CHAPTER 4

The unlikely partners had been traveling for about two hours when Catherine pulled the StarGlyder up along the side of an asteroid. When she tried to leap off the SkyCraft, she realized that Clayton had a vice grip on her waist. She looked back to see his face screwed up in such a way that she knew he was still screwing his eyes shut behind the dusty goggles. She didn’t even bother to try and get his attention before she pinched the skin on the back of one of his hand and twisted. “Ow!” Clayton snapped his hands apart, allowing the Catherine a brief moment to deftly slip from between his arms and hop onto the asteroid with an anchoring rope. Clayton removed the goggles and looked around with furrowed eyebrows. “Why are we stopping?”

Continuing her work without looking up, Catherine dryly offered, “You don’t know much about SkyCrafts, do you kid?” Clayton shook his head but Catherine didn’t have to see it to know that he had. “They’re excellent means of travel if you want to avoid any attention; you can travel across that galaxy in incredible time with incredible stealth. The drawback is that the machine runs out of the stardust that fuels it very quickly. Unlike Star Galleons, these require refueling stops so that the machine can collect stray star dust.

“Oh.” Clayton didn’t know what else to say. He simply turned his head to look towards Miessa, his brow knitted in worry.

“You gonna sit on there all day or are you going to take advantage of the opportunity to stretch your legs?” Was there ever a time when this woman was not gratingly sarcastic? Clayton breathed away his frustration as best as he could before he tried to step off the machine. He ended up stumbling a bit, and when he got back up to dust himself off, he looked up to find Catherine shaking her head at him. “How the hell did you survive the trip to Rigel without getting your ass kicked, kid?”

“I don’t know, Miss Catherine.” The statement was passive aggressive, which was the only level of aggression that Clayton ever took part in. “How long will it take for the StarGlyder to refuel?” Clayton was sincerely hoping that the answer was less than fifteen minutes; he wasn’t sure he could stand having a conversation with this woman that would last longer than that.

“It refuels when it refuels. You can’t rush it... unless, of course you fancy the idea of being stuck out in the middle of open space with no way to contact anyone for help.”

Clayton didn’t look at her as he gave an impatient and tired sigh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. The Prince will still be there tomorrow kid.”

“I have a name, Miss Catherine. I do the courtesy of using yours. Would you please show me the same courtesy?” When Catherine gave him a straight look without saying anything, he walked away to take a lap around the asteroid. There was nowhere to go and nothing to see, but it was better than trying to start a conversation with her. Meanwhile, Catherine found the tallest rock and sat on it as she slowly turned her head from side to side. Clayton took his first lap of the asteroid and was about to start on the second when he just had to ask, “What are you looking for?”

“Trouble.” “You mean the Navy?” “Them and anyone who might be in cahoots with your fat friend.” “Oh...” Clayton briefly thought about offering his eyes to help since he actually knew what Captain Brownsea’s ship looked like, but he preferred to walk another lap around the empty asteroid. As he did he started to wonder what he had gotten himself into.

Right when Clayton was about to start his third lap, Catherine spoke up. “How did your father die?”

As much as Clayton wanted to tell his story, he got caught up in his own youthful attitude. He turned to Catherine and said, “I thought you said you ‘didn’t give much of a shit’.”

“If you don’t wanna talk about it, fine. Just say the word. I prefer silence anyways.” “... The whole thing is a little bit complicated... I’m not quite sure where to start.” Clayton didn’t miss that Catherine has rolled her eyes. “Was there an autopsy?” “Uh... no.” “Why not?” “The Apothecary deemed it unnecessary since he claimed the cause of death was rather straight forward.”

“And what was the straight-forward cause of death?” “Pneumonia.” This was the first time that Catherine looked at Clayton since the conversation had started, and it was a look of dry confusion. “... And... the Prince gave your father the Pneumonia that killed him... how?

“I don’t think he gave my father pneumonia, nor do I believe his involvement was direct.” When Catherine raised her eyebrow at him, he said, “I said it was a bit complicated.”

“So you’re father died of pneumonia and you believe that the Prince is ‘indirectly’ responsible in some way. Why?”

“My father suffered from horrible insomnia since his childhood, and had only just been getting by all his life. About two weeks before he died, the family Apothecary gave him a month’s worth of a new sleeping draft that was relatively untested to see if it did him any good.”

“And you think that this sleeping draft was actually a poison?” “Not all of it. My father didn’t start getting sick until after the fifteenth day of using the draft, and even then he suffered for three days after that. In truth, I believe that the first several doses were real sleeping drafts, as is every dose that he never got a chance to take.”

“You think one of those bottles was laced with pneumonia bacteria or something?” “Um... I don’t think that’s how it works.” “Hence why I’m not an apothecary. What is your theory?” “I think that the poison simply weakened my father; made him more susceptible to illnesses and diseases. The pneumonia came from the Apothecary after visiting one of his sicker patients.”

“Even if you’re right – which is a big if – that would incriminate the Apothecary, not the Prince.”

“I’m getting to that.” Catherine gestured with her hand to silently tell Clayton to get on with it. “The sleeping draft was a deep blue color, and after my father started to get sick, I noticed that he had become quite pale, and his eyes and hair roots had a blue hue to them.”

“... So.” “Well, the Sapphire Spirit does the same thing.” “The what?” “... The Sapphire Spirit... Haven’t you heard of it.” “Nope.” “I’m surprised. Everyone is talking about it. The nobility are practically fighting each other tooth and nail for a single vile of it.”

With another dry look, Catherine gestured to herself. “Do I look like I keep up with the trendy bourgeoisie shit?” Clayton nodded, admitting that she did have a point. “So the sleeping draft your father took is similar to some... drug?”

“Uh, no. They treat it as a simple beverage.” “Some drink that the aristocracy are chugging. I’m still not seeing how this connects the Prince to your father’s death?”

“Well, he’s the one who introduced the Galaxy to the Sapphire Spirit.” “... Is that all?” “... Well... Yes... I suppose it is.” Giving a heavy sigh, Catherine said, “So let me see if I have this straight; you traveled across the Galaxy to the most dangerous places possible to hire one of the most dangerous people in the Galaxy to kill the Prince... for what is tantamount to a conspiracy theory. Am I wrong?”

“...Technically speaking?” The dead-pan look that Catherine gave him told Clayton to either answer the question or start running for his goddamn life. “No, you’re technically not wrong. By definition, it is currently no more than a conspiracy theory...”

“... Okay.” Catherine turned her gaze back out to open space without another word. The ease of her word caught Clayton off guard.

“That’s it? ‘Okay’?” “What were you expecting?” “Well... I was expecting you to abandon me here and go back to Rigel. I know so few people who would continue to want to be involved with what is , basically, treason when there is no solid proof or evidence that the Prince is guilty of anything.”

“Remember when I said you weren’t the only one who had the Prince on your shit list? Those of us who take issue with him don’t care why other people have issues. ‘Enemy of my enemy’ and all that.”

“... I have been meaning to ask about that. Is the Prince on your... ‘shit-list’? Or the Blue Lion’s?”

“Does it matter?”

“... No, I don’t suppose it does. I was just curious to know why.” The unlikely pair sat in awkward and strained silence for the remainder of their travel break.

Next Chapter: Chapter 5