Soren made his way to the bar. “Actually, I’m looking to recruit a few spacers.”

  “Are you sure you’re in the right place?” the bartender replied. “The only starpoppers you’ll find in this part of town are revos.”

  “I’m aware,” Soren replied.

  “Then I guess you know what kind of trouble you’d be in if your ship got bumped for inspection?”

  “I am.”

  “Right. Well, who am I to give a damn if you want to spend the rest of your life behind bars? Or worse, down here with us.” He laughed, thrusting a meaty finger toward the corner of the bar. "Kid over there, red hair. He claims he used to work on a freighter. He’s addicted to Thrust, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

  “Thrust?” Soren asked. “That’s a new one.”

  “Yeah, it just started hitting the streets a couple months ago. Like Jet, but the high lasts longer and the lows aren’t so bad. Or so I’ve heard. Kid’s probably seeing things right now.”

  Soren looked over. The kid was just that. No more than twenty-three, with a freckled face and a scarecrow frame. He was looking at his hands, wiggling his fingers as if they were all having a conversation with one another.

  Soren had known he would need to make less-than-ideal hires if he wanted to stretch his savings, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to get involved with an addict. Then again, there wouldn’t be any Thrust on his ship, and once the withdrawal was over, the kid could turn out to be useful. Plus, the bartender was right. He wasn’t in a position to be too picky.

  He dug into a pocket and dropped a fifty, which the bartender quickly snapped up. “Thanks for the lead.”

  “Any time,” the man replied. “Good luck.”

  Soren made his way over to the booth. The young man looked up, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Who are you?” he asked, turning his hands to face Soren. The kid had drawn, no, tattooed faces on each of his fingers, and they all stared at him.

  “The bartender tells me you used to work on a freighter.”

  “That’s right,” he replied. The fingers moved, bobbing their “heads.”

  Soren hesitated. This was only his first stop. Maybe he shouldn’t be too hasty. But Jack could come through at any time, and if he didn’t have his crew set up, he might not have an opportunity to add anyone later.

  "I'm putting together a crew for a starship,” he said. “I heard you might be looking for work."

  The young man's eyes widened slightly. “You have a job? On a spaceship?” The two hands turned to face one another, fingers straightening to create looks of surprise. Only for a moment before both the kid and his fingers deflated. “I’m revo, man. I can’t help you.”

  Soren motioned to the chair opposite the kid. “Mind if I sit?”

  The fingers bunched together, looking confused. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m illegal. You don’t want me.” The fingers waved, shaking their heads.

  Soren sat, linking his hands on the table, hoping the kid would mimic his posture. “I need people with skills. Can you handle yourself on a ship?"

  The young man nodded. "Yeah, I can do that. I used to work on a freighter, before..." He trailed off, his eyes clouding with memory. He put his hands down flat on the table.

  Soren understood. "We've all got our traumas. What matters is right now. What’s your specialty?”

  The hands came up. “Man, you’re serious aren’t you? Do you know what kind of trouble you could get in for bringing me on board? You get pulled for inspection, your life will be worse than mine.”

  “Then you can imagine how important my trip is, that I’m willing to take that kind of risk,” Soren replied. “Are you an engineer? A pilot? Comms specialist?”

  The fingers bobbed affirmation for each. “Kind of a jack-of-all-trades, master of none sort of deal. But I learn quick.”

  “All of you?” Soren asked, eyeing his digits.

  The kid laughed. “Sorry about them. It’s a coping tactic I learned from my psychotherapist when I was younger. I went through some…things. It helps me feel less alone. There are always nine of us, you know?” The fingers bobbed again. “Like baseball.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Could you use a guy like me, or…”

  “Maybe,” Soren replied. “I have to tell you, the job is dangerous, and the pay is shit.”

  “But it’s on a starship,” the kid said.

  “It is,” Soren confirmed.

  The young man hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Anything beats doing nothing planetside. I’m game if you’ll have me. When do we leave?"

