would be splattered across half the space station. She decided not to mention it.

"Time to go," she said, noting with alarm that streams of gas were already escaping the boarding tube, freezing in long icicles where they managed to clog the holes the hatch had opened. As she watched, the gaps grew larger as the boarding tube began to tear itself apart, each seam taking double the strain as the previous one failed. Litter, dust, and droplets of blood began to fly to the breach points, in some cases held in ghastly stasis between two or three.

"Agreed!" she half-yelped and leaped through the hatch and into the interior of the ship, a second or two ahead of Markus. There was a sudden mechanical siren sound, and then the inner airlock door slammed shut as the sensors registered a vacuum outside, another feature of the oh-so-useful emergency system.

"Well," she breathed as she felt the docking tube crack and the ship begin to float free, still attached to a half-dozen meters of metal gangway.

"That went well."

"We've got Baator Brew, Black Spire Stout, Blurrgfyre, Toniray White, Andoan White, Moogan Tea—with or without alco—"

"I'll take... Taranis Tall and a Black Spire Stout." The merc said. Even without his armor, Markus knew they could tell he was a hunter.

The east-wing barman placed two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle, a tattooed woman wearing a black crop top and shining leather pants appearing from the back to help the merc with his order. The sound of billards balls clacking and glasses being placed on rusted plasteel tables was almost comforting to Markus. The room was fraught with the smell of freshly cooked food mixed with alcohol, and a chemical tang to the air, like as not from having just cleaned up something less than savory. The holodisplays placed above the bar and across the room where the billiards and card tables were being held showed the previous day's Mechball matches, with text from local system news sources sliding across the bottom. Men laughed and jeered, swearing and swapping insults and slurs of the strangest sort from across the old empire. Many were freighter captains, old luggers that spent their lives moving from place to place. Others were local scoundrels or heels, and some like as not wanted to experience some night life off-planet.

The cantina, called Dagda's Cauldron, was huge. It was three stories, and about forty thousand square feet of public space. It took up almost the entirety of the central floor of Kario Space Station, and everyone passing through, from gangers to smugglers stopped by for a drink or to swap stories. At the center of the Cauldron was an inner atrium-turned-arena, able to be viewed from all three stories, where mutants or hard men down on their luck could fight to the death and win prizes or take a sample of the winning bets. Even at the edges of the cantina, their cries of victory or defeat cut through almost any noise.

Markus squeezed passed a number of rowdy locals, halting as a waitress sauntered past him and expertly ducking under a thrown bottle. Voices were raised, and he stepped past the walk between the tables just before the bouncers rushed to halt the altercation. At the next table, a cabal of bounty hunters spoke in hushed tones and drank their beers, some still wearing bits of their armor. One of them still had his helmet on. Across the way, a band of mutants played a multitude of instruments on stage, a younger man with eyes completely polished black singing in the mic.

They had been lucky, Markus and Jo. The two had escaped without much injury, and found space to make a jump before pursuit could be initiated. He had given a rare laugh when he realized the Huntman's capabilities. It was the size of a freighter but handled like a starship fighter, and its sensors were immaculate. Jocasta also gushed over the showers working, and Markus had to agree that was a perk. Jo had checked the kitchens and found there was a little food, and after eating she had found a bed and fell asleep for what seemed like half a day, while Markus checked the integrity of the ship's systems and kept an eye on the slipspace stream. Then he showed her how to monitor the ship and what to press to get on the comms, once she had woken up fully, and it was his turn to conk out. Ten hours later, Markus found a place to exit their the stream, and found they had arrived in the Tuthanin System, with three habitable planets, two biologically habitable and another under a biodome.

They had hardly talked since their quick exit, but now it was time to actually clear the air, make plans, and decide their association. But not before Markus made good on his promise.

He slid a Taranis Tall to her, which she caught expertly. She had procured a small, tall table for them across the floor, half a dozen meters to a Holodisplay and equidistant to any other party, save the occasional staff member rushing by. Markus took his seat across from her, his hair newly washed from a couple of hours ago, but still relatively unkempt as he had to pilot almost immediately after, and what brushes there had been had smelled...used. He sported 'freighter fatigues,' more commonly known as smuggler trousers, essentially faded out, drab cargo pants one could wear to anything and hide any number of weapons or equipment in. His belt hung loosely at his waist, and he wore a black shirt that hugged his torso, with a 'Dead Men don't run very fast' stamped at its center, with the logo of an old, famous bounty hunter named Davik Sunder, who coined the quote back in the 24th century. Hanging loosely around his neck were two, faded dog tags. He felt sore, but it was a good sore. Rewarding, in a sense.

