I jumped in the skipper. “Buckle up bozos, this ain’t gonna be nice.” I was trying to keep my calm. The 2-Tones & Earles had found us. Someone had to be a rat but who. They were running towards the skipper, yelling and shouting and blowing whistles. I was punching in the coordinates. I managed to get the shuffler turned on, but the goddamn synther wouldn’t turn on.

“Come on you piece of shit!” I kept hitting it, slamming it as hard as possible to get the synther to work. The Earles were right outside, so close I could see their horrible gnashing teeth. I couldn’t even focus on anything else.

I don’t know where I am, it’s dark and I’m scared. I see something. It’s a man grinning wolfishly. His eyes are gleaming with an emotion that I don’t like. My feet forced me forward, I tried to push myself back but my body wouldn’t listen. I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. CZ, Éamon, Momma somebody help me. I’m stuck. I’m small and pathetic and worthless. Momma why did you let him do this.

If I could, I would run but I’m stuck here. It’s not bad but I just want to sleep, to go back into Éamon’s waiting arms. We’re just stuck in the interspaces, with Éamon all the way in the back trying to take care of the younger boys. It’s so boring but there is no way to move in the skipper without falling over. I wish that we had more money to buy the bigger sail but the money we had was lost. Skip (some quiff’s bastard) was supposed to watch the dough but, we think he grifted most of it. So we had to do what we had to do. We gave him to the can.

CZ turned on the switcher but because we had to get the cheapest sail, it, of course, didn’t work. Which means that we have to get out the v.m. bucket. I turn around and yell,

“Hold the hell on, this won’t be a fun ride!”

I pull out my technoslab to try and find any good cities on any good planet. We can’t go to K.J-1034, Sunless Isles, Quaintness or even the goddamn Floating Seas. Why? Because Al-Dawa, the bastard, has decided to tell the other Constables of the 4th Kingdom Galaxies that the Streetsters are under ‘careful deliberation for being judged.’ I ain’t about to go back and ask the bastard to take down the videographs but somehow, I don’t think he’s willin’ to listen. I looked back down to the technoslab. The galaxer’s atlas shows the last planet I would ever think of: I.K.-439, nicknamed Io. My home planet. But the bounty hunters behind us don’t want tidbits from my tragic, tragic life. The bounty hunters were ready to destroy us. Al-Dawa wanted us alive but had no preference either way. They thought they could move faster than us but we had the smaller sailer.

I have had enough of this goddamn universe. The path to Io is now blocked off by the bounty hunters and that fat dud: Ser Captain Barrows. He’s now in on the F3 Agreement (the pact of knocking me off). I told CZ to go towards the Whispering Trees. It’s one of the few planets that isn’t ‘up to date’ with our criminal history. We all put on the harness and Éamon grabbed my hand, squeezing slightly. CZ has already plugged in the coordinates, the only thing we have to do is lightskip. This skipper, since it’s a hunk of junk, probably won’t make it but with the bounty hunters circling our asses and the bobbies in front, we’ve got less to lose than a starving a whore. I squeeze Éamon’s hand and pull the lighted stick, throwing us forward. With my eyes closed, I pray to whatever goddess is out there that these kids will make it. I don’t want these sweet kids to be popped off in this god-forsaken forest of stars. I turn to where I assume Éamon is squeezing, squeezing his hand a final time.

“I love ya, you gay bastard. And I swear to Pete, that if you die without me, I will dig you up and kick your ass so hard you’ll be feeling my foot in your ass in the heavens.”

Éamon laughs his hot breath in my face. He pulls me close for a couple of seconds, into an embrace. He whispers into my ear.

“I would never leave you alone. Not without taking out every goddamn piece of shit that tries to take you from me.”

I nod my head into his shoulder. I’m so goddamn in love and this bo is dragging me further down into this mess. But as long as he helps with the Streetsters, everything will be the cat’s pyjamas.

We had finally landed and because the Whispering Trees are a no-go zone, Ser Captain Burrows sadly couldn’t stalk us down here. We had managed to find an alcove with a nice little cottage for us to squat in. When we unpacked, the living room was shared by the younger kids and the 2 bedrooms were for me (and Éamon, too), Finch, the Streetsters’ medic, and Frances, the Bruno. Éamon made it very clear that it was just us. He was using this as a chance to make up for some lost time. He pulled me down on top of him, trying to get rid of any between us. I rest my head on his shoulder, him putting his arm around me and starts humming a song. This is one of the few moments where we can just relax. Éamon was rubbing up and down my back when I asked,

“Do you think people like me deserve heaven or whatever the hell people call it?” his hand stopped and he looks down at me-

“Don’tcha ever think ya’re a goddamn saint? You’d do just about anything for these lads, even if they’re guns.”

“I know but I ain’t a good number. I’m a bastard and I don’t deserve nonathis not you or them ki-”

Éamon shuts my yap by kissing me. He pulls away and has an ornery look in his eyes. He kisses down my neck until he reaches my shirt. I look down hoping he continues, huffing when his fingers find their way to my sides. I gasp out when he starts tickling. He’s grinning and won’t let up. I try to get away and he pins me down. I start yelling ‘Uncle, Uncle’ for him to let up. Laughing at me, I can feel my face flushing and he’s not stopping. I make a point of turning on my side; I know I’m being a bit of a brat. Éamon hugs me from behind, kissing my cheek and apologising before drifting off to sleep.