They watched the data for a while as it slowly counted up. It seemed to refresh every 5 or so seconds.

  .001%… .002%… .005%…

  Jonathan was trying not to get his hopes up. He didn't dare to dream the impossible — but the chance was scaling UP, not down. Why wouldn't the number go lower the closer the threat was?

  His thinking was reinforced by Rex.

  "We don't exactly pay attention to stats after we leave, mind you — but the fact that it's going up and not down is counterintuitive to my expectations. Don't get excited, there are probably millions of factors that impact this."

  .013%… .035%… .097%…

  Jonathan asked Pal to give him more specific information.

  "Glad to finally hear from you!"

  …Pal could do sarcasm?

  "The statistics are indeed refreshing every 5.4 seconds — or 50 Micro Time Units — following what appears to be something close to a logistic growth algorithm! Predicted next steps are .268%, .731%, and 1.966%."

  Sure enough… .268%, .731%…

  But then it jumped up to 2.6%.

  "Nevermind! Looks like the pattern is no longer valid."

  The next number was 5.2%. Pal supplied new predictions following exponential growth. If that was true…

  The next update went DOWN to 3.6%, and then back down again to 3%.

  "Damn."

  Pal consoled him. "Sorry friend, better luck next time!"

  …Next time my home planet gets destroyed?

  "That was a turn of phrase!"

  The next two updates trended downward again — until once more the number jumped up to 8.4%.

  Rex's standard smile faded slightly.

  Craig had noticed.

  "What is happening?"

  "The chances of the planet being spared seems to be in flux. Nothing to worry about yet."

  …Worry? What the fu—

  34.70%.

  Jonathan was flummoxed. "What are you talking about? Why would this be something to wo…"

  22.22%.

  "…worry about."

  "If the planet doesn't die, then pretty much everything collected from said planet is invalidated."

  15.5%.

  Jonathan was silent for a moment while he processed this. He felt like he was riding two separate roller coasters simultaneously.

  "…You're worried about your fucking Ding Dong money?"

  57.01%.

  "OUR fucking Ding Dong money. Do you have any idea how much it costs to run a ship like this?"

  .002%.

  …Damn. Jonathan supposed they'd removed an outlier data point or something that affected the calculation.

  "Well, looks like you get your way and billions die — but at least your scout fundraiser will go well enough to send you to summer camp."

  Being somewhat apoplectic, Jonathan didn't even care that the metaphor barely made sense.

  His mood was sidetracked by the power of inane pattern recognition upon reading the next number.

  69%.

  "Well isn't that just nice."

  Rex waggled his eyebrows slightly before returning to his more serious demeanor. It was clear Rex was also a being of culture, which he was trying to leverage to de-escalate.

  Jonathan just looked at it and wondered if the whole universe was in on the joke, since the rounding had changed to accommodate it.

  "My best guess is that they're just shutting down and packing up whatever it is they're using to track that stat. We'd all be happy if your planet survived—"

  81.99%.

  "—but you need to understand that if we default, all assets will be auctioned off. That includes you."

  …What?

  Jonathan processed this for several seconds. Not knowing what to say, he turned his attention back to the number.

  YOUR SUBSCRIPTION TO "General Information: Earth" HAS ENDED

  The information windows went dark, and then disappeared.

  "…WHAT?!"

  "What?" Jonathan wasn't the best linguist when flustered.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Our data link expired. It happens early sometimes when you over-use it."

  "Well turn it back on!"

  "We can't."

  Rex signaled Jonathan to hold on while he explained.

  "We'll need to get back to a way station to do that, and by then we'll know what happened anyway when we try to submit our bounties."

  "How long?"

  "A little under three days. Just breathe — there's nothing we can do about it now except prepare."

  Jonathan took some time to breathe and collect his thoughts.

  "Alright, now listen. I know you're not going to want to hear this right now — but even if the Earth survives, that unfortunately doesn't change your circumstances."

  "Are you trying to tell me I'm a slave now?"

  "No… well, not quite. The reason isn't just the contract — which, by the way, is definitely still valid whether the planet is destroyed or not. It's not even that we don't have the money to go back, which we wouldn't have even before they inevitably raise the prices. IF the planet is still around — which IS STILL AN IF — then the broker who owns the gate will likely be locked to us."

  "What broker?"

  "There's no point in paying the fee to figure that out at this point, is there?"

  "Oh right, and you probably can't anyway."

  Jonathan struck a nerve.

  He typically wasn't the confrontational type and felt bad about even this quite factual response the moment it left his mouth. Rex's typically agreeable face showed a brief flash of anger.

  Having seen this, Craig finally decided to speak up.

  "Rex… vibe check."

  Upon hearing this, Rex took a long, simulated breath.

  "I apologize for my callousness. I just need our trainee not to get their hopes up. We've only got a few days before we reach the way station. If our entire stock ends up invalidated, then we're going to have to think of ways to remain solvent. New guy — you can help by providing us with an inventory of Earth goods, since you're far more familiar. The captain and I will have to discuss potential ramifications."

  Jonathan was still flustered, but knew nothing good would come out of taking it out on his new crewmates.

  Or owners.

