Xena stood at the edge of the docking ring and watched the third captain that morning wave her off. Her sword hung heavy at her hip. Her leathers smelled of horse and smoke. Somewhere past the port's blue lights, on a mining moon she could not name yet, Seven of Nine was waiting, and Xena had sworn to find her and stand at her side. She had crossed half a world and a piece of the sky to get this far. She could not cross the rest on foot. A freighter crew laughed at her from their loading ramp. One of them tapped her scabbard and asked if she planned to hunt asteroids with it. She did not answer. She walked to the next berth, where a slim man in a black and red uniform was arguing with a customs drone about a crate. A raccoon in a blue-green shirt sat on the crate, chewing a ration bar. The man turned, saw her, and grinned like he had been waiting all shift for something interesting. "Tom Paris," he said. "You need a ride, or a fight?" "A ride," Xena said. "To the Vega mining belt." He looked her over. The sword. The leathers. The dust. "Can't take you like that," he said. "Port authority will pull my license before we clear the ring. No blades, no hides. Passengers wear cloth." Xena unbuckled the sword and set it on the crate beside the raccoon. The raccoon stopped chewing. Tom Paris raised an eyebrow. She pulled a bundle from her pack, a plain gray tunic she had taken in trade two nights back, and held it up. "I keep the blade in a case," she said. "I wear your cloth over the leathers. I pay in coin or work." He thought about it while the raccoon sniffed the pommel. Then he tossed her a crew jacket from the crate. "Cargo hand," he said. "Not passenger. Passengers get searched. Hands get waved through. You lift crates until Vega, and you keep the sword in a locker I show you." Xena pulled the jacket on over her leathers. It fit badly. It fit enough. She followed Tom Paris up the ramp with her sword wrapped in the gray tunic and the raccoon trotting behind her, and the hatch sealed behind them with a sound she had never heard before.

The hatch had barely sealed before Tom Paris's comm crackled with bad news. Port authority wanted a final sweep before departure. Two inspectors, coming up the ramp in five minutes. Xena stood in the cargo bay with the wrapped sword still under her arm. Tom Paris pointed at a locker near the bulkhead and told her to stow it, but Xena had already seen the seal on the door. Any locker with a seal would be opened. She shook her head and looked around the bay. Crates. Netting. A feed bin for the raccoon. The raccoon itself sat on a low shelf, chewing a strip of dried fruit, watching her with clever eyes. Xena crossed to the feed bin, lifted the lid, and buried the sword under a layer of pellets. Then she picked up the raccoon and set it on top of the closed bin. "Stay," she said. The raccoon licked its paw. The inspectors came up the ramp with scanners in hand. Xena lifted crates and did not look at them. One inspector ran a wand along the sealed locker and frowned when it chirped. Tom Paris opened it and showed him a case of tools. The other inspector walked toward the feed bin. The raccoon stood up on the lid, puffed out its white chest, and hissed. The inspector stepped back and swore. Tom Paris laughed and said the animal bit the last man who tried to scan it, and the port clinic had charged him for the shots. The inspector waved his wand once over the bin from a safe distance. The wand chirped. He looked at the hissing raccoon, looked at his partner, and marked something on his pad. "Livestock feed," he muttered. "Metal fittings in the bin. Fine." He moved on. Ten minutes later the ramp closed for good and the freighter's engines began to warm. Xena lifted the raccoon off the bin and set it on her shoulder. It smelled of dried fruit and dust. She dug the sword out of the pellets and wiped the blade clean on her sleeve. Tom Paris watched her from the ladder. "You owe that animal," he said. "You also owe me a shift. Galley needs scrubbing before we hit the belt." Xena wrapped the sword again and followed him up the ladder. The Vega mining belt was still weeks away. Seven of Nine was still weeks away. But the port was behind her now, and the sword was still hers.

