---Evidence---

  ---Victor’s perspective---

  It’s late in the diurnal and I’m sat in on an interview with a Don heir.

  Thran and Emiko’re here and so’re Leon, Ziva and Kollsveinsson.

  Hsek isn’t here, despite being our legal expert… Something tells me Don and Kreskar would have some pretty ugly culture clash(!)

  Sat in the chair opposite the man who utterly dwarfs her, is Mpanzudóttir, the UTCIS agent most familiar with Don culture and definitely more socially perceptive than her (I’m pretty sure) autistic partner.

  Lontu, the Don prince, sits watching her, eagerly tapping his left leg as she scrutinises the information he’s brought on the tabletop.

  He’s well over 3m tall, has red skin that’s tone (I’d guess) places his clan in the middle of the habitable band, and short pink hair slicked back like a 1950s rock star.

  His ears droop into a curve that Don from Tuun’s part of the planet don’t have.

  His clothes are all dyed in the same deep blue with silver accents all over them. (I’ve always wondered how exactly Don outfit choices always look so coherent when they don’t have anyone around with colour vision to consult who can point out clashes?)

  I get a bad vibe off this guy.

  Obviously, he’s brought us this so the UTCM sends someone to fight to put him on the throne… but it’s more than that.

  If he’s just doing this for power and not because he particularly cares about the slaves, the Revanchists or his grampa’s collaboration with them, that’s whatever… Ambivalence is a slight step up from active malice at least!

  But something in this guy’s demeanour just gets my hackles up!

  Maybe it’s the way he’s been treating everyone around him (his contingent and all of us) like the hired help since he came aboard.

  Maybe it’s his obvious impatience.

  Maybe it’s that hungry look in his eyes.

  Something tells me this guy wouldn’t be good to have ruling your clan!

  I’d definitely be looking for someone else if it was up to me.

  His foot tapping accelerates as irritation twists his face and he demands “…So?!” the tone of his voice translated over the room’s speakers broadcasting loud and clear that he can’t understand what could be taking so long!

  Her brown eyes still fixed on the table in front of her, Mpanzudóttir nonchalantly answers “If this evidence is as authentic as it looks to me, Prince Lontu, then your grandfather would certainly be a clanchief the UTC would have an interest in seeing removed.” managing to sound flat even while speaking a twelve tone language.

  A greedy smile pushes its way onto the man’s face as he says “Then you will provide me a champion? You will help me claim my place on the throne?”

  Standing up, the average height Norsewoman answers “Once this evidence has been fully authenticated, a shortlist of your clan’s heirs will be created and-”

  “Hang on a moment!” snarls the princeling, shooting to his feet and pointing down in accusation at the woman who’s head is only hip height to him “That’s not what your inducement promised!… I’ve brought you the evidence against my grandfather, at great personal risk I might add, I should be your first choice to champion!” his 5cm long index claw less than a metre from her unbothered face.

  “I apologise, Your Highness, if our messaging was unclear. A quid pro quo was not something we meant to imply. You have our deepest thanks for bringing this evidence to our attention and that will be taken account of during the shortlisting. That alone, however, is not enough to guarantee you as our first choice. If you fear for your safety returning to your clan currently, you may request temporary asylum with the Navy fleet until such time as your grandfather is not in power.”

  Looking absolutely outraged, the spoiled brat (who’s clearly not used to hearing the word ‘no’ from those he considers beneath him) takes two steps forward, causing the comparatively tiny woman to feel the need to take one step back as he reaches a hand out for her and growls “Now see here, woman-!”

  Before he can say another word, I’ve strode across the room to put myself between him and her, blocking his ability to grasp her and looking up at him, seething “Alright, Mr Lontu. That’s enough. I think it’s time for you to leave… I’ll walk you back to your shuttle.” through gritted teeth.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Am I overstepping a bit?

  Maybe…

  I’ll be damned if I let some selfentitled little prick think he can throw his weight around and bully people on the Bright Plume, though!

  Not as long as I can do anything about it!

  The man straightens his back and takes a step away, sneering down at me.

  I hold his eyes, silently daring him to try anything.

  He breaks eyecontact and his gaze drifts down, examining my body.

  I’d guess he’s trying to decide if I’m anything like the threat any of those Marines he’s seen CQC footage of would be.

  He seems to think better of trying his luck, turns in place and strides from the room.

  His long legs mean he walks fast enough that I need to powerwalk to keep up with him as we cross the length of the Starboardside Gallery to where his shuttle is docked to us.

  The two men who’re probably his servants, who’ve been standing at attention either side of the door for the length of the interview, turn to face eachother when he strides between them.

