The Amrbrosius drifted near the subspace beacon of its final jump as Rimush slept. His neck bent at an awkward angle, nestling his head into his arm, body slightly curled and turned on its side on the reclined pilot’s chair. His jacket had long since fallen to the floor, though his fur and the climate control kept him at a comfortable temperature.

  A few caravans had passed through, but paid the strange ship no mind. Not broadcasting an identifier associated with any of the nomadic clans, none of the groups passing through cared to check in on the inactive ship.

  Rimush awoke, nearly falling out of his chair, with an aching head. He couldn’t tell if it was from the wine or the poor sleep quality. He leaned against the chair to stretch out his neck and back with multiple audible cracks. He scratched his side as he glanced at the log displayed on the control console. Ships from clan Omordha, Boyle, Roche, and Aedha had passed by in the past picoquad. No hails or broadcasts.

  “Quiet neighborhood,” Rimushed muttered to himself. He opened the second door to the bedroom compartment, expecting a full bathroom with shower facilities, but getting only a small privy and sanitation station. “Well, I’ve seen worse.” He relieved himself and washed his hands. Seeing himself in the mirror, he noticed a mess of tangled and knotted fur in his mane, sleep still in his baggy eyes. His stomach grumbled.

  The kitchen in the back of the main cabin was well stocked with several days of refrigerated provisions, twice as much in frozen prepared meals, and nearly enough dry goods to last a single elf half a nanoquad. Given the circumstances, a quite luxurious selection…for an elf. Digging through the selections, Rimush searched for any hint of meat or fat to serve as his breakfast. The closest he found was some unidentified roasted loaf. Picking a bit off with a claw, he discovered it was some baked slurry of bean meal, congealed into loaf form then coated with some savory fruit based sauce. Frustrated, he shut the door to the cooling unit and grabbed a loaf of bread to nibble on.

  Meal in hand, Rimush picked up one of the bags left for him in the rear of the cabin and brought it with him to the pilot’s chair to start unpacking. Opening the bag, he found several hastily tied together bundles with scraps of parchment attached to them. He grabbed the first one.

  Captain,

  I tried a few pieces of the marrow, didn’t like it. Not enough salt, no pepper. Pretty bland stuff. Whoever gave it to you has terrible taste. Remember to send us a message once you’ve rutted the princess!

  -Meki

  Wrapped in string were several of the dried organ packages. “Thank the Gods for you, Meki. You classless son of a bitch.” Rimush tossed the loaf aside to the copilot’s chair and devoured two sticks of marrow from the open package. He unsealed a package with dried liver to eat at a more reasonable pace before digging through his bag again, picking up a small tablet.

  Prince,

  The Magi informs us that you will be travelling for an extended period of time. You will be missed, but now that Inar is captain, I have been promoted from security officer to first officer, so we take the good with the bad. I shall endeavor to prove myself worthy of this position.

  We were not told where you would be going, so to help prepare you for your mission, I have loaded this tablet with cultural reference literature and guides for travellers that I found on the public subspace information network.

  -Kuwa

  Rimush poked through the tablet as a chunk of liver satisfyingly dissolved in his mouth. There were over one hundred thousand books, guides, and pamphlets indexed by topic, region, and ‘level of urgency,’ a category Kuwa likely put entirely too much thought into. He pulled up a text on the nomadic Visthan clans to skim a few pages, found it dense and dry, and put the tablet aside for later perusal.

  The next package came in a metal box.

  Rimush,

  I wish we had a bit more warning. I’m sure you would have told us sooner were you permitted to. The boys here all understand that whatever you’re doing, it’s probably pretty important for his eminence to pull you off the Aranzah.

  Rimush chuckled to himself, thinking of how little warning he, himself, received. Opening the box, he found some coins, a small rod, and a hilt.

  The Magi only told us you’d be traveling for half a nanoquad. Be sure to give the Aranzah word if you end up in Odlan. We’ll buy a real orange carpet this time.

