Scraps of ancient tech of incalculable value, to researchers working to reconstruct the knowledge that had been lost, and to the adventurers who’d gone out into the Badlands to find it, braving ancient security systems, the hazards of deep space and, not least of all, each other. Men killed other men for reasons far more trifling than scraps of technology worth millions of credits. Many crews went out into the unknown reaches, but not all of them returned.

  There was danger, without question, waiting in the future along the course she’d chosen, and the pain of saying goodbye to friends in the present.

  But for the first time in her life, Andi was somewhere she could put her skills to work, where her intellect and grit gave her a chance to really rise out of the pit, where she’d been consigned since birth. She would take the risks, work hard, struggle, fight…anything to achieve the goals that had long seemed impossible dreams.

  Anything to make her fortune.

  * * *

  The place was dismal, a seedy pit, with old worn seats and tables that looked like they’d been patched back together after one too many bar fights. The patrons were a mixed bag, somehow a bit sleazy while also substantive in a way she couldn’t quite wrap her head around. It was early, at least for a bar to be as full as this one was, but Andi had heard enough about Badlands prospectors to know they were different from any people she’d ever encountered.

  She’d wandered around the Spacer’s District for a few weeks, finding out what she could about Captain Lorillard and Nightrunner, but mostly waiting for the ship to return. She had money, enough to last her a while, at least, but as the days turned into weeks, she’d begun to get concerned. That worry escalated considerably when Belstar finished loading its cargo and launched. Until then, she’d known Captain Hiram would take her back. Now, she was truly stranded, wandering around a strange—and, in ways, dangerous—neighborhood, with perhaps enough money to last her six weeks.

  She’d even started looking around for potential marks, people or places that seemed likely targets for a petty theft or two, if Nightrunner didn’t show up soon. She’d told herself her days as a thief were behind her, but she realized such oaths wore away quickly when other options failed to appear. The Gut was a more violent place, without question, but the occupants of Port Royal City’s Spacers District looked like tougher targets. Half the people walking around were hardened spacers and not one in ten of those even went to the bathroom without a pistol at their sides. There were easy marks, she was sure—there were everywhere—but they were harder to spot on Dannith.

  Then, just as she’d almost become resigned to becoming a street rat on Dannith, as she had been on Parsephon, Nightrunner landed at the spaceport.

  The ship and its crew had a pretty heavy rep in the District, and rumor had it, Captain Lorillard and his crew had hauled in some significant scores. Andi knew they couldn’t have hit real paydirt—it hadn’t taken her long to confirm that the crews that had tended to vanish into comfortable retirement. But of the active ships, Nightrunner was one of the more renowned and respected.

  That was good. It meant the crew got the best leads, which increased the chances of hitting it big.

  But it didn’t take long for the word to spread that the ship’s latest mission had been a bust. They’d come back with a few trinkets, enough to pay the expedition’s expenses—maybe—perhaps even with enough extra to buy a few rounds of drinks to ease the pain.

  Andi had gotten to the Shooting Star early, sure Captain Lorillard and his people would head there once they’d secured their ship’s docking. She’d waited for hours now, drinking as little as she could and still avoid getting bounced out, and sticking as much as she could to non-alcoholic beverages. Andi wasn’t much of a drinker. She’d watched the Marine whittle his life away with his Blast, and the images had stuck. She didn’t like giving up the clarity of her mind, not for a second. Besides, back in the Gut, the last thing she was going to do was waste money on decent liquor…and the rot gut the street vendors sold seemed more useful for stripping paint than ingesting.

  Still, she’d realized already, in just a few hours, that some level of drinking was going to ride hand in hand with a career as a frontier adventurer. She’d seen a couple other crews walk in and drink what she would have thought was enough to kill them all, without any more apparent effect than increasing the volume of their voices. Clearly, drinking was tightly woven into the frontier culture, and she was prepared to do whatever it took to fit in, at least long enough to get her start.

