There was a welcome committee waiting for us outside the Bucket's airlock. Four men in military-grade armor, helmets with clear visors, thick gloves, armor plates painted a zig-zag pattern of green and dull tan. They held Hurmer G7's, rapid-fire submachine guns firing clouds of three-millimeter flechettes. Great for killing unarmored targets while keeping their material goods intact.

  Not the most auspicious of greetings, but we'd have to ingratiate ourselves to the local Syndics at some point so it might as well be now. We needed to be accepted as reputable hunters, available for hire, or we'd be severely restricted. Or shot. Dead men don't hire out to the competition.

  A woman stood behind the men, almost as tall as Hao, but skinnier and paler. Helmet, two boom microphones, no gun. Com specialist then.

  None of them wore identification markings. Either everybody knew each other on Remba, or nobody cared who you were. I didn't know which would be worse. One made infiltration like we were attempting more difficult. The other meant that all that prevented us from being quietly killed was our value.

  "Your business?" the com specialist asked.

  I decided to take an offensive approach. When in doubt, attack. Besides, the cold was making me grumpy.

  "You crudmunching know our business," I said. "We got a landing permit based on our business. We're here for work."

  The com specialist paused. The grunts stood around looking menacing. Not very alert, though. They weren't expecting trouble.

  Meaning that this was a formality, or a shake down. Maybe they weren't port authority at all, but a group of Syndicate mercenaries who'd seen us land and figured to exploit the munging newcomers.

  Yeah, not playing that game.

  "IDs," the com woman said.

  "You've got the com," I said. "Pull them yourself. They're with our kill lists and campaign merits."

  Nobody moved or spoke for a while, only the wind blowing across the landing pad, dragging sand and small stones across the concrete. Talain and Geir squinted, dust striking them in the face. Hao had pulled a set of goggles from one of her pockets. My mageshield protected me, the dust shying away, the wind parting and moving it around me.

  "I can stand here all day," I said after a while. "But someone is paying you, and they'll want results."

  The woman shrugged. One of the grunts yawned. The wind kept blowing, the blue sun sinking into the east. I started shivering. Should have worn thermal underwear. Geir was showing signs of freezing, shifting from foot to foot to keep his warmth up.

  "Crud," I finally said, giving up. So much for avoiding the shake down. "How much?"

  "Two kilos," the woman said. "Each."

  My jaw dropped and Hao's goggles moved as she raised an eyebrow. Talain swore.

  "That's ridiculous," I said. "That's two months wages."

  The woman gave me a feral grin, like a big cat.

  "Not on Remba," she said. "Here helion is cheap and everything else expensive."

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "I don't have eight kilos," I said.

  "Then raid your fusion plant," she countered. "It's still running so you can't be that low."

  Their sensors must have been great, to pick that up, considering the amount of wards I had on the Bucket. So much for feeling safe.

  "What do I get for that?" I said. "A kiss and a receipt?"

  One of the grunts laughed, and the woman cuffed him in the back of the head. Hard. His visor jabbed him in the chin as his helmet tilted.

  "Crudmunger," he swore, but one of his friends put a restraining hand on him.

  "Good joke," the woman said. "It cost you another half-a-kilo. Or you can pack up and leave."

  "Just like that?" I said.

  "Just like that," she replied. "Assuming the port authority lets you leave instead of blowing your hulk out of the sky. Or you pay me my eight-point-five kilos and make three times that the first time you go out on an expedition."

  I paused a moment, giving the impression that I was considering her offer.

  "Void that," I said. "We go off into space. Come back and someone else will have bought your rights to meet us."

  "If the port authority lets you," the woman said. She jerked her chin toward the closest missile pack.

  "They fire, and I'll pay them off," I said. "Raid the fusion plant if I have to."

  Her snort surprised me. So derogatory. She thought I was stupid. Crudmucking Syndic.

  "Those are fire-and-forget pods," she said. "They launch, there's no calling them back. Your hulk better have the point-defense capacity of an assault fleet."

  "Crud," I said.

  "You're welcome," she said, with some pleasure. "Pay up or get out."

  Of course we'd pay, we had twenty kilos of helion in small and medium-sized vials in the Bucket's hidden safe. I'd expected it to make for a big bribe. Now it didn't look that way. We'd have to husband our resources, maybe even work, unless we found the Kylians and could spirit them away swiftly.

  "Fine," I said, my teeth clattering just a tad. It wasn't freezing, but close. "What clan?"

  "Void Orbs," the woman said.

  I was about to say that I'd never heard of them, but dedicated Syndicates were sensitive about their clans. And the woman had some standing, judging by the way the grunts deferred to her.

  "No options?" I said instead.

  The woman spat on the concrete, her spittle disappearing in the dust.

  "You're bought and paid for," she said. Meaning that she'd paid someone to be the only one here. The wonder of a thoroughly corrupt society. Either she guessed that we could pay the eight kilos, or she thought to get us into bondage and sell us to someone else later. One of the things the Syndicates took very seriously was debt.

  "Nice," I said. "You'd better hope your new associates will get their money back."

  "Affiliates," the woman said without batting an eye.

  "Say what?" I said. It came out with a tiny bit of a squeak. I don't like big surprises.

  "Affiliate," the woman said.

  "For two kilos a head?"

  "Or you can pack up and go. I'll take my losses."

  "Let me check with my mates," I said, although I'd already made up my mind. Still, if we were supposed to be a loosely aligned hunting team of equals, they should be seen to have a say. I huddled, pulling down my stockman and turning my back to the cold wind. I also conjured a thread of force and up-tuned one of my diffraction wards. If anyone was trying to listen in on our conversation, they'd get an earful of squeals and hisses.

  "I don't like this," I said. "Our kill lists are good. We boasted about the magerifle to get our landing permit. We should have been offered associate positions, not affiliate, and there should have been at least one other clan, possibly more."

  Hao's bushy brows drew together.

  "Don't like this either," she said. "You see any alternatives?"

  "No," I said. "Geir? Talain?"

  "None," said Geir, and spat to the side. The wind curved the path of his spittle.

  "Shoot these crudmungers and hope for a better deal from the next batch?" Talain said, cradling her rifle.

  I couldn't help staring at her. Two snipers against four submachine guns. She either had no brains or guts of cold-forged steel.

  "No sense of humor," Geir said, elbowing Talain in the side. She grinned.

  "Void, you lot are boring," she said. "I don't see crud, but more crud. And sand."

  "I'll take that as a no," I said. "Vote ended. We sign up with the Void Orbs, recon the city, find your missing planet-mates, and get off this rock."

  That got me a series of nods. I down-turned my diffraction ward and returned to the Void Orb woman.

  "What if we want to sign with some other clan later?" I said.

  "Then you pay us off," the woman said.

  "And hope that they have enough guns to keep the Void Orbs at bay?" I said.

  She gave me another killer grin.

  "Welcome to Remba," she replied.

  And like that, we'd become Syndicate affiliates.