"Have to say, I half expected you on stage by the time I got back." Markus said.

Jocasta took a sip of her drink the tingle of alcohol warming the back of her throat even as the chemicals made it sparkle in her mouth, far more than simple carbonation could. It was an oddly solemn moment, as Makus finally made good on the debt he had incurred a selective lifetime ago and it was deeply satisfying. Jocasta hunched her shoulders slightly as a trio of UNSG spacers entered the bar. There was a UNSG cruiser docked on the arbitrarily named 'western' arm of the station and its several hundred personnel were taking leave. Technically this was UNSG territory but these days their writ didn't run much beyond the core systems and the Hundred Duchys. The spacers weren't exactly unwelcome, no one whose credits spent was unwelcome, but they took care to move in small groups rather than going alone.

"But Markus," Jocasta protested, "I simply haven't a thing to wear!" When they had first met she had been dressed in a flash silver evening dress, but that dress along with her few other possessions had been left on the God's Eye when they fled. There was a shopping trip in her future, at least once they sold of some of the pretties they had found aboard the Huntsman. It had been Lord Gallanis' personal yacht and was well stocked with small art objects, expensive booze, and various other fungible assets. She was dressed in a dark green flight suit that was a few sizes too big for her, the name 'Huntsman' was stenciled across its chest, but she had tied a red silk sash from shoulder to hips to cover the name. Her feet were sheathed in her combat boots, the only footwear aboard that would fit her.

"Besides, Black Eyes there isn't doing too badly," she admitted, knocking back her drink and waving for another.

"You think there is any chance your Lordly friend comes after us?"

"My friend?" He echoed, amused. He gave a smiled that showed his teeth as he looked into his drink, taking another sip. He was going to remind her he had never been hired by Gallanis before, but he knew she was joking. An eyebrow raised when he saw her finishing her drink that quickly. He was just past halfway done. Granted, he wasn't actually trying to get hammered, at least not yet. He waited for a handful of seconds while her glass was refilled. Markus gestured his get the same treatment. Why not? As the bar waitress refilled his glass, he deflected her original question, preferring to discuss it without staff nearby. "By the way, I said I'd buy you one drink. If you want me to keep paying the tab, better make it worth my while somehow."

The waitress smiled knowingly, glancing at Jocasta, before hurrying away. Markus imagined most of their patrons were a bit rougher to both them and each other. Markus' eyes flicked to the departing woman, and then he answered her question. "Definitely. But not for awhile. By now they're probably figuring out what happened, and if they can even find our jump trail, it won't be for another day or two. And then he'll need to mobilize and head after us. Luckily, if he does find us, we'll already have the best ship."

Markus turned, placing his back against the wooden frame that shielded them from the gameroom where the holovid hung, placing his left elbow on the table, idly holding his drink. His other hand placed a toothpick in his mouth, and he watched the room. A couple laughed as their friend spilled their ale onto his lap, and a number of toughs were being escorted out while the waiters were busy removing the pieces of a broken table. The rest of the room was an amalgamation of conversation and the occasional outburst of disappointment or laughter. It was just his method, to watch his blind spots. "So, what are your plans now that you're a free woman? Still looking to be a merc?"

He idly swung his head her way, looking for all the world like a corsair by his lazy manner coupled with his scars and dangerous vibe. "I guess I got room for another on the Artemis." He remarked, nonchalantly naming the ship. Ravenwing was a fine name, but they couldn't steal it and not change the ship's title or ID markers.

Jocasta's eyebrows raised.

"Have you got a second ship?" she asked sweetly, "because I know you aren't offering me a place on my own yacht."

"You got your sword back, I get the ship," she pointed out reasonably, "it is a fair distribution of loot based on the sentimental value of the blade." Come to think of it, she hadn't gotten her fusion beamer back either, not to mention the loss of her favorite dress.

