According to Helga, Frances was the only one living on the station the Eulalia had docked at, which orbited a gas giant surrounded by a considerable (and, Casey had to admit, beautiful) ring. The station itself was tucked in among the ice, rock, and dust that made up the ring, which helped keep it hidden from those who didn’t know where to look. Now, Frances was making them wait in an airlock while she prepared her office for the visit.

“Feeling nervous?” Helga asked.

Casey looked up at Helga, then noticed the keratin dust gently drifting down to the floor. With a muttered curse she let go of her left horn and inspected it with her right hand. A groove had been worn in where she had been worrying at it with her metal prosthetic. Great. Something else she had to keep in mind with the stupid thing. “I wish you’d mentioned it sooner.”

“It looks fine, don’t worry,” Helga said. 

“Are you sure she’ll be able to help us?” Casey asked, still poking at the indent in her horn.

Helga nodded. “I don’t know anyone with more connections than Frances. If she can’t, no one can.”

“I just wish she would hurry up,” groused Casey.

As if it had been waiting for Casey’s comment, the airlock door in front of them slid open with less than a whisper. On the other side was a garishly decorated waiting room. The walls were papered in melting waves of white and burnt orange, with a few overstuffed burgundy chairs lined up alongside. A wooden ovular coffee table squatted in the center of the marble tiled floor, and an impressive (and gaudy) looking plastic flower arrangement sat on top. What seemed to be the door to Frances’ office was on the opposite side of the room, a simple grey space station hatch. Casey had never been more put off by interior design.

“Has it… always looked like this?” she asked.

“As long as I’ve known her,” Helga replied.

Casey looked aghast. “How long was that again?” 

“About fifteen years, give or take, but I’ve been around much longer,” said a voice to their right.

Casey started, cursing much louder this time. The voice belonged to a Pasci with mottled green skin, who had just entered the room through a hidden door in the wall. Her orange-sclera’d eyes looked Casey over with thin, dark pupils. Casey eyed her back. Frances appeared to have some Felid features, but the proportions weren’t right. Her head and snout were wider, and she didn’t have the triangular nose, but the whiskers (that looked almost like very thin tentacles) definitely gave off a cat-like impression. Of course, the obvious difference between her and a Felid was the complete lack of fur. And the facial fins. Those were a dead giveaway. As far as clothing went, she wore a silk button-up covered in paisley under a dark suitcoat, and a pair of matching slacks. 

“You’re Frances?” Casey asked.

“And you’re Casey Black,” Frances responded. There was a faint air of amusement about her, her wide mouth never dropping out of a sly smile. As she tilted her head, her mohawk-like head fin flopped from one side of her head to the other. “I’ve learned a lot about you.”

Already, Casey didn’t like how this was going. “You’ve heard a lot about me, you mean?”

“I meant what I said.” Frances gestured to the door across the room. “If you both would come with me, I can explain what exactly I meant by what I said.”

Casey looked up at Helga in exasperation. Helga shrugged in a way that communicated ‘this is Frances’. They followed her into her office, which was decorated in a similar fashion to the waiting room. The key difference was the hairy carpet that covered the floor. Looking down at it, Casey was silently glad she was wearing shoes (and that she no longer had her original feet). It was pale green, and reminded her of mold.

“Do you like it? It’s called ‘shag’,” Frances said, sitting at her desk. It was a similar shade of burnt orange, made of what looked like enamel, and was all smooth edges. A fancy looking terminal with multiple screens sat on top. “Vintage Ulthean, if you can believe it. Very difficult to source.”

Casey couldn’t believe it, but didn’t care enough to argue. “Why did you want to be my copilot?”

Frances waved a hand in mollification. “Relax, relax! We’ll get to that. Come on, take a seat, both of you. Helga, it’s been forever, how have you been?”

“I’ve been better, but not bad. The station’s running fine as always,” Helga said, taking one of the two chairs in front of the desk. When Casey didn’t follow suit, she sighed and motioned to the other chair. “Come on, we’re here, you might as well sit. She’s not going to bite you.”

With reluctance, Casey obliged. Frances’ smile widened to a grin, revealing shark-like teeth. “There we go! Now we can talk. As I said, I’ve learned quite a lot about you over this past year.”

“And I would appreciate an explanation for what you mean by that,” Casey said.

“So diplomatic! It’s a simple one,” Frances said, steepling her half-webbed fingers as she leaned back in her chair. “I trade in information. Most call me an information broker. I collect rumors, learn about important figures in the Airless Ocean, hear about the movements of different factions, then I sell that information to those who might need it.”

Casey felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “You’re a spy,” she said, her tone accusing.

“No, not quite,” Frances said. “I contract one or two occasionally. I prefer to call them private investigators.”

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t walk out right now,” Casey said through gritted teeth.

Helga sighed. “Casey, she’s a completely normal aspect of Frontier life. Intel is critical out here. There are information brokers all over the galaxy.” 

Frances made a show of inspecting her sharp fingernails. “None quite as good as me, but…” 

“She’s just like Lawsek, is what she is!” Casey said, emphatic. “That’s exactly what the Department of Cooperation does! How do I trust someone who might just sell me out to the highest bidder or a cut of the giant bounty on my head?”

