The buzz in the room escalated as somebody turned the music down.

  "The boss is pretty new, he only came in a few months ago," Krassik whispered to Tazrika. "He secured us a bunch of funds and helped us plan some great operations. We've done more freedom operations since he joined than we did in the previous two years."

  Tazrika nodded.

  The shadowy figure mounted the platform and stepped into the light.

  Tazrika gasped.

  The creature that took the stage was a wolfish Skorvan, tall and broad. He wore a polo and khaki slacks. His golden collar was barely visible under his thick fur. He was thickly muscled. His muzzle was white, but the rest of his fur was jet-black. His fur stopped sharply at a series of horrific burn scars covering his muzzle and face. One eye was milky-white, and he was missing an ear.

  "That's Rhydak," Krassik whispered. "They say he took a blaster bolt directly to the face while he was tangling with Navy MPs. He was trying to give the rest of his crew time to escape."

  "His crew?" Tazrika asked.

  "The Long Arrow Pirates. Small crew, but fierce. They say the Navy slaughtered everyone else and put him in prison for ten years."

  Tazrika smelled a rat. She knew exactly how the Navy dealt with pirates, and prison sentences didn't even enter into it. Considering the situation, though, she wasn't in a hurry to call anybody else's backstory into question.

  The Skorvan held up his hands and the rowdy crowd fell silent.

  "Friends," he said in a voice that was clear and strong, yet smooth and alluring. "I come to you today with news."

  The buzz in the room increased.

  "We, the Electroveil Collective have long held to the ideals of our gang. We are the Subject Species of the Imperium. Terrans and citizens receive the largesse of the galaxy for their work. We, too, work. We sweat. We bleed. And yet and the Imperium has rejected us. We're good enough to use, but not good to be part of them."

  The warehouse erupted in roars and curses. Tazrika's lips were pinched in fury.

  "Am I not flesh and blood?" Rhydak cried, holding one muscled arm up. "What can a Terran do that I cannot? Nothing! What makes a Terran better than me? Nothing! Why should I be subject to them?"

  More roars. Tazrika was breathing tightly through her nose.

  "We risk our lives for the Imperium! We fill her coffers! And yet we cannot go where we please? Always under suspicion! Always under accusing eyes! We cannot take part in the economic bounty of the Imperium! And when we're no longer convenient, or when the politics of the moment dictate, we're cast aside! Trash! Useless!"

  The crowd was on their feet, screaming. Tazrika gripped the edge of the table.

  "Well I say 'No more!' I say, they should either make us citizens or kill us outright! We will show the Imperium that we are not to be taken lightly! No more will we live in the shadows, feeding off the dregs! No more will we wait while Imperials take what is rightfully ours!

  "No more will we be subjects! We are better than them! We are stronger! We are fearsome! With our new operation, will strike a mighty blow against the oppression of the Imperium! We! Will! Make! Them! Pay!"

  Unspeakable fury flooded Tazrika. She couldn't restrain herself any longer. She sprang to her feet, shrieking.

  "Make them pay!" she screamed along with the crowd, following their chant. "Make them pay!" She swept detritus off the table and climbed up on it, pumping her fists and yelling at the top of her lungs.

  "Make them pay! Make them pay! Make them pay!"

  Later that evening in the safehouse, Kinnit sat on her bed, her knees pulled up, with her arms and tail wrapped around her legs. The shock-white moons of Ceon 12 poured their pale light into the darkness of her bedroom.

  Krassik had invited her along on their next delivery as a lookout. Dass had been delighted about that when she reported it. He'd been thrilled that she'd discovered the gang boss' name. And he was unexpectedly full of praise for her discovering that there was a "big new plan," however nebulous it might be.

  Dass had told her that she was integrating well into the Collective. He'd explained that a ride-along-- even on a low-stakes mission-- was a significant sign of trust. That she'd penetrated the organization better in a few days than he had in the months he'd been working on them.

  The torrent of unexpected praise from Dass couldn't calm her heart.

  Fat tears welled up in Kinnit's eyes.

  The tattered black cloak lay on the floor in the corner of the room, discarded.

  She hated it.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  She'd been... swept up in the emotion of the moment. So many of the things Rhydak had said had resonated so strongly with her, speaking to her frustrations, speaking to her hurt. She never expected the rage that had filled her, overflowed her heart.

  She'd screamed awful things, treasonous things.

  No, Tazrika had screamed those things.

  Kinnit buried her face in her knees.

  "I love the Imperium," she wept.

  She cried herself empty, while the tattered cloak lurked in the corner, mocking her tears.

  Grimthorn faced the Cryptographer and his young translator, put his knuckles on the table and leaned forward.

  "I need your help to kill a man," he said.

  The Cryptographer chittered.

  "Admiral Stonefist has killed many men," the translator said in his ethereal voice. "Why does he need the help of the Cryptographers for so simple a task?"

  "It's Commander Ordren of Central Command."

  The Cryptographer paused for a moment before speaking. For a Cryptographer, that was the equivalent of anyone else staring slack-jawed.

  "That would not be ideal," the translator said, finally.