The galley smelled of old grease and burnt coffee. Xena set the sword against the wall behind a flour sack and rolled up her sleeves. Tom Paris leaned in the hatch and watched her take stock. She named the stores back to him: dried beans, salt pork, ship biscuit, the tank of protein paste that every freighter carried. She knew the burners. She knew the water ration. She knew how much grease a crew of seven would leave on a plate after a long shift. Tom Paris raised an eyebrow. Xena told him she could feed his crew for the whole run if he swore to keep her safe at the next waystation. He said the next stop was a small lodge on a forest moon, cedar walls and lanterns, a picture of an old starship nailed above the door. Rough traders passed through. He would walk her in himself and vouch for her sword. She spat in her palm and offered it. He shook. She cooked that night. Beans with pork fat, biscuit softened in the pot liquor, coffee strong enough to strip paint. The crew ate twice and pushed their bowls back for more. One man asked who the new cook was. Tom Paris said she was cargo crew and off limits, and no one argued. Xena scrubbed the pots down to bare metal and hung them on the hooks by size. When the galley was quiet she carried the sword back to her bunk and sat with the wrapped blade across her knees. Weeks of this. Beans and biscuit and grease traps, and at the end of it a cedar lodge on a forest moon where Tom Paris would walk her past the rough men at the door. It was not the Vega belt. It was not Seven of Nine. But it was one waystation closer, and the bargain was sealed.

Three days out from the forest moon, Xena woke in her bunk with a cold thought. Seven of Nine was in the Vega mining belt, but the belt was wide and the camps moved with the ore. Xena had left the spaceport without sending word. She could arrive at the belt in a month and find the camp stripped, the miners gone to another rock. She sat up and wrapped the sword and set her feet on the deck. She needed a message to run ahead of her, and she needed it before the freighter left the cedar lodge on the forest moon. She found Tom Paris in the cargo bay, checking straps on the feed crates. The raccoon in the blue-green shirt watched from its bin, chewing a strip of pork rind she had slipped it that morning. Xena asked if the lodge on the forest moon had a comm relay. Tom Paris said it did. Traders paid coin to bounce messages out to the belt and back. He said the innkeeper was honest about the sending but charged double for a name and a camp. Xena had no coin. She had the sword, and she would not sell the sword. She looked at the raccoon. She asked Tom Paris what a trained cargo animal was worth at a forest moon lodge. He laughed once, then stopped when he saw her face. He said a good ratter that scared off inspectors was worth a short message and a mug of beer. She said she would take the message. They made the forest moon at dusk. The lodge stood at the end of a plank walk, cedar walls glowing from lantern posts, a framed picture of an old starship nailed above the door. Tom Paris walked her in past two men with knives on their belts and set his hand on her shoulder until they looked away. The innkeeper took the raccoon in its bin and counted its teeth and nodded. Xena wrote the message on a slip of pulp paper. Seven of Nine. Vega belt. Xena is coming. Wait for me. The innkeeper fed the slip into the relay and the light on the box turned green and then went dark. He said the bounce would reach the belt in nine days. He could not promise it would find her. He could only promise it would go. Xena walked back onto the porch and stood under a lantern and felt the sword against her ribs. The word was out ahead of her now. Whether Seven of Nine would still be there to catch it, she would not know until she stood on the rock herself.

Xena slept two nights in a lodge bunk while Tom Paris waited on a cargo transfer. On the third morning she came down to the common room to help the innkeeper with the stove. A shuttle hummed low over the cedar roof and set down on the plank pad outside. Xena wiped her hands on her apron and stepped to the window. A woman in a black and red uniform walked up the porch steps, blonde hair pulled back, a green implant bright above her eye. Xena's chest went tight. Seven of Nine had not waited nine days. Seven of Nine had come. Seven of Nine stopped in the doorway and looked at her. "Your message reached me in transit. I diverted." She stepped inside. "You will explain why later. First, I have not eaten since yesterday. Feed me." Xena laughed once, sharp, because she did not know what else to do. She said she would. She said the crew would eat too, and the captain, and the innkeeper if he wanted. Seven of Nine sat at the long cedar table and folded her hands. She did not smile, but her mouth softened at one corner. Xena went to the kitchen and worked. She had smoked pork from the freighter, potatoes from the lodge cellar, a jar of pickled greens, a slab of hard cheese. She built a stew on the stove and set biscuits on a sheet in the oven. She sliced the cheese thin. She fried the greens in pork fat until they crackled. Tom Paris came in from the cargo pad, saw the uniform at the table, and stopped in the doorway. Xena caught his eye and nodded once. He sat down two seats from Seven of Nine and said nothing. The innkeeper brought beer without being asked. Xena carried the pot to the table and ladled bowls. She served Seven of Nine first. Seven of Nine ate three bites, set the spoon down, and looked up. "Acceptable. Better than acceptable." She looked at Xena's belt, where the sword hung openly for the first time since the spaceport. "You came a long way with that on your back. I want to know why." Xena sat down across from her. She said she had come to swear to her, if she would have it. Seven of Nine did not answer at once. She lifted the spoon again and ate. Then she said, "We will speak after the meal. My shuttle leaves at dusk. You will come with me to the Stargazer, or you will stay here. Decide before the biscuits cool." Xena felt the sword at her hip and the heat of the stove at her back. The dinner had done its work. The next choice was already on the table.

