||+|| Auluwin ||+||

The grey-robed figure slowly counted the physical currency she'd handed him, then held out a hand. A thick stack of photographs, newspaper articles, convoluted financial reports, and old memos wrapped in wax paper popped into existence, and fell into her waiting hands. It was assumed, of course, that an informant of their caliber would have some sort of storage device or skill - but showing it off was another matter. It spoke to a brazen, unprofessional side that would get them into trouble sooner or later. Win made a promise to herself that this was the last time they would do business. They were nearing the end of her usual relationship cycling anyway. Stealth and obscurity had high demands, and no one under contract or employ were allowed more than eight weeks of interaction with her. She gave a slight, intentionally odd nod with one side of her face, and they split to walk in different directions.

Her packet of papers, stuffed in her coat, popped into her storage ring thirty seconds later. Discreetly. How hard was it for people to be discreet, really? She rubbed a hand against her ring, brimming with excitement to dive into its contents and add them to the map of Krishnan's activity she had started to build. Sure, a good eighty percent of the pile were focused on completely unrelated topics meant to obfuscate her real targets, but there was good and relevant information waiting for her in the stack. She was getting to more obscure relationships and influences now, and looked forward to when she could move from strictly gathering information, to taking action on the fringes of his support.

Chimes rang out from a local church, and Win swore under her breath as she rotated her wrist and confirmed her timekeeper. She was nearly late for her next errand, and still had to change disguises. That meant no tea this morning - and no pastries. Today was going to be a busy day.

#

"Hello, anybody in there?"

The old woman shook a wrinkled hand side to side while her three fingers wiggled.

"Oh, apologies." Win's voice came out high and airy, to match the thin build of her disguise. "Just thinking."

The woman shrugged and her shoulders jiggled. "Think all you want, kiddo. I'm getting paid either way."

Win's head swiveled to the one-way mirror that gave her a view to the waiting room - and the thousands of people sitting there - then back at the countertop. Papers - physical, real papers - sat before her with the base information about the ship. Or, well, the 'salvage'. They were two different classifications, and she'd burned one turn at the private counter to learn that lesson and collect the correct forms. She tried not to dwell on the fact that the Wheathop no longer qualified as a ship.

"And this is all covered by the blackwall?"

The woman tilted her head, and her face sagged to the side. She spoke with a level of practiced boredom that implied she dealt with the protocol regularly. That was possible for someone in her position - a sector-designated processor for confidential and controlled information - but it was still highly unlikely.

"Blackwall requires the license to be done on paper, not electronically. We get the carbon copy, without anyone's individual names transferred. The only record is going to be that your salvage exists - and if you manage to make it a ship again, that it has a name. No direct ties to ownership unless you show someone the original paper. And speaking from experience, don't let it get stolen. You wouldn't believe how many forms you need for that one. Now, have you thought of a name, kiddo?"

Win ran her tongue along the outside of her teeth. She knew the name to use, but filling it out felt permanent.

What if they didn't like it?

In preparation for today, Win had found the old program Lycra always quoted. It took a bit of searching, but she'd located the recordings. The thumbnail was an overedited mess that gave her low hopes for the quality of the film.

But, then she found herself wiping moisture away from her eyes as the credits rolled on a riveting story about the planetary awakening of Merchall IV, and the hero there that had defied expectations. It was well-acted, with a good underlying thread that tied things together. The protagonist was... plucky. He reminded Win of Lycra himself.

She'd been so well engrossed in the story that she hadn't even taken notes or looked up the hero's mount during her first watch.

The thing had been a grand bird, with wingspan large enough to fit the heroic narrative. The one in the film was named "Wing", which simply wasn't happening. She wasn't Reid, after all.

A few more searches brought her the right answer. The hero's mount was a species of mutated songbird, with sonic attacks that obliterated competition. She watched a video where a puffed brown specimen sang through a series of complex and unique sections, then stilled for a moment before it repeated the same complicated tune.

The birds had been gifted with something special well before the awakening ever touched Merchall IV. They had a family song the young were taught from birth. Each successive generation learned the song of those that came before, then added their own notes and whims to the end. It built a beautiful tapestry, a history of generations distilled into a single song.

The idea was right. It was good. Lycra would enjoy it, at least.

She shook away the doubt.

"Kinstrel."

#

#

A strong gust whipped through the storage space, and the metal frame before her sang a pained and sorry tune.

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At least, that's how it sounded. Win was talented with a great many things, but engineering and ships were not one of them. All she could see before her was a trio of items that technically made up a ship. A frame, the title to go with it, and a permit for the beating heart that the thing needed to take flight. Everything else was missing.

Win picked a seed out of her teeth. This morning's breakfast had included fruit based jams on toast. The item was delectable, but the aftereffect was a bit annoying.

She called up a local supplier, and started punching in data. A few hours later, a tired man in an oil-stained shirt came out, took a single look at the frame, and shook his head.

"Lady, you don't want me to take on this job. By the end, you'll spend so much that it would be cheaper to just buy a used ship. It might even be cheaper to get a new one. Too much time, too much money."

Win's mouth flattened. "Does that mean you can't do it, Marvin?"

She readied herself to walk away from the man. He wasn't the only person she could call here - but he was the 'best'. She wasn't interested in a new ship.

There was a bit of pride at play. Lycra had been forced to work aboard this ship, and now he was its rightful owner. He deserved to have the thing, whole. If he wanted to sell it at that point, or trash it, or trade it - that was his decision. But he would have the ship Thad owed him. Win would see to that.

