A bug scuttled across the toe of his boot, and he kicked it across the cell. It smacked against the far wall and fell between two of his fellow cell mates. Neither of them moved as the bug scuttled up the wall and vanished into a crevice.

He sighed and glanced around. The only movement in the cell was the girl in the far corner. She was watching him, the whites of her eyes bright in the surrounding world of grayscale. But the white of her eyes was all that was left of those eyes; her soul had been exorcised by years in this filthy cell. Years of being imprisoned with the unwashed masses.

Down the barred hallway a door slammed open. No one moved. It was only another warden, either leading another wasted soul or removing one of the souls fortunate enough to die where they sat.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, two strong, resounding sets. Most prisoners shuffled their feet with the realization that this place would be the rest of their now meaningful lives. But these footsteps contained something that he had not even considered in longer than he could remember. Hope.

She appeared, shackled on her wrists and being led by a burly warden. They stopped before his cell, and for the first time in a long time people were curious enough to look up. She stepped in, her head held high. Once inside the cell, the shackles were removed.

The woman turned to face him as he slammed the door. His green teeth showed as he grinned menacingly at her and growled, “You’re not so big and bad in there, are you, missy?”

Light amethyst eyes glittered behind a curtain of raven hair as she replied in a strong, unbroken voice, “Darling, I’m going to rip your heart out with my bare hands.”

“Try it, sweetheart.”

She did not reply as he turned away. But after he was outside of hearing distance, the girl whispered, “I promise.”

For a long moment, she did not move, with the exception of those amethyst eyes. They took in everything from the filthy floors to the grimy bars to the flea invested ceiling. Finally, she looked away and focused on him.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice was softer with him. It still had the edge from before, but with a more feminine tone. It was only then that he realized that he was staring at her. At the same time, everyone else in the cell was staring at her. But she was not looking at them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. In is mind he blamed it on to little conversation. But deep down he knew it was it was her eyes.

She smiled at him, and it lit up her face. The gloom was chased away by the brilliance of her happiness. He had not seen a real, true smile since he was a child. “I’m Delia, what’s your name?”

Once more he opened his mouth to speak. “Hello,” he choked out, his voice cracking.

“What’s your name?” she asked again, turning to face him full on. She wore black boots up to her knees over gray trousers that hugged her hips and rolled over her thighs. Her cream colored belt obviously held guns of some sort, at some point. Her jacket matched the pants and fell just below the belt line. Full on, she was breathtaking. Deep amethyst eyes were set beneath dynamic eyebrows. Her nose was narrow, but angled oddly, as if it had been broken once before. Her lips were full and pink and wet, perfectly formed in moonlight colored skin. Raven hair fell straight down her back and across ramrod straight shoulders. She carried herself like a solider before he was broken by the prison guards.

“I don’t know,” he replied after a moment. His Basic was still heavily accented, he did not use it often. He rarely spoke as it was. She seemed puzzled for a moment, and she blinked. He would have done anything to keep her gaze from leaving him. “I don’t remember my name, Delia,” he continued, trying out her name. It rolled off his tongue like velvet. “I’ve been here almost my whole life.”

“I see,” Delia replied. She fell silent. “How often do they run checks?”

He thought for a long moment before forming the words carefully. “Only at meal times. Twice a day.” She nodded, but did not reply. He wanted to keep her talking to him; he wanted to keep those amethyst eyes close to him. “But every four meals they take us…” He trailed off, unable to find the word. “Um, voula.”

“Voula?” She asked, arching pencil thin eyebrows. He gestured to the ceiling, and his eyes darted up.

“Up top? Into the sunlight?” Delia questioned, piercing his eyes with hers. He nodded. “When was the last time you went?”

“Two meals ago,” he replied.

She nodded, her eyes darting around. “That only gives me twelve hours,” she continued softly to herself. “Plenty of time.”

Sunlight streamed down across the garden, creating the illusion of freedom in the eyes of the prisoners. Those that were healthy enough to move were herded up to the top level to do field work in the garden. Those that were not strong enough to work in the hot sun all day were transported to more small rooms to sort through the dead and remove clothing from the corpses.

Delia was bent at the waist, pushing her shovel down in the dirt to aerate it as directed. The boy kneeled about ten feet from her, his spade in his hand. He watched her from a distance, as she mopped her brow with her sleeve. Even in the blazing sun, she wore that gray jacket over her white shirt, and the cream belt with the missing guns was still in place. She glanced over at him, and winked.

