Jolting bolt upright, I quickly scanned my surroundings, fuzzy-minded and momentarily confused. It took a blink or three for me to remember. The sun was rising off the left side of the balcony, casting pale shadows across the faded, grayish carpet. It also brought a well-muscled back and a broad pair of shoulders to my immediate attention.

I relaxed back onto the couch and propped myself up on my elbow, head in hand, and watched the interplay of muscles as Mason lifted, used, and replaced tools in the pursuit of whatever tweaking or repairs he was making. //Hmm, that's nice. Maybe I should ask Shael to work shirtless from now on,// I mused.

"Mmm, now that's a nice view to wake up to," I said appreciatively.

Mason turned to look at me and blushed fiercely. "You know, you look good in red," I teased.

The man grabbed up a rag to wipe his hands on and hightailed it for his bedroom and a shirt. I ducked my head a bit for a better angle out the balcony doors and pondered the windows opposite. //I wonder, how many women are silently cursing me right now?//

When Mason returned he had pulled a clean white shirt over his head and washed the grease from his hands. I pouted at him and giggled when he glared at me in consternation. For a swoop rider, my host was an awful prude.

"Breakfast?" I asked hopefully when Mason headed for the kitchen alcove.

"I should imagine that you are rather hungry," he replied drily. "Since you passed out before dinner yesterday and slept like the dead."

"Work hard, play hard, sleep hard," I tossed back at him flippantly.

"Sleep hard I've seen, play hard I have a good idea of from your little stunt yesterday, but I haven't seen you work," Mason hinted, making it a question, as he began pulling a few things out of cupboards and the fridge.

"Few people have," I told him, moving over to prop myself against a counter and watch him work. Few men that I'd met were any good at domestic skills and I was curious to see if my host was. Not that I'm any great shakes myself. I mean, I can wipe dust off my terminal monitor and I can drop an insta-meal in the heater, but that's pretty much the extent of it. The Horsemen certainly don't revere me for my cooking or cleaning skills.

"So does that mean you don't work, or just that nobody sees you?"

I grinned at him when he looked up from his preparations. "That depends entirely on who you ask. Speaking of asking," I continued in as bored a tone as I could manage, "what did you do, you know, before?"

"This and that." He was bent over the meal's components and I wished that he would look at me when he spoke. He had too much control over his body, but his face, especially his eyes, was much easier for me to read. "I traveled from job to job, never staying anywhere for long, rarely doing the same thing twice."

Mason glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, giving me a brief glimpse of his profile. "I decided I was unhappy. I did not like what I was doing, so I decided to take a chance."

//Liar,// I thought, amused. //Oh, parts of your story are true enough, but others ... I'll have you figured out soon.//

Mason had hinted the night before that he was worried about money for food and housing. For lunch he had paid in exact change, counting his money out down to the last deci-credit as if each one was precious, and for most of us on the streets they are. But I'd seen what he had in his fridge and cupboards. Food was not a problem, and wouldn't be for a couple of weeks unless he ate like all three of the triplets combined. And it was only the fifth of the month. I happen to know every building in the sector that rents rooms by the week or day, and this was not one of them, so Mason wasn't in danger of being homeless for another three weeks. He'd told a partial truth. He was worried about something, but it wasn't food or living accommodations.

All I needed was something to tie all the bits and pieces together with and I'd have him figured out. I didn't figure his secret was a bad thing by any means, there were shiftier types in the gang already, but I was going to discover what it was. I've been told in the past that I'm cat- like with my sometimes insatiable curiosity, and that like the cat, I should be careful to reign it in, lest it destroy me. Unfortunately, no one ever told me that it could make life so dang-blasted complicated, interesting, but complicated. When Mason stood to clear the breakfast dishes from the table, I made no effort whatsoever to help him. I simply leaned back in my chair to watch him at the chore. The man moved with a supple grace, with near- perfect balance, like a dancer almost. It was a pleasure to watch, so I gazed at him in open admiration and enjoyed every second of it. He knew I was staring. I wasn't making any secret of it. I'd bet he could feel my eyes taking in every detail of muscle and movement, as evidenced by the slightest of blushes that tinged his ears and cheeks and the way he faced me as little as possible. Not that I minded. The view from the back wasn't bad either.

"Have you not got anything better to do?" Mason finally asked me in exasperation.

