Chapter Sixteen

"I thought you said were capable of just about anything," Sketch said with a smirk, leaning back in his captain's chair. "I figured you'd appreciate the complexity of the challenge."

"Challenge is one thing, Walker," the mechanical voice on the other end of the line said to him. "What you're talking is the kind of challenge that breaks the minds of weaker men."

"So, you're saying you can't do it?" Sketch said, knowing he was poking the bear.

"Hell no," Freknoff snorted. "I'm just saying I can't do it all at once. It's going to take a bit, alright? Don't think I can just snap my fingers and it's done. I'm good, but I'm not that good." He paused for a second then continued. "I suppose I might have been able to do that if you'd told me it was coming and I could've acted before the broadcast."

"I didn't know the broadcast was coming, Freknoff, which is why I'm contacting you. To make all this go away. If I knew it was coming, it would've been an entirely different kind of problem, now, wouldn't it? How long are we talking?"

"A few days? A week or two, tops? Of course, that's only going to affect anyone who goes back to look again. Some people are going to remember what they saw."

"You know how wanted boards work, Freknoff. People go back and look at them when they think they've seen somebody they know they couldn't have possibly, and when they look at the wanted board again, they realize they were just getting their hopes up and they didn't see who they thought they saw," Sketch told the specialist. "Plus, it's just one of the fifty faces in the lineup. I'm not asking you to scramble them all. Just changing one of them alone, I imagine it's going to be a lot less likely to be noticed, am I right?"

"You know that you are, Walker," the metallic voice said to him. "I can start the process as soon as we wrap here. Shouldn't take more than a couple of weeks at the very most, but I know how sticky my code is, and I expect it'll cover every area you might care about before the end of the week."

Freknoff might've been the only living person who knew Walker both before and after the cold thaw, because Freknoff was a transhumanist, and when his body had started growing old, he'd transplanted his entire mind into a Kettlebox, a piece of tech that the Starless Dominion had brought with them which allowed a consciousness to be digitized in a piece of machinery, much like the Ashakas could do, but with even more fidelity and endurance. That had all happened while Sketch was trapped in cryostasis, and when Sketch had started building his new life up, he'd been surprised to hear that one of the best hackers in the business was someone named Freknoff. Now Freknoff was Sketch's favorite ghost in the machine, someone he could occasionally reminisce about the old times with.

"Thanks, Max, I appreciate it," Sketch said. "I'll wire the credits to your account, as per agreed upon. And the other thing?"

A digital groan of frustration was a thing Sketch had never expected to hear when he was younger, but as an older man, he was starting to get used to it. "The other thing is a thing I can toss out into the ether, but I have no idea what sort of success or failure rate I'm going to be looking at. Especially since I can't do what I thought I could just do."

"Which was?"

"Just modify the existing code."

"Why can't you do that, Max?"

"'Cause there isn't any, Walker," Freknoff's voice said, a confused tinge to the metallic tone. "I know both you and I always assumed there was some sort of Order hunting code running the background of most security systems, but I can't find any. As far as I can tell, there's nothing out there running in terms of hunting down Calm members by their tattoos. Maybe there was at some point, and they just removed it, or maybe it only ran for long enough for them to think they got everybody, but, whatever the story, there isn't anything in there now, so I'll basically be starting from scratch. And I'll need to be careful in how I design it, because I wouldn't want someone to stumble across this code then use it to be able to track down, say, you."

"Yeah, well, let's not let them do that then, shall we? But if there are other Storms out there, I'd like to know about it, and I'd like to know who the hell that Storm is that's working with the Starless Dominion," Sketch said. "Anything on her?"

"Not immediately, no, but that's not surprising," the voice sighed. "You know what the Dominion's like. Information goes in, nothing but orders come out."

"Yeah, the black hole of all reason and sanity," he agreed. "I know all too well. See what you can find out, if anything, and if not, well, see if you can find out anything more about any other members of the Order who might still be out there."

"It's been decades, Sketch. I'm pretty sure you're all that's left of your once great Order."

"I used to think so as well, Max," Sketch said, his voice trailing off. "But then I saw that ink on that screen, and I realized... maybe I've just been hoping nobody else is left in the Order. So that I don't have to be worried for being judged on what I've been doing to survive."

"I'll look, Sketch. You know that I will. Better than anyone alive probably can. But if there's nothing to find..."

"Then I'll continue my life in my way, doing the best I can."

"Good luck to you, man."

