FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Angelica watched as a tendril of flat muscle uncurled from the dock master's lower sleeve. It looked like a large tongue that was coated in a layer of fine, blue fur with tiny suction cups nestled within, flexing as they investigated the single cut ruby she had handed him. He was an odd creature, with two tentacles growing out of his sides just beneath his arms. A crest of colourful feathers sprouted from his head and his golden eyes narrowed in concentration as he worked, rolling the ruby around in his fur to measure its purity. A moment later, he clucked softly to himself, pocketed the ruby, scribbled something on his datapad and pulled a key card from a pouch at his belt. He ran that through the datapad with a beep and then handed it to her.

''You are now registered to Dock-Twenty-Three for twenty-four hours, Standard. Staying for any time beyond that will incur fines and a strike on your account. Welcome to Ploymas Station, Miss Wolfen.'' He said. He then turned and walked away without further words, moving on to his next duty. He passed through the airlock that separated the small dock from the rest of station, leaving her on her own once more.

Angelica looked around, worrying her bottom lip. The dock was a chamber, thirty feet tall and fifty feet wide. It was a dome of transparasteel reinforced by veins of tungsten, giving it the look of a shaped spider web. Her ship was sat behind her, nose to the bay's hangar doors. They were sealed up tight and would only open either by her command when she left or if the station suffered an emergency and all docked ships needed to break loose in a hurry. She flexed her hands. She could feel the multitude of minds of the various outlaws aboard swarming around her; inebriated, broken, shrewd, combative and suspicious. Nothing new as far as her particular clients went. Ploymas Station was a bolthole for scavs, bandits, smugglers and pirates alike and their personalities formed a kind of mental miasma that almost made her feel ill. She shut them out and walked over to a small dockside computer bank and experimentally ran her card through the terminal's slot. It flickered to life and she studied it carefully.

There was one person in particular she wanted to find. Her leads, mostly guesstimations from strangers she had encountered - Sonja and Marsh hadn't deigned to help her one bit - had simply given her a list of places that were favoured by those who were down on their luck or had taken a darker path in life. Ploymas was the last station on that list, a decrepit repair and resupply cylinder of blistered rings, constructed long ago and left to rot by Red Star Mining. It had the facilities to see to the general health of ships as big as superdreads, so it hadn't taken long for the lowlifes to move in and set up shop, hauling it deep into a nebula cluster and out of the way of any major shipping lanes.

After some searching and going through the wrong menus, Angelica finally found the one she was looking for. It was a basic map of the station, uploaded for visitors to use should they need it. She committed it to memory and headed for the station's registry lounge. It was a large, open space, four tiers of basic couches ringing the central desk. A harried looking avian was busily fielding spacers and their demands and questions. Bolted above the cylindrical bank of computers she worked in was a series of large LED boards lit up with steadily shifting lists of ships: docking, docked and departing. She stood watching it, sifting through the names, her own ship being listed at the top as one of the two newest arrivals. But there was still no sign of the Deymarii. She frowned. Trillian had to be around somewhere.

Unless she was looking for the wrong ship. It had been a couple of years since Undervilde had entered Thymion and all but eradicated the Temlesarians, butchering them with cold efficiency. Since then, he could have easily changed the ship's name or even acquired a new one.

As she studied the displays a thought slowly crept into her mind. None of the ships listed had a captain's name accompanying them. She approached the counter and signalled for attention after waiting patiently didn't work. The woman, a crow with ruffled feathers, a creased uniform and the aroma of one-too-many caffeinated beverages hurried up to her, putting on her best smile. The smile did nothing to dispel the exhaustion that hung across her shoulders. Her wings were drooping and she was fumbling some of her words, giving away just how tired she was.

Quadruple shift... Angelica thought, feeling bad for the woman.

''Yes, yes, how can I help?'' She asked, her voice carrying a manic tone, a wild gleam in her eyes.

''Has a Tenglaari ship called the Deymarii docked here recently?'' Angelica asked.

The crow's dark eyes glazed over and her smile vanished. The woman's mood shifted immediately to suspicious.

''No. We haven't had a Tenglaar registered ship here in a year. And the last one was-'' She looked at a computer screen, ''a freighter. Water hauler.''

''Has there been a Captain Trillian Spears registered at any point?'' She pressed. She was overstepping the mark now, she knew that. These places were safe havens for those who found themselves on the wrong side of the law and asking so many questions rarely ended well. But Angel was generally given a wide berth. She was very well known by many, despite her lack of memory, so she often used that as the perfect excuse to press a little further with her questions.

''No.'' The crow said shortly, clearly irritated. Ploymas Station held the identities - both real and fake - of its patrons close to its chest.

