Sayeeda whistled appreciatively at the suave outfit. The pattern of the vest showed of Neil’s physique to better effect than most of the outfits she had seen him in and the cut and style were impeccable. 

“Looking good,” she said honestly, eyeing the pilot up and down.

“Thank you,” said Taya, emerging from her own partition and misattributing the compliment. Taya was wearing a white and gold gown that shimmered with metallic thread. The bodice and hem were extensively embroidered with silver thread that was visible against the white only as a glimmer when the light struck it. All the white reminded Sayeeda of a wedding dress but she didn’t doubt it was the very height of fashion in Dar’mond. The girls blond hair had been woven with golden thread as well, pinned back slightly with combs of some opalescent pearl like material.  She looked up at Sayeeda and scowled.

“How do I always feel like the ugly duckling?” she grumbled throwing up her hands.

“You look lovely Taya,” Junebug told her truthfully, molifying the girl slightly. Taya pulled on silken gloves that had been tucked through an unobtrusive loop at her belt. Sayeeda felt her heart sink as she realised that meant that food was unlikely.

“How do you come up with such creative outfits? Are they from your home world?” Taya asked. Junebug shook her head, careful not to disrupt the hairstyle and wondering if she would cut it again when they got back to the Highlander. Some people did wear buns or ponytails beneath combat helmets without too much difficulty.

“Loot,” she said simply and then realising that neither Neil or Sayeeda understood elaborated.

“Dresses are one of the more valuable things mercs loot,” she explained.

“They are light and expensive, and they sell wherever you go. Plus its easy enough to tell your sweetheart that its a dress from the Empress of wherevers own closet, and that you killed six men with your bear hands to get it.” Taya peered at Junebug as though she thought the older woman was playing some trick.

“The things you know,” the girls said eventually. As she spoke the doors to the room swung open and a quintet of men in ornate uniforms but very functional weapons stepped into the room, rifles at porte arms.

“Well I guess our escort has arrived,” Junebug remarked dryly and slipped her arm through Neil’s.

The vidscreen replayed the scene of the official laying a jeweled circlet on Aiden’s head for the thousandth time, for all that the real scene had taken place less than an hour ago. Junebug sipped her drink, something sour and bubbly and a stimulant rather than alcohol. She had been drinking more than usual lately and she didn’t want booze sweats later. The drink had a sharp aftertaste that as vaguely and unpleasantly reminiscent of the wideawakes the Armored had used when sleep wasn’t an option. 

The stood in the Grand Throne Room of Dar’mond, a room which could easily have held a small space cruiser or a score of Highlander’s. The vaulted ceilings were so high that Junebug suspected they would have created their own weather if they didn’t have recycling pumps up there. Each of the pillars was carved with the history of Dar’mond in an ancient script, a fact of which she was aware due to the fact that Aiden’s coronation had been ceremonially carved by royal masons right after he had been crowned. 

“Do you have anything to say regarding the new King Captain?” A stunning reporter in a black body glove asked, her drone buzzing behind her shoulder like an excited bee. Around them the crowd swirled and danced while Aiden performed some arcane governmental ritual on the raised dais. 

“Long live King Aiden… or whatever,” she responded, having grown bored of the media attention. A suprising number of press seemed present although she supposed that shouldn’t come as a shock in a place so media mad as this. In addition the proceedings would need to be broadcast to the several subject words Dar’mond ruled. A surpising number of questions had been about her tatoo, bare on her shoulder for a change, of three swooping owls. In the interest of science she made up a different lie for each reporter, confident that none of the news networks would bother with her words.

“Captain of Space, Sayeeda Cyckali, Officer Neil Edwards,” boomed the voice of Ranald now the Master-at-Arms or some other such arcane title. Though the words were clear they had been routed through a complex personal address system to be so clear. Sayeeda was familiar with the summons from the earlier summons of the planetary delegation, each summoned forward to declare fealty to the new King. She wondered if Alexander and Gaius had condederates amongst them. Likely enough, unless they were bigger fools than they seemed, but the delegates had each sworn eternal fealty to king Aiden.

Junebug passed her drink to the reporter who took it on reflex. Before the woman could protest she strode over to where Neil was waiting and linked arms with him before walking up the corridor that opened in the crowd. Aiden sat on his throne his face distant and remote. Ranald met them at the bottom of the stairs. He bowed formally but his eyes cut to Sayeeda’s pistol.

“It is forbidden to bear arms before the King,” Ranald said formally. He looked uncomfortable in his white velvet suit and cumberbund. Junebug suddenly felt uneasy.

“No,” Junebug corrected, her voice quiet but firm.

“It is forbidden to bring arms into the presence of the King, Aiden was only the Prince when I arrived. Technically someone crowned a king in the presence of my arms,” she said reasonably but with a slight bite to her voice. Ranald clearly didn’t know what to do with that particular piece of sophistry so instead he just nodded and led them up the steps. 

Aiden had aged a decade since she had seen him the night before. His formal robes made him look massive and powerful in a way that defied the lean powerful man she knew him to be. She had tried to call him several times during the course of the day but gotten no response. Even now his face was remote, though she thought she caught a flicker of jealousy when his eyes cut to Neil.

“Captain Cyckali,” he began in a ringing oratorical voice which silenced the crowd. Drones buzzed in close to capture each facial expression and preserve each word. Junebug had the sudden and powerful impulse to pull her pistol and start shooting the cursed things out of the sky.

“You have rendered service to the Crown in its hour of need, and saved our life and our throne. You are pardoned for whatever excesses you have pursued in pursuit of those noble goals,” Aiden said his voice carrying a carefully modulated hint of disapproval.

“You are like, super welcome,” Neil quipped. Junebug stifled a giggle by the barest of margins. Aiden coloured slightly but went on none the less.

“There is one more service you can perform for the crown however,” Aiden went on and touched a key on his throne. A hologram sprang to life before the throne, a quarter life sized but otherwise perfect image of a man in black tactical gear. It was Kagan.

“We know that you captured this man, a foreign assassin who murdered my sister, during the assault on your ship. Turn him over so that he may be made to face justice for his crimes,” Aiden declared. Junebug felt the euphoria of the party slide away like a pane of greased glass.

“I don’t know where he is,” she lied, thinking fast. Ranald looked queasy but his hand was already on his pistol holster.

“Junebug,” Aiden warned in a quiet voice that somehow didn’t carry to the address system.

“Turn the murder over to me and be done with it.” Sayeeda licked her lips, forcing her hand not to stray towards her pistol by force of will.

“Your brother was the murderer, not this man,” she insisted.

“Our laws dont make that distinction. Now you have one final chance,” Aiden said eyes narrowing.  Junebug’s stomach flipped. Kagan had surrendred on terms a fact he had no doubt informed his superiors of. If the Indiges executed him now, she would be held to blame. Colonel Andor and any number of other mercenary outfits would hunt her down, and Neil and Taya as well in all likely hood.

“Aiden, please…” the King snapped his fingers and guards closed in, seizing her arms. Ranald unsnapped her pistol holster and plucked the weapon free.

“Take her away,” he ordered coldly.
[@POOHEAD189]