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  When he disappeared some years ago, the focus shifted to Lyssa, now eleven, who'd just shown up at the Academy as a new student. As the months ticked by, interest waned as most scientists assumed that Sostas was either dead or preferred not to be found. Still, when Lyssa began disappearing on the weekends and between semesters, some returned their curiosity to her.

  Of course, the reality was that Lyssa was spending all her free time on a pirate ship, bounty hunting with Tauron. But letting everyone speculate otherwise was a convenient excuse, and it kept most of her professors from asking too many questions when she skipped class or arrived late.

  At the lift, she pressed the button furiously.

  She'd graduated with her doctorate two years ago, which gave her free rein to come and go as she pleased. Still, having a cover story about continuing her father's work had unintentional consequences.

  The lift door opened, and Lyssa’s heart dropped when she saw who was on the other side of it.

  "Dr. Peate! Fancy seeing you here!"

  Dr. Opal Pymus was a middle-aged scientist, his bald, round head framed by slick black hair. Whenever they met, his thin lips were always pressed into a slimy smile, and his small eyes, black and beady, always seemed to be trained on her.

  "Hi," she snapped, stepping into the lift.

  Pymus was one of the few scientists who'd continued the dogged investigation into Sostas' mysterious work. Sostas had become quite adept at avoiding these kinds of scientists; unfortunately, Pymus had somehow weaseled his way into becoming Lyssa’s direct supervisor. Most supervisors did nothing aside from ensuring that their employees adhered to Academy policies related to planet excavation and selling, but Pymus was much more hands on.

  In that he never left her alone.

  "I’m so surprised that you’re back so soon!" Pymus said, pretending to make small talk as the lift rose from the docks. "I suppose you haven’t been focusing too much on Leveman’s Vortex, lately? We'd see you about as much as your father!"

  "Yes, well," she said, struggling to come up with some kind of excuse that would get him off her back. "I need some money to buy new satellites."

  "What kind of satellites?" he responded, barely stopping to breathe.

  "The kind that can stand extreme gravitational pull," Lyssa responded, trying to remember if she'd used this excuse yet. She'd been caught telling him the same story before—he had a good memory, unfortunately.

  "How interesting!" Pymus cooed, tapping his chin. "And what would you be doing with these satellites?"

  She cursed internally; she'd thought that would be enough this time. She felt like snapping at him to mind his own business, but Pymus wasn’t above giving her a reprimand for her attitude. And with two already this year, a third would put her in front of a disciplinary committee, who might dig deeper into where she’d actually been going. Without a full-time bounty hunting gig, she wasn't quite ready to give up her steady paycheck.

  So she swallowed the barb she had at the ready and responded with, "Well, I would like to see if there’s an angle of entry by which an object would not be destroyed."

  "Oh, my dear child." He laughed. "Are you trying to see the Great Creator yourself? You may want to start by visiting that lovely temple at your mother's house. That priest of hers can do wonders to ensure you're on the right path."

  She smiled again, reminding herself that sitting in front of a committee would be more trouble than just keeping quiet. Razia was still on probation. To get off probation, Razia needed to do what Dissident said. To do what Dissident said, she needed to have enough credits to pay for parking. To have enough credits, she needed to keep herself out of trouble with Pymus.

  "Oh, and I haven't received a response to my latest message," he said, eyeing her curiously.

  "Sorry, I thought I'd responded," Lyssa lied. In fact, she’d set up an automatic filter for his messages to go straight to trash.

  And speaking of her mini-computer, it was buzzing with an incoming video call.

  From Dissident.

  "Shit," she muttered. Her only contact with him was five-minute phone calls where they discussed the next bounty she was allowed to capture. It was never a good sign when he called her.

  Luckily, the lift doors opened, giving her an exit.

  "Please stick me in the line-up for today!" Lyssa said before darting off the elevator. She stood in the hallway, frantically looking around for somewhere she could take a private call, and ended up ducking into a stairwell. She pulled her hair down from the bun and took off her glasses so her face, at least, would look like Razia. With a deep breath, she accepted the call.

  "Hi, Dissident," she said, as his face came onto her mini-computer.

  Dissident was a grizzled old man, with patches of scruff on his ashen face and a cigarette constantly in his mouth. She'd never met him in person, not even when she was on Tauron’s crew. Somehow, talking to him always made her nervous, as if she was in trouble. Mostly because she usually was.

  "Am I to understand that you’re hunting Dalton Burk?" he said, his voice gravelly from years of smoking and heavy drinking.

  She closed her eyes and made a face. Damned Teon.

  "I’m just having a little fun," she said, making a mental note to punch him in the face the next time she saw him. "I’m not actually—"

  "Did I tell you," Dissident seethed, interrupting her, "that you could hunt Dalton Burk?"

  Razia clenched her teeth. "No."

  "Oh, then, have I granted you full membership to my web?" Dissident asked, his voice low and dangerous.

  She looked at the ceiling and sighed. "No."

  "I’m sorry, what was that?"

  "No, you haven’t."

  "So, then, I’m confused. If I haven’t given you permission to hunt Dalton Burk, and you aren’t a member of my web, why are you hunting him?"