The biscuits were still warm when Xena set the last plate down. Seven of Nine ate without hurry. Tom Paris drank his beer and watched the door. The innkeeper cleared the pot and left them to it. Xena stayed standing. The sword hung at her hip in plain sight, the blade wrapped but the hilt bare, its stones catching lantern light through the leather. She had shown it on purpose. Now she had to speak for it. Xena stepped back from the table and drew the sword free. The blade woke as it always did, a slow prism running down the steel, thin lines of light crackling near the guard. Tom Paris pushed his chair back an inch. Seven of Nine did not move. Xena went to one knee on the plank floor and laid the sword flat across both palms, edge toward herself, hilt toward Seven of Nine. "I came weeks for this," Xena said. "I hid it in a feed bin. I cooked for strangers to keep it near me. I want to carry it for you. Not as crew. As your sworn protector. If you take the hilt, the pledge holds." Seven of Nine set her spoon down. She looked at the blade, then at Xena's face. "You understand what I command. A starship. A crew that was told I should not have it." Xena said she understood. Seven of Nine stood. She walked around the table. She did not touch the sword yet. "A captain does not need a swordsman." Xena kept her arms level. "A captain needs someone who will not leave." Seven of Nine studied her a long moment. Then she closed her hand around the hilt and lifted the sword clean off Xena's palms. The light along the blade steadied under her grip. "Accepted," she said. "Rise." Xena rose. Tom Paris let out a breath and drank. Seven of Nine returned the sword hilt-first. "Dusk is in two hours. You will be on my shuttle." She turned to Tom Paris. "Her contract with you ends tonight. Settle what she owes." Tom Paris said there was nothing to settle. He said the galley was clean and the ledger was closed. Seven of Nine nodded once and walked to the porch to speak into her comm. Xena sheathed the sword. Her hands were steady, but her shoulders had gone loose in a way she did not recognize. She had won the pledge. She had also just been given a place on a starship she had never seen, under a captain whose crew had been told to doubt her. The lodge door stood open. The shuttle waited on the pad.

Xena walked out to the shuttle pad while the sun still hung above the trees. Seven of Nine was inside the shuttle running checks. Tom Paris walked with Xena as far as the ramp and stopped there. He said the crew had heard about the pledge over the comm. He said one of them was already off the shuttle, waiting on the pad, and would not board while Xena stood near it. Xena thanked him for the warning and kept walking. The crewman stood at the foot of the ramp with his arms crossed. He wore the same black and red uniform as the rest of Seven of Nine's shuttle crew, the small gold badge on his chest catching the last light. He was young and fair-haired and did not move when Xena stopped in front of him. He said he had served Seven of Nine for two years. He said he had been told a stranger with a sword had walked into a lodge and made a captain kneel to a pledge before her own crew could speak. He said he would not fly with someone he could not read. Xena set the wrapped sword on the deck plate between them. She drew the blade and held it flat across her palms the way she had held it for Seven of Nine. The light along the edge climbed slow and clean. She told him to take the hilt. She said if he lifted it and the light held under his hand, he would know the blade answered only to true intent, and he could judge hers by what it did. She said if he thought her false, he could turn the point on her right there and she would not lift a hand. He stared at her a long moment. Then he reached down and closed his fist around the hilt. He lifted. The light along the steel steadied under his grip, the same clean prism it had shown for Seven of Nine. His mouth opened once and shut. He set the sword back across her palms carefully, hilt toward her. He said his name, quiet, and said he had been wrong to speak before he looked. He said he would tell the others what he had seen. He walked up the ramp ahead of her and did not look back. Xena sheathed the sword. Tom Paris, watching from the edge of the pad, raised one hand in a small salute and turned back toward the lodge. Somewhere above the trees a bright point of gold moved against the darkening sky, a flyer riding a ring toward the moon, still days out. Xena did not know him. She climbed the ramp. Inside the shuttle the crew stood at their posts and watched her come. None of them spoke against her. None of them spoke to her, either. Seven of Nine looked up from the console and nodded once. The ramp closed behind her.

