The monk had been taken to the hospital. The other passengers had been dropped off at their destination. Now they were between jobs. That was where the real danger was, when the mind started to wander.

Kirjen and Jussco had a mission for them. It would take them several days to reach the hyperspace lane that would get them to it.

Gami was in the cargo hold. Eli had watched her for a while. Her exercises were as beautiful as they were brutal. She wore a strange, weighted suit, like the images he had seen French artists from the 70s dream up.

Now Eli sat on the floor in his cabin, the Sad’Daki artifact laying in front of him. He allowed the rituals they had taught him to pass in front of his mind’s eye. He focused on the intricacies, analyzing them, figuring out ways to reverse or mock them.

He had music playing. It was something psychedelic, something with heavy, ultra fuzzy guitars and hallowed organs. These songs must have been created in the light of a far-off sun, under the guidance of some extraterrestrial hallucinogen.

Calling up the faces of his wife, son, and daughter, he used that agony to keep his will sharp.

Things from outside took little nips at him. They begged to be let in. He smiled, cast them away.

How to convince Gami that they should attack the Sad’Daki? He pondered the problem.

She was a virtuous person, she understood that the Sad’Daki were a negative force in the universes. Opposing them was the right thing to do. That was a problem for another day.

First, he had to keep her from turning him in to whoever’s laws he was about to violate. Again, this would be a matter of morality.

***

Gami swung the sword. The motion was not just fed by muscle memory, but by a sharp need. For her, the strike was a call to a higher power, a tribute to something greater than herself.

Memories forced their way past the pain and fatigue. She’d stopped trying to resist them a long time ago. It was healthy to let them do what they needed to do to her.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

She squeezes the trigger. The target drops his machete as he falls. She moves the sight a bit to the right and squeezes it again. The downed target fires wildly as he falls. Even with the buttstock tight against her shoulder, the recoil still hits her hard.

It was right that acts of violence always came with a price. She put the sword down and adopted the Kinski style of kickboxing. After a short warm up, she punched an empty container. This act came with its own little price, a little hint of pain.

Her sergeant watches over her as she pries the crystals off of the dead soldiers’ foreheads. Her hands are unsteady. It is difficult to get the edge of the blade under the crystals, as they are a natural thing, directly attached to the central nervous system. He tells her to hurry up. They don’t have much time. And each of those crystals is proof of a kill.

Gami switched to the system that the Isenmok Security Service used. This had been her first style, her introduction to the martial arts. She went through the simple, functional movements in order, from the top of the list to the bottom, each category undertaken in turn.

She stumbles out of the smoked filled room. Her mask had filtered out the fumes, but one of the strike plates had failed. She places a hand on her side, trying to slow the flow of blood. The jagged piece of shrapnel pokes through the palm of her glove, piercing her skin. She watches through cracked eye pieces as several members of another team run toward her. She shouts a warning about explosive vests. One of them helps her while the others enter the room.

More of these cruel memories flooded in. Her answer was the focused cruelty of Rijalva, a common style of advance, military service focused melee combat.

***

Eli sat on the edge of the bed. He was staring at the screen of his tablet, going over lists of prices, comparing them to job offerings. The turrets were next, a pair of dual, general purpose pulse cannons on the dorsal and ventral surfaces. The ship had been designed for their inclusion, so it would be quick and relatively cheap to have them installed. They would be controlled from the bridge.

What about after that?

More armor? That would make the ship slower.

A better shield would be a solid investment. The more charges, the more expensive they got. This was true of personal shields as well as those used on starships.

They just needed to get enough money together to fund a hit and fade campaign. If they were successful enough, they would inspire others.

An alarm shattered his thoughts. He jumped up and raced out of his room. He dashed into the bridge and discovered the source of the disturbance. He settled down at one of the consoles and started to analyze the problem.

Gami entered the bridge.

“What is it?” she asked.

“There’s a distress signal coming from an uncharted debris field.”

“It’s more than likely a trap. But we still have to investigate in case someone actually does need help.”

“True,” he said with a chuckle, “And if it is a trap, we need to find a way to keep someone else from falling for it.”

“We’ll deal with that if it comes to it. Now, let’s get ready.”