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Barren? Hardly. Mountainside-fields of rolling green, the tender whip of a hot summer breeze on the faces of the smiling. Peaks, snowcapped, piercing the sky like immortal sentinels of stone, monuments of a natural beauty unknown and overlooked. And the lands beyond? Dry and foreboding, perhaps, but plains of life and prosperity all the same. Cities bleached white in the sun relentless, or nestled within the security of rock and looking down upon all of the above.
These were but the briefest of memories, the tips of countless dreams and childhood romanticising that clouded the dark, Hispanic eyes of the Dominique daughter as she headed ever homeward. It had been fifteen years, but the attractive scenes of this crude, raw beauty remained ever fresh and invulnerable in her mind.


Crete. The land of her ancestors, allegiance and allure. Home. At last.


The ship tossed violently, pressing it's two inhabitants into the hard leather of their seats before trying to tear them away again with equal haste. Not until her head collided with the solid metal panels of the wall of the cockpit did Cassie rouse from her daydreams, but even then her face was graced with the faintest echo of a smile. The stomach-churning exit from the jumphole - one of the many that litter these edgeworlds, as scattered and as random as the indents on a dartboard - was just another reminder; She was so close, now.

Sure enough, the feeling of familiarity only grew as the ship hurtled out into the characteristic green nebula that dominated the northern quadrants of Omicron Gamma. The pilot beside her swore and swerved the vessel violently each time asteroids loomed nearby, clutching at the controls like a child would his favourite toy. Between obscenities he shot her nervous glances, desperate for her to say something to guide or instruct him.
"Focus," she muttered quietly, her voice betraying the eagerness hidden behind her tense and foreboding visage. "I'm not paying you two hundred thousand credits to decorate this field with parts of your ship."
Deciding not to risk further admonition, he fixed his eyes ahead and tried again to concentrate. Soon he would be gone from here, back into safer space. That is, of course, assuming his Corsican cargo was good to her word. He took a deep breath and slowed his speed a little to maintain control, being careful to glide rather than tumble between the looming masses of green-tinged rock as they whipped past the small vessel.

Temporarily satisfied and aware that they were fast approaching her destination, Cassie pulled her datapad from an inside pocket and connected it to the ships' main console, preparing a message and sending it onward the moment the Malvada Cloud began to thin. Afterwards she returned the pad to a satchel slung around her waist and let her eyes stray again to the view outside - slowly but surely, the deep red glow of Gamma's central star seeped through the rogue wisps of nebula and illuminated their faces with a relentless radiance. She closed her eyes and allowed herself a silent smile, settling into the eddies of flight. When next she looked, the distinct dark outline of Skiros Station presented itself, and a small blinking light signalled an incoming transmission. Her transport to Crete was waiting.

'"Silver" Cassandra?' She confronted the back of her grandfather's head with a frown, 'Really?'

The imposing stature of her target whipped around in a gesture of surprise that belied his seventy-eight years, his lined face breaking from shock to a welcome smile.
'Cassandra!' He exclaimed, strode across the room toward her and clasped her left hand in both of his, looking her up and down in disbelief.
'It's really you? Por dios... last I saw you, you were-' He motioned an arm at waist-height indicating the size of a child. 'Look at you!' He let out a short laugh and, guiding her with an arm about the shoulders, walked her through a side-door of his office and into the comfort of the houses' drawing room.