The shuttle lifted from the pad and climbed through the last light. Xena took the jump seat behind Seven of Nine and set the wrapped sword across her knees. The crew ran their checks in short, clipped voices. They did not look at her, but no one spoke against her either. Then the pilot swore. A red light bloomed on the forward panel. Seven of Nine leaned in and read the code aloud. Two small craft had broken from the moon's shadow and were closing on their tail. The pilot pushed the shuttle hard, but the two craft matched course and gained. The first hit rocked the deck. The second shot cut the aft shield and the hull rang. Seven of Nine called for boarding drill. The pilot said they meant to grapple, not kill. Xena stood and unwrapped the sword. The blade came free and the light along the edge climbed white, then split into bands of color that ran the length of the steel. Thin arcs of blue lightning wrapped the flat and jumped to the deck plate. The nearest crewman stepped back. Xena told them to fall behind her at the hatch and let the boarders come to the narrow. She said the sword was made for close ground and the shuttle was close ground. Seven of Nine looked at the blade, then at Xena, and gave the order. The grapple hit. The hatch blew inward. The first boarder came through low and Xena took his arm at the shoulder in one clean cut. The second fired and she turned the shot on the flat of the blade and the lightning threw him back into the third. She held the hatch. She did not move past it. The crew fired past her hip into the breach and the boarders broke. On the second craft the pilot cut the grapple and pulled away. Then Xena heard a hum outside the hull she did not know, low and steady, coming up fast. A man in a dark suit swept past the port in open space, a gold ring on his hand throwing a bright cone of light ahead of him. He struck the fleeing craft broadside and it spun off into the dark. He turned once toward the shuttle port, raised a hand, and flew on toward the moon behind them. Xena did not know him. Seven of Nine watched him go and asked who he was. Xena said she had seen him last night above the trees and could not say. The hatch would not seal. The pilot reported the aft shield was gone and the Stargazer was still four hours out. Seven of Nine looked at the open hatch, then at Xena, and said they would not make it without help.

The hatch would not seal. Xena stood in the gap with the sword low and the lightning quiet along the edge. The second craft had pulled back but did not leave. It circled wide, out past the port, then came around the belly and out again. Seven of Nine read the sensor at the pilot's shoulder and said the craft was waiting for the hull to fail. Xena could hold the hatch against boarders. She could not hold vacuum. She stepped back one pace and looked at the crew. Four faces, all watching her. She said she needed to go outside. The pilot said she would die in three breaths. Seven of Nine said the suit lockers were behind the jump seats. Xena set the blade across her knee, unclipped the wrap, and belted a work suit over her armor. The helmet was thin and the seals were old. She fit it anyway. She told Seven of Nine to blow the hatch on her signal and shut it behind her, sealed or not, and to trust the man with the ring if he came back. The hatch blew. The air took her out clean. She caught the frame with one hand and swung her legs against the hull. The sword lit in her fist and the colors ran along the blade and threw light across the plating. The circling craft saw the light and turned. It came in low along the spine, meaning to strafe her off. Xena crouched on the hull and waited. She had one cut in her before the suit gave. She did not get to take it. The hum came up under her boots first. The man in the dark suit rose past the shuttle's nose, the gold ring on his hand throwing a bright cone ahead of him. He did not look at her. He flew straight into the oncoming craft and struck it below the pilot's port. The craft folded around his shoulder and went dark. He shoved the wreck away with one hand and it drifted off, tumbling. Then he turned in open space and came back to the shuttle. He caught Xena by the arm before her suit finished its second warning and set her at the open hatch. He looked into her helmet. He said, hull patch, ten minutes, then Stargazer. He said it in three breaths and no more. Then he laid his other hand on the torn hatch frame and the metal bent under his palm until the gap closed to a seam. Inside, the pilot got the inner seal to hold. Seven of Nine pulled Xena's helmet off and did not let go of the collar. She asked who the man was. Xena said she still did not know, but he had chosen a side. Outside the port, the man in the dark suit held station off their wing and waited for the shuttle to move.