  He stops in the exit and turns back to look at me, still sneering.

  I flash my eyebrows at him and meet his eyes but don’t react other than that.

  With a dramatic *huff* he strides aboard his shuttle, followed by the other two.

  The door seals.

  “Yeah, that’s right, bastard… don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here!” I mutter as I watch his ship detach.

  “Making friends(?)” quips a voice from close behind me.

  I turn to see Samus standing there.

  “I’m just glad he’s off the ship…” I answer, bluntly.

  “Didn’t have the makings of a great leader, did he(?)” she grins.

  “Don’t know if I’d trust that guy to manage a coffee shop, Samus(!)”

  She chuckles at the dig.

  Looking back down the gallery, I see the others spilling out of the interview room.

  Mpanzudóttir catches my eyes for a moment but her expression doesn’t change at all so I have no way of knowing whether she’s pissed off at me for unnecessary white knighting or grateful I intervened.

  She looks away.

  I notice Kara hurrying in the other direction.

  She comes to a stop in front of the tall, stocky, blond bearded Norseman.

  I watch them talk about stuff I can’t make out at this distance as she smiles up at him and he looks placidly back at her.

  “If you’re wondering if he’s interested, Cuddles…” Samus mirthfully mutters from my side “…I can confirm he’s a gynophile and I can confirm, as a gynophile who isn’t related to her, your mum’s a rock solid 11/10(!)… Pretty safe bet he’s interested if they’re not already hooking up(!)”

  “She’s not my mum, Samus.” I answer, rolling my eyes.

  “My apologies(!)” she mocks “The woman who’s well over 99% genetically identical to your mum and who looks so much like your mum that even you spent several days fooled the first time you met her until the best geneticist in the galaxy told you she wasn’t…(?) Yeah, she’s a total babe”

  “Yeah, alright… Not my business who Kara gets involved with… and Kollsveinsson seems like a decent enough bloke.” I answer, honestly.

  Samus throws up her hands and concedes “Fair enough… she’s not my not-mum(!)”

  I chuckle at that.

  I’m suddenly hit by a wave of tiredness… it might be adrenaline comedown related, now that shitty little bully’s off the ship.

  “Think I’m gonna head to the dorm for a bit of a sit down, Samus… Wanna come with?”

  She laughs “Nah, I think I’m gonna go do some young people things but you enjoy your sit down, old man(!)”

  I chuckle, not ruining the joke by pointing out she’s barely more than three years younger than me, and walk off, heading in the direction of Triple M.

  I hit the bottom of the stairs and start climbing.

  Making it to Deck 05, I cross the balcony and walk through the door.

  One more left and another door brings me to the Commonroom.

  It’s entirely empty except for one other person.

  I stop in my tracks, looking at the tall woman sat in one of the armchairs in the lounge area.

  I spend a moment weighing the dangers of me making this trafficking survivor uncomfortable by staying against the danger of making her feel snubbed by turning around and walking away.

  Eventually, I decide to turn around and have a rest in the cuddle puddle room but that I should announce that in a way that makes it obvious it’s nothing against her!

  “Hey, Torul… Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude… I can go somewhere else if you’re enjoyin’ the alone time…” I say, already turning around to head back out the door.

  “Actually, Victor?” she calls after me.

  I turn around to look at her curiously.

  She points to the chair beside and at an angle to hers with her top left hand and invites “I was wondering if you might like to sit with me and talk for a while? I feel as if we haven’t had much of a chance to get to know eachother since we first met. We should probably make an effort to remedy that, shouldn’t we?”

  I scan the face that looks so much like Tuun’s.

  I see hesitation, discomfort, uncertainty in her expression but, realising that I can’t very well contradict her clearly telling me she wants me to stay with ‘but your face says otherwise’, I walk to the chair she offered and take a seat.

  Giving me a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes, she prompts “So, I’m told you’re from the cradleworld, Victor? Is it the capital you’re from?”

  “Err… No, I ain’t from Addis… I’m from London… Big city for Europe but nothing on the capital…” I smile back.

  “Indeed? So, tell me about London then, Victor?… What was it like for you to grow up there?”

  I spend a moment gathering my thoughts before answering “Well… it rains a lot… but that never really bothered me much. There’s lot’s of skypiercers but they ain’t so dense as to completely block out the Sun for folks at ground level. There’s been a city there for nearly 3,000 years so there’s a tonne of history to see!… Every Winter the Thames freezes over solid enough that we can throw a Frost Fair on it, always loved when that happened… What else?…”

  Thrúd & Lontu |