The line cut dead, and afterwards Sketch saw that he had a long-relay message waiting for him in his inbox. He opened it up and Cola's face appeared on the screen. It was all prerecorded, so that they could respond to each other in dead drops. "Hey Sketch, just wanted to check in and see how my kid and her wife are doing for you, whether you have decided to keep them onboard or kick them off. I am obviously hoping for the former, but if it is the latter, so be it. I hoped that you would provide them with a bit of guidance and that they would liven up your journey a little, but if you find that it's not working out, then you can cut them loose. I know well enough to provide you with crew that are ill-fitting. Either way, let me know. Oh yeah, your BLT will be waiting for you at the rendezvous point."

The last sentence was designed as an authenticator. They had a handful of about two dozen they rotated between, just so nobody faked their message. Sketch paused a moment at her request, but he knew he'd made up his mind already - he was keeping Jez and Lara as crew. Jez didn't have a carabel addict's constant twitches, which meant she had the addiction mostly under control. Mostly. Lara would be the woman's rock, the foundation upon which she would continue her recovery.

Addiction never entirely went away, but it was something a person could keep in check. Working with an addict always came with a bit of looking over one's shoulder, but Sketch was also a firm believer in giving people second and third chances. Beyond that, however, there was only being a fool for optimism's sake.

"Anyway," Cola's transmission continued. "This fare I'm setting up for you... I want you to be on your toes with this one. Endy's... well, I don't know what to make of her. She's... there's something odd about her. But she needs to get from Omertagi to Breench, and she needs to make sure the Starless Dominion doesn't know she's travelling with you. I realize that you're generally much more of a 'cargo' smuggler than a 'person' smuggler, but she's paying incredibly well, and a gig's a gig. She'll be there five days after I send this, and an expected three days after your estimated arrival. Hang around, don't look suspicious, but don't pick up addition work, because while Endy's heading to Breench now, that destination may change. If it does, your fee'll change as well, don't worry. Keep the client happy and safe, but only secondary to you keeping yourself safe first and foremost."

Next to Cola's face, a semi-transparent window with text on it started scrolling.

"This is all the information I've got on her, which, admittedly, isn't much. And it might be a load of dingo's kidneys, because I'm going off what I was able to pick up easily, and from that, I can't see any reason she'd need to stay off of the Dominion's radar. But hey, they're paying us not to ask questions, and so that's baked into our fees. Make it work, and if you can't, just jettison the body in a way such that you don't get caught. Either way, stay safe and let me know if I need to send someone to pick up my daughter and her wife. Cola out."

Sketch waited a minute then glanced over his shoulder. "Helen, close the bridge door, would you please?"

"Of course, Captain."

"Where are Jez and Lara?"

"Both are down in the galley," his ship's beautifully voiced AI told him. "They're eating with the Princess and Aliara. The mechanic is in the engine room, and the mechanic's sister is in her room, scheduling appointments with potential clients."

"Lock the door the bridge and let me know if anyone's approaching it."

"Done."

"Now open up a message for me to send to Cola."

"Recording..."

"Hey Cola, Sketch here. Make sure you have a bottle of that Denzel Scotch waiting for me with the sandwich." That was his matching authentication code. "Anyway, your kid seems like she's somewhat cleaned up her act. She's temperamental and feisty and difficult to deal with, but for the most part she's got a good head on her shoulders. She's got her addiction in check, at least for the time being, but we both know that it's possible for that demon to spring up any time, any place. Her wife's a rock, though, and seems like she can help carry Jez across any battle lines if needs be. And they both... they both want to be here. I think they know it's a last chance for them with you, and they're willing to do what it takes to establish their place with me. If things change, I'll keep you posted, but I'll give them room to slip up and make amends when they do. I'm not going to hard cut them when they screw up unless it's a big one. And if it is, well... I'll figure it out. You've been good to me and put up with a lot of my weird shit, so I'll put up with a lot of theirs, as much as I can."

He glanced through the information about Endy Wachita and frowned a little bit. "I'm hoping this Endy knows the name of the ship, because you neglected to include an image of her, so I got no idea who the hell I'm looking for when we get there. But we'll wait and hang around, and I'll make sure she has a passphrase to ensure she's her, and we'll figure it out from there. Anyway, that's what we've got going on here. I'll let you know when we're on the other end of the gig."

