The ledge provided a perfect vantage point. She spied the tufted deer below, its thin legs picking through the uneven stones at the bottom of the gorge. Drawn to the murkle berries, the low growth bushes were spiny and hard to reach, but made excellent preserves and bait for the tastier animals in the area. Daphne found this patch the winter her mother died, it was one of her many secret hunting spots.

The tufted deer came in range. The breeze ruffled its shaggy fur. She wouldn't have a better window before the wind shifted, giving away her presence. She went still, holding her breath, arm steady. She fired. It was dead before it could react to the shot. Holstering her pistol, she went to the tie off, a harness she'd constructed for easy access down the steep rock face. Another little secret, only her brother knew about the harness, the other villagers discouraged by the difficult climb. They weren't the only family struggling this winter.

The latest sickness hit hard and fast, rippling through the boroughs of Jamestown, bringing down the young, the old, even men and women in their prime. A fighting chance against such a strong strain required real nourishment, live protein, over the malformed garbage pumped out by their outdated replicator. It wasn't fit for prison slop. When her father took ill last night, she came here at first light, determined to bring down a young buck before the day was out. To her fortune, one of the season's males wandered into the area before midday.

She hadn't counted on the speed of the virus.

Prudy Mallory caught her coming into town, rushing up to her breathless and sweaty. "Where have you been, I've been looking everywhere for you?"

"Out hunting." Daphne had a dead buck slung around her shoulders like a grisly scarf. Did the girl think she was out picking flowers? She pushed her ire aside. The youngest Mallory sister consistently ground down her patience with her painful stupidity. At least Constance had common sense. "You found me?"

"Miles sent me, it's your father."

Her stomach dropped away, vision wavering. No, he was fine this morning, sitting up, yelling at her brother to bring him something to read. She ran, the carcass slipping off her shoulders. It couldn't be, not so soon after mother. She threw open the front door, Miles at the disposal, dumping a bowl of bloody water. He caught sight of her face.

"Daphne, wait!" She didn't, racing for her father's room. What awaited her brought her to her knees. She crawled to the bedside, gingerly wrapping her fingers around her father's hand.

His skin was swollen, bruised, covered in lumps that burst open like overripe fruit oozing white pus and blood. He cracked open his eyelids, the whole area around them a deep purplish red, his face filled with pain.

"Lovey?" He rasped, causing his lip to split open. A sob escaped Daphne's throat. Lovey was what he called their mother. "Don't cry, lovey."

"Da, it's me." Daphne seized one of the stained damp rags, carefully wiping the stream of blood from his chin. He was so far gone. How could it turn downhill so fast? But then only a handful had contracted it in their borough, her father one of the first.

"Daphne?" Mile's hand rested on her shoulder, fingers biting into her collar bone.

"I'm sorry I took so long," she said, guilt like acid on her tongue.

"It's not your fault. They reported in this morning after you left. Everyone goes like this, quick. Anyone who catches it hasn't survived."

Hundred percent mortality rate, the sort of plague that could wipe out whole boroughs. Raleigh was already the smallest borough in the territory; this would further devastate their failing economy. They needed people like her father who could fix tech, create new parts. He couldn't die. No. She needed him.

"Can't be helped, my dear." Their father rasped, squeezing her hand though it must hurt to do so. She must have spoken her thoughts aloud.

"I'm sorry, Da." She brushed her lips across his knuckles. He grimaced, managing a vague wave with his free hand.

"Miles, could you fetch those capsules from the workshop, the coagulates?" Her brother rushed out, leaving them alone. "You need to take care of him."

"You don't have to tell me that, Da, I already do." That made him smile despite the pain.

"I'm serious, Daphne. You're his rock. With me gone, you two will be all you have in this world. Promise me."

"Of course, anything."

"No matter what happens, you keep your brother safe."

"Miss Daphne?"