The shuttle drifted with the man in the dark suit off their wing. Xena felt the hull through her boots and knew it would not hold another hit. The pilot said the patch was set but the plating was thin where the second craft had raked them. Seven of Nine stood at the sensor with one hand flat on the console. She said a third contact had appeared at the edge of scan, closing fast. Xena counted breaths and did not like the number. She looked at Seven of Nine and asked what the shuttle could take. Seven of Nine said, one more pass, if the pass is short. Xena said that was not enough. Seven of Nine did not answer at once. She closed her eyes and the small green implant at her temple caught the console light. When she opened her eyes she said, I can reroute the shield emitters through the deflector coil. It will not last. It will make the hull read as empty space and hold against one strike. She said the coil would burn out after. She said it flat, the way she said everything. Xena laid the sword across the deck plate to give her hands to the work. Seven of Nine knelt at the panel and pulled the cover with her fingers. She spoke to the pilot in short strings of numbers and the pilot keyed them without asking why. The lights dimmed. The hum under Xena's boots changed pitch. Outside, the shuttle went dark to the eye, the plating swallowing the moonlight until only the seam of the patched hatch showed. The third craft came in on the run Seven of Nine had called. It fired where the shuttle had been. The bolt struck the invisible hull and the shuttle shook once, hard, and held. Xena caught Seven of Nine by the shoulder before she went down. The panel behind them cracked and smoked. The pilot said the coil was gone. Seven of Nine said, adequate. The man in the dark suit moved off the wing and drove into the third craft and the third craft came apart. He turned and pointed at the shuttle's nose, meaning go. The pilot pushed the throttle. The Stargazer showed on the forward scope as a hard white point. Xena picked up the sword and stood at Seven of Nine's shoulder. Seven of Nine was breathing through her teeth and holding her wrist where the panel had burned her. She said, we will reach my ship. Xena said, yes. The shuttle ran for the white point and the coil smoked behind them and did not catch fire.

The shuttle limped into the Stargazer's bay and set down hard on the deck. The pilot cut power and the cabin lights dropped to standby. Xena kept her hand on Seven of Nine's elbow until Seven of Nine straightened and pulled her arm back. Steam rolled off the burnt panel behind them. Outside the viewport, the bay doors sealed and the pressure gauge climbed. Xena picked up her sword and stood at Seven's shoulder as the hatch cycled open. A line of officers waited on the deck in red-shouldered uniforms. Xena counted six, then the one at the front stepped forward. Word had come ahead of them. The crewman from the shuttle stood among the officers, and Xena saw he had already spoken. The officers looked at her sword, then at her, then at Seven of Nine's burned wrist. None of them reached for a weapon. The lead officer said the bridge was ready and a medic was on the way. Seven of Nine said the medic could wait. Seven of Nine walked Xena the length of the bay with her crew falling in behind. In the corridor a young officer in a black and red tunic caught up and matched Xena's step. He said his name was known to her by ship rumor only. He said the man in the dark suit had contacted the Stargazer on an open channel and told them Xena was the reason the shuttle came home. He said the crew had heard it. He asked to see the sword. Xena laid the hilt across his palm. The blade glowed steady under his hand. He gave it back and stepped aside for her to pass. On the bridge Seven of Nine took her chair and did not sit. She turned to her officers and said Xena stood at her side by her order and by the sword's own witness. She said any objection would be heard now, in the open, or not at all. The bay crewman spoke first and said what he had seen at the shuttle. The young officer spoke next and said what the blade had done in the corridor. One by one the others said nothing, which was the answer Seven of Nine had asked for. The lead officer said the post was Xena's. Seven of Nine said, adequate, and the word carried a weight Xena had not heard in it before. The medic came and Seven of Nine let him wrap her wrist while she read the damage reports. Xena stood at her right shoulder with the sword grounded on the deck. Seven of Nine did not look up when she spoke. She said the man in the dark suit was still out there and had not answered their hails. She said the ones who sent the three craft would send more. Xena said she would be ready. Seven of Nine said, yes, and turned the page on the report.