The crow's tired mind gave her away. There was a Captain Spears here, somewhere further up the station on one of the docking arms reserved for larger ships. She said her thanks to the crow and left, suddenly remembering what Rosemary had said about Trillian as she realised with trepidation that she was closer to her target than she had anticipated. He was psy-immune now, so Angelica tried a different tack to see if the Captain Spears currently on station was the one she was looking for. Why she hadn't thought about doing so earlier she didn't know. Maybe because it was so rare for anyone to be psy-immune that it had never occurred to her. She made her way back towards her berth, her mind reaching out subtly, searching for a blank spot. She was about to give up and run her card through the lock when she found one. A blank spot, unresponsive to psychic prompting several levels above her. She tested it carefully to make sure.

Sure enough, her mind slid around it, letting her know it was someone that was resistant to her probing. She found the mind nearest him, made a note of where it was and pocketed her card again. She reeled her mind back in, following the mental map she had made from that brief contact with the blood-soaked mind and made for the elevator banks. The ring she was docked at was still largely empty. The moment a Thymion ship had been spotted, the docking ring reserved for vessels of her size had been largely vacated. They'd all heard the rumours, heard the stories, seen the vid feeds and watched as Sterwil Federation's fragile negotiations had fallen apart at her ship's arrival. The only people to be seen were the airlock guards and people running errands. The moment she had entered Ploymas space and requested docking, Station Control had read her the riot act and had told her that the moment she started hostilities was the moment hell would break loose for her. Regardless of the station's patrons, violence was not tolerated. It was bad for business and she felt that just her presence alone was souring that. She wondered if every ship that was docking with the station was told that or if it was just her.

The elevator took her up ten levels to where medium freighters, destroyers, cruisers and battlecruisers were docked, the docksides far larger and more heavily armed. It was slightly busier, too, personnel of all varieties going about their business during the nighttime rotation. Angelica looked around as she moved cautiously down the wide corridor, suddenly hyper aware of being watched. Placed in indents in the outer wall were large airlock doors ten feet in width and twelve in height. Each heavy door had a pair of guards on duty. Not station guards; they were personnel from the docked ships beyond the airlocks, guarding what was theirs with an unwavering severity. They consisted of various species, races, sizes and armaments, some recognisable, others not. But they all shared one thing in common: they were watching her pass, wary of what she was up to. They knew she wasn't docked on that level and their suspicion of her was keen. It didn't help that she stuck out like a sore thumb, too. Up here, it wasn't so much as who she was. It was the way she was dressed and carried herself in a furtive demeanor. She wore a simple pilots' suit, open to reveal the traditional Thymion breast cover and nothing more. Those she was passing wore battle armour, some of it powered, some of it not with weapons of all kinds strapped to them. They all looked mismatched to some degree even though they shared the same ships and uniforms. It was a uniform chaos, she realised as she studied them from the corner of her eye. They were bandits, tearaways and turncoats, the scum of the galaxy to a lot of people and the way they dressed and behaved could tell a thousand stories.

She peered through the transparasteel windows, looking at the docked ships. Each one was as unique as its crew; some sleek and predatory, others blunt and cruel. The freighters were pure utilitarian, the bulk of their mass hollow for trade. No doubt, beyond those airlocks, the docks were busy. She could feel the hustle of the crews busy with stocking their ships under the guidance of quarter masters and pursers beyond those doors. A few heavy crates sitting on floating beds were being towed to one of the airlocks. They were large and reinforced, the kind of crates that munitions were transported in. The guards stood at the receiving airlock gave her a sour look as she passed, watching with veiled curiosity.

When she came to a particular airlock, she stopped short. A sleek, silver-blue battlecruiser was docked here, its drive ring rotating slowly in an idle. She admired the warship for a moment, suddenly captivated by it, her gaze tracing the curves and angles of the vessel. It was called the Jin'daal and it looked like it had seen recent combat. The damage was minimal, looking to be mostly aesthetic, but even the carbon scores and shallow pits in its gleaming hull couldn't detract from its beauty. It was a marvellous looking ship, a flying work of art with a predatory air. She then realised that this was the location of the blank spot. She pulled her eyes away from the ship and looked towards the dock's entrance.

A pair of large, four armed guards stood watch. They were wearing heavy armour painted in dark blue and grey. They wore no helmets and their white leathery hides were harsh to look at under the hard glare of the overheads. They were Tenglaari soldiers and they were watching her carefully. One, she recognised as being Jorst from her conversations with Rosemary. The other, much larger Tenglaari, she didn't recognise. Jorst was as tall as she, but the other was far bigger and she caught a gleam of shark-like teeth as his thin reptilian lips parted slightly in a light sneer of annoyance. They knew exactly who she was and Jorst's feelings of anger towards her were shocking. Because of that, she hesitated to approach, but reminded herself that she could very easily overpower the two of them if things dissolved into violence. Violence, however, was not why she was there. She just wanted to talk to Trillian, to explain things and explain to him why she had behaved the way she had. The tiger had offered her his trust and help, and that Thing had merrily destroyed it. She had watched from a distance, a passenger in her own body as a good man had had his compassion and career stripped from him bit by bit and the blame for everything dumped on his shoulders.