  Razia swallowed, trying to think of a good reason. Instead, she said, "I'm bored."

  "Oh, you’re bored." Dissident laughed. "Well, have you gotten that bounty I gave you the other day?"

  She sighed and shook her head.

  "Are you too good for my bounties? Would you like to see if another web would take you?"

  Razia shook her head again.

  "That’s what I thought. Now, get the bounty by the end of the week or you're out of my web." The call went dark.

  She sat in the empty stairwell for a moment, blood pulsing in her ears and an embarrassed blush rising to her cheeks. She hated the way he spoke to her, but there was really no getting around it at this point. She stood up and re-assembled her DSE look, sadly placing her glasses back on and pulling her hair into a bun. She turned to trudge the final six flights of stairs to her lab.

  Razia was still on probation. To get off probation, Razia needed to do what Dissident said. To do what Dissident said…

  ***

  Lyssa sat in front of the old laboratory computer, working on her presentation for the afternoon. This lab belonged to Sostas; since he'd never legally been declared dead, it was still registered in his name. And since she was the only one who knew the entry code, she got to use it—much to the chagrin of her older brothers who felt it was rightfully theirs.

  The only light in the room came from the large monitor, as all the ceiling lights had long since burned out. There were also tables of microscopes covered in a thick layer of dust, equipment at least twenty years old. Very early in his career, Sostas had designed machines to analyze and process planet specimens for chemical signatures so he could get back to the business of Leveman's Vortex. Lyssa, of course, was using them to make time for her own endeavors.

  There was a specific software needed to put together the Academy-sanctioned presentations, and although Lyssa could've installed it on her ship's computer, she hadn't out of spite and wishful thinking. So instead, she sat in the dark and tapped away at the ancient laboratory computer.

  She scrolled through her slides, mentally writing the story she was going to tell as she tap
ped through the different data points. She flip-flopped the slide about the water with the notes about the air—it had a higher concentration of oxygen than other planets, which usually fetched a better price. And with hundreds of DSEs presenting every day, it was important to get to the good stuff up front.

  Her stomach grumbled.

  She frowned, looking at the presentation. It was only halfway complete, and she only had a few hours left to get it together.

  Her stomach growled again, and this time she began to feel her blood sugar drop along with her mood. When she noticed the time—rush hour for the mess hall—her scowl twisted even further. But her stomach would not be denied.

  "Fine, fine, fine," she grumbled, grabbing her lab coat and heading over to the mess hall.

  Of course, by the time she arrived, there was already a queue out the door. She stood in line moodily, her stomach feeling like it was going to eat itself inside-out. Conversations echoed around her, as scientists compared notes on recent planet findings and methods for cataloguing different species.

  Annoyed by the mere fact that she had to be there, she glanced to the front of the line to gauge how long it would take to get there. But of course, three blond doctors stood near the register, talking animatedly amongst themselves.

  Her older brothers at the front of the line? Figures.

  After an eternity, she finally reached the threshold and grabbed a tray. Standing in the center of the food hall, she scanned the rows of food and considered what looked the most appetizing. The food trays were filled with foul-smelling meats and dishes, none of which she recognized. Instead, she made a beeline for the fresh fruit.

  Quickly and hungrily, she began filling up her tray with as much food as she could—until she saw the price. Unlike the rest of the food priced per pound, these were priced per piece. And they weren't cheap.

  She was short on credits anyway, and she didn't want to spend money on anything not related to bounty hunting. Furtively, she glanced around the cafeteria to see if anyone was watching then slipped the fruit into her jacket pocket—

  "Hey!"

  She whirled around and was face to face with Dorst. He had many of her maternal bloodline features—light hair, a strong jaw, and a nearly constant look of disapproval.

  Especially when it came to her.

  "What?" she snapped, her blood sugar still dangerously low.

  "I saw you sneak that fruit," he said, holding his own tray filled with something that resembled meat. "You have to pay for that, you know?"

  "Oh?" she said, grabbing another piece and taking a big bite out of it. "This one too?"

  "I mean it, Lyssandra," he growled. "I will—"

  "What?" She laughed. "Are you gonna tell Jukin on me? Is he going to take a break from not catching pirates to come arrest me for stealing fruit?"

  He glared at her.

  She took another bite, feeling a rush of relief as glorious food entered her stomach.

  "You know, playing nice won't change anything," he said.

  "Oh, is this what you consider nice?" she asked, looking around and taking another huge bite. "Here I thought I was being an asshole—"

  "This ploy for attention won't get you very far, you know," Dorst seethed. "When you decide to let us know where Father has gone then perhaps—perhaps—we'll decide to let you come home."

  She rolled her eyes. "First of all, why would I ever want to go back there? Second, and for the last time, I don't know where he is."

  "I'm sure," Dorst said. "And you aren't stealing food for him."

  "This isn't for... What?"

  He answered by huffing off to pay for his food.

  She stood for a moment, dazed by the familial encounter. It had been years since she'd returned to the family estate, affectionately (by them, anyway), known as the Manor. Mostly because, as Dorst had just made painfully clear, until she told them where Sostas had gone, she was no longer welcome as a member of the family.

