The caulker's mate on Terror is pressed into service for a more personal problem of its Captain's.
Shiv Roy has wings.
"You would not hurt me," is what he says, careful, caged in. "You could never hurt me."
This, they have argued to a stalemate of irreconcilable disagreement; could so continue to press in unwinnability until the Heavens broke open overhead and the mountains crashed down astride them. But Sui Zhou serves to live as much as a man as he does a blade, and in that he is long intimated with the lay of blame for a tool in the wield of a hand.
Bodyswap!
As Kylo Ren awaits judgment, Poe Dameron seeks satisfaction.
He feels Sui Zhou's smile unlace over his pulse, languid and nude in its amusement. "You've had the morning," he answers, unmoved. "The day won't keep for you."
Hickey is dying, and Gibson has seen better days.
He’s done his fair share of fucking up in this line of work, but this might be the worst he’s ever done it.
Hickey finds in Gibson a somewhat-too-willing teacher.
A sabre is, by nature, forthright.