  "Understood. I'll head over to the storage bay then."

  The light strips on the floor lit up to show him the way. He nodded and headed out.

  In some random station orbiting a random moon around a random planet on the edges of the Milky Way galaxy, hundreds of broker accountants and clerks were running around in what must have looked quite random.

  Incident response protocols were in place. They all knew their jobs and their roles in a situation like this — but it was one thing to know the plan and another thing to follow it while being truly bombarded by customers, factions, and other brokers demanding an explanation.

  There was at no point any indication that the threat would change direction — up until it was impossible for it to correct even if it wanted to.

  It had still passed through the system. It came so close, at least astronomically speaking, that the planet in question could likely have seen the threat pass by with only the most rudimentary magnification.

  Given that, and the fact that thousands of ships were seen exfiltrating, the planet officially had to be designated as "aware."

  There were even reports that vessels may have been lost to local forces.

  There would be a rush to control the situation by countless factions. A world that was unaligned but aware is a dangerous one. Such worlds are discovered every so often — if they go overlooked for too long, they can become quite disruptive.

  Skirmishes and raids had already been launched where negotiations had broken down. Companies that had nothing to do with the failure were placed on the defensive simply because they trusted this technology to power their businesses.

  The Auditor looked again.

  She rubbed her eyes — more out of shock than any real biological need.

  It had been some time since her eyes had been replaced with models that couldn't fatigue. Not due to a major event, but simply due to a latent genetic issue that caused inflammation when her eyes were subjected to one too many atmospheric profiles. The eyes were a sensitive organ, and her role demanded nothing but the best.

  The missive came from a colleague detailing what could only be considered an abject failure the likes of which had not been seen in hundreds of cycles, if ever.

  It was a disaster.

  Or maybe a miracle. How had she become so jaded?

  This was great news. A planet had somehow beaten the odds. Just who were these handful of billions of people now worth so much attention and so many trillions of credits?

  Her contacts were only able to give her a rough idea of the total cost so far. Data and gate fees were already exorbitant. She did know that quantitative damages were nothing compared to the intangible ones — confidence in the system is critical.

  It was going to be her job to be one of the many who investigated culpability and attempted to determine the scope of the damage, as well as lasting impact.

  Raiding itself is a huge market. It generates a great deal of revenue from gate usage, entertainment, and quenches a thirst for knowledge of other cultures.

  But the biggest concern was that the same predictive systems used in determining a world was doomed were the same ones used universe-wide in market prediction, sentence calculation, and even automating the negotiation and payouts of lawsuits — including the very same lawsuits that the broker who created the system may now have to pay out due to the failure.

  The technology was called "predictive accounting." It worked by actively gathering and considering a truly vast amount of data points for a given query.

  In this case, however, the legal system that usually exacts costs has been called into question, so all relevant lawsuits have been paused pending findings from the auditors. Additional lawsuits began pouring in because of this, and the problem was quickly compounding.

  Even some of the factions actively suing were hoping that auditor findings would come back and point to some sort of conclusion that meant that despite the fluke, the system was still sound.

  Because if predictive accounting failed altogether, no amount of credits won in any lawsuit would save them from the economic turmoil a failure would represent.

  She was already packed and in the process of chartering a ship before she got the call.

  She knew a full investigation was necessary and would likely cost far more than everything already lost. She also knew that because she happened to be human, she would be one of the lucky ones.

  The entire route from where The Shale was originally, to where they ended up, would have to be studied to determine just where things went wrong. She did not envy the task forces deployed to study the trajectory — that had to be one of the most critical but harrowing assignments.

  It didn't take any predictive models to know that some clusters of the nano swarm were likely still floating in space, just waiting for a ship to stop by and give them a lift.

  The worst part was that this mechano-plague just looked like normal debris until it was already eating your ship.

  Her briefing confirmed what she'd already suspected. Impact assessment, and if things went as badly as they appeared, planetary arbitration.

  The planet was considered quarantined for the moment, which gave a massive reprieve — but also gave the various factions more time to plan their approach.

  One of her first goals would be to gather information on any locals that may have made their way into the stars, as they would need to be tapped for information. There would be tens if not hundreds of factions attempting to stake a claim on the planet, so they needed to get as much information about it as possible, as fast as possible.

  Planets that were aware were the equivalent of a gold rush within a power vacuum.

  Political leaders of the world were empowered to make deals on behalf of their constituents — including but not limited to literally selling them into indentureship. This meant that had a quarantine not been in place, there would already be armies of "representatives" on planet ensuring that the leaders were wined and dined until they were spherical, and completely drained of bodily fluids — one way or another.

  There were, of course, rules of engagement in these scenarios.

  But those were just a test to see how much a given faction could get away with.

  She had the equivalent of a blank check to acquire as much additional information as she could, so long as she could justify the purchase. If possible, she would also perform some interviews and/or interrogations with actual locals.

  It was highly likely that more than a few humans had been swept up by raiders as new employees.

  If they were lucky.

  On that front, she knew the clock was ticking — a universal colloquialism — as raiders tend to move fast. She was already mapping out the most useful way stations to visit and queuing orders, even though she was still several jumps away.