*Robbie*

Marshal Robbie Sinclair stared hard at the small, transparent bag in front of him.

It was filled with glittering white crystals ground so fine they had the consistency of dust, yet so sharp that each mote sparkled like a tiny diamond. "Mother fucker."

The woman behind him whistled low. "Whoa, that's a lot of angel dust. There's probably ten thousand credits worth in that bag." She flicked a short black dreadlock behind her left ear. "Talk about contraband."

"And he left it in his official fucking locker. Idiot."

"It makes confronting him about it easier," Marshal Jane Freeman said with a shrug. She and Robbie were both new to Space Station 17, basically a floating city out in the backwater frontier of the Alliance. They had never met before this assignment, but both were career marines before this posting, both had seen a lot of combat, and neither were prepared to let the status quo of bribery and corruption among the station's personnel go unnoticed. They had become friends almost immediately. "Although busting Greene for this isn't going to increase your popularity any among the other officers."

"They're free to think whatever they want of me as long as they don't cross me." Robbie rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Not exactly like being in the forces."

"What, you mean disciplined, orderly and generally law abiding? Nope!" Jane smiled happily. "Still, it has the advantage of us not being shot at."

"So far. Where's Greene right now?"

"Overseeing the docking bay."

"Do me a favor and haul his ass in here."

"Will do, sir." Jane gave an easy salute and walked out of the locker bay. Robbie took advantage of her absence to let a little more of his weariness show. One month, just one month on this piddling little station that catered to nothing but mining colonies and independents and he was already wishing he'd never come. He had been appointed to the post of commander for the marshals stationed here upon his forced retirement from the marines.

Laziness, he's been expecting. A certain amount of thievery, absolutely. A total anarchy of order...no. It would be difficult to get people to change after so long of having no accountability, he knew, but the station master was on his side, and so was the planetary system that owned the station and paid all their salaries. If they didn't change, he'd get their asses replaced.

Except in cases like this. Angel dust was a cocktail of narcotic compounds that had been liquefied, distilled, crystallized and powdered. It was lethal in anything other than the tiniest amounts, and even then the odds of coming out of a trip with a whole brain weren't great.

Still, angel dust had a reputation as providing one of the most amazing experiences a person could have, and the market for it was huge. It was highly illegal and therefore highly valuable, and the fact that Greene was still breathing and conscious meant that he wasn't using the drug himself, but selling it or planning on selling it to others. That couldn't be tolerated.

Jane pushed Joseph Greene into the room a moment later. He caught sight of the little bag on the bench and his face paled. "That ain't mine."

"I found it in your locker."

"You can't look in there!" Greene exclaimed.

"I couldn't if you were a civilian. But you're a marshal, and under my jurisdiction. Your locker is my property." Robbie's voice was mild, totally calm. He wasn't a huge man, and while he was taller than average and fit, he knew there was nothing really intimidating about him. His close-cut hair was light brown and graying at the temples, his eyes were an innocuous blue, and his features were regular and pleasant. He could see the wariness in Greene's stance relaxing as he decided Robbie wasn't a real threat.

"You can't prove it was me who put it there."

"The bag's covered with you. Surface scan for DNA shows nothing but Joe."

"What's the point of this, huh?" Greene asked with a scowl.

"The point is it's an illegal substance, Marshal. What is it doing in your locker?"

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Greene sighed. "This is your way of entering the game, right man? Look, I'll cut you in ten percent, that's what I was giving Commander Briggs."

"Congratulations, you've just added bribery to your list of crimes," Robbie said grimly. Greene looked at him as if he'd sprouted another eyeball.

"Look, you're kidding, right? You gotta be kidding me. Ain't no smart-ass soldier gonna come here and start telling me how to run my business. Fifteen percent, no higher."

Robbie sighed. "Lord, you're thick. This is beyond business, Marshal. I don't want credits, I don't want dust, I don't want any part of your little business. I want it to stop, but I doubt you're ready to be reformed."

Greene stilled all his movements. "You ain't serious."

"Marshal Joseph Greene, you are hereby under arrest for the crimes of possession, intent to distribute and attempting to bribe a fellow marshal. You have the right―"

"To hell with this!" Greene roared. He took a lunging step at Robbie, swinging his right hand in a wide, punishing hook. Robbie weaved under the punch, thrust a knee into Greene's gut to bend him over, then threw an elbow to the back of his head.

