Once they were deep into the safe zone—far from Theta-92, far from Garnash and his watchful eyes—Priest finally spoke, “I made a copy.”
The words hung in the air of the dimly lit common room, a space that bore the marks of long years in deep space. The overhead lights flickered slightly, a reminder that the ship’s wiring had seen better days. A holo-display cast shifting blue projections over the scuffed metal table where they sat, its surface scratched from countless planning sessions, arguments, and hastily eaten meals. The low hum of the ship’s engines vibrated through the floor, steady and familiar.
Hunter, leaning back in her seat, jumped. “What?”
Gravel shot him a look. “When?”
“Before we left the bunker,” Priest said, unstrapping his harness and standing. “Just to have something to blackmail him if they ended up not fulfilling their end of the deal.” He tapped his wrist console, bringing up a holo-display.
“I didn’t take you for the leverage type. Or the maverick type.”
Priest glanced at him, unbothered. “I take precautions.”
Hunter folded her arms, eyeing the holo-display as lines of data unraveled. “And now? We got paid. We got out. What exactly are we doing with this?”
Gravel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching the data scroll across the display. “This job was supposed to be a simple pickup. Instead, we walked into a kill box. That tells me this drive isn’t just some forgotten relic—it’s part of something bigger.”
Hunter frowned. “Bigger how?”
Gravel smirked. “Bigger as in, we could score big. If this thing’s valuable enough for Garnash to throw an army at us, then someone else out there might be willing to pay even more.”
Hunter rolled her eyes. “It’s always money with you.”
Gravel shrugged, unbothered. “Money keeps us flying.”
The truth was, he had a knack for sniffing out profit where others saw dead ends. The crew owed more than a few lucky breaks to Gravel’s instincts—like the time he talked their way out of a bounty on Xethos-9 by selling Republic patrol routes to a pirate lord who happened to hate the Republic more than them. Or the time he found a buyer for a “lost” corporate prototype they’d technically never meant to steal.
Then there was the salvage run on Elka Prime—what was supposed to be a routine scrap haul until Gravel spotted the markings of an old smuggler’s cache in the wreckage. That job alone had paid for their last three engine overhauls.
But when the ship stayed fueled, the guns stayed loaded, and the crew stayed alive, no one really complained. That was partly why they were able to stay together for no less than eight years by then, the four of them.
“We don’t need that much money,” Hunter said. “When you asked me to join, you promised me a ship to call home, and adventure.”
“We still have both of that, don’t we?” Gravel half-grinned. “It’s not cheap keeping this ‘home’ running, I tell you that. The hundred million we got is just gonna keep us floating for another year. This can keep us well-off for good.”
Priest crossed his arms. “That’s assuming it’s not the kind of data that gets people executed just for knowing about it.”
Hunter exhaled sharply. “Great. So we’re either sitting on a jackpot or a death sentence.”
Fang’s voice crackled over comms. “Well, if we’re about to sell our souls for cash, maybe we should figure out exactly what we’re holding first.”
Gravel leaned back, tapping his fingers on his knee. “We’re bounty hunters. When have we ever been scared for our lives? Let’s crack it open.”
Hunter shot him a look. “You just finished saying it could get us killed.”
Gravel grinned. “I also said it could make us rich.”
Priest sighed, then keyed in a sequence on his console. The holo-display shifted, lines of encrypted data scrolling faster than the eye could track. “Fang, I need you up here. We’re going to need your expertise.”
A second later, the cockpit door slid open, and Fang strolled in, arms crossed. “About time you remembered I exist.” She plopped down at her station, cracking her knuckles theatrically before pulling up the data. Her eyes flicked across the readouts, and her expression shifted from amused to serious.
“This encryption isn’t standard. It’s layered—old Republic ciphers, but modified. Someone’s been playing with the deep-core protocols.”
Gravel frowned. “Translation?”
Fang exhaled. “Translation: whoever made this didn’t want it getting out. And whoever tries to decode it without the proper key?” She tapped a few keys, and a warning prompt flashed red on the screen. “Gets hit with a full data wipe.”
Hunter let out a low whistle. “That complicated, huh?”
Fang nodded. “And that valuable.”
“Then we’re gonna need a real expert for the job,” Gravel smirked. “And I know just where to find him.”
“Richarlison?” Hunter protested, “He almost compromised our position last time.”
Gravel shook his head. “No, not Charlie. I’m not that desperate.”
Hunter exhaled, relieved. “Good. Because I swear if we have to clean up his mess again—”
“Relax,” Gravel cut in. “I’m talking about Vanje.”
Priest’s brow furrowed. “Vanje? As in, the guy who sold out the Rasha Syndicate and walked away breathing?”
“The very same,” Gravel confirmed, stretching his arms. “If anyone can crack this without frying the data, it’s him.”
