Viddara is a massive dust storm of a planet. A swirl of burnished reds and oranges is all you can see from space, making it look more like a sun than a planet. And Viddara has two of those: twin dwarves that are responsible for the dehydrated state of the planet and its painful lack of night.

There’s nothing quite like coming in to land on Viddara though. Its blood-red sphere against the deep backdrop of space takes Ezekiel’s breath away every time. Even now, more than a decade from the first time he set eyes on the planet. However, the actual landing experience leaves much to be desired.

Gripping the edges of his seat hard, Ezekiel braces for the moment the ship hits the high winds of the upper atmosphere. The ship groans and jerks throwing Ezekiel against his safety belt as they get sucked into a slipstream. A sharp, tinkling sound follows when sand that has somehow been caught up in these storms, despite the ridiculously high altitude, comes into contact with the body of the ship. Of course, sand is a bit difficult to escape on Viddara regardless of altitude. Ezekiel just hates how it always feels like they’re flying through a wall of rocks.

There’s a loud clang and the ship drops a couple hundred feet, which sends Ezekiel’s heart into his throat. He curses under his breath. Landing on Viddara when he isn’t the one flying the ship is definitely going on his list of most hated experiences. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Mataio to land; he just hates that he doesn’t have his hands on the controls.

They break through the dust cloud with a final jerk, and then they’re flying over endless sunset-coloured dunes. A cliff face lines the horizon on the far left, where one of the suns is slinking behind. Meanwhile, the second sun is just rising on the right, casting a criss-cross of shadows along the endless sandy plains.

The ship, however, is headed towards a single isolated plateau jutting out of the dunes. It is a massive thing, blocking out more and more of the horizon the closer they get, until the rock face practically looms over them. At first glance, it seems like nothing more than a giant, flat-topped mountain in a sea of sand and craggy rock outcroppings. But it’s what cannot be seen that’s more important.

Mataio takes them lower and closer, not slowing down in the slightest until it looks like they are about to fly right into the side of the mountain. Grinning to himself, Ezekiel doesn’t take his eyes off the rock face as they get so close that he can make out its jagged edges, only for them to pass right through.

What greets them is unlike anything he could have imagined back when he first left Hyperion. A city, one built into the rock faces on the inside of the plateau. Buildings curve over them as they fly deeper in. If Ezekiel looks hard enough, he can just about make out the dark specs of the inhabitants living within the great hollow rock. The ship dips to avoid an archway that links the buildings on opposite sides, the figures of people crossing from one side to the other over it visible for a brief second.

Something settles in Ezekiel’s chest as they approach one of the smaller buildings carved into the far end of the cavern. Or what the locals liked to call Viddine. Ezekiel and the other Marauders though, they like to call it the Red City.

Mataio lands on the lowest roof of what can only be described as a series of step-like buildings built into the rock face. Most of the other inhabitants of the small, 4-storeyed step they land on are other Marauders, just from different factions.

Most of the factions living in Viddine tend to be guns-for-hire, with mercenaries, assassins, and bodyguards being the most common of them. But there are some others, like their own, that prefer to specialise in tactical retrieval and espionage. It’s amazing how much people will pay for information. Those jobs also usually involve less bloodshed, which is important because killing is strictly off the table for Yin—a demand Mataio tries to respect as much as he can.

Then there are the factions that deal in people. Ezekiel tries not to interact with them too much. Or think about the jobs they take.

Silence envelops them when Mataio powers down the engines. The Steps, as they are simply called, are a welcome sight despite the overall disarray of the dug-out apartments. Laundry lines hang in the tiny spaces between the buildings, and the smell of something burning wafts in through the ship’s doors as they slide open. Home. Of a sort anyway. One cobbled together over years of hard work by a family that feels like they were brought together in exactly the same way.

Ezekiel falls into step with Anika as they make their way off the ship. He nudges her lightly. “We doing the usual?”

“Dunno.” She gives him a pointed look. “Do you think we deserve to celebrate after that disaster?”

Ezekiel shrugs. “We got the package dropped off, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. But you almost died. And we were late. Not sure which of those is worse, now that I’m thinking about it.”

He punches her lightly on the arm. “You’re a dick. And you stink. I’ll see you at The Hole for drinks tonight. Better get that gunk off you, though, if you’re looking to pull.”

Anika rolls her eyes, running her hand through crusty hair as she gives him a smug look. “But the ladies love me a little dirty.”

Ezekiel can’t suppress the shudder that runs through him, and he lets it come out in a fake gag. “I really don’t need to know. Now, fuck off. I’ll see you later!”

She manages a single jab between his ribs in retaliation before she heads off towards one of the outlying sand-hewn buildings where her apartment is. The apartment she moved into when they all moved out of Mataio’s home—a rite of passage of sorts for all of them, but even more so for Anika, since she’s the only one who was actually raised by Mataio.

Ezekiel has just started towards his own place when Yin sweeps past him, his long cloak stirring clouds of orange dust after him. His hood is back up, face hidden once again.

“Hey!” Ezekiel calls after him, causing him to pause, but he doesn't turn around. “Join us today?”

His question is met with silence, but he knows better than to push. Yin hasn’t walked away or said no, which is promising. But the silence starts to stretch into something bordering on uncomfortable and Ezekiel is about to brush it off when Yin turns back, his bright features cloaked in shadow. “Sure. But only if you wash up.” He pauses, before continuing in a softer voice. “You smell too.”

