Prince Takkan’s ship is the nicest one I’ve been aboard, with more than enough bunks for Lena and I, as well as himself and his guards. It does not rattle when it moves and flies with incredible smoothness.

We take breakfast with the prince and his soldiers in the heart of the ship. I expect it to be awkward, sitting down across from Takkan with my hair still drying from the shower I just took, dressed in clothing chosen more for comfort than for looks—a far cry from what I’d worn to both the interview and the gala. It turns out to be shockingly easy. The prince looks far less put together than he does for public appearances, wearing loose clothing that looks slept in, eyes shadowed with tiredness.

It does not surprise me that he hasn’t slept well. In his place, I would be far too worried for my friend to close my eyes for long. It also does not escape my attention that the wound he sustained at the gala still pains him. He moves slowly and less fluidly, as though lying down for several hours has made the muscles stiffen.

“How is it?” I ask.

“I can feel it healing, but it will be a few days before I’m back to my usual strength.”

Lena snorts, prompting the prince and his soldiers to look in her direction. “Sorry,” she says. “I just can’t imagine complaining that a blaster shot to the chest, just a few inches from your heart, mind you, won’t be healed for a few days. If that’d been me or Wren, we’d be lucky to walk for months, if we woke up at all.”

For such a subject, her voice sounds cheerful and animated, the one saved for conversations between friends. Lena has never met a stranger, nor known an awkward situation.

“It’s a bit farther from his heart than a few inches,” Sovren says, tapping his chest. “Ours are closer to the center than that of a human.”

Sovren’s blue is a lighter tone that the other two Velorians, closer to icy white than blue, and he is the most talkative guard by leaps and bounds. Etto is more reserved, but not unfriendly.

Breakfast is interrupted by the sound of a static laced connection coming through in the cockpit. The prince stands. “That must be Mathios,” he says, ducking into the other room.

“Mathios is his law enforcement connection, right?” Lena asks.

Sovren nods. “Yes. We have all fought together in the past, with Jari as well. I’m sure he’ll give us help if he can offer it.”

Curiosity is perhaps the defining trait of a journalist or reporter of any sort. I let it overpower my instinct toward politeness and stand up myself, heading to the doorway of the cockpit to see what I can see. None of the others says a word in protest and I can only think that if the prince truly wanted a private conversation, he would have closed the door.

The figure visible in the hologram transmission is blurred, meaning the connection is one made over a distance so vast as to challenge human understanding. The man is a Velorian, dressed in a uniform that I recall seeing on the streets of the capital. There is a second figure behind him, a lanky human teenage boy by his looks, fiddling with the controls of the ship.

“Thank you for this, Mathios,” Takkan is saying. “Knowing where to start will save us a great deal of time.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he says. “I’ve asked Anna about the name, but she says it isn’t known to her. It was probably a bit optimistic to assume she knows every criminal in that system, but it was worth a try. All we can give you are the coordinates.”

“That should be enough,” Takkan says.

“They’re talking about a shooting on the news stations. How is the wound?”

“Healing,” Takkan answers. “How is your child?” he asks in turn.

There is a quick blur at the Velorian’s mouth, a flash of a smile that comes and goes too quickly for the hologram to transmit. “Beautiful,” Mathios says. “And growing impossibly fast.”

There is a woman’s voice in the background, rising and lowering methodically. I think perhaps she is singing. The transmission glitches further, the Velorian’s voice fading in and out. “I think the range is too far, Takkan. Take care.”

“You as well, Mathios. You’ll have to bring your family to the capital once all this nonsense has settled down.”

The transmission goes dark before the officer can agree, and Takkan turns around to find that I have been watching. He looks more interested than irritated, and simply says: “We’ve had a much needed stroke of luck.”

He steps into the kitchen, explaining to everyone that the gun planted in Jari’s room had a serial number that was easy enough to track. Mathios was able to get the buyer’s information from the seller with a quickly forged warrant, and we now have access to the coordinates at which he can be found. He is at the far end of our current system, but it should take us no more than the entirety of today to travel there.

There is no other plan, and hence, no reason for anyone to disagree. I will admit to being slightly disappointed that my sleuthing skills have not yet been called upon, but I am relieved that we are making progress and not floundering in place.

