The Queen's Glory drifted in the gravity of a small palladium-rich asteroid, red hull cloaked in shadows and hidden from sensors by the interference of the asteroid's core. It wasn't a small ship, though mostly empty for lack of crew, and filled with the heavy silence of anticipation. Of the seventy-five men that had sailed together maybe fifty were left after a run-in with law enforcement on the planet of Dor. The rest had been arrested or killed on the spot, among them the first mate and some of their best fighters. The Glory had lifted off as soon as news of the ambush came through, losing most of their cargo. With nothing left to trade, they ran for Tortuga. Patrols and bounty hunters hounded them for all five weeks of the journey, harrying the ship until they finally escaped into unregulated space.

Captain Ilya reclined in an ornamental silk armchair on the viewing deck, watching the stars and the blinking red and yellow lights at the edge of the King's Freeway. Anyone on official business followed that trail of lights. Everyone else did their best to stay as far away as possible. Their target belonged to the first category: a government ship carrying government valuables, not just the poached furs and diamond goblets found on a rich man's pleasure barge. The vessel itself was state-of-the-art, small and fast, but the escort would most likely consist of slow but almost indestructible armored and shielded vehicles. Thankfully, they had once captured an ex-military engineer who then joined their crew and knew all sorts of ways to get out of situations like this. Seven men clung to the surface of the asteroid, awaiting the convoy with military-grade shield disruptors and a laser cannon. The escort wouldn't be a problem. And neither, Ilya thought, would the smaller ship. This haul was their chance to get back. Succeed, and they'd be able to pirate in comfort the rest of their lives. Fail, and die. The Captain smiled, stroking the ornamental handle of her lucky sword. They'd succeed. There was no other alternative. Not as long as Ilya was Captain.

She stood from her armchair and turned to look down on the bridge, where her crew awaited, tensely watching the screens or the windows. Sometimes, when she got exceptionally drunk, she liked to think of them as her family. A sensor blinked, everyone's heads snapped around, and Morg nodded.

"Ladies, gentlemen and crew members otherwise," they all looked up at her, in her frivolous ancient regalia, richly embroidered black and gold coat, heavy rings, scarlet shirt open to the navel and enormous three-pointed hat, and Ilya smiled. "Let it begin!"

The convoy was soon visible to the naked eye and crawled ever closer to the asteroid. The asteroid, in turn, crept ever closer to the King's Highway. The moment the target passed below them, the crew members moved, pushing off from the asteroid toward the armored vehicles, attaching the disruptors, and immediately releasing themselves to be reeled back to the Queen's Glory. As soon as the shields were down, the cannon would begin to fire. Ilya's hands rested on her belt, watching, ready to act.

"Progress report, Captain."

"Approaching the King's Freeway, Ambassador."

The path was obvious - much too obvious. Any harebrained fool would know that this famed route in particular was constantly beset by pirates. And in the course of the conflict between the Association of Free Human Worlds and the Dracian Hegemony, aforementioned opportunistic pirates had seized the day - or night; it was quite difficult to achieve chronological accuracy in the bowels of space - and plundered dozens of merchant vessels. Needless to say, the ASV Fortuna, with its gleaming hull and Association stamp, was practically an open target, gliding phantom-like through the empty, star-strewn depths. The name wasn't much of an assistance either - it resembled more of a subtitle, graciously informing the looting scoundrels that this ship in particular was a veritable trove of riches.

Dracian leaders had agreed to peace talks, but - in typical Dracian manner - had demanded an Association representative be sent physically to participate. And there it was - Ambassador Ajan Wolfe's biggest assignment yet. And he wouldn't have pirates, of all things, interfere in what could possibly be his greatest crowning achievement. He'd worked for this - endured the whims of undeserving superiors and mentally-stunted politicians, to become the rising star in the Association Diplomatic Service. Of course, he wanted no better than to have all members of Dracian leadership publicly perforated, but diplomacy was a game of words and unsuited to those of wrathful construction. That, and any trained Dracian soldier would throttle him in a space of ten seconds. Damned aliens.

"Don't worry, Ambassador, you'll be safe," said Captain Renfred.