''Um, you're in the way.'' Said a soft yet stern voice from behind.

Angelica spun around, stepping to the side as she did so. A curious looking rabbit stood behind her, dressed in a tight fitting forest green tunic and a black smartweave suit. Her large ears hung down to her wide hips and she had a narrow waist and heavy breasts. But regardless of her odd stature, the tall woman held herself and moved with the grace and strength of a dancer. The short antennae on the black rabbit's head glowed faintly and twitched as she studied Angelica for a second. Her steel grey eyes then narrowed.

''He's hurting today so don't expect much.'' She said and gestured for Angelica to move out of the way.

The cargo the rabbit was hauling on a train of hoverbeds behind her was considerable. Flashing yellow beacons had been strapped to the corners of each large crate warning people of the cargo's size. Angelica apologized and pressed up against the wall, letting her pass, watching her go as she puzzled over what the rabbit had just said. The two Tenglaari greeted her warmly and Jorst swiped his card without question, the airlock cycling open at his prompt. The two looked upon her like a little sister and not the lust that Angelica was expecting for someone so curvaceous. The airlock cycled with a hiss of hydraulics and she passed through onto the dock with her cargo. Then it sealed up behind her and Angelica approached warily. The woman had read her intentions clearly and her building anxiety knotted painfully.

''My name is Angelica Wolfen, a scavenger of Thymion. I wish to speak with Captain Spears, please.'' She said softly, bowing to the two soldiers.

Jorst looked down at her, unimpressed. His fellow Tenglaari made an odd face, his lower left hand falling to rest on the pommel of one of his combat knives. The knife was more of a sword to her it was so large and he had four of them, two at his thighs, two at his lower back. He had many more weapons strapped to him, but one look at him told her that he was a weapon in his own right. She recalled what Trillian had once said about the Tenglaar race, one of the very few memories she had managed to reclaim: that they were not to be messed with and that holding a healthy fear of them was one of the best ways for an individual to survive an encounter. She straightened up again, her posture carefully meek. His dark blue eyes narrowed as he studied her, waiting for her to do something untoward as Jorst considered her request.

''I know who you are. And your little games won't wash with me, is that clear?'' He rumbled.

He felt cold and calculating. This was the blood-soaked mind she had traced. A chill ran through her. Jorst could easily make a platoon of Temlesarians look soft and cuddly if he wanted, and that knowledge had her worried and curious at the same time.

Another bow, her wings flaring slightly in capitulation, ''I have no intention of playing games, this I promise you. I just wish to talk and nothing more. If he does not want to see me, I will willingly leave with no argument. I am unarmed and if you want, I can activate my built in psy-suppressor.''

Jorst considered her a moment longer. He then held up a finger, silently telling her to wait. She did so as he accessed his wetware and quietly communicated with someone. Hopefully, Trillian, Angelica thought. Several more minutes passed in an awkward silence. Then the airlock cycled as she was about to ask whether she should leave or not. The pressure of the two shock trooper's glares had her leg muscles twitching painfully, a subliminal message from her body telling her to leave them be. But then Trillian stepped into the broad corridor, the airlock closing behind him. She gasped in horror. She had seen images in Rosemary's mind, but the man standing before her now, bristling with fury and latticed with silver scars, was a far cry from the man her friend had been rescued by. He was a far cry from the man that had commanded the Ranger.

He had regained some muscle, his leanness filling out nicely giving him a much healthier appearance than before. When Rosemary had last met him, he was a hollow shell of his former self, half starved and exhausted with everything. Now he was dressed in Outrider's gear; a pair of hard wearing trousers, a thick smartweave tunic and a worn-out leather jacket. Weapon sheaths and holsters were strapped around his thighs and shoulders, the handle of a bowie knife jutting up from the top of a boot. His eyes burned like molten gold and the whites had turned silver some time ago. His thick tail was a cybernetic implant of black alloy and she had a sneaking suspicion that in itself was a weapon. He was frayed around the edges, his clothes heavily worn, his body and mind scarred, and his gaze hard.

''I thought you were dead.'' He stated flatly.