Markus gave a disbelieving laugh, turning to her. "Hey, we never made a deal on that. I even told you to stay behind, you helped of your own volition without-"

"It does not detract from services rendered nor does it compensate me for my own losses," She pointed out, taking another sip from her drink, as if in victory. Markus was not the kind of guy to accept that, however.

"All I see out there is the ship I flew away with, with you as a passenger, and a ship only I can handle." He added, having slid his leg and foot off the bench and down to the floor, facing her.

"Now that you mention it, I do need a pilot..." She mused audibly.

The mercenary smiled despite himself. "Is this your way of asking to partner up? No need to be coy, just ask straight up."

"You were the one being coy," She said.

"Alright, let's cut the bullshit." Markus took another huge swig of his drink and clapped the glass on the table, sliding it to his left. He placed his left elbow on the table and held out his hand. "Equal partners, we co-own the ship, I pilot it, and you can keep every trinket and expensive item on board to sell and you can keep all of that money, for services rendered in helping me hit the God's Eye. Do we have a deal, or should we solve this a different way?"

Jocasta eyed Markus for a long moment. The humor that normally sparkled in her eyes drained slowly as the green of her eyes turned from sparkling emerald to glacial ice.

"You know what? Thanks for the drink," she said, reaching out and deliberately knocking her glass over so the remainder of the beverage spilled out and ran over the slightly uneven surface of the table to drip to the ground. She stood up, ignoring the arched eyebrows of several patrons who probably assumed she was rejecting Markus on wholly different grounds and walked out of the bar smoldering.

This whole thing had been a waste of a perfectly good fusion beamer, Jocasta thought as she rode an elevator upwards into a more commercial district of the station. It would teach her to intervene in a perfectly fine assassination which was none of her concern to begin with. The upper levels of the statin were, inevitably, nicer than the others. Despite the fact that upper was arbitrary in space, humans hadn't yet been able to shake the millennia old association between height and power. Of course nicer, was a somewhat relative term. She passed the heavily guarded office fronts of several shipping houses, located cheek to jowl with a nicer cut of bars and drug dens. The thugs were better armed and of a better cut, and UNSG officers enjoyed their shore leave, strutting among the colorful civilians in austere splendor. That increased her risk somewhat. She pulled the sash up and wrapped it around her head in something close to the hijab of a Neo-Muslim then headed for the cluster of banks and trading houses located around the central copper spire of the communication ansible.

Markus didn't believe her.

Not at first, at least. No sane person would refuse a deal like that, he thought. All that money and the fastest ship in a noble's fleet? But when she didn't come back with a sly smile and a snappy one liner, it dawned on him she was serious. He gave a small 'hmm?' and shrugged, just to himself, and then raised his glass to get it refilled. He half expected to return to the Artemis seeing it plundered, as she knew the codes to get in after he reset them. But it didn't matter too much to him.

"Bad luck, stranger?" The waitress said when she arrived, refilling his glass. Markus gave a melancholic smirk, only glancing her way.

"Wasn't my luck." He remarked cryptically. The woman gave a small bit of chit chat, but he wasn't interested enough to find out if it was due to her interest or wanting a nice tip. He spoke to her until he finished his third round, then he paid, before making his way to the third floor, finding a lift that would take him to the Posting Agency. He hadn't been to this station before, but Bondsman offices were always around the same place in hubs like this, and since he had time to kill and a new system to plunder, might as well start early.

The lift dinged and the doors slid open, revealing the mercantile floor. A labor droid stomped past him monotonously, the hydraulics in its digitigrade legs audible like pistons as it carried a half a ton of cargo along the lane, red lights running up its side to serve as sensors so it didn't step on any unsuspecting civilian. The floor looked much the same as the God's Eye, only even more varied of toughs and petty factions and competing businesses. Whoever owned this station likely got revenue from the rent and taxes of those they let conduct business here, not nearly as ambitious or grasping as Gallanis. Markus followed the signs and turned left, searching for the agency, but walking without too much purpose. Might as well relax. Despite Jocasta walking out on him, he felt happy to have escaped the God's Eye alive.

