Brent said nothing as he replayed the message three times over, listening carefully to each and every recorded word he heard. Finally, he stopped the message. The pilot said not a word to anyone as he grabbed the strongbox and turned to step out of the bridge and into the metal hallway that led to the bunks. He made his way to his and Pol?s bunk, dropping through the hatch after opening it. Brent hid the strongbox away in the room before turning to climb out and lock the hatch.

Once he?d completed that task, Brent started for the bridge once more, shrugging out of his jacket it toss it onto the copilot?s chair as he stepped in. Plopping down into the pilot?s seat, Brent leaned forward to flick on the comm system and spoke into it.

?Chris, I need ya in the engine room, fast. Cobb, get all the guns gathered, check ?em, make sure they?re all good an? ready t?be used. Let me know how much ammo we got when you?re done. The rest o?ya, sit down or find omething? t?hold on to. We?re goin? t?Dyton.?

Once he finished, Brent didn?t wait for a response. He just slammed the comm back down and plotted a course for the Dyton Colony, then started the Nighthawke up to begin the trip there.

?Damn it, Pol.? He cursed under his breath. ?Ya should know better by now.?

Sui's jaw set and his arms folded across his chest. That dark brow furrowed as he listened to the captain's request. "Gorram it, girl.." He growled softly under his breath. The crew had become a tightly knit group and for one to go traipsing off without the others...

The tall mercenary watched as Noble hurried off with the strongbox. A certain amount of sympathy shone in his dark eyes. That had to have hurt. But, knowing the pilot the way he did, he expected a plan. So, without a word, and a soft squeeze to his Mei Mei's shoulder, Sui quickly left the cockpit and headed for the armory.

When the order came down, Sui had already pulled all available ammunition down from it's racks and was seeing to each individual gun. All had been meticulously cleaned and checked the day before. It was part of his weekly routine. He knew each instrument intimately. So when fingers danced across cold metal, he could tell that they were in fine working order.

"Will have a report in two minutes!" His hand smacked the comm, relaying his message to the cockpit. A slow grin formed on the mercenary's face. Magazine after magazine of projectiles were double counted and placed back into their boxes. Grenades and small arms rockets, all accounted for.

Once the armory was set to rights, Sui pulled himself from the room and his long legs carried him quickly across the metal walkways to the cockpit. Pulling the door open, he poked his head in. "Weapons fully inspected and we've over three hu..."

His eyes went to Aidyn, then back to Noble. A brow arched, waiting to hear what might have set the captain off.

While Sui had gone down to check their ammo stores, Brent was busy checking to make sure the ship had enough fuel to make it to Dyton, making sure there were no mechanical problems picked up by the computer, and plotting in their course. He was muttering to himself the entire time, hunched over and making preparations. So fixed was his concentration that he didn't hear Aidyn at first. It wasn't until Sui's comm message came through and the mercenary stepped onto the bridge that he glanced over his shoulder at her.

"Eh?" He looked at the chip, frowning while he reached out to take it. "How good are we, Cobb?" He asked while turning back toward the console. The chip was slipped into an open port, his hands tapping the display before him to play back the recorded message. Once it was playing, he leaned back in his seat, chin resting in the curl of his palm, and listened intently.

Folding his arms over his chest and taking a lean against the door to the cockpit, Sui listened intently to the play-back. His dark eyes narrowed intently as he listened to what sounded like a typical mother-daughter type of argument. Pushing off of the door frame, he turned to go back to taking stock of the armory. That is, until he heard that weasel's voice.

Well, Badger's voice. Close enough. He whirled back around and stood with his hands to his sides, staring down at the console. "Trap." he murmured, eyes moving then from one shipmate, then to the other. "He's leading her into a gorram trap, knowin' that th' rest of us will follow."

Moving into the cockpit, he paced for a moment. Lips moved in a silent string of Chinese and English expletives before turning to the other two. "I say we stay put. She left, her own accord. She didn't want us to follow. No sense in getting all of us killed."

"Smart?" Brent asked, hearing Aidyn's comment. He laughed dryly. "Sui's never been the smart one." His head jerked toward the hatch of the bridge. "Go an' sit down somewhere."

