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Her breathing was ragged and her side hurt, but adrenaline was a hell of a drug.

Leaning against a bulkhead, Apollonia listened carefully and looked back, to see if there had was any sign of pursuit.

But no one seemed to have followed her.  Which, frankly, she found surprising.  Even if she’d just been a bystander, security would usually want to talk to you.  Though maybe her view on that was skewed – on New Vitriol she’d always had the reputation as being the cause of trouble, no matter what.

Still, if they looked at the security footage, they’d see she was a part of it.  She might even be held responsible . . .

What she needed to do was get back to the Craton.  Surely once she was on the ship Brooks wouldn’t turn her over.  But what if she’d caused a diplomatic incident?  The kind that led to damaging relations with Gohhi, or worse – war with the Glorians?

‘The War of Apollonia’s Stupidity’ sounded like the kind of thing that might end up in a history book.

Putting her hands on her head, she rubbed her face vigorously.  The alcohol was making her give in to her own fears, she realized, and she had to fight that.

Despite the alcohol, her mind felt like it was working more clearly than it had in a long time.

Thanking adrenaline again, she looked around and realized that she had no recollection of what her path had been that had brought her here.

“Fuck nuggets!” she spat.  “Shitting dark-licking . . . gun-fuckers!”

A stream of the worst profanity she could think of came from her mouth, and she kicked a broken crate, shattering pieces of it.

The sound of movement behind her made her turn, and she saw a man, his skin oil-stained and dressed in parts of other outfits watching her from down the alley.

The whites of his eyes stood out against his dirty skin, and she did not like his stare.

Part of her wanted to lash out at him, to snap at him to look away, but she didn’t quite have it in her.  He didn’t make a hostile move, but she began to move away deeper into the narrow tunnels between the buildings that reached up high towards the center of Gohhi station.

She wondered if she should go higher, but really had no idea what she’d be looking for – the giant tube that made up Gohhi would curve away from her and possibly hide what she was looking for, if even there was a gap between the tops of the buildings and the roof above.

She took a turn, found it was blocked off, and went back, noticing that the man who’d been staring had followed her.  He was still distant, but now he was not alone, as two others were with him.

She did not like this at all.

They were still not moving towards her, at least, but she picked another route and hurried down it, coming out into a lane between businesses, though hardly where she wanted to be.

This was a red light district, and she nearly choked seeing the amount of clothing a lot of the dancers in window bubbles were lacking.

The fact that New Vitriol had been originally a religious colony suddenly snaked up in her memory, and she realized just how much worse a place could actually be than she had ever imagined.

Steeling herself, she tried to reassure herself that it wasn’t that much worse than the red light district on New Vitriol.  Larger, probably with more violence and murder and oh dark she stood out like a sore thumb-

She was about ready to turn herself in to station security, as numerous sets of eyes came to start watching her.  She had to blend, act like she was just another customer, but of course very few of their customers were young women, that was mostly what the merchandise was . . .

Walking swiftly, trying to seem self-possessed, she passed storefronts that were offering increasingly disturbing services in veiled language, and decided she was definitely headed the wrong way.

She might actually need to turn herself in.

Somehow she could do that with her system, but she did not want to whip out her tablet in this crowd.  Nor could she go into a store and ask to call security.

One sign glowed in white above a storefront, and she winced at its brightness, reading it off-handedly before pausing.

Unless it was the strange name of a club, this was not like the other places here.

The sign said ‘Salvation’, and standing out front were dumpy men in simple, uncomfortable looking garments – shawls and robes.

Dark, were they actually missionaries?  Here?

She took a risk, and stepped towards the men.

“How much?” she asked one skeptically.

The man met her gaze evenly.  “Salvation’s only cost is sin,” he told her.

Oh shit, these guys might be legit.

“Can I come in and . . . make a call?” she asked.

The man studied her a moment, contemplating, then nodded and gestured her inside.

The interior of the building was smaller than she expected.  It was very simple; the floor was simply buffed deck and the walls were covered in images of frescoes; not shown on screens, but actual cloth that depicted images of hewn rocks, with strange patterns on them.

“You were lost but are now found,” a voice said.

It was calming, and she looked – and was surprised to see that the speaker was a young man.  His face was symmetrical, his chin and nose strong, and his eyes vivid green.  He wore a brown robe no better looking than the men outside, though it seemed like it fit him better.  His hair was a paler shade, but not the radiation-washed type of pale, just . . . blonde.

“Not quite yet,” she said.  “But hopefully going to be found.  Can I, er, call the spaceport?  I need to get back to my ship and don’t know the way.”

The young man nodded.  “Of course.  But if you simply wish to be guided back to the Craton, that may be simpler.”

Her heart raced.  “How do you know what ship I’m from?” she demanded.

“You’re wearing a Sapient Union fleet uniform,” the young man replied calmly.  “And the Craton is the only Sapient Union ship here.  The local contingent at your people’s station would never come to this area.”

A smile tugged at his lips.  “You truly are lost.”

She felt foolish now; she was wearing a Craton jumpsuit, and all of that made sense.

“Ah, right, yeah . . . sorry.  I’m a bit worked up.”

Dark!  What a phrase to say in this area.  “I mean stressed!” she added quickly.  “You know . . . getting lost and found.  I guess I did need salvation after all, huh?”

The young man, who she could see now had some kind of metal symbol pinned on his chest, smiled easily, apparently not judging her for her poor choice of words.

Was he someone with some authority, she wondered?  The two outside hadn’t had that symbol on them, and it looked official.  Almost like a stylized eye.

“May I ask what faith you are?  There is no wrong answer, of course,” he said.

“Oh, uh . . . Reformed Tedian, but not really practicing . . .”

“I see.  You are from the Begonia system, then?  I am sorry for your people’s troubles.”

That caught her off-guard.  “Thanks,” she said, unsure how to feel about it.  “It’ll work out, I’m sure.”

“Things always work out how they should in the eyes of the Infinite,” he said.  “Though sometimes it takes longer than we should like.”

She nodded, unsure what else to say to that.  “What church is this, anyway?  Are you the leader?”

“We are the Esoteric Order,” the young man said.  “And I am merely a novice Priest.”

She had not heard of that – it must have told on her face, as he continued.  “We seek order in the cosmos by reaching out into the places man has never tread.  Only by experiencing the Infinite can we truly understand our role in the universe.”

“Wow, that’s . . . well that sounds pretty neat.  Do you guys really get a lot of souls to save in a wretched hole of scumbags and pervs like this?”

“You would be surprised.  Sometimes people achieve clarity after moments of their greatest darkness, and seek a deeper meaning.  When they come to us, we help them as best we can.”

He inclined his head towards her.  “And in that vein, may I show you the way back to the spaceport?”

Apollonia swallowed.  “Yeah.  Thank you, I’d . . . really like that.”

She kind of hoped he’d actually be the one to show her the way.

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