The Cinder's hangar thrums as the corvette returns to running on full power. In her belly, four fighters sit, engines spooling up and filling the hanger with a panel-rattling whine.

  In his Wyvern, Trigger's hands move across buttons with speed anyone else would call irresponsible, each switch and gauge checked and double checked in a blink.

  "Final systems check," he calls over the squadron channel. "Sound off when ready."

  "MVF Revived, green across the board," Eli reports, his voice clipped and professional. Through the canopy, Trigger can see the eagle's head turn to peer at him.

  "Ready to party," Lars rumbles. The gunship's triple barrels gleam under the hangar lights as they rotate once to calibrate.

  "All good here!" Mila chirps from her Caracal, unable to keep the excitement from bleeding into her voice. Her fighter rocks slightly on its landing struts, and whether that's from some mechanical quirk or Mila just bouncing eagerly, Trigger can't tell.

  With the cry of a klaxon, the hangar bay doors begin their slow separation, revealing the star-field beyond. The atmospheric shielding shimmers faintly blue, the only thing between them and hard vacuum.

  "Remember," Trigger says, fingers settling on his flight stick. "We move fast, get into a wide net formation. Box them in before they realize what's happening. Don't give them room to scatter or run."

  He pauses, glancing at the bridge camera feed on his HUD. "Jodie, you'll be fine alone?"

  "Don't worry about me, captain," Jodie's voice crackles through. "I've already got the turrets set to auto-response. Anyone so much as beams me with a targeting laser, and they'll get a face full of return fire. Just... try not to bring the fight back here, yeah?"

  A ghost of a smile crosses Trigger's face. "Copy that. Launching in five."

  The magnetic clamps around each fighter's landing gear release with a series of metallic clanks. Trigger's engines spool up, the familiar vibration traveling through the airframe and into his bones. For a moment, just a moment, he's back in another hangar, another time, with Count sneaking a few extra splashed bandits on his retelling of a mission, or Húxiān complaining about the mission parameters.

  "Go, go, go!"

  Four fighters burst from the Cinder's hangar like hornets from a disturbed nest. The transition from artificial gravity to zero-g is hardly a bother now.

  Trigger pushes his throttle forward, feeling the Wyvern surge beneath him as they arrow toward the distant corvette. Eli and Lars fly to his sides, low, wide, and a few fighter lengths ahead of him. Behind him and a dozen meters above, Mila struggles to not give in to her excitement and rocket ahead.

  "Contact in forty seconds," Eli reports. "Their fighters are moving. Looks like they spotted us."

  Sure enough, the two escort fighters begin pulling away from their lazy patrol pattern, angling to face the incoming threat. Their movements are hurried, panicked, even, as they struggle to work out a defensive screen with just the two of them.

  "They're scrambling," Lars observes with some dark amusement. "Caught 'em with their pants down."

  Trigger watches the defensive formation take shape. It's sloppy and rushed, and he doubts the pilots they're closing in on have ever actually been in a real dogfight. His thumb hovers over the comms switch as the distance counter on his HUD rapidly decreases. At a hundred kilometers, he opens a channel on all bands.

  "Attention, unknown vessels," his voice cuts across the open frequency with the same hard authority that once commanded the LRSSG. "You are engaged in illegal tampering with navigation infrastructure. Cease all operations immediately, power down your weapons, and explain yourselves."

  He lets a beat of silence pass before adding: "You have ten seconds to comply."

  The Wyvern's targeting computer begins painting the enemy fighters in green boxes. In his peripheral vision, Trigger can see his squadron spreading their attack formation wider, ready to turn these ten seconds into the last seconds of the unknown's lives.

  The seconds tick by with agonizing slowness. Eight. Seven. Six.

  Trigger angles the Wyvern's nose cannon, ready to snap into an attack run the instant the count hits zero. The familiar pre-combat calm is absent here, as he can already tell there isn't a real fight to be had. This is four predators prowling towards prey.

  Three… Two…

  "Wait, wait!" A voice crackles over the open channel, pitched high with barely controlled panic. "There's no need for violence here! We're supposed to be here!"

  Trigger's eyes narrow, focused on one of the fighters. "Then explain what you're doing."

  "We're here for..." The voice falters, and Trigger can practically hear the gears grinding in their head as they scramble for an excuse. "Emergency repairs! Yeah, we're a last-minute repair crew. Hired on the down-low because... because the Trade Union didn't want word getting out about the buoy failures. Bad for business, you know?"

  On the squadron's private channel, Mila's incredulous voice cuts through: "Are these guys serious right now? Doesn't want the word to get out? When anyone can look up the records and see the, what, last twenty times?"

  "I think it was sixteen, but yeah," Lars mutters. "Imagine riding in a ship that reeks of bullshit that bad."

  Eli doesn't bother with commentary. Instead, he switches to the open channel, his voice sharp enough to cut steel. "Proof. Now. Show us your contract, work order, the name of your company, anything that backs up the shit you're spewing."

  The silence stretches for several heartbeats.

  "Well, we... Look, we don't need to show you anything! We're legitimate contractors! Just let us get this done and we'll be on our way!" The voice says, a growing warble in their tone. Behind them, Trigger can pick up other voices, low and worried.

  "Then it should be easy to prove," Lars says, his tone slow and deliberate, like he's explaining something to a particularly dim child. "You know? Documentation? The kind every legitimate operation carries? Ring any bells?"

  Another pause. Trigger can see the EVA-suited figure latched on to the buoy is frantically cutting, sending little globs of molten metal flying into space. The escort fighters have also tightened their formation.

  "You... You need to back off," the voice returns. "We've got friends in this sector. Lots of friends. One call and you'll have a whole god-damned fleet breathing down your necks!" he says, trying to sound threatening but achieving something closer to my big brother is gonna pound you.