"Empty words until proven, Captain," snapped Ajan coolly, a dark brow raised questioningly as he rested a hand upon the plasma pistol at his belt. At the very least, he was trained in the handling of minor firearms. The lean-built ambassador kept his spine straight, gazing down the length of his nose at the scuttling crewmen, his eyes dark and sharp like a hawk's. His hair, black as pitch, was short and swept back over a high, pale forehead, bloodless mouth twisted in a display of impatience even as the bridge lights shadowed prominent cheekbones. Though his posture seemed to exude confidence, the man within was getting rather antsy. Truth be told, being raised in the Association equivalent of nobility meant he was a spoiled child who was gifted everything he'd ever wanted. Having had no brothers and sisters, he'd been endlessly coddled, praised and surrounded by groveling sycophants until, perhaps, he'd developed a greater sense of self-worth than was true.

So far, nothing. He would've possibly just breathed a sigh of relief when alarms exploded all over the deck.

"What's going on?!" Ajan demanded, gripping the rail in front of him until his knuckles blanched with the effort.

"W-We're under attack, sir!"

"By whom? Pirates?!" The diplomat almost shrieked, sending his voice octaves higher than normal. The outraged declaration dwindled to an unflattering squeak as he strode hurriedly to the wide windows, watching as their escort ships were disabled and fired upon. "Damn it! General Roshan promised me his best men!" Despite the initial shock, Ajan knew they were just about done for. Trapped in the middle of a great void, the Fortuna was a sitting duck. And from Renfred's guilty silence, Ajan knew that it was, in fact, the pirates that he'd feared. General Roshan had never much liked the Diplomatic Service, and now his biases had handicapped the convoy.

"We've taken a direct hit. Shields are down. Engines have failed to respond."

"Well, reroute all auxiliary power to the shield generators!"

"With all due respect, Ambassador -"

"You know the phrase 'with all due respect' essentially means 'kiss my ass'! You think I don't know what I'm doing, Renfred?" Ajan marched to the control panel, prepared to exercise what little he knew of starship maneuvering, when the lights around them begun to flicker, ceiling panels spitting electrical sparks. Adrenaline pulsing through his veins, the ambassador fought to repress his fear as he glimpsed what he thought were the Fortuna's aggressors. "Get everyone to the escape pods! Quickly, before they board!" Renfred twitched visibly, but seemed to regain his senses a second later, bellowing that the crew members should begin evacuation procedures immediately.

"They could outrun the Black Death itself and they just sit there," Jazz said in disbelief, staring open-mouthed at his monitor, where the little Fortuna could be seen sitting motionless in the middle of the King's Freeway. Ilya was bent over the control panel, shaking in uncontrollable, silent laughter, tears running down her cheeks. This was too good, too sweet. She could hardly believe that their desperate plan had worked, but it had. "Unbelievable. Either their Captain is an idiot," Jazz continued, "or they're really carrying the good stuff. Maybe both." He looked over at Ilya, tall, black-haired, brown-skinned, and dressed like a complete nutjob in ancient Earthling costume. "You're a madman and a genius, Cap."

"My god. I can't... I haven't...." she struggled for breath as she lurched upright and met the eyes of her crew. The shock of unexpected victory, of relief after so many months on edge, lit up their faces as they looked at each other in disbelief as they bent over the viewing screens. The final figure released from the hull of the armored escort. Jazz whooped and hit the button to retract the cable and pull the man in; ten seconds later, electricity flashed before being swallowed by the darkness of space, and the rest of the crew erupted in cheers and shout. Ilya, still laughing, turned to clasp arms with Jazz and watch the screen over his shoulder. In a minute, the escort ships were left floating uselessly in space, fried by the laser cannon, and all seven crew members were safely back aboard the Queen's Glory. As soon as the last suit entered airlock with a whoosh of icy air, Ilya hopped up on a table, unsheathed her sword and brandished it in the air.

"Pirates! The hour has come! We board!" Ilya cried. The bridge filled with cheers and the interior lighting came on as the ship whirred to life. She continued to shout cries of encouragement as her crew gathered their weapons, and surged off the bridge, hopping from deck to table and raking blades along the aluminum walls and steel pipes until the whole ship reverberated with the ring of with battle.

"Thrusters engaged," Jazz called to Q over the din, who responded with mechanical precision:

"Gravity-lock released!"