"Miss Daphne?" Balthar leaned into the narrow bunk room, waking her from her dream, her nightmare. "We've arrived in the Port district. Cass wants you to accompany us to the pub." That got her up. She'd heard of the pubs of New Amsterdam, serving houses modeled from surviving fragments of Old Earth history, a melding of new tech and historic atmosphere popular with visiting species as well as the local human population. The Port district upheld the friendliest attitude towards interplanetary citizens.

They also boasted the highest murder and theft in the whole territory.

Daphne smoothed the wrinkles from her shirt and joined the merchant brothers in the main section of the transport. She'd grown to like these men, the compassionate Balthar managed to make her laugh in her darkest moods while quiet Cass fired questions at her about her constructed firearms. In the two weeks of travel to New Amsterdam, they provided a welcome distraction, but they couldn't stop her nightmares. Each night her subconscious remind her how deeply she failed her brother.

Cass eyed her, frowning at her pale pinched face. He held up a head wrap. "You'll want to cover that hair, someone's likely to scalp you for it."

Daphne's father often warned her of the same thing, citing it as his reason for never taking her beyond the wall, even Miles wore a cap over his short hair. She twisted it into a knot, using the wrap to cover her head completely. Three days ago, she smeared engine grease in her eyebrows, staining them dark. It wasn't attractive, but at least no one would look twice at her. People could afford a red streak, but a whole head meant natural or rich, both would get her nobbed off.

Balthar looked her over, tucking strands she missed. "Leave off the guns and you could pass for a demure merchant's wife." Daphne coughed, trying not to laugh. Demure was not a word she aspired to.

Cass punched the release code, opening the transport hull to beautiful chaos. The port was in full swing, merchants bustled about, shouting orders, securing their acquisitions. Mercenaries mingled with the evening shoppers, identified by the crossed swords branded beneath their left eye. Female companions displayed their wares along the avenue with corsets and split skirts, enticing the curious passerby with a wink of one reflective eye. Ocular implants, the same as the miners from the Longwall borough back home, to see in the dark.

Daphne gawked at the mass spectacle. There were Fey, Pathosians, even a few Barlok intermingling with the throng of humans. . She wanted to throw herself into the flow but the merchant brothers steered her through to the pub, a shoddy looking structure, dimly lit within. Smoke stung her eyes, the smell of hard liquor, metal, and pipe weed reminded her of home. The patrons were immersed in various conversations, though a sizable crowd gathered round a corner table; the scene tugged at her curiosity. Cass sidled up to the bar, leaving them behind.

"Cass will see who's looking to sell a vessel with your specifications, Miss Daphne," said Balthar. She barely heard him, drifting toward the crowd.

She peered between the shoulders of two tall Fey onto a game of Galthadar in progress. A smile played on her lips. Some activities were universal in a drinking house, cards being one of them. Nudging her way further in, she read the table.

A Pathosian, a Barlok, and two grizzled humans were mid hand. Judging by the pile before the horned Pathosian, he was running the other three into the ground. Daphne watched the flicker of the man's orange eyes, a small smirk on his lips. Two fingers tapped the table, waiting on the others to lay out their hands.

The Pathosian won the round, though she didn't understand how, his tells were blatant, obviously relying on his emotion sensing ability rather than skill. She could tell by his expression what kind of hand he had as soon as he picked up the cards. How did these fools not see it?

"What are you doing, Miss Daphne?" Balthar squeezed his way in next to her.

"I used to play this with my father in the drinking houses," she replied. Another round to the Pathosian, one of the humans slammed a hand on the table, declaring his withdrawal.

"Cass says there are few merchants able to barter what you are looking for, it might be better to take on a larger vessel and hire a small crew for the price they are asking. " Balthar's sour tone was endearing. It was sweet how he didn't want her to be swindled.

"Do you think I know enough Unispeak to make passable conversation?" The merchant brothers added a great deal to her fumbling understanding of the language during their journey here.