  The lie is so transparent Trigger can practically see through it. The slight waver in the voice, the way they're buying time instead of actually making that call... These aren't connected criminals, not by a long shot.

  "Strider Squadron," Trigger says calmly, switching back to the tactical channel. His thumb flips his weapon safety off with a soft click. "Engage. Disable the corvette if possible. Eli, Lars, take the fighters. Mila, with me on the primary target."

  "Finally," Eli breathes, and Trigger can hear the predatory satisfaction in his voice.

  The Wyvern's engines rumble the fighter as Trigger pushes the throttle forward, training his targeting reticules on the corvette. In the distance, the escort fighters break formation in a desperate attempt to intercept, but they're already too late.

  Lars and Eli peel off, with Lars beelining forward on a direct intercept path and Eli taking a wider approach. The enemy pilots try to respond, but they're outclassed from the first second.

  "Taking the one on the left," Eli announces, his Revived vanishing from Trigger's peripherals in a smear of static as its stealth systems engage.

  "Right one's mine then," Lars grunts, his Aggressor's triple guns already spinning up with an ominous whine over the radio.

  Trigger pushes the Wyvern into a wide arc, Mila keeping pace on his wing as they circle toward the corvette's vulnerable rear. The escort fighters open fire, desperate streams of laser bolts cutting through space to little effect. Lars's Aggressor soaks up the incoming fire on his heavy shields, barely flinching as he closes the distance, fittingly, like an attack dog.

  The first escort never sees Eli coming. One moment it's trying to track Lars, the next its starboard engine explodes in a burst of superheated gas as the Revived's main guns rip through its shielding. The fighter's power plant goes critical a moment later, and the entire craft bursts into flames.

  "Scratch one," Eli cackles.

  The second fighter tries to break away, realizing too late that it's caught between Lars' advancing guns and its dead wingmate's debris. It manages three seconds of evasive maneuvers before the Aggressor's cannons find their mark. Its shields hold for only a half second, then the 20mm rounds shred through, turning the fighter into chewed, mangled metal.

  "And that makes two," Lars adds. "Moving to support."

  Meanwhile, Trigger's attention splits between the approaching corvette and the EVA-suited figure still working at the buoy. Through his zoomed display, he catches the moment the saboteur finishes their cut. Something small, a component, maybe a data drive, disappears into a pouch on their suit before they grab their tether and kick off hard from the buoy.

  "He's making a run for it!" Mila calls out, lining up on the corvette. "Do we wait for him to board?"

  "Disable their weapons," Trigger orders. "I'll handle our friend."

  Mila's Caracal dives, pulse lasers spitting rapid fire across the corvette's hull. The ship's point defense turrets try to track her, but she's too fast, too unpredictable. After Mila's wild shots overload the shield, she focuses her fire on the turrets, slagging the main gun on top and blowing the side turrets into scrap a moment later.

  The EVA suit is halfway back to the corvette now, hauling on the tether with desperate urgency. Trigger lines up his shot, not at the figure, but at the taut line stretching between them and their ship. The Wyvern's muon cannon lights up, and the tether snaps as a streak of pink severs it.

  "No! No, no, no!" A panicked voice floods the open channel as a tug with no resistance makes the saboteur accidentally pinwheel around. He fires his suit thrusters, trying to right himself, but in his haste, he only discombobulates himself more.

  Trigger rolls the Wyvern inverted and dives, calculations running through his head. Angle, speed, impact force, all just enough to incapacitate, not enough to rupture the suit, and not on the side with the pull pocket. The EVA figure sees him coming, tries to activate their suit thrusters again, but they're too slow.

  Trigger rolls, and the Wyvern's wing catches the stranded spacer with a solid thump that Trigger feels through the airframe. The figure goes spinning away like a bug in a stiff wind, limbs slack.

  "Nidhogg," Trigger says, pulling out of his dive. "Calculate their trajectory."

  The AI's 'eye' flashes on his HUD. "ANALYZING. VECTOR COMPUTED. UPLOADING TO NAVIGATION."

  A blue line appears on his HUD, showing the tumbling figure's path through space. Satisfied, Trigger raps his radio, paging the Cinder.

  "Jodie, I need you to move the ship and open hangar door three. Sending coordinates now."

  "What? Why?"

  "We're about to have company. Dead or unconscious, not sure which. But they have something we need. A drive in their pocket."

  There's a pause, likely as Jodie looks at the viewfinder to see what's headed her way. "...You're kidding me. How did you…?"

  "Bashed him with my wing," Trigger interrupts, watching the corvette try desperately to turn away and make a break for it. "Keep a gun handy and have a hypo ready if they're still alive," he says, returning his attention back to the fight.

  "This job gets weirder every day," Jodie mutters, but he can hear her shuffling and getting up to comply.

  Without weapons and with Strider Squadron circling like sharks, the corvette tries to find an exit vector, only to find a fighter swooping by their nose with every attempt. After three failed attempts to flee, the corvette goes still, their dread almost palpable through the void.

  "Ready to answer, now?" Trigger asks on all bands once more, slowing to a stop with his crosshairs squarely on the corvette's bridge.

  "Please, please just let us go!" The corvette captain's voice cracks over the open channel, all pretense of bravado gone. "We won't come back, I swear! We'll find another sector, another job! Anything! Just don't-"

  "I'm not interested in your promises," Trigger cuts him off, keeping his crosshairs steady on the bridge. "What were you doing to that buoy?"

  "I… we…we…look, we're just small-time! Barely scraping by!" The captain's words tumble over each other in his rush to explain. "Someone hired us to come out here every week or two, pull a data drive from inside the buoy, drop it off at a dead drop. That's it! That's all!"

  Trigger's eyes narrow. "Who hired you?"

  "I don't know! We talk to a middle man! Different every time!"