Sketch rolled his finger in the air for Helen to end the message, and the recording clicked off, and the doors to the bridge unlocked once more. After that, he started doing his homework on Omertagi. It wasn't the kind of place where Sketch wanted to spend any more time than he had to, he could tell that much just in his initial glance. It was a refinery planet, where gas that was harvested from a nearby nebula was converted into a usable resource then shipped out for consumption all across the Dominion. That meant it was a production hub, which also meant that the Starless Dominion had a decent number of troops stationed on and around Omertagi. They were going to need to be somewhat on their toes and not let their guards down even for a second. Nobody was looking for them, and Sketch needed it to stay that way.

The closer they got to Omertagi, the more relaxed Sketch felt. The trip had gone off without so much as a bump, and their arrival was certainly culture shock. The place was gluttonous with ships, and the clag would provide ideal cover for them to blend into. It was the sort of place Sketch hadn't been able to come to before getting a new Ashaka, but now that he had one, he could wander around the urban centers safely without too much fear of things getting out of hand.

He took the time to let his eyes familiarize himself with all sorts of unknown species and types as they slowly headed towards their docking station. Omertagi was big enough that only small shuttles moved directly to and from the station. The giant freight haulers that were taking gas to and from the refineries went directly to the locations on planet, but Keswav Station was the place where everyone stopped along the way.

Sketch hadn't been able to observe ships of that magnitude (other than Dominion ships) in quite some time, and there was a sense of brutal majesty to them, despite their awkward shapes and angular exteriors. The engines at the back had some serious oomph behind them, and Sketch didn't even like thinking about the size of the crew on them, as he had to imagine the interiors of those ships were a constant battle to contain the grime and funk of all the crew. He also suspected one or two of those filthy crew members might be having appointments on his ship with his newest addition, Imogen, scheduling some clients while they were going to be waiting.

He'd made it clear to her how things were going to go for her to entertain clients - she would meet them at the shuttle bay, guide them to her quarters, take care of them then escort them back to the bay and send them on their way. She could keep them in her quarters as long as she wanted/needed, but under no circumstances were they allowed to go roaming the ship unaccompanied. Doing so could result in them being ejected from the ship, with or without their shuttle.

Sketch wandered out of the bridge and headed down towards the engine room, talking to Helen as he did. "How's the kid been doing with your systems, Helen?"

"Do you want me to couch expectations, Captain, or be honest with you?"

"Honesty, Helen. Always honesty."

She sighed almost happily. "He's been doing excellent work, Sketch. He's still been fixing and improving systems that haven't been touched in, well, since before we went into chill. There's a lot of things that need addressing first, and maybe he isn't quite doing his repairs in an optimal fashion, but he's doing them quickly, efficiently and effectively, and that's enough for me."

"Is he still in the engine room?"

"He is, although..."

Sketch tilted his head. "Although what, Helen?"

"He's poking around the weapons systems we haven't used since the dethaw, Captain. Did you tell him that he could?"

"No," Sketch sighed, "but I didn't tell him that he couldn't either. I'll go have a talk with him, see what he's up to."

Once he reached the engine room, he could tell that Loz had been learning the inside of The Praeteritus inside and out, with most of the safety covers off, the ship's innards exposed to the eyes. There were plenty of tools scattered about and a few parts had been removed, although it was clear he wasn't working on anything they currently had in use or was mission critical.

What impressed Sketch the most, however, was the fact that the young man had out a notebook and was scrawling notes down in it as he worked. He'd also torn a page out and ripped it up into small little pieces, affixing scraps of paper with a word or two written down on them to help him keep track of what systems did what.

Loz was so preoccupied with his work that he didn't even hear Sketch enter the room, too caught up in trying to figure out how one particular system functioned. In fact, Sketch had moved nearly right behind the kid and had to clear his throat before Loz made any notice of him, and that notice was to jump nearly three feet in the air.

"Saints alive, bossman!" Loz shouted. "You ain't doin' anybody any favors sneakin' up on dem like that! I'm trying to figure out how everything in here works and you're getting' the drop on me!"

"Not my intent, Loz," Sketch told him as he moved to lean against one of the room's walls. "Seems like you're getting to know her pretty well, huh?"

"Figure if I'm your guy, sir, I'd better know her inside and out, top to bottom. And while I know more about Tropage systems than most people alive, that's a pretty low bar to hit," Loz said, reaching up to wipe grime from his forehead. "You know, there's probably less than a thousand of these left in commission across all the known systems? It's a good thing two-thirds of their parts are built to universe standards. It's just the other bits and bobs we're going to have to worry about. Now, thankfully, I can smelt most of them, and I, uh, liberated a few Tropage parts before we left, just 'cause they're not gonna use'em and we are. But pretty much everywhere we go, if we got time, you may wanna let me go scouring through their junkyards, see if I can pick up additional parts."

