Months of practice drills had not been wasted. Copperfield was fully suited and in the air lock only a few minutes later. Allegedly, a few more parts strapped to the mech, and a few more levels in his pilot Skill would make him even faster.

  Heath brought the Loon alongside the largest piece of the wreck and assured the mana tether was fully active. A full lock ship-to-ship would be better, but not something Heath was willing to risk when the other ship was so close to falling apart.

  Copperfield made his way over to the wreckage with the microthrusters on his mech suit. From the bridge, the rest of the crew watched as he slipped inside.

  “Definitely dead,” came through on the comms.

  Heath wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed Ekaterina’s flinch, but he wasn’t going to call attention to it.

  “Loon, I’m patching you in… now.”.

  A few moments later, the Loon had a report ready to go. “It seems the owner of The Subtle Knife was one Rex Blanchard. Independent bounty hunter operating for the last five years. Classed but as a generic Spacer, rather than anything more specialized.”

  “Bounty hunter,” Heath repeated. “Fuck.”

  “The Syndicate?” Jenny Mae asked.

  “Not sure who else it would be.”

  “This fast?” Ekaterina was coming back into the moment slowly but surely.

  “A Syndicate bounty is a death sentence,” Emerald said in a flat voice. “They’ll keep raising it until we get squashed.”

  Everyone on board looked to Heath.

  “What do we do?”

  “I don’t know,” Heath said. “I don’t know.”

  They stewed separately until Copperfield returned to the ship with his first load. More laden down than Heath expected.

  “Blanchard came for us, we get his stuff. That’s how it works,” he was defending his actions to Ekaterina, who had found her usual confidence to denounce the act. “Besides, the guy was a packrat. Nothing useful but plenty to sell.”

  “Should we see if the argo is recoverable?”

  “No!”

  “Heath!”

  The pair of remonstrations was about what he expected. To be honest, he was uncomfortable with the idea himself. It was taboo for a reason. “I know,” he said. Making eye contact first with Emerald, then looking around the bridge to encompass the Loon. “I know,” he said, more softly.

  “It’s barbaric,” Emerald’s voice was harsh, like they were barely holding themselves back from shouting. “Makes us no better than them,” they spat the last word.

  “I too am concerned, Heath. The recycling of argo from decommissioned ships is a practice only talked about in whispers. How can we be sure it is even safe? With my own awareness comes a further objection. It would be like harvesting the bones of humans in order to improve our business.”

  Heath ran both hands through his hair. “I know. But if I’m honest, if the choice was between harvesting Blanchard’s bones, or the well-being of this crew, I’m not even flinching.”

  “Better idea.” Emerald announced. “We let the dumb bastard in the ship mummify in peace, we leave the argo. Which is barely useful, by the way. Can’t put it in another ship and we aren’t swimming in reliable fences.

  “There’s an old contact of mine. They’re only a few jumps past the next drop off and have an ear to the ground. They’ll know what’s being offered for us, and if it’s Syndicate-sponsored or not. We can go from there.”

  “I must implore you to listen to Crewmember Emerald in this case. If we cannot use the argo, keeping or selling it will only invite unwanted attention.”

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  He held up his hands in defeat. “I get it, it was just a passing thought. Copperfield, finish up. We have an old friend to track down.”

  ************

  Vars Zelotica was a depressing system to visit, let alone make a home. The only planet with an atmosphere was 70 percent desert, and most of the inhabitants were as dry and dusty as the territory they had claimed. At least that was Heath’s impression from a planetary traffic control that scolded them to get off the comms unless they wanted a berth at port.

  Since Emerald’s friend had a compound on the far side of the planet, the Loon dropped the line and kept flying. Watching the surface speed by far below was as good a way to kill time as anything. So little water meant clouds were few and far between, the crew could appreciate the vibrant oranges, yellows, and reds from afar, like an abstract painting meant to bring some warmth into a sterile station.

  Approaching the listed coordinates, Heath couldn’t see anything. Just more cracked rock, covered in a red dust that must blow in from the deeper sands to the west. The Wandering Loon landed in a puff of the same, stale air causing it to settle back down on the hull. Heath spent some mana to send a pulse of [Hull Integrity] then [Ship Maintenance] to clean it off, but he could already tell it was a fruitless task. Keeping a ship clean out here would be a nightmare. Maybe that was what happened to Emerald’s friend: buried under an unending pile of dirt.

  They stepped out of the hold to the first sign of life they’d seen thus far, in the form of a rover bot, its treads making short work of the jagged terrain to come to a stop in front of the party. Heath could make out two grasper arms, scavenged from other bots by the mismatched finish, and a few sensors stuck on the outside like ticks on an unsuspecting deer.

  “State your business,” came a synthetic voice from a tiny speaker embedded on top.

  “Let us in Whet, it’s Emerald.”

  “No. Go away.”

  “I can see why they’re friends,” Copperfield whispered behind Heath. Snorts from the rest of the crew were hastily silenced when Emerald turned to glare.