  "What's on the drives?"

  "I don't know! They're encrypted!"

  "Why go through this elaborate setup just for data transfers?"

  "I don't know!" The captain's voice pitches higher with each repetition. "Look, they paid us not to ask questions! We show up, we grab the drive, we leave. That's the whole arrangement!"

  "Convenient," Eli drawls over the squadron channel. "Every two-bit criminal suddenly develops amnesia when they're caught."

  Trigger's patience, already thin, begins to fray. He wants to squeeze his namesake, put a bolt through the bridge and be done with this, but he stops himself. "Nidhogg," he says, switching to internal comms. "Can you access their computer systems? Pull their logs, communications, anything useful?"

  The AI's response is immediate. "NEGATIVE. CRITICAL CORVETTE SYSTEMS PROTECTED BY LOCALIZED ENCRYPTION. INSUFFICIENT COMPUTATIONAL RESOURCES FOR TIMELY BRUTE FORCE INTRUSION. SOLUTION: ACQUIRE SHIP MASTER ACCESS CODE."

  Bah.

  Trigger switches back to the open channel. "You're going to give me your ship's access code. Now."

  The silence stretches for several seconds before the captain responds, his voice still small. "And... and what's to stop you from just venting us all into space once you have it? If I give you that code, you could shut down life support, trigger the self-destruct or - !"

  "What's stopping me from doing that now with all the guns trained on you?" Trigger asks flatly. "I want answers. You can give me the code and I can decide afterward, or I can fire. Make your choice before I make it for you."

  "Boss," Lars cuts in on the squadron channel, "Jodie just commed. She's got our package. Still unconscious but alive. She zip tied him to a cargo tie-down and found a data drive in his pocket, just like you called it. She's trying to crack it but it could be a while."

  At least something's going right, but access to the corvette's systems would make this so much smoother.

  "I... I need guarantees," the captain tries again, desperation creeping back into his voice. "Promise you won't kill us if I cooperate!"

  Trigger sighs.

  The Wyvern shifts, nose pointing just left of the surrounded corvette, and Trigger lets a bolt fly.

  The muon bolt sears through space mere millimeters from the hull, close enough to strip away a line of its radar-absorbing coating and make the ship's proximity alarms shriek in protest. Through the open channel, Trigger can hear the cacophony of warning klaxons and panicked voices.

  "Ten seconds," Trigger says, voice flat as pressed steel. "Give me the code or the next one goes through your bridge."

  "Okay! Okay!" The captain's resistance shatters like glass dashed across the ground. "Here! I'm sending it now! Don't shoot!"

  Nidhogg's icon flashes across the Wyvern's HUD. "MASTER CODE LOGGED."

  "Nidhogg," Trigger switches to internal comms once more. "You have the code. Get in there and pull everything. Logs, communications, navigation history, cargo manifests. All of it."

  "ACKNOWLEDGED. INITIATING INTRUSION."

  The reaction is immediate. Over the open channel, new alarms join the chorus already blaring on the corvette.

  "What's happening?!" Someone shouts in the background. "The computer's going crazy!"

  "Navigation's locked out!"

  "I can't access anything! Even the doors are-!"

  "Captain, the entire mainframe is-!"

  The entire time, the radio cuts in and out with a horrid, binary screech. It's the same ear-rending mockery of speech Huginn and Muginn cried to each other as Trigger dueled them around the Space Elevator.

  The captain's voice cuts through the chaos, high and strained. "What are you doing to my ship?!"

  "Getting answers," Trigger replies, watching a loading bar rapidly fill on his HUD as Nidhogg works.

  "DATA ACQUISITION IN PROGRESS. ENCOUNTERING MINIMAL RESISTANCE. ESTIMATED COMPLETION: THREE MINUTES."

  "This is nutty," Mila mutters over the squadron channel. "Remind me never to piss off the AI."

  The AI undersold itself, as Nidhogg speaks again only a minute later.

  "DATA EXTRACTION COMPLETE. COMPILING FOR ANALYSIS. CORVETTE SYSTEMS RETURNING TO LOCAL CONTROL."

  "Do they have crew dossiers?" Trigger asks, an idea forming.

  "AFFIRMATIVE. PERSONNEL FILES LOCATED FOR SEVEN CREW MEMBERS."

  "Cross-reference them against the local bounty boards. See if any of our friends have outstanding warrants."

  "INITIATING SEARCH. ESTIMATED TIME: TWO TO FOUR MINUTES."

  With Nidhogg busy and the corvette effectively declawed, Trigger switches back to the squadron channel. "Opinions on what to do with them?"

  "Space 'em," Eli says immediately. "It's way less hassle for us."

  "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Mila protests. "They're not exactly criminal masterminds. Just hired muscle."

  "I get what you're saying, but it would be easier to just… You know, make 'em disappear," Lars points out. "Plus, who knows how many ships got lost or had to take dangerous detours because of these assholes? Could've gotten people killed."

  Mila hesitates. "We could turn them over to the authorities," she finally suggests. "Let the law handle it."

  "The authorities?" Eli scoffs. "Marceti made it pretty clear she can't officially touch anything out here, and this whole thing is supposed to be off the books. If we let these guys go, they'll blab and someone might poke their nose into our involvement."

  "Why are you getting cold paws here, Mila?" Lars asks. The sound of his seat creaking makes it through the radio. "You didn't hesitate during the ambush after Kalibo. I saw you send like three fighters to their maker."

  "This is different," Mila counters. "That was in the heat of the moment. You know, do or die. We have these guys dead to rights."

  The debate continues as Trigger weighs their options, all while the corvette drifts helplessly in space, its crew no doubt wondering if these are their last minutes alive.

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  "SEARCH COMPLETE," Nidhogg announces, interrupting the ongoing debate.