"Sure, we're gonna be here a few days, so if you want to take a shuttle over to the shipyards and go dumpster diving, have at it," Sketch said. "I'll need to approve any real purchases you make, so don't go crazy with a bankroll that we haven't got, but you seem like a bright enough kid to know when you're spending out of bounds and when you aren't, so just adhere to reasonable spending limits and we should be good." He glanced over behind the kid to one of the open torpedo tubes. "See you're checking out the weapons systems. Don't generally have much need for'em, doing what we do, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to have them in good, working conditions."

"Can I ask why you've got the latrine's expulsion to deposit in one of the tubes, boss?"

Sketch chuckled softly. "Well, you look in there and you'll see it's not just shit and piss, but there's some lead and a couple of grenades wound in there as well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's what transport ships call a 'shitbomb.' Mostly designed to scare off raiders and looters. Fires shrapnel in a big enough radius covered in shit that even the best doc'll have a tough time making sure they got all your wounds cleaned out, and if they miss even one, that'll do you. Very low-tech way of discouraging bandits and raiders from attacking a pickup or drop off spot, but effective. Ship's got twelve torpedo tubes on her; figure having one with a loaded up shitbomb at the ready's a pretty good deterrent for anyone stupid enough to threaten me. 'Course, it'll do sweet fuckall outside of atmosphere, but different tools for different jobs."

"None of the turrets have ammo for them," Loz told him. "And I can't seem to find any on board. You want me to start making some, just in case?"

"You think you can make Tropage turret ammo?"

Loz offered a slight shrug and a smile. "It ain't that hard, bossman. You've got loads of empty casings. Just gotta get the rest and then get'em assembled. It'll be easy enough to do, and give me something to do as a break from studying all of this. 'Specially if you're gonna let me fire some rounds off, learn how to get a feel for the task."

"Never operated a turret before?"

"Can't say I have, bossman."

"Well, I suppose we can let you have a go at it, as long as you're making the ammo. It wouldn't hurt to shore up the ship's defensive capabilities, as long as you're not going to go all trigger happy on me, trying to pick fights when we don't need'em."

Loz waved one of his scrawny hands quickly, as if to put Sketch's fears at ease. "No need to worry with me, bossman. I'm gonna let you handle everything about everything regarding everything. I'm your mechanic, you're the bossman. I'll keep you flying if you keep us paid."

"Glad to see everyone knows their place on my boat," he replied. "How's your sister doing? Clients lined up?"

"Couple of folks planning on swinging by and getting some time in with her," Loz said. "Although she's still a bit... I dunno, annoyed, maybe? About you not wanting to sample her services, that is."

"I might do at some point, Loz, but I might not," Sketch chuckled. "I got plenty of dance partners on this ship, as you may have figured out."

The boy reddened a bit, looking down at his feet. "The doc said it was okay by you, bossman, but if it isn't--"

"Anybody on this boat who wants to sleep with you is entitled to it, Loz," Sketch said with an amused grin. "Just like anyone who doesn't want to doesn't have to. Serena and Aliara, for example... I wouldn't get your hopes up with those two. I think they're set in being paired up with me and me alone. That said, Jez and Lara are a pair of married women who can decide what is and isn't best for them, and I know you had a go at both of them. Long as they're willing, and nobody's rubbing it in anybody else's face, you should be fine with that being a recurring appointment. That said, don't expect it to be 'on demand,' any time you want. They've both expressed interest in me before, so we'll see how it all shakes down in the end, but I won't rub it in your face and you don't rub it in mine, fair?"

"More than."

"Great. Swell. We aren't too far off from Omertagi, so start putting together your shopping list of what you want to crawl through the junkyards looking for. Nothing too big without asking me first, but otherwise, Helen should be able to walk you through what the ship's in need of."

"Can... can I ask you one thing about her?"

Sketch looked at the kid curiously before crossing his arms over his chest. "Sure, go ahead."

"Tropage AI systems are typically meant to be reset every so often, just to prevent them from growing too attached to their crew, and to prevent them from developing synthetic emotions," Loz told him. "But I see Helen's gone a lot, lot longer than that without a reset. You have a reason for that?"