"Nope."

His answer to my complacent reply was an artificially deep sigh. He was amused again, and trying not to show it. And, of course, it was at that moment that the communit decided to interrupt us with its calculatedly pleasant beeping.

I watched Mason stride across the room, wiping his hands on a towel. There was a muted beep as he accepted the call, and with a shake of his head he waved me over. "It's for you."

I raised my eyebrows at him, but I didn't need him to tell me who it was. The only people who knew that I was there were Horsemen.

"Death," I greeted the face on the screen, habitually glancing around to check that the near vicinity was clear of possible eavesdroppers.

"Crash, get your fledgling to bring you home. I'm willing to risk it now and we'll have an escort for you at the border. We don't dare cross the lines right now, but I don't want you trapped out there if the bottom drops on this thing."

I spotted two familiar tousles of dark blond hair lurking near the edges of the pickup on the other end and fought to suppress a grin. "I hear ya, Boss. We're outta here as soon as he gets dressed." One of the blond heads and the dimpled smile that was attached to it disappeared, while the other bobbed in laughter-like movements.

Now I did grin as Roble glanced back over his shoulder and gave the snickering Sloan a shove to send him off after his brother. "Don't tease him, Crash." Roble shook his head at me. "He's jealous enough as it is."

"Good. Keeps him from straying."

"Like any man with a pulse and working eyes would stray from you." The face on the screen was grinning right along with me now. "Come home, soon. We miss you and your talents."

"See ya when I see ya, Boss."

"See ya when I see ya, Crash."

And the comm screen went blank.

"Is it all clear for me to take you back?" Mason asked from the kitchen.

"Yeah. They'll be waiting for us as soon as we hit Horsemen territory."

"I'll change."

Mason left and I checked my chrono. The raid would happen in only a few minutes. There would be plenty of food by the time we got back to Armageddon. In fact, there would probably be a party in full swing. Just as well. I was in the mood for a party. *******

As soon as we crossed south of Kensing the escort Death had sent formed up around us. Each and every one of them was wearing their gang jackets. With the imposing, faceless helmets, they were even more intimidating than usual. There was no doubt in anyone's mind just who we were and most vehicles went out of their way to get out of ours. Among the jackets I saw two with names emblazoned beneath the scarlet knight and shook my head. My man, War, and Plague were both in the crowd, and I spotted Trapper's patched elbow and Bulldog's oil-stained shoulder, as well as Sloan's lean form. Why is it men are so blasted protective at the wrong times? I was practically home now, and there was really very little that might go wrong inside our own borders.

I immediately chinned on my helmet comm. "I hope you boys have been behaving yourselves while I was gone."

A chorus of gruff 'yes, mommy's echoed back to me over the open channel and I grinned, bouncing lightly on the seat behind Mason. Home. I might have only been gone from it for a single night, but everyone I loved was there and it would be good to see them again.

"Can he hear us?" Yeesh, Shael sounded suspicious when he was jealous.

"Not unless I missed you slipping him a helmet comm," I shot back sarcastically.

"He clean?" Bulldog's low growl was impossible to miss and it was seconded immediately by Sloan.

"Yeah, is he clean?"

"He's no cop and he's no punk, either. I think he'd make a good Horseman, but that's not for me to decide."

"Channel three, Crash. I want to talk to you alone." I rolled my eyes. Shael was now going to tell me that he didn't like seeing me snuggled up so close to another man. Not that he would ever say it in so many words, but that was always the meat and potatoes of it. I chinned the switch over to the third channel.

"Glad to have me back, Love?"

"Do you feel safe with him driving? You want to pause and switch rides?"

"Why waste the time? We're almost there. And besides, he's actually a remarkably good rider for a fledgling. Did Bulldog tell you what happened?" War's grated, hissing yes could almost have been mistaken for a burst of static. "Well, I landed kinda wrong and sent us into a spiraling dive. He pulled us out just fine. Enough about the new boy, how'd the grocery trip go?"

Most of the tension and edginess drained right out of his tenor voice as the subject changed. "Like clockwork, Crash. Have I ever told you what good work you do?"

"Yup," I replied breezily, "but it certainly doesn't hurt my ego to hear you say it again."

"Well then, Imp, you do good work."