  “Any time now, I’m just waiting on a call from a friend. What's your name?"

  "Wilf," the young man replied. "Wilf Delaney.”

  "Welcome aboard, Wilf. I'm Soren, but from now on, you can call me Captain.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Wilf replied, a huge grin spreading across his face.

  “You have a Digital Assistant?” Soren asked.

  “No, Captain. Pawned it a couple weeks ago for Thrust. I’m addicted. Is that okay?”

  “It’s fine with me. You won’t be addicted once we head out. Is that okay?”

  Wilf and his fingers stiffened in fear before nodding. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Since you don’t have a digital assistant, I’m going to get the bartender’s comm ID. When he tells you where to go, you get there asap or I leave without you, understood?”

  “Aye, Captain. I’ll be there.”

  Soren stood. “We’ll talk soon.” He turned and approached the bar, dropping another fifty on the bartop. “You have a DA, I assume?” he asked the bartender.

  “Yeah, why?” he asked, eying the bill on the counter.

  “I need your comm ID. When I call, all I need you to do is send Wilf over there where I say. Deal?”

  The bartender picked up the fifty. “Easy money,” he said. “Sure.”

  With that, Soren made his way out of the bar, his first recruit secured. But his work was far from done. He had more people to find, more desperate souls to offer a chance at redemption.

  Maybe Jane was right, as usual. Maybe he would have some luck here after all.

  CHAPTER 7

  Soren discovered over the next few hours that his beginner’s luck wasn’t destined to last. He spent most of the morning traversing the Dregs, dropping in on pubs and shelters, soup kitchens and back alleys, growing increasingly desperate to fill out his duty roster before Jack’s call. He found a few other willing spacers along the way, but all of them were in much rougher shape than Wilf, too physically or mentally unfit for duty, even with his relaxed conditions of what fit for duty meant.

  Having nearly circled the space port as noon approached, he stopped by a run-down clinic on the edge of the slums, a no-cost medical facility barely a step above no treatment at all. It wasn’t the fault of the volunteers working there. Judging by the number of people waiting, their caseloads were high, limiting their time and resources.

  Soren approached the front desk, where a woman with dark skin and short hair looked up at his approach.

  “You look like you can afford a paid clinic outside the Dregs,” she said before he introduced himself.

  “That’s true today,” he replied. “I can’t say how true that will be a few months from now. But I’m not here for services. I’m here because I’m hiring spacers.”

  She laughed. “You’d have better luck coming here for services. Have you tried the spacer’s guild?”

  “I’m trying to avoid it. Their costs are too high, especially when hazard pay is factored in.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “I see. Got some dirty work that needs doing, then?”

  He laughed back. “Hardly. But I did recently acquire a starship, and I’m looking to fill out my crew at a bargain.”

  “A dangerous bargain.”

  “I’m aware. The risk is worth the reward.”

  “Well, I can tell you Jarvis over there is former Navy.” She pointed to an older woman with a right arm amputation, a rudimentary cybernetic bolted to the stump. “But she’s also only lucid about ten percent of the time.” She pointed to a man at least twenty years Soren’s senior. “And Gus there. Used to be captain of a cargo freighter. He has cancer. May not survive through the week.”

  “Not really what I’m looking for,” Soren said.

  “I didn’t think so.” She locked eyes with him. “Just out of curiosity, what’s the mission?”

  “Recovery,” Soren replied.

  “I see. Legal or…”

  “That may be a matter of perspective, but it’s above board.”

  “So, salvage?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Look, Mister. I may be able to help you, but you need to be a little more specific with me.”

  “Tell me how you can help, and maybe I’ll share more freely.”

  “I’m former Navy myself. Lieutenant Junior Grade Asha Nyugen. I’m a nurse, served on the Clara Barton until I screwed up. Now I get paid just above jack shit to intake the downtrodden for the clinic.”

  “I see. Not that into helping those less fortunate, then?”