Within moments, she dropped her shovel and made her way towards him. She did not pause to talk but continued past him to the water barrel just behind him. She pulled the cup up from the bottom and took a long drink of the warm water. Beyond her, the boy saw the guard that had walked her into the cell. His evil grin spread across his face as his gaze traveled up her gray trousers. Delia set the cup back into the barrel and turned around to head back to her spot. She winked at the boy again.

On her way back to her shovel she bent down to him and brushed her hand along his cheek. “When the sparks begin to fly, run. Don’t think about what’s happening, just run,” she whispered. His eyes filled with concern, but she smiled. “Promise me,” she finished.

“I swear,” he whispered, captivated by her eyes.

She nodded, and rose to her feet. Halfway back to her shovel the guard intercepted her. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? You’re not so scary without your weapons, are you?” he asked. For the first time, the boy wondered what she had done to the guards before she had been captured.

Delia glared up at him, sparks flying in those memorizing eyes. “I promised…” she whispered, ramming her hand up into his nose. The guard stumbled backward, clutching his face as Delia ducked past him and grabbed her shovel. He spun toward her just as the shovel arched through the air and connected with his chest. Blood spurted, and the guard fell.

With a smirk, Delia leaned down and shoved her hand into the gaping wound. Just as she tossed his heart aside, another guard showed up. The boy jumped up and ran at the guard, welding his spade. He leapt over Delia and ran the spade into his heart. Two men approached them, at a run. They were not the same build as the rest of the guards; they were dressed much like Delia. One was dark haired, like Delia, and the other was red-haired. As they came closer he saw that their hair color was the only difference. The two were obviously brothers, with the same piercing cobalt eyes.

“Delia!” the dark one shouted, running for her. “Watch out!” He raised his gun to the boy.

“No!” Delia screamed, raising her hands to ward him off. “Bryn! Stop!” The man pulled his gun up and withdrew his fire. She reached over and pulled the boy from the ground. “We have to go, now,” she exclaimed, pulling him behind. “Where’s Carmen?”

The redhead grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the fences. “On her way,” he said, flinging her behind him. The dark haired man grabbed the boy and pushed him against the wall.

“Hey!” he shouted, flinching, and tried to move around him.

“Don’t move, kid,” the dark man hissed, shoving him back. The boy ducked his head in time to see a land speeder rushing toward the fences. With an explosion, the fences crumbled, allowing the speeder to enter the field. It skid to a stop before the four of them, the woman behind the wheel smiling brilliantly. The man holding the boy tossed him into the back seat while Delia vaulted into the front seat. The two men landed softly on either side of him, and they accelerated out of the yard.

“Carma!” Delia exclaimed, laughter bubbling up like water. “Good to see you.”

The girl driving laughed over her shoulder, and flicked her gaze to Delia. “When are you going to stop getting arrested?” she asked.

Amethyst eyes twinkled as she turned to face the men in the back. The dark haired man spoke up. “She’ll be seventy by the time she’s done with the law, Carma.”

“Nah! I’ll be long dead by then!” Delia laughed.

Carmen’s eyes flickered to the man behind her. They were deep emerald, rimmed in gold. The pupils were not the usual black, but the divine deep scarlet of Alizarine ink. The light captured in her eyes reflected back tenfold. “Don’t look so lost, kid,” she replied. “It’ll all be okay in the end.”

“The end,” the dark haired man said. “It’s never the-”

Gunfire interrupted his statement, and the boy ducked his head. “Damn it!” the red head exclaimed. “Why can’t they just roll over and play dead?”

“Flynt!” Delia shouted. “Stop asking stupid questions and shoot them!” He swiveled in his seat and pulled a gun from its holster. “Bryn, do you have a spare?”

The dark haired man reached to his feet and pulled two guns, handing them to her by the barrels. “Try not to lose these for a few hours, De.”

“You got my guns back!” Delia exclaimed, happiness lighting up her face. The brilliance of her eyes blazed bright, and her voice went up two octaves. “Oh, thank you!”

“Thank Sage when we see her,” Carmen replied. “But until then, do you think you can cover me?”