Oh, he was no doubt furious that Sui would even suggest the idea. But for now, he left it alone and focused on the Nighthawke instead. The engine fired up, its roar fading into a low hum by the time it reached his ears on the bridge.

"I ain't waitin' for either one of ya for more'n a minute." He added as an afterthought, double checking the course he plotted for Dyton just to be safe. "An' countin' started already." Meaning, they didn't have much time to go and find something to hold on to.

Few Days Later - Dyton Colony, Cornish City

As much as Pol loved the Nighthawke, she had to admit that taking the various transports laid on by the Alliance between worlds had proved a faster journey than her own beloved freighter would have given her. And it had given her a chance to stop off on the way, maybe put a spoke in the wheels of Badger and his 'mysterious' client's plans.

Now, newly landed in Cornish City, her hometown, she found herself picked up immediately by Badger's little helpers - huge, hulking men who carried weapons they probably wouldn't need to take down a fairly large Alliance patrol. They stripped her of her own weapons, of course, and escorted her through the mucky streets to the house she'd grown up in.

"Anapola!" The moment she stepped through the door, Pol found herself wrapped up in a near-throttling hug from her mother, who seemed to have been waiting for her arrival by the window onto the street.

"Alright, Ma, leave off," the captain grumbled, disengaging her mother's arms from her neck to take a good look at her only remaining close kin.

Ma Finch was still a handsome woman, needful of it as her trade was in the selling of what she knew to be hers, and there was no mistaking the family resemblence between Pol and her mother, right down to character and attitude. There were no bruises or signs of maltreatment on her, but Pol had no doubt her mother had been making life most unpleasant for her unwanted guests.

Speaking of which ... Badger was lounging at the kitchen table, feet up on another chair, eating peeled grapes. He nodded to Pol, tipping his ridiculous bowler hat with an affectation of gentility.

"Well, now, we're all 'ere," he said affably. "Nice fam'ly affair, innit?"

"Not all of us," Pol snapped at him, her hand resting uneasily over the empty holster on her thigh. "Where's Dale?"

"Keepin' outta 'arm's way, shouldn't wonder," was Badger's answer. He waved a hand at them. "You two girlies go'n catch up. M'sure Ma's gotta few fings she wants ta get off've 'er chest."

Pol was pretty much dragged into the bedroom by her mother, who set her back to the door and began to whisper urgently.

"Dale's the one set this all up, from what that gorram weasel out there's sayin'," she hissed, gripping Pol's hands tightly. "He ain't content ta spoil yer chances as a cap'n, 'e wants all o'us be'ind bars. Grogan's only th' beginnin', lovey."

"Dale's yer brother, can't y'talk to 'im, make 'im back off?" Despite the urgency in her own whisper, Pol knew from experience that her uncle Dale was not going to back off until he was the only Finch working the star lanes. After all, he took every opportunity to rough her up, and she'd been avoiding workin' with him for almost three years now. Of her crew, only Brent knew about him, and she doubted she'd be able to get a message to him to pick up her uncle. She'd just have to rely on the tip off she'd handed into the Alliance on Beaumonde on her way here to get her uncle Grogan off the hook.

"He ain't listened t'me, not since I 'ad you," Ma Finch said unhappily. "Y'da would've never of stood fer it, 'e wouldn'!"

"I know." Pol squeezed her mother's hands tightly. "We kin get Grogan outta this still. I promise ya."

Of course, her promise would depend on the Nighthawke coming after her, and the crew knowing to stay discreet. Wouldn't do anyone any good if they were picked up the minute they landed.

The days leading up to the landing on Dyton had been busy ones for Sui. He had loaded the mule with as much ammunition and firearms as it could hold. Autopistols and any hand gun owned by the crew were meticulously cleaned and prepared before returning it to the owner. Sui spent an extraordinary amount of time making sure his weapons, and those of his crew, were ready.

In the black, there's nothing but time to think. It'd been some time since he'd received a letter from Carson. He didn't know what to think about that. With each pit stop they made, he inquired the post master to triple check, just to be sure a letter hadn't been misplaced. Still, nothing.

