The Privateer

"He knows nothing of The Crunch." Yvian pointed a forkful of cake at the human as she made her point. "He's not pixen." She brought the fork to her mouth but paused. "No offense," she told him. Then she took a bite. Delicious.

"None taken." Mims took a bite of his own cake, He'd been against baking a cake, arguing that they hadn't really made it to safety until they were back in Confederation space. He had lost the argument, and lost again when he was reminded that he'd agreed to make two cakes if they survived the Incursion. Now the sisters savored the sweet taste of victory. They allowed the human to partake, of course. They were magnanimous like that. "I was just curious."

"That's why we should tell him," Lissa said. "He deserves to know what we're getting him into."

"We're not getting him into anything!" Yvian protested. "We're just teaming up with him to make money." She realized how bad that sounded just as she finished forking another mouthful. "Uh...that, and we like you...and stuff." Mims snorted.

"Sis," Lissa gave her a long suffering expression. "Do you really think your crazy ass plan has a chance in the verse with just the two of us? Or that he wouldn't try to help? Crunch, Yvian, just being associated with us will cause problems if we go through with this."

"And just like that," Mims interrupted. "I went from amused to annoyed. Whatever this is, you can stop debating." He set his fork down and turned to Yvian. "This my ship. You work for me. So if the two of you have something going that might be a danger to us, you will tell me now." Yvian started to speak, but quieted when the Captain raised a finger for silence. "If you do not, I will stuff the both of you in cryo and dump you at the first station I see when we get back to the Confed. Understood?"

He was using his serious face. Even if she'd been inclined to argue, it would have been a bad idea. Yvian met his eyes and nodded. "Understood." She put her silverware down and put on a serious face of her own. "I want to Incorporate."

"Incorporate?" He frowned. "You mean start a corporation?"

"Yes."

"Ok." Mims picked his fork back up. "So?"

"See, Sis?" Lissa had finished her slice of cake. She proceeded to get another. Chocolate, this time. "He's not gonna get the implications unless we tell him the story."

"I guess not," Yvian conceded. "You tell him. You're better at this kind of stuff."

"Hold on," Lissa walked to the drink unit. "I need another beer."

"It's weird that you like beer with your cake," Mims noted. "Milk's the way to go."

"It's weird that you don't like beer with you're cake," Yvian replied. "Milk is gross."

"Seriously, Mark," Lissa agreed. "Beer is probably the greatest thing you humans ever invented. You don't know how bad we missed it after you left."

Mims grunted. "I'll keep that in mind."

Lissa fetched beers and handed one to Yvian. They clinked bottles. Lissa sat while Yvian helped herself to another slice of vanilla.

"Ok," said Lissa. "How much do you know about pixens?"

The human shrugged. "Not much. You're a migrant subculture. No worlds of your own. Your physiology is similar to a human's, and you worship something called the Bright Lady. You're classified as refugees in the Confed, which gives you most of the same rights as citizens. Your main industry appears to be, uh, adult entertainment."

"It's not our industry," Lissa told him. "Each nation has its own guild. Pixens work for the guilds, but we don't get a say in how they're run. Anyone who tries to go freelance gets imprisoned or sold into slavery."

"I see."

"Forty percent of pixens get their main income from prostitution, and another twenty percent do it as a sideline. The guilds take most of the profit, but it's hard to get a job anywhere else. And it's what's expected. Sometimes parents will get their children started early. Rent them to a guild. Our father-"

"No!" Yvian's shout cut her off. Her sister turned to look at her. Yvian stared back, body clenched. Some things should never be spoken out loud. "Don't say it."

Lissa met her gaze. "He needs to understand," she said gently.

"No I don't," the human spoke firmly. Yvian shot him a grateful look. "Skip that part."

Lissa nodded and continued. "It didn't use to be like this, you know. We say its a respectable profession, and maybe it is, but..." Yvian sighed. "It's not something we chose. We were driven to it. For most of us, selling our bodies was the only way to survive after The Darkening."