"There's too much Tropage culture, art and history that's floating around in Helen's databanks. Granted, almost none of that's supposed to be affected by a memory reset, but there aren't enough Tropage AI's around now for us to take that risk. So, we'll deal with the emotional onset if and when it happens, instead of her losing something forever."

Loz looked a little nervous, and Sketch could understand why. AI systems were complicated, especially those from alien races, and the recommendation was if you didn't know why a rule was in place, you should absolutely follow it. But it wasn't like Tropage were running around the galaxy and Sketch could just call one up willy nilly. He hadn't even seen once since he'd come out of deep thaw. There might be none left, which was a cold, hard truth that neither he nor Helen had tried to give much thought to, because it broke his heart a little bit, even entertaining the thought. "It's your world, bossman. Just want to make sure there's a method to the madness."

The older man nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "There is, Loz, and I appreciate you asking first rather than just poking your head in on that one. Me and Helen, we've been in the shit together and I'm not asking her to give all that up just because some outdated manual tells me they think it's a good idea. But if you see signs she's going through neural network degradation or diminished faculties, you come tell me and we'll take a look at her together, okay?"

"Can't ask for anything more square than that, bossman."

Sketch rapped his knuckles against the wall. "Keep up the good work then." He headed out of the engine room and started making his way towards the shuttle bay. Just outside it, he found Imogen pacing nervously, dressed in slinky, silken pants and a semi-sheer top with a black lacey bra underneath it. "Hey there, Imogen. You look nice. All gussied up for a client?"

She gave him a rather cold look then nodded as her eyes moved to hold his. "Head of station security's youngest son, Barintelden. He is supposed to arrive not long after our arrival, and I would appreciate you not sticking around to intimidate him. Clients come to me to feel comfortable, to be themselves, to relax and enjoy the affection of someone not judging them."

"Relax, I won't be around to muck up your introduction, Immy," Sketch said with a grin. "You have a good time and make sure he treats you right. And you know if anything goes sideways, you tell Helen and we'll have Aliara come down there and straighten your client out."

"I'm perfectly capable of handling my own business, Captain."

"An' I understand that Immy. I'm just saying that if a day comes when you aren't, there's no shame in asking for a hand, and Aliara will take care of that very quickly for you."

"Well, thank you, Captain," she said, tugging slightly on part of her wispy top. "And if you want to try my services--"

Sketch smiled a little bit. "I'm sure you're quite good at what you do, Immy, but me? I have plenty of partners on my dance card who want to be with me, so I don't have much need for one who doesn't."

"I didn't say--"

"Looks like your shuttle's here," Sketch said, gesturing to the viewscreen, showing a shuttle landing through the open hanger. "I'll leave you to it."

He could see the frustration in Immy's eyes when he left. She was used to men gawping over her all the time, and as beautiful as she was, he refused to play into it, and that was driving her mad, some weird combination of pride and annoyance at not being able to turn one specific man's head. It would probably come back and bite him in the ass later, but for the time being, he wasn't going to worry about it.

He headed around a few corners and ducked into a small room that was obscure without being completely hidden - his meditation suite. It was the perfect place for him to pass a little bit of time while waiting for Endy Wachita to show up.

He moved to kneel on the meditation pad, folded his arms behind his back and began to concentrate, although he was not allowed to be alone with his thoughts for long.

Your crew is in need of more discipline, Storm Walker.

'Oh, pipe down, Fury Rose. When I'm in need of your opinion, I'll ask for it.'

You are in need of it now, even if you do not realize it.

'Things are fine. I've got most of a crew that's capable, I can blend in among the crowds again, and I'm completely off the Starless Dominion's radar. Hell, that's better than fine. That's pretty damn good, you ask me.'

And what of our Order?

Sketched sighed a moment. 'You expect me to just start it up again, all by myself? That's certain to draw the attention of the Dominion.'

You are capable of doing so without being blatant about it. Start with a single student. Or two.

'I'll take that under advisement, Fury Rose.'

Besides, you are not the only one from our Order left alive.

'Know that for sure, do you?'

I can sense over half a dozen members of the Order, scattered out among the ships gathered here. I could not identify or contact them, but they do exist, Storm Walker. You are not alone.

'There's over forty thousand ships out there, Fury Rose. Short of going door-to-door, I'm not sure how you expect me to make contact with them.'

A way will present itself to you, Storm Walker. Just be certain you take it when it is presented to you.