Stunned by him for the second time that day, Ezekiel can only stare after him as he speeds off, the tips of his toes barely grazing the ground. Huffing out a laugh, Ezekiel shakes his head at the warmth spreading through his chest. It’s about time.

Yin started becoming more comfortable with Anika first but he’s always held himself back around Ezekiel and, to a lesser extent, Mataio. Ezekiel understands being reserved around Mataio, he’s their leader and pretty much a father-figure to all of them, but he’s always wondered if there’s maybe something about himself that’s keeping Yin at arm’s length. He’s tried not to let it affect him but it’s been hard to shake off the feeling that he’s the least favourite sibling in this scenario.

Ezekiel can still remember the days after he and Mataio had rescued Yin. The way the silences had hung over all of them, swollen and heavy, uncomfortable. A bubble poised to burst. It had taken Yin months to find his voice, but he never went anywhere without his hood again.

Ezekiel had gone back looking for the guys, but it had to have been the Stars’ mercy that he never found them because he knew that he wouldn’t have let them get away a second time.

The road to Ezekiel’s place from the Steps is longer and winds its way between other buildings and low-rise apartments. The rush of warm air through the cracks in the rock blows dusty, red sand across his shoes and into his face, but Ezekiel doesn’t mind it much if it means he can feel the wind on his face. He hates wearing those masks—they never fail to make him feel like he’s drowning in his own sweat.

Sound carries across the flat land before him; yells mixed with the low murmur of other voices and the clanging of metal as people fix ships or cook food. Coming back to Viddara is always a shock to the system from the cold, silence of space. The bustle of life and the warmth of the land make Ezekiel feel alive in a different way from being out on a job.

Ezekiel’s home is the furthest away from the Steps—past a couple blocks of buildings and around a bend in the cliff face—because he doesn’t live in any of the buildings. He lives in a ship. A present he’d gotten for himself on his 25^th birthday.

Anika had given him shit for it while Mataio had been quietly disapproving in that way he always is when he doesn’t understand why. It’s quite effective in making someone reconsider every decision they’ve ever made that’s warranted that reaction. He even had Ezekiel contemplating returning to the ship for weeks.

But owning his own ship had been a dream of his since before he became a Marauder, and if it meant giving up a more permanent place to sleep, that was a sacrifice he’d been willing to make.

The craft is an outdated battleship class of unknown origin, a fixer-upper if there’d ever been one. It is at least two astral decades older than Mataio’s and double its size. Anika had teased him about compensating for something for weeks after he’d shown her. But not even her teasing could get him to hate the thing.

It is a rounder model and made of a dark, heavy metal alloy with a smaller main body surrounded by an outer ring that doubles as a secondary shield generator if he were to ever get caught in a dogfight. It’s not the most manoeuvrable of ships, but it has its own dedicated Captain’s wing, which is where Ezekiel is living out of while he works on the other areas of the ship.

The wing isn’t large, but it’s sizable enough to contain the Captain’s quarters, complete with ensuite bathroom and even a smaller office, which Ezekiel has converted into a small pantry area complete with fridge and stove because the ship’s dedicated mess hall is too far away for him to use on a daily basis.

Dumping his items onto the ground by the door, Ezekiel makes a beeline for the generously sized ensuite bathroom. Where the bedroom had been an eclectic mix of dark wood, glass, and burnished steel tones, the bathroom is its aesthetic in reverse, with the same light steel and glass styling as the rest of the ship. It’s not much to look at, but it is the only bathroom on the ship large enough for a bathtub, something that Ezekiel never forgets to take full advantage of.

He presses a few buttons on the keypad by the sink, and the clear, glass-like synthetic tub starts to fill with steaming water. While it fills, Ezekiel gingerly peels off his clothes wincing as the salt that’s crusted in the creases where sweat had dried rubs against his already irritated skin.

Ezekiel gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror that is set in the wall above the steel sink. Red lines run across his dark tan skin where the mask had been pressing into it, but the places that had been rubbed raw are already healed. Enough, at least, to make them look like he got them 5 days ago instead of a couple of hours. They’re still slightly sensitive to the touch, though, and Ezekiel can’t help the wince that slips out when he runs his fingers over them. Stupid masks.

The warm water is heavenly when Ezekiel finally slips under. He knows that he should have at least given himself a rinse before soaking himself in the dirt, grime, and slime of the day, but that’s a problem for later.

Ezekiel lets his head fall back onto the lip of the tub as he closes his eyes. What did these people want with one of the largest classes of warships anyway? They had to have come from some kind of planetary-level organisation because what would a regular group of people need with a giant warship? Then again, most worlds that need something of that calibre are able to make their own. And worlds that aren’t won’t be asking for one.

Nothing about the job makes sense. And usually, Ezekiel isn’t one to stick his nose into their clients' business. But having a Marauder faction steal a warfarer-class vessel? That’s definitely not on the same scale as their usual operations. The sudden rise in overall ship hijacking jobs is strange, too, but then again, people ask Marauders to steal transport vessels all the time. Maybe it’s just the season for ships? Ezekiel sighs, sinking deeper into the water. Who is Ezekiel to question the politics of the Greater Universe anyway? As long as they get paid, their faction will get the job done. No questions, no problems.

Ezekiel lets the water sluice away the rest of the tension before he cleans himself up, deliberately ignoring the colour of the water. He still has a few more hours before he is due to meet up with the rest of the group, so he collapses on the bed and, within moments, is fast asleep.

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