"The what, now?"

"The Darkening," Lissa repeated. "This... Look, this isn't a story we share with other species, ok? Pixens that get caught talking about this stuff tend to disappear. So you can't tell anyone. Not even other pixens. Alright?"

Mims gave her a nod. "'Understood."

"Ok." Lissa took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Yvian debated whether or not to join her in the telling. She knew the words, all pixen did, but she wasn't sure she remembered the cadence. When Lissa spoke, the rhythm came. Yvian closed her eyes, adding her voice to her sister's. In perfect sync, the chanted:

"Now will I tell you the tale of our people, as it was told to me. Someday you will tell it to your children, and they to theirs, that the memory of Pixa will never fade, and the villains that laid us low not be forgotten. Listen well, and remember.

We were a proud people, strong and beautiful. Renowned for our music, our art, our prowess with machines. The Pixen Technocracy reined over thirteen systems, and Pixa Prime was our crowning jewel. A world of wonders natural and artificed, shining in the light of the Homestar. We followed the Bright Lady who dwelt in the star. She welcomed the worthy to Nialla, where they would dwell in light and warmth and in her infinite love.

We were betrayed. After centuries of peace forced by the United Confederation of Species, the Kleg found a way to strike. The Confederation Charter forced us to allow their ships to trade in our space, promising swift retribution should we harm our ancient foe. They said the Charter protected us as well, that the Kleg would suffer greatly if they broke the peace. It was a lie.

How it was done, we do not know. It happened quickly. The Homestar gave no warning. No Nova was released. It simply collapsed, crushed itself into a ball of burning darkness. Nialla, home of our souls, pulled our stations, our ships, our beloved worlds into itself. Our Homestar became a black hole. This was the Darkening. The birth of The Crunch.

We readied for war. The Confederation stopped us. They said we must fight our battles in the High Court. Reluctantly, we agreed. For three long years, we argued our case. We showed them the Kleg ship approaching Nialla. We showed them the weapon it fired. We showed them The Crunch. We showed them the recording of GilFlid, leader of the Kleg, laughing as he told all who would hear how he murdered the souls of our ancestors. Boasting he had killed our God.

The Kleg Advocate spoke poison against us. He plotted. He bribed. With gifts and threats and promises he swayed the High Court. The High Court ruled against us. They said the death of Nialla could only have come at the hands of irresponsible pixens. The Court demanded recompense for the slander of the innocent Kleg.

But recompense was ours to take. We had prepared. Three days after the High Court's verdict, our armadas struck. We burned their stations. We burned their ships. We burned their worlds. We hunted the Kleg on every station in every sector of the Confederation. In pirate space we hunted them. In the unknown sectors. In the span of eleven days, the Kleg were no more. Two only were spared. Gilflid the Primarch, and Tilud the Advocate. These two we left to ponder the price of betrayal. We wished them many years to mourn their folly and the death of their people. We reveled in their pain, gloried in our vengeance. But vengeance is a hollow thing.

The Confederation came for us, as we knew it would. Our ships were mighty, and our hearts were strong. We believed we would be victorious in battle, and for a time it was so. But only for a time. Their numbers were too great. In a mere five years they wore us down. Our armadas defeated, our shipyards destroyed.

We faced the High Court once more. The Magistrates declared us guilty of genocide and insurrection. They decreed that all pixens were guilty of these crimes, for no pixen had raised a hand to stop them. All would suffer and all would pay. From those of us that had, all was taken. Those that had not were taken themselves, to be sold as chattel. Pixens would be citizens no longer, but refugees, dependent on the succor of other species.

We who were proud have been laid low. We who were strong have been made weak. We who were betrayed have been made dependent. Yet, for all that we have lost, two things remain. Memory and hope.