''It died with whatever the real Angelica had. I'm... just a clone. I don't even remember my own name without looking at my datapad every day. When It died, It left her alone in a void. The only memories I have are 100 years of being pulled apart over and over again...'' She said softly. Her tone was vastly different than the last time he had spoken to her. That last time, she had been brash, uncouth and full of herself. Now she was softly spoken, her voice full of emotion and he was buying none of it.

He eyed her up, taking her in, quietly running a quick scan on her with his Synth wetware to see if she had any concealed weapons on her. The scan came back negative and his wetware detected an active psy-suppressor on her person. It was not implanted, but attached to her, much like a choker. He could faintly make out the soft green blink of a light through the fur on her neck as the device exerted its power on her. Being psy-immune, the gesture meant little to him and as far as his crew were concerned, the moment she deactivated it and started even the slightest bit of trouble, he'd make her regret being born. He looked at it. He didn't recognise the make or model, so he assumed it was Thymion made. And just because she was being meek and showing fear didn't mean he had any reason to trust her. She had pulled stunts like this before, so he stayed put, standing between Jorst and Revan, his back to the airlock doors, a hand resting on his holstered gun.

''I don't have anything left to say to you after what you pulled. And I don't think you have anything that could sway my mind.'' He growled in annoyance. Much to his surprise, she flinched at his tone and raised a hand to block a slap. Trillian lowered his tone, but the anger was real, still fresh and burning as it had done the moment he and his last crew had detected the Hope's Blade trailing them into a politically volatile environment. ''I haven't got all day. We're in the middle a re-supply with two hours left on the clock. Spit it out.''

''I- I have a data disk.'' She stammered, shocked by his bluntness and the sound of his ire, ''Of her memories. The original Angelica, that is. I pulled them from what was left of her shattered... my shattered mind.'' A look of confusion crossed her face. It was difficult enough to explain things as it was, but trying to explain it to Trillian was somehow much harder than she had anticipated, especially since he was in such a foul mood. The rabbit that had passed her hadn't been exaggerating, ''If you want, you can have the disk. It was meant to be uploaded to me, so I could remember. But I'm afraid of the memories it contains. What kind of monster was that Thing when it was in control of my body? Why was I too weak to stop it from doing the things it did?'' She paused, searching for the next words, trying not to rush them, ''I spoke to Sonja and Marsh a couple of weeks ago. They wouldn't even acknowledge the disk. Sonja... I gave her the Thymion crown. I gave it to her to hold onto until she felt it was ok to give it back, when she deemed that I was worthy of it. She melted it right then and there without a word. She passed her judgement on me without a second thought. Marsh just laughed and walked away...''

''You were expecting some kind of sympathy from a dragon and a Bressis? Dragons can be arrogant, unforgiving pricks and the Bressis are sociopaths, born and bred.'' Trillian said.

''I wasn't seeking sympathy... I just want to explain things, so that people understand...''

Angelica seemed to be being honest and she reeked of terror. Jorst could tell she was genuinely afraid; he had seen that kind of hunched, submissive posture before, heard that abject terror in the voices of many other species and it was unmistakable, especially since he'd been one of the ones to induce it in the first place. Angelica was frightened for her life and Trillian's unflinching dominant posture and cold gaze was keeping her pinned in place. She had very few ways in which to defend herself if they made a go at killing her. At least, ways that wouldn't endanger the station and everyone on it. Which suited them just fine. The less trouble they had, the sooner they could be gone, sailing towards a new life in the neighboring galactic arm, away from this mess. Trillian studied her carefully. As much as he could tell, she was being honest. But she was also just as likely to be lying. She had pulled this kind of stunt before, not just with him, but with the Oshanus, too; one minute being polite and easy going, the next being snide and egotistical, believing that she was above everyone else and letting them all know it. Currently, though, she had her hands up, as if preparing to defend herself from attack, fear rolling off her in waves.

''Explain? Explain what? What is this It? In the last five minutes, you've explained very little, instead pushing the blame for your actions onto some unknown entity that you can't even name. I am aware that there are creatures in existence that go beyond reality or the basic concept of understanding, I've come across some before. Hell, I've served alongside some of them. But you've given me very little reason to believe that that's what happened. Your explanation is ill thought-out and for all I know, you're playing your petty little games again. They may have worked the first time round, but not this time. Not after everything that's happened.'' Trillian said coldly after she had gone quiet, ''You butchered my crews' minds. You toyed with them. You robbed them of their afterlives. You demoralised and mocked them all. You plundered their minds and laughed whilst you did it.