  Seven portraits open across Trigger's canopy, projected by the AI. Two identical raccoons in civvies with "DECEASED" flashing over them, a squirrel with a medic patch on her arm, a dog looking at the camera with trepidation, and two others Trigger takes little notice of. The last one, a green and blue-scaled gecko man has "UNACCOUNTED" flashing across his portrait.

  'Must be the one in the EVA suit,' Trigger muses to himself. 'Don't geckos have large tails, however? I didn't notice a tail on the saboteur.'

  "CROSS-REFERENCE YIELDS ZERO MATCHES. NO OUTSTANDING WARRANTS OR BOUNTIES LOCATED FOR CREW MEMBERS."

  "Seriously?" Eli sounds almost offended. "Not even a parking violation?"

  "See?" Mila jumps on the revelation. "They really are just small-time nobodies who got in over their heads."

  Trigger mulls this over, fingers drumming against his flight stick. After a moment, he makes a decision. "Nidhogg, open a secure channel to Captain Marceti."

  "CONNECTING… CHANNEL ESTABLISHED."

  He keeps the message brief, typing on his console: 7. No W or B.

  Seven crew members. No warrants or bounties. Marceti's smart enough to fill in the blanks.

  "What are you doing, boss?" Lars asks, noting the communication.

  "Reaching out for suggestions," Trigger replies, watching his sent message confirmation blink on screen.

  They don't have to wait long. Three minutes later, a return message appears. It's just a string of coordinates, nothing else. Trigger examines them, noting they're several days' travel from their current position, well outside any established patrol routes.

  A thin smile crosses his face. Message received.

  "Your lucky day," Trigger announces over the open channel to the corvette. "You get to live."

  "We… what?" The captain's voice cracks with disbelief. "You're letting us go?"

  "With conditions," he adds. "Nidhogg, upload those coordinates to their navigation system and lock out manual control until they arrive."

  "IMPLEMENTING. NAVIGATION LOCKED. AUTOPILOT ENGAGED."

  The corvette's engines begin to glow as Nidhogg's pre-programmed instructions take control, slowly turning the ship toward its new heading.

  "Wait, what's going on?! Where are you sending us?" The captain's relief is already morphing back into worry. "What's at these coordinates?"

  "Someone interested in a long conversation with you," Trigger says evenly.

  "But we told you, we don't know anything!"

  "Then you'd better hope whoever's waiting for you is understanding about that." Trigger cuts the connection before the captain can protest further.

  The corvette begins to accelerate, picking up speed as it heads for the coordinates Marceti provided. Whatever's waiting for them there, be it a Libret black site, a friendly port where they'll be quietly detained, or something else entirely, is out of Trigger's hands now.

  "Are we really just letting them go?" Eli asks. Even without a video stream up, Trigger can almost see his deep frown.

  "Something tells me Marceti has it handled," Trigger replies, watching the corvette shrink into the distance. "We got what we came for. Time to see what's on that data drive."

  Trigger is the last one to hop out of his fighter once all of them are safely landed back in the Cinder. Jumping down to the ground and bending his knees to disperse the resulting jolt, he adds a hoverlift to the evergrowing list of supplies in his head.

  Walking to the bow-side of the hanger, he joins the rest of Strider Squadron gathered around their unwilling guest. The gecko is slumped low against the hangar wall, wrists zip-tied to a cargo tie-down point above his head. His EVA helmet is discarded, left on the small pile of tools that were previously on his belt a few feet away, revealing his bruised face.

  "How's the decryption coming?" Trigger asks Jodie, who's leaning on the wall with her datapad out.

  She sighs, not looking up from the scrolling code. "Slow. Whoever encrypted this knew what they were doing. Could be days before I crack it, assuming I even can."

  Trigger's attention shifts as he catches the slightest twitch in the gecko's eyelid. The breathing pattern's wrong too. It's too steady for someone truly unconscious.

  "Playing dead won't help you," Trigger says evenly.

  The gecko remains perfectly still, committed to the act.

  Eli rolls his eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake." Without warning, he steps forward and drives his boot into the gecko's stomach.

  "Gahh! Fuck, man!" The gecko's eyes fly open as he doubles over as much as the zip-ties allow, gasping. "What the hell's wrong with you?! I'm tied up here! You can't just go kickin' a guy when he's down! There's rules and stuff against treating people like that, you know! I know my rights!"

  The words come rapid-fire, with a thick accent that reminds Trigger of an Osean city-goer. "And another thing! What's with the zip-ties? These are cuttin' into my wrists! You got any idea how bad the circulation is right now? I'm gonna lose my hands! You folks got a crummy op going on here! Hell, where am I?"

  "Our ship." Trigger cuts through the verbal barrage, unimpressed.

  The gecko blinks, momentarily derailed. "What?"

  "You asked where you are. You're on our ship."

  "Oh. Oh, that's... that's great. Real nice of you." The gecko's eyes dart between the gathered mercenaries, clearly calculating. "Look, I appreciate the save, really, but this is all just a big misunderstanding. How 'bout you drop me off at Tantalus, yeah? You guys are all pro lookin', and you sounded real official on the radio… So you guys are legit Libret types, yeah? You know, you rescue the little guys like me and get the gold stars on your profile when I do my review. I'm taking a star off for trying to run me over out there, and another for the kick! You folks should-"

  "Do you know the decryption key for the drive?"

  The gecko's mouth snaps shut so fast Trigger can hear his teeth click. His eyes flick to the datapad where Jodie's working, then back to Trigger.

  "What drive?" he tries, but the attempt at innocence is laughably transparent.

  "The one you cut out of the nav buoy," Lars frowns and leans forward, casting a shadow that makes the gecko shrink on himself.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," the gecko insists, but sweat is already beading on his scales. "I'm just a maintenance tech! I was fixing the buoy! Routine stuff!"

