Heath double- and triple-checked their list for docking. They were still a day’s flight out but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. This was a big one. They had passed through Sector Control four weeks and three jumps back. It should have been the most dangerous time for anyone smuggling contraband. He didn’t trust that assessment as far as he could throw it.

  Heath would just be glad to finally get whatever-it-was off his ship. Extra credits were always nice, but he wasn’t sure they were worth the near heart-attack during the inspection. Luckily for his nerves and his solvency, Emerald had a practiced method of fudging the manifests and stacking their regular cargo to avoid questions. More pointedly, the inspector had been uninterested in poking around further once they realized what a small-scale the Loon operated on.

  Their destination, Geb, was far more developed than the usual frontier system. The only reason there was more than a barely-staffed outpost was the local dungeon density. No one could explain why, but the region of space had more of the extra-planar rifts than almost anywhere else on the Rim. Where dungeons were, so went wealth. That was a fact of life no matter where you lived.

  For a humble Starship Captain like Heath, that meant there was an onyx-class station out in a Lagrange point, courtesy of the local gas giant, which handled most of the shipping. For everyone else, coopting use of the bridge view-screens to interpret the Loon’s scans, there was a habitable planet that was almost fully colonized, and another planet without a natural atmosphere, where some low-level terraforming and expensive infrastructure kept a few vacation resorts and research facilities up and running.

  Geb also happened to mark the furthest Heath had ever been from home.

  That realization brought him up short and he stopped obsessing over the list for a moment. It had been less than half a year since his uncle died and his whole life got forcibly reorganized. How far had he come since then?

  He did something he rarely felt the need for and pulled up his full status.

  The black lettering on its golden backdrop called him out in no uncertain terms. Seven levels and more than that in Skill increases since he took over the Loon. Even his combat Skills were improved from the forced practice sessions. It was inflated growth, new Classes always got a boost, and he was a low level for a Captain, so the growth went farther than it would have for anyone else. But it didn’t change the numbers.

  He was far from home in more ways than one.

  It made him feel a little sick, guilt he thought he had put to bed coming back for another round. Numbers didn’t lie, and he had benefited from Walt’s death. Heath had been happy. So what if his growth as a Spacer was slower? There was time, so much of it. The plan had been to spend another decade at least on Walt’s crew, maybe some others, get a Pilot class, and save enough so that he could buy into the business with Walt. Eventually maybe even get a little ship o fhis own and work his way up, or inherit the Loon when Walt decided to retire. That would have been fine. Better than fine. Fantastic. Incredible. Perfect.

  Now he was stronger, richer, while he hoarded enough for their next upgrade, more dangerous, and just better than ever before. It only cost him his favorite person.

  “Loon, can you help me record a letter, and then send it to mail when we get locked into the station net?”

  “Of course, Heath.”

  He took a moment to smooth out his outfit and hair, as much of a losing proposition as it was. “Thanks. Start … now.

  Hey Mom. Sorry it’s been so long since I sent everything. Things are going well, I’ve made a few friends. Some of them you’d even like…”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  When he was done, Heath felt wrung out like a damp rag, but better for the process. Enough that he could unwind and join the others in the mess hall for dinner and a movie. Tomorrow would be a big day, but he was ready.

  *******

  Docking went without a hitch. As usual. Even standard ship AIs could handle it, in conjunction with the station AI, and the Loon was a cut above those. Heath’s job during the process was to stay awake and answer any questions the port authority sent his way.

  When they were locked in tight, he turned to the crew. “Jenny Mae, we’re unloading almost everything here. I want you to come up with some options for our next set of contracts.” She gave him an entirely-unnecessary and textbook-perfect salute in response. “Copperfield, are you good to supervise the unloading?”

  “Sure thing, Cap.”

  “Great. I have a personal errand to run. Emerald, you’re with me.”

  That got him a jerky nod, a wink, and a confused look from his crew. No surprise the pirate was onto them, but most likely for the best that Jenny Mae stayed in the dark.

  “One last thing. Patch me through, Loon. Miss Althalas, we’ve arrived at Geb station. You’re all paid up through tomorrow so no need to rush.”

  “Understood,” came the tinny reply through the Loon’s comms.

  “Jenny Mae, if we post a passenger berth, maybe a little more vetting next time, yeah?”

  An onyx-class station was basically a colony in and of itself, with all that such a status implied. People were born, lived, and died without ever leaving. Just seeing kids running around in a park was jarring to Heath, who was more used to the kind of station populated almost entirely by adults, and most of them Classed. It would grow like a colony too, with new sections being added on over the years as economics and population demanded more space. And like any colony, there were full microcultures and social stratifications that evolved over time. Imperial regulators didn’t care as long as the language was consistent and they followed the right laws.

  Heath had plenty of time to ruminate on the trends he was seeing since the location for his drop off was a long way from the docks. Long enough he and Emerald had needed to hop on a transport pod to be ferried from the business end of the station, up through the core shaft, and emerging to the residential neighborhoods. Far from the smells grime and life of a busy spaceport.

  They exited and looked around at the neighborhood. If you replaced an enclosed ceiling with open sky, it wouldn’t look out of place in the rich district of any land-side city. There were individual houses, already an absurd expense in space, with actual lawns. He ducked down to check and the grass was real, or so close he couldn’t tell the difference. Whoever lived in these houses had enough time and money to create the water and nutrients to grow plants in space, just for aesthetics.

  “I’m not sure if I should be more or less afraid than the creepy hallways and fake closets.”

