After the revelation of the Red Queen’s Vint, it was a long night of serving at the Maiden’s Lament. Hals passed the time by occasionally peeking out the window at the snowfall. Around one in the morning it finally let up. Fortunately for the drunk patrons in the Lament, sleeping on, across, and under the various tables and benches in the bar was a classic passtime for the average pirate.

Already, snores filled the air, and Hals knew Olfadden would be making quite a bundle of coin in the morning with hot coffee and fresh crispy kirkuk flank he kept specifically for mornings after a rowdy crew landed on the station. He’d charge them far more than typical for the goods, but they’d be hung over and hungry and he’d make a nice mint.

Flagged Captain Jane Neind hadn’t shared a drop of her priceless vint. She spent the entire evening staring into it like it held the secrets of the universe, sipping like it was the last kiss from a lover, and when one of her men jokingly suggested making a wager for a sip, she shot a hole through his hand. As Hals watched, she drained the last of the bottle dry, holding it above her mouth like a woman stranded in a desert, trying to eke out the final life-saving drop. For a while after she stared into it, playing with the tinkling starglass inside the bottle. Hals wondered if she’d smash the bottle to get at the valuable glass, but she didn’t.

Serving became less of a hectic dash, and more a casual affair. When someone wanted something, they’d raise an empty glass or shout, or just look about and make eye contact with one of the serving wenches.

A dozen of the pirates were snoring on the tables, others were singing a lewd and poorly rhymed shanty they’d made up on the spot. Li-Cha, Bishop, Azphira and Hals were sitting in a corner booth together, sharing a normal bottle of vint. Asendor still sat at the bar, deep in his cups, a happy smile on his face.

“I wish I could have snuck a taste of that bottle,” Azphira said wistfully. She was one of those people who had grown up on a starship, and her bones and limbs were elongated because of a distinct lack of gravity on her body during its prime growing years. She was almost seven feet tall and had thin, beautiful fingers that gripped her vint glass with careless ease. Her eyes were almost the exact same dark brown as her skin, and they sparkled with longing. She sighed again, passing Bishop the vint bottle.

Bishop had skin as black as the night sky and wore clothes to match, and had so many tattoos that it was sometimes difficult to look at her without becoming lost in the whorls and twisting patterns inked into her flesh. Once she joked that she’d given a bloke a strip dance and hypnotized him, just by gyrating the right way. Hals did notice she had a sort of languid grace to her movements, like she was dancing anywhere she went. But when she spoke, her voice was that of a rusty sailor speaking around a mouthful of bolts.

“I think she was playing it up for the audience. No drink can be as good as all that,” Bishop said.

“Perhaps it was enchanted, somehow,” Li-Cha mused, as she counted the O-marks she’d been given as a tip by a particularly affectionate pirate, who was now drooling on the floor. He’d gotten a bit handsy, so his final drink had been spiked with something Olfadden kept behind the counter for “pacification purposes.” Hals didn’t know what it was, but nobody ever died from it and it always sent them into a long sleep, so she didn’t really care.

“Or blessed,” Hals said quietly.

“Cursed, more like,” Azphira said. “It was grown from the ashes of a billion dead souls, and a trillion dead creatures. Nothing good can come of that.”

“Except a bottle of vint, evidently,” Hals said. She fished out the coin she’d gotten from Olfadden and examined it. It was an odd bit of flash, it looked more like a piece of a machine than a bit of treasure. It was made of gossamer steel, or some other kind of white-gold alloy. All along its circumference were ridges and obtuse angles, twisting shapes that made Hals think of a key. The faces of the coin were identical, a pair of concentric circles entwined around a white gem, with a seemingly random assortment of grooves traveling in and around them. Hals held it up to the girls.

“My fellow wenches, any idea what to make of this?”

Bishop plucked it from her fingers and gave it a toss. “Looks like cheap shit to me, Hals,” she said. She passed it to Li-Cha, who shrugged and handed it to Azphira.

She gave it a closer look, using her hyperlong fingers to trace the whorls and eying the sides of it, and running an extra long thumb along its length. “Reminds me of a Clavcoin, a little. It’s the wrong shape, though: those usually had a hole in the middle, not a gem.”

“What’s that?” Li-Cha asked. “Clavcoin?”

“Spacers used to use them so nobody could steal their ships. Back before bioscans and DNA register locks. It usually looked like this, or a bit smaller. A lot of the older Neverspace drives won’t work unless one of these are inserted; sometimes the entire ship wouldn’t turn on unless this is onboard. It varies. But this is probably just a decorative thing, made to look like one.”

“Yeah, I doubt Jane Neind gave me the keys to her starship as a tip,” Hals said, taking the coin from Azphira and tucking it away. She cast a glance around the tavern floor to see if anybody needed anything. Jane Neind and her cohort had started a game of cards, and there was a hefty amount of money on their table. A few other spacers and some Flagless pirates had circled around to watch.

“Might be able to land a nice tip if I bring a round over where the action’s happening,” Bishop said, thumbing over to the card game. “Be back in a bit.”

“I’ll circle around the room and ask for orders. You two are doing it next, though,” Azphira said. She rose as well, and Hals and Li-Cha were alone. Hals cleared her throat. Maybe now they could talk about what happened. Or more specifically, what almost happened.

“So,” Hals said, a bit of color rising to her cheeks. Li-Cha got up and scooted around the booth to sit next to her. Their thighs touched and Li-Cha leaned her head against Hals and sighed. She was sweaty and her makeup wasn’t nearly as pretty as it had been at the start of the night, but Hals still felt her heart start to hammer.