He felt the 'Hawke touch down and was half way to the cargo hold when he heard the order over the intercom. "Yeah, yeah." He grumbled as he made his way through the skeletal maze of scaffolds and metallic stairs. Finally, he reached his destination and stepped onto the ground floor of the cargo hold. "Mule's loaded, we can put a hole in the side of this gorram planet, if we had a mind to."

Sui rattled off the specifications of each of the guns that were mounted, listed the amount of ammunition and ticked off on his fingers how many grenades, rocket launchers and displacement cannons that were available to them. He then jumped into the passenger seat and looked down at Brent.

"So, what're you waiting for?"

Seems his ideas were always being shot down. But then, Sui knew he was overzealous when it came to the safety of his crew. He watched as Brent lifted the grenade and put it back down.

"I hope y'landed close to where Pol's bein' held. Comin' back for the mule ain't gonna be a picnic." He eyed the mule and then pat his side. There was only one pistol that he trusted to handle any kind of delicate situation. That was his beloved Sera.

"Alright, but keep th' Hawke on silent radio. Push a button and I reckon Aidyn or Chris can get th' Hawke or the mule to us quick enough." He shook his head again. He felt naked, like he was taking a handful of stones to a pig stickin' fight.

Sui gave a curt nod, then left the ship. He made sure the hatch was secured before stepping into the dusty terrain of the outskirts of the Dyton colony. Seemed like all of the outer rim planets had that in common. They were dusty.

He walked in silence, scenarios floating in his mind of what they may see and hear when they got to their final destination. His hat shielded his eyes from the overhead sun, brilliant in an equally brilliantly blue sky. Rubbing his neck, he wished he had a layout of Ma Finch's house. He'd just have to make do, he supposed. Not the first time, hopefully not the last.

Dyton wasn't that far of a walk, they'd reached it in a half hour's time. It was a typical up and coming place, a long and wide dirt road down the middle of town; not so long and wide roads off shooting in ninety degree angles from the main road. Shops and shopkeepers, loud at trying to sell their wares. Must be market day. That pleased Sui. Easy to get lost in a crowd. Even a man of his height and stature. He eyed the bordello for a moment, then turned to Brent.

"Alright, so we got this far. Where do you reckon Ma Finch's is?"

He cursed rather loudly while him and Sui were forced into the shop, glancing about quickly. He half expected to see the weasel Badger himself. When instead, he saw an older incarnation of Pol, he was pleasantly surprised. His hands lifted to brush down and smooth out his jacket before one fell to his side where the autopistol rested.

After all, it could have been a trap.

"'Ey, Sui. Think we found 'er." He said, thumbing toward Ma' Finch before turning to answer the woman's question.

"M'Brent." He said before jerking his head toward Sui. "This 'ere's Sui. An' that's exactly what we're 'ere for."

Ma' Finch certainly was like Pol. Several times in her explanation, Brent had opened his mouth to speak. But she obviously wouldn't have any interruptions and just kept on going. He eventually kept his mouth shut, arms folding over his chest while he listened.

"Wait." He said as the woman exited, then frowned. "Great. How're we s'posed t'find Dale?"

Brent frowned as he stepped out and watched Ma' Finch get taken back, but didn't pursue. He turned and began headed back for the Nighthawke then, muttering under his breath. Finding one man in the black wasn't an easy thing to accomplish.

"C'mon, Sui. Ye're a filthy lech. Where would you go in a time like this?"

Brent nodded, Mr. Universe was a great idea, actually. Sometime the mercenary surprised the pilot. He arched a brow as Sui started off, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants.

"Alright, hurry up, though." He called to the retreating mercenary before turning to continue on toward the Nighthawke.

Once he reached the ship, Brent keyed in the code that would unlock the hatch and stepped on board. Closing and locking it behind him, the pilot reached out to pick up a nearby intercom mic.

"Chris, go ahead an' get the engine prepped, we're leavin' in an hour." He then put it down and jogged across the cargo hold, taking the stairs up two at a time when he reached them.