Greene crashed to the ground on his stomach and Jane was on top of him immediately, twisting his left arm back behind him until his shoulder blade was protruding like a chicken wing and he was grunting in pain. Robbie crouched down next to him.

"A lot of you boys and girls got used to slacking under Commander Briggs. You could do anything you wanted and not have to look over your shoulder." His tone was cold and hard. "Well, that time has passed and there'll be no going back. I don't know what the fuck you thought you could accomplish by trying to deck me, but it proves my initial assumption about you right, Greene. You're just too dumb to be given a second chance by me."

He stood up straight. "Marshal Freeman, remind former Marshal Greene of the rest of his rights, then escort him to the brig. When you're finished, meet me outside the station master's office. I'll be there shortly."

"Yes sir!" Jane said cheerfully as she pressed one hard knee into the center of Greene's spine. The man let out a piteous moan. White teeth split the ebony darkness of her face in a wide smile. "You have the right to remain silent." She tugged his left wrist even higher as she slapped a restraint on it. "A right I recommend you exercise, since anything you say will almost certainly be of no help to you. You have the right to an attorney..."

Robbie left her reciting the age-old chant as he walked down the hall to the docks. It was childish, but he felt a little better for having had a confrontation. Like he was doing something. It got his blood pumping and reminded him that he still had a lot of combat training ingrained in his muscle memory. He should, after the hundreds of hours he'd spent training, with people and in sim, and then in his live altercations.

Damn it all. He was almost sorry the war was over. By the time Robbie reached the docks his mood had reverted back to somewhere between exasperated and annoyed.

He found the dock master sitting back in his chair, feet propped up on the console, idly watching a mining vessel pull into the closest bay. As soon as he saw Robbie, though, his feet hit the ground. "Marshal Sinclair..."

"What was Greene doing before Marshal Freeman escorted him out?"

"He was, umm, checking up on the licenses." The man swallowed nervously. "Just simple work, verification. I can do it, sir―"

"No, Mr..." he glanced at the man's dirty uniform and found a name tag. "Chan. I'll be taking over for Greene for the time being." He sat down in the free chair and pulled up the screen. A list of ships licensed to operate out of the station sprang into view, along with the names of their owners, date of last licensure, and some other unidentified number.

Robbie looked closer. There was no unit designation, but it wasn't hard to determine what the numbers were. Fees. Bribes, to be more exact. Numbers in green were paid up, numbers in red were amounts owed. Robbie swore under his breath.

"So Greene was verifying what, exactly?" he asked coldly. "Who to lean on? Whether or not to up their 'fees'?"

"Um...sir...I didn't really know Greene all that well." Mr. Chan cleared his throat. "Stand-offish kind of guy, y'know? Whatever he was doing, it had nothing to do with me."

"Uh-huh. Then I suppose if I have the station master run a check on your credit deposits for the last six months, all he'll see are your paychecks coming in."

"Sir...I..."

"This ends now. We don't charge people a fee to dock here outside of the license required to use the facility and for anything they use, such as fuel or our repairmen. No one does. What Greene should have been checking for was whether or not people's licenses were up to date." He surveyed the list. "This ship, for example. F-12-485. Licensed to Danica Jessom out of Hazard. It hasn't had its license renewed for over thirty standard months."

He pulled the ship's specs up on the screen. "We only give ships the licenses if they aren't flying disasters. This one looks like a beater at best. It's a danger to the station letting it dock here without verifying that it won't do something compromising, like explode. When is their next visit to the station?"

"Um..." Chan swirled a finger around his console, manipulating the screen, "Looks like three days, sir. Standard days. Dropping off a shipment of gemstones."

"Well, send the owner a message letting her know that her ship needs to update its license and it had better be in good enough condition to pass, or she won't trade through our station until it is."

"Yes, sir."

"Get some help in here and get messages out to all the regulars that need their licenses updated." Robbie stood to leave.

"Yes, sir. Umm...what happened to Marshal Greene, sir?"

"He suffered the consequences of excessive stupidity, Mr. Chan." Robbie looked over at him and the man blanched. "I'd leave it there, if I were you. Inform me when you're done with the licenses." He walked out of the docks and towards the station master's office, sighing as he visualized the amount of paperwork he would have to fill out to formalize Greene's arrest and removal.

The joys of bureaucracy.