"Landing gear retracted, and we are airborne!" Jazz turned to Ilya, grinning, "Captain? The honors?" Ilya returned the grin and leaned over from where she still stood on the table and pressed her open palm on the engine engage panel. It rippled, chimed happily, and the Glory lifted off from the asteroid's surface and, guided by Jazz and Q's magic fingers, swooped in on top of the Fortuna, dropping a connecting passageway from their bottom airlock to the other ship's top. Ilya watched with glee as a dozen of her strongest fighters stampeded down the passageway to airlock, beam guns and swords at the ready, shields engaged. At Ilya's command, they would open the gate separating them from the other ship so they could drop down and force the doors. Jazz pushed back from his seat, grabbed his weapon, and turned to join the boarding crew, but paused.

"Captain, with all due respect--" he glanced at Ilya's left leg, but she scoffed.

"Kiss my ass, more like. I can keep up just fine." She hadn't felt this alive in weeks, with the heat of the impending battle warming her cold blood and setting her skin aflame. Her hand still tightly wrapped around the hilt of her sword -- an upgraded replica of a 17th century human invention -- she hopped off the table. Her left leg twinged, and it took a second longer for her to get up than at full strength. Jazz nodded, and pretended not to notice as he turned to speak into his comm device.

"Open the doors at the Captain's command! Do not kill anyone important-looking! Otherwise, knock 'em dead!" Ilya straightened, caught his eye, and winked.

"Right behind ya," she said, and Jazz hurried off. In a second, the Captain followed.

By the time she dropped through the airlock onto the Fortuna, the pathway was mostly clear, sounds of fighting far ahead of her. A half-dead man on the ground tried to pull his gun, but Ilya was faster, and his brains were left to decorate the walls.

They'd done well, too well. Ilya met few enemies as she made her way to the bridge, tapping her comm device on as she went. The sound of fighting filled her ears, and she smiled.

"Ambassador..."

"What?!" Ajan whirled on Renfred, who had gone pale as a sheet. He wiped his sweating palms nervously on the sides of his crumpled uniform shirt, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip. From beyond the bridge, sounds of battle could be heard: screams, yells and various other noises indicative of the Fortuna's crew getting slaughtered. Already the diplomat was beginning to feel like an animal cornered, the approaching pirates akin to grinning butchers. As if, thought Ajan, the news could get any worse. Renfred had been the absolute wrong choice for this mission, unless of course the Association thought him a laughingstock and had dared enough to send with their beloved ambassador an escort of cretinous morons. And so Ajan held his breath, prepared for the verbal onslaught his idiot of a captain was about to unleash upon him.

"The escape pods are non-functional."

Ajan exploded. "Non-functional?! This level of incompetency is absolutely preposterous!" He lunged, seizing the captain by his gold-embroidered lapels and giving the man a good, violent shake. It was like the terror he was experiencing was bubbling up into his eyes, wide and panicked, while his mind processed the dozens of ways they could be consequently dispatched. Blown out the airlock, shot with a superheated plasma bolt, beheaded, disintegrated...all these awful means of death only served to further reduce Ajan's nerves to jelly as he finally released Renfred and sagged against the control panel, mouth pressed tightly in an effort to hold back an oncoming swell of emotion. He would not bawl like an infant, he told himself. It was hardly the proper way for a man to present himself, especially one of such standing as he.

"I'm sorry, Ambassador." Renfred piped up in an effort to redeem himself.

"Take that 'sorry' and shove it in that gaping orifice you call a -" The beginnings of what would've been a classless tirade was summarily interrupted by an incoming bolt, which struck barely a hair's breadth away from Ajan's cheek. Freezing, he raised his eyes to the door separating the bridge from the rest of the ship - a door which had been blown open. Through it barreled the surviving members of the crew, some running at full speed whilst others crawled pathetically on hands and knees, leaving smears of blood in their wake. The entire scene was sickening beyond compare, especially to Ajan who had never before witnessed first-hand the complexities of bloodshed. Nausea surged up his gut, and he pinched the bridge of his nose and gulped several lungfuls of air. This wasn't good at all. As the crew members formed a cluster, Ajan shoved several persons aside in order to get a better look at the Fortuna's conquerers.

The woman who appeared to be the captain was dressed, oddly, like an antique from Earth's old days. The utter confusion and incredulity Ajan would've felt was largely overcome by his instinct for self-preservation, even as he pushed the trembling Renfred aside and cleared his throat, wanting to present himself as someone more than any ordinary crew member. He was dressed differently from the rest, in a dark, high-collared tunic with silver trim, white silk gloves and polished boots. A man of words and certainly not violence. He looked well-bred and positively expensive, something that he hoped would largely work to his advantage. "Ah...perhaps we may...converse...before you proceed to fry us all?"