Brent hurried down the halls, his boots slapping loud against the metal grating beneath them. The pilot dropped into his seat on the bridge, tapping the console display to plot a course toward Mr. Universe.

"Mebbe we kin get it ta th'Alliance some other way," Aidyn suggested, leaning around the door.

She didn't know what was going on, whether they'd found the captain and been overwhelmed, or whether Pol wasn't even here. Neither of them had said a gorram thing about what had happened since they'd come back. So, being the nosy little soul she was, she'd lurked.

"There was them pair ya met on RhyDin, wasn't there, Brent? Campbell and some girl o'his?" She tilted her head curiously. "Di'nt their faces come up on tha' Cortex when ya checked it? I bet they know how ta leak info ta the Purple-Bellies."

In fact, the idea in her mind had such merit that she marched forward and began searching through Sui's pockets for the datachip. "They gotta be easy ta find, and even if they don't know, spreading this around's gotta be damagin' ta whoever it's fer, right?"

She paused, realising she hadn't really left any space for anyone to speak. "Right?"

Aidyn grinned triumphantly as she turned away from the comm. link. "See? Nothin' ta it -"

Behind her, the console beeped, and she turned again, blinking in surprise as quite a sizeable file was uploaded with tantalising slowness into the ship's computer. Her eyes lifted, glancing across to the viewscreen on the co-pilot's side, which had flickered into life.

"What the ..." She looked at Brent and Sui, utterly gobsmacked.

Images flashed across the screen - highly detailed, very instructive images. Of the holding facility on Zephyr. Of safe landing zones. Of entrance codes and disarmament codes. Seemed like someone wanted them to pull the wool over the Alliance's eyes as thoroughly as possible.

As the schematics flickered across the screen, Sui's dark eyes narrowed in concentration. "Yeah, save that to a chip." His voice was quiet and he leaned forward to press a button on the console so he could watch the display again.

His mouth moved as the security codes flashed across the screen, he was trying to memorize them. "Gorram it, anybody got any paper?" Once the screen went blank again, he leaned back with his arms folded across his chest. "I'll look at that later."

He contemplated his companions with a hand stroking his non existent beard. "You sure we can trust this information, Mei Mei?" A brow cocked in her direction. "I ain't aimin' to get us all killed with bogus information." A slow smile curled his lips then. "Got me a girl to go home to." His smile widened then. "And I'm kinda fond of you two, too." With that, he turned and went in search of a pad of paper and something to write with.

"Well...s'pose we got work t'do." He shooed Aidyn away while dropping into the pilot's seat and setting a course for Zephyr. The ship's engine hummed while he keyed in the launch codes, glancing over at Aidyn. "Make sure ya get all that information on a chip for us, I wanna wipe it after it's saved."

He then clicked on the intercom, grabbing the mic. "Chris, we're gettin' ready t'leave. Everythin' set down there?"

After waiting for confirmation, he flicked the com a second time to broadcast throughout the entire ship.

"Alright, we're leavin', everyone find a place t'sit."

Without waiting for anyone to reply, Brent started off with the Nighthawke lifting up and making way for the black again.

He glanced over his shoulder at Aidyn, offering a wry smile at her warning.

"I don' have any plans on dyin', but Sui's crazy enough that he just might." He laughed quietly then.

Brent turned forward, staring at Zephyr thoughtfully before offering a noncommittal, one shouldered shrug.

"Prolly not." As they plunged into the atmosphere, his grip tightened on the controls, working on keeping them on a steady descent.

"Aidyn, grab a hold o'somethin'."

Somewhere in the isolation block of Zephyr Holding Facility ...

Grogan Finch, formerly captain of the now impounded passenger ship Sainted Sinner, slumped on the narrow bunk in his spartan cell and growled at the wall. He knew exactly why he was in here, and exactly who was to blame, and if he ever got out of the Alliance's hands, he was going to track down Dale Finch and tear the man's throat out with his bare hands. He wasn't even a Finch, gorram it! He'd just usurped the name when his sister had married into the family!