“Because you’re fascinating!” Frances said, spreading her hands. The little smile never left her face.

That stopped Casey dead in her tracks. It was quite possibly the last response she could have expected. “Wh. What?”

“You’re fascinating!” Frances repeated. “I only have two other confirmed reports of Ulthean civilians escaping the Hegemony’s borders. One of them was killed shortly after, and the other vanished without a trace. You haven’t just escaped, you’ve survived! Thrived even! The escape, your first run-in with the recovery team, even a proxy! A proxy! When I heard about that, I decided right then I wanted to keep you alive.”

Casey realized her mouth was hanging open, and shut it. “How do you know about  Nate? About proxies?”

“I already told you,” Frances said. “I contract investigators. There’s been one at Brock Station for four months now.”

“Excuse me?” Helga interjected, suddenly angry. Casey took no small pleasure in seeing her get upset with Frances as well. “Why am I just now hearing about this? We had a deal.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, they’re long gone already,” Frances said, waving a hand dismissively. “How could I be sure you wouldn’t blow their cover? If you have any more secrets, Sir Urthstripe, I don’t know them. I only kept tabs on our Casey here.”

“I’m not your anything yet,” Casey said, making a mental note of the phrase ‘more secrets’. “So I’m more interesting to you alive than dead. Fine. Why would you give up this job to babysit someone like me? Why did you reach out to Helga about me?”

“Not content with just being interesting?” Frances’ voice oozed with flattery. “I suppose that’s fair. In honesty, I’ve been in this occupation for far too long, and I’m bored. I’ve been keeping a close eye on Ulthea. Yours wasn’t the only incident out here involving a proxy, you were just the first to make it out the other end alive. I want to see what you do next, firsthand.”

Casey looked at her incredulously. “What I’m doing next is Hauling. Running freight isn’t going to be interesting, it’s just a way to make money and keep away from Ulthean scouts at the same time.”

“But isn’t there something so romantic about Hauling?” Frances asked dreamily. “Just you, your ship, and the vast vacuum outside. Passing by worlds no one has ever stepped foot on, passing through corners of the Airless Ocean no one ever goes… We might even see a dragon!”

Casey looked at Helga in disbelief. Helga, seeing her expression, rolled her eyes and said, “We had one other request for you, besides helping Casey navigate the Frontier.”

“Oh?” Frances said, leaning in.

“We haven’t been able to get the big three on board with spreading information about proxies,” Helga said. “We were hoping you could help Casey get the word out to as many civilizations as possible without making it obvious it’s coming from her.”

“And you said it wouldn’t be interesting,” Frances said, turning her grin to Casey. 

Casey was unamused. “If you can do it, you can come aboard.”

Frances’ smile widened ever so slightly, and Casey wondered if she had expected this. It sure seemed like she knew a lot more than she was letting on. Maybe it didn’t matter. As long as her own goals were accomplished, Casey would put up with anything, even this weirdo. The Benevolence was her own. Benni would keep her safe.

“I can, in fact, do it,” Frances said, kicking her brown leather shoes up onto her desk. She began counting on her fingers as she continued. “I know what you call the Frontier like the top of my desk. I know the leaders of at least fifteen spacefaring civilizations, and I have connections in the rest that’ll get the knowledge moving. I can keep us out of the way of Ulthean patrols, and keep bounty hunters off of you while on-station. On top of that, I can disguise your bio-signature to keep your true identity a secret. All I ask for is three hots and a cot, and that you don’t argue about my navigational choices. Can’t do my job if you don’t let me, right?”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about proxies before this?” Casey asked.

“Too risky,” Frances said with a shrug. “This sort of thing is easier if you stay mobile. I couldn’t – rather, I didn’t want to – move around much. Keeping an eye on things was much safer.”

Casey looked up again at Helga, who nodded. “Okay,” Casey said. “How soon can you start?”

“Just a moment,” Frances said, holding up a hand. “I have my own questions.”

Internally, Casey groaned, but she did her best to keep her frustration off her face. “I thought you already knew everything about me,” she said.

“Wanderer, you’re feisty,” Frances chuckled. “I only know the broad strokes. I’d like to know about your ship. It’s an Ulthean Heartland-class gunship, right?”

“Right…” Casey said warily. She knew Frances knew that part already, so this had to be going somewhere she wouldn’t like.

Frances tilted her head. “The AI on those ships are especially complex. How did you manage to steal it without the AI stopping you? A ship mechanic shouldn’t have the skillset to hack something like that.”

And there it was. Casey didn’t even ask how she knew so much about Ulthean AI, she just set her jaw and said, “Trade secret.”

“Casey, I can’t work on a ship without knowing it beforehand,” Frances sighed, though still the smile never left her face. “You couldn’t have managed to delete it. Come on, clue me in.”

“I–” Casey huffed. There wasn’t any way around it. Frances would find out one way or the other if she agreed to copilot the Benevolence. “I unshackled the AI. There were old debug codes in a manual I found stashed in my dorm.”