  She was thinking about giving up for the night and leaving, when she saw a group walk through the door. The had swagger to their gait, but they were quieter, less pointlessly loud than many of the others. She had a pretty good idea they were the ones she was looking for, when the bartender more or less confirmed it.

  “Jim…I heard you came up empty. Sorry to hear that, man…I figured you guys had it on that run.” A short pause. “Still, I’d have been sorry to lose such good customers, and I’m guessing you’d have all been off to some pleasure world to whittle away the time and count your money.”

  It was clear the crew coming in were regulars, and Hiram had told her Lorillard’s first name was ‘James.’

  “I wouldn’t say ‘empty,’ Clevus, but damned sure not what we hoped for.” Lorillard didn’t elaborate, though from the bartender’s expression, it was clear the man had expected him to.

  She liked that. She, too, was thrifty with words. What you didn’t tell people, they couldn’t use against you.

  “We’ll take the usual, Cletus…” Lorillard paused for a moment, looking around. Then he jerked his hand toward a large table toward the back of the bar. “…we’ll be back here. So, keep ’em coming.”

  Andi sat for a few minutes, waiting, and, if she was being honest with herself, building up her nerve. She could tell immediately that Lorillard was no joke, and he seemed a man unlikely to suffer fools. She had her introduction, for what it was, but nothing more, not even any real proof that she had served aboard Belstar. But if she didn’t want to end up sweeping floors in some Spacers District dive, this was her best chance.

  She sucked in a deep breath, and she slid off her barstool, and walked back toward the large round table, and the seven men and three women sitting there.

  There are moments that alter the course of your life…it was something the Marine had told her.

  And now is one of those moments…

  Chapter Nine

  The Shooting Star

  Spacer’s District, Port Royal City

  Planet Dannith, Ventica III

  Year 299 AC

  “So, old Walt Hiram sent you, eh?” Andi couldn’t tell from Lorillard’s tone whether he believed her or not.

  “Yes, sir. I served just over a year on Belstar.”

  “And you got off on Dannith?” The captain laughed, along with the rest of the crew. “Who the hell would pick Dannith of all places? What really happened? Did they put you off for stealing?”

  “I don’t steal from my friends.”

  Lorillard laughed again. “But you do steal from others?”

  Andi didn’t answer. She just stood, stone still, her face devoid of emotion.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. Old Walt is a top-notch freighter captain. The poor bastard could have been rich by now if he had the nerve to keep running old tech instead of hauling bullshit loads of machine parts and grain seeds.” He looked at Andi, clearly trying to size her up. “Anyway, if he really sent you, that carries some weight…” He hesitated again. “…but you’re just a little pup, kid. I don’t take babies on my ship, not for the runs we make. You’ll piss yourself at the first sign of trouble, and you’ll run, probably just when the rest of us need you the most. Go, do yourself a favor, get a real job, even if it’s shoveling shit somewhere. I know you think prospecting on the frontier is romantic, and you’ve heard all kinds of stories about big strikes and giant piles of money, but there’s more hard work and death out here than prime old tech. Come back if you still want it when you’re twenty-five, and I’ll give you a go for old Walt’s sake.”

  Andi stood where she was, not backing down, and despite the emotions threatening to burst out, not letting anyone on to her disappointment. Her mind was racing, trying to think of something to say, some way to change Lorillard’s mind. He seemed a hard man, a tough man, not someone likely to be swayed by pleading. She couldn’t show weakness.

  But how could she push her case when the very act of begging someone who didn’t want you to take you was weakness defined?

  “Don’t waste your time.” Lorillard seemed almost to have read her mind. “You look like a scrappy kid. Maybe you’ll make it out here, after all, but I don’t do rookie training. If you’ve got a place here now, it’s not on Nightrunner, not yet at least. Now, my crew and I have some serious drinking to do, so if you don’t mind…”

  Andi wanted to burst into tears, and inside she hated herself for that. She was a fighter—a killer, she reminded herself—yet she was woefully inexperienced in dealing with people, at least beyond chasing them away with a knife in her hand.