*******

When the entrance to the huge underground warehouse that was Armageddon hove into view I felt muscles relax that I hadn't realized were tense. Coming home was always a good feeling and this time was no exception. Plague pulled up to take point and guided us in while Shael dropped back to bring up the rear. Plague took the winding entrance extra slow in deference to Mason, but we still arrived in a thundering roar of engines. As soon as Mason's ride touched down I was grabbed off the back of it and passed from hug to hug in a dizzying array of embraces both large and small. Someone snatched away my helmet and I could suddenly hear the words that people were mouthing at me.

"Thanks for the food, Crash."

"Can you re-rout an entertainment truck, Crash?"

"Great grub, Crash!"

"You didn't really jump rides, did you, Crash?"

Inevitably the triplets all asked me to marry them, again. At that point, Shael caught up to me and fended off the rest of the well-wishers. The majority of the throng returned to the party our arrival had interrupted, while Shael guided me toward the side room that Roble used as a sort of office. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mason lurking in the background and I waved him forward with us. I knew that Roble would want a chance to size him up before the rest of the gang got their hands on him.

Shael dropped his helmet on the rack next to the office door, where someone had already placed mine, and walked in. Roble couldn't have missed the fact that we were back, so there was no point in knocking. Our fearless leader was leaning against his desk waiting for us and he greeted me with a warm, brotherly embrace. When he glanced up over my shoulder I knew that Mason had indeed followed us into the office.

"Death," I introduced them, "this is Mason Cade. Mason, this is Death."

Mason nodded in greeting as he shook Roble's hand firmly. "Thanks for watching over Crash for us, Cade," Roble said. "She's a very important member of our family." I was about to roll my eyes at him, but he knew me too well and turned on me with a reproving finger. "And don't you roll your eyes at me young lady. I only say it because it's true."

I wrinkled my nose and stuck out my tongue at him, but Death ignored me. "It really wasn't any bother. Crash is quite good company," Mason responded.

"Crash?" Shael asked in surprise. "No bother?" He raised his hand to feel my forehead and I submitted meekly, though I had a fairly good idea of where all this was leading. "You're not sick are you?" That earned him an elbow in the ribs from me and chuckles from Roble and Mason.

"Bother or not, we are grateful. Feel free to join the party," Roble told Mason, who took the hint and headed for the door. A jerk of Death's head sent Shael out the door after him and I hitched myself up onto the edge of the desk. Letting my legs swing, the toes of my boots clearing the floor by half a dozen centimeters, I waited for Roble to gather his thoughts and mull over his impressions of Mason.

"This man Cade, he treated you good?"

I would have sighed in amusement if he hadn't sounded so serious. I mean, it's not like I'm the only female in the gang, but the guys don't hover over Ishtari, or Nash, or Reeabok. Of course, I wasn't an ex-Jedi, or a Trianii, or a Wookiee, either, so I guess the guys felt they needed to hover protectively over me even more to make up the difference.

"He fed me and he brought me home," I answered.

Roble eyed me for a long moment before crossing from the door to sit next to me on the desk. "And he didn't ... try anything?"

I laughed. I really couldn't help it. Between the mighty Death skirting around what he really wanted to ask me and the memory of Mason's shy, prudish reactions to my comments I could hardly be faulted for giving in and enjoying a good healthy laugh at their combined expense.

"He was a perfect gentleman," I explained when I caught my breath. "You should have seen his face when I caught him without a shirt on. Mason's mama raised him right," I concluded.

"Don't let Shael hear about the shirtless bit, otherwise your Mr. Cade will be in a world of hurt, whether he deserves it or not." Roble gazed at me for a moment, and I knew he was trying to decide if he really wanted to ask me the next question that was sitting on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to jump off.

"And if he wanted to join us?" he asked in a more sober tone. There was no hesitation in my answer, despite all the questions I still had about Mason. "I'd sponsor him." Mysterious or not, quiet or not, shy or not, he wasn't there to hurt us. Don't ask me how I knew, but I just knew.

"You're that sure he's not a cop?"

That got my attention. Roble was more than worried. Heck, any good leader worries about the people under his care and the things that might be waiting in the wings to attack them, but Roble had never been paranoid. "If he's a cop, I'll eat your helmet and then marry all three of the triplets in order of birth. What else happened? You are not usually this cautious about new members, and you don't usually question my judgement."

"You're not full of yourself at all, are you?" Roble chuckled quietly, but there was still a tense undertone to his voice.