  “I am one of the less fortunate. And I miss being on a ship. The Navy was my dream from the time I was a little girl, and I ruined it on a bad decision.”

  “Admitting to failure isn’t usually how a person goes about selling themselves to a prospective employer.”

  “I get the feeling you’re the kind of man who values honesty. Like I said, it was a single bad decision. One I don’t intend to make again. But I don’t want to fly badly enough to do anything illegal, you know?”

  Soren leaned in close. He’d always been good at reading people, and he had a good feeling about Asha. “Can I tell you something, just between you and me?”

  She nodded. “I’m no snitch.”

  “I’m going out there looking for my daughter. She…disappeared.”

  Ash gasped. “Damn, that’s serious. No bull?”

  “No bull.” He shifted away from her.

  “You know, you look so familiar to me,” Asha said. “I just can’t think of where I’ve seen⁠—”

  “I just have that kind of face,” Soren replied. “What do you think? Are you interested? I could use a medic.”

  The woman considered for a moment, then smiled. “Yeah. I’m in. When do we leave?”

  “Soon,” he replied. “Do you have a Digital Assistant?”

  She pulled out her DA. “Right here.”

  He took out his. “Pass me your contact info. I’ll be in touch.”

  She did as he asked, voice low as she said, “I hope we can find her.”

  “Me, too,” he replied. “We’ll talk soon.”

  Soren stepped back onto the grimy streets, his crew slowly coming together. He still wanted at least more to hit his absolute minimum requirement. Twelve spacers would barely make a skeleton crew, but at least they’d have a few extra bodies for rotation, and Asha’s specialty skills could be especially handy.

  As he walked, his mind was on his next stop, and he almost didn't notice the shadowy figures tailing him. But old instincts die hard, and Soren's senses, honed by years of experience, picked up on their presence before it was too late.

  He spun just as the first thug lunged, a wicked-looking knife glinting in the neon light of a nearby drugstore. Soren dodged, the blade missing him by inches. He countered with a swift jab to the attacker's throat. The man went down, choking, but his companions were already moving in, a half-dozen hard-eyed men with violence on their minds. They undoubtedly wanted whatever he had, his duffel, his wedding ring, probably his coat and anything in his pockets, not to mention his boots.

  The second thug came at him from the right, a crude metal pipe swinging towards his head. He ducked, feeling the rush of air as the pipe passed too close for comfort. He delivered a punishing uppercut to the man's jaw, and the thug staggered back, dazed. Soren followed up with a hard right hook, sending him sprawling.

  Two more attackers charged simultaneously, hoping to overwhelm him with sheer numbers. Soren sidestepped the first, catching his arm and, using his momentum, spun him around and into the next man, knocking them both down. The next guy swung a heavy fist at his face, but Soren blocked it with his forearm and retaliated with a sharp jab to the face. Cartilage crunched as the thug's nose shattered, blood spraying in an arc.

  Thug five, larger than the rest, grabbed Soren and tried to grapple with him, using his weight to force him down to the pavement. Soren twisted and slipped free, driving a brutal heel into the man's knee. A sickening crack echoed as the joint gave way, and the man collapsed with a scream, grabbing his knee.

  The remaining two thugs hesitated, glancing at each other, doubt creeping into their eyes. Soren seized the moment, lunging forward. He struck the first one with a rapid series of blows to the ribs and solar plexus, dropping him to the ground. The last thug panicked and swung wildly with a switchblade. Soren caught his wrist, twisting it until the knife clattered to the ground, and finished with a crushing punch to the jaw.

  In minutes, it was all over, the attackers lying groaning or unconscious at Soren's feet. He straightened and surveyed the scene, grateful that he had kept up on his fitness and combat training post-retirement, remaining ready for another war he hoped would never come. Without a single word spoken between himself and his attackers, he continued on his way, more wary now, his senses heightened and ready for whatever came next.