He looked well-bred and positively expensive. Ilya liked that in a man. His soft skin and lean build marked him for a purebred human, his hair and the silver trim on that all-to-familiar clothing screamed his importance loud enough that even Ilya managed to cool her temper and reconsider killing him. He also used words like "may" and "converse", which positively tickled her love of the absurd. She liked sweet, clean things. They amused her. He would amuse her, she thought, for a time. And he would probably fetch a fair price, if they found someone who wanted him back. As with all pretty things, she thought, someone inevitably would. She smiled, and nodded to the huddled crew.

"Thank you so much for honoring us with your weapons, ladies and gentlemen. Your help will not be forgotten when it comes time blow some of you out the airlock," she began in deep, sultry tones. She loved this part, when she got to do her theatrics while Elizabeth glared icy death at the people listening. Elizabeth was dead now, but Ilya would just have to go on. With a bloody sword in one hand and a semi-automatic rifle in the other, perhaps she made a terrifying enough picture by herself. Her golden eyes glowed from the shadows the emergency lighting cast on her face, and she smirked, casting them about the room until they landed on a pale one who looked like the captain.

"You!" she whipped her sword at him so fast a few drops of blood flew off and hit the captain in the face. The poor, pale man looked as if he were about to faint. "Are you the captain of this ship?" The pale one looked hopelessly at the expensive one, shivering, and gulped, then nodded and stepped forward. Ilya tipped her hat back on her head, the better to see him.

"Y-y-yes sir. Ma'am. Sir. I mean--" Ilya interrupted before the man choked.

"Name?"

"C-captain Renfred Livet, Association Diplomatic Service 101st Special Corps, ma'am!" he rattle off, clearly shaken.

"You'll make a good pirate, Renfred. Welcome to my crew. Or would you prefer the airlock? Take your time deciding, I have a few minutes. The same goes for all of you, sailors! Except you," she raised her gun and shot, just barely missing the expensive-looking one, and a crew member who had clearly been trying to access a control panel and summon support, went limp. "I don't like traitors. Am I being perfectly clear?" The crew members looked at each other, and one of the braver ones nodded.

"Good. Renfred, darling, why don't you take these fine men outside to the airlock," her voice returned to its deep, sultry tone, and though she spoke to the captain, her eyes were fixed on the hawk-like eyes of the other, unblinking, "Jazz, we have new recruits. Keep the ones you like, kill the rest." Her eyes had not moved from his, and she hadn't blinked, either.

"Copy, Cap. We've secured the engine room, and the Twins are getting to work. She'll be all yours in a blink."

"Did you hear that?" Ilya asked the man in front of her, spinning her sword and walking toward him, "This lovely spacecraft of yours, and everything inside it, mine. You, too." She kept walking until he was just close enough to touch, never breaking eye contact, never blinking. She was taller than him by half a head, and that close, he would clearly be able to see that her golden eyes had slits for pupils and were a little too large for her face, and around them, a strange pattern of darker brown marred her coffee-colored skin. Her teeth, when she smiled, looked pointed. "So, no, darling. We may not... converse, as you say. Unless you would like to beg to join my crew. I am kind enough to hear a few supplicants today." She continued to tower over him smiling her feral, sharp-toothed smile.

If the woman found her threat of blowing people out the airlock amusing, it certainly did not strike any humorous chords with Ajan. Inwardly he cursed the day he'd turned down his father's offer to have him sent to the military academy - "for your own good", the old man had said - the last time he had spoken to his father was before he'd boarded the Fortuna, and though he sometimes resented the man for his meddlesome nature, he now wished he had the ability to perform sudden, superhuman feats to stun and astonish the pirates into subsequently surrendering. Alas, but a man could only dream. Right now, words were the only weapons he had, and devolving into a stuttering mess was not at all a pleasant way with which to pull the trigger. The diplomat sighted Renfred from the corner of his eye, and was surprised the captain had not already emptied his bladder out of sheer fright.

But then, it was Ajan's turn to yelp as yet another bolt whizzed past him; with remarkable precision it struck a crewman who'd been attempting to call for support, sending the man crumpling to the floor in a smoldering heap. Again the diplomat's stomach lurched uncomfortably, his stance unsteady in a mixture of fear and an attempt to appear more confident than he actually was. Pirates surely wouldn't like a sniveling worm as a hostage, would they? Still, Renfred had been offered a way out, and he'd obviously taken it. They were asking for it, really, in bringing that incapable man aboard. No matter, he'd likely be marooned on some far-flung planet within a matter of weeks.