''You strutted around and belittled everyone because you're the only one with problems and trauma!'' He sneered sarcastically, ''And you expect me to believe that you're sorry? You think I care what you want any more? I apologised repeatedly and each time you threw it back in my face. You wanted my help and I gave it willingly at the expense of two-hundred and forty-nine others. And you threw that back in my face, too! My attempt to save my crew from death failed. It would have been easier and far kinder to just bait the Daglia into outright detroying us all. Even the Ranger didn't get the retirement she deserved! She was simply towed away in disgrace and quietly dismantled. The only things that remain of her is combat and maintenance records. The Ranger is nothing more than a bad memory now; a warning against people like you.'' He snarled. ''And on top of all that, I am still being blamed for all of this whilst you're mooching for sympathy!''

"N-no. No I just... I wanted you to know the truth. I w-w-wanted to tell you I am sorry for being too weak to protect your people from that Thing. For letting so much happen because I wasn't strong enough.'' She stammered in terror, her eyes wide.

His fury was terrible and he bared fangs coated in steel at her, his golden eyes flashing dangerously. Her pupils were dilated and her fight or flight was kicking in. She was scared, out of options and on hostile territory. Trillian reigned his temper in and studied her coolly, silently chastising himself for his outburst. That's not how he had wanted to say things, but she had turned up without warning and on the worst possible day for him, too; he had woken up in the early hours in a deep rooted agony, his Synth tech raging through his body without mercy, continuing its slow transformation of his flesh to metal unchecked. There was no respite from it, not unless he turned to the Synths and finally gave himself over to them for Ascension. Without them and their secretive medical procedures, he would die, overwhelmed and unguided by their tech and expertise. They would kill him anyway, as those who were brought into the Empire from the outside were expendable, a safe margin of error between risky business and the natural born Synths. Had he argued harder against going to Thymion to hunt down Xanimus in the first place, he would still have his job, his Synth wetware would not be attempting a hostile takeover so soon, Owen would still probably be alive and he wouldn't have turned to piracy for survival.

Regardless of all that, though, his outburst was unwarranted. It had been a few years since it had all happened and if she was being honest, then she desrved the benefit of the doubt. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. She was still being so irritatingly vague. He had lost friends because her. Sterwil was back on the brink of an all-consuming war because of the Hope's Blade. He slowed his breathing, tried not to glower at her and did his best to keep his voice steady and calm.

''It would be wise of you to leave. My implants are giving me hell and it's a struggle to stay on top of who I really am today. Please. You've caused me enough trouble already. Just go away and never try to contact me again.'' He said in a more reasonable tone.

He turned his back on her without further words and disappeared back into the airlock. The two shock troopers had remained impassive throughout the whole thing, but not once had they taken their her eyes off her. They didn't make a move for her, much to her relief. But still... his words had been painful to hear, the depth of the damage glaringly visible. She hadn't realised the blame for everything had been pinned on him and that realisation added another unwanted layer to her mood as she processed what he had said.

Angelica glanced at Jorst and Revan, saw their glowers and backed away slowly, before turning and bolting back down the hallway as fast as she could, kicking up small rooster tails of dust as she ran. Trillian paused inside the airlock to look over his shoulder, his hand poised over the old control panel. A small black shape lay on the deck several meters away. It was the data disk, which had fallen out of a pocket as Angelica had fled. It was a simple thing, not of Thymion construct and it looked to be old. He sighed in irritation, scrubbing a gloved hand over his face. He walked back out into the hallway, scooped it up and studied it, turning it over slowly to get a better look at it. He found the seam of the case and cracked it open to reveal the disk in question sitting snugly inside. Trillian snapped it shut again, wondering what to do with it. If this disk really did contain all of her memories as she had said, he needed to get it back to her, regardless of how he felt about her. Keeping it wouldn't benefit him and there was no way in hell he was heading back in-arm to return it to Thymion.

He sighed, making up his mind. He nodded to Jorst and Revan, manually cycled the airlock and stepped onto the Jin'daal's dock. He wove between the stacks of crates, answering quick questions fired off by his pursurs and asking some of his own. He spoke as he moved, making his way through the carefully controlled chaos of re-supplying a warship and activated the dockside terminal. It had a multitude of different data ports built into it and a mess of programmes installed to read whatever data device got plugged in. He flipped the case open, inserted the disk and started browsing the files. Everything was written in Basic, the universal tongue of spacers of every ilk.

''Hey, Boss, had a bit of difficulty getting ahold of you. Ex said you were dockside so I decided to come and let you know in person that Jin's ready for her long haul, mechanically speaking.'' Thaslon said as he approached.

Trillian glanced up, nodding to the jet friesian, ''Excellent work, Mister Thaslon. How long have we got left on the clock? I kind of lost track of time.''

Thaslon studied him curiously, ''Hour and a half. You okay? You're starting to look worse than you were when I saw you in astrogation twenty minutes ago.''