Delia swiveled in her seat as well and straddled the chair, both hands outstretched. “Kid,” Carmen yelled over her shoulder, “Duck.” He bent at the waist and placed his head between his knees. She giggled in Delia’s direction. “He listens so well.”

She did not reply. The boy looked up at her, and was shocked by the look of concentration on his face. Long black hair flew out before her face, and the guns in her hand blazed like fire. Amethyst eyes flickered like steel, and her lips were set in a deep line. Bryn leaned in as Carmen cut a corner and the passengers fell against the side of the speeder.

Bryn and Flynt were shouting orders to each other while Delia fired over their heads. “Carma,” she shouted. “I hate to nag, but is there any chance of getting to the ship before they blow us up?” A bullet whizzed past her shoulder and shattered the windshield. Carmen screamed, startled by the proximity of the gunfire. “Keep it together, Orinda!” Delia shouted.

“Bite me, Rickard!” Carmen shouted in return. From where the boy sat, he saw Bryn intentionally kick Carmen’s seat. “Ow! Watch it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bryn shouted over his shoulder at her. “Where’d you park the ship, anyway?”

Just as he spoke, Carmen turned another corner and above them loomed a monstrosity of a ship. It shone of brushed silver, with a large dome on top, half of which was heavy space glass, the other half of which was steel plating. An escape hatch was lowered and waiting like a ramp. Without stopping, Carmen flew straight at it, and Delia leapt from the moving speeder. The boy sat straight up as Delia hit the floor running. She slammed into the wall and the ramp rose as the young woman out of the speeder shouted, “Now, Sage! NOW!”

The whole ship lurched, and the boy felt his stomach jump to his throat as the ground fell out from beneath them. Carmen pulled the speeder to a stop, and shut it down. “I need back up,” said a voice over an intercom. She sounded harried, but not panicked, in fact she seemed calm.

Bryn and Flynt leaped from the speeder and jogged out the door while Carmen helped the boy out of the speeder. Delia turned and followed the men down the hall, her guns back in their holsters.

“Who are you people?” he asked Carmen, uncertainty clouding his voice.

She laughed, tossing curly brown hair over her shoulder, and those emerald eyes sparkled at him. “Just wait. You haven’t seen anything yet!”

Explosions rocked the ship, and Carmen’s response was cut short by a pleased squeal. “Carma,” Delia shouted over the intercom. “We need a hand!”

“Follow me, kid,” Carmen said smartly as she marched out the door. The two of them made their way up to the cockpit, through long metallic corridors lined with compartments.

“Is this a freighter?” the boy asked.

“Yeah, the Máel Dúin,” Carmen replied. “Bryn bought it at an auction.” They finally reached a closed door, and with a quick push of a button, it slid open revealing the bridge. Delia sat in the co-pilot’s seat, beside a young woman wearing a black bodysuit, trimmed in electric blue. The trim matched the hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail. “What’s up, Delia?” Carmen asked, stepping in.

The young woman turned to face them momentarily, and motioned Carmen through a door. “I need a rear gunner,” she called. “Kid, have a seat back there, and strap in.”

Just beyond her was the space glass shield, and through it was the world he’d only seen through the maximum security fence of the prison. Now it was speeding away beneath him as he stared at it through a space glass window. Trees fell away, and the ground raced by. He could not make out anything but the blur of the planet. From below them appeared another ship, smaller, but designed for firepower.

Shots appeared from the far right side, and the ship below them took two and veered off course. Within seconds the ship slammed into the ground, exploding on impact. “Sage,” Delia said, turning in her seat. “We need to get out of here! When can you break the atmosphere?”

“Soon,” she said, turning to glance behind her. He was astonished to find that her pupils were the same electric blue as her hair, while her irises were pitch black. “Whoever you are, you need to strap in.”

Delia turned to face him, flinging raven hair over her shoulder. “Kid, would you sit down?” she exclaimed, pushing him toward the seat. He stumbled over his own feet, and slid into the chair. A hatch slid open beside him, and Flynt appeared. “Hey,” Delia said, looking over her shoulder. “Hold on,” she called as Sage reached up and toggled two switches.

An extra push shoved the boy back against the wall, and Flynt reached out to grasp a bar hanging down from the ceiling. “Got it, De, let’s go.”

Bryn’s voice blasted over the intercom. “Any time now, Sage! I’ve got five on my tail!”