Then it was his turn to be victimized.

"Beg?" The word dropped from Ajan's lips with utter disdain. A man of the Wolfe lineage certainly did not beg! His family did not establish itself as one of the most influential in Association space without blood, sweat and tears! Well - his parents' and grandparents' blood, sweat and tears, to be more precise - but nonetheless! The man swallowed nervously, feeling a lump get lodged in his throat as he tugged absently at his collar. His regal apparel seemed far too suffocating now, the collar seeming to constrict about his neck. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, showing just how threatened he was feeling despite his attempts to veil it. But when the woman got closer, and ever closer, what he saw made his blood run absolutely cold. Her eyes - those were Dracian eyes. It couldn't be - could it? Had she one of the lizardmen in her lineage? That seemed likely, considering how she stood over him when his own height was already quite above average.

A sudden hatred stabbed at his belly, and Ajan struggled to keep calm even as a red mist of hostility clouded his mind. It just had to be a Dracian-blooded pirate captain looting his vessel! Had she been sent by the Dracians? Had the Association been tricked? No, that's highly unlikely, the remainder of his logical brain responded. Pirates are considered disgraceful in Dracian society. Now, the last thing he wanted was to beg, but then it certainly seemed a better alternative than instant death. Grudgingly, he lowered himself to the ground, knees meeting the cold floor of the bridge.

"Please, spare my life. You'll find that I am capable and will be of great use to you - moreso than Renfred, at least." He couldn't resist throwing that one, final barb at the Fortuna's former captain, even when bargaining for his own continued existence. But the words - Dracian, Dracian, Dracian - continued to ring.

Despite his shaking and sweating, Ilya saw a cold anger flare up in the human's eyes when she drew near, and that interested her more than the expensive clothes and fine features. Was it contempt she saw? Disgust? Or perhaps hatred? Most likely a mix of them all. As a pirate and a mutt with the muddiest blood of anyone she'd met in the galaxy, she was used to seeing that look in the eyes of most people she met. Especially the purebreds, who mostly preferred to pretend she wasn't there and absently pat their pockets on the rare occasion she encountered more than one of them at a time. She didn't understand it, and long ago she'd learned not to dwell on it. Their loss. She expected the one in front of her to bolt, or faint, or do something rash and reckless, the way humans always did. She did not expect those dark, angry eyes to drop as the human actually fell to his knees before her and proceeded to beg for his life.

She listened, eyebrows climbing higher on her face, until he was finished. Poor Renfred, piloting a vessel with this idiot on board must have been a nightmare. "Boring," she said, "At least I know Renfred knows how to pilot a ship and order other people to do his bidding. You're just a soft human boy." She lowered her sword until the blade rested against the collar of his uniform. The threads split as the softest touch and began to smell burnt as the heat of the obsidian-edged blade slowly melted them.

"Convince me," Ilya purred.

One of the first things Ajan's parents had imparted to him was that a Wolfe was never to bow his head in surrender. It'd be a shame if they saw him now, he thought, completely helpless against a part-Dracian woman - pirate - the epitome of that which he loathed. He had to do something instead of remaining there on the ground, looking like a groveling fool whilst her blade was essentially burning a hole through his uniform. Where did she get that blade, besides? In an age of guns, usage of melee weapons was mostly ceremonial; obviously, the pirate harbored a liking for the archaic. A pity Earth was now a desolate wreck, thanks to bad decisions regarding the remainder of the planet's natural resources. Man had moved on, and despite ongoing efforts to restore the homeworld, it would likely take years before Earth was returned to any semblance of what it once was.

Convince me, the pirate had said. And then, for the first time in his life, Ajan took so much offense that all words escaped him. Never before had he been faced with someone talking so directly down to him, never had he been so humiliated, toyed with, made a buffoon of! Instead of "convincing" her, as she so elegantly put it, the diplomat pulled abruptly away from the touch of her sword and stood up, dusting off his sleeves in a huff. He looked up, glaring directly into the woman's eyes as he channeled every single ounce of hatred he had for the Dracians and their kind. The Dracians, to whom he had been forced to play friends with for the sake of peace. "I am an ambassador, the son of an influential Association family and exceedingly well-educated. However, it appears you are more interested in making a joke of me than doing any actual negotiation, so I will make it quick. You may kill this "soft human boy" if you wish, because I'd rather be dead than continue to partake in your little game!"