“Hals,” Li-Cha said quietly. “I haven’t been able to find out anything about Silver’s Culling. How they got it.”

Hals blinked. That was what she wanted to talk about?

“What, did you roll a few pirates to try and find out answers?” Hals asked, laughing. Li-Cha didn’t laugh though: she nodded.

“Yes,” Li-Cha said. “And none of them knew. And people always tell me when I ask.”

Hals felt a heat rise in her cheeks. “Wait-- I… I thought… So you really just slept with people to try and find out how they captured Silver’s Culling? How many? Why’s it matter so much? It’s an oddity, sure, but…”

Li-Cha shook her head, her purple eyes boring into Hals with urgency. “You’re not paying attention. Something is wrong with that ship.”

Hals cleared her throat. “Look, I’m not… it’s not like I haven’t had a roll to try and get something from someone before. Hell, we all have,” she said. “But I thought… I thought you–that I–that it meant something, last night.”

Hals said. Her face felt hot, and her chest was tight. She took a deep swig of the vint and finished it off, scowling at the gritty debris at the bottle’s bottom. Cheap shit.

“Oh,” Li-Cha said, in a soft voice. She wrapped her hands around one Hals’s. “You don’t understand. For me, sex isn’t… it’s not like it is for most people. For you. It’s… a tool I have. Like these eyes.” She touched her face briefly, her purple gaze watery. “I wanted to make you feel safe, and I thought that would help. But I see now, that was stupid. I do care about you, a lot. Just…”

“Just, you’re fucking people to get information,” Hals said, her voice catching slightly. “Who the hells cares how they even got that stupid ship, anyway?” She wiped her eyes furiously, embarrassed that Li-Cha’s casual attitude was affecting her so much.

“Something is wrong with that ship, Hals,” Li-Cha said quietly. “And I am really good at getting answers. I use all the tools I have to do it. I’m not ashamed of that.”

“Well maybe you should be,” Hals said bitterly. She regretted it immediately, but Li-Cha was already pulling away. The other woman withdrew her hands, and they tightened into fists.

“Perhaps I should be embarrassed by my choice in friends, instead,” she whispered.

“I always wondered how you afforded a place in Green Crescent, but I guess now I know.” The words tumbled out and Hals wished she could button her lips closed. She’d had too much of the vint. Or maybe her heart was really hurting and she wanted to make sure Li-Cha knew it.

“Just, stay away from Redblink’s crew, okay?” Li-Cha said, standing up. She turned away, then hesitated.

“When you talked about your past last night, you shared who you really are with me. I… thought I could do the same. Safely.” A tear fell down her face. “But I guess I am the asshole for assuming.” She turned and walked toward the bar, whispered a few words to Olfadden, and then she was gone, out into the snow.

Hals sat at the empty table, rolling the vint bottle between her hands. The other wenches seemed to sense that she needed a moment alone, and left her to her misery. Bishop popped a pick-me-up on the table and gave Hals a friendly, sad smile before trotting off to take more orders. Hals drained all of it, gulping the burning drink down, hoping it would smother the feeling of shame that was trying to rise in her breast. The door opened again, and Hals had to stop herself from turning to look back in hope. It was just another pirate. He walked over to Jane Neind’s table and said something to her. She looked annoyed, being distracted from her cards, but the newcomer bent over her and started whispering in her ear, and her expression changed subtly. If Hals didn’t know better, she’d have said the big blue woman looked worried.

Abruptly she stood, folding her hand and following the newcomer outside.

A shadow fell across Hals’s table, and shelooked up to see Olfadden. He folded his hands in front of himself and gave her a knowing stare. She met his gaze and didn’t blink.

“What?” she asked.

“You should go talk to Li-Cha. She just quit.”

Hals felt her stomach sour. “She what?”

“She said she can’t work with you anymore. Seems strange to me. I thought you got along swimmingly.”

“I--”

“Why’d my best server just quit, Hals?” Olfadden asked darkly.

“I thought I was your best,” Hals said weakly. The joke didn’t land. Olfadden just kept staring.

“I, um. I insulted her, I think.”

“You think.” Olfadden sat back slightly, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hals. Listen. We’ve known each other a few years now. And I know how you feel about Li-Cha.”

Hals opened her mouth to protest, but he waved a hand to cut her off. “No, don’t bother. It’s plain to see. And if I’m being honest, I think Li-Cha feels the same way. But how she makes her money isn’t just serving drinks here. I’ve known that for a while, and I think you knew too, even though you didn’t want to. But the question is, do you care enough to lose her over it?”

Hals didn’t know how to respond. Desperate to avoid the piercing gaze across the table from her, she glanced around the taproom. Jane Neind was still gone, but the tavern’s sign caught her eye. The sign had always puzzled her: a woman’s face with a blue eye, and an equally blue tear falling from it. She glanced at Olfadden, who’d pulled out a pipe and was in the process of lighting it. He was still staring at her.

“I think I get it now,” she said, gesturing to the sign. “That’s Jane, isn’t it?”

“It might be. But–”

Hals sighed. “I know, I know. I’ll talk to Li-Cha.”

“I don’t care about your relationship,” he snorted. “Just get me my server back.”

Hals scowled at him. “I know you don’t really mean that,” she said. “But I don’t know why you won’t admit you care. Caring about the people in your life isn’t a bad thing, Olf.”

He shrugged and blew out a smoke ring. “Maybe not. But it’s not served me too well in the past.”