  She turned and walked away, inhaling deeply as she tried to maintain her cold outward appearance. She wanted to go right for the door, to run back to the tiny, filthy room she’d rented, and yell or scream, or whatever else might give her an outlet for the anger and frustration she felt.

  But she wasn’t going to give Lorillard and his people the satisfaction. Whatever it took, whatever it cost her, she wasn’t going to show weakness. She wasn’t going to let them think they had gotten the best of her.

  She went back to her stool and sat down, waving toward the bartender, ordering another drink. She’d started with coffee when she’d first come in, but the bartender’s snickering told her that wasn’t going to help her credibility with the spacers in the place. So, she’d switched to some kind of local beer. She’d been concerned at first about drinking too much, but the swill was so watered down, she figured a few mugs weren’t going to affect her at all.

  She reached down and grabbed the battered old mug, and raised it to her lips. She wanted to leave, and she had to go and think about her next move, what she was going to do. But her pride flared up as well, and she wasn’t going to leave, not before Lorillard and his people did.

  She drank slowly, gauging the glares from the bartender to judge just how gradually she could go through her drinks without drawing unwanted attention. She stewed and analyzed and tried to think of her next move, without any real success.

  Then it happened.

  She heard voices first, caustic and loud, coming from the back of the bar.

  “Lorillard, you useless piece of shit…that was a good lead I gave you. And you threw it away and came back with nothing. Almost nothing, at least. I’m here for my cut of the miserable scraps you and your pack of mongrels managed to find. I should take it all, for compensation for your screwups.”

  “Get the hell out of here, Darvin, before I forget I’m here to blow off steam with my people, and I show you just what I think of that miserable info you sold me. You almost got half of my people killed, and the few items we managed to salvage will barely refuel and refit my ship. You aren’t getting a thing from me, parasite, so why don’t you get out of here while you still can?”

  Andi felt a rush of excitement. She didn’t know what was happening or, more accurately, what was about to happen, but just maybe there would be some kind of opportunity. Her hand moved down to her side. The old knife, familiar friend that it had been, wasn’t there of course. But the new one was.

  Serving as a steward on Belstar didn’t pay anything anyone would call a good wage, nor even a moderately decent one, but with her room and board essentially free, what little she’d gotten had fallen right into her pocket. The crew wasted their wages in spaceport bars, and in the brothels and casinos that inevitably surrounded the landing areas. Andi had no desire to waste what little money she possessed, but she had splurged on something she knew would be truly useful.

  A new knife.

  Not a scavenged, hand-repaired, half-rusted old thing like she’d had before. This time she went to a proper store, and bought a large survival knife. It was properly weighted and razor sharp, and in every way, save the soft spot she retained for her old—and first—weapon, it was a superior blade. She’d bought a pair of proper sheaths as well, one for her belt, and one that fit under her arm, for when stealth was an issue.

  Her fingers moved slowly over the soft leather of the hilt, but otherwise, she sat calmly, staring straight ahead, still nursing the beer in front of her. And listening intently.

  “You’re lucky I don’t cut your throat, Lorillard. You think you’re a tough guy, but you don’t know shit.” Even as the man was speaking, another half dozen walked into the bar. Andi flashed a quick glance their way, her eyes settling on a large, muscular man with a nasty scar running at an angle down his face. She didn’t know exactly what was happening, but her years in the Gut left no doubt at all.

  Those guys are here for a fight.

  She slid slowly off the stool, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. But no one was paying any attention to her. By that time, every set of eyes in the place was locked on the back table.

  “Darvin, I’m only going to say this one more time.” Lorillard stood up as he spoke, shoving the chair hard behind him as he did. The old wooden seat slid back half a meter before it tipped over and fell on its side. The crew lurched up immediately after their leader, and they stood there with scowls on their faces, arms down at their sides, not doubt hovering near weapons of one sort or another. “Get your miserable ass out of here now, Darvin, or by the Spacer’s gods, I will make you pay for my people went through chasing down your shitty leads.”

