They were approached again, three stops later, and this time Heath wasn’t hungover. Which meant he noticed first the aura of the Classer across from him, and then the utter lack of identifying information. No scars or tattoos, no insignia on the outfit. Just a rich Classer that had absolutely no business in the out-of-the-way job hall where Heath was celebrating another successful mission with his crew.

  “Captain Heath Stewart. I’m glad I was able to track you down.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?” Beside him, Heath felt his crew react. Months of fighting together left him able to read each of their intentions in a twitching jawline or subtly shifting muscles to free up a hand or a weapon.

  “We have your next commission.”

  “We aren’t taking commissions right now –”

  “Who’s we?” Emerald spoke at the same time as Heath, eyes narrowed at the newcomer.

  “We are the Syndicate. It’s been a while since you’ve done work for us, but we have been keeping an eye out. And we think you’ll find this is a commission you’ll accept.”

  “Look, I appreciate the recognition of how hard we’ve all been working, but we are pretty full up right now on hauling jobs. Don’t have room to take on anything else.”

  Heath was poking at his own Skills, in case he had to use them. Though he suspected it wouldn’t do any good. This man was a powerful Classer. And more importantly, he looked utterly unconcerned by Heath’s denial, or the five people in front of him prepping for a fight. Arrogant in the extreme, an incredible liar, or had nothing to be afraid of. Or maybe he knew that if they openly slapped the Syndicate’s face by outright refusing to cooperate, that they would come down on the Wandering Loon like the Hammer of the Titan.

  “I don’t think you realize the situation,” the man said, his voice silky and dangerous as a spider’s web. “You did a fair amount of damage on Geb Station. While you were there representing us. Carrying some…substances, profits of which imperial customs doesn’t appreciate losing out on their cut.”

  From the folds of his jacket, he brought out a small pad, and slid it across to Heath. It was, as the man had implied, a damning picture of him and Emerald handing over a wooden box. A slender finger entered his vision and tapped, transforming the image to a video that started playing without sound. It showed their destructive race off the station, along with a number slowly ticking up on the right-hand side.

  The video ended, and the number ticked over to 33,500. Their unwelcome guest tapped it for emphasis. “The damage estimate in credits.”

  “Now, we have kindly paid to repair the station, but that is a big favor from our organization”

  Anger burned through Heath like a deadly poison. Eroding his sense of caution, and the happy evening they had been enjoying beforehand. He couldn’t regret the early jobs that had brought the Loon back up to being a ship anyone would be happy to call home. That time had cemented the crew, not just as employees, but friends as well. Having it thrown back in his face was another thing entirely.

  “Do we understand each other?”

  What else could he do? Heath nodded.

  “Excellent. We’ve reviewed your latest flight plans and taken the liberty of making adjustments. You’ll pick up the package here.” The finger tapped again, this time to bring up a picture of Jas Ramira. The yellow clouds obscuring the planet were a dead giveaway, another three jumps ahead on their current run. “You will follow the instructions that come with the package for drop off.”

  “Fine,” Heath bit out. He moved to leave but paused when he realized that the Classer hadn’t moved at all.

  “I don’t believe we’re done.”

  Heath slowly sat back down. Self-preservation was warring with rage and Heath wasn’t confident which would come out ahead.

  “What else do we need to discuss?”

  “Your debt. Those station repairs were expensive, and the Syndicate handled it. Or would you rather face Geb’s collectors?”

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  He forced his hands to unclench under the table. “We were attacked. It was hardly our fault if there was damage.”

  “And yet. It was the Wandering Loon named as liable.”

  “Just tell us what you want,” Heath spat.

  The man tsked across from him. “Not what I want, you understand. But the Syndicate must have its due. We’ve heard you’ve asked around about selling some rare chromatophores. Those will be sufficient to cover the debt. And the interest.”

  Now guilt was mixed in with the rage. They had been asking around, in what Heath had thought was a subtle manner, about selling the loot from the kaiju dungeon. A few of the most discreet shops that catered to the few high-level Classers on the Rim, and only in vague terms. Even that had been too much.

  Only a favor from the appraiser at the Edge had even told them what it was. And how much it was worth. Which was easily twice the amount the man was alleging. Maybe more, if they could start a bidding war between a few crafters or took a spin towards the Core.

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We fought for those. Bled for those. At least give us a fair price.”

  “Child,” the man let a little more of his aura leak out, and Heath felt himself blanch, despite his best efforts. Rank three, near rank four, if he had to guess. Closing in on Level 150. “I will forget your ignorance just this once. The price the Syndicate offers is always fair. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Adding an extra blow to his dignity, the Classer followed them to the Wandering Loon and forced them to hand everything over immediately. Robbery, out in the open, and no one seemed interested in stopping it. Or could.

  It was a defeated party that gathered in the crew mess.

