“I’d like to meet her. And bessidess, what good iss all that gold if you don’t have ssomeone to sspend it on?”

“I’ve gotta go,” Walter said, pulling off the band. He folded it up and stashed it away, then finally found the hair.

As he put the single follicle in place and snuck out of her room, he thought about a block of gold the size of a small moon. Barrel after barrel of solid gold so big you needed tugs to move them around.

And then he thought of how much Molly would really love a brand new starship. And he would buy her one. But first, he had to get her into orbit to meet this guy, which meant reprograming the crappy ship they were already in. How would he get his chance to do that? Molly wouldn’t trust him near the systems, and whatever she’d done to the cockpit door, it was enough that he couldn’t crack it. It was like the thing had a mind of its own. He had to find a way, somehow. His new friend—the voice behind the band—had said was that he was a very smart Palan and that he would figure something out.

And I will, Walter told himself.

He sure was glad to have met someone who knew he wasn’t stupid.

ѻѻѻѻ

Molly parked several hundred meters from the pile of ships, just in case any of them shifted. It made for a long hike with all the heavy gear they were toting—and it gave her plenty of time to appreciate how large the hangar was without ships arranged throughout.

Scottie and Urg carried the fuel tank for the cutting torch between them; Molly had the handheld radio and the large medkit; Cat carried a duffle full of blankets, water, and clean rags. Walter had volunteered to carry the torch and its tubing, which had started off neatly slung over his narrow shoulders, but loops kept sliding off, knotting in coils that he had resorted to dragging across the deck.

Together, they approached the Firehawk in which they’d seen move-ment. It lay upside down, on top of another broken ship. Everyone set their gear down in a base camp of sorts, all acting professional and calm. Except for Walter, who hissed with annoyance as he began unknotting the hose for the cutting torch.

“I’ll go up,” said Molly, “since I’m familiar with the torch. Scottie, you and Urg can give me a boost to the wing; Cat, you play out the hose.” She pulled the basic medkit out of the larger duffel and slung it around her neck.

Urg raised his hand.

“What is it, big guy?”

“I wanna look for others,” the Callite said, frowning.

“That’s a good idea. Scottie can boost me himself. Take the radio with you in case anyone starts transmitting.”

Urg nodded. He grabbed the portable radio from the top of a duffle and stomped off.

“Make some noise if you find anything!” Scottie yelled after him.