Expression unchanging save for slightly raised eyebrows, Frances said, “I thought that had to be it. It was the one piece of your puzzle I was missing. Couldn’t get anyone onto your ship to confirm it. It must be very protective of you, judging by its recent actions.”

“We’re both protective of each other,” Casey said firmly. She leaned forward. “If this gets out, I’m kicking you off my ship. If you hurt it, I won’t wait until we’re docked. I know what people think about unshackled AI, but you’re either okay with both of us, or we look for another navigator.”

“I have no motivation to tell anyone, and even less to mess with it,” Frances said, raising her hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to be certain. It would have been a nasty surprise if I had to find out for myself.”

“Im sure,” Casey said, staring daggers. “Is there anything else?”

“No, not right now. Do you have any more questions for me?” Frances asked.

“I’m done,” Casey said, settling back into the chair. “If that doesn’t scare you off, then I don’t know what will.”

“Far out,” Frances said, grinning wide. “I have a few contracts to recall, a couple loose ends to tie up. Once that’s dealt with, I can get to Brock Station myself. How does a week from now sound?”

“I have to register with the Haulers, so that’s fine,” Casey said, standing up. “Are you ready, Helga?”

Helga was eyeing Frances suspiciously. Frances stared cooly back. After a tense moment, Helga nodded and said, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

…

Later, after the first jump back towards Brock Station, Helga found Casey in the cargo hold of the Eulalia, working the punching bag like she had a grudge against it. Casey did have a grudge, though at this point it was difficult to ascertain any specific target. Her shoulder length hair was tied back in a short ponytail, and she had unzipped her jumpsuit halfway in order to tie the sleeves around her waist. With just a sports bra underneath, the long and winding scar on her right side was plain as day. 

Casey was entirely unaware of Helga’s presence as the Brocken stood at the foot of the staircase, watching. All her attention was on the bag. Her form was amateurish, possibly a little worse than before the meeting with Frances, but the viciousness behind each strike was evident. The shots from her left arm were clearly stronger now, shaking the bag much harder than her right. As before, when Helga tried to get her attention, it took multiple attempts, eventually forcing Helga to walk behind the frame of the punching bag, into Casey’s field of view.

Finally, Casey stopped, breathing hard as she stared at Helga. “Did you need something?”

“Just wanted to check in,” Helga said, leaning against the punching bag frame. “See how you’re feeling about Frances.”

Casey held her right fist out towards the punching bag and nudged it, making it swing slowly. As she spoke, she continued to push it, keeping the slow swing. It helped keep her limbs busy while she thought. “I think she’s going to be pretty annoying, but I’ll live. What was that at the end? Do you not trust her?”

“I do trust her…” Helga began, then trailed off.

Casey really didn’t want to be the one to prompt her to finish the thought, but at the same time was too impatient to wait. “But?”

Helga pressed her mouth into a line. “I don’t think she was being entirely honest about why she wanted to help.”

“So?” Casey asked. Bap… bap… went her fist on the bag. “Why should I care if she’s going to help me anyway?”

“I don’t know yet,” Helga said. “That’s the problem with Pasci sometimes.”

“Oookay,” Casey said, her face showing mild distaste. “That’s a bit… discriminatory?”

Helga huffed. “It’s not–” she started, then adjusted tack. “The Pasci are old. I don’t just mean their civilization. They were the first to become spacefaring, yes, but some of them can live to be almost three thousand years old.”

In shock, Casey stopped toying with the punching bag. “You’re joking. How old is Frances?”

“I don’t know,” Helga said. “Not exactly. Over a thousand years, at least. If you get to know enough of them, you start to get the impression that they feel like they’re the stewards of the galaxy, like they always know better. The reason why I’m so suspicious is that they almost never take an interest in people like us. Something is up.”

Casey fell into thought, swinging the punching bag back and forth. Back and forth. She was a target of the strongest civilization in the galaxy, the biggest bullies, and now a member of the oldest civilization in the galaxy was taking an interest. Specifically someone uniquely tuned into the goings-on of every faction that was worth noting. Someone who could be taking orders from said oldest civilization. There were even more eyes on her than she thought. Every move she made from here on would be monitored, reported on, judged. Was moving against Ulthea the right choice?

Then Helga said something, and her train of thought derailed. The punching bag swung twice more before coming to a rest. Casey’s eyebrows knitted together. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were okay,” Helga said. “You were starting to look pretty intense.”

Casey shook her head, trying to clear it. “There’s too much to think about.”

Helga frowned and nodded. “Things are definitely getting complicated. For now, I say we trust Frances, and you can keep me up to date with how she’s doing.”

Deep breath, long sigh. “Okay,” Casey said. “When’s dinner?”

“Right now,” Helga said with a chuckle. “I’ve got chilli on the stove, we’ll make the next jump after. Come on.”

Casey pulled on the rest of her jumpsuit, zipped it up, and followed Helga up the stairs, but not before giving the punching bag a final tap. There was all week to think about next steps, and a lot of discussion to be had. In the back of her mind, Casey wondered if she could ever go back to a simple life again. 

What a stupid question, she thought. When had her life ever been simple?