Fang made a face. “He’s a paranoid wreck. Last time I saw him, he had three different comm signals bouncing across six systems just to order a damn drink.”
Gravel shrugged. “And yet, he’s still alive. That’s gotta count for something.”
Hunter crossed her arms. “You sure he won’t sell us out?”
Gravel grinned. “Don’t worry. We go way back.”
Priest wasn’t convinced. “That’s not reassuring.”
“Yeah,” Hunter added. “The last person you said you ‘went way back’ with tried to shove us out an airlock.”
Gravel rolled his eyes. “That was a misunderstanding.”
Hunter scoffed. “We were the misunderstanding.”
Fang sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Look, Vanje’s the best we’ve got if we don’t want to risk a full data wipe. But if he’s as paranoid as ever, getting to him won’t be easy.”
Gravel smirked. “It never is.” He glanced at Priest. “You’re the one who wanted to follow the contract to the letter. That didn’t work out too well for us, did it? Now we play this our way.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Priest exhaled slowly but didn’t argue. “Fine. But we do this carefully. No surprises.”
Hunter shook her head, already resigned. “We’re about to walk into a mess, aren’t we?”
Fang flicked through the nav charts. “Where’s Vanje holed up these days?”
Gravel grinned. “Last I heard? A little place called Kestris-9.”
The room fell quiet.
Fang groaned, rubbing her temples. “Oh, for void’s sake.”
Hunter muttered, “Why is it always Kestris?”
Priest just closed his eyes for a moment. “I hate that planet.” He should know well. He used to work as corporate there.
Gravel clapped his hands together. “Then we’d better get going.”
***
The Black Fang dropped out of FTL just beyond Kestris-9’s outer orbital lanes, its hull humming as it adjusted to realspace. The planet loomed ahead, wrapped in a swirling haze of industrial smog and city lights that flickered like embers beneath the toxic cloud cover. Even from this distance, Kestris looked hostile.
Fang kept one hand on the controls, the other flicking through incoming transmissions. “Still a nightmare,” she muttered. “Traffic control’s a mess, local security’s running random sweeps, and I’m picking up three different gang encryptions just on the public bands.”
Gravel leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed. “Sounds like home.”
Hunter arched a brow. “If your home is an overcooked scrapyard where everything is either trying to rob you or stab you, sure.”
Fang smirked. “Or both. Efficiency.”
“I was an Earthling,” Gravel said. “Wasn’t far off.”
Priest exhaled, shaking his head. “Every time we land on this rock, something explodes.”
Gravel grinned. “That was one time.”
Hunter shot him a look. “It was three times.”
Fang tapped a few controls, bringing up their approach vector. “I dunno, Priest, maybe this time we’ll get lucky. I have more experience with landings now.”
The ship suddenly shuddered as a garbled warning blared over comms—some half-baked security transmission.
Priest sighed, saying nothing more.
Fang winced. “Okay, that one wasn’t me.”
Gravel pushed off the bulkhead and glanced at the flashing comms display. “Guess we’re getting the standard Kestris welcome package.”
Hunter tilted her head, listening to the distorted transmission. “Sounds like they’re saying ‘unauthorized entry’ or ‘unidentified vessel’ or . . .” She frowned. “Possibly ‘prepare to be shot down.’”
Fang rolled her eyes. “Same thing, really.”
Priest pinched the bridge of his nose. “And this is why I hate this planet.”
Gravel clapped a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?”
Priest gave him a flat look. “Buried under years of wanting to live.”
Fang cut in, her fingers flying across the console. “Relax, I’m sending the usual bribes—I mean, landing fees. We should be fine. Probably.”
The comms crackled again, this time the voice slightly clearer.
“—Black Fang, proceed to Docking Bay Twelve. Keep weapons powered down. No sudden moves.”
Priest murmured, “I recognize this voice.”
“Friend, or . . .” asked Hunter.
Priest’s eyes narrowed as the voice stirred an old memory, one he had no interest in revisiting. “Neither,” he said finally. “But if it’s who I think it is, we need to tread carefully.”
Gravel’s smirk didn’t fade. “You always say that.”
“And I’m usually right,” Priest shot back.
Fang guided the ship in, aligning with the designated docking coordinates. As the Black Fang descended through the thick smog, the landing bay came into view—a dimly lit industrial sprawl, its metal scaffolding lined with flickering neon signs. Docking Bay Twelve wasn’t the worst Kestris had to offer, but it wasn’t far off.
The moment the landing struts engaged, a squad of armed enforcers stepped into view. At their center stood a figure in a long, weathered coat, his stance rigid, his face cast in shadow beneath the overhead lights.
Priest cursed under his breath.
Hunter glanced at him. “Okay, so not a friend, then. You could’ve told us.”
“I didn’t know she was in a position of power now,” he replied.
The comms crackled one last time, but this time the voice came through loud and clear.