'Well this hasn't changed.' she grinned, slipping free from his arm and walking around the familiar room. While the furniture and upholstery had undoubtedly been altered over the decade and a half since her last visit, the style remained and it felt precisely as she remembered it - from the broad leather sofas and rich fur rugs to the ceiling-high bookcases and patterns of light that seeped in from the wide windows across the left wall. Beyond, the balcony from which most of the estate was visible beckoned, but she resisted the urge to run about like the excited child she used to be.
Her grandfather clapped loudly and, after a brief pause, a housemaid entered silently to answer his summons.
'Bring us a bottle of 794 and two glasses,' he muttered to her before turning back to Cassie, 'the last of our batch from the year you were born, and one of our best – blessings seem to come in pairs around here. You've been deprived of it long enough, I think.' He chuckled and indicated they take a seat. She did so, trying to hide her wariness - seeing her grandfather smiling and laughing was altogether unnerving. Could she return into his life so easily?
'So – how was your trip, hija?' The final word, daughter, sent an uncomfortable shiver through her; Did he intend to ignore his son, her father, entirely? She took a moment to recover and met his question with a shrug.
'Dull, mostly.' She summarised. 'Bargained my way into the back seat of a merchant ship bound from Liberty to Bretonia, but let him on his way without me at a Freeport in Magellan – He was a little too fond of procedure, kept giving me looks like I was an immigrant trying to slip in to New London undetected. Guess he was partly right. Then I found a Freelancer to take me through the back-waters of Leeds and Cambridge and to Freeport 1.'
'And what happened to him?' He interrupted, a faint smile playing at the corners of his eyes. She looked away briefly, risking a subtle grin.
'Boot to the groin and a missing wallet after he tried to get a little too friendly. Had just enough to buy me passage on a Zoner ship all the way to Freeport 9. And from there another Freelancer to Skiros – this one nearly wet himself of his own accord when I told him where we were heading – where, of course, I met your men to come here.'
'Our men.' He corrected. She hesitated and opened her mouth to ask, but the mood was broken by the clink of glasses as the maid returned bearing a bottle of a rich, deep red.


Two glasses were poured, sampled and refilled as the two chatted idly, the elder filling in the younger on the changes over the years. Hours ticked by and as the sun dipped lower the maid again withdrew, this time to prepare a chamber for Cassie, for which she was very grateful – A combination of a long journey, exquisite wine and comfy atmosphere was weighing heavily upon her eyelids.
'You asked about your name,' Her grandfather eventually asked, reviving the subject. She looked at him for confirmation. 'Silver Cassandra?' He hinted, and she nodded.
'It's... an odd moniker. What made you register me as that?' He had agreed to take care of all the formalities and documents concerning her return to Crete to save her the hassle, yet it also gave him the freedom to do with them as he liked.
'I thought you'd ask that. Come.' He set his glass down on an end table beside the empty bottle and rose to his feet as if impervious to the alcohol coursing through his veins. Cassie wasn't quite as lucky and subtly supported herself briefly against the arm of the sofa before following her elder back through the house – now eerily quiet as the late evening settled in. They arrived back into his office where they'd first met, this a gallery of finely polished sepia wood as opposed to the casual reds and creams of the drawing room. She took a seat upon a neatly positioned chair before his imposing desk as he walked behind it and pointed out an ornate display case nestled perfectly between two bookcases...

While it looked regularly cleaned and well-kept, the lack of light shining upon the case shrouded it's contents through the glass. Her grandfather opened it up and carefully pulled forth a removable stand, turning around and setting it delicately upon the desk between them before taking his own high-backed chair. She looked at him quizzically.

'What is it, exactly?'

'The Silver Cassandra. Possibly one of the oldest human artefacts still existing in the colonies. An old-earth antique, and absolutely priceless. A pistol.' He explained, adding a quick 'Don't touch it.' as she leaned in to examine the weapon. It was odd, yet at the same time strangely alluring '€“ the rear half was bulky and looked heavy but sturdy, and it's entirety, from the triple barrels arranged like an upturned triangle down to the dark wood of the handle housed elegant engravings. All the exposed metal was, as the name implied, a gleaming silver. She continued to peer at it for a few minutes, examining the sides and back as best she could from her position. Eventually she broke her gaze to look back to her grandfather.
'Does it work?'
'I daren't try.' He answered. 'Looking at it's condition there's no reason it shouldn't. But it's not worth the risk.'
'And my pilot ID was named for this... why?'
'Why not?' He countered, almost childish in his manner. 'It's a catchy name, no? Memorable perhaps. It implies a sense of wonderment and mystery to a person without them ever seeing you.'
She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
'The Silver Cassandra is an age-old weapon, outdated perhaps, but still a radically different design than the norm. It was made by our distant ancestors, men and women of the regions that one day would form into the crew of the Hispania and voyage to Sirius. It's not just a relic, but a memento to show that even the passage of time has not dampened the ingenuity of our inventors, engineers and warriors. Still today Corsair technology is the envy of the sector...
...But above all else - It's beautiful, is it not? You've known about it less than five minutes and the way you look at it speaks volumes '€“ you want it, and like it. Such, my dear granddaughter, it is with you.'
An awkward silence hung between them for a moment, with Cassie unsure on how to respond. She was reluctant to admit that the name was slowly growing on her -€“ as he said, it was somewhat catchy. Eventually, after returning his prized antique to it's display and securing the lock, he motioned for them to leave the room.
'You look tired.' He acknowledged, and gave her a quick smile. 'I suggest you get some rest '€“ Tomorrow will be a long day. There's much to see. Your chamber will be ready -€“ your old room, of course.'