Carmen’s voice joined his, as she said, “Sage! I’m out of ammo! Let’s GO!”

The glass shield filled with a white light as the ship pointed up toward space. “Oh my god,” the boy muttered under his breath. Delia closed her eyes against the force that pushed her against the seat, and Flynt strained as he held himself up. The boy’s stomach dropped to his feet, and he let loose a scream that filled the cockpit before the weightlessness claimed him.

Flynt stopped straining as he drifted off the ground, but held on. Delia turned in her seat but did not unbuckle. “Stay seated, kid,” she said. “Wait for the gravity generators to kick in.”

A few more buttons got pushed, and a few beeps sounded. Sage growled at the console and kicked it. “We need a mechanic, Delia. Bryn’s good, but he’s not great.”

“I heard that, Gitana,” Bryn said over the intercom. A moment later the floating feeling stopped, and Flynt’s feet hit the ground. The only thing keeping him from hitting the ground was that hand on the brace. Another panel slid open and Bryn stepped out. “Set the course, Sage. We need a team meeting.” A stabbing gaze drifted to the boy. “We seem to have picked up some baggage.”

The two women in the pilot’s seats unbuckled their restraints and rose as the main door slid open and Carmen walked in. Flynt rolled his eyes to Delia, who was staring at the boy. “He saved my life,” she whispered. “I couldn’t leave him there.”

“This is what I’m always saying, De. You can’t adopt lost puppies!” Bryn growled, glaring at her.

“He saved my life, Bryn!”

“I would have saved your life, Ardelia!” Bryn screamed, slamming his hand against the nearest wall. Sparks flew.

With an exasperated sigh, Flynt shoved Bryn away from the wall. “Man, you need to stop punching things when you get mad,” he said angrily.

Light eyes flashed silver at the redhead from beneath his dark fringe. “Back off,” Bryn growled, pulling his arm back as he prepared to slug Flynt.

“Boys!” Carmen yelled, jumping between them. “Get a grip! We’re in the cockpit here! If you’re going to beat the hell out of each other take it into another room.” Bryn backed up, his hands in the air. “We seriously need to talk,” she continued, glancing at Delia, then to the kid.

He hung his head down as he unbuckled his belt. “What do you want me to do?” he asked softly. Delia came over to him and tousled his hair.

“Down the hall and to the left is a game room. Feel free to lounge out a bit, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Delia replied. He rose to his feet and nodded. She rubbed a hand down his arm, and offered a little smile. He bowed his head and left the room. As soon as the door slid shut, she spun on the team of people waiting to argue with her. “Say it.”

“Say what?” Carmen asked, moving to sit in the seat that the boy had vacated. “That maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t have brought some kid we know nothing about off planet with us? Does that sound right?”

Amethyst eyes flashed in her direction, and the raven vixen practically spat venom. “This coming from my empath!” Delia argued.

Carmen shook her head, closing her eyes against the anger that radiated from Delia. Her hand clapped over her mouth, and emerald eyes fluttered open. “Damn it, Bryn! Stop projecting!” she shouted. Bryn backed up, out of her reach, crossed his arms and glared.

No one moved for a long moment, until Sage strolled across the small room. Just past Bryn she stopped to inspect the broken panel. “Listen, Bryn,” Delia said softly, her eyes sparkling with sadness. “I’m sorry that I didn’t consult you about this, but it was a snap decision. He’s never been anywhere but prison. He would have died!”

“That’s not our business!” Bryn shouted. Delia flinched, backing up. Flynt moved forward, between them. The other man rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to touch her,” Bryn snapped, glaring at the redhead. Flynt folded his arms across his chest, but did not move from between them. Delia reached out and placed a calming hand on Flynt’s arm as she stepped around him.

Raven hair fell over her shoulder as she found herself staring into those deep blue eyes. “It’s my business,” she replied, glaring up from under heavy bangs. “I was sent to that boy.”

A groan escaped Bryn’s lip, and he rolled his eyes at her. “You always think that there is some divine intervention leading you to these people,” he said, leaning on the wall. “But it’s not. You just… collect them!”

“You don’t have to be here, Bryn!” Delia replied, motioning around them.

“It’s my ship, De,” he retorted angrily. “I leave, and you’re just floating around in space.”