  Mila raises an eye brow and plants on her fists on her hips. "Right. That's why you ran when we showed up."

  "And why your 'maintenance ship' got testy when we asked for credentials," Eli adds, his cybernetic eye whirring as it focuses on the gecko.

  The gecko's jaw works soundlessly for a moment before he rallies. "Okay, okay, maybe it wasn't exactly maintenance, but that's all above my paygrade! I'm just a-"

  "The key," Trigger repeats, stepping closer. "Yes or no."

  "No," the gecko says, and despite his precarious position, there's a note of smugness creeping into his voice. "Sorry, can't help ya there. Don't have the key. Guess you're stuck waiting for your tech girl to crack it. Now, how about we make tracks to Tantalus, yeah? And you can take the cuffs off too, thanks."

  The self-satisfied tone evaporates instantly when Eli draws his sidearm and presses it against the gecko's temple.

  "Want to rethink that answer?" Eli asks, scowling.

  "Whoa, whoa, WHOA THATS A GUN!" The gecko's eyes go wide, trying to lean away from the gun but having nowhere to go. "You can't do that! You can't just… This ain't how this works!"

  "Why not?" Trigger asks mildly.

  "Because you're… you guys are all official and shit!" The gecko's eyes dart around wildly, taking in their faces, the hangar, the ship itself. "You're flying a Javelin-class! That's Libret mil! You gotta be affiliates, contractors, something legit! You can't just threaten a guy you got detained like that!"

  No one answers. The silence stretches.

  "You're Libret, right?" The gecko's voice cracks. He looks from face to face, not finding the answer he's hoping for. "...Right?"

  The blood drains from his face as the silence stretches on.

  "Oh shit," he breathes. "Oh shit, oh shit… Okay! Okay, let's not be hasty here!" The words tumble out in a desperate rush. "There ain't no reason for guns to be out! Just think about it! You'd put a hole in your ship, make a big mess, it ain't worth it! I know when to keep my mouth shut so you can let me go and I won't breathe a word of nothin' about what I saw! I can even slip you a bit-o cash for the trouble! If Tantalus is too far then-!"

  Eli presses the gun harder against his temple.

  "Hey, c'mon, d-don't do that!" The gecko tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. "We got off on the wrong foot, see? Name's Eddy! Eddy McCarick! And-and-and while I don't have the key, exactly, I think I know how to crack that drive!"

  "Think?"

  "Know! I definitely know!" Eddy's practically vibrating with panic. "I've seen this encryption before! I got a special little cracker on my pad that should - I mean CAN! Can bust it wide open! I'm useful! Real useful! Ask anyone who's worked with me!"

  Lars raises an eyebrow. "Like your former crewmates who left you floating in space?"

  Eddy winces. "Okay, maybe not them specifically, but for real, I can help! I can crack that drive! Just give me a chance here!"

  "He's sweating pretty hard for someone who definitely knows what he's doing," Mila observes, tilting her head.

  "Because there's a damned gun to my head, lady!" the lizard shrieks. "That tends to impact a guy's confidence! But I swear on my mother's grave I can do this!"

  Trigger studies the gecko for a long moment. The fast-talking, the panic, the sudden eagerness to help, it all paints a picture of someone used to talking their way out of trouble, but if he can do it…

  "Eli," Trigger says quietly. "Lower the gun."

  Eli grunts, displeased, but takes a step back and lowers his pistol. He doesn't return it to its holster, however.

  "One thing, though," Trigger says, his voice dropping to a temperature that would make space feel toasty by comparison. "If you try anything, and I mean anything, you won't get a laserbolt. You'll get a one-way trip out the airlock. Ever experienced hard vacuum with no suit?"

  The gecko's adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "N-no, can't say I have."

  "Your blood boils. Your lungs rupture. You're conscious the entire time while it happens." Trigger lets that image sink in. "Are we clear?"

  "Crystal! Clear as clear can be, mister captain, sir!" Eddy nods so fast that it has to make his bruises ache. "I'll be a model citizen, scout's honor!"

  Trigger nods to Lars, who steps forward and hooks one massive finger under the zip-ties. With a casual flex, the plastic that resisted Eddy's struggles snaps.

  Eddy gets to his feet, immediately rubbing his wrists and muttering under his breath. "Should've listened to Ma. 'Go to law school, Edward. Be respectable, Edward.' But no, I had to be a fuckin' wise guy..."

  The rec room feels cramped with everyone gathered around the table. Eddy sits hunched over his datapad, the stolen drive plugged into it via a cable that looks like it's been repaired with tape more than once. Behind him, Eli stands with his pistol held low but ready, eyes never leaving the back of the gecko's head.

  Trigger and Jodie flank the table, watching streams of code cascade across Eddy's screen. Mila leans against the wall by the door that leads up to the hangar and the bridge. Her stance is casual, but Trigger has seen how fast she can spring into a whirlwind of fists before.

  "So," Eddy says, clearly trying to fill the tense silence as his pad works. "You guys got a name? Every merc outfit's got a name, right? 'The Super Death Squad' or 'Murder Incorporated' or somethin' cheerful like that? I think I heard you say it over the radio, but, uh…" He taps the discolored scales on his face. "You know, I took one to the noggin' and stuff."

  No one answers.

  "Right, right, classified. I get it." He looks back down to stop and restart the encryption cracker on his datapad when the process hangs. "Me, I was with the Vagabond crew for about three months. Boring name for boring people, let me tell ya. Who the hell names the crew after their ship class? Peh! They were morons, too. Cap'n Jerome couldn't find his ass with both hands and a map. Only took the job 'cause I'm on break from my usual work. I was up to some profitable stuff, and you know? But business is all crabs in a bucket, they hate to see a guy get ahead, so it called for a vacation."