  "Oh, it would be ideal, all right. That man's leading the conspiracy!"

  "That does not match the data we have. The probability of this assertion being correct is very low."

  Grimthorn snatched up one of the chairs and flung it into a wall.

  "To Geina with your puzzles and your probabilities! I know what I know! Help me kill the man!"

  "We are bound in purpose to you, as you are bound to us. If it is within our power, we must help."

  "Finally! Now we're getting somewhere!"

  "However, it is not ideal. This information is likely incorrect, and acting on it will cause many difficulties. It is a delicate time. This would greatly complicate the Solution."

  "What 'solution?'"

  The Cryptographer chittered excitedly at length. Rather than translating, the young man chittered back. Grimthorn grimaced at the exchange. The language of the Cryptographers sounded abominable, coming from a Terran throat.

  At last the young man spoke.

  "The great Solution that the Cryptographers seek. It is that ultimate goal of the Cryptographers. It is why they persist."

  "What is it? What solution are you looking for?"

  The young man spoke slowly.

  "The answer to that is... complicated. And not relevant to the matter at hand. Let us speak of other things."

  "Fine. I don't care what you get up to, anyway. Let's get back to what's important. Killing Ordren."

  "We ask that you reconsider your course of action."

  "No! I will stop that man and get my Assistant back!" Grimthorn paused for a moment of reflection. "Will I get my Assistant back if I kill Ordren?"

  The Cryptographer paused again before speaking through the translator.

  "It is likely that she will return to service. But there will be consequences."

  "Consequences, I can live with. What's the plan?"

  The Cryptographer and the translator talked for a while. It almost sounded as though they were arguing. Grimthorn waited impatiently.

  "We can offer you a plan with a high probability of success. However, there are other ways of achieving your goal. We would like to offer an alternative."

  "Is this some kind of philosophical 'learn to live with it' alternative?"

  "We would offer no such alternative to the headstrong Admiral Stonefist. There is, however, a service we could perform instead of your plan that would accelerate matters."

  "Okay, what is it?"

  "Do you recall the battle of Arcturus?"

  Grimthorn pulled up short as his mind tried to shift gears.

  "Arcturus? Of course. The attack of the Dragonscale Pirates. A disaster."

  "Do recall the ships that were lost in the jumphole?"

  "Forty-three ships lost in the jumphole. Twenty-six in battle. Tens of thousands dead on the surface. What's your point?"

  "There is a possibility that the ships lost in the jumphole could be retrieved."

  Shock coursed through Admiral Stonefist. The combination of surprise, rage, and the Cryptographer's presence overrode his control, and his face crumpled in anguish.

  "Retrieved? As in fetching their bodies?"

  "Unlikely. It is probably that the crews would be alive."

  Grimthorn's legs wobbled, and he sat heavily in one of the chairs.

  "That was over twenty years ago," he said, his voice hoarse. "Are you telling me that the crews on those ships have been trapped in that unrelenting torment for twenty years?"

  "Time does not mean the same thing in jumpspace as it does in realspace. But yes."

  Grimthorn's hands itched to grab the Cryptographer's lapels, to shake him.

  "Twenty years, and you haven't gotten them out?" he roared.

  The translator simply carried on in his detached, ethereal voice.

  "There is no guarantee of success, and the attempt will be expensive and risky. It breaks a Rule."

  "What does that even mean? Who cares about the rules?" yelled Grimthorn.

  "A Cryptographer cannot break any of the Rules. A Cryptographer cannot. Yet, to re-open a jumphole in such a manner would break Rule. A Cryptographer cannot do it. Only a Defective can break a Rule."

  "What does that mean?"

  "A Defective is a Cryptographer that can break a Rule. A volunteer would be selected and... altered. Then they could break the Rule and open the jumphole. Then the Defective would be destroyed."

  "What? Why would you destroy a volunteer?"

  "Once one is made Defective, they cannot be restored. This breaks the Cryptographer. There is no undoing." The translator paused and chatted with the Cryptographer for a moment. "As soon as it's done, the Defective needs to be destroyed. The risk of unleashing a Defective on the galaxy is too great to be borne."

  "What could they do?"

  The Cryptographer looked at him as though he were simple.

  "They could break the Rules."

  "So?"

  The Cryptographer waved its talons around in an unusual pattern. Grimthorn thought it nearly looked like frustration.

  "It is complicated. If the Rules can be broken, then there is no need for the Imperium. There is no need for the galaxy."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means that it is complicated."

  Grimthorn thought for a long moment.

  "So it's risky."

  "Yes."

  "But you'd do it for me? Or to save those ships?"

  "Neither. We would do it to keep you from falling out of the Solution. To keep you from your course of action."

  Grimthorn sat back, shaken. The Cryptographers were willing to risk the Imperium to stop him.

  For the first time since he'd gotten that call, he paused to consider whether his course of action was the right one.

  He sighed heavily. A deep weariness suddenly sank into him as he accepted that he needed to let the easy solution go.

  He was fed up with all this talk of riddles and solutions and the conspiracy and the Imperium.

  He just wanted Kinnit back.