Where the Finch women were small, the men more than made up for it. Grogan was a rangy man, lean of figure, suited more to agility than feats of strength. But in space, he and his crew had stood no chance against the Dortmunder and her array of smaller fighters, which had circled and entrapped the Sainted Sinner easily. His crew had scattered in the shuttles, as he'd ordered them, so that the only person the Purple-Bellies got their hands on was him, the captain.

He wasn't even guilty of the gun-running and treason he was accused of. Sure, he'd smuggled a bit in his time, even committed a little larceny, but he'd never gone so far as to overtly threaten the Alliance. No, that was in Dale's line, and it was Dale who'd set him up. Grogan just hoped little Anapola had managed to keep out of that hun dan's slimy grasp. If he turned her over to Niska, there'd be no true Finches left to tread the space lanes.

The light overhead flickered, the crackling sound accompanied by the unmistakeable whine of electrical failure. There was a clunk from the door ... a clunk that sounded suspiciously like the lock unlocking itself.

"Ta ma de ...?"

Grogan frowned, rising to his feet as he heard the guards outside yell suddenly. There were footsteps sounding along the corridor, running away from his cell door. He looked all around the little cell, glancing up at the camera. His eyes widened as he noticed the light that signalled the surveillance equipment's status as working had blinked out.

Half-crouching, wary of what was going on, the rangy man approached the cell door, reaching out to touch the heavy metal portal with one fingertip. There was no answering zap of energy, such as would usually have thrown him onto his back, stunned. His fingers slid down the door, curling into the flap through which he was fed, and pulled gently. The door swung inwards.

So ... no surveillance, no locked door - more importantly, no guards to hamper an attempt at escape. No weapons either, though. That could be a problem. He lowered himself to lie on the floor. inching forward to peer through the gap of the open door. No one to be seen, in either direction, though he could still hear the guards running about frantically in the hallways.

Well, what was the harm in making the most of this sudden confusion? Worst that could happen would be a bullet in the brainpan, and even that was preferable to the long imprisonment he was sure to reap for his brother's brother-in-law's sins. Besides, he may even make it out of here.

His mind made up, Grogan Finch raised himself to his feet and began to creep stealthily along the wall of the hallway, unaware that a few corridors away, heading straight for him, were a pair of reluctant rescuers.

The run through the near deserted corridors of the Facility was sheer hell on Grogan's nerves, expecting any moment to be captured once again and returned to his cell. He knew if he was, there would be no second chances.

Hearing footsteps running this way, he pressed himself back against the wall, leaning toward the corner around which, only a moment later, a tall dark man came running. Grogan made a grab for the gun trained on him out of instinct, backing up with his hands held high as the man's companion - a taller, rougher looking specimen - rounded the corner as well.

His eyes narrowed as he looked them over. No uniforms, so they weren't Alliance working here ... in fact, they had the look of spacers themselves. And they were looking for him.

"All d'pend's on 'oo's askin' fer Finch, don't it?" he answered belligerantly. "Who're you ... and oo's yer ape friend?" He offered an upnod towards the bigger of the two men.

Brent reached down and unholstered the second autopistol that held onto his leg, offering it over to Grogan while he glanced over his shoulder at Sui, nodding in agreement.

?M?Brent, that?s Sui.? He said, nodding toward the ape-man. ?We?re friends o?Pols, come ta help get ya outta this mess. If ya have any questions ask ?em on the way out, we gotta get ?fore the guards start filterin? in again.?

He turned around, moving past Sui and motioning for both men to follow him. ?C?mon , we need t?get fast.?

Brent had paused when Grogan grabbed a gun and hurtled off on his own. After shaking his head clear of whatever thoughts had been holding him up, the pilot took off after the older man, glancing back to make sure Sui was following. As they made out of the facility and into the trees, Brent continued moving past, motioning for the man to keep moving.

"Aye, the 'Hawke ain't far. There's a cliff a bit that way," he pointed, "an' it's hidin' 'er."

He holstered the autopistol for now, but kept his hand resting on the butt of the weapon as he hurriedly rushed through the trees and foliage. So far so good.