  Still silence.

  "Bad business in Cheyat space," Eddy continues, sweat beading on his scales despite the room's moderate temperature. "Corporate types, you know 'em, you hate 'em. You know how it is. You move a bit of market data, it tanks a dork who didn't diversify portfolios, they get all bent outta shape… The stuff I sent, it wasn't marked confidential, so really that was their fault if you think about it."

  "Are you still talking?" Lars asks as he walks in from the hall that houses the lower deck bathroom, wiping his damp hands on his pants. He makes his way over to the fridge and pulls out the large pot of stew that Jodie put away earlier, setting on the stove and turning the electric burner on. "I'm surprised the boss or Eli hasn't strangled you yet."

  "The thought would go away if he would stick to working," Trigger says flatly.

  "I am! I am! Multitasking, see?" Eddy taps his temple with one hand while the other keeps working. "Us geckos, we got these segmented brains. Can think about two, three things at once. Very useful for... Ya know, everything, really."

  To Trigger, that sounds like a load of bull.

  Jodie leans closer, studying the code on Eddy's pad. "You need to isolate the hash function first."

  Eddy glances at her, surprised. "Oh, uh… I knew that? I mean-! Of course I knew that, I was just testing you, toots! You look like you're the brains around here, heh…" He chuckles nervously.

  "Right…" Jodie replies flatly. "Just change whatever this program is off of auto mode and isolate line 347."

  Eddy makes the adjustment, and suddenly the progress bar on his screen jumps from 12% to 31% and starts to climb rapidly. "Hey, not bad! You said you were a mechanic? How'd you know that?"

  "Do you ever shut up?" Eli growls, the handle of his gun creaking as he grips it tighter. "Just crack the fucking thing already!"

  Eddy's fingers move back to the datapad as he quickly rearranges a few parameters on the screen. "Working on it! Working on it! Don't get impatient, guy! It's delicate stuff!"

  While Eddy babbles and works, Trigger glances down at his wristcomm. A small red indicator pulses in the corner, Nidhogg's subtle request for attention. He taps the screen, opening a text interface to keep the conversation silent.

  T: Status on the decryption program?

  NH: ACQUISITION COMPLETE. INTEGRATING FUNCTIONS INTO CORE PROCESSES.

  T: Without him noticing?

  NH: SUBJECT'S SECURITY PROTOCOLS ARE NEGLIGIBLE. HE REMAINS UNAWARE.

  Trigger suppresses a smirk. For all Eddy's talk about being useful and tech savvy, his datapad apparently has all the protection of wet tissue paper. Lifting a copy for Nidhogg's use took no time at all.

  T: Run a search. Is this cracker publicly available?

  NH: SEARCHING...

  The search runs for a minute, only to turn up nothing as Trigger half expected.

  NH: NO MATCHES FOUND ON PUBLIC REPOSITORIES. ZERO RESULTS ON WIRELESS STOREFRONTS. PROBABILITY OF ILLICIT ORIGIN: 97.3%

  So their new friend came equipped with illegal software. Not surprising with what he's blabbed about so far, but good to confirm. Trigger shifts topics.

  T: Analysis of the corvette's data?

  NH: NAV LOGS AND MANIFESTS LARGELY UNREMARKABLE. ONE ANOMALY DETECTED.

  T: Specify.

  NH: COORDINATES IN SECTOR JH-4421. LOW SECURITY SPACE. VESSEL VISITED THIS LOCATION 16 TIMES IN PREVIOUS 5 MONTHS. PATTERN MATCHES BUOY DESTRUCTION TIMELINE.

  Trigger's eyes narrow slightly. 'Their dead drop.'

  T: What's at those coordinates?

  NH: INSUFFICIENT DATA. LOCATION NOT REGISTERED WITH ANY NAVIGATION AUTHORITY. NO COMMERCIAL OR CIVILIAN INSTALLATIONS WITHIN 2 LIGHT YEARS.

  Far off the beaten path, too far for trade lane raiders or any patrols.

  "Hey, we're getting somewhere!" Eddy's voice cuts through Trigger's thoughts. The progress bar on his screen shows 78% and climbing. "Another few minutes and your good pal Eddy will have this baby cracked wide open. What did I tell you, eh? Now…" He sends a nervous glance over his shoulder to Eli. "Could ya put the gun away?"

  "No," Eli stomps on the lizard's hopes.

  For about a minute, things are quiet, then Eddy speaks up again.

  "So, uh," Eddy starts again, clearly unable to handle silence for more than thirty seconds. "That fighter of yours, the white one with the crazy angles? Never seen anything like it. What model is that?"

  Trigger doesn't look up from his wristcomm. "Specialized."

  "Yeah, I figured that much." Eddy's fingers keep working even as he fishes for information. "Looks expensive, though. All those fancy lines, that pink cannon... Must've cost a pretty penny."

  "Didn't cost me much," Trigger deflects.

  "Wha?" Mila chimes in from her spot by the door to the hangar, missing the undertone. "Trigger, didn't you say the Wyvern cost like a billion credits to develop?"

  Eddy's eyes bulge so far they might pop out of his skull. "A BILLION?!"

  Trigger shoots Mila a sour look, and she catches it belatedly, offering a sheepish smile and a little shrug.

  "Holy shit," Eddy breathes, his mental gears visibly turning. A billion Cornerian creds is fully-loaded battlecruiser money. Who dumps six-hundred meter brick-with-guns creds on a fighter? "You guys must be some real big movers and shakers, huh? I mean, anyone dropping that kind of cash has gotta be connected. Government? Megacorp? Oh!" His eyes light up. "Are you guys with one of those super-secret black ops units? Like in the movies?"

  Why is it always movies?