  Andi could feel her heart racing, the invigoration of a pending fight. She was no stranger to violence, nor to the constant presence of death hovering on the edge of almost everything. Usually, she’d tried to avoid conflicts, and certainly fights that weren’t hers. But this time, she sensed the opportunity she’d hoped for. Lorillard had called her a kid, sent her away.

  I’ll show him who is a kid…

  The situation was deteriorating rapidly. The new arrivals outnumbered Lorillard and his people now, but the crew of the Nightrunner stood their ground. For a few seconds, it looked like Darvin and his thugs were going to back down.

  And then, all hell broke loose.

  Andi was watching, and she saw it before anyone else did.

  One of the men, near the back of Darvin’s group, reached for a pistol. Lorillard didn’t see it, not quickly enough.

  Andi’s mind raced. This wasn’t a random confrontation, nor a real argument. It was a hit. Darvin hadn’t come to demand money from Lorillard, not really.

  He’d come to kill Nightrunner’s captain.

  Andi was still thinking about what to do when she acted, her body lunging forward on instinct, before her conscious mind had even decided to intervene. She was halfway to the man with the gun when he noticed her, and then she crashed into him, knife in hand, even as he was turning the weapon toward her.

  She was much smaller than her adversary, not much more than half his mass. But she had momentum, and he stumbled back as her body slammed into his.

  It was a painful hit, likely for him as well as her, at least from the sound of his deep grunt. They both tumbled to the ground, even as the rest of the two groups leapt into action.

  Andi was struggling with her opponent, her eyes locked on the man’s pistol, which was still in his hand, despite the hard fall. He was bringing it around, trying to point it toward her. She almost reached out to grab his hand, but she knew she wasn’t close to strong enough to stop him that way.

  Her other hand tightened around the new knife, the successor to her trusty old weapon. She had intended to avoid trouble on Dannith, at least at first. Her narrow escape from Vulcan City had left its mark, and the last thing she wanted was to become a hunted criminal on Dannith as well. But the time for such considerations was over. She was in a fight to the death, and that being the case, she knew damned well whose death she intended it be.

  She swung her arm with every bit of strength she could muster, her hand clenched hard on the hilt, determined to hold on, even as the blade’s point hit its target. A jarring feeling raced up her arm as the knife hit the man’s wide, thick leather belt. There was a pause, no more than a quarter second, she later guessed, but it seemed like an eternity. Then the blade slid off the hard leather…and plunged into the man’s midsection.

  Andi felt the knife strike the soft flesh, and the killer instinct in her took control. Her opponent was massive, and strong…and he still had the pistol in his hand. She had no doubt he could kill her, even wounded.

  She jerked her arm hard, pulling the blade up, practically gutting her victim as she did. The two were rolling around in their desperate struggle, and the man’s body ended up on top of her. She could feel the warmth, as what felt like liters of blood poured out, even as she continued to drag the knife up through flesh and guts, until it struck the bottom rib.

  The howls of pain had stopped a few seconds before, and now she felt the full weight of the man bearing down. The pistol was on the floor now, laying in the middle of a large pool of blood.

  She slid to the side, shoving with all her strength as she did, half pushing the man off her and half crawling out from under. She looked down as she scrambled away, over toward the side of the room, but she didn’t really need to. She knew already.

  She had killed again.

  She paused for a few seconds, a failure of discipline for which she scolded herself, and then she jumped up, knife in hand, her head moving back and forth, eyes searching for any threats. There had been a number of gunshots, but she hadn’t been able to get a fix on exactly who had fired…or who might have been hit. But there was no one right near her, nor anyone who seemed about to fire in her direction, so she lunged forward, sliding through the widening pool of blood as she did, and grabbed the pistol her defeated opponent had dropped.