All the members on the team held their breath as the two of them regarded each other. Bryn was bigger, louder, and older than her, but Delia was softer, calmer and he had a soft spot for her. “Fine,” Delia whispered, “Leave me and the kid at the next planet. I’ll find someone else to take me around the galaxy.”

The door slid open and the kid stepped back in. “No,” he said. “Leave me. Really, Delia, this has gone too far.” Everyone turned to stare at him in question. “You left the intercom on.”

Stars drifted by outside the small space glass window of the game room that they occupied. Bryn and Flynt were drinking whiskey while Sage and Carmen munched on popcorn. Delia sat beside the kid, watching him as he gathered himself together. He was bent over, staring at his hands as they shook. No one moved when he began to speak.

“I have been in that cell since before I was born. My mother died when I was five, and they didn’t know what else to do with me. So I stayed there. I haven’t known anything but that cell for twenty-one years, until today,” he said. “When I woke up this morning, I never would have thought that I would be in space. I mean, this is amazing.” Delia smiled at him, her amethyst eyes twinkling. “But,” he continued, reaching up to brush fine hair from his face. For the first time, Delia noticed that he had light green eyes, the color of the sea on a windy day. “But I’m not willing to let you jeopardize your friendships and your… team for me,” he finished.

“What do you suggest we do, kid?” Flynt asked, cobalt blue eyes flashing angrily.

“Drop me at the next port, sir,” he said, turning to him.

Bryn scowled at him, and then turned to Delia. “I’m not buying this innocent routine, De,” he growled.

“What routine, Bryn? The kid’s been in prison his whole life,” she snapped, rising to her feet. She turned away from him, flinging raven hair as she stomped across the room. The boy watched quietly as she spun back to glare. “I’m sick of this. It’s over, we’re keeping him.”

“I’m not a lost puppy, Delia,” the boy replied. “You don’t have to keep me. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Nonsense,” Carmen said, finally speaking up. “You’ll die on your own.”

“I will not,” he argued.

“Believe me,” she said, emerald eyes turning to Bryn. “He will. Do you want that on your head, Bryn? The death of a kid?”

Delia glanced around at them all, and then turned to the kid. He looked surprised, but not scared. “I’ll be fine, Carmen,” he said, and his voice only wavering when he spoke her name.

“No,” Delia said, coming back over to him. “You won’t. You’ll stay with us.” He opened his mouth to argue, but no sound came out. “Kid, don’t even try it. We won’t have your blood on our hands. Not even Bryn,” she glanced to him. “Cold-hearted as he might be.”

Silence fell over the room as they all looked at him. He tossed his black hair from his eyes and turned away before the kid could see his reaction to the statement. Flynt rose to his feet and moved toward the other man. Before he reached him he turned back to Delia and said, “Get him a bunk in that last room. And feed him. Cut his hair too. He seems to need a shower.”

“And give the boy a name,” Bryn said, turning back. “I’m not going to call him “kid” forever, De.”

The two of men left the room through one of the exits, leaving the three women with the boy. Carmen rose to her feet and moved to the bar on the far side of the room. “Want a drink, De?” she asked.

“Rum on the rocks,” the girl replied, sitting back down and propping her legs up on the arm of her chair. “Those boys can just tear me to shreds inside,” Delia continued, pushing her hair over her shoulder. Sage curled up on the sofa and picked up a Reader. Carmen dropped a glass in Delia’s hand, and sat beside Sage.

Carmen pulled her curly brown hair back from her face and secured it with a band before kicking her feet up on a stool. “What are we going to name the kid?” she asked, winking at him.

“Something fun,” Sage replied.

“Fun?” Delia laughed, rolling her eyes. “What do you mean by fun?”

“I don’t know, De,” she said softly, “Maybe something from a story of sorts.”

“A story?” Carmen asked, glanced toward Delia. Already she saw the gears in her head turning. “You just opened a Pandora’s Box, Sage.”

Before anyone could say anything, Delia was sitting up and staring at the boy. “Crispin,” she said softly. All three turned to look at her. “Is Cris all right with you?” she asked. At first he did not move, did not speak, did not breathe. “Boy, did you hear me?”

“Crispin,” he said softly, under his breath. Twenty-one years alone in a cell could not prepare him for the shock of hearing a name uttered from the lips of a beautiful woman. A name uttered just for him. “It’s good,” he whispered. “Cris is good.”