Sovren is the first to leave the table. “I’ll chart a course,” he says.

Lena and Etto clear away their plates, and I find myself alone at the table with Prince Takkan. I have already forgiven him for his previous behavior. He has not been outright cruel toward me, but his distrust was plain. It is something that I am familiar with, something that I can understand. With my chosen profession, people often assume that I have an ulterior motive of some sort, however transparent I try to be. He speaks without any such prompting.

We spend the day getting to know each other, slowly and without much especially personal information. I am nervous of scaring him off with an accidental slight or anything that could be misinterpreted by him. Having a friendly discourse with the Ice Prince of Veloria could be invaluable for my career’s future... but that’s not the only reason I stay and chat with him. He is interesting, and the way he speaks is gripping in a strange, almost familiar way. He speaks with calm confidence, and I find myself leaning in and nodding to every word.

Other than these snippets of conversation, I focus my attention on the two soldiers, trying to get a handle on what sort of people they are.

Lena treats it is a game, dragging out her handheld camera and wandering around the ship, enlisting me in narrating the purpose of each room and asking questions of the soldiers when we happen upon them. We learn that Etto has not left his home system since the Xzerg wars and that he feels uneasy venturing so close to its edge, as though he might drift off into unknown space. We learn that females shift form far less often than males. It takes more danger to provoke them to such measures and generally takes less time for them to find their way back to their humanoid forms. We learn that the number of women and children has risen as the planet has recovered. Etto has a mate, but no children as of yet, and Sovren spent a few years after the war working as a mercenary before Takkan tracked him down and offered him this job.

“What exactly is the purpose of this?” Sovren asks.

“Because Lena’s bored,” I answer honestly.

“I’m not bored,” Lena counters. “I’m filming a masterpiece. The ratings will be so high they’ll clear us for a whole season.”

Etto’s lips twitch.

This morning, after my initial discomfort regarding speaking to the prince informally, some of the anxiety has faded. As the day passes, I find myself speaking to him each time we find ourselves occupying the same space, which, as on any ship, is often. I learn that he took over rule from his father after he died in the Xzerg wars. Blood is not as binding in Velorian monarchy as it is in others. Had the public wanted to contest his rule, had someone wanted to challenge him, they would have been allowed to, encouraged to even, but the people were familiar with him, having watched him grow up under the tutelage of his father, having heard of his deeds in the war. They trusted him to rule them. He speaks this to Lena’s camera, as such tidbits about the government are relevant, but some things he speaks just to me.

The time passes with shocking quickness, and I almost feel, as we near the planet, that we are a group of friends on a journey instead of a ragtag group of individuals who share the same mission.

“We’re here,” Etto says. “Atmosphere’s a bit rough according to the readings. Either sit down and buckle up or hang on to something.”

It cannot be any worse than the landing of our civilian ship on Veloria, I think, but my thoughts are quickly proved wrong when the ship begins to lurch forward and downward. It does not shake as the civilian ship had, but the movements are jarring and sudden. Even holding on to the doorframe of the bedroom I’d been walking past, I lose my footing, hands splayed out to catch myself. To my utter shock, I never hit the ground. Instead, I find myself caught by strong arms.

Takkan steadies me gently. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I say. “Thank you.” His hands are still on me, and I find myself held close to him for a long moment as the ship continues its descent. The prince seems to have no trouble keeping himself upright, and I wonder if it’s a Velorian trait or if he simply has impeccable balance.

His skin is cool without being cold, and I recall reading somewhere that they have a way of regulating the temperature consciously from within. As he brushes against me, I feel a chill that is most definitely not from the cold, followed by an immediate sense of guilt. The Velorian I met during the festival may very well have been waiting for me just last night, heart aching for me, just as mine longed for him. And here I am experiencing an inappropriate attraction to the Prince of Veloria, of all people, who I hadn’t even found tolerable until last night.

Just when I think the touch of our skin together might actually drive me to touch him in return, the ship comes safely to a halt. He removes his arm and steps away. “Thanks,” I say again. “I assumed Etto was exaggerating.”

Takkan smiles. “If you’d known him for longer than a day, you would know that Etto never exaggerates.”