"Yes, but-"

She slid into the human's vacated seat, giving the players her most charming smile. "Room for one more?"

They gaped at her. Balthar emitted a strangled noise behind her. The Pathosian recovered first, eyes roving over her, lingering noticeably on her breasts, the small bit of cleavage her vee neckline revealed.

"It's a hundred trics to deal in, sweet." He said with a smile as slick as the human player's greased hair. Daphne widened her eyes, batting her lashes as she leaned forward into the table so the collar of her shirt dragged down.

"Would a gentleman give a lady a loan to play?" After a heartbeat pause three stacks of trics appeared in front of her, even the Barlok chipped in and she didn't think they found human women attractive. The merchant brothers whispered furiously behind her. She studied the players as the cards went out. The Barlok was the hardest to read, his features nothing like a human but after a few minutes she recognized the repetitive gestures from previous rounds. Not looking at her cards she placed a minimum bet. This hand didn't matter.

Cards down, the Pathosian again, collecting the pot with a wink at her. "In for another round?"

She made a point of counting her remaining trics, her expression indecisive. "One more couldn't hurt."

The hand went out. Daphne looked at her cards, a trifulgar, a decent hand. The human's was crap, he pulled out immediately. The Barlok might have something but the Pathosian clearly bluffed. She observed the Barlok through the next run of bets, certain by the click of his jaw his cards were not good enough.

"I bet all I have," Daphne declared, throwing in the meager remainder of her trics, a confident smile on her face. The Pathosian clearly thought she had no concept of this game, judging her by her first hand performance. The cards were laid out, the Barlok and Pathosian both showing a duesfulgar, the Barlok's higher. Her hand beat both. She clapped with delight. Her fellow players were indulgent, unconcerned losing a hand to the 'sweet lady'. They were primed for her.

Three hands later, the entire room gathered around the table, the Barlok withdrew shaking his shaggy head as the remaining human and Pathosian stared at her, dazed. It might have something to do with the flip in their fortunes. Half the Pathosian's pot now sat in front of her. The other patrons were betting whether she would finish him off. She could, but there were other concerns. Turning around, she grabbed a flabbergasted Cass, hauling him next to her.

"Is this enough to purchase a ship with my other commodities?"

"You would have to ask your opponent." He nodded toward the Pathosian, who blinked twice before laughing.

"I'm out, I withdraw!" His orange eyes glimmered in the low light as the crowd dispersed, muttering in disappointment. "What can I do for a cunning young lady?"

"I'm looking to purchase a ship, a one man vessel, capable of self-defense and long flights between fuel ups." The merchant brothers settled on either side of her. The Pathosian fiddled with his diminished pile of trimica.

"That would be a military grade scout ship, worth three times what is present on this table. "

Daphne pulled out her knife. The Pathosian stilled, his body deceptively relaxed. Balthar made to grab her hand when she reached up and ripped away the head wrap. The bar went quiet, the orange eyed merchant drawing a surprised breath. Cass covered his face with his palm.

Ignoring the lot of them, she brought the knife under her knot of hair and yanked up. Strands fell against the back of her neck, curling around her ears. A collective sigh went through the room as Daphne set the coil of hair before the Pathosian. He picked it up, unraveling it, avarice widening his grin until Cass cut in.

"I heard the merchant Titus is just in his dealings, particularly for a Pathosian Plebeian"

Titus glared at him, fingers tight around the coil of hair as his gaze shifted to Daphne. He smiled with a roll of his shoulders. "Sharp defense for such a capable lady, especially one able to fool my emotional perception. This covers the ship, a loaded armament, and three months supplies. I will personally ensure you are equipped with the highest quality goods the Port district can provide."

Balthar appeared impressed by the Pathosian's offer. Daphne looked to Cass, who nodded. She extended her arm across the table. "Throw in another two months of supplies," she said as Titus clasped her hand, "And I'll tell you how to never lose at cards again."