Our world is lost, but our people remain. Our star is gone, but the Bright Lady lives. She wanders the void, seeking a new Homestar, that Nialla may be reborn. The souls of our people will find her, and the worthy will join her in her quest. Our people have not perished, and we will find glory again.

You are of Pixa. You are the hope of our species. You must be strong. You must be good. You must be worthy. The Bright Lady waits for those who live well, arms open in welcome, but the wicked will be judged. The unworthy will be cast into The Crunch, to be crushed in shame and darkness til the end of time. Listen well, and remember. You are of Pixa."

Yvian opened her eyes. The story had been told. Captain Mims was staring at them, fork frozen a few inches from his plate. After a moment, he gathered himself. "That was..." He set down his fork. "That was quite a tale."

"It's the Psalm of the Homestar," Lissa told him. "Every pixen learns it as a child."

"It's beautiful." the human set an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. "The way you sang, it was...haunting." His brow furrowed. "But that still doesn't explain why starting a company's a big deal."

Lissa paused, trying to think of the right way to explain. Yvian took over. "It's because we're not citizens."

"What do you mean?"

"We're refugees. Technically, we're supposed to have the same rights as everyone else, but in practice..." Yvian grimaced. "We have no representatives in the government. We can't choose our own lawyers. Advocates are appointed for us. We have...we don't have a way to protect ourselves legally."

"It makes us easy to exploit," Lissa added. "The other species see us as a resource. They don't want us gaining any power."

"The guilds rake in trillions of dollars a year from our labor," Yvian continued. "And pixens across the board get paid less than other species. Lissa's a certified engineer, and I'm a programming specialist, but we made less money put together than your average Trelg or Flixin makes from either job."

"The Confed wants to keep it that way," Lissa continued. "Government and corporations alike. A lot of pixens have tried to incorporate. Every single one's been jailed or killed before they could build anything big enough."

"So it's dangerous, then," Mims pursed his lips. "A big company for your species would be a threat to the guilds' bottom line. They don't want you to have options."

"Exactly," Yvian said. "But that's also why we need to do it. My people have suffered enough. I want us to stand on our own again."

"I don't think one corporation's gonna be enough to do that," Mims said. "You'd need..." His eyes widened. "You'd need a nation. You're not just trying to start a business. You're planning to build a fucking country."

Yvian had been planning no such thing. She'd never thought that far ahead. "Exactly," she said. "I want to bring Pixa back. I want our own government with our own military so we can't be exploited by the Confed or anyone else." She leaned forward, pointing her beer bottle for emphasis. "I want to find a new Homestar for the Bright Lady."

Lissa was giving her a sideways look, trying to conceal a smirk. Yvian wasn't sure whether to be annoyed at her amusement or grateful she wasn't telling the human how much smaller the original plan had been. Her sister leaned forward, looking Mims in the eyes. "So that's the deal, Mark. We want to build a country and rescue our species. We don't have any idea how we're going to do it, and the entire Confederation's going to try to kill us when we try. Are you in?"

The human maintained eye contact. After moment he spoke. "You want to found a multisystem corporation, find an inhabitable planet, and build an entire civilization out of nothing. You have no ship, no plan, and no resources, and you want me to help. Is that about right?"

"We're also trapped in Xill space surrounded by death machines that could kill us at any moment," Yvian added.

"And they call me the Madlad," he muttered.

"Are you in?" Lissa asked again. She seemed a little less sure of herself then the first time she'd asked. Yvian wondered what she'd do if the human refused.

"Of course I'm in." Mims stood up and grabbed a beer from the fridge. "I don't know how much help I'll be, though." He popped the cap off and took a swig. "I'm a privateer. If you want someone killed or rescued I'm your guy. Nation building isn't really part of my skillset."

"We'll figure it out," Yvian assured him. "It's not as crazy as it sounds."

"Yes it is."

"Then it's a good thing you're with us," Lissa flattered. "No one does crazy like humans."

"You think so?" Mims looked from one sister to the other. "I'm starting to wonder about that."