"What else has happened, Death?"

"Velocity." That single word, name really, was enough to send a shiver coursing down my spine. "She fingered Neeka Greer last night."

Outrage was the first emotion I was able to positively identify, though I'm pretty sure that horror was in there somewhere as well. I sputtered a moment or two before I could find words to express myself. "Neeka's no more a cop than I am! How can that, that uppity, painted," I scraped my memory for the worst thing I could think of to say, my hand whipping circles through the air as I searched, "pigeon expect any of us to believe-"

Death barely even smirked at the worst thing one swooprider could call another, his expression was too weighted down. "She claimed he was an informant, that he'd turned on his own gang for money and a clean record. She even implied that he was giving them things I'd told him." His voice was low and toneless, telling me how deeply it bothered him.

Half the Horsemen knew the story behind that. Roble and Neeka had grown up in the same housing block and they'd been like brothers. But Neeka had been five years older. He joined a gang as soon as he was able. A few years later Roble hit legal age, but the Speed Demons don't take Humans. Roble and Neeka had kept in touch over the years despite the fact that they were in different gangs, even after Roble had become Death. Now his posture, his tone, his very lack of expression shouted loud and clear that he didn't believe Velocity this time. And knowing the Speed Demons the way I did, I seriously doubted that Neeka was in any position to dispute the charge anymore.

"A witch hunt." The words hung between us in the strained silence and both of us winced away from them and what they would mean to the gang. "Velocity's gotta be pulled up short this time," I told him, "or pretty soon we'll be up to our steering columns in 'informants'."

"You mean bodies, don't you?" Roble's laugh was tired, humorless.

"We won't be." I took his hand and gave it a squeeze and when he turned to look at me I stared him straight in the eyes. It tore at my heart because he suddenly looked so much older than before. "I know you, and I know the others. We won't ever work like that."

*******

The party was in still in full swing when Roble and I came out of his office and walked across the warehouse floor. We strode past long rows of comfortable bunks, each pair of beds with a trunk and a small closet to either side. Some of the beds were made up, some not, and some were empty, waiting for friends or other visitors to claim them for a night or two. Since this sector of Coruscant was just south of the northern tropic line, there were no heating units to be seen anywhere, but there were plenty of personal cooling units for those who had fur or were otherwise uncomfortable with how high the temperature could occasionally climb.

Casting my eyes around the crowd that had gathered at the far end of the floor, I took a quick head count, mentally ticking faces off a rollcall list. It appeared that most everyone was there. That made sense, since Roble had called for a lockdown in the face of rising hostilities. I knew several of the boys would be glad of the opportunity to simply sit around all day and tinker with their rides for a week or so. Since I didn't have a ride, a long story I won't go into just now, and our computer system was crude to say the least, I knew that I was going to end up being terribly bored if I couldn't find something to keep me occupied.

When I reached the edge of the crowd it didn't part for me. Rather, Frank, standing nearest to me, lifted me right off my feet and handed me to Chaser, who handed me off to Bait, who handed me off in turn. In a manner not unlike what had happened when I arrived, I made my way toward the focus of the celebration.

"Slicer coming through!"

I rolled my eyes, and giggled and kicked uncontrollably when one of the triplets hit a tickle spot, but other than that I didn't protest the treatment. It was pretty typical. We were more like a family than anything else, and this was just one more proof of that. I was finally put back on my own feet in front a long table visibly sagging under the weight of the foodstuffs my computer skills had helped get for us. There were sliced meats, fresh fruits and vegetables, breads, even nutri-wafers, ration bars, and food capsules for the few who preferred those. It made me flush with pride. [i]I[/i] had made this possible for my family. I wasn't the only one who had been involved, but I'd had a significant part in it, and that felt wonderful.

"Eat up, Crash."

I grabbed a muja fruit off the nearest plate and meandered slowly through the crowd, chatting here and there with everyone I passed, since I wasn't tall enough to see anyone I might want to seek out. Eventually I passed within hearing range of Bulldog and recognized that he was telling, or most likely re-telling, the story of what I'd done, so I pushed and wormed my way in the direction of his voice until I emerged from the crowd. Standing around Bulldog were Mason, Shael, Roble, Sloan, and one of the triplets, I'm not sure which because I could never tell them apart. Bulldog was weaving his hand back and forth, showing our reckless, frantic course through traffic.