The damage reports ran late into ship night. Seven of Nine sent the bridge crew off in shifts and kept her chair. Xena stayed at her right shoulder with the sword grounded on the deck. When the last officer left, Seven of Nine closed the report and stood. She said the mess would be quiet at this hour. She said Xena had not eaten since the shuttle. It was not a question. Xena set the sword across her back and followed her off the bridge. They ate at a corner table under low lights. Seven of Nine had ordered two trays before Xena sat, and the food was plain and hot. Xena watched her eat with her bandaged wrist held stiff above the tray. Seven of Nine said the cook was competent but not better than Xena. Xena laughed once, short, and Seven of Nine looked up at the sound. She said she had not heard that from Xena before. Xena said there had not been reason. Seven of Nine set her fork down. She said the crew had accepted the post because of the sword. She said she had accepted it before the sword. Xena asked when. Seven of Nine said at the lodge, when Xena set the hilt in her hand and did not let go until she took it. She said she had known then and had not said so because the shuttle was two hours out. Xena reached across the table and laid her hand over Seven of Nine's uninjured one. Seven of Nine did not move her hand. She turned it under Xena's and closed her fingers. She said, adequate. Xena said the word back to her, and Seven of Nine's mouth moved at one corner. They walked the corridor together to Seven of Nine's quarters. At the door Seven of Nine stopped and faced her. She said the ones who sent the three craft had a name and a fleet and would find the Stargazer within the week. She said tonight was the only quiet they would get. She said Xena could come inside or stand the door. Xena unslung the sword and grounded it against the bulkhead beside the frame. The blade lit steady under her hand and held. She said she would stand the door until the watch changed, and then she would come inside. Seven of Nine looked at the light on the wall and said, acceptable. The door slid shut behind her. Xena set her back to the bulkhead and kept the hilt in her palm. The sword burned clean and even beside her, and for the first time since the spaceport she was where she had meant to be.

The corridor lights dimmed to ship night an hour after the door closed. Xena kept her back to the bulkhead and the sword grounded beside her. The blade held its steady glow. She counted breaths and watched the far bend of the passage. By the third hour her knees ached and her eyes burned. The watch would not change until dawn, and dawn was six hours off. She had promised to stand the door and then to come inside. She meant to keep both parts. Footsteps came from the cross-corridor. A junior officer approached with a padd and a cup of something hot. He set the cup on the deck by her boot without speaking. He said the captain had signed the order an hour ago. Xena took the padd. The order named her permanent night watch and cleared her from day duty. At the bottom, in a separate line, Seven of Nine had added one sentence. It read: sleep is a system failure I will not accept in my protector. Xena handed the padd back. She said to tell the captain she had read it. The officer left. The cup steamed at her feet and she did not touch it. She closed her eyes for one breath and opened them to find she had lost a minute. The sword's light had dipped. She tightened her grip and the glow steadied. She thought of the fleet coming within the week and of the door at her back. She set the hilt against her sternum and asked the blade for what she needed. The rainbow along the edge brightened. Lightning ran the length of the steel and sank into her palm, into her wrist, up into her chest. Heat spread through her ribs and did not stop. Her heartbeat slowed and evened. The ache in her knees went out like a lamp. She drew a breath and did not need another for a long count. When she opened her eyes the corridor looked sharper. She understood, without being told, that she would not sleep again while she carried the sword. The cost was written into her hand where the light had entered. She accepted it. At the watch change she keyed the door. Seven of Nine was awake at the desk, wrist still bandaged, a report open in front of her. She looked up and read Xena's face for a long moment. She said, you did not rest. Xena said she would not, not on this ship, not until the fleet was answered. She set the sword across the desk between them so Seven of Nine could see the light hold under no hand at all. Seven of Nine touched the flat of the blade with one finger. She said, adequate. Then she said, sit. Xena sat, and the night went on without her in it.