  Wherever you do end up, I hope you’ll take care of yourself. The quadrant is large, and there are people out there who don’t have the respect of Raleigh that the BTFO has. Don’t rely on your title or those magic tricks of yours to keep you safe. A true Raleighan can defend himself with only a weapon in hand. Keep these on you and practice. Next time we spar, I want you to beat me without magic.

  Should you need anything, the Aranzah’s morale fund hasn’t changed its credit codes. If you keep it under 50,000 credits, no one will notice. I added in a bit of tantalum to your gift in case you go off the network. We all wish you the best of luck in your travels.

  -Inar

  P.S. We just saw the broadcast from Palid. You’re going to be stuck with HER for half a nano? DO NOT LET HER SEE THIS PACKAGE. Just keep them holstered on you and hope not to need them.

  The stack of coins were acrylic pressed tantalum, fifty credit equivalents. Rimush pulled the hilt out of the box. Depressing a button on the hilt caused a glow of green plasma to erupt into a short blade. The hum was soft but noticeable, with the occasional crackle. He deactivated the blade and pulled out the rod. With a squeeze, it telescoped into a full length battle staff. Rimush tapped it on the floor, giving a solid, satisfying ring. He fumbled with the staff a bit before discovering a two handed twist in opposite directions collapsed it back down.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The rest of the bag appeared to have some basic toiletries, shag towels, brushes, and other odds and ends. Deciding to ration his meats before he ate everything, Rimush packed the bag up and stored it in the docking area. Spotting the decontamination shower, he stripped to hang up the previous day’s clothes.

  He lathered in some of the hand soap from the privy into his fur, then stepped into the shower. The initial burst of cold water shook whatever grogginess he had out of his system. He continued to fiddle with the controls until a satisfying spray of hot water sprayed from the jets on the wall and ceiling. Rimush managed to comb out any knots left in his mane before settling for a long, high pressure soak for several toqs.

  Rimush allowed his thoughts to linger on his old crew. With the rush of the previous two days, he hadn’t had time to properly digest the situation. Alone with the princess for half a nano, none of his friends present, his father seemingly all too happy to give him away to a hostile nation. The more he dwelled on it, the further his spirits sank. Without Inar to confide in, or a raucous bunch of Raleighans to spend down time with, Rimush had little to look forward to. He enjoyed travelling as much as anyone else, at least as far as BTFO worlds, but he always had at least one of the lieutenants with him to keep him company. When he finished, he deactivated the water stream then shook dry.

  A few stray drops of water fell from Rimush’s damp fur in the docking area. He neglected to grab a towel or a change of clothes. A trail of wet footprints now led from the decontamination shower to the pantry area where his bags were dropped off. He elected to use a clean undershirt to pad dry his fur before getting into a fresh change of clothes, casual form fitting wear he might take to the gym.

  Returning to the pilot’s chair, Rimush started scanning subspace communications traffic. There was a caravan two jumps out at the Arklow subspace beacon. He hailed them with a request for directions. After a brief delay, an older elf in worn robes answered.

  “Hello, this is Pr…” Rimush stopped himself from giving unnecessary information. “Rimush, of the Visthan shuttle, Ambrosius. I’m trying to make contact with the Fothar clan.”

  “Let me stop you right there, Raleighan.” The older elf interrupted. “This is Sean Cillian Rein, clan elder. I don’t know what game you are playing at in Visthan space, but I will have no part of it. Whatever raid you have planned will have no help from clan Rein. Head on back to Raleigh and bother us no further.”

  “I am not planning a raid! I have legitimate business with the Foth-” The Rein ship disconnected.

  Frustrated, Rimush idly nibbled on the loaf of bread he left on the other shair and spun his chair about its swivel. He could already imagine the princess’ barbs when she would finally leave the bedroom and discover that they had already arrived, no closer to finding clan Fothar.