  "Where does the drive go after the drop?" Trigger cuts through the speculation, voice sharp enough to draw blood.

  Eddy blinks at the sudden redirect. "Huh? Oh, the drive. Well, I don't exactly know…"

  Trigger's scowl deepens.

  "...BUT!" Eddy rushes to add, hands coming up defensively. "But I got some good guesses! See, we never stuck around after the drop, right? Jerome was paranoid about getting caught, so we'd dump and jump, but there's this smuggler station about one jump from the drop point. Real sketchy place called Reese Point. It's got a black market, info brokers, all that jazz."

  He leans forward conspiratorially, apparently forgetting about the gun still pointed at him. "Information's the real currency out there, y'know? And if someone's running a data smuggling op this elaborate, they'd need somewhere to fence it, analyze it, whatever. If I was a betting gecko - which I am, actually, got a real problem with the ponies - that's where I'd put my money on this drive goin'."

  "Reese Point," Jodie repeats, pulling out her own datapad. "I've heard of it. Some real characters on Kalibo III would talk about it sometimes, folks who are more slime than spacer."

  "Yeah, that's the one!" Eddy grins. "See? Ol' Eddy knows things! Useful things!"

  The progress bar on his screen hits 100%, and the drive finally unlocks with a beep, drawing everyone's attention. The drive's contents spill across Eddy's datapad screen in neat, organized columns. Everyone leans in closer.

  "Holy..." Mila breathes, her eyes widening as she takes it all in.

  As he reads, Trigger sighs.

  Nothing can ever be simple.

  The contents of the drive are a treasure trove of trading intelligence. Every merchant vessel passing through Tantalus, catalogued with obsessive detail. Ship names, registration numbers, captain profiles, cargo manifests, escort configurations. Departure times down to the minute, destinations, projected routes. Where outbound cargo data is missing, there are algorithm-generated estimates that look disturbingly precise. Large, well-connected merchants who announce their routes to stations and clients ahead of time even have estimated routes plotted.

  "Look at this," Lars points to a side panel. "They've got estimated Libret patrol schedules mapped against the trade routes. Shows exactly when ships are most exposed."

  Trigger's eyes scan the data until he finds what he's looking for. His finger taps the screen. "There. CVF Haul-o-Rex, Captain D. Farworth. Departed Kalibo-III with trinium low density structures for ship-building, bound for Tantalus. Eight escort fighters hired."

  Eli growls as he focuses on the entry. "Son of a bitch." The curse comes out as a snarl as he smashes his fist on the table, rattling the solid steel. "Those pirates knew exactly what they were hitting and what the reward was when they ambushed us. I knew those fuckers were way too determined!"

  "They had everything," Mila says, her red eyes wide. "Down to which escorts specialize in what. Look! They even rated me and Trigger. 'Two unknowns, likely inexperienced.' That's why they came at us so hard. If Trigger wasn't a flying fighter blender, we might have been killed."

  Jodie's been quiet, her brow furrowed as she processes what she's seeing. When she speaks, her voice is troubled. "This is huge… All this is supposed to be confidential. This kind of detailed traffic data... it's locked away - or should be locked away in Tantalus' servers, and only ever pulled up for audits. All the trouble with using a data drive makes sense, I guess. You don't want this kind of stuff moved wirelessly. One leak would have the navy comin' down on your head."

  "Inside job," Trigger states what they're all thinking.

  "Has to be," the mechanic agrees. "Someone with direct access is pulling this data and feeding it out en masse." She points to a line on the pad that repeats over and over, a device ID reading WireWheeler. "This, though, is getting me. Whatever this is, that ain't no server brand or any network device I've ever seen. It ain't got an internal asset tag or anything, either."

  Eddy follows her finger down and blinks. "Oh, that? A WireWheeler is this uh, plug-n-play record copier, server crawler thing. Spoofs a clean connection when you put it between some devices and copies down whatever comes and goes. Useful stuff," he says, then he pauses and replays what he just said in his head. "...Or I'm told it's useful. N-Never used one myself, heh…"

  The enormity of what they've found doesn't need to be stated. Every week, hundreds of millions of credits worth of goods shuffle through the Tantalus transport hub, the beating heart of the Libret economy, and this is a very real cancer that will only get worse if left to fester.

  "I need to make a call," Trigger says, already moving toward the door. "Continue analyzing the data. Look for patterns, identifiers, anything useful."

  He doesn't wait for any acknowledgement before leaving.

  The captain's quarters feel even more cramped than usual as Trigger settles at his desk. He taps one of the worn keys of his keyboard, waking his terminal. "Nidhogg, secure connection to Captain Marceti," he orders.

  "ESTABLISHING SECURE CHANNEL."

  Marceti appears on his terminal screen moments later, not looking much better since their last conversation. Her fur is disheveled, her uniform jacket unbuttoned at the collar. "Captain Trigger. I take it you found something?"

  "We did." Trigger lays it out methodically. The data drive, the trading intelligence, the WireWheeler device, all of it. With each revelation, Marceti seems to sprout another gray hair in her already silvery-streaked brown locks.

  When he finishes, she's silent for a long moment, rubbing her eyes with her forefinger and her thumb. "This is worse than I thought. Much worse. Someone's turned Tantalus into their personal intelligence goldmine."

  "The pirates who hit our last client knew exactly what they were after," Trigger adds with a frown. "This has been going on for months."

  "Of course it has." Marceti drops her hand, revealing green, bloodshot eyes. "Thank you for this, Captain. Truly." She grimaces. "I... I need to ask a favor."

  Trigger's expression doesn't change. "What do you want done?"

  "This station your prisoner mentioned, Reese Point. If that's where the data's being fenced, then there's an information broker there who's been profiting off merchant deaths for months." Her jaw tightens. "I need them alive."