"She triple tapped me and off we went," he was saying. "She'd already passed me the chip by then. Stuffed it right down in my boot. Anyway, we're dodging and weaving, but the pig's still staying with us, actually making up distance."

"They've really souped up those pursuit units," Sloan interjected. "Probably 'cuz we're always out running them."

"Yeah," Bulldog agreed, grudging admiration in his voice. "Then, Crash, hiya Crash, well, she points up ahead, and what do I see, but another swoop. And it ain't got no markings on it at all and the driver ain't got no colors on, but I still don't like it. Crash, she kicks me in the leg, reminding me what it is I got jammed down in my boot," Bulldog said confidingly to Mason, "and so I move closer. Then, all of a sudden, Crash, she jumps off my ride and with the change in weight, not that you weigh a lot or anything, Crash, my swoop just leaps ahead and then there was no way that pig was going to be able to keep up with me after that."

Mason took the story from there. "Well, there I was, just cruising along, minding my own business," I noticed that Mason's narrative style was remarkably similar to Bulldog's and shook my head. I supposed that in unfamiliar territory it was a survival instinct to blend in as much as possible, but you could take such things too far. I also suppose, now, that it's just as well I'm the only one who thought it strange.

"Then, all of a sudden, I get slammed in the back as something hits my ride and I'm pointed the wrong way and moving the wrong direction, down and spinning." Shael looked like he was going to have a heart attack right then and there, his face pale, his eyes wide, and that muscle at the corner of his mouth twitching like someone had hit it with a live electrical wire. //I'm going to get a reaming as soon as he can drag me away from the party,// I thought. Mason's hand was demonstrating the motions of his swoop and Shael and Death were riveted, while Sloan grinned broadly at me and the triplet, maybe it was Phyl, thumped me on the shoulder. "First, I corrected for the spin by steering into it to get control, then rolling out. After that pulling out of the dive was easy. When my heart had slowed down enough for me to hear something other than its pounding, what do I hear but the voice of my lovely passenger being broadcast through my helmet."

"What'd she say?" Sloan asked eagerly. Shael half glared at his younger brother before turning the expression on me. I just grinned and shrugged. After all, what other options had I had at the time?

"She says," Mason began, and suddenly I remembered exactly what I had said and tried to subtly wave my hand to get Mason's attention. It would have been much better all around if he hadn't repeated word for word what I shouldn't have said. "'It was good for me. Was it good for you?'"

//Shael's gonna kill me. Of course, he's gonna kill Mason first.// And Death's restraining hand on his lieutenant's shoulder appeared to be all that was keeping my man from taking a swing at Mason right then and there.

My solution to the situation was to duck under Shael's other arm, conveniently blocking it from swinging, and wrap my arm around his waist. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt I could feel the outline of the bacta bandage Doc had taped along his ribs to take care of the blaster burn he's gotten in that skirmish, and I thanked the Force again that he was as whole and healthy as I was. "Well, I got tired of not having any cool stories to tell when it comes time to shoot the bull," I said in an off-hand manner. "And that was the first thing I could think of. I'll practice with Ishtari. I'm sure that she can help me with my witty quips. Speaking of our fave do-gooder, where's she at? I haven't seen her so far."

Mason had obviously caught on to the vibes and nodded to me gratefully for changing the subject. Roble gave my shoulder a squeeze for the same reason as he answered. "Red's out on another of her private missions. I think she's actually in the same sector as the Jedi Temple this time."

Again, Mason jolted in reaction to a Jedi-related topic. It was very subtle, and he hid it well, but I could tell that it made him marginally nervous. Or was it suspicious? Whatever it was, it was tense and that man looked like he was nearly never tense. Was he hiding from them? Burned by them in the past? Rejected by them as a child? Had a brother or sister in the Temple? I swore mentally and vowed yet again to figure that man out. I could never read quite enough to get the whole picture and it was making me crazy.

"Oh? I take it this one was an emergency? I chatted with her a bit before Bulldog and I took off to prepare the shopping list." Beside me, Shael was beginning to relax, though his hand on my shoulder was clutching at me rather tighter than absolutely necessary.

"Yeah," Sloan replied for Death. "She got some sort of frantic comm message from a cousin or something and took off like a smuggler at a CorSec convention."