Trillian sighed heavily, pointed to the small screen and activated the video he had found. It was the file at the top of the list of a long line of vid files, some of which reached into the 2 Terabyte zone. An image of a husky stared up at them from the screen and Thaslon's ears slowly sank against his head and a soft stream of curses in his native tongue were uttered.

''Oh look, it's the idiot who thinks he's a warship captain.'' Thaslon snorted, ''I wouldn't leave him in charge of a garbage scow. Don't tell me he came along with her, too?''

''Not that I know of.'' Trillian replied as he looked at Billy's face, paused mid-deep breath. The husky still looked worn out, but at least his cybernetics had been patched up, looking to be replaced by some universal standard gear, ''Just poking my nose into the data disk she dropped after I reamed her.'' He said and pressed play. He toggled the volume so that it was just low enough for the two to hear over the hustle of crates being unpacked or loaded directly onto the battlecruiser.

''Baby girl. Before you upload these into yourself, please take a moment to think. These memories contain things you likely don't want to know. So take your time. Upload them one at a time. Let each one process for a few days before uploading the next. There's over 100 years worth of stuff here. And some of it is your fault. But not a lot. It's still not pleasant, though. You just... you couldn't control it and we didn't know it could possess you. So please, please forgive us and don't blame yourself for the things you couldn't control. It's not your fault, okay, sweetie? It's not. Remember that or it'll eat you up and you'll be back at square one.'' He said, his voice soft and pleading. He was begging her to listen to him and begging her to forgive him at the same time.

''What do you make of that?'' Trillian muttered as he played the video again.

''I'm missing something, aren't I?'' Thaslon said. Trillian explained to him what Angelica had said outside in the hallway and Thaslon nodded as if he understood any better than Trillian did, ''Not a fucking thing, that's what I make of it. That miserable baggage raided my mind enough times to put me back into insomnia for a year, and to this day, I still don't like fantasizing about the things I'd like to do to Corporal O'nara unless I'm sure there're no psychics or empaths hanging around. She stole one of my favourite hobbies from me and that is unforgivable.''

Trillian shut down the vid and browsed the other files, Thaslon watching over his shoulder. They were simply scanning through the files, watching the first few seconds of each memory before moving on to the next. There was a cluster of files closer to the bottom, glimpses of each showing progressively worse attempts to negotiate with the Temlesarians. Then there was a lot of screaming, repeatedly cut short as they browsed further with what little time they had left to satitiate their curiosity. None of the screaming sounded like it had come from Angelica, so they just put it down to the things she had done to others.

''Think it's a fake?'' Trillian asked. There was a lifetime of data on the disk.

Thaslon shrugged, ''Could be. I wouldn't put it past her or her family since Billy's just outed himself as a culprit to who-knows-what. Forging memories isn't easy, but it's not impossible, especially for a race that can erase someone's memory and implant entirely different ones at a whim.'' He said, referencing what Thymion had done to the Avran aid workers, ''Where there's a will, there's a way and even so-called pacifists can learn the art of forgery.''

Trillian nodded in agreement. He continued browsing, pausing at a screen that was blank. It was a sound only file, the audio that of tearing flesh and the sound of someone whimpering and begging for death over and over. Trillian moved on, not recognising the voice.

''That's not a vid.'' Thaslon pointed out.

Trillian scrolled back up through the dozens of files he'd ignored until he came back to the text only file. It was labeled Victim List and the two glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. Then Trillian opened the file and was rewarded with a vast list of names. Worlds, ranks and ship names were attached to each one in small annotations. They read through it, seeing the names of dignitaries and relief workers who had ventured to Thymion over the course of the Empire's seclusion. There were no images of those people, just full names and vague descriptions. It wasn't much, but along with ship and world names, it was plenty. He scrolled down through the list until he came to another sub-header that was labelled simply as S.S.M.A Ranger. A cold lump formed in the pit of Trillian's stomach. There were 250 names there and like the others, they were ranked and marked. Some were marked as deceased, others visited and a handful were listed as missing.

His own name, sitting at the top of the list was not marked. He flicked through the Ranger's crew manifest and found that Thaslon's name was un-marked, also.

''Hit list or a legitimate 'victim' list.'' Trillian asked no one in particular.

''In my experience, they're one and the same.'' Thaslon said, pulling a face.

Trillian closed that particular file and browsed a bit more. He scrolled down to the end, wondering what Angelica's final moments were. It was sheer curiosity that compelled him to open the final file and the two watched in silence as the vid played out in gruesome detail. It was a recording of what looked like Angelica, but she was torn apart, barely held together by frayed muscle and ribbons of taught tendons and stretched blood vessels. She was floating in a large tank of medical gel in a bland, featureless room. An unfamiliar voice was speaking to it, it's tone stern and commanding, the owner out of sight.