  Ekaterina broke the heavy silence. “Is this Syndicate really so powerful? Imperial laws still hold on the Rim. And last I checked, the coerced sale of dungeon loot was still against the law.”

  Emerald snorted at the question. “‘The Emperor is far away’ is a saying out here for a reason. The Syndicate has been sinking their talons into the nearby sectors since the colonization started. Few hundred years of backroom deals means everyone out here that matters will stand back. When the Edge pushes far enough, they’ll be incorporated as a local noble house. Has happened before. Will happen again.”

  “At least they didn't take anything else,” Jenny Mae offered, tentatively.

  The usual bubbly woman’s quiet voice jolted Heath out of his spiral. He owed an apology to these people.

  “I shouldn’t have done the smuggling job in the first place. I needed the money and I was impatient, and now we’re all paying for it.”

  “Nah,” Copperfield butted in immediately. “This is just unlucky. Every new Captain does a few jobs they aren’t proud of. Just so happens we got too useful to ignore. Happened before, will happen again,” he finished, copying Emerald.

  “Still–”

  “Crewmember Copperfield is correct Heath. It was the right choice at the time. I was a shadow of my former self, and we were without funds to improve. Much of our current growth was based on those profits. This will simply serve as motivation. For if we are stronger than the Syndicate leaders, they must treat us as equals, and not underlings.”

  “Thanks, Loon,” Heath said. His smile was nowhere close to genuine, but it would get there in time.

  “I believe you are overlooking the most important aspect,” the Loon continued. “The horrid man could have no information on where we got the chromatophores, and yet he did not ask. I believe they assume it was a gift or part of our payment for the job at the Edge. The location of the kaiju dungeon remains hidden.”

  “That is a very good point.” He could see it buoying the others as well. It would be harder to prove without the loot, but the Loon’s recordings would be enough. And that was the real prize.

  *********

  Jas Ramira was more beautiful in person than the vids could ever hope to portray. The clouds were more of a golden color up close, giving the whole planet the feeling of wandering through a fairytale. Heath wished he could enjoy it. The others he had given free reign to explore the capital city, but out of worry or because they were tired, all of them had remained close to port. Emerald had flat out refused to leave the ship.

  Not that Heath would say anything, but it was rather heartwarming that everyone was being so protective. If there was one thing he could do with his eyes closed, it was manage cargo. But the backup was nice.

  For a while Heath had thought he was trying to recreate what his uncle had amongst his own crew. Respectful camaraderie, but an understanding that the life of a spacer involved change. Somehow over the last year he had ended up with a dysfunctional, semi-violent family he wouldn’t change for anything.

  Exactly at the agreed upon hour, a man appeared at their berth. He moved with the smooth gait of a Classer heavily invested into Precision, and didn’t slow at all as he walked up to the hatch and climbed on board. One smooth glance and he had taken in everything.

  “Where are the bunks?”

  “Where’s the cargo?”

  The look in the man’s eyes chilled Heath to the bone. Flat, dead, mechanical. Like he wasn’t seeing anything at all.

  “I’m the cargo. Where are the bunks?”

  With no more words, he shoved a pad into Heath’s chest, forcing him back a few steps, and opening a gap to stride further onto the ship. Heath swiped at the information on the pad, only to find the man was telling the truth. There was a drop off point , and even a ‘cargo’ manifest. They would be hosting a guest for the next three weeks.

  Quick messages got the rest of the crew racing back aboard and onto the bridge.

  “Assassin,” Emerald said quietly. “Seen the type before. Capable, but dead eyes.”

  “We don’t know that,” Jenny Mae said. “He could be a different kind of creepy. Maybe he’s the Syndicate Accountant, and he needs to cook the books wherever we’re taking him.”

  “Accountants get to take regular passenger ships,” Emerald countered. “This guy is pretending to be cargo.”

  “Whatever he is, steer clear.” Heath instructed. “We know he’s strong, and a Syndicate member. That means he’s dangerous, even if he’s the Accountant. Leave him alone, yeah?”

  His look encompassed the whole crew, who all assured Heath they were not stupid enough to poke a sleeping bear.

  “Loon, I’m sorry, but we have to go back to pretending. Try not to speak unless asked a question. And Ekaterina?”

  The woman in question nodded in acknowledgement, and Heath did feel a bit bad about what was about to happen. Not too bad though. Their small crew meant certain luxuries had been taken for granted. Not anymore. “He took your room. Since Emerald is the only one who hasn’t disassembled the second bunk, without asking, you’ll have to share with them.”

  At least his other two crew members had the grace to look chagrined and offer a muttered apology. Heath waved them off. He hadn’t really minded, and might have done the same thing himself. Not like they were big enough yet to need additional crew.

  “Three weeks,” he assured everyone, himself included. “Three weeks and then back to normal.”