Delia nodded, a smile brightening her face. “Cris, good. We should probably get you into the bathing chambers then, and then to bed.” Sage and Carmen nodded. “Carma, can you see if you can find any of the boys clothing that doesn’t fit them anymore. There should be something in storage.”

“Sure,” Carmen said, rising to her feet. “Should I tell them that I’m stealing their clothes?” Delia flashed her a look, and she smiled in return. “Didn’t think so.” With that, Carmen vanished out the same exit as the men before her.

With one last sip of her rum, Delia turned away from Sage and motioned Cris to follow her. He rose to his feet as well, and trailed behind her, his eyes drifting over the panels along the corridor. “How long have you been doing this, Delia? Traveling the galaxy, collecting… lost puppies.”

“Two years,” she replied softly, turning a corner. He followed her, silently. “We’ve been fighting on our own for thirteen years before that.”

“Our own?” Cris asked, his voice no more than a whisper. “You and who else?”

“Bryn and Flynt,” she replied. “We’ve been together my whole life. They saved me.”

“They mean a lot to you, then,” he asked, stopping short. Delia pressed a panel and a door slid up, revealing a bathing chamber large enough to fit all the people in Cris’ cell. She nodded, turning back to face him. “You must really love them,” he said.

“Well,” she replied, a giggle in her throat, “They are my brothers, after all.” Cris started to laugh, a deep throaty laugh that he himself had never heard. Delia’s giggle joined him, a silvery bubble of joy and happiness that spilled over him. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” she finished.

He nodded, a grin in place. “Yeah, course I did,” he said.

“Right,” Delia retorted, still smiling. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll be down the hall, second door on the right when you get out. There’s a robe in the third locker, feel free to use it.” Cris nodded as the door slid shut between them.

She lay on the bed, arms behind her head, staring up at the fluorescent lights and reminding herself to breathe. Only now did she give herself a chance to exhale after the events of the last two days. Carmen was not wrong about what she’d said; a lot of her life was spent breaking out of prisons. In fact, it seemed that she’d spent most of her life being imprisoned or fighting against it. But until now she’d never met someone that she’d wanted to save more than herself.

The moment she had met Cris she had felt this absolute need to help him, something that overwhelmed her desire to get along with her brothers. She knew, even when she pulled Cris to his feet, that it would start a battle on their ship. Bryn and Flynt believed that she was just a bleeding heart, out to “collect lost puppies”. But she simply knew that there was something else out there, leading her to these people. There was a reason that she was led to that prison cell, she just had not known his name before she’d met him.

The chime sounded, signaling her that someone wanted in. She called the entry password and the portal slid open revealing Carmen. She stood in the doorway a moment before entering, a stack of clothes piled in her hands. “These are all I could find, I don’t really know how they’ll fit him,” Carmen said, smiling. Delia swung her legs off the bed and stretched. “You did good, De,” she continued, dropping the clothes on the table. “He’s really cute.”

“Is he?” Delia asked, glancing to her. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, fodder,” Carmen giggled, turning away from her. “You noticed the moment you saw… him,” she trailed off. Delia turned around and found Cris standing in the door. He was wearing her bathrobe, his long, shaggy black hair in his eyes. “Oh, hey,” Carmen said, surprised. “I’m, uh, going to go… clean something.”

She turned and walked out, closing the portal behind her. Cris turned away from Delia and watched the door slide shut. “Carma doesn’t… clean,” she said with a giggle. “These are what she found,” she continued, motioning to the clothes. “I’m not sure if they’re going to fit, but feel free to try them.”

“Here?” he asked, motioning to her room.

“I’ll turn around,” Delia replied. “But I would like to see if they fit before you leave. And I need to cut your hair.” Cris nodded, and riffled through the clothes. Delia turned away and started going through her barber tools. Behind her she could hear Cris dressing, and the robe hit the floor. She started giggling as he hopped around, probably trying to get his pants on.

Some shuffling and one or two grunts later he spoke, “Okay, I’m done.”