  Lyssa didn’t care about being a Peate—she was more interested in becoming Razia the Bounty Hunter.

  Who was slowly dying of hunger, she realized with a jolt. She hurried over to pay for the food on her tray, hoping that no one would notice the bulges in her pockets.

  Or maybe they should. "Fruit stealer" might add a few credits to her bounty.

  ***

  The presentation wing of the Academy was a long hall of auditoriums where planets were presented and smaller side-rooms where the purchase occurred. Planets could only be sold in this hall by licensed DSEs, and could only be purchased by licensed prospectors on behalf of their clients. Most prospectors used to be DSEs, but found their true calling (and bigger paycheck) as a buyer for other organizations.

  Lyssa walked into the auditorium where she was to present. As usual, the lineup was running behind, so she took a seat in the back and looked around at the prospectors in the audience. It was easy to tell which ones were hired by multi-trillion credit corporations, and which ones were representing smaller clients. One woman in the back corner looked like she'd been styled by a team of designers. Lyssa hoped she wasn’t interested in her planet; she seemed like a real treasure to negotiate with.

  The DSE on stage currently was droning on and on about a planet he'd found comprised completely of water; the only land above sea level was a tiny island where an underwater mountain had breached the surface. The buyers in the audience were talking amongst themselves; the smartly-dressed woman was looking at her mini-computer in annoyance, as if she had a thousand better things to be doing than sitting there listening to this pointless planet presentation.

  There was sparse applause as the DSE walked off the stage, trying to keep all his papers in his arms. Two or three government prospectors followed him to the back room off to the side; Lyssa was sure he wasn’t going to get a good price.

  There was one more DSE before Lyssa, so she had a little time to play around. She pulled out her mini-computer, drowning out the monotone from the stage, and logged into the pirate news via the secure connection on her ship. Her pirate dashboard, minimized for her mini-computer, came up on her screen.

  She checked her own bounty first—she was now six hundred. She grumbled and sighed, looking down the latest news:

  She bit her lip.

  Well, what Dissident didn’t know…

  She really wanted to find that fourth alias for Burk. Navigating to the Universal Bank application on her mini-computer, it synced with her ship and displayed her last search. Closing her eyes, she walked back her thought process from before.

  She was looking at his three unknown aliases.

  Something about one of them had given her pause.

  She opened her eyes and frowned. She really needed to start writing things down. Or not answering calls from Sage Teon. Who was an asshole for telling Dissident that she was hunting Burk.

  With another glance at the front of the room, she was running out of time before she had to present. Quickly, she opened the profile of the first alias, scrolling through each transaction, trying to jumpstart her memory.

  She paused on the prostitute charges.

  That was what it was! He'd paid money—twice—to the same girl, but apparently did not pay for any drinks, even though he must've been very drunk. Which meant that he was paying for his drinks with a fourth alias she hadn't found yet.

  Immediately, she searched for a list of purchases on the prostitute house, filtering the results between the first purchase Burk had made there and the last:

  Zuma was Dalton Burk.

  Giersch was on Burk's crew.

  Czar was on Waslow Needler's crew.

  Ky was Needler.

  Lulah was Royden Relleck.

  But Neshua Turro—she had no idea who that was. A quick search in the Universal Bank displayed his latest transactions.

  He'd been to the same coffee shop and refueling station as Burk. Not only that, but his transactions only went back as far as a month ago—meaning the account was very rece
ntly created.

  Which meant that Neshua Turro was really an alias of Dalton Burk.

  Happy with herself and her bounty hunting instincts, she made a note of Burk’s fourth unknown alias on her hit list, until she remembered that she wasn’t actually allowed to hunt him.

  Groaning quietly, she returned to the bounty roster, scrolling lazily through the hundreds of profiles until she landed on seven hundred, the bounty Dissident had told her to bring in.

  Number seven hundred was a petty thief who apparently lived on D-882. Lyssa knew this because she could see the address of his rent payments. Not to mention his daily food and drink purchases—all at a restaurant two blocks from where he made his rent payment. He also spent a lot of money at a casino three blocks away.

  "Make it a little harder, why don’t you?" She sighed, slumping lower.

  Sparse applause brought her attention back to the room; it was her turn to present. She closed her pirate web application and shuffled up to the stage, mentally shifting from Razia the bounty hunter to Lyssa the DSE. She climbed the stairs, blinded by the bright lights of the stage.

  Her mini-computer automatically synced her presentation and it appeared on the big screen behind her. She picked up the slide advancer and looked out into the sea of blackness.

  "The fifth planet in the system X-5567..."

  ***

  Her brief presentation complete, Lyssa headed to the other end of the stage, walking through the door to the bidding room. Compared to the vast auditorium, this one was small and smelled odd. Lyssa sat down on the table in the middle of the room and waited.

  Slowly, the prospectors entered the room, looking nonplussed and annoyed. Lyssa was one of the last presenters of the day. Maybe there hadn’t been many planets worth buying today. If that was the case, she might actually do well.