I find myself staring after him as he ducks into his room to retrieve his things, before deciding that it would probably be an opportune time for me to do the same. The smile remains ingrained in my mind.

“Tell me about the planet,” I say. We are on the ramp, walking down into an environment that seems at least as cold as Veloria.

It is Etto who answers. “Armanix,” he says. “More sparsely populated than Veloria and just as cold as our ice-side.”

“The native species died out some millennia ago,” Sovren takes over. “These days it’s just home to a mishmash of colonists looking for fuel beneath the ice. Like any place this remote, it also has its fair share of people hoping not to be found.”

We step off the ramp, Lena sticking close to me, filming the wide expanse of icy landscape. Other than the landing zone and a few distant houses and huts with far too much space between them, there isn’t any scenery at all. It seems like exactly the sort of space one would seek out if they wanted to disappear. And I imagine failed assassins have a greater need for anonymity than most.

A hand rests on my shoulder, turning me slightly to the right. “Look,” Takkan says, and my eyes find the ocean. Most of what I can see is covered with a thick layer of ice, but far out—so far that my eyes can scarcely see it—there are choppy waves, slate grey and dancing. “We’re in the planet’s arctic region. This is as far away from society as you can get. Let’s go ask around.”

Lena walks next to me. “Guess arctic region explains the weather,” she says, shivering harder than I am, even though her heavy-duty coat has been designed for just this purpose.

“Not for you, huh?” I ask.

“Definitely not. Fingers crossed that our next destination is tropical.”

In the end, it is almost laughably easy to catch up to our hitman. He has made the mistake of choosing one of the planet’s few tiny villages to hide in, and the first person we ask, an old alien preparing to take his boat out on the water, is able to point us to the ship that landed two days ago, and the small room that was rented in the single lodging house.

Lena and I get it out of him with friendly smiles and kind words, convincing him to speak to the prince and his men the same way we convince people to speak to our camera.

Takkan looks at me curiously afterward, and I get the sense that he is a little impressed, even if he doesn’t take the time to say so.

As we trek through the cold and approach the lodging house the old fisherman pointed out, I feel as though I am a part of something, a member of a team. It is a curious feeling, but one I don’t have time to examine just now. It is a public building, so we enter without knocking. At first glance, it is as bereft of people as the village itself seems to be. The walls have been decorated to appear as though they are made of stone stacked together, giving it a charmingly rustic feel, but the layer of dust over the ancient furniture subtracts from the overall effect.

The manager, or perhaps the owner, looks at us immediately, worry and suspicion clouding her face. Takkan takes the lead, as is his right in a situation where we are searching for his would-be killer.

“We’re looking for someone,” he says. “His name is Edan Kor, though he may be using an alias.”

“Must be,” the owner replies. “Or else you’ve got the wrong place.”

“I don’t think there are too many places on this planet we could be confusing it with,” I remark, and the woman, to my shock, gives me a smirk.

“You’ve got me there,” she says. “Plenty of people come here looking to hide, and I usually let them. What’d this fellow do to you?”

“He’s a hitman,” Takkan replies. “I believe he was hired to kill me.” He opens the front of his shirt to showcase the healing wound. It is the first time I have seen it, and I find myself marveling at how quickly the skin is knitting together. Velorian biology is truly a feat to behold. The owner looks as well, though her stoic face does not betray her feelings. “I have no particular desire to kill him, but I need to speak with him, and discern who hired him so that I may end the problem at its source.”

“Cut the head off the snake, you mean,” the woman says. “I can understand that.” She reaches below the counter, hand emerging with a flash of silver in her palm. She hands over the old-fashioned key, the room number engraved on the front. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t leave any bloodstains,” she says, and calmly retires to the room in the back, where I can see a vid-screen flickering.

Takkan smiles, before looking to Lena and I. “I don’t suppose you’d agree to meet down here?” he asks.

The hitman himself is far less impressive than one would imagine an assassin to be. He is a Darilan, a populous species that originates much closer to Earth than to this end of the galaxy. His features are humanoid but for the shiny green color of his skin and the third and fourth eyes perched high on his forehead. I think they have several more fingers as well, but I’ve never known one well enough to bother with counting.