''So you admit that the moment you could, you possessed a scared, near fatally wounded child and used her as a puppet? For what end? To extinguish all life you could and steal their souls for your own power? You admit you ignored their pleas for salvation, and HER pleading to stop? You admit that you forced her to watch as you used her body and her powers for violence instead of healing?''

Whomever he was speaking to remained quiet. Whether thoughtful, stubborn or unable to, neither Trillian nor Thaslon knew. Trillian closed the vid, exited the programme and popped the disk, resetting it into its protective case. He snapped it shut thoughtfully and shook his head. Twenty-seven minutes, it had taken. An hour and three minutes left before they had to shove off or risk being fined for overstaying their scheduled time.

''So, what d'you think? Forgery or legit? Or a mix?'' Thaslon asked.

Trillian turned around and leaned against the terminal, folding his arms as he silently watched his crew work, his mind ticking over and arranging his thoughts. He shrugged, ''Her fear was real. You can't fake that. So I'm inclined to think this is real. But real or not, I just can't muster the energy to find even a shred of forgiveness. Maybe in time...'' He went quiet, thinking it over, searching the depths of mind and soul for the truth. He shook his head again, ''No. I really can't. The damage has been done. Some brainless wonders brought a kid into the world with all that power and left her unchecked and without guidance. Seems she was raised by a brainless wonder, too. I need to get this back to her, though. She'll need to upload this if she's to stand a chance against the universe, so that she knows exactly why she's hated and feared by those in and around the Sterwil Federation. Running around with amnesia is a death sentence for her.''

Thaslon plucked the disk from his hand, ''I'll take it. My name's on the list and if I go find her, that'll stop her from chasing us across the void. She can't have gone far, there're only a few joints still open at this time of night and from what you said about her reaction, I don't think she's in any fit state of mind to be operating a starship. I'll be back soon as.''

Angelica sat on a bar stool in the corner of the bar she had found two levels below the Jin'daal's docking. The place was dingy with a smattering of equally dingy patrons, each one more interested in drowning their sorrows in their drinks than her. She looked into the tankard clutched in her hands. She was sitting at a table that was pressed up against the window, the broken neon sign reflecting in the surface of the drink, giving it a nuclear glow that matched its faintly acidic taste well. She had had no idea what she was ordering at the time, but right now, alcohol was alcohol and the bar key hadn't sniffed at her money.

She had been almost at her own airlock when she realised that she had dropped the data disk somewhere along the way in her haste to get away from Trillian and his glowering guards. She continued to stare at her drink, wondering about that disk. It would've been picked up by now, surely destroyed or sold on to a collector of such things. She knew there was an auction house onstation and being docked gave her full access to its listings. But there was no sign of the disk. She swigged her drink, hissing through her teeth as the alcohol burned painfully down her throat. She would be surprised if she didn't end up with ulcers or blisters in the morning because of it. It was slowly numbing the pain, but her body was clearing it out faster than she wanted to drink the stuff, so she remained sober with the cusp of drunkeness lurking on the horizon.

She absently doodled in a sticky pool of beer left over from the last patron who had had this seat as her mind worked through the list of names of those she had managed to track down from the Ranger. A tangle of morose bitterness knotted in her stomach. Of those she had found, only two had forgiven her. The rest had lost their tempers at her very presence, fled from her - sometimes with violence born of self preservation or had simply pretended to be someone else and not the person she was looking for, forcing her to give up on them. The rest of the crew were either long gone, vanished into the black under different identities or were dead. It all hurt. It hurt deeply in a way that she couldn't put into words. She was a being of love, light and protection. Granted, protecting people went hand-in-hand with bursts of violence, but she only fell back on such things if the aggressors couldn't be talked down and reasoned with.

Sighing, she took a breath and looked at her wrist computer. The hologram stated her psy-suppressor was still active and still keeping her powers held in check. It also warned her that she was going to suffer mental damage if she didn't turn it off soon. She set a few rubies on the counter and motioned for another drink from the passing waitress as she downed the last of her first one. She would spend her personal money, then sleep for a few hours. After that she would use the credit line to purchase a freight container and fill it with basic medical supplies before rifting it back home. After that, she needed to check a line on a drifting Thymion dreadnought. Maybe after that she might properly sleep.

The data disk was dropped onto the tabletop beside her elbow. She looked at it, startled from her thoughts and stared at it in surprise. She looked up, into the face of a jet black equine, his mane cut short, his expression unreadable. He was wearing dark blue overalls with smears of oil and grease staining the thick fabric. Beneath that, he wore a bottle green smartweave suit. A gun was holstered at his thigh and a large knife was sheathed at the other.