His voice had gone up in pitch, indicative of his anger as he stood there and stretched his arms out in a welcoming manner. So, this was how it was all going to end. Ajan had always assumed he'd die in his sleep, but this was almost like life had decided to completely skew his expectations.

It was then Renfred spoke up from some distance away, in the midst of escorting the rest to the airlock. "H-His family is really rich, if that makes any difference."

Shut up Renfred, thought Ajan as he closed his eyes, waiting for the killing blow to come. He'd always treated the awkward Renfred like an imbecile, but within he felt a small pang of guilt at the fact that even now, the man was trying to bargain for his life. Stupid, stupid Renfred. Not that he thought the woman would actually consider what Livet said.

Ilya watched the expression on the human's face carefully, knowing full well that she'd already won, that he'd crumble and tell her everything about himself, lick the stardust off her boots if necessary. She would let him, for a time.

Then, she would kill him. She hated cowards and grovelers, people who kept their heads down and took their beatings, went only where they were permitted and spoke only when spoken to. Her mother had been one of those types, and that had left her and little Ilya at the bottom of the food chain when they could have been rolling in luxury at the top. Grovelers were the scum of the earth, and Ilya, considering herself a rather altruistic person, cleaned out the scum whenever she could. She inched the blade away from his neck, luring her prey into a momentary false sense of security before striking the killing blow. When the human began to rise from his knees, however, she paused, eyes narrowed. The fear had melted from his eyes, replaced by cold, hard, indignation. He never wavered, and his eyes, so full of what she now recognized as utter hatred, never left hers. An uncomfortable feeling stirred in her chest, and she felt the urge to put her sword away, leave the bridge and have Jazz shoot the creature instead.

"I am an ambassador, the son of an influential Association family and exceedingly well-educated. However, it appears you are more interested in making a joke of me than doing any actual negotiation, so I will make it quick. You may kill this "soft human boy" if you wish, because I'd rather be dead than continue to partake in your little game!" He opened his arms as if to invite her sword and stared her down. Ilya felt one of her eyebrows rise impossibly high and her lips part in shock at the sight of the frail little creature before her defy all her expectations. He's a human, Ilya, you should know better than to expect anything from them a voice in her mind, possibly Elizabeth's, chided, They're a virus, a cancer, a cockroach, impossible to eradicate. They destroy what they touch like they've destroyed their home planet, and yet they live on, growing, changing, thriving. Ilya swallowed, and her sword arm dropped an inch as she grasped for words.

Renfred's voice broke the tense silence that had settle over the empty bridge. "H-His family is really rich, if that makes any difference," he said, and the human's eyes flickered away for a moment. It was as if a dam had been removed from the stream of her consciousness; suddenly, all of her words came rushing back to her, her mind flying full speed ahead. Take him for ransom. Sell him if no one wants him back. Purebreds fetch a high price anywhere. She lifted her sword to the level of his neck, and her customary grin settle back onto her face, although she smiled little thinner, hiding her sharp teeth.

"Is that so, human boy?" she caught his eyes again, then laughed and sheathed her sword with a dramatic gesture, "You'll have to tell me all about it on deck. Please," she gestured widely towards the door through with Renfred had left moments ago, and stepped aside with a sweeping bow. Her face darkened for a moment when the movement jarred her left leg, but she quickly continued, "The Queen's Glory awaits."

Ajan's eyes were still closed as he imagined the blade coming to rest on his heart, piercing it with impunity and finally ending an existence that was both demanding and which drew little respect, especially from those of the military ilk. Politicians, or those who fought with words, were often looked upon with suspicion, and he as a diplomat was no different. He'd fought hard to oppose the destruction of Earth, but nobody listened. Nobody listened unless it was to their advantage. Such was Earth politics. It seemed tempting, the idea of flying off into space and having not a care in the world, but it was an existence far beyond his comfort zone, opposing everything he had been taught to believe. It was frightening, in a way. More frightening than even the possibility of death.

But the killing blow did not come. Instead, he heard the sound of a sword being sheathed, and opened his eyes in muted surprise. He'd been spared. Was it an act of compassion, or one of pity? Did she relish the fact that she could have him on her ship as some sort of jester, playing to her every whim and fancy? Well, that certainly would not happen. Nevertheless, there was some form of relief at his life having been kept intact. Perhaps the pride he'd inherited from his forefathers had come in handy this time instead of bringing him down in the eyes of his fellow human wealthy. Finally able to move his legs again, he sucked in a trembling breath and started after Renfred, stalking past the pirate captain as quickly as he could manage.