He is not asleep, despite the late hour on this planet, and is already sitting up, staring at the door when Takkan keys it open. Lena and I stay back, though close enough to door that we can see what is occurring.

He does not bother trying to form a convincing lie.

“I avoided the news,” he says, looking at Takkan and no one else. “But I knew it was a bad shot. I could tell as it soon it left my blaster. It was a new gun. Should have tested it first.”

“Who hired you?” I ask, when no one else seems about to say something. Takkan is still looking at the Darilan, as though trying to gain the measure of him.

“It does not work like that,” he says. “I don’t actually know.”

He explains, voice a mix of tremulous fear and acceptance of whatever fate Takkan has in store for him. He tells us that he operates through a company that prizes anonymity above all else. Any and all transactions are performed through the company, with the hitman and the client never learning each other’s details. We should have known better than to think we might fix this with one short journey.

“What’s the name of the company?” Takkan asks.

“The Black Station,” he says. “I don’t know much else aside from the number they use to contact me, but even that’s next to useless. They run it through so many servers that it’s near on impossible to track.”

“I’ve heard of it,” I say, and Lena looks at me incredulously. “I may have a contact who can give us something more concrete.”

Takkan nods. “We could use a bit of luck,” he says. “In the meantime, I’d like a word with our assassin in private.”

There is no blood on Takkan when he returns, no outward sign of any horror. I sit on a bench beside the ocean, the village at my back. After spending half an hour attempting to get a transmission out without success, I let Lena take over and wander off to get my thoughts in order. I’ve scarcely started when the prince takes a seat beside me.

“What did you do with him?” I find myself asking, though part of me does not want to know the answer. It would make sense to kill him, but the thought of it bothers me. There is the option of turning him over to the authorities as well, but there is no telling how long it would take someone to make the journey here, and I doubt we will find a sympathetic party to hold him captive in the meantime. In a town like this, half the people probably have something on their records.

“I let him go,” he says, and despite my own line of thinking prior to his words, I balk.

“You’re sure he won’t come after you?”

“No. I know his face. Aside from that, the client canceled their contract with him after the failure. If there’s an attempt on me again, it will come from a different source.” He pauses, looking somewhat sheepish. “I’ve also told him that if he is ever in need of honest work, he is welcome to seek me out.”

I shake my head, but at this point, I am not surprised.

“He was convinced that I was going to kill him,” he says. “Showed me pictures of his family. It’s not those who commit violence for those they love we need to hate, it’s those who commit violence for themselves.”

“That’s an interesting way of looking at things,” I say, looking out at the sea.

“But?”

“But... I think you’ve got it backwards. People will do far worse for their families or their friends or their people than they will for themselves.”

His smile lights up the near dark. “You’re much… different than I assumed. I always thought of reporters as people who show up, document what’s in front of them, and add their own spin to it afterward. I never realized there was so much digging involved. I suppose what I’m trying to say is, you’re very intelligent, very resourceful, and I am glad that you joined us.”

“I’m glad to be here,” I reply, and I am surprised to find that I mean the words. “You’re not nearly so irritating as I thought. But you are very unorthodox as a prince.”

“I consider that a compliment,” he says.

To our right, Sovren and Etto prepare the ship for takeoff. I wonder where the next piece of the puzzle might take us.

“Tell me about him,” Takkan says.

“Who?”

“The Velorian you mentioned. The one you hoped to meet last night.”

I search his face for signs that he might be teasing me, but can find no hint of mockery in his eyes. I note for the first time how beautiful they are—a bright silver, like the chrome of a new spacecraft or distant starlight. I can’t help but think about my mystery man’s eyes. Fiery gold.

When I begin speaking, I do so cautiously, reciting the things the stranger and I had spoken of, including the fact that all I knew of his whereabouts was that he was visiting the village from elsewhere and would soon return. I do not mention that I don’t know the man’s name, fearful that such a detail might make me seem idealistic, like a child obsessed with the idea of fairytales.

Takkan’s skin should be cool, but somehow warmth gathers between us as we watch bits of ice drift across the sea, lit orange and pink by the lowering sun. The exhaustion of the past few days is catching up to me, and my head has almost sunk to his shoulder when Lena’s voice sounds, ringing and joyous: “We’ve got it!”