“Black Fang, welcome back to Kestris.” A pause, then a humorless chuckle. “Priest. It’s been a long time.”
Priest exhaled slowly. “Too long.”
Gravel’s grin widened. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
The ship’s ramp lowered with a hiss of pressurized air, revealing the thick, humid atmosphere of Kestris-9. The armed enforcers stood in formation, weapons holstered but within easy reach. The woman at the center stepped forward, her coat shifting slightly with the movement.
Priest squared his shoulders and stepped off the ramp first, Gravel, Hunter, and Fang close behind.
The woman smirked, tilting her head. “Still carrying yourself like you’ve got a badge, Dakarai? Or should I say, Priest?”
Gravel shot him a sidelong glance, but Priest didn’t react. He just held the woman’s gaze, silent and unreadable. “Didn’t realize you’d traded street work for command, Sloan.”
Sloan spread her hands. “Time changes things. People move up. Some disappear.” Her eyes flicked to the rest of the crew, assessing. “You’ve been busy.”
“Not as busy as you, apparently,” Priest said evenly.
Gravel cut in with a casual grin. “This reunion is heartwarming, really, but we’re on a bit of a schedule. You called us in, Sloan. What do you want?”
Sloan’s smirk faded slightly. “That depends. What brings you back to my city, Priest?”
Hunter crossed her arms. “Didn’t realize Kestris belonged to you.”
Sloan ignored her. “I don’t like surprises. And your ship dropping into my airspace unannounced is definitely a surprise.”
Fang shifted her weight. “We’re here for a business meeting. That a problem?”
Sloan’s eyes lingered on Priest for a moment longer before she let out a breath, rolling her shoulders. “Depends on who the meeting’s with.”
Priest hesitated. Lying outright wouldn’t help them. But the truth? That was just as dangerous.
Gravel, ever the smooth talker, stepped in. “Just an old friend. Nothing that concerns you.”
Sloan chuckled, low and knowing. “On Kestris? Everything concerns me.” She looked back at her enforcers, then at Priest. “You’re clear—for now. Just because we have history, Dakarai. But don’t push your luck. I’ll be watching.”
Sloan let the moment stretch before turning sharply on her heel. Her enforcers followed, boots clanking against the worn metal decking as they disappeared into the docking bay’s shadows.
Hunter exhaled. “That could’ve gone worse.”
Fang was already checking her datapad. “She’s got her hooks in deep. Whatever Sloan’s running here, it’s big.”
Gravel clapped a hand on Priest’s shoulder, grinning. “Dakarai, huh? So what’s your deal with a corp officer?”
Priest barely acknowledged him, eyes still fixed on the docking bay entrance where Sloan had disappeared. “It’s not a deal,” he said finally. “It’s history.”
Gravel chuckled. “History that knows your real name. That’s the interesting kind.”
Priest ignored him and started walking. “Let’s move.”
The others followed, stepping out of the docking bay and into the streets of Kestris-9. The city hit them like a punch to the gut—smog-thick air, the scent of rust and fuel, the din of a thousand different deals happening in the shadows. The towering skyline was a mess of neon and decay, corporations looming above while the undercity festered below.
Hunter kept her voice low. “So, Slogan.”
“Sloan,” Priest corrected.
“Sloan, right. You two got a past or what?”
Priest’s jaw tightened. “She used to be a regulator. Back when Kestris still pretended to have laws. I worked security for a logistics firm. Thought I was doing an honest job—keeping shipments moving, making sure contracts were honored. Turns out, the company had other priorities.”
Fang glanced up from her datapad. “Let me guess. You got played.”
Priest exhaled. “More like set up. I dug too deep, asked too many questions.”
Hunter was waiting for him to share more of his story, but he didn’t say a word after that.
Gravel glanced at Priest, then at Hunter, then shrugged. “Well, that’s ominous.”
Priest didn’t bite. He just kept walking, his eyes scanning the streets, cataloging threats the way he always did. The undercity had a rhythm—one he hadn’t forgotten. The way people moved, the way eyes flicked toward them and then away, gauging whether they were predators or prey.
Gravel, ever the opportunist, grinned. “You know, the more you avoid telling us, the more I assume it’s something juicy. Maybe an old flame? A long-lost sibling? Oh—did you run a cult? Please tell me you ran a cult.”
Priest gave him a sidelong look. “I hate you.”
Gravel chuckled, unbothered. “That’s pretty unfair considering Hunter was the one who asked in the first place, but alright.”
Ahead, the street funneled into a narrower passage, the flickering neon signs overhead casting uneven light on the damp pavement. The undercity was alive in its usual way—hushed conversations slipping through the air, the occasional shout in an alleyway, the unmistakable weight of being watched.
Fang tapped on her datapad. “We’re close. Vanje’s holed up in The Hollow.”
Hunter sighed. “Because of course he is.”