Sketch tried to push Rose to the back of his thoughts to let his mind clear, but just as soon as he'd finally reached a nice, comfortable place of clear mind, Helen's voice disrupted him. "Sorry to bother you, Captain, but our passenger is being dropped off now. Her shuttle pilot is unloading her things right now and will be departing momentarily."

"On my way, Helen."

Sketch stood back up and headed out of the room, starting to make his way down to the shuttle bay. "She wasn't due to be here for another five days."

"Message she sent about twenty minutes ago said she's arriving early, but that we have to wait the full five days for the rest of her cargo."

"I thought we were hauling a person only, not cargo."

"The message Miss Wachita sent said it wouldn't be large, but that it was essential."

"As long as this fare knows we're not leaving early. I promised Immy time to practice her trade. Where's this Wachita now?"

"She's in the hallway outside of the bay now, captain, so the shuttle can depart."

"Gotcha."

As he approached the figure surrounded by a sea of boxes, he wondered if anyone had told this Endy Wachita that they'd only been contracted to haul her, not every single one of her possessions. He couldn't see her too clearly, but she was taller than he was, and mostly covered in bundled up cloth, cloaks and wraps covering her nearly from head to toe, a small slit of pale flesh exposed around her human eyes.

"Howdy! You must be Endy Wachita. Welcome to The Praeteritus. I'm your capt--"

"Miles?" a familiar voice said before the woman charged at him full force.

Sketch wasn't sure what to do and so he froze, but thankfully, that seemed to be the correct option, as the woman moved over and wrapped her arms around him in a feverish hug, clinging to him with enough force to wind him slightly. "Have... have we met?"

A familiar laugh rolled into the air as Endy reached up and pulled the scarf from around her head up and off, exposing her face to him, letting him see her without camouflage. "Miles, it's me!"

Staring back at him was an impossible thing - someone else who hadn't aged enough for all the time that had passed. She was a few years older than when he'd last seen her, but not enough, not nearly enough, certainly not the decades upon decades she should have aged. But in that moment, he was relieved more than anything, because it turned out Fury Rose was right - he was not alone in the Order anymore.

"Charlotte Whitehall, you should be old and gray, not still young, blonde and beautiful," he said with a laugh, pulling back from her. "Let me get a look at you! Shouldn't you be pushing a hundred these days? Oh, and you'd better give me the passphrase, so I know you're who I'm supposed to be waiting for."

"Lots and lots of cryosleep, Miles," she said with a laugh. "And the passphrase is 'Birth of Cool.' Anyway, all the time in the freezer came with the territory."

"What territory would that be?" he said, pleased to hear the correct passphrase. The mission was already feeling a lot lighter. "Last time I saw you, you were getting close to take the Storm trials and finally shed that Spark status you'd been dragging around for so long."

Charlotte Whitehall was over six foot tall and looked like some kind of Nordic Viking angel, minus the winged horse. She was muscular and strong, but also ridiculously beautiful. Her long blonde hair was done up into a tight bun, and her sharp nose was still as striking as ever. She was also the last person he'd slept with before his mission had gone sideways and had resulted in him getting trapped in overly long cryosleep. He was still as attracted to her as ever, and by the way she was refusing to move more than inches away from him, he was pretty sure she still felt the same way. "Made Storm, and then some," she said proudly. "You didn't die in that mission with the Tropage? When Cola said she had a smuggler working out of a Tropage ship, I didn't dream you'd still be alive, much less her captain. I think I've had about four years out of cryosleep since I saw you last. Lots of long hauls here and there, constantly being woken up two years into a ten-year voyage, just to let my body recoup and recover for a few days before back into the freezer. What about you? How much realtime's passed for you since we saw each other last?"

"I've been out of deep freeze about seven years now, but before that, just one long freezer burn."

"The whole time?" she said, her eyes widening as she leaned back. "That shouldn't be possible. Should it?"

"Turns out the Tropage were pretty good at a lot of things," Sketch told her. "Why were you in the cold for so long, Charlotte?"

She looked at the boxes around her with a slight smile. "I'm almost wondering if the ancestors didn't conspire to bring us back together, Miles. I was sent quite a long ways out for training, to tend to our branch of the galaxy's Order."

Sketch's face scrunched up a little. "I've never heard of such a thing. So, are you a Storm now?"

Charlotte's face reddened slightly as she nodded. "I am, but I bear a different title now, a more... unique one."

"What's that?"

The smile on her face widened as she held him close. "Miles, I'm the Weaponeer."

That, Sketch realized, changed everything.