Still silent, Cassie opted to take his advice and retreated to the main hallway while he remained behind to lock up his study and give final orders to the housemaids. There she climbed the extravagant main stairway and proceeded along the adjoining balcony to the far end, where the doorway to her childhood abode waited.

The familiar rays of early morning sun flared through the tall windows and teased Cassie's reflection as she sat, leaning forward over her dresser and staring back at her mirrored double. Beads of sweat slipped unchecked down her smooth cheeks and pooled on her chin before she mopped her face with the towel in her hands. She felt like chiding herself, but instead closed her eyes and worked on steadying her breathing. She'd just returned from her morning run and found that she, even after a fortnight, was still totally unaccustomed to the hot, dry climate of Crete.
Before long she gave up and retreated to her en-suite bathroom, opting to shower briefly rather than bathe despite her utter lack of plans for the day. For the week. Again. She found herself sighing in frustration time and time again as she busied herself with the smallest things – Above all, she just hated having nothing to do. Eventually, after toying with her hair, wardrobe and tidying her room for the third time, she resigned herself to finding something else to occupy her. Perhaps a nice walk through the famous vineyards on the estate would satisfy.
Despite this train of thought, her legs took her instead to her grandfathers' study. Just as the night before, she found herself seated before that imposing desk and under his scrutinizing gaze.

'I've thought about it” She began, expecting him to interject. She continued when he didn't. “I want to undertake the Trial of Malvada, just as–'
'When I said sleep on it, I meant forget about it, Cassandra.'
She frowned, clearly unable to accept the response. 'Even you, Ginuva–'
'The Malvada Trial is a cruel and backward tradition.' He raised his voice, eyes unwavering from her own. 'It's only purpose is – was – to thin the population. That's no longer needed with the Empire expanding into Omicron 91 and 94 so quickly.'
'You know that's not the reason people take it.'
'What? You want respect? Pah!' He was almost shouting now, saliva flicking from the corners of his mouth. 'Stop screwing around. Do you want to know what happens out there?' He broke his stare and flicked several buttons hurriedly on the console set into his desk, then pushed a monitor around to face Cassie. She looked, unfazed, upon images of ruined ships, fragments of hulls lying amid asteroid debris where once had been a cockpit. Pictures of bodies, twisted and mutilated by extreme radiation and alien organisms after being ripped from their vessels after only the slightest of mistakes. The screen scrolled slowly at her grandfathers' command, showing more grotesque images one after another.

'A third of all pilots in the Trial don't return.' He summarised, calming himself again. 'Of the ones that do, half are irradiated and live with short, sick, and infertile lives. That, Cassandra, is not a fate I will allow you to take for a stubborn shot at that which you already have.'
She shook her head. 'You keep saying that, but it's not the case. I can't just walk on in and expect the Empire to take me back. It's been two weeks and I still haven't a license to fly under Corsair colors, something which most young pilots can obtain in a matter of days. They need reason to trust me.'
'And you really think putting your life on the line will earn you your wings?' He retorted, again struggling to subdue his anger.
She rose to her feet and turned for the door, attempting to finalise the discussion. 'It's a risk I'm willing to take.'
'Enough, Cassandra-Marie!' Ginuva slammed a palm on the desk and also stood, leaning forward across the wooden surface. 'I forbid it!'
Cassie had by this time reached the door and stood with it held open before her. She turned her head to give him a last glance, her expression alarmingly calm.
'You're not my father, Ginuva. You've no right. I'm going.' She crossed the threshold and closed the door, leaving her grandfather in stunned silence.
How dare she? he thought bitterly, face contorted with his temper. To mention Cid so casually... 'Never. Not in this house.' He muttered as if she was still present, a subdued yet malevolent warning.