I shrugged. If Trapper was indestructible, Ishtari was an irresistible force. I'd seen her take on men twice her size and come out without a scratch to show for it. Of course, being an ex-Jedi probably had a whole lot to do with that, but a goodly portion of it was attitude. I figured that Ishtari had more than her fair share of that. If any of us other than Trapper was going to survive this squabbling between the gangs, it would be Ishtari 'Red' Keylan.

"She'll be back when she's finished and not a second before. No use worrying." At that point, I couldn't help but think that I ought to hook Mason up with Ishtari when she got back. I thought that they would make a cute couple. On that note, I turned to Shael, snaking my arms around his neck and smiling wide. "So, did you miss me?"

It was Roble's turn to roll his eyes as he took Mason's arm and steered him back toward the food table. "C'mon, Cade. That's our cue to make ourselves scarce." As my man smiled back at me, I barely heard Death extend an offer of a bed for the night to Mason. It was a good start toward getting him into the gang. Of course, the fact that he'd kept my stunt from turning fatal, and that he'd brought me home, safe and sound, didn't hurt in the least either.

Shael took one of my hands in his and led me away from the group. When I saw that he was headed for one of the sound-proofed rooms, I didn't even bother sighing. There was no point. Now he was going to give me a tongue-lashing, and the only good things I could see about it was that the rest of the Horsemen wouldn't be able to hear him do it and that he'd vent and then get over it. As far as I was concerned the sooner he got over it the better.

As soon as the door was closed behind us I began to wonder if this had been such a hot idea. Shael's whole posture was wrong. He was torqued up tighter than I had imagined and proved it by grabbing my shoulders and giving me a shake violent enough to rattle my teeth. "Don't you [i]ever[/i] do anything that stupid ever again!"

A verbal confrontation I'd been prepared for, but a physical one surprised me. Shael had never before so much as raised a hand in my direction, so it shocked me and I jerked myself out of his grip. Intellectually, I understood where his anger was coming from and why he was venting it at me, but at that moment neither of us was working off intellect. The spark of Shael's anger, coupled with his unexpected violence, had ignited my own temper.

"Don't you raise your voice to me like that," I snapped back at him in heated tones. "I did what I had to do for the gang. It turned out fine, but even if it hadn't, I still wouldn't change the decisions I made."

"You are not a stunt rider, Crash. You are not one of our warriors. Kriff, you're not even one of our better drivers. How could you even think about doing something like that?" Shael tried to take hold of my arm again, but I stepped away, my smaller size giving me an advantage as I dodged around a chair to place the room's small table between us.

"How can you stand there," I was furious, unreasonably so, and wished desperately for something heavy to throw at him, but there wasn't anything within my reach, "and tell me not to do whatever I have to do to keep us strong?"

"Crash." Placing one hand on the table, Shael leaned over it, reaching out to me. He was half-way pleading now. "Chenowyth, I care about you very much. I don't want anything to happen-"

"Oh, stuff it up your exhaust pipe!" I snarled before he could even finish. In typical male fashion, Shael couldn't handle the thought of a woman, specifically his woman, in any sort of danger. Unfortunately for him, there is very little that vexes me more.

"If I were Nash or Reeabok you wouldn't be coddling me like this."

"When you can fight or fly like Nash or Reeabok, I'll stop worrying about you pulling stunts like that." Shael's finger jabbed out in the general direction of the street.

"Well, barbarian-boy, until you're ready to accept evolution and apologize for your primitive, chest-thumping behavior, don't bother talking to me at all!" I darted out the door, mad enough to slash and burn the first vulnerable system I encountered. Behind me, before the door swung shut and cut off the sound, I heard the thump and clatter of a body lunging across the table and encountering only chairs, followed quickly by emphatic expletives. Shael had probably hurt himself trying to catch me, but just then I didn't care in the least.

Stalking across the main floor, I plotted a course straight for the sound setup sitting in the corner. I needed to expend some energy before I started a fight, be it physical, verbal, or electronic. Standing in front of the machine, I selected one of the faster play lists and jabbed at the start button. Nothing happened. Repressing a scream of rage, I flicked the sound knob, slapped the side of the monitor, and gave the base a swift kick. Something inside coughed, the speakers all around the warehouse boomed to vibrating life and I literally pounced on the nearest guy. It was Sloan.