  He planned to stop at a bar on the far end of the slums from where he had started, but his DA began to rumble, sending a shiver of both anticipation and dread down his spine. He pulled the device from his pocket. Jack’s name and image hovered over the DA’s transparent face. He tapped the screen twice to answer.

  “Jack,” he said. “What do you have?”

  “Soren, I need you and your crew on a charter to Mars by oh-one-hundred.”

  Oh-one-hundred? That gave him a little over an hour to get his team to the spaceport and onto a ship headed for Mars. “I’m not sure I can get enough free seats to⁠—“

  “You can. I already checked the schedules. Don’t waste time talking to me. Get here. We only have one shot to get you what you need.”

  “Understood. Where do we go once we arrive on Mars?”

  “Just sit tight when you get there; someone will meet you.”

  “Copy that.”

  Jack disconnected before he could say anything else. Given the terseness of the conversation, Soren had the feeling Jack thought someone else might try to listen in. He couldn’t blame the man for being cautious. It was a smart move.

  He ducked into an alley, entering Jane’s comm ID.

  “Soren,” she said, appearing as a hologram above the screen. “Is everything alright?” Despite Dana's disappearance, she had showered, dressed, and put on her makeup. He wasn’t surprised by her strength; he had always admired it.

  “I have word from Jack. Can you do me a favor and book twelve seats on the next transport out to Mars?”

  “Twelve? Does that mean my idea worked out?”

  “Two recruits so far. I’m taking a chance I’ll turn up a third in the next twenty minutes.”

  “You will,” Jane said. “I know it.”

  “I appreciate your confidence.”

  “Let me get to arranging those tickets. You go nab another crew member.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Soren replied. “Talk to you soon.”

  Jane quickly disconnected, and Soren dialed the bar where he had found Wilf.

  “Who is this?” the bartender answered, not recognizing the comm ID.

  “I was in your bar earlier. I gave you fifty to pass a message to Wilf.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember you, pal. You got a message for him?”

  “Tell him to head over to the spaceport. We’re leaving soon.”

  “You got it, bud.” The bartender hung up.

  Soren stepped back into the street, looking at the nearby shops. One in particular caught his eye. A long shot, but wasn’t this entire mission crazy?

  He walked briskly down the street to a small, grimy repair shop that serviced the cheapest, most rundown shuttles and likely tore down stolen craft for parts. Soren entered, the smell of grease and heat filling his nostrils.

  “Hello!” he shouted. “Anyone here?”

  A younger man with dark hair and eyes emerged from the back, wiping his filthy hands on a greasy rag. "What do you want?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “I’m the captain of a starship. I’m looking to add an engineer to my crew. I thought you might know someone who would be interested.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Mechanics usually swim in the same circles, don’t they? There’s a finder’s fee if that sparks your motivation.”

  The man grinned. “It might. Any specific requirements in mind?”

  “Preferably a mechanic who’s worked on starship engines,” Soren replied. “But more important is someone who can leave right away.”

  “I might know a guy who can fulfill the second requirement. But he’s never worked on anything as complex as capital ships. Shuttles only, but he has fifteen years of experience.”

  “Like I said, availability is more important than experience. How much difference can there be between a shuttle engine and a starship engine?”

  The man laughed. “Obviously, you’re not a mechanic. Some of the skills are transferable, but not all. Tell me more about the position.”

  “The pay is decent for a revo,” Soren said. “That’s all your potential candidate needs to know.”

  “Right. Anything over zero is decent for a revo,” the mechanic replied.

  “Hey, Tashi, get your ass back here!” someone shouted through the door in the back. “We gotta finish this job, pronto!”

  The man eyed Soren for a moment before turning around. “Stuff it, you windbag!” he shouted back. “I don’t need this shit gig anymore. Consider this my resignation.”

  “What?” the voice screamed. “You little bastard, you can’t just up and quit on me. I…“

  “I’m available right now,” Tashi said, turning back to Soren and ignoring the rest of the man’s bitching. “The sooner we leave, the better.”