"Aidyn." He called on the comm. "Aidyn, Sui an' I are on the way, we got Grogan. Get e'erythin' ready an' have the cargo opened for us when we get there."

Cornish City, Dyton

It really was amazing the way her mother could carry on with her normal life, despite the unwelcome guests cluttering up the place. Pol, however, wasn't so lucky. For the last ten days, she'd found herself constantly under guard, in the sights of at least one gun at all times, and forced to put up with the dubious company of Badger, as he crowed about his success.

The only thing keeping her from putting up a fight and getting herself shot was the vague hope Ma Finch had instilled in her after the older woman's meeting with Sui and Brent in the marketplace.

"Jus' y'keep low an' quiet, Anapola, an' y'lads'll have y'out o'this mess, soon as," had been her mother's sage words of wisdom, and currently it was only Ma Finch's stern glare that was making sure her unruly daughter obeyed.

So it was Pol found herself sitting in the window of her mother's main room, disarmed, her feet up on the window ledge, blithely ignoring whatever chui niu the bowler hatted wannabe crime lord was going on about.

" ... ain't we, Anapola?"

Pol blinked on hearing her full name spoken by a voice she had decided she really did hate, and turned her head to level her own hazel glare onto Badger as he lounged nearby.

"What?" she asked flatly, everything about her as unfriendly as she could make it without inviting a bullet in the brainpan.

Badger grinned at her around a mouthful of her mother's hard-won apple.

"Said, we're gettin' on like a righ' royal proper fam'ly, ain't we?" he repeated himself, as if he knew exactly how much this would irk her.

Pol sighed, rolling her eyes. "Y'want in on m'fam'ly, help y'self," she growled. "Y'seen what we do t'our own when they get up 'emselves."

"Aye, I seen it," he agreed, his grin ever increasing. "M' all involved this time, ain't I? I reckon - what?"

This last was spoken to one of his hulking thugs, who had bent down to whisper urgently into his ear. Badger listened, and Pol was treated to the sight of the man suddenly turning a nasty shade of white. He looked over at the glaring captain of the Nighthawke, his eyes widening.

"You gotta be jokin' me," came his rough hiss to his thug, who shook his head and handed over a portable Cortex screen. Badger's eyes scanned the piece he was given, and his pale face turned red. Angry or scared, Pol couldn't quite work out. Behind him, she could see her ma reading over his shoulder, and the look of evil triumph on Lorna Finch's face was cheering to see.

Badger stood abruptly, discarding the half-eaten apple, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Seems this little deal's gorn souf on me," he admitted, and Pol allowed herself to grin, even as she, too, stood up. Small though she was, she was pretty certain she could get a decent punch in before his thugs took her down. "So we'll be off then. Ta very much fer the 'ospitality, an' all. You'll forgive me fer not 'andin' over yer weapons, only I don't much like that look on y'face."

He turned to leave, and the Finch women struck. Raising a cry worthy of the heathen tribes back on Earth-That-Was, Lorna and Pol Finch snatched up whatever was to hand and let rip on the thugs now leaving the little abode. One went down to a well-timed hit with a wooden rolling pin, another to a nasty slash of a breadknife at the back of his neck, and Pol scrambled over the bodies of the groaning men to follow Badger as he beat his hasty exit, down two of his bodyguards and wondering whether the other two were to follow.

Racing through the streets towards the spaceport, Pol couldn't help a loud, triupmhant laugh as she recognised the familiar bulk of the Nighthawke's hull, standing above the line of the hangar. So that was what had happened - her crew had settled the mess and were coming for her.

Ahead of her, she saw Badger suddenly halt, and was honoured to witness the sight of his remaining thugs going down to gunshots from two very familiar figures. Brent and Sui were evidently less happy about the turn of events than she was. Letting out a whooping cry of welcome, Pol hurled her knife at Badger's back, not surprised when the slippery man twisted away and disappeared into the crowd. He wouldn't be a problem to them for some time to come, she was certain. Looked like she was going to have to kit herself out with new weapons, though.

Grinning, she turned to greet her crew, hands on hips. "An' what took y'so long, eh?"