She turned and looked at him. The gray trousers were Bryn’s from when he served in the army, while the yellow undershirt and the forest green tunic were Flynt’s. Neither fit him well, but the color suited him, bringing out the green of his eyes. The shaggy black hair fell in his eyes as he turned his face to the ground, and tugged on the tunic. “It will do for now, but when we stop at the next port, we’ll get you something that fits,” she said, coming over. He nodded. “Kid,” she whispered, “Relax, you’re safe.”

“Sorry,” he replied softly. “I’m just…”

“I know,” she said, tousling his hair. “Have a seat.” She offered him a chair, and set down her kit on the table. “Just close your eyes and relax.”

The sound of the electric razor buzzed in his ears as he closed his eyes. Delia’s hands were strong on the back of his neck, kneading the tension out from the deepest part of his soul. He felt himself nodding off and lost himself in the tune she hummed. The electric razor clicked off, and he jerked himself awake. “Sorry,” he whispered, smacking his gums.

“Stop apologizing, Cris,” Delia replied, a laugh on her lips. She came around and bent down to look at him. With a fluff at his hair she nodded. “You look great,” she finished, helping him up and gesturing to the mirror.

He moved across the room and peered at his reflection. It was literally his first time seeing himself since he was five years old. He was astonished at the man that stared back at him. Dark hair was shorn short and close to his head, a tuft of hair created a cowlick effect. He had light green eyes that seemed dull, but with a strange twinkle he could not place. The forest green of the tunic brought out that green, and made it sparkle. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was a bit sallow and yellow, but the bridge of his nose was sun-kissed, and his eyes were heavily lidded with exhaustion.

“I didn’t know that I was so tired,” he said, leaning closer to his reflection.

“None of us really know, kid,” she said, appearing behind him. “Get some sleep.”

He looked around, his eyes taking in the whole room. “Isn’t this your room?” he asked, turning back to her.

“No,” she replied. “I sleep down the hall. Two doors down, on the left if you need me. Try to sleep, Cris.” He nodded. “Wake you when we get to port.”

The metal door leading into the game room slid open, and Cris stepped in, looking around. Delia was leaned against the countertop on the far side of the room, with her back to him. She wore a white shirt that fell down to her mid thigh, and her long black hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail. She was barefooted, with long, sculpted legs and a lean shadow within the white oxford.

She turned and found him standing in the doorway, staring. With a smile she winked at him, and moved toward a chair. “Welcome back to the world of the living, sleepyhead,” she said. “You’ve been asleep for almost two days.” She plopped herself down in the chair and took a sip of her beverage.

“What are you wearing?” Cris asked, still standing at the door. His eyes were wide as he watched her.

“My nightshirt,” she replied with a giggle. “What else would I be wearing at two in the morning?”

“Two in the morning,” he asked, coming toward her. He sat on a chair beside her and put his head in his hands. “I can’t believe I slept for two days.”

She laughed again, and curled into a ball, bringing her knees up to her chest, and grabbing a blanket to cover herself. “We’re heading toward the far side of the galaxy. Once we’re there we’ll find a port and grab you some clothes.”

He watched her for a long moment, her cheekbones were accentuated by a rosy flush and her amethyst eyes danced over the rim of her glass. “Don’t you sleep?” he whispered.

Her eyes stopped dancing as she took another sip. “Nightmares,” she whispered in return. He rose to his feet and moved toward the beverage bar to fix himself a glass of water. “You can’t kill people and not suffer them,” she finished softly.

“Do you kill a lot of people, De?”

“Only the ones that would kill me first,” she replied, staring down at her glass. The door slid open, revealing Carmen, wearing a floor length nightgown. Her brown curls were fastened in curlers, and she carried a pillow. “Hey, Carma,” Delia said with a softer voice than normal.

Carmen plopped down on the sofa beside her, and propped her pillow up behind her head. “Hi kids, how’s it going?” she asked, a half smile in place.

“The usual,” Delia replied. “And Cris just woke up.” She kicked her feet up and took another sip of her drink. “What brings you?”

“I got the name,” she said with a whisper. Delia’s eyes darted to Carmen’s face, and she saw the fear and pain that came with the visions that provided the names of those she searched for. No one knew what happened in her dreams, she never spoke of them, but they all knew the hollow, broken look in her eyes that she suffered.

Long black hair glinted with blue as Delia rose to her feet and strode across the room to the computer port at the far side. “What is it?” she asked, her tone all business.

She spoke, her voice strong and willful, “Emerald, Chloe Emerald.”