It also happened to be a great opportunity to keep possession of a craft while keeping the blackwall intact. Buying a new ship or trading for one would digitally expose her name or an alias. Using this ship would keep them all slightly more anonymous. And that was worth more than a few credits.

Marvin fished his tongue around his mouth, and spit out an amber-colored substance. "Call me Marv. Comes to ships, I can do just about anything, Lady. But I ain't cheap, and this thing's... well it's not even a thing right now."

Win cracked a smile. "I'm not interested in cheap. I'm interested in discreet."

He paused to give her a once-over, then turned back to the frame as he made a practiced statement. "Discreet is easy, but I'm guessing you want full-quiet-like. I can get it done - but you should know, full quiet costs double, lady."

Win laughed, and held up a finger, then produced a note from her pocket. "I'll pay triple - on two conditions. First, you put your best on it and have them install everything on this list - and if you don't have something, you tell me and I'll find it for you. Second, you set her up with a tinkerer in mind. I'm talking access to the lines, cabling, systems, everything." As Marv started to nod, she thought of another point. "Third condition. Don't call me lady."

Lines formed around his eye as he grinned and scanned his gaze over the frame. When he turned to Win, she held out a hand. Marv's oil-stained fingers wrapped as far around hers as far as they could go, and she returned his squeeze with her own. His grin broke open into a toothy smile defined by a gleaming silver incisor. "You got it, boss."

#

#

#

Win chewed slowly through a sweet cheese pastry. The morning light was just starting to filter through the planet's persistent haze. As the workers filed in and donned safety gear, she offered each one a treat from the bakery box. It was a bit of a tradition now, five months strong. Win's day started early. Applying her shipyard disguise. Tea with a local headline printout, and sometimes the cute barista, if the woman was free of customers. Next, the bakery, and the yard itself. She'd see the workers fed, and stay with them until lunch. Then, she'd deal with other items that required her attention.

"Thanks, boss!" One of the younger men, a mixed canid called out as he jogged up to greet her. He'd probably be a good looking kid if he ever washed the grease out of his fur. "So, um, boss. I made a bet with the guys. I told them I could learn what your name is. So... um... could you... tell me?"

Win smiled, cocked her head, and stared at the boy. He waited awkwardly for almost a minute.

"Oh, okay. Right. Sorry."

As he walked towards the craft, a bit dejected, Win couldn't help but let out a chuckle. It wasn't the first time someone here had tried to get her to share personal info. It probably wouldn't be the last. But something about the boy reminded her of Lycra - and that too-honest-and-straightforward interaction had been the closest she'd come to making up some fake name just to appease them. But even fakes had ways of making trails, and Win was a ghost.

Her mind ran on names and trails for a while, and then the thought smacked her in the face.

She knew Reid's full name. She'd had it this entire time. At first, she hadn't looked him up properly because she was focused on getting herself settled. Then, she hadn't done it because she didn't want something, somehow, to flag her searches and activity while she was getting the payments out of Thad and DenWu. Excuses continued for a long while, then it was just paranoia keeping her from taking the action. The paranoia had faded, but she'd been so engrossed in her day to day that it honestly slipped her mind.

Reid didn't need to know that she'd forgotten... She committed to keep the fact to herself whenever they met up again.

Her datapad flashed into secure mode, and she brought up the title she'd bestowed to get the spelling right as she looked up his last name.

Information flowed in on the Calderwall empire - masses upon masses of records and recordings that generated thousands of pages of focused results. Sara, the progenitor, had a meteoric rise to power. Pre-awakening and near-tutorial information was spotty, but that wasn't unusual for prominent figures. She was the darling child of the new awakenings, power and might mixed with intelligence and poise. Records for how quickly she'd made it to E grade. Records for how fast she'd managed to beat back the exobeasts. Even commendations for the interplanetary wars. She was a damn impressive woman.

Then the results hit on less encouraging details. Her planet had been awakened by Blasdej, and the woman was sponsored by them. Sara also had an ongoing and seemingly close relationship with the seedy company. That meant she - and her planet - were currently some level of embroiled in the current cosmic conflict.

Win sighed. Whether she wanted to be or not, Sara was tied to a truly terrible entity. Win read through a few more entities, and closed her original search out before staring at the empty search bar.

Time for a bit of truth.

Was he a runaway spouse? A failed usurper? Just a black sheep of the family that had gone a bit too deep into something he shouldn't have? Win placed bets in her mind on whether he was a great-grandson or a great-great grandson of the progenitor.

A single informational block's worth of data greeted her as a search result.

Win's brow furrowed as she read the first sentence. Her lips twitched at the second. She dropped what was left of her pastry as her mouth hung agape. The truth was far beyond her wildest assumptions. Long after she finished reading, Win stared at Reid Oliver Calderwall's data entry in disbelief.

Self Affixer. Prodigious Osteal Smith. Capable of self healing. Housing an ancient wizard in his body. It was already insane.

She forced herself to add to the mental list.

Father to one of the most impressive new leaders in eons. Obliterated an early empire's army of over 100 warriors - by himself. Fought off Salamanders while in G grade. Petrified by a corrupted skill. Worshipped as an demigod alongside his daughter. Had his 'statue destroyed' shortly before arriving in the Warrens. Which meant he'd somehow revived after a thousand years in stone. Probably something to do with Nyx. Still, absolutely insane.

She picked her pastry up and threw it in her mouth, chewed hard, and swallowed.

"Goddamn clown car full of secrets."

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