The wealth of the Caliphate worked in Jocasta's favor, despite the fact that the disguise was paper thin she waltzed into the banking house of Garibaldi Stellar Credit without challenge. She provided an identification code to a teller and was immediately ushered into a plush office in which a woman sat in a blandly expensive tan suit. She looked up in surprise, scanning Jocasta up and down. The clerk stapled her fingers, revealing a manicure that would have paid half a first class fare to Capella.

"What can I do for you miss..." the clerk began.

"Ap'Glynn," Jocasta supplied. The clerk arched an eyebrow at that but made no further comment.

"I'd like to access some accounts," Jocasta said, scribbling a series of instructions onto a piece of paper and sliding it across to the clerk. The woman took the paper and began tapping away on a virtual keyboard, her eyes widening briefly.

"Have you been here long Mistress?" the clerk asked as the computer whired and fired requests into the communications arry.

"I only just arrived," Jocasta admitted.

"I didn't realize there had been any liners in the last few weeks," the clerk replied with offhanded interest.

"I actually came on a private yacht, the Huntsman, or the Artemis, I hear its being renamed," Jocasta confided.

"Your own ship?" the clerk asked enviously. Jocasta shook her head.

"Turns out I was just super cargo," she replied bitterly. The computer chirped and an armored panel extruded several stacks of high denomination dabluntz in plastic wrapped tubes.

"Please consider us for your future banking needs mistress," the clerk said with an expensive smile.

______

"Sir!" Lieutenant Edwardo Cruz snapped as his console lit up. Conversation on the bridge of the UNSGS Cartagena cut off abruptly, military training stressed quiet during combat conditions so as not to overwhelm the bridge with noise. Captain Ricardo, resplendent in a gray and silver dress uniform turned to his intelligence chief, his mustache bristling.

"Report Lieutenant," he snapped in a thick Mars accent.

"Someone on the station is accessing admiralty accounts," he reported, turning his screen omnidrectional so the crew could make out a pirated security image of a woman in a jumpsuit and a headscarf. Ricardo leaned forward his mouth dropping open in shock. It couldn't be. Not out her in the back of beyond. With the cut backs, it was hardly even in the patrol area these days.

"Master at Arms! Get a squad together and get down there, she is to be taken alive," he grated, "and find out if she has a ship and seize it at once!"

"Markus? As I live an breathe!"

The vast corridor was open, with very little in the way of outlets that would hide a face or a body save the shops, offices, and warehouse entrances that dotted the walls of the hall. There was even very little cover above, only two rafters that granted the space structural integrity, and thick windows that showed the great blue beyond of space. And yet even still, it was easy to lose yourself or someone else on the floor, even with a crowd that was merely moderate, along with a few utility and labor droids zipping or stomping by. When the mercenary heard his name called in that familiar baritone, he was surprised he had missed his old friend walking by.

Grimald Ironsides smiled widely, spreading his reddish-brown beard. The older merc wore his usual workmen's garb of yellow and brown, but he had his titanium-c cybernetic arm uncovered and glinting softly from the lights above. Markus saw he still kept his steel leg in his trousers though, thank the Red God. The codger stumbled to the center of the corridor and waved Markus over, a cigar in his mouth. He was half a head shorter than the younger merc, but broad and tough, and not just from the titanium appendages. Markus gave him a rare smile, though it did have to be said Jocasta had a knack of making him smile as well. He didn't consider that, however, as he approached. The two clasped each other's flesh-and-blood arms in greeting.

"What the hells are you doing here, Grim?"

"Me? This is what I do!" The older man extolled, waving his arms about to indicate the business sector. He waved Markus to follow him to the wall, and the two old friends stepped over near an antiquated kiosk, one without even a virtual intelligence to help navigate. Grimald shot the question back. "What in the hells are you doing here? Last I heard you were taking your chances in the southern quadrant, going after something big. 'Least that's what Leonard said."

"Yeah, I took my chances there. Didn't pan out." Markus remarked, glancing at a group of thugs stomping past them, laughing about something unmistakably sleazy. A couple split apart, nearly falling over to get out of their way. "So you're here to sell more of your wares?"

"Yeah, yeah, and sending home the proceeds to the family, 'course." He said, looking off into the distance as if something was warring in his mind. He suddenly came back. "It's easier bein' a merchant these days. Everyone wants to buy, no one wants to sell. And less competition than the blood and guns, game. I go to stations like here when I actually got stock."