  Trigger raises an eyebrow. "And you'll handle the Tantalus side? If the broker is taken, the inside man might be alerted and vanish. Your limited authority in Tantalus space will be an issue."

  A ghost of a smile crosses Marceti's tired features. "Let me worry about that. If I had a living, breathing information broker to parade around, someone who clearly stepped over the line, I might be able to make the politicians see reason. Evidence of the crime and the criminals in one package will neatly distract away from any rules I bend."

  "I see." Trigger leans back slightly. "And what do we get from this arrangement? We've already done considerable work."

  Marceti doesn't flinch from his directness. "You're right. And honestly? I can't offer you anything immediate." She meets his gaze steadily. "But I'll owe you. A real favor, and if this goes well, then I'll be in a position to help with whatever you ask."

  Trigger can see the implication there. If she can navigate the political minefield of exposing this operation, she'll have influence. Connections. A currency that seems as good as credits in the frontier.

  Currency he can cash in on.

  The pilot stops and thinks. "I can reasonably make more by letting the situation fester, charging more for escorts as piracy ramps up," he idly observes. "The op you're asking for is risky."

  "It is risky," Marceti agrees coolly. "But you don't strike me as a man content to fly in his first carrier forever."

  A small smile replaces Trigger's frown. Ah, she knows exactly what sort of person she's talking to. "I believe we're going to get along fine, Captain Marceti."

  "Like a house on fire," the ferret woman jokes dryly. "I'll leave you to it, Captain Trigger."

  The call disconnects, and Trigger stands, making his way back down to the rest of the crew. Entering the rec room, he finds their scaly guest mid-gesture, apparently in the middle of a story.

  "So I tell the guy, 'That's not a real Katanian ruby, that's just red glass with holographic flakes!' And he goes-!" Eddy cuts off as he notices Trigger, while Eli looks ready to thank whatever deity might be listening for the interruption.

  "New mission phase," Trigger announces without preamble. "We're heading to Reese Point. Going to find whoever's been selling this data and bring them back alive if possible."

  "Finally, some action," Eli mutters.

  "Reese Point's rough territory," Jodie observes, looking up from the data she's been analyzing. From the red circle in the corner of her pad's screen, it looks like Nidhogg is helping. "Not exactly a tourist destination."

  Lars shifts his weight as he stirs the re-heating stew, glancing meaningfully at Eddy before looking back to Trigger. "So what are we doing with our... guest here?"

  Eddy's scales pale as he catches the subtext. "Hey now, let's not be hasty!" He says, raising his palms in surrender. "I'm very good at keeping my mouth shut, ask anyone! Well, don't actually ask anyone, but trust me on this!" His words tumble over each other. "I won't breathe a word about what I saw here! Not the Libret ship, not the billion-credit fighter, nothing! Scout's honor!"

  "Were you actually a scout?" Mila asks, one of her ears flicking as she thinks. "Did the scouts even have a branch in Cheyat territory?"

  "No - I mean yes! I could've been!" Eddy corrects himself. "I've got the heart of a scout! Look, I'm useful! I helped crack the drive, didn't I? That's gotta count for something with you folks, right? You seem like reasonable, morally upstanding people who wouldn't just - "

  "What kind of criminal connections do you have?" Trigger cuts through the babble.

  Eddy blinks. "What?"

  "Criminal connections. Reese Point is a smuggler's haven. Do you know how to navigate that kind of environment without getting pegged as an outsider?"

  "I…" Eddy puffs up indignantly. "I'm not a criminal! I'm a legitimate businessman who just happens to operate in sectors of unusual profit! There's a difference!"

  Eli scoffs out loud.

  "I'm street smart!" Eddy insists, crossing his arms. "I know how to talk to people, how to get conversations moving, how to blend in... But that doesn't make me a criminal! I'm more of a... an economic opportunist."

  "Who uses black market decryption busters," Jodie adds, not looking up from her datapad.

  "And steals data from nav buoys," Lars contributes, eyeballing his little hot sauce bottle by the stove.

  "And runs with pirates," Mila finishes, walking up to Trigger's right and leaning on him like he's a wall, back to his shoulder and her arms crossed.

  Eddy's mouth opens and closes several times. "Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds bad, but-!"

  "Can you help us navigate Reese Point or not?" Trigger asks bluntly.

  The gecko looks between the assembled mercenaries, calculation clear in his eyes. "...Maybe? I mean, yes! Definitely yes! I know people who know people. I can get you in the right doors, introduce you to the right folks. Very useful! Essential, even!"

  Trigger watches Eddy squirm for another moment before making his decision. "We're not going to space you."

  Eddy's whole body sags with relief.

  "Yet," Trigger adds. "You're going to be our guide through Reese Point. You know the territory, you know the people. Make yourself useful."

  "Oh thank God!" Eddy practically melts off his chair in relief. He stands and stumbles his way to Trigger, dramatically dropping to his knees. "Thank you! You're a real stand-up guy, mister captain, you know that? A prince among men! A paragon of mercy and wisdom! I knew the moment I saw ya that you were a reasonable, compassionate kinda-"

  "Shut up," Trigger says flatly.

  "Stopping!" Eddy agrees instantly, shooting back to his feet. "So! Now that we're all friends here going on a big secret mission and stuff, what's for dinner? All this code-cracking and life-threatening really works up an appetite, you know?"

  Lars turns from the stove, ladling the reheated stew into a bowl. "Loproot and lab protein stew."

  Eddy's face goes through several stages of grief in rapid succession. His grin freezes, falters, then collapses entirely as he stares at the rottweiler's broad back.

  "Uh, you ain't punkin' me, are you?" he asks weakly.

  "No," Jodie says with dry amusement, finally looking up.

  Eddy looks at the pot on the stove. Then at the team. Then back at the pot.

  "Is getting shot still an option?"