  “I need help,” they muttered to the bot.

  “Fine. Walk north, half a mile.”

  *********

  “Fucking burning hells,” Copperfield muttered as he stepped on yet another of the local rock crabs. The pests were mostly harmless, but blended in perfectly with the terrain. Every time one of the crew found the finger-sized mites, they expelled a jet of air to rocket away, sending the foot above off balance.

  “Your friend’s planet sucks, Emerald,” the Swashbuckler grumbled.

  “I heard that.” Out of nowhere, a man had appeared two dozen yards in front of them. Squat and stout, he was covered with patches of reflective clothing, thick goggles and gloves ensuring not a trace of skin was exposed to the elements.

  “Get in if you’re coming.”

  He turned and disappeared again. As the crew ambled closer, a cellar door came into view, yawning open into a dark abyss, only a few lights breaking up the darkness of the tunnel below. Emerald didn’t hesitate to clamber down the ladder, Heath and the rest of the crew following behind.

  It was another long walk once they reached the bottom. Heath spent the time contemplating if it was better or worse to be traipsing through a creepy tunnel, or the unending sunlight of the desert above.

  The tunnel ended in what could charitably be called a living room. And uncharitably, a cave with stools. Breaking up the apocalyptic scene were plants. On every piece of undisturbed ground, on shelves stacked to the ceilings, climbing around the walls. Lights and hidden hydroponic pipes brought nutrients to several garden’s worth of plants. It was a hidden jungle cave below the arid surface of a barren planet. A heady green scent filled Heath’s nose, almost overwhelming after the dry air up above.

  Further doors hinted at a network of space in the underground bunker, but Emerald stopped and the attitude of their host had made it clear explorers were unwelcome.

  Their host reappeared, this time in regular coveralls, skin so pale it was almost translucent on display at their hands and face. He was carrying a tray full of chipped tea cups, which he dropped on the only unencumbered surface in the room.

  Emerald took theirs and tossed it back. Heath followed suit, only to come up sputtering and coughing. “What is that?” he asked, when he could breathe again.

  “Mushroom ‘shine. Why are you showing up here with a bunch of kids?” Whet, having watched Heath and the others reactions’ without comment turned to Emerald, deciding they weren’t worth the time.

  “New crew. In a bit of trouble. Hoping you’d have intel for us.”

  Whet shifted, turning away and eyes darting to their plants, as if assuring himself they hadn’t been tampered with. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Syndicate bounty trouble.”

  “Fucking hells, you godscursed bastard.” Their host went on for a solid minute, teaching Heath and even Copperfield a few new swears. “And now you’re here to what? Take me down with you?”

  “No. Information. How much and what is the bounty listed for. Then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Fucking unbelievable. Fine. Stay here. Don’t touch anything.”

  They were left alone again, though Heath was sure plenty of cameras were picking up their every move, if Emerald’s friend was half as paranoid as he seemed.

  “How do you know this guy again?” Copperfield asked.

  “Did a few jobs when we were young and dumb. Before I had a ship of my own. Long time ago now.” Nothing got Emerald to clam up like questions about their past. Or their future. Or just questions, really. Despite gentle goading from Jenny Mae, and outright cajoling from Copperfield, they refused to elaborate.

  During the interrogation, Heath wandered over to where Ekaterina stood, examining the plants. It was an impressive setup. Briefly in his Uncle’s time, the Loon had some basic hydroponics for fresh produce and herbs. Since they couldn’t keep a Chef long-term enough to make it viable, the leftover equipment had been relegated to some engineering project he hadn’t been clear on at the time. This was leagues beyond that. If the rest of the bunker was this well-stocked it would be enough to feed a small army. Peering through the gaps, Heath saw a few silver fish flitting amidst the roots.

  “How are you?” he asked. He didn’t look over at Ekaterina, just poking at the plants like nothing interesting was going on.

  “I don’t need coddling.” Ekaterina replied waspishly.

  Great. So much for his super subtle plan. “Not coddling. Just checking in. On my crew member,” he said.

  “I am well aware of the necessity for violence on the path to power. I am not ignorant of my own family’s history. The first time fighting a sentient foe simply surprised me.”

  “Okay. Well, if you want to talk, let me know.”

  “I will not.” She turned to move off, maybe to examine the opposite wall. “But thank you,” she muttered over her shoulder.

  Heath returned to find Emerald sipping the horrific moonshine alone, while Jenny Mae and Copperfield had produced a deck of cards and set up a game of tarkan on the floor.

  “What’s with the plants?” Heath said, sitting down and forcing himself to take another small sip of the noxious brew. He gagged again and set the cup firmly down.

  “Sells ‘em.”

  “Makes sense. Why the whole underground secret bunker thing?”

  “He’s a weirdo and it's easier than dealing with the sun and dirt up top.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can’t all be big secrets,” Emerald said philosophically.