"I don't think I'll join you anytime soon, but I'm glad to hear you're doing well." Markus said.

"So tell me, what's the reason for yer being here, specifically? You wouldn't gone so far east unless you had trouble." Grimald reasoned, and the glint in his eyes showed Markus he wouldn't take no for an answer. The merc sighed, and thought he could trust Grimald with the info, and began to recount all the events of the past week, involving Jocasta, Gallanis, the attack on the Caravan on Mazda, and the God's Eye. Grimald laughed a few times, wiggled his eyebrows once or twice, whistled in awe, and by the end of it, he barked a final, disbelieving laugh. The old merc handed Markus a cigar, and though the ex-solder did not usually partake, he decided he could enjoy one with a friend. Grimald lit a wooden match, cooking the stogy a few moments. Grimald had always said you never lit a cigar with a lighter. An old school matched preserved the flavor. "Well lad, can't win 'em all. She sounded promising, but ye did what ye could. Least you got a bigger payday for it with that ship."

"Yeah, there is that." Markus said, and placed his tongue at the bottom of his mouth, exhaling softly to blow out a smoke ring that wafted into the air. He felt like it was six years ago, back when he first started, fresh out of campaigning. His mind always wandered back to Brigval Manor and the shootout he and a few other soldiers-of-fortune had with the infamous Iron Wyrms. Tank had been killed in that fight, but despite that, he remembered it fondly. It was how he wanted to go, at least.

Grimald grinned. "Still remember, eh?" It took Markus a moment to realize he meant the smoke ring.

"Well, you taught me." He replied with a smirk, and the two enjoyed the cigars for a few more moments. "Hey, since you've been here a couple of times, you know where I can find some work here?"

"Well, Nevaro is the best place." Grimald said, pursing his lips. "It's the desert planet, closest habitable one to the sun. They got-"

Grimald's words faded off, as what the two had initially believed was a distant engine soon became a thunderous tumult of armored feet and military-grade equipment. Markus whipped his head to the right, and both mercs watched a large squadron of men charging past them, yelling for civilians and employees alike to make way. They rolled past the two of them with the force of a freight train, and Markus shook his head. "The hells do you think that's about?" He wondered, and heard a wheeze of static. He turned and saw Grimald placing a finger to his ear, and the old cyborg's hearing aids that doubled as comms came flooding back into his memory.

"Most channels don-...wait...seems there's a perp on the station. Woman, sounds like. Highly dangerous, they say."

Markus paused, squinting. His cigar was out of his lips now, his mouth dry. "Got a name?"

"J...Jocasta, but it came out static-y. That's not the girl you came with, right?"

Immediately Markus sighed, placing the palm of his hand to his forehead, his pointer and middle keeping his cigar from his hair chocolate fringe of hair. "Yeah, it is." He said, and he made himself keep his feet planted. "How she got in trouble in half an hour... no, no, I guess I can believe that."

"Well, y'know..." Grimald said, his words trailing off to an unintelligible mutter. Markus had known him long enough to know what he was getting at. He felt the resentment in his breast and the denial in his throat roiling up. She had saved his life, but he had saved hers multiple times. The fact that most of their successes had been a team effort was wasted on him. He had offered to be an equal team member to her, anyway, and he wasn't going to waste his time anymore.

"Forget it, she's on her own." Markus replied with scorn, taking another drag of the cigar. "If she wants to be a merc, she can try and handle herself for once."

Grimald shrugged, pursing his lips again as if in thought. Markus just stood there, trying to lean casually and enjoy his cigar. The men and women that had leaped behind terminals and scrambled into stores were now walking back out, just happy no gunshots had erupted in their vicinity. Markus told himself he felt just as happy to stay out of the action, and the next few moments was a long, awkward silence. Grimald opened his mouth, and then closed it. Markus inhaled again, but an instant later he tossed the cigar on the ground and let out a groan that ended all groans.

"Fuck me!" He yelled, breaking off the wall like he was shoving someone off of him, and without pause he started sprinting down the hall after the guards, wondering why in his wisdom he did not bring his Secare Saber, his main firearm, or his fucking armor.