  He grabbed the tablet and put his feet up on the console. He slowly made progress on his bread loaf as he perused the references on nomadic Visthan culture. After half a picoquad of aimlessly skimming different references, he stumbled upon a diagram that caused him to put his feet down and lean forward into his chair.

  The diagram described a rotation of planets and settlement agreements between clans. Each clan would spend a few nanoquads at a given planet along a circuit. The agreement allowed for each clan to have ample time to farm, fish, or gather at a given planet before moving on to the next one. Clan Fothar is in the rotation between clans Rein and Aedha.

  “So if Rein is at Arklow…” He traced his finger over the nomadic circuit on the map displayed on the tablet. “It’s either Leinster or Wexford.”

  Rimush returned to the pilot’s console and pulled up the visual logs. The Aedha caravan aligned itself coreward before making its subspace jump. “They’re heading to Wexford.” Rimush plotted a course to Leinster, four jumps away. Setting the autopilot, he executed the command, and the ship began its maneuvers.

  Leaning back into the pilot’s chair, Rimush celebrated his discovery with another bite of bread. He browsed the tablet. For more references to clan Fothar or planet Leinster. His eyes lit up. “Mutton. Eggs. Fish. Sausage!?” Apparently Fothar clan specialized in wool clothing, and as a consequence, hept a large healthy flock of sheep. While they didn’t go out of their way to slaughter them en masse, when one would get sick or old enough, they'd clean and dress the animal and prepare it as food. This was a sign of respect to the animal, wasting as little of its remains as possible. They even shredded the organs and stewed them into a gravy to bake into pies.

  Vanessa left the bedroom after the ship began its third jump.

  “What is the meaning of this? We should have arrived at the Carlow beacon already.”

  Rimush remained engrossed in the culinary history of the Fothar clan. “Morning princess. We did arrive. Now we’re leaving.”

  Vanessa stepped around the wet paw prints along the cabin, finding crumbs and flakes of bread in the copilot’s seat, doing nothing to improve her mood. “Explain yourself! Now!”

  “I will,” Rimush put the tablet down, “As soon as you tell me why we’re looking for clan Fothar.”

  Vanessa brushed her seat clean then sat, rage barely contained. “I thought you understood our arrangement.”

  “I do. And I am honoring it. Now please, princess. What information are we trying to get from clan Fothar?”

  Vanessa balled her fists in her lap, creasing her dress. “Nearly a microquad ago, three Foundation ships ventured into the quadrant to conduct covert stellar cartography and high sensitivity gravimetric readings.”

  Rimush recalled his encounter with a Foundation cruiser five nanoquads ago and the messy situation that followed its discovery. The idea of two more opportunities for a reverse engineered Foundation arms race troubled him.

  “One of the cruisers, the Ferrous, was last spotted here around that time by clan Fothar. We need to find out from the village elder if anyone alive back then can recall what they saw, and if we can find logs from any ships that were active then to trace where it went.”

  Rimush stiffened up. “We’re trying to steal a Foundation cruiser for Vistha?!”

  “No, even whispers of that would immediately dissolve any peace agreement our fathers would consider. I want the cartographic and gravimetric readings from that cruiser.”

  “What for?”

  “I’ve humored you enough!” Vanessa stood up, indignant. “Why are we not at the Carlow beacon? Where are we going?”

  The jump terminated. Rimush pressed a few buttons and a planet came up on the navigation display. “Leinster, home of clan Fothar by nomadic compact for the next three nanos or so.” Rimush grabbed the controls and began the approach to the planet.

  Vanessa relaxed her posture and sat back down. “So…you’ve made yourself useful.”

  “Well I had plenty of time while you slept for the last two picos. Now let’s find ourselves a nice landing area near a settlement. I have shopping to do.”

  Vanessa gave a confused look to Rimush before returning her gaze to the navigation panel. “That is the clan leader’s ship. The clan elder should be with them. Land there.”

  “As you wish, your highness.”

  They began their descent through Leinster’s atmosphere. Fields of vibrant green dotted with forests rushing beneath them.