  “More,” Emerald grunted. “We’re in over our heads kid. Don’t make any promises, let them cheat you and try to look normal.”

  Heath’s head whipped around to stare aghast at his non-official first mate. “What the fuck, Emerald? Why didn’t you say something on Atala?” He held himself back from shouting. Places like this always had extra security to keep out the riffraff.

  “I didn’t know, did I? My contact just said the stuff needed moving, not who we were delivering to. We can kick his ass the next time we’re there.”

  They came to the end of the lane and stopped in front of a mansion. In space. Decorative black gates surrounded gardens, when he touched one it felt like real wrought iron. If he strained his ears, the tinkling of a fountain was the only sound to break the silence of the neighborhood. Even the air recyclers here were too expensive to be noticeable.

  “Yeah, definitely kicking his ass when we get back to Atala.”

  At Emerald’s nudge, Heath pressed a button for the gate comm, and spoke the phrase that came with their shipping instructions. “Fresh flowers for Mister Wrench.”

  No reply was forthcoming, but the gate swung open on perfectly balanced hinges. There was nothing to do but walk inside.

  The opulence on display continued in the interior. Real hardwood floors, paintings and holo-art that Heath didn’t understand on the walls, empty bowls that sat on spindly side-tables with no discernible purpose. There was no way Heath could afford the air in this place, let alone the rest of it. He was keenly aware of the box in his hands as he shuffled inside. He’d been walking around for twenty-two years, and all of a sudden he was worried he would forget how and drop their delivery, or trip and destroy some priceless work of art.

  Out of nowhere a man appeared in front of them, in a full tuxedo. His aura was stronger than Emeralds’. High rank two at least. Were Butlers a real Class? The man silently gestured further into the estate.

  They were definitely going to get murdered.

  To no one’s surprise, they ended their journey at a study. Heath had met less than a handful of proper criminals, and they all had full offices set up. Was it a requirement? Should he have a study?

  Caught off guard, he blurted out before he could stop himself, “Mister Wrench?”

  The woman in front of him wore a white jumpsuit, purple makeup flaring around her eyes. If he was forced to guess, she looked like she was about to head out for a trip to the opera rather than pay for some smuggled goods. On which he was still in the dark as to their specific contents.

  A laugh like bells caressed his senses, inviting him in to relax, and share all his secrets. He leaned into the sensation for a few heartbeats until Emerald kicked him in the shin. Hard.

  “It’s more of a position than a name.” The voice was toned down the second time, or Heath was getting used to it. He doubted it was the second option. “May I see the merchandise?”

  With all the care he could summon, Heath gently placed the box on the sea-blue lacquer of the desk between them. Mister Wrench opened and made an appreciative hum while she gently moved the contents around.

  “All here. And in perfect condition too.”

  The words were accompanied by no gesture, or swell of mana that he could sense, but his own [Personal Bank] skill lit up with the notification that the full asking amount was transferred. More than the full amount, when he looked closer.

  “Just a little something extra,” she said with a wink. “We appreciate contractors who deliver.”

  “Thank you –”

  “Heath! Heath! We have a Code Red. You need to contact me right away!”

  The shouting in his ear was so loud he flinched and lost his train of thought. Everyone noticed. He opened his mouth to apologize and explain when it happened again.

  “Heath! It’s an emergency! Please!”

  His head was reeling and his adrenaline had been on override since he arrived at the drop, but that last ‘please’ cut through it all.

  “Emergency comm. Apologies,” he said. Then he grabbed Emerald and practically ran from the building.

  “Loon, calm down, Loon, what’s going on.” Distracted, his shoulder slammed into one of the passersby. Heath muttered a half-hearted apology while he listened.

  “It’s Ekaterina! She took it Heath. Just walked onto the bridge and stole from us.”

  “What? Why? What did she take? There’s no cargo on the bridge.”

  “Not cargo, Heath. Our good luck charm. The one Walt carried from his time as a delver. The one that he kept for years in his office. The one that sits at your station every day. She just, she took it.”

  “What the fuck. Why? Did you override my comm security?”

  “I held on to the deception that is so vital to our survival. Only by the feathers on my hull but I held on. To be plundered for merely existing, taken from for greed or power… I can tell you Heath, I almost broke.”

  He turned to Emerald, who was listening to his side of the conversation. They spoke before Heath could formulate anything.

  “Passenger stole something important?”

  Startled, Heath let himself be sidetracked. “How did you know?”

  “Well she seems like a stone cold bitch, and Jenny Mae wouldn’t steal if it was the only way to feed her ten thousand family members, or whatever.”

  “Yeah, she did.” Turning back to his HUD he spoke to the Loon. “Can you find her?”

  “I can. Mostly. The station AI is more vigilant against intrusion than any of the others I have tested my mettle against. Tracking more directly is difficult. But the cached images exist and that will let me trace a path.”

  “Do it. We’ll get it back.” He didn’t mention that he wasn’t sure how he would be doing that. He suspected Ekaterina was around his level, but she had a combat magic class, and he was the Captain of a tiny cargo ship.

  “Please Heath. I am reluctant to ask, but I must. We have so little left of Walt, who gave of himself for both our sakes. I could not bear to lose this as well.”

  “You won’t have to.”

  The Loon’s voice faded out, and the pad in his pocket pinged, automatically syncing with his HUD implant. A neon yellow line appeared in his vision, the fastest path to Ekaterina, he had no doubt. He hesitated for a moment and looked at Emerald. Asking them to come was beyond the responsibilities of a crew member, something Emerald barely met as it was some days.

  “Stop staring and get moving. We have a Classer to hunt.”