I don't just read body language, I speak it too, and Sloan could see what was plain on my face. "Fight?"

"Shut up and dance with me." I jerked him out into the closest open space and danced. It wasn't graceful. It wasn't art, but it expended energy and very shortly everyone else was out there with me. The song changed and so did my partner, and I just didn't care. As long as the music throbbed and my partner didn't have a dimple keeping company with his smile, things were just dandy. Sloan's great, like my own little brother, but though he wasn't as tall as Shael, or as wide in the shoulders, his even, handsome features were just too similar to his brother's, and I half decided not dance with him again the whole time.

As the afternoon wore on into evening and the thrumming bass pounded against the walls, I glimpsed Shael draped across a chair, drink in hand, talking to Plague and one of the triplets. If anyone were to ask I'd have said that he was on his way to getting very drunk. Personally, I don't care for drinking. You can't slice your way into a super secure database while drunk, and it's pretty dang hard to fly straight, too. I learned my lesson about the same time that I earned my nickname.

I danced with nearly every Horseman in Armageddon, and several of them twice, though with the triplets I couldn't be quite sure. The only ones I hadn't danced with were the other girls, Shael, and Mason who was keeping busy chatting up everyone in sight. I decided to take a short break and wove my way through the gyrating bodies to get a drink, then edged my way around the mob to Mason's table, where I flopped down into a chair. With a silly, slightly tired, little smile on my face, I gulped at my drink and waved a hand at the crowded floor.

"What'sa matter? Don't you like to dance?" I shouted over the music.

"No, I am just ... shy about asking someone."

I snorted in disbelief. With only four girls in the entire gang, and one of them not even home, most of the guys out on the floor didn't have actual partners. Most of them were just out dancing to dance and celebrate. "So don't ask, just dance. It's not like we're so terribly formal around here. Half the guys don't even know how to dance, and when it's their turn, they just sort of hold on while the girls do all the work. It's not real taxing on the muscles or the brain."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Shael pushing through the edges of the crowd, headed our way, and my smile became forced. I didn't want to even speak to him right then, and with the looseness I could see in his movements it wasn't hard to guess that he was working on the shady side of drunk. I wasn't going to wait for him to reach the table, so I grabbed Mason's hand and pulled him out onto the floor.

"This is a party, let's dance. Quit resting on your repulsors and jet."

So we danced. And it wasn't standing out on the floor and moving to the music, either, because that boy knew how to really dance. Somewhere along the way, between doing 'this and that', he'd had lessons. Mason spun me in and out, whipped me through turns, and made it all feel so effortless. The tension in his hands, the angle of his body, told me exactly what to do and when to do it and when the song stopped I realized that we had a large portion of the floor to ourselves while everyone else was watching and clapping. I threw my head back and laughed. The only time I'd ever felt so carefree was my first ride on a swoop, the speed and exhilaration of it all was nearly identical. I bobbed out a mock curtsy to the applause of my friends and as the opening riffs of the next song snarled out from the speakers, Nash leapt forward to claim Mason as her next partner. Now, I don't know what he and I had looked like out on that floor, I only know what it felt like, but that man and that Trianii were a sight to behold. Mason knew how to dance and that feline could do things that a poor clumsy Human like myself could never even dream of. It was humbling and awe-inspiring to say the least. After that I grabbed Sloan for another dance and Reeabok claimed Mason, though it was him spinning and dipping that time, and not the Wookiee. And from then until the sound system gave up the ghost 'round about dawn we three females kept Mason on the dance floor.

The main box gave an electronic wheeze, then a loud clunk, and the speakers died with a sigh of relief. Reeabok growled with disappointment and Mason looked like a death row inmate who'd just received a call from the warden. The man moved slowly off the floor and collapsed on the first empty cot he came to. I didn't blame him. Wookiees are very energetic dancers and Nash had been giving him a run for his money when it came to keeping up with the tricks she could do.

When I looked around I was surprised to see that most of the others had given up long ago. The uneaten food had been long since packed back into cupboards and refrigeration units. Shael, Plague and Bulldog had all passed out on a corner table, and the men who'd made it to their bunks all had their pillows over their heads to reduce the volume of the music to a level they could sleep with. I decided that they had the right idea and tumbled onto my own, grateful to no end that it was not a top bunk. For the second night in a row I was too tired to even slip off my pants first.