''I believe you dropped this outside our dock.'' He said in a smooth baritone, ''A bit silly to keep something like this unsecured, isn't it?'' She stared at him, uncomprehending. He sighed, ''Your girl Meko tried putting sizeable holes in my engine room once-upon-a-time. I also happened to find my name on this list.''

Recognition clicked into place and Angelica brightened a little even as tears threatened to spill. Though he seemed unimpressed by her presence, he didn't seem nearly as hostile as Trillian. The only person who had come anywhere near his level of anger was Sonja, ''Chief Engineer Thaslon?''

''Aye, that's me. I got forty minutes before I end up with an angry tiger coming down here and hauling my sorry hide back to the ship so we can leave. So I hope you have your speech ready. By the way, I thought I might mention that me and the Boss had a quick flick through these memories. Nasty stuff if it's all legit and not one big forgery.''

''Forgery?'' She repeated, aghast at the very idea.

Thaslon sat down one stool away from her and watched her carefully, ''There are methods of forging memories, yes. And it's all highly illegal. Comes under the espionage laws. So does cloning without medical exemption, by the way. So you'll excuse me if I don't trust you.''

Angelica eyed him curiously. He stared back, silently considering her. The waitress brought her her fresh drink, turned to Thaslon and he waved her off politely. Once the waitress had wandered off, Angelica turned to her fresh drink, stared into its murky depths and sucked down a steadying breath.

''I never meant for anything to happen. I was not in control. If I even am her. I was never out to hurt anyone. Even the Temlasarians. I just wanted them to stop. When you... when your crew were being tortured like that, I tried to fight It. I tried to gain control and protect you. I tried with all my might, I swear! But I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't stop It. I couldn't protect you.'' She said and went quiet, silently waiting for his reaction. When there wasn't one, she looked up to find him still looking at her with that same expression of quiet scrutiny. She tried not to squirm.

He was studying her with an intensity that was borderline frightening. Then he leaned forward and tapped the disk's protective case with an index finger, a serious gleam in his dark eyes, ''I'm not gonna lie. I don't believe much of what you say. I might never trust you ever again, but right now, that's not a problem, since we're skipping galactic arms to get away from this mess. I will say, however, that you need to upload all this into your noggin a bit at a time whether you like it or not. This is apart of you and if the rest of us have to put up with the memory of what happened, then you can too. This little corner of the galaxy's scarred deeply because of your actions. And not just your actions, either. Your actions are the result of you family's actions. That much I do know. So if I were you, I'd bite the bullet, reinsert your memories and take issue with what your family did to you, because from what me and Captain Spears saw on this disk, your entire family needs a solid ass whooping from you. Way I see it, they destroyed your life. Take issue with that and don't let it drop. Get your house in order otherwise they'll be tempted to step out of line again.''

Angelica's jaw dropped. She had fully expected to be berated, beaten even, but not this. Whilst he was not happy with her, he was even less happy with her family. That had her curious and she glanced at the disk. Maybe it was almost time to bite the bullet and start uploading. Before she could ask him anything or do a thing, he stood up and left the bar, leaving her to her whirling thoughts and the innocuous data disk sitting by her elbow. She stared at it for some time, her drink growing warm and stale as it slipped from her focus. Then she plucked it off the table and ran from the bar, diving into a lift to take her back up to the Jin'daal's level. She had sat in shock for several minutes in the bar, processing what Thaslon had said and she found herself getting annoyed by how long the lift was taking to reach its destination. When the doors finally slid open, she ran out into the hallway beyond. She made her way to the airlock where Jorst and Revan had been standing, but found that they were no longer there and the airlock was sealed tight, the red warning lights of decompression flashing.

She looked around frantically and then ran to the nearest window, staring out into space. The Jin'daal was breaking away from its mooring, docking cables breaking free from the ship's hull and being reeled back in. The battlecruiser drifted slowly away from the station, turning its nose towards open space. The questions she had for Thaslon burned her tongue as she watched the warship drift further away, its sublights kicking in once it was a safe enough distance away from the station. She watched it leave, the data disk gripped tightly in her hand so that she wouldn't lose it again. It was an hour before the ship was out of sight and a station enforcer moved her along.

The only way she would have her questions answered now was to face her memories, which was an unsettling prospect that churned her stomach. She'd maybe do it later, once her current To-Do List had been cleared.

Even so, what Thaslon had said to her stuck in the back of her mind, lodged there like a nasty little parasite, sapping her reassurances about her family. He had glimpsed her memories and she wanted to know more about them without having to actually interact with them. She looked at the data disk. Pursuing the Jin'daal was out of the question.

This disk was all that she had to go on now.