"Renfred." Ajan said uneasily as he got within a meter of the man.

"Yes, Ambassador?"

The words were hard to get out, but Ajan managed. "Thank you. For trying, at least, though frankly it wasn't the best way of going about it..." He shook his head - could he not manage a simple expression of gratitude without going on a tirade? He took another breath, finally allowing his tensed shoulders to relax. "But yes. What I mean is...thank you. I am grateful."

Renfred seemed momentarily shocked. "I-It's no problem, sir."

Now that the heartwarming moment was over, Ajan steeled his nerves and followed the rest to the airlock, finally going on board the Queen's Glory. He'd never been surrounded by scoundrels and criminals before, and it'd be a lie if he said he wasn't intimidated. Still, he kept his calm, adjusting his rumpled uniform. "I suppose you'll be embarking on some new adventure now," he said offhandedly to the woman who was now in charge of him. Despite being bitter about her Dracian heritage, he kept his emotions reined in for the time being. "I will do my best to be useful."

Ilya noticed that he walked past her too quickly, betraying fear. She was glad, even relieved, that he still felt a sense of fear. For a moment the feeling of being at a complete loss returned, but she quickly shook it off, straightening from her archaic bow and turning to follow Renfred and the human boy. She kept no more than three paces behind him, fingers tracing the hilt of her sword. Unconsciously, a look of unease twisted her features, eyes narrowed, and she bit her lip. Humans, she thought to herself, but the though trailed off. She wasn't sure what to think, not that thinking had ever been her strong suit. Thankfully, the boy relieved her of any further strain.

"I suppose you'll be embarking on some new adventure now," he said, "I will do my best to be useful."

"Useful," she hmphed, "We'll see about that." The adrenaline of battle was quickly wearing off, and aches and pains began to niggle at her bones. She was ready to go back to her ship, to her armchair, to her spirits, to her crew, put her little problem in Jazz's or Q's capable hands, and drink. They approached the airlock chamber and Renfred, who was leading the party, paused, looking back at her uncertainly.

"Um, m-m-ma'am?" She looked up from where her gaze had been drilling into the human's back and scowled at Renfred.

"Address me as Captain, sailor. Go on," she jerked her chin at the airlock. Renfred opened it. Inside, one of Ilya's pirates grabbed him, threw him against the wall, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from the poor man, patted him down, and sent him on his way up the ladder to the Glory. Ilya gestured to the human. "You too, go on. Be gentle with this one, Eri, he's our prized guest." Ilya couldn't see the masked girl's face, but everything about her posture indicated just what she thought of their new passenger, and though she didn't quite throw him throw him against the wall, her fingers clamped just as tightly around his arm, and the frisking she subjected him to was no more gentle than Renfred's. As soon as the boy disappeared up the ladder, Ilya grasped the bottom rung and followed, wincing with every step. Her communicator beeped and Jazz's voice came through.

"Hey-o, Cap. The twins have unlocked the core and patched in our AI. The Asses won't be able to remotely track her, but we're going to need to land to finish the job. I'm thinking Eden?"

"I like the way you think. The payload?"

"Secure cargo hold. I hope you didn't kill that fancy-ass. He's probably got access codes." Ilya reached the top of the ladder, where more of her crew in standard black N-10 armor was trying to restrain the human while Aloya, Ilya's tall, voluptuous and golden-horned master of the brig, taunted him.

"Silver trim on their fucking day clothes? No wonder they haven't got a planet to go back to. He's kind of pretty, though, Captain," Aloya grabbed the human by the chin and studied him a little closer, "Can I keep him?" Ilya smirked, never taking her eyes off the boy. For a moment she wondered what it must be like for him, then immediately cursed herself for thinking about her prey in such terms.

"I apologize, but this boy is my honored guest, and a perfectly harmless purebred besides," the pirates snickered at that, and shoved the human towards her with a harsh kick in the back for good measure. A little bit of Ilya's usual good humor returned at seeing him helpless before their strength. "Put the new ship on a tow. We're going to Eden." Aloya whooped and the pirates cheered. Ilya smiled at the human and gestured to the doors leading our of the airlock bay and into the ship proper. They hissed open. "Now, tell me. Were you a good boy growing up? How much does your family want you back, hmm?"